Hannah Alley's Creative Writing : 2015

'10 Signs That Christmas Is Coming' Article for Maggie Semple Ltd

My latest fun-loving, humorous article published for Maggie Semple Ltd: http://maggiesemple.com/10-signs-that-christmas-is-coming/ where I list the top 10 signs that Christmas is coming! My latest fun-loving, humorous article published for Maggie Semple Ltd: http://maggiesemple.com/10-signs-that-christmas-is-coming/ where I list the top 10 signs that Christmas is coming! ...

09:24
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'Stay Chic Through Winter' Article for Maggie Semple Ltd

Press/Published

My latest article in the fashion category has just been published on Maggie Semple's online blog, read it here: http://maggiesemple.com/stay-chic-through-winter/ where I share the latest, most stylish fashion ideas for the Winter! My latest article in the fashion category has just been published on Maggie Semple's online blog, read it here: http://maggiesemple.com/stay-chic-through-winter/ where I share the latest, most stylish fashion ideas for the...

07:30
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App review of 'Peeple' article for Maggie Semple Ltd

Press/Published

A second article of mine published on Maggie Semple Ltd that can be found here: http://maggiesemple.com/peeple-app/ . I review app 'Peeple' that allows you to rate humans from 1-5, discussing its controversial features and more! A second article of mine published on Maggie Semple Ltd that can be found here: http://maggiesemple.com/peeple-app/ . I review app 'Peeple' that allows you to rate humans from 1-5, discussing...

05:23
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'Peeple': Is It App-propriate?

Articles

By Hannah Alley Founded in 2014 by Nicole McCullough and CEO Julia Cordray, the unreleased app Peeple faced widespread criticism when the company's outrageous plans for the app were announced in September 2015. For anyone who doesn't know about it, Peeple is an app that allows you to literally rate people from 1 to 5. Not only can you rate colleagues, exes and...

04:20
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Brighten Up a Tired Face

Press/Published

My first publish on Maggie Semple Fashion Magazine online blog: http://maggiesemple.com/brighten-up-a-tired-face-beauty/ Beauty post written by Hannah Alley used on Maggie Semple's online blog. ...

06:23
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Critical Anthology: To what extent does Tennyson represent females in his poems as isolated, trapped and dependent on males? (Written in 2013)

Anthologies

To what extent does Tennyson represent females in his poems as isolated, trapped and dependent on males? Written in 2013 by Hannah Alley I believe that Tennyson represents females in his poems as isolated, trapped and dependent on males, through his particular poems: Mariana and The Lady of Shallot. However, his poem Godiva contrasts with his other works and offers a female character who does...

05:37
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Poem: 'This Lady' Created: 30th September 2013

Poems

This Lady Her touch a gentle flutter of butterflies, Her stare a peaceful drift of dreams, It flows to your mind and puzzles you, Is this lady as vacant as she seems? For I may not ever dare to wonder, What occurs in the hidden depths of her world, But one day you’ll look beyond the flourishing face and fair hair, And discover...

04:46
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Poem: 'The Ocean' Created: 30th September 2013

Poems

The ocean Fresh waves collide ahead, My toes slide through the moist sand below, I pick up a piece of seaweed by my leg, And drop it in the water as I go. It seemed a shame, such a sunset and a wonderful sea, But I knew this world would rise on as I said my last words. I felt the water rising,...

04:45
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Story: "Obsessed" (so far - unfinished) Created: 28th January 2014

