Categor y
8 to 11 years old
Winner
Abdullah Arif 11 years old
The Evasion of the Snow’s Embrace
The snow fell in thick, heavy flakes, blanketing the earth in a soft, white silence. Ethan and Mia pulled their sleds through the deepening snowdrifts, their boots sinking with each step, their breath forming clouds in the crisp air. The sky above was a slate of grey, and the trees, stripped of their leaves, stood as silent guardians against the chill.
“Come on, Mia! We’re gonna miss it!” Ethan urged, tugging his sled with a little more force. His face flushed from the cold and excitement, his eyes sparkling with determination and mischief.
“I know, I know!” Mia replied, her voice muffled beneath her scarf. She moved slower, dragging her sled with both hands, her boots clumsy in the thick snow. Yet her heart raced, not just from the cold, but from a secret joy stirring inside her.
As they approached the old hill leading to the frozen creek-the tallest in the neighbourhood where countless races had occurred - Mia held onto something special.
“Mia, do you think it’s safe?” Ethan asked, glancing at the dark shadows in the distance. The creek lay hidden by the trees, but the eerie stillness made everything feel...uncertain.
Mia grinned, a confident smile that lit her eyes. “Trust me,” she said. “You’ll see.”
At the top of the hill, their sleds lined up side by side, the wind whipped around them, swirling the snow in gusts. Below, the frozen creek sparkled under the thin winter light. The sledding path curved downward, dangerously close to the creek’s edge.
Ethan surveyed the slope with doubt, but Mia was already on her sled, mittened hands gripping the rope. “Are you ready?” she called.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, uncertainty lingering in his voice. He adjusted his scarf, took a deep breath, and launched onto his sled.
“GO!” Mia shouted, and in an instant, they sped down the hill, the world a blur of white.
The wind howled, and the snow hissed beneath them as their sleds sliced through. Mia’s heart raced as she leaned into the turn, the world spinning around her. Ethan followed closely, his sled creaking under their speed.
Suddenly, Mia’s sled hit a patch of ice, sending her toward the hill’s edge. The creek’s frozen surface loomed, and one wrong move could spell disaster. She fought to control her sled, leaning back, yanking the rope to steer, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ethan speeding toward her. Without thinking, she veered hard to the left, colliding with him in a tangle of sleds, bodies, and snow.
They tumbled, rolling down the slope, the icy creek no longer a threat. They came to a stop at the hill’s base, breathless and laughing, covered in snow from head to toe.
Ethan wiped snow from his face, a wide grin breaking out. “You tricked me, didn’t you?”
Mia giggled, brushing snow from her gloves. “Just wanted to keep us safe from the creek. I knew you’d freak out if you saw it.”
“Freaked out,” Ethan admitted, “but that was awesome!”
Together, they sat up in the snow, thrill and danger intertwining in their hearts. For a moment, they simply sat, sleds forgotten beside them, the cold winter air filling their lungs as they gazed up at the falling snow.
In that instant, they felt nothing but the joy of being young, free and alive.
-THE END-
Kripa Bathla
11 years old
Let The Snow Fall....
A young boy and a young girl, Drifting into a snowy swirl. The silence of segregation not letting us breathe. As our only possession, the wooden sled, Cleaves through the violent snow with seethe. With hunger and dread, the devious hollow “trees” ghastly call. Let The Snow Fall, As We Bellow And Bawl.
Trespassing through the nipping wind, Where shadows stretch and ambition grows thin. The rope carelessly burns through our weak skin, A message hidden, pressed to our heavy chest. The threats holler, the snowflakes seem to shriek! Then all our surroundings start to speak.
Let The Snow Fall, As We Stumble And Crawl.
Footsteps vanish, so did everything that was said, Hope shrivels, thoughts go dead. Towards the flurry of endless arrest. Our malnourished hands clutch what’s left. Then, the atrocious thoughts slyly approach. We can hear the cunning voices slowly grow tall. Let The Snow Fall, As We Falter And Stall.
Let the silence cloak what we cannot outrun, Beneath the bleak stare of a vanishing sun. No warmth remains, just echoes that call. Each memory fractures, behind each wall. Eyes meet the storm with a final breath, A silent prayer, then a whispered death. Let The Snow Fall, And Cover It All.
