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Del Senior Student Wins Bronze Certificate in CISSA's Creative Writing Competition!

De La Salle College is pleased to announce that Antje Navarrete placed in the top echelon of CISSA's Creative Writing competition!

Last Fall, dozens of private and independent schools participated in the competition, which accepted entries from hundreds of students across the great province of Ontario.  The judges had a difficult task in selecting the winners from a robust field of outstanding student fiction, indeed.

On behalf of the College and CISSA, please join us in congratulating Antje, who placed third (Bronze Certificate) in the Senior category, for her short story entitled, "Welcome Home." The story will be published in an anthology of students work later this year.

We are very proud of her accomplishments, and for all the student entries from De La Salle College. 

If you'd like to read the story, here it is!


Welcome Home

By Antje Navarrete

“Welcome home.” I blinked. 

The drive from the hospital had been silent and now here I was, standing in front of a room that used to be mine.

It was bare; the cracked walls were stripped of paintings, the floor exposed to my clothed feet, cooling them through the fabric. The single flickering light hung dully in the center, somehow out of place. 

“It didn’t change a bit, did it?” the nurse observed with a hopeful tone. 

“Kaitlyn?” she pressed.

“Yes. I suppose it didn’t.” My voice was unsure. The words tasted thick in my mouth, rolling off my tongue like rocks that shattered against the cement.

“I’ll leave you then. Unpack your things and I’ll be back at 8,” she advised, sounding fatigued. I watched her disappear down the corridor, the image of her slowly fading from my memory.

 I was not ready to lose the brightly coloured moments, so I reminisced. I turned the dial back to the laughter and hushed whispers in the hallways, while the pads of my fingertips traced the dust on the marble countertop. I remembered the one at the hospital had been smooth and clean, not rough with sharp edges that pricked my skin. I reeled back as a droplet of blood began to trail down the length of my hand, mirroring the tears on my cheeks.  My vision hazed and the view of the empty room came back to remind me. 

“This isn’t home,” I whispered, clutching my frail arms for comfort. 

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