Second Place (7 – 11 yrs): Eleanor White, Aged 10, Inkpen Primary School
The mist was rising. I was lost.
There, through the twisted, gnarled trees, I see the moon.
Through the mist, crawling through the forest, reaching out white claws, I can just see its glow.
It’s like a faceless man, a man with no soul.
The frost was forming. I was lost.
There, through the cold, misted air, I see a figure.
A twisted figure.
Through the trees, standing tall like mangled corpses, withered fingers reaching out, I can just see his form.
It’s a faceless man, a man with no soul.
The snow was falling. I was lost.
There, through the beautiful, delicate flakes, I see him turn.
Through the snow, falling gently to the ground, creating eerie shadows, he begins to walk towards me.
I see only a faceless man, a man with no soul.
The clouds were gathering. I was lost.
There, standing before me is him, him with no soul.
No love at all.
Above me, as coldness drops fiercely down, making me shiver uncontrollably, there is a low rumble of thunder.
I pity the faceless man, the man with no soul.
He has no family. No one to care.
There, in the moon light, I take his hand, his smooth white hand.
A hand that touched death.
Through the trees we walk arm in arm, and I am no longer lost, no longer alone.
As dawn breaks, golden light blinds me.
When I look again, the sun is rising, and there is no faceless man.
No man with no soul.