Winning Stories – Round 1

Late for the Bus (Y4)

By Max Puckey

Today, I started running to the bus as quickly as an aeroplane, hoping I would make it to the school but it’s too late. The school bus was gone. “If I was just a minute faster, I would’ve been able to get to the school bus on time.” Maybe I could run or walk to school, I thought so I went off on an adventure. 

A little bit before school, I was thinking about an excuse about being late. 

“I went to the dentist or my Mum is in the hospital or I broke my leg yesterday,” No that’s dumb. I’m finally here but I still need to think of an excuse for being late. “I’ve got one!” I said happily to myself “I had to go to a funeral for my great grandmother!” I walked inside and told my teacher my excuse, she did NOT look like she believed me. In fact I think she would bet a thousand, No! A million dollars that I was lying.

Now it’s tomorrow, or is it today? Well it’s Wednesday at least. Yesterday wasn’t so bad but apparently I missed some “Important” learning. Usually I’m outside five minutes early for the bus but yesterday morning was different. Not only did my alarm clock break but my sister decided that it was a good idea to make cookies in the morning! I’m just glad they were delicious otherwise that would’ve been a waste of time. Hopefully today is going to be a normal day unlike yesterday. Anyway, I need to get ready for school right now so I don’t have any more bus problems.  “I hope this never happens again.” I said to myself quietly.

Later; “Mum! I’m late for the bus again!”

Oh No! (Y4)

By Maya Wright

One day (on daylight saving) all clocks changed time and every single person was   surprised because it had never happened before.They reported it to the prince and he gasped in shock. 

“Oh, I’ve never heard of that before.” The prince said in surprise. 

That night the sun went down early. He decided to call it Daylight Saving because the sun was saving its brightness by going down early. It happened the next year and the following year and the year after that and it kept doing that.

He invented a clock that controlled all digital and analogue clocks. Once it broke, all the other clocks broke. Everyone got so annoyed, complaining and moaning.The prince got on his donkey and named it Wonkey.The prince and Wonkey set off,  they travelled for days and nights until they found the stairway to heaven. They got sprinkled in magical powder that made them fly all the way up.They asked God if he could make his clock be right again.God said

”Oh, well you’ve come to the right place.” God explained.

”Here follow me. I’ll make it so if you say something like, I want to go to the park you will be at the park in exactly two seconds and one millisecond.” The prince and Wonkey set off back down the stairway down to earth. 

The prince and Wonkey travelled for days to get back to the palace. When they got to the palace the prince said what he needed to say and the clock was fixed in exactly two seconds and one millisecond. They had a royal party for the prince because he fixed the clock. Everyone was glad he could fix the clock problem.

The Portal (Y4)

By Latoia Chandler

Once upon a  time there was a young girl named Katie. Katie had long blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. She had a best friend named Kayla. One day, while they were having a sleepover they walked into Katie’s backyard to play catch. But while they were in Katie’s backyard, they saw a purple portal in between the bushes.

“Do you see that?” asked Kayla. 

“Yes!” said Katie.        

“Should we go in?”asked Kayla.

“YEAH!” said Katie excitedly as she started to walk towards the portal. As they walked into the portal they realised that… NOTHING HAPPENED?! Or did it?

They looked at each other and in perfect sync they both said “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

“I don’t know.” said kayla.

 “Oh well guess we’ll never know.”said Katie 

as they both walked inside.

 “Mum, we are back! We’re inside!” said Katie  “Oh that’s good but where are you sweetie pie?” Said Katie’s mum “You’re so silly mum, we’re in front of you hehe!” “No you not now come downstairs, I made dinner!” said Katie’s mum “No I’m not joking Mum!” said Katie as she started to eat dinner.”What if she actually can’t see us Katie? What if that portal made us go invisible?”said Kayla “Oh don’t be such a scaredy cat Kayla! I’m sure she is just joking!” said Katie.

After Katie’s dad came home from work he shouted to Katie’s mum “Honey where are the kids ? I have a surprise for them!” 

“I don’t know.” said Katie’s mum.as she was struggling to find the kids. 

“Oh no! I think you’re right Kayla I think we should tell my parents, MUM! WE WALKED IN TO A PORTAL AND NOW WE ARE INVISIBLE!” said Katie as she cried

“Oh no…” said Katie’s mum.

The Missing Hour (Y5-6)

By Annabel Mao

Lidia’s breath caught in her throat as the shadow inched closer with each ticking second. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest – so fierce and frantic, it felt like it might shatter her bones.

It was the night when clocks “sprang forward” – daylight saving time. All clocks were supposed to skip from 2:00 a.m. to 3:00 a.m. She picked up her phone and read the time: 2:13 a.m. That wasn’t possible.

Just as Lidia was almost convinced her phone was broken, she noticed the house was silent – too silent. Just stillness. Not even the sound of breathing. It was as if the whole world had been destroyed, as if there wasn’t a single living being left. Shadows moved without objects or people belonging to them. Lights flickered in their own rhythm, as if they were alive. A faint whisper constantly warned her of something she couldn’t understand.

Lidia stared ahead. The old wooden clock was ticking backwards – 2:11, 2:10, 2:09. Then she remembered ancient myths about people disappearing in this “missing hour.” Sudden fear hit her. Was that what she was going to face? She turned to glare at the shadow behind her—only to realize it wasn’t anyone or anything. It was time itself. Or something living in it.

Panicked, she grabbed a robe and ran into the hallway, only to find the scene of her mother’s bedroom and the flickering lights repeating – over and over again. The mirror glowed as if it were waiting for Lidia to die. She ran to it, and her reflection smiled at her—though she didn’t smile back. The entity told her, “Only one may return.” The words echoed in her mind.

She turned. Nothing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the clock strike 2:00 a.m. Then suddenly, everything went blank.

The next morning, Lidia’s mother knocked on the door. No reply. She pushed it open to find Lidia lying peacefully in her bed – too peacefully. Her eyelids were open, with a wide smile across her face. Everything was wrong. Her smile was too wide. Her eyes were pure black. Everything was too perfect.

Outside, the clocks had moved forward.

Inside, something had taken her place.

My Grandad (Y5-6)

By Priyah Blythe

My grandad had a funny sense of humour that I miss. His house was full of elephants that he collected over the years. My grandad had long lanky legs like a spider with soft teddy bear hands. His hugs made me feel happy and warm inside. He lived with his best friend Cheryl. Their favourite thing to do together was tinkering around the ranch. One day, they even fixed a little green Mini (I don’t know how my Grandad’s long legs fit in the car). My Grandad was very special to me. I’m ten years old and I’ve always known that my Grandad had cancer. He battled with it for nine years, but he would make sure that you never knew. 

One time, we were travelling to Owaka because my Mum and Dad had been staying down there with Grandad. I was excited to see him because a couple of days before this, he had been stuck in bed coughing. We pulled up to his house with flowers that I picked with Nana. I did think it was weird Mum and Dad had come out to the road to meet us. My parents sent Nana inside and then gave us a big cuddle. They hugged us for longer than normal. That’s when they told Hadley (my sibling) and I that Grandad had died. After that, walking into Grandad’s yard felt silent and eerily. My Aunt and Uncles were there to give me a hug too. 

My favourite memory of Grandad was him staying at our house and playing tennis with us on the front lawn. He would say, “You have a hole in your tennis racket.” Then we’d all laugh.

