Inspiring stories from The Yorkshire Post’s Young Writers competition

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THE YORKSHIRE POST’S Inspiring Young Writers competition has asked young people up to the age of 16 to send in their short stories.

We provided the opening line but the rest was up to them. Each story must start with: The time had come and there was no turning back.

Here is a selection of the entries we received

By Rhys Gannon, aged 10.

The time had come and there was no turning back. It was the morning of miserable Maggie’s birthday, she was about to turn 14. My devilish plan was about to come into action; the plan to spoil my horrible sister’s beautiful birthday celebrations! I’d been secretly planning my revenge for 10 months, meanwhile she’d been bossing me about, making me do things that I didn’t want to do.

It all started when Mum and Dad went out for tea and left Maggie in charge. Why? (Not a good idea!). She made me take out the disgusting bins, clean her grotesque goldfish tank and do the washing up. She was just getting started!

When Mum and Dad arrived home she boasted,“I’ve done the challenging chores Mum!” They gave her ten pounds. When I complained, Mum didn’t believe me because marvellous Maggie is so good when they’re around. Instead, I became really angry and was sent to my room for answering back whilst she stood smirking at me. UNFAIR!

The following week we both went to friend’s houses. When I returned from James’s party Maggie made me share all of my sweets yet she didn’t share any of hers after Beth’s. She’s so MEAN!

She loves embarrassing me too, especially when friends are here. For example, when Will came over, we all went to Water World. She shouted as loud as she could “It’s a shame you can’t go on the water slide, because you are only nine and not ten Charlie,”

Then I wasn’t allowed on. I WONDER WHY? We also went to the fun fair where she volunteered me for the dunker. I GOT SOAKED! I was as wet as a saturated sponge.

Finally, the worst one, she held me down and put make up on me. She took a picture and put it on Facebook. THATS HARSH!

She is just making my life a living hell! She truly is the meanest human on earth! It wasn’t always like this. We used to do so many things together on numerous occasions, she used to play games with me and read to me every night. Maggie and I shared so much joy. I can distinctly remember the time one sunny morning, when we went to Lake Windermere, with our friends on holiday. The scenery was picturesque. The water shimmered, the view was wonderful and clear. You could see the mountains from miles away, even the British weather was good (very surprising). After walking round the lake we watched an exciting boat race. Near the end of the boat race I ran forwards and pushed to the front of the crowd. Suddenly I lost my balance and tripped off the pier, plunging into the icy cold lake. My head submerged, it was like entering the underworld, so scary, silent and dark. I waved my arms in desperation as I couldn’t swim. Mum and Dad rushed to try and get through to me, but my sister had already dived in and pushed me out from below. It was such a relief, I thought I would drown. Afterwards, she gave me a hug and a cup of hot chocolate. Then we laughed about it. This was when she loved me of course. Not any more. She’s gone from magnificent Maggie to moody Maggie, from super sister to sloppy sister, from stupendous sister to stupid sister. She was as sweet as a bon bon and now she’s as rotten an egg!

No, enough was enough, it was time for revenge! Over time I concocted a devious plan.

I got my shopping list ready and some terrible and unexpected presents!

Stink bomb (to go inside disco ball). CHECK!

Super Glue (to go on chairs). CHECK!

Voucher for birthday card. Volunteer Maggie to help out in an old peoples home! CHECK!

Make up (melts after 30 minutes and goes black). CHECK!

Whoopee cushions (to go under her bed for sleep over).CHECK!

Hot chilli sweets (to go on guest tables).CHECK!

Mustard ( to go in the cake mixture).CHECK!

Paintball gun to splat other people (her friends and parents). CHECK!

It’s time to PARTY! It is the day of Maggie’s birthday and I have given her the make up and she was thrilled. I also gave her a card with a voucher inside saying the address of the old peoples home. I said it is a new theme park. She put her make up on 30 minutes before the party. Can’t wait to see the look, and colour of her face at the end!

So, the cake is made (Mum didn’t see me add the mustard), the seats and sweets are out and the guests are about to arrive. I am hiding, armed and dangerous with the paintball gun ready to set off the stink bomb! Deep breath here we go!

The Past is the Past by Kizzy Walsh. Leeds. Aged 11.

The time had come. There was no turning back. I walked shyly into the hospital ward, something that must have looked odd with my tall, burly physique. I felt the weight of guilt threatening to break my shoulders as I looked at her lying there in the bed.

She looked so frail, her face a greyish pallor, the bump of bandages around her waist. It was my entire fault.

“Hi.” She smiles at me, which makes me feel worse. She doesn’t hate me, I think. Silently, I offer her the roses I brought her. We have a quiet conversation. I apologise over and over and she waves it off good-naturedly. This girl is amazing.

All the time while we talk, I remember that blasted day when it happened. Why am I such an idiot?

Me and the gang walk slowly down the street. I’ve had a particularly bad day. Mrs McSmith will kill me when I get home, but I don’t plan on being home any time soon… there’s that idiot boy in the year below mine, walking across the street, the one I pick on.

Excellent. Something to vent my anger on.

“Hey Johnson… where do you think you’re going?”

“Has school set me any homework today?” she inquired.

“Of course not! You’re in hospital, they’d be mad to give you homework. “

“It’s boring here though. My highlights of the day have been blood tests!”

“That’s why I’m here. For you. Well, so you’re not bored… and to say sorry.”

She smiled at me and tried to sit up, but shuddered and lay down again. She saw my face.

“Don’t feel bad, Studs. You did nothing wrong.”

I shook my head. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be like this, so just stop. Please.”

