I thought I’d know what to say when this moment came. You spend so much time trying to fit pivotal experiences into a few words you hope conveys the emotion and life within; but what do you do when you’re speechless? When something is so intense, words don’t come close to capturing what’s before you.
That was how high school graduation felt.
Now I knew it was coming, of course I did. I counted down the seconds every time I was troubled with an assignment, every time I was trapped in a room of screaming kids drilling deafening noise into my ears, and every time I would stare out the stained windows wondering what was to come when it was my time to step out.
And here I am now. In line to walk up onto the lit-up stage, the one I spent years dancing and laughing on, to finally see where all those years led me.
So why do I feel like that light is illuminating something more? The stage lights feel warmer than before, almost intrusive; as if it’s projecting everything I tried not to think about. What it took to get here. What I might lose.
I think of the amber skies creeping in through the window during the last classes of the day, reflecting off my friends’ bright smiles when laughing about things that felt so small but so large in my heart. I think of the sunny lunch times where everyone sat in a circle relaying their day and playing catch, the joy of the moment caught in the sunlight in their hair. And most of all, I think about how ready each and every one was for this day. How their futures shone through them, begging to be released from the cracks of the school to finally have a chance to shine the way they are supposed to. I thought I was like that too. But I guess their hypnotising light blinded me from recognising I had none of my own.
What if I pick something and realise I made the wrong choice? There are so many possibilities to the point they stretch out so far that I see nothing at all. I like writing, but is that what I’m meant to do? Does it fuel me with energy when I’m tired? Does it ignite something in me like it seems to for everyone else? Could I even make it a career?
The line is shortening, pushing more people off to the edge of their freedom. My heart starts to thump, turning the excitement into something closer to dread. Making the line in front of me feel like walking down the plank to awaiting sharks in pirate tales.
I want to run away. I want to run to the light outside with my friends, complaining about school and laughing the trivial things away. I want to feel safe again.
I feel the weight of someone looking at me from behind, although it doesn’t match the intensity consuming me. It feels gentle, like something warm. I turn around.
It’s Nancy.
When my eyes connect to hers that pool with blue and green, it feels like something snaps into place. Like every cloudy thought drifts away, revealing the reality of the sky and how it’s always present. I cling to her gaze, fearing the feeling may leave me. She doesn’t say anything – she just looks at me with a tender smile, steady and calm. Her eyes remind me of what I already know. All the nervous conversations we had before and how they always ended with clarity. How believing in the best, that everything will be okay, that the dreams forming in my head will be there to guide and evolve me, is the most real thing I can have.
The words she told me one night in particular at a sleepover, after another endless ramble of my fears interrupted her sleep, instantly come to my mind. As if she telepathically sent them with just a look:
“Do you know why people say ‘dare to dream?’ It is because when you put faith into something, when you dive off that cliff hoping to find a landing, you don’t truly know if there really is one. But when you dare to believe that there is something down there, you have already gone further than everyone still at the top.”
The person in front of me is called now. It rings in the air like a bell starting a boxing match, although at least now I feel like I have some boxing gloves. My stance feels stronger, and I turn and lock eyes with the light on the stage.
A part of me still just wants to cling onto Nancy and hide away. To make my friend take my place so I don’t have to face that the credits are truly rolling on this chapter. For some fire to break out so the graduation ceremony can be held later.
I know that can’t happen, and I know above all else that I’m ready. The warm light reminds me. It reminds me of the laughs, the annoyances, and the troubles of school; but it also reminds me of how those memories will never truly leave. That those gold embers that formed through the warm memories of the past will light up my future.
I don’t know what’s out there for me. I barely have a clue on what I’m going to do tomorrow.
“Jessica Rowlings.”
But I know I will dare myself to keep going. To dream.
I walk on stage.
I grab my certificate.
The cheers of parents and family echo out as I walk off.
I did it.
When I walk to the exit, I see cracks of light, golden light, lining the old door. I take a shaky breath and reach for the handle.
When I open it, light spills across my face. I step forward before my nerves catch up.
Because I took the leap. 

