Tag: creative writing

We’re delighted to publish the winners and runners-up from our 2022 short story competition for Irish teens, in association with Tertulia Books. This year our theme was “Belonging” and our guest judge was Claire Hennessy. Chosen Belonging by Leonie Hanan (age 14) was the junior category winner.

Leonie Hanan loves writing short stories and poetry. A member of Fighting Words Write Club Northern Ireland, in Leonie’s spare time she likes listening to music and it’s often what inspires her stories. She loves visiting her grandparents in Co. Westmeath and Co. Wexford, and they support all her writing endeavours!

Chosen Belonging

[ZOE]

I close my eyes. Give in. The way to breathe has escaped me. I can’t process this feeling — I’m shaking. I don’t believe I’m strong enough. Because this feeling tears me apart from the inside and I’m afraid … so afraid that it will never pass. And I’m confused … so confused, wondering why it’s here to give me a visit again. Why it will never leave me alone. People say the worst fate is to not belong anywhere. To have nobody to belong to. But this, I think, is worse. 

To not belong within myself. To not belong to myself. To not belong as this person, who I pretended I was. 

Please, I don’t remember asking for this. 

[ANXIETY]

I’m not a constant threat. I mean, I’m always there — just not always using my power. But it’s there and Zoe knows it. She hears my voice every day and I’ve drowned out the others. She’ll never be a potter. 

[ZOE]

I can’t get over my splitting headache. I’m frozen in a place I’m lost in, staring at these broken pieces before me. I want to be a potter. And there’s a show coming up — one they’ve offered to display a piece of mine in but … I don’t have one. I lost hope in the one I had created, hence the pieces. I’m here, in tears, wondering what the point is, and believing I’m never going to be anybody. I want to put on a mask of happy; I want to be this perfect person…

I want to be able to have faith, but I keep finding myself here, hurting alone. It’s made me believe it’s not real. This pain. I am happy. I am fine. I wonder if lying to myself is a bad thing. 

[ANXIETY]

My voice is stronger at night. But tonight, she isn’t listening. I don’t know why. 

[ZOE]

I’m dreaming again. I find it hard to sleep, and when I do, it’s often riddled with nightmares. But this dream is different. Somehow, I don’t feel on edge, I feel … a little free actually. 

There’s a bright, white light. It gives the space a clean, new … almost beautiful feel. A house is ahead of me.  A giant “Welcome” sign hung on the door, slightly crooked as if the owners haven’t left it in a while. Tentatively, I reach for the doorknob. It’s slightly rusted. I glance upwards and notice a few broken windows and dirty walls. The place this house is in seems so beautiful. Trees stand tall and proud, a calm wind rustling through them. I can hear a faint trickle of water in the distance, and it just seems so pure and angelic, and this house is just so out of place.

It doesn’t belong. 

I wonder what’s inside. I try to see inside the door window, try to open the door but part of me is afraid. Afraid that all that’s left is another nightmare for me to discover.  

[ANXIETY]

She’s here. And I think it’s only a matter of time before she discovers me. This house is her heart. And those who live here control her life. I like being able to control her life, without her really knowing. I like ruling here. I like that Joy can’t defeat me anymore. I like that he’s lost his strength. I’m Anxiety — why would I apologise for hating him? He used to always knock on the door, trying to claim lost territory, but now he just sits in the trees, sighing, sounding like a calm breeze. Zoe only ever feels him occasionally. He’s more of a distant memory. He gave up fighting and I’m never going to give this house to him. Why would I? Where would I go? That’s why Fear is in her way. That’s why I’m not letting her in. I’m not leaving.

[JOY]

The trees get rather boring after a while. But she’s here now. She’s right here — trying to open the door and I can slip in behind her and finally punch Anxiety in the face. Finally start cleaning because, man, that house needs a spring clean. I can see Fear trying to stop her and Loneliness is probably home too — maybe I can find Hope around here somewhere. Surely, she’d help. Surely for this. 

[ZOE]

For some reason I can’t breach this barrier in my mind, the one telling me to just keep this door closed. To just give up now. Fear. I can overcome this. Can’t I? But not on my own. What do I need?

Hope.

[JOY]

“Hope! Hope? Hope, please, where are you?”  

“Joy?” Her voice is soft, withdrawn. Like she’s forgotten her own name. I try to find her, and I see her cradling her legs. Rocking back and forth in the stream. 

“I need your help. Zoe needs your help.” I say, trying to coax her out of her daze. 

“Joy — I tried once before, she didn’t listen.” She’s defeated. I feel it — can feel her resignation. 

“Please — she seems stronger this time.” Hope’s eyes flare. 

“Stronger?” she says outraged. Suddenly she’s forgotten her apathy. “Joy, she’s having the hardest time of her life. She’s suffering at the hands of those idiots and there’s nothing we can do.”

