Under The Lake

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Every day is just about the same for me. Wake up, brush my teeth, wash my face, grab an apple and walk straight into that 300-foot deep lake outside.

I work under the surface – well, when I say under, I mean on the other side. There’s plenty of other people that come too, it’s part of life for us. We work for Death, writing reports on certain people that are assigned to us, then calculating their life expectancy. Death has less on his plate because of us, so all he needs to do is fix his schedule.

Everything we do, think and feel is written on our bodies as soon as we pass through the portal. When we resurface, the writing disappears. Death pays us quite a fair salary each week, so life is sweet. There’s just one catch: whenever I start work, my skin is empty.

Death doesn’t favour me as much as the others, even though my wages are the same. There was another one like me, but she died sometime before I started. They call us Outsiders, which is pretty rude, but I don’t care.

I was always empty-skinned until that one day when my life seemed to change forever. I went through the same morning routine: brush teeth, wash face, eat apple, walk into lake. I just didn’t know that under the lake, it would be different.

The first few steps in are through the water barrier, then we should arrive on the other side. This time around, though, the journey seemed longer, and as I delved deeper and deeper, I could make out the distinctive shape of a person in the distance, a man, tall and skinny. He gradually came closer and closer, until I could see his face. It was Death himself, and he had grabbed hold of my hand. Before he pushed me up to the surface, he uttered four words: “You, master of me.”

And suddenly I was floating back up, and I flew out of the lake, landing on my feet. I wasn’t the slightest bit wet, as always. There was a piece of paper in my hand, reading:

Take my place under the lake.

Yours,

D.

And on my hand was a single word, as if written in black ink. ‘No need to ask for wages anymore.’ I thought to myself as I walked back to my cosy little home, smiling at my own hand, reading over and over again ‘Death’.

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You Cannot Tell

you cannot tell ph2

I first saw him in the window of my living room. He was wearing a worn out, black bowler hat and a brown leather coat. His eyes were illuminated on his dark, shadowy face. He was carrying what seemed to be a blade. Other people would have been terrified but I just stood there, sort of transfixed by his appearance. He came the next night, this time looking into the kitchen. A red rose replaced the knife in his hand. I wondered why he was coming to my house. Perhaps he was homeless. It was 7 days later when I started to become worried, though. He had been coming to my house and looking through the windows for a whole week and on Monday he had come with a knife again – it had blood stains on the tip. I thought about calling the police, but would that make me his next victim? I shuddered. I decided to stay put in my bedroom, lock all the doors and shut all the curtains. I soon dozed off.

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The next morning, I was no longer in my bedroom. I was on the floor of my living room. A chalk outline surrounded me. Nobody else was there. I was very confused. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something come out of the wall. It was shadowy, scruffy, a tall figure looming like a tower. I turned around and saw that it was the man that I had seen in the window, pale-faced and untidy. He was holding the same blood-stained knife; it glinted faintly in the dim light. He gave me an icy stare, then leapt at me. His knife jutted out and he cried out in rage. I screamed and rolled over to dodge him, the knife swishing past and narrowly missing my head. He dived through the floor, like it was some kind of eerie wooden swimming pool. I crawled backwards to the sofa, bewildered as to where he was. Suddenly, he sprang out, shouting in anger. His face was nearly scarlet, his scruffy eyebrows highly slanted. I flinched as he flew through the air towards me. His coat was splattered with flecks of blood. I wanted to move but it seemed like I was glued to where I was. He brushed my shoulder, but as soon as he laid his hand on me, a bright white light lit up the room. The man howled as his hand glowed red. It must have burned, seared, split his palm open. Slowly, he started to disappear, like smoke wafting away from its chimney. Oh, how he shrieked! The sound echoed around the room. It rang inside my ears, it slowly mauled my brain. I closed my eyes tightly, nearly gluing them shut. When I reopened them, I was alone in the room. Everything was silent. No blood. No knife. No hat. No man. Just me, in the room of the house. I could hear police sirens wailing outside. They reminded me of banshees, sobbing in mourning. Apparently, my neighbour had heard the screaming and shouting.

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From then on, I was alone in my house. No one came to visit, no one stood outside the windows. But one day, the doorbell rang, and outside was a black bowler hat, a rose, a knife and a note:

‘You cannot tell.’

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Who Else But Mum!?

golden birthday 2017

Who Else But Mum!?

(A poem written by The Pawsome Lion)

~Dedicated to Mrs Mom

I still remember how you smiled at me,

And that twinkle in your eyes,

Our laughs when we had fun,

The tears of joy we shared

I still remember how you helped me up

When I fell to the floor,

Your hugs when I felt down,

Your praise when I had done well

I still remember after all these years

How kind you’ve been to me,

How great you’ve been to my brother,

How great you’ve been to my sister

And I still come to you for hugs,

For smiles, for advice, for a laugh,

Because I think,

Who else but mum,

To go to for joy!?