I take a deep breath and look over the crowd of people.
“Yes, she had a… rough childhood. She often felt like she wasn’t loved, she always wondered whether she was good enough. In return, she loved everyone else fiercely, so that no-one ever felt the way she did. She toughened up on the outside, but she was soft and tender underneath her skin. People often talk about a friendly face hiding a dark soul, but she was more of a sheep in wolf’s clothing. In this way, she was like the sea…
“She was the sea. She lived like she was wild. She was brave and loyal. She was scary when she stood up for those she loved, and she loved everyone. She was a kind sea. The sort of ocean that saved people rather than drowned them. Not the merciless whirlpools or monstrous tidal waves; she was the blue lagoon in a world of storms.
“She often called me her anchor when she found herself in the eye of these storms. She would say that I held her fast, that I was her rock. Part of me didn’t believe that she would need an anchor – she had survived those years between thirteen and twenty-one, the years in which one faces the most pressure. She was the one who calmed the hurricane of this world down, she was the anchor in everyone else’s storm. The other part of me knew that it was hard work being loving to everyone, that, some days, she would need a shoulder to cry on. She always said Be kind to everyone. Not because they’re nice, but because you are. I always replied You don’t need to save everybody. You can just rescue yourself.
“She did actually rescue me as well. I think, as men, we often think that it is our job to save the damsel in distress. For what is a queen without her king? Well, historically speaking, more powerful. She radiated a sort of power that gave her a glow, like a photo taken with backlight. Just one word from her could silence an army if she wanted. If she wished, she could have made that army turn and bow down to her. I always admired that power, because she never used it so people would worship her. She would stop a bully picking on another, or she would quell a fight with little more than a stern look. She never expected anything in return, she never even turned a hair towards recognition, yet even those who hated her would secretly praise her.
“She was the one who taught me that you can’t hate someone you never cared about in the first place. Rich, coming from the girl who cared for everyone but herself. But I saw her point. And, really, that made my life a whole lot happier. It is because of her that I realised that I didn’t have to hate the grumpy shop owner just because, or despise that one bus driver because he missed my stop. I couldn’t hate them, and a weight was lifted off my shoulders.
“After years of waiting, of mustering up enough courage to finally do so, I asked her to marry me. She was well out of my league, she was out of everyone’s league, but still, she said yes.
“I never imagined that when she came down the aisle, it would be in a coffin.
“It was an accident. A truck driver came way too fast, and she managed to save an old lady, but she did not rescue herself, the one thing I asked her to do. I was not there, but I can imagine the scene all too well. The old lady was crossing the road, focussed on her steps, oblivious to the truck hurtling down the narrow street. She noticed, though. She ran out in front of the truck, pushing the old lady out of the way. I always imagine the next bit in slow motion. By then, she knew it was too late. At least she knew that she had saved everyone but herself. She turned so she was facing the truck driver head-on. I don’t know whether the truck driver didn’t notice her or he couldn’t brake or neither, whether it did not even occur to him that he would have to stop, but I don’t hate him for what happened next. I didn’t care about him in the first place, after all.
“Today, we’re here to remember her. But I don’t want to remember her the way she died. I want to remember her the way she lived.”

