Browse Rebel Stories by Title

" (1) # (1) 1 (2) A (32) B (12) C (12) D (7) E (5) F (12) G (4) H (6) I (15) J (2) K (1) L (10) M (13) N (12) O (6) P (8) Q (1) R (61) S (22) T (55) U (3) V (1) W (16) Y (4) (1)

A statement against housework after loss

A statement against housework after loss

I winna wash ma windas or bleach the dining room screens,
I winna fash wi recycling or clean up cat sick stains,
I winna pay the coonsil tax cause they can a go hang.
I winna bother wi ma coupon, there’s nithin I can buy?

I winna buy flooers for Tommy’s grave but who will bury me?
Fit if we’re a incinerated, like in Nagasaki?
Fit if I’m in hiven and I canna find my Tommy?
Fit if there’s different hivens, depending how you die?

Continue reading

Abandon

'Abandon' - set against one of my original photographs.

Continue reading

Absent Without Leave

When I was at school, there were three world leaders:

George W Bush; Tony Blair; Mr Booth -

a terrifying man with a moustache like a dictator,

and we were all Booth Youth. Black blazers and button badges

declaring our allegiance.

Following his repeated instruction

‘put up or shut up.’

 

We were worried about war.

Continue reading

Accidental Rebel

Mrs. Green gives me that smile, except it isn’t really a smile. The corners of her mouth turn upwards but the rest of her face keeps a steely expression. No, this definitely isn’t a smile. This is a message, a message that says ‘I’m watching you’. 

For the last five minutes I’ve shared a desk with Mrs. Green, the Home Economics teacher. I’m told this is for bad behaviour, or so she says – I know she’s wrong. We share a desk out of boredom, my boredom. 

Continue reading

Against the Internet

I rebel against social network sites,
Credit cards,
Loan deals,
Mobile phones,
Computers – all handheld gadgets.
All are, to me, a ruin of mankind.
They steal our money, our social lives, our shops, our romance, our whole life.
And we cannot talk

As human beings we are slaves to machines,
That run our lives for us,
One day they story mankind for good,
A rebel,
They will not brainwash me.

Continue reading

Ahm no a rebel

I grew up in Coatbridge. For those who’re unaware it’s a fairly large town on the outskirts of Glasgow.

It’s commonly termed as “Little Ireland”, this is due to the very large influx of immigrants from Ireland during the 19th century who settled in the town for work in the iron and mining industries.

Jumping to the present day, the heritage has continued and Coatbridge still has a very large percentage of its population with Irish ancestry.

This is my story:

Continue reading

Keywords: 
community, solidarity

Airchie - Rebel of the North

“Here we are now,” says the driver. He puts on the handbrake and switches off the engine of the furniture van.

“There you are!” shouts Fraser. “I’d given you up. This is your home now.”

And so it is that in this early spring day the Fraser’s, now in their working clothes, settle into the cottage. Here, long ago, the painted men looked south towards Finavon Hill, where they fought the Romans. But now, the children roam about all over the place, even as far as Drumlithie and the sweetie shop.

Continue reading

Alan Is Screaming

Alan is screaming.

Continue reading

Alice Rooney - An Intoxicating Life

Alice Rooney stood in the dock of Kirkcaldy Police Court. It was 1904, but it could have been 1879 or almost any year in between. Alice was a habitual hell-raiser, and the passing of time hadn’t tempered her rebellious nature.

The bailie appraised her, it wasn’t the first time she had stood before him, and it wasn’t the first time he had tried to guess her age. Her grey hair matted and dry, skin the colour of leather parchment, weather beaten and wearied by the trials of life, she would appear to be in the later years of her life, but in all likelihood was only in her mid-40’s.

Continue reading

Am Brùnaidh/The Brownie

Am Brùnaidh

Dè an aois a bhithinn –
               seachd, no ochd bliadhna dh’aois?
A’ seasamh dìreach
nam fhroca dhonn
               le crios ùr leathar mum mheadhan
               agus taidh bhuidhe mum amhaich
                               a’ feitheamh ri bràiste.

Cha robh agam ach ri na bòidean a ghabhail
gus an t-seamrag airgid a chosnadh.

A’ togail mo làimhe deise.
Òrdag agus lùdag paisgte nam bhois
na trì meòir eile air an cumail suas
agus mi a’ tòiseachadh…

Continue reading

Pages