Short Stories

Obsessed

Chapter 1

It was a fresh start for me here at Wilgreen High. I pushed my way through the large crowds of babbling teens surrounding me, my eyes on the floor as I clutched my books to my chest. What was it like joining an unfamiliar place for the first time, you ask? A place where people had already made their best friends, established their enemies and rooted their sitting areas at lunch? Well, quite frankly it was intimidating. I’m sure you wouldn’t expect me to state anything different. Brushing my dark, limp hair over one ear I reached my class door. At least, that’s what I thought it was. I struggled to pull my rucksack off my back as I was elbowed and shoved by passer-byes. I figured it was best to lean against the wall and let them go by. After all, this was their territory. I was new. I was the unknown face. I let my eyes wander across the busy corridor and peered at three fresh-faced, glowing blondes strut past my existence. It was difficult to not let my eyes glance at their Louis Vuitton hand bags, champagne colours with sparkling jewels lining their edges. My eyes trailed to my dull, packed-to-the-rim rucksack. Little old Jamie. That’s all I was. Just Jamie. Another plain, 17 year old vanilla girl who lacked the spark every popular girl seemed to possess. The only talent I had was putting myself down. It was quite hilarious really. Were my current feelings of self-doubt evident through my facial expression? I sincerely hope not. Shaking the insecurity out of my mind, I frantically unzipped my bag and attempted to seek my timetable. Suddenly, my clammy hands slipped and knowing my luck all of my books and papers fell out of my bag, and scattered to the ground. Within an instant I kneeled to the floor and rushed to gather my papers, feeling my cheeks become hot with embarrassment. That blush of mine that I could never seem to rid. Students shamelessly stepped over and even on my work, when a strange face abruptly appeared at my level. The male kneeled before me, collecting my books and piling them in one as he scrutinised them. “Thank you,” I muttered in an apologetic tone. He nodded, his eyes glued to my books. I hesitated for something to say as I watched him intently. Was he going to say anything? Perhaps he was just as shy as me. “You’re welcome,” he stated. It seemed a forced, delayed response but it was calm and it relaxed me, so it was enough. However I could not help but notice that his eyes met anywhere but mine. And with that, he stood up. I picked up my knees and brought myself to his level. The male was tall, lean and surprisingly muscular. And it was evident that he was avoiding looking at me. Fabulous, I thought. That makes me feel even better. I thought muscular males were the high-school heartbreakers who grabbed the chance to flirt with every girl possible; so what was different about this guy? He finally brought his gaze to meet mine. In an instant, my stomach felt like it was performing the motion of a washing machine; whirling around, making me feel incredibly nauseous. In that moment, I’m sure my eyes widened. I recognised this male’s face. It was cold and structured. His cheekbones poignant, his lips full and a luscious red. His eyes such a dark brown that they were almost black. They were harsh and they cut through me like blades. And with that, the male shoved the pile of books and papers to my chest and turned away as fast as he could. Bewildered, my eyes longed to search for him amongst the crowd, but he was already gone.

