An example of the wonderful talent at Shalom

The Apple Thief

By Isla L. (Winner Yr. 7 - 8 Short Story) Literary Wonders 2025

Under the light of the moon, a fight that would shape history brewed. Standing on a grassy meadow speckled with rocks were two ironclad figures. Yağmur looked his opponent in the eye, not daring to look away. The forest was behind his back, the tantalizing golden apples just visible. This giant was the only thing standing between him and his goal. Yağmur narrowed his eyes. He wouldn't let this man steal the apples, if someone got their hands on them, they could rival the gods themselves. He glanced away to the fruit of eternal youth. His foe took the opportunity, swinging his great axe towards Yağmur. Yağmur gripped his sword and slashed at the armoured warrior. The man dodged and brought the axe towards Yağmur's legs. He parried without a second to spare. The clash of steel colliding made the earth shake. With a battle cry, his enemy descended. Yağmur stumbled onto a rock and fell to the ground with a thud.

He grabbed his sword as he tried to rise off the ground. Suddenly, a heavy weight crushed his chest, pushing him back into the dirt. The attacker pressed his foot into Yağmur, making him unable to move. He grabbed onto the man’s boot, trying force it off his chest, but his breaths only grew quick and shallow.

There was no surviving this fight. Ever since his father’s death, his entire life revolved around his destiny. Now he would die, his entire life wasted.

His father would be so disappointed…

He gritted his teeth. No, he couldn’t let this man steal what he desired most.

"You pathetic excuse for a guard. Idun will send you to Hell for this, especially after you failed to protect the apples from Loki," the foe said in a mocking voice. A horrible cackle erupted from his throat.

Yağmur looked his opponent dead in the eyes and rage bubbled up like burning lava. It made him want to scream. He assessed his situation, trying to find a way he could still win this fight. He saw a break in the armour — that was his opening. He thrust his sword into the unprotected skin and watched as steel ripped through flesh. A look of pure fury tore across the attacker’s face. He swung his axe at Yağmur, but his strength was weakening. Yağmur rolled out of the way, new energy flowing from his foe's insults. Yağmur’s blade cut deeper each swing he took. Finally, his opponent was on his knees, his chest an ugly array of scarlet blood.

"You'll regret this!" he spat, a trickle of blood running from his mouth.

Yağmur laughed, he highly doubted that.

He screamed as he drove his sword through the man’s heart. His opponent’s body fell to the ground, dead.

Now he stood — triumphant — in a forest full of golden apples, and a wicked grin crossed his face.

For Yağmur was not a guard of Idun.

The key to immortality was his.

Denise Harvey
School Librarian
Denise_Harvey@rok.catholic.edu.au