Writing for Children Competition - Green - Winner

I saw Greta Thunberg. Not properly, but across the College Green I could make her out on the stage, addressing the crowds before her. Thousands of teenagers (some adults too but mainly teenagers) had descended on Bristol upon hearing the news that world-famous climate activist Greta Thunberg would be leading a climate protest though the city.
‘I just saw Greta Thunberg!’ I repeated excitedly to Lauren, who was preoccupied with juggling her handmade sign and umbrella. Despite the weather, the atmosphere was exhilarating. Loud drums and whistles filled the air in support; the ground vibrating to the beat, as if at a music festival. I zoomed in on my camera, trying to get the perfect picture for my Instagram feed. Being here, soaking in the atmosphere and actually seeing Greta, it all made skipping school worthwhile.
With my GCSEs around the corner, I knew mum won’t approve. My mum doesn’t care too much about the environment and she definitely would not agree that climate change is an important enough issue to miss school. Lauren’s mum, Sylvia, not only let Lauren skip school but she is also joining in with the climate march. Sylvia and Lauren are ‘zero-waste’ and plastic-free. They cook all their meals from scratch and even make their own shampoo and toiletries out of avocado oil and cocoa butter. If you accused my mum of not being environmentally friendly or ‘green’, she would tell you all about her reusable shopping bag, food waste bin and water butt in the garden, however she would conveniently leave out her diesel SUV car, the fact she regularly travels abroad for work and her obsession with ‘convenience’.
We followed Greta, who led the march through the city, chanting ‘The world is on fire’ and ‘There is no planet B!’ over and over. My arms were starting to ache from the continued thrusting of my sign in the air, which read ‘You’ll die of old age, we’ll die of climate change,’ which I thought had a nice ring to it and was straight to the point. Sylvia had made a sign saying ‘I want a hot date, not a hot planet,’ and so she’d received some interest from men hoping to take her up on the offer. Me and Lauren sniggered at the last one, who had taken a liking to Sylvia and tried to take her out for a coffee there and then. She’d declined, thank god.
I was still chanting to myself, cheerfully, as I walked home and up the path to my house. Mum was already calling my name as I pushed open the front door.
‘CHLOE,’ she called, immediately distinguishing all of my positive energy. I groaned internally and yanked off my raincoat and wellies as quickly as I could. I was making a lunge for the stairs just as mum rounded the corner into the hallway, tea-towel in hand.
‘Chloe, get back down here now!’
I ran up the stairs, passing my sign to my younger brother, Ben, who was playing with his toys on the landing. I could still hear her shouting up the stairs once I’d shut the door and was secure in my room. I knew I was going to be in trouble, but I didn’t expect her to find out this quickly, unless...
Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed my phone and paused frantically as the camera scanned my face to unlock the device. Rather than uploading the picture of Greta to my private Instagram account, I’d mistakenly uploaded it onto my main account. The one my mum knows about and very actively follows. ‘Well, that explains it’, I thought, annoyed that I’d made such a stupid mistake. I slumped onto my bed, knowing what was coming.
The door pushed open. ‘Why Chloe?’ mum pleaded, standing firmly in the doorway. I stayed silent.
‘Will you at least talk to me? Ben said you walked him to school like normal, but the next thing I know, you’re at some “hippy festival” with Lauren, doing I-don’t-know what! Do I have to remind you that you’ve got your finals in a couple of months?!’
Mum threw her hands up in exasperation. I knew she wouldn’t understand. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks.
‘You say that like they’re going to matter! We’re in the middle of a climate crisis and the way things are going, there won’t be any future.’ I shrieked, channelling my inner-Greta. At least her parents were supportive of her taking action, otherwise no one would be taking any notice. ‘There is no planet B!’ I chanted, making sure I really hit the point home. Mum stood still, stunned at my sudden outburst.
Neither of us spoke for a while. Mum glared at me, I couldn’t meet her eyes. Eventually, mum broke the silence.
‘Well, there’s a Chinese downstairs if you’re hungry... unless you’re going to do a hunger strike as well?’ Mum was mad. She was cross already, but I’d sent her over the edge with my chanting. Before I could make any clever remarks about the copious amounts of single use plastic which had been wasted for the “convenience” of having a takeaway, mum had shut my door and was already making her way downstairs.
I was hungry. But I was also too proud to follow her downstairs.
I was still feeling stubbornly proud the next morning. Desperate to get out of the house before mum woke up, I set out on my bike to Keynsham farmers’ market. Hidden away on the outskirts of Bristol, in the small town of Keynsham, a farmers’ market appeared every Saturday morning and had done so for as long as I could remember. Dozens of stalls overflowed with fresh, local produce and musicians performed in the background, entertaining you as you browsed. I used to come here a lot with my dad when I was little, before he died. We would go around all of the stalls, sampling all of the cheeses which had been neatly laid out on large platters, but never buying any of them.
As I wondered around the stalls, I reminisced about the memories of me with my father. After sampling a few different varieties, I purchased a small block of an apricot Wensleydale. Wrapping the cheese in a beeswax cloth to save on any plastic packaging, I moved onto the next stall and picked up some free range eggs and fresh vegetables. I hurried past the fish monger, smiling as I spotted the Artisan baker’s stall. I walked up and selected a round sour-dough loaf, my mouth watering as I spied the pastries piled up by the till. Knowing that they were my mum’s favourite, three pains au chocolat also made their way into a brown paper bag as I paid for the bread.
Feeling accomplished, I unlocked the front door. The smell of fresh bread wafted in from the kitchen. Following my nose, I was shocked to find mum in her apron, kneading a batch of dough on the counter top. Sensing my presence, mum looked over and gave me a timid smile. ‘I thought I’d give cooking a go...’ she trailed off, pointing to the cooling rack, obviously expecting me to be thrilled with her efforts. I took in the white loaf, which had risen so much that it mushroomed over the sides of the tin.
‘But I’ve already brought us bread!’ I exclaimed, pulling out the sour-dough loaf lamely. ‘I also got some cheese and eggs... and these,’ I pulled out the paper bag out of my backpack gingerly – my peace offering. ‘I thought I could make us some brunch?’
Apprehensively, I walked over and gave mum the bag. I knew it wasn’t enough to make up for yesterday. Mum smiled as she opened up the brown paper bag and pulled out one of the pains au chocolat. ‘Thanks honey...’ she paused, her eyes focusing on the croissant in her hand. ‘About yesterday – Sylvia called,’ mum looked up and met my eyes. ‘I hadn’t realised you’d gone with her and Lauren to the, umm, climate thing. She mentioned that Greta Thunberg was there?’
I nodded, unsure where this was going.
‘You still should have told me you were going, but they showed some of the highlights on the BBC and it looked incredible. It wasn’t the “hippy festival” I had imagined... It was actually quite moving and I even wished I could have been there...’ she trailed off, smiling. ‘Sylvia was lovely as well. She gave me this simple recipe to make dough and I thought we could make our own pizzas for dinner tonight? Zero-waste style,’ she added with a wink.
Relieved, I slowly grinned ear to ear. Dropping the brown bag on the counter, I wrapped my arms around mum, giving her a big hug. ‘Thanks mum. Pizzas sound amazing... and I’m sorry’. Mum let out her breath, which I hadn’t realised she’d been holding and returned the hug, dropping a light kiss on my forehead.
‘My little climate activist’ she chuckled, hugging me tightly.