Short Story Competition 2022

This year’s Short Story Competition was also judged by Gill McLay, literary agent and founder of Bath Children’s Literature Festival and Events of Wonder, and was inspired by the theme ‘Around The World’. There were stories of adventure from every far-flung corner of the world, globe-trotting tales from the Arctic to Australasia, and gripping chronicles which circumnavigated of the earth. There were legends of other worlds, accounts of interplanetary rotations, discoveries of other realms and so many stories that were just ‘out of this world’! Our judge loved the scope, variety and ambition of the tales which engaged with everything from contemporary politics to ancient myths and a great deal more besides. ‘The scope of students’ work was incredible and the standard of writing across the board really inspiring,’ observed Gill. ‘It was a pleasure to read them and I look forward to seeing where their writing takes them. . .’

Junior Category

WINNER: Laura Cannock - Dad’s Legacy 

Our judge said: Well written and wonderfully rewarding for the reader. You really thought about the narrative arc, and it’s paid off. Great balance of sadness and hope. This contrast in writing is a real skill – congratulations!

RUNNER UP: Lizzy Barnes 

RUNNER UP: Ifor Williams

Our judge said: Original and different. What a great strength to see things from different perspectives - a skill to nurture in a budding writer. 

HIGHLY COMMENDED: Martha Edwards

Our judge said: Great story and I was desperate to know a little more of why his back story. Your strength of writing is really good and the narrative journey impressive. The fact the reader asks questions means they care about your characters! Well done. 

HIGHLY COMMENDED: Ben Jones – The Wanderings of Huem

Our judge said: Great opening and writing is wonderful. The characters are brilliant and introduced really well with confidence and skill.

HIGHLY COMMENDED: Nameeta Naneibam – The Travelling Chilli

Our judge said: Very original and clever. Your writing is very strong and you have a great talent for characterisation. Writing is all about balancing all the elements and you did this really well.

Intermediate Category

WINNER: Another Time and Place by Ava Morley 

Our judge said: Very clever and really well written with great characterisation – this one really stood out. Well Done! 

RUNNER UP: Wendy Zhang – Around My World That Once Was

Our judge said: Beautifully written with great observation in the text. It really hooked me in. 

RUNNER UP: Imogen Luker – Portal of Everything and Nothing. 
Our judge said: This is clever writing and a great idea. I loved the premise. Your writing is incredibly strong!

HIGHLY COMMENDED: Francis West 

Our judge said: Some lovely description within your writing. It was a really ambitious piece and very original. 

HIGHLY COMMENDED: The Insane Discovery of a Novice Explorer by Kaan Demirtas 

Our judge said: Lovely story. Really interesting and supported brilliantly with a clear knowledge of ants! 

HIGHLY COMMENDED: Untitled by Hafsa Shazuli

Our judge said: Good writing and strong narrative but do remember your reader. Sometimes I was a little confused. You clearly had this story vividly in your mind and I would love you to ensure we can share that with you. 

Senior Category

WINNER (and OVERALL WINNER OF THE SHORT STORY TROPHY 2022): ELISE WITHEY 

Our judge said: What a beautiful story that was perfectly balanced with atmosphere, fear, hope and beauty. It transported me to the bluebell wood but I felt the emotions of your characters. Very clever writing and I loved that you never forgot your reader. That is a real talent. 

RUNNER UP: Maria Mergoupis – Forgive me Father For I Have Sinned.

Our judge said: Brilliantly told and incredibly confident. It was a real stand out short story and was searing in its fragility. You really understood and got in the mind of your character. An important story and one made very important as books are where we all start to understand more. 

RUNNER UP: Claudia Williams 

Our judge said: Beautiful writing and a gentle but strong story. It was very accomplished indeed and the imagery was wonderful. The whole piece was incredibly thought provoking – congratulations. 

HIGHLY COMMENDED: Hermoine by Isla Byrne

Our judge said: Really loved this story – it had a fantastic contemporary feel and energy about it with great background knowledge and understanding. 

HIGHLY COMMENDED: Patrick Hewett – The Tourist 

Our judge said: Clever and very accomplished. Shows a real talent for plotting and never forgets his reader. If you don’t end up as a future crime writer or playwright I’ll eat my hat!! 

HIGHLY COMMENDED: Taken by Joseph Walker 

Our judge said: This is a brave and clever story. You have told it well from the doctor’s perspective and it was a really interesting taken on a difficult story. Thank you for sharing it with us! 

You can read the short stories of the three category winners below.

