Shortlisted
The Shot that Changed Everything
Kellett School, Florence Clifford, 11
I
wasn’t allowed out on the lake. Neither of us were. I remember that before the war, my
brother and I swam in the ultramarine waters and kayaked in the odd, round, bumpy
wooden boats he so proudly made for us. They leaked constantly and instead of sailing
normally they spun around, so it was quite hopeless for us to attempt races in them. But we
did, and I remember many a day spent out on the beautiful, clear water, hunting for shells in the
sand on the sides of the lake, swimming races - I always won - and boating. We practically lived
out on the lake; my brother even built a wooden hut on the shore for us to stay in; but Mother
never let us sleep there. Like all of his wooden creations, it was very bad quality, but he was so
eager to help me that I couldn’t bring myself to tell him my honest opinion. Even thinking of his
bright, smiling, puppy-dog-eyed face brings tears to my eyes, and I have to look away, and try to
think of something else. But I never can.
Everybody loved my brother. When weary travellers, crossing the vast, bleak, hopeless Gobi
desert, came upon the valley of sand where we lived, and saw our beautiful Oriental palace lying
at the bottom, and the crescent of tantalizing turquoise water arcing around our home, each and
every one of them would cry out in joy. And when my mother, famed for her hospitality, allowed
them to stay with us, they would be similarly overjoyed. But when they saw my brother, it was
weeks before they even considered leaving. And then they wanted to take my brother with them.
He wasn’t particularly handsome, and he wasn’t very talented. But he inspired hope in
everyone, optimism in even the most miserable soul, and love and joy in the hearts of many.
Whenever he wasn’t there, everything was dull and boring. My brother was the light of our lives.
Even in the miserable, heart-wrenchingly sad days of war, when scarcely a day went past
without soldiers bombarding our palace with bullets, or bombs wrecking Mother’s prize turnips, my
brother cheered everyone up, and made it seem like life was worth living, despite all the hardships.
Now he was gone.
Everything was different before the war.
It was three years ago when the war started, but it seems like centuries ago. I lived a blessed
life in our beautiful palace with my younger brother, mother and father. Every day was filled with
excitement; discovering new nooks and crannies in the never-ending corridors, getting lost in the
great hall, playing on the lake, and secretly going exploring in the desert above, despite Mother’s
firm injunctions to never leave the valley. I never understood why we were forbidden to climb up
the sand slopes of our valley, or go beyond them, and quite frankly I still don’t. But all of that
came to an end when the war began.
As soon as the war began, we were never let out of the house. Going to the lake was
prohibited. Watering Mother’s prize turnips was prohibited. (This had been prohibited in the first
place, as Mother was very protective of these turnips and unsurprisingly didn’t trust us with
them. Which was perfectly reasonable - it was very unwise to trust us with anything. The only
difference was that that this time, she answered to our pleas of ‘Can we water the turnips?’ with
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