Full results for the creative writing sections are at www.midsomersetfestival.org.uk/festival-results/creative-writing.html
The Evelyn Sandford senior literary trophy for the highest mark in classes 141 to 146 went to Wendy Larkin, who also won the £50 MSF Poetry Prize, while the £50 Prose Prize (Classes 143 & 145) went to Brian Weaving.
Here are some of the winning entries:
Winner of the Paragon Cup
Waiting by Greg Taylor, 12, of King Edward's School
Its face was like nothing I had ever laid eyes on before. The abomination's, waxy, featureless visage remained taut no matter how many times I slashed with my penknife. That was when I realised it wasn't here to kill me.
It was dusk and I was lost. I was on a walking holiday for people who "wanted to escape the hustle and bustle of city life". My mobile had run out of charge, but I was hopeful I might finally use a pair of night-vision binoculars I had received for Christmas.
That was when I noticed the mansion; a huge, sinister, gothic tangle of chipped bricks, ivy and rotting wood, lurking ominously in a forest clearing. It was clearly derelict, but as rainclouds were beginning to close in, I used my penknife to help part the rampant undergrowth and slid between the rails of the enormous black iron gate. Exhausted by my walk, I was soon fast asleep under the crumbling stone porch.
I awoke to a clear, black sky and a cool, midnight breeze. The grass was wet to the touch, but there was not a cloud for miles. The great crescent moon shone brighter than I had ever thought possible, and the-
Something flickered in the corner of my vision, something where the light of the moon couldn't reach.
Then, again, in the undergrowth and leaf litter at the edge of the clearing.
Suddenly, a blackened figure appeared before me at the treeline, still as a rabbit in headlights. I hastily pulled my night-vision binoculars from my rucksack, careful not to look straight at it. There are some creatures that treat mere eye contact as aggression.
Through the grainy, emerald vision of the binoculars, I could see it far more clearly. A naked, genderless humanoid, covered head to toe in soot and dirt, apart from a white, waxy mask on its face; a spotless mask with two eye holes and nothing else save a mere bump for a nose and the outline of lips… But no, something about the mask was changing. As the creature slid forward, as if moving through water, its visage melted and shimmered until it was something I recognised far more. My own face.
Screaming with anguish and fear, I ran at it with my penknife, slashing at its face, my face, yet no blood came. It was like trying to cut plastic. But with every slash I made, my own face sprayed wide arcs of blood and contorted horribly. I rolled in the dirt in pain, blackening my skin with the mud. Because my face was changing too. I was unable to speak, unable to even make a sound, and the only sensation I felt was that of pain and horror as the demon calmly removed my clothes, put them on, took my rucksack and walked off, wearing my body. And here I am, left on the floor, with a mask for a face and mud on my naked, genderless body. Waiting. Waiting.
Winner of the Evelyn Sandford Junior Literary Trophy
Little Fish, Little Fish by Daniel Hammond, Box CofE Primary School
Little fish, little fish
Little fish, little fish,
Where do you lie under the ocean blue?
A coral, a cave or a great blue wave?
But can I come too?
Low, high, up in the sky
Where the flying fish fly.
No, little fish, little fish,
Come back here.
I've asked you one question
That's simple and clear.
It's where do you live, oh where do you live?
'I live just here!'
Winner of the Wynn Davis Trophy for Duologue in the Adult Group
Communication by Brian Weaving
Setting: Claire and Craig, carrying drinks, are in the local wine bar.
CRAIG: We can sit here.
CLAIRE: Isn't there somewhere quieter?
CRAIG: Don't you love the atmosphere?
CLAIRE: I want to be able to talk, Craig.
CRAIG: This is so part of the scene.
CLAIRE: What are you doing?
CRAIG: Checking the wi-fi signal.
CLAIRE: You don't need wi-fi. You've got me.
CRAIG: It says that we're drinking the third most expensive Pinot Grigio within five miles.
CLAIRE: I don't care, I like this bar. It's where we first met.
CRAIG: Is it?
CLAIRE: Are you going to turn that thing off?
CRAIG: There could be an important message.
CLAIRE: Like the North Koreans starting a nuclear war?
CRAIG: I'm sorry?
CLAIRE: Can we talk, please?
CRAIG: Would you believe that? Daniel's taken Laura to the Blue Parrot to eat.
CLAIRE: Really? Craig can't / we have a moment....
CRAIG: / And they've ordered the Lamb Tagine. That is so gross.
CLAIRE: There's something I need to say. (FORCEFUL) Now, Craig.
CRAIG: All right, Claire, I'm totally with you. I'll just text him the postcode of the nearest A & E. They're going to need it.
CLAIRE: This is important for both of us.
CRAIG: Carry on, I'm listening. Wow, Liverpool are two down with ten minutes to play,
CLAIRE: I've decided that / we really must....
CRAIG: / I just need to make sure that Adam knows. He's got fifty quid on that game. The loser.
CLAIRE: We just don't seem to be communicating these days.
CRAIG: Claire, that's nonsense. We're here talking aren't we?
CLAIRE: What I'm trying to say / is that......
CRAIG: / Would you believe that? He switched to Spurs at the last minute and got five to one. Crafty bastard.
CLAIRE: (ANGRY) Will you stop playing with that damned thing?
CRAIG: (INDIGNANT) I do not play on my mobile. This is serious stuff.
CLAIRE: Like the app to work out how many pints of beer it would take to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool.
CRAIG: Exactly. We won the pub quiz the other week with that.
CLAIRE: The founders of Apple should be sanctified for their contribution to western civilisation.
CRAIG: What's your problem. You want me to communicate. This is what I'm doing.
CLAIRE: Oh, what's the use?
CRAIG: All right then, I'll turn it off. Sorry, but I've just had a tweet.
CLAIRE: You'd better open it then.
CRAIG: Hang on. That's ridiculous. It's from you. It says ' We're finished you self- centred pr**k.'
CLAIRE: At last, you've got the message.
CRAIG: But you can't do that.
CLAIRE: Why not?
CRAIG: How long have we been seeing each other?
CLAIRE: Six months.
CRAIG: Exactly, I'm disappointed in you, Claire. After all that time together and now this.
CLAIRE: (INCREDULOUS) You're disappointed in me?
CRAIG: How many times have I told you?
CLAIRE: What? That you love me?
CRAIG: No, that to be really cool, a tweet has to have exactly one hundred and forty characters.
CLAIRE: (SCREAMS)
CRAIG: What?
Winner of the The Haiku Cup in the Adult Group
Again by Brian Weaving
Dew lies on mown grass
Lone ball seeking distant hole
never to marry?
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