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Huntsville Literary Association’s
Forty-Seventh Annual
Young Writers Contest
2015
Cataloguers for Literary Divisions 1-6Marion Conover Carol Ashburn RoachLinda Fletcher Nancy WilliamsMarjorie Masterson
YWC Judges for Literary Divisions 1-6
Kay CampbellAnnelle CraigJane Hampton Abigail HuginePatricia JohnsCarey LinkSusan LutherJoseph MastromonicoClaire MikkelsonJudi Moon
Sally NaumannRose Norman Amy OvertonAnnie PhillipsErin ReidLiz StaggAlice TannerBeth ThamesMargaret J. VannLynda Walker
Cataloguer for ArtworkLinda Fletcher
Judges for Art ContestDebbie West, Chair Marena Owen Val Roberts
Technical SupportLarry WestBob Fletcher
Contest Committee Co-ChairsCarol Ashburn RoachMari Zimmerman
Awards CeremonyMay 3, 2015
2 p.m.
IntroductionModerator, Beth Themes
WelcomeEloise Alexander, HLA President
ProgramHarry Moore
Presentation of AwardsAnnouncement of Poetry Winners by James Robinson
Announcement of Short Story Winners by Kay CampbellAnnouncement of Art Winners by Debbie West
Readings by First Place Winners
Concluding RemarksThe purpose of the Young Writers Contest is to encourage, stimulate, promote, and reward outstanding creative writings by students in grades one through twelve in public, private and home schools in NorthAlabama. We wish to thank the teachers and school administrators for their support and assistance. We are grateful to and Judy Watters and WLRH Public Radio for their continued support of this contest.
Special thanks to the Contest Committee and the HLA Board of Directorsfor providing refreshments and hosting the reception that follows immediately after the ceremony.
Table of Contents
List of Winners 1
Lower Elementary Poetry
The Kite by Katie Elyse Ingram 8Spring by Joshua Marci 9The Day I Met a Dragon by Laurel Howard 9
Upper Elementary Poetry
Celestial Grace by Aparna Bhooshanan 10How Do You Write a Poem? by Quinn Bigelow 11Artistic by Ria Sethi 12
Junior Poetry
Darkness by Michael Colsch 13The Cat and the Mouse by Audrey Lauren Williams 14Rain in the City by Eric Lee 15
Junior Short Story
Seasons’ Counsel by Johnathan Alexander Hampton16Dear Future Self by Ariel Carter 21Voice by Brooke Holloway 27
Senior Poetry
The Violinist by Megan Zecher 32The Heard Preferred, No by Michaela Bolyard 34Forget Me Not by Kiara Gunn 36
Senior Short Story
Cigarettes by Natalie Roberts 37The Start of a Tradition by Michaela Gieb 43Goldfish by Kennedy Saaristo 48
Artwork
Front Cover by Donald RizzardiUpper Back Cover by Alyssa KennedyLower Back Cover by Shelby Jaco
WINNERS
Lower Elementary Poetry Division
First Place Katie Elyse Ingram, First GradeCovenant Christian Academy
Teacher: Traci Ingram
Second Place Joshua Macri, First GradeRainbow Elementary
Teacher: Katherine King
Third Place Laurel Howard, First GradeMountain Gap School
Teacher: Tyesha Smith
Honorable Mention Adlai Lester-Madsen, First GradeMonte Sano Elementary School
Teacher: Stephanie Crossley
Honorable Mention Abby Campbell, First GradeMonte Sano Elementary SchoolTeacher: Stephanie Crossley
Honorable Mention Maryam Rashid, Second GradeIslamic Academy of Huntsville
Teacher: Edith Frye
4
Upper Elementary Poetry Division
First Place Aparna Bhooshanan, Fifth GradeRainbow Elementary School
Teacher: Katherine Robertson
Second Place Quinn Bigelow, Fifth GradeWhitesburg P-8 School
Teacher: Katherine Shelby
Third Place Ria Sethi, Fifth GradeColumbia Elementary School
Teacher: Miranda Bolden
Honorable Mention Sarah Guo, Fifth GradeColumbia Elementary School
Teacher: Miranda Bolden
Honorable Mention Joshua Murphree, Fifth GradeColumbia Elementary School
Teacher: Miranda Bolden
Honorable Mention Erin Howard, Fourth GradeMountain Gap Elementary School
Teacher: Letecia Hines
Honorable Mention Zoe Mueller, Third GradeHeritage Elementary School
Teacher: Jessica Miller
5
Junior Poetry Division
First Place Michael Colsch, Eighth GradeSt. John the Baptist Catholic School
Teacher: Leigh Bishop
Second Place Audrey Williams, Sixth GradeHomeschooled
Teacher: Amy Williams
Third Place Eric Lee, Eighth GradeLiberty Middle School
Teacher: Ambra Johnson
Honorable Mention Laurel Matthews, Seventh GradeWhitesburg P-8 SchoolTeacher: Hope Seeley
Honorable Mention Jonathan Harvey, Seventh GradeLiberty Middle School
Teacher: Ambra Johnson
Honorable Mention Lindsey Hitchcock, Seventh GradeWhitesburg P-8 School
Teacher: Monica Hickman Honorable Mention Blake Young, Eighth Grade
St. John the Baptist Catholic SchoolTeacher: Leigh Bishop
Honorable Mention Claire Blasingame, Sixth GradeCovenant Christian Academy
Teacher: Kim Blasingame
6
Junior Short Story Division
First Place Jonathan Hampton, Eighth GradeDiscovery Middle SchoolTeacher: Jennifer Dahlke
Second Place Ariel Carter, Eighth GradeMountain Gap P-8 SchoolTeacher: Leslie Graham
Third Place Brooke Hollaway, Eighth GradeWestminster Christion Academy
Teacher: Amy Collier
Honorable Mention Connor Morgan, Eighth GradeWhitesburg P-8 SchoolTeacher: Hope Seeley
7
Senior Poetry Division
First Place Megan Zecher, SeniorBob Jones High School
Teacher: Brandy Panagos
Second Place Michaela Bolyard, Freshman Westminster Christian Academy
Teacher: Ondreja Turner
Third Place Kiara Gunn, JuniorBob Jones High School
Teacher: Brandy Panagos
Honorable Mention Nicholas Kummer, JuniorSt. John Paul II Catholic High School
Teacher: Janet Atha
Honorable Mention Kalee Yem, SeniorBob Jones High School
Teacher: Brandy Panagos
Honorable Mention Sharon Balogun, SeniorVirgil I. Grissom High School
Teacher: Haley Hardwick
Honorable Mention Sanjna Jain, FreshmanRandolph School
Teacher: Patrick Green
Honorable Mention Christopher Lin, SeniorVirgil I Grissom High School
Teacher: Haley Hardwick
8
Senior Short Story Division
First Place Natalie Roberts, FreshmanLee High School
Teacher: Michelle Sisson
Second Place Michaela Geib, SeniorVirgil I. Grissom High School
Teacher: Haley Hardwick
Third Place Kennedy Saaristo, SeniorBob Jones High School
Teacher: Brandy Panagos
Honorable Mention Michaela Bolyard, FreshmanWestminster Christian Academy
Teacher: Ondeja Turner
Honorable Mention Jasmine Willis, SeniorVirgil I. Grissom High School
Teacher: Haley Hardwick
Honorable Mention Michael Burleson, JuniorBob Jones High School
Teacher: Brandy Panagos
Honorable Mention Michael Cassity, SeniorJames Clemens High School
Teacher: Kipp Cain
Honorable Mention Erin Evans, FreshmanVirgil I Grissom High School
Teacher: Janice Vaughn
9
Artwork Category
First Place Donald Rizzardi, Junior(Front cover) Bob Jones High School
Teacher: Brandy Panagos
Second Place Alyssa Kennedy, Senior(Upper back cover) Bob Jones High School
Teacher: Brandy Panagos
Third Place Shelby Jaco, Senior(Lower Back cover) Virgil I. Grissom High school
Teacher: Kimberly Huffstetler
10
Lower Elementary Poetry Division
The Kite
A high kite in the air
A tail
I run into the trees
The wind is cold
I fly the kite
A string
A breeze
I pull the kite
It is blue in the sky
A kite flies in the spring
First PlaceLower Elementary Poetry
Katie Elyse Ingram
11
Spring
Hear the birds tweet
their lovely songs.