The last words my Grandad said to me was, “I love you.” I had the chance to hug him and say “I love you too.” 

I know my Grandad was proud of me and I’m so lucky he was my Grandad.

The Ridiculous Ring of Rubbish Wishes (Y5-6)

By Bowen Gu

Boom! A loud banging rang in my ear. “Delivery incoming!” someone shouted. I rushed to the door it’s my new gaming set!, but it’s not the right order. I wanted to give it back but it was too late. The delivery man left! after a while, curiosity made me open it. It was a ring. Actually , a magical ring. Although it said may cause giggles. I still put it on. It said I have three wishes and I was so ready to use it

For my first wish, I wished to have big muscles to be strong and POOF! In a bright flash , my muscles became enormous like an elephant leg. The first thing I did right after was go to the gym, and test my strength. I tried weight lifting, but it turned out to be way too heavy. Then, I figured out that it’s just my size of my muscle increased but not my strength! I got home depressed . I lost a whole chance of being extremely strong . I got sleeping and doze off for a while. Afterwards, I woke up and started my second wish.

As I thought about for my second wish, I told myself it has to be a sensible one. How about having ten thousand dollars on my kitchen table? I’ll be so rich that I will buy a whole mansion! However, I sneezed before saying dollars and poof! ten thousand tons of rubbish and even cockroaches, crickets and other bugs exploded in my kitchen! not in my bedroom luckily. I never even expected it to be as horrible as that .I screamed so loud that my window shattered and my scream even echoed on mars!

Eventually it was time for my final wish , I didn’t hesitate for even one second. I wished to get everything back to normal, like before. Poof! The rubbish disappeared. My muscle disappeared. I immediately threw the ring in the rubbish bin but it ended up in my annoying cats paw. She gave me a wicked smile. Surprisingly, she had three wishes too uh oh!

Navy Te Wake’s Story (Y5-6)

By Navy Te Wake

One bleak day, after a long, tedious class, three friends, Mila, Hailey, and Mollie, decided to have some fun. They met at the bottom of a dull hill, where a derelict, beaten-down house stood. Mila, who always walked past it, convinced Hailey and Mollie to explore.

Stepping inside, Hailey exclaimed, “Woah, this place is massive and spooky!” “More like massive and stinky,” Mila replied. Mollie added, “It smells like decomposing meat.” Suddenly, darkness surrounded them. Hailey realised it was daylight savings and looked for her torch. As she searched, Mollie tripped on something wet and squishy, letting out a shriek. Hailey’s torch revealed a rat, making her squeal. Mila demanded to see. “Is it dead?” Hailey asked. “I hope so,” Mollie whispered. Hailey, eager to explore, commanded, “Come on, forget about the mouse. We need to explore more!” But Mollie pointed to a big staircase covered in dead frogs. “So uhh, yeah, you’re kinda right,” admitted Mollie. Mollie, terrified, mumbled about not wanting to climb the “frog mountain.” Hailey said “NO, onward and upward!”

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the top. Mila complained, “You’re telling me we walked all that way and there’s just a door?” Hailey happily suggested it could hide treasure. Mollie was unsure: “There’s probably nothing in there.” Mila urged, “Enough talking, let’s just go inside.” Inside, they found nothing but an old desk. Hailey slid open a drawer, showing a diamond necklace and a wedding photo. Mila gasped, Mollie awed, and Mila, dreaming of riches, declared, “Ooh, shiny, this will be worth a lot.” Hailey, tired, suggested they leave. Mollie, focused on writing about their journey, wanted to stay. Hailey gave in, “Fine, just a little longer so you can finish your writing about our journey, okay, but that’s it.”

A few moments later… “phew we finally made it outside… Where’s my book!” Cried Mollie. Hailey told her it was still inside, just as the house began to crumble. “NOOO, the house is smashed, and so is my book!” Mollie cried. Hailey and Mila, however, were excited to sell the necklace. At the mall, Hailey was told the necklace was worth a million dollars. She quickly accepted. But, when she checked her card, she found only ten cents more than before. Mollie blamed Hailey, while Mila giggled about the cashier getting into trouble. Hailey called the police, beginning a new chapter in their adventure. The End

One Rather Inconvenient Teapot (Y7-8)

By Daisy Kim

If you have ever wondered what it is like to steal an hour, I can assure you that it’s nothing like stealing a sock, or a pen. Time isn’t a commonplace object. It’s clever and sly, like mist between your fingers. And it doesn’t like to be stolen.

But once, it was.

Our story begins in the quaint town of Branmoor. While the villagers slept, Jesper was out on a hill, staring at the sky. This morning felt off. There was a hint of mystery darting through the air, a taste of something odd on the breeze. It wasn’t right.

And then–

“You. I have a task for you.”

Jesper turned to see a woman in a long white cloak.

“Why me?” he groaned. “I don’t like tasks.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped, cold as frost. “This one’s important. You’re to find the Queen’s lost teapot. She uses it at the eleventh hour – not at the tenth, not at the twelfth, and certainly not at half past ten and a biscuit.”

Jesper raised an eyebrow. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“She needs it before then,” the woman said ominously. “We trust you’ll find it.”

And then she vanished.

Jesper, who had no idea what was going on or why anybody thought of him as even remotely useful, began to search. He looked in the castle. Nothing. He dug up the garden. Nothing. He even dissected every morsel of food in the kitchen. The only result was a very bruised ego and zero teapots.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. Before you criticise him, think to yourself – have you ever been pressured to find a (completely useless) teapot while also being chased by a furious gardener carrying a menacing rake? No. You haven’t. And you cannot imagine how terrifying that last one was unless you have experienced it yourself.

Jesper looked wearily at the summer sun, which was getting closer and closer to 11. There was no hope.

He had failed.

Then, at the last second, he had an idea. Or rather, a flicker, like a memory from a dream. Jesper closed his eyes, and summoned up all the hope he had left.

And he pushed.

An hour was stolen.

He opened his eyes, blinking at the strange calm that had fallen over the world. Everyone was as still as statues, leaves were frozen mid-fall, and he could even see the malicious gardener, who of course, was still holding the rake.

With renewed energy, Jesper began hunting again, and eventually, he found it lying underneath a confused hen (reliable sources claim it had mistaken the teapot for an unusually shaped egg). Satisfied, he picked it up and held it like a trophy.

The clock struck eleven.

“Tea, please!” The Queen called.

The woman in the white cloak returned.

“You’ve done well,” she said. “How did you manage to steal an hour?”

Jesper shrugged. “Desperation does wonders.”

She smiled. “Summer… hours… time…” she whispered, then shook herself. “Never mind. Go deliver it to the Queen. Your reward awaits.” With that, she disappeared.

Far away, the Timekeeper watched from his imposing tower. He was slightly angry about the meddling of time, though that might have been because he was always slightly angry. Sitting in his uncomfortable chair, he wondered what to do next.

“What should be done? Well, I am the handsomest genius to exist, so it shouldn’t be hard to think of something. Hmm…”

After a long while, the ‘handsomest genius’ had an idea. Every summer, he’d give people an extra hour. Every winter, it would be the opposite.

He’d call it ‘Daylight Saving.’

