The Arts Council recently hosted a creative writing competition, taking place in the spring of 2026. It included categories for short stories and poems, each separated into Middle School and High School award levels.

The Arts Council competition organizers wishes to thank “all of the participants, and congratulations to the winners!”

The winners and runners-up include:

High School Short Story

1st place	“The Lysovik” by grade 10 student, Maria P.
2nd place	Untitled by grade 10 student, Esmé S

High School Poetry

1st place	“All the Lambs of God” by a grade 11 student, Marta I.
2nd place	Untitled by grade 10 student, Lisa L.
3rd place	“Morning Rituals” by grade 11 student, Marta I.

Middle School Short Story

1st place	“Frogs near Bogs” by grade 6 student, Hayoon S.
2nd place	“The War” by grade 6 student, Oscar M.

Below, The Bite wishes to congratulate and feature the first-place winners of the 2026 Creative Writing Competition. Click a button below to jump to that section:

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First place in the High School Short Story section:

“The Lysovik”

By Grade 10 student Maria P.

When I was 7, I saw them. I felt needles on my skin whenever I turned corners, feeling their searing gaze upon me. They never said anything, but they always watched.

It started late April that year. Their eyes, bright little pinpricks, would follow me wherever I walked. They glowed a faint shade of green, always searching for something to cling to… 

Mother started closing the windows, shadows seemed to hide behind her eyes whenever she spoke. Father stopped going out with his friends. His voice stopped echoing through the hallway whenever he walked up the building stairs. The figures would knock on the windows, their long slender fingers slipping through the cracks in the door whenever Father came back from work. Dinner always tastes awful, it leaves a metallic taste on my tongue. I remember hearing the radio every night, blasting unfamiliar words and phrases, as Mother and Father sit and listen, heads in their hands, while the cacophony of voices floats around the room. 

Father tells me how he went into “the zone” as he called it, and how he fought the “bad men” who would try to steal the green-glowing things. He tells me how he flew over the zone in a big winged bird, and how he felt sparks in his bones. Mother complains about how people don’t listen, telling Father one evening how the neighbours went to the May demonstration, how they brought this “plague” into the apartment building. My ears burn as I hear them talking about Mother’s military friend in hushed voices, and the horrors that he shared with them.  

The figures start settling in people’s houses. The upstairs neighbours leave in a rush, and the green shines from their apartment, seeping out into the main building. Father tells me that I will leave for the summer, to stay at grandmother’s house, in Lyman. They put me on the train, and as the ground rumbles, I see another figure, larger this time. He shines a bright green, and his eyes burn into mine as he stares, leaning on his cane. He wears a cloak of nature’s carpet, and his horns are cracked and worn. He shouldn’t be here, I realize, as the forest begins to move. The trees blend into one army, standing there with their swords and shields, protecting their home. 

The green figures fade as I get further from home, and I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my chest. When I step off the train, I walk down the gravel path, feeling the crunch beneath my feet as the fresh country air hits my face. Babusya greets me at the gate, and shows me to my room. I leave my change of clothes, and I try to walk around. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and there’s nothing but fields for miles. 

They take me to the next town over, for books. The library is enormous, precious words engrained on paper covering the walls. I am allowed to take a lot of books, and then we go back to Lyman. I read when we get home, after I help sweep. The dust isn’t green here, and it lands softly in the corners, like sheep’s wool in the fields. When I open the books, I feel the words going through my head, and suddenly, I am not in Lyman any more. Now I run with wood elves, watch Macbeth slaughter the king, and help catch the white whale. 

Some days later, I meet Sveta. She’s older, but she’s much cooler, and she shows me around. We go out to the fields with the goat, and climb up the small hills. The grass is lush and soft beneath my feet, and flowers pepper the hill like polka-dots. Nymphs flit between the bushes up ahead, dropping shimmery raindrops into every flower petal. There are houses, old, time-touched souls, with rotting wood and mossy roofs. We get closer, and I see the figures there too. They are grey and dull, but they don’t approach, staying behind those weathered walls. 

