BritSoc Children's Writing Competition, Other Entries of Note

WHAT DID HARRY DO NEXT?

Once there was a very naughty fox called Harry. He lived in the forest. He had a coat which was a pretty orange colour mixed with red and a lovely white bushy tail. He was always bored and could never decide what to do. One spring morning as usual he wondered what to do and then for the first time in ages an idea came into his head. Very quietly he went to the other side of the forest and there was a little stream. At the side of the stream was a fat chicken picking at the grass with her beak. And what did Harry do? He howled and hid up a tree. The big fat chicken jumped out of her skin! Harry could hardly walk he was laughing so much. The sight of that chicken nearly made him choke with laughter. I told you that he was a really naughty fox. Though you probably already noticed that before. Then cheeky Harry, who had now stopped laughing, went into a hole and dug a tunnel for quite a while until he reached the end of the hole which came out in some rose bushes.

The rose bushes were in a park in the middle of a little town where there was a famous butcher who sold all kinds of meat. So many types you can not imagine! All the people who lived in the town and the villages nearby used to buy their meat at this butcher. Now people buy meat like chicken, lamb and pork but in those days people used to eat all sorts of dead animals, even horse and fox. When nobody was looking Harry crept through the open door and put himself on a shelf next to a dead lamb. One thing he was very good at was hiding himself and keeping himself still. When a fat little lady came into the shop she saw Harry, thought he would be perfect for her dinner that evening, and wanted to buy him. The Butcher lifted him off the shelf, wrapped him in paper and gave him to the lady. She paid for him. He looked so healthy and plump and with his lovely soft red coat that he was very expensive! As the fat little lady proudly carried Harry out of the shop under her arm he howled! The lady was so frightened that she dropped Harry on the grass and ran screaming down the street.

“Help, Please Help there is a real fox at the Butchers. Help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Harry chuckled to himself as he watched the plump little lady run down the road screaming. Then he walked slowly back to the hole he had dug that afternoon and went to find his way home after a lovely afternoon. So what did Harry do next? If you read my next story you can find out!

Sophie Gerritsen; age 7.

(498 words)

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What did Harry do next?

Harry was a cowboy, he was very dirty, very poor, but always fit and clever. In the desert he was riding his horse and going to a village called “Gondor”.He was a little scared, but he thought:”I have a gun so I can protect myself”.

When he arrived he went to an old saloon, so he could drink and eat and maybe have a bed. When he got all that he started bragging about digging up gold. There were twelve other cowboys who were listening to him .Then they thought to themselves to make a plan.

When they made the plan they said:”Hey you , could we order something for you?’’ Harry said “Yes please .

Thank you for asking .” So they all ordered thirteen Beers. But, before handing Harry his drink, one of them quickly put sleeping powder in his drink. They all said:”Cheers!”. And they all started drinking. After drinking Harry fell into a deep, dark sleep. He slept for twenty-four hours!

In the meantime the cowboys dug up the gold! They quickly packed it up on their horses and gallopped into the desert.

When Harry woke up he started looking for the gold. He saw a big hole in the ground and tiny bits of gold. He was very , very, very angry now!

What did Harry do next???

He had an idea. He quickly armed his horse and he himself changed into “The Black Vador of Gondor”.

He jumped onto his armed horse, he gallopped through the village, but he couldn’t find them there. So he gallopped into the desert to hunt them down. Suddenly he saw them jump off their horses. He rode towards them.

When he got there he jumped off his horse and then said:”You asked for it!” He smacked one in the winky and another one in the face . Then one by one with a turbo knock-out they flew into the bushes.

After that he said to his horse:”They are sure damn badly hurt, don’t you think!” His horse shook:”Yes” with his head. Then Harry said:”Well, we’d better get moving with the gold, so they don’t steal it again. So, hurry up, horse”.

After about five minutes his horse was stuffed and he could hardly carry all the bags. Harry came to the horse with twelve guns. The horse thought:”Oh no, I hope I don’t have to carry that too!” Harry said:”Well, we ‘ve got a long long way to go, so let’s get going.”