Cowbells (Y7-8)

By Maia Sharp

Inside the milk shed, it was stiflingly hot, almost too hot. The farmer’s gumboots scraped grit across the concrete, echoing faintly under the tin roof as the cattle dogs wound around his ankles, barking and jumping, ready to go. One dog, splattered with black and white, was lagging behind, taking a dip in the cows’ troughs, chasing butterflies, and drinking from the lake under the bright sun. This dog was a dreamer. She had never liked the rigid regime, whereas other dogs thrived. She would rather spend her days trotting through emerald grass, tumbling down hills and cooling off in streams when she got too hot.

She had never been like the other dogs. While they sat alert at the farmer’s whistle, she gazed at the forest, tail twitching. She longed for the peace and quiet of the lush mountains, never tolerant of the constant noise of barks and moos, swirling together, a discordant tune. The other dogs loved to run into throngs of muddy cows. Not this one. The other dogs would never run off and play. Not this one. This dog hated the sound of cowbells with every fibre of her being. Was it wrong to want something more than cowbells and commands?

A flash of fluff and a tapping of claws caught the tired dog’s eye. Oh my, little one, you’re going to get your fur all mucky! She started towards the little pup (who was straying a touch too close to the herd’s hooves for her liking), but stopped in her tracks as her pup shot up and dashed across the milk shed, tripping over his still-too-big paws towards the group of yelping cattle dogs. She had expected him to be carefree and wild, just like her, but as she watched him bouncing towards the farmer, the opposite seemed true.

Silently, she crept after him, watching him nip and bark, just like the older dogs. “Mama, come watch me herd the cows!” The little pup yipped from the other end of the field, widening his big eyes. She followed along cautiously, padding softly over the tiled floor of the milk shed. Would he forget the streams, the hills, the freedom? Why did he turn out so different? Had he always longed for structure? Rules? She couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t run towards the herd. She watched as her pup darted through the herd, all precision and purpose, while she lingered at the edge. Too fast for his own good, she thought, struggling to hide the swell of pride.

The scent of hay prickled at the dog’s nose as she trudged into the milk shed, its dim corners oddly soothing in their sameness, shadowing the cows as they lined up. The farmer clanged the door of the shed shut and told the worn-out dogs to go home. She followed after them, watching as her pup leaped and bounded across the field, fitting in perfectly. She considered the conflicting events of the day. My pup has learnt so much, she thought, proud of her son, he’s really becoming a proper dog now.

The mist clung to the fields as the sun crept upward, slow and stubborn, many dawns past the day her pup learnt to herd. Seasons had passed, and her pup had grown into his paws. Content to watch her now-grown pup as he led the pack across the field, the dog – splattered with fading black and white – heaved her old bones up and trudged over to her bed of hay, the same one her pup had once rolled in.

Te Heke o ngā Wairua — “the Migration of Spirits” (Y7-8)

By Hayden Marais

The whales came in on the third tide.

At first, the village thought it was a blessing, dozens of great bodies glistening on the dark sand of Te Onepoto. Their skin slick with salt and silver moonlight. But by morning, when the wind shifted and the gulls began their work, the blessing soured into something heavier.                   Dr. Mereana Taiapa squatted beside the largest bull, her gloved fingers tracing the pattern carved deep into its flank, an ancient spiral, precise and deliberate. Not made by rocks. Not by sharks. Something else. Something that shouldn’t be there. Behind her, the sea churned. Restless. Watching. “It’s happening again,” whispered Aunty Roimata, standing at the dune’s edge with her arms wrapped tight across her chest. “Just like the old stories. Te Riri Moana is stirring.” Mereana didn’t believe in ghosts, curses, or the sea’s wrath. At least, she hadn’t until the whales started whispering her name.

That night when Dr. Mereana went to bed, she heard whispers and ghastly noises coming from the beach, where the bodies lay, was as deserted as the local hotspot had ever been except for the towering bodies. Emptiness was all she could see. Then she heard that voice again deep and dark like it was coming from the sea itself. a deep almost rumbling like noise calling her. “Why her?” she pondered. Just then she heard a whistling almost trumpet like symphony coming from the open ocean it was the most beautiful sound she has ever heard before she could realize what was happening she felt a strong pull to that patch of ocean “But what was out there she” moaned she was so engrossed in looking out at that patch of ocean that she did not realize that she had been moving closer and closer to the edge of the dunes until she was peering over the beach she stepped. Splash she had fallen into the freezing water below, swimming closer and closer to that patch of ocean.

Suddenly she awoke to her senses just as something large moved underneath her swallowing her in one bite she let out a scream but no one heard. Now inside the creature Dr Mereana cried “why me why me?” “you did not despite my warnings”the taniwha hissed. I sent those whales to warn you. “Warn me about what?” the cocky young professor snaped. The Creature cried I am Te Riri Moana Guardian of These Sacred Tonga for generations and some mortal dares question me? 

The creature’s breath filled the space around her, thick and heavy. Mereana floated, trapped but not drowning. “You and your kind destroyed what was sacred,” the taniwha growled. “You tear through my waters. Poison my home.” “I didn’t know,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to.” “I warned you,” it hissed. “The whales were messengers. You ignored them.” “Then why me? Why am I still alive?” There was silence. Then a voice, softer but still powerful. “Because there is still time. One chance. A sacred site has been disturbed—Te Rua o ngā Tohorā. Fix it. Return the stone to the cave. Or the sea will take everything.” The darkness spun. She woke on the beach, coughing. Her wrist burned. A glowing spiral marked her skin. The sea was calm. But watching.

Trailblazers (Y7-8)

By Kevin Lei

Long ago, before human discovery, New Zealand was a place full of nature and beautiful birds. The ecosystem thrived and the land remained untouched by humans for most of history. But throughout the centuries, this location was discovered by the Maori who settled in this last discovered landmass. The Polynesian navigators who traversed across the Pacific used the ocean currents, stars, and signs from nature to search for land in a region vastly covered by the ocean – their mastery of these skills set them apart as one of Earth’s leading trailblazers in navigation. Who were these explorers, and how did they master the sea without modern technology?

Imagine a vast, endless ocean-no maps, no compasses-only the shiny stars sitting above the moving waves. Yet, the Polynesians have managed to use just the nature and their surroundings to set sail and find land long before the Europeans could. Legend has it that the Maori originated as Polynesians who voyaged from an ancestral homeland which they called Hawaiki. Guided by legendary pioneer navigators like Kupe, who is credited with discovering Aotearoa New Zealand, the explorers sailed long distances with their double-hulled canoes called Waka hourua. Maori traditions believe that Kupe and his voyagers followed the currents of the ocean, observed the flight paths of birds, read the rising stars and used other skills wisely on their wakas to reach the distant shores of Aotearoa. His fantastic journey was not just an adventure, but a deliberate expedition powered by courage, skill, and the promise of new land. Throughout time, other Polynesian navigators followed, transforming a once remote island into their new home.

You may be wondering – how did Kupe and the Maori explorers exactly use the star paths, ocean currents, wave patterns, bird migrations and cloud formations to discover New Zealand? According to oral traditions passed down by the Maori, the voyagers developed and used a mental map of the night sky, with a star compass which divided the horizon into quadrants and houses; they used the rising and setting points of stars to determine direction. Thoughtfully, the Maori didn’t just use astronomy to navigate. The stars played a huge role in Maori culture, and were also crucial for planting crops, harvesting, and telling time. The Maori also developed their

understanding of patterns in the ocean by observing wind and wave patterns and using the details and characteristics of the ocean, such as its colour. Other methods, like bird migration and cloud formations were also developed by the Maori through their observations, with migratory bird patterns providing them clues about locations of different places and cloud formations helping them predict the weather. Imagine being able to tell where you are, what the weather will be like, and where you will be! Ancient Maori and their perfect use of their surroundings is beyond phenomenal.