Overall Winner – Elise Withey

Spring, and the bluebell woods were thick with wild garlic. Dew-fattened, leaves pressed close against the ground, the small, bright flowers scattered like stars. The smell clung, wet and heady, to my clothes. Twilight darkened like a bruise. Along the high green banks lay the bluebells, spilling down the slopes, across the forest floor gorged on rainwater, and as always I kept to the path, knew not to disturb them. 

This part of the woods looked the same as every other I'd walked through, but now I knew I was lost. Hopelessly so. The bluebell woods stretched right down the mountain and, though I'd been walking for an hour, I still hadn't caught a glimpse of home.

I'd come from the northernmost end of the village, where the shop was, but I'd taken a shortcut through the woods rather than follow the road down in a loop through the valley. It was pressing evening, and the sun kept low over the hills. The path seared white into the mountainside. In the bare light, the bluebells were deep, velvety indigo. The forest sweated with the stench of wild garlic. Below, the black oaks; above, the wide sky, the empty stars

When the man appeared, I thought for a second I'd imagined him, he stood so frozen. Clinging to his hand was a little girl, no older than three, bundled in scarves and mittens and a puffy jacket two sizes too big for her.

‘Excuse me!’ I called, breaking into a jog. The bluebells swallowed down the sound of my voice. The air was very still.

The man looked up. He had a long, weathered face, moulded by rough hands. His eye sockets seemed pressed into his head like thumbprints, shadowed by a jutting brow. He was very tall. I could not see his eyes.

I regretted attracting his attention. The bluebells pressed in close, listening eagerly. ‘Are you lost?’ asked the man, and stricken I nodded a yes.  Then he smiled, and the clay-hewn lines of his face softened into kindness and my shoulders eased. The little girl - his granddaughter, maybe? - peered shyly up at me from beneath her pom-pommed hat. ‘We were stargazing,’ the man explained. ‘Just about to, at least; scarce dark enough yet. But the stars’ll be there tomorrow night, just the same. We'll walk you home. Bluebells’ll do you a mischief should you wander through them come dark. There's an old quarry round here. Can't see it, what with all the flowers. Easy to go astray, take a tumble.’  I thanked him profusely. I hadn't known of the quarry, nor the woods’ treachery, but the unease from the bluebells had already begun to sicken me since the sky had started to darken. The pair walked me home. The little girl mustered enough courage to cling to my sleeve, announcing the names of constellations to me, high voice reedy with authority, while her grandfather smiled down and covered her tiny hand in his old craggy one,  gently correcting her now and then. 

The sky ripened till it was more purple than the bluebells and the light left the forest inch by inch. Soon, I couldn't see the hand I held in front of my face. But the grandfather led on still. He seemed to know the path with a familiarity bordering on love, or maybe fear. No doubt he came here near-nightly, the stars below him on the forest floor, constellations of bright wild garlic flowers.

‘Thank you for your help,’ I said. He waved dismissively. I shook my head, though he could not see it in the dark of the woods. ‘No, really If you hadn't helped me I'd have been stuck here till dawn-hell, I might even’ve fallen into one of these quarries, I don't know. I'm grateful. Really.’
The old man was silent for a minute. The forest hummed around us. ‘My daughter, and Tilly’s mother,’ he said eventually, ‘she was lost here, once. An old lady found her wandering. Led her right back to my doorstep. And I-I'd been so worried, terrified beyond words, looking high and low for her. You don't know what it's like. I was so worried. But that old woman, she found her. Helped her. The effect of her help, I still feel it today, each time I come here. I know the way home now, and when Tilly grows up she'll know the way too. And maybe you will one day. But it wasn't me who helped you, really. Thank the old woman. Thank her.’  Then he fell silent once more. We did not speak again till the woods thinned, lightened, and down by the valley’s edge I saw the gold glimmer of windows, houses, so far, so far.

The old man walked me right to my door. It opened at the touch of the doorbell, to my mum, my dad, both furious with relief. I was bundled inside, scolded and hugged and told how awful and wonderful I was, and by the time I'd extricated myself in time to thank the old man the porch was empty, the gate ajar. Beyond, the woods. The waiting night.

I did not walk the bluebell path again till many years later. Even then, I could not go a step without thinking of the old man and his little daughter, and the help they offered me. I could not chase that memory from my mind- not until I walked that path again and again and again, till it was imprinted into my memory, till I could walk it come night or fog or snow. Only then did I allow myself to say that I had truly thanked that old man for his help. Only then was the debt I owed him, paid.