So Harry got onto his horse and then Harry the cowboy rode into the desert, still very dirty, but no longer poor. For the first time he felt like “I can buy anything I like!”

Ferron van Ritter; age 8.

(473 words)

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What did Harry do next?

Sitting in the lounge, Harry stared down at the letter. He didn’t know whether to open it or to continue staring into space. The latter was the choice of the moment. But I do believe I’m getting ahead of myself. You may ask yourself, “who is Harry?” and that is what I‘ll tell you.

Harry is a 14 year old boy like you and me. He lives in a two up, two down house in the middle of a town like a normal child. Part of him felt fine but the other half felt lonely and sore. You see, Harry didn’t believe he was normal. He didn’t know what was wrong with him although he knew it was connected to love and the letter was the key to his feelings.

He weighed the letter in his hands and debated with himself about whether he should open it or not. He stood up sharply, and shoved the letter behind the clock on the mantle piece. Running out of the room, he turned and slammed the door. When he heard the noise from the slam he said aloud “That won’t make me open you or the letter any faster.”

Then, he turned to the coat rack, grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, exiting from the front door and it locked behind him. He drove his hands as far down in the pockets, as far as they would go and kept walking with his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. Why did he feel like this? He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. He kept his eyes to the floor ‘till he collided with someone coming the other way. Harry felt himself fall to the ground.

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry!” A voice came from above. An arm came out to him and he grabbed it.

“It’s not your fault, really. I didn’t know where I was going.” He couldn’t sense himself talking. It was like someone else was speaking the words for him.

“Harry isn’t it?”

“Yes… and you are?”

“I’m a friend of your mum’s; I was just going to yours now.”

“She’s out at the moment, I’d come back later.”

“Thanks for telling me. Goodbye Harry.”

“Goodbye.” When the lady was out of earshot he added “Whoever you are.”

Unperturbed, he kept walking and thinking about what he was going to do next. There were really only two choices. Open the letter or don’t. It was that simple but it isn’t that easy when you are the one making the choice. This choice could affect everything about him, his feelings and his standing at the most important place in his life, school!

Right at this minute he didn’t want to open the letter. He kept walking and turned the corner at the end of the road. He sat down on a low wall and began to think about the events before the letter came into existence.

It was a normal school day and everything was normal, like you’d expect. That day Harry had decided to tell the girl he liked that he, well, liked her. It wasn’t easy considering firstly she was the most popular girl in school and he was one of low ranking in the school society and second of all she was never left alone. He tried to corner her but every time he got close on of her ‘posse’ came and found her. It wasn’t going well.

He finally took a shot when she was as close to alone as she was going to get. When he’d got it out, told her he liked her, everyone started laughing and he ran off, as red as a beetroot. She looked at him with a sad face before joining in the laughter. Her laughter however wasn’t as loud or as menacing but he didn’t know that, because he didn’t stay behind to endure the pain. He felt awful and skipped the end of school just to get away from the embarrassment.

Then the letter entered his life. He’d found it in the morning, sitting like a king in the middle of the rug in the porch. He knew what it was. It was probably a letter saying, ‘how do you think a girl like me could like a freak like you?’ or something very similar. It hurt him, deep down, to know that the girl he believed he loved would never like him back. Another wave of stupidity washed over Harry as he realised his mistake. He stood up and returned home determined to open the letter.

He re-entered the lounge when he arrived back at his home and looked with a face of the utmost determination when he caught a glance at himself in the mirror, he was positively scared of himself. He laughed. This was stupid, he thought to himself. “What am I going to do next? Nothing at all. I’ll burn it and think nothing more. That is what I’ll do”.

He reached out for the letter and when it was back in his grasp he faltered. Harry thought again. “What am I doing? I’ll open it so I know what all the fuss is about then I shall forget her and kill my feelings”. He held the letter in one hand and slowly with the other; he tore the envelope open and stopped, before falling into the chair with a soft thud.

He read and re-read the letter a thousand times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He even pinched himself before dropping the letter and leaping around the room singing. The idea of burning the paper was a long distant memory.

