A Young Womans Creative Expression

A case for lowering the voting age:

In the past couple of years since Brexit particularity there has been much debate on the topic of lowering the voting age. It currently stands at 18 for both Men and Women in the United Kingdom. Though the proposal is to drop it to 16, I shall put forward a case on why I think lowering the voting age, could help improve Britain’s education system. But first let me deal with some popular arguments against.

Not old enough to understand politics? :

This to me seems the most ridiculous stance of all, at 16 you’re expected in the UK to pass your GCSE’s sometimes up to 9-10 at a time, many adults who come back to them, often look at past papers in disbelief, as if it was some sort of miracle they passed all them all those years ago.

Furthmore, not being able to understand politics is weak to its utmost core, I mean, how many adult voters, truly understand what these demagogues are selling, it’s a paltry argument at best, shall we forbid those adults who do not understand the system the vote also?

So, here it is, how do I think lowering the voting age will improve the education system?

Currently in the UK teachers rights are being stripped away, funding to colleges, and quality of courses can be at times disappointing.

Why is this? As politicians do not have to make choices with students in mind, if we were to change that, then our esteemed legislators would have to take policy action to keep students happy also.

As the 16yr olds would be fresh out of school, it would encourage them to interact on a new level, how to improve the schools, and what colleges need. As no doubt to a 16yr old things like tuition fees, quality of education, teachers welfare, will matter on a new level.

Now my cognitive facility’s were dimmed by the sheer intense paroxysm of my rage, my only thought, this strange woman, I wanted revenge at all costs.

Moments from becoming engaged that was taken from me, who did she think she was? The angel of death, well if she was the angel of death, I was the hand of vengeance.

My sanity weighed in the balance now, each day a meticulous obsession, I would get this woman, no matter how long.

I could think of no other recourse, but to set up shop in that fateful coffee house, the owners were ever so kind to me given my recent misfortune.

So the wait began, I knew she would eventually come in, it was just a matter of time to wait out my prey.

I would diligently arrive at 9.00am and leave at 5.00pm, open hours, I quit my job and mortgaged my home, her demise was all that mattered, nothing else.

So time slipped by, and my savings dwindled, day by day, but for that moment to come again, it would be worth it.

I only drank their cheapest black coffee, just another to not ruin the hospitality they were offering me ,as I knew mine was a long vigil.

My beauty went, my hair unkempt, no use for makeup I was a broken woman, these things seemed trivial now. This mysterious woman was all that mattered to me.

Months had passed, my feautures were growing sharp now, the pliability of my youth giving way to premature aging. Dark circles under my eyes, my skin had gone sallow. My body was old beyond its years, but my mind trapped on that faithful day.

Eventually she came in again, just to grab a quick coffee, but for me it was the hunt time, I jumped up with the alacrity of a tiger, and began my stalk of my obsession.

Eventually she got home, and that was where I made a note, went home and got the knife, I had preserved for this moment.

Now I snuck into her home and waited, she left the back door open as done people do.

This began at 9.06am and I waited until 10.39pm for her to return, eventually she got home, my moment was upon me.

I unsheathed my knife, and followed her to her room , that was when she noticed me, she fell to her knees begging, sobbing like a child, how dare she, this woman, beg me for compassion, after what she did.

She would suffer, I tied her hands and began my work, gagging her with the scarf I had worn on the day she murdered my James.

I looked deep into her eyes, these were not the eyes of evil, but an ordinary woman like mine, the years had intensified my anger though, she would suffer.

I slit her wrists, and watched her gradually bleed, until she passed out, watching her consciousness fade was like a long hungered for dinner, then like the flick of a light switch, no more,

Suddenly though, I was drawn to a newspaper print, it said “suspected child rapist, let off by court” my James was the man, in the picture. The little girl he was alleged to have abused, was a younger version of this now lifeless cadaver in front of me.

What had I done? In my search for revenge I had become what I never wanted to be, she was like me, now on the verge of homelessness, my life in tatters, I plunged the knife repeatedly into my stomach until I passed out. Me and the mysterious woman were kindred spirits consumed by hate.

