2024 School Magazine

Atalanta’s Race Junior Prize—Charlotte d'Joncourt Folklore Competition By Laura Harcourt (8L)

Beneath the Olympic rings, a whole different competition was taking place. The restaurant was alive with chatter, the smell of cooking food permeating the air. However, all the guests surrounded the central table, jostling to get a view. The head chef, Napoleon, studied the cacophony through the kitchen window. “Amazing,” he murmured, “how worked up they all get over those slimy creatures.” The snail races had only started two weeks ago, already boosting the restaurant’s popularity. The rules were simple: each night, two snails entered the ring. The winner would race again another day. Meanwhile, it was au revoir to the loser and bonjour to a delicious plate of escargot. The diners found it très entertaining, even though the winner never changed. “Atalanta” they called her, great hulking monster of a snail she was. She must have been some kind of mutant – at least twice the size of every other competitor, and twice as quick. She’d never even come close to losing… at least, not until tonight. Napoleon allowed himself a small smile. He had to keep the audience satisfied, add some variety. A loud cheer from the guests interrupted his thoughts. “14 is closing in!” declared Louis, stationed beside the arena. “Could this be the night when the great Atalanta finally faces defeat?!” Napoleon felt himself grin, remembering the alcohol-soaked apple he’d put in her feed. Every winner loses in the end. “She’s going backwards! Atalanta’s going backwards!” Louis broadcasted, genuinely shocked. “14 in the lead…14 HAS WON THE RACE!” The crowd burst into cheers. Napoleon stalked in, scooping Atalanta out of the arena. As the guests’ chatter faded behind the kitchen’s closed door, she promptly disappeared into her shell. Napoleon had to marvel at her beauty, the swirls of crimson and gold spiralling down the intricate curl of her shell. Still, he stretched for his escargot fork, accidentally knocking a container in the process. Shells upon shells spilled onto the floor, all numbered. No snails. Only husks. Forgotten, lifeless husks, left to slowly fade away now that their careers were over. Each painted number marked another life taken by the race. Atalanta would soon be joining them, just another empty shell. Napoleon’s eyes flicked to the apple. In the gentle glow of the lamplight, it was enchanting, glistening like liquid gold, its scent intoxicating even from metres away. Only one slice was missing. That slice had changed Perhaps people would take less interest in the race if the stakes weren’t as high. Yet, he could hear distant cheers from the Olympic stadium only a block away. That was the highest level of competitive sport in the world, and it wasn’t life or death. It was just sport. And that itself was beautiful. Head Chef Napoleon set down his escargot fork. Suddenly he knew, clear as day, what he had to do. Because every race in the world should only be for the love of the game. the course of Atalanta’s life. This is so wrong, he realised.

The story is inspired by the Greek Myth of the footrace between Atalanta and Hippomenes. The parameters of the 2024 competition asked students to write an original piece on the Olympic theme of the ‘spirit of competition’.

128 | BRISBANE GIRLS GRAMMAR SCHOOL 2024