Junior Winner - Laura Cannock  - Dad’s Legacy

I want to travel the world. Ever since I got my favourite book,  ‘The Traveller’s Atlas’, on my 7th birthday, I’ve dreamed of going to America, Italy, Africa and everywhere in between. Now I finally can.

4 years earlier

‘Mum!’ I shouted down the stairs, ‘Leo’s been sick!’ 

No answer. 

‘MUM!’ 

was shivering and crying in front of a lumpy puddle on the landing. Sighing, I rushed downstairs two at a time and into the kitchen. 

‘Mum!’ I yelled again, now seeing her leaning against the marble counter. ‘Leo’s thrown up everywhere!’ 

Still, she didn’t respond. 

‘Mum?’ I asked when I saw her red eyes. ‘W…what’s wrong?’ 

She’d been crying. She never cried. Without realising it, tears trickled down my cheeks too and I started to panic. Something bad had happened.

Something awful. I tugged at her sleeve. ‘Mum, what is it?’ 

Finally, she looked up. ‘Raelynn…It’s your dad.’

The funeral was two weeks later, two weeks after Dad’s fatal heart attack shattered our lives. Mum was like a zombie, barely having the strength to get up each morning, let alone plan a funeral. I had no other family, except Uncle Tobias who hadn’t contacted us since moving to Japan, so the ceremony was small: just me; my little brother Leo; Mum; and a couple of Dad’s fellow fishermen. Leo was crying quietly. I didn’t really listen to the elderly vicar who led the service, he just spouted generic lines about how Dad would be missed, but he didn’t know the half it. Yes, he would be missed but it was more than that; it was like a chunk of my heart was missing, a void that nothing could fill. The vicar didn’t say anything personal. He didn’t mention Dad’s dreams of travel and exploration, dreams he had passed on to me through the books we shared and watching travel documentaries together. Dad was at sea a lot of the time so when we could be together, we always made the most of it. He was joyful and carefree and made everyone around him feel just as good. We loved him. I loved him.

Eventually, I had to go back to school. I didn’t want to, not only because I didn’t want to have to face people, but because Mum was struggling. She had only just gone back to work, and she kept burning toast and leaving the washing to pile up. She cried too much, and I could tell it was making Leo sad too. He didn’t understand. ‘Where’s Daddy?’ was a daily question at this point, but I didn’t know what to say to him and didn’t want to put more pressure on Mum.

‘Come on Leo, how long does it take to put on a pair of shoes? We need to get to school.’ Not that I cared if we were late. ‘We’ll be back by 4.30 Mum, don’t forget to buy milk and bread.’ I turned to go, ‘Oh, and make sure you take out the…’

‘Raelynn, stop worrying, I’ll be fine.’

Gazing up at her tearful, haggard face, I sighed and hugged her goodbye. ‘Bye Mum.’ 

I still worried.

At school, I just couldn’t concentrate. There seemed no point in doing Maths anymore. Dad loved Algebra and Geometry and could always get me to understand. He was gone. He wasn’t coming back. My head felt fuzzy and muffled, separate from the outside world. Everyone seemed to stare at me, nothing obvious, just little glances here and there, but they were enough to make me feel singled out.
After Geography, my favourite subject, Mr Bailey asked to speak to me, so we waited for everyone else to leave, more looks being shot my way as I stood awkwardly by his desk. ‘I just want you to know that people are here for you if you ever want to talk? You can come to me, or any other teacher and all of us will listen, ok?’

I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t: I wasn’t about to spill my heart out to someone I barely knew.

‘Mum, we’re back!’ Closing the door, I hung up Leo’s discarded coat, dumped my keys on the hall table and shook off my shoes. Hearing Mum on the phone, I went up to my room, not wanting to disturb her. I slumped down at my desk, to learn a list of German verbs for homework. I read them over and over, but they just wouldn’t go in. Giving up, I sat on my bed, gazing across at the world map that Dad and I had spent hours scribbling routes on together, then at my overflowing bookshelf, and at one book in particular. ‘The Traveller’s Atlas’ My favourite. Dad’s favourite. 

I stood up and gently pulled the hardback out of its place. When I was little, Dad read it to me every night, but I hadn’t read it since he died. Slowly, I opened to the first page. ASIA it said in bold letters. I was still staring down at the page when Mum came in. ‘Oh, darling’ she said, hugging me tightly, and I realised I was crying.

I looked back at the book in my hands, ‘Now Dad won’t ever be able to travel to all the places he always wanted. He’ll never see the world. And if I ever have enough money to even think about it, that’d be years away’

Tears in her eyes, Mum smiled knowingly. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure, Raelynn.’

