Short Story Competition
The English Department and GEC Library partnered up this year for Book Week to run a short story competition. This year's theme has been the delightful "Dreaming with Eyes Open". With a word limit of just 300 words, students were invited to enter with their interpretations of this year's theme.
The three finalists, all talented Year 8 writers, impressed the judges with their evocative, imaginative and beautifully written short stories. Congratulations go to:
- Anara White in third place with Sirens
-Evan Shields in second place with At the MCG
-and our winner: Riya Kanta with My Eyes are Open
Thank you to all those who entered.
Please take the time to enjoy their writing.
Emma Schmidtke - Head of English LA
Clare Murayama - College Librarian
First place
My Eyes are Open
My eyes are open.
I force myself to keep them open as I read my eulogy to Vivica. Maybe if I let them close, even for a fraction of a second, they might never open again. Vivica’s will never open again.
I wrote the eulogy on my maths test. Everyone else was griping about question fifteen after the test, saying we hadn’t covered polynomials yet. I didn’t remember a question about polynomials. Flipping to question fifteen, I realised it was because there were tears smudging the ink on that page.
I failed that test.
My eulogy is too plain. It’s about how much Vivica meant to me and how I will miss her. It’s not about how I still hear her voice telling me I’ll be okay every time my anxiety acts up. It’s not about how I am reminded of her every time I pass her sister in the hallways at school. It’s not about how I struggle to choke back tears whenever I think of her.
So, I pacify my trembling hands and take out a pen. I write about how she was my salvation in my pain and how I see her in her sister.
I write about Vivica’s dreams. She wanted to publish a book. She knew her parents hated the idea, but she kept dreaming with her eyes open. She never allowed reality to swallow her into its pit of hopelessness like I did.
But now her eyes are closed forever.
My own eyes are stinging from staying open. Although I don’t want to, I close them- and I cry. I cry till my voice is raw, the extent of my own pain stunning me.
I open my eyes.
Vivica can’t dream with her eyes open anymore. I’ll just have to do it for her.
Riya Kanta 8B
Second Place
At the MCG
As our wingman hurriedly threw the footy on the boot inside 50, I felt the rough hands of the burly full-back push vigorously into my back as I flew high for a mark in the forward pocket. “Surely that’s my free, umpire??” I thought as I tumbled onto the velvety MCG turf. The Friday night lights were on, as were the 50,000 Hawthorn fans in the crowd, booing in disappointment at the umpire’s non-decision. Five points were all that separated us from our arch-nemesis Geelong, with whom we had a bitter rivalry with.
Geelong had led all night, but we’d managed to claw it back to five points with under a minute to go after an inspired second-half turnaround. The umpire called play on as Geelong’s best defender executed a clean pickup and looked to clear the ball out of defence for the last time; it looked as good as over. But I wasn’t done yet.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our trusty runner signal for 30 seconds; there wasn’t long to go. With one last mighty effort, I dragged my battered, bruised body towards the footy as I charged towards the Geelong defender at full stretch. Unbelievably, he fumbled as I rammed into him and I claimed the free for incorrect disposal. As I heard the crowd going berserk behind me, I knew this would be the last kick of the game.
The footy gleamed brightly in my sweaty palms as I stood 45 metres out from goal and tucked up on the boundary; quite a tough angle. Boot hit leather as the siren sounded, while the footy soared gracefully through the air. It split the middle of the Punt Road goals, sending thousands of Hawks fans around the MCG into a wild frenzy.
Evan Shields 8B
Third place
Sirens
We come for them. Our screeching voices follow them. They don't expect us.
Our song of death hypnotises them. We lure them. Our voices wail below the shallows. We seduce them. Up we come, our scaly faces transforming. We portray the people they love the most. Our voices manipulate them. So they come to us. They fall into our trap. They slowly make their way to the edge of the ship; oblivious to their surroundings. We call for them to come, manipulating their dull minds. Some escape our enchantment, seeing us as the hideous beasts we are; trying desperately to free their companions. But it's too late; they are all doomed. They come closer. They jump, falling into our extended arms. Waves crash as we transform back to our true selves. The enchantment washes away, as looks of horror cloud their faces. Then,
we drag them down to the depths.
Anara White 8C