2017 Teen Fiction Contest Winners

GRADES 7-9 GENERAL FICTION

First Place: The Crest By Imelda Donnelly

Second Place: Nomads By Elizabeth Blackshire

Third Place: Melting By Eleanor Peters

GRADES 7-9 FLASH FICTION

First Place: Before The Fall By Asha Buerk

Second Place: A Solemn Lighthouse By Jack Huffman

Third Place: The Cookie Jar By Nico Balint

GRADES 7-9 FAN FICTION

First Place: A Jester’s Origin By Fabrice Uwihirwe

Second Place: Lucky Ones By Bailey Atkinson

Third Place: Something Is…Different By Danika Vrtar

GRADES 10-12 GENERAL FICTION

First Place: Hide And Seek By Angela Lin

Second Place: The Fall Of Pompeii By Rose Tyler

Third Place: Stage Fright By Riley Bowman

GRADES 10-12 FLASH FICTION

First Place: Schuster By Philippa Zhang

Second Place: Reflections By Elizabeth C. Hinkle

Third Place: Routines For The Indifferent By Keress Ambrose Frey Weidner

GRADES 10-12 FAN FICTION

First Place: Star Wars: Shadows Of The Dark Side By Alexander Kinne

Second Place: Change Of Heart By Allison Brewer

Third Place: John, James, And David By Zachary Layman GRADES 7-9 GENERAL FICTION FIRST PLACE: THE CREST BY IMELDA DONNELLY

The bitter, relentless ocean spray soaks my jeans and sneakers. I kick my shoe in the mud, watching the impression fill with water. Not too far away, my grandfather stands by the dock untying a small boat. No motor, no cover, not even a decent bench. The red paint on the boat is faded and the white lettering is chipped and stained a yellowish color. It used to say my name, Harry. But an “r” and the “y” are washed off, so it seems to be laughing at me. Har, har, har. The wind throws the fragile skeleton of the boat against the dock, hitting the same decade-old dent. My grandfather motions me over, yelling my name into the wailing wind. I trudge over to him and he motions me to climb on board, holding the fraying, dirty rope with his calloused, tanned hands.

The smell is nothing I have encountered before. The fishiness is a given, but it smells burnt and baked into the wood, mixing with the mold that seems to be coming from underneath the bench. A cockroach skitters across my toe and I shiver. The bug doesn’t seem to be very happy with its surroundings either. My grandfather pushes away from the dock and guides the boat out into the churning, black ocean. I’m not sure why today is “the perfect weather” for fishing. Maybe it is because the fish cannot see through the dirty, violent waters and will unexpectedly catch themselves on our hooks. If one of us fell in, maybe we would have the same fate, bumping into a particularly hungry Great White.

My grandfather doesn’t smile and he looks at me every so often with distaste. He is always unreadable, gruff and slightly grumpy. Today, the weather must have put him in a particularly sour mood. I keep checking my phone. Two more hours. One hour and fiftynine minutes. Fifty-eight. The boat smashes into a particularly large wave right at minute fifty-five and I am jostled from the bench onto the wooden floor. My phone flies out of my hand, making a perfect arc through the foggy, gray sky and plunk! It disappears beneath the waves. I exclaim loudly.

“Grandfather! My phone! It has all my contacts and pictures and notes and… everything on it!”

“Hmmm, pity. Well, I suppose you could try to jump in to get it. If you can’t find it, maybe you’ll be able to pass the time a different way. Perhaps, fish?” my grandfather says, making a jibe at me. I suppose I do feel a little guilty for not making an effort to spend time with him, but his insults at my plight make me boil. My eyes burn holes in his windbreaker, willing the wind to sweep him off his feet and into the water, so he meets the same fate as my phone. None of this would have happened if my mother hadn’t made me spend time with “lonely, old grandfather”. We hit another large bump and I right myself on the bench. Grandfather, however, has nothing to steady himself on and as is knocked off balance, staggering backwards towards the stern of the boat.

He lets go of his paddle and it falls out of his hands, into the murky water. It becomes fainter and fainter as it swirls out of sight. My grandfather continues to flail and he falls sideways. I reach out and grab his wrist, jerking him away from the edge, but I jerk a little too hard. I hear a soft pop under my fingers and he curses out loud. He sinks down to the bench, holding his wrist.

“Grandfather, are you ok? I was just trying to pull you in, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” I exclaim. He grinds his teeth together in pain and cradles his wrist.

“Agh, erm. It-t’s ok son,” he chokes out. “Probably just a sprain. I’ll b-be fine.” He looks around the boat. It is hard to see through the downpour, but he seems really shocked.

“Harry, what happened to the paddle…” The paddle? The paddle. The paddle! Shoot.

“Grandfather, when you lost your balance, the paddle um, well, it fell in.” I squint through the driving rain, barely able to make out the blurry gray figure of the land. We are about a mile offshore. Then, Grandfather does a very strange thing. He doesn’t yell at me for failing to grab the paddle or look even remotely angry. My Grandfather begins to... laugh? I don’t recognize the sound at first, it’s one I’ve never heard before. It’s deep and low and comes in short barks, punctuating the eerie silence.

I start to realize the absurdity of the situation. Grandfather has a sprained wrist, we’re cold and shivering in the heavy rain, I lost my phone, and we have no paddles or any way of getting back to shore. I guess the only thing you can do in this type of situation is laugh. Grandfather is bent over at the waist, shaking with the intensity of his laughs. I suppose when you haven’t even so much as smiled for decades, it’s a relief to let all of the tension out. Tears start to form in his eyes. They mix with the rain and then fall into the ocean, salt lost in salt.

This image of my Grandfather crying triggers a memory from my childhood. I was about five years old and my younger sister had broken my toy dump truck, chewed the top right off. Naturally, I threw a tantrum but my grandfather pulled me aside and wiped away my tears. He didn’t say anything, just pulled a scrap piece of timber from his pocket. He worked at the lumberyard so he was always fiddling with a knife and the scraps he had picked up at work. He showed me how to scrape the wood so that the edges were smooth but textured. Slowly, the wood began to resemble a new bin that we attached onto the broken toy. That was the last day I saw him before Grandmother died. He didn’t come around much after that.

“Grandfather, do you like this bench particularly?” I ask, motioning to the rotting piece of wood in front of us.

“No, not particularly. What do you want with my bench?” He inquires, straightening up, wiping his face.

“Do you have a pocket knife?” I already know the answer. He looks at me inquisitively but reaches into his pocket and hands me the knife. I grab the bench on one side, searching for a weak spot in the wood. It isn’t very hard because of how rotted and moldy it is. I bring my boot down upon it at the same time I pull up with my hands. Snap!

The wood splinters and I wiggle and twist it until the other side cracks off of the boat as well. I sit down at the bottom of the boat and start to scrape barnacles and maggots and lichen off into the ocean. I split the wood in half, taking my pocket knife to smooth out the edges. I chip away at one side of the wood until it resembles a crude, large, spoon. A paddle. I do the same to the other piece of wood. All the while, Grandfather watches me with curiosity.

I hand him his paddle and he grunts.

“Didn’t know you still remembered,” he says softly.

“Of course I do. I remember everything you taught me when I was younger. The whittling, the fishing, even the hunting, although I didn’t particularly enjoy that.”

“You always were squeamish.” We both laugh and then sit in silence for a bit. Grandfather clears his throat before he speaks.

“Well, you lead the way. Yeah, dip your paddle in just like that.” We match a rhythm and the silence between us is no longer uncomfortable or tense. It’s peaceful. Soon, the clouds begin to break. I look back at Grandfather and smile. He grins back at me and above us, the sun begins to shine.

GRADES 7-9 GENERAL FICTION SECOND PLACE: NOMADS BY ELIZABETH BLACKSHIRE

“Do you believe in second chances?”

My sibling’s quiet voice drawls softly in my ear. We cradle each other under the cold plastic tarp, holding our youngest brother in our arms. The winter air stings our noses like jellyfish, making our fingertips flush pink. Our frail sibling crumples up between us like scrap paper. I roll over so my back faces both of them, tarp flapping as it hits the edifice we shelter against.

“Nah. Second chances are for mensches, and we didn’t do nothing to deserve it.”

My tone is cold, camouflaged against the bitter night breeze. I feel both my brothers wince – they’re not used to be being so blunt. I know I’m being insensitive, but my arms ache and my body is tired. I’m only nineteen, but God, I feel old. I turn back to both my siblings, my goosebumps a varnish for my forearms. I remember giving my only jacket to Louis, our youngest brother.

“Seb, you can’t really think that, right?”

I pull the hem of my shirt down to cover my hip bones. They jut out and grate against the concrete, like mortar and pestle. Though it’s the middle of the night, I can still hear heavy uneven footsteps on the sidewalk past the dumpster; indolent drunken men coming home late from the bar. I reminisce about my father for a few moments. My brothers can see it in my eyes, but they’re always too frightened to ever snap me out of it. I have to shake the thought like a wet dog. Marc, my middle brother, second-in-command, sits up, leaving Louis curled up on the ground alone.

When I stare into Marc’s eyes, I cannot see him as less than me. I cannot look and think, “Ah, yes. My younger brother.” Just as I presumed, whether I liked it or not, my younger brother had aged. He seems taller now, and for a moment I feel myself revert back to a child. The tarp falls off the three of us and coils against the wall.

“Seb, we can’t keep living like this.”

The way he says it feels more like a suggestion than a fact. And while I know he’s right, I can’t bear to give Louis and him up. But I know he’s disappointed in me. He’s impatient and he’s sick of waiting for the paycheck, waiting for the promotion. He’s sick of my excuses. His opinion is not my priority, but even so, I feel he’s completely turned against me. I hesitate because I’m weak. I am a coward.

“…I’m trying,” I breathe, and I repeat it, because I can’t bring myself to believe it. “God, Marcus, I’m trying so hard to do what’s best for you two.” Do I even know what’s best anymore?

“I want to get a job. I want to help-“

“No. You can’t. You’re still a kid, Marc. You should be living out your childhood.”

Louis seems to cower down between the two of us. Only this snaps me out of my frustration with Marcus. I try not to raise my voice for his sake.

“I know you think you’re old enough, but you’re not ready.” My voice shakes with restraint and I contain my anger as I clench my fists. I take a moment to look away from Marcus.

A car rolls past on the street, shining lights that illuminate our faces. Defeated, Marcus lies back down, dragging the tarp back toward the three of us. My joints are barbed wire, but even so I stretch my arms wide to envelop my two brothers. Marcus may doubt me, but if I could just have more time I could get us back to where we started. I could finally do something right for the three of us.

I stay awake, vigilant for the rest of the cold night. My bones seem to rattle when I shift, so I lie stagnant in one place most of the time. As dawn grows near, more and more business men walk by, and I cannot stop myself from seeing each of them as my father. I remember his pinstripe suits, his worn leather suitcase, and his calloused hands, rough against our tender cheeks when he hit them raw. Even if we are on the brink of death, we can’t go back to that. I won’t let him near my brothers again. My brothers that lie by my side breathe deeply, their chests rising and falling as they remain asleep. Soon, I will wake the two boys and walk them safely to school. And, like every day, I trust Marcus will keep close watch on Louis. Though I had to drop out of high school, I’m working hard to keep my two brothers in school. The sun balances precariously on the city horizon above, washing the sky out pink. I shake my brothers gently awake, tarp crinkling along to the rhythm of the hum of a nearby apartment heater. Marcus obliges, but it takes a few nudges to wake the ghostly body of my younger brother. As the three of us huddle behind the dumpster I try my best to dress Louis, our daily routine every morning. I tie his worn shoelaces taut and squeeze his shoulder.

All of our belongings are safely piled in a crevice behind the dumpster. Marcus and Louis both have worn backpacks, the straps stretching like warm taffy and the bag hanging low on their bodies. Their worn clothes sag limply on their weak frames, wrinkled and stained. Even so, I deem them presentable, because it’s all we have. Our looks cannot faze us, but our troubling predicaments are enough to keep us humbled.

