Young Writers Competition Before Christmas, the English department ran a creative writing competition using the title ‘My Happiest Day’
and these entries have been entered into the Rotary Club Young Writers competition
. We are still waiting on the next stage so, in the meantime, we organised a Towers School winner based on an anonymous staff-wide vote. We were overwhelmed by the amount of entries we received and, as a result, the English department has created the Young Writers Club.
We would like to congratulate the following for their wonderful pieces: Gemma White (Y7), Jibril Chapanga (Y8) , Lexie Pucknell (Y8), Mia Young (Y8). Patrick Leo (Y11). Suhana Limbu (Y11) and Kyle (Y11)
Here are first place and first runner-up stories. These are wonderful pieces of writing and we recommend you take a seat, make a cuppa and enjoy.
Suhana Limbu (Y11)
The beauty of child-birth. The beauty of you. I have known you for months now yet I have never met you until today; you were sewn into my body and created prepossessing embroidery with no loose threads left behind. Cross stitches, running stitches and basting stitches. You did them all and left images of rattles, teddy bears, scraped knees and first steps. It was a luxurious tapestry made out of simple cotton. And for that, I treasure you, although the needles used were painful.
Hastily, white coats soared around me like storks in the sky. The scent of hospital misery, a wire pierced into my trembling hand; my thoughts were a shuffled deck of cards. The excruciating pain butchered and slaughtered my body; the screams that were buried deep in my mouth awoke and tore through my flesh like a shard of glass.
“You have to calm down,” A voice rang through my ears. “A couple more pushes and you’ll get to meet your baby.”
White walls, white machines, white flashes. Trickles of sweat washed my forehead as my face contorted into a grimace. Pads of soothing thumbs caressed my arms however I couldn’t focus on who it was because all I wanted to see was you. All I wanted to see was your first time blowing out candles on a birthday cake, your height measurements carved onto the frame of our door every year, your playground voice replacing my music playlist and your first ever art attempts decorating our fridge so I can admire it and whisper to myself I’ve made it.
And then an earth-shattering cry warmed my body. The unmistakable cry of my new love. My dream-like state came tumbling, plummeting, diving back down; my sanity had finally melted together to create an unfamiliar feeling. As your mouth rooted for milk and your tiny fists waved around, a feeling more overwhelming than love waded into my chest. A feeling that was timeless and euphoric. The nurses had blinding smiles yet they faded into the background as you were gifted to me. Then you stretched my abrupt seconds into a beautiful lifetime. There were so many hidden secrets inside of you that I was eager to learn as time went on. Would you hate chocolate like I do? Would you reach new heights and become a life-changing doctor? Or would those petite fingers grow to hold a paintbrush and create extraordinary art?
It was as if all the colours in the world blended together to create a magnificent palette: you. Full of fascination, I traced all the features of your face so I could memorise the utopia that was moulded into a newborn baby.
Finally I thought.
The embroidery had wrapped together and created the bundle that was in my arms; it created all the wonders in the world that I never knew existed. It created the beauty of you.
Our first-runner up is:
Have you ever wanted to Fly?:
Do you know what it’s like to fly? No, did you ever want to know? Crave the sensation of a breeze under your limbs as you soar above every insecurity? To have Your feet off the ground and your pain passed? Yes, Me too.
With my feet sturdy on this platform, Succulent sorrows humming from the past radiated throughout each narrow corridor of my now crooked mind. Mercilessly thrashing dashing grins and sneering their fingertips around my windpipe only teasing me of what once seemed real. When did my heart drain cold? When did my veins sink in lead? When did my voice start to bubble under this ocean of irrational abandonment swimming with nothing but embers of angelic memories? I try my best to cradle Fabricated ballads reminiscent of surgery childhood chuckles in my arms yet they only seep between each mellow crack. Life: She is the cruel temptress. Cowards creep up the pit in my chest and whisper with the softest of ease soothing traumas of the budget felt in our pulse. I have no more time and I have no more stamina. She may be a barbarian, but she looks like an hourglass. Timeless ticking taints my lungs despite my trust endeared into her sour claws. Effortlessly weaving toxic thread between blankets swooning in sweet suffering and cauterising my final fragment of faith. Shall I serve you my soul for a final goodbye. Or do I serve null from your finest delicacy.
The lungs through my ribs anchor me to this conscious nightmare; My head yearns no more than intoxicated hatred. Maybe if I held my breath, I could breathe at last. All these mirrored Labyrinths seemed to merge the straight path into crooked mazes like a circus haunted by the foulest of folks, twisting I’m foolish resilience like fatal food poisoning. The past seems no more than a dream. the ignorant bliss failed to warm my iron heart.
With my feet sturdy on this platform. The twitching agony of my pulse croaked through the rope. The rough touch reminding me of my fate, I was flirting with the sole card left in this mocking hand she had dealt me. It must be nice to have something to live for. Something to cry and to lie and to die for. I remember the time it was worth it, now I am dug up and used like a coffin. How long can the paint stay polished? Before ripples curdle through the corpse. Sealing my aching eyelids neatly, those jolly memories lurked back through my brain, Ricocheting around my skull like cannibalistic warfare.
Do you know what it’s like to fly? I do.
Our talented students continue to write now and always surprise us with their wonderful ideas. If you would like to get involved in creative writing please do contact your English teacher today! We are currently 48 members strong and are always looking for innovative, young talent. The club has three topics to write about this term: ‘Transitions’, ‘Hope’, ‘Freedom’. If you feel like you can write descriptively about these topics or if you want a chance to show off your writing, to talk with other students or just for inspiration to get pen to paper, then join in. Email Miss Hickman: email@example.com, Mr Ferguson: firstname.lastname@example.org or your English teacher today.
We can’t wait to see what you can do!