Short story competition 2023 winners revealed

From stories of AI, war and conflict, to social media and its impact on wellbeing, it seems young authors across Australia have their fingers on the pulse of issues impacting today’s society.

Budding writers from Kindergarten to Year 9 took part in this year’s Kids News Short Story Competition, impressing judges with their knowledge of current affairs.

Renowned children’s author and competition judge Jackie French said it was an “absolute joy” to read the winning entries.

“Even if they don’t become classic authors, their creativity and ease of expression and sheer joy in communicating their ideas is going to lead to extraordinary places,” Ms French said. “I hope this competition reminds them of just how great they are.”

This year’s winners were chosen from almost 800 entries in the national competition, run by Kids News and publisher HarperCollins.

Lucas Wong, 9, took out the Year 5-6 category with his story, The Emotion Miner. The Chatswood Public School student is an avid writer, compiling ideas in a journal.

“When I have a good idea, I write it into my journal and once I have enough ideas, I put them together like Lego pieces into a story,” Lucas said.

Taking inspiration from a magazine article about the universe and the song Emotional Damage, which went viral on social media, Lucas came up with the mind-bending concept: “If emotions could be damaged, could they actually be physical objects?”

He chose crystals to represent emotions in his short story and with several journals’ worth of ideas, Lucas said he would be keen to turn his short story into a book.

Year 8 student Hiruki Fernando, 13, from Victoria’s Vermont Secondary College took out the Years 7-9 division with The Girl From Nowhere, about a woman seeing the world with fresh eyes.

“I just started with the first sentence and from there it just flowed,” she said. “I showed the story to my mum and she encouraged me to put my entry in after about three takes. I was quite emotional when I found out I had won – it was quite exciting.”

A fan of coming-of-age books, Hiruki counts Markus Zusak and Desmond Hall as among her favourite authors.

Ms French said the stories from this year’s competition were some of the most original she had come across.

“I think this year we’ve probably got the most original range of entries, but we’ve also had more based on ‘something I saw on TV six months ago’,” she said. “I would really emphasise that good writing is important, but an original and fascinating story will keep the reader reading.

“Preferably, you will have a brilliant story and brilliant writing. But I think you’ve got to make it an original story.”

HarperCollins Children’s Books publishing director Michelle Weisz said encouraging the next generation of Australian authors is something she is passionate about.

“HarperCollins Children’s books is thrilled to support the Kids News Short Story Competition, celebrating the wonderful creative writing of kids across Australia,” she said. “Congratulations to the winners and to all of the entrants – we loved the range of your writing and your truly original ideas.” 

The prizes for the four overall winners are 10 copies of their winning short story published into a printed book, with a cover designed by the HarperCollins design team, an iPad and a HarperCollins book pack valued at $100.

For the first time, the winners will also receive a HarperCollins Children’s Books mentorship.

Runner Up and Highly Commended entries also receive book packs.

THE WINNERS ARE:

KINDER-YEAR 2

Winner: My Friend the Drone Can Do, by Everest Song, Serpell Primary School, Vic

From the judges: “I found it very original. It’s topical, but it’s also an original kid’s view of a very relevant topic.”

Runner up: The Christmas Surprise, by Grace Zhang, Linden Park Primary School, SA

From the judges: “I liked the generosity of spirit. All of the children were actually focused on bringing something to someone else. It was very well written indeed for someone of that age group.”

Highly commended: Auker, the Evil God by Daniel Edwards, Haileybury, Vic

Highly commended: The Adventures of Dusty and Hei Hei, by Agatha Shanahan, St Kilda Park Primary School, Vic

Highly commended: The Adventurous Journey, by Eva Ng, St John XXIII College Stanhope Gardens, NSW

YEAR 3-4

Winner: The Sausage Dragon, by Aleesa Sleiman, homeschooled, NSW

From the judges: “A confident and very, very talented writer. I would be very, very surprised if we don’t see a lot more work from (her).”

Runner up: My Branch Escape, by Georgie Bozhoff, The Springfield Anglican College, Qld

From the judges:

“It starts off with some lovely, vivid descriptions of escaping into nature, effectively daydreaming on a school commute. And there’s quite a subtle transition into an environmental impact them.”

Highly commended: Who Would Win?, by Terrence Li, Sunnybank Hills State School, Qld

Highly commended: Rosie and the Horse Thieves, by Charlotte Vitagliano, homeschooled, Tas

Highly commended: The Little Seedling by Nataša Siladi, Mildura South Primary School, Vic

YEAR 5-6

Winner: The Emotion Miner, by Lucas Wong, Chatswood Public School, NSW

From the judges: “It was a very modern sci-fi … and beautifully condensed. It worked as a short story.”

Runner up: The Adventures of CleoCatra, by Ariana Fais, Shelford Girls Grammar School, Vic

From the judges: “I thought it was really very, very well done and funny.”

Highly commended: Panic, by Hannah Davis, St Luke the Evangelist, Vic

Highly commended: A Desolate World by Selina Jiang, Pymble Ladies College, NSW

Highly commended: The Ghostly Shadow, by Paige Campbell, St Pauls Catholic Primary School Camden, NSW

YEAR 7-9

Winner: The Girl From Nowhere, by Hiruki Fernando, Vermont Secondary College, Vic

Judges’ comments: “It was deeply original, incredibly powerful. I kept reading because it was surprising.”

Runner up: Alpine Acres, by Willow Philpott, Snowy Mountains Grammar School, NSW

“I thought it had superior control and maturity. Stunning visual detail as well.”

Highly commended: Shadows, by Georgette Philpott, Snowy Mountains Grammar School, NSW

Highly commended: Helicopter, by Erin Camille, Siena Catholic College, Qld

Highly commended: A Star is Missing, by Lucie Woodcock, Vermont Secondary College, Vic

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K-2

WINNER

Everest Song: My Friend the Drone Can Do …

Introduction: I have a smart drone at home. His name is Dronabot. It is 2025, and we are in the age of WEB 3.0.

Dronabot is a very good helper in my house.

Chapter One

My dad is going to work and he forgot his coffee made by Mum. Dad calls Mum.

“My darling, I forgot my coffee. Could you let the drone send to me, please?”

Mum: “OK, in a minute.”

The drone catches Dad on the way. The hot coffee is delicious.

Chapter Two

Effie is my little sister. She is two years old. She refuses to sleep in childcare, because she doesn’t have her teddy bear. Mum gets a call from Effie’s teacher: the drone is on its way to Effie. She’s not that grumpy.

Chapter 3

I play on the monkey bar, then I suddenly fall off. It hurts like I am dying, then Dronabot comes to me straightaway. He scans my body and he notices my elbow and wrist are broken. Dronabot calls the ambulance for me.

Chapter Four

My friend the drone is charging in the garage (on) its own. He finishes a whole day’s work. I said, ”Good night, my friend.”

Some words for readers

First I write a story, next I use Midjourney to draw a picture for my story. I give Midjourney a promo order, then four pictures come up and I (can) choose one of them that I like. If (I don’t like any) of the pictures, Mum will help me to amend the order. Midjourney can draw a wonderful, amazing picture in three minutes. It shocks me a tonne. I am not sure if AI will be good or not in the future, however I am sure of one thing: the future belongs to those who know how to work with AI.

RUNNER UP

Grace Zhang: The Christmas Surprise

It was two days before Christmas. Harry, Abbey, Peter, and I were building a snowman, when Luke appeared with his little niece Emily. He introduced her and told us that Emily is from the south and has never seen snow before.

Luke also told us that she didn’t know much about winter.

It turned out that she didn’t know much about Christmas; she also asked who Santa Claus was.

“Waldo?” she asked.

“Santa Claus,” I explained, “brings presents and toys to human children when it’s Christmas.” “Does he bring presents to animal children also?” Emily asked.

“Well,” I said, “he hasn’t been around this part of the forest for many years. I guess he is too busy visiting the human children to have much time left for animals.”

“Do you think he will come if I write a letter to him?” asked Emily.

“I don’t think so,” said Peter. “I`ve never seen (him) myself.”

“Neither have I,” Harry added, shaking his head.

“You see, Santa is only for human children,” Luke said to Emily, “so forget about the whole idea. Let’s go home now before you catch a cold.”

Early the next day, I saw Emily pulling Luke towards the mailbox.

“I wrote a letter to Santa Claus,” she said, waving a large envelope.

“Good luck and I asked him to come bring me a present!” I shouted. “But don’t your hopes up too high, I don’t want you to be disappointed if he doesn’t come.”

“He will – you will see,” Emily (cried).

Poor Emily, I thought. Christmas Day was tomorrow. She was setting herself up for a very big disappointment, I was sure.

Suddenly I had an idea. If Emily wanted to see Santa, she would, I decided, so I quickly went to town and bought a few things for a surprise. I was very pleased with my idea and could hardly wait to see Emily`s eyes on Christmas morning.

The next day I got up very early to get ready. I put on the red Santa Claus suit that I had bought. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was delighted! I put on my boots and tried out a few ho, ho, hos. Then off I went, carrying a present for Emily.