“She’s trying to open the door, Hope, and she needs you.” Her eyes flash again, but this time, I see a hint of light. She grabs me, charges forward. 

[ZOE]

As I’m sitting battling with this door in my mind — my dream that feels so real to me — I’m struck with the idea that this would make a great pottery house.

[ANXIETY]

You know, I’d quite forgotten about Hope. She seemed such a weak thing last time I saw her I never gave her another thought. I know she’ll punch Fear right out of her way. He’s never been strong enough to face her. It’s annoying really, I always told him he should exercise more. Her voice is drifting up to the window again. 

“YOU ALL DON’T BELONG HERE. GET OUT BEFORE I MAKE YOU!” I don’t know why she’s yelling — Zoe can’t hear her or see her. True Zoe can’t see me but she can hear me when I want her to. And I’m not going to let Hope win. 

“FEAR! Come on, mate, put up a fight!”

“Sorry, An, I can’t. She’s too strong!” 

For goodness’ sake. He’s useless. 

[ZOE]

This, I think, is Hope. Hope doesn’t mean a distant dream that this will get better. Hope is personal and real. Hope is deep within us always, waiting for a way to break into our smiles, our hands, waiting to burst out of us and join sorrowful rain to make a rainbow. Hope is knowing that you’re worth far more than rubies, that no matter who you were, right in this moment you become someone else. 

Hope is beautiful. 

[JOY]

“Have I ever told you how incredible you are?” 

“Oh, shut up and help me.” I’m grinning madly; I never realised how much I missed Hope. She’s broken down this door like it’s nothing. Fear is learning his own name, running into the distance. 

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing? Get out!” I glance at Hope. The only person to ever dim her spirits was Anxiety. Some light disappears out of her eyes. Swiftly I take her hand and turn to face him. 

“You’re the one who’s leaving.” He lets out a long laugh. “Maybe you’ll be hard to forget, but never again can you have the control you’ve had.”

“What makes you think I won’t be able to win? Fear is a coward. But he’ll be back again. And I won’t be so careless.” I feel Hope shaking against me. It’s tempting; to give up. But his voice is not the one that Zoe should hear. And I’m sick of being silent. Because I do exist. Life is filled with me. Trees grow, it rains, sun shines, rainbows flourish, rivers flow, and oceans roar. All of it happens despite pain and hardship. While I know Anxiety and Fear will never leave for good, never again will this house be their home. They will be the things we fight. Not the things we embrace. 

[ZOE]

The door swings open. Suddenly things are exploding in my mind. Beautiful colours. What I see isn’t perfect, true. But it is not the dump I thought it was going to be. It looks … fixable. For some reason, I have unblinding joy in the simple fact that right now I’m breathing. I didn’t give up and I’m standing here. I see this house in my head, understanding for the first time that I do belong here. I have a right to simply be. Maybe I don’t know who I am yet, but I won’t condemn myself to being nobody. 

[ANXIETY]

Outside is even worse than I thought. But this house doesn’t belong to me anymore. I suppose it always was Zoe’s. I’m not leaving, but that house is no longer my home. Now I’m the wind. Inconsistent and distant most of the time. Joy was too strong for me. And I see Love on the horizon ready to clean the house behind me, return it to what it once was. I’d disguised Loneliness as Love before, confused them completely. But Loneliness got kicked out with me. 

Now I’m the lonely one. 

And probably deservedly so. 

[JOY]

Here we stand now. Hope, Love, and I. Victorious. We won this house for Zoe. And we will defend it, always.

[ZOE]

The storm that has raged within me is finally still again. I don’t think I really understood it until it stopped. But after this fight I think I’m finally getting stronger. 

I think I let Fear and Anxiety rule me. Let them belong where Joy and Hope should have. 

But not anymore. I know what my piece is going to be for the show: the house I saw in my dreams. I’m going to create its imperfections — but show them differently. Half of the house will be dark and haunted, the other light and open. The actual pottery will be as symmetrical as I can make it. I’ll call it:

Chosen Belonging 

Because that’s it — isn’t it? I don’t belong to Fear or Anxiety, but I get to choose to belong to Joy and Hope. I know this isn’t the only battle I’ll have to face. I know this isn’t the only mountain to climb. But I think so much of every day is decided by what goes on in our minds. And sometimes, Anxiety will have control. But if I choose to face it with Joy, Hope and Love, it will never be as strong as it once was. 

Joy is my strength. Hope is my resilience. And Love would make a good sword. Battle ready. 

We’re delighted to publish the winners and runners-up from our 2022 short story competition for Irish teens, in association with Tertulia Books. This year our theme was “Belonging” and our guest judge was Claire Hennessy.
In January by Grace McNally (age 18) was our senior category winner.