See the butterflies'
beautiful wings.
Hear the hiss
of the grill
and
know that you will soon be playing outside.
SPRING!
Second PlaceLower Elementary Poetry
Joshua Marci
The Day I Met a Dragon
One day I met a dragon.He took me for a ride in a wagon.We played some games. I named him JamesAnd we partied in a canyon.
We stayed up all night until the birds took flight. Then he taught me how to swim REALLY welland how to cast a magic spell.
Then we each walked our separate waysBack home to our own bed.And not knowing the other spoke the same words.“That was such a good day,” we both said.
Third PlaceLower Elementary Poetry
Laurel Howard
12
Upper Elementary Poetry
Celestial Grace
Gentle light that flows freely, oh so relentlessly,
On the waterfall, lustrous droplets cascading down the steep cliff-face by
the hundreds...
On the ocean, revealing the school of bright parrot fish flashing, dancing;
and the sea snake's lithe body
weaving through the waves...
On the ground, the fresh, silver dew still visible on the tips of the grass,
swaying in the breeze...
On the city, cars beeping and honking throughout the night, the lights
beaming from buildings,
countering the moon's gentle embrace.
She gleamed her way into a window, curtains open, finding the face of a
girl,
A girl admiring the cratered visage, the orb of night.
And as she revered, the girl spoke:
“O, Moon,” she said,
"Your full face gleams so brightly tonight, glimmering, awakening me
from my slumber.
Thank you, for giving me light in the dark, thank you for being there
when I can't sleep.
There’s something about your appearance that just...
Calms me. Makes me... not so alone anymore."
She stared down at her feet. She stood up and climbed back into bed.
As she closed her eyes, the moon's gentle light caressed her.
And the moon spoke to her, too. The celestial body whispered softly, the
words carried by the wind.
You’re welcome.
First PlaceUpper Elementary
Aparna Bhooshanan
13
How Do you Write a Poem?
I asked my teacher one timeIf she would teach me how to rhyme.
She said to me, “Well, you see,It depends on what you want your poem to be.”
A Haiku?A Haiku for you
Paints a picture in your mindLines five seven five.
A Limerick?There was a young boy named Ken
Who liked to write with a penHe made A rhyme with A
And B rhyme with BAnd A rhyme with A again.
A Nursery Rhyme?A nursery rhyme to help you sleep,
About a spider, a star, or somebody’s sheep,A woman who lives with kids in a shoe,
Or a little boy all dressed in blue.
A Nonsense Verse?Nonsense verses are such biggily fun
Use your fluze, your vlob, and your wogger.You will know you are done
When your topes and your zopes are all spogger.
An Epitaph?There once was a girl who didn’t know how to rhyme.
She was running out of time,She was getting so stressed
And then her death,A zero on her test.
“Are you getting it now?There are so many kinds,
Lots of ways to write poemsAnd make words rhyme.”
“Oh yes,” I said, “I see it now,I think I have figured out how.
There are so many styles to chooseAnd so many words for my pen to use.”
Second PlaceUpper Elementary
Quinn Bigelow
14
ARTISTIC
ANYWHERE, ANYTIME, ANYTHING
ROWS OF DIVINE STREAKS
TERRIFIC SHINE
IMAGINATION BLOWING WILD
STORIES OF ALL TYPES HIDDEN INSIDE
TERRIBLE AND DRASTIC EVENTS
INSIDE IS EMOTION SCREAMING
COMBINED MAKES ARTISTIC EMOTION
Third PlaceUpper Elementary Poetry
Ria Sethi
15
Junior Poetry
Darkness
I’m told darkness is evil, and mean.But those have not seenthe oppression of light.
In darkness is the security, the everpresent shadow. The silence can be painful,
But it makes you grow.in the light of day, words are restricted,
In darkness and silence, the quiet bed listens.It does not judge, It does not hate, It does not even smirk.Darkness just sits and allows what’s in there to come out,
Banished in the lightDarkness is where you see what’s in you.
That’s what’s scary, but the dark is blamed.You see who you are, and find what your body wants and what you
want.Darkness is the key to figuring out your subconscious.
Darkness is what protects you from the tyrants who rule the day.The dark lets you speak.
That’s why the prettiest flower glows in darkness.
First Place Junior poetry
Michael Colsch
16
The Cat and the Mouse
A kitten was sleeping peacefully one day,When her skin tingled and some fur went astray.It was a mouse, murmuring, “These will be best.Soft fur to line my babies’ nest.”The kitten rose and gave herself a lick.The mouse fell and said, “Well, make it quick.”Then, shivering with dread,The mouse lifted her tiny head.But the kitten didn’t deliver the killing bite.Instead, she said, “This isn’t right.Think of the pinkies, naked, helpless, and pink.To kill their mother... just think!”She let the mouse go, as she would with any other.Then, the kitten returned to her mother.Instead of having meat to savor,The kitten had done the poor mouse a favor.With her belly empty and her heart filled with glory,The kitten knew the mouse had quite a story.Cats will be cats, killing on sight,But the little kitten did what she knew was right.She saved not one life, but four more too.Now I have told their story to you.
Second PlaceJunior Poetry
Audrey Lauren Williams
17
Rain in the City
The day is cold and dreary,Lights are still on, waiting patiently to be turned off.
Old buildings sway in the cool April wind,while people are busy working until blind.
Cars honk as the day flows byThe headlights penetrating the dark—impatiently growling in the traffic jam.
Suddenly, a trickle on my head—Then a several more.
Tap. Tap. Tap.The raindrop greets me with a sad smile
as it helplessly hits the sidewalk behind me.
Everything is drenched with rainRoads, buildings, cars, trees, and me
Umbrellas of vibrant and radiant colorsstand out in the dark city streets,
as drowsy people move lazily in the cold early-spring rain,calling for hopeful Spring days to come.
I stop to close my eyesto inhale a deep breath of the rainy day,
smiling in the light and sweet scent of rain.Tap. Tap. Tap.
Reminiscent raindrops remind of my childhoodBringing my memories in splishes and splashes.
I open my eyes,To find myself in the middle of the road,
and I realize I have to move on.Looking up at the gray, bleak clouds,
I wait for a signalThat the sky will stop crying.
Third Place Junior Poetry
Eric Lee
18
Junior Short Story
Seasons’ Counsel
Max shut his door with a slam, fiddled with the knob, and landed heavily on his bed. A few moments later there was pulling and then banging at the door.
“Max. open this door now!” his mother commanded.He buried his head into a nearby pillow and began to sob.
“No!” he screamed hoarsely.The banging stopped; faint footsteps could be heard approaching
the door.“Max, it’s your sister, Lisa.”“Leave me alone!”“Listen, I know that you’re hurt—we all are, but you can’t shut us
off like this. It’ll all be alright if—”“Oh don’t go on with that ‘it’s going to be alright’ crap again!”
Max’s muffled yell retorted bitterly. “It’s been six months and nothing has changed. My grades are awful, my reputation is ruined, and my friends have abandoned me, so it’s not going to be all right! It never will be!”
“But “she stammered. “We could fix this if—”“We can’t fix this,” Max sighed pitifully. “Ever since Dad died it’s
never been the same.”“Max ,..”A long silence fell between them. Two pairs of feet could be
heard dying off down the hallway a moment later.Now left in sol itude, Max laid his head face- down into
the pi l low. For a while he just cr ied, unt il he f l ipped over and began to reminisce wist fu l ly over the distant past . Eventual ly he fel l into a doze and f inal ly into a deep s leep.
When Max had f inally woken up, he expected himself to be curled up cozily in his bed, but instead he found himselfat the base of a barren tree. With a shudder he got up, real izing how cold he was. He was surrounded by a forest of l i feless trees covered with ice and snow. He looked up atthe sky and shivered: it was sol id gray. Snowflakes fel l s lowly on to the frozen ground. His breath quickened. Was he in a dream? Or was this real?
Gaining his composure, he chose a direct ion to wander in (despite being daunted, he was st i l l cur ious about this place) . Soaking his socks in the fr ig id snow, he plodded on. It was deathly s i lent as he went . Suddenly, the l ine of trees abruptly opened into a glade and at the center stood a large Wil low, o ld but beaut i ful .