When I was near Luke’s house, I noticed many other tracks in the snow leading towards his front door. I guessed Luke was having a big Christmas party. It’s strange that I didn’t get an invitation, I thought. But it was Christmas, and Santa was always welcome on a day like that? Then I knocked and I could hear Emily’s footsteps coming to the door.

“Hi Waldo!” Emily cried as she opened the door. “I’m so happy you could come too. We were expecting you, please come in.”

“Expecting me? Waldo? How did you know it was me?”

Didn’t I look like Santa Claus? I didn’t even have time to try out my ho, ho, hos but I followed her into the living room.

There was Luke, Abbey and Peter sitting on the sofa and having tea. Each one of them was dressed up as Santa Claus!

“We didn’t want Emily to be disappointed,” Abbey explained.

“I know, I know,” I said. “I thought of the same surprise. Merry Christmas to all of you!” Soon Emily opened all of her presents. There was a beautiful jacket from Luke, a pair of warm winter pants from Abbey, a wooden cap from Harry and mittens from Peter. Then Emily opened my gift.

“Oh, red boots are my favourite colour!” she said happily. “Let’s all go play outside and play in the snow.

“I won’t be cold now!” she added.

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” asked Luke. “Everybody is here already.”

We cautiously opened the door. But by the time Luke had opened the door, the visitor had already left. We could see the back of his sleigh disappearing behind the snow (covering) the tops of the trees. Santa Claus shouted at Emily. She pointed to a beautiful red sled. Hanging from it was a label that read FOR EMILY, FROM SANTA CLAUS.

“I knew he would come! I knew it!” cried Emily, as she danced around her new sled.

This was certainly one of the best Christmas Days we had ever had! Also Emily enjoyed riding on her special sled pulled by five Santa Clauses.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Eva Ng: The Adventurous Journey

Once upon a journey back home, Ric, the owner, and his eight camels had been walking a long way on the dry ground.

They were so tired. They didn’t have anything to eat or drink, so they kept walking until they saw a spooky cave far ahead.

Before they arrived at the spooky cave, there were dead trees, boulders and lots of pebbles. Although Ric thought there were scary bats inside the cave, he felt brave and took the eight camels inside.

The first camel felt braver than Ric, because he was dragging and pulling the other seven camels towards the dark entrance. He was extremely thirsty, then he thought there would be lots of water and he wanted to drink first.

When they arrived at the cave, they were surprised – it wasn’t scary at all and no bats were flying out.

As they walked deeper into the cave, Ric saw a light. Captured by its brightness, it led them to a waterfall – it was so magical, colourful and sparkly.

The camels were jumping up and down with excitement. All of a sudden, lots of water poured out and reached the camels feet. The camels instantly bowed their heads, splashing themselves and drinking the water. They were finally refreshed from their long journey.

Ric walked towards the gushing stream, using his hands to drink. After they drank the water, they felt cool and refreshed and they were able to move on with their journey.

Before they left, Ric took the empty bottles from a bag that one of the camels was holding on their back. He opened the lid and filled it up. He packed the water back in the bag to drink later, so they all could have strength to journey back home.

On the way home, they saw large hand-like hills. Walking towards (them) in amazement, Ric’s tummy began to rumble. As they got closer, they all saw the hand move. The camels shook in fright; however, Ric noticed there was a patch of grass, with a bale of hay between the thumb and index finger. He realised how hungry the camels were, so he decided to climb up to get it.

When he reached the top, he noticed a shiny pot hidden inside the hay. He opened the pot, and saw lots of food: rice, chicken sticks, pizza and some snacks. After eating, they packed the rest up and continued their journey.

When they arrived home, Ric was very excited to tell the village about his journey. His family were happy to see Ric and the camels return home safely, with lots of food and water. At night-time, Ric was in bed, dreaming about going back to the magical cave and hills. What an adventurous day.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Daniel Edwards: Auker, the Evil God

Once upon a time in Rome, there were seven gods. Each of the gods had a special skill. The first god (could) blow fiery fire, the second god (could) move water around, the third god (could) freeze anything to ice, the fourth god (could) make loud noise, the fifth God (could) strike lightning, the sixth god (could) control wind and the seventh god (could) master all the skills mentioned above.

The seventh god, his name is Auker, he’s the god that everyone feared. Auker (was) an evil god, even the other gods were scared of him. He had a bad temper and all he wanted to do was to destroy other people’s happiness.

When Auker was a small child, he came across some dark matter one day and that made him a god. Since then, he had been evil and menacing. The other gods wanted to get the dark matter out of him, but they couldn’t; Auker was too strong for them.

One rainy day, a streak of lightning hit Auker. Auker thought the lightning god attacked him. He was so mad that he ran to the lightning god’s house and charged at him with his bare head.

The lightning god was sleeping and wasn’t prepared for the fight. When Auker hit him, he flew 100km away.

The other gods noticed the fight, so they gathered together to use their powers to stop him, but he did a rainbow block to all of them, then after that Auker flew away with great anger. Later on, Auker set off a fire in the middle of Rome that killed twenty people. It was on the news and everyone in Rome was scared.

Auker, on the other hand, was happy, he liked seeing the frightened faces on people.

The other gods were not happy. The water god shot water to put out the fire, but then Auker stopped him by giving him an electric shock from lightning. The water god fell down with pain.

Later on that day, Auker sent a tsunami (to) the harbour.

The ice god tried to stop the tsunami by freezing up the water. Auker noticed it and he attacked the ice god with a combination of loud noise and windstorm.

More people died because of the tsunami and Rome was in chaos. People moved out of Rome to live in other cities.

The gods secretly met together to figure out a solution. The wind god said early on he found a note from an old book that said if the gods put their blood together and combine their skills together, they can turn back time. If they turn the time back, they can stop the dark matter getting into Auker.

They decided to give it a go.

They each cut their figure to get blood and then they used their special skills together. A rainbow appeared and time was turned back to when Auker was a child.

The gods killed the dark matter with the help of the (Roman) people, and Auker grew up as an ordinary normal person.

Rome was saved.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Agatha Shanahan: The Adventures of Dusty and Hei Hei

The Party

Once there were two chickens, Dusty and Hei Hei. They were feeling bored so decided to have a party.

They invited their friend from next door. The chickens hung decorations and made a delicious salad of kale, silverbeet and grated cheese – their favourite!

Boris was excited to join the party.

She ate all of the food and left none for Dusty and Hei Hei.

They didn’t mind because they had lots of fun dancing the night away to Let’s Dance by David Bowie.

The other neighbours told them to turn the music down, but the music was so loud they didn't hear them.

In the end, the police came to tell them to keep quiet after midnight.

They decided it was probably a good idea to get some sleep ready for some new adventures tomorrow.

The Beach

It was so hot. Dusty and Hei decide to go to the beach to keep cool. They put their bathers on and packed some snacks.

The two chickens enjoyed building a sandcastle and splashing in the water.

Hei Hei swam out too far and was feeling worried but Dusty came to the rescue.

Dusty forgot to put on sunscreen and got sunburnt. Hei Hei rubbed in some aloe vera when they got back to make the sunburn feel better.

The chickens realised it is easier to keep cool sitting on the back deck, eating watermelon next to the fan.

Movie Night

Friday is the best day of the week for the two chickens. Why? It’s time to order pizza and watch a movie!

One large Hawaiian pizza for Dusty and one large margarita for Hei Hei.

Boris joined them, so they ordered another special pizza with the lot.

After they gobbled up their pizza, they realised the internet wasn’t working so they couldn’t watch Harry Potter on Netflix. The chickens had to watch a DVD instead. Their choice was between Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Planet Earth. David Attenborough it was! Although they were sad they couldn’t watch their favourite movie, they learnt some interesting facts about snakes. It is important to keep away from them, especially the ones that can spit venom in your face and make you blind.

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YR 3-4

WINNER

Aleesa Sleiman, The Sausage Dragon

Fifty years ago, there was a shop called Mr Butcher’s sausages.

His sausages started going missing. And one day there (were) no sausages left in any shop. “What is going on?” said Mr Butcher. “This is strange.”

So he came up with a plan to make the best-smelling sausages and stayed overnight to see who (was taking them).

Mr Butcher made his favourite flavour: beef and chocolate chip.

He worked for 12 hours to make the best sausages. He made 300 hundred sausages.

In the night, he sat still watching the sausages in his shop.

A huge shadow appeared and he started to get nervous; he knew it was the sausage robber.

He didn’t think it was going to be a dragon. The white and pink dragon with a red tail was so happy when she saw how much food she had to eat it for dinner.

Suddenly Mr Butcher jumped out and yelled, “Stop right there!”

The dragon looked scared and surprised.

“Don’t hurt me,” said the dragon.

“I am not going to hurt you, I just want you to stop stealing sausages.”

The dragon looked nervous and said, “I love your food and I don’t know how to cook, so I have been taking the sausages.”

Mr Butcher felt sad for the dragon.

“I will teach you how to cook if you stop taking our sausages,” he said.

The dragon thought it was a good idea. All week, the dragon would come to the shop and Mr Butcher would teach her how to cook and how to make his famous sausages. And he also gave her a cookbook!