Grace McNally is a Leaving Cert. student in Westport, Co. Mayo. She learned how to write before she could talk and hasn’t stopped since.

In January

The woods outside my house cast a spell on me. They hold a green tint of mystery that I’m so desperate to delve inside of. They call out my name and beg for me to venture deep within their secrets. 

Maybe I should restart. My name is June. My parents are crazy hippies that thought it would be so “spiritual” to name their children after the months of the year because of course as you know, the months of the year are just some insane conspiracy made by the government to keep humankind in line and they’ve exploited it thoroughly. To summarise: my parents are crazy. As hard as they’ve tried, I’ve never understood their beliefs. All they ever try to do is pour it down my throat but I just don’t like it. And living with every person you know and everything in your life being something that makes you feel out of place is hard. it’s more than hard; it’s unbearable. It used to be okay when my brother was around, January. We were twins and at every possible chance we could, we’d get away from our parents during their crazy group sessions about the universe or gardening classes. We had each other and it made our life okay. He went missing. One day just gone. My parents wouldn’t do anything. They said he had been taken by gods and angels on earth. I searched. He was never found. Not a hint or a clue or anything that could tell us what happened. I was the only one who seemed to care. I still am. Every day I look for him. It gets me away from the chaos of my home, but I’m always left with a taste in my mouth of failure. He is out there. I just can’t find him. I am not looking in the right places.

It was a Tuesday. Just Tuesday. Any other day. Tuesday. I was walking. And I stopped outside the woods. It occurred to me that I never looked for January in the woods. But this always occurred to me every time I walked past the woods. Yet I’ve never walked in. And, of course, this wouldn’t be a good story if I never walked in. So I walked in. The woods had long terrifying trees that stretched so high the tops peered down at me as I walked. Their shade of green was so dark it could’ve been mistaken for black. The trees whispered to each other. They had terrible secrets that sang across the whole forest. Only they could understand. I was out of place. I could no longer see the entrance I came in from. I’d only been walking a couple of minutes and I already felt I was in too deep. Maybe I walked into another world. I felt sweaty. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to run. I wanted to— 

“Leave.”    

An old woman stood ahead of me. She had long white hair that matched the long white tunic she wore. I began to reply but she interrupted. 

“Turn around now. The entrance will appear only if you go now.”

I couldn’t speak. I turned and walked away only to be outside the forest again. I ran home feeling like crying. I couldn’t explain the weight I felt on my shoulders. I walked in the front door and my parents were there. They looked shocked. 

“What happened?” I asked, my voice cracking

“Just go to bed; rest will wash the pain,” my mum replied as she touched my shoulder. 

I walked away feeling their eyes on me. I felt so drowsy all of a sudden. I couldn’t explain the emotions that travelled through my body in that moment. The minute my head touched the pillow I was asleep. I dreamt of January. He was running through the woods screaming. My parents chased him as they cried. The woods just kept going, they had no end. January shouted my name. But the woods kept going and going and going. I woke up. It was night. I don’t remember how but all of a sudden I was out the door and running towards the woods. I couldn’t stay away. I looked back at the house to my parents’ faces at the window. I looked toward the forest. Its colour was completely gone. It was just black. A dark black abyss. And I stepped forward. I walked into the darkness. For January. 

Time works differently amidst the leaves. I don’t know if it does, but it feels like it. The darkness felt so overwhelming I had a lump in my throat. I could barely call his name. 

“January?”

I yelled every few seconds. It echoed then silence would return. Not even a rustle from the branches. Shadows covered every inch of the forest and I was so afraid I would walk past someone and not even notice. I had no flashlight. I didn’t even have a jacket but I couldn’t tell. The cold was an inanimate object getting in my way at this point. I used my fear to push me forward. I was walking for at least an hour. All I needed to do was get to the heart of the forest. I don’t know what told me that but I knew it in my mind. How would I even know when I got to the heart?

I reached a small clearing. When I looked up there was a gap within the trees. A tiny slit of moonlight travelled to where I stood. I felt the light across my body. It was surreal. I just wanted to go home. I wanted things back to how they were. I’d never felt more alone.

“I remember telling you to leave.” 

The old woman stood before me.

“I just want to understand,” I replied timidly. She sighed. She began to walk away. I wanted to call after her. 

“JUNE.” A scream echoed through the forest. I turned around to see someone running. I didn’t know whether to follow the old woman or run after the stranger. I curled into a ball. I was shaking and close to tears. I stayed wrapped up within myself until I felt the heat of daylight shining down. I looked up to the sun pouring its warmth upon me. I looked around and the trees were green again. This forest had me under a spell. I didn’t feel like I belonged there yet I couldn’t shake the spell. January couldn’t be here because I would feel him. My one thing that felt like home. I would know if he was here. The taste appeared in my tongue again. The failure almost choked me. I stood up and walked away. This forest was a lie. It wanted me. Not to help me. Just me. As I walked I couldn’t remember if I was walking away from the clearing or walking past it. The unsureness was stirring a panic that I had to shake off or I wouldn’t get out. I had to get out. 

