By Ryan Keogan
HIGHLY COMMENDED in the November 2026 Competition
They all sit around. No, that’s not right. Not all of us. I remember sitting there. A younger me, with a buzzing silence filling my ears. The room is full of it, interrupted by the occasional sob. The flickering of old amber bulbs, struggling to keep the night outside.
I try to break the silence. Sam, he, I. The youngest in the room, trying to lighten the mood. Distract. I say to my Dad, who is staring straight ahead into his widowed future, that the shadow on the wall behind us looks like a cross.
It did. I swear it. It hung there above our little family’s worn green leather sofa. A moment of faith in the darkness, he thought. Me and my Dad going to church on Sundays. Our thing. My Dad replied that it was just the washing line making the shadow, and it always did that.
It never had and never did again.
That knocked that boy. That night knocked Sam. I haven’t regained my balance. Something is forever missing, keeping me on the verge of tipping over.
Sam, he didn’t go back to religion after that. I stopped believing. His mind filled with questions for someone who was not there.
That night, the years ahead were cast over by the death of my Mum. Years of my Mum shadowed over by the rest of my life without her. Years of me trying to lighten the mood. I still do it today. I can’t help myself. Is it that I just can’t handle the serious silence that moments like that bring?
The boy who just wants everyone to feel better, just like his Mum would have done for him.
Judges’ Comments: A very interesting story that plays with point of view in innovative ways. Well done.
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