I tug my work clothes out of their bag and change discreetly, my two brothers waiting patiently. They help me pack up our things into our bags, stuffing small clothing articles into their backpacks and folding up the tarp as tightly as we can. On the sidewalk, I hear shrill voices – the last few stragglers dragging themselves home, bodies still brimming with the subliminal high of alcohol. I pull my brothers close to my side, grabbing Louis’s hand.

“Seb,” Louis murmurs, rubbing his eyes, “you forgot your tie.”

I ruffle his hair before we three walk out of the alley together. The public school is a full three blocks away, but it’s at least a safe space for my younger brothers during the day. Our shoes click softly on the pavement as we keep our eyes down and our shoulders low. Older men shoulder past us, throwing hostile side glances. It’s hard to believe I have two jobs: In the morning I work a simple desk job filing papers down the street from the school, providing a meager income to support the three of us. My second job usually calls in for the afternoon. It’s just at a fast food restaurant, but it helps to keep us fed.

“Sebastian,” Marcus mutters, “don’t overwork yourself. Try to eat somethin’ today.”

I chuckle at him, my laugh disbelieving. “You don’t need to worry about me, li’l man. Just focus on school for me, a’ight?”

Though I say this, I still glance at him to find his eyes wandering. The streets are busier now, and every few seconds a car drives past. On the other side, Louis is humming to himself, swinging my arm gently back and forth. A soft sigh escapes my mouth at the sight of his innocence. I want to hold it in my hands for a little longer, before it’s stripped from him like a Band-aid. It hurts to think he will never grow up with notched doorframes, plastic juice boxes, and a warm bed at night.

When we finally arrive at the school, we stop momentarily in front of the steps together. I turn to Marc first, placing a hand on his shoulder. He is taller, almost eye level with me. When did he grow up so fast?

“Have a good day at school,” I remind him. He rolls his eyes and I return it with a quick hug. Before I release him, I whisper into his ear, “Watch Lou for me, okay?”

We pull away from each other and Marcus waits for me to say goodbye to Louis for the day. Louis is much shorter, and also much younger. When I look down at him, I notice his face is glowing with such a bright smile, and I cannot restrain myself from picking him up and just laughing. Louis giggles with glee, hollering as I swing him around a few seconds.

“Promise me you’ll have a good day at school,” I say. Louis grins widely at me.

“I promise!” he chirps, and with that I say goodbye with a kiss on the forehead. I set him down and he walks to Marcus, who grabs his hand.

“I love you both,” I say, and they both toss loose ‘I love you-toos’ over their shoulders. Their words hand in the air as they walk up the steps together. I wait until they both safely enter the school before turning around to walk off to my own job.

As I walk in silence, I reflect on Marcus, Louis, and me being three strong, resilient brothers. I take a moment to thank God for giving me these jobs that help to keep us together. I begin to hum along to Louis’s tune from minutes ago, remembering the long week ahead of me; days of long hours, with much longer prayers. I stop in front of the office building, taking a deep breath before placing my hand on the doorknob.

I may not believe in second chances, but I’d be a fool not to count my blessings. GRADES 7-9 GENERAL FICTION THIRD PLACE: MELTING BY ELEANOR PETERS

It all changed that one Tuesday afternoon in early September when I was five years old, with cherry popsicles. Everyone knows that cherry popsicles are the best, with their sweet summery coolness and slightly sour aftertaste that turns your tongue the bright scarlet color of fall leaves and red tulips and blood.

That particular day there was only a single one of these said popsicles, left in the bottom of the slightly soggy box in the freezer, hidden underneath two terrible purple sticks of ice that taste more like cough syrup than grapes, as if to signify that summer was nearly over. Of course, I didn’t get to it in time. My younger brother was there first, shouting triumphantly as he withdrew the glorious treat from its hiding place. He dashed out the back door, with me following close behind, and plopped down on the back steps. The screen door slammed as I twirled around to stand in front of him, the king on his stone throne of victory eyeing the laggard weakling.

“Please.” I drew out the word so that the sheer desperation seemed to fill the humid air between us. He shook his head sharply, back, forth, and then, ever so slowly, began to tear the translucent package, relishing in the moment.

“Please.” It was shorter this time, and louder, a warning tone laced through it that I didn’t deserve to have. He paid no attention as he slowly grasped the wooden stick and pulled the popsicle from its bag, which fluttered to the ground like a fallen leaf. A single drop from the already melting popsicle dripped down his fingers to the sleeve of his shirt, staining it.

A door across the street slammed and the noise was like a gunshot. Startled, he looked up briefly. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Faster than lightning, my hand shot out and I grabbed the icy treat from his fist. However, he was holding it just a bit looser than I expected and I overcompensated in the force of my act of thievery. The hand holding the popsicle came back toward me as fast as I had moved it, and I, surprised at the lack of struggle, flinched back in surprise, loosening my grip on the prize. Slowly, it plummeted down to the ground and it landed with a splat at the base of the steps.

For a brief moment, the world seemed to go silent as my brother and I both stared at the ruin. A puddle started to form and the syrupy red liquid pooled on the hot stone walkway. The wooden stick was a leafless tree on an icy island in the middle of a bleeding ocean of of regret. And then it started, the high-pitched, whistle-like screeching that emitted from my brother’s mouth like a fire alarm. My mother responded almost immediately, flinging the door open within seconds. With pursed lips, she surveyed the scene. Her eyes fell on the remnants of the crime and she sighed.

“Go. To. Your. Room.” Each word was enunciated clearly and precisely and they echoed through my head like the slamming of a prison cell door. I whined and protested but headed into the house, dragging my heels across the tile in the kitchen. The only response I was able to illicit was a muttered “Your father can deal with this when he gets back.”

I climbed the staircase like it was a mountain, pausing on each step, and yet still, the journey eventually ended. I collapsed onto my blue and purple bedspread and watched the butterfly mobile on the ceiling slowly turn in the breeze from the open window. The back door slammed downstairs, but the butterflies continued to rotate at their mind-numbing pace, a slow, repetitive waltz beneath the unmoving ceiling fan. The clock shaped like a cat on the dresser kept time with its clicking second hand.

Back. And forth. And back. And forth.

Bored, I rolled onto my stomach and looked at the painting on the wall of three round chickadees singing on a tree branch. Downstairs, my mother turned on the television and the dull murmur of voices floated up the stairs.

Nice weather today, said the first chickadee. Looks like storms later this week though, the second replied. The third chickadee chirped, the stock market is down five points.

Minimum wage was raised again. Someone has a winning streak. Someone has a losing streak. A movie was good. Another was disappointing. On and on. I slid off the bed, pulling the bedspread with me. Suddenly, the chickadees started to scream and someone downstairs did too and I jumped up. The stick holding the window open fell and it slammed shut, causing a crack the width of a hair to spiderweb across one of the panes of glass. The butterflies on the ceiling spun and twirled and bumped into each other in a chaotic frenzy. The cat on the dresser watched it all with slowly moving eyes. One of the chickadees shrieked something about towers, falling, crumbling, and all I could picture was a stack of toy blocks, collapsing into a pile on the floor.

Footsteps pounded up the steps and the door to my room slammed open, my mother bursting in, panicked and anxious looking. “Downstairs.” Her voice was loud and scared. “Now, sweetie,” she added, grabbing my hand when she saw the confused, questioning look on my face. She pulled me down the hallway, down the stairs, through the kitchen. Outside the window I could see the puddle of red where the popsicle had melted. The stick was gone, probably thrown away by my mother, but the rest was still there. The red liquid made me slightly queasy, for reasons I couldn’t quite place, and so I looked away, up to the sky. There was smoke in the distance, near the city where my father had taken me only last month. He had laughed as I stared in amazement at the towering buildings and crowds of people. I tugged my mom’s arm, pointing to it.

“Fireworks?” I asked, remembering the Fourth and how the light lit up the sky, leaving a smoky shadow when it disappeared with a crack.

“No, not fireworks.” We went down into the basement, my brother following from the kitchen, and sat among the stacks of clothes. At first, my brother and I laughed and imagined we were in a cave and built forts out of laundry baskets and blankets. But ten minutes stretched into thirty and we started to get anxious as my mother paced the short distance between the dryer and the wall, dialling the same number into the phone over and over.

“Pick up, pick up,” she muttered as she paced. “Let him be ok. Please, God, let him be ok.” The phone just kept ringing on the other side, ten seconds of sweet muted chimes and then words that were too quiet to hear. Every time, my mother hung up, took a short shallow breath, and then tried again, and again, until the screen on the phone went dark and her fingers stiffened and the phone plummeted down and cracked on the cement floor and my mother let out a sort of gasp and sat down, head in her hands, surrounded by tiny broken pieces that would never go back together.

She gasped again and that’s when I realized she was crying, small crystals of salt water spilling from behind her fingers and leaving spots on the floor. Questions swirled around in my head like dead leaves in an autumn storm, but I somehow knew not ask them, not to say a word. Instead, I reached over and squeezed my brother’s hand, as if to tell him that we were safe, and that everything was going to be okay.

GRADES 7-9 FLASH FICTION FIRST PLACE: BEFORE THE FALL BY ASHA BUERK

People like me, we feel like we have been lost our entire lives. Lost in a swirl of personalities and friends. Sucked into the black hole of drama and school. Lost in confusion. Confusion so deep, you can work for hours and not know what is going on. Get lost in false hope so thick and drawn out you could fly for miles and not realize you are falling. Forever falling, falling, falling. Or at least it seems I always am. Falling away from things. Like family, like friends. People always tell me about the things that pull you back. That help you remember what happened before.

They never work.

But every morning, I roll myself out of bed and stretch my arms until they might pop off. I rub my eyes and look around the brightly colored room my parents decorated. They think if everything else is happy, I will be too. Wrong. It just makes me want to vomit.

The curtains are a happy shade of yellow, and the walls are cherry red. The bed has a pink comforter draped over top of it, and there’s a newly polished mirror on the right. I walk over to the mirror and am greeted by a skinny, sunken figure with dark circles taking up my entire face. They say I used to be pretty before the accident. The accident where my brother died. Where he couldn’t be saved. I claim to know this.

I don’t.

But instead I pretend to, which is just as good. I get dressed and eat my breakfast while nodding to the constant babble from my parents. I bid them goodbye and run outside to catch the bright yellow school bus. I sit in the front like I always do, and stare out the window for twenty minutes, trying to recall what happened before I woke up in the clean white hospital. I calm my breathing and focus on what happened before I fell.

For fifteen minutes, I sit. My eyes squeezed shut like vaults. But when the bus rolls up to our school, I stumble upon something. A laugh. A high pitched baby laugh coming from a chubby toddler with fluffy hair. Mom and Dad with a gleaming silver camera encouraging him on as he stands and takes his tiny first steps. I treasure the memory, desperate to hold on to every last detail.

But I’m the last one on this bus, so I grab my backpack and head inside the gray school building to my first class. The minute I get home, I drop my backpack with a clunk and run upstairs. I search until I find that camera and playback the video. Sure enough, there he is.

My little brother, stumbling down a beige hallway. I squeeze the camera close to my heart. This clip is my little bit of hope, pulling me back from falling. It will keep me afloat until I have the strength to remember what happened before my fall. GRADES 7-9 FLASH FICTION SECOND PLACE: A SOLEMN LIGHTHOUSE BY JACK HUFFMAN

What an eery world that unfolded when my sneaker hit the creaky floorboards of the winding steps to the top. They spun around, entangling the many struggles and woes a lighthouse operator’s job entitled. There were dents from dropped toolboxes, blood smears from gashed lips and grease from the hard work put in. This job was owned by my father, Robert G. Schlembacher, an Austrian man, as is everyone in our small town.

The night of his passing is a tragic one. It should have never happened the way it did. My father’s way of extending his generosity and willingness to complete a task led to his demise. I had said goodbye to him early, just as I did every morning. I parted him while going off to my own job as a deckhand on a small shipping vessel. Our jobs didn’t make much, but they were the best things in a small town like ours. My father was seen going off to the lighthouse as usual before dawn. He went through his usual routine of sweeping the protruding dock in front of the lighthouse and then making his way to the base to unlock the rusted shackle. He then would grab his breakfast and sit out on the farthest bench, admiring the sunrise and swoop of the seagulls. He always mentioned he did deep thinking, but never would tell about what. He had written all of this in his journal that I had found washed up against the rocks a few days after his death.