Johnson takes one glance at us, screams and tries to scram, but we’re too fast for him. We

catch up. But then, Johnson takes us by surprise. He reaches into his bag and shakily draws out … a pistol. But I snatch it from him easily. Now he’s under the aim of the trigger.

“Have my friends said anything about me?” she looked at me, her voice breaking me away from my haunting reverie.

I looked up and she was crying softly. We shared a smile and then she gently stretched herself. Running down her face… The tear tracks glistened as I still aimed at the stationary boy, the gang still trying to pull my arms away…

I forced the memory away. “I just really feel bad. I never meant to hurt you, and I know that you must think I’m terrible for ever even pointing a gun at someone… I always knew I’d never have a chance with you.”

“I really like you, Studs.”

…One gang member flings my arm to the right just as I pull the trigger…

I leant in and kissed her…

And, across the road the bullet hits…

I pulled away gently to look into her eyes…

…my crush, Amber Bentley…

They were glazed over…

She keels over…

And blood stained through her duvet…

I let out a blood-curdling scream…

…As I lose the only one I love…

And she lies motionless…


I scream her name…

… People dressed in white nurse uniforms rush towards us…

And the police drag me away…

…once again.

“… the one thing I want the people, her parents, friends, family, teachers or peers, to know is that I never meant to kill her.” I stand up to face the judge. “I loved her.”

And now I’m alone in my prison cell, reliving the terrible memories of the past two years.

“Hey, jack the ripper, hows it goin’?” the other criminals jeer. Because that’s my name. Jack.

Not studs, Studdy or insolent boy. Just Jack. And I murdered my only one.

By Julia Coyle aged 10. Leeds

The time had come and there was no turning back, Lucy, a small freckled girl with red hair and braces (on her oversized bunny teeth) stared up at the mammoth gates that led into her new primary school.

Lucy was moving school as her dad had been fired from his last job and felt the only chance of him getting another job would be to move to London. She knew that she was going to be the person the bullies targeted their mean things on and that she was never going to be picked for any of the sports teams she liked.

“Oh well,” thought Lucy. She walked in the school gates expecting a lot of horrible things to be thrown at her but not so. In fact all the children were walking around perfectly, without a thing out of place. All the boys were smart, wearing well ironed shirts and ties and the girls were in pretty dresses.

“My dad told me there was no uniform at this school,” Lucy thought. She looked perplexed and wondered why every child was wandering around saying exactly the same thing to each other. “Good morning” said one boy, “Good morning” said another and that same short conversation was echoing throughout the whole playground.

The loud chatting suddenly came to a halt when a teacher came outside and said “Good morning all. Would all the new children come to my room tomorrow at nine o clock?” The chatting started again but through the crowd Lucy saw another girl, who was pushing and shoving everyone out of her way to get to her.

“Excuse me. Hello. My name is Olivia. You look like you’re new.” Lucy decided she liked this Olivia girl as she seemed different to the others.

“Don’t go into that teacher’s office tomorrow” said Olivia. Lucy was confused. Why would this girl ask her not to go into a teacher’s room? “That is unless you want to turn in to one of these kids. Once you do you’ll be controlled forever. The teachers put the children under a trance so they’re always good. I was away with chickenpox on the day that I was told to go in but once I came back all my friends did was concentrate on their work and wear the same dress and suit every day. I think Ive worked out why they now leave me along and if you promise not to tell anyone then I’ll tell you later.”

The two girls sat and talked during break mainly about how the kids in the school had turned into some kind of teachers’ perfect robots.

“First of all we need to find out what type of hold the teachers have on the kids and why their parents haven’t noticed that anyting is wrong,” Olivia suggested “and it seems to be the dreaded science teacher, Mr Ramsbottom, who is at the centre of it all, herding children like sheep every week to into his room to top up their perfect marks, perfect manners and perfect uniforms.”

As the girls strolled to their next lesson they decided to peep into Mr Ramsbottom’s room first. In hindsight, they realised this was the biggest mistake they had ever made....

By Bethanie Warboys, York, aged 11

he time had come; there was no turning back… To ensure that didn’t happen, an immense stone was rolled in front of the cavern door. A cold, sharp dagger was pressed into my hand. The only sound for miles around was the constant, resounding thud of a beating heart. This was my task.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered. If she heard me, I’ll never know. Silently, I raised the dagger above my head. As it was about to pierce the skin over her heart, she uttered one short, simple word that stopped me in my tracks. She told me to remember. That one word sent me back in time, back to the time of happy childhood and further. Back in fact, to the beginning of my story. So, I’m here to tell it.

I had always been a strange child, never fitting in with the others, always being the one no-one wanted to know. Now, it was truer than ever. I cautiously got up and briefly looked around the room, my eyes lingering on a raven black haired boy in the corner. He had a face I recognised as well as my own. Then I realised; it was my own. But I wouldn’t look like that for long. He turned abruptly and stared into my face without fear, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly. A soft voice rang through the draughty room, causing the olive-toned cheeks to blush a delicate rose pink. It was the woman I was supposed to kill.

My own mother.

Elegantly, she swept into the room, caramel golden hair flying. Her bright and intelligent turquoise eyes surveyed the area; to my surprise, she did not notice me. Following her, a skittish, matted, I couldn’t stop it; it would just pass straight through me. I sat there like an idiot, staring. And there the memory ended. So did my mother’s life.

I sucked in air through invisible teeth. I didn’t need it; it just helped me focus. I had done it. I had committed my own mother: my own flesh and blood (metaphorically): to this endless torment that I too was stuck in. After glancing at her pale, lifeless body, I turned, and slipped silently through the solid rock walls…