Following Brighton Writer Squad‘s visit to Brighton Museum, the young writers were asked to write a piece in response to an object (and another piece in response to a costume).
Satsang Barnett (15) wrote a response to the rag football in the World Stories: Young Voices Gallery,
I hate moving but sometimes you just have to make a new start. 24 Old Kent Road, small house but I like it though, I find it cosy, that was my new address, and after a 3 hour drive I finally arrived, at last, late at night. This time I’m going to sort myself out, a new beginning. But, little did I know, what living here would bring. The drive took a lot of energy out of me, so I just dumped my boxes of belongs in the hall and went to bed, excited about starting my new job tomorrow.
I hit the alarm on my phone, drag myself out of bed, climbing over boxes so I can reach the kettle, time for a wake up shot, bending down to check out the contents of the fridge (not expecting to find much). But what I found there was a shock, I stumbled back in surprise. A hideous mass of what seemed like clothes on the bottom shelf, about the size of a small football. It seemed to be staring me in the face. I’m weary of touching it as it’s covered in what looks like animal remains. I reach in and pull out the tightly bound ball of encrusted fabric, the smell hits me, I fought back the urge to gag and I quickly threw it in the bin. I sit on a chair for a while trying to recover and curse as I spot the time. I was going to be late for work, on the first day too! I dashed out and thought nothing more of that grotesque ball sitting in my bin.
After a long embarrassing day of the boss warning me not to be late again, I unpacked, ate and went to bed. Later that night, deep in my dreams, I was woken by an over whelming need to look down at my feet, there in the dim light of the moon shining on the sheets in front of me, amongst the sheets, was… the ball. I was paralyzed with fear.
How the ***** did this ball of horror get on my bed? I thought. The ball sat there. It looked alive, pulsating. My body was tense. Then all of a sudden started to feel like I was falling, this strange feeling made me close my eyes. Then I was falling, falling down through the floor into the earth below, darkness swarmed out to meet me then spat me out. I opened my eyes and it was broad daylight. I looked down and to my astonishment I was floating, very high indeed. Beneath me a busy football stadium was cheering and chanting. Everything seemed normal apart from it was clear they could not see me.
The audience’s fashion seemed to be at least a couple of years old. This must be some sort of flashback, I thought to myself. Suddenly, a player scored a goal and half the crowd went wild cheering, screaming with joy. The referee an angry strange man blew his whistle declaring that the goal didn’t count. The crowd stopped and went silent. A couple minutes later the game ended and the team that attempted to score earlier lost. Half the audience didn’t like this one bit.
A commotion was starting to build. Crowd members started climbing over the fence into the pitch. The guards were pushing them back but more and more of them were appearing. Someone threw a punch and ***** broke loose. The football match suddenly turned into a miniature war. A small group of the losing side went after the referee since it was obvious they thought it was his fault. The poor man tried to make a getaway, but they surrounded him. He was brutally murdered before my eyes. Then the world seemed to fade, my vision started fading… the last thing I saw was the murders wrapping the referee’s clothes into a …familiar looking… ‘ball’.
The Royal Pavilion & Museums Trust is a self-funding charity. We face a huge funding deficit from revenue lost during the Covid-19 pandemic, and we now need the urgent support of individuals and businesses to help us continue our work.