Lichfield school students compete in short story contest

Students at a Lichfield school have been showing their creative talents in a story writing competition.

The Nether Stowe School pupils were given the task of writing a short story of no more than 1,000 words.

A spokesperson said: “The students really enjoyed this challenge and the quality of work they produced was extraordinary.

“We had over 20 entries. Some tales were funny, some were sad and they covered a range of genres from science fiction to horror and romance. It was very hard to pick a winner.”

The top prize eventually went to Christopher Wilkinson and Amy Hooper.

Headteacher Ruth Poppleton added: “Literacy skills are very important and students need to be able to write for a range of audiences. This competition gave them an opportunity to use their imagination to craft an interesting story.

“Congratulations to Christopher and Amy.”

The two winning stories can be read below:

The Portrait by Christopher Wilkinson

A series of everlasting brush strokes expertly crafted by a virtuoso of art, laid down in numerous freeform contours, selecting only the finest colours for his masterpiece. Immaculate attention to detail that only the steadiest hand in existence could produce, intricacies so delicate they encapsulate the whole world, a painting that will become a museum piece for all time.

He put down the brush. The final line was drawn. Taking the canvas from the easel, he laid it to rest on it’s front, staring up at the night’s sky for the whole of the universe to see. The artist retired to his bungalow and went to sleep.

The finished product, standing in a quaint shop window, on a secluded backstreet of London, unnoticed and forgotten. Nothing. A man, a normal everyday man, just happened to pass by on his way to work, a different route than usual. The autumn leaves soaked in the morning dew, reflecting the sunrays like a spotlight onto the shop window. The man withdrawing his vision from the blinding light, found himself facing the glass. He stopped. The portrait had caught his eye. The man was attracted to it‘s beauty, perfect in everyway, their relationship was unbreakable and he had to have it.

Entering the shop, the old art shop, his eyes fixated on the portrait, and nothing was going to stop them from being together. Hastily snatched his bulging wallet from the inner pocket of his blazer, dropping his thin black briefcase onto dusty floorboards. The sound of emptiness echoed from within, rebounding from all four walls of the establishment. The shopkeeper, a poor younger woman, with no more than five years between them, standing so close, yet so far due to the obstructing counter. The woman thanked the man for his investment, wrapped the portrait in a flimsy paper bag. The feeling was ethereal, euphoria and enlightenment pulsing round his body as he left in a hurry to continue his route to work.

The man enters the building, a futuristic construction, twists and turns in the framework, reflective glass panels towering high above the street below, and even the archways, reminiscent of the Victorian era, touched with a light covering of chrome, with that certain tangy taste in your mouth as you pass by – a mirror image of our world.

Higher levels the man walks about, finds his place, lays down the briefcase and portrait, the contrast is almost insurmountable. Switches on the computer, whirring and buzzing as the machine starts. Another man, slightly older and with broad shoulders – Mark, paces towards the desk.  “Hello David, you’re later than usual today,” he said with an upbeat tone of voice.

“Yeah, I figured I could take a shortcut, but I stopped off at an art shop to have a look at something,” he replied, mildly concealing his purchase. Mark spots the flimsy paper bag that David is clutching, grasping tightly so not to make a sound.

“And what have we here?” questioned Mark, clasping at the thin material protecting the portrait. David let go, gave in – he didn’t want to fight over it. Mark pulled the packaging away from it and inspected the portrait thoroughly before giving his verdict. David observed with reassured, but expectant eyes.

“It’s good, how much d’ya pay for it”

“Ah, about five-hundred pounds”

Mark whistled wildly, exacerbating the already awkward situation.

“You better watch yourself, you don’t want to lose it now if it costs that much.”

Mark pushed the portrait into David’s stomach and walked out of sight. David replaced the paper bag, standing it upright under the office desk, his briefcase by it’s side.

David began walking away, heading for the water cooler. Poising a plastic cup underneath the tap – a rustling sound. With some confusion, he turned around towards his desk. The portrait had revealed itself. Lovingly, David moved swiftly back with lengthy strides, placing the paper bag over the portrait once more.

