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RUNNER-UP - Suzie Francis Age 13
St Benedicts Catholic School
Suzie says: “I based my story from what truly happens in this society, and believe it may be important to try and get across how the protagonist might feel in their situation.
I have been quietly pumped to get the place I did. Credits to my school’s librarian for encouraging me to enter and a well done to all those who entered.”
Peggy Hughes, judge of 11-13 category says: ‘This is a powerful piece by a young writer, a really impressive, imaginative act of empathy on display here, and a striking subversion on the theme. I think we can absolutely feel the chill evoked here, the aloneness of the protagonist. Some dazzling images, among the stand outs for me - 'A pool of ink. Stars falling down on me.' 'past all the families and friends and all the reminders of my sorrow'. A hopeful ending, but this story is a stark reminder of the inequalities that exist on our doorsteps, and of our collective responsibility to be kind. Well done!’
Beyond My Front Door
by Suzie Francis, Age 13
It was Christmas eve, another reminder that I was all alone, no friends, no family. I was settled on a big piece of cardboard next to a house and a streetlight. I was on a hill but it wasn’t too steep because I could stay upright. It was snowing, it was cold, so cold I thought my arm might fall off. At least it wasn’t raining but the snow was still heavy and made my cardboard soft and damp. I wasn’t in a city or anything, just a big town. It was late afternoon, and everyone was getting ready for church except me. I was still going but it wasn’t like I had anything to change into. I had nothing, not even a watch or a phone or anything you would be expected to have. That’s why I relied on other people to know when to do things.
The door opened. The family in the house I was leaning on came out. A mother, father, two boys, three girls. They were all dressed up and they had religious jewellery which helped me figure that they were going to church. I got up, balanced my cardboard against the wall, wiped the snow off my thick leather jacket and made my way to church. As I made my way into church, past all the families and friends and all the reminders of my sorrow, I found a bench at the back of the church where I could sit at the warmth of the radiator. Everyone either sat on a different bench or stood up. No one wanted to sit next to the smelly homeless person.
I am Catholic, I believe in God, but it’s hard for me to believe in miracles. All I can do is hope for one. I was only really at church for a warm shelter and the tea and biscuits they offer us at the end of mass. After the priest ended the mass and the long talk on why love is important, I made my way into the food hall (which was also a place for homeless people to eat breakfast in the morning). I found myself in a room full of food. It felt like heaven just looking at it. After I was ready to unstick my eyes from it, I got ready to dig in. But that was before I was stopped by a seemingly rich woman. “You can’t be here,” she said firmly. “Why?” I asked with a shaky voice. “This is an event for people who have been invited.” I said nothing. I just left.
My day couldn’t get any worse, or so I thought. Better not jinx it, I guess. I lay myself back down, beside the wall with my damp cardboard. At least the snow was soft, soft but bitter cold. I looked up at the pitch-black sky. A pool of ink. Stars falling down on me. Tears fell down my face as I looked through the window to see a family having fun, playing games, eating dinner. Too many reminders I thought to myself. I get the point. I’M ALONE.
My world turned to black. My mother’s figure came into sight. A Christmas tree, my dad, the living room. She was passing me a present. I hastily opened the wrapping paper. I opened the box inside and found a keyring with a picture of all of us in a small frame. She smiled at me; I smiled back. Just as I was about to hug her, my world turned black once more. I woke up. Tears frozen on my face. I look back into the window; they were getting ready for bed, hanging their stockings over the fireplace. The children made their way to bed, rosy cheeks and happy faces. I could hear their mother singing Christmas songs as they lay in bed. My mother did too. For a moment, just a moment, I smiled. I closed my eyes, back to the wall, snow on my hair. I smelt that wonderful Christmas air.
The mother came out of the house, she gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. I thanked her and she left. A bird came, swooped down and rested on the small space left on my cardboard. I didn’t flinch. The bird looked at me with ease, then looked at my cookie. I gave the bird half. We sat there, watching the cars go by until there were none left because it was Christmas eve after all. Everyone sleeping, some awake hoping to see Santa and his reindeer.
I don’t believe in miracles, but I can hope for them.
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