Sixteen and Under Flash Fiction Winners

This competition was kindly sponsored by Kanturk Credit Union.

Curse Of The White Fox by  Queen Ogumefu

Coláiste Treasa, Kanturk
A wise person once told me “a word is enough for the wise”. Me and my mother were very close, We would go fishing together, bake together and most of all laugh together….Well that was until seven years ago. One cold, harsh evening my father did something very cruel so evil and despicable that the gods themselves cursed my family. My mother was punished to become a white fox imprisoned in a garden filled with mystical creatures and many species of plants. From that day forth a dark aura hung over me like a silhouette and I vowed I would send my father back to the pit of disgust he crawled out of. 
Fortunately the garden my mother was trapped in was a secured part of my property. The entrance of this magical land was masked by ivy and overhanging roses,a wall of tall trees concealed it from the outside world. I would always visit my mother and try to reconstruct our bond alas it was never the same.I could always see her smiling at me from behind her white fur. Once every full moon my mother would turn back into a human but it would only last a few hours. Every time she transformed we would practice witchcraft . I have been practicing so I could kill my father and every time my mother shrunk back into a fox she would tell me to forgive my father and that “a word is enough for the wise”. Although I loved her I never listened and one day I did it….. I sent my father to the underworld to burn in pain and agony for eternity but…..everything comes with a price. And my price was that I would swap places with my mother, Now I am the fox…


Second Place

Death By Simulationby A.L Sweeney

Mount Saint Michael Secondary School
Asphyxiation beneath a cloudless sky.
Burning lungs and freezing skin as he holds him gently, strong arms breaking his fall, thoughtful gestures of alliance. The salt burns into his open wounds as the water and his aching blood intertwine. The further he goes, the more familiar it all starts to feel. 
The lap of the gentle waves has distorted into sick static, his thoughts, his company. The faces, the faces; are they there? Or were they sculpted by his ever-fogging imagination? The red tears they cry, the way they float aimlessly about, no man could possibly dream of inventing such a sight.
There is nowhere to run to.
break out
There is only an infinitely long spread of sea.
The sea is as wide as the universe is long, just as familiar. His vision tints red.
it was them!
you know! they’re coming!
Hush now. Let’s not alarm anyone.
you can’t silence me!
The faces swarm. Yelling in a language incomprehensible by anyone or anything here, but still he grabs his ears and tears them off. Or so he thinks. His hearing stops and the volume of blood increases. Senses, nerve endings, and no more. 
His vision fades as he breathes deeper than he ever has before. Paroxysms of pain surge through his body, and he screams silently. Unending, ever-increasing. Someone is doing this to him. Maybe it is one of the faces that keep taunting him as he sinks ever deeper into the blackening abyss.
Someone somewhere is inflicting this unnecessary pain.
Pain without nerve endings.
Pain without life.
Fictional pain.
Given life, meaning, only by the person in which the depictions of the suffering reside, a reader of some sort, no more empirical than he. A witness.
No meaning left, he chokes. And disappears.


Highly Commended

A Fluffy Surprise by Sadhbh Kiely,

Colaiste an Phiarsaigh

Waves crashed menacingly against the rugged cliff shoreline and a piercing wind howled dismally through every nook and cranny in the old wooden cottage that clung to the edge of the cliff. Rain battered the rotting frame of the cottage. It was cold and wet.
However stormy the night was through, somebody was out, against their will. Erin called in a desperate, hoarse voice for her adventurous, younger brother Will, on a dangerous precipice of Cork’s shoreline. She fought against the gale force winds and willed her brother to show up. He didn’t.
            Suddenly, in the distance, the shadowy outline of a house appeared. Erin raced towards it.
She reached the cottage, gasping for breath that the wind had whisked away from her and went to knock on the door. Not hearing a sound, she carefully pushed open the door. Peeking in anxiously, she cried with joy. She found her brother curled up in a dusty corner, with a rabbit and about seven kits! She ran over the cracked tiles to her brother and his find.
He woke up when he heard the loud footsteps and looked around fearfully. Seeing his long awaited sister, he beckoned her over and signalled her to be quiet. Erin knelt down beside him and examined the rabbits. They were asleep and so adorable! Fluffy and honey-brown in colour, with snow-white bellies.
            Erin smiled in delight. Seven kits and a mother rabbit a lovely surprise for her fruitful searching. Her brother looked immensely proud as he whispered the names he had given to them in her ear.
            Will began to shiver and Eirin decided it was time to go home. She wrapped the cold, little rabbits up in her coat and hurried home with her brother and the rabbits.