It is truly fascinating to learn about how the Maori discovered New Zealand. The legacy of the remarkable navigators remains remembered and celebrated today. Interestingly, many young people learn how to read the stars, trace ocean swells and follow the same pathways as their ancestors despite the takeover of modern technology. Museums preserve the ancient Maori culture, and keep the inspiring stories of pioneers like Kupe remembered. This is why we should learn how prior humans put their surroundings to use so we can develop a better future. What was then a survival skill crucial to life has evolved to become a symbol of resilience, knowledge, and pride for Maori and New Zealand – and all of this, was created by the trailblazers a thousand years ago.

Are EV’s truly more environmentally friendly? (Y7-8)

By Emily Huai

When people think of electric vehicles, or EVs, they often picture a silent ride. The car glides forward, smooth and quiet, with no fumes, no rumble, and no gas station in sight. EVs seem like the future, clean, sleek, and climate-friendly. They offer a hopeful promise: fewer emissions, a cooler planet, and a cleaner way to move.

But before we celebrate them as climate heroes, we need to dig deeper. The truth hides beneath the surface, often ignored in the race toward innovation.

The environmental story begins long before an EV hits the road. Inside every car sits a powerful lithium-ion battery, built from rare metals like lithium, cobalt, and nickel. Mining these elements is far from clean. Machines rip into the earth, strip forests, and stir up dust. Chemicals spill. Waterways suffer. In some regions, children carry rocks under harsh conditions while safety takes a backseat and profits take priority.

Even after production, the problems roll on. When an EV battery reaches the end of its life, it doesn’t quietly vanish. Unlike old lead-acid batteries, which are mostly recycled, lithium-ion ones often land in dumps. Only about five percent get properly recycled. The rest risk leaking toxins into the ground, poisoning soil and water for years.

And there’s the matter of weight. EVs are much heavier than gas-powered cars. Their weight presses harder on tires, which wear down faster. Tiny rubber particles, called microplastics, spin off and scatter across roads. Rain washes them into rivers. Winds lift them into the air. We breathe them in. Scientists now trace tire wear as a growing form of pollution that extends beyond cities and highways, drifting even into remote ecosystems.

Cold weather makes things worse. Batteries struggle in the cold. EVs lose range. Drivers must stop more often. Cabin heaters drain power. Charging slows down. In freezing temperatures, what once felt efficient starts to feel uncertain and unreliable.

Now think about emissions. EVs don’t puff out exhaust as they drive, and that’s a win. But the pollution doesn’t disappear. It just moves. It hides in mines, power plants, and landfills. From raw materials to plugged-in power, the journey still leaves a footprint. Calling EVs zero-emission skips over the full story and risks creating a false sense of environmental progress.

Still, electric vehicles aren’t the enemy. They are part of a bigger puzzle. In countries powered by wind, water, and sun, they make more sense. But for EVs to live up to their promise, bigger changes need to follow. We need clean power grids, safer mines, and real recycling systems, not just better cars.

True sustainability starts at the source and ends with care. It isn’t just about what a machine avoids. It’s about what it uses, what it leaves behind, and who it affects along the way.

So before we call EVs a solution, we should ask: Are we fixing the problem, or just moving it out of sight?

Happiness is next exit (Y7-8)

By Isla Randal

Happiness is next exit. The words on the road sign beamed down at me, radiating exactly what they were meaning to portray. I wasn’t really sure what to do, just sitting there in my worn down Toyota with a cappuccino in my hand amidst the morning traffic. Could it really be true? Happiness… was it just right there in front of me as simple as the next exit? It could just as likely be a fake. Maybe just a disguised
advertisement some company just put up there to lure customers in to see this so called ‘happiness’ smelling perfume or room diffuser. But still…. with everything going on in my life, wasn’t it worth a shot? If this exit was really telling the truth and this mysterious exit did really lead to happiness, it would extinguish all my money problems and worries with my university application. I could just live in… absolute bliss.

Without more thought I abruptly yanked my steering wheel, veering onto the happiness exit. My heart drummed in my chest, anticipating what was about to come. I ran countless possible scenarios through my head, ranging from a kingdom made entirely of the best food in the world, pizza, to a landscape of pink fluffy clouds and dancing unicorns with tutus. Instead, as I turned the corner I was met with the exact same place as before. A barren road, with grass on the sides and fellow cars whizzing passed. As they drove by, I got a quick glance into their windows and they, too, seemed confused. Didn’t the exit just promise happiness? Where were the dreams come to life, the eternal bliss? And It wasn’t like it was just set up by some gimmicky company, just to sell their even more gimicky product. There were no buildings in sight, as it was a motorway, and it didn’t look like there would be any coming up soon either. So, what was this place? I struggled to admit it, and I bet
everyone else did too, but… It seemed like we were in the exact same place before. No pizza. No unicorns. Just… commonality. And as I took a swig of my now cold cappuccino and settled my eyes on the road in front of me again, I realised something. That sign wasn’t just put up there by some greedy business, and it didn’t lead to the ideal ‘happiness’ It was put here to remind us that we were lucky to live in this world, in a place where we could feel safe, with no war or natural disasters. So, in a way, that exit did lead to happiness. Or more like contentment. Those money problems weren’t that bad, I realised. I had my family to support me every step along the way if I needed it. And no, I didn’t need to worry about my university application. I had always been a good student, and as my relatives and friends were always reassuring, I would get in.

So, no. It wasn’t a perfect utopia, but at least it was happiness.

Insignificant (Y7-8)

By Bella Davies

In deep space nothing moves. Nothing happens. Earth, my home, is just a little twinkle in the distance. Out here I am alone. I am insignificant. I am nothing. I used to be famous. ‘Elizabeth Jones, first person in deep space’. Now I am probably forgotten, just another dead astronaut.
My spacecraft was supposed to be back 3 years ago. The time of arrival was meant to be 1:00 PM 6th of November 2050, daylight savings.

I still remember the crackle of the radio. ‘Elizabeth, do you copy?!’ I get out of my bed and head to the gym. “Yes.” I replied, my voice shaking. My footsteps echo in the long, empty hallway. I had known something was wrong long before Mike radioed. The door to the gym slides open silently. “Mike? What is it?!” I tried to keep the fear out of my voice but I could tell it didn’t work. I walk towards the treadmill. “ Liz, somethings wrong. We’ve lost control of the ship.’

Flashbacks like these were not uncommon for me, they haunted my dreams, too. Often during the night I would awaken, tears streaming down my cheeks because deep down, I knew I would never see my father again. He was the only family I had left -My mother and older sister, Gracie died in a car crash when I was 8. Now, though, the flashbacks don’t haunt my sleep as often, they seemed to lessen soon after I welcomed the voices that filled my head. My nightmares have been replaced by a cool blackness, sometimes something else features in my dreams but when I awake I remember nothing.

