Tiffin’s English Department is pleased to bring you more joyous news regarding our success at the Wimbledon Book Festival 2025 Young Writers’ Competition.
It was the first time that Tiffin School had entered and we enjoyed tremendous success. This year, pupils were challenged to write a short story or poem based on the theme: Legends.
James S (current Y12) was pronounced winner of the KS4 category for his entry ‘I, Asterion’.
Above, you can see James receiving his certificate at Wimbledon Theatre for the 2025 Young Writers’ Competition Prize Giving Event, attended by the esteemed author Emma Caroll. James will have his work published in a young writers’ anthology which you can view here.
Our other entries are below and I am incredibly proud of all they have achieved.
–Miss Kitchin
Here is a copy of the winning entry by James:
I, Asterion
The crown’s crime runs poison through my veins
born free yet everywhere wound in chains.
Begot of he who dared deceive the wrathful sea
of he I am a Prince, yet everywhere surrounded by tragedy.
They call me a monster. Let them say.
No statue ever names the clay.
Shaped by a sculptor that scorns,
moulding the axe that kills, but not the heart that mourns.
Shackled within the Labyrinth, trapped by iron bars of inescapable height.
Surrounded by obsidian black walls, I chose not flight but fight.
Months of exposure passed, the darkness within me had long been caged
it came out roaring, enraged.
Knowing Ariadne, my supposed sister, so sweet and full of grace
would watch me silent, unable to bear my monstrous face.
Like God cast Lucifer into the fiery depths of hell
she turned her back to me; condemned me forever fell.
She gave one of the Athenian boys, a golden thread
to guide him through the maze, to end her shameful dread.
Unravelling the maze of despair by her guide
he lured deeper, his doom nearly tied.
I spoke, but raging fury engulfed his eyes.
He saw no danger, only his long-waited prize.
My limbs did not quiver. My heart did not shake.
I snapped his resolve in half like it was glass, brittle and made to break.
With ease, I choked him, lifting him high,
a single scarred hand tightened, causing his pathetic cry.
His world grew quiet, his breath grew thin.
His eyes squeezed tight as realisation seeped in.
His breath jagged, his body losing fight.
A fading gold spark in the suffocating black night.
He flew like lcarus, bold and blind to the end.
Yet I, the sun, will not let him ascend.
He came forth a saviour, his sword drawn for the slain.
A lionheart avenging Athen’s pain.
If I let him fall, would peace then rise?
Would I be free, if he never opened his eyes…?
I chose to end the cycle, to break the chain.
I let fate take me, release me from my pain.
I lowered my guard, surrendered to his might.
I let him end me, snuff out my waning light.
But legends lie. They twist like serpent and bend like snake.
They start in truth, and break bits until all fake.
Do they know the suffocating rose blackthorns around my name
were forged from their fear, not from any fault or blame?
Tell the tale. Tell it true.
I was not the beast that they thought they knew.
I was a son fated to sin,
the heart of a gentle boy, trapped in the Minotaur’s skin.