Storytelling school

Tales in high school | About in English

A selection of short stories written by children aged 11 to 18 submitted to the SUR supplement in English Education and Learning

Students from international schools in southern Spain were invited to submit a short story of no more than 300 words on the theme of home.

Best secondary news

House

It’s January 29. 2022. 1am. I feel like I dragged rocks all the way. My mouth is dry. A deadly breeze wraps its cold fingers around me. My eyes are red and itchy. The path we walk is endless, stretching out towards a strange horizon.

Mother will not speak. She stumbles awkwardly, my baby brother, Ragi, cradled in her arms. His big eyes gaze up at the twilight sky. Dad’s ghost stings me inside: the gunshot still rings in my ears.

We left everything behind in the place I once called home: father, grandfather, grandmother, cousin Ashima. My tears are infinite misery and sadness. No! I shouldn’t cry. It will only make walking more difficult.

Our destiny is clouded and hard to see. I can only hope for what awaits us behind Iran’s borders.

The trees around us are shivering with cold. When I look down, I see that the stony ground below me is a maze of pebbles and dust.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. My legs collapse under my weight and I fall helpless. Is this the end? Is this how I leave this world? Should I leave my corpse in this barren and arid place? This range of death?

It can not be. I can’t leave Mother and Ragi alone. I slowly push my hands against the floor and get back to my feet.

I watch. Ragi’s cries revived hope in my battered body. The light of faith shines on me. The sun is rising. A new day has begun. Maybe today we will find a new home.

Nicolás Minguela Espinosa de los Monteros, 13 years oldLaude San Pedro International College

English Literature student Lily Farrant said: “This story is very moving and seems increasingly relevant given the current climate. Through very powerful descriptions, the narrator gives an account of the situation they are experiencing, without ever listing a series of events. Descriptions of the setting amplify the reader’s understanding of the characters. The rising sun gives this tale of endurance a brave and hopeful ending.

Finalist secondary short story

The train

Old noodle take-out boxes have been discarded in a corner, not large enough to store properly. The caterpillars were motionless, even though the dried leaves were jumping up and down with the wind. The sun had long since set and a dull moon was setting in for the night.

Checking my wristwatch, it was well past 8:42 p.m.

Looking up from the sidewalk, the arrival sign seemed stuck at 8:42 p.m. His train number was easy to remember: ‘2034A’. It was the only one on the board, but I double-checked her ticket. Always 8:42 p.m. I stood motionless, leaning against the crumbling brick wall.

Closing my eyes, I tried to swallow my emotions. How did I feel? Was I nervous? Or was I scared? I spent the whole day wandering around his house wondering if I was going to make the right decision. She deserved to know.

Finally, after a long moment, a monotonous female voice announced the arrival of her train and apologized for the wait. I looked around. I was the only one here, if you don’t count the little black kitten, feasting on the milkshake spilled on the cement. I thought of the 20-40 people who bought the tickets with her. They will come, and they will go. No one will greet them. No one will ask them questions about their trip. No one will take them home laughing at their stories.

Finally, the train tracks began to shake. Not a minute later, the brownish gray train stopped in front of me. It was almost empty. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tightened my grip on the soft bouquet I didn’t even realize I was holding. She finally came out. My home, my world.

Elvira Samokhvalova, 14 years oldSwans High School

English Literature student Lily Farrant said: “This story is very compelling because of the suspense that builds throughout, for example with the repeated reference to time, which prompts the reader to wonder why the narrator is so nervous. , who they are waiting for, and what they have to say. There’s impressive attention to detail, like the kitten lapping up the spilled milkshake.”

Special mention secondary short story

House

Molly didn’t really like the feeling she had when she was alone at her grandfather’s house. He was playing old music on his gramophone that she never recognized. They were apparently sacred songs of the great Andamanese tribes in India. The intense drumming and high-pitched screams sent shivers down her spine.

The whole house was filled with precious objects, carefully selected over the decades. Books, pictures and stories from around the world, now in his huge house, just lying around.

She often found herself alone in the mansion which almost looked like a castle. It was completely filled with different rooms with an extraordinary amount of decorative detail. Yet a calm, hollow, sad mood flooded her like a rain cloud, as she walked through its narrow hallways, entered colossal dining halls, strolled through packed libraries, or strolled through another large and comprehensive wine cellar. His grandfather was too proud of his extensive wine collection.

People she met told her how grateful she must be to live with her grandfather. But she didn’t really know how she felt.

After school, she explored the libraries, finding another golden gem, bringing it to her corner and reading it. She liked to suddenly live in another universe, away from home, pretending to be someone else for a while.

She liked the veranda the most because of the canopy. This way, she could gaze at the stars while falling asleep. Dreaming of infinite stars and billions of pulsating galaxies in space. It had always been something she had found fascinating. Astrology.

It was as if the stars were calling her. As if they needed her, as she needed them.

Erica Matsuda, 16 years oldSunny View School

“This story is wonderfully multi-faceted, with a moving, lost narrator yearning for a sense of belonging,” said Lily Farrant.