Who else but mum,

To go to for help!?

Who else? Who else? Who else but mum!?

And on this very special day,

I’d like to say…

Happy Birthday!

To the best mother in the world!

 

Come Rain or Shine…

come rain or shine

Come Rain or Shine…

(A poem written by The Pawsome Lion)

~ Dedicated to Mr OCD Uncle, Dadajee & Khun Yai Thi Rak Khong Phom ~

Our laughter used to fill every room,

They’re now the carriers of our sweet memories

Our love was strong, so tightly knit,

It seemed impossible to get in the way

Our smiles were sunshine,

Our eyes were stars,

We brightened up every dark corner

But then one day, you went away

It broke my heart to say goodbye

And as you left me all alone,

I shared my sorrow with the sky

Its cold tears washed my face

And thunder rolled as my own dripped

It knew how I was feeling

But I know that you’ll come back

To make more memories,

To laugh even more

And I also know that come rain or shine,

I’ll still love you and you’ll still love me

Saturday, 16th September 2017

p/s: Photo of The Pawsome Lion, 3 years old – by Mr Dad © 2009

National Writing Day – This Is My Story…

Writing. A wonderful form of art. I discovered it when I was very young and I have loved it ever since. I used to enjoy reading fiction books and tried my hand at writing one myself. That’s when I discovered that there was more behind writing. In fact, there was a whole world of writing! I could turn anything, absolutely anything, into a story written down on paper! Cockroach-shark cross breeds and magical pixies could be real, with a little help of pen and paper. Writing was a way of expressing my thoughts and feelings. I kept on writing and writing whenever I found the time, during break times, at home, on the way to school and made great improvement. I enjoyed the writing time thoroughly. Many years passed and I grew up. And here I am now, writing this story. I’m going to tell it to you.

It all started on the 12th of September, a fine autumn day. The leaves on the trees were a brilliant shade of orangey-red, swaying in the gentle breeze like flames in a fireplace. I was at school for afternoon lessons when I asked to be excused. I stepped out into the empty corridor and closed the door behind me. That’s when I looked to my left and saw Mr Thorpington, the school caretaker, coming towards me. Instead of his usual grey jumper and black trousers, he was wearing some sort of dark purple cloak and oddly shaped brown leather boots.

“Oh, hello, Mr Thorpington. What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“Mr What? My name’s Morpmagagus!” he replied, a surprised look on his face.

“Mor..Morph…Mop..Mo…What?”

“Morpmagagus. But do stop being silly. We must get going!”

“Going where?” I questioned him.

“You’ll find out soon enough, Jack Dillion. Come on!”

“I want – Wait a second. How do you know my full name?” I said.

“Oh, I know more than that, Jack.” he told me, an air of mystery wafting around in his voice. Then he walked down the corridor. I followed.

At last we stopped in front of a large wooden door I had never seen before. It had a copper-coloured handle and shiny hinges.

“What’s this?” I asked the so-called Morpmagagus.

“The door to the space between the past, the present and the future.” he informed me. “Beyond that is a strange alternate universe where spirits roam free and creatures you would not have even imagined to have existed reside. These beings are kind, but I must warn that there is also evil and danger there. So long as you listen to me, no harm will come to you.”

He opened the door to reveal a swirl of bright colours shining in my face.

“Wait, you don’t mean-wha-?”

I didn’t have time to finish speaking as I was pushed through the doorway. After that, there was black.

When I came to, I was lying on the ground facing a bright blue sky. Slowly, I rose up and examined my surroundings. Morpmagagus was standing beside me.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” he cried. “There’s no time to mess about!” And he hurried off, with me trying to catch up behind him.

“Mr…um…Mr Morpy. May I just ask, where are we?” I asked him.

“Arator” he replied calmly. “The alternate universe.”

“Looks the same as Earth to me.” I said.

Morpmagagus (or rather Mr Morpy now) sighed and said “My dear Jack, just because this is an alternate universe doesn’t mean that the grass has to be blue and the sun has to be made of purple spinach! In Arator, only the animals are strange.”

This statement was soon proved true. Later on in the walk, we encountered shark-headed humans, a singing dog, a tweeting crocodile and at one point, I think I even spotted a two-hoofed camel riding on a screaming beetle who appeared to be wearing a party hat. After what seemed like 1 and a half hours (which, in actual fact, was only 20 minutes – evidence that time does not fly, unless you are referring to the clock-winged birds that I also sighted), I asked Mr Morpy something.

“Mr Morpy, why are we even here?”

“We are here because of you and the evil of Horatio Thymebundle.”

“Who’s he?”

“Horatio is a man that lives on the edge of Arator, residing in the shadows. There used to be good in him but now he’s turned evil. He plans to extract the happiness from Earth.”