-THE END-
Athira Suresh
11 years old
The Path Beyond the Pines
In the hush of a frostbitten, whispering wood, Two little figures stood. A sled behind them, worn but true, Trailed across the powdery blue.
Trees loomed tall, their limbs outspread, Guarding paths that angels tread. Snowflakes fell like a breathless sigh From the pale and brooding sky.
Hand in hand, no words were said; The hush was loud, but the moment led. Beyond the trunks, a silver glow Called them softly through the snow.
Were they seeking home or lore?
A place they only dreamt of before?
Or did the woods just call their names, In a tone no other voice reclaims?
A shadowed path, faint prints revealed, A whispered trail through secrets sealed. Their breath caught soft in frozen air, Drawn to where the footprints dare.
With cautious steps, they dared to roam Into the edges of the unknown The track wove deep, a silent guide, Into the heart where mysteries hide.
No fear nor haste, just wonder’s spark, They followed on through the growing dark. Beneath the hush, the shadows play, Where light and dark together sway.
They vanished past where shadows part, Their tale now stitched into the forest’s heart.
-THE END-
Lael Lawrence 8 years old
The Whispering Winter Woods
The forest was a cathedral of white, its towering trees cloaked in snow, their branches bowing under the weight of writer’s touch. The air was crisp, biting at the cheeks, and the world seemed to hold its breath, muffled by the thick blanket of snow. In this serene silence, two figures moved cautiously, their breaths visible in the frosty air.
Elliot, a thirteen-year-old boy with brown hair, walked ahead, his boots making noise in the snow. Clara, also thirteen, followed him, wearing a red scarf. She held a small lantern that emitted light in the cold.
“We shouldn’t have come this far,” Clara murmured, her voice trembling slightly. “The sun’s already setting.”
Elliot turned, his eyes sparkling with determination. “We’ll be fine. I know the way back. Besides, we can’t leave without finding it.”
“It?” Clara raised an eyebrow, her breath forming little clouds. “You mean the ‘whispering tree’? You don’t even know if it’s real.”
Elliot grinned, his confidence unwavering. “Grandpa said it’s real. He told me it only appears in the heart of winter, deep in the forest. It’s supposed to grant a wish to anyone brave enough to find it.”
Clara sighed but followed him anyway. She had always been the cautious one, but Elliot’s adventurous spirit had a way of pulling her into his wild schemes. And truth be told, the idea of a wish was tempting.
As they ventured deeper, the forest seemed to change. The trees grew taller, their trunks gnarled and ancient. The snow sparkled like diamonds under the faint light of the lantern. And then, they heard it-a soft, melodic hum, like the wind singing a lullaby.
“Do you hear that?” Elliot whispered, his voice tinged with awe.
Clara nodded, momentarily forgetting her fear. The sound led them to a clearing where a unique tree stood. Its silver bark shimmered, and its branches held softly chiming icicles. The whispering tree.
Elliot and Clara approached it cautiously, their eyes wide with wonder. The tree seemed alive, its whispers growing louder as they neared. Elliot placed a hand on its trunk, and the whispers turned into words, soft and soothing.
“Make your wish,” the tree seemed to say.
Elliot glanced at Clara, his usual bravado replaced by a rare moment of hesitation. “You go first,” he said.
Clara stepped forward, her heart pounding. She closed her eyes and whispered her wish, her voice barely audible. The tree’s branches swayed gently, as if acknowledging her request.
Elliot followed and quietly made his wish. As he opened his eyes, the tree’s glow briefly intensified before returning to its soft shimmer.
As they left, the whispers faded, and the forest grew still again. The return journey felt quicker and clearer. Emerging from the woods, the stars were visible in the night sky. Neither spoke of their wishes but walked home hand in hand, feeling certain the forest had heard them, and their wishes would come true.
-THE END-
Categor y
12 to 14 years old
Afsa Arif 13 years old
Echoes of Willow
My mind is a chaotic yet captivating wilderness, brimming with infinite possibilities and uncharted paths. Within it reside my dreams, decisions, regrets, missteps, and deepest fears. It holds the entirety of my being – not just the fragments I choose to show the world, but every facet: the hushed thoughts that resonate in silence, the unspoken sorrow I carry, and the fragile hopes that flicker within me like delicate flames. This version of myself? It’s a reflection of the hope I steadfastly embrace. I can only hope that one day I will have the courage to release these tangled thoughts and break free from the fortress of silence I’ve built, create my vibrant canvas of potential.
