School pupils' competition entries
Read the winning story, ‘The Turning of Time’ by Oliver Yu, and the runner-up, ‘Nightmarish Rotations’ by Marvellous Oladigbo, in the Years 7-8 category. For the Years 9-10 category, check out the winning story, ‘Turning the Tide’ by Remy Pemberton, and the runner-up, ‘Behind’ by Alp Cam.
Years 7-8 winner: ‘The Turning of Time’ by Oliver Yu, West Derby School
Through a child’s eyes I watch as the great chestnut tree's new green leaves flutter and sway in the soft spring breeze causing patterns of sun to dance over my skin ever changing, hypnotic. Each movement was like an animation that made no sense.
I have sheltered beneath the thickening growth as raindrops plashed to the ground below with branches that stretch like protective arms. Dogs out of arm's reach chase a ball and run around their owners' feet on the squelching turf, their barks sound like fireworks to my young ears.
The bright Summer sun burns down on top of the trees lush green canopy as I lie and shelter beneath her shade. Blue skies play peek-a-boo between the softly swaying leaves. Blackbirds, Magpies, Bluetits and Jays flit and rest and sing and play, safe out of reach, out of harm's way.
I climb to a branch, scratches of peeling bark cause a stinging sensation to my hands. I grab at the spiky shells of the ripening chestnuts as they drop through my pin pricked fingers and fall, bouncing to the floor they split, unveiling the smooth ripe chestnut within.
Brown, red, orange, gold leaves are torn from their branches and whipped by the blustery wind, dragged through the air as they dance and flip being woven into a tapestry of bright and dark autumnal colours finally landing, pushed along the floor then quivering to sleep.
The cold bare branches inform of winter's arrival. White clouds bring snow too heavy for the tree to hold, she bows majestically under the weight. The temperature rises, snow slithers and falls plopping to the ground like frozen tears of mourning, waiting for the cold to end, yet proudly, she stands tall.
With the passing of time the tree grows and matures, roots run deep, anchoring, securing, feeding. I too have matured and on my walk into work I silently say good morning to her. Snapped twigs on the floor reminded me of forgotten memories, scattered like daydreams, a warm embrace of a childhood rich with play and activity.
Later, the holding of hands and stolen kisses, parties, weddings and births all were celebrated under her watchful gaze.
Now I am old, the tree in her prime, my children inducted, their childhood like mine.
Swinging from branches, hiding in leaves, picnics in shadows, conkers and strings.
Days pass to months and months into years but still she stands strong embracing those years.
A family tradition, now grandchildren play. I’m parked in the shade too old to participate. My wheelchair, a prison, legs weakened with age, hair white with bald spots, skin wrinkled and grey. My last breath was taken under her arms, my ashes now scattered, our souls never part.
The seasons will pass, life will go on and the wheel of time will forever keep turning.
Years 7-9 runner up: ‘Nightmarish Rotations’ by Marvellous Oladigbo, West Derby School
I saw my clock , it was 11:30pm. I had to sleep. I closed my eyes wondering what dreams I will experience.
As I slowly dozed off into a slumber, everywhere around me had transformed, the walls of my bedroom caved in, the ticking of my clock got louder and louder. As I looked at the clock beside me, there appeared to be dozens of clocks plastered everywhere which were all on 11:31.
My imagination was a menace, I moved, but it felt like I was swimming in air. I started to inspect the minute hand turning on the clock but that might have been a mistake.
Dumbfounded, I watched the room morph again. The clocks started to dissolve and I could hear the sound of chatter rise.
I was now in a classroom, a classroom that felt familiar. My hands were shaking although I was not nervous. At least I thought I wasn’t .“Listen class, I will show your results in a moment.” The teacher said.
The silence was so loud, I could feel my heart trying to jump out of my chest. A clock stole my attention but I looked away to avoid the room transforming again.
The clock beckoned me causing paranoia to eat my brain. The ticking disturbingly got louder. Everywhere was paused in one frame, except that menacing clock. I tried to get up from my seat but, I was in a new place.
I expected to see dozens of clocks but there was only one enormous clock. The clock was transparent, I could see the long minute hand rotate at a bearing and the numbers being connected to a structure, but in the centre was a pink brain, sparking to power the whole clock.
I looked behind the machine and I saw a switch on the back of it. My mind was flooded with questions but my mouth was shut. I tried to remember what happened. “Each time I tried to look closely at a clock everything started to change,” I thought, I looked at the brain, “into a new dream?”
The minute hand started to move, I hesitated. I tried to remember how I moved in the room occupied by clocks. I swam towards the switch. I descended onto it pushing it downwards. The minute hand slowed down. The clock turned off.