Like the other trees, i t was stripped of its leaves; its ancient ice-covered branches rose gracefully into the sky,while its frozen roots dug greedily into the snow.
19
Max had no idea what had inf luenced him to take this direct ion. He walked up and beheld the great t ree, myst i f ied at the s ight .“So I see you’ve found the Great Willow “spoke a quiet voice.
Max turned around, start led, but he couldn’t f ind the source of the noise.
Suddenly a woman strode graceful ly from behind a gnarled tree.
Max stumbled back hast i ly. “Who—who are you?”“We’ve been expecting you, Maxwell,” she repl ied
slowly. She had stark white hair and ice blue eyes. She wore an elegant cerulean dress that sparkled dimly in theweak l ight . She made no sound as she walked towards him.
“What? How d—do you know my name?” Max felt a pit form in his stomach.
“You may not be aware of whom I am, but I am well acquainted with you, dear. I ’m not here to harm you. I ’m here for quite the opposite reason real ly.” She formed a thin smile . “My name is Winter .”
“Winter. . .why am I here? Is—is this a dream?”“Indeed it is . We’ve brought you here for a specific
reason.”“Real ly, why is that? And who are the others?”“The others, I ’m afraid, are not of you concern right
now. You wil l meet them in due t ime. I bel ieve the main discussion is the loss of your father, correct?”
Max’s eyes fil led with disbelief and then dropped to the ground, crestfallen. “Yes.. .I—I guessit is,” he said softly.
Winter bent down and put her hands on his shoulders and gazed compass ionately into his eyes. “I know that humans go through many troubles in their l ive. I t ’ s a shame that such a poor soul would have to go through something l ike this .” She walked away from Max and faced the wi l low. “Tel l me, Maxwel l , do you know what winter is?”
When there was no reply , she answered, “I am the season of dormancy and pat ience. I know that you and yourfamily are hurt , but you mustn’t g ive up.” She gestured to al l of the trees. “Every year this forest loses its leaves and endures the bitter cold. They can never stop, or they will die.
“Life, Maxwell is all about holding on. Your mother and sister still need you. Do not forsake them, but instead bring them closer to you. And after the worst is over, you’ll blossom into something new.”
20
Max found himself crying during her lecture. He glanced around but he then realized that Winter had suddenly vanished. The air began to warm and the snow began to melt. The grey expanse of unfriendly clouds dispersed into blue skies. At the corner of his eye, Max could see a dry stream bed begin to flow with water. The trees burst into bloom, filling the air with sweet fragrances. Animals flooded the forest.
Max could hear beautiful singing near the stream. He quickly turned to see a stunning woman who wore a dazzling emerald dress. She had warm brown eyes and long fair brown hair.
“My name is Spring,” said she, her voice trill, “1 am the season of tenacity and rebirth.” She twirled graciously toward Max. “As the world changes, you are open to new opportunities. You have the chance to change the way you do everyday things. It’s your choice whether you want to rebuild your family, or abandon them and live an undesirable life.”
Max’s face turned red and his eyes fell downwards. I never thought of it that way.
She beckoned him towards a lingering pile of snow with a purple flower shooting out of it. “The crocus is one of the first flowers to appear in my time. Despite the freezing snow it shows its vibrant colors defiantly against the world of white. It chose theopportunity to grow and stand out before everything else. Remember Max, to always make wise choices and st ick f irmly to what you want to achieve, l ike the crocus.”
The air began to dry out, the heat intensifying. The trees lost their blossoms and unleashed a mult itude of green. The blue sky was now pockmarked with puffy white clouds that blew gently in the sluggish breeze.
“I am the season of celebration and relaxat ion.”Max spun around towards the base of the wi l low. He
was get t ing fed up with being snuck up on. This t ime i t was a man.
He wore a gold-colored tunic with brown trousers. He had beige hair and lax brown eyes. “Unlike the other Seasons, I ’m the most laid back of the four.”
Max t i l ted his head. This man was obviously di f ferent from the others—not that they were all the same—though he was apparently more passive, and he spoke even slower than Winter.
I would n’ t mi nd hanging out wi th h im more of t en .The man waved his hand distasteful ly . “I ’m not into al l
of that opportunist and tenacity stuff . Somet imes you just have to relax.” The man curled up at the base of the tree and let out a luxurious sigh. “You know lad, sometimes youhave to be l ike the branches of the trees—sway with the wind, i f you know what I mean. Li fe isn’ t al l about working
21
unti l you drop, nor is i t about s lacking off a l l day, you see,the branches sway, but they don’t break. Everything has a l imit .” For a while, the man sat quiet ly and whist led a relaxing tune as the wind st irred the trees.
When Max realized that it would probably be a minute before he spoke up again, he sat down on the lush grass and observed a ladybug. The sun felt pleasantly warm—Max could already feel the effects of the lazy afternoon heat.
“But when you achieve something you’ve been yearning for, don’t be afraid to celebrate.”
Max, who had gone into a doze, jerked his head up, alert.“Remember lad, it’s okay to rest and to take a break (as long
as you don’t abuse it), and to celebrate when you reach your goals. Never forget that.” The man snuggled more deeply into theseams of the willow. He yawned sleepily as he said, “Oh, my name is Summer by the way, if you weren’t aware of it.”
The wind suddenly picked up and leaves materialized out of nowhere. Max tried to squint through the deluge of green. but realized that Summer had already disappeared.
When the leaves settled, the forest had transformed into a myriad of colors. Magnificent shades of gold, red, brown, and orange filled the forest. The air was cool and crisp; the sky a pale blue filled with wispy clouds.
This time (to Max’s satisfaction), he beheld a rather tall man sitting atop the branch of an oak.
He laughed merrily as he held a conversation with a squirrel. When he noticed that Max was waiting impatiently at the bottom, he made a few clicking sounds with his teeth, and then jumped down to meet the boy. The squirrel seemed to understand and scampered higher up into the tree.
“G r ee t i ng s M a x, my na me i s Au t u mn . I a m t h e s ea so n o f pr ep ar at io n . ” L ik e S pr in g , h i s v o i ce h e l d a h in t o f so ng . He w or e an or an ge t u n ic w i t h bro w n p an t s . H is ha ir w as ha ze l w i t h a t in t o f s l i v e r i n i t , a nd h e h ad br i l l ia nt or an ge ey es . “ L i f e i s u np re di c t a b l e ; ma ny su rp r i se s an d p i t f a l l s do t t he w a y . T h at ’ s w hy i t ’ s a l w a ysbe st t o p re pa re f or t h i ng s , w het her you are aw are of them or not . ” Au tu mn qu ick l y made a ser ies o f s t range sou nds , and t he squ irre l he w as prev iou s l y t a l k ing to ju mped of f the t ree and l anded l ight l y on h is shou l der . “T his squ irre l has been prepar ing for t he gr ip of w int er for w eek s , st or ing heaps o f nu t s ins ide of h is home. I f he doesn ’ t hav e enough food for w int er , he may v ery w el l meet h is demise . You can benef i t f rom t ak ing t he t ime to do t h ings , and not procrast inat ing l ik e t hat s l ot h Su mmer .
22
“Somet imes there are t h ings t hat you cannot ant ic ipat e t hat can cat ch you of f gu ard, but you shoul d a l w ays t ry you r best t o get throu gh i t . Re l i sh a l l o f the th ings t hat you hav e now M ax, becau se t hey don ’ t l as t forev er . ”
Max suddenl y found himsel f at the base of the w i l low wit h a l l four seasons st anding t al l and f ai r before him.
W i nt e r s t ep pe d u p. “Y ou w i l l a l w ay s en co u n t e r pr obl em s an d f a ce ad v e rs i t y , an d g i v i ng u p ma y se em l ik e t h e b es t ch oi c e , bu t a l w ay s re me mb er w h at w e ’ v e g i v e n t o y ou : do rm an cy an d en du ra nc e . ”
“T en ac i t y a nd r eb ir t h , ” s an g Sp r i ng , h er ha ir w av in g in t he br ee ze .
“ C e l e b r a t i o n a n d r e l a x a t i o n , ” s i g h e d S u m m e r , s n u gg l i n g i n t o t h e t r e e .