“Go back to the heart,” he said

I flung around to see January. He stood beside my parents. 

Mum spoke. “There once was a boy. A little strange enchanted boy, they say he wandered very very far.”

Dad spoke. “He found you and showed you the world he had created.” 

Mum spoke. “We tried to stop you but you were so young and happy, you followed him everywhere.” 

Dad spoke. “January never went missing. You did.”

Tears were spilling down my face. I didn’t want to blink in case they disappeared.

Mum walked over to me and kneeled in front of me. “We called every day to the gods to bring you home.”

“January?” I cried out. I ran over to him and just as I reached out they all disappeared. I fell to the ground sobbing. I didn’t know what was happening. I just wanted my brother back. I just wanted to go home. I looked up to the old woman sitting on the tree. 

“His name is not January, it is Phaunos. God of Forests. You found your brother. He is all around you.”

She leaned back on a tree. “Death is nothing at all. It does not count. Not to him.”

I wiped my tears away and sat up. “Who are you?”

She laughed. “He loved us so much, he took us away forever, locked in his prison. I told you to leave to give us another chance but he got you too.”

I stood up. “Who are you?” I shouted

“My name is June,” she replied. “I am you.” 

Wind danced across every single leaf in the forest. They were whispering again. 

“We met January when we were children. He was our brother but not our parents’ child, he took us away from the house we hated so much and made us laugh. He tricked us then he trapped us. January never went missing. We did. He brought us here and kept us locked away from the world. You can’t leave this forest. He is the forest.”

January wasn’t my brother. He is some god my parents probably called. He stole me. 

I ran. I wanted to find the entrance. I could hear my parents shouting my name. They were looking for me. 

“I’m in here. I’m in here,” I screamed over and over running and running looking for a way out. I ran and ran crying and yelling. I ran so hard my chest was hurting and my legs felt weak. I ran until my legs gave way and I landed on the ground sobbing. 

“You found me.”

I looked up to see my brother, whatever his name, whoever he was. 

“I’ll never leave your side again, June, it’s me and you now.” 

He helped me up and I stood before him. 

“Am I dead?” I asked

 “Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you. And the old life we lived together is untouched, unchanged. Call me by my old familiar name. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still, sister.”

He held out his hand. I lifted mine to hold his. I felt peace and comfort. He is where I belong. 

I stood up and we walked away deep into the green forest. 

We’re delighted to publish the winners and runners-up from our 2022 short story competition for Irish teens, in association with Tertulia Books. This year our theme was “Belonging” and our guest judge was Claire Hennessy.
The Memories She Made by Ava Bracken (age 13) was a runner-up in our junior category.

The Memories She Made

She sat on the fence and wiped her eyes. She hadn’t been here in so long she’d forgotten the feeling this land gave her: the overwhelming emotion she felt just sitting here. The wind blew gently but had enough power to sway the wildflowers back and forth to a soft flow, the dandelions and daisies and buttercups moving in time like a wonderful melody. The fence had been given a fresh coat of paint since she’d last been here, the chestnut brown was the exact shade of the horse Bella who she used to escape out here with, to ride free for a while, away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The waves rush against the far end of the beach, just at the edge before the sand meets the grass. The waves are calm today and gentle, pleasing to watch. She wished she could paint it and capture the moment to hang it on her wall and gaze at it later, if only she was talented enough. These waves know her so well, many a time she came here to calm herself, cheer herself up, to laugh with friends, spend time with her mother, swim with her lover, take out her anger, escape for a while, to clear her mind or to just have a walk. These waves had helped her wash away her sadness and anger and replace it with joy and tranquillity. The grass was a lush green and it padded the soil around the wildflowers like a green quilt. At the edge of the field, the fence had been taken away so the grass blended into the sand of the beach.

To her right was another field, this one had a few horses belonging to the neighbour Daniel, she used to help him feed them when she was younger before she went to college. He used to tell her she was great with horses, that she seemed to understand them and they understood her. She must call into him later on, maybe bring him a few scones. The field on the left was filled with yellow bales ready to be wrapped, she remembered climbing on those bales with her cousins, there was a grainy old photo in a frame on the mantelpiece at home of her cousin Siobhain and herself up on the bales, smiling and joking with each other. It felt like such a long time ago and the memory gave her an ache of nostalgia in her heart. Behind her was a small country lane that led back to the farm that was so thin, god help you if you met another car along it. She had cycled to school along that lane every day in all weathers, wearing her wellies when it was wet and her sandals in summer before they finished up for summer break. Oh, she used to live for summer break, finally being freed from the stuffy classroom and let loose into the fields to play all day after the chores were done. Then came the bog, footing turf in the hot sun, sweat pouring off them, then the delicious picnic and riding home along the bumpy road in the trailer, holding on for dear life. Holidays were not as extravagant as they are now but instead a simple trip down to Kerry with her siblings to visit Granny, and being free from chores and Mam and Dad for a fleeting but joyous four days, and returning home with containers with homemade scones and pots of jam made with the fresh strawberries and gooseberries from Granny’s backyard. Then when summer came to an end herself and her three younger siblings would go back to school while her elder brother went off to work on the farm with Dad. They would cycle down the lane and park their bikes by the church and run into the yard to start another school year. This would be the case until she graduated and went off to college to study teaching.

