Short story competition
Shortlist - 11 years and over
A New Beginning. Amaeh Reed......................................................................................... 2
Benevolence. Arianne Bannister....................................................................................... 4
Empty Sounds. Jessica Cash................................................................................................ 6
My Grandmother’s Secret. Lee Crawford-Raby......................................................... 9
Flesh Masks. Cormac Lee...................................................................................................... 12
Citron the Lemon. Jacinta Mentiplay........................................................................... 14
The Final Stage of Grief. Ella Glen................................................................................... 17
Pluto. Jasleen Kaur................................................................................................................... 19
Mother Earth’s Lesson. Jasmine Tran............................................................................ 21
Hopes and Dreams. Hannah Cunningham.............................................................. 23
Dragon’s Peak. Jensen Spencer....................................................................................... 25
Quinting. Charlie McCann.................................................................................................... 27
The Great Aussie Barbie Explosion. Georgie Zarkovich......................................... 28
For the Next Three Months. Hannah Croft................................................................. 30
Illuminated. Patrick Dixon.................................................................................................... 32
Difference. Clover Charlton................................................................................................. 34
Depression. Sarah Cowburn............................................................................................... 36
Albidaya (The Beginning). Archisha Sarath.............................................................. 38
Immune. Finn Molloy-Drum............................................................................................... 40
A Lady of Colour. Scarlett Round.................................................................................... 42
Tempestate. Alexander Young.......................................................................................... 46
Celestian Mirror. Naomi Kuhle.......................................................................................... 49
Beetroot Soup. Katherine Pan........................................................................................... 51
The Art of Regret. Anais McColl........................................................................................ 54
Book Boy and Device Dude. Zoey Dix........................................................................... 56

  

A New Beginning
By Amaeh Reed

Pounding, tropical rain splattered against our cramped, rusty fishing boat as we drifted through the bitter
sea. For eight days and nights we had been ?oating, drifting, rolling through the treacherous waves to
The people smugglers assured us we were headed to Australia. But on the third day at sea, our
motors failed in plumes of acrid smoke. Our hearts sank to the bottom of the ocean. Now we were drifting
way off course. Nobody knew where we were.

I had mixed feelings about leaving Afghanistan. I remembered my city of Herat, the third largest city in
Afghanistan, lying in the fertile valley of the Hari River. Herat was magical. The Citadel of Alexandria was
one of the most historical landmarks in Herat where we would visit every Sunday with Mama, Papa and
my older sister, Azero. Herat was a city of sparkling fountains and bustling markets, of blazing summer
skies where we ?ew our coloured kites and vineyards basking under the warm winter sun.

Then the bombs came. They fell from the sky like black, scorching rain. Living amongst the rubble that
was once my beautiful city, our life became a deSperate struggle for survival. There was no food or water,
no electricity. Many people were missing and sickness took hold with his tentacles of death. Everywhere
we turned death and destruction awaited us in that dark labyrinth of fear.

Our lives were so hopeless, that] was not surprised when I was awoken in the middle of a cold winter's
night. Shivering under our thin blankets, we stole away silently to the wharf Where we boarded the
decaying boat, packed with hundreds of people.

The days on the ocean were long and lonely. We did not completely trust the people smugglers and our
hearts were gripped by fear and doubt. Rations ran low and the toilets over?owed. People were violently
seasick. Tempers frayed, as people argued about little things. Our Papa urged us to make allowances, to
be gracious for what we had.

It was a hot, humid morning when I was awoken at dawn. ?Quick Abdul whispered a frantic voice
?There?s trouble?. Azero wrapped me in her arms as all of the women and children were herded to the far
side of the boat in a desperate panic, babies and small children clenched in their mothers? arms.

I took a glimpse, terror overcame me. A sleek speedboat knifed it? 3 way through the ocean as it made its
way to our ?oundering vessel. A tall, agile man leapt on board, wearing a black hood with holes for his
mouth and eyes. His companions boarded soon after, brandishing guns and machetes. They were like the
ancient Greek sea devil Ceto, risen up from the depths of the ocean. My heart pounded wildly in my chest
and my stomach churned with fear.

The man stood silently for a moment, eyeing the crowd, sending rapid gunfire up into the cloudless sky.

At his command, his companions stormed around our small ship taking whatever they could. "Money,
jewelry, valuables?, they screamed. Mama, trembling in fear, handed over her precious, pearl necklace and

2

Judges’ Comments: Loved this tale of fluctuating emotions. It was so realistic
that I could imagine being on the boat. Descriptive writing with a great ending.
Very true to life.

3

 Runner-up
Benevolence
By Arianne Bannister
Nothing lives here, nothing grows here and I, the only scrap of life in this abandoned
area, count as a dead soul. Staring out at the seemingly endless parched, barren
nothingness makes my heart feel so empty, I can almost feel the absence of my soul
aching in the hollow skeleton of my body. I wish I could go back.
I used to be respected. The most respected man in town (except for the gods of
course). People would look up at me in admiration and see a handsome man with
jet-black hair permanently set in small curls and piercing blue eyes that seemed
to sparkle like water on a sunny day. Very different to what I am now. Children
would look upon the man I once was. They would look upon my eyes, my hair, my
confidence, my stride and would say, “That’s what I wanna be like when I grow up.” I
loved it. The respect, the awe but what I loved most of all was the power.
I loved using my power. I loved it so much, that I forgot my admirers in order to get
more of it. I paraded down the streets, taking money from people for “taxes” and
claiming modern homes by threatening the residents with expensive weaponry. It
was strange, though. It didn’t feel evil. I felt like I was in a blind trance, like a black,
wicked hand had grabbed hold of my heart and was controlling it.
I was content, but I was surrounded by a churning sea of misery. Soon, my angered
pawns had asked the gods for help. The gods answered their desperate calls in a way
of good intention I did not understand. My moment of power was deprived of me in
one swift movement. It happened so fast. The gods appeared in a flash, all seven of
them (they do have names but I never bothered to learn them). They banished me,
sent me here.
Just like that.
I snap back from my memories when a clap of deafening thunder pierces the air. It
seems so unnatural in a place so dry, but I knew what it means and it doesn’t mean
rain. It means sustenance.
When the gods sent me down to this deathly sparse nightmare, they didn’t intend
to kill me. They had plans much more torturous. Every day, without fail, they would
signal with a clap of deafening thunder the arrival of food and water. And it would
come, appearing out of thin air, a slice of bread and a cup of water. I had found out
the hard way that I only had a limited time to consume before the leftovers vanished.
Like always, some bread and a flimsy, plastic cup the size of my palm materialised
in front of me. It was only then that I realised my mouth was immensely dry, like
a crumbling sanstone cave. I devoured the bread hungrily, yet not letting a single
crumb fall to the sun-baked ground.I gently gripped the cup. There was only enough
in there for one gulp. Still, the gods knew that I would survive until the next ‘meal’

4

 so I just had to make do. The cup was cool to the touch and it made me sigh with
contentment as I raised it to my cracked lips. The water had almost reached the torrid
cave of my mouth when something in the corner of my eye stopped me. I regretfully
put the heavenly cup down to inspect what I had seen.
It was a plant, no larger than my smallest finger but bent over double, brown and
withering. I felt sorry for it. There it was, destined to die. Unless...
I considered for a moment. I had nothing to lose. I might as well do something good
in my evil, cruel and selfish life.
Slowly, carefully, I angled the rim of the bottle towards the shrub. Cool, clear
water flowed out onto the withering sight spilling over it’s crumpled leaves and
disappearing into the cracks in the dirt. I
sigh, feeling what small amount of hope I had managed to gather disappear before
my very eyes. The plant had remained the same..
Realisation dawned upon me. I had used up all my water up on some stupid plant
and now I was going to die... At least I had done something good for a change before I
came to an end. I turned my back to the plant feeling fragile.
I stayed there, with my back turned to the plant until a sudden sensation like a fairy
dancing along my spine nudged at me. It was the most pleasant feeling that I had
felt in a long time. Slowly, I turned around to find an astonishing sight. The plant I had
sacrificed my precious water to; was growing! First, the withered plant split in two as
a new, strong living shoot burst through it rapidly increasing height.
I was so awestruck that it took me a full minute (and a full metre for the plant) to
realise that it was a tree! My awe did not stop there, though. Seconds later, brightly
coloured fruits swelled at the ends of the tree branches - enough food to last me for
weeks! I stared at the tree, astounded. As more leaves appeared, I caught sight of a
silvery substance on each leaf. Could it be...? Is it possible...? I lower my lips to the leaf,
trembling excitedly, to find my lips touch the coolest, most delicious water I had ever
tasted! I could feel my heart fill with happiness and meaning in the same way that
warm, frothy milk fills a mug.
It was at that moment that I realised that I didn’t need money and riches to be
content. This tree had brought me more happiness that I had ever felt in my life.
I am the luckiest man in the world.
Judges’ Comments: Colourful writing. Original storyline and one that makes you
think. Nice ending.

5

 Highly Commended
Empty Sounds
By Jessica Cash
*Ring ring*
The bicycle lay alone on the sidewalk, the bell ringing in time with the howling of the
wind.
*Whoosh, ring, whoosh, ring ring*
But there was nobody ringing it.
Where had all the children gone?
*Thump, thump*
The ball lay alone on the grass, bouncing in time with the howling of the wind.
*Whoosh, thump, whoosh, thump thump*
But there was nobody playing with it.
Where had all the children gone?
*Rustle rustle*
The book lay alone on the table, pages turning in time with the howling of the wind
*Whoosh, rustle, whoosh, rustle rustle*
But there was nobody reading it.
Where had all the children gone?
I am Amber Crown, and I think I might be the last child in the world.
I grab out my detective notebook my best friend got me for my birthday. He knows
how much I love solving mysteries, but living in this boring town in Queensland, I
started getting desperate for something, anything, to happen that would involve me
solving my dream mystery. I guess you should be careful what you wish for.
Earlier that day
I’m kicking a ball around with my best friend, Liam. We’re chatting while we try to
shoot it between the random objects marking our ‘goals’.
“What are you dressing up as for halloween?” Liam asks. Kick.
“I’m going as Sherlock Holmes. How ‘bout you?” I reply. Block.

6

 “Well...”
Suddenly, a strong howling gust of wind blows his words away. I stumble, and lose
sight of him. I hear the ball bouncing away.
*Thump, thump, thump.*
The wind dies down.
I look up. Liam is gone.
“Liam? Liam, where are you! This isn’t funny!” I’m on the verge of tears now, my voice
cracking at the last syllable.
“Liam?!”
Desperate, I run over to the soccer ball, to see if he went to get it. The ball is...
glowing? Words flash over the hexagonal shapes on the round surface.
“He has been silenced.”
Back to the present
Every where I turn, there are objects, toys, missing the child to play with them. But
they still make noise. The wind howls, stronger than ever. I see the same words.
“They have been silenced.”
But why have I not been silenced?
Beep beep, beep beep POW! T​he electronic video game sounds reach my ears.
Another child gone. I presume. Not wanting to look, I start turning away, then...
“Ahh come on, B
​ eep beep, g​et out of the way!”
Startled, I look around, and creep to the wall. It is made of brick, old and peeling, it
smells musty. I screw up my nose, and, taking a deep breath peer around the corner.
There’s a wooden bench. An old wooden bench. An old wooden bench with a child on
it. And the child is playing. And he is still here.
Beep beep​.
“What are you doing!” I scream. If he’s still here, maybe some other children are too.
Then I notice something strange about this little alley way. Behind me, trees are
bending and the wind is wailing, but in this alleyway, everything is deathly still.
The deafening silence roars almost as loudly as the wind, as you cover your ears and
sink to your knees in desperation, praying that someone, something, will hear your
plea. You soon forget small sounds you took for granted. What does a bird sound like?
Oh, how you long for the soft sound of trickling water, and MUSIC! How you try so
hard, to remember the silky, warm sound of music! But you can’t. There is nothing.
You are alone. You are forgotten. You are silenced.
“NO!” I struggle against the imaginary weights holding me down. I cannot move, see
or think. I am paralyzed, half with fear, half with exhaustion. I cannot escape.
“HELP!” I shout, but nobody can hear me. My head feels like it weighs 100 tonnes, but
I manage to lift it and face the boy.
“You...” I splutter. “You...did...this.”
Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he turns to face me. I gasp in shock. His eyes, they are not
human eyes. They are steel, with a stare as cold as ice. Not steel blue, but solid metal.
This boy is not human.
“How are you resisting?” His voice was a metallic monotone, betraying no emotion of
how this affected him. His eyes searched me, then a surprised expression seemed to
come across his blank face “ You have...​music​in you.”

