TIME TO WRITE 2025 winners announced

Time to Write is a groundbreaking creative writing competition for schools

Following on from the success of Time to Write 2024, ISEB and IAPS partnered to bring the competition back to schools for 2025.

Time to Write 2025 was open to all schools, with four categories across different age groups, and prizes for both the winning writers and their schools. The competition opened on 5 December 2024 and closed on 2 February 2025.

The winning writers in each category will see themselves in print, as each will have their story turned into an illustrated book! Prizes will also be awarded to the winning writers’ schools. Further prizes will be on offer for the runners up in each category.

The winning stories have now been announced.

See all of the 2025 WINNERS and their stories

The writing prompt for 2025

Writers were asked to submit stories of a defined length based on a prompt. Entries were judged on a set of criteria in both the shortlising and final judging rounds.

The 2025 prompt is...

The categories and word counts

Writers in Years 3 and 4: 500 words
Writers in Years 5 and 6: 650 words
Writers in Years 7, 8, and 9: 750 words
Writers in Years 10 and 11: 1000 words

Word counts are advised lengths and final submissions can be +/- 10%

The judging criteria

Which story most creatively:- Makes accurate and varied use of vocabulary and language techniques
- Conveys meaning through tone, style and register
- Brings a story to life through character and/or theme
- Uses structure and form to take the reader on a journey

How to enter

Time to Write is now closed for entries.

Register your interest for competition updates:

Judging and criteria

Time to Write 2025 was judged in two rounds. Entries were shortlisted by a group of judges - and schools could take part in this! The top ten entries shortlisted in each category were read by a panel of esteemed judges at St Swithun's School on 28 February 2025.

Round 1: Shortlisting

The first round of judging was completed using Adaptive Comparative Judgement technology on the RM Compare platform. Schools that entered pupils into the competition were able to take part in this process as judges.

Who took part in the shortlisting process?

A number of schools that entered pupils into the competition took part in the shortlisting process, as well as a range of individuals engaged in professional teaching, learning or assessment in schools, tutoring or further/higher assessment.

Round 2: Final judging

The top ten entries in each category were read and reviewed by a panel of esteemed judges in the traditional way, at St Swithun's School in Winchester.

The judging criteria for 2025

Entries were judged in line with the following criteria:

Which story most creatively:- Makes accurate and varied use of vocabulary and language techniques
- Conveys meaning through tone, style and register
- Brings a story to life through character and/or theme
- Uses structure and form to take the reader on a journey

Confirmed judges for 2025

Terms & Conditions

View the Time to Write 2025 Terms & Conditions.

Register your interest for competition updates:

Frequently asked questions

Q: Will the competition winners and their schools receive printed copies of their illustrated books?A: Yes, the winners of each category and their schools will receive free printed copies of their illustrated books once they have been produced. We anticipate that the books will be ready to send in May 2025, as it will take us a little time to work with the illustrators and create the books after the winners are announced in March.Q: Last year, the Time to Write competition theme had an accompanying blurb. Does this year’s theme of ‘Light’ have any additional guidelines, or is it open to interpretation?A: Last year, the Time to Write competition was launched to celebrate ISEB’s 120th anniversary, and the theme was centred on the idea of celebrating the past and looking to the future. This year, we have kept the theme – ‘Light’ – open to interpretation to allow pupils to submit creative and varied stories. However, the judging criteria has been provided and this should help pupils understand what the judges will be looking for. The judging criteria can be found on the Time to Write website here: judging.Q: My child would like to participate in Time to Write 2025. How can I submit their story to the competition?A: Entries to the Time to Write competition should where possible be submitted by the entrant’s current school. This is because prizes will be awarded to each of the four winning writers’ schools. If you would like to enter a child into the competition, we recommend that you talk to their school about submitting their entry. Tutors/agents will be able to submit entries to the competition on behalf of schools, but they should have permission from the schools to do so.The entry form is accessible from the Time to Write website here: enter the competition. The entry form is open now and will close at midnight on 2 February 2025.Q: I am a tutor/agent and would like to enter children into the Time to Write 2025 competition. How can I submit their stories?A: Entries to the Time to Write competition should where possible be submitted by the entrant’s current school. This is because prizes will be awarded to each of the four winning writers’ schools. If your child would like to enter the competition, we recommend that you talk to their school about submitting their entry.Tutors/agents will be able to submit entries into the competition on behalf of a writer's school, but they should have permission from the school to do so.The entry form is accessible from the Time to Write website here: enter the competition. The entry form is open now and will close at midnight on 2 February 2025.Q: Will ISEB and IAPS acknowledge entries besides the winners and runners-up?A: Unfortunately, due to the high number of entries in the Time to Write competition, we can only formally acknowledge the winners, runners-up and highly commended writers in each category. We would like to assure young writers that every story successfully entered will be submitted into the shortlisting round.Q: Can international schools enter the competition?A: The Time to Write competition is open to all schools, including those outside the UK. Our terms and conditions for all entries can be found on the Time to Write website: terms and conditions.

Prizes

The Time to Write was open to all schools, with four categories for different age groups.The winning writers in each category will see themselves in print, as each will have their story turned into an illustrated book!Prizes will also be awarded to the winning writers’ schools.Other prizes will be on offer for the winners and runners-up.

Confirmed prizes

• FIND OUT HOW TO ENTER

The 2024 winners' illustrated books

Our four 2024 winners had their stories turned into beautiful illustrated books. You can see them here. Happy reading!

Sakina, writer of Never Forget the Elephants and aged 9 at the time of entry, said: “When I found out about this competition I knew that I would love to participate… I am so grateful to have won – this is a dream come true.”

Register your interest for competition updates:

Enter

Time to Write 2025 is now closed for entries.

Entries should be submitted by schools wherever possible.

If you are a parent or guardian, please ask your child's school to enter your child into the competition. Parents/guardians may submit their child's entry on behalf of their child's school as long as permission has been sought, and has been granted by the school. If your child is home-schooled please contact ISEB.

If you have any questions about the entry process please see our FAQs or get in touch with ISEB.

Each entry must be submitted individually via the online entry form. Please complete all fields of the online form and copy and paste the title and body of each story in full into the two spaces provided.

Time to Write is open to all pupils aged 7-16 years until 2 February 2025. Stories must be written by an individual and not by a pair, or writing team. Writers may only submit one story each. Entries must be a piece of original fiction and can not depict events that actually took place. Entries can not use details of any living person and must not include personal details about the writer and their family, teachers, or friends.

• Do you have a question? See our FAQs

All entries should be submitted by a school - if you are a parent, please talk to your child's school about submitting your child's entry.Entries must be typed - we are unable to accept hand-written entries. The writer's name and the name of the writer's school should not be included within the story nor in the title of the story. Entries must not contain any additional embellishments such as drawings or diagrams. All entries must be in English.For full information please see our Terms and Conditions.

How to enter

1. Read the competition terms and conditions.2. Visit the online entry form on the ISEB website (open from 5 December 2024).3. Complete the online entry form for each pupil you are entering separately, populating all requested fields. Copy and paste the title of the story into the 'Story title' box, ensuring that the writer's name and name of their school is not included in the title. Copy and paste the body of the story into the 'Full story' box, ensuring again that the writer's name and name of their school is not included in the story text. Please keep any formatting such as paragraphing; the story will appear in the shortlisting round as it is pasted into the box, and we will be unable to make changes to formatting once entries have been received.4. Confirm that you have read and understand the Terms and Conditions, and have the relevant permissions required to submit the entry.If you have any questions please get in touch with ISEB via our support portal.

TERMS AND CONDITIONS

Please read our terms and conditions to find out everything you need to know about how the Time to Write competition will work, and how to enter.

1. The Promoter1.1 ISEB Limited of Endeavour House, Crow Arch Lane, Ringwood, BH24 1HP, UK.And:1.2 IAPS of Bishop’s House, Artemis Drive, Tachbrook Park, Warwick CV34 6UD.2. The competitionThe title of the competition is ISEB and IAPS Time to Write 2025. It is a creative writing competition for school pupils aged 7-16.3. How to enter3.1 The competition will run from 00:00 on 5 December 2024 (the "Opening Date") to 23:59 on 2 February 2025 (the "Closing Date") inclusive.3.2 All competition entries must be received by the Promoter by the Closing Date. All competition entries received after the Closing Date will not be entered into the competition.3.3 To enter the competition: All entries must be submitted using the online entry form on the ISEB website. All entries must be submitted by a school, or by a parent/guardian that has sought and been granted permission by their child's school to submit their child's entry on behalf of the school. Tutors/agents may submit entries as long as they have sought and been granted permission by the writer's school. If an entrant is home-schooled, please contact ISEB about how to submit their entry (please note that if a home-schooled entrant wins first prize in a category, the prize for the school will be donated to a mutually agreed charity). Visit write.iseb.co.uk and follow the instructions to find the online entry form.3.7 No entries may contain additional content such as drawings or diagrams. Entries containing additional content other than the typed words of the story will not be accepted.3.8 Entries must be written in English. Entries must not exceed the word count defined for each category.3.9 No purchase is necessary.3.10 The Promoter will not accept responsibility for competition entries that are lost, mislaid, damaged or delayed in transit, regardless of cause, including, for example, as a result of any equipment failure, technical malfunction, systems, satellite, network, server, computer hardware or software failure of any kind.3.11 The Promoter is unable to acknowledge all entries submitted into the competition or to provide feedback on the performance of entries in the shortlisting round. Only the top ten entries shortlisted in each category will be acknowledged by the Promoter.3.12 By submitting a competition entry, you are agreeing to be bound by these terms and conditions.3.13 For help with entries, please submit a ticket at support.iseb.co.uk.4. Eligibility4.1 The competition is open to all pupils worldwide aged 7-16 years as of 2 February 2025, except:
(a) employees of the Promoter or its holding or subsidiary companies;
(b) employees of agents or suppliers of the Promoter or its holding or subsidiary companies, who are professionally connected with the competition or its administration; or
(c) members of the immediate families or households of (a) and (b) above.
4.2 In entering the competition, you confirm that you are eligible to do so and the Promoter may require you to provide proof that you are eligible to enter the competition.4.3 The Promoter will not accept competition entries that are:
(a) automatically generated by computer or created by artificial intelligence (including but not limited to chatbots such as ChatGPT or similar software applications);
(b) completed by third parties or in bulk;
(c) illegible, have been altered, reconstructed, forged or tampered with;
(d) photocopies and not originals; or
(e) incomplete.4.4 We are sorry but competition entries cannot be returned.4.5 The story submitted must be written by an individual and not by a writing pair or team.4.6 Writers may only submit one story. If more than one story is submitted, only the first story received will be accepted.4.7 The use of generative AI tools to create any part of an entry is not permitted and will lead to disqualification.4.8 The story must be a piece of original fiction - stories can reference historical figures and eras but can not depict events that actually took place and can not use details of any living person. Stories must not include any personal details about the writer and/or their families/friends/teachers/schools.4.9 Stories must be unpublished.4.10 Whilst creative writing often involves tackling challenging topics, the Promoter retains the right to disqualify or adapt any stories the judging panel feel are inappropriate for the category age group.5. The prizes5.1 The prizes for each winner of a category are:
(a) The story submitted will be turned into an illustrated book as defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.
(b) A personalised hoodie as defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.
(c) A spelling, grammar and punctuation thesaurus from OUP as defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.
(d) Additional prizes may be announced and defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.5.2 The prizes for the two runners-up of a category are:
(a) A one-page illustration concept based on their story as defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.
(b) Prizes may be announced and defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.5.3 The prizes for the school each winner attends/was entered by are:
(a) A selection of OUP fiction and/or non-fiction books as defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.
(b) A portable pen scanner as defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.
(c) A digital workshop with author Sarah Bentley as defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.
(b) Additional prizes may be announced and defined by the Promoter on write.iseb.co.uk.5.4 All prizes are non-negotiable, no compensation is payable for competition entries or winners and there are no cash alternatives for the prizes.5.5 The Promoter reserves the right to present alternative prizes to winners and runners up located outside of the UK in order to solve challenges including delivery of physical products and/or availability of prizes.6. Judging6.1 The competition entries will be shortlisted to a set of ten entries per category by a pool of judges using the RM Compare platform. Shortlisting will be completed using the criteria defined on the competition website. Unfortunately, due to the high volume of entries that are received, the Promoter will only notify the writers and schools of the top ten stories in each category.6.2 The top ten entries in each category will be judged by a panel of four judges using the criteria defined on the competition website. The decision of the panel of judges (acting reasonably) will be final.6.3 All entries will be judged on the following criteria:Which story most creatively:
- Makes accurate and varied use of vocabulary and language techniques
- Conveys meaning through tone, style and register
- Brings a story to life through character and/or theme
- Uses structure and form to take the reader on a journey.7. Winners7.1 The decision of the Promoter is final and no correspondence or discussion will be entered into. The Promoter can not offer feedback on entries.7.2 The Promoter will contact the school each winner and runner-up was entered by personally as soon as practicable after the Announcement Date, using the telephone number or email address provided with the competition entry. The Promoter will not amend any contact information once the competition entry form has been submitted.7.3 The Promoter must either publish or make available information that indicates that a valid award took place. To comply with this obligation the Promoter will publish the names of the winners and runners-up, the titles of their writing submissions, and the schools of the winning writers on the ISEB website in March 2025.7.4 If a school or pupil objects to any or all of their name, country and winning entry being published or made available, please contact the Promoter at the address set out at condition three. In such circumstances, the Promoter must still provide the information and winning entry to the Advertising Standards Authority on request.8. Claiming the prize8.1 The Promoter will make all reasonable efforts to contact the winner. If the winner cannot be contacted or is not available, or has not responded within 7 of days of the Announcement Date, the Promoter reserves the right to offer the prize to the next eligible entrant selected from the correct entries that were received before the Closing Date.8.2 The Promoter does not accept any responsibility if you are not able to take up the prize.9. Limitation of liabilityInsofar as is permitted by law, the Promoter, its agents or distributors will not in any circumstances be responsible or liable to compensate the winner or accept any liability for any loss, damage, personal injury or death occurring as a result of taking up the prize except where it is caused by the negligence of the Promoter, its agents or distributors or that of their employees. Your statutory rights are not affected.10. Ownership of competition entries and intellectual property rights10.1 All competition entries and any accompanying material submitted to the Promoter will become the property of the Promoter on receipt and will not be returned.10.2 By submitting a competition entry and any accompanying material, pupils are:
(a) assigning to the Promoter all ownership rights with full title guarantee; and
(b) waiving all moral rights,
in and to your competition entry and otherwise arising in connection with your entry to which you may now or at any time in the future be entitled under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 as amended from time to time and under all similar legislation from time to time in force anywhere in the world.10.3 Without limitation on condition 10.2, the Promoter intends, but is in no way obliged to:(a) publish the competition entry in local, regional, or national press outlets, both print and digital;
(b) display the competition entry on the ISEB website or social media platforms; and/or
(c) use the competition entry in any promotional materials related to the competition, including posters, flyers, and online advertisements.10.4 You agree that the Promoter may, but is not required to, make your entry available on its website iseb.co.uk and any other media, whether now known or invented in the future, and in connection with any publicity of the competition.11. Data protection and publicity11.1 The Promoter will only process your personal information as set out in the Promoter's Privacy Policy, which is available on the iseb.co.uk website.11.2 The Promoter will collect the following personal data from the school representative submitting entries.
(a) Your first name and surname
(b) Your school’s name and location
(c) Your email address and phone number
(d) Your job titleThis information will be used by the Promoter to administer the competition, obtain the relevant permissions if required, communicate with the school on matters relating to the competition, and, if an entry submitted by your school is shortlisted or wins a prize, this information may be used as part of promotion on the Promoter’s website and other marketing channels.11.3 The Promoter will collect the following personal data on pupils aged 7-16 being entered into the competition from the school submitting the entries:
(a) Entrant’s first name and surname
(b) Entrant’s age and date of birth
(c) Entrant’s school name
(d) Entrant’s school type
(e) Entrant’s school year
(f) Entrant’s gender
(g) Entrant’s submission titleThis information will be used by the Promoter to administer the competition, and if an entry is shortlisted or wins a prize, some of this information may be used as part of promotion on the Promoter’s website and other marketing channels. The safety of all pupils is paramount to the Promoter and we will not publish more personal information than necessary.11.4 Schools are to request permission from your parent/guardian in order to grant The Promoter the rights to become the 'data controller'. RM Compare will be the 'data processor'.11.5 The Promoter is the ‘data controller’ of your personal data. This means the Promoter will decide what your personal data is used for, however, the Promoter will only collect and process your data in accordance with the purposes in these terms and conditions. The Promoter will comply with data protection law as the data controller.12. General12.1 If there is any reason to believe that there has been a breach of these terms and conditions, the Promoter may, at its sole discretion, reserve the right to exclude you from participating in the competition.12.2 The Promoter reserves the right to hold void, suspend, cancel, or amend the prize competition where it becomes necessary to do so.12.3 These terms and conditions are governed by English law. If any entrants to this promotion wish to take court proceedings, then they must do this within the courts in the United Kingdom.