Both destroyed by the monster that was my James, even if unwittingly.

I write this in a hospital bed now, hours to live, my pursuit of revenge has left me alone and broke, a shell of who I was.

I try not to fall into the pits of despair as I recant this tale, but alas, it’s no easy task

My day started with my boyfriend James, we were out for lunch at our favourite cafe, a quint little Italian coffee house, run by an established family of baristas, the smell of coffee permeated the air, all the usual smells of a coffee house: amaretto, vanilla, baked goods, almond, ah, now I must continue.

The conversation was blissful, I never thought it would end, how wrong I was, those sweet afternoons in the park, those cinema trips, and the domestic bliss of a happy couple, soon to be erased forever.

A woman approached our table, my partner seemed to recognise her, as he went shy, as if to divert my attention, I hadn’t payed much attention to that woman at the time, now I shall never forget. She knocked our table and in the confusion we didn’t notice what she had done.

She quickly left, I assumed to be due to her clumsiness she felt to embarrassed to have her coffee.

Then it happened, my partner put something in his hand, took a sip of coffee, and went to go down, but his body froze, he went into a fit of uncontrollable convulsions, his last stare deep into my eyes as his conscious slipped from his body, all while fiercely holding onto the object in his hand.

Panic ensued, the cafe in a state of confusion, people left in droves, I was frozen, the whole world a blur, the only clear thing in my mind, was the mysterious woman who knocked our table.

My mind was blank, I zoned out, before realising a police officer was putting a blanket round my shoulders, asking me routine questions.

Then after the officer said, we noticed him holding something, it took a lot of work to free into from your husbands grasp? I said, he isn’t my husband, the officer interviewing me understand. And gave me the item anyway, it was a ring.

I try to sleep, but nothing happens, tick tock, tick tock. The clock seems intent on reminding me how much sleep I am losing, the night goes by, morning approaches. Perhaps that coffee for the additional study time wasn’t such a good idea, funny how hindsight works.

I finally fall to sleep at 5am, doubting even this decision, as I worry, “will I wake up in time” now I am finally one with the warm embrace of sleep.

My alarm goes off, a cacophony of sound, intrusive yet effective. Just 10 more minutes, I click snooze, tick tock, tick tock. Time is coming ever closer to that all so important test.

Buzz buzz, my snooze alarm goes off.

Begrudgingly I awaken from my slumber, dark circles, messed up hair. I still have time, I make coffee and toast, the comfort of the drink decreasing as my nerves heighten. Its tender comfort having retreated from me in the night. Toast, enjoyable yet my belly is churning, logic says I should eat, nerves tell me otherwise.

Having finished breakfast I decide to fit in some additional revision, YouTube comes on, fingers to sore to weild a pencil, I save them for the mental battle ahead.

The speaker on YouTube who made such sense before, his words now seem like Ancient Greek to me, are my language faculty’s gone as well?.

I then check the time 10.50am I have an afternoon class, if I am to make it in time for the mock, I must leave soon.

Applying make up is much more challenging than usual I feel like a 5 year old let loose in her Mothers make up set, foundation usually applied with a steady hand, now my hand refusing to obey what I want it to do. Mascara so close to missing my eyelashes and leaving an unsightly black line under my eyelashes.

Finally after much anxiety I finish, what an ordeal I think, picking up my college bag and dashing out the door.

Running for the bus, I make it just in time, Oyster card tapped, driver smiling his usual smile. Wishing me good day, I to enraptured in my worry to acknowledge him.

The journey drags, traffic, seems as if the cosmic forces are against me.

Eventually I arrive, donning my student ID I run up the stairs, making it just in time, teacher greets me with a friendly smile, acknowledging I just made it.

Teacher walks around the classroom handing out papers, her heels echoing as I wait for mine, I receive it, of course the clock hasn’t started yet, that does not stop my curiosity, barely restraining myself from peeking. I can not wait to start.