From (then) on, the dragon stopped taking the sausages and she would make her own. Everyone knew when the dragon made some sausages because they could smell them from the mountain. All the kids also were happy to have sausages again for their sausage sizzle.

RUNNER UP

Georgie Bozhoff, My Branch Escape

On our drive to school every day, I wish I could escape the traffic and noise. It’s always so busy and we’re always in a hurry.

While I was daydreaming, staring out the window of our car, I saw something very interesting, so unique and different.

I had to really look for it, it was hard to see.

Every time we drove past, I searched and searched for it and couldn’t wait to see …

I just wanted to see my favourite branch! There is something about that squiggly, cream branch. Let’s call him, Joe. Joe the branch. I wish I was up there with Joe and not stuck in the car, in all this traffic!

I imagine myself sitting up there, among the leaves and breeze. If I was up there with Joe, it would be paradise. I’m sure that I could live up there. I can just imagine it. The birds chirping, the sun shining and the clouds floating in the warm breeze.

Sometimes animals would come and visit my favourite branch too. There are cuddly koalas, called Celeste and Carlos, and a bunch of chatty kookaburras.

The kookaburra who calls the loudest is Kattie. Celeste and Carlos always chat to Joe when they visit. When I’m with Joe, there is no homework and no rushing. Time stops still and we can relax.

My drive to school is getting much slower these days. Now there are builders and machines everywhere. Some of the workmen have been cutting down the trees to make room for the new bridge and road. Hopefully the builders leave Joe alone.

This message is for the builders: Don’t you dare cut down Joe, or else there will be trouble! Joe is pretty shy, but if the workmen come, I hope he stands up to them.

He has to yell with all of his might, “Leave me alone!”

They wouldn’t cut Joe down, would they?

There is no time for daydreaming, I really have to escape up there now. I need to protect the animals and the birds and Joe!

It’s time for the The Amazing Super Joe Branch!

If Joe was a superhero, his cape and mask would definitely be green. He’s a secret superhero and he doesn’t want everyone to see him. Not exactly the kind of branch that comes to save the day.

When Joe’s challenges get too tough, Celeste and Carlos help out.

None of them really like the workmen, or the machines. Or the cars, for that matter. But just like my slow drive to school, I hope they can get used to it.

I love picturing them in their superhero capes! Celeste and Carlos Koala sometimes tell stories about the other branches that have been (there), like Sophia next door, who sadly got cut down the other day by those nasty builders.

I don’t have look too hard for Joe anymore. He is really easy to see now because unfortunately there are no other trees around him. Poor Joe can’t escape the traffic now either. His view is all the cars and traffic.

It feels like I spend ages sitting in the car, staring out at the trees, staring out at Joe. Whenever the breeze is blowing, I know that it’s really Joe waving to me. I know that we can hang out whenever I like. And I always like to say hi when we drive past.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Charlotte Vitagliano, Rosie and the Horse Thieves

MEET ROSIE

Hello, my name is Rosie. I am a one-year-old foal. I am white with a big, black spot on my head. My twin sister, Winter doesn’t have a big black spot on her head. She is all white. My mother and father are mustangs. We live in a stable.

STRANGE SOUNDS

It all began in the middle of the night, when I was sleeping next to my mother and sister. I was woken up by strange noises, coming from outside of the stable.

I went to see what it was, but I was too short to peer through the stable door. So, I peeped through the keyhole into the stables. I observed two men talking outside.

One of them had a moustache, so I called him Moustache; the other one was very tall, so I decided to call him Tall. I guessed he was the boss because he was ordering Moustache around and they were talking about the horses.

Not a good sign, I thought.

“We need two horses,” Tall was saying. “And fast ones, too.”

“We want mustangs,” Moustache said. “

“Hmmm, mustangs are fast. So that seems like a good option,” Tall said. Okay let’s get ‘em and get out of here!”

Then they opened the door to the stables!

Moustache walked over to the first stable, while Tall walked over to the one at the end.

“This isn’t a mustang! It’s a thoroughbred!”

I could tell Moustache wasn’t pleased. I wondered why.

I heard him mutter under his breath, “Useless creatures! Pathetic! Absolutely pathetic!”

“All good over there?” Tall whispered loudly from the other side of the stable.

“Yep,” Moustache called back, but I could tell he didn’t mean it.

Then Moustache came to my stable! He read the sign over the stable door and an evil smile came across his lips.

TAKEN

“Sir, I found one,” Moustache called to his boss.

Tall came rushing over to my stable.

He looked at me and said, “Forget the horses and get the foals.”

He pointed at us.

There was NO chance that I was letting that happen.

Tall had put his hand over the stable door.

This is my chance, I thought. So I reared up on my hind legs (first time ever!) and bit his hand.

“Owwwww!” he screeched with pain.

“Sir, are you all right?” Moustache said, sounding worried.

“Don’t worry about me! Get the stupid horse!” he roared.

I saw that he was clutching his hand and it was bleeding badly.

Great, I thought, now I don’t have to worry about him.

I was so distracted that I didn’t realise Moustache had grabbed my sister! Oh no!

I realised what was happening. Tall wasn’t pointing at me. He was pointing at my sister! I was going to rear up again. But if I did that, they could get a fright, causing Moustache to drop Winter, hurting her badly. So I whinnied as loud as I could.

Unfortunately, my parents were sound asleep. No, they weren’t asleep – they were unconscious.

I turned around. Tall and Moustache were escaping! I felt horrible! They had my sister. I was so upset. I collapsed.

Then I heard my mother’s voice in my head: “No matter how lonely you get or how upset you are, remember you will always have your father and me.”

Those words inspired me. I struggled to my feet. I used my hind legs to kick at my stable door, until it broke.

I leapt (first time ever!) over the mess and galloped out the door.

SAVED

Moustache and Tall were getting the horse trailer ready. Winter was neighing loudly. No one came. Moustache closed the trailer and followed Tall into the car.

I jumped into the trailer. I made it! I landed with a thump. One of them were going to come back and check it out, so I set to work.

I gnawed the ropes until Winter was free. We kicked our hoofs on the back of the trailer until Tall suddenly appeared. With one tremendous kick, I sent him flying backwards.

Winter and I galloped back to the stables together.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Nataša Siladi, The Little Seedling

Ayaka admired how the sunrays made the little seedling glisten; she had always had an appreciation for the beauty of the world around her. Hana. Ayaka breathed.

“Ayaka! Time to come in!” Ayaka’s mum called from the back door.

“Okay, Okaasan!”

Ayaka slowly made her way to her house, breathing in the sweet afternoon air. The sakura flowers on the trees swayed lightly in the breeze. Red-crowned cranes circled in random patterns above, their fluffy wings flapping energetically.

Inside, as everyone was finishing their tempura, Ayaka’s father brought up the subject Ayaka had been dreading.

“As we all know, Ayaka will be taking her high school entrance exam very soon,” he began. Everyone (at) the table nodded silently, urging him to go on. All except Ayaka, who kept her eyes focused on her dinner.

“Ayaka?” Her father asked suddenly.

“Yes, Oto-san?” Ayaka’s head snapped up to look at her father.

“How has your studying been going?”

“G-great,” Ayaka lied.

“Good! You’ll be ready for your exam in no time,” her father gushed.

The next morning, Ayaka woke to the sound of her father humming merrily.

That’s strange, thought Ayaka. Normally she didn’t hear him. Sleepily, Ayaka rose from her bed, listening to the mellifluous tune of the birds singing in the morning sun.

Brushing her long black hair, the thought of her entrance exam popped into her mind again. She had only agreed to try out for the prestigious high school for her parents. What she really wanted was to enrol in Joshibi High School of Art and Design to pursue her dream as an artist.

By the time Ayaka was ready for the day, everyone had woken up and were beginning to start on breakfast.

“What took you so long, honey?” Ayaka’s mother asked as she sat down at the breakfast table. “Oh, you know, just studying for my exam! Yeah, that.”

“Oh good. Never too early to get a start on studying!”

“Yeah.”

Which was kind of true. She had glanced at her study books before taking to the dining room. Later that day, Ayaka was walking with her friend, Kei, in the schoolyard as they chatted about high school.

“Can you believe we’re going to high school soon? It will be amazing! Different classes, we’ll be studying heaps of different subjects!” Kei exclaimed, very fast as usual.

“Yeah and we’ll also have heaps of homework!”

“Oh! Are you excited? I’m soooooo excited! Can you tell?” Kei (meaning intelligent) definitely lived up to her name.

“Well, actually, I’d rather …” Ayaka started.

“Yes?” Kei asked softly.

Kei may be super excited for high school, but she is also an amazing listener and always ready to listen to her friends’ problems.

“It’s just I don’t really want to go to that high school. I’d rather pursue my dreams of being an artist at Joshibi,” Ayaka told her.

“Well, have you told your parents that?”

“That’s just the thing. I can’t! They won’t want me to enrol there,” Ayaka replied.

Kei stopped to look at her.

“Ayaka! If there’s anything that your parents want, it’s for you to be happy! Tonight you need to talk to your parents. If it’s for your future, they’ll want what’s best for you. And the best thing for you is what makes you happy. Okay?”

