Stolen
Category A: Highly Commended (2026) Monash Short Story Writing Competition
Author: Anoushka M.
I plonked down on the old leather couch with a content sigh. I had nothing important to do. No chores. I looked around the room. My whole family was here; Aunties babbling animatedly by the crackling fireplace; Dad and Uncle sipping tea in the kitchen, chatting about work; Mum click-clacking her knitting needles as she made a green jumper; Granny gazing lovingly at little sister and cousins playing on the rug. I picked up the newspaper that was on the ground next to the couch and flicked through it lazily. Nothing of interest. Nothing until-
Young Girl Kidnapped. Parents Desperate.
“Oi, dad! You heard this girl’s been kidnapped?”
Mum gasped. Aunties and Dad and Uncle went silent. My hand flew to my mouth, but it was too late. As I turned to look at Granny along with everyone else except little sister and cousins, who were still playing and giggling, I saw her eyes were wide as emu eggs, her mouth a wobbly line. I knew she was thinking of how she was taken.
How rough hands dragged her from her family, ignoring the screaming and begging. How she was shoved into the back of a smelly truck, where she cried and cried as they drove and drove for what felt like days, maybe months, even a year. Who knew?
How she was taken to a place where her beautiful curly hair was shaved which made her neck cold and she was fed yucky brown soup with mushy lumps in it. How she was forbidden to speak her own name, her own language, forced to speak English and given a new, English name instead. How she slept in a room with 15 other hair-shaved, new-name, cry-at-night, forget-who-you-really-are kids stolen from their families as she was. How they were hit with a useless flat stick if they did anything even a little bit wrong.
How she waited for years and years for freedom. How so many denied her kidnapping, saying it was “for her own good.” How when she finally had freedom it had been so long she had trouble speaking her own tongue, her own name. How she would forever have an invisible wound beneath her skin.
How she never saw her gentle loving Mum, her Aunties who sang her songs, her wise Nanna who told her stories, her cousins who raced her through the bush, her little brother who always wanted to play, ever again.
I no longer felt content.
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AUTHOR’S STATEMENT
‘Stolen’ is a story about the stolen generations. It is intended to allow the reader to put themself into the shoes of someone who experienced this and see how horrible it was for them. I was inspired to write this story as I have studied this topic and wanted to show people how terrible it was for those who went through it, and to write something powerful that had an effect on readers. This story is not based on any single person’s experience, and instead represents common experiences of people who went through this.