The Detention by Cian O’Donoghue

Coláiste Treasa, Kanturk
As usual, I wasn’t listening to what my teacher was saying in detention, but then, he said something that caught my attention. He had roared, 
“You’re just like your brother was, as thick as the wall”. 
That had done it, I thought, NOBODY disrespected my dead brother & got away with it. NOBODY!

I stood up and glared at him. ‘Nobody speaks about my brother like that & you’re no exception!!! I don’t care if you’re a teacher!!’
‘Yeah, who’s going to stop me? Sir whispered with malice. 
This made my blood boil and with my hardback I whacked him across the face. It was only after that spontaneous move that I realised what I had done! I had assaulted the teacher & he looked extremely angry!
Immediately, he caught me by the neck & dragged me out over the table. I tried to wriggle free of his grip but he was too strong. He dragged me up to the board and slammed me against it. Pain shot through my head in sharp pulses. He grabbed the roll book and started to leather me with it. He was like a complete maniac but luckily for me, I managed to kick him in the guts as hard as I could. He dropped me and bent over in agony. I bolted for the door.
I followed the trail that led to the coast. I looked back, I could see him chasing me. I reached a house and hid under the rotting stairs. Soon after he bounded in through the threshold. I didn’t move a muscle as he searched the shack for me. As he was coming towards me he upset whatever support the ceiling had because within seconds the roof had caved in completely. The last thing I remember was hopelessly trying to flee the old wreck……


Choice by Amy Nunan

Coláiste Treasa, Kanturk
Out of nowhere, the rain started coming down in buckets, the wind was strong, too strong for the fishing boat. The waves were sending it closer to a cliff. Mark had no choice only to jump. He held his breath. He struggled through the rough waves and eventually reached a rock. He lay there staring at the cliff not able to move until the storm calmed. Then, he saw it, an old house on the cliff top.

He needed to get up there. He staggered around the cliff trying To find a way to get up to the house. Eventually, he found rocks leading to the top of the cliff. Once he got up he stared at the house he had seen. He had to go in and see if there was anything or anyone inside that could help him. As he opened the door that was coming off the hinges he was disappointed. The smell of moguls made his nose wrinkle. There wasn’t much inside only an old open fire. Mark had a great idea, he stumbled over to the fire and found a box of matches. He opened the box and to his surprise found three matches. His idea was to light something on fire and the smoke would alert someone back at the port. Mark scurried out on to the cliff. He lit one of the matches to see if it wasn’t too damp. Nothing happened, he tried once more. To his amazement, an orange flame flew up. He quickly threw it down on the dry moss. In a matter of minutes, there was smoke everywhere. It was getting dark. Would it be too dark for anyone to see the smoke back in the port? Would mark be spending the night on the cliff?


The Magical Garden by Ciara O’ Sullivan

Coláiste Treasa, Kanturk
The girl noticed a gate out of the corner of her eyes. She skipped along in her pink wellies, loose curls bouncing as she skipped along the footpath.

The gate was wide open. She caught her dress on the side of the gate tearing the end of it, she didn’t even notice. She was surrounded by fantastic scenery. Her breath was absolutely taken away. She was surrounded by brightly colored flowers and large trees, all different shades and colours. Large bushes. A stone footpath led her to a pond, admiring her reflection in the water, she looked up fascinated by butterflies as they flew around her head.

