Browse Rebel Stories by Title

A (11) B (2) C (6) D (1) E (1) F (3) G (1) H (2) I (3) L (4) M (4) N (1) O (4) P (3) R (18) S (3) T (13) U (1) V (1) W (6) Y (1)

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.

Continue reading

The Comics! The Comics!

Mum and Dad expected me to leap, blind,
from pictures to prose. But I never did.
Instead I was hacked up, not raised up,
by those horrible blinking comics--

scripted, drafted, inked and lettered,
printed and distributed, sold and traded,
thumbed through and poured over--
what little words there were, were uppercase

and the kerning was off so that innocent FLICKS
were given new meaning--they read me well.
Page one, panel one, blank and white,
save for that dirty black spot in the corner.

Continue reading

The Conformist

Yer wanting a story aboot a rebel? Well, yer no getting wan.

Ye hear me?

Yer no telling ME whit tae say,

Ah write aboot what Ah want tae,

Ah winnae dance tae yer tune,

Yer terms and conditions,

Yer perfect renditions,

O’ some snoff’s idea o’ po-yeah-tray


I’ll. Break!

All, You’re?


Make…. U.


Continue reading

The Head

The other teenagers jostle and cry like seagulls circling a fishing trawler. At their centre, we stand. He like a king and I, his lowly serf. He pushes me. I step back, my sportsbag dropping to the ground. He follows, eyes blazing, chest pumped and fists white. I bend to reclaim my bag just as he thrusts with his infamous headbutt: his nose bursting on impact with my tilted head. He falls to my feet, his face cupped in his bloodied hands. Quietly triumphant – the seagulls now silent and still – I pass unhindered, and away to meet my own fate with the school's Head.

Continue reading

The Outsider

What can I say of the woods and country roads near where I grew up? I lived and still live in a beautiful part of the world called Ayrshire in South-West Scotland. In fact I love the Ayrshire countryside so much that even named my writing group South-West Writers just to remind myself of how lucky I am.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

rebel, punk

The Rebel-drive

She might not have eaten that food she was told not to. But she did. And she shared.

We might accept the ultimate heat-death of the universe. Instead, we keep lighting more fires

Some look at ‘how it’s always been’, thinking ‘It’ll be good for a while yet’. A few scream ‘Boring!’

He could go with the flow of the river. Or stand firm and, shuffle crab-wise, get to the other bank.

The seed should realise it can’t grow through tarmac. Instead, it grows a little more.

Thumbs might easily have followed the other four fingers. Instead, they opposed.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

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.

Continue reading

Tiny Terrorist

I’ll paint a masterpiece on the living room wall
An artistic genius with red nail polish
I’m going to stick my finger in that plughole
Curious, carefree, I’ve a house to demolish

Watch out, here it comes, change of clothes at the ready
I’ll spew projectile vomit all over the place
Can’t leave me at home, I will tantrum in the town
Shrieking in the shops, I am a dinky disgrace

Continue reading

childhood rebellion