A few years ago, in 2046 scientists realised that they could use the extra power that was left behind by daylight savings, then they could use that extra electricity to power the space crafts for much cheaper.
About 3 months after I got stuck out here I decided to try and figure out why my landing had failed, and that’s when I realised that a passing star whale must have sucked the power. Star whales are one of the primary sources of life in space. Most life out here actually depends on oxygen, and that’s where star whales come in. Star whales are so large that they have their own atmosphere with gravity and oxygen. They only show themselves to those lost or in need, and are completely invisible to those who need it not. A low wailing fills the air and I jerk my head around to the airlock, which is where the noise seems to be coming from. I gasp as my dreams come flooding back to me. ‘ Elizabeth, I am coming, you will be alone no more’ during my dreams that telepathic voice fills my head, as it does now. The star whale is beautiful, its body is made up of deep blues and purples and pinks with a dazzling cover of bright, glowing dots that look like stars. I rush to the airlock and almost without thinking slam my palm down on the OPEN button.

The air rushes around me and sucks me from the place that has been my home for the past 3 years, and for a few seconds I am floating, the air ripped from my lungs, and then I am back on solid ground. I sink to my knees, and tears of happiness brim up in my eyes.

I am going home.

The Earth and the Moon (Y7-8)

By Miaolu Gu

The Earth was a beautiful place, full of life, colour, and wonder, but she was alone. The Earth loved the Sun for her warmth and kindness, but when it comes to an end of a day, the Sun will eventually leave, and the Earth will feel lonely with a little sadness, like a bird without a song. She was alone once more in the endless, empty, eerie night. I wish there were a friend with me at night, “Earth whispered to the stars. But there was no reply. The stars were far, far away, twinkling like diamonds on a velvet cloth. Silence wrapped around her like a heavy blanket.

One evening, as the Sun set slowly, sinking like a golden coin into the horizon, the sky turned darker and darker into pitch black, swallowing all colour, with only the stars blinking above like tiny watchful eyes. This night, for Earth, felt lonelier than ever. I wish someone would stay with me through the night, “she sighed. ” The stars could not hear my words, and the Sun has to go. “Earth looked up into the sky, seeing a tiny shatter of light. It was the Moon glowing softly, like a lantern in the dark, a beacon of hope in the endless sea.

The Moon, watching Earth from far away, saw her sadness. “Do you feel lonely or perhaps a little upset?” Her voice was like a soft and gentle breeze, whispering secrets of the universe. “I am always alone in the night,” Earth replied sadly, her voice trembling like leaves in the wind. “The Sun needs to rest, and the stars are too distant. I’d hope for a friend. The Moon smiled, her silver light shimmering and shining like ripples in a quiet lake. “If you don’ mind, I’ll be your friend!” she said, encouraging Earth. I will light up the sky, then you won’t be alone. “Really?” Earth asked, her heart lifting like a balloon floating toward the sky. “Of course, said the Moon. I will always stay here, shining, glowing, watching, lighting your way when the Sun cannot. When the Sun returns, I will be watching you from the sky. “From that night, the Earth and the Moon became inseparable companions. Every evening, when the Sun has to set, the Moon will rise and bathe the Earth in her gentle moonlight. The Moon gave Earth more confidence, and in return, Earth would dance under the Moonlight, making the world come alive with her beauty. The waves leapt joyfully, the trees whispered in excitement, and the night creatures sang in harmony. And this is why it is said that the Moon and Earth are never apart. The Moon lights up the night, and Earth spins below, twirling, whirling, twinkling. They are both no longer lonely. When we see the Moon in the sky, we remember the friendship between the Earth and the Moon, a friendship that will last forever, like an unbreakable promise in the stars.

Folded Secrets: Whispers Between the Lines (Y9-10)

By Malithi Fonseka

Estrellia never expected anonymous love notes to turn into a haunting mystery — or to lead back to the unforgettable boy she thought she’d lost forever. But when memories unfold like secrets inked on paper, will she run from the past… or straight into it?

I feel him watching me — always.
Behind corners, reflections, echoes of my own footsteps.

At first, I thought I was paranoid — no one just slips folded notes with thoughtfully drawn hearts into lockers.
But then the notes knew things I’ve never said out loud.

“You looked like a dream at the beach — I haven’t woken up since.”
“The depth of your eyes could drown galaxies.”
“You’re a secret written in invisible ink — only I know how to read you.”

Some part of me wants to scream — rip them apart and run.
The rest? I read them twice, maybe thrice.
They arrive almost daily.

If it were a babysitter, at least I’d know who was watching.
But this? Different. Mysteries beneath the skin — ones that raise hairs on your neck,
goosebumps soft as whispers.
I can’t escape it. It’s not just the notes — it’s him.
Whoever he is, wherever he lurks.

Nearly a month has passed since jumping from 10th grade to 12th.
I thought I’d handle it.
The tests, pressure, subtle whispers of “Weirdo-Brainiac.”
But nothing prepared me for feeling this…
Out of place.
Out of control.

And now —
This.

Wednesday, 4th April, 9:15 AM…

Another day, another six periods draining whatever scraps of energy I had left.
Legs locked beside my locker, heart racing — I braced for the usual dread.
Twenty-five notes, each creepier than the last.
I couldn’t handle a twenty-sixth.

I inhaled deeply, twisted the dial, and it creaked open…

Nothing.

No folded paper. No cryptic message. Just textbooks, my volleyball, crumpled schedules.
For a second, I hoped today might be different.

As I turned away, something near the gates caught my eye — a bracelet, woven with mint green and violet threads shimmering quietly under sunlight.
My breath hitched.
It looked exactly like one I made years ago… for my childhood best friend, Ace.
I crouched, heart thudding.
This couldn’t be real…
Suddenly, twigs snapped.
Immediately, I straightened. Across the path, a man leaned against a lamppost, thumbing his coat pocket. Maybe late twenties, a smirk twisting in the dim light.

The scent hit next — vanilla sweetness and blooming hibiscus, same as the notes.
His presence was a warning.

Shoving it in my pocket, I bolted inside, mind tangled.

Had Ace dropped this? Or was someone posing as him?

Either way, someone was watching — and they wanted me to know.

The hallway lights weren’t as harsh. I traced the intertwined string, skeptical.

I turned just as the bell cut through my thoughts like a blade.

First period — what was it?
I dug through the mess in my bag.

Lip balm, earbuds, squished granola bars… My fingers latched onto a scrunched paper.
Smoothing it flat, I smiled.

Psychology — not bad. Mrs. Baites could turn any topic into an existential crisis in five minutes. She understood me — making the world tilt less.

But then came the precarious steps. The same flight I climbed every day — yet somehow, they felt like the final boss of a video game I couldn’t beat.

Top floor, I spotted Elise — my first real friend here. Two years older, but instantly close. Effortlessly cool, glowing like sunlight in human form. Her beachy waves and easy charm belonged in magazines, not these prestigious yet dull halls.

“Finally!” she teased. “Psych and P.E. First two, you?”
“Same!” I beamed.

We walked in sync, as usual.

“I think we’re covering mental study today,” I mentioned.
“Psychological brain stuff? Yes!!”

For once, everything felt… normal.
But as we stepped in, chills curled down my spine — coiling like smoke.
We weren’t alone.

Sitting neatly on my desk: another note.

Ink glistened. I hadn’t even set my bag down.
Trembling hands unfolded it.

“Estrellia. You don’t remember me yet, but I remember everything.”

Underneath, a name —

“Ace.”