She was transfixed by this magical garden. Her imagination ran wild, she made up pretend games in her head – from being a princess living in a castle on a lake in the mountains one minute to a zookeeper in Africa the next. She ran around the garden all afternoon. The sun shone brightly on her with the heat of the hot day burning the tip of her nose.

As time went on the sun started to go down but didn’t stop the little girl from playing outside. She was lost in her own little world pretending to be a fairy living in a magical garden with other fairies. After making up so many games, she was starting to mix up reality with her fantasy world.
The evening was closing in. She heard her name ‘Makayla’ being called from inside the house, it was her grandmother calling her for dinner. She quickly ran out through the gate taking one last look at the garden and saw something small flew past her face. ‘A fairy’ she cried with joy and ran even quicker inside her grandmother’s house.


The Ghost by Cathal O’Dubhlaing

Gorey Community School

I stand at the cliff’s mossy edge, a ghost, listening to the whispering of the water. The blue moon has cast it’s light down, sucking the colour from the ground, green grass and red rock now just darker and lighter shades of the same grey. Yet it makes for a soothing lamp as I dig into the dirt, my back to the sea, shoveling showers of snuff-coloured mud down the clif-face. It’s drowned out by the tides ramming of the rock face, using a motherly touch, smoothening out the jaunty bits.
Whoosh, crash. Whoosh, crash. My rounded shoulders work the roughened oak handle, in tune with the tidal chorus. I pause for a moment and turn from my work, down towards the swaying ocean which stretches out to embrace the peninsula. A scatter of stars push their way through a thick blanket of cotton candy clouds, softly adding to the moon’s glare.

It illuminates the world enough for me to see the small rowing boat, slowly pushing towards shore, upon a silver tide. The boat cuts through the ocean like paper, sharp ripples bouncing off the lonely rocks. I can hear in my head the sound of metal on rockas the boat reaches shallow waters, it’s captain leaping out. He pulls the thick yellow rope to guide it onto the wet sand that will hold it till morning, then carries out the First Mate on his shoulders. The sillhouttes walk hand in hand to the Range Rover, sandy prints shadowing them, large and small. I remember when they were mine and his. He strides purposefully, shoulders hunched forward. They always said he had my build, but his mother’s heart and face. It’s a face that refuses to gaze upon mine. For a brief moment, he cranes his neck up to catch a glimpse, two tiny moons on his glasses. He snaps his neck almost immediately back to his child, picking up his pace. After all, nobody wants to see a ghost.

The Old House by Jack MacCarthaigh

Coláiste Treasa, Kanturk
Because of my friends, the quite foolish ones who like to dare and push and pull the limit of comfortability, I find myself alone walking down this strangely deserted street, on which I am not sure has inhabitants. Other than the few rats that wander through them and seek food where food will not be found. There is no sign, yet somehow I feel as if this may be a one way street.
For a second I swear I saw a woman entering the house at the end of the street. It seems more scruffy and torn up. Yellow tape being the only sign of modern day, wrapped up around it tied up with a “scheduled for removal” sign. As I approach the deserted house at the end of the road, I saw the ghostly woman again, an apparition. Yet strangely to me it seems she has my hair flowing down to her back and the same nose I see when I look in a mirror. As she turns I realize she Is my mother, with the same sunken eyes and weary hands she said goodbye with last year.
Before I realize it I am opening the front door. I feel like I am being transported. The inside not resembling the broken down exterior of the house. My late mother walks through the house and takes my hand. A breath of cold air falls on me. I am dragged to a grand dining room. My mother and my father, every weary heart that said goodbye, they are all eating a feast, yet the more food they consume the more their images fade. I don’t really like it here as something felt strange, yet it provides safety. I am pulled cruelly back outside the house by an unexplained force. I know not what it is. And I am left to walk down this deserted street on which i’m not sure has inhabitants.