7

 “What?” I pant. “Who...are you?”
“I am the music maker.”
“Children play, and talk and squeal, but they have no rhythm to their wild sound. Their
voices full of joy and raw emotion. With my toneless sounds, no one will be full of joy,
and no-one will hear music ever again! But it’s better that way. Think about it. The
cacophony of sounds, fighting to be heard. Now there is nothing to be heard. Nothing
but the dull, tedious sound of the objects the children left behind. With my control of
the wind, I blow away the sound of joy, and happiness. I destroy sound, yes, but more
importantly, I can create a new era!”
“NO!”
I burst up, free from the silenced world.
“YOU CAN TAKE ANYTHING YOU WANT, MONEY, POWER AND I WON’T STOP YOU!
YOU CAN TAKE MY SOUL, THE PURE ESSENCE OF ME, BUT YOU CAN NEVER, WILL
NEVER, TAKE MY MUSIC!”
Suddenly inexplicably, I got the urge to sing. So I did. It was an old song, one my
grand father used to sing to me when I was little. But the thought of living without it,
was to much to bear. So I belted out the lyrics with such passion, such desire, the boy
jumped to his feet and clapped his hands to his ears. His ipad clattered to the floor.
Children appeared everywhere, and the world was filled with laughter once more.
Liam appeared next to me.
“Amber... You have a beautiful voice.”
I smiled.
Judges’ Comments: Love the start and power of realising the writer may be the only
child left in the world. The notion of silence and aloneness is well portrayed. Strong
ending.

8

 Highly Commended
My Grandmother’s Secret
By Lee Crawford-Raby
“No!” Chris sobbed, clawing at the car door in a frenzied effort to get out. “I won’t go, I
won’t!”
“Oh, honey,” her mother said sympathetically from the front seat of the car. “Your
Grandmother isn’t that bad. You’re only staying with her for a few weeks.” Gloomily,
Chris slid lower into her seat, and stared out the window. Why did it have to be
Granny Martha, of all people?
Yesterday Chris and her parents had started moving into their new home in
Kenthorpe.
However, Chris couldn’t stay with her parents until they had finished moving
everything in. “Safety reasons,” her parents had called it.
The reason Chris was so against Granny Martha was that she wasn’t your average
granny. Granny Martha’s house was in Mekson, which looked like one of those villages
from Western movies. It was barely standing and shook like it would tumble over
when even a light breeze blew. Granny Martha was old, just like her house, and could
barely walk.
Granny Martha adored, and wrote, terrible poetry. You know the stuff:
Roses are red, Violets are blue. Some poems rhyme but this one doesn’t.
Granny Martha also was obsessed with cabbage. Saying she loved cabbage was an
understatement. Granny Martha worshipped cabbage.
“We’re here!” hollered her Dad. “Now grab your stuff and hop out.”
Quickly, Chris grabbed her suitcase and leapt out of the car.
Chris breathed in deeply, swallowing a mouthful of dust. She spat it out, disgusted.
She stared up at the large house as it swayed from side to side.
Suddenly, the door started to creak open. Out came Granny Martha.
She still had the same witchy hair and pointy nose.
Granny Martha had a short body that resembled a twig that could snap at any
moment. Her clothes were grey and holey, and they reeked of cabbage.
Granny Martha stared at Chris for a moment, a blank look on her face, before a look of

9

 recognition flickered in her piercing blue eyes.
“Hello, Christina. How do you do?”
“I’m fine, Granny. Oh, and I go by Chris now,” Chris replied.
Granny Martha nodded solemnly. “Of course, dear. Now do come inside.”
That evening, Chris sat at the dinner table, eating a bowl of none other than cabbage
soup.
After being excused, Chris crept into her bed. After about half an hour, Chris heard
Granny Martha start to snore. Now it was time to put her plan into action. Granny
Martha was asleep.
Next, she had to sneak into Granny Martha’s room, nab the keys and get out.
Chris quietly close her bedroom door, and carefully opened Granny Martha’s. What
she saw was unbelievable. On her Grandmother’s bed was a speaker, which was
creating the snoring sounds. The keys were gone too. Where was Granny Martha?
Suddenly, Chris heard a noise coming from outside.
She raced outside, and saw a shiny black car pulling out of the driveway. Inside was
none other than Granny Martha. As the car started to leave, Chris leapt nimbly onto
the back of the car. As the car roared away, Chis peered through the glass slit in the
car, Chris saw her Grandmother dressed in a black full-body suit and talking on a
fancy phone.
“Yes, sir. I’m coming right away. Goodbye, sir.” Chris stayed awake for as long as she
could, but, exhausted, she drifted off to sleep. When Chris awoke, she was looking up
at somebody. As her vision cleared, she realized it was Granny Martha!
“What do you think you’re doing?” Granny barked at her.
“Excuse me?” Chris cried back. “What are you doing? What’s going on?” Sighing,
Granny sat back down in the front seat. “You’d better get in. I can explain along the
way.” Curiously, Chris leapt inside the shiny black car.
“So.” Her Granny began. “Here’s what’s going on.
Long ago, a large war occurred. However, nobody except for those involved heard or
knew about it. The war was between two sides, good and bad. None know what they
were fighting over. Exactly one year after the war began, the leaders of both sides
agreed on a stalemate. After the stalemate was proclaimed, both sides went away,
and joined up with others to make their sides more powerful. However, part of the
agreement was that only people over the age of 60 are to be part of a side. To this
day, the two sides remain alive. The good side is called TLOOGG, which stands for The
League of Old Good Guys. The bad side is called TENOOOP, which stands for The Evil
Ninja Organization of Old People.
Wow!” Chris exclaimed. “So, you’re like a secret agent?”

10

 “Kind of, Chris.” Granny Martha sighed. “But I’m getting old. I won’t be around much
longer, so I thought the least I could do is something exciting with my life.”
“Which side do you work for, then?” Chris asked suspiciously.
“TLOOGG, naturally.” Granny Martha replied. “In fact, here we are now.”
Chris looked around, but she couldn’t see anything.
Granny Martha then walked over to a dirt patch on the ground and pressed her hand
against it. Suddenly, without warning, a large piece of grass slid out from under
Granny Martha’s and Chris’s feet!
“Woohoo!” Screamed Granny Martha. “This never gets old!” Chris tucked her head into
her knees as she whizzed along the dimly lit tunnel. Finally, Granny Martha and Chris
landed on a pile of pillows, breathless.
In the center of the large room was a gold statue. On closer inspection, Chris saw that
the statue was carved into 6 letters. TLOOGG, it spelt.
That meant Granny Martha wasn’t lying!
“Granny, why didn’t you tell me?” Without warning, a puff of colored smoke encircled
her, then faded away. Weird, Chris thought dizzily.
“Chris, I couldn’t. You shouldn’t know about this anyway.”
The room around her grew fuzzy, and Chris began to rock from side to side, swaying
uncontrollably.
“In fact, you don’t.”
Everything went black. Chris had collapsed.

Judges’ Comments: Loved the freshness and overall zaniness of this story, and the
transformation of the granny into a special agent. Good storyline that needed some
more work on the ending.

11

 Highly Commended
Flesh Masks
By Cormac Lee
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!”
I sigh. This is the fifth time that they have sung that song today.
“Hip hip! Hooray!”
“Guys, stop,” I groan.
“Hip hip! Hooray!” They shout as we walk through the gates. As they keep singing
people keep giving us weird looks and smiles. They start the song for a sixth time
as we get fairy floss from one of the stalls. “Happy birthday dear Victooooor, happy
birthd-.” Sarah stops mid song and points at the park’s famously scary haunted
house. “Victor’s never been in a haunted house, lets go in there!” David nods his head,
smiling as I shake my head vigorously, butterflies are banging against my stomach
as I look at the outside, with its animated evil witches and werewolves. “Noooooo no
no, not today thank you!” They just laugh and pull me towards the big black horrible
thing. The next thing I know they are giving tickets to the person at the gate and
then pull me into the haunted house.
I am scared out of my wits as my friends push me in front. “Lead the way birthday
boy!” David laughs. I jump at every fake spider, I’m almost in tears by the time the axe
murderer has finished with us and I nearly die when I look behind me and there’s a
vampire creeping up on us. As we advance further the dead bodies are there less and
less, there are hardly any skeletons and no fake spiders! We must be reaching the
end! I’m so happy. “AAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!” I scream as blood and guts
fall from the ceiling and the vampire from before lays its hand on my shoulder and
cackles. We run out of this mess with me fighting tears back from fright, and David
and Sarah fighting back tears of laughter. “Let’s just go!” I shout, “ The sooner we do
the sooner we get out of this hell hole the better!” They keep laughing, “I don’t like it
here! Come on! Let’s go!”
Suddenly the lights flicker off and everything is black. We stand there in darkness for
what seems like years but is only a few seconds. Then a voice comes on over a really
terrible intercom and says, “Please stay calm. The haunted house has had a power cut
and our team is working hard on getting the power back on so you may enjoy your
visit. We will keep you updated.”
“I guess we just wait it out then guys,” I say, but no reply, “guys?” This is surely a
prank, I’ll find them if I just walk to where they were. I wander around in the pitch
black hallway, occasionally squishing a fake eyeball that has traveled to where I’m
standing. I feel around for a bit but nothing is there. I’m starting to get scared. What if
they thought I was with them and they left me behind? Finally! I feel what I think is a
hand. A very very cold hand. I can make out a human form. Oh no! The monsters will
have gotten to them! I’m stuck here forever! I’ll never see Mum and Dad again! I sit
down next to the body and start to cry. I cry and cry and cry.
I cry for what seems like days but probably isn’t. Eventually I run out of tears and
decide to accept the fact that I’m stuck here forever, so I should probably make it a bit

12

 more homely looking. First I decide to bury who I’ve got here. While I’m picking the
body up I realise that it is completely stiff. I drop it in shock. It’s one of the props! I’m
not stuck here forever! Woohoo! My eyes have started to adjust to the dark so I decide
to search for the door until I hear from the intercom person. It isn’t as scary because
none of the jump scares are working, which means I can move much quicker through
the winding hallways. It feels like I’ve been searching for hours. I turn a corner and
accidentally bang my head into a sign. It says EXIT THIS WAY. I could almost scream in
excitement but I’m still scared by the fact that those props look extremely real. I run
down the corridor and finally see a door, with another sign above saying EXIT.
I run out of the door, desperately wanting to see light but… it is night time. There’s a
full moon shining in the sky. I am confused. Surely I haven’t been in there that long.
Then I realise something else. The park is deserted. I thought that even if they had
left me behind Sarah and David would have waited for me here! I am really freaked
out so I decide to try and walk home in the dark. I walk to the park gates but they
are are locked with two big shiny padlocks. I see my reflection in the metal and gasp.
I see something in the reflection. There is something, someone behind me. I spin
around to see and there are David and Sarah, standing in front of what is probably
one hundred people. I realise that I saw some of them this afternoon, before we went
to the haunted house. I see the person who sold us cotton candy. Then it dawns on
me. This whole thing was a birthday prank. A horrible, horrible birthday prank. “Very
funny everyone,” I say, directing most of it at David and Sarah, “can we all go home
now please?” They all start laughing. They laugh and laugh until Sarah puts a finger
to her lips, and they all quieten down. I’m scared. Why haven’t they spoken? Then
something weird starts to happen. They all start to tug at their hair. Instead of it
coming out like normal the whole face comes off. I scream. Underneath these flesh
masks are monsters. They start laughing again. “Boo!” Sarah whispers.
Judges’ Comments: Well thought out, good pace and a good ending. Original and
relatable for kids in the fun park setting.

