Intermediate. Years 7/8/9


By Ziggy Pearce, year 7, Grammar School

The sun began to set on the far horizon, like a glowing ping pong ball in the evening sky. People were leaving the streets and the market was quickly disappearing. Suddenly, all was still. The only light was those of delicate lanterns hanging from windows with blooming flower boxes. The beautiful Victorian style houses settled in with the landscape; the town now had to wait for it to return.

Flames roared and flickered as the Isho, breathing fire past his blood dripping teeth, flew through the alleys and over the town of Crackledon with his talons of steel glistening in the moonlight. Once again, the small town was left helpless.

Screams flooded down the streets like waves of a vicious river while thick smoke filled the air. The smallest ember would spread into a intense, crackling blaze that could engulf a whole house. People ran up and down the streets trying to find a safe way out.

Then, like always, it left as quickly as it came.

"Right," spoke the mayor of the of Crackledon "We have a month until that beast returns and as you know, if we want to live, we have to have a plan." He was standing in the middle of ashes and inferno while a crowd gathered round him. "Let's begin the clean up, and have a well deserved rest."

A few days later, things were back to normal, the market was back with an array of vivid fruits and the townsman walked through the cobbled streets. Shops selling fine woodwork and locally caught seafood re-opened with plenty of joyous customers.

However, the Isho would return, soon.

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