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Teen Fiction Winner, Writing Rammy 2023

Love Letters by Stephanie Cameron

The old man walks through his door. Hanging up his coat and hat, leaving his shoes on, he goes over to the desk not too far away from him. Sitting down and placing a piece of paper in front of him, he picks up a nice looking fountain pen, one his dad gave him, and starts writing.

“My dearest, Eliza

“Yes I remember that quite well, I still can’t believe we managed to ruin my mother’s flower beds! Of all the places you could of swerved into, you somehow were able to run over my mother’s marigolds and daffodils. Of course it was my own fault for letting you behind the wheel of my dad’s car. Such troublemakers we were!

“Of course we weren’t always like that though. Do you remember? We use to have picnics down in the football field. I’d bring a pitcher of your favourite lemon and herbal tea, while you’d bring my second favourite sandwiches, mature cheddar and Swiss on whole-wheat bread. We would just talk and laugh the afternoon away. You’d have that old record player your dad got you for your sweet sixteen playing. And we’d dance anytime one of our songs came on, and even the rain couldn’t stop us! We’d dance and dance until you kicked off your heels, then you would try race me up and down the football field. I’d always win of course!

“I hope this letter finds you well,

“Yours forever, Arnold.”

He puts the pen down, and grabs one of the envelopes from the pile to his left. Folding the letter neatly, he slides it carefully into the envelope. Writing ‘Eliza’ at the front, and sealing it shut, he carefully but firmly holds the envelope in his hand, and walks out the door again.

Walking down the familiar street, he waves at all the familiar faces, just as old as him. While he could take the bus to his destination, and it would be quicker, he prefers not to. The bus is always so crowded, and full of sweaty people, and he just didn’t like the bus. Besides, he wants to look his best for when he reaches his stop.

Turning the corner, he sees the familiar play park,, filled with children playing, some of which being scolded by their mothers. He smiles, remembering fondly about how his mother use to scold him like that. She was just looking out for him after all. Finally, he reaches his destination.

Walking into the familiar place, he sits down on the ground, placing the envelope neatly in front of the tombstone, along with all the others.

“I hope this letter finds you well, my dear,” he says.

“I love you.”

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Words for Wellbeing

Each of our eight libraries runs a fortnightly Words for Wellbeing Group.

The groups last for around 60 minutes and alleviate social isolation and support mental health by encouraging people to get out of the house and enabling them to socialise in a safe space.

The groups differ from traditional book groups in that no homework is required.  People can just come along on the day, the group facilitator leads the conversations, which can be general chat.  Sometimes they will read a short piece of fiction, non-fiction, poetry or song lyrics and then participants can discuss how they feel about it.  There is no pressure for anyone to contribute, but we hope that gradually, people will feel comfortable discussing the reading, chatting about how it made them feel or even sharing prose or poetry that they like.

Each group typically consists of between 4 and 12 people and there will be tea/coffee and biscuits available.  The groups are free as are the refreshments.

The groups are open to anyone and may be of benefit to those feeling isolated after events of the last couple of years.

Participants are able to meet with new people, chat about reading and how they feel in a supportive, friendly space.  This means they can get out the house, have tea and biscuits, socialise with other people, and make new friends.  They will also have the option of joining the library, which will give them access to books on health and wellbeing.

The groups will be run by trained, friendly and supportive library staff members. For more information or to register interest people can contact gavin.johnstone@falkirk.gov.uk or call the library where they are interested in attending a group.

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Family Rammy Runner Up, Writing Rammy 2022

The Wonders of the Deep by Claudia Foster

What do you think about when ‘wonders of the deep’ comes to your mind? Tropical fish and sea plants? Underwater caves? Whales and sharks?

I have never seen those in my life. All I’ve seen is the bottom of my local swimming pool. Boring, right? But if you open your mind the bottom of a swimming pool can be just as interesting as the bottom of an ocean.

First of all, pay attention to what you see. You see people’s legs. Some long, some short and chubby like a toddler’s. Some hairy, some wizened. Some are thrashing and some are still.
You also see slightly sinister, smiling yellow and green toys lined up in neat little rows. And children diving in to grab them. One of them, a cross looking girl, gives me a funny look.
I see a boy of about four jump into the pool. He looks at me, grins and blows a raspberry before strong arms reach into the water and pluck him out.

I swim across the tiled floor and then turn round and stare at the shimmering light as water floods my nose. Foam boards soar over my head like manta rays with bubbles on the bottom, blocking the light for a moment.

I’ll make do with these ‘wonders of the deep’ for now.

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Family Rammy Runner Up, Writing Rammy 2022

The Worker by Sandy Foster

I don’t remember much about my young life. All I have ever remembered is endless gears, needles, presses and fabric.

I was very rarely outside of the building that the men said was my home. It is where I would eat my food, drink my water and rest. Well, I was not meant to rest, rest was permitted roughly 6 hours a week. But sometimes I couldn’t stay awake no matter how hard I tried, and I would fall asleep. I would never sleep for long as almost immediately one of the men would approach me and show me the penalty of sleep by striking me on the back with a bamboo cane until I bled.

All I knew was that my name was Haoyu Zhang and this was my life, endlessly using the big metal needles, heavy metal machinery and coarse fabric to create items of clothing.
Although I probably made at least 5000 tops a month in my never-ending struggle, we boys and girls at the factory never had luxuries like this ourselves. We all were wearing the same clothes we were 3 or even 4 years ago and if these items of clothing didn’t fit anymore, it didn’t matter, you would have to rip them even further to be able to fit them on our thin starving bodies. Speaking about food, if you could call it that, all we got was a handful of rice at dawn and then another handful of rice along with about a tablespoon of corn gruel that was often mouldy at dusk. I learned to accept this cruel life as it was all I knew.

Once I made a friend, secretly, a fellow worker, we communicated in code with our hands. One day the bad men caught us and were furious. I thought that they were going to beat us to death like some other children who had disobeyed the men’s rules, but my friend said that it was his idea, that he had forced me to communicate with him and I had nothing to do with it. That was the last time I saw my friend. They took him away and never brought him back.

But everything changed when one day I was working at my machine, and I noticed there were no guards standing around, they had all left. Just at that moment a fellow worker slumped against his machine, exhausted.

I expected the men to come back and beat him, but nothing happened. But then a man came in. He looked nice, unlike the horrible looking factory men. He explained to us that the bad men were now gone, and we were free. I later found out he was a human rights activist and I thank him with all my heart for saving me from that hell.

I now live on the banks of the Yangtze River, a fisherman, with my wife and kids where I can forget about that factory and live a happy life.