• Get in touch with ISEB

RESOURCES

• Download the competition flyer

Here you'll find a range of support resources for schools, young writers, and parents and guardians. We'll be adding more resources here over the coming weeks so keep checking back to see what's new!

• FIND OUT HOW TO ENTER

The St Swithun’s Witch Project: finding new ways to decolonise and diversify our literature teaching

A blog article by naomi anson, competition judge and head of swithun's school

An introduction to the article from ISEB CEO, Julia Martin:"This inspiring project by Naomi Anson grabbed me when I first heard about it. Decolonising and diversifying our curricula is crucial and it’s fantastic to see St Swithun's School leading the way. This impact of this project went beyond teaching, it was performative, critical and truly interdisciplinary too. At ISEB, our creative writing competition Time to Write is a starting point for thinking about teaching creatively across boundaries and as one of our judges, Naomi Anson will be an inspiring force for championing new ways of being creative in our schools."Read the article by Naomi Anson on the HMC website:

• The St Swithun’s Witch Project: finding new ways to decolonise and diversify our literature teaching by Naomi Anson

Interview with the author

with Ali Sparkes, competition judge, and children's author of the popular Shapeshifter series

Hi Ali! Did you always aspire to become an author?
What first sparked your interest in writing stories?I was a pretty slow reader to begin with; a bit of a struggler. But around about the age of eight I started reading Famous Five books which kicked off my enthusiasm at last. From there I went on to other authors, like Joan Aiken, Anthony Buckeridge, Norman Hunter, Jean Craighead George and many more.I was very much the kid at school who was in the corner of the playground, opening up a book like a trapdoor and disappearing into another world.It didn't hurt that books were part of family life and our parents read to us.But did I aspire to be an author? Nah. I was obsessed with the theatre. For literally as far back as I can remember I wanted to be a singer and an actress. I was in school shows, quite often the lead, and then bigger shows, including a couple of stints as a lead in musicals at The Mayflower (or The Gaumont) as it was back then. Did a little local telly, too. So I was pretty good at the whole acting and singing thing (if not the dancing!) - but always used to write for fun; comedy scripts with my siblings and friends, daft poems, even full on action adventures (a four part series at secondary school!).I never really thought about a career as a writer, but the hallmarks were there throughout my teens; I even wrote a comedy musical for my cohort at college, which we staged as the final part of our Theatre Studies A level. Writing was just a very natural, fun thing to do. I didn't pay it very much attention; I just did it.How do you come up with ideas for your stories?
Is there a special place or activity that helps you find inspiration?Ideas arrive at any time, from any direction; something someone says. an interesting location, a what if..?  thought. Dark Summer was inspired by the caves at Wookey Hole, Thunderstruck was inspired by a gravestone in a cemetery just off Southampton Common, 100 Summers was partly inspired by my sons, who both have ADHD. I've never had much problem coming up with ideas; they seem like jets, circling Heathrow, waiting to land. My biggest problem is finding enough time to write them all.But getting out walking (with Willow, the labradoodle) or running definitely helps me to un-knot any plot problems I'm having, or to cook up a new idea when I've been asked to come up with something. The best ideas usually occur nowhere near the keyboard.What does your process of writing a story from start to finish look like?The idea occurs and then, if it's a goer, tends to hang around in my head, getting a bit more evolved. Characters show up. Their problems and their wants and needs slowly get more apparent. Once I have a nice idea beginning to flesh out I will pitch it to my editor or agent and if they like it, I'll work up a synopsis and a few chapters. If it meets with approval I will write the whole thing. Between pitching the idea and getting it published usually takes about 18 months, although it can be much faster for shorter books, such as the titles I write for educational publishers like Oxford Reading Tree and Collin's Big Cat.There's a fair bit of to-ing and fro-ing between me and my editors to get the story as good as it can be, but I rarely write more than three drafts. Working as a journalist in newspapers and then BBC radio has trained me to write and edit quite tightly as I go.Can you tell us about any specific challenges or setbacks in your writing journey?
How did you overcome them?I had sooooo many rejections, across a period of about four years. They were maddening because so often I would get a great response from an editor or an agent, full of compliments, but still not quite wanting to take me on. But I think my theatrical experiences helped because, even as a child performer, you get used to rejection and learn to handle it. Sending a manuscript is an audition, except you're not there in front of them when they decide whether or not you're hired. I learned to read the rejection letter, sigh, and then send the manuscript off to the next one on my list that same day.Rejection can come at any point in your writing career - I'm in no way immune to it. I find having lots of different ideas out there really helps, because if one thing falls through there are still others keeping your spirits up.What's the coolest thing about being a children's author?
Do you get to do any fun research for your books?I love coming up with an idea and then getting the chance to share it with readers all over the world. I also love the research; the coolest was probably getting to mooch about behind the scenes at the caves in Wookey Hole, where the tourists don't usually get to go - and interviewing a cave diver to find out all about cave rescues. It was also really fun to hang out for a while with Mark King, lead singer and legendary bassist in hit 1980s band Level 42, as part of my research for Destination Earth.If you could give one piece of advice to kids who dream of becoming authors, what would that advice be?Read. Read. And read some more. And then write. Write. And write some more. It's not complicated. If you want to be a writer you have to study the form (reading!) and then practise (writing!) until you get better at it. Entering competitions is also useful because, whether or not you win them, you're training yourself to finish work, polish it, send it, and then deal with the feedback; something every writer has to do throughout their career.You do have to be brave about sharing your work with others and that's not easy for everyone - but it's part and parcel of the whole writer thing.  Write with friends. Have a blast! Play with words. Don't be afraid to put your stories out there.

Getting started with writing a story - 10 things to think about

Are you ready to embark on an exciting adventure of imagination and creativity? Writing a story is like painting a picture with words, and the best part is that you get to be the artist of your own tale. Here are some things to think about as you get started on your storytelling journey:1. Imagine your world: Close your eyes and let your imagination soar! What kind of world do you want your story to be in? Is it a land of talking animals, a futuristic city, or a mysterious enchanted forest? Picture it vividly in your mind – the colours, sounds, and even the smells. This is the beginning of your magical creation.2. Meet your characters: Who will be the heroes of your story? Create characters with personalities as unique as yours. Think about their strengths, weaknesses, and what makes them special. Are they brave adventurers, mischievous fairies, or curious explorers? Your characters are the heart of your story, so make them unforgettable!3. What's the big idea? Every great story has a big idea, or what we call a plot. It's like the roadmap that guides your characters through exciting adventures and challenges. What amazing quest will your characters go on? Maybe they're searching for hidden treasure, solving a mystery, or saving their magical world. Your big idea is the magic that keeps readers turning the pages.4. Start with a bang: Begin your story with a burst of excitement! It could be a funny joke, a mysterious riddle, or your characters finding a magical object (like a time machine!). The beginning is your chance to grab your reader's attention and invite them into your enchanting world.5. Use your senses: Make your story come alive by using your senses. Describe what your characters see, hear, smell, taste, and touch. If they're in a candy kingdom, how does the air smell? What do the rainbow-colored candies taste like? Engaging the senses helps your readers feel like they're right there in your magical world.6. Add dialogue magic: Let your characters talk and share their feelings. Dialogue is like the magic spell that brings your characters to life. Use quotation marks around what they say and show how they react to different situations. Maybe they laugh, cry, or even do a happy dance!7. Build suspense: Keep your readers on the edge of their seats by adding suspense. Will your characters solve the mystery? What's behind the hidden door in the enchanted forest? Building suspense makes your story even more thrilling and exciting.8. End with a bang, too: Just like the beginning, your story's ending should be spectacular! It could be a surprising twist, a heart-warming reunion, or a celebration. Make your readers feel satisfied and happy after going on this magical journey with your characters.9. Share your magic: Once your story is complete, share it with others! Whether it's your friends, family, or even your pet, sharing your magical tale is a wonderful way to spread joy. You're the author, and your words have the power to enchant everyone who reads them.10. Have fun! Most importantly, have fun with your storytelling adventure. Writing a story is your chance to let your imagination run wild and create something truly magical.So grab your pen, pencil, or computer, let the words flow, and enjoy every moment of your enchanting journey into the world of storytelling.

FEELING STUCK? HOW TO OVERCOME WRITER’S BLOCK

BY EMMA DRAGE, COMPETITION JUDGE, AND SENIOR COMMISSIONING EDITOR AT OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

It can be daunting to be faced with a blank piece of paper, and even the best writers can feel stuck at times. Here are some top tips to help you get writing!Free writingGive yourself the challenge of writing for ten minutes without stopping. This is sometimes called free writing. Set a timer and write whatever comes into your head. Try to keep your hand moving the whole time and don’t cross anything out. You don’t need to share this work with anyone – it’s not going to be your final piece of writing, but you might find that some interesting ideas emerge that you can use as a starting point for your story. Free writing can help to increase the flow of ideas. It can also help to stop you overthinking and ruling out ideas before you’ve given them a chance!Create some writing promptsWrite a list of five characters on separate slips of paper or pieces of card and put them face down on a table. Then create a list of five different locations on slips of paper or card and lay them out upside down on the table too. Pick out one character and one location at random. Use whatever combination you pick out as a starting point for a story. It’s a great way to come up with unusual combinations, for examples robots in a castle or dinosaurs in a cinema.Take inspiration from your favourite storiesMake a list of some of your favourite stories. Think about what it is that you enjoy most about them. For example, if you love reading books about aliens, perhaps you could try writing your own alien story. If you’re writing something you’d love to read yourself, you are going to feel more motivated to start – and finish – it.Imagine untold storiesAn interesting starting point can be to retell an existing story from a different character’s point of view – or even from the perspective of an inanimate object. Myths, legends, and fairytales can be great sources of inspiration. For example, what if you retold Cinderella from the point of view of the stepmother, or Jack and the Beanstalk from the point of view of the bean? It’s very important never to simply copy existing texts, but lots of great writers have enjoyed great success reimagining or reinterpreting well-known tales from different perspectives.Carry a notebook with youIf you’re still struggling to get started or are feeling like you’ve reached a dead end with your story, a change of scene can help. Try going for a walk or doing another activity, keeping a notebook with you. Jot down any ideas that come to you. You could try carrying a notebook with you throughout the day – you might be surprised when inspiration strikes! Some writers also like to keep a notebook by their bed to jot down their dreams when they wake up in the morning to use as inspiration.Remember, starting is often the hardest part and everyone struggles with it from time to time! Try not to put too much pressure on yourself, pick a topic you enjoy, and have fun!

10 ways to cultivate a love of storytelling in your child

Encouraging children to explore the enchanting world of storytelling can be a delightful journey for both parents and children. Cultivating a love for writing not only enhances language skills but also nurtures creativity and self-expression. Here are some magical ways for parents and guardians to spark their children's interest in writing stories:1. Create a writing wonderland: Designate a cozy writing corner at home. Make it a special place where your child can escape into the world of imagination. The allure of a dedicated writing space can turn the act of writing into a magical adventure.2. Be a storytelling role model: Share your own stories or even create tales together. When children see their parents engaging in storytelling, it ignites their curiosity and provides a model for expressing thoughts through words. It can be a collaborative experience, with each family member contributing to the unfolding narrative.3. Start with short and sweet: Begin with short writing activities that are both manageable and fun. Encourage your child to write a brief description of their day, compose a silly poem, or invent a dialogue between fictional characters. Short and sweet exercises help build confidence and lay the foundation for more elaborate storytelling adventures.4. Turn everyday events into stories: Transform routine activities into story prompts. You could ask your child to narrate their trip to the supermarket, turning it into a whimsical adventure with talking fruits and mischievous shopping carts. This helps them see storytelling opportunities in everyday life, making writing a natural and enjoyable activity.5. Embrace diverse writing tools: Explore various writing tools to make the process more engaging. From traditional pencils and papers to colourful markers, or even a kid-friendly writing app on a tablet, the choice of tools can add an extra layer of excitement to the writing experience.6. Inspire with book adventures: Take regular trips to the library or bookshop and let your child explore different genres and styles of books. Share captivating stories that align with their interests, whether it's adventures, mysteries, or tales of magical lands. A love for reading often blossoms into a desire to create stories of their own.7. Celebrate storytelling traditions: Share family stories and traditions with your child. Whether it's tales from your own childhood, stories passed down through generations, or even cultural folklore, storytelling traditions connect children to their roots and inspire them to create their own narratives.8. Organise writing challenges: Turn writing into a playful challenge. Set weekly themes or prompts and encourage your child to create short stories around them. It could be anything from 'space adventures' to 'talking animal tales.' This adds an element of excitement and creativity to their writing routine.9. Create a story journal: Provide your child with a special journal where they can jot down story ideas, doodle characters, or even draft short paragraphs. A story journal serves as a personal space for their thoughts to flourish and can become a treasure trove of inspiration for future writing endeavours.10. Foster a positive writing environment: Cultivate a positive attitude towards writing. Offer praise for their efforts, celebrate their unique ideas, and create an environment where mistakes are seen as stepping stones to improvement. A nurturing atmosphere boosts confidence and makes writing a joyful exploration.Remember, the key to getting children interested in writing stories is to make it a delightful and imaginative experience. By weaving storytelling into the fabric of everyday life, parents can nurture the budding authors within their children, fostering a lifelong love for the magic of words and storytelling.Check out our Time to Write competition - if your child would like to write a creative time travel story, talk to your school about entering.

Five time travel writers for children

Time travel is a captivating theme in children's literature, transporting young readers to different eras and adventures. There are several notable authors who have created time-traveling narratives that have engaged and inspired the imaginations of countless children. Here are five time travel writers for children that you can discuss in the classroom:1. Mary Pope Osborne: Renowned for her 'Magic Tree House' series, Mary Pope Osborne has taken young readers on thrilling time-traveling adventures since 1992. The series follows siblings Jack and Annie as they discover a magical treehouse that allows them to travel through time and space. Each book introduces historical events and figures, making learning an integral part of the enchanting tales. Osborne's storytelling has made history accessible and exciting for generations of young readers.2. Madeleine L'Engle: Madeleine L'Engle's classic 'A Wrinkle in Time' is a timeless work that blends science fiction and fantasy. While not strictly about time travel in the conventional sense, the novel explores the concept of 'tessering,' a form of space-time travel that takes the protagonist, Meg Murry, and her friends to otherworldly realms. L'Engle's imaginative narrative, rich characters, and exploration of cosmic concepts have made 'A Wrinkle in Time' a beloved and influential work in children's literature.3. Eoin Colfer: Eoin Colfer, known for his Artemis Fowl series, also delved into time travel with 'W.A.R.P.' (Witness Anonymous Relocation Program). The series combines science fiction, historical elements, and fast-paced adventure as young FBI agent Chevie Savano time-travels to Victorian London. Colfer's witty writing and engaging characters make the W.A.R.P. series an entertaining and thought-provoking experience for young readers interested in time travel.4. Judy Blume: While Judy Blume is widely recognized for her contemporary and realistic fiction, she ventured into time travel with the book 'Here's to You, Rachel Robinson.' In this novel, the protagonist, Rachel, has an encounter with a mysterious old woman that propels her back in time to experience life in the 1960s. Blume's exploration of time travel adds an intriguing layer to her body of work, allowing readers to consider the impact of different eras on the lives of young people.5. H.G. Wells (Retold by Stephanie Baudet): H.G. Wells' classic science fiction novel 'The Time Machine' has been retold for children by Stephanie Baudet in a series titled 'Classic Science Fiction for Kids.' Baudet maintains the essence of Wells' original narrative while adapting it for younger readers. 'The Time Machine' introduces children to the concept of time travel through the adventures of the Time Traveller in a captivating and accessible format. Baudet's retelling allows young readers to explore Wells' timeless masterpiece.These five authors have made significant contributions to children's literature by incorporating time travel into their narratives. From magical treehouses to mysterious wrinkle-filled dimensions, their stories not only entertain but also stimulate curiosity and imagination. Time travel continues to be a compelling theme that opens doors to exploration, discovery, and understanding for young readers across generations.Why not explore some of these authors with your pupils, and see if their stories spark creative ideas for the Time to Write competition!