“ A n d p r e p a r a t i o n , ” h u m m e d A u t u m n , s i t t i n g a t o p t h eb r a n c h e s .
“ It w as n ice see ing you , M axw el l , but I be l iev e ou r meet ing mu st come to an end.”
Max suddenly felt exhausted despite himself; he tried in vain to stay awake. “Wait. . .
They all waved goodbye before he finally lost consciousness.Max woke up with a gasp. He could hear the happy
chirping of birds, and see the golden rays of sun that shined br ightly through the bl inds.
Morning already? He got up and reached for the door knob, only to real ize that it was sti l l locked. Max winced.
He walked down the empty hallway and into the kitchen.His mother was cooking something that smelled delicious. At the table sat his sister, who was quietly but intently reading a book.
His mother turned around, looking sternly at Max. His s ister glanced up as wel l .
“So, how are you doing?” she asked curtly, but with a hint of concern.
Max ducked his head rueful ly and smiled. “Better , muchbetter .”
First PlaceJunior Short Story
Johnathan Alexander Hampton
23
Dear Future SelfSeptember 2
Dear Future Self,
By the time you receive this, it will be just about a month since the accident. As you know, we have to write these letters to our future selves to try and keep ourselves positive. At this time, I think this is fairly stupidbecause you can't write back to me, but as instructed, I have to tell you about my day and try and stay positive while doing it.
So today, the movers came with the rest of my possessions, as well as some stuff that Grandma wants to keep, to remind her of my family. I didn't let any of the movers touch any of my belongings, even the things that were too heavy for me to carry. Grandma let me have the spare bedroom in the basement and I set it up as close as I could to my room in Georgia. After that, Grandma took me to my first session with Mrs. Anderson, my new therapist. That's when she suggested I start doing this and Grandma agreed with her. Then we went home and Grandma had me start writing this. That's what happenedtoday and I hope your day was be better. Remember, stay positive!
Your Past Self,
Madalyn Char
September 7
Dear Future Self,
I hate school! Today was my third day of 8 th grade and I was the targetof a group of boys who think they own the whole school. The ringleader is a guy named Nathan who just seems to hate me. He told me that it was lame that I lived with my grandmother instead of with my family. I swear I almost screamed at him exactly why I was living with my Grandma. Thankfully, a teacher intervened and further stopped them from harassing me. I just wish I could make friends here, but since I'm the main target of that group of boys, no one will be my friend. Several people did give me looks of pity when I got picked on, so at least people do know that it's wrong. Why can't they just help me? I hope your day was be better. Remember, stay positive!
Your Past Self,
Madalyn Char
24
September 12
Dear Future Self,
Today was a Saturday and I was able to just hang out in my room, while Grandma was out running errands. I decided to dig into the photo albums and looked at my family pictures. I wish I could betransported back to those times when I didn't miss my family as much and I didn't have to deal with this new school. I love the teachers, but no one has yet to stick up to Nathan.
I found a picture of my family during one of our Christmas parties a few years ago. My Mom and Dad stand proudly over my twin brothers and I. Michael and Mark wear their lopsided grins and theircurly blonde hair is everywhere. I'm off to the side, wearing one of my old red dresses and my thick brown hair up in an elaborate bun. How I wish I had let my Mom put my hair up more often. She loved playing with it. When Grandma came home, she scolded me for looking at the pictures, saying that I wasn't supposed to look at themyet, and that's when she told me to start on this. Hope your day was better. Remember, stay positive!
Your Past Self,
Madalyn Char
September 17
Dear Future Self,
Today was probably the best day ever! I made a friend! I was being picked on by Nathan again and I guess someone was getting tired of it and they stood up for me. A girl named Mindy told them that she would get a teacher if they didn't stop picking on me. That Nathan shut up immediately. Afterward, she told me that she was bullied by Nathan and his entourage the year before and she knew what it waslike. We spent lunch together and we talked about ourselves. Mindy told me that she moved to Colorado a year ago from her home in Idaho. Her dad got a new job working for N.C.A.R. and her and her family moved down here. She was picked on because at that time she had really bad acne and couldn't get rid of it for a while. I told her that I was originally born in Colorado, but my family moved down to Georgia because my Mom got a job working for an architecture company. She asked what made me move down here
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with my grandmother, and I told her that something bad happened and that I wasn't ready to share it yet. She accepted that easily.
When I got home and told Grandma, she told me that life was going to get even better. I don't know what she meant it figuratively or literally, but I won't think about much. Maybe when you get this, you will know the true answer. Hope your day was better. Remember stay positive!
Your Past Self
Madalyn Char
September 22
Dear Future Self,
Today is Sunday and I spent the day with Grandma. I wanted to talk to her about her and Grandpa. I didn't know much about him, since he died when I was very young. Grandma told me that she knew him since she was seven. He was a neighborhood kid and her mother and his mother were good friends.They grew up together and eventually, they fell in love. They got married when Grandma was 21 and they loved each other every single day. The way she talked about him, anyone could tell that she loved for Grandpa deeply. I wish I could have gotten to know him better.
After that, we had to go Mrs. Anderson and I talked to her a little more. She asked me how the letter project was going and how it was working for me. I had to think about it for a minute and I told her thatI believed that it is working for me. I can read these letters and think, well, positively. I can't believe I said that, but it's true. Hope your day was better. Remember stay positive!
Your Past Self
Madalyn Char
September 30
Dear Future Self,
I can barely see the paper that I'm writing this on, but I'm still going to write. I'm writing this to you in a janitor's closet at school, crying myself dry. I can't believe what just happened and I need to write it out.
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Today was a good day before lunch. Lunch was when it all happened. I was walking to Mindy and l's regular table, when I was tripped by Nathan! My lunch, which was nachos, applesauce, and milk, spilled all over my clothes and face. Nathan then got all up in my face and said that I was a loser for choosing to live with my lame Grandmother. That's was it. He could say that I was a loser, but saying that I chose to live here put me over the edge. I stood up and I just yelled at him, I yelled at him front of the entire grade what had happened. "You idiot! I don't have a choice! My family is DEAD! You hear me?! DEAD! They died in a car accident two months ago! I would be living with them if I could, but I can't!"
I almost grinned when I saw his face, it was filled with embarrassment and shame. I don't know what happened afterwards because I ran. I ran until I saw the janitors door open and I came in here to cry. I really hope your day was better. I'm begging you to read this and be as negative as you can.
Your Past Self
Madalyn Char
October 5
Dear Future Self,
The past few days have been seriously strange. After my scene in the lunchroom, Mindy and several teachers found me in the janitors closest, bawling. Thankfully, I was able to go home and Grandma helped me become sane again. The next day was much better. I learned from Mindy that Nathan and his group had been suspended for what they had done. During that day, I received a lot of hugs, as well as some, "Sorry for your loss", and even better some," I should have stood up for you". I was so happy that all these people that I had never even talked to, came up and said that they had done wrong. There were some people who thought that I was lying just to get attention. That's when Mindy showed them the article done on the accident and they were quiet after that. I have gained some new friends since then and I feel really happy. I hope your day will be even better. Remember, stay positive!
Your Past Self
Madalyn Char
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October 9
Dear Future Self,
Today was one of the hardest days ever. Nathan and his entourage's suspension had ended and they came back to school. Nathan spread word that he wanted to talk to me about what happened, but my new friends wouldn't have it. After every period, one of them waited with me in my classroom until everyone else had come and the formed barrier around me. Every time, I could hear Nathan trying to get to me. He was able to talk to me during sixth period when I went into thehallway to get some water.
I was pulling up my head from the water fountain when he tapped mefrom behind. I almost jumped out of my skin. I told him to leave me alone, but he asked me to stay for just one minute. I decided that he deserved a second chance and let him explain himself. He told me that it was wrong of him to bully me like he did. He just wanted to tryto be the tough guy at school because he had eight older siblings who bullied him continuously. He then walked away without another word. I don't know what to say to that. I mean, should I forgive him? Or Hope your day was better. Remember stay positive!
Your Past Self
Madalyn Char
October 14
Dear Future Self,
As you know, this is going to be my last letter. Mrs. Anderson and Grandma think that I don't need to do it anymore and that I can stop after this. It's not that I don't like doing this, it's just that you can't write back to me. I think I'll start doing a journal that I can write in when I need to.