13

 Finalist
Citron the Lemon
By Jacinta Mentiplay
Citron was a lemon. A very bored lemon. A yellow lemon. He’d just sit patiently in the
fruit bowl, giving everyone a sour scowl. He was exhausted of being a normal old
lemon. He yearned to just heave himself out of the fruit bowl and be his own person- I
mean lemon. Whatever.
One day, he did just that. He clambered out of the fruit bowl clumsily, but luckily he
had a pair of legs and arms to help him with that. I know. A lemon with legs. It sounds
quite absurd.
“I’m bored of being a lemon,” Citron said to himself. “Surely there’s much more to life
than this.”
As he stumbled on, he saw a coverless book, lying on a table. They were much bigger
than him, of course. Citron went over and stomped on the coverless book. It felt
delicate and crumpled under his feet. He examined it. There was a heading that read
in big bold letters: electronics overwhelm Aussie crowd.
He peered closer at the newspaper-I mean coverless book. Below the large heading,
were inky words that read: children all over Australia are hooked to their devices,
never wanting to leave them or spend a minute of time without them. This causes
their competitors; books, to be forgotten about. You never really see many children
who enjoy reading these days.
Citron made a small noise of curiosity and suddenly, a wonderful idea sparked in his
mind. This was his chance! From this day on, he could be seen as much more than an
ordinary lemon! He could save everyone from the power of electronics and reunite
children with the loving power of books! He grinned to himself. First though, he just
had to look more impressive than an ordinary lemon.
He staggered across the table, over the coverless book to a small red handkerchief.
Perfect. He found a metal pair of scissors and heaved them onto his head. Then,
he positioned the scissors so they were hovering over the handkerchief and sliced
through them like they were nothing. Now, this handkerchief was in two, Citron had
a piece that was small enough to be his cape! He attached some strings to it, then
secured the cape around his non-existent neck. Citron felt great. No, he wasn’t Citron
anymore. He was...Super Citron!
“Look out device-addicted beings,” he said to himself. “You’re Wi-Fi is about to go DieFi.” He stopped and sniggered softly to himself, enjoying his pun. “Ahhh, Super Citron,
you are so incredibly hilarious.”
With a rapid flourish, he bounded off the table, expecting the cape to suspend him
in the air like all superheroes do. But of course, he was a big fat heavy lemon, so he

14

 plummeted down at an overwhelming speed to the ground, yelping in alarm. With a
thump, he landed in a heap.
“Well,” he groaned. “At least that cape cushioned my fall.”
Super Citron whizzed through towns, humming a heroically and catchy tune. Anyone
who gazed outside their foggy windows that night would’ve seen a very strange
small silhouette, bounding down the empty streets.
When Super Citron came to a house with Wi-Fi, he didn’t hesitate. He found an open
window and scurried through it, making dramatic noises. A loud repetitive hum
interrupted him and he turned to see the Wifi System. He charged up to it and hurled
citric acid at it, causing it to flicker, extinguish and die.
“Ho ho ho,” said Super Citron, lazily kicking his leg into the system to show his
superior. He went to turn away, but suddenly, without warning, a burst of pain hit his
eye and he recoiled, moaning. As his vision steadied, he was shocked to see a book
that had been shot out of his eyeball.
“I can shoot books from my eyeballs?” Super Citron snapped in disbelief. Then slowly,
a cheesy-I mean, lemony grin spread across his face. “I’d prefer to shoot lasers, but
books are still cool!” he cried happily. Then he scowled bitterly and went back to work.
There was some Wifi destroying he had to do.
One by one, he bounded to other houses, snapping and cracking the life out of Wifi
Systems, using his citric acid, legs and his new power. He’d shoot books from his eyes,
knowing children would grumble about their Wifi, pick up the book and be hooked
from the first page.
Soon, he came to the last house in Australia with Wifi, panting loudly. His job was
almost done. He ventured into the house towards the Wifi System, then stopped as
he saw a large shadow looming over him. A human.
“Stop right there, Lemon-face,” said a deep voice.
Super Citron turned to see his enemy. A fat man, crumbs lurking in his unshaven
beard, bloodshot eyes and short greasy black hair. “I’ve heard of you and I know that
you’re going to stop all the children from playing video games.” He laughed horribly.
“What about the adults who like playing video games?”
He lunged, but Super Citron was ready. He ducked and rolled. The man lashed out
and grabbed Super Citron, who wriggled furiously.
“Not so tough now, are ya?” spat the man
With all his might, Super Citron spat back as much citric acid as he could, soaking the
man in stinging liquid, who howled and dropped him. The lemon bounded to the Wifi
System and gave one last mighty spit, which killed it.
“Nooooooo!” the man moaned.

15

 The next day, Citron was back in his fruit bowl. A new coverless book had
been published. AUSTRALIAN CITIZENS HAVE PICKED UP THEir BOOKS, BUT
UNFORTUNATELY, THE REST OF THE WORLD ARE GLUED TO THEIR SCREENS.
“Isn’t it someone else’s turn?” Citron groaned. “Cause as I much as I enjoy being super,
I think being myself is much better.” So you know what he did then? He gave a sour
scowl and went back to playing on his Gameboy.

16

 Finalist
The Final Stage of Grief
By Ella Glen
The reflection that stared back at Clarity was filled with darkness. Face red, blotched
and tear sodden. Her slim face was framed by the tangle of auburn hair nestled in a
hasty bun. Her bright, green eyes were wet and shiny like stained glass.
Clarity closed her eyes. No matter what she did, the thoughts flowed back through
her mind, like a raft on treacherous rapids. Clarity didn’t know what to do. All she
knew was that she was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The past few weeks had gone by in a blur, yet the funeral still felt fresh in her mind.
She had watched silently as relatives and friends cried over her mother’s lifeless
body. The funeral was meant to be a celebration of her mum’s life, but all it brought
was the traumatising images that played in her head over and over again like a
recording. Clarity would never forget the day that the police came and told her… the
drunk driver, the wreckage, the bodies. It all blurred into a jumbled mess in her head,
swirling, tumbling, until only a few words remained. Her mother was dead.
At first, Clarity refused to believe it. It could never be true. Not to her. Not her mum… it
couldn’t be.
Her brother, Harley, spurned this news, though his denial quickly turned to anger.
Yelling that could shake the walls. Throwing things. Fights. Violently retaliating at
everyone and everything. Though in spite of her brother’s angry outbursts, she heard
the muffled sobs coming from his bedroom every night.
Her dad blamed himself for what happened. He was the one who asked Mum to
hurry home that night. He had a meeting. He needed the car. It should have been
him, he insisted. It was as if he was stuck in a time loop, unable to move forward. Most
days he would stare blankly muttering, if only…
If only mum hadn’t passed away.
Clarity’s reverie was broken by her father’s call for dinner. She got up off her bed,
wiping her eyes to remove any stubborn tears that insisted on clinging to her face.
Her breathing quickened as her fingers clasped around the doorknob. She braced
herself, but no matter what she did…
It was as if every time she opened the door she forgot.
The hallway was plagued with memories of her mother. Clarity took a deep breath,
reassuring herself over and over, you’re okay, you’re okay.
If only that were true.

17

 Clarity glanced towards the end of the hallway. It felt longer somehow. She felt as
though someone had snuck up behind her placing a melancholy blanket of darkness
on my shoulders, that refused to give many. There was no light at all. Clarity took a
deep breath, she had to persist.
In her first steps, Clarity could feel the stares from the photos coaxing her to look up.
She couldn’t resist. The first frame displayed a picnic. The sun was shining on the
glittering grass, the lake rippling, and the birds chirping in song. A gorgeous women
with her auburn hair twirling in the breeze, smiled at her. Clarity watched this scene
play over in the back of her head, bringing back all those long forgotten memories.
She recounted making cheese and tomato sandwiches with her mother, her brother
laughing on the car ride over, her father’s singing conflicting with the songs tune.
But mostly, she remembered her mother, dancing gracefully through the tangles of
weeds.
Clarity reached forward to touch the photo, retracting her outstretched hand at the
last minute as if being struck by a lightning bolt. She was thrown back to reality. Her
mother, once beautiful, was now pale, cold and dead.
You’re okay, you’re okay .
Clarity turned away, only to come face to face with another image. Her parents’
wedding day. They were laughing. Obviously in love. She found herself looking closer
at the photo, staring into her father’s grinning face that had not been seen since the
accident.
Clarity hoped her dad would be happy again. She hoped her brother would let go of
his anger. She hoped she could move forward.
As she walked down the hallway, glancing briefly at the many frames, the pictures
seemed to form a storied timeline in her head. She had never looked at the hallway
in this way. It was as if all the happiest moments from her and her family’s lives had
come alive and found their way into the closed off part of her brain. The part that
had shut down after her mothers death. And surprisingly , she relived this memories,
welcomingly.
She eventually came to the end of the hallway where a large family portrait hung. Her
father’s and brother’s simper faces and her own beaming smile. She’d long- forgotten
that face. And there she was, curled up next to her in a hug was her mother. Her
green eyes and auburn hair a mirror image of her own.
A slow tear glided gently down her face. She missed her so much. But unexpectedly,
she was reassured by the image of them together. It was as if she was looking
through a new pair of eyes; not tear stained, and red. She was looking through the
eyes of someone who would be okay. Life would still move forward. She could accept
that. Clarity felt the heavy blanket of darkness lift. It was a start. She was going to be
okay.

18

 Finalist
Pluto
By Jasleen Kaur
Many moons ago, upon the emergence of stars and galaxies, I was born. From dense
disks of gas and dust I arose; impassively introduced to the eternal darkness that
envelopes me to date. Lost in the infinitude of space and time, I grew. Evolving.
Travelling. Lost. I was and am yet unknowing of my identity. Nevertheless, those
around me were eager to make assumptions; circulating theories without hesitation.
The asteroids, Ceres and Apophis, proposed that I was simply “overgrown” - a rotund
body who, by comparison, was not nearly as swift, nor as spontaneous. To the comets,
I was merely an oddity – one of the universe’s innumerable mistakes. Guilelessly, I’d
have trusted these judgements, if it had not been for my moons: Charon, Nix, Hydra,
Styx, and Kerberos.
As my surroundings excitedly devoted themselves towards traversing the blackness, I
was faithfully accompanied by my five moons. My friends. I spoke with them often.
“Stop rejecting yourself”, they told me.
“Embrace yourself; accept yourself”.
But how could I do so when my existence comprised of so much bias and
intolerance?
Though the moons treated my loneliness, they did not mend my self-worth. Only I
could do that.
In the back of beyond, a brilliant star breathed warmth into space; illuminating
the shadows around it. For centuries, I awaited to feel the comfort, the geniality
of the sun. Time slept, and so did my moons; yet I was awake…waiting. For that is
what one does when they lack so tremendously in self-acceptance. They wait for
circumstances, for fate to take an unusual twist so that one’s flaws and insecurities
melt away all at once. However, they forget that change starts from within.
By nature, I supposed that the story of my life was to be structured like the
conventional narrative. “Just you wait for the climax!” I urged myself. Yet the endless
cycle of continuance continued, and I was still desperate to escape the misery of my
own making.
There was nothing extraordinary about my moment of realisation, for a simple
conversation with oneself can do wonders. Upon this moment I understood the
eminence of the universe. It struck me that every being in existence was peculiar in
their own way; still, not one was content. All that held importance was the irresistible
idea of becoming better. Everybody was driven by the desire of prestige, of elevation,
and I of likeness. Upon this moment I realised that in spite of all my differences, I was
exactly the same as those around me; and for the first time in my life, I did not like the
sound of that.
From that instant onwards, my outlook changed dramatically. It felt as though I
had discovered the key of happiness, which had ironically rested forever within

19

 my possession. No longer did I wait, for it was I, not fate, whom had the ability to
engender change. No longer was I an oddity, but rather a peculiarity. No longer did I
see emptiness in the space surrounding me, but room for opportunity.

20

 Finalist
Mother Earth’s Lesson
By Jasmine Tran
As I gaze intently into the horizon, I wedged my toes between the grains of sand. All
around me, children laugh gaily and splash in the pristine waters. Languid parents
sun themselves, chatting aimlessly. The water laps gently at my ankles and behind
me, sand clings to peoples’ wet swimmers. Then it comes.
It comes suddenly, the blue skies grey before anyone realised. It comes down slowly,
fat drops making dark circles in the soft sand. Then comes more, only marginal gaps
between each wet patch. Soon the sand is a grainy sludge.
Colourful swimwear and floppy straw hats blur past me, heading for the still, soldierlike cars. The *flumph* of umbrellas and high pitched squeals fill my ears. But, in the
storm, I dangle my arms carelessly, swaying gently from side to side. The threat to
lightning doesn’t deter me. Revenge pulls me forward.
My matted green hair drapes loosely, a damp sensation on my back. Rain drops soak
my dark skin as I pull myself through the waters. The humans don’t deserve this
beautiful world. They deserve nothing after what they’ve done to it. Nothing will be
able to stop what they call “climate change”. No teenagers, adults or politicians will
change the fact that they have defaced their home. Even if they start changing now,
it’ll be too late. My gift to them is torn to shreds. They deserve to die.
They water creeps up to my waist, numbing my skin. I face the tall gloomy buildings,
the smoke billowing out of the cars. The fury from the depths of my heart explodes,
coming out in a tsunami.
The currants rush towards land with the power of my rage. The water grows, my neck
now submerged in cold water. As it reaches the buildings, I laugh with glee.
The currants and the amount of water there builds up. Glass shatters, and the
“skyscrapers” touch down to Earth. I can see the bodies of the building occupants
bob in the water. The only thing in my ears are the rush of water, the screams of terror
and my laugh full of pure joy.
Everywhere around me are scraps of metal, plastic, glass, people. This is it. My
revenge on the sinners. My gift to the humans. And they shall accept all of it.
An infant, not yet 6 months of age, floats by. It is limp, devoid of life.
My laughter stops. A baby! I command the streams of water to halt. Babies are pure
and innocent, they don’t know the effects of carbon emissions. They don’t know
anything about climate change. They can’t help it. No. The tsunami should have only
harmed the ones that deserve it. The waves retreat, drawing the water back to the
ocean. The heaviness of wet black silk clings to my chest, outlining my silhouette as

21

 I leaned over and cradle the deceased child. Why am I doing this? It will effect my
world even more.
***
“Naughty children need to learn from their mistakes and not be punished.
Remember that, my child Earth.” Mother cooed at my curious face. “Help them, don’t
destroy them.”
I gave a small nod.
“Yes, Mama! When I have my own planet, I’ll help them like you have with yours!”
Her warmth embraced my small, young body.
“Yes, child. I know you’ll do well.”
***
I lift my head and scan the graveyard that was a city. My stomach lurches at the
exposed wreckage, the lifeless bodies, shards of broken glass, mangled car debris
and shattered roof tiles. This is not what it should be, not what I should’ve done. The
lesson is too severe. Perhaps, somehow, from this they will understand the problem.
And when they understand, perhaps they will fix my planet.
The dark clouds dissipate and rain thins out as I ascend into the clear sky. As I reach
the top, I turn around.
“I’m trusting you, my children, to do the right thing. Mother Earth trusts you.”
Somehow, somewhere on my planet, a girl named Greta Thunberg heard my pleas.

