Young Writers in Action

Young writers in action: A normal girl

by Azuki, 9, NSW

Girl looking out window. Photo from pexels.comI got out of bed and I stared out the window, longing for a friend. Girls and boys were playing outside happily. It was 1902 in France. See, my sister had tuberculosis when I was four. Two years later she is forgotten. The memory of her is tossed away like an old newspaper.

Well, at least I remember her fondly. Camille, with her soft blond hair, bright blue eyes and dainty little dimples. Maman said she was belle.

“Il est temps pour petit-déjeuner!” Maman yelled.
“J’arrive!” I called back. Breakfast was ready. I could smell just-baked croissant. Okay. So I’ll tell you more about it later.

I haven’t been outside so I don’t have any friends. I haven’t met anyone except Maman, Camille and my imaginary friend Carlos. After Camille died, I got lonely. Carlos was my only hope.

Carlos was a jolly soul. But one day, we had a fight.
“C’est vrai, les licornes sont reélles (It’s true, unicorns are real)!” I told him.

“Non, non,” Carlos argued. ”C’est une idée stupide (That’s a stupid idea)!” That made me angry. Furious. My fingernails dug in to my palms because of my tight fists. No one messes with my unicorn theory. That’s when it all started.

The next crisp morning, I heard Maman’s horses clopping down Marseille, which meant she was going to work. Maman banned me from going outside because of “dangers.” Because I was an obedient little girl, I did what I was told. But that day was the day. I was going to go outside. No more Carlos! Well, at least that’s what I thought. He might follow me.

I went down to the bottom floor and the door was locked from the inside. Then I thought of an idea. I was on the bottom floor. Right? There are always windows in a house. I could climb outside the window! After putting aside some provisions, a picture of Maman and food in a bag, I set off.

It was a rough journey. People stared at me like I was a strangely dressed tourist. I walked and walked for ages until I reached a grassy field.

“C’est beau,” I sighed as I gazed at its beauty. Dandelions, roses and violets, purple and blue! It was amazing. That’s when I heard the explosion.

Suddenly the sky was filled with planes and I was choking on dust and ash. I didn’t understand what was happening. I was only five. All I remember was that I ran. I ran until I found a gathering of people. They were all speaking French. I was so excited to think that I could find Maman. I got out the picture of her and started asking people if they had seen her.

“Avez-vous vue cette personne?” I asked whoever would lend an ear. But all the feedback I got were shaking heads and shrugging shoulders.

Would I ever see Maman again? I ran to a corner and started crying. Then, I heard a familiar voice, “Anne, tu me manques tellement. Oú êtes-vous ma petite douse?” That was the distinctive sound of Maman’s voice! She was asking where I was!

“Maman?” I whispered, my voice hoarse from dehydration.
“Ma fille! Allez, nous devons trouver un abri! Je connais un ami (My daughter! We have to find shelter! I know a friend),” she cried. We ran through the warzone, barely missing bombs flying down from all the warplanes.

Finally, we found our destination. There was a pretty woman standing at the door, followed by two children. The woman was named Mila, Maman’s friend, a boy named Liam and a girl called Lola. They had a small house but I was excited that I could possibly live a normal life again.

The next day I went to school and I met nice people. I played with Lola and Juliet, a girl from our neighbourhood. A few weeks later, Maman came up to me and said that our home was safe from war now and we had to go home.

I got out of bed and stared out the window. I wasn’t longing for a friend. For once, I was one of those boys and girls playing happily. I was a normal girl.

This is Azuki’s first story published with Alphabet Soup. If YOU would like to send us a story, drawing, poem, or book review, check out our submission guidelines. Happy writing!




Young Writers in Action

Young Writers in Action: The Mystery of the Thief


by Joshua, 7, NSW

Tom and Jim could not sleep, because they heard a sucking sound! Jim quietly peeked out the window.

“What are you doing?” asked Tom.
“I am checking what the sound is!” Jim answered. “I can see something, I can see something,” Jim excitedly said.
“What is it?” whispered Tom.
“I don’t know. Just this hairy thing,” said Jim.
“What if we go outside?” suggested Tom.
“Good idea,” said Jim.

Well, when they were at the bottom, they saw a thief! Then they called the police. Before the police came, the thief was already in the house! Tom and Jim ran back to the house and woke up mum, dad and the next door neighbours.

When the police came, someone started a fire. Then one of the neighbours called the fire station.

When the fire had died down the thief was gone! Security and police were all looking for a thief. At last they found him (the thief).

Then they found out his name was James Brodson. And Seven News told the story of James Brodson’s crime. And he was arrested and put to gaol for seventy years.


This is Joshua’s first story published with Alphabet Soup. If YOU would like to send us a story, drawing, poem, or book review, check out our submission guidelines. Happy writing!

Young Writers in Action

Young Writers in Action: A Misunderstanding

A Misunderstanding

by Jemivieve, 11, Victoria

I frowned at Sophie and pulled on my mask. We were about to do sword fighting (only with fake, plastic swords, of course) at our summer camp.

“Bring it on, Dumb Darcy,” Sophie said. I hated how she called me that.

“Fine, bring it on, then, Stupid Sophie.” I shot back. Everyone knew how much we hated each other.

“Three, two, one, go!” the lady announced.

With our plastic swords we fought. We ran a long way and eventually came to the edge of a cliff. The others had stayed behind. I gasped as I slipped and fell. I heard Sophie scream too, as I had accidently hit her with my sword and bumped her off the cliff. I hopped up, as soon as possible, and ran to her in fright.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“Yeah — I think,” she called, clutching a branch that stuck out of the cliff with her hands.

“Hold on — I’ll help you up.”

I lay down on the muddy grass and reached my arm out to her. I held my other hand on my sword I had dug deep into the ground. But before I could even start to pull she pulled me off the cliff and down with her. I screamed, fell and cried out in pain as I bruised my leg.

“Oops,” Sophie said sarcastically.

“Hey! I was only trying to help you! Listen, I’m sorry that we’ve fought for so long, and I’m really sorry for all the things we’ve done to each other — but please forgive me, because the only way we can get back up is by helping each other.”

She smiled at me for the first time. “So, you’re saying that if I help you, the war is over?”

“Yes.” We smiled at each other and I heaved Sophie up onto the ground, and she then pulled me up.

“Thanks,” I began. “Hey, you know, if we really hated each other, then we wouldn’t have helped each other up — right?”

“Oh yeah,” Sophie looked guilty. “In fact, I’ve been so busy worrying about hating you that I’ve forgotten to make friends, but it would be nice to have one.”

“Yeah, same here. You know, we might have a lot in common — why don’t we try to be friends?”

“Okay.”  Holding hands we made our way back to the others.

“Did you hate me, all that time?” I asked.

“Only because I thought you hated me.”

“Really? I hated you for that same reason!” We laughed. We had spent so long hating each other — all because of a little misunderstanding.