Speed Date an Author Competion Entries

The following three pieces of writing were submitted for the above competition:

The Sheep and the Turkey

Early one foggy morning on a rough tussocky hill a little bored sheep lay in the grass. He wanted to do something fun and exciting rather than eat all day.

There was a lonely pine on top of the hill, and he had always wanted to explore it but his mother said it was too dangerous and too far away.
He was so fed up he didn’t care, so he set off to the pine tree.
He waded through boggy mud and scratchy grass up the hill until finally he stood in front of the tallest pine tree he had ever seen.
“What do you think you’re doing” came a voice from above, he looked up in surprise and nervously asked “w-w-what are you?”
“I’m a turkey,” replied the turkey, fluffing up his feathers importantly.
“I’ve never seen a turkey before. You must have an exciting life.”
The sheep thought the turkey was so full of colour and out-of-the-ordinary, with his long wobbly thing that came down from his throat, the amazing tail feathers, the weird gobbling noise that he made, and even that the turkey could fly intrigued him.
 As he trudged back down the hill, something caught his eye, a red rubber glove. “This looks like the dangly thing that the turkey has on his throat” he said aloud.
“Could I become a turkey?” he wondered.
The sheep set out for the pine tree very early the next morning with the red glove tied to his neck. On the way he collected feathers and made his own impressive tail fan. When he got there he asked the turkey, “Can I be a turkey with you?”
“No sorry, you don’t sound or act like a turkey” replied the turkey rudely.
So the sheep leant back against the pine tree thinking of how else he might become a turkey. “I could practice my gobbling,” he said to himself  “gobble, gobble, gobble!”
“No sorry, you still don’t act like one” the turkey said now with a tone of anger in his voice.
The sheep thought long and hard about how turkeys act. “Well they can fly, and they sleep high up in trees.” So he decided to try and sleep up in the tree.
He had trouble at first climbing up the coarse bark but after an agonising struggle he made it up just before sunset. Perched on a branch with all the other turkeys staring at him the sheep felt like he didn’t fit in. “I guess that will all change tomorrow when I fly,” he thought to himself.
The next morning when all the turkeys had flapped down from the tree, the sheep was precariously perched on the branch preparing to jump. He launched himself into the air. “I’m flying!” he shouted, then realised he wasn’t.
He woke up, sprawled on the ground, to the sound of raucous, laughing turkeys. He carefully picked himself up, staggered sheepishly down the hill, tripped over, and buried his face in grass. Sweet delicious grass!

Oskar

Samuel

Chunks of black fly everywhere. Explosions ring out again and again. I can’t see anything. Shrapnel clouds my vision. A large hunk of flying metal hits me square in the chest and I fall to the ground. I have the sense to crawl forward just as another giant piece of bomb remnant hits the spot where I was only a moment before. I crawl through the tattered undergrowth and land face first in the dirt. I fumble around in the earth and find a latch. What was it? Someone’s basement maybe? But of course anyone with my luck will know it will probably be locked. I tug the handle upwards with the little strength I have left and manage to drag myself inside the metal chamber. This is the luckiest day of my life. I have found a bomb shelter. The last things I am aware of are a group of faces surrounding me and the sound of the hatch grinding shut before everything goes black.

My eyes fling open and I sit bolt upright grabbing for my gun. I can’t find it. It should be there on my belt with my knife and my water. My water. It’s not there either. At least I still have my knife. It calms me a little to know I at least have one thing. Then it hits me. No one else is here. I specifically remember seeing a bunch of people. I stand up knife in hand then put my other hand on the wall to steady myself as a wave of dizziness hits me full force. I stumble around and finally find the hatch again. How long have I been out? I don’t know. It could be anywhere between one minute and one week. I am suddenly aware that my throat is as dry as a desert and reach for the flask I no longer have. I knew my luck wouldn’t last. So they strip me of my provisions and take off. What nice people. My arm drops and I plop onto the floor. I reach into my back pocket and take out a drawing. A green and brown bug is sitting in complete blackness while a red one is in an oval of light eating all the black. My son drew it. I smile shakily as tears start to roll down my ashen face. I will make it through this war. Whether it’s for my country or my family it doesn’t matter. I stand up again and push open the hatch. I jump out of the hole with newly found energy and look around. I was in a camp. My team had made base. I run to the commander’s tent and proudly bring my hand to my forehead to salute my officer. “Reporting for duty Sir” I say. “Who the hell are you?” This is the wrong base. I’m in the tent of my enemy. “I am Samuel Jhones. Remember me? I’m your killer” I say before slitting his throat.

Tamsyn

Luke's Story

“Are you sure we should do this?” asked Ryan, “I feel bad lying to Mum and Dad.”

“Trust me,” whispered Josh, “We’ll be fine. Mum and Dad think we’re at the park, they’ll never find out we came here. C’mon! If we find the emeralds we can move out of the shack we live in, and into a proper home.”
“I suppose,” sighed Ryan, “But we have to be quick.”
The two boys crept across the stony beach, to where the shipwreck of the old freight ship lay in the shallow water, not far from the shore. Its hull, once painted black, was now a dirty shade of rust.
“I doubt we’ll find anything,” muttered Ryan through chattering teeth as they waded through the freezing water. “I mean, how many people have searched this ship and came up with nothing?”
“I know,” Josh said, “But the legend says that on board this ship was a chest full of emeralds; however it ran into these rocks and none of the crew members were ever heard of again. If nobody has found the emeralds yet, they’re probably still on board the boat.”
The two boys clambered onto the front of the ship.
“C’mon,” urged Josh, “Let’s check the cabin first.”
The boys strode across the deck of the ship and stepped through the doorframe of the rusted cabin. After searching their surroundings for about forty five minutes the boys stopped for a rest.
“It’s hopeless” sighed Josh, “We’ve searched everywhere and there isn’t even a trace of anything valuable.”
The pair sat in silence and stared at the grimy painting on the wall opposite them. It must have been beautiful once, but was now faded and peeling.
“Wait a minute...” mumbled Ryan, walking over to the painting, “Does this look like an emerald to you?”  
“Yeah” replied Josh, “But it’s obviously painted on, it’s not like it’s real.” 
“I suppose,” murmured Ryan, tracing his finger over the emerald, “But could it mean anything?”
“Of course not,” scoffed Josh, “I don’t know why you get your hopes up over something so insignif-”
He was cut off by a loud rumbling noise. The wall with the painting on it began to part, revealing a hallway. At the end, the boys could see a wooden chest.
“Okay,” Josh said, “Maybe that emerald does do something.”
The two boys walked forward and gingerly opened the lid on the chest. Inside were dozens of glimmering emeralds.
Eagerly, Josh reached in and grabbed one.
The ship began to rumble again.
 “Run!” yelled Josh.
They both grabbed a fistful of emeralds and sprinted down the hallway, and onto the ship’s deck. They reached the railing and leaped over the side, just as the ship crumbled and disappeared into the violent waters below.
Josh opened the door to find their parents waiting for him.
“How was your evening at the park?” asked their Mum.
“Eventful,” laughed Ryan, “In fact, can we come inside? We have something to show you...”