22

 Finalist
Hopes and Dreams
By Hannah Cunningham
Day 1
Rubian stared into the cold still eyes of the patient, who was fading in and out of
consciousness like waves on the shore . Rubian wiped the dripping sweat from his
wrinkled brow as he pushed repeatedly on the patient’s chest. Finally the machines
screeched with life, a sign that the fight wasn’t over yet.
Adrius walked into the gym, his drawstring bag tugging heavily on his shoulders. He
was determined to become a policeman, the other boys might be tough but he was
as courageous as a lion and as sweet as cotton candy. All he needed to do was pass
the physical test and he would become a force for good.
Jei’s arm shot up, the answer was oozing out of his brain like meat out of a pie. If only
Professor Chawnum looked in his direction. Jei was taking a course on psychology, he
was the tippity top of his class but never was picked to speak. If only he could share
the answer. If only he was chosen, then some good would come out of this class.
Oralin looked at the ticking clock, each second another piece of time she spent in
the dark. The wind whistled in the branches of the trees outside, distracting Oralin
from her looming darkness. Was her cancer back? Her heart was racing faster than
a cheetah, she heard the door click and focused her attention on the here and now.
Hopefully something good, a miracle perhaps, would occur.
Raniki stared at her shoes as she sat in the playground, silence surrounded her like
a pool of quiet. Her aunt and sister were at the hospital awaiting Oralin’s test results.
The swing creaked like a rusty doorknob as it carried Raniki’s weight. Cars drove past,
some exceeding the speed limit and others way below. She smiled, it reminded her of
the tortoise and the hare. A familiar car pulled over, “Raniki, get in” shouted her aunt
from her old beat up automobile. This was gonna be good, she thought.
Day 2
Rubian felt the cold air of the Rezeland Sea brush his filthy hair, the coast of Sertifan
a mere city in the distance. The port of Astragius less than 500 metres away. A smile
fell across his exhausted face as he spotted his sisters waving fiercely. He was so
overcome with happiness, so he started waving as though his arms were a windmill.
Fear weighed on his shoulders but he knew deep down he could do this, he would do
this. Even if it meant sadness was on the horizon.
Adrius’ two cold hands pulled at the gritty rope, the cold rain poured down saturating
him to the bone. Mud stained his clothing as he slid around the bare ground, he
was determined. He would not be distracted by the dark eyes of his competitors, all
snickering at his efforts. He could do this, he would do this. Just focus, thought Adrius.
Jei’s pencil slipped like soap out of his hand, creating a bellowing sound. The students

23

 around him glared angrily, he shrugged his shoulders dismissively and continued
writing. The test was long and hard but he was prepared. His arm ached like he had
been lifting weights for hours. The others thought he wouldn’t pass, but he knew he
had it in him. He could do this , he would do this.
Oralin dug her face into her brothers furry jacket, taking in the scent of a hardworking
man. She breathed in the salty smell of the port and smiled, Rubian was home, her
brother was home! She thought. Tears filled her eyes, it had been at least a month
or two since she’d embraced her beloved older brother. Oralin stepped back, took a
deep breath and composed herself. She could do this, she would do this.
Raniki’s classmates giggled nervously, the chatter of the crowd erupting from behind
the red velvet curtain. She peeked her head out and spied her family. She gulped
nervously and revised her song , her sister,brother and Aunt were counting on her to
make the AGS Recital a showstopper. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
She could do this, she would do this.
Day 3
The warm sun reflected off of Rubian’s bronze skin, his sisters tucked under his strong
broad shoulders. They slept peacefully, knowing they were in safe hands. He sighed,
the sun was setting on the horizon. His heart was slow and calm, beating softly like
the lapping waves. His mates would be here in the morning. Life was good.
Adrius stepped onto the ferry, the ramp groaning like a person in pain as it bared
his weight, he chuckled softly. Adrius hauled his suitcase onto the container and sat
down, he pulled out the handcuffs his instructor had lent him for the next two weeks,
and got to work. Life was good.
Jei placed his clothes into his second hand suitcase, his arms pulling and pulling on
the zips like a pirate pulls up the anchor. He heaved his backpack onto his spindly
shoulders, it was filled to the brim with textbooks. He smiled, excited to be exploring
new places. Life was good.
Oralin sighed, the ferry which carried her big brother’s mates pulled in, creating
waves as big as a toddler. She glanced at Raniki , her little sister eyes lit up at the sight
of waves and she tugged Oralin to the shore. The cool evening water tickled Oralin’s
bare feet. She smiled and grabbed her sisters hand tighter, Life was good.
Raniki’s eyes darted from her brother to his friends, brother, friends,brother
friends. She giggled when Jei told her she was a little princess and grimaced when
Adrius kissed her hand. Her brother picked her up, hauling her over his shoulder,
ignoring her pleas to be put down. He pretended to throw her into the ocean, and
she screamed playfully. She chuckled along with the others, her mind filled with
happiness and joy. Life was good.

24

 Finalist
Dragon’s Peak
By Jensen Spencer
When the guards came for Page’s parents, he was unprepared. They knocked down
the door and dragged his parents away in chains. 18 year old Page tried to fight them
off but the guards were stronger than he. They took his parents and left Page behind
in the old blacksmith’s store in the city of Tarfward. Filled with rage, he went to the
castle to confront the king about the abduction of his parents. After a yelling match
with the guards, Page finally got an audience with the king. Standing in the middle of
the throne room he confronted the old king.
“Why have you taken my parents?!” yelled Page, rage still boiling in his chest.
“Your parents are in great debt to the kingdom, boy. The kingdom has given them
chance after chance to pay their dues but they keep failing to oblige with the money,”
said the King.
“But my mother is ill!” Page yelled. “She will not survive the month!”
“I am sorry, but I cannot let your parents go. Unless you can find the money they will
have to stay in my dungeons. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” Page said dejectedly.
He left the throne room and wandered the streets of Tarfward. How was he to find
the money he needed to pay their dues? Farming would take years to get the money
and his mother did not have that long. Page sat down on a bench under an old apple
tree, feeling defeated.
“Gold from Dragons Peak!” shouted the voice of a merchant. Page looked up at the
mention of gold. He strolled over to the merchant’s stall and asked:
“What is Dragons Peak?”
“Dragons Peak my friend, is a mountain seven cold nights North from ‘ere. And
hidden in the mountain is a hoard of gold. But be warned! A fierce dragon lives in this
mountain and she ain’t take kindly to thieves.”
But Page was no longer listening. A mountain full of gold? That would definitely be
enough to pay for his parents’ debt. He ran back to the blacksmith’s store to grab
what he needed. He saddled the family’s old steed called Haystack, and grabbed
a sword. For if this dragon was real and not just a load of hogwash, he should be
prepared for battle.
So Page and Haystack trekked the harsh jungles and desolate waste lands for
seven cold, dark nights before finally reaching Dragons Peak by evening. From the

25

 mountain’s base he could just make out a large cave in the side of the mountain that
seemed impossible to climb to.
Nevertheless, Page began the climb. After several near death slips and almost falling
to his death ten times, he stood on the ledge peering into the dark mouth of the cave.
As Page entered, he could see skeletons littering the floor with unmistakable burn
marks. Yet he could also see, and smell, something strange glittering on the walls of
the seemingly endless hall of stone. Something that he had smelt in the blacksmith’s
store countless times but couldn’t put his finger on. But he quickly forgot about the
smell as he entered the most incredible room he had ever seen.
It seemed like most of the mountain had been hollowed out into an enormous
cavern, hundreds of feet deep, filled halfway to the top with gold! Jewels that
sparkled like stars, fabrics worth millions, oh and the gold! The treasures were so
bright that they radiated light throughout the cavern. And because of that, Page
could see the sleeping dragon. The creature was 300 feet long and 50 feet wide with
blood red scales, a snake like body, and talons as long as spears! Curled up in a huge
ball, smoke billowed from her nostrils.
As quietly as he could, Page grabbed a hand full of necklaces and gold. As he neared
the exit without the dragon stirring, he looked back at all the treasure.
“She won’t notice if I take a bit more.” Page thought aloud “Besides, my parents and
I are quite poor. If I grab a bit more we’ll be rich!” So Page jumped back into the pit
of gold and began to snatch up more and more treasures. The more he grabbed, the
more he wanted. Soon the night had been wasted away and it was morning. As Page
picked up another beautiful necklace, he heard a deep rumbling noise. Slowly, he
turned towards the dragon to see one massive gold eye open.
“THIEF!!!” she shrieked in a deep voice that sounded like scraping metal. “I WILL
BURN YOU TO A CINDER!!!”
Page scrambled back to the exit as a column of flame shot from the dragon’s mouth.
As he ran down the stone hall way, Page was sure the fire would stop. It didn’t. It
burned across the walls and floor, and Page suddenly remembered what the familiar
scent was… it was oil! The oil fueled the wave of fire behind Page, and he could feel
it burning his back. As he ran and felt his stamina fade, he could see daylight ahead.
He jumped from the cave and began a rushed climb down the mountain as the
flames escaped the cave. He held onto the side of the mountain, trying to catch his
breath. As soon as he began the long climb down, the entire mountain rumbled and
shook. At first, Page thought it was an earthquake, but then the entire mountain top
exploded. Rising from the ruble, Page could see the dragon rising into the air.
“DIE!!!” roared the dragon. And another column of fire shot from her mouth, racing
down the mountain. In that split second, Page decided to jump and leave his heavy
treasure behind. He hit the ground with a thud, breaking no bones.
But he had failed.
His greed had lost him his parents forever.

26

 Finalist
Quinting
By Charlie McCann
The sun escaped from its mountain prison and began its long climb across the sky. A
dragonfly, patterned with gold tears flew busily before landing briefly on the hand of
a young Chinese girl. The girls name was Quinting, and she lived on Jade Mountain
with her little sister, Ling.
There was a rustle in the cave that Quinting lived in. Ling had woken. Quinting
pushed through the sheep-skin curtains that shielded their home from the weather.
Inside, glow worms hugged the cave ceiling, providing the only light in the dark cave,
with thick nests of hay serving as beds. Ling was sitting, brushing her onyx hair and
smiled a welcoming smile at Quinting. Life was peaceful on Jade Mountain, and they
were safe at last within its valleys.
After a long day of foraging, the Sun began to surrender to the mountain. Quinting
sliced mushrooms with her bronze knife, tossing them into a bowl of warm broth.
“Ling!” she called “Dinners ready!” Ling walked wearily over, taking her food to sit by
the fire. After the sisters finished their warm broth, Quinting ushered Ling into bed,
covering her with her favourite calf-skin blanket. “Sissy” Ling asked, breaking through
the crackling of the fire. “Tell me a story?” Quinting nodded a nurturing yes, and
settled in the hay beside Ling. “Okay, now close your eyes” said Quinting warmly, and
she started to tell a story of Dragonflies that their Mother used to tell her when she
was small.
“Once there was a beautiful dragon that fell in love with an elegant butterfly. The
butterfly noticed the dragon by a stream, and loved the way his scales shone purple
in the sunlight. The Dragon was mesmerised by the butterfly and how it danced
with its reflection in the water. It was love at first sight”. “Though it was a beautiful
love” Quinting continued, “It was a forbidden love, as each of their tribes could not
allow them to love each other, someone different to their own kind”. “The Butterfly
and the Dragon knew they could not live without each other and ran away together
under the full moon to the Jade Mountain. There they sat at the highest peak and
prayed to the Goddess of the Moon that she may find a way for them to be together.
The Moon Goddess could see how much they loved each other and granted them
their hearts desire, turning them into a kind of their very own, a Dragonfly. The two
Dragonflies lived happily, and soon the Jade Mountain was alive with hundreds of
their shimmering Dragonfly children. Today it is said that if you should be visited by a
Dragonfly, it is an omen of everlasting love.”
Quinting glanced at Ling. She was fast asleep with the hint of a smile on her face.
Quinting settled down beside her, drifting off to sleep thinking of their parents
eternal love for each other, and their perilous escape to the Jade Mountain.