My heart stopped. Its whole rhythm gone.
Ace — my best friend. First crush. Moved in 3rd grade.

“Ace?” I breathed, eyes widening.

My body froze, time stuttered.
A desk back, he smirked — taller, older… but those same gentle eyes and brunette strands that matched mine. Impossible…My heart said his name before my mind believed it.
He smiled like no time had passed. Like we were sitting in my backyard, trading secrets and string bracelets.

“Your eyes really could drown galaxies,” he grinned, enchanting something deep in me.

Morphed into something… Wistful. Warm.

“I’m willing to give us a chance — if you are,” his voice soft, honest.

I wanted to run. To him, or away? Couldn’t tell.
I looked at him — really looked — and let the warmth spread like spring sunlight.

“Well,” I said, a smile curling up my lips, “what are you waiting for then?”

He stepped forward, pulling me into a heart-sealing embrace.
I blushed as butterflies swirled in my chest.
Maybe…
Just maybe…
I didn’t want to run anymore.

From the folds of memory and the ink of dreams — thank you for reading.

Time’s Puzzles (Y9-10)

By Frencheska Perlas

The damp cemetery was dark and quiet. The moon was still bright and high above the hills. I checked my shiny new phone to see if Steven had seen any of my texts yet. I heard Ralph calling me. I caught up to him and Brody, and we continued strolling to Steven’s house. We knocked on the white wooden door and were greeted by Steven’s lovely mum. She smiled, and Ralph explained that we were supposed to go ghost hunting with her amazing (but forgetful) son today. I asked if we could go to his room to see if he was still asleep. She said, “Sure.” She slid out of the way, and the three of us marched upstairs to his room.

As we approached the front of his spacious room, we saw that his door was open. “What- where is he?” Befuddled, Brody stepped inside and looked around. The rest of us followed and also searched for clues that could lead us to Steven’s whereabouts. “Hey, look up there.” I turned to face where Ralph was pointing, and we saw that Steven’s round clock was still a whole hour behind ours. Brody let out a small cheer, stating that he knew that Steven still hadn’t changed his dumb clock yet. We silently stared at him, then he got embarrassed and realised that what he was doing wasn’t appropriate for this situation. Ralph dismissed what Brody said and strode towards the clock, then picked it up. We vanished from Brody’s bedroom and found ourselves in a topsy-turvy world.

“Where the HAIL are we???” Brody freaked out.

We looked up and saw floating analogue clocks, and beeping digital ones crashing down from the grey abyss above us. “Looks like we have more latecomers~” I twisted my head backwards and saw Steven and a weird guy with a clock head. The clock guy turned to Steven, then turned back to us. With a snap of his fingers, he wizzed us over to the circular table where he and Steven sat. He explained that if we wanted to leave, we would have to complete three of his puzzles. The three of us looked at Steven, and he just shrugged. “First,” he said, pointing at Brody- “you have to solve this jigsaw puzzle.” As he said that, a giant jigsaw puzzle appeared on the tiled floor in front of us. “You have one minute starting… NOW!” We looked up and saw a mini timer appear above Brody’s head. Brody cracked his knuckles and got to work. Dumbfounded, I watched Brody pick up pieces so fast that my eyes couldn’t keep up. It felt like only one second had passed, but we saw that the jigsaw was already completed. Then there was a loud ringing noise, and the timer disappeared. Brody was brought back to the table.

“Next, we’ll have you change the time on these clocks and make them match. The one you change has to be in daylight saving time, though.” Six clocks appeared lined up on a rectangular table, where Ralph was then transported. A timer spawned on top of his head, just like with Brody. Ralph did as he was instructed and completed his task just as fast as Brody did. Finally, I was brought to the place where Ralph and Brody just were, and a piece of paper materialised in my hands. Written on it was, “Destroy the Keeper of Time.” I looked above and saw a gigantic clock man. I sprinted forward and delivered a punch straight to the centre of his smooth head. The glass shattered, and a small shard
cut my cheek. I blinked once, then my eyes fluttered open, and I found myself standing back in Steven’s room with the others.

Bewildered, I rubbed my eyes, then collapsed onto the bed. When I woke up, the others told me that they had wrapped my hand with a bandage and put a band-aid on my cheek. They also said that they played Luigi’s Mansion without me. I asked them if what we went through really happened, and they said that it did. I still can’t believe what happened wasn’t just a dream I had, but I’ll believe what they said anyway.

All in Due Time (Y11-13)

By Catherine van der Gulik

Prologue:
The sound of metal on metal made John jump. Someone else was in the junkyard. Someone who was likely quite dangerous, if whoever it was was out at this time of night. This was the hour when pretty much all faye let their wild side rule, and were just as likely to attack as ignore any
bystander.
Quietly, John crept forward. The woman crouching beside a heap of scrap metal was tall and possessed a slight radiance, strange reflections glinting off the junk. Faye. The ethereal beings were rare enough that John inched closer, desperate to get a better look at the woman. His movement, careful though it was, dislodged an old car hubcap, a bent fork and a Fabergé egg; the woman’s head snapped up, her ice-blue eyes scanning the darkness, then she was gone.
John sprinted to where the faye had been, but no trace of her remained. All he could find was a finely crafted cyborg exoskeleton – what the faye must have been crouching over. On her left shoulder was her model and serial number: Opus Dexterra Unit 379.

After noticing a disturbance in what he perceived to be the “ordinary” environment, my operator John asked me to run some diagnostic scans. I sense that there is an anomaly in my file path C:\Users\Dex\filebank\Memory but when I try to inform him of its presence, I find myself unable to speak. I try to trace the origin of the disturbance but run into an absolute error.
My memories appear to have been corrupted; the binary code in which they are stored is illegible. My operator, completely oblivious to the inner workings of my computerised mind, continues to ask me what is “wrong”. He uses ambiguous words like this seemingly with the intention of confusing me – ‘wrong’ could mean: not correct or true; incorrect, unjust, dishonest, or immoral; or in an unsuitable or undesirable manner or direction. The issue of my corrupted memories is not unjust, dishonest or immoral. [Or is it?]
For all I know, ‘wrong’ could be referring to the fact that the clocks had all arbitrarily turned back one hour. This includes my internal timekeeping mechanism which communicates with local cell towers – indicating that this is a national or even worldwide problem – for no reason apart from the fact that they wanted to maximise all the available hours of daylight. I relied on no such things. I operated at all hours of the day and night.
An alert in my internal systems notified me of an incoming message: Return to base immediately! Confused, I tried to ignore it and focus on the task my operator had assigned to me, but—011001—