We sit and watch the sun set over the hills, and before we leave I see him again, but he looks different this time. His cane leaves a trail of poppies and weeds in his wake, and his glow isn’t green, but a pale dusty ochre, the colour of dirt and Monarchs. He tips his hat and disappears in the breeze behind us, as we leave on Sveta’s friend’s motorbike. The days begin to slowly roll by, every day being a repeat of the last. We sometimes go down to the store, and the man there tells us stories about the war and the hunger. I remember writing letters to Mother and Father every day, about how boring it was here, how my shirt was growing too small, and how the mosquitoes are making my arms itch. 

“I am bored” – Is the gist of all those letters. At least I’m not lying. 

I live as though in a haze. Babusya doesn’t really care what I do, as long as I do my fair share of chores. When I started helping Sveta with hers, she just gave me more. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, she sits me down and tells me about her life before this. How during the war the Germans would occupy their house, and how they survived starvation. 

“Yulichka,” She would tell me; “You kids don’t know how good you have it. We had to hide beans from the people so that we would not starve in the night. I would hide food beneath my pillow before they came to search the house”. 

She told me how she would often feel like a caged butterfly, waiting for the moment to fly, that never came.  

4 months pass, and I have to go home, as school starts in the autumn. I remember Mother complaining about it to Father, how ironic it was that we had to go back, even though the green fingers still reached around the doors, and tapped on the windows. They parade through the streets, and I am the one chosen to be carried across the square, in my black dress with the high lace collar. I see all the faces, and the green, ghostly figures, slipping by in the background, as we go on with life. 

Time passes, and eventually, the figures drift away. Mother and Father still drank the red wine, and some meals still taste like shards of metal, but the green glimmer slowly disappears. I never see Sveta, or the figures again, but I always remember the summer that the lights chose to knock on my window. To this day, I thank the wind. 

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First place in the High School Poetry section:

“All the Lambs of God”

By Grade 11 student Marta I.

The woman who suffers,
suffers quietly
for the love she had to leave behind.
She lays flat,
looks into the sky, touches her ribs.
Her ribs aren’t hers, and God is silent.
She lives with a man inside her,
and is forced to never show it.

The man who suffers does so violently.
He screams,
looks into the sky, tears at his wound.
His cries are nature, and God doesn’t feel.
The man will forever be loud, bloody and revengeful.

The woman who suffers runs from violence.
She had known it before she was born, and continues to do so in silence.
Pieces are taken from her, unwillingly. She is pliant.
Do not fight fire with fire.

The man who suffers will not touch her ribs: God is apathetic and unforgiving.
What it has taken away, it will not return.
God is silent and God does not feel.

When he is done, he looks at the red on his hands.
God won’t punish him: the man had touched and he had taken,
but he had never gone against God’s wishes.

The man asks: “Are you happy now?”
and receives no answer.

In honor of Adriana Smith

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First place in the Middle School Short Story section:

“Frogs near Bogs”

By Grade 6 student, Hayoon S.

In the fairy tale, Frogs Near Bogs, Hansel and Gretel wanted to find a safe shelter after their parents left them in the woods. But, instead of finding a safe shelter, they find a witch who eats children that live in a cottage made out of candy. The witch imprisoned Hansel and made Gretel do hard work. She fed Hansel and was planning to eat the siblings. So, when the witch tried to trick Gretel into getting in the oven, Gretel tricked the witch into the oven and killed her…

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Just as Gretel was about to free her brother from his stinking bird cage, after killing the witch, she spotted a bright light. It was coming from another room. As she walked toward the door, Hansel cried for help. Gretel sprinted toward the door, ignoring her brother, while she felt bad for leaving him behind, she wanted to see where the light was coming from. As soon as she reached for the doorknob, it creaked open. She gasped, covering her mouth as she saw the pile of gold coins. Her gaze turned deeper in the chamber, where it seemed to be larger than the cottage itself. 

“This must be enchanted,” she murmured to herself. 

