The Very Short Story Writing Competition - Part 3
The GB Weekly thanks everyone who entered our Very Short Story Writing Competition. We are publishing some more excellent entries this week and the winners are:
12 years and under: Evelyn Morrish, Shanelle Bayliss Bowden, Angus Shelly and Betsy Blasdale. (Village Theatre tickets on their way.)
13-18 years: Tullia Wilson and Rachel Sadowski (Village Theatre tickets on their way)
Adult: Alan Swafford, Des Molloy, Hannah Schenker and Lisa Gardiner. (Roots Bar vouchers on their way.)
Whizz! My reel zoomed. I struggled but I wasn’t giving up. Splash! I saw a sudden silver flash in all directions. I wound and wound my reel. I was so angry with that fish!
Then I heard the sudden noise: “Cinc!” My reel snapped. So I got another rod. I was reeling my hands off, then the barracuda popped up.
Kynan Childs, under 12
Tyrone gets tackled. He goes to ground. John and Jed drive over the ball. I pick it up. I’m 15 metres out from the try line. I sprint with all my thrust. Someone from the other team squats down to try to tackle me. I fend him in his ugly face. I keep sprinting, I see the corner. I dive……….
Leonard Mason, under 12
I leaned over the jade pond, a still pond of mirror-like appearance, its quiet reflection, unstirred, creating a quiet asylum in the screeching rainforest night. The goldfish resembled a bright salvation in the dark damp forestry. I was deserted here yesterday. The moonlight allowed me to see a tall shadow behind me…a sneering machine, stood poised there…mouth ajar… cold ravishes…
Shanelle Bayliss Bowden, under 12
I stare down the barrel of a long, silver shotgun. The man holding the weapon was old and wrinkled with a floppy straw hat and grubby singlet.
His beady eyes stared at me over the shiny sights. “Get off my property, Sonny.” He whisper-shouted.
I nodded vigorously.
I began walking away from the creepy old man and his silver shotgun.
Angus Shelly, under 12
Splash, splash. I move through the water like a torpedo and as silent as the wind. Suddenly the prey comes into view. Two more swishes of my tail should get me there. Then snap, snap, crunch, it squirms and worms but it is never going to escape my strong tooth-filled jaws.
Yum yum what a great dinner, now dessert. Predator.
Will Robertson-King, under 12
The hiss of the milking cups seemed harsh after the warm safety of my bed. The rain seemed like impatient fingers drumming loudly on the tin roof of the shed. “Wake up!” My strict father yelled. “You fell asleep and the dog just ran off, you can go get her now.” Sighing, I walked off sleepily into the dawn mist.
Evelyn Morrish, under 12
He effortlessly slid down the mountain, flicking his ankles at every mound and swaying at every turn. He sped up to the next mound and jumped, flicking himself backwards. Then he fell, the ice-cold snow punishing his fall, the carbon fibre slick line skis cracked off the rock-hard boots and tumbled down the icy mountain. Help! Help! Where’s the ambulance?
Josh Ryan, under 12
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Alan Swafford, adult
I’m wrapped in layers of grey.
My lips chafed raw and
thumbs split with cold.
Winter makes me stormy
from too many chill,
sleepless nights
in a bed too wide for one.
So I wear my scarf,
canary yellow bright
and ride with the rising mist
through the still frozen valley
finding peace
in the perfect pale winter blue sky.
Lisa Gardiner, adult
They told her it might feel like snow melting, sliding through her all liquid like. In the end it was buttery, warm but with sand too, the grit just small reminders of where she began and he began too. Arms outstretched, gaping great chestfuls of it, she waited.
She was unwrapped, she was a gift. Love or the sweetest drug.
Hannah Schenker, adult
It started with a kiss and a sharing of “Darling” but ended with a hiss and a lot of snarling. The passion of youth took them to the stars and beyond, but he was Kirkaldies and she was Warehouse. The accelerant of lust soon turned to dust for there was no shared plateau to enable the nuptial anniversaries to flow.
Des Molloy, adult