27

 Finalist
The Great Aussie Barbie Explosion
By Georgie Zarkovich
Let me admit something. I didn’t know a barbecue could explode like what just
happened. It’s a long story. But here’s a life lesson: DON’T let your irresponsible Uncle
take over cooking on your barbie…
On the morning of the day my Uncle, Auntie and cousins came to visit, I was “not-ahappy-Jan”. Not because I don’t like my Mum’s family, it’s because Uncle Ned always
starts a fiasco. One Christmas, he opened my cousin Grace’s present and broke it by
accident. Grace started crying (she’s 6-and-a-half) and had a huge meltdown and
accidentally whacked my 8-year-old cousin Ryan in the nose. Then Ryan started
crying and on and on it went.
So yeah, you can now probably tell why I was worried. Dad was cooking on the barbie,
near the pool, when Uncle Ned, Auntie Rachel, Grace, Ryan and Sakina (she’s 15)
pulled into the driveway. I was on the bottom of the mood scale.
“Where’s Belle?” Uncle Ned yelled, as he came storming into the house, accidentally
knocking down one of Mum’s expensive vases.
“Here I am,” I poked out shyly from the media room. Ryan came and hugged me.
“What ya ‘doin?” I didn’t reply to Ryan’s question. I was in a bad mood and sulking.
“You better clean that up!” Mum’s voice echoed when she looked at the vase.
Uhhhhhhhhh! How come Uncle Ned never gets in big trouble?
Mum was sitting out on the deck, chatting to Auntie while eating Vegemite
sandwiches. Uncle was up with Dad, still cooking. I don’t think I noticed what was
happening until it was too late.
“Jeez, Jett, these sausages look delicious!” If Uncle Ned’s compliment made Dad feel
good, he sure didn’t show it.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. Then the worst thing happened. As Uncle Ned moved closer
to the barbie, he accidentally knocked the dial turning it to its highest point. The
barbie was now the hottest it could get, and nobody even knew. I looked up from
my magazine. Dad went inside to grab a plate. Uncle Ned was goofing around the
barbecue. If I didn’t stop this, there was going to be trouble! “Uncle!” I waved my
personal troublemaker over. “Come read this magazine!” My Uncle gave me a very
surprised look.
“Girl Dream? No thanks. I’m going back to this beautie!” He pointed at the barbecue.
“This is your idea of beautiful?! THE BARBIE’S ON FIRE!” I screamed. We ran to the
backyard. It was the only thing we could do. Dad joined us and rang triple 0. Auntie
nearly had a heart attack. Mum nearly did the same. Uncle Ned didn’t know what he
had just done.
This is what Mum would call an “AD”-Absolute disaster. The barbie blew up (I warned
you! There was going to be an explosion!). “Look at that!” Uncle laughed. He copped

28

 seven stares. “Well, it’s now a fixer-upper”, referring to the huge hole in the deck
where the barbie used to stand. The pool was full of metal pieces and the outside
lounge had been totally destroyed. All that was left was little fragments of wicker. We
moved to the deck.
“OKAY! THIS IS IT!”Mum screamed her head off.
“My… my… BARBIE!” Dad looked upset, angry and a little bit worried. Auntie smiled
uncomfortably.
I was angry. The swimming pool was my life. The deck was my favourite place to play
with Eli, my puppy. The wicker lounge was my favourite place to chill out and read
with Mum. And Dad’s barbecue! His world, his life, his… his… everything. I knew how
Dad was feeling. A mix of loss and sadness. A mix of being furious and worried, a mix
of all those things. Dad loved that barbecue like Mum loved her vase. Like Grace loved
her toy. Like Ryan liked not having a sore nose. Like I liked the outdoor wicker lounge.
This stuff meant things to us (I’m not kidding, Ryan actually said his nose meant
things to him). Uncle Ned let his crazy side take over, his clumsy side, his… his… you
get what I mean!
“Nev, your fixer-upper is for you to deal with. Actually, forget I said that.” Mum
mumbled to my Uncle. All Auntie Rachel did was bury her face into her hands. Sakina
stood in the corner whistling, Ryan chewed his gum innocently and Grace made cute
expressions. They looked like they were NOT impressed with their father’s behaviour.
“Let’s have some proper lunch,” Dad declared, and walked inside with a blank
expression.
That night, as Dad snored, he mumbled saying things like: “Barbecue, I need you!”,
“Don’t go away, barbie! Please.” and “Where are you? Barbie? Where?” I found it a
little bit creepy, and so did Uncle Ned, but it was his fault. Mum kept kicking Dad
because his talking was annoying us. Sakina was texting her friend Riley, so you could
hear the ‘TAP!’ typing makes. I wanted to tell her to stop, but fighting Sakina is like
having a meeting with a bushfire. Grace keeps going on about stuff at her kindy.
Ryan is the only one (half) sleeping. If you can’t tell I wasn’t sleeping, you need to
think harder. Sorry, I’m just in a bad mood remembering it. I’ve got another life lesson
for you. Go sleep in the caravan when family come over, it saves being cranky in the
morning. I grabbed a book and read until Sakina put down her phone; Dad stopped
talking and Grace fell asleep. Oh boy! Tomorrow they’ll see I’m not a morning person!
The next morning, I was a cranky crocodile. That was before the worst happened. “We
are staying at your house with you!” Uncle Ned danced around crazily. Mum watched
carefully to reduce the risk of vases breaking. Dad was gobsmacked. So was I. So was
Ryan, Grace and Sakina. Auntie Rachel looked blank.
I thought life wasn’t fair before this! It just got worse!

29

 Finalist
For the Next Three Months
By Hannah Croft
You sit in your seat, clutching the side-arms, your teeth clenched. You hate
turbulence. The elderly lady across the isle is staring at you with a hostile expression.
She mustn’t like teenagers. You force yourself to look out of the window. You can see
the airport way down below, like an eagle sees its prey. Even though every inch of the
landscape is filled with buildings, you can still see how dusty and dry the land is, heat
radiating of the metal and concrete in waves.
You start to feel nervous; you’ve only been on a plane by yourself twice before.
The plane touches down with a jolt. As you step out, you begin to feel nauseous.
Navigating your way out of the plane, you collect your baggage, there isn’t much. A
lady at the check-out counter with a smile as bright you feel as if you need to shade
your eyes, tells you where to go. As you exit the airport, you breathe a sigh of relief.
The air stings the back of your throat. It smells like the smoke of many factories filled
with too many people. You look around and see your shuttle bus. It looks as if it lived
along the dinosaurs in the Cretaceous Period. As you board the bus, the pungent
smell of mothballs and cigar smoke hits your face.
Feeling instant relief as you get off the over-crowded bus, you wait patiently for a train
to take you out of the city to a large town not too far away. When the train comes, you
rush on board, only to find that every seat except one by a clearly drunk man is taken.
Standing on the side of the road with sweat trickling down your neck, thumb out,
waiting for a friendly car to pass, you ask yourself why your parents decided this trip
would be a good experience. You try to imagine what they’re thinking right now.
While you’re quietly laughing to yourself, a car slows down and stops. The driver’s
window unhurriedly rolls down to reveal a very small, venerable lady. “Need a lift?”
She asks. You aren’t sure if this lady should be driving at her age, but you get in all the
same.
You are surprised to find that you enjoy the little time you spend with this lady as she
drives you as far as she can before your paths divide.
After receiving sympathy and assistance from several other drivers, you finally arrive
outside a very unimpressive village, protected only by a shabby, half-ruined wall
of roughly cut posts. The houses and shanties seem to be made out of whatever
materials were available at the time. Some of the constructions look like they might
fall over at the slightest breath of wind.
Something moves beside the gate of the barrier. You decide it must have been a
figure of your imagination caused from spending too long under the vengeful sun,
looking stupid and expectant. There is another flicker of movement by the gate. Just
as you are trying to decide what the movement was, a small girl appears. She stares
at you, assessing you with her big, brown eyes, then quickly darts back to the dubious

30

 safety of the wall. You hear voices, at least two of them. Waiting Patiently for someone
to discover your existence here has to be the most painful thing you’ve ever done.
Suddenly, the small girl appears again, this time with an adult in tow. “Karibu (hello)!”
The woman calls in a rich voice. The girl lets go of the woman’s skirt and runs towards
you, her small, bare feet kicking up clouds of dust. “Karibu rafiki (welcome friend)!”
She squeaks, clinging to your dress, smiling a bright, gappy smile. You smile back and
she takes your hand, pulling you towards the hastily built shelters.
Maybe, you think. Maybe these next three months won’t be as bad as you thought.
Maybe this trip will teach you a lesson.

31

 Finalist
Illuminated
By Patrick Dixon
January 21st 2019 London, Forest 1:43 AM
As the snowflake fell onto the white blanket of snow, Nate sprinted towards a small
home in the forest. Nate gasped for air as if he is being chased by someone or
something. Nate reached out with a shaking hand and grasped the door knob. A wolf
like creature pounced out of the darkness claws out ready to attack. It was out for
blood. The creature slashed at Nate as he screamed for help but he was in a deserted
forest. Nate attacked the creature with all of his might. The creature had soft fur
softer than what Nate had ever felt before. He dodged to the side as the creature
recovered from the blow Nate took at him. Nate ran, injured but running for his life.
The creature took a few seconds to see where Nate has gone but after he got a sight
of Nate he chased him down. Nate, who had taken fatal injury saw a blue glow from
the creature . The moon shone brightly over the trees surrounding a predator and its
prey. The creature was gaining on Nate but didn’t realise where Nate was running to.
Nate took a quick and elegant turn to the side that the creature wasn’t prepared for.
The creature rammed right into a tree and got knocked out. Nate still running took
a glance back at what had just happened. The creature was lying there out cold in
the snow. As small snowflakes fell on his body. The stars shone brightly and Nate ran
away from this scene knowing that he had put himself in danger.
January 21st 2019 London, A Field 1:50 AM
Nate fell on the ground, out of breath, injured and winded. He screamed while on the
ground. The scream was awful. He was screaming for help.
“HELP! I NEED HELP!”
Luckily a couple who owned the field heard the man and called the ambulance. All
that Nate remembered was lying down and looking at the stars and hearing sirens.
Then, he blacked out.
January 23rd 2019 London, Hospital 11:32 AM
Nate was lying in a hospital bed. He felt much better but his legs were still broken and
he still had scratches all over his chest.
The nurse walked in and gave him crutches and said
“You can go now. When you’re ready.”
January 23rd 2019 London, Outside of Hospital 1:04 PM
Nate stepped outside of the hospital and looked up to the ocean blue sky. He thought
he might go visit his best friend Tom and tell him about what had happened 2 nights
ago on that mysterious night. He started to walk with his crutches but got tired after
a short while and got in a car and started to drive to Tom’s house. Tom was his best
friend. In the car he thought what he would tell Tom and what he would think. His
mind raced with possibilities of what this visit could lead to.
September 23rd 2019 London, Tom’s House 1:37 PM
Nate stopped for a minute on the other side of the door that lead to Tom’s house. He

32

 took a deep breath and knocked on the door firmly. He was greeted with a bark from
Tom’s dog Max. He waited for a few seconds and then started getting ready to leave,
then he heard footsteps. He turned and saw Tom standing there with his brownish
gold hair and his green eyes looking back at him.
“Oh, hi Nate. What brings you here?” Tom said with a warm smile on his face.
“Well, when I tell you, you have to promise to think I’m not crazy.”
“Ok I promise.”
Tom was the sort of guy who would always be there for you and keep promises so
Nate wasn’t too worried. As Nate began to tell his story, they both heard bowls and
plates crashing and breaking in the kitchen.
“Sorry Nate but I just need to go see what’s happening. To be honest it probably is
Max. Sorry.”
He was right. It was Max but he didn’t act like himself. Nate heard a scream and shot
up like the speed of light and fell over forgetting he had crutches. He let out a howl
in pain. He pulled himself up and used his crutches to get to the kitchen. Tom was
pinned by Max on the floor. Max had a strange blue glow and scratched at Tom, over
and over again. Tom screamed in pain. Never had he felt that much pain. Nate took a
huge swing with his crutches at Max. Max yelped, but now Max’s target was Nate. He
used his crutches to try to stop him but they didn’t work. Tom used all his might to
pick up a cricket bat and hit the dog.
September 24th 2019 London, Cafe 3:05 PM
Nate walked up to a small cafe and felt the winter breeze on his skin and started to
shiver. He pulled his jacket together and took a seat next to Lilly. Lily had wavy blonde
hair and striking blue eyes. Nate let out a sigh.
“Hi Lilly.”
“Hi Nate. How was Tom?”
“Well he is still recovering. I think it may take a while.”
“I hope he is ok?”
“Well this may sound crazy but his dog attacked us. I think it was a wolf attack like
what happened to me in the woods and it may take a while for him to recover.”
“But, there was no wolf attack. A tree fell and landed on you leaving you with
scratches and broken legs but there was no wolf attack. Are you ok?”
Nate stopped for a moment.
“Excuse me.” Nate said and left the table.
His mind raced with possibilities. Had he gone insane? What had really happened?
He was left with the thought that it was all in his head. He walked away and Lily’s blue
eyes started to glow.