More and more gold coins appeared. Observing her surroundings, she heard clings of coins, as it slid down. Her eyes full of disbelief, she turned and slowly walked toward her brother, her mouth hanging open. 

“Gretel, why would you do that? I was terrified!” Hansel said, swinging in his cage. 

“Han-, Hansel, there is a room full of treasures. There’s piles of gold coins lying around!” As soon as she finished, Hansel’s eyes popped out like a goldfish gasping for air. 

“Well, free me! I want to see it! Hurry!” as Hansel answered, Gretel swung open the cage and with a loud bang.  The cage fell down. “Ouch! What did you do that for!” Hansel complained. “ Come on! I wanna show you! Quick!” Gretel shouted, shaking with excitement. 

As they reached the chamber full of treasures, they covered their eyes, the light coming from the coins were as bright as the sun! Their faces lit up, and as they walked inside the chamber, they were surrounded by clean clings and clangs from the coins. 

They laughed. “We’re rich!” exclaimed Hansel. 

They dived into the coins as cold as the road covered with frost. They giggled and raced to the end of the aisle. It was then, when they noticed a jewel sitting on a blood red cushion, with transparent cover over it. 

On the label, it read, ‘On the bed of this red celled jewel, once bounced a hand of a royalty, joyful as the singing birds. Little she knew, the gem powered with the magic of a tragic warlock. On the day she turned thirteen, she wore this ring. Fogs smeared her beautiful face, and with a smell of bog, she turned into a slimy frog, jogged to the rug, what a terrible timing, a nog fell down, up from the ceiling. The princess was now dead. Beware, the wearer of this ring, enchanted to harm its owner, shall have a miserable life, strife all your life.’ Gretel shook and shivered. But Hansel, his eyes filled with curiosity. Cautiously walking toward the cell, he reached for the handle of the cover. Gretel cried and blocked his way. 

“This is crazy, Hansel! Haven’t you read the label? Why are you doing this? You need to stop!” Gretel said. “I’m just looking. And this is the witch’s cottage. The Witch. The label must be a lie. And besides, I can feel it calling me. Come on, Gretel! Let me see it“ Hansel responded. His eyes were in a trance-like state, with not much consciousness in it. 

Gretel’s eyes widened, realizing that no matter what she did, she couldn’t stop him. She moved to the side, with fears in her eyes, and worried for her brother. A few moments later, when Hansel put his hands over the cover, Gretel said, “If you are touching it, I am touching it, too. We are doing this together.”. 

There they went. They opened the cover. The air surrounding them vibrated with magic. They reached for the ring and like the label, the fog appeared, it smeared their body, and with a small poof, they were slimy frogs. 

After a few minutes of disbelief and a bit of arguing, the siblings decided that they would live out of the known world , and together, they hopped to the woods that started to swarm around them. When they thought they went far out of human reach, near a bog, they met Harald. Harald the woodcutter, who loved frogs and wanted to take care of the siblings. He took care of them, and the siblings, Hansel and Gretel, finally had a loving family they wanted. One day, Gretel said “I guess half the label was right.”. Hansel shrugged with his now webbed hands, and…

They all lived happily ever after.

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First place in the Middle School Poetry section:

“More Than A Mirror”

By Grade 6 student, Eva S.

I’ve been fat, tall, short—
too much, not enough,
stretching at the seams
of someone else’s standards.

The ugliest person to walk this earth,
at least in the mirror’s cruel tongue,
where every glance became a verdict
and every flaw wore a crown.

I’ve been the joke,
the silence after it,

the before and after photo
no one chose to frame.

I’ve worn shame like a second skin,
stitched tight with borrowed words—
too loud, too quiet, too strange,
too soft for a world that sharpens teeth.

But I have also been sunrise
in a room that forgot its windows.
I have been laughter
that shook dust from the ceiling.
I have been hands that held,
even when mine were trembling.

I have been becoming—
not the body they measured,
not the shadow they named,
but the pulse beneath it all.

And if I have been everything
they warned me not to be,
then let me also be this.