The Winners
Adventure 2025
Category 11-13
The Next Adventure
Felix sank into bed, exhausted. It had been an exhausting day: the most exhausting day since the War. Today, not only had he had to scold three hooligans vandalising the local coffee shop, but also report another gang for a noise violation mere minutes ago. So, he was even more exhausted than usual, given his rheumatism, and fits of grumbling. He was, in short, getting old: even he agreed. After a few moments, he turned to his bedside table to pick up a book called “Pensions and YOU: A Guide to Retirement” and began to read, pausing occasionally to listen for the faintest trace of music or disturbance, so as to catch and report “those young hooligans” for any further “law-breaking”. After some time, he put down his book, though he didn’t fall asleep immediately. He turned over, grumbling to himself about the “cost of living” and “whippersnappers”. Then he sat up, shaken. “Whippersnappers” were always the very subject Alastair adored to complain about, and thoughts of Alastair brought tears for a long-lost friend, and the lonely Christmas of 1941. Felix pummelled his pillow, and rested once more. As he drifted off to sleep, Death watched. Death is always watching, waiting, waiting for when He can reap your soul. He watched Felix with a kind of disconsolate longing. He longed to be free from this toil. After all, despite what many may imagine, Death longs to die like us: He longs for His never-ending labour of soul-reaping to end. He longs to be free like us, ready to start reincarnation. Death swooped down to Felix’s bedside, and continued His mute staring. He searched his mind to see the life Felix had led. What He saw was bombs, shouting at gangsters and the loss of a comrade: a good comrade: a brave, true fighter, whose name was Alastair, and who was much missed. Well, thought Death, he died a hero; and not in vain, for England had won the War. As a matter of fact, this soul seemed to have gone through more than Death had ever seen; even more than little Peter. He frowned at this recollection, for Peter had been young in death, and did not deserve how he died. Death shook Himself mentally. He couldn’t feel sentimental. Soul-reaping was His Purpose, and soul-reaping is devoid of sympathy. “Felix,” whispered Death gently, leaning down. “It is time.” Felix turned, and stared. He had always thought when Death came, he would resist, and keep fighting. But now, he thought only of seeing Alastair again. ‘Very well. Permit me to pick up some necessities.’ Death frowned to Himself. They always try to run. He watched, bemused, as the old man rifled through his wardrobe, wrapping himself in a long coat, hat and woolly muffler. His wrinkled face lit with excitement, and bowing as low as his rheumatism would permit, Felix spoke to Death softly. “I’m all packed and ready. It is time for the next great adventure.”
Category 14-18
The Secret of the Burning Mountain
The summer always hits hard. The sun scorches the skin, leaving it raw and tingling. The nausea creeps in slowly, accompanied by unbearable headaches from the lack of water. The air tastes like dust, and time itself seems to melt under the heat. This morning, the leader, Tom, woke up on the wrong foot. His face was pale, but his eyes burned with silent rage. His foul mood hung heavy over the camp like a storm cloud. We all felt it tension curled around our spines. He barked an order before breakfast, his voice dry and unforgiving: we were to haul the massive hay bales out of the barn before we began our journey. No one dared object. The bales were at least fifty kilos each, and under the burning sun. My friend Sam, as always, stepped up first. He slung the load over his back and led the way with silent strength, his shirt already soaked through. I followed close behind, my arms trembling under the weight. Tom trailed us like a shadow, eyes sharp and alert like an owl’s watching, calculating, always ready to strike.
We were headed to the mountain he one whispered about in tales and sung about in drunken songs by the fire, The Secret Mountain. Legend said deep within its dark, twisting caves lay forgotten chambers filled with gold. Enough to buy entire kingdoms. Enough to buy freedom. But first, we had to survive the journey. Sam stumbled forward, sweat dripping into his eyes. I could see the pain on his face. Then it happened his foot caught on a sharp stick, and he tumbled to the ground, letting out a scream that tore through the dry air. The bale landed on his leg with a loud crunch.Before I could move, Tom was already beside him. He didn’t ask if Sam was okay. He didn’t check the injury. Instead, he reached for the whip at his side. His face was expressionless, empty of emotion.
“Get up,” he growled.
“His leg is broken!” I shouted.
But it was too late. The crack of the whip echoed through the valley as it struck Sam’s back. Again. And again. I ran toward them, but Tom turned his eyes on me a cold, silent warning. Sam curled into a ball, shaking.
“Please…” he whispered.
I couldn't watch anymore. Something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the months of silence, of doing what I was told. I grabbed a nearby stick and stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You dare challenge me?”
The silence that followed was thick and buzzing. Even the gentle breeze seemed to pause. “I’m not letting you kill him.”He raised the whip again. I swung the stick with everything I had. It cracked against his arm, and the whip fell. He stared at me in shock, then fury.We fought.The others, worn down and afraid, watched from a distance. Dust filled the air. Blood drippedonto the floor. But in the end, I stood over him, gasping. Tom wasn’t unconscious, but he stayed down.I turned to the others.
“We keep going. Without him.”
Sam groaned, and I ran to his side. The journey would be slower now, but we had each other.The mountain still waited. The gold might be real, or it might just be a myth. But we had already found something more valuable: our courage. The thoughts of becoming wealthy hung more and more in the group and the pace was building up. I was leading the group now, holding my ancient book where a map and a drawing of the mountain took shape. After a few days of walking without any rest, suddenly stopped and climbed onto a big rock. I search the horizon when my eyes started watering with joy. I couldn’t believe what I saw. That exact mountain that was drawn into my book in the minus details. And for the first time, the sun didn’t feel quite so heavy on my skin.
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