Four children’s books still popular 120 years later

In 1904, the world of children's literature was undergoing a transformation, marked by the publication of several notable books that have since become classics. The turn of the 20th century saw a shift in the way stories were written for young readers, with authors increasingly focusing on themes of imagination, morality, and adventure. One of the prominent releases of this era was ‘The Tale of Benjamin Bunny’ by Beatrix Potter.Published in 1904, Beatrix Potter's charming tale continued the adventures of Peter Rabbit and introduced readers to Benjamin Bunny, Peter's cousin. Potter's stories were revolutionary in their use of anthropomorphic animals and vivid illustrations, captivating the imaginations of young readers and laying the foundation for future generations of children's literature.Another significant work from 1904 is L. Frank Baum's ‘The Marvelous Land of Oz.’ Building upon the success of ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ Baum's sequel continued to transport readers to the magical realm of Oz, introducing new characters such as Tip and Jack Pumpkinhead. Baum's imaginative storytelling and fantastical world-building contributed to the enduring popularity of the Oz series.In the realm of fairy tales, ‘The Tale of Tales’ by Giambattista Basile, originally published in Italy in 1634–36, was translated into English in 1904 by John Edward Taylor. This collection of fairy tales, often referred to as the first comprehensive compilation of European folk tales, provided a rich source of inspiration for later authors and storytellers.While not a traditional children's book, Kenneth Grahame's ‘The Wind in the Willows’ was
first published in 1908 but began serialisation in 1904. The charming adventures of Mole, Rat, Toad, and Badger in the idyllic English countryside have since become a staple of children's literature. Grahame's work captured the essence of friendship, adventure, and the natural world, resonating with readers of all ages.As the early 1900s unfolded, children's literature continued to evolve, reflecting the cultural shifts and values of the time. These foundational works from 1904 paved the way for the diverse and expansive landscape of children's books we enjoy today.Why not explore these stories in the classroom as your pupils work on their creative writing entries for the Time to Write competition.

How can Scanning pens reader 2 support creative writing?

Five tips on using your Reader 2 from Time to Write competition sponsor, Scanning Pens Ltd.Start with inspirational readingUse your C-Pen to explore a piece of writing from an author that you admire. By using append mode, you can scan as much text as you wish. You can toggle the blue highlighter around the screen and follow as you play back the scanned words. Hold the centre button down to enlarge new words and listen again. You can play back the word, a sentence or the whole paragraph as many times as you wish. Immerse yourself in the inspirational writing that you chose.Analyse the punctuationNow, let's look at the construction of the sentences that you have scanned. You can explore how punctuation creates clarity or impact. The pen has a punctuation pause to help you to see it and understand its purpose.Decoding new vocabularyDid you find new words that you like the sound of? Use the dictionary function to find a quick definition of a new word. Finding word definitions quickly will give you more thinking time. Why not try using these words in your own creative writing!Listening for devicesThrough your headphones, tune in to patterns in your inspirational reading piece, listen and look for devices like alliteration, rhythm and rhyme. Did you find a repeating element or motif? Could you use these or other devices that you have found in your writing?Find your word bankAll the words that you enlarged and looked up can be found in a word bank called practice mode. You can also find the words you looked up in the dictionary history. You have a ready-made word list to use in your creative writing.Now, it's Time to Write! When you are feeling inspired, you are ready to start writing.

Time to Write is kindly sponsored by

A glossary of creative writing terms for your class

Plot: The sequence of events that make up a story, including the exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution.Characterisation: The process of creating and developing characters in a story, including their traits, motivations, and behaviours.Setting: The time and place in which a story takes place, including the physical environment and historical context.Theme: The central idea or message of a story, often exploring universal truths or human experiences.Point of View (POV): The perspective from which a story is told, such as first-person, second-person, or third-person.Dialogue: The conversation between characters in a story, used to reveal their personalities, advance the plot, and provide exposition.Conflict: A problem or challenge that drives the plot forward, often involving a struggle between opposing forces.Foreshadowing: Hints or clues about future events in a story, used to create suspense or build anticipation.Symbolism: The use of symbols or objects to represent deeper meanings or themes within a story.Imagery: Vivid descriptions that appeal to the senses, helping to create a mental picture for the reader.Metaphor: A figure of speech that makes a comparison between two unlike things, often highlighting similarities in a creative or imaginative way.Simile: A figure of speech that compares two unlike things using 'like' or 'as,' often for descriptive or expressive purposes.Irony: A literary device in which there is a discrepancy between what is expected to happen and what actually occurs, often for humorous or dramatic effect.Tone: The author's attitude or emotional perspective toward the subject matter or audience of a story, conveyed through language and style.Style: The distinctive manner in which a writer uses language, including word choice, sentence structure, and tone, to convey meaning and create an artistic effect.Flashback: A narrative technique that interrupts the chronological sequence of events to depict an earlier scene or event.Fiction: Literary works that are imagined or invented, as opposed to factual or non-fictional writing.Non-Fiction: Literary works that are based on facts, real events, and real people, as opposed to imagined or invented stories.Protagonist: The main character or central figure in a story, often the one who drives the plot forward and undergoes significant development.Antagonist: The character or force that opposes the protagonist, creating conflict and obstacles for them to overcome.We hope these terms are useful as your class dreams up their creative stories for the Time to Write competition.

HOW TO THINK CREATIVELY

By Dr Ellen Spencer, competition judge, and Senior Researcher at the Centre for Real World Learning at the University of Winchester

Taking part in a creative writing competition is an exciting adventure that invites you to stretch your imagination, challenge yourself, and grow your creative thinking habits. Creativity isn't about waiting for inspiration or making things out of thin air. Anyone can be creative, because it involves using thinking habits that are useful whenever you need to think creatively. A story built on the creative habits of being inquisitive, imaginative, persistent, disciplined, and collaborative is like a castle constructed brick by brick with your ideas and effort.While good writing can seem like a magic art, creativity is a process you can use in many situations in life, and it happens like this: first you explore, then you come up with your own ideas, then you produce your work (in this case, a story), then evaluate your efforts and make changes if you need to.Everyone can learn creativity – it’s a skill like any other. Let's look at how can you practise and use your creative habits as you write your story:- Being inquisitive involves wondering and questioning. Imagine your story is a mystery box, and your curiosity is the key. Ask yourself, 'What if?' as you explore different worlds and ideas to find that one spark that lights up your story. Don’t rely on what’s already in your head though. If I wanted to write about wolves, or the ice age, I would look at how other people have written about them. I’d spend time reading all about them. The details you bring to light through being inquisitive will give your story authenticity and authority.- Creative thinking involves being imaginative. But how do you do this? Play with possibilities, let your imagination run wild! Think of the most extraordinary places, characters, and events. What might your story look like if it were science fiction? How would it be different if it involved magic? These imaginative leaps make your story truly unique.- Now to turn these imaginative thoughts into a coherent story. Thinking about what happens next, and how your ideas fit together, isn't always easy. Remember, every author faces these challenges. Being persistent involves sticking with difficulty. If you get stuck, take a deep breath, and try again. Maybe you need to re-think a character, or even change something drastic. Don’t give up though, because your persistence will help your story grow from the seed of an idea, into a towering tree you’re proud of.- How can you polish the story and make it shine? Thinking creatively involves being disciplined. For a writer this means choosing your words carefully, reading through to check all your characters are convincing, and that your story doesn’t have an overly detailed beginning, rushed middle and loose ends! Taking the time to review and improve it will make your story the best it can be.- Lastly, nobody is creative all by themselves. Being a creative thinker involves being collaborative. Share your story ideas with friends, family, or even your pet! Talking about your story can spark new ideas and help you see your story from different perspectives, making it better and more engaging.

Creative Habits of Mind (image: CCE. Framework developed at the Centre for Real-World Learning at the University of Winchester)

Use these five habits to guide you, but run with your ideas. Every writer's 'voice' is unique, just like every zebra's stripe pattern is one-of-a-kind. To be human is to be creative, and your creativity has no limits, so go ahead and write the story that only you can tell!

Time to Write 2025 winners

The winners, runners-up and highly commended entries

ISEB’s Time to Write 2025 creative writing competition for schools received thousands of entries from pupils all over the world. Writers aged 7-16 submitted stories based on the theme 'Light'.The winning writers in the four categories came from Malmesbury School in Wiltshire, Aberdour School in Banstead, St Dunstan's College Junior School in London and from a homeschooled writer in Hong Kong.The winning entry in the Years 10 & 11 category was 'Her Current Light', written by a pupil homeschooled in Hong Kong. The judges praised this story for its cleverness and the writer’s exploration of interesting concepts. They were particularly impressed by the way time and light were intertwined and highlighted several standout lines that made a lasting impact.First place in the Years 7, 8 & 9 category went to 'Mooncussers', written by a pupil from Malmesbury School. The judges thought ‘Mooncussers’ was exceptional, with a very clever and well-developed story that unfolded wave after wave. They loved the highly original start, the excellent use of dialogue, and accomplished characterisation and voice.In the Years 5 & 6 category, ‘Arcade Lights’, written by a pupil from Aberdour School, was awarded first place. The judges thought ‘Arcade Lights’ was witty and zippy, with an original idea and effective shaping and storytelling. They thought it was very engaging and fun to read.And ‘Hero’, written by a pupil from St Dunstan's College Junior School, was the winning entry in the Years 3 & 4 category. The judges loved the energy and message of ‘Hero’ and how the writer developed the story arc and explored the theme of light and darkness. They felt it was a very funny piece, with superbly handled sensory imagery and an emotive yet light-hearted tone.

Full list of winners, runners up
and highly commended

Years 10 & 11 Category

Years 7, 8 & 9 Category

Years 5 & 6 Category

Years 3 & 4 Category

Commended stories

Her Current Light

homeschooled, Hong Kong

Winner of the Years 10 & 11 category

Light streaks across milky blue heavens, clean like washing water before the grime of ceramic bowls have stolen the clean for themselves, fragmented by wispy clouds like froths of soap over the sink of the sky. She sits hunched by the edge of the rockpool, her legs in the cool water, the surrounding foliage cast in scintillating shades of amber.
The still water dutifully reflects her weathered features: her eyes a sad summer rain, grey and watery. They are framed by mouse-brown hair falling over a crinkled face, the map of her life, every crease plowed by the inevitable advance of time.
A ripple from the far side of the pool sends the image bending into a thousand concave colours, until the image is so far warped that it may as well have originated from a whole different person. She feels the moments slide by with the ease of a wave, an instant already gone, and stares accusingly at the beams of sunlight dancing tauntingly on the water’s surface.
Those beams have stolen from her the little girl in two frail brown pigtails, still blissfully unaware of the long path that lay ahead of her.
How fast time had eroded her life, how fast light had carried her childhood into the vast expanse of space.
Somewhere, travelling on the rippling sea of time, light carried her youth.The memories flood back, the countless hours spent lost in a world where plastic toys can talk, where muddy hands folded crooked paper planes in a mouldy classroom, when the sole objective in life was to explore the beckoning arms of the tree by the window. When that world fell away, a new one rose out of its ashes, one where pain was still nonexistent, where the world became the thing that beckoned instead, its lavish arms spread out in welcome. The people she met, the people she loved, the person she fell in love with. A place in time when the world held her in an embrace. But it, too, started to crumble. The world hugged too tight, squeezing the air out of her lungs, choking her slowly through many decades. When it finally released, she was left staggering for air, the only one to come out the other side.
Through it all light, veiled behind the title of time, let the old woman in so discreetly that it startled her when one day she realised that that was what she had become.Shaking her head, she stands up, leaving droplets of water drooling down her skeletal legs. It is easy to blame the passage of time, the cycle of light for all that she has lost.
Especially at her sprightly age, she thinks drily.
How could she resent light’s reliability in a life holding none?
Countless times she survived solely on its promise of another day, and another after that, and yet another after that, each burying the troubles of the one before.
When she and life wrote on different pages, the ink of her mind bleeding across the lines in a blubbering mess, she could count on the fresh light of dawn warming her soul, its delicate tendrils melting away the frozen worry. It only ever asked for a moment, then she gave it a whole lot more, letting its balminess soothe her willing skin, feeling its energy pass on into her very being, the marks of her strangulation erased under its radiance.That is why she comes to this place, she realises.
To escape the old woman, to meet the young once more. To forget by remembering.
Where she can slowly watch what nothing can move faster than, its speed so unfathomable it does not seem to move at all. To hold a shaft of light between her fingers, the light holding no indication that has
come from anywhere except that it may be a part of her very hand, her own body a sun, and the sun itself merely an unrelated ball in the sky that happens to have the privilege of being lighted as well. To take comfort in complicated simplicity.A long life taught her light runs deeper than its scientific wavicle nature.
Light can be expressed through actions, and so can darkness. She lived so long in the shadows, a gray area of uncertainty, where light and dark melded like the horizon and the sea, both coexisting by not existing at all. There are times when the shadows deepen, her knowledge of the dark more sure. But it only takes a simple act of kindness, a loving gesture, a caring smile, and she is reminded of the existence of light just as convincingly as if a sun has revived a night sky. It fills her, giving her a certainty that where it is, true darkness could never be. In its presence, she is sure no shadow could ever touch her. She closes her eyes, and smiles.As the sky starts to give up on the day, the soft shades of glowing yellow coating the leaves around the pool melts into subdued stains. The water against her shins have long dried, herself long gone. The stones beside the water’s edge no longer hold any memory of her presence, once again cold in their unmoving hues of grey.
One would think she was never there.
But thousands of kilometres away, in a state no one is in a state to understand, her movements are remembered on a different kind of river, one that sets the boundaries of the Universe. Chasing her past is her past, her future not yet in the chase.
Her life continues to unfurl in the current of light, her being shaping the current so that the edges she made, though she may no longer exist, are still recalled in the edges of time.