33

 Finalist
Difference
By Clover Charlton
Midas walked swiftly through the street. She bit her lip as her white, cow- like horns
caught the sun. ‘HA HA! You Cow!’ the people on the street would taunt. They all had
ram horns. They were normal. Midas was seen as ‘The Strange Girl’ in each and every
class. Seen as the ‘Rabbit Nosed, Cow Child’ instead of the ‘Human Nosed, Ram Child’
like the rest of her class. Midas would come home each day with tears running down
her face, much to the annoyance of her guardian. Midas’ guardian was a normal
person. She possibly hated Midas the most. Midas’ parents were judged as well, later
to be banished by vote of the people.
One day Midas was out in the garden, watering the plants. As she checked each
plant’s health, she came across a broken dragon statue. She took this statue into
her small room and glued the pieces together. That night, Midas had a dream of the
dragon coming to life. She dreamt it coming closer to her, biting, snapping its jaws at
her heels. She woke, startled. The statue was gone.
Midas twisted around, searching desperately for the statue. It was nowhere. Then she
saw it. It slithered up to her. Midas tried to scream but her voice box seemed to be
broken.
‘Alo Lassy!’ the dragon said loudly. ‘Ow are ya?’ The dragon lifted an orange, clawed
hand to shake hers. ‘Not that kinda person hey?’ he asked softly, lowering his hand.
‘My name’s Long.’
‘Does ‘Long’ mean ‘Dragon’ in Chinese?’ Midas whispered, finally finding her voice.
The dragon didn’t seem like he was going to bite her feet off. ‘No Silly! My name
is long, as in it takes a while to say: My name is Zajadja Rónglóng. You can call me
Zaja.’ He said this all very quickly and the entire time Midas was rubbing her horns
nervously. ‘My name’s Midas,’ she was beginning to trust the little orange dragon.
‘How did you get here?’
‘I believe in dreams,’ Zaja said dreamily, ‘and that’s all I know. I also believe in ... YOU.’
He reached out a single talon and poked Midas gently on the chest. Midas smiled.
There was something about him that she trusted, almost as though she had seen him
before.
‘Now let’s go!’ He said cheerfully, and he leapt out of the window, his wings flapping
like a bat. Midas didn’t know why, but she leapt out after him. She realised too late
that it was an upstairs window and began tumbling towards the ground. She felt her
horn scrape painfully against the verandah roof and her legs sprang out in shock.
Then she landed on her feet. ‘H-h-how?’ Midas gasped. ‘Lesson one: trrrrrrrrrust the
horrrrrrns!’ Zaja fluttered proudly down to Midas, rolling his ‘R’s’ as he flew. ‘Trrrust!
Trrrrrrust! I should rrrroll my Rrrrr’s morrrre often!’
‘Trrrrrust me ... please don’t. It’s quite annoying,’ Midas flatly replied, rubbing her sore
horn.
Midas walked away from the house and this time, it was Zaja who followed.
Midas could feel Zaja flapping close to her shoulder, and she felt a sudden wave of

34

 confidence - an exhilarating feeling!
Midas and Zaja chatted for several minutes before Midas asked: ‘Where are we
going?’ to which Zaja replied: ‘Lesson two: Remember: you have a great imagination!’
Midas shrieked as she fell down a hole. ‘Believe in YOURSELF!’ Zaja screamed down
the hole.
***
It was pitch black. Midas scurried self-consciously through the cave. She noted every
little stumble she made, and put every little taunting message she had ever heard
with with each stumble. Soon her head was full of; ‘Weirdo, Strange-Horn, Freak’ and
‘Out Of Place, Long-Horned Ugly Thing, Plain Old Disgusting Filth.’ Each time she did
this, she stumbled more and more until she fell over. ‘You have a great imagination.
Believe in YOURSELF!’ she slowly stood up.
Her knee was extremely sore. But she remembered what Zaja had said to her. She
closed her eyes and imagined a smooth, level surface. It led her right out of the tunnel
to Zaja! She opened her eyes. There was the level, smooth ground, faintly lit by the
exit to the tunnel. She ran up to the exit and clambered out. There stood one of the
nastier ram horned girls. ‘Climbing out a rabbit hole?’ she asked in a taunting voice.
Then her voice changed to be disgusted and mocking. ‘Suits your silly little nose,’ and
then she walked away, cackling. Midas stood rooted to the spot for a moment longer,
then ran to the lake in tears.
***
‘She’s the silly one.’ Zaja muttered to her five minutes later.
‘Jump in the lake,’ Midas whispered into her hands.
‘Okay!’ He leapt forward and plunged himself into the lake.
‘No, no, NO!’ Midas leapt up and dived in after her friend. She swam as deep as
possible searching for the small, orange dragon. She closed her eyes and imagined
her and her dragon - each with a scuba diving tank, and instantly she felt a weight
on her back and the ability to breathe. She then searched frantically for her bat-like
friend. And there he was! Living, breathing and swimming!
Together, they swam back to the surface and took off their diving suits. ‘Lesson three:
Final lesson,’ Zaja said with pride. ‘Loyalty and self-trust. Also, people who take things
literally. Example? Me!’ Midas laughed. She had only known the dragon for two hours,
but it felt like years, and then - like being plunged into a cold bath of realisation - she
remembered!
Her true guardian! She had read a story when she was extremely young about a girl
with cow horns who had a humorous dragon guardian called Zajadja RóngLóng. That
taunted cow-horn child in the story book was actually herself! She leapt forward and
threw her arms around Zaja. ‘Thank you Zaja,’ she whispered through fresh tears, ‘I
believe in YOU TOO.’

35

 Finalist
Depression
By Sarah Cowburn
I remember her. The way her soft hair listened to the wind’s commands. Her gentle
eyes were like graceful gazelles dancing with stars. I remember that when she
laughed the planets and moons stopped to listen, and I remember the day she died.
I was left with only a hole in my heart and a life of grieving. Therapy session after
therapy session, nothing worked. I just ended up staring out the window, drowning
out the endless noise. Depression they called it. I heard mum say the word when I
was reading. Depression. I played around with it for a while. The meaning not coming
to me. I soon gave in and got my dictionary: depression
noun
1.
feelings of severe despondency and dejection.
“self-doubt creeps in and that swiftly turns to depression”
2.
A medical condition where one feels unencouraged to do anything, including basic
survival necessities.
That checked out.
Three days after mum said I had depression, dad left me and mum. His final words
were telling me to snap out of it and grow up, she is not coming back and nor is he. I
loved someone and they died. I needed a shoulder to cry on and I got neglected. I had
a mum who didn’t understand and a heart with no love. The words rolled around in
my head, snap out of it and grow up, she is not coming back and nor am I. She is not
coming back. Not coming back.
I guess they were right, I had depression. I hadn’t eaten anything since Monday and
it’s Friday. I decided to eat something, an apple might do me until next Friday and
then I could just grieve for the rest of the week. Oh, crap they were right and now I
know I must do something, right?
I decided to drink something. My pee is brown and I’m lightheaded. If mum finds out,
she’ll monitor my drinking and eating habits. Midnight, I’ll go at midnight. I never
sleep anyway. I crept down the stairs as the clock in the living room struck twelve. The
house was like a classroom after unruly students had left. I swiftly moved to the sink.
The frigid tap handle made goose bumps crawl up my arms. With a dramatic flourish,
the tap was turned on and the clear crystal water poured. I hesitated but only for a
moment. My thirst got the better of me and I tilted my head under the tap and drank
the refreshing water. Soon though, my thoughts returned to her and I spend the rest
of the night crying in my bed. No more water. No more food.
I finally realized the meaning of life. It is not to be happy, try your best or succeed, it
is to love but my love was stolen. Perished with her. It took off with dad. I went to the
library today because mum was getting on my case about not getting out enough
and I met a girl. She talked with me about the books I was reading. For the first time

36

 in a long time I was happy. I wasn’t ready for another girlfriend so maybe she could
just be my friend. A friend, that’s what I needed.
We ate lunch at the library today and it was fun. We laughed and soon the librarian
told us to either leave or be quiet. We left and she showed me a great arcade center.
Apparently, I’m quite good at the “classics”. I introduced her to mum as a friend and
she went berserk. Maybe next therapy session I’ll listen and maybe, just maybe, get
over my depression.

37

 Finalist
Albidaya (The Beginning)
By Archisha Sarath
Finally! I cannot wait, for the last few seconds of the day to tick by. Soon, school will be
over, and I can relax! 3 weeks of rolling around in bed, and reading all day long! Ahhh,
the joys of the holidays. This holiday, I’m going to help a new group at the library, for
people who don’t know, or want to learn more English.
The next day, I drag myself out of bed, get dressed, and head into the kitchen.
“Hi Mum!”
“Morning, Darling!”
“Mum, you’re such an amazing person, and I really appreciate all that you do for
me!” “You’re not going to get extra reading time by flattery,” she says in a mock
exasperated tone. “No, I just wanted you to know that I love you!”
Mum puts her hands on her hips.
“Well, if I could ride my bike to the library today, you would be the bestest Mum ever!”
“No way,” comes the immediate reply.
I’m starting to get irritated.
“I’m 11. That’s definitely old enough to ride my bike to a library that’s only 2 kilometres
away. You’re just really mean!” I grab a piece of toast and storm off.
At the library, I breathe in the familiar scent of... well, I’m not really sure. Libraries don’t
really smell old and musty, as they’re often described, not this library, anyway. The
3D printer sits in the corner, the checkout desks are against the wall, and there is the
sign for the English class. I walk up the stairs, (no running in the library!) and see Julia,
the librarian running the workshop. Soon, the first man walks in, then a slow trickle of
people follow. They all take seats, and Julia begins explaining the activities. After the
first icebreaker activity, I wander over to a girl, and her mother, who have introduced
themselves as Amira and Fatima. I sit down with Amira, and ask her about herself.
She tells me that she and her family are immigrants, from Syria.
“We had a happy life, I was born into a place of peace. But then, one night, the men
with guns came. We were woken by the sound of gunshots. I’d never heard the sound
before, I was only seven, and I was still half asleep... I.. I didn’t understand what was
going on...” She takes a deep breath, her voice cracking. “Until it was too late. Father
put us all into our kitchen, and Mother was hugging me and Mahdi, my older brother.
It was all happening too fast. My Father ran outside. “What do you want?” he asked.
Then, a scream. And a loud gunshot. Mahdi ran outside, pulling Mother’s arms from
around him. “Nooo!” she yelled. “Don’t go... Mahdi!” She ran after him, and, I followed.
As we reached the door she turned, and pulled me up into her arms, so I couldn’t see
outside. But... those few seconds.. before...” Another deep breath, and she composes
herself enough to continue. “His body lay there on the ground, blood coming from his
wound. It seemed...” She struggles for words.
“Do you mean surreal? That’s when there’s something that you just can’t believe, or
doesn’t feel real.”
“That’s what I felt. To have it happen to Father... He couldn’t be gone! Father could

38

 do anything! When we were younger, Father would protect us from bullies, and our
neighbours would come to him for help. But now, I would never see him again, never
hear his gentle voice, or hear him laugh at my silly jokes, ever again.
After that, Mother didn’t let us go to school. She cooked and cleaned like it was just
a normal day. I imagined my friends, going to their lessons, playing games. I felt
like screaming at the world; how can you be so normal? My Father is dead! One day,
Mother told us that we were leaving the country. She said that we were going to
Australia, it was a great place for refugees. I paled. ‘Refugees’. That’s what we were
now.”
“We went to Egypt on foot, then caught a plane to Malaysia.” Here, she stops, her
face breaking out into the first real smile I have seen from her. “Have you ever been
on a plane? They are so amazing! I was scared at first, but then when I looked out
the window, and saw all the tiny people, and land, I felt like I was FLYING!!!” I grin. Her
excitement is contagious. But then the beam of light coming from her smile shuts off.
Her face is sad again. “We stayed at a refugee camp for two years and sought asylum.
After we got our asylum papers, we caught another plane, all the way to Australia.
It wasn’t as easy as I say. There were lots of problems with our application, and we
almost didn’t make it onto the flight here.”
I sit back thinking, and try to place Amira’s story into the real world. I’ve read stories
like her’s before, but to have someone who’s lived through this sitting next to me, it’s
just... surreal. I feel guilty for all the luxuries I take for granted, when this girl, younger
than me, has gone through such an ordeal. I am determined to help Amira, and other
families like hers, feel more welcome in Australia, their new home.
In the car, I contemplate what I said to Mum this morning. Amira’s father’s dead! He’s
never coming back. How would I ever deal with it if that happened to us? How true
it is, that you never truly appreciate something or someone until it’s gone. I vow to
show more gratitude in life, and be a better person.
Later at home, I apologise to Mum. She smiles, and promises that next week, we’ll go
to the library together, on our bikes.
“Really?” I’m overjoyed!
I walked into the library thinking I would teach people, but walked out having learnt
more than any of them.

