Browse Rebel Stories by Title

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The Angela Merkel Challenge

I’m on the bus, after another dispiriting day at the office. At home, trite TV, back chatting teens, dinner drudgery and an unresponsive partner await to sap me further. Out the window I see a row of beleaguered plane trees, their stark, clipped limbs burdened with Christmas lights and decorations. I feel like one of those pruned trees these days. These years. And rather than making me stronger or healthier, I feel only the snap of disappointment and how close I’ve come to breaking. I sigh. Could I catch an airplane?

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The Blazer Run

When am thinkin aboot the times when a’ve been rebelious, it’s sad tae admit that it mostly happened in the past. At school, tae be exact. Since then a’ve been pretty obedient unfortunately.

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The Cold War

It was a stand off. Two equally opposed enemies facing each other across the vastness of a darkened classroom. I stared her down, unflinching from my position on top of a desk. She stared back; eyes narrowing against the glare of the school film screen behind me. I knew this was a battle to the death. When you take on a nun, there will be no survivors.

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The Punk Rocker

I had just boarded the late night train from Waterloo to Woking when I saw him at the far end of the carriage. He was kneeling on a seat, banging on the window and sticking two fingers up at the passers-by on the platform. He was in his late teens, skinny with a thin face and blue eyes. His hair was a multitude of harsh colours, magenta, neon yellow, blue, red and orange, a starburst of gelled sharp upright spikes like a multi-colored hedgehog.

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rebel, punk

Thelma and Louise, Bitch

Thelma and Louise, Bitch
By Anna Stewart

How me and mum came tae be livin it up on the Forfar Road is a pure massive saga. So I'm just gonnae tell yi the best bit: the end.

We were visitin Edinburgh fae Dundee, stayin at my Great-Auntie's flat on the other side o The Meadows. It wis a summer night and we were walkin back fae toon through the line o trees cawed Jawbone Walk, and that's when my Mum's husband put his hand up my skirt, right in front o her.

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Time Poor Talent Rich

I never have the time,
To find a clever rhyme,
So I settle for what's plain,
Like a coat meant for the rain.
Sure, I'm a rebel,
As hard as a pebble,
But I'm certainly not able,
To patiently write at a table.

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