Debating & 

Mullauna Motif 

Mullauna Motif Writing Competition

Each year, the junior levels craft a piece of creative writing in response to our Mullauna Motif.  This year the Mullauna Motif was ‘Lift’.  Students then compose a piece that involves this key element.

On the Open Night, there is a competition across teacher selected entries from Years 7, 8 and 9. This competition is to ascertain the very best piece and the public is asked to vote on their favourite story. The winner this year was a piece by Timothy Beechey in Year 7 for his piece, ‘Voices in the Lift’. Congratulations, Timothy! 

Here is his narrative: Mullauna motif - Voices in the Lift

It’s time for work. I work on the 12th floor. It’s too much effort to take the stairs so I always take the lift. But the voices always come when I take the lift; they torment me. I step into the lift and the doors shut. But there are no voices. It’s my lucky day! I press the button for my floor, the button dings and lights up as I hear the mechanics of the lift start pulling it up. It comes to a halt and the doors slide open. A man steps into the lift. I think I know him. Isn’t he the guy that mugged me? It has to be him. He is wearing the same ripped blue jeans and sweat stained Adidas shirt he wore on that day. Stay calm Terry, just ignore him. I’ll ask what floor he’s going to. “What floor are you going to?” I ask.

“No one loves you!” he responds.

“Excuse me?” I say. 

“NO ONE LOVES YOU! NO ONE LOVES YOU!” 

He keeps yelling at me, repeating the same phrase. Through his screaming, I hear the mechanics of the lift pulling us up. 

“NO ONE LOVES YOU!” 

The screams shatter my thoughts and pierce my heart. Again, the lift comes to a halt and the doors open. A group of teenagers step in. They seem familiar. Aren’t they the ones that jumped me a while back? It has to be them; they’re wearing the same school shoes and school uniform they wore on that day. I’ll just ignore them. 

Through the screams I ask, “What floor are you going to?”

One replies, “You’re a horrible person!” 

Another screams, “No one will ever forgive you!” 

And soon the entire lift is just a lake of noise, a sea of insults and insecurities being forcefully shoved into my ear canal. However, even this sea of noise could not stop the lifts mechanics from pulling us up once again. 

“NO ONE LOVES YOU!” 

“NO ONE WILL EVER FORGIVE YOU!” 

“I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!” 

I can’t focus, I can’t ignore it, it’s too much to handle. I collapse to the ground in tears as the people in the lift keep screaming. The lift stops moving and the door opens. I shut my eyes and start weeping. I open them, and there is no one. Everyone is gone, as if they were never there. However, I can hear two voices. One who sounds quite like my wife and the other is an important sounding man. I can hear them speaking.

The man says, “Ma’am it’s been 2 years, he’s not waking up. I think it’s time to pull the plug.” Who’s not waking up? I think to myself. 

The woman who sounds like my wife responds, “Please, give Terry a few more days!”

That’s my name. They’re talking about me. I cry out, “Wait, don’t kill me!”

But nothing comes out.

My wife through tears says, “It’s for the best.” 

And the lift doors close. 

Tamsin Davidson

Head of the English Faculty, Debating Coach and Coordinator