After this, my father went into the tower. He would scour the place top to bottom looking for a loose bolt or a pipe that needed cleaned. As he wrote in his journal, all was normal. The only problem was he mentioned a weird feeling that this day was going to turn out normal and something or someone would be coming.

His last two notes on that dreaded day was “Vessel is approaching from the West21:58,” hinting that 21:58 was the time and “They are here. Love you bud. No regre…” The last note was never finished.

I had seen a ship in late afternoon pass us but I had thought nothing of it. The men looked raggedy but most vessels at sea had men in this state on them. As the story goes, my father long ago had been in the gold business. Him and another ship were pursuing a “gold hot spot”. My father reached it first and him and his crew got away with the underwater riches. The men of the other ship from then on, vowed their revenge on my father. My father settled in this small town. He never once mentioned the riches to me.

On this night, the men found my father. They ransacked the light house and that is the last time I ever saw my father, lying on the ground in a pool of blood.

GRADES 7-9 FLASH FICTION THIRD PLACE: THE COOKIE JAR BY NICO BALINT

Mike runs into and out of the kitchen, zooming with a toy airplane and flying around. Then Mike sees a big brown cookie jar up above him. He reaches but cannot grab the cookie jar. He puts his finger on his head and scratches, then he has an idea.

“Mission control, we are ready for liftoff. Orders, sir, over,” Mike says as he holds his airplane in the ground.

“Target is the big brown treasure chest in the high, high, really high death mountain, sir, over.” Mike says to himself in a different deeper voice. “Roger that chief, over.” he says again in a normal voice

“10...9...8...” Mike counts to himself; the rocket boosters are turned on.

“7...6...5...” The propeller starts and the tank is refueled

“4...3...2…” Mike puts his foot on the pedal

“1...GO!”

Mike takes into the skies, seeing it all; he is flying up and up and up towards the high, high, really high death mountain and puts the turbo booster on full power.

Then, out of nowhere, boulders start to fall onto the ship. Mike dodges them, moving left and right, up and down, and everywhere possible. Then, a big boulder comes his way. Mike uses his signature move, the barrel roll. He spins and spins and spins around, like a top on the ground, and maneuvers a 360-degree angle around the big boulder. He successfully makes it. He keeps flying over the high, high, very high death mountain and keeps soaring upwards. The sky becomes darker and darker and darker until...BAM! Mike is hit by an invisible wall in the air and starts to fall! Mike initiates emergency landing procedures and prepares to collide with high, high, very high death mountain. BAM! He hits and he lands the ship. Bravo Mike! The crowd goes wild!

“MIKE! MIKE! MIKE! MIKE!” the crowd screams as Mike moves towards the brown treasure chest. He is too small to reach the lid and jumps and jumps and jumps. Suddenly, a giant woman appears and looks at Mike. Mike crouches and hides his face from the giant. It’s hand comes closer and closer to Mike. Mike braces for a grip until he sees a big brown chocolate chip cookie behind him.

“Are you hungry?” the giant says in a sweet loving voice.

Mike then jumps onto the giant and the giant puts Mike and his ship back to the ground. Holding the giant woman’s hand. Mike goes to a chair and sits down. He then eats the cookie, with a grin on his face.

“Success” he mutters to himself, happily chewing on the cookie.

GRADES 7-9 FAN FICTION FIRST PLACE: A JESTER’S ORIGIN BY FABRICE UWIHIRWE

A whistling breeze blew across the skyscrapers of Gotham City, which stood fast in their foundations, repelling the weak currents with ease. It was beautiful night, with the moon’s soft glow causing the tall buildings to emit a silver hue. The stars twinkled in all their brilliance, showing no care for humanity so far beneath them. But despite the magnificent scene above, it was another story below.

Calmly, I stood atop the Wayne International Plaza, watching the mayhem take place in the streets. Men, women, and children alike went after each other like mad dogs with crazed eyes that portrayed no mercy or sympathy. I was unable to tear my eyes away, no matter how gory things got. As a matter of fact, that only only piqued my interest more, as I saw people’s true nature climb to the surface, their ‘upright citizen’ disguises being thrown away in the effort to survive.

The wind wrecked havoc with my unkempt green hair, but I paid no heed to.

Excitement coursed through my body in anticipation. Tonight was going to be a good night.

With my chalky-white fingers, I dug into my purple jacket and retrieved a Joker card. Staring at it, I turned my head as if I was looking at a mirror, occasionally adjusting stray hairs back to the top of my head. Finally, I grinned, saying, “Don’t I look devilishly handsome this fine evening.”

With this, I threw my head back and burst into laughter, my voice echoing deep into the night. Only a few minutes prior, I had hacked Gotham Communications and broadcasted a new game across the media:

“Good evening, you lovely citizens of Gotham. I, the Joker, will be tonight’s entertainment! I have planted a bomb underneath Gotham City, and in exactly two hours, it’ll blow! However, only one person may survive if they can find a certain golden box containing a phone. With that phone, they can call for a helicopter to transport them out of Gotham, and unfortunately miss the main event. If anyone tries to leave before the allotted time or call for outside help, then everybody goes bye-bye. Remember, only one survives. Let’s have a blast! Literally! See you guys at the fireworks!”

The plan was working perfectly. Even officers, the city’s protectors, unloaded rounds of bullets in citizens scurrying to save their own lives. Chaos consumed the city and hearts of Gotham, and I couldn’t be prouder of my own work. The illusion of right and wrong was waved aside, and the destructive human nature had taken over.

Finally, the bat signal shone high in the sky, the sign that my good friend Batman would be coming to play with me. The thrill of chasing something so elusive as Batman sent adrenaline through my system, and I could hardly wait. In the past, he had foiled several of my plans, plans I’d constructed down to the last detail, all to be shattered by him. The man was hard to corrupt, and fought me with everything he had.

I could rid myself of him. Oh, how I’ve entertained the thought, yet to quickly dispose of it and roar in laughter. There was no way I could do something so absurd. He was the only one capable of playing my games and keep his so called ‘morals’ intact that he foolishly carried around. He was the only one who could possibly ever get me, if only I could get him to see the point of life was that there wasn’t! That was the joke!

Suddenly, a feeling of tranquility washed over my wiry body, and I looked up to the gray moon. Just how long has my battle with Batsy been going on? And when had I become so obsessed with this masked man who dressed like a bat?

My head began to sting, and I tried to shake away thoughts of the past. Nonetheless, I was already intrigued. I had a desire to remember, never mind the pain. Perhaps it was the magical night that stirred locked away me, or maybe it was because deep down inside, I longed to remember my past. To before my eyes were opened to truths of this world.

Before I was the Ace of Knaves and the Clown Prince of Crime.

I don’t remember the first time I wielded knife. What I do know is that it was one of the most natural feelings, the blade being an extension of the hand, only sharper and more precise. I handled one now, using it to operate on a dead cat’s corpse. Entrails I had removed lay sprawled on the concrete floor behind my house, and the animal’s snow-like white fur was stained with dry blood.

“Jack!” came a voice from within the house. “Come here now!” I choked down an angry retort and took a deep breath before responding, “Coming, Mother!” Carefully, I placed a black sheet over the grisly scene, laid down my knife, and rose to my feet. I would resume after school tomorrow, to see just how many little parts made up the small animal. Though I had covered the bloody mess, no one would be coming back here.. Mother has rarely stepped outside, ever since since my father left her while she was pregnant with me. For the past seventeen years, she has been sobbing and recalling dear memories, but whenever I asked about him, she would simply state that I had the same mischievous twinkle in my green eyes he possessed. Then she would return to sobbing. She had no will to live, no motivation to continue life without “Ted,” the name of my father. Constantly she’d drown herself in liquor, trying forget the pain. You could tell she truly loved him, and that same love had been her downfall.

Love. Something I’ll never truly comprehend.

The sun was concluding its trip across the afternoon sky, and darkness began to fall over Gotham. I retreated inside and found my mother slouched in the living room couch, with bags under her dark eyes and her blonde hair in a wild frenzy. She wore nothing but a night robe, and she waved me closer, clutching a couple of dollars in her hand.

“Go buy some milk and eggs,” she said.

I took notice of the alcohol bottles by her chair, knowing this to only be an excuse to get me out of the house while she drank to her heart’s content and cried in solitude.

I nodded, took the money, and left.

As I turned a corner, I noticed a poster plastered against a wall with an image of a missing cat. It was the same cat I was previously operating on in my backyard. Its yellow eyes glared at me through the poster, but I felt neither threatened or remorseful for my actions. I had found the cat strolling an alley and on a whim decided to operate on it. It wasn’t my fault its owners couldn’t keep it from wandering. Nonchalantly, I went to the poster and in one swift motion ripped it off, before crumbling it and tossing it away.

At Kraig’s Convenience Store, I wasted no time grabbing the milk and eggs and making my way to the line. Only one employee was available today, meaning only one line as well, which now contained some eleven people.

While waiting, I flipped through the pages of a magazine I had grabbed off a nearby shelf. I stopped at the first article I deemed interesting, the title reading: “Deadliest Serial Killers In History.” I shuddered with excitement as I read about notorious men and their horrible deeds to humankind. Though many people perceived these people as evil, ruthless murderers, I saw them as ingenious men and women able to carry out effective and systematic schemes to kill their targets. It took brainpower to avoid being detected by others for so long while killing at the same time.

One man in particular stood out to me. In the picture portrayed, the man looked to be in perhaps his early thirties, with black, slicked back hair and green eyes. He wore a thin smile, and deep lines covered his face, almost giving him an older appearance. He held himself with such relaxed composure you never would have guessed him to be convicted of killing over a hundred and thirty people in a span of just six months. His name was listed as Theodore Dunby, originating from Gotham City and frequent visitor of the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.

I stared at his picture, trying to understand why his mere image begged for my attention. It wasn’t his large body count. It was something else. Why was he smiling, knowing fully well of the punishment he would be receiving for his deeds? Or maybe he wasn’t worried, and smiled out of victory instead of defeat.

“Can I help you, sir?”

My attention was reverted back to the present, and I found myself being stared down by the bald cashier. His intense brown eyes showed he didn’t want to be here any more than I did. I tried smiling to ease him, but that didn’t seem to work. I restored the magazine to the shelf and proceeded to check out my things.

When I returned home, I was greeted by an unconscious mother on the living room floor, her hand clutching the last bottle of alcohol that had led to her undoing. My nose wrinkled in disgust, the stench almost too much to bear.

After years of practice, I lifted her from the floor and carried her to her room. I placed her on the bed and was ready to leave when she stirred.

“Ted . . . come back, please,” she murmured in a tipsy voice. I froze. She thought I was Ted. “I kept our memories,” she slurred in a barely audible voice. “I kept our things in the attic, Ted. To show you when you returned.”

Memories? Could she mean−? My eyes widened, and without a word, sprinted off to the house’s attic. It took time, but I was able to recover an old, dusty red box titled “Memories” in what I recognized to be Mother’s handwriting. I’d seen the box before, but never thought much of it, but now I knew it held a vita piece of information: my father’s identity.

Inside were loads photographs, with occasional items such as a flower and keychain. In the photos, beside my mother stood the same black-haired green-eyed man from the magazine I had read at the store.

That’s when it clicked Theodore. Ted. It all made sense now. Theodore Dunby was . . . My father. And I was his son.

I began to understand why I felt so different from others. Why my craving for chaos and mayhem didn’t sit well with my peers. This what set me apart from the ordinary cards in the deck of life. I was like the Joker, different from them. Special. Like my father

I had to leave Gotham, to find out who I really was. Why my father wore that smile, and what secrets this world hid. I needed to rid myself of the old me and be reborn.

But I couldn’t leave without a proper going-away party.