The past few days have been extremely nice and I think I might have a crush on Nathan. Ever since he confessed to me what his home life was, I couldn't help not helping him. We started sitting with each other at lunch and talking together. At first my friends weren't sure about it, but Mindy was able to convince them otherwise. Nathan hasstarted to distance himself from his group of boys. He surprised everyone today by apologizing to anyone he has ever bullied. He received hugs from almost everyone in our grade. Some of the
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teachers even appraised him. It's still hard to believe that I was the one who triggered this change. Now life is so much better and Nathan and I seem to be getting closer and closer. Maybe it will become real one day. Grandma is proud of me for what I have done in a few short weeks and I'm sure my family would be proud too. I hope the rest of your days are better. I don't even think I have to tell you to stay positive anymore.
Your Past Self
Madalyn Char
Second PlaceJunior Short Story
Ariel Carter
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VOICE
“They creep around in the dark of night like foxes,” the storyteller muttered into the dark, “they wait for the perfect moment to sneak into our village and exchange one of our little ones for one of their changelings—their unwanted. We’ve kept them from it so far, but who knows... they might just be out there this very minute... waiting... to STRIKE!”
The old man lashed out suddenly at one of the wide-eyed children gathered around him, and they giggled in mock fright.
The girl in the corner smiled. Everyone knew the old storytellercouldn’twouldn’t—hurt a bullfrog that had hopped into his soup. The children adored him, begged him for unending stories of the horrors that lie in wait for them in the woods.
But they weren’t only stories.Whenever he had to go out to hunt, the teen girl saw the shadows
and the glowing eyes.She would never forget them.But she didn’t tell the children. They all deserved a few more
years’ innocence.“Tala!”The girl started at the sound of her name. She slipped out of the
hut, unnoticed by the children, and headed towards her mother’s hut.
Her mother was still young, and Tala had obtained many of her traits—the tall, agile physique, the high cheekbones, and the vibrant amber eyes.
The only differences were that Tala had long brown hair while her mother’s was short and blonde, and Tala had the palest skin in the village.
“Tala,” her mother said, “it’s empty.”Tala sighed. Their food supply was constantly running out; she
had four younger brothers. It was always her who had to go out into the forest to hunt—she’d never known her father and he’s never shown himself to her, or anyone else for that matter.
Tala nodded. She’d learned to cover her emotions in front of others.
The teen ran to the small shed behind the family but to get her bow and arrows.
“Don’t come back empty-handed!” Her mother called after her as shesprinted into the dark green of the forest.
Tala’s heart was beating so fast that she felt sure it was scaring away any game that was within a mile of her.
She stalked silently through the underbrush, the only evidence of her intrusion being the rustle of ferns as they brushed against her legs.
A faint rustling up ahead indicated that she was nearing her usual spot—it was usually filled with wild animals.
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Her clearing was bare when she arrived—not a sound. All noise had faded to oblivion.
Tala sat in the center, still as a dead tree.She waited.Tala woke to a rustling sound in the trees. She opened her eyes
drowsily and was a large figure slowly creeping towards her.She shot up, reaching for an arrow, but the creature leapt into the
undergrowth before she could get a good look.Her heart raced as the ferns rustled. The thing came out again,
slowly, gaining confidence as it went.It was covered in a straw that crackled when it moved, and its fingers
were long, sharp, and blue like demented claws. Its face was red, white, and blue, frozen into an eternal, wicked grin.
Tala was horrified. The monster loped towards her with a strange gait that was almost a limp. Its shoulders were hunched, and its arms were out, claws twitching.
It stopped a few meters in front of her.And took off its head.It stood there, the mask tucked under his arm, staring at Tala
curiously. It dropped the mask and started to creep towards her once again.
Its real face was the face of a boy.He looked about her age, pale as death, and his hair was white-
blonde like sand. His canine teeth were longer than any human’s, and he had one deep hazel eye and one brilliant blue eye.
He crawled towards Tala...and sniffed her.Tala screamed. The boy—the thing—scrambled back on all fours,
terrified, and pulled a hollow tube from his sleeve and, with startling accuracy, shot a dart into Tala’s neck
Tala woke to see a man sitting on the ground next to her. He was tall and muscular, and he was wearing the same straw garment as the thing that had attacked her. Tala shot up, grabbing a knife from her belt. The man unsheathed a sword.
“Easy now,” he spoke with a heavy rural accent, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then what do you want?” Tala snarled.“Your name,” he said simply.Tala blinked in surprise. “Tala,” She said before she could stop
herself.The man started. There was a clicking sound behind Tala, and she
whirled around to see the boy from before, fingering his blowgun with blue claws. He looked up and took a step back as Tala gripped her knife harder.
“Who are you?” Her voice shook. She was more terrified of the boy than the man. He didn’t answer.
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“That’s Phantom,” the man said from behind her, “He’s mute, but thebest scout we Bushpeople have ever had.”
“And you?” she nervously turned to face the man again.“Dagan,” he attempted to smile at her.Tala narrowed her eyes and shot away into the dark spruces.
She looked behind her for signed of pursuit and saw none. But whenshe looked ahead, there was Phantom, standing in her path. He tackled her and pinned her to the ground.
It looked like he was about to smile, but he didn’t before helping her up.
“Look,” Dagan panted from behind her, “I know you probably don’t but please, Tala,” he got on his knees and looked her in the eyes. “Trust me,”
And she did.
Hours of travelling later, they were in the beautiful Bushman city in the trees.They stood in the center of a large treehouse that was filled with people on all sides.
“Dagan!” a tall man dressed in leaves instead of straw walked towards them,“what have you done?”
“Denver, brother,” Dagan smiled, “I can explain.”“No,” Denver scowled. “You suggested taking the children in the
first place, but now it must stop.”“This one is different!” Dagan protested. “Just—”“Explain then!” Denver demanded. Dagan didn’t answer.“That’s what I thought.”Dagan murmured something under his breath.“What was that?” Denver asked triumphantly.“She’s my daughter!” Dagan’s voice shook with rage.“What?” Tala asked.“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tala yelled at her father. They were
in the small treehouse he owned.“It wasn’t the time,” He tried to defend himself.“You’re right,” Tala snapped, “The time was fifteen years ago
when you left mom and me!”Dagan hung his head, ashamed. “How is she?”“She had five kids to take care of, and I must provide for
them since you can’t!”Dagan’s head shot up, eyes ablaze. “I—”“And why do you steal children? Why do you leave children?”“I have—”“No!” Tala screamed, “You lost! You’ve lost a wife, and
you’ve lost a daughter!”Silence ensued, greater than the rift between father and
daughter. Dagan walked over to his daughter and embraced her.
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“Do you want to go home?” He asked softly, stroking her hair, “Or be recognized as princess?”
Tala didn’t answer.
The ceremony was short, but beautifully natural and elaborate.Dagan and the reluctant Denver led Tala to a raised pedestal
and stood to her side. A crowd of Bushpeople surrounded her, and the sun filtered scarlet through the trees.
Phantom strode slowly through the crowd and stopped just in front of Tala. He dipped two finders into a pouch at his side, and they came out red with dye. He drew two slanted lines on her left cheek with his fingers, and stroked two long, curving lines from her forehead, over her right eye, and to her chin. He wiped his fingers on the canvas shirt he was wearing and put a pair of red wooden claws onto her fingers, not unlike his blue ones. Lastly, he put a circlet that was beautifully carved to look like gold leaves almost lovingly on her head, never taking his mismatched eyes from hers.
And then a voice screamed from the ground far below, “There! The monsters that kidnapped my daughter!”
Bushmen darts soared to the villager, whom Tala recognized as her mother.“No!” Tala screamed, “Don’t shoot!” They immediately stopped and looked to
Dagan for instruction. He opened his mouth to speak, but a red and brown blur hithim in the side. It was an arrow.
Tala ran to her fallen father and yanked the arrow out, which had a crimson ribbon tied to it.
“Tala,” he gasped as he saw the arrow, “do you know what this means?”She shook her head.“This means war.”
Tala walked alongside Phantom, the Bushpeople army behind her. They neared the village, and Tala signaled for the armada to go ahead and wait for her at the edge of the town. She turned to Phantom as they left.