It turned out that Dad had been saving up all his life to take us traveling and the only reason we hadn’t yet was because I was too young, then Leo was. He left us £24,000 in his will.

‘1 o’clock flight to Jakarta leaving in 15 minutes. Last call for boarding.’ 

I pick up my heavy backpack, checking the book’s safely tucked inside and we make our way over. As I step aboard the plane, I smile and whisper, ‘This is for you, Dad.’

Intermediate Winner – Ava Morley  Another Time and Place

As I stood still for a second, I could immediately feel a soft flow of energy seep into my body. Beams of sun shone through me, making my skin glow in the humid heat. Stepping forward, I glanced ahead of me, scanning the wide spread of ancient land. I eyed the crumbled Mayan ruins, surrounded by a towering wall of swaying palm trees and greenery, which steadily I ambled closer to. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect of Tulum, but it was far more beautiful than any pictures I had ever seen of this special place. So different to home, all the way on the other side of the world. I knew this was my place. My place of calm. Its natural beauty was so peaceful, the comforting salty smell of the sea lingered in the air whilst I listened to the gentle rolls of waves crashing in the sea below. The crumbled ruins were all across the land, worn away, falling apart. Not much was left but still I tried to imagine what it would have looked like when they were built high and filled with life. The air must have been bursting with energy and noise, but now it’s just the serene sound of the waves and soft wind whistling in the trees. 

Listening to the waves made me want to go over and see them, so I followed the sound until I found myself high up on a cliff top, overlooking the icing sugar beach down below. I watched the clear blue water play in sync with the sky whilst I let my eyes adjust to the blinding bright white bouncing off the paper-white tips of the waves. The only thing separating me from the cliff edge was a row of shrivelled plants overgrowing the rocky, dusty pathway I stood on. 

My gaze was broken from looking into the distance when I heard a gentle wispy voice say, ‘Hello.’ 

I immediately turned my head, wondering who this mysterious voice belonged to. My eyes locked with a pair of deep brown eyes belonging to a boy who looked around my age. I smiled gently at him. He looked back at me warmly and in a soft voice he told me his name was Kan, son of a Shamen in a local village. 

I asked him what he knew about the area, and without hesitation, he began to share his endless knowledge of the place. I was fascinated how he knew so much. With such passion, he started telling me about the Mayan beliefs and circle of life. Sixty-six million years ago an asteroid struck the earth in this very area, wiping out dinosaurs and sparking a long running ice age. As a result, he told me that the area has a magical aura and an incredible amount of spiritual energy. He told me about the Mayan beliefs on life and the cycles of creation and destruction, of seasons, and of life and death. When Mayans died, they believed they had moved on, not ended forever, death simply the end of a stage. 

I loved listening to him talk. His voice was like music to my ears,  music that I wanted to play forever. Being with Kan for that short amount of time made me feel safe. I felt a comfort around him that I had never felt before, and I knew I was meant to meet him for a reason. 

After some time, he had to head off, but keenly told me to meet him by a wooden entrance sign of the small local village of Cenote Escondido later that day at sunset. I felt like a magnet, drawn to him. Instantly, I missed him, desperately wanting to see him again. The thought of him was the only thing filling up my brain and it drove me insane. 

The village was in a large jungle and I could smell the fresh damp soil filling up my nostrils. The sound of the squawking birds soaring through the emerald green surroundings filled my ears. I knew I was in the right place when I saw the rotting wooden sign with the very faint engravings of ‘Cenote Escondido.’ The damp sign was stained with mud and a rich green moss. It was so worn away, splinters of wood chipping off; it was clearly a very ancient place. 

Time seemed to go painfully slowly, stagnantly  as I stood there by the sign, waiting. The feelings of betrayal started to crumble my soul as the thought of him not turning up at all became a reality. 

Looking to my side my eye caught an old, wrinkly woman sitting on a log with her neck hunched over. She was singing some kind of lullaby in a high pitched croaky voice to a small bare footed child. 

Gingerly  approaching her, I asked if I was in the right place, which she confirmed I was. I asked where a boy, Kan, son of a Shamen in this village would be. She gave me a puzzled look, like fog had filled her brain, as she revealed to me that Kan had unfortunately died five years ago of an awful illness and that his Shamen father sadly was long gone. 

I froze. A wave of shock hit me as if I had been submerged in icy water. 

How could I have been speaking to this boy just hours before? Somehow this special place had brought us together from different times and had given us an unbreakable connection. Maybe in a different time and place we would find each other again.