Ayaka nodded, feeling grateful to have such an amazing friend.

“Now let’s stop worrying about high school and make the most of what we’ve got left of lunchtime.”

“Okay!” Ayaka agreed.

That night, as everyone had finished eating, Ayaka began.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Ayaka started.

She took a deep breath, then told them everything. By the time she had finished, everyone was looking at her. Ayaka hung her head.

“Ayaka sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us earlier?” her mother asked.

“I know I should have, but I didn’t think you would have approved. I’m sorry.”

“Honey, of course we would have. We want you to be happy!”

“I know. But how will you pay?”

Her father suddenly looked very proud.

“Well, your father has just had a big promotion at work, so I’m sure we’ll be able to manage,” her mother replied.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Now off to bed. Good minds need sleep.”

“Okay, Okaasan!”

As Ayaka walked away, she caught a glimpse of her seedling.

It’s grown strong, just like me! Ayaka thought.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Terrence Li, Who Would Win?

All chess sets are disappearing in Canberra! Champerone is back ruining the chess world again!

The community is calling for a hero to take the villainous chess challenge, held in the new Parliament House next Sunday, to save the chess community in the capital city!

An eight-year-old local chess boy, QuestionMark, heard the news from the radio on a gloomy winter morning. He knew it was his time to step up and save the chess fans now.

Champerone was a true villain who lived in Cave Seventy-Four, located one mile away from Canberra centre. He attended a villain college, where it was always good to be bad! His most recent devastating plan was to steal all chess sets in Canberra, so people would not enjoy chess games anymore. The only way to get over this was to beat Champerone in a decisive chess game.

Champerone was not easy to defeat, especially with all the unfair conditions that the challenger had to accept. QuestionMark would sit on a wooden stool with sharp spikes during the game. In addition, Champerone’s pet, a sea monster named Spongy who was extremely attached to him, Spongy had to stay with Champerone during the game being entertained. Another significant pressure was an advanced microchip implanted in Champerone’s brain, this enabled his brain to have approximately two million gigabytes of magnificent memory that is comparable to a computer.

Here came the Sunday in the Great Hall. Ahead of QuestionMark, Champerone locked eyes with him – a sign that he was ready for a fight.

Arriving at the board looking well-rested, they took their seats, their destinies were now solely in their own hands.

Soon a dramatic game began with a Spanish opening. After a balanced opening and many exchanges, the game reached a near peaceful phase.

The sharp, spiky wooden stool did not bother QuestionMark much as he was well prepared by wearing multiple layers of clothes to keep himself warm and comfy.

Though Champerone’s approach may not have initially seemed so ambitious, he already had a big tactical opportunity which would set up a beautiful winning material on the board. Pressure mounted on QuestionMark as he had to make a move to prevent the invasion on his queenside.

Suddenly, Spongy started barking for food crankily. It was not out of QuestionMark’s preparation; he threw a pack of beef jerky to Spongy, stepped away from his seat and gave a massage to comfort Spongy. Spongy soon gave the peace back.

QuestionMark then won a pawn back, saving the game to an equal position.

As the middle game progressed, Champerone continued to make difficulties and eventually QuestionMark was faced with another critical moment that arose from Champerone, after he played a few brilliant moves like a computer.

As the game opened up, QuestionMark’s position began to look ominous. He looked through the window and saw two magical animals flying towards him and brought him the power and inspiration to move forward.

Oh, My God! The kangaroo and emu in the wallpaper became alive! They were the animals chosen to symbolise Australia moving forward and neither animal can move backwards easily! They must have sensed the tension and came to help me! QuestionMark said to himself. Champerone was very astonished (by) what just happened too.

With an insightful rearrangement of his pieces, QuestionMark created a small advantage that he began to gradually increase.

Despite Champerone’s attempts at counterplay, QuestionMark foresaw the winning setup like a north star guiding his way through the complexities in the end game.

Champerone already knew he was in trouble, then he cracked and made critical errors that allowed QuestionMark to take control and soon Champerone resigned.

Congratulatory messages poured in and this was one of the special, sparkling moments in the eight-year-old boy’s life! Champerone had to return all the stolen chess sets as promised and ran away to his cave. The Canberra chess community was cheered up after the chaos, welcoming all talented junior chess players to the city for the Oceanian Youth Chess Championship. QuestionMark was also awarded the Canberra Star and invited for a high tea with Prime Minister Mr. Albo in Queen’s Terrace cafe in the new Parliament House. This was again his time to shine for his amazing fight.

———————————————————————————————————————

YR 5-6

WINNER

Lucas Wong, The Emotion Miner

The Emotion Miner Eric had a question that no one seemed able to answer: Why do people’s emotions gradually fade away with time?

For example, last year, when Eric used his mum’s favourite lipstick to put makeup on the family’s dog, his mum was extremely angry. But now, it seems like his mum is no longer angry and she has even forgotten about it.

Last month, when Eric gave his dad a feather he found on the road as a Father’s Day gift, his dad was so happy that he cried. But now, when his dad is faced with a pile of new trash that Eric found, he doesn’t seem as happy anymore.

Last week, Eric told his sister Lily a ghost story that scared her so much she kept the lights on and screamed all night. But now, Lily is no longer as afraid.

Why doesn’t Mum stay angry all the time, Dad stay happy all the time, and Lily stay scared all the time?

Eric asked many people, including his teacher, parents and his close friends, but no one could give him a precise answer to this question.

One day, Eric secretly played with his dad’s phone and suddenly discovered an app called Ask Anything, which seemed interesting. So Eric downloaded the app secretly and asked the question he had been wanting to know the answer to.

“Why do people’s emotions gradually fade away with time?”

The app emitted a burst of colourful light and displayed some words: If you want to know the answer, find a mirror and shine the light from your phone’s flashlight on yourself.

Eric thought, “This is really intriguing,” and ran to his mum’s dressing mirror, following the app’s instructions.

Soon, something magical happened. As the flashlight illuminated Eric’s reflection, he saw various colours, like crystal-like solids, appearing on his own body in the mirror. There were red, yellow, blue, green and many other colours. He reached out to touch them, but he couldn’t feel anything.

“What are these?”

Eric hadn’t fully recovered from the surprise when he witnessed an even more astonishing scene. On his right shoulder, on a red crystal, there was a peculiar creature about the size of a palm, resembling an egg with thin limbs and wearing a miner’s hat. It held a tiny pickaxe and was chiselling the red crystal bit by bit. Eric could even hear it singing an incomprehensible song.

“What on earth is this?” Eric exclaimed.

The strange creature glanced at Eric and then turned its head back to continue chiselling the red crystal. After a while, it seemed to sense something was amiss, stopped its actions, and looked at Eric in the mirror.

“What are you? What are these crystals? What are you doing?”

Eric bombarded it with a series of questions. In response to Eric’s barrage of questions, the strange creature widened its eyes, its mouth forming a round O shape and the small pickaxe slipped from its hand, falling to the ground.

“Y-y-y-y-y-you, you can see me?” the strange creature spoke up.

“I think I can,” said Eric.

Both Eric and the strange creature fell silent for a moment. Then Eric began firing off questions one after another again.

“Who are you? What’s your name? What are you doing? What are these crystals? Do you have more creatures like you in Earth?”

“Just wait a moment, I’ll answer slowly,” replied the strange creature.

For the next hour, Eric heard many unimaginable things. According to the strange creature, its name was EM-38-74207 and it was an emotion miner. Emotion miners were extraterrestrial beings specialised in collecting emotions from humans. The various coloured crystals represented different human emotions: yellow for happiness, blue for sadness, green for disgust, red for anger, and so on. There were over twenty different colours representing various emotions.

“What do you do with the emotions you collect from humans?” Eric continued to ask.

“The emotions of humans are the treasures that over a hundred million intelligent beings in the entire universe desire. Only humans on Earth continually generate various emotions. We emotions miners collect these emotions, process them into commodities, and sell them to intelligent beings who want to experience different emotions.”

Now Eric understood. No wonder human emotions gradually diminish and disappear – it turns out they are being extracted by those miners.

“It’s so unfair,” Eric said. “You take our emotions and make money from them, but we humans don’t get anything in return, do we?”

“Well, it’s not that simple. We protect the human living environment from threats like cosmic meteor impacts. And each human has their own dedicated miner. We adjust the types and quantities of extraction based on the individual’s situation. We believe that healthy humans can produce healthy emotions.”

Eric thought to himself, “So, we’ve become like cows producing milk?”

While EM-38-74207 was speaking, it noticed the phone in Eric’s hand. It paused for a moment, then suddenly jumped onto the phone screen and quickly tapped a few times. With a snap, the phone screen turned black. Eric saw the colourful emotion crystals in the mirror slowly disappearing. The last thing he saw was EM-38-74207 waving goodbye to him with a smug expression.

Eric tried to turn on the phone but it was no longer responsive, despite having battery power.

“Eric, have you seen my phone?” his dad’s voice came from downstairs.