“I’m afraid,” she shook.The mute scout nodded. The look in his eye showed that he understood
Tala wasn’t afraid of the battle, she was afraid of facing her family.Phantom took her face in his hands and wiped a tear from her cheek,“Who am I, Phantom?” Was she a villager, or was she a Bushperson?You are my voice.Tala knew in her heart that’s what Phantom was saying.
The battle was long and strenuous, but it passed in a blur of red and black. Bythe end, Tala emerged physically and emotionally exhausted.
As the victorious Bushmen rounded up the survivors and mourned their dead comrades, Tala looked into the eyes of her mother.
“What have you done?” her mom whispered.“This is who I am,” the forest princess reached a hand out to her
mother, “come with me, to the Tree Village. Let me show you something.”After a long hesitation, Tala’s mother took her daughter’s hand.
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And then something caught Tala’s eye.A pair of incompatible eyes stared at her from the dead and dying.“Phantom!” She shrieked, running to his side. She felt his pulse—it was there,
but feeble and faltering.The boy blinked as his gaze focused on Tala.“Listen,” Tala bent down over the scout, tears in her eyes, “You might not
have much longer, but let me give you a gift”She closed her eyes and began to sing, her voice carrying over the
battlefield like a mourning songbird.
“I know a place where we can go and be together,Secret and safe, it’s a haven forever,
Through the rain and the storm,Through the fire and the pain—”
Her voice cracked on the last note as she wept. After a while, she continued singing in a soft, shaky voice.
“Though we’re scarredAnd we’re weathered,It’s a haven forever...”
Slowly, Tala’s mother dragged her from her friend’s still form.
Tala awoke hours later to a dull pain in her throat, hands, and side, but it all faded away when she opened her eyes.
A tall boy was standing over her, Tala’s parents on either side of him.
Phantom? She tried to speak his name, but no sound would come from her throat.
“Thank you for your gift,” Phantom took her hand, “Now, I am your voice.” For the first time, Phantom smiled.
THE END
Third PlaceJunior Short Story
BrookeHolloway
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Senior Poetry
The Violinist
I was there when she arrived, grey-eyed and long-nosed, Thin lips not a frown Not a smile. She stopped, right at the corner, And sat out the small, black coffin Mouth agape like a trout And pulled that lovely body from inside. I watched, too.Those spider fingers crawling, plucking At strings Up by the ear So they could whisper some melodious secret of days gone by. Then she was straight as a soldier, Chin nestling the body Arm poised for a strike with her weapon Long and thin That touched the string light and heavy. The body came to life. Four silver strings rippling, Shaking the mechanic movements of passersby Who stopped their methodical, mundane movements For a gander, for a note Rolling under the caress of a bow. Four silver strings like four thundering horses, Galloping Carrying behind them a crescendo behind them So powerful That the man nearby was powerless In turning to hear. I watched them One by one Come to life And the brow furrowing on the woman her spider fingers jigging along their tightropes, Hoping to not stutter, Praying to not fall.
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A bird sang harmony And Sun refused To move aside for Moon. The beat of the earth Was the tap of her shoe As she kept time. Four silver bells Played each in their own Were glanced by the arrow From the bow And the listeners Closed in For getting each sound into their thick skulls Clapping And it heightened And dropped Like a fickle tide Until it was one long, silver stream A final note Holding on For their sake And then it died Like a flame quieted by the breeze. The listeners jolted, Moving back to their Robotic forms And life Itself seemed To die all over Again.
First PlaceSenior Poetry
Megan Zecher
36
The Heard Preferred, No
You ask me for another pen, My favorite one that’s black, Although you’ve never Given anything back. But I guess you could say it’s My fault, Because I can never say no. But that’s so Not going to happen again. At least that’s what I tell myself, As I hand it to you. And I guess it’s true, That I always say yes. You ask me for a sheet of paper With college ruled lines. And I’ll say, “Sure, have mine,” Because I can never say no. But that’s so Not going to happen again, Starting now. So how Is it when you ask me for homework help I hurry to your side, Although I know you haven’t tried A single problem? I still help you Because I’m just too nice, But a price I’ll pay For the way I act, Because I can never say no. But that’s so Not going to happen again.
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Then you ask me To cover for you when the teacher asks Where you are, While you’re far Away from the classroom, Free as air. And I’m stuck in my chair, Promising you’ll be back Before the bell. It’s like a spell I can’t break, Because I can never say no. But that’s so Not going to happen again. You finally come to class Because there’s a test. But unlike the rest, You haven’t studied. Again. So when the teacher turns her back, You take a whack At the chance to Whisper in my ear Words only I can hear, Begging for the answers Because otherwise you’ll fail. But I’ve lived through this tale Many times before, And although I can never say no, I guess there’s always A first for everything. So now I’ll cling To that word: The heard, Preferred, No.
Second Place Senior Poetry
Michaela Bolyard
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Forget Me NotDear youThis is just a breakI have to take account for all my mistakesand I know there's a lot so I'll be gone for a whilejust keep your head up and don't forget to smileDear youI'm sorry for all the pain that I've causedplease don't hate me I know there are lines that I crossedDear youI'll get it together and then I'll be backthat’s the only thing I can do and I promise you that
Dear youForget me not I'll be backthis is temporary till I get back on trackDear youYou know that I never broke one promiseI will never leave you, I'm always honestDear youKeep your head held up highwe share something in common the starry night sky
Dear you I'm sorry for all of the painI'm sorry for the unanswered questions in your brainI'll serve my time so I can make it backI'll be there by graduation wearing all blackDear youDon’t forget that I love youI will always love you I'm getting better cause of youDear youNo it is not your faultlook up to heaven whenever you are lostdear you whenever you are downlook up to the sky and you'll know I'm still around
Dear youForget me not I'll be backthis is temporary till I get back on trackDear youYou know that I never broke one promiseI will never leave you, I'm always honestDear youKeep your head held up highwe share something in common the starry night sky Third Place
Senior PoetryKiara Gunn
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Senior Short Story
CigarettesWhen you are seven years old, you believe in everything. Fairies and starlight, ghosts and sunflowers. You believe in the strength of your mother and the goodness of people, in hot chocolate and 3rd Floor Miss Johnson’s wrinkles. You have unshakable faith in the solemnity of secretsand the medicine of laughter.
“What do you believe in, Daddy?” you ask him. He meets your eyes, but only for a moment. There’s something dull in the smile he gives you, and it’s strained, like there’s not enough skin to stretch. He takes a long drag off his cigarette and basks in the smoke of his exhale, focusing on the cracks in the wall. Finally, he looks back at you, his eyes brushing your shoulder.
“Cigarettes.”
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Eight years old and you are shining with hope. Ambition in your heart and the world at your fingertips, you are loud. Your laugh goes off like firecrackers and your voice cannot be silenced. You are running, leaving your timid sister far behind you, your bare feet scraping the pavement, anarmy following your wake.
There is no flame that has burned brighter than the one inside of you, and it is devouring every inch of you. It is the reason you cannot sit still in math class, the reason you make plans to conquer kingdoms in history.Your future is vast and you are a grand explorer, a wild adventurer. You will pioneer every inch of it.
You are small now but growing, growing so quickly that you are surpassing the tallest skyscrapers, and when you are taller than those, your height will be measured in mountains.
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Eleven years old and you don’t fit anywhere. Your meaty hands don’t work like you want them to, so when you try to make art, everything comes out awkwardly. They can no longer be your outlets, so instead you are drawing everything in, just like your mother. Your skin is starting to burst at the seams.
By then, your mother’s voice sounds like a lullaby for the dead and she isstarting to fade away. Her skin grows paler as her will grows weaker, and you wonder if your father knows that he has a talent for monstrosity. Youwonder if he knows how good he’s gotten at making people feel small. You wonder if your mother is a saint or a coward.
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Sometimes you find yourself holding onto her tight, afraid that if you don’t, she’ll fall off the imaginary edge.
When months pass and nothing changes, you start to let go.
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Thirteen years old and though you know nothing, it feels as if you have learned everything.
You sit on your sister’s bed and wrap that knowledge around her, your words forming stories that spill into the open air of her small room and seep into her pillowcase, whispering to her as she sleeps. You give her everything you’ve ever had and promise her even more.
