Fobisia Short Story Competition - Children Storytelling - Bangkok Prep

Fobisia Short Story Competition

The FOBISIA writing competition is an annual event, which provides a unique opportunity for children to flex their storytelling muscles. This year it was hosted by Dulwich College, Singapore and the theme was ‘Home’.

Many children from Primary in years 3-6, submitted their stories to Miss Youlton, in the hope of representing Bangkok Prep in the competition, however only 1 story could be chosen for each category. After much deliberation, by a select panel of teachers, the two representatives were chosen.

A huge congratulations to Samuel Fletcher from 4AB who will represent Bangkok Prep in the Years 3-4 category and to Khowjow Ladpli from 5MF in the Years 5-6 category.  Both of the stories were told from a unique perspective and captured their audience from start to finish.

5 stories will be shortlisted by a panel at Dulwich College and then the finalists will be judged by writer, Choo Waihong by the 30th March. If successful, the winner and 2 runners up will be presented with certificates and have their work published on the FOBISIA website for all to see.

Here are the chosen entries below:

‘On and Off the Wall’

by Samuel Fletcher in 4AB

I have hills behind me with a rising sun behind them. I always wear the same clothes, they are a navy blue waistcoat with a white shirt underneath, then a simple pair of trousers. Of course you don’t need to know what underpants I’m wearing! I might look a bit old fashioned but at least I’m comfortable. I’m looking out over a sofa, that’s what I do all day, every day. It’s not that boring you know. I live with a blue border around me. My plaque tells you my name; Sir Long Leather Lancelot IIV.

The home I watch over is a happy place with fun children and kind parents. I enjoy watching the family play a board game together in the middle of the floor. I always support the youngest boy but the games usually end in a fight, that’s what I don’t like to watch. The family has more people like me. There’s Darth Vader holding up his light sabre, there’s Harry Potter pointing his wand then of course there’s what’s her name…Mona Lisa.

As you may have guessed I am a picture. I am probably a distant ancestor of this family.

One Day, the family had a big clean-up of their home. Ball’s went, old toys went… all into a box labelled ‘garage sale’. I was worried that I was going to go too. I tried not to catch anybody’s eye and just blend into the wall. I obviously didn’t do very well. The mother of the family went around the room looking at each picture as though she was in an art gallery. When she strode over to my frame we stared at each other for what felt like hours. She brushed a cobweb off my shoe and then frowned at me and took me from the wall. Then it was all dark.

The next day I found myself on a table surrounded by old items like myself. There were cracked sunglasses, leaking water bottles, teddy bears losing their stuffing and then there was…me. ‘I’ve never felt so homesick’, I thought to myself. Then I remembered the youngest boy liked me a lot and he didn’t get a choice about sending me to our next door neighbour’s garage sale. I saw him walk through the gate with a pound in his hand and I had an idea, maybe I could persuade him to buy me back.

For the first time ever I attempted to move my position. My arms and legs were a bit stiff from sitting still all these centuries. I had seen the boy doing a strange dance that he called ‘the floss’. I bent my hips to one side with my arms to the other side and started to floss! The boy laughed loudly and slammed his pound on the table next to me.

At last I was back home; everything was just how it should be. After that exercise I’d need to rest another century!


‘Home is where the heart is’

By Khowjow Ladpli in 5MF

Ivy had a brief memory of her old home. It was a warm and cheerful place, cherished with joy in the old plaster walls.  The chairs were tarnished with years of age and creaked when you sat on them, but she didn’t mind. All that mattered to her was her family.

That is, until one day.

Her father had just acquired a rickety old van that wobbled dangerously. Ivy and her siblings were sitting in the back giggling as they were tossed around. She especially remembered holding on to little red-cheeked Casper.


Ivy was flung against the roof of the van and needed stitches on her forehead. This was nothing compared to what happened to her family.

They died.

Ivy cried until there weren’t any tears left to do so. A rosy-faced nurse tried to comfort her.

“There now, Ivy. It’s okay.”

Ivy looked up at her face. Her cheeks reminded her of Casper’s. She wept some more.

“My God! Here, I’ve got something for you if you’ll stop crying,” the nurse sighed.

She handed her a tattered teddy with a blue ribbon around its neck. It was Casper’s.

Ivy held onto that teddy and never let go. She named him Dusty.

In present day, she lived in a children’s home and she hated it. Ms. Genevieve referred to her as the ‘spoilt brat’, as she was made a fuss of by many of the nurses because of her blond hair and bright blue eyes that twinkled like sapphires.

However, the orphans disliked her for this. Today, they did something that scarred her heart as badly as her face.

“Hey, scar-face,” Gladys said. “What a cute teddy!”

Ivy clutched onto Dusty tighter. “Go away.”

“No chance,” Bridget sneered. “Get her!”

Gladys’ gang surrounded her and tackled her to the ground. They prised Dusty out of her hands.

“No! Stop!” Ivy screamed, wrestling herself out of their grasp.

Gladys laughed cruelly and flung Dusty across the court.

He landed on the hoop.

Ivy scrambled up the stand. It was too high. She jumped and caught Dusty’s arm. She landed heavily on the ground, scabbing her knees.

Whatever. She had Dusty.

Ms. Genevieve sighed as she tended Ivy’s knees.

“Dear god, you’ll do anything to keep that bear of yours,” she complained. “Why don’t we arrange a trip to your home, so you can finally stop sulking.”

“Really?” Ivy’s arms looped around her neck.

“Yes, but if you get off me!” She grunted.

A week later, she was sitting in a van on her way. Her excitement bubbled inside her.

“This is where you grew up, Dusty,” She whispered into his felt ear. She made him nod enthusiastically.

When they got to her old home, she leapt out of the van before it came to a complete stop.

Ivy ran through the crooked doorway. She stroked the flaky plaster walls. She sat on every chair, lovingly reminded by the creak of their legs. She lay on her bed in the bedroom, which was badly stained with Casper’s little accidents.

She knew what she had to do to make her late little brother happy.

Ivy walked to the back of the house. There was Casper’s ‘cove’, where she had played endless Marsh King games with him.

She dug a hole in the ground.

She pulled Dusty out from her pocket.

She nuzzled him lovingly, feeling his felt fur. Then she put him into the hole, covered him with earth, and watered it with her tears.

Ivy looked back at her old cottage for the last time and left.

Years later, a seedling sprouted.

Whatever the outcome for our representatives, they should feel proud of the level of excellence they have achieved so far!


Miss Youlton

Primary English Leader


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