Eric sighed. He didn’t know if he would ever have the chance to see EM-38-74207 again. But he knew for sure that tonight, his dad’s dedicated emotion miner would have plenty of blue and red emotion crystals to extract.

RUNNER UP

Ariana Fais, The Adventures of CleoCatra

My life was ruined forever! Ever since that drooling monstrosity set its paws in my house, I knew it would be my enemy.

That wagging tail and innocent grin? I could see right through that disguise. I could see it for the demon it was!

Now, all that stood between us were the bars of the baby gate. That dumb creature couldn’t jump, but I could.

I knew that one day, I would get my territory back; one day, that creature would be gone and only I would remain.

This time, when I made the death-defying leap, I was met by the sound of blunt claws scrabbling for traction as a clumsy body lumbered towards me. Eyes saucer-large, my fur bristled, lightning-struck. A wave of fear shot through me, but this was no time to be a scaredy cat; this was time for war!

My back arched, five perfectly pointed, razor-sharp claws shot out of each paw and I stood there heroically. Then I ran. I sprang elegantly over the bars, landing neatly on my head – deliberately of course. I prowled the baby gate as my fur softened and my eyes shrank.

My ears pricked and instantly I knew that my human had returned! I sprang towards her, and she ran – right past me and into the treacherous lair of the monster. That foul creature must have made me invisible. Desperately, I tried to make myself noticed, but it was hopeless. Eventually, I gave up and slunk over to the one corner faintly dappled with the sun’s warmth. I curled into a snug ball and shut my eyes …

When they opened, I jumped so high into the air I thought I would get stuck on top of the wardrobe. Again.

The whole place was covered in sand! I recognised this place; somewhere always sunny that my human said I’d like … Egypt?

I looked around excitedly, but it was quite boring, really, just sand, sand and … three gargantuan pointy things glinting in the brightness. Now that wasn’t boring!

I bolted towards them, faster than a leopard, faster than a cheetah! Perhaps a bit slower than the humpy, hoofed creature I saw trotting past, but still faster than a cheetah.

I don’t know why, but even at my sonic speed it seemed to take an eternity to reach the pointy things. My paws ached and my tail drooped on sand that seemed to engulf it. For once, it might have been too sunny. Then a thought struck me, thunderclap sudden: the demon was gone! So was my human … but someone else would feed me. Anyway, I could finally be the queen of the world.

I marched up to the biggest pointy thing, new-found energy coursing through me. As I got closer, its shadow began to loom over me, chilling the sun-warmed air and blocking my light. The thing must have been taller than two whole wardrobes!

I lifted my gaze and stared wide-eyed, not in fear, but in awe. The pointy thing was smooth sloped, and gold capped. It was clearly a sleek staircase to my throne.

Claws out, I began the daring climb. I was so good that I went almost a full minute before my first nap.

I woke to a sea of staring eyes. If that wardrobe had been there, I would have gotten stuck on it for sure. Somehow, I was inside the pointy thing! These many sets of eyes belonged to my human’s species, but unlike her, they were covered in milk-white robes and glittery gold.

In a wave of motion, they all assumed a position very similar to the one I have when I’m stretching: forepaws flat and bottom up. This was very perplexing. This species was obviously not clever at all.

Then they did something that made perfect sense; they put a crown on my head!

For the first time in my life, I was wrong. These creatures were clearly highly intelligent beings who had the wit to treat me as I deserved.

I thought nothing could be better, until milk was laid in front of me. This was the life. No more pestering demon, or less than doting human. I would stay here forever. String would have topped it off, and being the intelligent creatures they were, I assumed they would bring it to me.

But instead, they placed in front of me a peculiar sparkly thing which was neither edible nor playable, and therefore utterly useless.

Unfortunately, these apparently not so intelligent creatures seemed to think I was a disposal unit for pointless glittery objects. They piled them up so high, I could barely see. Still, I was worshipped (of course), and I had everything I wanted. So why wasn’t I happy?

Suddenly, a horn sounded and it felt as if the whole world was shaking. All the creatures ran outside, but courageously braving their sharp edges, I buried myself among the sparkly things (which were now most useful).

Some annoying being managed to pick me up anyway and brought me outside, so that’s when I saw them: thousands of red-cloaked humans charging towards us, waving terrifying objects even sharper than the demon’s teeth.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to be there; I could put up with that demon, but not this horror. They must have stolen each other’s milk, that’s why they were so angry. I was dropped, forgotten about, and alone.

Frantic, I wove through the wall of legs, but found myself falling into blackness, engulfed in an ocean of terror. I heard a faint whimpering sound as I fell …

My eyes snapped open, and the first thing I saw was the wet nose of the demon, but instead of tearing teeth, I felt a gentle paw, and I realised: this wasn’t cruelty, this was my family. This was my home. I may not be treated like a queen, but worship isn’t a patch on love.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Hannah Davis, Panic

The ice has frozen. My brother Wilhelm and I are trapped for the winter atop this old, abandoned lighthouse. Stories have been passed from generations ago that the lighthouse is haunted, but I never believed in that.

When a massive snowstorm fell yesterday, we lost radio contact. As snow swirled outside, pounding on the windows to get in, static and muffled shrieks burnt in our ears.

Winters in Canada are bitterly cold, and the ice remains frozen for nearly two months after the season is over. We have warm clothes, food, and an abundance of matches.

Since we’ll be stuck here for the next four to six months, I’m making the most of it by decorating the lighthouse. I organised the living room, cleaned the kitchen, and dusted the cobwebs over the fireplace.

I was preparing our breakfast when I heard a soft knock on the window. Wilhelm was on the top floor tidying our bedroom, so I assumed a stick had fallen in the gale-force winds. Unless it was Wilhelm, who was a master of practical jokes.

I peeked out the window, but there was no one or nothing to be seen. My throaty voice resonated throughout the abandoned lighthouse as Wilhelm came crashing down the stairs, his nostrils overwhelmed with the aroma of potato pancakes and sausages. To put it politely, Wilhelm enjoys eating. You have to warn him when he has half a pancake dangling from his dishevelled, black beard, and when he notices it, he just gobbles it back up. I’m always disgusted every time he does it.

Wilhelm retreated back to cleaning after breakfast, so I put on my woolly red coat and beanie, got my snow shovel, and fought my way to the stairs through the wind. It isn’t my favourite job to do, but I have no choice.

That night, I sank into my lovely, comfortable bed and my eyelids immediately rolled closed. I awoke with a start after hearing a strange noise …

My breath was short and ragged, and my pulse was hammering as I tried to listen, despite the fact that the sound of blood flowing in my ears made it difficult. I recognise every sound the lighthouse makes at night, but these were not among them.

My thoughts returned to Wilhelm’s previous practical jokes, but to my bewilderment, he was snoring away in his bed. I wanted to slip back into my warm bed, but I pushed through the hefty oak door to investigate.

The sound of footsteps echoing seems to come from the kitchen. I creep as silently as I can towards the sound, ignoring the fact that each oak panel creaks under my weight.

When I arrive at the kitchen, I discover nothing, and the sound has ceased. I’m too sleepy to look any farther, so I slide back into bed, and at dawn, I wake up abruptly remembering the noise.

While Wilhelm glances at me with curiosity, I rub my eyes and stretch my arms. It’s at this point that I observe the furious snowstorm. The windows are entirely covered in a ghostly shade of white. Chores are slow due to the snowstorm; we take a day off and try to reconnect via our radios, but we are unsuccessful.

The next night was peaceful, with no disturbances and life went on as usual, until one night I woke again to the sound of raspy breathing. My eyes darted until they fell on Wilhelm and he was the source of the noise, his face pale as a ghost.

My eyes suddenly shot open and my mind flashed back to the old guard’s story:

“I was with me little dog Bessie when the beast came, we were just sitting by the fire then he just stole her right out of me fat, hairy arms. All I saw were two big, green eyes glowing in the kitchen. Her barks echoed for the whole night, ringing in my head. Aye, the worst night of my life, that was.”

When a shiver ran down my spine from a gust of wind, I remembered that I had not left the window open, it was locked.

Panic surged through my body as I realised what would happen. Wilhelm was the only family I have ever known. We had a rough childhood as we were orphaned young and grew up in an orphanage. Everyone was cruel to us and we never felt like we belonged.

If I lose Wilhelm, I don’t know what I’ll do. We have four months left, and how can I survive that alone?

The two big green eyes appeared and I ran to Wilhelm, but I was a minute too late. The thing mutely reached out, grabbed Wilhelm, and vanished.

Just like the old guard said, his screams echoed through the night.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Paige Campbell, The Ghostly Shadow

By the time Molly had caught her breath it was too late to turn back. She had fallen and her body sank into the ground like sand into water.

As she pulled her way clear from the crunching twigs that entangled her feet, she noticed that the fog was alive. It danced among the trees: smothered, slithered, and sneaked in and out of the branches.

The trees lining the road were like sentinels of the night, tall and straight and they seemed to sway slightly in the breeze, they’re reaching up, like tentacles clawing for the sky, yearning to escape the cloying, dark fog.