Go back to category Years 10 & 11

Commended stories

Benny

Ormiston Six Villages Academy, Westgate

Runner up in the Years 10 & 11 category

I saw light. Comforting, welcoming, light.When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by a warm tongue licking me, and a nose about the size of my head, nudging my body gently. Eyes met mine, dark in colour but kind in soul. Until a bunch of other furry little creatures, that looked like a smaller version of the one in front of me, came bounding over. The things which were clambering all over me I learned were called siblings. The big one, mum. This was my first experience of love.Sometimes, an even bigger creature would come to visit me. She was the one who told me my name, Benny. She was different to me. She was pale and smooth and not fluffy like the others. And she walked around on two legs instead of four. But the thing that was the same was her eyes, not the colour, but the love.She visited so often that I became excited when I saw her. I never had to fight the others for her attention; she only cared about me. I owned the blue sky in her eyes. So, I showed her how much I cared, by copying what the others always did, licking. And clambering all over her. And biting her ears. Although she didn’t seem too happy when I did that last one. Her name was Hayley.One of the times when Hayley visited me, she brought something else with her. It felt weird as she laid it round my neck, but she seemed happy to see me wearing it, so I was too. But unlike the other times where she would put me back with my siblings, she held me in her arms and opened the door.The world hit my eyes like a beam of great light, and something whistled through my fur. There were lots of great smells out there, and I couldn’t believe all the things I saw. There were more creatures just like Hayley, all walking around on two feet.She took me to what she called a Car, and we got inside. She strapped me in, and we rode the Car creature so I could see even more of the world. When the Car stopped, Hayley took me to a place she called Home.When we got inside, I couldn’t believe that there was another one of those creatures. This one was called Joseph and just like what mum did to me, Hayley kissed him. And cuddled him. And I could see that look in her eyes again. Love. She loved this man.That night wasn’t easy. I missed the warmth of my siblings, and the comfort of my mum. And I cried in the dark, until Hayley took me to sleep with her and Joseph. It was better with Hayley; she kept me warm.Life with Hayley was good. We played all the time, and she took me outside every day. I even met others like me with their two-legged creatures at the Park. Even when she had to go, she’d come back, and we would snuggle up to each other all evening. She even got me some things that squeaked and Ball. Ball was by far the best thing. It would run away from me, and I could chase it as much as I wanted. I was happy.Joseph, Hayley and I would all sit together in the evening, and they would laugh at something they liked to look at on the wall. I looked at it a few times, but I never saw what was so funny about it. But it didn’t matter because I loved them.However, they started shouting a lot and they stopped licking each other. Jospeh would come home late, and he stopped laughing. And one day, when they’d been shouting, Joseph stormed out the door. I sat every day waiting for him. Waiting for him to come home, but he never came. Hayley tried to hide it, but there was a new look in her eyes. It was like the light had disappeared. I tried licking her because that always seemed to work, but no matter what I did, the pain remained.You’ve still got me, I thought, as I nuzzled her with my nose and looked into her eyes, trying to convince the happiness to stop hiding. Hayley did slowly come back to me, but the light never fully returned. She always seemed distant after Joseph left, and I knew how much she had loved him.Every day when Hayley would come home, I kissed her as much as I could and cuddled her. I wanted to make her feel the way she felt with Joseph. I thought that maybe if I licked her enough times and shared my love with her, she could be happy again. Happy like she used to be.I grew old and my body became stiffer, and I didn’t want to chase Balls at the park anymore. Hayley fitted a ramp for the bed so I could sleep with her at night. I started to feel pain when I walked and I was tired all the time, but it didn’t matter. At least I still had Hayley.As a special treat, I think because I struggled to walk, Hayley took me in the Car creature to see the world again. But something seemed off with her; she was still upset about Joseph. When the Car stopped, I knew where we were before I’d even seen it. The smell of animals.We sat waiting until my name was called. When the vet was checking me over, I noticed something was wrong with Hayley. I saw in her eyes, the same sadness as when Joseph left and she buried her face in my fur, stroking me softly. A light appeared. I tried to catch it, hoping she could be happy again. Warmth fell over me. Warmth that took away my leg pain. And I drifted into the comfortingLight.

Go back to category Years 10 & 11

Commended stories

The Lighthouse

Runnymede College, Madrid

Runner up in the Years 10 & 11 category

Monday 15th, 1936: 0400 hours.Bill Raynott awoke to the incessant shrill of his alarm. Slapping it to a stop, he tugged on his slippers and shuffled to the kitchen. As coffee brewed, he tweaked his old radio to a half-audible weather forecast announcing rain for the next few days. No hope of sunlight. No surprise there– this was Cliffside Harbour. Peeking out of the window, Bill grimmly thought there wouldn’t be sun for the next hundred years.Bread shot out from the toaster as he grabbed a half-empty jar of strawberry jam. Over breakfast, he puzzled over his crossword, specifically seven across: “The peak where decisions shape what comes next.” An eight-letter word containing N, L and E. Puzzling.Bill abandoned his half-finished breakfast and tended to his chores: logging the weather, cleaning the generator, winding the light mechanism, polishing the optic apparatus, and repainting the lighthouse’s base. He hated it but had to do it often since the crashing waves disintegrated the paint. Standing on a ladder over taunting waves made him uneasy.Bill turned his attention to the glass. A group of boys throwing pebbles. They couldn't be more than twelve. He hated children. With a brush in hand, Bill stormed out, bellowing, “GET OUT!”Immediately, the group scattered with guffaws and screams. Bill heard laughter. Just as Bill was about to turn back inside, a soft sob stopped him. Behind him lay a young girl with her foot caught in a rock. She must've fallen. As soon he bent over to free her foot she froze.“Don´t move,” he said before going to retrieve his first-aid box. The girl just stood there fearfully as he carefully disinfected her ankle.Her wide eyes fixed on Bill. As soon as he bound her ankle, she shot up and wobbled away from him. Bill watched as she took a rowboat and became a fading dot in the distance.Tuesday 16th, 1936: 0949 hours.An apple. Bill had gone to retrieve some herbs growing near for tea to find a bright red apple on his doorstep. Confused, Bill picked it up. Maybe he’d dropped it. He sliced it, ate half and fed the rest to some mice. They were really his only company.Today was foggy out, so Bill activated the foghorn. He got through his multiple chores and finished the day with two boiled eggs and an unfinished crossword.
***
Another apple. Cheese. A basket of cherries. Each morning at 10:30, a new item appeared. Bill was not one to waste food so he ate it over his lunch or dinner. Perhaps it had fallen out of his pocket. Whatever it was, he had grown mysteriously merry to find a surprise at his door everyday.Finally, one morning, he waited, ready. At 10:29, trepidatious footsteps approached. Bill flung the door open.The girl froze, a basket of cookies in her hands.“Who are you?” he asked. She looked like she might run. Instead, she said: “I’m Pearl.”“You been leavin’ me food?”“Yes. You healed my foot.”“T’was stuck.”“May I come in?” Without waiting for a response, Pearl strode inside. “I’ve never seen a lighthouse,” she said, touching everything she could see: clocks, peeling wallpaper, leather books.“Hey!” Bill growled.“Why are you always so grumpy? People say you're a monster and you eat children for breakfast.” She gasped. “Will you eat me?”Bill followed as she kept climbing. Why wouldn’t she leave? “No–”“Woahhh.” Pearl stopped at the rotating light. “It's ginormous.”“An’ fragile!” He warned before she could touch it.“Is it fun to be a lighthouse keeper?”“No. Not really. Tis’ pretty lonely.” He added.“Then why’d you do it?” Pearl sat with her feet dangling on a chair.Bill shrugged. “I gotta. Tis’ my job. How old tis you?”“I’m eleven and a half.” Pearl declared proudly. She took a cookie, offered him one. “And you? You must be, like, a million years old.”Bill didn't know why but he took one and a seat next to her. “No one ever tell you tis rude to ask a persons age? And isn’t you got places to be?” Bill didn't know what to say; he hadn't had a conversation with anyone in years.“I don't think they'll notice I'm gone anyway and I much rather be with you.”“Isn't you ever heard of ‘stranger danger’?”“Yeah but you wouldn't hurt me silly.”“How’d you know?” Bill prompted. “‘Parently I eat kids.”“Because you're kind to me and you don't really eat them, I saw a toast downstairs.” Pearl giggled. “I'd like to be a lighthouse keeper. Must be nice to control something so awesome.”“Tis’ a big responsibility. Gets lonely sometimes, too.”“Will you show me around?” Pearl asked. “Please.”Bill ended up giving her a tour of the lighthouse – not without a million ‘what is that?’ or ‘what does that do?’s. He was surprised she actually enjoyed it.“What made you become a lighthouse keeper?” Pear asked at one point.“All my family was.”“And why don't you like it?”Bill shifted uncomfortably, he found it hard to speak. “Once, isn't woke up early. I was just tired. An’ a ship crashed. ‘Cause of me. The Captain and three died. The Mayor of Cliffside was onboard.” It was the truth to why everyone hated him: they blamed him.Pearl’s eyes were wide but her voice was firm, certain. “No. Accidents happen. How many people have you saved? Hundreds? Thousands? You keep the light on, that’s what matters.”Bill hadn't thought about it that way. He looked at the rotating beacon. How many ships had he guided home? Bill stared at Pearl—small but determined. For years, he had been drowned in guilt, swallowed by darkness. But here she was, pulling him toward the light. And for the first time, he wasn't alone.Pearl reached for the crossword, tapping a blank space. “Seven across. Pinnacle.” Bill finally filled it in, smiling at the young girl.

Go back to category Years 10 & 11

Commended stories

Mooncussers

Malmesbury School, Wiltshire

Winner of the Years 7, 8 & 9 category

Pa wakes me at midnight. In the soft light of his candle, his face is golden, flickering. I catch my breath, because nighttime wake-up calls can mean only one thing. “A ship?” I whisper, my voice hoarse. He ignores my question, already pulling on his boots and overcoat. “It is time, Maria,” he says, regret tinging his voice blue, “it is time.”We slip out of the door, frosty grass tickling the hem of my thin dress. I shiver in the starkness of the night air, its rough embrace stealing the breath from my lungs and the feeling from my fingers. Above us, the sky is moonless, dim and swollen with the promise of fresh snow. Mist clings to the trees like a sorcerer’s cloak. It is the sort of night that is perfect for our purpose.I stoop to lower a bucket into our well, then fill a pail with its contents. The water swirls against the chipped ceramic, every drop illuminated in my lantern’s glow. I will need the water later, but for now it is merely a weight to carry, when I already have a weight of a very different kind preying on my mind.We diverge at the cliff path, Pa stealing down to the beach and me continuing furtively along it, like a ghost in the darkness. The silence rings in my ears, and I fight back the tears that threaten to fall. I tiptoe, afraid of disturbing the night’s eerie calm, but I needn’t worry. No one is here but me.There, in the distance, through the mist, is the Beacon, the one thing between ships lost at sea and the rocks sharp as teeth that cluster around Cuckoo’s Moon Bay. A beautiful, lifesaving light. I pause for the briefest of seconds, allowing myself to watch its amber flame. Shielding my brow, I turn seawards. There, on the horizon, as I suspected, is a ship. A schooner, and a large one at that, floundering on stormy waters. I gaze at it, and know that I will be one of the last people to see it afloat. The wind picks up, whipping my hair into tumbling snakes, and before I can think, I heave the bucket onto my shoulder and tip its contents onto the Beacon. It extinguishes with a soft snake’s hiss. I feel that there should be more; something to mark the enormity of what I have just done. But there is nothing, just the lap of tides on the shore.The darkness pounces, like a wild beast, but very soon I sea Pa’s answering glow, as close to the rocks as he can get. A false flame, a will-o’-the-wisp in the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as the schooner changes its course. I can almost hear the creak of its sails, the swooshing, whooshing of the ocean against the keel. Later, screams, though I bite my lip, hard enough to draw blood, to stop thinking about that.The next morning, winter sun shining bright in our eyes, we go to the beach once more. Sure enough, the wrack line is thick with salvage, a dark scar against the sand. It is early; we are the only ones awake at this hour, but later, there will be discovery, and questions needing answers. No, we don’t know why the schooner was wrecked. Nor do we have any idea how the Beacon, usually so resistant to wind and rain, was extinguished. Yes, a great tragedy. But - a beach full of its cargo. Lace, delicate as freshly fallen snowflakes. Spices named like enchantments. Rum to warm the stomach. Timber and coal that will burn in the stoves of half of the cottages in Cuckoo’s Moon Bay this winter. Perhaps, if we are lucky, the gleam of something else. Gold, silver, jewels; bracelets and bangles, crowns and coronets, rings and rubies, diamonds and diadems. Pirate treasure. Surely we can be forgiven? When our whole village benefits? But, as the gulls caw in the morning, I tip my face to the sky and let tears, salty as the sea, stream down my face.

Go back to category Years 7, 8 & 9

Commended stories

The Lightkeeper's Promise

Walhampton School, Lymington

Runner up in the Years 7, 8 & 9 category

The LightKeeper’s Promise.
The sea wrestless that morning. Waves crashed against the towering grey rocks, spraying the sky with white foam, as the small fishing boat cut through the waters. Elaina Fremont clutched the wooden railing, her fingers pale against the cold, briny air. The island loomed seamlessly ahead, shrouded in a thick grey mist. Perched at its highest point was the old lighthouse; a towering, weather-worn structure that had haunted her dreams since the beginning of childhood.
“That’s Blackthorn Isle,” said Jonah, the young fisherman steering the boat. “The lighthouse is yours now, though I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.”
Elaina turned to him nervously. “A curse?”
Jonah shrugged. “There are stories. Legends, if you like.”
She didn’t press him further. Ever since the letter arrived on her doorstep, informing her of her grandfather’s tragic death and her inheritance of the lighthouse, the warnings had come. But Elaina, burdened by debts and grief, had no choice.
The boat bumped against the dock. Jonah helped her ashore. “You’ve got enough provisions for a fortnight,” he explained. “Signal me when you’re ready to leave.”
“Thank you,” she stuttered. He nodded and pulled away, leaving her alone.
The lighthouse stood silent. Its paint had peeled, and the windows glinted dully. The key turned with a rusty creak, and Elaina stepped inside, as her lungs overflowed with dust. The interior smelled of salt and damp wood. Dust motes danced in the weak sunlight. Her grandfather’s belongings were scattered everywhere; an old rusty pipe on the table, a book open to a page he’d never finish. A journal lay beside it. The Promise must be kept. The light must never go out. They are watching.
Her heart quickened. The entries grew erratic, filled with sketches of ships,cryptic messages and strange symbols. One passage caught her eye:
If the light fails, they will come.
That night, the wind howled around the lighthouse. She tried to sleep, but unease gnawed at her . Then she heard it: faint footsteps climbing the spiral staircase.
Elaina shot up, grabbing the lantern by her bedside. “Hello?” No response. She climbed the stairs, each creak echoing. The lantern room was empty. The great lens stood silent, its light extinguished. A sudden chill swept through the room, and she heard a whisper carried softley by the wind.
“Keep the promise...”
She descended the stairs briskly, bolting the door behind her.
The next day, she searched the lighthouse. In a locked drawer, she found a key wrapped in oilcloth. It fit the door at the base of the tower. Inside, she found nautical charts and maps marked with shipwrecks. A weathered lantern sat on a table. Beside it was a logbook, detailing ships lost to the sea. Her grandfather had been tracing them.
Jonah’s words came back to her. That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the wind began to howl once more.
The light flickered to life on its own.
Elaina stared up at the tower. The light swept across the sea. She climbed the stairs, holding her sweaty palm tightly on the rail. The room glowed eerily. And there, in the centre, stood the figure of a young sailor boy.
He was pale, his uniform dripping with seawater. His eyes met hers, and sorrow washed over her.
“Who are you?” she whispered fearfully.
“A promise was made,” he bellowed. “Your grandfather kept it. Now it is yours.”
“What promise?”
“To keep the light burning. To guide us home.”
Soft tears trickled down her rosy cheeks. “Why me?”
The sailor’s form faded. “Because the sea remembers...”
The storm that night was fierce. The light stayed on, its beam slicing through the darkness. She now understood why her grandfather had stayed. This lighthouse was a sentinel, a lifeline to souls lost at sea. In the days that followed, she considered leaving. But each night, as the wind howled, she heard the whispers:
“Keep the promise.”
One evening, as the sun dipped low, she climbed the tower and lit the lantern herself. She watched its light sweep across the waves and felt a strange peace. Her life, now taken by the ritual of tending to the light at dusk.
“As long as the sea calls,” she whispered, “the light will answer.”