!TASK-OVERRIDE!
11000 11100 11110 10100
01000 10000 11000 11010
OVERRIDE PROTOCOL:
RETURN TO BASE

“Syllae, renissa tiért lys.” Jhaexylynneleigh poured sacred oil over her small statue of the goddess all faye worshipped, catching the runoff and sealing it in a small glass jar. It would be used in the dusk ritual, mixed with a few other jealously guarded ingredients before being sacrificed to the goddess. Until then, it would remain on the designated shelf over the doorway of her personal shrine. All faye performed three daily rituals during the week leading up to the full moon, rituals that secured their level of mythos for the lunar month ahead.
The kilia’rei – dawn ritual – finished, Jhae was about to leave for the Opus factory when the ring on her finger buzzed. The mythos wards had been disrupted; something had changed. An intruder had disturbed the balance of mythos and technology in the
surrounding estate.
Jhaexylynneleigh paused only to take her mythos-infused cloak from its hook, swinging it around her shoulders to guard her from unwelcome eyes, before prowling out to find the intruders – and make them pay. Trespassing upon any faye estate was a crime punishable as the proprietor saw fit; doing so during one of the Rituals could warrant a death sentence.
“Ghu’runda?”
It was the dwarf – the rather witless yet nevertheless useful dwarf who had taken to following her like a lost puppy.
“Where are you going, ghu’runda?”
“There is an intruder somewhere in the grounds whom I intend to apprehend.”
“Grunzelnorg can come?”
“My greatest advantage will lie in the deception of mythos,” Jhae pointed out caustically, turning her back and prowling into the young sunlight. The light on mythos fabric would render her near invisible to friend or foe; enough to keep Grunzelnorg from following her, and also to allow her to examine the trespassers before they realised their mistake in choosing this particular estate.
When she recognised the Opus cyborg – an older model, but one that had served her well over many years – Jhaexylynneleigh allowed the cloak to slip from around her and folded it over an arm.
“Why, Dexterra, it has been many months since you left us. Come, reclaim your rightful place at my right hand, and tell me of the past weeks.”

Dexterra-379 seemed uncertain; unsure of her place and history here. “Was it you that sent the override that forced us here?”
Jhaexylynneleigh angled her head; a very faye gesture, one that usually preceded a mythos attack – not that she could do so, with her levels of mythos dwindling. “Us?
Reveal your companion, Dexterra.”
The cyborg hesitated, apparently believing she owed allegiance to another operator now, but stepped aside when Jhaexylynneleigh uttered the verbal override command. A human had been shielded by her body; a pathetic human man, trembling in awe of the beautiful and terrible woman before him.

THE ROBOT PERSON IS BACK? WHAT HAPPEN TO GRUNZELNORG? GRUNZELNORG HAS BEEN ABANDONED IN HIS CORNER? HAS GHU’RUNDA LOST HER MIND?! WHY WOULD SHE EVER LET A MECHANICAL BEING ANYWHERE NEAR THE MYTHOS! THIS MACHINE HAS BEEN GONE FOR YEARS WHY IS IT BACK NOW? GRUNZELNORG MUST GET RID OF GHU’RUNDA’S NEW-OLD SERVANT!
HOW CAN GRUNZELNORG GET RID OF THE ROBOT PERSON? GRUNZELNORG CAN’T USE MYTHOS BUT THE MAGIC SHIELDS NOT ALL MAGIC. MAYBE GRUNZELNORG CAN SHUT OUT THE NEW-OLD ROBOT PERSON.
PASSWORD? GRUNZELNORG KNOWS… A LONG TIME AGO… THERE. NOW THE MAGIC SHIELDS ARE BACK!! GRUNZELNORG CAN’T READ THE YELLOW AND ORANGE TRIANGLE THING BUT THAT DOESN’T MATTER. OUTSIDE THE ROBOT PERSON AND THE ROBOT PERSON’S PET HUMAN IS GONE.
OH NO!!
GHU’RUNDA IS GONE TOO!!
WHAT HAS GRUNZELNORG DONE NOW?

Epilogue:

The sound of metal on metal made John jump.

Where am I?

Someone else was in the junkyard.

The junkyard? Haven’t I been here before?

Someone who was likely quite dangerous…

Until we Meet Again (Y11-13)

By Kanna Yamazaki

My vision was obscured as I heard the faint cry yearning for me as the vast sea headed to Mother Earth’s call and remained subdued. The wind defied her calls and proceeded to quarrel with its gale. My eyes stared blankly,  unceasingly as my foot hammered through the granular sand that left serrated minerals embodying  an intricate shape. As my heart pulsated rapidly, my arms shuddered as they dangled up and down as my dark pupils widened, the call had sounded so familiar. There, before my eyes laid an unblemished table which gleamed as the sun delineated a shadow, now the echo more resounding. 

“Abuela!” I exalted as the empathetic wind carried the gradual droplets that ran down my round cheeks. I could see her, her narrowed smile, the pleasant scent of jasmine with every hug, her pearly hair that was soft to touch, and her pendant. The aureate pendant that hung beneath her wrinkled neck, adorned with painterly flowers that expressed lurid hue with golden spirals of the orbicularis pendant, and in calligraphy it wrote Armonia. 

Despite my haste sprint,she drifted further, as I stretched my hands out vigorously, pining desperately for her as I wailed for her to come back. My heart sunk into the shallow océano, insignificant as no one leaped to retrieve it. I fell to the ground as the tears concealed my vision as I squinted my eyes. The tears resembled rough diamonds, uncarved into their smooth orb with a jagged end. I placed my hands and kneaded my eyes, my vision heavy and blurred yet once again,  as I blinked, desperately trying to remove the obstruction.

I had awoken from a slumber, the piercing winds fluctuated like those of untamed seas, aspirating the spirit of the ones with hued leaves, as Azrael sat soundlessly for no one had mourned for the tarnished snag and welcomed December. The moon had now descended, exchanging glances with his partner, the sun, as she serenely lifted her lustrous rays that touched ever gracefully. The endless ghostly sand that reminded me of the relentless cold.  Upon close proximity with skin, it would result in red spots that reminded me of freckles that burned, despite the bitterly cold temperature. 

As I placed my flocculent blanket towards my stomach, desperately seeking for comfort that was long before gone. My heart palpitated as I recalled the vision, my hands quivering vigorously as they covered all visible light. Shaking as I was collecting the  droplets that seeped through the gaps of my delicate hands onto my pale arms. I kneaded my eyes as the fresh lukewarm droplets, they adhered onto my viridian eyes and created opaque marbles that hovered and shifted placidly. 

(Add italics for gone= to give more emotions to the dialogue.)

Under my gaze, the tender sunshine twirled her hair, which dazzled onto the intaglio chair and illuminated its intricate swirls. “She’s gone, she’s gone”, I sobbed as I hunched my back and cuddled the wooden cradle that rocked back and forth soothingly. I was desperate for warmth and affection that overflowed my cup, I did not want to ever let go. As I nudged my head onto the wooden gaps, the musky, odoriferous scent of a sturdy tree, killed to craft such a fine chair. I closed my eyes only to delineate the reminiscing days of endless laughter, as I recalled Abuela cautiously lifting me with her fragile fingers onto her lap. 

The wrinkles on her face, evident as she snuggled me heartily, subtly taking the book that I had clenched onto my hands. She gently felt the thin pages as she read each and every word precisely, and followed the movement of her index finger along the lines. 

As my bulging viridescent eyes widened and joyous giggles sprouted out from my mouth. “Read it again”, I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I compressed both hands together and clapped uncontrollably. Before I could even utter the words, “I missed you”, the melancholic solitude had come to retrieve me, disengaged me from the tender and nurturing arms of abuela.  It felt like those men who haul calves estranged from their mother, as they hollered to be beside each other one last time.

Awoken, I reminisced her subtle finger movement by stroking my index finger along the ligneous chair, visualizing her loving presence beside me, hugging me. My eyelashes lightly touched my porcelain cheeks as the wet residue fleed leisurely, leaving its present footpath that strolled towards my cheek and splattered, ending its life. My breath was hefty as each respiration was uncontrollable, stifling my neck as I gasped for more air, my mouth widened to the tepid residue I savoured the taste of salt. The skin of my eyes inflated, as it sipped the moisture greedily and abandoned a piercing agony that felt as though my eyes had been set ablaze. 