How she had missed this place when she was gone, even thinking about her siblings, how annoying they were, used to cause an ache in her heart. When she came home she had faced the heartbreaking news that her youngest sibling Billy had drowned in the lake. Oh, how she had cried that day, Billy was her favourite growing up, as he was timid and meek and bullied at school, but she had stood up for him and he had a special place in her heart. She remembers him now, the memory of them running home in the rain laughing and giggling and dancing through the field, mother had scolded them but it had been worth it to see Billy’s face light up again after it being so sad. Whenever she was sad she told Billy she would come here and sit on the fence and watch the waves, after that she had often found him sitting in the same spot and he would sing softly under his breath and then would return home calm. Although she and her siblings fought a lot growing up they were always there for each other and they kept each other’s secrets and invented games, and then when they became adults they had held that strong bond meeting often to catch up, and making phone calls overseas when someone was away.

Her family was precious to her, she was especially close to her mother as she had helped her frequently when the others refused. She admired her father more than anything, he was kind and reminded her often of Billy. The sound of the waves brought her back to reality but as she looked down the far end of the beach to the small cave, another memory awoke. This one, of her first love.  John was a tall, sporty boy and had a kind soul. He was popular in the class but had never really acknowledged her before until they met out swimming in the sea. She had told him a joke and he had let out a beautiful melodic laugh that filled the whole beach. As they walked out of the sea, he told her that her hair looked pretty down and that she shouldn’t tie it up all the time. She had smiled at this. Her mother always told her to tie it up or else it looked like a right bird’s nest. He had asked her if they could meet up here again the next weekend, and so it was arranged. They met here every Saturday and went for a swim, then walked along the beach to the cave where they sometimes had a picnic. She grew fond of John and began to develop a crush on him. John had always liked her, as he later revealed, but he had never shown her any signs until one Saturday just after school had ended, when he met her on the beach. She specifically remembered it had been a rainy day and they had cut their swim short and ran down to the cave as they sat down, their arms had touched and John had pulled her in for a kiss. He smiled sheepishly as he pulled away from her.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No, it was— It was nice,” she said and he smiled at her his dimples showing as they gazed at each other. The rain had stopped and the sun’s rays had reached inside the cave and warmed the two of them. John had laughed, “race you back” and they ran down the beach, the sun shining.

As they grew older, their connection grew stronger and when she moved away to college he had called her every Saturday at the same time they used to meet up on the beach, and when she had finished college and come home, John had been working on his dad’s farm, and they resumed their meetings on the beach. And the day after her 23rd birthday he had proposed to her in the same cave where they had first kissed. She, of course, said yes. A year later they moved into the old cottage beside John’s farm which they had renovated and she had begun work in the local schoolhouse as the teacher, and they had stayed there happily ever since. Now seven years later, they have three kids and are the happiest they have ever been. She hadn’t been back to the beach or the field up until now. She looked around her, the wind had picked up and her hair was blowing wildly around her face. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to John as he sat beside her.
“God, when was the last time we were here?” he said, a smile on his face as the memories flooded back to him.   “John?” she asked. 
“Yes, darling.” 
“When I die, I want to be buried here.” 

 He was still smiling, but curiously now. “What’s brought this on dear, you’re not planning to go die on me now?”
She laughed. “No, no. I was just thinking about all the memories I made here and I just feel as if… as if I belong to this land, you know? And I thought that when I’m gone I’d love to be buried here so that I can forever be here and become a part of the land.”
“That’s a lovely thought. This place always felt special. I think I shall be buried alongside you, my love,” he said, his voice battling against the wind. 
She smiled at him and as she wrapped her arms around him, she felt in her heart that she had finally found the place she truly belonged, and she felt glad that her kids would grow up here on the land that had given her so many dear memories. “You know, the kids have never seen this place before,” she said. 
“Well, we’ll pack a picnic and bring them down here tomorrow. They’ll love it,” he declared. 
“They will,” she agreed. 
“Let’s head back. It’s getting cold,” he said. 
“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” she said.

