We had many outstanding entries from Year 9 and 10 students; ranging from poetry to prose to dystopian fiction. Our overall winner was Sayu Weerasinghe 10ONJ who submitted an engaging short story forcing readers to consider the impact of our fast fashion choices.

Well done to Sayu and all of our entrants - we are lucky to have such talented writers at our kura!  Please read Sayu's winning piece below:

A New Week, A New Trend, A New Fashion Craze

As the sun burned above them, citizens strutted along the black concrete pavements. Each was occupied by their phones, their blank eyes glued to them.

The most breathtaking thing about them was their attire. The dramatic patterns, bold colours and the latest cuts of their outfits created a kaleidoscope of hues, each garment more stunning and luxurious than the last as if they were competing for a prize for the best-dressed and were determined to outshine everyone else. They were dripping with jewellery, silver and gold sparkling around their throats, ears and fingers.

Occasionally, one would glance up, peering and carefully considering the ensemble of the people near them before, seemingly satisfied with what they saw, returned to their phone screens.

Suddenly, the billboards on the street and their phone screens flashed and lit up for a moment. On the screens appeared a picture of a woman sitting on a wooden stool, dressed in a simple slinky black dress. The cherry coloured lipstick smeared across her lips was her only accessory. Next to her was a man dressed in a denim jumpsuit. His trouser legs were ripped, the unfolded collar reached his ears and his buttons were hastily done incorrectly as though he had just gotten out of bed and hadn’t looked in the mirror as he was dressing. His brown hair sticking up in every direction provided only further evidence of his disorganisation. Nevertheless, he was no less striking.

Cars screeched to a halt to gawk and everyone drank in the new images. There was a brief pause of silence. One woman dropped her handbag. Her mouth opened and she let out a high-pitched, hysterical cry, dropping to her knees and clutching her chest, as though the pictures had caused her immense pain. Triggered, all hell broke loose. People began screaming and running frantically into stores. Some even ripped off their jewellery and tossed their colourful coats into nearby rubbish bins.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, a factory’s smokestacks pumped out black fumes. Inside the grimy limestone walls, workers, mostly women, were silently drooped over their whirring sewing machines, dressed in plain clothes. They worked in total silence, their vacant, puffy eyes were fixed on the fabric in front of them. They were almost expressionless but their clenched jaws and forceful breathing betrayed them. A pinging noise made their backs immediately straight, their eyes instantly alert, as the big TV screen in front of them lit up with the image of the black-dressed woman and denim-wearing man.

There was a moment of hesitation before their arms moved robotically, discarding their current projects into the bins next to their desks. Assistants appeared through the back door, carrying rolls of black silk and denim and depositing them on the tables. The overflowing bins were carried away by the assistants. The workers begin methodically tracing patterns and cutting fabric.

In another part of the factory, a tall man marched up and down the aisles of clothes, examining the robes that had already been finished and had been ready to be packaged and shipped. He paused occasionally, picking up the garments and turning them from side to side, his brow creased with concentration. Nearby, workers were lined up orderly like soldiers, following his movements warily, waiting for his command. The man finally stopped, turned and peered at the workers. He turned his head from side to side in an unmistakable ‘No’.

The workers sprang into action, discarding them, along with the half-finished garments, into bins.

A few hours later, truck drivers arrived to carry away the rejected materials and dump them into landfills. The landfills stretched out for miles, creating unwanted mountains of fabric. The truck drivers reversed their vehicles, each one stopping at a pile before they grasped the lever. The outfits flew backwards into the air, landing on the summits, each mountain of clothing now larger than before. The vehicles disappeared off into the distance as soon as this unpleasant job was over.

They were perfectly good clothes. Until the trend changed and they went out of fashion.

Two weeks later, the street looked completely different from before. Now people were wearing simple black or denim outfits. The multitude of colours had transformed into a sea of blue and black.

Unexpectedly, their phones and the billboards flashed. Each person stopped on their tracks, drivers slammed on their brakes as they took in the picture on the screens. A young woman dressed in an white shirt and embroidered skirt, a man wearing a sharp suit. A new week, a new trend, a new fashion craze.