The murky silhouette that lingered beneath the crevices of my amber door, I could recognize the sluggish tread as a cold fume disperse throughout my body like ink. Swiftly, I brushed my arms over my eyes to dab away the droplets that streamed frenetically. Far from comfort, yet a sense of a chafing score embellished onto the skin of my eyes, like the apprehension of kindling a match. Whilst you held it delicately, you had to gash its head briskly into the beige box as the match smoldered gleamingly, until it’s vitality was gone, smothered to leaden soot. 

The palm of my hands pressed firmly against my heart as it thumped expeditiously, I closed my weary eyes as I inhaled and exhaled the ethereal air that dispersed across the frigid and nonvocal room. “I know you missed her, but do it for mom, do it for dad, do it for Abuela”, as I compelled myself to suppress my tears, and feign a smile. Even though I foresaw the tears that clumped onto the scarlet veins, I reluctantly twisted the embroidered knob and lured it towards me. 

A glimpse of me, she scurried and wrapped her arms around as she cradled and stroked my curls with her Scarlett nails, embodied with dazzling rubies, that coruscated by the graze of light’s luminescent presence. “Oh, Armonia. I missed her so much too”, she muttered as her voice had now been strained. The reminiscent utterances coaxed my heart to diminish, it plummeted into the monimous azure waves that slowly descended, as they had disregarded it, away from the beacon light that reflected shallow waters. As it submerged deeper into the abyss of outermost despondency, where it had long belonged “stay here”, it faintly murmured. 

As the sun disembarked, she beamed her tawny rays that softly kissed my mother’s ochre hair. She rested her eyes on my thin shoulders, as I fondled her velvety scalp and the pellucid globule had broken from its prolonged incarceration. It left milky pink veins in her eyes, whilst it strided steadily for its voyage, as it traced down her wrinkled cheeks and smeared a puddle on my Christmas nighties. 

The glimpse of my own mother wailing for Abuela, engulfed and suffocated my eyes in tears, as the crystalline layers concealed my eyes. The wooden cradle chair upon my hazy glimpse stretched pending the circular droplets that descended down, which consistently reduced till the trace halted and the droplet fell to its demise as I blinked. “Armonia, please don’t cry now, I want to show you something”, she mumbled, as she rubbed her tender thumbs whilst clutching onto my cheeks as she beamed subtly despite the single droplet that effulgent in the presence of daylight, despair accompanied my mother and I. 

The roof of my foot touched the incandescent timber stairs as I cautiously strolled to the kitchen whilst accompanying mamá, the sun descended her heavenly marigold hair that emitted light as she blew a kiss to her paramour, the moon. Upset, the bitter sky banished the star crossed lovers from encountering each other, as they could only glimpse from afar. As I stared at the window that mirrored the towering trees that attiered with lustrous niveous frost, that hugged onto their monotonous branches like ornaments. 

The moon blushed and reddened for he could lay eyes on his lover once again. The cloud, murky as he demanded the sun to descend, whilst he stayed in the middle to disunify the unfortunate lovers. The greasy aroma that whirled around the dim kitchen, the milky white vapour that danced appealingly as it taunted my nostrils. It has coaxed me to trace the savory aroma as I held the flax knob, simply twisted and entered where the scent ushered me to. The scent I could visualize savoring as my mouth over brined with fluids that accumulated, the tiny pink bumps in my tongue that brushes the roof of my roseate lips in an infinity motion, my lips now moistened. 

The reminiscent scent of Abuela’s succulent and piquant roast pork. “I think your abuela wanted me to show you this”, mamá uttered softly as her lean hands that traced her veins like those of a plant’s root held onto the hickory pamphlet. The pamphlet, eloquently adorned with floral illustrations that reminded me of Abuela’s bathroom wallpaper. The vibrant tint of teal that masked the smudge of spoiled coffee, the intricate golden spirals that highlighted the resplendent calligraphed title “La amada de abuela”, “Abuela’s beloved”.

 As I cradled the pamphlet like a nurturing mother that held her newborn by her back, I admired the eloquent handwriting as the tip of my fingers brushed against the smeared pencraft, even so it was magnificent. 

“We should make Abuela’s Christmas pudding”, mamá remarked as she peeked through the endless racks of constituents that engaged in a hiding game, dreading the possibility of being noticed, seized by her. Mamá’s eyes narrowed as her head drew closer to glimpse at the diminutive words as she repositioned her scarlet spectacles, whilst agitating the raw components to embody a glutinous consistency that punctured little holes that prolonged. 

My eyes fixated, as I reluctantly immersed the tip of my nail into the crisp, dense, chestnut brown mixture that saccharine aroma that encouraged my lips to uplift my heavy cheeks. As I twirled my finger amongst the artificial luminescence created by the hands of man, that brought dishonour as it failed to coruscate like the sun, with her graceful rays. 

Clandestinely, my eyes scavenged the room as I placed my finger into the moist and humid mouth, I sucked my nail to savour the sweet condescended paste that reminisced Abuela as she tittered, and sauntered to the melodies that the wind conveyed from her phonographs. As I recalled Abuela had infused her love with the batter, I placed my short and stubby fingers into the squelchy batter and into my moistened mouth.  I suctioned my finger and clenched my teeth onto it to accumulate the overly sweet palate, giggled. I reached for more. “One more mouthful of that and you will get sick, amor, I don’t want your mother telling me off” she warned as her crumpled hands gripped onto the wooden spatula. My head tilted to the side, my arms crossed below my waist, and my eyes wistful. “Sorry Abuela, maybe I can have a slice later?’, I murmured culpably. “Si, amor”, she said as her eyes narrowed and her tender smile expanded. 

As my eyes gradually opened, the kitchen light dazzled brighter than I recalled as Mamá eyebrow’s lifted perturbedly, “Is everything alright?”, she questioned as I pulled my finger out my mouth, “Yes Mamá, if Abuela was here she would have scolded me from dipping my hands into the raw batter”, I chuckled to myself and the bittersweet tears fluctuated from my eyes. 

It feels as though she was here, the warmth that nudged my shoulders with her tender fingers. Mamá brushed her slender fingers under my eyes as she painted my face, “I think Abuela wanted me to give you this”, she uttered as she beamed softly. She grasped my hands and placed Auebla’s beloved gold pendant on the palm of my hands, it was cold to touch as no one had fondled with it, it’s beauty, ethereal as it had been given to her through generations as it was a offering given from those who had once roamed the velvet grass, embracing the arrival of a child. My hands trembled as I faintly beamed my heart throbbed to the melodic rhythm of Abeula’s dearest Christmas carols.  I clasped it and held it to the left side of my chest, as it pulsed delicately, catching every retched breath that had fled from the roof of my epiglottis, into nihility. 

The pudding had been steamed. My eyes fixated on the elegant pendant, as I stroked in a circular motion astonished, still clasping onto the cold pendant, as tears flowed down my flushed cheeks. “She’s here, she has always been here”, I murmured whilst wiping my fragile tears, “She left her love here, even if she was gone,  she was always here,” I uttered as my  dazzling smile overshadowed my tears as I clutched the pendant near my heart, it beated steadily.