Young Sydney writer, Ruby Burke, learnt via livestream on Friday night that she had won The Best Australian Yarn competition’s $1500 Youth 12-14 age category prize.
Gail Anthony
A Year 12 student from Perth Modern School has won the $1500 Youth 15-18 age category prize in the second year of The Best Australian Yarn short story competition.
The WA Museum was full of quiet and attentive listeners as they gathered to witness the winners of the world’s richest short story competition for published and non-published writers.
Kellie Balaam
The Best Australian’s Yarn top 25 short stories in both youth categories have been revealed — and you can read them all right here on GenWest.
Alison Wakeham and Gail Anthony
Woe is the broken heart, the inheritor of pain and distress from the world. For I am only an observer of a gut-wrenching story involving a woman by the name of Mrs Stewart.
Matylda Dominikowska
The day that death came to greet her, she was waiting. She had known for months that she wouldn’t live. She watched as he trekked through the field of flowers.
Mya Stone
Vivianne Delacour was an average modern twelve-year-old girl. She lived with her sister, Paisley, and her parents, Cedric and Patricia Delacour above a bakery in central Paris, France.
Niharika Garg
AUSTRALIA WA, PERTH 12/FEBRUARY/2068 No one ever takes things seriously until it affects them. The society I now live in, the environment and the world. No one ever saw the beauty, until it was gone.
Siena Southern Broadbent
Everywhere I looked, bright and cheery faces caught my eye. A pretty brunette giggled with her friend. A tall tan boy smirked bashfully at his mate beside him. They all looked so… at home.
Beth Swift-Hoadley
It was a regular Saturday night out at the station, just like every other night the workers at the station that call themselves ‘ringers from the top end’ were drinking their hearts away.
Sarah Dakin
If he were to pull the trigger, what kind of man would he be? If he were to keep the man down here in the chilling, dark, windowless basement any longer, what kind of man would he become?
Matilda Doney
In the tapestry of destiny, soulmates emerge as threads intricately woven, their hearts entwined. “Who is my soulmate?” A question that all dreamers ask, searching the ether for an answer.
Sabrina Franco
Krakow, Poland, 1942 Sabina was reading her book when the Nazis came for her parents. She was sitting at the big wooden table in the kitchen while Mama prepared lunch for her.
Eleni Chapman
I hate Friday nights. The club is full, and the drinks are fuller. As I walk down the stage a few shout an applause. “Sixpence! Sixpence!” they cheer my stage name.
Rebecca Vos
Delilah’s scooter is white. Well, the rim is anyway. The wheels are now softly dusted with the most common resident found in her town, the infamous orangey red dirt.
India Baker
Atticus sits on the front verandah in his rocking chair while Ava slices oranges. The house perched on the hill observes a sweeping view of stretching green trees that shelter the ground . . .
Ruby Burke
The musty smell of smoke filled my lungs with each inhale. The rythmic chugging sound of the train reverberated through the eerie stillness. The engine roared and smoke billowed into the dimly lit sky.
Avalea Curtis
A celestial dance starts to unfold in the great expanse of the sky during the serenity of the night, while the world is sleeping beneath a blanket of stars.
Suri Zhang
In the moist brown earth, a seed is dropped. It nestles into the soil, and every creature in the dark earth holds its breath, waiting. Above the ground stands a small girl with a spade.
Lee Sullivan
The awkward scraping sounds of cutlery on cheap plastic plates filled the air. I could feel my stepfather Adrian’s rage-filled glare bore into me, but I refused to look . . .
Abigail Smith
The street was silent. The busy chatter, the laughing of children, and the warm feeling of happiness was completely dead in this town.
Aimee Chong
The Abyss Sea. One of the darkest things to come from this world- or more likely, the oceans. There are many rumours of this dark place. It is known more for two things, however.
Sue Ning Chee
Skin, that’s all I can think about. How my skin crawls, when he forces his fingers into my palm, entwining my hand with mine. The way he plants his lips onto my hand, while I tremble in disgust.
Mythri Sarker
“We’re selling the farm.” Those words echo around Alice’s head. She tries to rearrange them in her brain to make more sense. They don’t. Farm we’re the selling. The we’re farm selling.
Brooke McDougall
