Forbidden Lives, Withheld Stories - By Zayaan Sirkot

Written By: Zayaan Sirkot

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In "Forbidden Lives, Withheld Stories," Zayaan Sirkot crafts a vivid narrative that transports readers into a world teetering on the edge of danger and beauty. As a short story participant in the prestigious Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Zayaan draws us into a landscape where nature's allure contrasts starkly with an underlying menace. This entry captures the essence of the competition, inviting us to explore the depth and complexity of human experience through creative storytelling.

About the Work

Zayaan Sirkot's "Forbidden Lives, Withheld Stories" weaves a tapestry of imagery where the beauty of nature mingles with ominous undertones. The story's mood hovers between nostalgia and tension, as the protagonist navigates a field that teems with both life and lurking danger. Through a rich tapestry of sensory details, Zayaan evokes the struggle and resilience of the human spirit, set against the backdrop of an unforgiving environment. This narrative invites readers to ponder the hidden stories within the mundane and the extraordinary.

Forbidden Lives, Witheld Stories

Original Submission by Zayaan Sirkot

Forbidden Lives, Withheld Stories

The fields sprayed their pollen on me to paint my uniform a vibrant, shining yellow. Long, thin grass tickled my sides as I ran through it. It felt like I was running on the hockey field again, before we couldn’t anymore. Fiery butterflies camouflaged with the glowing rainbow of flowers and crickets hurriedly sprang past. I dodged past chunks of torn branches and towards two stones, laying a bit apart from the other, like goals. The sound of my deep breaths competed with the rhythm of the warm wind caressing the field and swooping my messy ponytail into the air. Every now and then, a melodious tune could be heard from the birds chasing each other around the trees, whose arms were linked together, at the edge of the field. I imagined the dark sacks under my eyes retreating under the sun’s protective hugs. I envisioned the ache in my stomach being filled with bread or water. Maybe even a couple of dates for more energy. After slowing down to a stop, I leaned down to pluck a delicate flower with my dirt-stained, skeleton-thin hands. Maybe it was the nostalgia that made me blind, but I really should have realised that being out alone would not end well.

I waded my way through the stubborn grass. The sun was quickly pulling away. Using the side of my hand, I violently hacked at the grass. I did not want to hear Mom’s screams or see her tight knitted eyebrows if I arrived back home and the steam had floated away from the scraps of supper. The orange haze left by the sun was even more faded now, making the flowers glow disappear. The flowers’ concerned faces glared towards me, warning me not to continue on my path. I ignored them and started to sprint again. The dirt splattered along my shoes, like blood, as I trampled the flowers and swatted at the grass.

A sneaky mole’s hole grabbed my foot and sucked it inside, the dirt was now climbing up my socks as well. ‘Click’. My head shot towards the noise, but everywhere I looked was a blurry and dark, as the sun had finally been defeated. There was nothing to protect me now. A figure dashed away. ‘Squeak’. A field mouse, maybe? It tackled through the flowers and got lost in the intimidating grass. The strangled squeaks continued as the figure desperately attempted to flee. Suddenly it’s useless legs stopped moving and everything was dead quiet, besides the sound of a bullet piercing flesh. Beneath the minute figure, an oozing liquid began to continuously stab into the rich soil, polluting it. The flowers faced me again, this time their angry faces were steaming as they were painted in blood. I gagged at the foul odour coming from the field. ‘Click’. More silhouettes moved now, more terrifying figures outlined by the grey of the set sun. The moon’s glow brightened with each passing second I was frozen, it’s mocking laugh as it shone like a flashlight, giving me away. More silhouettes appeared, blending in with the long grass. The moon’s light at least highlighted them as well. They trampled across the field, squashing everything down as kings above slaves. Their oppressively neat, army-patterned uniform was tight enough to see their crushing muscles. Two turned around, unnervingly slowly. ‘Click’. They were facing me.

The alarms of the traitorous crickets ran with me, pointing at me. Bars of grass pushed against me by the command of the laughing wind, tattering my shirt and my pleated skirt. I picked up a branch from the ground. Holding it in my left hand, I pushed back against the grass. It’s like hitting the ball right? The flowers’ thorns pricked away at my socks and skin, so the air became more intimate with my blood. I ignored all the moles holes that tried to clutch onto my legs, like zombies rising from the ground, and dribbled past all the broken branches that had landed here from explosions. The further I bolted away, the closer the line to the woods became, and the clearer I could witness the delightful birds scratching at the trees as they flew by.

My feet finally left the barriers of grass and made it onto the bare soil before the forest. The trees stood over me like a Deity would stand over a peasant. I kept my eyes trained to the mighty woods with its joyful birds and mist. I left the bare soul and jumped past a few tightly woven trees. Behind me was the grass glaring at my escape. Behind me were boots of soldiers thundering against soft soil. Yet, in front of me was an emptier stomach – even worse, loneliness. Then, it sprang upon me from behind like a lion pouncing on young prey: a ‘click’.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar offers a unique platform for writers worldwide to showcase their literary talents. Encouraging creativity and expression, the competition brings together diverse voices and stories, each contributing to a vibrant tapestry of contemporary writing. Participants are given the opportunity to explore various themes, engaging both the imagination and the intellect. This esteemed event continues to celebrate the power of words and the art of storytelling.

We extend our gratitude to Zayaan Sirkot for sharing "Forbidden Lives, Withheld Stories" with us. Your participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 enriches the literary landscape with its evocative storytelling. Thank you for inviting us into a world where nature's beauty and life's dangers collide, reminding us of the resilience found in the stories we tell.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.