Write Across Victoria – Year 7 Female Winners 0 Comments

Write Across Victoria – Year 7 Female Winners


Love is a journey, by Sophie Seng Hpa

Did you know that tinned food was available 30 years before the invention of the tin-opener? In much the same spirit my feelings for Avery Whitbread exploded into being long, long before Avery had any idea that I existed.

Sitting here alone makes me miss Avery even more. Her skin a pale white, her hair a crusty brown, what more could you ask for? I hear footsteps coming down the hallway; this could be my chance.

Little Millie Roberts pokes her head through the door – hopefully she’s looking for me. Her hand moves closer but veers away and over to John Hony.

‘Nooo!!!’ I shout, but she can’t hear me.

John gives me his sweet smile; I bet that works a treat with Avery!

The door opens again and Millie is back with John who seems to be emptier inside. Then Mrs Roberts yells something to Millie, and she shuts the door and takes John with her. He is never to be seen again.

All of a sudden I hear the unmistakable sound of Avery’s voice shrieking as she hits the table, hard. I know I must do something to save her. I need to escape – but how?

There’s a loud thud.

‘Sorry,’ I say to Rupert Crem and all the others I’ve knocked over.

Mrs Roberts must have heard the clatter and comes to check out what’s happening. She swings open the fridge door and in a split second we’ve all fallen out. The Roberts are all flabbergasted and scramble to pick us up – their ‘food’ has fallen to the floor.

Now is my chance. The fall has knocked me about, but I drag myself along the bench to where I see Avery.

‘I come to thee, my love!’ I call to her in my romantic Shakespearean voice.

I spot a bucket of gumballs sitting on the bench. I reach inside and pull out a rainbow coloured one. I throw it at a glass jar containing liquorice straps, which smashes violently. The Roberts all turn around; maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

I freeze, hoping nobody notices me and then Millie starts in my direction.

‘Oh no!’ I cry to myself.

Luckily she’s only after the broom.

Once everything is tidied up and in its rightful place, except for the gumballs, the liquorice straps and me, I creep up to where the liquorice is. I knot three straps together and put some sticky gum on the end, and then I throw it to the middle island bench where Avery lies. I’ve made the perfect tight rope!

After all the Roberts have left the room, I tell Avery to walk towards me, and that I am going to save her and that she need not fear. So she begins to walk the ‘STRAP OF DEATH’. She is mostly steady the whole way over and only experiences a few freak-outs. Avery arrives successfully and safely to destination Charlie Buter.

Together we run towards the window and jump outside. She calls me her hero and tells me she loves me, and then… she kisses me!

‘Although separated by aisles in the supermarket, Charlie Buter and Avery Whitbread – like butter and white bread – are a match made to be.’


Depths of Hatred, by Florence Liu

Young genius Lucius Dalworthy climbed from his Subterranean Tunneller, straightened his top hat, and strode into the underground chamber. ‘Surrender!’ he cried. ‘There is no escape for you now!’

Standing amid the steam and dust, Cressida Mandeville – his equally young and equally brilliant arch-enemy – raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s odd. I was just about to say the same thing to you.’

An evil grin crept up Lucius’s face. ‘Stupid lies, my dear friend!’ he smirked. ‘I do not care for what you do right now, because I am sure you know you will lose.’

‘Stupid lies, you say!’ Cressida laughed as she circled Lucius, pacing back and forth, as sweat dripped off her brow, her sword lingering in the air. The underground chamber was simmering with heat, as the Subterranean Tunneller’s engine rotated with an alacritous speed. It blazed like fire. Lucius’s beady pupils eyed his enemy like a predator. Cressida’s sharp angled face tensed in agony.

Neither knew what they should do. Then all of a sudden Lucius pounced forth with a humungous leap into the steam, and lunged at Cressida, locking her into a painful position. Lucius cleared his throat, bent down towards his enemy’s ear and whispered, ‘Sorry, my lady. But you just knew you couldn’t make the first move, right?’  Just as Lucius thought foolishly that he had just stopped Cressida from hurting him, she kneed him in the ribs, got up and punched him in the arm where he was wounded. Lucius winced.