The next day, disguised in a clown mask, I went to school with a submachine gun and caused uproar like no other. Teachers and students fled, desperately trying to escape, only to be gunned down by a hail of bullets. I couldn’t stop laughing, the chaos filling me with satisfaction. This was my last show, as the curtains were closing over the old Jack, and a new character was preparing to take the stage.

I ran away after that and disappeared. I took on a new persona and burned off my fingertips, as to not leave any traces.

It would be years later before I would return wreak havoc on Gotham City as the world’s most dangerous jester, the Joker.

GRADES 7-9 FAN FICTION SECOND PLACE: LUCKY ONES BY BAILEY ATKINSON

A boy ran quickly through the damp night, trying to move as quietly as possible, in fear of being heard. That boy was Kim Jongdae, youngest son of Emperor Kim, ruler of the EXO Empire.

He nearly slipped on the wet grass as he fastened his pace, his destination coming into view. Jongdae tripped towards the royal stables, where he knew he would find his lover.

Silently he crept up to the door, knocking a code into the old weathered wood. Jongdae saw the glow of an oil lamp through the window before the door swung open, a pair of arms pulling him inside.

Immediately he wound his arms around the stable boy, tucking the smaller into himself. Jongdae nuzzled his nose into the boy’s neck, finding comfort in his scent.

Finally, the boy pulled away, taking Jongdae’s face in his hands.

“Minseok.” Jongdae breathed, winding his arms around the older boy’s waist. A small tear trickled down his cheek, which the young prince wiped away with the pad of his thumb. Minseok laughed, his voice sounding a bit broken and choked.

“How did you sneak out?” Minseok asked.

It was no secret that a royal falling in love with a commoner was unheard of. Royals were supposed to wed royals, and commoners to wed commoners. So when the Emperor and his wife found out about their youngest son’s relationship, they did everything in their power to separate the couple. Jongdae grinned.

“I might or might not have jumped off the roof and into the shipping cargo.” Minseok took a step back, shakily slapping Jongdae’s chest.

“Are you crazy? What if you had been injured? Even worse, what if you had missed? Royal, sure. You’re a royal fool.” Jongdae cupped a hand to the male’s pale cheek, looking straight into his glistening eyes.

“I would risk anything, everything for you, my love.”

At his confession, Minseok’s eyes watered, while he pulled the young prince down into a kiss. Tears streamed down their faces, dripping onto each other’s shoulders. It had been over three months since they had last seen each other, torn apart by strict rules and royal duties. After what seemed like an eternity of kisses, Minseok finally detached himself from Jongdae to put some tea on the kettle.

So then the lovers held each other late into the night, talking, laughing, smiling softly, marveling each other’s existence. It was perfect, delicate, soft, with the stable boy fitted snugly into the prince’s arms. \

Abruptly, their atmosphere was broken by the crash of hoofbeats. Faint voices rang distant in the air, accompanied by whistles and the insistent bark of dogs. The Royal Guard. Sent to retrieve Jongdae, who was missing from his bed. Jongdae’s head shot up, unconsciously clutching Minseok closer to himself. It took the older male a full five seconds to process the situation before he jumped up, propelling Jongdae up off the loveseat. Grabbing his wrist, Minseok pulled him down a few short flights of stairs, around the cellar shelves, and finally, he stopped where the columns of the stables were located.

“Hurry, Jongdae. Leave, hide, whatever you must. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Jongdae asked, brows furrowing in confusion. Suddenly his eyes widened, hand launching forwards to grab the smaller male’s wrist.

“Oh no, baby, no. They didn’t..” Jongdae’s wobbly voice trailed off, his grip on the other’s wrist slackening. Minseok stepped back, taking a deep breath. One of his hands reached down to tangle his fingers with Jongdae’s, while the other took the hem of his shirt, slowly pulling it up. As the fabric swept above the smaller’s abdomen, Jongdae’s breath hitched. Laced throughout Minseok’s porcelain white skin were angry, scarred welts, caused by the cord of a coachwhip. For a second, Jongdae stood frozen, right in the middle of the stables. Then, he started to cry.

“No, no. They promised me. They, no. T-they weren’t supposed to touch you. No, Minseok, no.” Tears of shock and disbelief ran down Jongdae’s face. But before long, his cries grew louder, turning into choked, cut-off screams. Minseok shot forwards, tackling his trembling, distressed lover to hold in his arms. He brought Jongdae’s head to his shoulder, cradling the young royal as he cried. Minseok tried to hush him by whispering comforting reassurances in his ear, although it was difficult, as he tried not to cry himself.

Jongdae’s sobs only seemed to get louder as Minseok tried to comfort him. He was just appalled- they had hurt his one and only, his baby, his darling, his one and only angel in the Hell he lived in.

Finally his cries slowly died away, causing Minseok to pull back and cup Jongdae’s face in his hands. Jongdae’s eyes were closed, his cheeks shiny and stained with tear tracks.

Suddenly, his right hand’s grip on Minseok’s hand tightened, his hold soft, but firm. Jongdae was still shaking, and Minseok became increasingly concerned about the young royalty in front of himself. The prince then leaned closer to the stable boy, getting closer and closer until their foreheads touched. Jongdae looked down at their hands, his large on laced with Minseok’s small one. With his left, he stretched behind himself, dipping it in the pocket of his smock. Jongdae then brought his hand back out, splaying his palm wide between himself and his lover. Tangled between Jongdae’s fingers was the pullstring of a small leather pouch, jangling to the brim with golden coins. Minseok’s eyes widened.

“Kim Jongdae..” Minseok weakly trailed off, silently urging the young prince to open his eyes. And he did, Jongdae’s eyes glossed over with powerful emotion. Jongdae still held the pouch between them, the weight of the unspoken proposal stifling in the air. Both boys only stared at one another, their pulses racing unsteadily as the angry clashing of the Guard grew closer.

“Come with me.” Jongdae then pleaded, voice nothing above a desperate whisper. Minseok’s eyes fluttered, his mouth unable to form words. He knew that the royals had finally pushed Jongdae too far, but the opportunity right in front of himself seemed too good to be true, like something from a distant, hazy dream.

“Minseok?” Jongdae asked, his eyes frantic as he searched his lover’s face for an answer. His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on Minseok’s hand, almost too tight for comfort. The rumbling of the Guard was becoming increasingly close, and Minseok knew. In this moment, he could either run away, or live and die this way. Minseok nodded, dizzy with the adrenaline that pumped through his veins.

Jongdae made a choked, happy noise before he pulled Minseok forwards, causing the boy to crash into his chest.

Jongdae leaned back, thumbing away the tears that ran down Minseok’s face with a small smile. Staring into Minseok’s eyes, he laced their hands together once again and brought their foreheads to touch as he told him in a hushed voice:

“Oh, Darling, just let them watch. We’ll be the lucky ones.”

GRADES 7-9 FAN FICTION THIRD PLACE: SOMETHING IS…DIFFERENT BY DANIKA VRTAR

Part I: Different

The sun was setting over Mt. Ebott. The sky was lit in a hundred different shades of gold, and pink streaked the clouds, fading into midnight blue overhead. The first few stars were peaking out on the western horizon, and the full moon was starting to rise. “wow. can you believe how beautiful it is paps?”

YES BROTHER! IT IS AMAZING! ALMOST AS AMAZING AS THE GREAT PAPYRUS! ALMOST!”

“yea, nothing could be as cool as you bro.” Sans leaned back in his chair on the porch of a small log cabin. The skele-bros had found one almost the same as the one they had lived in in Snowdin, right on the edge of a forest and the human city. Many other monsters lived in houses near by. Frisk and Tori lived only a five minute walk away, in a nice neighborhood, and Undyne and Alphys had a house a few blocks further.

Life was good. They had been free for almost two months. Everyone had what they wanted. Maybe, just maybe…

Sans’ eyes shot open. He must have fallen asleep on the porch. Papyrus had probably brought…. He stopped mid-thought. His eyes had just landed on the self-sustaining sock tornado in the corner of his room. The right corner. That couldn’t… no, it had been so long…. he must be mistaken…

Sans rose and went to the window. Snow. Artificial sunlight. And a dog throwing ice blocks into a river just beyond a row of pines. Sans almost cried out, sinking to his knees. They were back again. Back in Snowdin. Back in the Underground.

No! No no no no no no no no no! Two months! It had been two months! He had thought… maybe… this time they had finally gotten bored, decided to leave it... “hah!” He laughed weakly at his own stupidity. Of course this time was no different. The kid was NEVER happy with their stupid happy endings. They ALWAYS reset.

He heard the door to his brother’s room pop open. With a snap, Sans was back in his bed, no sign he had ever left.

“SANS!! YOU LAZYBONES!! IT’S TIME TO GET UP! WE HAVE TO PATROL FOR HUMANS!”

Sans opened one eye slowly, doing his best to act bleary. “huh, you sure are eager to get going bro. do you have a bone to pick with the humans?”

“SANS!! NO MORE PUNS!! GET GOING!” With that his younger brother fled the room, eager to escape Sans’ terrible jokes. Sans slowly got up and slipped on his favorite blue jacket, pulling up the hood. He slowly made his way downstairs, not even bothering to take off his fluffy pink slippers.

After pretending to eat some of his bro’s frankly terrible pasta, which somehow ended up in the river instead of his mouth, and resolving to visit Grillby’s during work, he teleported to his station. There, he closed his eyes. It wasn’t worth staying awake. Frisk would come through at exactly the same time they always did.

A few hours later, he awoke. Right on time, he heard the faint creak of the Ruin doors. He snapped his fingers and landed on a branch they had just walked past, snapping it with a sharp sound. But the kid didn’t even jump. Something was wrong… Something was different about them. They didn’t seem quite… human.

‘oh well,’ he thought, and went on ahead, ready to perform his routine again, for what must have been the thousandth time. What he didn’t know was that the kid WAS different. They HAD gotten bored. But the result wasn’t the one he had been hoping for. Part II: PAPYRUS!!

All the monsters were hidden away, prepared for evacuation. Despite Sans’ best efforts, dust was scattered throughout Snowdin and the surrounding areas. The kid was being merciless this time. Sans had never seen anything like it. Not in any of the hundreds of runs.

He finally finished warning everybody and getting everyone left alive in Snowdin into hiding and teleported back to his and Papyrus’ cabin. “hey, paps! i’m back!” Sans waited for his brother’s usual enthusiastic hug attack. It didn’t come.

“uhhh.. paps? where are ya?” No response

“Papyrus?” Sans slowly walked further into the house. On the table, by his pet rock, Sans found a note.

“DO NOT WORRY BROTHER! I HAVE GONE TO FIGHT THE HUMAN! I BELIEVE

THAT THEY CAN STILL BE SAVED! THERE IS SPAGHETTI IN THE REFRIGERATOR FOR DINNER IN CASE I DO NOT RETURN IN TIME. SEE YOU SOON BROTHER!”

The note slowly drifted to the floor as Sans vanished with a snap, his right pupil gone and his left eye glowing with bright blue flames flickering in a circle and trailing out the side of his eye. He appeared near the place his brother always faced the kid, behind a pine tree. He was just in time to watch his brother’s dust fall to the ground with his bright orange scarf.

The kid’s foot was stomped down where his brother’s skull had been just seconds before, their knife coated in dust. A smile was on their face, but not the sweet, kind smile Sans was used too. It was a cruel, cold smile, void of emotion.

They stepped over Papyrus’ dust and into Waterfall. As soon as they passed, Sans stumbled out to where his brother’s scarf lay. He dropped to his knees and with trembling fingers grabbed the long strip of orange fabric he had sewn into a scarf for his brother years ago.

He shook the dust off of it and watched the fine gray particles drift to the snow. Standing, he wrapped the scarf around his neck so it flowed out behind him like a cape. His left eye was a flowing blue, flames trailing out to the side. His stance was stronger, he was no longer slouching and his hands were clenched into fists by his side.

