This was fun to write as it shows how much I love creative writing, Sylvia's character is so fun to write as she is horrible but there are her reasons for it... But Celeste does not know this and this revealed to me how desperate she feels. If the boys or her 'uncles' found out they would kill her (metaphorically of course). I hope you all enjoy, please review to help me improve my writing or share what you enjoyed and why x Many thanks

Creative Writing was my personal version of Heaven. I was thrilled when the curriculum introduced it, it made going to school more bearable.

Miss Bird stood next to the board. On the board was a slide that contained a single picture of a pocket watch.

'Today we have been exploring the power of picture prompts. I want you to take a few minutes to think about what you could write about and then we will share some ideas with the class. We will be writing our stories next lesson.'

Of course the majority of the students dissolved into a group of hushed, critical whispers. Miss Bird had a relaxed teaching style in the sense she would not challenge this clear display of defiance. I sat alone with my thoughts swirling around my head, like a lighting storm in my brain and my passion for this subject were the sparks.

Five minutes passed and Miss Bird finally chirped,

'Alright, who wants to share their ideas?'

No one dared lift their hand, afraid of the ridicule they would face from their peers, although I noted some of the more introverted students had a hidden flame in their eyes. How desperate they were to speak up and show how despite their comfortable solitude they had passions that allowed them to shine in their own right.

I raised my hand and smiled as I caught Miss Bird's grateful eye and acknowledged the relief behind her casual words,

'Ah, Celeste. What ideas has this picture given you?'

'I'm thinking about doing a story set in the Victorian era as personally for me this is what I associate with pocket watches. I quite like the concept of time so I am planning on setting it in a watchmaker's shop. Then I might have the pocket watch be handed down generation to generation and whenever it needs to be fixed it returns to the watchmaker so he hears different stories from the people who have owned it. Something like that, I haven't worked out all of the details yet,' I finished happily.

'Wow it sounds like a lot of thought has gone into that. It will be interesting to see how you develop it, I'm assuming for your project you are thinking of doing the opening chapters of a novel?'

'Yes,' I answered and felt my heart sink as I heard sniggers emanate from the back of the classroom where the bitch resided, a.k.a Sylvia.

'Wonderful, now who else wants to share their idea or will I have to nominate one of you?'

Everyone remained silent as Miss Bird raised her finger to point to someone, until the bell buzzed and made her put it down again.

'Next lesson I expect some of you to share your ideas as well before we start writing them!' Miss Bird called to be heard above the scrapping of metal chair legs and loud zips as students stuffed their notebooks away.

As I exited the classroom and desperately tried to avoid the eyes that glared at me whilst smirks played on their lips, I hurried towards my locker.

A sharp elbow winded me. I turned to face Sylvia who ripped the notebook from my cradled grasp.

'Give it back!' I screamed as I lunged towards her only to be restrained by two of her minions (they do not deserve to even be acknowledged by their birth names, their existence will do nothing for society).

'You're so fucking childish, getting wound up over a bunch of pointless scribbles. The only place this belongs is in the trash,' she giggled as she began to run up the corridor.

My blood boiled as I broke free from the two cackling teens who had loosened their grip. Big mistake, it took all my willpower to not knock them out there and then but my sights were on Sylvia.

As I tailed her I saw white shreds like a trail of breadcrumbs started to gather at my feet. I stopped and bent down picking up my ripped thoughts, my writing was a personification of myself and to see it scattered across the floor reminded me of how vulnerable I was in my early years. I stood up to face her.

She held my notebook threateningly inside a blue bin, wiggling it.

'I swear you do that and I will break your arm,' I snarled.

'As if,' she retorted as she flipped her long hair.

How I would love to rip it from her pathetic scalp…

'I mean it. You will not be able to use that arm when I am done with you.'

She dropped the notebook into the bin and I raced to retrieve it. That was it. Swearing, I shrugged off my backpack and opened it up to grab my mobile. I hit the speed dial and waited.

'What?' a gruff voice on the other end hissed.

'I need a favour.'

'What kind of favour?'

'I need one of your men to put the fear of Hell into a particular human.'

'Seriously?' the voice sounded surprised.

'Yes, otherwise I will...'

'Give me a name.'

'Sylvia Welsh.'

'I'll send someone.'

'Thank you,' I hung up without an inch of remorse.

Sylvia had returned and was filming me with her mobile, I put my middle finger up and walked away as they gasped, feigning shock and continued to mock me.

Keep laughing Sylvia, you think writing is stupid? Well that's ironic because I will be writing your will when one of my dad's men has finished with you…