Write Stuff

Intermediate. Years 7/8/9

Glass War

By Bea Pope, year 7, The Ladies’ College

Bloodshed, guns, soldiers, destruction... death. Everywhere I look it surrounds me, even though my mother wants to keep me in a protective bubble, trying to shelter me from the raging war going on around us, but there is too much fighting to cover up. No amount of fake smiles and kind words could cover up our slowly crumbling city around us. All that is left is a shell of Berlin, a city that, a long time ago, was a happy place, filled with smiles and laughter, a place of love and joy. There is nothing left of that now.
"Mary, it's dinner time!"
Dinner has become a subdued occasion since Father left. It's just me and Mother now.
"So, how was your day?" Mother always asks this question and I never give a very enthusiastic answer.
"Fine, I finished my scarf and Mrs Smith added it the basket, she said it will be sent soon."
In total I have knitted seven scarves, yet I haven't done English in a month. The war takes up everyone's time now.
"Great, you're such a hard worker!"
But we both know that's not true - everyone else in class has made ten scarves and I had to have Mrs Smith help me so much she practically made them.
"How's dinner?"
Mother is really pushing for conversation but I just let my brown hair curtain my face and tell her it's nice. Dinner is a small bowl of soup and a slice of stale bread. It's horrible but I know a lot of rations went into it so I lie to please her. I lie all the time now, it's easier to not show emotion when it's like everything around you is made of glass, but soon my charade will crack and everything around me will shatter.

Liked this story? Read another one.

1944

Dear Diary, Crouching under the stairs, I heard the door “Oh no, they're back!” It’s the Nazis as...

By Joshua Penney, year 8, Grammar School

Read story

Alliance

Alliance. That was what she had said. Deceive. That was what I had done. Sara was dead...

By Naomi Miller, year 8, Grammar School

Read story

Trembling Hands

I watched my mother’s face with tear-filled eyes, as the boat slowly pulled out of St Peter Port Harbour...

By Aimee Ozanne, year 7, The Ladies’ College

Read story

Lifted By Hope

When I got off the boat that morning, I was scared. Over and over again, I asked myself, why am I he...

By Maali Simon, year 7, St Sampson’s School

Read story

That Morning

Grey, miserable and grim – the three words that would describe our walk to school.

By Ben Sharp, year 8, Elizabeth College

Read story

Browse stories by category

Primary. Up to age 11 (years 3, 4, 5, 6)

Intermediate: Up to age 14 (years 7, 8, 9)

Secondary: Age 15 and over (year 10 plus)