You tell her to be afraid of nothing, for you will capture the entire universe in her favor. There is nothing on this earth that could possibly bring harm to her. You will not let her fade away at anyone’s hand, not even her own.
You are still running, running, and you are now pulling her along besides you, willing her to pull ahead of you, clasping at her sweaty hand. There is no longer an army behind you, but you are instead escaping the mess your parents have made, trying desperately not to let the decay reach you.
You pray that you are fast enough.
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Fourteen years old and you have grown softer, and you are pouring yourself into notebooks. Even when you are long gone from this world, an essence of you will never leave. It will be trapped between lively words; you will be immortal in your own small way. You are slowly learning to let this be enough.
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You write a new fate for your mother, as well, as the hope continues to drain from her eyes. In your version, she has a smile that’s genuine and a spirit that’s wild. In your version, she is joyous and free. In your version, there is not an invisible monster with its hand around her throat, squeezing the life away.
At least she’ll be happy in some world or another, even if it’s a world that you had to create for her.
You’re learning to let that be enough, too.
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Sixteen years old and Tommy Norson kisses you behind the gymnasium. He smells like lunch meat, and he presses his chapped lips hard against yours. He’s too persistent, too rough.
You walk away feeling violated.
He is the beginning of a series of summer romances with a series of boys who are just like Tommy, and you learn quickly. You learn to romanticizethe harsh way he kisses you, almost like he’s trying to crush your body against his own, so that there is less of you then there was before. When he steps into your boundaries, you learn not to push him away. You laugh, and pray for some distraction to set you free.
You learn that boys don’t like it when you shine brighter than they do, and in an effort to keep from being left behind, you let yourself fade, just a little bit.
You are no longer running. You are stuck still in an ocean of greedy men who think with their bodies and devour the stainless innocence of wide-eyed girls. They are heartless creatures with cold, scaly hands that reach out to pull you under.
You are praying for your sister once more, pleading to every deity above that she climbed in a raft and left it all behind.
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Eighteen years old and your mother makes a big slash where her name was written on this earth, and you are no longer dreaming of going back for what was left of the woman you left behind. You try to make yourself believe that your mother was a saint. You tell it to yourself again and again, my mother was a saint, my mother was a saint. You try so desperately to believe it.
And then it’s three in the morning and you are biting your knuckles to silence the sobs that wrack your body. There is only one thought that comes to your mind, and you are too tired to fight against it. It comes red hot and ragged, and it burns you every time as you say it over and over.
“My mother was a coward.”
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Twenty-three years old and the first boy you fall head-over-heels in love with is the first boy to shatter you. He leaves you on a Tuesday, and your heart feels like it’s been scraped raw on concrete-aching, bleeding, and vulnerable.
Every Tuesday from then on, you drink an entire bottle of wine. You scrub your skin raw in the shower and let the dog sleep in your bed for the first time, needing the warmth.
Your apartment has never felt so empty.
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Twenty-six years old and your sister has a kid. You’ve only met your nieceonce, and she has your eyes, which makes you happier than you’ve been in a while. Her name is Lillian, and every bit of her is beautiful.
You whisper promises in her ear and write them on her ribs.
Your sister only answers your phone calls every once in a while, and when she does, she never talks long. She is always moving, a bird restlessly flying from perch to perch.
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You often wonder what it was that made her shut you out, but that train of thought almost always gets too painful, so instead you like to think that your sister left all of you behind, a caged bird set free, her song fillingthe air with its sweetness. It makes things almost all right when you remember that you did everything you could to make sure she got further, and though you dreamed of her flying past all the wreckage, you still ache with the burden of being alone.
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Twenty-seven years old and you are struggling to remember when you believed in everything. You cannot keep a job to save your life; you have been a waitress in too many cheap diners, getting hit on by old men who smell like motor oil, getting hit on by managers who smell like their wives’ soft skin.
You have danced in places that smell like ugly desperation, sweat dripping from you like sweet champagne, a burning emptiness eating at the bottom of your stomach that was never supposed to belong to you. It belonged to your mother.
You have joined protests a thousand people strong, shouting and dancing, eyes wild for a cause you could care less about.
It just feels good to yell.
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Twenty-nine years old and you are putting everything in boxes, falling in and out of love with every boy who makes your bed his home, even if it’s just for the night. After a while, you begin to forget their faces. Everything is blurring together, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the crushing repetitiveness of it all or the smoke that seems to linger in every room, even after every last ember has faded to ash.
You fill all the empty places inside of you with the smoke, craving the illusion of content.
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Thirty years old and it feels like everything is chasing you, and you are so,so behind. You owe too much money and there’s no one in the world whowants you. You have seen nothing and been nowhere; your mother’s legacy is consuming yours and you are being swallowed.
You find that you were not fast enough to escape the wreckage.
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Thirty-two years old and you stop running.
You let the tide wash over you, and wonder if this makes you drowning orfree.
It feels like drowning.
When you are thirty-four years old, you are fighting to believe in anything at all. Your sister’s daughter asks what you believe in, and her eyes are shining so bright that it hurts.
You almost laugh, and you’re not exactly sure why. Instead, you just sigh,not expecting the tears that fill the space behind your eyelids.
“Cigarettes.”
First Place Senior Short Story
Natalie Roberts
45
The Start of a Tradition
“Are you sure you can do this?” My friend asks me. I nod my head in confirmation. I know I can do this, the real question is can I do this without losing my resolve.
“Hey, on the bright side, this will only be a one day a year thing,” I glare at my sibling.
“It’ll never be just one day a year,” I mumble.
“Just give us a call if you need us. We have to go, Miss Terra is calling us,” the pair run off, leaving me alone in the woods.
“Remember what Miss Terra told you. Be kind, be considerate, and aboveall else, put yourself in their position,” I gently remind myself while walking through the forest. My mind wanders as my bare feet crunch the pine needles and snow covering the ground. I never thought that I would be faced with something like this. A rabbit jumps out from the underbrush. I meet its eyes, and it twitches its whiskers at me. I give it a soft smile.
“Helper, why does the air feel dark around you?” The small animal asks me. I look down at the ground and sigh.
“I have grave news for the young ones.” The rabbit jumps towards me.
“If you are looking for the young ones, Helper, I only hope that you can handle the situation. They are strong, and you are too, but there’s only so much you can take,” I nod at the rabbit and continue on my way. I pass a number of other forest animals, most of them simply say hello and continue on their way, other’s strike up a quick conversation; I don’t linger too long though. I have something more pressing to do than stand around for idle chatter. It doesn’t take long before I reach Master Ash’s clearing.
“Ah, Oakley, long time no see. Tell me, are you here for just a visit, or is ita less joyous occasion?” I give the large Ash tree a small smile, and one ofhis leaves lands on my shoulder. The dark brown clashes pleasantly with the green tint of my skin.
“Sorry Master Ash, I can’t stay long. I really have to get going.” The wind blows gently against Master Ash’s branches. The last leaves fall down to greet the oncoming season.
“Before you go, Oakley, let me give you some advice. Don’t take it personally, it’s not your fault, and you can’t stop it,” I turn around and quickly wipe a tear off my cheek. I never asked for this job, I wanted to work with the rabbits. Miss Terra gave me this responsibility though, andI need to do everything I can to get this done, and spare as much grief as possible.
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“Enjoy your winter Master Ash,” I quickly rush off towards the small clearing a few meters away.
“Look everyone! It’s Oakley!” A young voice sounds in front of me. I quickly examine them, checking for what I’m not sure. They’re all so young, six-years-old roughly. I think back to when they were only saplings. They were so tiny, just barely with their roots in the ground. Time seems to have flown by.
“Hey guys,” It’s not much, but it’s all I can manage in that moment. I need to reserve my strength for later, for when I tell them. I reach up and run my hand through the branches of the nearest evergreen tree. It lets out a tiny giggle.
“Are you okay Oakley? You seem a bit down,” One of the trees to my rightasks. I softly shake my head. A chorus of questions comes from the small grove of evergreens. I raise my hands in front of me to quiet them down.
“There’s something I need to tell you, all of you,” My voice cracks, and forthe first time I’m doubting my ability to explain this to them. Their thin branches rustle, each of them gently leaning towards me, offering their support. It’s almost funny really, I should be offering my support to them, but here they are, completely unaware of why I’m so distraught, trying to comfort me. I wonder why Miss Terra gave me the job of caring for the trees. I will live a thousand lifetimes, and I will never deserve the love these trees provide to me.