39

 Finalist
Immune
By Finn Molloy-Drum
It was a school like any other. There was the smell of sweat and disinfectant; the desks
and the tables; the whiteboards and the data projectors. But something wasn’t quite
right… I realised it was the noise, or should I say the complete absence of sound? Have
you ever been in a completely silent school? It was the creepiest thing imaginable,
particularly when the classrooms were full of children… totally silent children.
No one coughed and nobody spoke. I could barely even hear my peers breathing.
One minute I was blasting through my daily maths sheet and the next I was gazing
around quizzically. Everyone was staring directly forward. Staring at the front of the
room. I spun around to one of my best mates, Stuart, only to find that he too was
under this mysterious spell. I’ll never forget the look of his eyes. His eyes were glazed
over and the pupils had rolled up into his head.
I swivelled around to check out others beside me, and craned past them to see those
next, and the next… It looked like this phenomenon was affecting everyone. Then
simultaneously, they all stood up, knocking over tables and chairs. They all turned
on their heels to stare at me. Their white eyes glared absently. And then slowly, they
moved in my direction.
“What are you d-doing?” I stuttered. I stumbled backwards into another group of my
friends. They gripped my arms and my hair. I struggled out of their vice-like grips and
ran for it. I flew through the door and into the corridor, where another group of kids
and teachers had gathered. They too turned and started pacing towards me.
“Cease!” they ordered in unison. Without hesitation, I turned on my heel and ran as
fast as my legs let me. My heart pumped and my legs burnt. I flew past the front
office and on through the front doors. My crowd of admirers had broken into a run
and were not too far behind me. I ran past the basketball and netball courts and onto
the oval. The drum of their footsteps was thumping on the wet grass.
Past the oval, I veered towards the woods, which were strictly ‘out-of-bounds’ on
a normal school day. I had never been in there before. It seemed that any ball ever
kicked into the woods, was never returned in one piece. I figured it was the only
option right now, with the crowd not too far behind me. As I breached the perimeter
of trees and thrashed through loose branches, a darkness took over my surroundings.
I was struggling to find my way.
My followers seemed to have backed off a little giving me some breathing room. Even
so, I didn’t dare look back. After running for ages, I realised that I was lost like a mouse
in a maze. Every tree looked the same and suddenly I felt I’d lost all sense of direction.
Shouts from my predators where echoing through the trees. I could hear twigs
snapping around me as if bones were breaking. It felt like they had finally caught up.
Silhouettes of people were swaying through the trees in front of me. Slowly closing in.

40

 Stuart stood out amongst the mob with no hint of recognition as I tried to reach out
to him.
“Stu…” I tried. No answer. He continued this peculiar stare, like we had never met each
other before. The circle tightened, trapping me in the middle. Lost for ideas, I had no
clue of what would happen next. Hope was dissipating rapidly.
Stuart broke from the pack, approaching me with menace. He moved his hand down
into his trouser pocket and pulled out a long industrial syringe with a pale green
mixture in it.
“Hold still, this will all be over soon,” he whispered. “You can be like us!”
He drew his arm back to jab it into me. I dodged the swift attack and tried to whack
him over the head. He swung back around and stuck the needle into my shoulder,
injecting the fluid into my bloodstream. I lapsed in and out of consciousness, until all
was black…
Sometime later, I opened my eyes and jolted upright. My arm was aching with pain.
There I was lying on my bed in my house. No crazy classmates, freaky forests or
sneaky syringes. Nothing, just peace and quiet. I swung out of bed and pulled on
my clothes. I descended the stairs, down into the kitchen. The sweet smell of waffles
being fried on the hot plate filled my nostrils. My mum was sitting at her desk over on
the other side of the room, no doubt writing an important email or something.
“Hey mum,” I hollered. No reply. That seemed strange, so I cast my eyes in her
direction. Her hands weren’t flying over the keyboard as usual and I couldn’t hear the
tapping of keys. I called out to her again and this time she turned around. I let out a
sigh of relief, it wasn’t my dream repeating itself! Mum swung around on her office
chair to face me. All of the colour drained from my face. I became dizzy. Her eyes were
glazed over, all white.

41

  

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45

Finalist
Tempestate
By Alexander Young
Colossal forks of lightning flashed brightly in the distance. Ear-splitting roars of
thunder boomed noisily in the cold air. Icy raindrops as sharp as needles pelted down
from the dark sky. Tall dark pine trees bowed down to the harsh wind as it screeched
its wild cry. Leaves flapped wildly, helpless. Despite the uproar of the raging storm, a
dark silhouette stalked quietly in the shadows of the forest.
A hood veiled the mysterious figure’s appearance. They were dressed in complete jetblack clothing. They strode brusquely. However, behind the hood, the dark individual
was covered in long smooth dark brunette fur. There lay rows of sharp serrated fangs,
intact with a long furry muzzle. A slimy pink tongue caressed over the knife-like teeth,
as if soothing them to be patient. Furthermore, above the muzzle, lay two unblinking
malicious yellow eyes, hunting for something.
At the end of the creature’s paws were elongated blades – blades of claws, which
appeared as if they were created from hell. They glinted menacingly with every flash
of light. Dried blood hid in the werewolf’s unwashed fur, and it was madly craving
more.
The werewolf sensed its target. A rickety old house crafted from elderly pine stood in
a miniature clearing. Dark pine trees around it waved towards the small house as if to
drag it to their lairs. Long strands of ivy crept up the side. It creaked with complaint as
flurries of wind whipped around it.
A lone bedroom window hung over the front door. There, lay a young boy in his bed.
A boy which the ravenous werewolf would devour.
…
Felix couldn’t sleep. Deafening thunder pounded in his ears. He gave a slight shiver
and fidgeted quietly with his dark crimson bedsheets. Lightning flashed blindingly
outside. The tall ancient house moaned again. Felix gingerly checked the time on his
digital clock for the hundredth time.
It was almost midnight.
He worriedly counted back hours. His father had now been out for six hours. He
hadn’t returned. Felix tried not to imagine what had held him up. He was home alone.
His mother died of influenza before he could remember.
An extensive howl came from outside.
Strange. Felix thought, dazed.

46

 There was a sickening crash downstairs – the front door. Felix’s blood froze.
Something was in the house. He was not alone anymore.
Thump. Thump. Thump, came loud footsteps.
Felix bit back a whimper. His eyes darted over to his beloved cricket bat. The lime
handle was partially ripped, and the edges were mostly dented. Should he confront
the intruder? He leaned cautiously out of his bed and tentatively inched towards his
bat.
A vicious snarl cut through the air like a hot knife through butter.
Felix halted. A snarl? His heart thumped hard in his ribcage. People don’t snarl.
Animals do. But what animal would break into the house? What about that howl?
Surely it wasn’t an animal. Felix caught a glimpse of his alarm clock, glowing feebly
in the dark – midnight. Animals which howl and were notorious of being active at
midnight were…
Werewolves. Like the ones in his nightmares and the horror movies.
Thump. Thump. Thump. It was coming up the stairs.
The werewolf has come to kill me. Felix dreaded. I must get out. But how?
The bedroom door would contain the monster on the other side. Felix glanced
desperately at his bedroom window. Could he get out there?
His fingers instinctively closed around his bat. It was his only choice.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Felix leapt over to the cotton curtains and yanked them back hard. Rain pattered
outside. He tried opening the old window with one hand – Jammed. The only way to
get outside was to break the window. Taking his cricket bat in both sweaty hands, he
pounded the brittle glass.
The whole pane shattered. Shards went everywhere. Bitter cold rain seeped into the
room, drenching the carpet.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Felix couldn’t tell if the thumping was the werewolf or his
heart trying to escape from his chest.
Felix discarded his beloved cricket bat without second thought. He jumped up on
the window sill and leaned out. The severe wind stung his face. Rain soaked his
hair. Lightning lit up the night sky. There was nothing between him and the muddy
ground below.
Jump. Do it now.
However, Felix couldn’t bring himself to jump. He was very high. What i he injured
himself? Then the werewolf could get him easily.
Crash.

47

 There was a slash in the door. The werewolf was coming.
Jump.
No. I can’t. Felix’s body protested.
Crash. Came a second wound to the door. Felix turned to peek at the noise in
curiosity.
Curiosity killed the cat. A small part of his mind thought warningly as Felix strongly
recalled the saying his father told him when he sometimes got into trouble for being
curious.
JUMP. NOW!!! The rest of his brain screamed.
Too late.
The bedroom door came tumbling down, and Felix was staring into the malicious
eyes of his assassin.
Felix tried to scream, but no sound came out.
Rain dripped off the werewolf’s cloak and plopped silently onto the dark grey
carpeted ground. He saw its extended stained fangs of doom. Curved silver claws
protruded from the ends of its hairy hands, as well as from its bare feet.
Felix saw eyes like no other. They were bloodshot and yellow. They were cold,
unblinking and malicious. An evil presence lurked behind them.
He also saw hunger in the werewolf’s eyes. It wanted him.
JUMP!
Then the werewolf lunged at him.
It took two quick strides to reach the shattered window. It revealed its sharp claws
and opened its long mouth to reveal its deadly fangs. They grasped intimidatingly
towards Felix.
But its claws and teeth closed around empty air.
Felix jumped.

48

 Finalist
Celestian Mirror
By Naomi Kuhle
The dusty old door swung open with a groan as I stepped into the musty attic.
Brushing cobwebs aside, I flicked the switch to turn on my flashlight. I looked
around before glancing again at the note in my hand. A note from my now deceased
Grandmother, “My Darling Abigail, in my attic in the left corner of the wall is a mirror.
I give this to you to keep and treasure forever. Take care of it for me. Your loving
Grandmother.”
I shook my head in confusion. Why give a mirror? My grandmother had known I
didn’t care much about my apparel and sometimes I had a slightly messy look. Was
this a kind way of saying “You look terrible”? Again I shook my head, my Grandmother
had never cared much about I dressed or if I was wearing makeup, she had cared
about what was on the inside. “It doesn’t matter whether your hair is up or down,” she
had once said “It matters if inside you are striving to do what’s right.”
“I could stop wondering and just be grateful for the gift,” I murmured as I approached
the mirror. Firmly grasping the edge of the sheet covering the mirror, I was surprised
at how clean it was. Unlike everything else in the attic, it wasn’t covered in a layer of
dust. Pulling off the sheet, I gazed in admiration at the beautiful mirror in front of
me. Edged in delicate and intricate trimmings of golden flowers and leaves with tiny
crystals embedded throughout, the mirror was large and full length. The mirror itself
was clear and untarnished and sparkled as I shined my torch over it. It was exquisite
and yet it wasn’t something I could imagine my grandmother ever using. Indeed, I
had definitely never seen my Grandmother using it. If I had, I was sure I would have
remembered this graceful mirror.
Raising the torch up so I could view myself, the mirror showed a smiling face. Except
it wasn’t my face. With a scream, I flicked the torch off and stumbling backwards
fell against an old carpetbag. A lovely golden laugh came from the mirror, which
only served to terrify me more. “I am so sorry for laughing,” a clear voice said
apologetically. Nervously I switched the light back on and tremulously turned back to
the mirror. A beautiful girl stood smiling in the mirror. She wore a floor length dress of
shimmering material and elegant brown curls framed her cheerful face.
“You’re a mirror,” I stammered, “a talking mirror.”
“How very rude,” the girl chided cheerfully. “I am not a mirror, you can see me in the
mirror but I am not a mirror, big difference.”
“What…uh I mean who are you?” I gulped out.
“My name is Alyssa of Celestia, the Crystal Kingdom. Who are you?”
“Are you even real or is this some kind of hoax?” I whispered as I rose to my feet.

49

 “Answering a question with a question is quite bad form,” Alyssa sniffed, before
breaking into a grin. “I’m real are you? Because I still don’t know if you have a name.”
Taking the hint I quickly replied, “Abigail… um of the 22nd house on George Street,
and yes of course I’m real. Why are you in my mirror?”
Alyssa gave an exasperated sigh “I am not in the mirror, you can see me in the mirror,
its like a window,” she said and snapping her fingers her image disappeared. I started
forward in shock but the only thing I could see in the mirror was my own startled self.
“BOO!” I gave another shriek as Alyssa’s image magically reappeared.
“Stop doing that! So why can I see you in the mirror? Did you know my
Grandmother? When did you know the mirror could do this?” “ You talk really fast,
did you know that?” She replied calmly. “I didn’t know your grandmother. My mother
knew her. You can see me in the mirror because I wanted to see you, I have always
known the mirror could do this. It’s made from celestian crystal, you see.”
“So we can decide to talk to each other through here?” I questioned.
“No, I can decide to talk through here, sadly you have no control. If I don’t want you to
see me, you can’t see me.” she said gently.
“However I would love to talk with you often and see how things happen in your
world, but sadly I have to go now, Farewell.” she said with a little wave of her hand.
“Bye” I murmured, but she was already gone. My mind was reeling but one thing was
clear: this was one awesome gift! Thanks Grandma! With a wide grin I walked from
the room.

