Writing Competition Winners

For the first time in 2022, Beaumaris Secondary College held a whole-school writing competition. This year’s theme was 'another world' and students from all year levels were invited to submit short stories of up to 1,000 words that addressed this theme. We received a wide range of submissions from all year levels and it was fantastic to see students interpret the theme in so many different and creative ways. 

A team of BSC teachers conducted the first stage of judging to create a shortlist of candidates in each category. We were then lucky enough to have two expert judges from our local community decide on the winning stories. Anna George and Scott McLaughlin were thoughtful, discerning and constructive in their final judging, and we’re incredibly grateful for their time and expertise. Please see the final results below:

Junior Category (Year 7)

'The Girl from Spiritus' by Oliver P

The judges said this was 'a compelling, visceral piece with some excellent imagery and hints of humour’. 

Middle Years Category (Years 8 and 9)

Untitled piece by Jake D

The judges said 'Jake’s piece was entertaining, clever and very relatable’. 

Senior Category (Years 10 and 11)

'The People We Were' by Holly B

The judges said this was 'a beautiful, affecting story about growing up. This piece has stayed with [them] and Holly is to be congratulated for it.’

Each winner will receive a Beaumaris Books voucher and they were all formally congratulated in this week’s House Assemblies. 

Below, you’ll find Holly B’s winning story titled, ‘The People We Were’. Oliver and Jake’s pieces will be published in future newsletters so please stay tuned for those.

Thank you to all students who submitted stories to the competition this year. We absolutely loved reading your stories and hope that you continue to pursue your love of creative writing. Thank you again to our fantastic expert judges. 

Aimee Shattock

Communicate and Relate Teacher and Literacy Coordinator

The People We Were 

By Holly B

It was 7pm on a Friday night and Tully was ready for bed. Dragging her feet up the grey flight of stairs, the occasional yellow flickering lights accentuating her pallid skin and baggy eyes. How her friends would laugh at the waitress’s uniform now spattered in god-knows-what, when they were probably out at the nearest nightclub celebrating the fact that it was Friday. A quick glance at her phone showed the string of drunken messages, begging her to meet them with the occasional ‘or else’ threat. But the thought of switching her plain black shoes for heels, her apron for a dress nearly brought tears. 25 and wanting nothing more than to curl up in her pyjamas on her worn second-hand couch, a tub of ice-cream in one hand and the numbing noise of some soapy reality tv show filling the otherwise quiet apartment. 

The flaking green paint of her door came into view, and Tully could not have been more relieved. After shouldering it open—the hinges stiff from rust—she threw her keys on the table by the door, already littered with unopened bills. Knowing the fridge was empty, she eased her aching bones with a sigh onto the couch, sitting down for the first time in eight hours. Instead of reaching for the remote as she had intended, Tully found herself staring at the wall, her eyes snagging on the countless frames her parents had hung there when she had moved in. 

“Just because you’re all grown up, doesn’t mean you can forget who you are,” her mother had said as she hammered nail after nail in the wall, hanging up each photograph with such love that Tully hadn’t appreciated at the time. Her heart ached now as she saw that each photo was from different milestones in her life—all her firsts. The first time she rode a bike and managed not to fall off… her first dance concert that made her believe she was destined to be a ballerina someday… her first day of high school—each photo showed Tully as she had been, full of hope and excitement about the future. And now that she was in the future, what had come of her life? What would those girls in those photos say about her now? 

Tully felt her eyes grow heavy, and she stood up groggily. Reaching for her bedroom door, she nearly fell at the sight of what she found beyond in the room. She had to be dreaming…or delirious from exhaustion because what lay beyond was her room—just not her current room. 

Layers of soft pink, purple and blue hit Tully like a wave. The queen-size bed that should have been in the corner was replaced by a knee-high bed of soft toys and blankets. The large window across from her revealed not a bleak city avenue, but a peaceful neighbourhood street that Tully knew like the back of her hand. She backed out of the doorway, pulling it closed behind her to reveal in large painted wooden letters, Tullia. 

Tully felt her lungs constricting, panic a churning whirlpool in her stomach. She tore down the staircase, not bothering to note the newness of her childhood home. It wasn’t until she reached the front door and was out in that quiet street did she take a breath. Bent over, hands on her knees, Tully felt the warmth of the sun on her back, seeping through the iciness that had nothing to do with the breeze. 

“Will you help me?” a small voice behind her made her turn around. The girl was about five or six, her hair in plaits that stuck out in awkward angles, her turquoise tutu matching the colour of the bike discarded on the ground beside her. The scab on the girl’s jaw looked new, causing Tully to reach for her own jaw and the faded white scar she knew was there.

“I can’t do it,” the girl pointed to the bike, her lip wobbling. “Everyone else can ride a bike but me.” 

Tully stared at the bike, the pink streamers like a splash of colour in a world of grey. It was the sight of her own eyes staring back at her, tears slowly forming that broke her from her stupor. 

“Of course I can help you,” Tully said, bending to lift the bike from the ground. She waited as the girl swung her leg over, her glitter-clad shoes barely scuffing the grass. Tully swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed the bike to the empty road. 

The girl screwed her eyes shut, “I’m scared,” she whispered, reaching up to clutch the scab on her jaw. Tully blew out a breath and squatted down to her level, the words coming to her naturally.

“I get scared too,” she said softly. The girl’s eyes widened comically in surprise, enough so that Tully huffed a laugh. 

“But you’re so old! I thought adults weren’t supposed to get scared.” 

She chose to ignore the jibe at her age, remembering how she’d thought her own parents were ancient. “I get scared all the time. But you know what?” she said, as the girl stared at her with open trust, “You can let your fear win, or you can push it into the corner and tell it that you are strong.” 

The girl studied her face, “Does it work?” 

“I’m not sure,” Tully said truthfully, “But we can find out.” 

The girl nodded with resolve, her tiny hands gripping the handlebars as Tully started running, pushing the bike as she went. It wasn’t until she reached halfway down the street did she let go with one final push, watching the bike wobble but remained upright. 

The squeal of delight brought tears to her eyes, the bike growing smaller in the distance. The silhouette was joined by others, and as they slowly made their way back down the street, their figures took familiar shapes. Her shapes. 

One from every photo on her wall. 

They smiled, and the girl on the bike walked forward, taking Tully’s hand in her own. “Now it’s your turn.” 

Together, they walked until the light of the setting sun enveloped her, and her eyes opened in her apartment once more.