Many glorious months passed, each one better than the preceding, yet David had forgotten the old times. He travelled the world with the portrait, his portrait. Never careless, from a cruise in the Mediterranean, to a long weekend in Prague. They witnessed the high points, and the low points, an intoxicating blend of style and craftsmanship, and the mundane man, David, who had obliviously stumbled upon the most important thing of his life.

As the days grew old, and the sun was beginning to sink in the sky, David, tired from working, returned to his illustrious house. Inside, he set down the briefcase and the portrait, clomped heavily into the kitchen across the laminate. The kettle switch was pressed, David rested upon the counters, easing his stress.

Moments passed. He looked up, moving back into the hall, dragging the portrait away from his briefcase, the inseparable pair finally torn apart like removing a pacifier from a baby’s mouth. The screams were silent though, and David produced a hammer and nail, holding the portrait against a wall firmly and hitting the nail into the plaster, ever so gently, being careful not to damage the masterpiece that he has waited for his whole life. The last hit, the portrait was suspended from the ground, overseeing the whole lounge. It was confined, suffocated, and the portrait was ignored for the rest of the night.

The next day. David knew the fading memory of the portrait, still in his mind. He glanced over to it, and confronted it. They both smiled at each other, the room illuminated in the emotional brilliance. And then, the most unusual thing occurred. The portrait spoke to him:

“We were meant to be…”

“Always,” replied David. And with his final words, he reached out to touch the portrait‘s face, and a blinding white light engulfed the couple. Once the light receded, David was gone, forgotten, yet far from lonely. He lived, and forever shall live on in the portrait, standing close behind the person whom he loved the most.

It is quite amazing how many life and death situations warrant running way as fast as you can; normally in the most awkward of moments like right when you need the toilet or in the middle of a phone conversation, but never the less here we are again in the middle of the forest running for our lives. Well we’re not but our damsel over there certainly is. If you close your eyes you can almost see her, can’t you? Well, yes of course you can, here’s me blathering on like an idiot when you can obviously see her pale form running through the trees, her black hair cascading after her like strands of pure onyx…anyway as I was saying our damsel is running for her life, but not just her life you see she’s also running for her baby’s life who at this very moment in time is about to be born. I mean honestly, children these days, how rude! So this is where I leave you and the story begins: one beautiful damsel in a huge forest of ancient trees with the full moon shining down upon them, wait a second, is that? No it can’t be; but it is! Okay what were those words again? The ones to start a story? The ones that mean I can go? Ohh yes, once apon a time…

Faster, she had to run faster, yet even her body protested against what she knew logically was impossible. She tripped, stumbling over the roots and twigs scattered on the forest floor. She knew she had to keep going even though her whole being was almost utterly against it.

Then she heard it: the quick successive footsteps of her followers ringing sharply through the night air like alarm bells, as if nature itself was telling her to move. Quickly the woman took off running, instinct blocking the pains of her contractions which she was sure would come in full pelt as soon as she was safe.

Finally she reached her destination, a small clearing about 10 feet in diameter surrounded by the oldest of the ancient trees of the forest. The power radiating out of the clearing was nearly visible it was so great, like a green glow flickering in the air which you’re only able to see when you’re looking at it out of the corner of your eye.

The woman slowly moved forward as if approaching a wild animal till she stood just outside the clearing. She could hear the ever louder sound of footsteps belonging to the men pursuing her, and knew she had to act quickly. As she stepped into the clearing any onlooker would say it was as if she had walked through water as it cascades down from a waterfall, the way the air rippled around her. And that would be all they were able to say because, as soon as she had stepped into the clearing she became invisible.

Now the woman finally was safe and, just as she predicted, the pain of her contractions came back full force as her baby tried to force its way into the world. Biting her lip so she stayed silent the woman scrunched her eyes closed and listened for to the sounds of her chasers as they arrived. Their sickly breathing sounded as if it was right behind her, though she knew that was both highly unlikely and impossible.

Finally the grey-faced men left, and the damsel gave birth to a beautiful baby girl just as dawns light began to shine. That little girl and her mother now both live happily and in safety. Or in as much safety as life has to offer.