Author: TSABITA GHIZA ARMINA
Class Category: year 7 & 8
Position: FIRST PLACE

Essay Title: HOME ALONE

All I ever wanted was a laid-back Saturday night, where my brother and I watched a murder documentaries on Netflix when our parents were away – it was a moment when all teenagers like us waited for. However, it turned out to be a nightmare, a nightmare no one would want to encounter. The intimidating appearance, hoarse voice and criminal acts of our ‘visitor’ would always leave a traumatic wound in my innocent mind.

All I ever wanted was a laid-back Saturday night, where my brother and I watched a murder documentaries on Netflix when our parents were away – it was a moment when all teenagers like us waited for. However, it turned out to be a nightmare, a nightmare no one would want to encounter. The intimidating appearance, hoarse voice and criminal acts of our ‘visitor’ would always leave a traumatic wound in my innocent mind.


My brother and I waved goodbye as our parents’ car fled out of scene. It was a sweet evening where the weather was just right. The shadows lengthening and the sun’s lazy descent was indeed breath-taking. The slow sway of the tree branches and chirping of the birds told me that it was time for an epic movie night – a murder documentary marathon. My brother agreed without hesitation and both of us sprinted up the stairs without second thoughts, with a handful of snacks in our arms. I logged into my laptop and proudly opened Netflix as my brother did not have his own account. “The Mysterious Disappearance of Sara Jones? Or perhaps The Murder of The Taleeb Family?” I suggested as I scrolled through the recommendations.

As my brother was about to make his decision, his actions were interrupted by a loud noise coming from downstairs. Bang! It was probably Mom, who had forgotten her make-up pouch again. However, it sent shivers to my spine when I was remembered seeing her applying her new Dior red lipstick on her lips at the garage before she drove off.


I shifted myself from bed as I gradually tiptoed down the stairs, trying to get a glimpse of who the person might be. To my horror, the living room was completely trashed and from the corner of my eye, a figure stood out at the crime scene. A man in his mid-thirty’s, swathed in black with a bag of goods was munching on my mother’s cookies by the fridge, recognizing it immediately by its significant aroma. I ran upstairs discreetly and instructed my brother to dial 993.

“Quiet! We must not get caught!” I whispered as we hid in my wardrobe, waiting for our heroes to come and rescue us. We held our hands together and prayed to God, hoping our prayers will soon be heard. Not so long after that, we heard the wailing of the police car approaching and our heart stopped beating like drums. The police chased after the escaping criminal and we were in the hands of trusted people. I still remembered when our murder documentary was still playing its music in the background as the police barged in. It was a moment to never forget.