He hopped off the fence and made his way home as she closed her eyes, her mind at ease as she listened to the waves, just like she’d done all those times growing up and hoped to continue to do so many more times until she was grey and old, and then she would be laid to rest and become a part of this land to which she belonged.

We’re delighted to publish the winning and runners-up entries from our 2022 short story competition for Irish teens, in association with Tertulia Books. This year our theme was “Belonging” and our guest judge was Claire Hennessy. We All Belong Somewhere by Kaila Patterson (age 14) was a runner-up in our junior category.

We All Belong Somewhere

We all belong, somewhere — my personal philosophy that would follow my footsteps. I clicked the door closed as a shimmer of sunlight brightened me. The backpack dragged down my shoulders, tugging me closer, to the core of the Earth. My heart pushed me forward. 

The beaming, pulsing organ was beating from my chest, releasing a streak of shining red. Blood circulated, and I continued to move, to take one more step on my journey. If I wished to find where I belonged, I had to go. 

The travel, lasted a few days. Then, I landed on the newfound grass. A fresh, blast of oak, filled my nose, with the sharp, stones of the concrete catching my fingers. Blurred laughter, of people who belonged. That sound, of belonging, but my heart did not belong there. 

The second morning, I arrived somewhere new. With my coat fastened, and my bag stuffed, I uncovered a frosted layer, of sparkling white. A slice of iced, hostile air cut my cheek, as the crackle of wind invaded my eardrum. Some might have, but my heart did not belong there. 

On the third, I entered a raving city. A girl, with freckles dotted over her and a fringe that joined the dots, crossed my path. Her chatter was buzzing, around the speckle of fizzing drink, on the tongue. My heart raised, and hopped – and, dropped to the depth of a pit, when the mention came, of someone else. Another will, but my heart did not belong to her. 

Fourth night, the placid town found me. I spotted a man who guided me along a walk, through the sites of rainbow rows of housing. A deep, coffee scent, wandered from the shop, plastered with chipped posters. A bit of banter, bit of cheer – a huge stomp, on my heart, as he found himself, on another path. The way for him, but my heart did not belong to him. 

Fifth, the warmth of a desert swallowed me. The wave of peppered, golden sand, with the tickle of life on the toes. A whistle of the rush, of distant exchanges. I crossed the dazzling, heights of pyramids, and my heart pumped. A far place, but my heart did not belong there. 

Upon the sixth, I climbed the tallest mountain. My throat scraped a yell as I screamed to the tops of my lungs. A flashing shade of multicoloured light, a kaleidoscope from the heavens. The splattered muck dotting my hand. Closest to the sky, but my heart did not belong there. 

Seventh, I danced through a street parade. The buzz of laughter, and the widest, of smiles. A spark of colour, whoosh of a flag, and cheer of people. There were roasted fried foods, and the sweetest scent of candyfloss. Full of glee, but my heart did not belong there. 

On the eighth, I found the coast. A crunch of dust before my feet were engulfed by raging, swooshing waves. A fresh swallow of salted air, absorbed from the sea. A line of waves separating the peace of sky from the anger of water. Nature’s division, but my heart did not belong there. 

The ninth sunrise, I reached a quiet, dim town. A whisper of night tapped my arm, as I strolled through empty, slow streets. Houses, disguised a tangerine glimmer. No noise to overpower the silence. A place without a soul to see, but my heart did not belong there. 

Tenth, the hills of flowers absorbed me. A bunch of indigo petals, honeycomb flowers, or sage stems. The cheeping of young birds, soaring through sky to greet another morning. A tranquillity that was unknown to the city. Almost perfection, but my heart did not belong there. 

On the eleventh, a stranger waved to me. To invite me to a home, of warmth from the soul. Built from brick, but steadied by a smile. The smooth warmth of homemade tea and a voice that could ramble, for hours. After time, my shoulders settled, but my heart did not belong there. 

Upon the twelfth evening, I slipped inside a bar. The roar of laughter and trickling of full, frozen booze over my fingers. A crack of a dart, slicing a board, before a raise of commotion. Nothing was rowdier, but my heart did not belong there. 

Day twelve, I hopped into a spare car. A low, jazz tune radiated from the radio as I melted against a leather seat. Other drivers swerved around me, pounding on their blaring horns. The rough smell of petrol, pushing to no destination. Endless places to go, but my heart did not belong there. 

Thirteen, my travel led me to a pitch. The screams of proud supporters as a rounded bullet crossed the goal. A second, I forgot to breathe for, when a kick recharged the ball. Dripping sweat and pearl grins. Team spirit was never stronger, but my heart did not belong there. 

When the fourteenth came, I wandered over country lanes. The brush of straw, floating grass, faded to a yellowing colour. A far-off groan of panting farmers or the animals they pursued. Tall, strict barns and lone people. Not similar to home, but my heart did not belong there. 