31/5/2025
“Good boy Titan.” I unclip his halter and pull it off his head, for a brief moment, he stands there with me, then he turns and strolls away down the pasture, snorts and puts his head down to graze. Back at the stable I get to work mucking Titan's stall, when Mum comes bursting in.
"The Neighbor just came over, they said there is a grassfire down the road, and it’s out of control, his family are leaving, and your father's not answering his phone, and...”
I told her to calm down, and go pack anything we needed and I'd ride down with Titan and find Dad.
“But he’s right down the back of the bush and you need to pack too,  I better just call him again.”
“No, I’ll go find him.” I dropped my shovel and pushed past Mum, grabbing my helmet from the tack room and running out the door before Mum could stop me.
***
I slow as I reach Titan's paddock. I unclip his halter from the gate, he looks up, I call his name and duck under the fence. He trots over and parks himself by my side, hastily I fasten his halter, fumbling with the rope to make reins, I clip my helmet on and walk him to the fence, hoisting myself up onto the rail, and slide onto his back. I push the gate open and we’re off. I kick Titan into a canter beneath me, we stick to the track ducking and weaving around branches, the wind blowing strongly. We turn onto the path leading to the dam.
Dad had driven out that morning to seed a new paddock for Titan, but he’d be anywhere by now. Suddenly Titan hears something, he pricks his ears and quickens his pace. I can hear Brumby’s (the old ute’s) engine chugging along, and within seconds I see her face pop up over the hill. I pull up, the Brumby rolls to a stop and Dad jumps out.
By now Titan's sides are heaving and so are mine.
"What's wrong?” Dad asks.
"There's a bushfire up the road and we need to go now!”
“Oh great, you ride back up and help Mum, I’ll be right behind you.” Dad jumps back in the Brumby, I turn Titan off the track, clucking him back into a canter we take a shortcut through the trees. Behind us I hear the Brumby roaring into the distance.
***
Back at the house Mum is frantically loading up her tiny car with junk. When she sees us, she drops it all to the floor and runs over. “Oh finally, I was getting worried. Did you find Dad?” she bursts out but before I can answer the Brumby revs up into the yard and Mum dashes over.
I slide off Titan and throw him in his stall, I hastily untie his lead rope, I run to the feed room and pull out Titan's travel bags chucking in his saddle, bridle, the first aid kits, a spare halter and rope, my helmet and boots and grab a bale of hay, a bag of feed and Titan's buckets, I then stuff a hay net for the float and fill his water canister. Titan's watching me the whole time, I give him a reassuring pat.
I sprint as fast as I can to the house where I pack a few essentials into a small bag. Dad has repacked and sorted Mum's disarray of bags, hitched up the float and packed all of Titan's stuff.
I throw my bag in and jog back over to Titan's stable. He whinnies at me anxiously, he can feel everyone is stressed, I clip his lead back on, talking to him softly. I lead him back out into the breeze and walk him straight up and onto the float, luckily, he loads well despite the atmosphere. Dad closes the ramp, and I jump in the car. We pull out the gate and steadily trundle along 'til we reach the highway.
***
After what feels like forever, we pull off the dirt road and onto a well-maintained driveway that stretches for about a kilometer. I can hear Titan stomping in the back – he can see where we are through the float window. We pull up in front of an old farm house. A Pitbull barks out the front, his name is Jupiter. We all jump out of the car just as the front door opens and out comes Mika, she jumps onto me and clings like a leech. I laugh and squeeze her back, she hops down and lets Jupiter have a turn at jumping on me, then she helps me unload Titan who is eager to get out of the float now he knows where he is.
We walk him over to the old cow barn where luckily there are still some shavings from last time. The poor guy is a bit frazzled. I lead him in and leave Mika to fuss while I grab his things from the car. By the time I've heaved everything into the shed Titan's had a good roll, a sponge and a drink and is looking at me eagerly for food. Mika and I giggle and I heave a hay net over the stall wall.
***
It's now night time and I'm curled up on the floor next to Mika’s bed, I begged Mum to let me sleep in the shed with Titan but she said, “After the day's events, you’re dreaming.”
I gave him his dinner at 7pm and did a 'final check' but I still crept out with a carrot before I hopped into bed to make sure he was settled. He was dozing with his head over the door, eyes closed and lip drooping!
​***
Mum had called around, and apparently the CFS have the fire under control but no one knows how close it is to our property; she says hopefully there will be more news in the morning.

Once upon a time there was a little fluffy pretty dog. The dog’s name was Valentina the Great.
Valentina loved wildflowers. She lived on a farm in the corner of a soft barn.
One day she went for her weekly stroll to find lovely wildflowers and found a pink and purple sparkly striped plant. She ate it because it looked so beautiful and juicy but it was poisonous and Valentina did not know that. She felt dizzy and fainted, but her friends came along and gave her a big cup of water and fanned her with a really big leaf.  
She learnt not to eat plants she had never ever seen before.