“But why?” I said.

“Well, you see, Horatio had his happiness drained out of him from a very young age. His parents died and he had no one else to look after him. From then on, he spent a life of misery and sadness. But then he found Arator and was given great power that only the first human in Arator could possess. He wants to use this power to get revenge on the humans. He thinks it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t be happy. Only you can stop him.”

“How?”

“By using this.” Mr Morpy pulled out a dazzling diamond from under his cloak. “This,” he announced, “is the Jewel of Latos. The jewel of peace! If you restore it to it’s rightful place, Horatio will be defeated. But you must be the one that does this, because of your magnificent mind, your imagination, your creativity and most importantly, your pure heart.”

“Right,” I said, after a brief silence. “But if I’m going to do it, then don’t put so much pressure on me!”

“OK.” said Mr Morpy.

After a few more minutes walking, we reached a large patch of open grass. It was much darker here.

“We have arrived.” whispered Mr Morpy. “Now, when I tell you to go, run towards the tree stump in the middle of the field and put the jewel in there. Understood?”

I nodded. Suddenly, there was a snap behind us.

“Horatio knows we are here. Get ready!” said Mr Morpy. I could sense a hint of panic in his voice. CRASH! A huge tree fell down behind us.

“Go!” Mr Morpy shouted at me. I ran and ran as fast as I could towards the tree stump. Everything was a blur after that. I remember being grabbed by what seemed like the air and I dropped the jewel and fell down. I could hardly breathe as I tried to find the jewel. Finally, my hands touched the smooth surface of the diamond. I picked it up and touched the stump with it. There was the sound of wood cracking and then I saw black.

I opened my eyes and found myself standing in the school corridor. I was right outside my classroom. Automatically, I turned left and saw Mr Thorpington walking down the corridor with Mr Swithinbanks, the headteacher. He was babbling about important repairs for the school to Mr Thorpington.

“Oh, hello there, Jack!” he said when he passed me.

“Hello, Mr Swithinbanks!” I said back to him.

They both disappeared round the corner. And, in that split-second of passing me, I could have sworn that Mr Thorpington winked at me.

Pretty crazy story, huh? Well, it’s still a story. It’s my story. All 1222 words of it. And it’s real. What about yours?

Written by Omar Mukhtar, The Pawsome Lion

10 years old blogger from Birmingham, UK

To support National Writing Day, 21st June 2017

#TellYourStory

The King and I

Growing up, I used to wonder why my parents really insisted on me speaking in Kelantanese dialect, even when I didn’t want to. Their reason was because the language was their mother tongue and they made it their responsibility to preserve it. They continuously persuaded me to speak and also taught my younger brother and sister, who can now speak the dialect fluently. I quote what my parents said:

“We would be proud to have a child that goes back to their home country and confidently speaks to the local people in their dialect. It would be rude to say ‘Oh sorry, love. I was born and bred in England and I can’t understand a word that you are saying or speak your language.’ And that, my child, is very disrespectful!”

Despite the endless support which was given by my parents, I used to hate meeting other Malaysians in the UK. They made fun of me when I spoke Malay because I was speaking in Kelantanese dialect. I am not talking about kids, I am talking about adults. Most of them had children the same age as me or even older. They laughed at each and every word that came out of my mouth. As a result of that, my confidence to continue speaking Malay was killed and that added to my refusal to speak the language. I questioned a lot, “Why did people make fun of Kelantanese dialect?” but the answer remained a mystery.

Time passed and now I am 10 years old. My parents didn’t stop telling me stories about Malaysia. One day, I heard my parents talking about His Majesty, the Sultan of Kelantan, Sultan Muhammad V. He sounded like an extremely humble, down-to-earth person. I heard many captivating stories about him and his virtuous qualities. He behaves like a common man and prefers to go out without any bodyguards. When a big flood hit Kelantan in 2014, His Majesty rushed out in his truck without anyone accompanying him and aided those in need. He is also occasionally seen voluntarily digging graves with common people. This marvellous Sultan regularly visits mosque and doesn’t claim a special place for himself in the front line. Sometimes, he even leads the prayer himself. He loves his people and wants to be close to their heart, especially on religious occasions. So for the last 10 nights of Ramadan, he opens his palace to the public to let people pray and read Quran all night long. And on Eid ul-Adha, he performs the slaughtering duties himself. To add to his brilliance, he changed the King’s regal salutation from ‘Daulat Tuanku’ (Long Live the King) to ‘Allahu Akbar’ (God is Great) as he is a religious man and strongly upholds his religion. He really is a modest, meek ruler who doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty and is caring about his people.