“Is there something wrong with Miss Terra?” The largest tree in the groveasks. I think back to the time it was planted, it was so small, Miss Terra was worried it wouldn’t make it through the first winter. I stayed right there though, to make sure each and every tree had a chance, I sat with them through storms and sunshine. I loved them from the moment their seeds touched my hands.
“Nothing is wrong with Miss Terra. I’m here to explain to you what’s going to happen very soon,” I take a deep breath and steel myself for the next statement. “Most of you aren’t going to make it through the winter,” Almost immediately there’s an uproar between the trees. My heart bleedsfor them. I shout at them to quiet down.
“This can’t be right; you and Miss Terra made sure that we were each big and strong, so that we could all last through many seasons!” The shout comes from the left, and my soul feels like it’s splitting open. Three autumns ago, I sat with that same tree for an entire week. A storm had blown in and I had just finished patching up the branches of this small tree, when Miss Terra had told me that an early winter storm was comingin. The saplings were all scared, but I told them that Miss Terra and I were there to help them grow big and strong so they could survive through many winters on their own.
“I know, I know what I said, and at the time, I meant it. I thought you all would be able to survive and live for more winters, summers, springs,
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and autumns than I could hope to count. I was wrong,” My voice carries through the grove, all of the forest seems to have quieted down to listen to what I have to say. “The humans have started a new tradition,” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “I do not like it, and neither does Miss Terra, but there is nothing we can do to stop it.
“The humans will be cutting down evergreen trees each winter, as a way to worship a man that had done great things with his life. They call the celebration Christmas,” The grove grows loud with the discussions of all of the trees. I hear many of them cry out the unfairness of it all, and others already start saying their good-bye’s. I crumple to the ground, tears sliding down my face allowing the cold wind to burn my cheeks. I can’t stand to hear their pain. The pain I was unable to stop. I am unable to stop. I was there for each and every one of these trees, I watched them grow and learn about the world. I answered their questions and protectedthem from dangers. I grew with them. My heart aches for them. Their inability to stop what’s going to happen to them cuts into my being. I failed them. The grove grows quiet, except for the gentle whisper of the wind, and one tree’s branches swaying in it.
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“Oakley, this isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known this would happen,” I look up at all of them, innocent, pure, and beautiful. The injustice of it all haunts me.
“Miss Terra and I both want you to know that we never wanted this to happen. We wanted you all to grow old, and house animals for many years to come; we wanted you to provide shade to the ground creatures inthe summer heat, I wanted to see you all grow as tall as Master Ash,” My voice cracks again, and I know I’m gone, there’s no more strength left in me.
A young brambling perches in the branches of one of the trees near me. “Do not fret young helper; tell them the bright side,” I stare up at the bird, softly wiping away my tears.
“Yes, Oakley! Tell us the bright side!” A few of the trees call out. I sit up, leaning against my feet.
“The bright side?” I pause, I’m not even sure that the bright side of the situation is enough to justify any of it. I look at the trees, all of them waiting expectantly for the thing that might make it all worth it. I sigh, they didn’t deserve this. “The bright side is that you will be beautifully decorated with trinkets, and bright lights. On the morning of the holiday you will have gifts wrapped up under you, and small human children will wake up, and the joy that paints their faces when they see you could melt Mister Frost’s castle. The children will sing songs about you, and proudly show you off to their friends. That is the bright side.” The entire forest is quiet, and I fear the worst. I cannot stop the humans, and after this winter I will lose many of my friends. The silence burns through my ears, until one tree rustles their branches, and then another, and another, untilthe entire grove is alive with the rustling of branches.
I rise to my feet and examine each of the trees in the grove. They’re all standing tall, being strong in the face of the news I have given them, though they are not stiff, they all wave gently in the wind, giving off the feeling of fearlessness. They become quiet again, and one tree stands out from the rest, branches strong and firm.
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“Thank you Oakley, thank you for being there for us throughout our lives,thank you for giving us our best shot, and caring for us when we were small and weak. Please do not fear for us, all we ask is that you continue to care for and raise other trees like you raised us. Make sure they know what’s coming, and do for them what you did for us. Love them, and keepthem safe,” Every tree in the grove begins to slowly sway, a symbol of good bye that I taught them when they were younger. I touch my fingers to my lips and hold my hand out to them. There’s nothing more I can do for them, and I can’t let them see me break. Without another word, I turnand make my way back to Miss Terra. I can’t bear to see what will soon happen in the days to come. As I exit the grove I quietly whisper to myself.
“Good bye, I will miss you always.”
Second Place Senior Short Story
Michaela Geib
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Goldfish
Good sir, why do you fret and frown? It is the spring! Why do you act as though the flowers are brown? Dinner party you say? Wonderful, whimsical, wild! A party is an occasion to skip and dance and sing and prance, so why do you look so glum? No entertainment or food you say? Well, I am here to save the day! We can surely remedy that, yes siree, justrest your faith in me! Place me in a glass bowl, sir, for I am your goldfish. I will glubb and blubb and bubble and wobble to your heart’s content. Place me there-no, there, on the window sill for all to see. For gold glimmers and glitters and shines and divines, does it not? Not a simpering squid nor a loquacious lion nor an ostentatious octopus nor a frolicking feline. No, that is not what you requested, with your glass bowl hanging eerily and evidently behind your back. I will be your goldfish.
Place me there, in the center of the table as your dinner guests arrive.I will be sure to flip and flop and twirl and flirl and dive and skive. Oh, you guests will be amazed! Yes, they will go back to their homes, enthralled by my tricks and treats. I will have them chortling in their lavishly laced linens and giggling in their neatly nestled napkins. They will not soon forget this night! They will see that you have the best pet, the most compatible companion! Forget their loyal pups and tottering turtles because I swear I will shine for you. Give me a rag, give me some polish! I will cover up my pale bones and icky insides. All they will see is my shiny scales and flipping tails, for that is all you want them to see!
Place me there in the pan. Careful of the edges now, the center of the poignant and proficient pan is the perfect spot to! No, of course I don’t mind. Your guests are hungry, after all! I’ll just flip over onto the butter and warm metal. Oh, how toasty!
Uncomfortable? No, sir! These lines on my sides are laugh lines, chuckle chaffs, giggle marks, parallels of pleasantry! Now don’t forget to flip me, don’t want to leave one side untouched! There we go! Now you’veleft marks all over me. How superbly symmetrical! Now I am truly done. See? Just a flick of salt and a pinch of pepper along with a sprig of semi-seasonal spinach.
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Place me there on the plate, with its patterns so intricate and bright. The background of the dish will surely distract from the darker marks lefton my right side. No, it was my fault! I should have told you I was burning! I should have mentioned my veins were aching and my heart was breaking, I just didn’t want you to feel like your cooking skills weren’t both astounding and exemplary. My scales are gone and my tail has given out, so I can no longer glimmer and glitter and twirl and flirl and bubble and wobble but I will be tasty and zesty, I’ll sure be the besty!
Oh, it’s alright, just take a bite, bigger, bigger, bigger and bigger. I know that I am small but I hope I was enough. You have so many guests; I hopethat none went hungry! I would hate to let you down. Don’t worry about these bones of mine you have left, the pattern draws the eye away from them.
Place me there among the dishes and cutlery, with their crumbs and crevices and aromas of rot. Go back to your guests! Shoo, shoo! You certainly have more important things to do! I will be fine sir, don’t you fidget and fuss and fret, or wait five minutes-you’re bound to forget. I hope your guests enjoyed the meal and the show I put on before when I glubbed and blubbed and bubbled and wobbled and glimmered and glittered and flipped and flopped and twirled and flirled and dived and skived. Whew! That sure does wear a fish out, but I was happy to do it. It made you proud so I was happy to do it.
Place me there, down the garbage disposal. My bones are weak enough now to make the trip smooth after all the marks from the pan have left quite a groove. Down, down, down I go. The party was such a sensational success, I only wish I were in shape to see them off! Why are you crying now? With nothing left but broken bones and severed scales, my aid has reached its end. I have given you all that I am, sir, I only wish it were more. I only wish I were more.
Third Place Senior Short StoryKennedy Saaristo
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