On the day of the big match, things got off to a bad start when Brett put his cricket whites on inside-out, and didn’t notice until his mum asked, “Why are your pockets on the outside?”
By then it was too bad, he was already late.
The team bus was meant to leave at 9 a.m. But at 9:03, the coach was still arguing with the GPS which was insisting the cricket ground was “in the middle of a pond”.
By 9:15, half the team was on the wrong bus, one player had forgotten his bat, and Dave—our opening bowler—was still at home looking for his shoes. He eventually found them in the fridge, next to the milk. No one asked why.
When we finally arrived at the cricket ground, the opposition was already warming up. They were huge, muscular, and confident. Their kits matched perfectly and their bats looked expensive enough to require insurance. This was the League’s best team—undefeated for three seasons and currently hitting sixes into neighbouring postcodes.
Meanwhile, we celebrated our achievement of finding the correct change room.
Dave couldn’t be bothered putting on his frozen shoes, and the captain struggled to get the team together. When he finally did, he delivered a brief, inspirational pearl of wisdom:
“No matter what happens out there, we’re here to have fun and do whatever we can.”
In other words, we were going to get annihilated and shouldn’t pretend otherwise.
We did the toss.
We lost.
Obviously.
We fielded first, and I was told to stand at fine leg—basically meaning watch the ball sail over your head, repeatedly.
The first ball went for six off Dave’s knee.
The next landed in the scorer’s tea.
That was followed by one into the neighbour’s windscreen.
Halfway through our ‘highly competitive contest,’ a Little Raven hopped onto the boundary rope. Clearly unimpressed by the standard of cricket, it moved closer, gnawing at a crumb from an abandoned sandwich.
At that exact moment, the ball was launched skyward by one of our players and clipped the bird square on the backside.
‘THUMP.’
What followed could’ve been a feather-pillow fight. The Little Raven flapped around wildly, squawking non-stop. The umpire paused, shrugged, and signalled four. The Little Raven took to the sky, and safely airborne—judging by the noise—was clearly swearing at us.
The first innings ended with, it seemed, an illegally high number of runs.
No one had bothered counting after the fifth call, and one of their players had every so politely asked, ‘Is there enough space on the scoreboard?’
Then it was our turn to bat.
I padded up nervously, reminding myself of the captain’s words. My only goal was to hit one ball. The first wicket fell. The second followed like a loyal puppy. Suddenly, it was my turn.
I stood my ground as the bowler steamed in. I closed my eyes. I swung. I heard a sound.
‘Contact!’
The ball rolled barely five metres, but it didn’t matter. The team celebrated like we’d just won the World Cup. Someone rang a cowbell.
The opposition stared at us, visibly confused by our enthusiasm.
Every run felt like a victory—even the edge Dave managed for four.
We were bowled out for a score that was generously double digits. It didn’t matter. We hadn’t played well, but we’d survived, laughed, and—against all odds—made memories worth more than the result.

Sorya Kiran is a Year 10 student at McKinnon Secondary College, Victoria, and plays cricket!  

Written by Kiki Peddie, age 10 years.
  