This hope remains a constant beacon, even when everything else may seem dark and broken. Only my suitcase can truly embrace all of this. Inside this seemingly ordinary possession, a storm brews of unexpressed feelings and thoughts that I’ve yet to find the words for. Nothing – not even the depths of despair – can diminish what I hold within.
It houses the version of myself that I’ve kept hidden – the one I fear won’t be accepted. This is where I store everything beyond words, everything I’ve been too apprehensive to share. It’s my way of making sense of a world that often feels overwhelming – a version of reality that’s beautiful and distorted in its own right.
If only I could unlock it. If only I could gather the strength to speak my truth, to let these desires flow and breathe. Above all else, I want to be seen – not merely as the quiet girl in the background but as a person, a voice, a presence. I want to be more than just a name; I want to be recognised for the fire simmering beneath my silence.
When I finally find the key to unleash it all, I know my world will erupt – not in destructive chaos, but in a raw, beautiful harmony. It will be a space where my thoughts and emotions align, where I no longer battle with myself just to survive. And yet...
Imagining that kind of freedom stirs both excitement and trepidation in me. Deep down, I realise I might never fully grasp the chance. The one person who truly understood and made space for my tangled thoughts, who listened without judgement, is gone. She’s dead.
Willow wasn’t just my sister; she was my anchor, taken far too soon by the cruel, unforgiving hands of death, by the snapping of a bungee cord. I remember the moment the world shattered when I received that phone call.
She was fifteen years older than I, and maybe that’s why she was such a wonderful sister. Having survived her childhood, she was able to guide me through mine. She was both wise and wild, the Jo to my Amy. She taught me how to rise above doubt and soar above the sharp edges of reality whilst not losing sight of the societal expectations. Now, I carry her voice in that suitcase too. And maybe, accepting that she’s gone will be the key to unlocking my true self and setting myself free. Just maybe...
Prakriti Borua
12 years old
Wake Up
A cavern infused with safety and warmth
Where experiments are done for me
I float, meandering through clouds
No expectations – my world
A light hovers in my peripheral
But fear anchors me here
Buried beneath mum’s affection
With laughter pulling from the other side
Reality rears slowly away
Yet I remain in my magic land
Controlled, convinced of sovereignty
No sleep, no rules, no fear
Still, the light whispers
Soft threats and pleading calls
Escape, it says – but from what?
Here, I have all I need
My suitcase companion
With no voice, no hands
Whispers through my thoughts
Breathing magic into my realm
It lures me from the light
Blinds me with quiet screams
Was trust a lie all along?
I lie back, questioning truth
Other cold voices now whisper
Growing louder as I near the glow
I rode the suitcase before
Over seaweed waves and boundless sky
The light loomed – a black hole
But the suitcase veered away
It gave me fear, and consciousness
Day by day, I do not age
Stitched in the body of a child
Not a child
Cannot be a child
Or I will never face the truth
Ananya Gajula
13 years old
Between the Clouds
The photograph wasn’t much. Just a tattered piece of photo paper with soft crinkled edges like my fading memory, capturing the picture of the sky, where the shades of orange of the evening sun and blue of the nightfall collide. Streaks of white hues spread along the sky. Clouds.
This is the only thing I remember before my parents were gone, before my world completely changed, before the silence and the loss.
Back then I used to lie on the cold grass every last afternoon and stare at the sky. Staring as the cool colours of the night engulf the musky shades of the evening sky. It’s gone now. Not here anymore and the memories leave me with a heavy heart.
But holding this photo here again, it’s stirring something within me. Something I’m scared to let in, but it feels warm, like a warm fire crackling and burning on a cold night.
My fingers ghost over the sun, melting its musky, russet shades into the horizon like melted gold. I lean back, my head hitting the pillow as I hold it up, the faint glow of the light piercing through it. I lay the photo down, lost in thought. I shut my eyes, feeling myself there.
“Whenever you’re lost, just look at the sky, I’ll be there between the clouds.” My mother’s words echo in my mind.