‘Did you think I’m dumb enough to fall for your stupidness?’ she laughed.

Lucius stumbled back, pain creeping up all over his body. ‘You will regret all you’ve done Cressida!’ Lucius cried, as he retrieved his iron sword that had clattered to the ground. He hesitated, as he thought of what to do. Surely he could not give up now. Suddenly, the underground chamber shook furiously and ferociously. Both people sprinted out of the chamber immediately and tumbled rolling forwards on the hard solid concrete. Moaning and groaning, Lucius and Cressida shot back up like lightning, and continued their fight. Swords clinked against each other, tensing and wincing as the pain crawled up their nerves. Cressida lunged forward, knocking Lucius once again to the ground. She knew it wouldn’t be dead-easy to kill this vicious man she’d known for a long time – the boy she use to play with when she was young, the teenager that use to hang by her side when she was upset, and the man who was now at the tip of her sword.

Fear and pain was brought to Lucius’s eyes, frightened and afraid. ‘Please don’t kill me,’ he whimpered. But Cressida wouldn’t let him go this time. Cressida released her final blow, in shock that Lucius was holding the sword back with bleeding trembling hands. He unleashed his sword and held it at Cressida’s neck as Lucius had her sword on his.

‘If we die, we die together,’ they whispered.


Curses For the Apocalypse, by Melanie de Laine

I wasn’t certain what had attracted the plague of creatures, but it probably had something to do with my Aunt’s ancient recipe book. I flipped to the faded, black cover and looked at the title: ‘Curses For the Apocalypse,’ I read. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have messed with this after all…’

My hands tense and tighten around the book in regret. My hands turn white, as if the skin and flesh have melted away revealing the skeleton of my hand.

The chatter of the Bowtruckles outside increases, as more and more arrive for the raid. Slowly I edge towards the window. The creaky, wooden floor boards, that didn’t seem like much before, are now too unbearably loud. I lean against the cold bricks next to the window and lean my cheek against the curtain that has been dampened by condensation. I grant one of my eyes the opportunity to peek out the window. Slowly I expose my hazel eye to the terror outside. Twigs the length of one foot, with very thin arms and legs, are pacing around my front yard in a fury. There are hundreds of them. Their heads are much too big for their bodies, which gives them a funny looking quality, until my eye meets those pure black teardrops on the face of a Bowtruckle. It glares back then gives me a nasty grin, displaying to me the long rows of tiny, sharp teeth. I gasp and retreat behind the curtain. I press myself against it, welcoming its cold touch against my hot skin.

I look down at the book again. I lose my focus in the world around me as my mind becomes lost on the ancient markings around the book.

Smack, comes the sound of something small colliding with the glass. And then the small squeaky cracks of glass. I drop the book in fright, feel my heart beat race rapidly. It is banging so hard against my ribcage that I become worried it will break out and run away so it doesn’t have to deal with this pressure. I turn my head towards the window to see a disorientated Bowtruckle shaking its head to regain its focus. It spots me behind the glass and gives me a devious, joyful grin.

My breathing intensifies and I look back to the now open book on the floor.

I whimper, which could have been much more if I hadn’t have realised that the Bowtruckle, smiling deviously back at me, was a drawing. I pick the book back up with shaking hands, and read the description next to it.

Tree guardians; when they are born each Bowtruckle becomes attached to a certain tree and they protect it forever. The book is made up of all the trees in the beautiful forest at the back of my house. All they want is their own fragment of their trees back.

I cautiously approach the front door, and slowly open it. The Bowtruckles freeze and stare intently back at me. I look at the book one last time, then with all the strength I can gather, I toss it into the sea of Bowtruckles. Suddenly they all eagerly and aggressively pounce on it. They tear the book apart as if looking for their original piece of tree. As their movements become almost tired and their chests heave up and down, a lump forms in my throat from seeing their disappointed and hurt faces; their arms holding up pieces of parchment and binding as they realise the damage is irreversible.

They all turn their heads sharply to me. Their eyes narrow once more and their mouths become one straight line of fury. I back slowly into my house, knowing that I’m not going to be forgiven easily, and it’s centuries of generations to make up for…

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