Schoolwork showcase: secondary short stories

Yasmine sat on the rooftop of her family’s house in Marrakech, staring at the wide night sky.

The stars sparkled like tiny lanterns, shining in the darkness. Her grandmother always told her that looking up meant remembering, remembering the past, the sacrifices, and the dreams of those who came before.

Tonight, she thought of her great-grandfather, who once walked these same streets, his voice strong in the fight for Morocco’s freedom. She closed her eyes, imagining the sounds of the past, the chants, the clinking of silver bracelets, the whispers of the wind through the market.

A soft breeze carried the smell of mint tea from below, where her mother sat with her aunts, their laughter filling the air. Yasmine sighed, stretching her hand toward the sky, as if she could touch the stars.

“Dream big,” her grandmother always said. “But never forget to look up.”

Looking up wasn’t just about the sky; it was about knowing history, learning new things, and believing in something greater. Yasmine smiled, feeling connected to the past and the future.

One day, she would make history too.

Selected artwork

Schoolwork showcase: secondary artwork

Schoolwork showcase: primary artwork

Joud Derhem, aged 12. Atlas American School of Málaga

Gerard Trevor had touched the eternal void. The world knew him as Star Voyager - a man who dared to dance with the cosmos. But now, in the twilight of his life, he sat alone on his tired wooden porch aimlessly staring at the constellations above.

In the weightless abyss, he had felt more alive than ever. Gerard had never thought of the stars as just specks of light; to him they were ancient watchmen, their blinding glow whispering secrets of the universe across aeons. The eternal darkness of space cradled him as if he truly belonged - a sense of security he did not feel even on his own planet; not bound by gravity, by time, by people - but as a part of something greater beyond.

But the mission ended. He returned to a world he no longer recognised, nor had any connection to. The cheers, parades, medals - all of it felt hollow, meaningless acts for a man who had seen beauty beyond the comprehension of the simple human mind. The gnawing loneliness consumed him every minute he had spent back on Earth’s soil. The cosmos was his drug - he perpetually felt so far, so distant, so detached from something he craved like the very air he breathed.

As Gerard gazed at the constellations above him, a luminous vessel descended. Its hull shimmered in the flickering light of the moon, a promise to him of future voyages.

“Gerard Trevor,” an ethereal voice spoke. “The cosmos requires you once more. Star Voyager, we await your command. Will you reclaim the stars which you thought you had lost?”

For a moment, his heart surged with forgotten satisfaction.

“To the stars,” he murmured, his frail body stepping forward.

And so, the heavens welcomed their star-crossed wanderer home, the flame of friendship reignited once more.

Nikol Lidukhover, aged 15. English International College

It’s impossible to predict when you’ll see someone for the last time. You never know when a “see you later” means a permanent goodbye. Yesterday was going to be the last time I saw my mother.

It was as if she was waiting for me to be the one to find her. Maybe she trusted me to understand, to carry her light forward. She used to call me “little star”. Her little star. She would whisper those words in the softest voice, encouraging me to never let the world dim me.

Then, another star was born, my sister. My mom’s light came back the day she entered our lives. She shone once more.

Yesterday, the sky gained a new star. Why now? Why her? She had been so bright, now she was gone. Now I understand that my mom wasn’t just a star—she was a supernova. She shined her brightest nearing her end. Her light explosion was her gift to us.

Together, we search the whole sky for her, her star. Sometimes, we’re sure we see it -, pulsing peacefully as if it’s still alive. We whisper to it, hoping that wherever she is, no one dims her light ever again.

Looking up brings a sense of peace, a reminder that, despite her passing, she is in a sense still present. I believe she watches over us, her little stars, guiding us as we find our way without her. My mother used to tell me, “The stars that shine the brightest are always with us, even when we can’t see them.”

So, we keep looking up. And hoping. Because even though she’s gone, she left us with something no one can take: her light and the reminder that we, too, are stars - and we must keep shining.

Alice Shneider, aged 15. Sotogrande International School

Isat hunched over on the rooftop, the city spread beneath me with nothing more than bright lights and concrete. Another rejection letter burning in my pocket, another reminder that my aspirations remained just out of reach. I had spent years chasing these big dreams, only to be met with closed doors. My gaze stayed fixed, staring at the people who seemed to have it all figured out, the people who seemed to be living their best lives. Their laughter filled the streets, but it didn’t fill my heart the way it’s supposed to.

A gust of wind brushed against me, forcing me to lift my heavy head. The sky stretched endlessly above, painted in soft strokes of gold and blue. The clouds drifted slowly, and high above the skyline, a plane created a long, thin, determined path. I had spent so long looking down at my failures that I had forgotten to look up at the possibilities.