Perched on that suitcase, with my legs dangling over the edge, with the sun’s reflection lighting up the land below. The breeze tangling in my hair, dancing to the silent rhythm as the sun dips down, casting an amber glow over the ocean below, penetrating the depths of the water like a gentle fire.
My lips curve into a smile as a tear rolls down my cheek, imagining this again, and something softens within me, evoking a feeling of comfort and warmth that I’ve yearned for, like something warm, like something inside me thawing, and my frozen dream melting.
I shift my gaze to the suitcase I was sitting on, the creases on the leather, like the lines on my palm. To me, they’re like a map of my dream.
The sky is stretching endlessly like a sea of sapphire and burnt orange. The wind wraps around me like a cloak, caressing my skin as fresh pristine air wafts into my lungs.
And suddenly it clicks. An epiphany.
Up here, it’s like a reflection of who I used to be; the sky doesn’t ask me to do or be anything, it just lets me exist as my own. Perhaps this dream was never lost; it was just waiting for me to return and continue dreaming.
Slowly, all the colours that are wrapped around me begin to fade. The clouds unravel. The gold and pink melt into black. Pitch black. But it doesn’t feel cold and empty, it feels like a spark of something warm and steady.
The dream is still with me, and I want it to be.
I want to keep dreaming about the sky.
Jasmine Lo 12 years old
Suitcase of Memories
A sea of possibilities stirred ahead
Underneath a limitless sky. Oust from rumbling fear, And grey clouds of lies.
Wind blows on their face, Stories frolic in the breeze, Sanguine sunshine spills on themPerched atop a suitcase of memories.
The case is lined with precious trinketsYet it’s never been graced with garments or luxuries, For the suitcase holds the most priceless things. One’s most valued memories.
Flashes, snapshots, blurs and coloursThe past remains present as it rewinds. Grief, tears, laughter, and joy Bottled up and intertwined.
Secrets, whispers, stories, and dreams
Swirl about in an anarchic whirlwind.
Carried through one’s suitcase of memoriesThrough moments lightened and moments dimmed.
The case carries more than meets the eye, It is memory: identity. Who you are, what you dream, What forms the introspective: ‘Me.’
And every person to ever live has zoomed Atop a suitcase of memoriesUnderneath a limitless sky
Over a sea of possibilities, And soared into a new horizonInto a brand-new life.
Categor y
15 to 18 years old
Winner
Akifa Younus
17 years old
The Edge of Everything
There I sat, legs stretched out at the edge of the world, with the fabric of my tent framing a sky painted in clouds. The view before me wasn’t just breathtaking, it was a quiet reminder of how far I’d come. Not just in distance, but in life.
This wasn’t my first adventure, but it felt like the most important. I had hiked for three days through mud, cold winds, and sheer cliffs to reach this peak. But what I was really chasing wasn’t a mountain. It was clarity.
Back home, life had become loud. Expectations echoed louder than dreams, and the ticking of the clock often drowned out my own heartbeat. There were deadlines, decisions, and pressure to have everything figured out. I didn’t. So I packed my bag, laced up my boots, and walked away from the noise.
Now, from my mountaintop perch, I looked down not at the earth, but at the clouds below me. I’d always thought of the sky as something unreachable. But here I was, above it all.
The impossible didn’t seem so impossible anymore.
This journey had tested me. My legs ached, my water ran low, and I’d been lost more than once. But in those moments, I rediscovered something I hadn’t even realised I’d lost myself. I heard my breath, felt the rhythm of my steps, and saw the world without filters. Life isn’t meant to be rushed, it’s meant to be lived
The cold bit at my fingers as I zipped up my jacket and leaned back. From this height, the world looked soft, silent, and endless. I thought of all the people who never take this kind of leap, not just up a mountain, but into the unknown. We’re so afraid of falling that we forget what it’s like to fly.
Life is like this climb, unpredictable, exhausting, and beautiful. But the view? The view makes it all worth it.
I didn’t come here to escape life. I came here to find it again.
And as the sun broke through the mist, casting golden light over the mountaintops, I realised something the adventure of life isn’t in the places we visit or the peaks we reach. It’s in the courage to keep climbing, even when we’re uncertain of what’s ahead.
I packed up slowly that morning, not because I was in a rush to leave, but because I had found what I came for: peace. The kind that doesn’t come from answers, but from knowing you’re exactly where you need to be.