I expected a new dream but nothing changed, the place was the same, I was stood the same way. Nothing had changed.
I looked at the brain, it looked dead. “Was it each time that the clock’s hand turned that there was a new dream?” I laid down, satisfied.
A beeping sound faded in. I woke up, it was my clock.
Years 9-10 winner: ‘Turning the Tide’ by Remy Pemberton, Liverpool Life Sciences UTC / The Studio
Maddie is a young girl who hasn’t stepped out of her room in almost three years. Every night, a spike of fear shoots through her spine when she hears the faint noise of the key turning in the attic lock, even though she expects it. But this time, something is different.
It was 8:55 PM, five minutes before the scheduled 'turning.' Maddie clutched her teddy bear, prepared for the routine. But when her uncle came to tuck her in and say goodnight, something felt different. After he left, he didn’t lock the attic. Instead, she heard the 'click' sound at her bedroom door. Instantly, Maddie felt trapped. Although she hadn’t wanted to leave her room for almost three years, this new confinement filled her with dread. She pounded on the door, begging to be released. Fear and anger overwhelmed her, but she managed to calm down after a few minutes. She heard yelling and arguing outside. Curious, she peeped through the keyhole to see her uncle and mother arguing. Their words were inaudible, but their fear was palpable—they were scared of change.
Determined, Maddie opened the window and climbed down. She got hurt but was too focused to notice. The front door was locked, but a window was open. She climbed through and entered the hallway. Overwhelmed by her surroundings, she slowly approached the stairs, struggling to process the sights she hadn’t seen for years. As she approached the stairs, she noticed something on a counter.
She had a flashback to when she was a little girl, playing outside with her friend in the mud. Her mom had called her inside, and she walked in with muddy shoes, leaving prints on the floor. The prints were still there, now surrounded by barriers. In her flashback, she was drawn to something on the counter. She picked up a coin, flipped it, and noticed an elaborate design with "Balance" engraved on one side and "Development" on the other. The flashback ended, and she walked up to the coin, now more eroded but still bearing the engravings.
Filled with determination, she was about to climb the stairs when she heard a familiar voice—a voice she hadn’t heard for years. Desperately, she looked around to find its source. “Bravo,” it said. “Finally.” The voice reverberated, but she couldn’t locate it. The house went silent for a moment before slow clapping began. The voice belonged to her dad, whom she hadn’t seen since he turned the key to the attic. He applauded her for overcoming her phobia and offered to turn the key with her once more. Although reluctant at first, Maddie agreed. They walked up to the attic, where a random door stood in the middle of the room. Her dad handed her the key. She opened the door, revealing a portal, and walked through it, never to be seen again.
Years 9-10 runner-up: ‘Behind’ by Alp Cam, Liverpool Life Sciences UTC / The Studio
Behind. Someone's after me.
Whatever you say, I’ll believe the exact opposite. I can’t trust you. Each day, I am gripped with the fear of being followed. It chases me every night, it blindly stabs me.
I had to go out today. Unfortunately, they were on my mind. They were everywhere, all four sides of me. It was a very regular feeling to me, and I kept coming back to it like food for a ruminant beast.
Every time I went out, I had to lay low. The factories outside already made fresh air a scarce resource, but the zealot dedicated to following me made it like finding a needle in a haystack.
For months now, I have been fleeing. I often find myself veering off course, perceiving everything as more distant than it truly is - homes, stations, stores all fading into the distance. If only the clocks in this city would stop ticking.
Whose work is this?
The woman in the red hat. A wealthy, insane lady. She greets me every morning. Whenever she passes, I hear a ‘good morning’ ringing in my head. Yet, whenever that happens, her lips remain part, her mouth doesn’t move. She truly is insane, the kind I want to stay away from. The kind I envy, with velvet coats and pure gold rings.
Then there is the shopkeeper, who never fails to ask me about how I am doing. I saw him again today. I swiftly passed him. Pausing is risky.
I went looking for the red-hatted woman. Perhaps it was her who trailed behind me. I chased her through the streets of the town. Indeed, the feeling of being followed was somewhat lifted off my shoulders. Perhaps it was her…
No. Nothing made it stop.
I had nearly reached the store. Between all the mist and dust, I went in like a fox would. Maybe I could resort to stealing in order to get out quicker. Maybe this was the solution.
No. That would only attract a larger amount of people.
The pain was unbearable. I had slowed down quite a bit, and it was time for the poorest, dirtiest street to pass through. All eyes on me. Children covered in dirt, shouting at me.
A figure emerges from the fog, followed by another one. Then something that looks like an animal. I am uncertain about what it is. They surround me. Why me? Why? What have I done?
No, nothing was there. Not a breath had I heard.