The letter lay on the floor and it read, there in black and white (or to be more precise pink, strawberry flavoured and white.) ‘I like you too.’

Laura Chandler; age 14.

(994 Words)

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What Harry Did Next

Harry was running away. Again. It seemed to him that he had been running away from them all his life. They haunted him, those ghosts from his former life. They followed him, tracked him down, and tortured his conscience until he all he could do was run. Escape, that’s what his mother had told him, lying in a pool of her own blood as she lifted one trembling hand to her son’s face, and that is what he had done. Escaped to what, though? Surely it was only the ashes from his former life that made up his present one? One of wretched misery, inescapable guilt and distressing nightmares. No, this was no life. This was death. Hell. Call it what you like, it was not the sort of existence that he had had before. That had been one glorious glimpse of a heavenly world, filled with love and happiness; the door of which has been slammed in Harry’s face, leaving him alone. Leaving him to die. He hadn’t though. He had lived, helped by some miraculous force that refused to let him go. Survived; if not mentally, at least physically. So here he was today, an old man looking back on his life, searching for some missing part, something which would give him the peace he so desperately yearned for. He was looking for the confirmation that what he had done next had been right, for that cancerous uncertainty had been gnawing away at him ever since and it was time to find out. Whatever the answer, Harry was determined to find it and, after that? Well, who could say?

Harry had always been the apple of his mother’s eye. As the only son of the family, he was given the most love, the largest portion of food and the lightest duties. His two younger sisters, who worshipped Harry unconditionally, helped their mother to do the tedious daily chores, while Harry attended school. Unlike many of his classmates who arrogantly ordered their sisters around, Harry pitied his younger sisters and often, when his mother’s back was turned, would slip them some extra food to add to their meagre portion.

Everyday, Harry would wake up early, creep out of the hut and walk the five kilometres to school. This was his favourite time of day; the searing sun did not beat down mercilessly on anyone foolish enough to be outside, nor did the demoniac dust swirl about and irritate his eyes. Nor, for that matter, did the constant scrutiny he seemed to always be under, follow him and intrude upon his privacy. All was quiet, except for the odd, shrill call of a bird, which would pierce the cool morning air like the wavering notes of a solitary violin.

That morning he was up early enough to witness the magical moment when the golden sun arose from its slumber, stretching its sleepy fingertips over the sky. It was a magnificent moment, one that made his breath catch in his throat. The delicately flushed rosy clouds filled the sky in wispy strands, surrounding the fiery, flaming ball which would gradually appear over the distant, looming hills, dazzling the spellbound Harry into blindness. The golden, honey-like ripples meandered through the sky, entwining themselves with the blood red drops scattered carelessly on the vast canvas. Harry stood, utterly still, not daring to breath, fearing that at any second something would disturb his moment of utmost intimacy with nature. He was left reeling with the impact the pure beauty and honesty of nature that had been revealed to him in such a stunning display, had on him.

Startled at the affect the sunrise had had on him, Harry wandered along, slowly. A quiver of delight ran down his spine and a blissful smile spread across his face. He was free. Free; like the bird that swooped high above him, free, unlike his captive sisters, enslaved by the stifling expectations of society. Harry spread out his arms and ran the rest of the way to school, delighting in the feel of his toughened soles slapping the dusty road, the slight breeze cooling his face and the first rays of sunlight gently warming his back.

At twelve o’clock, they were let out. Harry got up reluctantly and stretched his cramped limbs. As he carefully packed his books into his bag, he looked around at his classroom fondly. It was not much; a small room crammed with as many tables and chairs as possible, an old blackboard with a small stick of precious chalk resting on the shelf below and a tattered world map hanging on one of the walls. At least, that is what any ordinary observer would have perceived. Harry saw much more: a little room filled with big opportunities. School was the highlight of his life and he was sad that his bright little sisters would never get the chance to feel the power of knowledge. With one last glance at the classroom, Harry hurried out and began his long journey home.