Finding out that he did all of these wonderful things made me adore him even more. I soon found out that His Majesty was going to be coronated as Yang di-Pertuan Agong of Malaysia (the King of Malaysia) and that made me look up to him even more! I was motivated and started to regain my confidence in speaking Malay. If the King of Malaysia can speak in Kelantanese dialect, then why can’t I? Thank you for inspiring me, Your Majesty, a boy in a foreign land! You are one in a million! So let His Majesty be an example to all of us! Be gratified of who you are, never be ashamed of your roots and your dialect but always remember to remain humble so that Together We Can Change The World! NOW I CAN SAY THAT MY NAME IS OMAR MUKHTAR BIN OMAR MUKHLIS AND I AM A PROUD KELANTANESE FROM MALAYSIA!

Written by The Pawsome Lion on 24/04/2017 in conjunction with the coronation of the country’s sovereign, Sultan of Kelantan, Sultan Muhammad V, as the 15th Yang di-Pertuan Agong of Malaysia.

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🍰 A Piece of Cake: Them

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The day my life changed was the 3rd of August 2013. I can recall it vividly. I was hanging out with my three friends at the park. It was the late evening so there was nobody else there. We were just about to leave when we heard a rustle behind us. We all looked around, but there was nothing there. Thinking that it must have been a squirrel, we turned around and carried on walking. Then it happened. It happened so quickly but it felt like an eternity. A strange aircraft appeared in front of us. A door in the side of it opened and a wide beam of light cut through the trees. My friends were suddenly whisked off their feet and sucked into the weird metal contraption. The door shut with a loud clang. The aircraft rose up and sped away into the now purpling sky. I dropped onto my knees, my mouth open. 😱 I found it hard to come back to my senses after experiencing that. I decided not to tell anybody because they wouldn’t believe me anyway. Now, I never leave the house but from my window, I can see more people becoming victims of alien abduction 👽 and I wonder why I wasn’t one of them.

✍🏻 A Short Story & Doodle by The Pawsome Lion 🦁

Pobble’s Youngest Ever Guest Blogger!

Greetings from Birmingham 🇬🇧
Recently, I was invited by Pobble to write an article for their blog. Pobble is a writing platform for people across the world.

I am so honoured to be their youngest ever guest blogger. I hope to inspire more people to write through my writing.

Please show your support by reading it. You can simply click the link below👇🏻I would be really grateful if you could kindly share it with your family & friends. Your pawsome support is highly appreciated.

Best regards,
The Pawsome Lion 🦁
10 year old Blogger
“I write, you write, we write.
Wait no more, let’s write!
TOGETHER WE CAN CHANGE THE WORLD
#geniusfreezone
p/s: this is for you Mrs Mom ♥️

http://blog.pobble.com/pobble-power-from-a-pupils-point-of-view/

Pawsome Crisps: Irresistible Little Bites!

Konichiwa everybody!

Last week, I went to Mr Dad’s shop. We had very special guests from Lithuania eating in at the shop. I decided to help out by serving food and cleaning the tables. Since I was working hard (maybe…), one of the guests gave me my first £5 tip. After I received that tip, I thought to myself “If I put it in my piggybank, it’s going to stay there forever and it won’t grow! So, if I was to use it to build the foundation of my very own business, it would have been used for a good cause!’

After a short period of brainstorming, Mrs Mom and I finally found the perfect thing to do. It was my PawsomePreneur Project, it was…Pawsome Crisps! With a little help from my PAWSOME family, I managed to put all the little pieces together and finally launch my product! And only three days after launching day, I have already sold nearly twenty packets of crisps, thanks to the support of the localists!

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My Pawsome Crisps are Peri Peri flavoured and they are simply irresistible! They’re crunchy, tempting and they’ve got quite a kick! The peri peri spices sprinkled over them give them a burnt orange colour and they smell PAWSOME! Even if you’re not a big fan of spicy food, you will surely fall in love with these delicious bites!

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If any of you would like to try a pack of Pawsome Crisps, they are in store at Tip Top Bearwood, only £1 each! They are also available to order via Instagram, Facebook or Twitter and they will be delivered to you. I will also be running my own booth at the Shireland Hall Summer Fair which will be selling Pawsome Crisps too. Always keep a sharp eye out for Pawsome Crisps!

Last but not least, I think that you should purchase my product because part of the profit that I earn from the crisps will be used for my own charity project. I will use it to buy food and distribute it to homeless people who are out on the streets. Most of us just pass by the people sitting on the sidewalk and don’t even notice them or feel pity for them. Well, my charity project will make sure that they feel wanted in this world and provide them with enough food. I’m not just saying that you all should buy it for no reason, I’m saying it so that TOGETHER WE CAN CHANGE THE WORLD!

I hope you will all support me and try my Pawsome Crisps. I would really appreciate it if you would. Till we meet again!

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p/s: Please kindly follow my Instagram, Facebook and Twitter for regular updates on my latest charity project! 😉

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