In the distance, a bright red balloon floated higher and higher until it was just a tiny speck where you could barely make out what it was. There was nothing stopping it, no weight dragging it back down, no one telling it to stop or that it was not good enough. The sky above was limitless open to those willing to reach for it.

A deep breath filled my lungs as the last of the sun’s rays warmed me as it was slowly setting. I hadn’t reached the end of my journey, if only I had reached the start of something greater. The sky, after all, had no limit.

Maya Edwards, aged 14. Sage College, Jerez

David slumped on the bench outside the cafe, eyes fixed on his phone. Another rejection email. Another door slammed shut. He let out a slow breath, counting the cracks in the pavement.

“Rough day?” a voice asked.

David glanced up. An elderly man stood behind him, cane in hand, a steaming cup of coffee in the other. His eyes twinkled with curiosity.

“You could say that,” David muttered.

The man sat down with a sigh.”You know, I used to sit right here, feeling like the world had forgotten me. Lost my job at fifty-five. Too old to start over, too young to retire,” he chuckled. ”But life has a funny way of changing when you start looking up.”

David frowned. “What do you mean?”

The old man tapped his cane on the ground. “When all you do is look down, you only see what is broken. The missed chances. The failures. But when you look up - really look up - you see the possibilities.” He nodded toward the bustling street. “See that bookstore? I walked in there one day, desperate for work. The owner needed help. Ten years later, I owned the place.”

David followed his gaze; the store’s windows glowed warmly. It wasn’t a law firm, his dream job, but… it was something.

“You’re saying I should just take any job?”

“No, I’m saying opportunities don’t always come straight to you and knock on your door; they whisper.” The old man smiled. ”You just have to be looking up to hear them!”

David stared at the bookstore a moment longer. “Maybe today wasn’t about rejection. Maybe today was about finding a new door.”

He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and walked inside the bookstore. With his new job secured, he took a leap forward and looked up.

Sienna Cashin, aged 12. Svenska Skolan Marbella

The sun was low, casting a warm glow over the lake, making the water sparkle like it was covered in millions of tiny diamonds. I sat on the wooden dock with my feet dipped in, the coolness of the lake creeping up my ankles as the occasional wave splashed against the wood. The air was thick with the earthy, summer scent of nearby pine trees.

It was one of those perfect, lazy days. No rush, no plans, just time that stretched out and felt endless. I could hear the soft hum of insects, the chirping of birds, and the distant sound of laughter from the playing children a little further down the shore.

I leaned back on my hands, staring out across the lake. There was something about it, something that made everything feel simple - like life was just about being here, in this moment. The surface of the water was smooth, reflecting the sky above, and for a second, I almost forgot all the little worries that popped up every other day.

School, friends, what comes next - all of that just seemed miles away.

A duck swam by, its ripples spreading across the surface. I watched them for a minute, thinking about how they just moved through the water without thinking, like they were made for this place. I wondered if we all had a place where we could just be like that - no pressure, no expectations.

For now, this lake was enough. The sun was setting, the water was cool, and I was just here, in this peaceful moment, with no need to rush. It was perfect. The soft, quiet breeze was all I needed to remind me that sometimes, All I had to do was look up and to know that stillness was exactly what I needed.

Isabella Sundström, aged 13. Svenska Skolan Marbella

Beyond the tallest of mountains and the thickest of forests, there was a small town, nestled in the heart of a valley by the sea. It was a town of dainty houses, narrow walkways, and of a girl named Layla Jane, ten years of age, with stars in her eyes, joy in her smile, and wonderous stories in her head, of pirates who sailed and star-wanderers who flew.

Every night, when her parents slept, she would slip outside, walk the winding streets, until she reached the shore. She would then look up, and recount to the stars, the sky, and the sea her imaginations. She imagined herself, stepping onto the flashes of moonlight reflecting on the sea, and thought that if she stepped on them fast enough, they would fashion themselves into a staircase straight to the moon.

Such was her daydreaming that one night, when the temperature was just right and the air smelt of lavender, she decided to climb the nacre stairway of moonrays. She set one foot in front of the other, and closed her eyes tight, because eyes, as she knew, had a habit of grounding her, when she now needed to fly. To her delight, when she should have felt cold ocean water seeping through her slippers, she felt solid ground. Her eyes remaining shut, she kept walking, until she realized she was standing high above the sea, on a pathway of light. Dashing up, she found herself on the moon. Fairies like wisps of fog came to welcome the earth-child, ready to hear the stories she had told so many times, heard from their home among the stars. And when she fell asleep, they carried her home to bed, tucked her in, and left a moonstone behind, so she would know she could return.

Gabriela Lana Zvereff, aged 16. Atlas American School of Málaga