In the afternoons, it was Harry’s job to watch the goats as they grazed on the precipitous, rocky hill opposite his village. This afternoon, Harry did not feel like sitting in the sweltering heat, so took the goats and his youngest sister to a shady area, out of sight of the village, for he knew his mother would not approve of him teaching Hannah. While the goats grazed contentedly, Harry started to teach his sister the alphabet. Hannah hesitantly traced the letters with a short, dimpled finger, looking up at her brother for encouragement. “Haitch,” she proclaimed proudly, after a long pause.

“Aitch,” Harry corrected, sternly. “ Haitch for…”

“Hannah!” his sister cried delightedly, her twinkling eyes dancing mischievously. “Haitch for Hannah.”

Harry sighed and raised his eyes to the sky. Hannah was a stubborn student and would often refuse to believe that she was wrong. He began his long tirade all over again, but stopped in mid-sentence. The shot, slicing through the hot, drowsy atmosphere, something something

Harry sat upright; the ensuing silence sounded ominous to his ears; it was too quiet, too…

“Aieeeeeeeeee…..my baby.”

That heart-broken wail, almost unrecognisable as human, froze Harry’s heart, drenching him in a cold sweat of absolute dread-and fear. His mother. He had heard that anguished scream once before, and it still plagued him like a parasite gripping on to its prey. He closed his eyes, not knowing what he should do, trying to block out the memories of what had happened those many years ago. More screaming and that agonising wail, going on and on…He clutched Hannah to him, but she struggled out of his grasp and ran to the big rock, from which she knew it would be possible to see…To see what? Her eyes, the windows to her soul of pure innocence and virtue, opened in horror. She gave a small cry. Harry followed. The scene that met his eyes devastated his soul. It destroyed his heart, his mind. He felt numb and stood, helpless, as he watched his tormented mother rock back and forth beside a small figure. Aisha. He collapsed on the ground, not believing what he was seeing. He reached out for his remaining sister and when his arm met with nothing but thin air, he closed his eyes and waited…seconds…minutes…hours…

It was dusk by the time Harry could gather the strength to life himself off the ground, where he had been lying for hours, rocking himself, singing, as his tortured mind tried to shut out the sound of his family and friends being brutally, systematically murdered. It was a sound that reverberated in his head and would not leave, not ever, not even when he tried to escape into sleep. He stumbled over to his mother and looked down upon the beaten body of the most treasured woman in his life. He heard a small sigh escape her bruised lips and leant down to hear her final words. Her voice, strained to its utmost, forced out three words: “Run. Escape. Run.” He felt her worn fingers caressing his cheek and held his hand over hers, until he felt her hand slip and laid it down. The scarlet sky had already been dyed with two generations of his family’s blood; and he vowed that he would not contribute his.

That pile of ash- that no man’s land- which formed the remains of his heart, had kept beating against all odds. Through the months of aimless wandering, times when he had been near starvation and exhaustion, it had kept going. Somehow his brain, despite the wall of numb blankness blocking the way functioned well enough to get him smuggled into a new country, where the memories of his family’s murder were not preserved in every façade of every sunrise and sunset, every tree and every rock. A new country where no one knew him, where he was just a person with no feelings, no character, no distinguishing feature. That was what he wanted. Anonymity. He wanted no one- and he knew that no wanted him. His sullen, dead- eyed stare and his abrupt, forced responses made sure of that. That was until he met Sarah, who awoke in him the same emotion that breathtaking sunrise, a world away now, had done. That was when he had started to write poetry-that was what he did next. He wrote of the sunrises, the birds and the mountains. He wrote about his life, his memories and all the emotions that he had been unable to release suddenly poured out of him.

Of course, no one understood them. No one understood him. He could tell that they didn’t believe him or his poems; he could see it in their eyes. That condescending, pitying look. The sideways glance, the step backwards. No one, that is, except Sarah. From that first meeting, when she had refused to be put off by his surly expression, he had taken a leap and finally spoken the words he thought would die with him; unspoken. She had looked deep into his grief-stricken eyes and a look of compassion came into her own.

“ Write,” she said. “Write it all down.”

And that is what he did.

Alexandra Letcher; age 15.

(1,726 words)

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