“Kid, let me tell you something NOW!!” he yelled out to the empty air. “I was going to give you a chance. I was willing to believe you would stop. But now, now I know. You’re nothing.. You’re nothing more than….” His eye flared with an intense light, the flames doubling in size. “A DIRTY BROTHER KILLER!”

He vanished in a whirl of blue, his brother’s dust swirling up as if cheering him on before slowly settling back down, lifeless once more.

Part III: Grillby’s

The kid entered the hall. “it’s a beautiful day outside. birds are singing, flowers are blooming, on days like these, kids like you…” Sans’ first attack.

“SHOULD BE BURNING IN HELL”

The first stroke of their knife.

“what, you think i’m gonna just stand there and take it? you’re gonna have a bad time.”

They tried to spare him.

“geeeeettttttt dunked on!”

Their soul shattered. “if we’re really friends... you won’t come back.”

But they did. They just kept coming back. Five times. Ten times. Twenty times. They, whatever they were now, certainly not Frisk, kept coming back. And Sans couldn’t keep it up.

He was tired. Sweat beaded on his forehead. This would be his final attack. He had no more energy. Bones shot at the creature before him, hundreds, way too many for any human to dodge. But not a single one hit whatever he was fighting, even when he stopped time and put them right where they would get hit. It did no good.

This was his final attempt. A ring of Gaster Blasters surrounded them, firing in a tight spiral, at incredible speed, but it wasn’t enough. He missed. With the last tiny reserves of his energy, he tried to use his telekinesis one more time. He threw to the left and right, up and down, but they refused to die. Their determination was too much. He… had… to… stay… awake… just… a li...t..tle…

He awoke with a start, dodging a swipe with the creature’s knife just in time. “heh. didja really think you would be able…” The knife slashed across his ribcage. 99999 damage. He has one hit point. It was over. He could feel the area around the slash slowly beginning to disintegrate.

“so. guess that’s it, huh?.....just… don’t say i didn’t warn you. welp, i’m going to grillby’s. papyrus, do you want anything?”

He vanished, reappearing at Grillby’s. He dragged himself to his favorite seat, hauling himself up, before the orange scarf drifted to the ground again, this time joined by a blue jacket… lined with white fur.

Sans awoke with a start. He was back in his room. Papyrus was pounding on the door. Everything was back to the way it was. The kid had reset, and thought nobody would remember what had happened. But they were wrong. Sans remembered. He remembered everything.

GRADES 10-12 GENERAL FICTION FIRST PLACE: HIDE AND SEEK BY ANGELA LIN

“You don’t want to be found. Hide wherever—let go Millie—you can, and get creative with it. You win if you’re the last one found. And—Jonah, stop it—and whoever gets discovered first becomes ‘it’ for the next round. I’ll be it for this first time. Make sense?”

The kids, all crowded around the towering goddess in the center, eagerly moved their heads as they hobbled back and forth on their feet. Their pent-up energy was reaching a tipping point, and the ten seconds of frantic movement was an acceptable temporary release for the time being before they exploded. After all, the thrill of being hidden and unseen by an authoritative figure was enough incentive for the children to sit or stand or squat still just long enough for Felicia to catch her breath before she had to catch the sixteen wild creatures under her care.

It began to close in around her. She had to hurry. “Ready?”

Excited squeals and bustles filled the room, signaling the narrow countdown before the burst of contained energy exploded. She quickly closed her eyes, allowing her vision to match the darkness swirling within her.

“One, two,” Felicia shouted with all the energy she could muster. Only one more hour, she thought. The clatters of doors shutting and chairs tipping barely overshadowed the distancing screams.

“Three, four, five,” she breathed as the noises began to fade, the suffocating cloud slowly dissolving.

The playroom couldn’t be any smaller at the moment. The piercing green and neon pink walls of the day care center were supposed to broaden the space, and while it worked for the little ones, making them think they stayed in a colorful mansion, the overly-factitious efforts just made her feel even more out of place: a giant stuck in a fictitious land. Her slightly bigger body, both vertically and horizontally, increased her space of occupation and decreased her space of comfort. And while each three to five year old was tiny individually, put them all together in an enclosed room with four walls and zero windows and suddenly your movement is restricted to the point where you can’t even itch your nose. Usually she could handle it, but right now, Felicia just needed everyone to disappear.

“Six, seven,” and the silence finally began to filter through the air. The last giggles escaped, followed by harsh shushes.

“Eight, nine,” Felicia whispered, hearing her racing heartbeat echo throughout the room, pounding to get out, struggling to calm down even though the space had cleared. Even though the space had cleared, the fog lingered in her head. Even though the space had cleared, it remained darker than ever before.

Nine. The number of voicemails on her phone the last time she checked it. Nine times four equals the number of text messages she ignored. Nine times two minus two equals the number of little people hiding that she had to find in order to keep her mind at peace. Sixteen chances of finding what did not want to found. Sixteen distractions.

“Ten...Ready or not, here I come!” Nothing shut these children up like a game. The momentary silence rejuvenated her, pulsing a newfound energy within her. Hiding was what she did best. And seeking, well, seeking was a close second.

She opened her eyes, cringing at the sudden brightness but welcoming the view of empty chairs in front of her. While Felicia always enjoyed an empty room, nothing pleased her more than a break after being swarmed by mini devils for three hours straight. And she dreaded slowly unleashing the beasts one by one. But she sought out this job at the daycare center knowing the internal pain it would cause her, and she set out to free the little ones from the torture she knew they were enduring at the moment.

Felicia took three steps before she spotted a furry blob under the big round table in the center of the room. “Where are you guys?” She learned that to maximize the fun, you had to exaggerate your oblivious nature. If there’s one thing children like, it’s their imagined superiority even though you have the upper hand the entire time. “Is anyone under...HERE?” She did not appreciate the shattering shriek that was delivered right into her ear as a response, but she reached under and helped the shaking girl out on her feet who erupted into a series of jumps at the attention she thought was showered on her being the first one found.

Gradually, she slid tables, opened cupboards, flipped boxes, unveiled curtains, releasing the found creatures back into their wild nature. She was swarmed by an increasing incessant army of minions, searching for the remaining survivors of the game. Soon, she was able to kick back and watch as the children, running and shouting, did her job for her. She took out her phone. Three more missed calls, an infinite number of messages. Gilson’s persistence warmed her heart. Their first four dates had gone so well—too well in fact. She turned her phone off.

“We can’t find Millie!” All of a sudden, fifteen worried faces surrounded her, the darkness suddenly closing in on her yet again.

Felicia glanced at her watch. There were eight minutes left before the parents started showing up. She always held much respect for the last one and insisted on giving them the dignity of being found, but Millie, a five year old that struggled to keep her hands to herself and her lips closed for more than thirty seconds at a time, well, it was a miracle that she hadn’t given up her location already. Stretching and concealing a groan, she rose, the children obediently giving her room to roam.

“Millie! The game’s over! Where are you, Millie?” Felicia wandered around, but, positive that she would make her own way out soon, she just absently touched the cabinets and opened the coat closet, her mind sifting through her options. She could text Gil back, apologizing about a phone malfunction. He would, with some disbelief, accept the story, and they would have a wonderful night together. They would get more serious. She would introduce him to her family during the upcoming holiday season, and he would grow accustomed to their mundane lifestyle. They would have a wonderful future together. They would start a family and have children. They would fight, but they would be together. They would be happy. He would make her happy.

Or, she could get a new phone with a new number. She could do what she’d done every other time she had gotten close to happiness. She could embrace the warmth a lonely night brings and the comfort of solitude because she learned that no one could hurt you if no one was close to you. She learned that no one could ruin your happiness if you never had it to begin with. She could run away. She could hide.

A small tugging caused Felicia to look down. Millie was at her feet, beaming. “Did I really win Licy?” she asked Felicia, using the nickname she had bestowed upon her during their first session together.

Everyone else, sensing Millie’s arriving presence, quickly waddled over, treating her like a celebrity. “Millie, where were you hiding?” They all wanted to know, but Millie wouldn’t tell. She just smiled a toothless smile and went to grab her coat as parents started filing in, picking up their child and going home for another exhausting evening.

Felicia started to move towards the door to exchange farewells with the adults she envied not in the slightest when a slight tug stopped her. She leaned down as Millie put her mouth inches away from her ear, her wispy hair standing in between the whispers that rushed our excitedly.

“I’m the best at hiding, Licy. Hiding is so easy for me. Darren comes in every night and we play this game every night. ‘Hide,’ he says. ‘For the love of God, hide.’ Who is God, Licy? I don’t know. But I hide and I’m never found because I have the best hiding spot ever. Darren gives me the best spot because I can fit and he’s too big for it, so I get to crawl in.

Sometimes Mommy and Daddy find Darren because his hiding spot isn’t as good as mine and he cries because he lost even though he’s seventeen. He’s a big boy and he still cries when he loses because he can’t hide. But I can hide. I hide every night. And I don’t come out until Darren comes to find me. He tells me to stay and not come out, even when Mommy or Daddy call for me because they’re just trying to trick me. I don’t move until he tells me that I win. Did I win?”

Taken aback, Felicia looked at Millie. Her innocent brown eyes sparkling with a glimmer of victory caused more sorrow than the knowledge she just learned. Horror settled inside as she reached out and pulled her close. “You won, Millie,” she whispered.

“Won what?” The booming voice that Felicia had welcomed a number of times before suddenly made the room shake, something sinister lurking underneath the silky tones that Millie Springer’s father offered. All of a sudden, this human being she knew—the forty-two year old chiseled face with silver hairs peeking through the well-groomed beard that accentuated his hazel eyes, the face that belongs to a person she said hi to at the grocery store multiple times, the face of a normal man that no one gives a second glance to on the unsuspecting streets—now transformed into a stranger she no longer recognized.

Millie, squealing at the sight of the person that gave her so much practice at this game that she was an expert at, ran over to give him a hug. “I won at hide and seek! No one could find me!”

“Well, that’s my girl,” Mr. Springer chuckled. “Put your coat on now, we have to pick Darren up from work...ever since he crashed his car...such a mess...the insurance...bills soon...” He turned and faded off, muttering to himself, his hand brushing through the thinning mess on his head, giving him a deranged look Felicia now knew was all too familiar for Millie. Felicia helped Millie put on her coat, trying to take as long as she could with each button, which was easy because her fingers could not stop shaking, but no one else seemed to notice. A chilling numbness filled her heart as she handed Millie over to Mr. Springer, her hand lingering a second longer than necessary before she let go. She watched as he picked her up into his monstrous Chevy truck, buckled her car seat, and drove away towards the house that kept too many secrets hidden in the night.

Felicia waited until all the other kids were gone before putting all the tables back, cleaning all the scraps of clay, wiping all the paint away, vacuuming all the dirt up. The trash can was overflowing with papers and wrappers, and on the top, pushing the pile down, was a Samsung Galaxy S5 without as much as a crack on its screen. When the green and pink room was identical to its original layout before the day began, all except for a letter of resignation laying on the big round table in the center of the room, she closed the lights, locked the door, and walked away.

Because like Millie, hiding was what Felicia did best. Seeking was a close second. And looking away was a definite third.

GRADES 10-12 GENERAL FICTION SECOND PLACE: THE FALL OF POMPEII BY ROSE TYLER

I journeyed a long way to get here. I don’t normally trek such long distances on foot, but the open air and beauty of Pompeii draw me towards it. I couldn’t bring myself to bother anyone for a cart or cattle. My legs needed the stretching anyway.

As for my trip, I ventured on it because the Roman Empire is alive and thriving in a way I never expected to see, considering my aging body. The emperor is a keen man, who has overseen the rise of an enthusiastic empire, but the intricate work and design of being an artisan has taxed my once-nimble body, leaving me restless and useless in the capital. Here in Pompeii, where the roads are wide enough only for carts and the people that weave between them, I plan to set up shop in any vacant space I come across.

I carry a sack over my back full of tools and supplies that I will need to craft. It is a good job, one the emperor commends, although he’ll never notice me personally because I have no wealth. I work humbly and diligently at an art that takes decades to perfect. What could be better than that?