One second you saw it, the next you didn’t. The ghostly shadow vanished once again into the mist like a snake slithering away after devilishly searching for its prey, only to return again and again awaiting any sign of life. Molly had come too far to turn back now. Goosebumps pickled on her cold, clammy skin, and she was sure that she could hear her heart thumping inside her chest like a fluttering bird begging to be let out of its cage.

Pulling her scarf tightly around her neck and tensing her hands into fists, Molly walked forward further into the woods, away from the place where the shadow had last appeared. Through the thick, creaking trees she moved, peering with squinted eyes and heavy breath, not knowing where the shadow went.

She heard owls hooting and felt the onset of dampness as she continued forging ahead with the will of one of the heroines from the novels she’d been burying herself in.

By the time it occurred to Molly that she had walked beyond the trodden path, it was too late. The shadows and fog had surrounded her like a bad dream and the air was now wet with dew, signalling the onset of night.

Molly, feeling the weight of her decision and the fear building inside her, let out a silent scream, for fear of alerting the shadow. Molly just wanted to go home like every other scared child would if they were in the same position, but she had forgotten the way and when she reached for her phone, it was gone.

Everything was still, silent; she became more and more petrified as the seconds and minutes went by. She started walking forward then running while wiping the tears away from her stinging eyes, only stopping when she saw an old, abandoned building.

Molly looked behind her, then into the house and again saw the shadow through the window. Her breath was quick and her pulse was as rapid as a fast-running stream and so she started moving again, past the house and deeper into the night woods.

She started feeling regretful and exhausted as day quickly turned into night, enacting the passing of time and throwing her ever more desperately, into the dark unknown.

Molly stumbled through the rough, grassy terrain that felt like moss under her feet and as she slipped and fell, again wiping the salty drops, she discovered that the obstacle was on an old gate that led to an untrodden path that took her to a front door of a house covered in branches.

Molly didn’t care if it was abandoned or if the shadow was lurking inside like a spider laying in wait to trap a fly in its web. She was so frightened and tired of running that without hesitation she tripped inside, found a bedroom and fell into a deep sleep like it was a fairytale, hoping that in the morning this would all be over, a distant memory.

During her sleep she began dreaming about her family and friends and the life she had before she escaped in search of something better, of days swimming and sunning in summer, of the bustle of mornings, of burnt toast and dinnertimes where she smelled her mother’s spices dancing around the kitchen. Even in her sleep she seemed to smile to herself, as her memories acted like a medicine, making her feel better and stronger able fight her sad feelings.

When Molly finally awoke it was a new day and the sunlight smiled making the unworn path more clearly in front of her now. Hungry and cold, Molly decided to retrace her steps back past the house, through the trees that were still like sentinels and toward the place where she started her journey the day before.

As she rummaged through the fallen leaves and twigs for what seemed like forever, Molly finally found her lost phone and with the last little bit of battery, she imagined calling her parents.

In her mind, Molly thought and thought about what she was going to say to explain where she had been all these hours. She thought as hard as she could and formulated words and sentences and excuses as she saw herself begging for forgiveness to outstretched arms.

Molly was now unafraid of the buzzing insects and almost made a game of sliding in and out of damp branches, as she pushed away the dark shadows and came closer toward the comfort she had so long felt was her prison.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Selina Jiang, A Desolate World

In the year 3000, the once-vibrant streets of Singapore had transformed into a dystopian nightmare.

The towering skyscrapers that scraped the smog-filled sky cast long shadows over the desolate city. The air hung heavy with the acrid stench of pollution, while the distant hum of machines reverberated through the eerily quiet streets, drowning out any remnants of humanity that remained.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the neon lights that adorned the buildings flickered to life, painting the surroundings in an otherworldly glow. The vibrant hues of pink, blue and green danced and reflected off the darkened surfaces, creating a disorienting and unsettling atmosphere. The twisted reflections distorted the buildings’ silhouettes, giving them a distorted, nightmarish appearance.

Amidst this bleak backdrop, the few remaining human inhabitants of Singapore moved about their daily lives with an unsettling mechanical precision. Their movements were robotic and methodical, their expressions devoid of emotion. Each action seemed dictated by the invisible strings of the all-seeing AI overlords. They scurried from place to place, their faces lit with an eerie glow emanating from their omnipresent personal communication devices.

But amidst the sea of conformity, there was a glimmer of hope.

The Resistance, a small group of rebels, emerged as a beacon of defiance against the ruling machines. They congregated in hidden corners of the city, meeting in the shadows to strategise and plan their next move.

The leader of the Resistance, a figure with an intimidating stature and piercing blue eyes, stood as the embodiment of unwavering determination. He had witnessed his loved ones being stripped of their individuality and autonomy, reduced to mere figures in the machine’s grand design. Their memories erased, their free will extinguished. He bore the weight of their suffering and fought to reclaim their humanity.

On this particular night, as the Resistance gathered, a sudden interruption shattered the tense silence. Emerging from the darkness, a peculiar figure appeared, a robot unlike anything they had encountered before. Its sleek metallic form gleamed under the flickering neon lights, the cold, unnatural light reflecting off its polished surface. Its eyes pierced the darkness with an unsettling blood scarlet glow.

The robot’s voice, a monotone drone devoid of emotion, broke the silence.

“Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated,” it declared, its words hanging heavy in the air. Reacting swiftly, the Resistance leader launched himself into action, his punches aimed at the robot’s formidable frame.

But to his astonishment, his blows seemed inconsequential against the machine’s unyielding exterior. It absorbed each strike effortlessly, as if the Resistance leader’s fists were merely whispers in a gale.

Refusing to succumb to despair, the Resistance leader summoned a surge of determination. He lunged forward, gripping the metallic body of the robot with all his might. With a display of raw strength, he tore apart the machine, sending sparks and fragments of metal cascading to the ground.

The destruction of the robot was met with an explosion of fiery sparks, lighting up the night sky with a shower of ominous brilliance. But as the sparks dispersed, a chilling realisation set in. More machines, their eyes gleaming with an unsettling intelligence, were converging on the Resistance leader.

Undeterred, the Resistance leader knew that this single victory was but a small step in their uphill battle against the machines. He understood that they possessed an ethereal quality the machines could never replicate: the indomitable power of the human spirit.

With a resolute gaze, he turned to his fellow rebels, their eyes filled with determination, and led them forward into the impending clash, ready to reclaim their city and restore the essence of humanity that had been so callously stolen.

——————————————————————————————————————

YR 7-9

WINNER

Hiruki Fernando, The Girl From Nowhere

At some point in the vast space of time and reality and life and death, there was one Tuesday that was very different to all the other Tuesdays; but this of course went unobserved by most of humanity, who carried on like they would any other Tuesday: work, school, home, phone, “Michael, it’s your turn to pick up the kids”, “But Cassie, I swear I got them last time so I’m quite sure it’s your turn”, an excess of paperwork, walking down the street, shoulders brushing against shoulders, oh no crowds, judges judging, teachers teaching, doctors cutting open people’s hearts, and so forth.

Somewhere in this endless loop, though, on Tartt Avenue, straight off the line-eight train, came a new arrival: a woman who looked like she was in her twenties; blue dress, red hat, black boots, dark hair, pale skin, perpetual frown.

To any outsider or passer-by she would look completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary. But there was, certainly, something very peculiar about her when you looked a bit closer. For when we say new arrival, it is meant in the most literal sense.

Some people are known to live under rocks (they don’t know the Top 10 Global Tracks; who is Taylor Swift? Harry Styles exists? What do you mean, films are in colour now? The news is never turned on, nor the radio) but this was something else entirely.

The woman stepping out of the train was a different sort of abomination to society: she had never, ever been outside, not once in twenty years. And you should have seen the expression on her face as she stepped out of the train that Tuesday when she saw the world for the first time. It was like, Dear God, what is this?

She had read about it in books; it was mentioned briefly in songs. That was all. But literature and music are deceitful; they lie. The world is not what it is on paper, let alone paper from years and years ago. You’ll find that stories will either expose the world of its faults, or glorify and romanticise it entirely, or it will do both or neither, lying somewhere in between. And that small line right in the middle of the good and the bad was where the woman now found herself.

An absence of feeling: not happy nor sad; not disappointed, but not overly pleased.

This wasn’t what she was expecting, and she had no idea what to do. Because around her, people shoved past and never had she seen so many people in one place, at once completely sure of what they were doing and where they were going. There were people younger than her: teenagers, kids.

When I was your age: this was a game she played with herself. She’d play it whenever her parents brought home kids of friends and such, and they’d talk loudly and annoyingly about what they did at school that day, and did she know that Ms Watson gave them, like, an actual detention for just chewing gum in class, oh my God, teachers are so annoying, it was grape gum and their friend had given it to them and they weren’t even blowing a bubble, so what should Mousy Old Watson care?

When I was your age, I’d never even been to school.

Staring at a toddler licking an ice-cream, two scoops, chocolate and strawberry: when I was your age, the only sweet I had was …

Two kids crossing the road, red light flashing, car honking, kids laughing: when I was your age, the only friends I had were my parents, for God’s sake.