50

 Finalist
Beetroot Soup
By Katherine Pan
The train groaned to a halt in the overflowing platform. As the automatic doors
burst open, swarms of passengers clambered over each other for a chance at a
seat. Clusters of high schoolers chit-chattered over the freshest gossip, exhausted
parents whispered desperate consolation to their wailing toddlers, and suited young
businessmen tapped their toes in synchronised impatience as though that would
somehow slow down time. The station itself was a matchbox, jampacked to the brim
and ready to burst into flames with the slightest agitation.
In this buzzing climate where everyone had a place to be, Monica’s lips gave a twitch
of irritation. The usual 6:35am train headed for Town Hall was only just departing,
already five minutes late. The man sitting next to her was unwrapping an egg
and bacon roll and it took every ounce of self-control not to glare at him. For one,
barbecue sauce on the tablet screen where she was typing up an email was the last
thing she wanted. And in addition to that, her stomach was currently threatening
to consume itself, and the aroma of something so hot and toasted and greasy was
almost unbearable.
Monica’s jacket pocket suddenly vibrated against her. She glanced at the number and
answered, clamping the phone between her ear and shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Sorry to bother you, Ms Woods,” her secretary’s voice was decidedly apologetic. “Mrs
Woods has just called into the office - five times now, this week - she was concerned
about you. Something about not answering her calls...?”
She scrolled through her notifications. Eleven missed calls and one new message
at 5:58am: Have you eaten yet? Please call when you have time. Love you, Mum.
Monica’s stomach let out another fearsome growl. Her mother’s soups were always so
rich, cooked over low heat until all the fat had melted off the bones and all that was
left was a creamy, steaming broth. Of course, it was high in calories too, so she never
drank more than a bowl. But the thought of it now with nothing more than a banana
in her stomach was torturous.
The tinkle of a new email in her inbox jolted her back to reality – a meeting
confirmation. She hadn’t yet finished the paperwork for this client, and they were
scheduled to meet this afternoon.
“Next time my mother calls, tell her I’m busy.”
After grinding to a stop at another major station half an hour later, the train was
finally half emptied. Just as the alarm signalled the closing doors, a hunchbacked
man hurtled into the train with two colossal canvas bags hoisted on his shoulders.

51

 The train conductor blew his whistle reproachfully at him as he walked across the
carriage, panting heavily, only to find all the seats occupied.
“Here,” Monica slipped her tablet into her briefcase and stood up. “Have my seat.”
“Oh, thank you,” he smiled, wiping a clean handkerchief across his forehead. “This city
is really far too big for an old man like me to find my way around.”
“You’re not from around here?”
“No. I’m from up north, in the country.”
“What made you come all the way down here?” Monica asked, more for politeness
than out of genuine interest.
“My son started working at a construction company here two years ago –”
“Carson Steelworks?
“Yes, that’s the one!” he said, beaming with pride. “He’s a bright young lad, my son. He
got a promotion recently, you see, and I wanted to celebrate with him. He told me not
to come, of course. But I bought the tickets all the same, without telling him.”
Monica remembered when her mother had last asked her to come home to celebrate
her promotion. She’d agreed hastily the month before when her mother wouldn’t
leave her alone about it. But as always, the work piled up, and it wasn’t long before
she was buried headfirst in a client’s case, and the next thing she knew, it was
midnight.
“Why do you have so much luggage?” she asked, motioning towards the old man’s
bulging bags.
“Ah, these? They’re vegetables from my hometown! My son loves beetroot soup. This
year’s beetroots were beautiful.”
The way he said ‘beautiful’, accentuating the ‘beau’ was just like the way her mother
delighted at the sight of a ripe pumpkin at the vegetable markets. Back in the day
when Monica still went shopping with her, that is.
“Your son is very lucky.”
He chuckled graciously, ducking his head. “Do you have family in the city?”
“Yes, my mother.”
“Then you’re the lucky one, aren’t you? I can only afford to visit my son once every
couple of months. And he doesn’t get much leave from work to come home, either.”
At that moment, the train screeched and gradually slowed as they pulled into Town
Hall Station, a familiar bustle of chaotic activity.
“This is my stop, unfortunately.” She smiled gently at the old man, in his faded cap
and humble denim trousers. “It was lovely talking to you.”
“Oh…” he looked almost sad for a moment. “Suppose you got to get to work, hey.”

52

 Suddenly, as though he were struck by a moment of inspiration, he unzipped one
of his bags and began fishing about in its cavernous depths. Finally, he pulled out a
beetroot the size of a man’s fist. “Here, take this.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly,” she shook her head vigorously. “Plus, I’m a pathetic cook.”
“Give it to your mother then,” he smiled at her, insistently shoving the plump scarlet
vegetable into her hands. “From one parent to another.”
Monica stepped off the train as an overwhelming ache blossomed at the base of her
throat. The beetroot still had the remnants of soil on it, as though it were freshly dug
from the earth. She wrapped it carefully in a napkin and dialled a number on her
phone.
“Mum,” she said when the familiar voice answered, “Are you at home tonight? Let’s
make beetroot soup.”

53

 Finalist
The Art of Regret
By Anais McColl
I did something bad. Extremely bad. Secrets are dangerous. Yet the one I hold and
regret right now is so evil, so unthinkable, so grotesque I’ve never been more scared
in my life. This is my story.
I stare into my mirror. My pallid reflection gazes back. I had turned twenty one last
month, but it’s hard to believe that my pale, childish features belong to an adult. I
grip my balaclava so tightly my knuckles turn pearl white and tug it on, exhaling
incredulously. This is stupid. I am an idiot to even consider this. Yet, the decision is
made. There is no going back now.
I hear a car beep from outside. I instantly know it’s Sarah and Josh. The ones that
goaded me into doing this. I take a deep breath then rush out the door. Sarah is in the
back, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight, like a cat’s. I climb in, and she sidles
up to me, grinning. “Excited?” She squeals in a very un-Sarah like way. I respond with
a nervous grunt. She giggles, and I shiver. I guess she’s one of those people who do
bad things for thrills. “Shut the door, will you?” Josh snarls from behind the wheel,
his voice shaking with uncharacteristic anger. I jump. Nerves, I assume, shutting the
door. Nervous about the plan.
We arrive at the museum at 11:30 pm. It’s having private exhibition of new priceless
artwork. Guards are patrolling the front entrance, but Josh isn’t deterred. It scares me,
the way he has planned everything. We stroll into the exhibition room and my legs
begin to tremble. Circular tables are placed throughout the room, each one with a
crowd of people sitting at it. Dozens of beautiful paintings - the new artwork - line the
walls. A group of musicians play a slow song softly in a corner, while a narrator’s voice
is echoing throughout the room, explaining the history of the new art. The room is
abuzz with chatter and the clinks of glassware and laughter, as toasts are made. I feel
terrible - it’s my fault I will have to ruin this beautiful night. Josh nods at us then stalks
away, and a couple of minutes later, the lights flicker then turn off, plunging the room
into darkness.
My heart begins to thump, and my body is pumped with adrenaline. Sarah and I
separate, creeping to the farthest corners of the room. Everything is still. Then a glass
shatters, breaking the silence. Then comes the screaming. It’s awful, layered with
pure terror. I want nothing more than to run away, into the night, and forget it all. I
don’t. Security begins to move in, and I force myself to stuff as many paintings as I can
inside the sack I’m holding. Suddenly, the back wall explodes with a deafening boom.
Chunks of plaster fly everywhere. My ears are ringing, the air is thick with smoke, and
I stagger around, gasping for oxygen. This wasn’t part of the plan.
Through the haze a figure barrels towards me, and grips my middle, pulling me away.
I struggle, pushing and straining “Stop moving, you idiot!” a familiar voice hisses, and
I relax and let Sarah drag me towards the remains of the back wall. We climb over the

54

 wreckage and Josh meets us there. We hear the wailing of sirens in the distance, and
pile into the car. “Drive, drive, drive!” I gasp, still unable to breathe. We speed off into
the night.
After fifteen minutes, I realise the brief adrenaline rush I felt during the heist has
been replaced with the sickening feeling of impending doom. This is wrong. Stealing
paintings is wrong. I don’t want to do this. “I want to return the paintings,” I hear
myself say, and before I can register any of it Josh slows the car to a halt. “You want to
do what?” He says, voice dangerously low. “Return them. The paintings.” “We agreed
to a deal. No backing down,” Sarah snarls at me.
Rain begins to hammer down onto the car roof, but no one notices. Sarah leans in
close and I can make out every small detail on her face, and I draw back, repulsed.
Ripping off my balaclava, I say “Take the paintings, but leave me out of this.” I leap out
of the car, and a few seconds later it hurtles down the road.
The rain instantly drenches my hair and clothes, but I don’t care. All I can think about
are the tears pouring down my face, my heavy heart and the long walk home.

55

 Finalist
Book Boy and Device Dude
By Zoey Dix
It’s been another long day for our beautifully bashful and brilliantly brave superhero,
Book Boy. Already, he has started a book club for the elderly, built a library and read
over 60 books to pre-schoolers. Now he is relaxing and reading at home after his long
day of- Ring Ring! Ring Ring! Book Boy picks up his video book and opens it to see
the President’s worried face staring at him through the screen.
“Hello Mr President,” Book Boy says, curious of why he had been called. “What can I
do for you?”
“Why do you think I called you?” The President says assuming Book Boy knew.
“Um, maybe you wanted to order pizza and you got the wrong number?”
“No it’s worse than that. It’s your arch nemesis!” The President cries.
Book Boy gasps a ghastly gasp. “No it can’t be!”
“I’m afraid so.” The President sighs.
“It’s Device Dude! What mischief has he caused now?” Book Boy asks. All he hears is
silence along with the clicking of computer mouse and the faint noise of music.
“Mr President? Hello Mr President?”
“Just... just a sec... I gotta finish this level... I’m gonna beat my high score.”
“Oh no! Mr President! It’s Device Dude! He’s making you like your game! Mr
President!” Then there’s click a and the screen to his video book turns black. All our
hero hears is silence. Then he hears the screeching of tires and the crashing of cars.
Book Boy grabs one of his many bookmarks and stuffs it inside his half finished book
then he races to the window and looks outside.
He sees many cars facing different directions and crammed together on the street.
Strangely no one seemed in panic, even more strangely Book Boy doesn’t see anyone
at all. He bolts outside and sees citizens sitting in their cars. He gets closer and sees
that they are all staring down at screens. The kids in the backs of cars were playing
Fortnite, and the parents were playing word games a messaging each other.
All of a sudden Book Boy hears a shrill laughter. He looks up and in the sky and sees
Device Dude in his fully powered device ship. “Your too late Book Boy,” Device Dude
cries, “you will never take their iPods and phones away. Mwa ha achoo! Oh sorry just
my- ACHOO! Allergies.”
“You have allergies?” Book Boy asks confused.
“Oh yeah, I’m allergic to birds. Not really a smart idea to make a flying ship huh.”
“Nope.”
“Okay where was I?”
“Taking over the world, evil laugh, something like that.”
“Oh yeah. Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha! That good?”
“Hmm... maybe a little less ha’s next time?”
“Okay, good point.” Neither of them talk. Then Device Dude breaks the silence. “Okay
then back to taking over the world then.” Before Book Boy can say a word Device

56

 Dude flies off in his not so great flying device ship. Our hero stands there in silence
thinking of a way to stop Device Dude. Then he has it. Instead of beating Device Dude
he could teach him the importance of reading. Book Boy races home and searches on
his bookshelves for an empty notebook. “Ah ha,” he mumbles as he pulls out his story
writing pad. He tears out an empty page and begins to write.
Books can inspire people to do many different things and there are also many
different types of books. There are long books with really fancy covers, there are short
books with cool cartoons, there are adventure and fantasy books or simple diaries.
There will always be a book that you like, and while playing computer games may
entertain us they are not good to use all of the time. Playing on iPads and Xboxes
isn’t social and while you may be getting more friends on social media you are losing
friends in the real world and you are also becoming unhealthy.
Book Boy started looking for his phone and after about 10 minutes he found it. (Book
Boy barely used his phone and it had got jumbled up in his stacks of books). He took
a few snap shots of his page and messaged it to Device Dude. (It was the only way
to communicate with him). Since Device Dude always checked his messages he was
quick to respond. As soon as Book Boy has sent the photos his video book rings. He
picks it up and presses the call button.
“Um, so Book Boy,” Device Dude begins “is reading really that important?”
“Yes! It inspires people and sometimes you can even write your own stories.”
“So you’re saying I can make a book!?” Device Dude says excitedly.
“As long as you have an idea of what to write.”
“Wait. If I start writing books, am I still the bad guy?”
“Well you can swap sides I guess.”
“Really! Do you really mean it?”
“Um... yeah.”
“Do you really, really, really-.”
“OKAY ENOUGH WITH THE REALLY’S!”
Device Dude smiles and dashes over to our hero’s house.
And with that our two hero’s stroll of into the sunset arm in arm. And it seems that
Device Dude now has a new career. Writing books. And remember kids always read
books. (Especially this one).

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