Certificate 18

An old Oak branch jumped against my shin as I thundered down the smuggler's path. Low hanging holly leaves clawed at my face; cold amber swallowed my faded black trainers.

Felt quite chuffed to see my writing in this weeks magazine. I've been writing for about eighteen months; it was quite encouraging for me.

The arm glided across the turntable and made a slow descent onto the little black disc. The needle worked its way into the groove, then let out a noisome crackle, followed by a joyful sound.

A Lie P K Routeay A lie has been a child’s sin, a parents’ easiest path to avoid the child’s wrath, a grown up boy’s usual tool for his acts to make parents fool,