Go back to category Years 7, 8 & 9

Commended stories

The Lighthouse Keeper

Westminster Under School, London

Runner up in the Years 7, 8 & 9 category

The light was flickering, and Caspian knew it was only a matter of time before it went out for good.He sat in the small, creaking wicker chair, that came from another era, a past era, one that had been swept away but still clung desperately to the present. With a window open, the cold, salty sea air whipped into the room, tugging at his coat. Pale flakes came feeling for his face, the last signs of winter. He had been staring at the distant horizon for hours, watching the grey sea churn and churn and the leaden clouds lumber shoreward, beneath the flickering overhead beam of the lighthouse. His lighthouse.It had been decades since he had taken up this once bustling post, eager and full of desire. But slowly, sea traffic had dwindled, and newer technologies were sought to improve efficiency. Lighthouses had been automated ever since he was young, but the board had only approached him a week ago, stating their desire. They had given him one week’s notice to leave.He pulled himself upwards from his reminiscences and decided to take one final look from the balcony. Bringing the lantern with him, he traversed the room. The iron steps of the torturously narrow staircase creaked beneath him, but his feet knew the path well, guiding him upward with a rhythm that had become second nature. Each step took him higher into the tower, past the moss-framed windows that rattled with the wind. His hands gripped the worn rail, the cold metal rough against his skin. It wasn’t the chill that made him shiver, but the weight of years pressing down on his shoulders, the weight of solitude and fading purpose.When he finally emerged at the top, he was suspended between sea and sky, like an eagle’s clifftop nest. The lighthouse light, weak as it was, still pierced the enveloping mass of water and cloud. He squinted into the distance, where the horizon met the sky in a story blur. Lightning pealed, illuminated the sky with a bolt of pure energy. He saw something. A shape; a dark mass shadowed by grey waves. For a moment, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, the cold and the momentary light warping his vision. But then, there it was again.Caspian’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t seen a ship in days, maybe weeks. The sea had been so empty lately, nothing but an endless stretch of water. The modern world had its ships, its planes, its computers, but out here, in this forgotten corner of the coast, the only thing that ever mattered was the light. His light.He rushed to the lamp, fumbling with the controls. The flicker had become more pronounced, morphing to a desperate, feeble pulse. Trembling, he turned the crank, pushing the beam of light outward, sweeping the sea in search of that shape. The ship was still there, now clearer, barely visible but unmistakable. It was large, far too large for a fishing vessel, and too distant for any regular craft. He couldn’t tell its type from this far, but the urgency in his chest made him feel that it wasn’t a chance passing.The light was sputtering now, struggling to maintain Caspian’s ordered. He fiddled with various knobs, but the old machinery was reluctant to cooperate. For a moment, the light surged, just enough to catch the silhouette of the vessel again. He could see it more clearly now: an enormous shape, its dark hull cutting through the water with an unnatural ghostlike stillness.Then, a sharp crack of lightning jolted him from his trance, and in that instant, the light failed completely. The room was plunged into darkness, save for the faint, ominous glow of the storm outside.His stomach rolled like the sea outside. If the light didn’t work, the ship would not know where the shore was, and could, in the worst case, crash into the jagged coastline. He had been given the chance of a passing ship, but he had blown it to smithereens.Striking a match, he peered out again. The ship was no longer visible, but he could feel it's’ looming presence. Slowly, he heard a gentle hum from outside, percolating into the room. It grew louder and louder until it throbbed in his ears louder than the roar of the sea itself. And finally, a screech, like metal rubbing against stone. Then, he came to a very, very simple realisation; the ship was here.

Go back to category Years 7, 8 & 9

Commended stories

Arcade Lights

Aberdour School, Banstead

Winner of the Years 5 & 6 category

Light. It blared out of the high-tech machines and into my small eyes. Thump! We all get pushed down the slope. I am just centimetres away the edge that we all dream of. My back is constantly being dug into from these stupid two pence coins. Thump! I’m pushed forward another few millimetres. Back, forward, that’s my life. Anyway, do these coins even have any respect for us? We’re prizes after all, they just push us forward. Forward to freedom. It’s horrible in here, stuck in this coin pusher. After all, I should be happy, these kids want me. The joy on their faces when they win a prize almost makes my depression disappear.A young boy, who looked about 7 or 8, came up to the counter holding a large cup of 2p coins. He wiped his snotty nose with his sleeve and then starts shoving the coins in. Thump! He wins nothing. His lips on his chubby face went from glum, to frustrated. In a fit of rage, he chucked his tub onto the glass. We all gasped. He stormed out of the arcade.A tiny girl, who wore a ripped pair of leggings and a t-shirt with many holes in it, came up to the machine with her father. She pointed at me with wide eyes. “Oh please Daddy! Please may I have that kitten there!” she cried. “Wow Sophie! That looks lovely! But do remember, we only have one coin, so don’t get your hopes up.’ her father told her. I really want that girl to win me, as I knew that she would take good care of me, not like that snotty boy earlier.Hands shaking, she slotted the coin in carefully. She squealed as the coin slid down like a penguin. Thump! I got jolted forward a whole inch. I tipped. Further and further I toppled over, almost, almost…Bang! I hid the floor. My heart raced in my chest. Thump! I just realised, I’d reached it. The point I always dreamed of. My destiny. But, I was separated from all of my lifelong friends in there. But it’s time for a change. Goodbye coins! Hello new life!Sophie reached in and grabbed me tightly. She showed me to her father proudly. She squealed and spun around. Her father's face lit up. It was obvious that I was something special to them, perhaps an only toy, or just a rare moment of happiness in their life.As we started to walk out, I noticed the first boy out of the corner of my eye. He had an even bigger cup of coins than before. He was carrying the largest teddy you can win at the arcade. I’m just a little toy kitten. Won’t she want a large teddy, instead of just little old me? Stop being so stupid Kitty, she loves you with all her heart. She’d never abandon you or dislike you. You’re the happiness in her life.We stepped onto the pier. She hugged me tightly. We skipped down joyfully. “Darling, be careful! You would want to loose your kitty!” her father told her. “Don’t worry daddy!” she cried, “I won’t!”She ran along the slippery pier, as happy as can be. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. She was light in the dull world around her. It was like an infectious disease. Everyone was now joyful, a radiant beam of light.Until suddenly, disaster struck. I’m not one hundred percent sure what happened, but their of last things I saw was lights blinding my eyes. Down, down I went, into the deep blue sea. As I sunk, I saw Sophie bringing her arm out, desperately to grab me. Teardrops raced down her cheeks. That was the last thing I
saw. The last thing until I sunk to the bottom. With the depressing rocks and seaweed.I’d much rather be back in the machine. Cause I knew I would someday be loved. Down here, I’m hopeless. There’s no love down here.Sophie’s now lost. Lonely with no friends. Why do bad things happen to good people?

Go back to category Years 5 & 6

Commended stories

Agent Kitty and the Case of the Missing Sun

Hilden Oaks Preparatory School, Tonbridge

Runner up in the Years 5 & 6 category

Another day, another crime. Agent Kitty woke up to a strangely dark morning. She checked her clock to see what time it was: seven thirty. “The sun should be up”, she thought. But it was October, it could just be that her clock was wrong. A few hours went by, but the sun still wasn’t up. Suddenly, Kitty got a call from H.Q. They told her that the sun had been STOLEN!!! Why would anybody want the sun? The case was on.200 metres under the ground in Mexico, in his astronomically-sized mansion, the quintrillionaire pig, Mr Snorts, was throwing money up in the air in celebration. It was his favourite way of celebrating, but he was embarrassed to do it in front of his friends. Not that he had any friends, of course. It was his birthday, and he had got himself the most amazing present. He had minimised the SUN and stolen it using the shrink ray that he had also stolen from a mad scientist in Australia. He liked stealing, and it made him feel tingly and good inside. He had taken the sun to his purpose-made Sun Containment Unit (SCU) and used its power to heat his house. His house was now nice and warm. A little too warm, perhaps…Agent Kitty thought very hard. She remembered that Mr Snorts, the dastardly supervillain, had recently broken out of prison. Again. She remembered that when she had put him in prison the last time, Mr Snorts had boasted to her that his next plot would be of “stellar proportions” and given her a big cheesy wink and a prod with his elbow. She had been surprised at his vocabulary, because he really wasn’t very bright. For example, he had neglected to remove his prison tracker when he had escaped, so the police knew exactly where he was hiding out, and they were just waiting for him to make his next false move. Mr Snorts using “stellar” must be a clue! She ran to the police station, showed her ID badge and asked for Mr Snorts’ location.Kitty landed by a tiny little outhouse in Mexico in the single-person plane she had borrowed from H.Q. On top of the little outhouse a neon sign flashed brightly, reading “Mr Snorts’ Secret Underground Mansion” and an arrow pointed down. Kitty shook her head in despair. Would he never learn? Agent Kitty hung a pair of handcuffs onto her utility belt and headed into the outhouse. There was a lift with two buttons: “SURFACE” and “ULTRA-SECRET BASE”. She pressed the bottom one with a sigh.Mr Snorts suddenly heard faint pop music, getting louder. It was the music he had installed in his lift. It was his favourite music, but he was surprised to hear it, as he wasn’t expecting visitors. When the doors creaked open painfully (he really must remember to oil them), he saw his arch nemesis, Agent Kitty. He blinked in surprise, before realising this was the moment to deploy his secret Enemy Destruction Protocol. Too bad he hadn’t read the instructions. Mr Snorts reached into a pile of gadgets and pulled out a Spaghetti Launcher. He turned it up to maximum and fired a gigantic ball of spaghetti and meatballs towards Agent Kitty.The ball flung itself through the air for half a metre and fell to earth with a sad splat. Mr Snorts felt frustrated. Ten disappointing gadgets later, he had one last idea. It was time for his Ultra-Deluxe Escape Pod. He leapt into it and started it up. It zoomed up directly into the ceiling and crashed down with a defeated clang.Mr Snorts gave up and waited for Kitty to reach him with the handcuffs. It had got a little too warm, anyway…

Go back to category Years 5 & 6

Commended stories

A Mission to Mars

Winchester House School, Brackley

Runner up in the Years 5 & 6 category

Prologue: IgniteTwenty years ago, President Obama said, “We have set a clear goal vital to the next chapter of America’s story in space; sending humans to Mars by the 2030’s and returning them safely to Earth.” Hearing him say this at the time ignited a spark within me. This burst of illumination filled me with hope and wonder of what might be possible in the future. But this was not a fleeting spark of light. It grew into a burning passion for space exploration and propelled me forward to become an astronaut.
I am about to embark on a dangerous mission that has never been attempted before; a mission to Mars. Astronaut training was complex, and took many years, involving physical training, medical tests, robotics, survival skills and space walks. I have spent hours in simulators, training for launch and landing procedures.
I am nervous. I know that there are many dangers ahead. Mars is the forth planet from the sun and is a colossal 140 million miles away from Earth. It is going to take nine months to get there; if I make it at all.Day 1: BlazeToday is the day. My stomach feels like a violent washing machine, full of contrasting feelings swishing around. I am terrified of the uncertainty and magnitude of the mission. I am about to travel through the darkness of space for 39 weeks, not knowing what lies ahead. However, as I step onto the spacecraft I feel exhilarated. I am about to begin the journey of a lifetime.
The engine roars and rumbles as the rocket shakes and wobbles. Suddenly, fire shoots out of the bottom of the rocket, propelling me into the sky above. Mixes of amber, golden and ruby light are blazing below me, causing storm clouds of smoke which devours me in foggy darkness. When the mist clears, I stare out the window, watching as the glow of city lights fade into the distance. I am pulled through the clouds, shooting upwards, into the mysterious world above. Earth begins to fade; shrinking into a miniscule star glowing far away.Day 76: AbyssI feel lost in the inky black darkness of the abyss. Earth is now a glimmering dot of light, although I can just make out the comforting blue of the oceans. I am being engulfed into a world where no light is shed. Looking out of the window, Mars still looks no closer than it did when I had taken off, just a tiny glowing scarlet circle in front of me. The spacecraft is very cramped. Exercising is a real challenge, but I must exercise for two hours a day to retain my muscle mass, bone density and cardiovascular health. Life is hard in space.Day 112: StarlightEarth now looks like a tiny shimmering star. It is hard to believe that everything I have ever known, experienced and loved is on that tiny planet. A home to eight billion people, who are waiting expectantly for news of our safe arrival. Here in space there is so much we haven’t explored yet. It brings me joy to realise that I will be making discoveries and uncovering new worlds. When I get back to planet Earth I can’t wait to enlighten the citizens.
Day 273: GlowWe have finally arrived. Mars is no longer a little dot. It is now a massive red sphere, covered in dust and mountains. The planet glows like a flame, burning brightly against the emptiness of the space beyond. Olympus Mons comes into view; the largest mountain in our solar system. It is a towering giant, three times the hight of Mount Everest! I can see Mars’ two moons; Phobos and Deimos. I have always been fascinated by moons, so it is amazing to finally see them up close. I looked back at Earth, shining like a beacon amongst the constellations and galaxies beyond, all still yet to be explored. I exhale deeply, and smile to myself. I have made it.

Go back to category Years 5 & 6

Commended stories

Hero

St Dunstan's College Junior School

Winner of the Years 3 & 4 category

Long ago, in a remote village, there lived a boy called Bob. He had heard of a light dragon with incredible powers. Now, Bob wasn't treated well at all by the other warrior boys because he was BLIND. Since he could not fight properly, he was considered a wimp. So, he came up with a plan, a marvellous plan to prove them wrong. He would FIGHT THE LIGHT DRAGON. He packed his bag and set off, not knowing what horrors lay ahead.He had heard of the powers the light dragon possessed. "Don't look in its eyes," he told himself firmly (the consequences are too ghastly to discuss). First, he had to find the LEMON. The one thing that could destroy it. Now, although he was blind, he easily felt his way along the trees with his hands. He walked across bogs, swam over rough rivers and journeyed through thick forests, with the blazing sun shining down upon him like a fire cooking a steak back home.Suddenly, his fingers came across what seemed like the entrance to a cave. He felt a patch of moss shaped like the body of a great lizard and he knew from the legends this was the place. His heart was pounding like a hammer. He had reached his final destination. This was the home of the LIGHT DRAGON.Bob immediately heard a slithering movement from deep within the cave, and his nostrils picked up a scent he had never smelt before: something so sour! Then he heard something burst up out of the shadows and with an ear-splitting screech the light dragon swept Bob up in its spine-crushing claws. They felt like swords against his skin. He tried desperately to scramble out of its reach but it was too strong. He sensed the dragon's huge eye – an eye as big as a boulder – press itself close to his face. He believed he was going to die! But he didn't.And then he realised! Normally looking into the bright light of the dragon's eye would kill a man. But he was blind! The darkness saved him. Out of nowhere the dragon let him go. Even though Bob could not see objects his eyes could feel a light illuminate the cave. And then he knew. The lemon was what gave the dragon its immense power. The creature was recharging! He frantically leapt towards the citrusy smell. He felt for the lemon in his shaking hands. He found it and picked it up and... ATE THE LEMON!!!! He flinched at its super sour taste. And with a bone-breaking roar of anguish, the light dragon threw its head against the ceiling and collapsed onto the floor.He had done it! He had proved himself a worthy warrior. He had learned two lessons that day. Firstly, he discovered how brave he truly was. And secondly that having his disability wasn't a bad thing after all. Any normal man or woman would have faced a terrible death by looking into the dragon's eyes. Only he was not a normal person. He was a HERO.

Go back to category Years 3 & 4

Commended stories

Lights Out!

Gayhurst School, Gerrards Cross

Runner up in the Years 3 & 4 category

I still don't see how it was my fault.I mean, everything was going fine. Mum, working quietly in her study, Dad, happily cooking dinner, Tom contentedly playing Lego and me doing my homework. When you think about it it's more my teacher's fault than mine; it was his idea to build a marble run to explore gravity. And obviously the best place for that was down the stairs.After all, it wasn't me that caused the power cut, nor me who panicked when the lights went out. Mum and Dad said they were worried about us, but me and Tom knew exactly where we were. It's just unlucky that I'd gone back to my bedroom to get some more marbles so I wasn't able to warn her. On the plus side, the speed of Mum's descent certainly proved the power of gravity. Mum wasn't in a mood to see it that way; her scream hit higher notes than she'd ever sung before.I rushed to Mum’s assistance but too late, so I stopped to check my marble run was intact. Unfortunately, in the dark, I had no chance of seeing whether my structure could still entertain.Dad decided it was time to save the day. Inevitably, he made things worse.The bumbling buffoon fumbled and stumbled his way through the dining-room, colliding with the open hall door before tripping on mum’s legs and head butting the piano.My dad always taught me that piano meant soft. Not this time. Dad shouted a few words which he later claimed were French. I won't list them, for they may be inappropriate.“What are you doing? Go in there and fetch the matches from the fireplace.” Mum ordered. “There's candles in there too. See if you can light one and find my phone.”Dad obediently hobbled through the depths of the dark living room. Suddenly, he launched into a Highland fling (thankfully, without bagpipes!) as his feet found a new game; “Floor is Lego!” His exclamations (possibly Scottish this time) suggested that he was disappointed Tom hadn't tidied up.“Be careful dad! Don't destroy my model.” Tom warned,“What!? You care more about your Lego than you do my leg!” Dad ranted.“That's not fair. I love you both” Tom promised.“Will you two stop playing LEGO and get me a phone,” Mum reiterated sternly.Dad handed Tom his phone and instructed him to deliver it to his mother. Phone between his teeth, Tom wriggled through the Lego minefield. “Mission accomplished ma’am.”“Well done darling. Now we can put the torch on.”
Except we couldn't, because the phone’s battery was as flat as our spirits. Mum vigorously voiced her verdict that dad was as useless as his phone, to which he retorted “Well where's yours?”Hearing this, I remembered how mum encourages me to take responsibility. Perhaps she'd be proud of me...?“You were busy Mum, but I borrowed your phone...to film my marble run.” I confessed.She didn't sound too proud of me. “You did what? How many times have I...? Where is it?”“I left it on the landing.”
Just then, the lights came back on. We all saw mum's broken phone on the floor by her feet. “You’re in so much trouble,” she seethed.