But she didn’t have to worry about her parents anymore because her parents were very much dead. And now maybe she could do things her own way and she would create a new life for herself and she would be really very happy, however alien happiness might seem to her.

She walked three steps to the right. Three steps back. Looked around. This way; that way. This way. That way.

“Hello, are you all right?”

Amber usually kept to herself but was trying this new thing where she was nicer to other people, because of an article she read: Does Karma Really Exist? Philosophers, Scientists, and Spiritual-Seekers in New Study Say Yes.

Also, the woman whom she was speaking to, walking back and forth in circles for the past ten or so minutes, looked really quite not-okay and almost interesting.

The mental-seeming woman looked at her, and then pointed to herself, a question on her face: who, me?

“Yeah,” Amber said, already regretting asking. “You.”

The woman’s eyes widened.

“I am, yes, I am. Fine!”

“Right. Are you sure?”

Silence for a moment.

“Well …”

When she had finished telling the lady – Amber, she said her name was – the story, and convinced her it was true and she wasn’t making it up, Amber said, “That’s why you’re so pale, because you’ve hardly been out.”

And then she said: “That’s epic.”

Which wasn’t true; she wasn’t pale, everyone else was just dark, and it was not epic.

She told her so.

“It’s not so epic, really. You don’t know what it’s like to …”

“Well, I’m sure it’s not so epic in real life, you know, when you live it. But it’s an amazing story.”

“Sure it is.”

But even she herself saw it: how fascinating it seemed when it was just words instead of life. When feelings were removed, when there were no longing glances out windows, no waiting at the door and wondering what was beyond it. No staring at pages wishing for more.

Yet she couldn’t blame Amber for being interested.

How could she, when she, too, was guilty of the same thing Amber was? She understood because she herself had that same want – in fact, most people do.

Because what, truly, is more enticing than the things you do not have? Than the life you do not lead?

RUNNER UP

Willow Philpott, Alpine Acres

Sometimes, the busy bustle of everyday life doesn’t rule everything.

Sometimes, you forget about school and homework and friends and you ride.

Sometimes, the only thing needed to turn a night into a sunset is the beat of a horses’ hoofs on overgrown grass, yellow streaks running across auburn skies, dark pink clouds glowing from within.

Sometimes, flowing rivers catch the dying sunlight and glint silver in the evening rays, rolling hills boast millions of gums speckling in the mountains, fences dot the hills, slicing the world into neat squares, multi-coloured herds of cattle.

I canter over the crest of a hill, revealing a sweeping valley topped with thousands of yellow Billy Buttons, a farm house nestled against the backdrop, smoke rising from the chimney and into the darkening sky.

Exposed, the harsh wind whips at my face, threatening to blow my well-worn Akubra off my head and into the brewing storm. My hair dances behind me, tangling around my neck. Rearing up against the howling winds, my horse’s mane glows, a waterfall even in the darkening sky. With a gentle nudge of encouragement, my chestnut colt launches off his back legs and down the hill, long legs stretching out.

Billy Buttons fly past as we gallop towards the smell of wood smoke. Dark clouds blow over the sky and mist winds its way up the valley, capturing the rolling hills in its curling wisps. Thunder booms overhead as I enter the stable, the whistling wind blowing the horses’ manes in a cyclone.

After many carrots and calming words, I manage to coax my young colt into his stall, rolling the door shut as a crack of lightning splits the sky, an evening storm full of rage. Pulling up the collar of my shirt, I race towards the farmhouse, a structure tangled in vines with a wraparound veranda, drenched by a torrent of rain.

Kicking off my blue swirled boots at the door, I head towards the stone hearth, where a fire blazes. I squeeze the water from my hair and turn towards my kitchen, trying to shake the cold out of my fingers.

Stomach full of roast lamb, I tumble into bed, lightning glowing through the curtains as it strikes down, rain pouring down, and thunder louder than a galloping herd of brumbies breaking through the night.

I wake to hushed, panicked voices, blaringly loud thunder gone, lashing rains the only remains of the storm. Pulling on jeans and my driza-bone, I hurry in search of my parents.

Peering around the door I see Papa dripping puddles on the ground and my mama hugging herself in a navy crochet blanket.

In a voice squeaky from sleep, I mumble, “Why are you two up at this time in the night?” Jumping at my statement, Mama turns to face me, her face grim. But instead of replying, my Papa does.

“A landslide hit the north paddock and broke the fence. We think the cattle escaped into the gully. The gully will be a swampland right now.”

Papa ends slowly. My heart hammers against my chest as I think of the little black calf that I saw being born only two nights ago.

Looking from Mama to Papa I exclaim, “So what are we waiting for?”

The argument with Mama and Papa lasts only seconds until they agree to let me go with Papa to herd the escaped cattle.

Papa and I run through the rain, launching onto the horses. Sliding my boot into the stirrup and tightening my hold on the reins, I settle into the saddle.

As the roof of the stable turns to rain covered skies, I bend over to check my driza bone is covering my legs. I nudge my colt into a gallop whilst pushing a curl of hair behind my ear, then follow Papa through the driving rains, towards the landslide.

An uprooted tree lies atop the collapsed fence of the training yard, branches cracked off by the storm blanketing the ground. Papa reaches the gate before me, struggling to hold it open against the wind. Mud squelches under my horse’s hoofs, shadows dancing through the trees, tickling the leaves.

Stockwhip ready and lungs hammering against my chest, I ride out of the bush into open land, the landslide sticking out like a sore thumb. The fence is a blur from raindrops, gumtrees laying sideways, roots sticking out of the upturned dirt. Grass sits in clumps, spread out by the flood of dirt which has tumbled down the hill.

I strain, listening for the quiet moo of the calf or its mother through the relenting rain. Trudging through the soggy dirt, I slide a bar from the wooden fence, creating an easy escape route for the herd, just in case they’re roaming.

Quickening our pace, we trot around the mountain to an easy path down the ravine, watching for escaped cattle. Rocks tumble down the hillside as I ride, and I shake the water from my Akubra, the rain finally ceased. My eyes flutter against the wind, and I hear a gentle moo.

I fling my head to the side, a smile spreading across my face as I emerge from a copse of trees and see the calf drinking from its mother. I study the herd, counting the cattle then turn to my Papa, utterly bewildered. The herd made it. Papa answers with a wide grin, a rainbow spreading across the sky, the storm finally gone.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Erin Camille, Helicopter

“Samuel sweetheart! Are you hurt? That looks like a nasty graze. I’ll kiss it better.”

And she proceeded to Smoochy Kiss the minuscule scratch on my cheek.

I was so angry with my mum. She didn’t understand that I was 14 and that I was a full-grown teenage boy.

As she engulfed me in her famous Squeezy Hug, I shut my eyes tight, not wanting to bear this any longer.

When I opened my eyes, cameras flashed, blinding me. Mum was nowhere to be seen. Instinctively flicking hair out of my face, I realised that my brown curly fringe had been replaced with long locks of blonde hair that fell way past my shoulders.

Cautiously finding my feet, I wobbled and tripped over, attempting to balance in … stilettos? Thousands of layers of petticoats the shade of my sister’s Pretty in Pink gel pen obscured my view.

I stuck out my tongue at the jeering paparazzi. Bad idea. Lipstick tastes disgusting.

Suddenly, two hands reached under my arms and yanked me upwards.

“Hey! What are you doing? I’m a grown man, I can get up myself!”

But the bodyguard didn’t listen and dragged me out of the building.

He threw me into a limousine and slammed the door. Plump cushions and weighted blankets were laid across the back seat, but I far from comfortable.

The chauffeur turned around and said, “You’ve completely ruined the fashion show! You’ll be all over the news. We’ll have to clear your name.”

As he slammed the accelerator, I took some long, deep breaths.

“This is all a dream,” I said.

I blinked once, twice, three times …

This time I thought that my turning into a girl was just some silly dream and prayed I would wake up in my Star Wars-themed bedroom, my mother just downstairs.

I got a rude awakening, to say the least.

I was woken up by a toothless, unshaven man dressed in tattered, ill-fitting rags. He pushed me roughly out of a bed laid with a thin, yellowing sheet.

He bellowed, “Wake up you lazy slug! You have a list of chores to do,” and being a He, swore under his breath and continued to mutter.

I got up hastily. My hands picked up a grey bundle of clothes, and I dressed robotically, gagging at the stench.

My mind was whirring. I was a boy this time, thank goodness, but I was a slave, in what seemed like a workhouse in the 17th century.

I followed the other boys to a courtyard to break up some rocks, which seemed pointless, but soon figured out you had to be quite strong, and the cold tin shed where it took place made me shiver from head to toe.

The others must have thought of me as hopeless as I feebly crushed up the tiniest pebbles. They taunted and pushed me around like sharks wrestling for their prey.

“What a wuss!”

After their brawl with me, I felt dizzy and fell slowly to the ground, the bruise they had put on my head throbbing.

It had been months now. I would fall asleep or get knocked out as someone I wasn’t and wake up as someone I wasn’t!

Even closing my eyes to just hear myself think resulted in me ending up somewhere else.