My chest could never feel complete. I trudged home, my shoulders drooping to the ground. A tap – beat, beat – of my heart pushed me closer to the house. The place that I had begun. After spending a fortnight searching for a place, a person, a reason – where I belonged. 

I reopened the door, swinging my bag to the floor. My heart urged me on, travelling up the creaking stairs, and to the bathroom. The dull, greyish tone of the room seemed too low to compare to the sights that I had seen. These places I had not belonged to. 

Why had my heart led me so far? Those destinations, those people, those sights – they were not the unknown fill that I craved. No search could complete me, and perhaps I did not belong to anyone, to anywhere, to anything. I had found things, but not what I needed. 

A glimmer caught my eye from the side. The glimpse of reflective glass. I turned to catch my face within the mirror. My heart was releasing a beam of crimson, pulling me closer to my own reflection. Then, the light stretched from my chest, over the pale, woeful room. 

A squish seized my heart, as a sense of wholeness covered the space. The overwhelming burst of contentment turning those beats to doubles – triples, and quadruples. As I studied my face, through the glass, my chest was prepared to explode. 

I had explored the world, encountered the people, and experienced these sights. Yet, my heart had never belonged. It had not expressed that whole, consuming feeling of belonging to something. Of knowing that I was where I needed to be. 

In the end, I did not need to travel. Nor witness things unlike my own life. If I continued to spend weeks, months, or days searching for where I belonged, I would not have known,  realised, where I was needed, that I belonged to myself, and my heart belonged to me. 

We all belong, somewhere.

We’re delighted to publish the winners and runners-up from our 2022 short story competition for Irish teens, in association with Tertulia Books. This year our theme was “Belonging” and our guest judge was Claire Hennessy. Penelope by Wiktoria Willer (age 16) was a runner-up in our senior category.

Penelope

All Penelope could do was watch as the admissions officer at her elite independent school examined her scholarship application for yet another deplorable year at Dulwick College. 

“These won’t do, Ms O’Louglin,” she said finally.

“Pardon me?” 

“As of this year, only a candidate’s examination results for the preceding semester will be qualified for the scholarship.”

Penelope felt herself sinking into the chair, the Christmas exams.

“In this case, the forthcoming Christmas examinations.” 

The goddamn Christmas exams.

“Please return to the office in January with the results and I will submit your application then.” 

Penelope nodded, albeit shakily. This not only meant that she would have to study relentlessly in the short timeframe before the exams, it also made the effort she put into her previous tests completely futile. In her anger, she had an urge to discard the entire application process.

Instead she said, “Will that be all?”, and politely stalked out of the office. 

However, her failed scholarship application attempt had only been the starter to a lousy, damp day. Quite literally, as it had been raining. 

Next came study group with Jessica Bailey and her band of know-it-alls and teacher’s pets. There were only really three ways a girl could succeed at Dulwick: she could get stellar grades, excel at sport, or she could simply be good at talking, like Jessica Bailey. No one could describe what she thrived at in school, yet everyone hailed her as the paragon of a proper Dulwick student. 

Jessica Bailey bared her sharp teeth at Penelope that evening, amidst the tall bookshelves and large table where, just minutes ago, their study group had assembled. 

“There’s something you need to understand if you’re to stay here,” Jessica said.

Penelope’s hands were shaking, she hid them in her pockets. 

“Yes, people found out you’re here on a scholarship. So what?”

“I don’t care about them knowing,” Penelope replied. 

“You’re not listening.” Jessica’s teeth glinted as she sucked in a breath. “The kids here, they’ve never liked you. Tolerated you, maybe. But not liked. And it wasn’t because of some scholarship. It was all because of you. Who you are as a person.”

Penelope didn’t know what to say to that. She knew she was being humiliated, she should have been embarrassed or angry. But all she felt was an empty acknowledgement, as if Jessica had just affirmed what she had always suspected. 

“You’re not one of us. Do you understand?” 

“You’re totally wrong,” she bit back. “As always.”

But Jessica had just laughed at her. She swung her bag off the table, and turned around for one final punch. 

“Believe whatever you want, Penny.” 

When she was gone Penelope leaned against the mezzanine and watched the rest of the library, willing her head to stop spinning. Once the floor no longer felt like it would give way beneath her feet, she gulped down the rest of her cold coffee and moved her things to a smaller desk in the corner. She studied deep into the night. 

“Even you have to agree! He’s cute! He is!” Emily was exclaiming, too loudly. 

Claire laughed then coughed, tendrils of smoke leaving her lips. 

Emily, Claire and their friends weren’t considered a valuable addition to the student body. They were neither gifted scholars nor athletes, and they didn’t suck up to the teachers. This, in Penelope’s eyes, made them some of the sanest people on the entire grounds. 