Sometimes, to see clearly, you have to rise above the clouds. To stop chasing perfection and start embracing the climb, however steep it may be.
And in that moment, high above the world, I wasn’t lost. I was finally free.
Anakha Prakasan
16 years old
Tuesday Thoughts
It was a stray Tuesday thought. A joke that popped into my head whilst I was sitting at my office desk mindlessly reading through dozens of emails sent overnight. I should’ve considered the fact that I’m not 10 years old anymore, that my back aches when I have to stand up and that my legs aren’t as sturdy as they once were. I should’ve factored all that in, along with the reality that this hike was 4 hours long, and concluded it was just a stray thought - a fleeting idea that should’ve stayed that way. But before I knew it, I had my mind set and here I am now, a week later, making my way up a mountain. There was an old creaky staircase that snaked its way to the very top but it had been subject to decades’ worth of wear and tear and seemed unsturdy. So I’d chosen to go the traditional route - a proper hike. Now my beanie and jacket hugged me tight against the sharp, harsh wind slicing through me like a blade. The coarse rocks dug into my mitted hands as I reached for a hold. Every inhale was painfully cold and left my lips even more cracked. This further intensified my shudders, releasing strings of curses that left my mouth as wispy smoke. This continued for hours until I finally reached the summit, where it plateaued.
And that’s when it hit me. Like a ton of rocks. All the memories. All that I tried to relive by making my way here. The trips up here hadn’t always been so grim. As a kid, I’d yearn for it all year until summer hit and I could begin my incessant pleading. Eventually, my parents would give in and say okay. We’d use the staircase and make our way exactly here and mum would sit me on a nearby log and unravel the foil clinging to the sandwiches and dad would start on setting up the tent. He’d ensure the entrance flap was facing the mountain rather than the clouds. He’d mumble something about safety but I always wanted it to be closer to the edge - I was fascinated by it. And now, here I was.
And for once, since what seemed like forever, there was silence. The occasional but harmonious chirp from the birds created a serene environment. The gales, however, were powerful causing me to be even more grateful for the tent sheltering me. Clouds weaved in and out of one another as they glided to the rhythmic wind, leaving patches in between, allowing me to peek at the lush hills beneath. The air was still piercing but it was refreshing and liberating to feel the air fill my lungs. I wanted to stay like this forever. And a stray thought popped in my head - ‘maybe I should make plans like this every Tuesday’...
Sahla Javeed
15 years old
The Stillness That Sets Me Free
The tent’s mouth yawns to a breathless sky
Where cloud-seas rise, consume and clarify I peer beyond, where all is swallowed by haze
Where the sky forgets what lies beneath its maze
The world below has drawn its blinds.
As peace claims restless minds
No map, no mark, no rooted land
A phantom sea that shifts with no command.
No border stitched in sky or snow
Where waves of white like soft breaths flow
No anchor drops, no echo calls
Just hush that hangs where silence falls.
The clocks have closed their weary eyes
As time dissolves into the skies
No crowded streets, no neon glare
Just sky that breathes a softer air
No weight, no want, no need to be Just me and wind in timeless serenity.
It knows the truths I’ve left unsaid,
The dreams I’ve buried deep instead.
The sky has read each tear-stained page And held my silence, grief, and rage. It cradles thoughts I dare not show, And drains the storm I’ve stored below
No path to take, no place to flee
Yet here I find what sets me free
So let the clouds consume what’s gone
The weight, the ache, the marathon For here I lie, where thoughts run dry
And breathe beneath a breathless sky.
Reihaneh Rahmati
17 years old
Red-Lined Lies
The clouds looked soft from above, like a blanket I could fall into and never wake. I sat at the mouth of the tent, legs stretched toward the cliff’s edge, staring down into the void.
We hiked up before the storm hit. It came fast, like the wind knew exactly when to arrive. One moment it was blue sky and silence. The next, snow slicing sideways and the tent shaking like it might tear itself loose from the cliff.
Josh zipped the flap shut with a sharp tug. His face was unreadable.
“Signal’s dead,” he muttered. “No one’s coming.”
There was something about the way he said it, like this was always part of the plan.