Tap, tap, tap...
Isla, one of the young palace servants, is wide awake in bed. She is 10 years old, with golden-blonde hair and hazel eyes. She is very curious and loyal, and above all loves to read.
Tap, tap, tap…
She keeps hearing this tapping noise and decides to follow it. The sound gets louder.
TAP, TAP, TAP!.
Isla stops in front of the very fancy double doors made with stained glass windows. She reaches towards the handles with shaky hands. As she steps into the library, she is amazed.
Isla breathes in the scent of the ancient books. There are golden pillars holding up the sides of the library, they twist together at the top and reach over and down to hold a large chandelier. The chandelier is gold too, just like the pillars, and it holds many candles to illuminate the room. There is a creaky staircase leading to a balcony, which goes around the sides of the library, with dark, wooden railings. There are wooden floorboards just as dark as the railings. Everything looks wonderful, but the most extraordinary thing about this place is noticed when you look up. Between the golden pillars, a beautiful galaxy is painted on the ceiling. There are blues, purples and pinks of so many different shades, and more stars than Isla could count!
“Hello,” said a voice.
Isla whips her head around, trying to see who is speaking.
“Here,” says the voice again.
It sounds like it is coming from the floor.
“That can’t be right,” thinks Isla but she looks down and sees a beautiful cat.
The cat has shiny black fur with a white chest, white paws and its tail has a white tip. It has a mesmerizingly beautiful green collar with a crystalline green gemstone hanging from it. It has green eyes as bright as the chandelier hanging above them.
“You can talk?” exclaims Isla, in utter disbelief.
“Why yes I can,” says the cat, “My name is Midnight and I live in this magical library.”
“Wait. Magical?”
“Yes,” says Midnight, “Be careful not to get sucked into a book. I’ve never seen anyone come out again,”
“W-what?” asks Isla with a shaky voice.
“It doesn’t matter, really, just be careful,” Midnight explains. “Anyway, want a tour? I don’t get many visitors,”
“Oh- um, that would be lovely! This library is amazing,” Isla says.
“Okay, so this bottom section is split in half,” Midnight says, “non-fiction and fiction, and up there,” Midnight points with her tail, “is the fantasy section!”
“Oooh… can we go up there then? I love fantasy!” says Isla enthusiastically.
“Sure!” says Midnight.
As they walk up the stairs, Isla tries to ignore all the creaking noises.
“This is my favourite book up here,” Midnight says, taking a book off the shelf.
“It’s about a candy land. In that candy land, there is a cotton candy bunny, who…“
CRASH! Bonk! Bonk!
A pile of books falls down behind them, and Midnight jumps – falling straight into one of the books!!
Isla is out of her mind with worry. Her new friend has just disappeared! Without thinking, she jumps into the book after Midnight.
“Midnight!!!” Isla screams. She sees the cat up ahead and runs to hug her new companion. “What’s just happened?” Isla asks Midnight.
“It’s okay,” says Midnight, “we just…” but Midnight’s response has trailed off and Isla can tell that it is NOT okay.
It takes Isla a while to take in her surroundings. For a start, she notices an intriguing choir of gummy bears singing. She listens to their song:
 
Lo-llie-ans all let us rejoice, for we are one and sweet,
we’ve purple soil and lollies to toil, our home is candy by jelly sea,
our land abounds in lollies gifts of sweetness rich and rare,
in history’s page, let every stage advance lo-llie-e fair,
in joyful strains then let us sing, advance lo-llie-e fair,
be-neath our radiant gumdrop sun, we’ll toil with candy and lollies,
to make this candy land of ours renowned of all the lands,
for those who come across the jelly sea, we’ve boundless lollies to share,
with can-dy let us all combine, to advance lo-llie-e fair,
in joyful strains then let us sing,
advance lo-llie-e faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir!
 
Then Isla notices that, just like the gummy bears song, there is pink grass, purple soil, and lollipops as big as trees, cotton candy instead of bushes, bridges made of Zooper-doopers, and the snakes are gummy snakes! There are candy canes and chocolate bars everywhere! The mountains are made of CAKE too! There are even flowers made of fondant, and moss made of icing.
“This place smells wonderful!” thinks Isla. It has all the snacks Isla has wanted to eat, especially when she was serving up the royal family’s dessert. But she knows that it would be offensive to the gummy bears to eat their land.
“What shall we do?” asks Midnight, with her head hung low. “This is all my fault.”
 