I walk along the mud-covered road, my feet sloshing the muddy water around. I continue forward until a man dressed in white cloth approaches me.

“Beware, for it moves! It moves!” He speaks in such a frenzied, erratic way that it frightens me. “Turn back while you still have time.”

I nod at him but continue forward. He’s probably a beggar, I reason, trying to take my money. What little I have.

I really ought to tell you the other reason I’ve come all this way. It’s for my brother. He left our home when he was old enough to leave. He never returned because he supposedly made a fortune in Pompeii. What a lucky turn of fate. I don’t know what he does or why he does it. All I know is years ago I crafted a leather band for him to wear around his wrist. It took days to make it because I used the best tools and the best materials. He smiled when I gave it to him. My brother never smiled. He was too concentrated on his work. After that, I never saw him take it off. Now it’s my only hope of recognizing him in this place where new people emerge every time I blink.

A strong wind suddenly blows, knocking my rickety knees together. My bones have turned brittle and have only a thin coat of skin to protect them. I must look like an apparition in the wind, but I trudge on—despite my gnarled toes and aching soles.

I reach an empty tavern after walking more than I must have walked in my entire life to that point. It looks abandoned, completely devoid of people and free of any messes. It is not the palaces of the rich, but it will do for a poor, old, tired man.

I set my sack down and stoop to enter through the short doorway. Just then, there is a distant roar, like a clap of thunder. But there is no storm. A baby cries somewhere, wailing from the shock. People continue to thread their way through the streets. They hurry while carrying loads of various sizes, like blood coursing through a vein.

In the distance, I notice a magnificent building constructed on a hill. It rings of wealth and dignity, and my eyes prick with tears at the thought that that might be my brother’s. I haphazardly stop one of the walkers.

“To whom does that house up there belong?” My voice is shaky.

“The one up there?” he points. “I hear the richest man in all of Rome lives there. I hear he has more servants than I do hairs.”

I nod with wonder. My throat grows sore as a sense of pride swells in me.

“And do you happen to know the man’s name?”

“No! He’s kept himself secret all these years. That’s why he’s such a legend.”

The ground shifts again, except this time it is harsher. It feels as though the earth might split apart, leaving us all to fall in its gaping fissure. This time there are screams and the sound of glass shattering.

“Do you know how to get up there?” I ask. I will not let the earth distract me from my purpose. It is hard for me to find my breath from the sudden motion. “I would never dare. It’s cursed with the most evil of spells. If one even chances to climb it, the worst of turmoil will befall Pompeii.”

His words echo in my ears, but my hope of finding my brother sings louder in my mind. All apprehension leaves me after the walker has left, and I pick up my sack to continue the trek. It will not end until I have reached the top of the acropolis.

I think of my brother. He was always smarter than me. I knew that like I knew the sun would rise the next morning. Most of the time he didn’t mention it, but every once in a while he would gloat when our father asked him to help him make an important decision or when our mother needed his help calculating the price of goods from the market.

I only said I hated him once. It was the day when he threatened that I would be a shopkeeper the rest of my life. I wasn’t mad at him; I was mad at myself. I hated how true it sounded. That I would be a shopkeeper. My brother didn’t even have to say it, but it was understood that he would never be a shopkeeper. He would end up somewhere far better, and I would fall behind.

Once I am halfway my labored breathing hurts my chest. I ignore it as I steadily progress higher. My body always aches. This trip doesn’t change anything.

The next minute there is an onslaught of what appears to be ash that attacks everyone in Pompeii. Everything shakes, and I have to grip the grass to keep from sliding down the hill, like a ball slides down a chute. I hear cries and repulsive gargling noises. I had never known volcanoes to be so brutal. Another plume of ash descends with my next step. I cover my mouth and nose. I want to cover my ears too, against the vicious screams from below.

Did fate know I would come here? That I would climb this hill despite my achy body and weary mind? Is that what sent the earth in fits of rumbling when I arrived? Is it fate that brought the man in the white cloth and the frenzied voice to warn me? I don’t know, but as I climb further, more ash falls and chokes the tormented people.

Did I cause this? Am I to blame for the screaming in the streets as people’s lungs clog up with the foulest of ash? Have I killed Pompeii?

The thought strikes me then: What has happened to my brother? I ascend the hill further, reasoning that the damage has already been done. The curse is already in motion.

The sky darkens to a menacing black. What light is left in this place of riches vanishes, leaving only a place of horror. My back bends under the weight of my sack, which carries little, but ash has begun to accumulate on it, adding more and more weight to it. Every so often I brush it off, but it’s hot and stings my palm.

That is when the people start running. A panic seizes them, and the ones who can still breathe dash away, trampling through the ones who weren’t so fortunate.

I reach the top, and a feeling of relief surges through me. And I’ve never felt more alone. The earth won’t stop moving now; the wind won’t stop whipping black ash against my body. Parts of the building litter my path, but I forge on regardless, lost in what I’ve done and if my brother is alive. The question rages in me. I’m blinded both by smoke and terror. The walker’s words reverberate in my mind. They make my mouth want to tear into a scream, but I don’t because my mouth will fill with ash.

If one even chances to climb it, the worst of turmoil will befall Pompeii.

I smack the air with my palm as though the walker’s words are written in the air and the harder I hit them the more they won’t be true. I look down at my veiny hands and, for a moment, remember them as youthful, boyish hands, entangled with my brother’s many years ago as we wrestle over something that made us angry enough to fight. I start to sob, but my eyes are closed; the tears engulf my eyes and drown them.

In that moment I realize something with a sharp clarity: death does not care for wealth or riches. It cares only for flesh and the vengeance it can seek upon it. I curse fate but then slump down against my sack in defeat. No one hears my voice. I can’t even hear my voice for the wind.

I realize that my tools and supplies and sack and tavern will no longer matter.

The wind blows another gust of black ash, blocking out all traces of sunlight now. This is when I look down and see his choked body in agony stretched across my feet. He wears the leather band around his wrist, and I start to cry. It looks untouched. I bend down and kiss it. The ash hasn’t soiled it. My heart sinks as though the cavity that holds it can no longer contain it. Amidst my pleas for mercy is a silent gratitude that the band was saved. What have I done?

I see in his face the resemblance to my own. I had forgotten the shape of his face, the bridges and creases. It had been so long. So long. Too long.

As the earth shifts beneath me, as ash showers my face, as the sound of rocks breaking at their cores fills my ears, I know, as all the Pompeiians do, that this is the end.

GRADES 10-12 GENERAL FICTION THIRD PLACE: STAGE FRIGHT BY RILEY BOWMAN

The thrill of performing on stage is a treat few get to savor, and even fewer can do so properly. There are those who can give the audience a wonder of the senses and there are those of us that, no matter what we are told, get up on stage and walk away feeling like we had lost something.

I was the latter. I had signed up for the school drama program with confidence and a swagger to my step, certain I would nail my auditions. However, as the day of my trial drew closer my confidence started to drain from my soul.

Auditions were held in the school choir room, the hub of all music in John Adams High School. Everything from band to music lessons were held here.

“Rusty Price?” the director called my name. I stepped up to the front of the room, my legs shaking and my breathing rapid and shallow. Before I knew the music started, soft and melodious.

“Somebody loves me, I wonder who? I wonder who he can be. Sorry that was the girl’s part wasn’t it? I’m supposed to sing ‘she’ aren’t I?” I stammered, the eyes of my peers felt like pinpricks of ice as they settled on me.

“It’s fine. Let’s start from the top,” The director sighed. I closed my eyes and breathed in.

“Somebody loves me, I wonder who? I wonder who she can be.” I opened my eyes and focused on the ceiling and counted the panels.

“Thank you, Rusty; that will be all. That concludes today’s auditions. Please check back next week for the casting list and callbacks. ” As everyone started to pack up I stood there, stunned. Did I just survive that? What did everyone think? I pondered even more until someone bumped into me on their way out.

“Sorry.” I stammered. The next day I walked into choir and took my place in the middle of the tenors. The music started and I found myself going through the motions just mouthing the words.

“Rusty, can you stay for a little bit?” Mr. Smith, the choir teacher asked me one morning. “I noticed you weren’t singing today; is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just have sore throat,” I lied faking a cough. This wasn’t the first time I had refused to sing.

“Is this about your stage fright again? Listen, you need to just get up there and do what you need to do,” He told me. “Just pretend that the audience isn’t there. I’ve heard you sing when class was over and you have an excellent voice.” I could only nod and bite my tongue. What was I going to tell him? That I was terrified of people? That the only way that I could actually perform would be if the cafetorium was empty? That he didn’t have to be nice just to spare my feelings? The rest of the day seemed to crawl by slowly. When a teacher asked me a question, I hardly answered.

At the end of the day I paced outside the music room. When the door opened I froze like a statue.

“Are you ready for your piano lessons Rusty?” Ms. Reeve, the volunteer pianist, stood in the door. I nodded and, clutching the music to my chest, rushed in the room. “I know you don’t have a piano yet but did you manage to practice Morning by Peer Gynt?”

“Yeah. I think I managed to get the first few measures,” I answered, smoothing out the wrinkled music and placing it onto the stand.

“Good. Start at measure 1 and begin whenever you’re ready.” As I put my hands on the keys and breathed in, I began to play. I kept breathing slowly, letting my fingers dance across the keys. As I continued the music came easier and easier. I hardly realized I had hit the final note. I looked back to Ms. Reeve and waited for her feedback.

“That was good, but you’re going a little too fast and staccato. Try to hold the notes a little longer.” My concentration shattered. I thought I had played slowly. If I play slower, will it be too slow? When I played a second time, my fingers felt like they were trying to tie themselves up in knots. When I finished Ms. Reeve suggested that we try again next week. Things didn’t get better when it came to performances and I found myself dropping out of Drama.

When school ended for summer break I was happy to go have all the time to try and conquer my stage fright. When my birthday rolled around I hardly noticed, I was busy sitting at the piano in my room.

“One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.” I whispered to myself trying not to disturb anyone else in the house. It wasn’t until a cousin barged in and hugged me wishing me a happy birthday that I even realized that there were guest in the house. The party itself was a small affair with only a few family members.

“Rusty go get ready to go.” My Mother told me as she packed away leftover cake into the fridge.

“Why? Where are we going?” I wondered. It wasn’t uncommon for us to go somewhere for my birthday but it was usually something for the rest of the family and not me.

“Your Grandpa is receiving an award for drag racing so dress nicely.” That made a lot more sense; there was always a car show on my birthday. I picked out my only dress shirt, a dark blue one, and matching black pants and worn dress shoes.

When we got in the car and started heading towards the nearby city. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where we were going. I had been asking to see a show at the local theater for quite some time now.

“Mom?” I asked. “Are we going to see the Lion King?”

“Why? That’s what you wanted right?” Her eyes flicked from the road to me.

“Yes!” I exclaimed in sudden excitement. ”I can’t believe I’m going to my first Broadway musical!” I could hardly contain my excitement.

When we got there I couldn’t help but stare in awe at the theater; it was huge! With decorative carvings built into the architecture and three balconies for people to sit in. With a huge orchestra pit under the stage. Everything in the building seemed to possess golden hue.

“Mom these seats are awesome!” I told her as we took our seats on the front row of the first balcony.

The show started rather suddenly with the opening number, and as I looked at the stage waiting for the actors to appear my Mom nudged my shoulder and told me to look down. When I did the actors were there walking onto stage while maneuvering huge puppets. As I looked on tears formed in my eyes. These people were bringing to life my childhood right in front of me. At first I thought that the actors must have been terrified but they all seemed so in character that it was impossible for them to even notice the audience. Even the characters that broke the fourth wall acknowledged the audience as if they were part of the cast on stage. When the show ended we bought the soundtrack for the show and when my Mom put it into the CD player we listened to it on the way home.

“I’m gonna be a mighty king, so enemies beware.” I found myself singing along to the soundtrack without all the fear and apprehension that normally came with doing any kind of vocals. It was in that moment that I was determined to conquer my stage fright.