I sat across from him in the cramped tent, barely breathing. This was the same cousin who led the hike where Liam went missing last year. Same cousin who said Liam wandered off, that he “just vanished.” Police found nothing. Not a shoeprint. Not a phone. Not even a rumour strong enough to charge him.
“You alright?” he asked suddenly, voice casual but too smooth.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just tired.”
He smiled, barely. His stare lingered too long.
Later that night, I heard him unzip the tent and leave. I waited a few minutes before grabbing my jacket and slipping out into the storm.
Josh’s torchlight cut through the snow ahead. He knelt in the ice, digging with gloved hands beside a half-exposed metal box wrapped in something torn and damp.
I stopped in my tracks. My breath hitched.
Then he turned. Slowly. And looked right at me.
“You always were curious,” he said softly, almost like he was sad.
My hand drifted to the pocketknife in my coat, but I couldn’t speak.
“You really don’t remember?” he asked, standing. “You helped me carry him up here.”
My chest tightened. “What are you talking about?”
Josh tilted his head, like I’d disappointed him. “You said it was the only way. That no one would believe what he did.”
I backed away, heart pounding. My mind screamed “he’s lying”, but deep down.... something itched at the edge of memory. Something heavy. Cold. Buried. I turned and ran.
Somehow, I made it down the mountain. I remember the cold, the panic, the way my fingers locked around the metal box. I reached a ranger station just after sunrise, frostbitten and shaking.
“He killed him,” I choked out. “He’s still up there.”
They launched a search. They found nothing. They said the storm probably took him too.
A week later, I opened the box again.
Inside Liam’s phone case was a photo. A blurry selfie. Josh. Liam. And me.
All smiling. Mud on our clothes. I was wearing the same red-lined hiking jacket I brought on this trip. And in my hand... was a shovel.
I didn’t remember being there. I couldn’t or maybe... I didn’t want to remember.
I turned the photo over. No date. Just two words, written in my handwriting: “Forget everything.”
Sama Rahmati
16
years old
Full Circle
I made it. The top of the cliff.
The wind hit my face, sharp and cold, and I stood still for a moment, taking in the view. The world stretched out beneath me, vast, silent, untouched. My heart was racing, though not because of the climb. I hadn’t climbed anything at all.
I had arrived by helicopter. Just a supply drop-off, nothing unusual. I had asked for a favour, and they agreed. No one questioned me. I looked like someone who belonged there. Scuffed boots, a worn jacket, skin hardened by sun and snow. Ten years in the mountains had shaped me into that image. Ten years of guiding others, tying ropes, calming panicked climbers, and pulling them back from the edge. I had always been the one who stayed behind, the one who never made it to the summit.
Until now.
But I hadn’t earned it. Not in the way that mattered.
I thought of the people I had helped over the years. Nervous beginners, reckless adventurers, and those who froze mid-climb, too terrified to take another step. I had saved lives, shared food, offered my warmth, and once even gave away my only jacket to someone shaking in the snow. Whenever someone tried to repay me or thank me, I always said the same thing with a smile.
“What goes around comes around.”
I believed it. At least, I wanted to believe it. That the kindness I gave would come back one day. But it never seemed to. I lived without a home, without steady work, without anyone to come back to. My parents had passed a few years ago, and after that, there was nothing left of the life I once knew. I drifted from job to job, peak to peak, hoping the universe remembered me.
Now I was finally at the top. But I had no rope. No path. No idea how to get down. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The cliff below dropped sharply, its edges jagged and cruel. The wind howled around me, laughing at how unprepared I was.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt afraid.
Then I heard something in the distance. A low rumble, growing louder. I turned and squinted against the sunlight. A snowmobile was making its way toward me, crawling over the snow-covered ridge. The rider wore a thick coat and an old helmet with scratches down the side. As they drew closer, something about them felt familiar. The snowmobile stopped a few metres away. The rider pulled off the helmet, and I froze.
I knew her.
Years ago, I found her lost in a storm. She had been cold, frightened, and nearly unconscious. I stayed with her through the night, sharing my food and keeping her awake until rescue came. We never saw each other again after that.
She smiled.
“Need a lift?” she asked.
I nodded slowly, still in shock.
She handed me a spare helmet.
“What can I do to repay you?” I asked, half-laughing.
She looked at me, warmth in her eyes.
“What goes around comes around,” she said.
And in that moment, I finally understood. It had come back after all.