Chapter 2

The first day of school was what could only be described as a whirlwind. It went by fast, and yet all that filled my mind was this strange, mysterious yet familiar male that stood before me in the corridor. It was hard to shake his eyes out of my mind. Dark beads staring down at me. I’d pick up my pen to scribble down a few useless words, and yet I was reminded of his face again. A face so pale it resembled that of paper. Cold, chalk-white paper. Crisp yet smooth. So you could say it was that of an unproductive first day at school. Did I make any friends? Apart from a strange, needy, chubby male who sat across me in English, no. He was entertaining at times, and perhaps I could tolerate him when I wasn’t constantly occupied by a re-occuring face every minute, but this boy talked way too much. I assume others would describe him as a babbling fool, and I could agree that he was at times hard to listen to, but at least he was welcoming. He was the only boy who actually made me feel welcome that day. Robert; that was his name. Well, Robby. “I’m Robert, but don’t call me that- call me Robby. Not Robby as in ‘I’m-gonna-steal-your-stuff Robby’,” he chuckled uncontrollably at what he considered his own, humorous words. “Just, Robby,” he said cheerfully, a grin plastered to his face so wide that it looked like someone was pulling either ends of his lips. He held out his hand to me, eyes bright and wide - with what? Excitement? I didn’t know. I made out a small smile, the first I had all day, and we clasped hands and shook. I didn’t care that people may have been looking. Sniggering. I’d rather have Robby as a friend than a snobby popular girl who only cared about which guy she was sleeping with on the weekend. Robby could only be described as freckly and bubbly. His cheeks were pink and bulged, his eyes were squinted and he had crow-lines from where he smiled too much. His hair was so blonde it was almost white. And he was the first friend I made in Wilgreen high. A small smile warmed to my face at the thought and I pushed my body out onto my bed. For me, home definitely is where the heart is. It was the only place where I could be alone with my own thoughts. Gather my feelings and think. Just think. Day dream. About whatever I wanted. My head sunk into my pillow and my legs curled into the warm covers. A sigh of relief escaped my lips and I stared at the plain white ceiling above me. ‘That’s one less day of school out of the way,’ I thought thankfully. Then, there was a knock at my door that sent my body into shock. I jumped, and then laughed as my mother came through. I’m so fragile. Anything could shock me. “Jamie, dinner’s ready,” my mother exclaimed, sitting her work briefcase down on the carpet. “How was school?” she then asked, eyebrows raised as she crossed her arms and leaned her hip against my door frame. “It was OK,” I shrugged, then made half a smile. Mum nodded. “OK’s good, I guess,” she hesitated and smiled back at me, but I could see her trying to find something in my face. Something. Anything. Some sort of feeling or emotion that could tell her more than ‘OK’. But, nothing. What was I going to say? ‘I saw a strange pale guy today who looked familiar and I haven’t stopped thinking about him since’? No. Best not to. Mum shut the door behind her and I rolled over, pulling my phone out of my pocket. The light from the screen blinded my eyes. I squinted tiredly. ‘Two new messages’. I wasn’t the type of girl to receive endless texts 24 hours a day like some other girls, so this was a surprise to me. I slid my thumb across the ‘unlock’ option and opened my first message. Who was the first one from? Robby, of course. He asked for my number the moment we left English class. “Just in case, you know- I need help with English and stuff. What’s your number miss?” he babbled. What an excuse. Reluctantly I gave it to him. And here he was, messaging me only half an hour after I’d returned home from school. I shook my head, smirking to myself at the thought. Then I opened his text. ‘Hey, wots the eng hwk do u kno? Robby (not a robber Robby) x’, it read. I don’t know if Robby’s attempt at slang was also an attempt to impress me, but it definitely hadn’t worked. Yet again I smiled, but it was more of a smirk. At least he was entertaining. Planning to reply later, I pressed ‘back’ and opened my second message. This one was from an unknown number. It read: ‘make sure you get home safe.’ My stomach dropped. Had I read this wrong? I squinted, re-reading the message. My eyebrows frowned and I dropped my phone to the bed. The only way I could describe what I was feeling right now was puzzled. This was the sort of message a girl receives from her stalker on a dramatic TV programme. My hands became clammy and I got up from my bed. I couldn’t shake my thoughts by remaining frozen on my sheets. I began to do laps of my room, pacing up and down slowly. Fiddling with my hair between my fingers, I tried to come up with a possible reason for this baffling text. Nothing. What the hell? I ambled over to my bedroom window and slid it open, longing for fresh air. This one text had caused me to become so stressed at the possible outcomes, that my cheeks were flushing pink and I felt hot and sweaty. I had always been an over-thinker. I leaned my head out of the window and welcomed the cold hair that hit my hot cheeks. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, appreciating the breeze. Then, leaning over the window sill, I gazed down over the town below me. Citizens walking, people talking. A short, stubby man with a mop of black hair throwing his fragile daughter on his shoulders as they laughed blissfully. I smiled. My eyes scanned along until they hit a figure. A familiar figure. I looked closely. The male stood below my house, staring at the ground, his hands in his pockets as he wavered back and forth slowly on his feet. His posture was straight and his body lean and muscular. My fingers clenched on the window sill and I gulped. It was him again. The strange male I encountered earlier at school. I focused on him, remaining silent. Suddenly the male stopped wavering and pulled out his phone from his pocket, he looked at it. Almost straight after, he shoved it back where it came from and turned his head up to look at me. I stood back out of view, shocked and embarrassed. Had he caught me staring at him? I waited a few seconds, varying thoughts rushing through my mind. What the hell was this guy doing here? Then, I stepped forwards and proceeded to look out of my window. He stood, staring up at me. His frame remained as frozen as a statue and his face did not move one bit. That scared me. ‘What do I do now?’ I thought, clenching the wood of the window sill. I stared back at the male and waited for him to look away. He didn’t.

04:43
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Hannah Alley's Creative Writing

'10 Signs That Christmas Is Coming' Article for Maggie Semple Ltd

'Stay Chic Through Winter' Article for Maggie Semple Ltd

App review of 'Peeple' article for Maggie Semple Ltd

'Peeple': Is It App-propriate?

Brighten Up a Tired Face

Critical Anthology: To what extent does Tennyson represent females in his poems as isolated, trapped and dependent on males? (Written in 2013)

Poem: 'This Lady' Created: 30th September 2013

Poem: 'The Ocean' Created: 30th September 2013

Story: "Obsessed" (so far - unfinished) Created: 28th January 2014

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'10 Signs That Christmas Is Coming' Article for Maggie Semple Ltd

'Stay Chic Through Winter' Article for Maggie Semple Ltd

App review of 'Peeple' article for Maggie Semple Ltd

'Peeple': Is It App-propriate?

Brighten Up a Tired Face

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