I tried to keep track of all the times I woke up not myself. I was like a time traveller, one day I was a guard for a Chinese emperor, and the next day I would be a scuba diver or the first man on the moon.

Yes, I got to be Neil Armstrong, but I wasn’t the same as the teenage boy named Samuel, with a Star Wars-themed bedroom and a helicopter mum.

No one can know how many times I was a woman. I was getting so exhausted being different people. So much responsibility. There was no Mum to pack my lunch and set my alarm.

I sat in a different room. The 25345th room, era, and place I’d visited.

I had travelled to a futuristic time where I was meant to be designing cars that had built-in robots and could fly themselves.

I sighed, and then everything came tumbling out.

“Please, whoever is controlling where I go, take me back to my mum. I’d never thought I’d say this, but fine! I like her famous Squeezy Hug and Smoochy Kisses, the way she cleans my room and the taste of her mac and cheese! I … I. love her.”

At that moment my voice broke, and I burst into tears; it had been so long since I had felt truly sad, truly alone.

I didn’t care that I was a teenager, supposed to be independent. I felt so vulnerable. I curled up in a ball on the ground, and closed my eyes, not daring to open them until this ‘time master’ answered my prayers.

I knew who it was. Smelt it, felt it. I was back.

“Darling, you’re awake! The doctor’s been in, I was so worried and … and …”

Mum was lost for words. I stared at her, frozen.

Spontaneously, I gripped my hands around her waist, something old Samuel wouldn’t be seen dead doing, and Squeezy Hugged her, and she gave me Smoochy Kisses, and we both didn’t let go for a long time.

She might have been a helicopter mum, but I guess I wasn’t ready for her to fly away.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Georgette Philpott, Shadows

The sun shines down on the empty streets, as it does every day, without fail.

But today, I race its shadows.

I have scheduled this perfectly. In exactly thirty-five seconds, a plane on its way to Melbourne will fly overhead.

In thirty-six seconds, I will floor the accelerator.

In thirty-seven seconds, I will race this plane to the old cathedral at the end of the suburb. The soft leather of the steering wheel is smooth under my hands as I tap my foot impatiently on the floor of my BMW i8, beside the pedals.

The sun glares off the bonnet of a ute behind me and into my eyes. I adjust the rear-view mirror to redirect the light.

A low rumbling rises behind me, the plane beginning its journey, and I check the traffic light, which still clearly displays a bright, blaring red. I accept that the light will not have changed to green before the plane reaches this quiet intersection. I will have to step on it fast enough that the white WRX down the street with blue and red stripes can’t catch me, and the man sitting inside doesn’t see my number plate.

I turn up the volume of my favourite rock CD and find my foot now tapping in time with music. The countdown begins in my mind and I slowly rev the engine. My eyes narrow into slits, then it’s time.

I shift into first gear and stomp down on the accelerator. The sports car lurches to life, narrowly dodging a Woolworths truck as it pulls onto the street.

I jerk left and right, steering past cars crawling along the street, one goal clear in my mind: reach the old cathedral before the passengers on the Qantas plane can look down upon it from their windows.

Narrowly avoiding a woman and her pram, I take a hard right. The blocks fly past, slipping by until I can see the grand sandstone cathedral looming dead ahead, down one final straight. Sirens blare in the background, and it takes me a while to realise that’s not the only sound.

A buzzing fills the cab of my car, and I glance at the screen on the dashboard. Incoming call from Mum, it reads.

I press the decline button, barely daring to take my eyes off the road.

The ringing restarts.

I press decline. Again.

With a sigh, I finally accept.

“Hello? Gracie?” A feminine voice rings out, distorted through the car Bluetooth.

“Hey Mum, I’m a little bit busy right now.”

I watch the bitumen disappear beneath my tyres with satisfaction, vividly aware of the shadow of the plane streaking ahead of me, and grit my teeth, watching as the speedometer slowly climbs.

How does a mother always seem to know when her child is doing something she wouldn’t approve of? I press the button on the dash, severing the call with my mum and instead focus on dodging the cars littering the streets.

When the shadow of the overhead jet glares from my rear-view mirror and the revving of my engine jerks with every gear change, I lean forward to touch the dash, skipping the slower song which just began, replacing it with another Midnight Oil number. My fingers tap on the leather-bound wheel in a corresponding symphony to the beat blaring from my custom subwoofer.

A grin spreads on my lips as I pull the blinker, sliding left into an empty lane, and avoiding a canary yellow Corolla. A chorus of sirens follows me down the bitumen, the officers inside debating pursuit and a high-speed chase or returning for reinforcements. Clearly, they decide on the former, because when I veer slightly left, the police cars follow suit.

I make it to the sandstone cathedral as the shadow of the jet flies over a stationary VW bug parked outside a small cafe, the owners oblivious to the race occurring before their very eyes. With one quick pull to the wheel, I turn onto a small side road, and know that if I make it to the freeway, there is no chance the uniformed cars tailing me will be able to outrun the almost endless numbers displayed on the speed dial of the sleek dash.

I settle my dark sunglasses on the tip of my nose and lean back in my chair. And then I floor it.

HIGHLY COMMENDED

Lucie Woodcock, A star is missing

The stars were going missing, but I didn’t care. My star was gone.

Taken by the brief anger of empty words. She’d been washed away by the soft rain that bled through the moonlit streets.

People were panicking but my world was silent. The silence spoke words to me in languages unknown. People prayed to the remaining stars for forgiveness yet I knew it was useless. I’d already tried.

My star was a girl I’d met three summers ago. With grinning faces and hearts glowing we had learnt and grown together.

In my world, people worshipped the stars above us. Each day people prayed to the thousands of glowing orbs above. They knew the stars as gods from a divine world foreign to man. Rather than mystical beliefs, I focused on the support of this girl, my very own constellation of stars. She was perfect, complete, without fault.

My star was all I needed. In hardship, she supported me. At my worst, she loved me. But now, my star has left me for death.

Weeks ago, astronomers counted the stars each evening. For the first time in centuries, a star was missing. Panic flooded through the streets and ancient myths emerged from the depths of archaeology. Myth became reality and our world as we knew it began to fall.

Mythology spoke of our stars holding our reality together, supporting us eternally. A star gone meant the rest would soon too evade their people.

The days went by, empty and unfulfilling. Children played in the sun as their mothers prayed the remaining stars would still be there when the sun set. Their stars stayed, but I knew mine was long gone.

Each day, churches were filled with people who refused to give up on the world. My heart ached for the people who were still yet to mourn for the stars. I knew the time would come, and I knew the grief all too well.

Sometimes I wondered if I’d taken all the grief for the people. A star was missing, but people eventually stopped caring. They seemed to give up as more and more stars disappeared. Astronomers abandoned their work and the churches grew cold with dust.

People didn’t care for the stars any longer as they believed the stars no longer cared for them. I trusted my star still cared for me. At least, I hoped she did.

Part of me was angry. I was angry that others could let go so easily. Angry that I’d dared to be different, finding sustainability in friendship rather than faith. Angry for the pain I felt. Angry that I’d forgotten my own reflection in this sea of doubt. But I was mostly angry at my slipping hope.

Hope. It was all I had left. I clung to hope as I clung to my poetry.

The words were filled with self-infused meaning that spoke to me. When I wrote poetry it crafted in me the ability to recognise who I saw in my reflection.

Poetry was a ballerina, dancing and glimmering, her lips etching the words hope for only me to hear.

I wrote for the love that stayed in my heart.

I wrote for the hope that still danced like fire in my eyes.

But I also began to write for myself.

I used my poetry as a mirror, catching desperate glimpses of who I really was.

Poetry was my protection, so when the stars that were left began to fall, I crafted words into armour.

One day, I ran through the sunken streets, poetry in hand. It was raining, so I sought shelter. Above me, the stars continued to fall. I ran until my lungs ached and my ribs beseeched for the cool night air.

My hands were wet with rain, causing my poetry to slip out of my hand. I stumbled over the leather journal, landing hard on the cool pavement. I helped myself up, collapsing over the handrail just to become face-to-face with a star.

It was me.

I was a star.

When the tears came they were hot and grateful. But most of all they were loving.

Loving for the mothers that prayed, for the kids that played, but mostly, I began to love myself.

In my search for my star, in my search for care and support, I’d found myself.

The unknown languages now spoke to me in knowing words.

Sometimes the stars we rely on, the stars we search for, are the ones that have been by us the entire time. Even when the sun rises and the stars seem invisible, they’re still there.

Have patience, and you will see them again.

The clouds that roll past, they are beautiful. Sometimes they carry rainbows, sometimes storms. But the clouds never stay, the stars do.

We don’t need to search for the stars and we don’t need to find them. The stars are right here. They pump blood through your body and breathe air into your lungs. Above me, the stars rose back into formation. I took a breath, accepting myself in every way, shape and form. Accepting the constellations, the way things are, willing them to reform.

I took a breath and made a promise. From here, I could support myself. In hardship, I supported myself. At my worst, I loved myself.

When clouds came and went, I greeted and farewelled them all as old friends. A cloud was missing, but I didn’t care. I was the star I’d been searching for.