Go back to category Years 3 & 4

Commended stories

The boy who stole Light

Hilden Grange Preparatory School, Tonbridge

Runner up in the Years 3 & 4 category

In the realm of darkness, there was no joy. There were no greetings every morning, no joyous calls and no colours. Ethan decided if he found light, there would be no sadness. He would bring joy by illuminating the realm. He knew that he had to go to Pythagos, the Land of the Gods, to steal light.Ethan packed his silver katana, an amphora and his golden bracelet. It was his lucky charm. He didn’t need much because he had the rest in his soul.He had read an ancient book about Pythagos. It said, “ To get to Pythagos, find the Temple of Darkness”. He travelled for days through the dullness until he found the Temple. On the left of the Temple, he found an obsidian pillar. Carved on its side, were mystical engravings of the Key of Light on an enormous spire on the roof of the temple.Ethan tried to clamber up, but there were no grips, so he chipped into the stone using his katana and eventually made it up to the top.When he reached the top, he delicately reached for the key and saw a gate appearing below the spire. He grabbed the key and scrambled down, and placed the key into the gate. It exploded into fragile particles of light. The light blasted his shadow into the distance. Shocked, he watched as the temple disintegrated into ash revealing another path.He walked up the seemingly never-ending path until he saw a bluish glow in the distance. When he got closer, he saw another obsidian pillar at the bank of a lake. The Waters of Oblivion! Engraved on the pillar, were the words, “You must destroy the lake”. Ethan threw a pebble into the lake and it dissolved into nothingness. Then, his bracelet started acting strangely, radiating a yellow glow. The Gods were testing his bravery, so he put his hands in the water, and the lake vaporised instantly. At the bottom, were an orb and a mirror with golden frames matching his bracelet! Suddenly, a swirling vortex appeared and Ethan got sucked in with the orb!The mirror brought Ethan to a room full of shadows and in the centre, was his shadow. It held a katana and attempted to slash Ethan. Ethan evaded the attack and countered with his own blade but he felt a searing pain. He realised that the shadow could harm him, but he couldn’t harm the shadow.He knew he had to use the orb. Ethan could feel the power radiating in his body so he smashed the orb. An explosion rocked the room. It didn’t harm the shadow but instead returned it to him. A blinding flash surrounded him and he got zapped back to the bank of the lake.Ahead he saw a mountain: Pythagos. He trekked up the mountain until he saw a paradise in front of him. There were all kinds of gargantuan, indescribable things but he didn’t forget why he had come here. He saw a pot containing light and stole it in his amphora.When he returned, he opened the amphora and a beautiful radiance spread across the realm. The Gods were unhappy because Ethan stole from them, but when they saw how happy the people were, they eventually forgave him.

Go back to category Years 3 & 4

Time to Write 2024 winners

The winners, runners-up and highly commended entries

ISEB’s Time to Write 2024 creative writing competition for schools received thousands of entries from pupils all over the world. Writers aged 7-16 submitted stories based on a time-travelling theme in celebration of the exam board’s 120th anniversary.The winning writers of the four categories came from Cumnor House Girl’s School in Croydon, Solefield School in Sevenoaks, Trinity School in Newbury, and The Cathedral School in Llandaff.The winning entry in the Years 10 & 11 category was ‘The Tale of the Time-Travelling Schoolboy’, written by a pupil from Trinity School. The judges praised this story for its “gripping start and great use of descriptive language throughout” and thought it was a “very funny and compelling piece”.First place in the Years 7, 8 & 9 category went to ‘1904: The Sole Survivor’, written by a pupil from The Cathedral School Llandaff. The judging panel was impressed with the “wonderful character development, authentic perspective and great historical setting”.In the Years 5 & 6 category, ‘Seed of Life’, written by a pupil from Solefield School, was awarded first place. The judges praised this story for its “sophisticated introduction and beautifully built mystery”.And ‘Never Forget the Elephants’ written by a pupil from Cumnor House Girl’s School was the winning entry in the Years 3 & 4 category. The judges thought the writer explored the theme of conservation with “empathy and compassion” and were impressed with the original idea and “neatly shaped narrative which produced a well-structured story with a surprise ending”.

Discover the winning stories from the 2024 Time to Write competition, now brought to life as beautifully illustrated books. Explore below the winning entries written by some of the brightest young writers from schools across the country.

Julia Martin, ISEB Chief Executive, said: “Reading the creative writing of such a talented pool of pupils from around the world was pure enjoyment. The quality of the work was so high that we found ourselves talking about the shortlisted entries in the same way we might analyse the work of graduates and professionals. For all judges on the panel, it was a privilege to read your work and be inspired by your talent.”

Full list of winners, runners up
and highly commended

Years 10 & 11 Category

Years 7, 8 & 9 Category

Years 5 & 6 Category

Years 3 & 4 Category

Congratulations to all the winners, runners up and highly commended entries and to the thousands of pupil's from over 13 countries who submitted stories.

The Tale of the Time-Travelling Schoolboy

Trinity School, Newbury

Winner of the Years 10 & 11 category

Daniel was upside down. Or rather, he nearly was. He’d found that it was quite tricky to get himself completely upside down, so had settled for a strange headstand against the wall in his bedroom. The loud thuds had brought his mother upstairs, but his stern face
had just as quickly banished her. She just managed to get out a weak “But… Why?”, before she decided against this line of enquiry and instead laid down in a darkened room.The fact was, Daniel was bored. Mind-numbingly, teeth-achingly so. It was only the second week of the summer holidays, and all his friends were in places like Barcelona, Belize, Benidorm, and other sunny destinations beginning with the letter ‘b’. He’d hadhad to turn to homework for entertainment. After seventeen minutes of reading about what inspired Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Benjamin Bunny, (“From my window I could see two beautiful rabbits playing and running on the lawn, they showed me how to live, you see,” et cetera, et cetera…), Daniel turned firmly away from homework, feeling slightly nauseous and more than a little fed up.“I’m going out!”, he yelled, swinging his coat around his head, and sliding down the banister. His mother whimpered in response.Taking this as a sign of assent, he left through the front door, came back in for his shoes, and set off across the fields behind their house. Daniel enjoyed being in the fresh air. It made a pleasant change from being cooped up indoors with a sister who slept until dinner and no Wi-Fi (Daniel swore it wasn’t him who broke the router). He took the forest path, the sun’s rays percolating gently through the living ceiling above him.A hill rose steeply in front of him. Daniel felt this hill must have been around since the beginning of time, it’s solid mass a reassuring presence. And, considering this sentiment, he began his assent.It took Daniel a minute to realise that he was falling. He hardly noticed the ground giving gently beneath him. Before he knew it, he was tumbling into darkness, a tantalising window of light shooting away from his outstretched fingertips. A minute, a full minute
later, he introduced himself to the floor. They didn’t get on.The first thing he noticed was that it wasn’t dark down there. Light seemed to be spreading outwards from the corner, not enough to truly illuminate the surroundings, but just enough to inform Daniel that something was there. Wincing, he struggled to his feet and hobbled to investigate. A strange object stared back at him. It was covered in dust but appeared to resemble a horizontal hourglass. Daniel concluded that it was clearly magical, which was perfectly logical considering the circumstances. He picked it up and blew off some of the dust. Immediately, it began to beep and vibrate violently. He saw on the part he had cleared that it said, ‘Blow here to begin transmission process’. Panicking, he went to let go of it, but saw a glow around his right thumb. The words above it read, ‘Place thumb here to encode DNA’. Thrusting the thing away from him in dismay, he accidentally twisted the two ends in opposite directions. He was not one bit surprised to see the words, ‘Twist ends to initiate internal drive’. He finally threw it on the floor, clocking as he did a final message: ‘Place on floor to finalise recall’. Beside it, a digital clock displayed the number ‘-120’. Puzzling over this rather unusual chain of events, Daniel hardly noticed as the machine split in half and shot a beam of bright, bright light at him…Bushes are not comfortable. It’s why tents were invented. As Daniel removed a leaf from his mouth, he attempted to survey his surroundings. Deciding that this was best done from outside the bush, he carefully extricated himself and looked around. He appeared to be in someone’s garden, a low wall holding it back from acres of wild countryside. The strange machine was still in the bush, humming gently. It now displayed a 30-minute timer, slowly ticking away. At the far end of the sloping lawn, a squat house sat. It had two large windows facing the garden. Through one of them, a small room with a desk looked out over the grounds. At the desk sat a woman. Daniel joltingly realised that he recognised her. It was Beatrix Potter. And she was looking right at him.He wasn’t quite sure what to do; on the one hand, he had travelled back in time. On the other, he had travelled back in time. And he was trampling Beatrix Potter’s begonias. He perfectly reasonably dived back into the bush, feeling the corner of his t-shirt tear in the
process. He poked the top of his head out of and looked towards the house. Beatrix Potter was blinking in disbelief. Apparently deciding (rather like Daniel’s mother) that the best course of action was to do nothing, she turned back to her notebook, and tried to ignore the tuft of hair peeping out of her rhododendron. Daniel exulted in his victory and congratulated himself on his quick thinking. Then he saw them. In the corner of the bush, cowering in abject terror, sat two rabbits.Beatrix Potter glanced up from her notebook. She was still confused as to why there was a small child in her bush and had actually been writing a speech with which to address him (“improper conduct”, “criminal damage”, “frankly weird”). But something else drew her eye. Two rabbits were bolting across her lawn, looking as though they had just seen Mr McGregor. Although clearly in terror, there was something magical about their
movements. The idea for a new story began to form, taking shape and spreading its wings. She barely even noticed the muffled cry of, “FROLICK!!” coming from a rustling hedge.* * *
Beatrix Potter picked up a fragment of fabric. Turning it over, she saw a named sticker adhering to the underside. Daniel, she thought.* * *
Daniel was home, and, not unusually, confused. The time machine had very obligingly dropped him off above ground, and not in the damp and nearly bottomless hole where he’d found it. He’d been able to locate an ancient-looking keypad and had input a very strongly worded request. He looked at the title of the book he’d been reading for
homework: Notes on The Tale of Daniel the Rabbit. Although he mourned the loss of the pleasing alliteration, he thought the new was name very, very good.THE END

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

A Fiery Flicker of Hope

Wolsey Hall, Oxford

Runner up in the Years 10 & 11 category

Niamph was a rational girl, clumsy at the worst of times, and a genius at the best. She wasn’t known to take risks. At least, not yet, she wasn’tThe dingy cave provided little light, making the presence of a strange glowing entity within concerning and rather intriguing to Niamph, considering she’d visited this cave numerous times during her escapades to the ruins just outside. Niamph was a scholar, you see, obsessed with the fairy-tale creatures those before her had written of. And, naturally, this obsession led her to use those tales for her recent essay.Many of the tales had been destroyed with the country’s aging, but she still held them near and dear to her heart, ultimately leading her here. Her country’s Great Library had been burnt down an estimated one hundred and nineteen years prior by a presumed arsonist; burning the dreamy, legendary Book of Legends with it.This cave was just above the ruins.This…thing, that claimed itself as a time machine, also claimed it could take her one hundred and twenty years into the past, according to the grimy instruction manual she’d found on the floor. It also claimed it could bring her back again, simply by returning to the time machine and going forwards.It could easily just be someone’s strange idea of a prank, but there was nobody else inside the cave, and no apparent cameras. Only the drip, drop of the roof’s leaky spots.
The ‘time machine’ looked to be a blue colour at the base, with a chipped paint job, and silver steel square parts surrounding, giving it a futuristic feel that certainly checked out in her head. The buttons, however, were reminiscent of a lift’s. Inside, the plate below emitted a faint glow in a precise circle, while the rest was still a solid silver steel. Quite intimidating, actually, Niamph thought. Although, the entire situation was intimidating. And ridiculous. A time machine, here? In the middle of some random cave? When she’d followed the light, she’d expected some cave explorer, or something normal. Something familiar. It goes without saying that a time machine was not something familiar. But it could provide her answers. Answers she has hungered, starved for since she was a small child.It was around nighttime, according to her antique watch, assuming this did work, and transported her to the same time of day and same cave, she could get into the library. It’s not like they had much security back then. But still, what if the book was being borrowed? How ridiculous of a thing to be thinking while simultaneously thinking of time travel. Nonetheless, it was a possibility; one that Niamph steeled herself for. If all went as planned, she would have the book. If not? Well…she’d rather not think about that.A prickle of doubt trickled down her spine. Maybe hunger for knowledge really did make you crazy, huh. She stepped in, and before she could think to stop herself, clicked the button.
A strange warm sensation prickled around her body. It felt tingly, but pleasant. At first. Then the warmth became slightly oppressive, so she squeezed her eyes and fingers shut, her knuckles beginning to turn white.Luckily, it didn’t last for too much longer, and cold, crisp air gushed pleasantly through the doors as they opened. She clutched the strap of her messenger bag tighter as she warily tip-toed into the damp cave once again.Not much had changed, really, so she continued to the exit. That was when she saw the difference. That was when her breath hitched in her lungs, and she instinctively clutched her bag’s strap even tighter. The scene before her was beautiful. The ruins really don’t do it enough justice, she realised, as she began her light tread down the slope. She took time to appreciate the beautiful architecture of the perfectly carved, detailed, antique walls, and the old-fashioned tables laid outside underneath ornately decorated floral parasols.She crossed through the courtyard of outdoor tables, sneakily gliding her fingers lightly over the rough tabletops. She noted that one table was just beneath an open window. She knew it would be easy, if she couldn’t simply walk through the front door anyways, but geez.
The door was unlike anything she’d seen before, even upon the fanciest churches; beautiful, insanely, enchantingly so. It beckoned her to open it, to try. Diligently, she tried both push and pull. To no avail, sadly, and so she sighed and resigned herself to the window. She was careful not to make too much noise as she crashed-landed her way into the library and inconveniently onto a table of piled books, internally apologising to the librarian.After regaining her bearings, and footing, she noted the moonlight poured into a corner through a large window with a wide windowsill. And there lay a half-melted candle!She stumbled on her way there, the place too dark to see properly, until she finally sat heavily next to the candle. She sighed and threw her head back, smoothing her hair that, somehow, seemed to mirror her stress, then began to root through her messenger bag quickly in the moonlight. She carried a lighter around courtesy of some friends. After a little more hurried rummaging, and nervous glances through the windows behind her, she found her trusty red lighter.She grabbed the candle and lit, watching the flame flicker before finding it’s place comfortably onto the wick. She decided to hurry; her first mistake. Believing that a candle would illuminate her path; her second. Before she knew it, her entire body was face-down strewn across the ground, and the candle, the candle, the fire, caught itself on a wooden shelf.Niamph didn’t know how fast fire spread until now, as it engulfed the entire shelf greedily, already reaching out on either side for the next. She shrieked as it crawled towards her, fast, expectantly, hungrily, like a demon ready to feast.It wasn’t an arsonist at all.