When school started up I waited for drama to start back up. When they announced that the audition packets had come in I practically rushed to the choir room. The next few days were spent scrutinizing the script and music; picking apart every syllable, playing every note over and over, and studying how others had performed. Audition day came around and I walked in with my script in hand, covered in notes. I walked up to the front of the room and took an empty chair.

“Welcome everybody,” The director greeted everyone with a smile. “Glad to see so many new faces. Let’s start the auditions shall we?” He began calling people up one by one. When my name was called I took a deep breath and walked up to the center of the room.

“Ready to start?” He asked.

“Yeah,” The music began and slowly filled the room. “No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears. I’m here nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears, I’m here with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you,” I took a deep breath and prepared for the hard part of the song, “Say you love me, every waking moment, turn my head with talk of summer time, say you need me with you now and always, promise me, that all you say is true, that’s all I ask of you.” The music stopped and time stood still. I turned around and took my seat. There was no fanfare but I knew I had done something great. The week in between the auditions and the cast posting was a slow one, apprehension was in every waking moment. The day of the postings came and I was distracted thinking about it that I barely registered anything around me. When I finally saw it my jaw dropped. There in the lead role, was my name. I couldn’t believe my eyes at first. I didn’t want to believe them. I had wanted to cure my stage fright but this was too much. I was thrilled to get the role, but I knew that I would buckle under that pressure, so I talked to the director and they went with the second best choice. Some may see this as a sign of defeat but I accomplished by goal and to me, that’s all the matters.

GRADES 10-12 FLASH FICTION FIRST PLACE: SCHUSTER BY PHILIPPA ZHANG

The starry skies twinkle above an inattentive audience and a chaotic orchestra. For twenty minutes they chatter, like a babbling brook, only thousands of muffled words and notes running together. It forms a continuous hum, the hall filled with the sounds of people and instruments, all bouncing off each other, echoing throughout the open space.

The lights dim, and a hush falls over the crowd. The concertmaster steps onto the stage, polite applause welcoming her. She stands in front of the ensemble, and the clarinet plays a clear A. Its sound reverberates up to the cavernous ceiling, and the sound swells throughout the orchestra as more and more instruments join in, spreading not unlike a peacock shaking out its feathers.

The tuning is finished. The instruments fade away one by one: the booming brass decline, the woodwinds’ whispers fade, the strings silence themselves. Soon, there is nothing but a stifling stillness in the vast hall, as hundreds of listeners, now sitting in rapt attention, wait for the telltale tapping marking the conductor’s entrance.

From somewhere offstage, they hear the faint beat of falling footsteps making their way onstage. Applause greets the conductor as he steps onto the podium, bowing twice, sweeping his arms upward and outward with a baton in hand. But, tonight, the audience waits not only for the conductor, but another performer as well.

The hem of a flowing dress flits onto the stage. Soon, the pianist follows, walking up to the stage in a whirl of deep green and gleaming gold, and the audience cheers. She smiles at the onlookers, bowing graciously at their warm reception.

Then, she turns, and sits at the glassy black piano, and the crowds silence. She gives a small nod to the conductor, and he raises his arms. There is a collective ripple of movement across the orchestra as they lift their instruments, ready to play. The stars wink once more, then fade to black, as the conductor brings down his arms, and in one fluid movement, the pianist, the conductor, and the orchestra let the music begin.

GRADES 10-12 FLASH FICTION SECOND PLACE: REFLECTIONS BY ELIZABETH C. HINKLE

This is the story of two things which you’ve always considered your own, yet are never yours...

Every day he stands there, for every day he must. I see him from place to place, and time to time with him smiling at me from the corner of his eye, and me never being able to smile back, for I am always on duty. I do what I can to be wherever I can while my brethren do the same, as we move from house to house, and building to building, doing what we can to keep the universe sane. Every day, I try to tell him what he means to me, but each day I am forced to look away, for neither of us can risk moving on our own without consent from our watchers, who must never know we exist. I see his image everywhere, and he can see everywhere else, yet our paths have never crossed for more than a few stolen moments.

Only for a split second when the side mirror of a car hits the window, then we embrace. I could never manage to speak, or tell him why I long to meet him again, for we are always torn apart before I can say a word. I believe he knows, however, for when our eyes meet, his eye smile and his eyes beam. As the days go by and the light fades in and out, I can always see him in the mirrors across the streets and the shards of broken wrecks. He is everywhere, and nowhere, he is everyone and yet he is always himself, he is Reflection and he is beautiful. I should know; For I am the Reflections in your window.

GRADES 10-12 FLASH FICTION THIRD PLACE: ROUTINES FOR THE INDIFFERENT BY KERESS AMBROSE FREY WEIDNER

Though the ticketmaster hesitates, his eyes glint at my regal paper. I bought these tickets to Hell. No great drama, no solemn symphony-- the stage plays on, and on, and on, new faces to match the steady rhythm. The ticketmaster takes the pass, he steps aside.

“You were so young,” he laments as I walk into the continuing halls. The response I gift to him is soft, and even the lightest of footsteps can penetrate the infant silence. A faint murmur now, the show prepares for intermission.

“So were you.” Struck by reverie, the ticketmaster falls to his knees, and cries himself a lonely melody. That primordial theatre is destitute and empty as he performs a dirge that ordinarily would expose the feeble tendencies of men, weaving notes into gilded tapestries. He sings without speaking, as the stage needs no script, and he cries without tears, as they are reserved for the living.

“I was so young,” he murmurs, breathless-- but I just nod, and stare, as it is all that I have been trained to do.

GRADES 10-12 FAN FICTION SECOND PLACE: CHANGE OF HEART BY ALLISON BREWER FAN FICTION FIRST PLACE: STAR WARS: SHADOWS OF THE DARK SIDE

Sedash sat in his quarters aboard a republic frigate. So much had happened in the last few years. He had lost his best friend to the dark side. The Jedi and Republic had gone to war against the Sith. Rhea, his other best friend, had been kidnapped. And all of it hit Sedash like a brick wall. He closed his eyes and began to meditate, seeing everything that had happened since he was brought to the jedi. Arriving at the Temple. Being placed into Bear Clan with Redvar and Rhea. 13 years of training, everyday since he was 5. Then he saw Himself, Rhea, and Redvar Standing around an ancient stone door.

2 Years Ago

Redvar approached the weathered and decrepit door. It had faded writing on it that seemed illegible to Redvar.

“Hey Sedash, Do you recognize any of these symbols?” Asked Redvar, staring intently at the faded red text. Both Rhea and Sedash looked at the door.

“The Archive of… Hmm this last word is way too faded to read,” said Rhea after a moment.

“What language is it written in?” asked Sedash.

“I’m not sure, but there was something similar in the forbidden section of the Temple’s archives. I only know it because Grand Master Fey taught me some of it,” answered Rhea. She quickly looked behind them into the stone corridor behind them. “Maybe we shouldn’t go through this door. It was hidden for a reason.”

Redvar ignored Rhea’s concerns as he placed his hand in the center of the door. But nothing happened. Sedash laughed for a second.

“This door isn’t like the ones we’ll find in The Senate Building. There’s probably a hidden switch somewhere in the---” Sedash was suddenly cut off as the trio heard the sound of stone grinding against stone. The door began to lift up, revealing an unlit room. “Wait, It’s just a dark empty room?” asked Rhea.

“Empty?” Redvar said confused. “What are you talking about there’s thousands of red lights in here… and a lightsaber.” Redvar stepped into the room, he was the only thing Sedash and Rhea could see.

Sedash wanted to stop his friend before they grabbed the ancient weapon, but he knew this was just a memory. He felt the chill of the dark side. He was no longer in the ancient stone archive. Now he stood in the Jedi Temple late at night. He looked around for a moment, but then went rigid as he looked down, Redvar had driven the ancient Sith lightsaber into his side, hitting nothing vital but sending him into shock.

Back in the present, Sedash’s eyes snapped open and he looked around quickly. His quarters was empty, save for him and his bed. He breathed a calm sigh before standing up and walking to the Ship’s bridge.

On the Bridge, Sedash saw Vax, his Jedi Master, standing over a command station, discussing strategy with one of the admirals.

“What if we coax their fleet into a trap?” asked Vax changing a few on screen variables to show the sith fleet getting flanked by several republic warships.

“No, the sith would never waste their entire fleet on a single capital ship. And even if they did, their leaders would be prepared for such an assault.”

“Did we learn about new Sith maneuvers?” asked Sedash stepping up to the command console. Vax and the Admiral looked to Sedash as they had not noticed his arrival.

“No, we received a transmission one standard hour ago. It was from Recon-6 of Saber Platoon.” said the Admiral fiddling with a few controls. “It was from the planet Rangoon VI.”

“What was the transmission,” Asked Sedash leaning onto the console. Without saying a word Vax hit a few buttons and a holomessage appeared at the console. In the image stood a scout with a sniper on his shoulder. “This is Recon-6. Our scouting of this planet has returned nothing. This planet is simply a lush world covered in flor-AHHH,” The trooper is tossed out of the image as the sound of blasters firing is heard. After a moment of fighting and screaming scuffling is heard. A visage of a hooded figure is seen of the image

“Well well, the Republic is poking around the deep core. Let’s see here what Platoon were these scouts from? Oh perfect, Saber Platoon. Well, when this message reaches the bridge of the Reliant I hope it reaches Sedash.” The silhouette chuckled “Well I’ll make it short, I’m here at Rangoon VI at these coordinates. Oh and I have our friend Rhea here to” Said the visage

“Let me go Redvar you evil-” Said the voice of Rhea from off screen

“Temper temper, anger isn’t the Jedi way” Redvar mocked “But before you come rushing with your entire fleet,” Redvar said in a much more serious tone ”if you don’t come alone I’ll kill Rhea and call the whole of the Sith armada down onto this world. You have one week to come get her and ‘Arrest’ me.” The holomessage flickered out of existence. Sedash was gripping the console tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

“Padawan, Calm down, focus on the Force, There is no emotion, there is peace,” spoke Vax in a sympathetic voice. Sedash released the console.

“I have to save her, I always promised to come back for her, on any mission,” Said Sedash

“I cannot allow you to go rushing into battle against someone like Redvar,” responded Vax

“And Republic protocol is clear on events like this, We’d have to send at least a squad. And If he’s even telling a half truth about the Armada, we could severely cripple sith forces in this sector. We could drop out here and then call in every unengaged--” The Admiral was suddenly cut off by Sedash slamming his fist down onto the console.

“I’m Going and I’m going alone. I don’t want to risk the fleet or Rhea’s life. I’m going to bring Redvar in so the Council can pass judgment on him. I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” Said Sedash

“Sedash, I do not believe for a moment that that is your intent. I can sense the darkness in you. This will only end two ways,” before Vax could finish speaking Sedash was already in the elevator to the hanger.

“Hangar control, Commander Sedash is not cleared for take off, I repeat not cleared,” spoke the Admiral in to a comm to the Hangar.

“Belay that order Hangar Control, Authorization Code Saber-789,” Said Vax quickly before turning to the Admiral “Admiral, If he choses to go and fight this Sith then I cannot be allowed to stop him. I must allow the Force to guide him,”

The Admiral narrowed his eyes before pulling up several controls on the console in front of him. He was looking at several different displays of fleet statuses and commands. After thirty standard minutes he saw Sedash’s fighter starting to leave.

“All personnel, order 616 has been initiated. I repeat Initiate 616.” The admiral spoke into the frigates main communicator. Vax looked around and saw several troops appear on the bridge deck, many of them went over to the turret controls, the rest pointed their weapons at Vax.

“What’s going on Admiral,” asked Vax, reaching for his lightsaber.

“You are being relieved of Duty, General Vax,” The admiral turned to face the turret operators, “I want that fighter in a tractor beam, but if he jumps, fire,” This statement was followed by the sounds of turret fire, he looked out at the fighter, As it jumped to hyperspace. The Admiral smashed his hand down on the console in front of him. He turned and nodded to the group of troops who proceed to arrest Vax.