***
 
The friends find a makeshift house made of cotton candy by the beach, and they go inside. The waves seem to be made of jelly, topped with Wizz fizz, and the sand is made of colourful sprinkles. The palm trees are made of skewers with sugar fruit strips on top, and what looks like Sour warheads instead of coconuts. This land is extraordinary.
Half of Isla wants to stay here, away from her servant life, but she knows that soon, the homesickness will kick in. She HAS to get back.
As the gumdrop sun rises, Isla ponders what to do. She decides that while she is thinking about what to do, she will have a swim —although, she isn’t sure if it is possible to swim in jelly, but she wants to try. She steps in, and feels the slimy liquid! She moves around in it easily and declares the slimy liquid is better than a normal beach, mainly because if she got ‘water’ in her mouth, it would taste sweet rather than salty.
Plink!
Something hits Isla’s foot and she bends over to pick it up. It’s a message in a bottle!
“Midnight!” Isla shouts. “Wake up!”
“What? Where am I? Oh here,” Midnight mumbles sleepily and yawns, “What is it Isla?”
“Come look at this!” Isla calls from the shore.
Midnight pads across the sprinkle sand towards Isla.
Isla shows Midnight the bottle. It is made of some sort of sweet lolly that Isla hasn’t seen before. It looks almost glassy, but it is very dirty.
“Go on!” says Midnight. “Open it!”
Isla opens the bottle and carefully takes out the paper.
It is a map!
“I don’t think we have time to go on a treasure hunt right now,” says Midnight, stating the obvious.
“I know,” says Isla. “But look!” Pointing to the top of the map she adds, “It says EXIT!”
 
***
 
The friends set off, and pass a flock of sour patch birds. They begin what will be the biggest journey of their lives.
They pass cake mountains, lollipop trees, cotton candy bushes, shores full of sprinkles, and lots and lots  and LOTS of gummy bears. The whole population of this land seems to be gummy bears!
They passed jelly rivers, fondant flowers, and yet more gummy bears. Eventually, they make it to the place marked on the map with a little spiral.
It is a building, perhaps a temple, but really does not match up with anything. It is made of cobblestone, with moss and vines all over it. There is a staircase leading up to the entrance, which has a very disturbing orange glow coming out of it. There are cracked and old pillars dotted around the outside with intricate chiselled patterns in them.
“Well, I guess we have to go in there,” says Isla. “It looks kind of freaky though…”
“Yeah, but we’ll get past it,” encourages Midnight, and the two enter carefully, treading lightly.
Inside, the first thing Isla sees is a tripwire. This is not going to be fun. “Careful of the tripwire!” Isla says.
“I knew this would have traps, as soon as I saw it,” says Midnight confidently, as they step over. “Ah!” Midnight exclaims as a tile falls away from under her paw. “Look for the discoloured tiles,” she warns.
Isla is careful to avoid the traps as the discoloured tiles are easy to see, but what she doesn’t see is the other tripwire.
 
***
 
Isla screams as she is flung across the floor, over lots of the tiles, only to land on one of the discoloured ones!
“Isla!” shouts Midnight, running and jumping over the tiles to get to her.
Isla has fallen in what looks like a bottomless pit, clutching the ledge with two trembling hands.
Midnight makes a bee line for her.
“Quickly!” Shouts Isla, as one hand slips off.
“I’m coming!” calls Midnight, her voice cracking. But she is not fast enough.
Isla’s last hand gives up and she falls into nothingness.
Midnight jumps into the hole after Isla, and plunges through the darkness.
Meanwhile, Isla scrambles for a hold onto anything, until she finds a ledge. With quick reflexes, Isla spreads her arms out and lifts her legs onto it, just as Midnight falls with a loud ‘thump’ onto her back.
“Midnight?” whispers Isla.
There is no answer.
“She must be unconscious,” thinks Isla, although she doesn’t really believe it. She carefully and slowly climbs up out of the hole, carrying Midnight with her.
When she finally gets to the top, the edges are smooth, there are no holds to grab onto, but Isla reaches out with all her strength and pulls herself up and out.
She delicately places Midnight on the ground and waits, small, sparkling tears roll down her cheeks.
“Isla?”
Isla’s face lit up. “You’re alive!!” she cries, enveloping Midnight in a huge hug. “I can’t believe we survived that!” Isla exclaims with a smile so huge, it almost touches her ears. “You were unconscious after falling on my back, so I climbed to the top while carrying you. I thought you were dead!”
“I’m not though…” says Midnight, still sounding a little sleepy. “Let’s go…”
The friends set off again, back through the temple. All sorts of traps keep coming at them, from tripwires, to pressure plates, to mines, but there are no more incidents until… they become hungry. Very VERY hungry. They stop in a grove full of plants.
“I recognise those mushrooms! They’re edible. And so is that moss!” says Isla, happily
“Oh thank goodness. I think I’ll die if I don’t eat soon,” Midnight exaggerates the word die. Isla laughs.
And so they eat… completely oblivious of the giant spider above them.
 