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

Gelato Sorcery

Wolsey Hall, Oxford

Runner up in the Years 10 & 11 category

There is only the present.Merlin contemplated the neat paper card, flipping it over in his hand under the firelight at his fingertip. It appeared to be note, a message rather than a clue as to what he was supposed to do now that he was here, a hundred feet below the earth, deep inside a nameless cave where a strange box awaited him.A sigh. Merlin tentatively reached his hands towards the box, unclipping the latches and opened it.There was no brilliant effulgence of anticipation when the box was opened, nothing that would have prepared him for the fantastic nature of what laid inside. A pocket watch, meticulously nestled on a velvet cushion.He knew what it meant, but just what was he to do with it first?Books, studies, research – everything he knew about chronomancy was only ever theoretical. He would be a fool to dive head first into his past, a child playing around with sand as if he were god. It was wiser to take things a step at a time.A shift in space, a slight drop upon the same dusty ground. Nothing else had changed. He was still in the cave. Perhaps the rocks had moved a little, but that was all.He chuckled, and with the snap of his finger, vanished from the darkness of the cave, appearing once more in the sunny streets of a piazza. It was a piazza from his time, the location at least.It was still a piazza a hundred and twenty years ago, though nothing like he remembered. The buildings were far shorter, the skies much bluer, and all the people were dressed in simple tunics and britches.Then he felt a friendly tap on his shoulder that turned him around. Smiling at him in greeting, a couple gelato cups in hand, was a middle-aged gentleman with a goatee and neatly combed hair, clothed in a presumptuous starry robe and shawl – much like himself.“Gelato?” he asked perkily, offering Merlin either one of the untouched cups.He liked chocolate, though the fruity flavor of strawberry would be nicer than a milkier taste on a hot sunny day, but just as he was about to thank the gentleman and take the strawberry gelato, a whoosh like a swooping pelican warped into being beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder to stop him.His sudden appearance startled him, and Merlin jumped back a step, throwing his hand away. His hand. Standing before him, was himself, exactly the same as he was now, though just a little different.Most bizarre, he thought, his lips crinkling as his brows lifted.“You should pick the chocolate one,” he said to himself.“Why?” Merlin asked, curious as to what was going on.“Because I picked the strawberry one and it didn’t taste as good as I imagined.”Before he could answer, another whoosh, this time, before his very eye, a twirl of black cloth from a spot in thin air, and out came himself. Again. “No!” he shouted, his hands raised in protest. “You must take the strawberry! The chocolate gelato is laced and shall cause you a week of stomach pains!”“You should still choose the chocolate one,” the second Merlin said sternly. “It is a matter of determining our fate. I chose the strawberry because that is what we’re destined for. If you want to challenge fate, you must choose the chocolate gelato.”“Fate doesn’t matter, you fool!” the third Merlin shook with frustration. “He’ll only choose the chocolate gelato because you hereby told him to! The fact that you are here now is arguably as an agent of fate! Who’s to say we weren’t destined to eat the chocolate gelato this whole time? Because I’m from the future of your future and that’s what happened. And because of it, I’ve got stomach pains.”“Wait, I really ate the chocolate gelato because of me?” the second Merlin asked, confused.“I ate the chocolate gelato because of…” the third Merlin trailed off. “Gentleman,” he calmed himself, “by the rate this is going, a fourth of one us is going to show up any time now and tell him to choose a third flavor for all we know, but he hasn’t shown up yet. That must mean he’s the wiser one out of us all.”“Aye, because he’s me,” Merlin said, grinning. “I have to thank the two of me for coming all this way, but sadly, you must return to whatever paradox you sprung from now, because I have made up my mind. I am going to eat the strawberry gelato.”“Why?” both of himself asked.“There is only the present,” Merlin preached. “You may be from the future, and to you, I, from the past, but where we all stand now, is the present, and the two of you being here is proof enough of that.”Merlin turned to the purple-robed gentleman.“That is what this whole affair was about, yes, Master Blaise?”“You tell me, apprentice – or should I say apprentices,” he chuckled.“I’ve been blessed with prophecies, glimpses into my own future too, and because of it, I’ve often wondered whether I could change them somehow, hoping I might one day unlock the cosmic fathoms of chronomancy that would provide me with the means. But that isn’t what chronomancy is for. Chronomancy is the freedom to roam spacetime, and when you have that kind of power, it becomes redundant to fixate on past mistakes or to exploit your freedom for a ‘better’ future, one you will only get to live once you get there.“Though I’ve seen what’s to come in a hundred and twenty years, as well as hundred and twenty years after that, the truth is, I’m not there yet. And for that, I raise a toast: To living in the moment, because in the moment, I would like nothing more than to have some strawberry gelato.”

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

1904: The Sole Survivor

The Cathedral School, Llandaff

Winner of the Years 7, 8 & 9 category

A stone silent canary stood on top of the plinth on the memorial, overlooking our town, which
listed the names of 44 men killed in the Greenhill Pit explosion, but my great-grandfather’s name was missing.I looked at the list of places my grandfather had written in his delicate handwriting. I crossed off ‘memorial’. Fat rain drops started to fall from the sky, perfect, I thought, this school project was turning out to be a real bore. We all had to research something from our family history, but in my family, there were no war heroes, explorers or footballers. But my grandfather had sent me on a quest, his list had so far sent me to the library, the chapel, and the memorial. Now I looked at the next place on his list, this time instead of a placename he had sketched a small map. I trudged off, pulling up my hood against the rain.After hours of climbing, I finally arrived at the X that was shown on the map. I was surrounded by verdant valleys; the view was breathtaking. Weirdly, the X on the map matched a strange etching on the wall of the rocky hill above a cave behind rotten planks. I took in the scenery once more before cramming my body in between the planks, switching on the torch on my phone before plunging into the darkness.I realised very quickly that this was an old mine and I regretted not charging my phone. In the dimming light of my phone I could make out rusted pickaxes, charred TNT boxes and cobwebs everywhere.Everything went dark. My phone battery had died. I felt my way around, brushing my hands on the slimy walls taking careful steps. Suddenly, I stumbled, and fell onto the cold ground. As I lifted myself off the ground a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea hit me.There was an oxidised lift in the shadows. I stepped into the dilapidated lift As I descended, a cool draught of air whipped up my spine. I heard strange sounds like boots on rocks, creaking, shifting timber and amplified breathing. I thought I was alone. Suddenly, the lights illuminate the dank mineshaft, and someone was already waiting at the foot of the lift, holding a wheelbarrow filled with coal.“Oi, who are ya?” Wheelbarrow person grunted out.“I’m Rhys”“New ‘ere ain't ya? Follow Old Rhys, NOW”The air was thick and tasted of sweat and cold rock. Something strange was happening. Glancing around I saw the men and boys were all dressed very differently, no-one was wearing jeans and definitely no-one was wearing Nikes! The TNT boxes were filled with hundreds of waxy sticks of dynamite.Old Rhys looked like someone I had met before, but I couldn’t place him. It was weird that he had the same name as me.“What's the canary for?” I asked, spotting a cage with a yellow bird inside.“Us miners ‘ere don’t know when the gases get too strong, so we take a canary down with us. If it dies, we know it's time to get out.”, He replied in a gruff tone. “Your job is to stand here and watch that canary. The minute it looks a bit ill you yell.”He walked off, leaving me and the canary in the flickering lamplight.Several hours passed. Suddenly I realised something had changed: the bird’s chirping had stopped. It was struggling to breathe. I had to warn them. I ran through the tunnels grabbing old Rhys by the sleeve. I couldn’t breathe or shout, but I pulled him to the lift as fast as I could. He seemed quite heavy, in shock, before he realised what was happening. As the lift ascended, I heard a man shout ‘FIRING’ and the deadly hiss of the dynamite fuse.The lift was climbing metre by metre. There was an almighty BANG. Below, I saw the tunnel engulfed in a bright fireball. The ceiling started to cave in. The lift kept climbing, just escaping the brunt of the flame. We stumbled out and I'd never felt so glad it was still raining. I turned around to check on old Rhys but all I saw was those rotten planks in the same place and the same X etched into them.I started walking back down the hill trying to figure out what had just happened. Had I just bumped my head and fell out of consciousness? I put one hand in my pocket and the other to my head.I pulled out the list and from the envelope fell a sepia photograph, it was the face of a man, Old Rhys. I turned over the picture and on the back was written in my grandfather’s delicate handwriting:‘Rhys Davies, your great grandfather, sole survivor of the Greenhill Pit tragedy, 1904’.

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

Cure from the future

Edgeborough School

Runner up in the Years 7, 8 & 9 category

It was just another hot, dry, sweaty day on the coast of Cornwall, but for me, today was another day that I might lose one of the most important people in my life: My mum. Everyone keeps telling me that she will recover from the cancer, eventually. Obviously, I don’t believe this anymore. These comments only get my hopes up, so I’ve learned to tune them out. It would be a miracle if she ever recovered. Of course, me and Dad did visit her, occasionally. However, over the years, the trips that we have made to the hospital have got less and less frequent, and one day, I suppose they’ll stop altogether. I don’t remember exactly when my mum first got cancer. All I can recall is ‘that day.’ The day she left home and never came back. I guess I’ll never know what I missed in that phonics lesson on the second day of reception.***I was welcomed into the hospital with sound of beeping machines and crying children. It smelt horrible, like someone had tried to clean but hadn’t quite managed to get the aroma of vomit, blood and grime out of the atmosphere. I had no idea how anyone managed to live there, especially sick people, who are meant to be in the hospital to get better. I lost dad about ten times among the sea of wheelchairs, bawling babies, and old men frantically waving their walking sticks around. I was extremely overwhelmed with it all. I was only four at the time and didn’t really understand what was going on. The state Dad was in however, was another story. He was sweating like a pitcher full of ice water and he was breathing so deeply that you could probably have heard him on the other side of the hospital.When we finally made it to Mum’s ward, Dad started sobbing like a newborn baby. I stood in the doorway, staring at mum. She looked fine on the outside, but I could tell that something was wrong. I sprinted over to her hospital bed, and she pulled me into an embrace.
“What’s going on?” I asked apprehensively.
“Darling, I’m going to be staying here for quite a while.”
“Why, mummy?”
“Mummy’s ill sweetheart. I have to stay here so the doctors can make sure I get better.
“You will get better though, right?”
“Of course I will. I guarantee it.”***Tears pricked my eyes and I thought about how different my life would be without her. Although, I suppose knowing that she was gone was better than waiting for her to go. There wasn’t much hope left on my part.I knew that I had to clear my head and there was only one place for that. Walsgate Cave. It wasn’t much of a cave, more like a chink in the side of a cliff, barely the size of my bedroom in our cosy cottage on the coast. It was small, dark and damp but something about it calmed me. I could lay down on the sand for hours listening to the gentle crash of the waves and the screeching seagulls. However, when I entered the cave today, I noticed something unusual. There was a small alarm clock carefully placed on top of one of the piles of rocks. The cave was completely abandoned, and I had never seen anyone in here except myself, so I was extremely taken aback when I saw this clock in such good condition.I immediately noticed that the time on the clock was terribly wrong, so I proceeded to correct it. I glanced at my watch: exactly midday. I slowly turned the knob on the back of the clock until every hand was pointing at twelve. The ground started shaking. Was there an earthquake? Hundreds of tiny rocks were being flung all around the cave. What was happening? All went black.I unwillingly opened my eyes and observed my surroundings. I was on the floor, in a cold sweat, shaking.
“What happened?” I groaned.
I sluggishly walked out onto the beach and headed back to my house, but when I got there, it was gone! Had I taken the wrong path or something? I thought that maybe Dad was at the hospital, so I headed there instead. Luckily, I knew the way there, and didn’t get lost again.When I walked through the double doors, I noticed that it looked different. Cleaner and nicer. I walked up to the front desk and asked to see my mum, but the lady there said that there hadn’t been a Fiona Solace at the hospital for 120 years.
“What year is it?” I asked shakily.
“It’s 2144 dear, why do you ask?”
“No reason. One more question. Is there a cure for cancer yet?”
“Of course there is, invented by the amazing Dr Paislee Solace.”
“Me?” I whispered under my breath.

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

The Demons Of Yesterday

Grange School

Runner up in the Years 7, 8 & 9 category

My ears perked up at the sharp buzzing sound echoing through the mountains and over the swaying sakura trees. I knew this was a bad idea. How had Chiyo even managed to convince me to do this? It was past midnight, and the only things I had with me were my nearly-dead phone and a half-eaten box of Pocky. What had I gotten myself into?As we ascended the mountain, the buzzing grew louder, and the temperature dropped. With each step, the air grew colder and more oppressive. We struggled to find proper footing, slipping a few times. Suddenly, something caught my eye. I turned to see a large, dark opening on the side of the mountain. I paused to analyze my surroundings, closing my eyes and listening attentively for any sound. But before I could think, Chiyo grabbed my wrist and dragged us both into the dark cave.I switched on my flashlight and scanned the area, studying the inscriptions on the walls.
One inscription stood out; it read, “別のタイムラインへの旅,” which translates to “A journey to another timeline.” I was confused. A journey to another timeline? In Mizukaze City, it could mean anything. I looked around again and noticed another inscription further up the wall, partially obscured by a thick layer of dust, suggesting it had been there for a long time. As I wiped away the dust, the inscription revealed itself: "選ばれし 者のみ," translated to "Only the chosen ones." The message sent a chill down my spine. What did it mean? Who were the chosen ones, and why were we here?As we ventured deeper into the cave, the air grew colder, and the oppressive atmosphere intensified, as if the very rock around us was trying to keep us out. Chiyo seemed unfazed, his determination unwavering as he led the way with a confidence I couldn't muster. The walls of the cave were rough and uneven, with jagged rocks jutting out at odd angles. The floor was littered with loose stones, making each step treacherous. I stumbled several times, grateful for Chiyo's steadying hand.The buzzing sound that had drawn us here was now a deafening roar, echoing off the cave walls and sending shivers through my bones. It was disorienting, making it difficult to focus on anything else. As we pressed on, the cave began to narrow, squeezing us into a tight passage barely wide enough to walk through. The air grew thick with dust, making it hard to breathe. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of the unknown pressing down on me.Finally, we emerged into a large chamber, the source of the buzzing revealed to be a massive metal hive hanging from the ceiling. Thousands of bats swarmed around us, their flapping wings filling the air with a deafening cacophony. Chiyo seemed unconcerned, his gaze fixed on something at the far end of the chamber. I followed his gaze and saw it: a shimmering portal, hovering in mid-air like a rip in reality itself. The inscription on the wall suddenly made sense. We had stumbled upon a gateway to another timeline, and somehow, we were the ones destined to pass through it.A white light flashed before my eyes, and two sentences appeared, floating in thin air. One sentence bright red, and the other one a deep shade of blue.
The first one read; “現 在から未来へ120年,” “From the present to the future, 120 years.”
And the other one; “現 在から過去へ120年,” “From the present to the past, 120 years.”
Before I could think, Chiyo rushed up from behind me and through the portal. Then it began to glow red. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to go in there, but I couldn’t just abandon Chiyo. He was my best friend. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and ran through the portal as fast as I could. I felt an electric current through my bones, running from my head to my toes.I opened my eyes and gazed around the area, squinting from the bright light. It took me a while to notice, but then I realized; there was something different about this place. The falling leaves on the sakura trees were blood red, and the people were dressed in all-white clothing, a few of them stained in what looked like blood. The people looked frightened.I tried to communicate with several of them, asking them if they had seen Chiyo and why they were so frightened. But they spoke a dialect of Japanese that I couldn’t understand. The only word I could understand was “悪魔,” a word that had followed me around since the beginning of time. “Demon,” I repeated the word in my head over and over again, twisting and turning through the winding pathways, keeping my eyes peeled in hopes of spotting Chiyo.Suddenly, I couldn’t walk anymore.
I could barely even stand.
The world went black. And the buzzing sound continued

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

Seed of Life

Solefield School

Winner of the Years 5 & 6 category

I looked around and debated my chances. Others were already scurrying around frantically, trying to find a good hiding spot, when I saw a small entrance of a cavern hidden between two roots of a nearby tree. I left my hiding spot and cautiously shuffled over to the entrance. I heard a twig snap: Peter was near. I took a deep breath before squeezing myself through the small opening.Thump! My body crashed into the hard, stony floor. Anxious, I stood up to see a small amount of light protruding from the hole in the ceiling of the cavern. I suddenly noticed a jumble of pipes and wires in the corner of the room with two doors. I walked closer to investigate. One door was made of dark oak and outlined by black nails. The handle was made of intricately carved gold. The other door was perfectly white and had LED lights rimmed around the edge. I noticed the two signs above them - 120 years into the past and the other 120 years into the future.My mind raced; I could uncover the mysteries of the past or discover the fate of our world. I slowly and uncertainly walked towards the blinding white door. As it slid back, mist bellowed out of the top of the contraption. I was staring into an endless void, very similar to the sea, but swirling around in a hypnotic way. I took a confident step forward.My body warped through reality and the matter in myself became one with the universe, as I broke through the barrier of time and space, cascading into the future, or now the present.In an instant, I was lying spread eagled on the floor of the cavern. I looked up and mantled through back up the bunny hole. I looked around in horror at the barren wasteland. Huge mountains covered the earth, lava spewing out of them. Ash covered the ground like a thick blanket and the sky was no longer lit up by the sun.As I walked around in this hellish place, I thought of how this could be prevented. If I went back to my time, I could warn people but who would believe an 11-year-old boy like me? The fate of this world could not be prevented. Walking back to the hole, to go back to the present, or maybe past, I realized there was something hard in my shoe. I ripped my shoe off and shook it, and saw a small seed fall onto the ground.Suddenly it sprouted. It was like time was sped up here. I watched in awe as the sprout grew into a sapling, then into a small tree. Within seconds, a majestic willow tree was towering over me. Lush grass was spreading from the roots of the tree, like a ripple effect when you throw a stone into the water. Before I knew it, I was looking at verdant fields and many more trees, growing as far as I could see. Something was still missing. Looking up towards the barren, grey sky, I felt warmth on my neck. I turned around to see the majestic fireball that burns out evil and fills our world with light.I gazed around in wonder as I heard birds chirping again. I wondered why the world had turned barren. At that moment, it came to me. Our race had ruined earth and God had wiped us out, knowing that someday a small seed of time would repopulate the earth. The world would be restored to its vivid self.This was Earth’s second chance, but this time without humans.Suddenly, a loud booming voice echoed through the meadow and body suddenly weaved through time and space. I landed with a crash on the stony cave floor. I could hear footsteps above me and Peter shouting my name in concern. I turned around to take one last look at the time machine, but it was gone.I heaved myself out of the cave once again and walked over to Peter. When he noticed me, he turned around and stated, "Sirius, you won the game!’’ As he said that, I silently muttered to myself, “I did a lot more than win.”