Claire shifted to cross her ankles. She reclined on the white-tiled window sill, head half turned against the night breeze of a small window, a cigarette raised to her lips. Next to her, Emily perched with her dirty Mary Janes in the sink, cupping her head with one hand. 

Claire looked down at Penelope with half-interested eyes. They were dull amber. 

“What is your type, Nellie?” She asked.

“What?” 

“Well, I’ve never seen you show an interest in anything other than studying.” She inhaled and turned to blow smoke into the night air. 

Penelope shrugged. “I guess, I never really thought about… relationships.” 

“Nooo, of course you haven’t,” Emily said, jokingly. “You’re much too concerned with that scholarship of yours. I, for one,” she gestured one hand as if giving a speech, “wouldn’t even be here if I had a choice. And if I had to study for it?” She made an outraged expression and shook her head. 

It must be noted then that Emily, Claire, and their friends, all ticked the only other standard Dulwick set for its students: they were incredibly wealthy. 

“So how are you supposed to find anyone attractive when you’re stuck with your head in a book all day? Ah—” She put up a finger to silence her. “Don’t lie to me, you were coming back from the library, from study group with awful Jessica Bailey—” She made a gagging noise. 

“Jessica?” Claire said. “God, I hate Jessica.” Claire turned her full attention on Penelope, “I didn’t know you two were friends—”

“We’re not,” she replied.

Emily laughed. “Oh, I’m sure they’re not.” 

Claire joined in. 

Penelope managed a crooked smile and slid down onto the floor. 

“I agree with Emily,” Claire said. “I don’t understand you at all. You need to go out, experience life.”

Thus Penelope’s remaining weeks at Dulwick revolved around studying, avoiding other students and occasionally attempting what Claire and Emily deemed as ‘experiencing life’, which usually meant meeting new people, music, and sneaking into dorms in the middle of the night. Not all of it was awful, but she could feel herself sleeping less, worrying more and feeling distinctly- faded and worn out, like a wrung-out cloth. As if every day when she woke up, there was simply less of her. And more often than before, she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She watched herself from the outside, speaking, laughing, lyin, yet it wasn’t her. 

Then— What came then? 

She was in the library, hunched over another book. Its contents puzzling, her small lamp flickering. She was all alone. 

She was walking home on a cold night, putting her collar up against the biting wind, wrapping her arms around the soft wool. She had bought the coat with the prize money from an essay competition. She’d written about modern interpretations of Icarus, of how he would have looked, a burning star in London’s sky. Icarus with his melting wings, falling and drowning in the Thames.

Claire’s eyes danced through amber glass, like dripping honey, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She remembered. Then, they heard footsteps coming from outside. The clicking of heels in an empty corridor. The window shut, Claire’s throne discarded for a cramped cubicle. Somehow the two of them were right beside each other. 

No, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in class, or at mass, or even sitting the damned Christmas exams themselves. She was swaying on the train platform after, the floor beneath her shoes buzzing, the air busy with the chatter of strangers. She looked around briefly, but she couldn’t think of who she was looking for. 

Then, she was (or maybe wasn’t) blurred against the hazy countryside, and she’d been reading. Zooey had finally climbed out of the bathtub and explained to Franny the meaning of Seymour’s fat lady. 

The girl that wasn’t stood before the doorstep of her home, Penelope thought, and once she crossed it, she was. She spoke to her mum like her old self again, the way she hadn’t been able to strain to talk to people at school anymore, every sentence a thinly veiled allusion to some expectation of success. 

She awoke on the soft carpet of her living room. Beside her, Julia (Drusilla), her little sister, was watching cartoons. 

“Hi, Dru,” she said weakly. “How’ve you been?”

“Eh,” Dru replied. Penelope smiled and sat up. 

“You look tired,” Dru observed. 

“I–I haven’t slept very well. I had to study a lot. It might have all been for nothing, though.” 

“Why?” Dru asked. 

“They might kick me out,” Penelope replied. 

“Why?” Dru repeated, surprised. 

“They claim I was caught doing something I didn’t do,” she said. 

“That’s really unfair,” Dru said. “So you’re going to move?”

“What?” Penelope said. “No, they wouldn’t actually kick me out. I’m one of their best students.”

“So you like it there?” Dru asked. “The place where you lose sleep and they frame you for stuff?”

“I—” Penelope thought for a moment. “That’s the thing,” she said. “Everyone wants to know if my grades are good and what the facilities are like and how it’ll affect my future career… but not if I’m happy there. Or if I would change anything. I would change so much, Dru, given the chance.”

Dru rolled her eyes. “I’ll take that as a no,” she laughed. “You know you’ll have to tell Mum now.”

“Oh bollocks,” Penelope said, collapsing back onto the floor in resignation.

She closed her eyes and felt herself sinking into the carpet as the sounds around her swam in and out of focus. She slept.