***
 
Scuttle, scuttle…
Isla and Midnight look around trying to find the source of the noise, and then, as if synchronised, they look behind them.
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!” they scream, staring straight at the huge spider.
“What do we do?!” they both ask in unison.
“RUN!!!” they both shout.
They run through the temple, avoiding the traps. They keep hearing the scuttling of the spider, hot on their tail. They run all the way up to a swirling purple doorway.
BONK!
They look back to see the spider – it has splattered up against an invisible wall.
“It is only be creatures who don’t belong who can pass,” explains Midnight.
“That makes sense,” muses Isla.
They march back through the portal in triumph. Then, feeling like they’re twisting like a hula-hoop, they fly out of the book and land with a ‘thump’ on the library floor.
 
***
 
Not a minute has passed in the real world, but Isla is exhausted! She says goodbye to Midnight, and asks if she visit again soon. Then with her last shreds of energy she walks back to her bedroom, to her very basic servant’s room. Tucked up in bed, she smiles, as she knows she will have more adventures with Midnight in the library soon.

Story © Kiki Peddie, 2025

Who stole the candlestick?
Written by Harper
 
Once upon a time there were two children and they always fought! Every day they had a reason to fight. Their mum once had to lock them in their rooms and only opened them  to give them food and drinks.
One day they really pushed her buttons.
Earlier, they weren’t looking and broke their mum’s favourite candle stick, and they knew that if they put the pieces in the bn their mum would see the pieces and make them use their savings to buy the same one. So, they put the pieces in an old straw basket. Lucky for them it was an old basket and they didn’t need it so their mum donated it.
On Christmas Eve their mum wanted to use the candle stick and couldn’t find it. She asked her kids and they said, “No”, and she said, “I believe you”. So she asked her husband and he said, “No!”
Once more she checked around the house, and more more time she asked her kids. But this time she put them in two different rooms and asked the same thing.
One said “Yes!”
One said, “No!”
She asked again and they both said “Yes!” and explained to her what had happened. They both said they’d been fighting and crashed into it, and it broke into pieces.
“We put the pieces into the old straw basket and you donated it. We’re sorry. We will use our savings to buy another one for you.”
Mum said, “Oh no honey, no. It’s okay, just tell me next time!”
 
The End!
 
The moral of the story
Always tell the truth and you wont get in trouble.
 
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Cara (my mum); Judith (author); James (my dad); and Moonglow Publishing.
 
By the same author
You can also read ‘The Boy who was naughty on Christmas Eve’ – Moonglow Publishing - YOuth Writers Blog - 2024

Story and illustrations by Harper. Harper's manuscript was submitted as a paperback booklet, and beautifully hand written. It has been adapted for this online blog. The author was invited to write a story about a candlestick. Harper was inspired by author Judith Lees' who is also writing her 3rd novel about a candlestick maker!

My Final Resting Place Jesse Garratt © 2024 

A colleague in the trenches with cold feet curled like a foetus, others bravely peeking out.
The ground looks dead. As dead as the men hit by the hail of metal.
Screaming shrapnel and death make themselves at home in our ears.
Bullets and ‘pills’ run laps around the field.
The war continues, as do attendants in the graveyard. Lined up as if marching.
A fresh sting of bullets burns like a mosquito sucking the life out of us with its long metal mouth.
Lice tremble in our hair.
My pain is unimaginable.
My pain grows along with the feeling that this woollen overcoat would be my bed forever.
The Captain peers over the muddy trench, an ‘egg’ clenched in his fist, he pulls the pin and chucks it out into the battlefield.
The enemy fires back.
A burning strike to the head, my memories shaken loose.
Gone, almost immediately.
I have failed my duty and found a forever home.
I will miss my friends and family.
But I am finally at peace.
The pain is gone, and so am I.

About the author - Jesse Garratt, age 12, wrote this as short story for an ANZAC Day project to help people understand what war is like. The 'pills' in the story are the bombs being dropped from planes above, and the 'egg' is a grenade.