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

Fatal Mistakes

King's College, Bangkok

Runner up in the Years 5 & 6 category

Date: 16 April 2144
Time: 08:58 AM
Location: USAThey’re coming.
I can’t runThese were my thoughts before reaching my hand out for the machine before me. My sweaty hand trembled as I touched the knob. My hand clasped the handle and I felt the urge to pull the lever. I couldn’t resist it.They were advancing.My heart stopped momentarily as a memory came to my head…120 years ago in the year 2024, my great grandfather, Dr. Robert Sanchez, was the scientist
who experimented with a virus that rapidly mutated and got out of control. Those infected by the virus will succumb to an excruciating death. Their skin would turn ashen in 3 hours due to decomposition. We weren't able to help them. The virus swiftly mutated to take control of the soulless bodies. The corpse will then be reborn into a gruesome life. These beings will assault and infect other people. They would only target humans as animals couldn’t be infected. They were called Zombies, the living dead and the fallen servants of the virus.If only I could go back in time and save humankind. It was my great grandfather who was the cause of this, therefore, it is my burden to change the course of history.Coming back to my senses I smelled the rotten, abysmal scent of the progressing zombies. I
looked down at the time machine my family had kept secret for so long. This was my family’s
heirloom. On the panel was a clock with two options. One, to go back 120 years into the past
and another to go 120 years into the future. I clicked the button to go back into the past and
pulled the lever, traveling into the endless void of time. BLAM! There was a blast of frosty
bone-chilling wind that pierced me as I was knocked back by the jolt of the vehicle. A flash of blinding light startled me and I started to regret my decision. This machine can only be used once, so I know I won’t be returning to the present.Date: 16 April 2024
Time: 08:58 AM
Location: USAThe vehicle stopped. Darkness surrounded me, I was in the cave. Springing into action, I quickly ran out and saw it. There sat the laboratory. Not wrecked. Not burnt. Not even with a scratch on it. I felt relieved. The time machine worked! Maybe there's still a chance of saving humankind! The thought came to my head as a warm spark of confidence lit up inside me. I was ready to stop the creation of zombies. Full of confidence, I opened the heavy metal door, hoping for coolness since there was none this morning. I received more than I had wished for. It was absolutely freezing! Realizing exactly what it was, I was petrified and uncontrollably shocked. It was a morgue.Looking at all the name tags stuck to the freezers, I realized these were the most dangerous criminals of the time. They were the test subjects of the virus. Triggered by this inhumane act I stormed out of the morgue then found another door, which led to the experiment room. In the middle was a metal bed, luckily, it was still unused. Next to it was a trolly with 5 syringes and a flask containing black liquid. The flask was labeled V-8264. This was it. The original virus.“Who goes there?” shouted a guard.NO! I thought, I couldn't be caught this quickly. I grabbed the flask and was going to burn the virus. I bolted for the door but the guard was already there. He tried to grab the flask but I struck him in the stomach. He collapsed. As I was going to run, he grabbed my ankle, tripping me. The flask flew out of my hand as I watched helplessly. It spun in the air and CRACK! The flask broke as it smashed my chest.I had made a fatal mistake. I became the first zombie

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

The Dwellers

Blackheath Prep

Runner up in the Years 5 & 6 category

Ben was fatigued. His weak and frail body ached all over. It had been four days since he had last eaten. He was on the run and was sure he was going to die.Ben was an orphan, and the orphanage is where he called home. He was a sickly child who was bullied often. He knew he needed to escape that dreadful place, start afresh, far, far away.Getting out of the dilapidated orphanage was simple, security wasn’t a priority. Cautiously, after lights out he’d climbed through a broken window and jumped down onto the grass below with a relatively soft landing.A light flickered, and he heard a faint clammer in the distance. Ben ran for his life, suddenly realising he had no food or water. Foolish he thought but an urge for freedom drove him on.At his wits end, no provisions, nowhere to go, Ben wondered why he’d been so reckless, after a few days he felt doomed.Unexpectedly, late one night something flashed and caught his eye. It appeared metallic. Steadily, he crept towards the mysterious object. He thought he was hallucinating.Curiosity got the better of him however, and he entered the machine.It was magnificent! Cogs and wheels spinning around inside a pure white, futuristic mechanical structure. Marvelling at the complexity, a striking voice shocked him:“Ben. You have had a challenging life. You deserve more. You have two options. Travel 120 years into the past or zoom 120 years into the future."It’s a time machine! Ben’s frail body was trembling. He had no place in this world. He always dreamed of going to the future and had imagined what it would be like. The choice was easy for him.“Take me to the future please!” Ben said nervously.Abruptly, a door slammed behind him, and the hefty contraption began to shudder. Crack! Bang! A great flash of bright light, and then everything was ominously still. It was as if the world had ended. Ben began to lose consciousness.Coming to his senses, he saw he was in a muddy plain. He was panicked by a poisonous smoke that was drifting up. Ben cried out in fear like a banshee.
“Hey! What’s your name?” Boomed a deep distant voice.“Ben.” He whispered, obviously afraid.“Ben?” The voice exclaimed.“Come with me to the haven, where you can explain what you are doing out here. It’s not safe.” The voice ordered.“What is the Haven?” Ben asked.“Come.” Concluded the voice.Ben saw that there was no point resisting and followed the voice to the ‘Haven.’They entered a large underground dome with the most advanced technology Ben had ever imagined. This must be the Haven, he thought. Amazingly, and to his total surprise inside the dome there were ordinary people. A society, people walking around, chatting, and laughing. Ben was shocked. From what he’d seen outside he thought humanity had ended, and those that had survived would be struggling to survive! They however appeared to be prospering!“Come to the meeting room!” said the voice, which in the light was shown to come from a man, with a warm smile.“OK.” Ben said, reflecting a smile back.Over the next few hours Ben learned that that a meteor had slammed into the earth in 2032, obliterating almost all life on the surface. Fortunately, there’d been time to prepare; scientists, engineers, doctors, and other important people had been sent to underground vaults where they spent 50 years in stasis waiting for conditions to improve.Now Ben found himself in the society that they had begun to rebuild, the dwellers, as they called themselves. Sadly, they had lost much of the history of the world from before, and Ben realised that this was now his purpose. To teach them about his world, and to learn more about theirs.This was it, he thought. Finally, somewhere I belong

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

Never Forget the Elephants

Cumnor House Girl's School

Winner of the Years 3 & 4 category

The scorching savannah rocked back and forth, blown by the ruthless wind. The crisp grass danced wildly. From our Jeep, I saw a majestic but seemingly sombre creature stumbling around by itself. Something was wrong. Experts might say it’s impossible, but I swear I saw a tear running down that elephant’s cheek.“Just over 100 years ago there was a tribe called the Waka Pichu that poached the African Forest Elephants for their valuable ivory tusks. Now, only one elephant remains.” explained our guide.As I stepped out to get some fresh air, I caught sight of a gargantuan cave; it had a miniscule entrance that you could easily have missed but it caught my eye and I felt drawn to it. Once inside, I feasted my eyes on towering piles of shimmering gold, illuminating the mysterious cave. I filled my pockets to the brim; I was rich! I rummaged excitedly through the greatest array of treasures to have been discovered since Aladdin’s cave. Suddenly, I chanced upon a peculiar looking, rusty alarm clock. I decided to press ‘Play’…“You have two options,” a booming voice bellowed. “You may either travel 120 years into the past or 120 years into the future. Choose wisely…”Instinctively I wanted to choose the future; I had always thought it would be so cool to travel forward in time. But then the image of the sorrowful elephant flashed across my mind, and I realised by going back 120 years I could save the elephants! As I pressed the rewind button, my heart skipped not one, but two beats. With a hurling puff of smoke and the blink of an eye, I was outside the cave again, but the atmosphere had transformed. I could hear hypnotic chanting and I nervously followed the sounds.“Excuse me, do you know where the Waka Pichu tribe is?” I asked bravely.A man with a surprisingly friendly demeanour (for someone with such a tall and powerful stature) came forward and told me they were the Waka Pichu tribe and asked me how they could help. As I contemplated my next move, I noticed the gaunt and wailing children longing for food and it dawned on me why they needed the ivory; the Waka Pichu were poor.At that moment, an idea hit me like a large hail stone. What if I could give them something more valuable than ivory so they wouldn’t need to poach the elephants? The only thing I had to trade was the gold but that was for me! Once again, my mind replayed the elephant’s lonely face, and I knew what I had to do. My pockets and heart were both feeling lighter as I returned to the time machine and said a quick prayer for the elephants to be saved.When I got back the sun was shining gleefully, and the African Forest Elephants were thudding around freely. Mission accomplished! Suddenly, I felt a playful tickle and an elephant’s trunk was stroking my back. It was almost as if he knew I had saved him! I guess what they say is true: an elephant never forgets!I reached back into my pocket and pulled out a glistening gold necklace…you didn’t think I would give all of it away, did you?

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

The Only One Left

High March

Runner up in the Years 3 & 4 category

"Backwards" or "Forwards" it said on the glittering dial."Does it really mean backwards or forwards in time? That can't be true. Anyway, even if it is, I'm getting out of here!" Lettice thought to herself.From the outside, it had looked like an ordinary rocky cave but inside, colours took over the cave like a whole new world of imagination. It looked like paint, but Lettice
knew it couldn't be because this was a time machine that she had discovered during her walk along the cold autumn beach.Lettice slowly backed away from the dial, trying to get out of the time machine. But what she didn't see was the slippery rock that her foot landed on. Whoosh! She slid
backwards, her foot kicking the lever to "Forwards".Lettice's eyes popped open. She was lying on the ground. She crawled towards the entrance of the cave and peered out. "Where am I?" she said, worried. All she could see were trembling volcanoes, grey treeless mountains, and giant cracks in the ground. And strangest of all - no people. Suddenly, a dinosaur emerged from behind a boulder. It took one look at Lettice and started clomping towards her. She started to run, her muddy trainers squelching in the earth. Lettice realised that she couldn't outrun the dinosaur so she clambered into a ditch and scrunched herself into a ball.She could hear her heart thumping in her chest but no sign of the dinosaur. After about ten minutes, she started to feel relieved but her happiness faded when the dinosaur's humungous head peered at her."What are you doing?" said the dinosaur in a sassy tone of voice."I'm hiding from you!" said Lettice, surprised. "No offence", Lettice added."Offence taken," said the dinosaur."Anyway, how can you talk? I didn't know dinosaurs could talk.""They can't. But I'm a robot.""A robot? What? Where am I? What year is it?" asked Lettice."It's 2144, obvs!" said the dinosaur."That would mean I'm 129 years old!" exclaimed Lettice. "Have you seen my mum?”"No" said the dinosaur. "There are no people here.""Why not?""The robots took over the world a hundred years ago."Lettice felt devastated. She couldn't believe the words that had just come out of the dinosaur's mouth. Tears dripped down her cheeks. The dinosaur took his hand and stroked her hair gently."Wait!" she shouted. "I've got to warn everyone.""I can't let you do that," growled the dinosaur, fiercely. Lettice knew that she had to get to the cave and into the time machine."Hey, isn't that an ice cream van?" said Lettice, pointing behind the dinosaur.The dinosaur turned and Lettice began to run. She could see the cave, a tiny grey dot in the distance. Running as fast as she could, she kept her eyes on the cave and didn't look back at the dinosaur, which had just realised she had escaped.The dinosaur was catching up with every booming step he took. Lettice reached the cave, but when she looked inside, her jaw fell open...The time machine was gone.

• Click to read more of the commended stories

Commended stories

The Secret of a National Heritage

Pembridge Hall School

Runner up in the Years 3 & 4 category

Emma hadn’t meant to wander into the mysterious cave. She’d just been bored waiting for her dad to come back with the Stonehenge tickets, and her mum and brother to return from the gift shop. She squinted at the big black metal clock on the ground in front of her. It had two buttons, one black and one blue. The black one said, ‘Travel 120 years into the past’, and the blue one said, ‘Travel 120 years into the future’. She immediately pressed the black button, and there was a flash of light, and then darkness, and then broad, bright daylight.Emma ambled out of the cave. She could smell fresh grass, and it was strangely quiet. She couldn’t see any tourists, and the barriers had vanished. But without any hesitation, she recognised the place. It was still Stonehenge! She subtracted 120 from 2024 and realised it must be 1904. It must have been a real time machine! She saw a smartly dressed man in a tweed suit with a waistcoat and tie, and a bushy brown moustache. He saw her and held his hand out.‘Cecil Chubb,’ he said, shaking her hand.‘I’m Emma Jones,’ she replied.‘Are you visiting the Antrobus family too?’ he asked.‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m a tourist. Who are the Antrobus family?’‘You’re not allowed here,’ he said.
‘The family doesn’t allow tourists at the moment.’‘What do you mean?’ said Emma.
‘Everybody’s allowed to visit Stonehenge. It belongs to the nation, and to English Heritage.’‘Ah no, Stonehenge belongs to the Antrobus family, not to the nation, or to English Heritage,’ he said.‘Who or what is English Heritage, anyway? I have never heard about them, young lady.’‘It cares for England’s historic sites and allows us to visit them,’ said Emma.‘Well, it sounds a good idea to me,’ he replied, ‘because the Antrobus family just lets people chisel and destroy the stones.’ He pointed to the great, noble stones. Emma saw fresh marks on them where they had been chipped away.‘Look, those ones are almost falling over,’ he added, pointing to some that had been propped up with wooden planks. Emma gasped. Her blood went cold.‘Someone must do something!’ she exclaimed.‘I agree,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think the Antrobus family want to give it to the nation.’‘Then someone good-hearted like you should buy Stonehenge from them, and give it to the nation yourself,’ she said boldly.‘You have a point, my dear young lady,’ he said warmly. ‘Thank you for convincing me. Well, goodbye Emma, and please do call me Cecil.’‘Goodbye Cecil,’ she said, and ran like the wind to the cave.When she reached the time machine, she looked back once more at the stones, and pressed the blue button. She saw a flash of light, then darkness, then broad, bright daylight once again. As she walked out of the cave to rejoin her family, she passed a big information sign with the history of Stonehenge on it. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a black and white photograph of a familiar face, with a familiar bushy brown moustache. She smiled to herself and walked back towards her family.

• Click to read more of the commended stories