Sedash’s fighter had jumped to lightspeed just as he sensed the frigate begin to fire. He had no time to worry about why he was shot at, he had to reach Rangoon 6 before it was too late, as it would take 3 standard days for him to reach the planet where his friend was being kept. 3 Days Pass.

The Fighter dropped out of hyperspace and began its descent toward the coordinates that Redvar gave Sedash. As Sedash passed through the planet’s atmosphere he could feel the force pulsing through this planet. He landed in a large plains area, a short walk away from the coordinates. As he walked the planet surface Sedash felt a presence he hadn’t since joining the Jedi. Before his very eyes a blue figure appeared. The Figured had long greying hair and a calm smile on aged features.

“Master Vindar,” said Sedash in bewilderment, the visage gave a jovial laugh.

“Yes young Sedash it is I. My word it has been some time since we spoke. I’m glad Vax has done an effective job of training you,” said Vindar.

“How is this possible,”

“The Force is mysterious. To retain one’s identity after death they must be enlightened, truly believe in The Force, The Ashla.” Sedash and the ghost of Vindar began to walk toward the coordinates.

“So those who follow the dark side cannot live after death,” asked Sedash

“Correct, Which is a shame for your friends,” responded Vindar. Sedash stopped for a moment before responding.

“I will bring Redvar back to the Light, Vindar,” Sedash broke into a full sprint toward the coordinates. Vindar sighed running his hand through his ghostly hair

“Younglings, Always so head strong,” Vindar looked around for a moment before fading back to the netherworld of the Force.

When Sedash reached the coordinates he saw a small camp setup. There was a somewhat long table with two chairs. Two tents sat opposite each other. Sedash might have found the camp area quaint if it weren’t for the bodies strewn about. Surprisingly, the table was set with fresh foodstuffs and drinks. From one of the tents emerged a young man, around the same age as Sedash, in a black robe with black hair and yellow eyes.

“Redvar,” said Sedash in anger, drawing his green bladed lightsaber. Redvar stepped passed Sedash and took a seat at one side of the table.

“I wouldn’t be a good host if I didn’t offer you a seat Old friend.” Redvar said calmly, “Oh and my name is Redivivus now,” he said before drawing a drink to his hand with the Force.

“Whats going on here Redv-”

“Redivivus, Soon Darth Redivivus,” Redivivus interrupted gesturing to the seat “take a seat Sedash,” he said with a bit more force.

“Not until I know that Rhea is fine,” Sedash responded placing his hand down on the table. Redivivus sighed in an annoyed manner. He stood and extended his hand toward the other tent, from which a beaten and bruised Rhea came flying out of. Redivivus caught her by the throat before drawing his lightsaber and holding it close to her face.

“I SAID SIT,” shouted Redivivus at Sedash, who quickly sat in the other seat extinguishing his weapon, “Good, now maybe we can have a civilized conversation,” Redivivus put his lightsaber away and used the Force to call another chair to the table. He then released Rhea and gestured for her to sit at the newly placed chair.

“What’s your plan,” asked Sedash.

“Galactic Domination, Find an apprentice, destroy the Jedi,” Said Redivivus pouring himself a drink.

“Very funny,” Sedash crossed his arms and looked to Rhea, who has been very quiet. “Why did you tell me where you were”

“Well, you’ve been looking for her,” Redivivus points to Rhea “Long enough to become a nuisance, So since it’s taking longer to turn her to the dark side than I anticipated I’ve decided on a bit of a game” Redivivus leaned back in the chair and gave an evil laugh. He then tossed the table aside and made a leap high into the air. Landing four meters away he drew his lightsaber and shouted, “Come and find me Jedi,” Sedash stood and drew his own lightsaber and started to run toward Redivivus but he was grabbed momentarily by Rhea.

“Sedash, please be careful. That’s not the friend you always beat in the sparring arena now,” Rhea said looking Sedash in the eyes. Sedash could see that pain she was in.

“Don’t worry about me, Rhea. My fighter is just a short walk to the north, If I don’t come back in 30 minutes, just go. I’ll find a way off this planet.” Sedash hugged his friend before sprinting off toward Redivivus.

Sedash was knocked off his footing and thrown to the ground. He stood up quickly and drew his weapon. Redivivus drew his own blade, and came down on Sedash with a heavy cleve. Sedash identified the move as one from Form V, Djem So. Sedash began using The Resilience Form, Soresu. He was managing to block the repeated heavy cleves of Redivivus, but was slowly forced into a crouched position.

Redivivus used his enhanced strength to try and break Sedash’s defense, but when the two blades of red and green collided, Redivivus was the one caught off guard. Sedash pushed up to stand at his full height, locking his blade with Redivivus’. Redivivus switched to Ataru. He quickly rolled away before leaping high in the air. Sedash, seeing this, prepared to retaliate. Redivivus came down and tried to hit Sedash with a quick series of slashes. Sedash avoided these attacks through the evasion tactics of Form II, Makashi.

After a series of clashes the two combatants stood several meters apart. Both fighters were exhausted from the speed they fought with. Redivivus dropped his lightsaber, the blade turning off when he let go. He held out his hands in a fashion of revealing defeat. Sedash returned his saber to his belt. He approached Redivivus who stood there, head bowed in supplication. Sedash hesitated for only a moment.

“Redvar,” asked Sedash cautiously. His question was met with a chuckle.

“You are a fool Sedash, I am Redivivus, I am Sith,” Redivivus responded before gathering the Force into a mighty torrent of Force Lightning. Sedash was caught off guard by the attack. He fell to one knee, trying to ignore the pain, but it was useless. He could feel his limbs growing numb. Suddenly, Sedash felt someone running toward his and Redivivus. His lightsaber flew from his belt toward the person running at them, but Redivivus tossed it in the opposite direction.

“Use the Dark Side to fight me you fools,” taunted Redivivus. His taunting was cut short when weak torrents of lightning were tossed at him. He stopped firing lightning at Sedash and began hurling it toward the new combatant. The person who came to Sedash’s aid was Rhea. Sedash was too weak to speak, so he gently reached out toward his friend, but the gesture went unnoticed. The two torrents of lightning were increased in strength and power, feeding off of each other.

“Good. Use your anger, and your hate. Your raw emotion is strong” Said Redivivus with genuine surprise.

“Shut up you evil Sith,” responded Rhea, using her anger to feed the lightning.

“Your power can’t beat mine, but I can show you the way of The Dark Side”

“Never,”

“Accept my teachings Rhea. Join me and you could one day rule this galaxy.” the two continued to fight with their lightning. Sedash looked up at Rhea and what he saw terrified him. Her eyes had become the yellow-orange ofThe Sith.

Redivivus began to close the gap between himself and Rhea, suddenly grabbing her by the arms. As she tried to break free he released her willfully, letting her arms fall to her side.

“Join me Rhea. The Jedi abandoned you, Sedash only returned to kill me.” Redivivus said. Sedash tried to stand but collapsed. Rhea looked at Redivivus with her now Yelloworange eyes before kneeling in supplication.

“Teach me, Redivivus.” She said, her voice taking on a more menacing tone. Redivivus smiled and looked down at her. He stepped aside and gestured to Sedash who has managed to get into a standing position. Sedash was greeted with Rhea approaching him.

“No, please,” Sedash said, he started to collapse but Rhea grabbed him by the throat. “Rhea, please,” Rhea called Redivivus lightsaber to her hand.

“I’m sorry Sedash,” Rhea said. There was genuine sympathy in her voice. Sedash closed his eyes as the red hued blade passed into his torso. He went stiff, then limp. Rhea released his body, letting it fall to the grass beneath them. Redivivus came up behind her and placed one hand on her shoulder.

“Welcome to the Dark Side, Rhea,” Redivivus said with a sinister smile. The Duo walked away and Redivivus activated his communicator, “All fleets, begin protocol 616,

Tonight the Republic falls.”

Redivivus plan has finally fallen into place, soon the Galaxy would belong to the strong and powerful, The Favored of the Force, The Sith.

GRADES 10-12 FAN FICTION SECOND PLACE: CHANGE OF HEART BY ALLISON BREWER

Larry Stylinson.

Your heart rate should already be at least 1% faster than it was before you read that name.To me,it is more then a name.It symbolizes something much more than what it says.

Bravery,strength,just a few bold words to describe what that name means.Let me tell you a story that explains everything...

Louis Tomlinson.The head captain of the anti gay community organization.Today was the groups first big rally.They were expecting a crowd of 200 to show up.They have been campaigning their hearts out for the past couple months,so getting through this rally would be a piece of cake.The goal of the organization was to bring awareness towards the group’s opinions on gender equality.In simple terms,demolish all gay rights and give straight people more power.As captain,Louis had a big responsibility,and a lot of work ahead of him if he wanted this rally to be perfect.He had stayed up all night getting papers in order,spray painting picket signs,printing t shirts,and dusting off his megaphone.His nerves kept multiplying by the thousands the more he thought about the rally,but at the same time,he was excited and ready to make some progress.When morning rose Louis jumped into the shower,put on his anti gay tee shirt,and piled everything in the back of his car.The rally was going to be held and the big park in London.When Louis met up with the rest of the organization at the park,he could sense that something huge was going to happen,though he wasn’t exactly sure on what that was.The more time that went by,the more people that piled into the park.Soon enough the rally had officially started.Louis started off by giving a passionate speech.

“Uhem..” He tapped on the mic.”I bid you all the most amiable welcome my esteemed companions!Welcome,Welcome to another grueling yet stimulating rally!”

The crowd was a buzz! Louis words were triggering their minds and engaging them in the campaign.

“I am honored to say we have advocates here from all over the UK!” He continued.”Although I am humbled by this awe-inspiring fact,it raises some questions for me.How many of you here today are ready for a CHANGE?”The crowd cheered loudly at Louis’ question.”How many of you aspire to make a DIFFERENCE?” The crowd got even louder. “How many of you want to end this ‘ALL IS EQUAL’ baloney,and unite as one big STRAIGHT community?”The crowd went into a full blown uproar. After Louis speech was over,he riled up the crowd with some hardcore chanting.One of his groups participants walked up to the mic and started ranting.The crowds got louder and louder.In fact,the horde got so ear-splitting loud,it was almost like a swarm of bees buzzing around the town.Suddenly in the middle of a chant,the crowd who was once loud and entergetic,fizzled down to nothing.Louis was flummoxed.That’s when they saw a bunch of men with symbolic rainbows painted on their faces marching up to the scene.They were carrying rainbow flags,and megaphones.Apparently the opposite organization got wind of Louis’ rally,and decided to protest.

Louis went up to confront them,but the crowds morphed together and started fighting.Louis walked through the assemblage trying to break up fights but it was no use.He swung a couple punches himself,but he missed every time.He was apoplectic. In fact he was so furious that his twitching hands made him drop his picket sign.As he bent down to pick it up,he bumped into a member of the gay organization.Louis got back up and observed the boy standing in front of him.Louis mind was still outraged but his heart was softening the longer he admired the boy.The boys captivating smile sent chills charging up Louis’ spine.All of a sudden he found himself lost in the boys eyes.Everything became blurry except for the figure in front of him,and all the noises faded out except the racing sound of his own heartbeat.He felt his shoulders slump slowly,and his jaw drop. He was astonished.Louis Tomlinson,leader of the anti gay organization was rapidly falling in love...with a boy.Louis tried to catch the balance of his spinning world and tried to resist the rushing emotions flowing inside of his heart but for the first time in his whole lifetime,he knew what love felt like.

The two boys just stood there staring at each other,as if the world was frozen.They didn’t even notice the rest of the protestors and campaigners that were tearing each other apart,and stuck in a violent mess.

“I’m Harry...Harry Styles...” The boy spoke up.The rainbow on his face started to smudge from the intense sweat that rolled down his cheeks.

“I’m Louis...”Louis smiled.

Harry reached his hand out for a nice handshake but Louis went in for a passionate hug.Amongst all the hate that surrounded them,there was enough love between the two boys to spread across the whole entire world.Their impassioned embrace sent off the most heart tugging vibes.If you had a camera on the two,it would’ve been the most picturesque sight of all time.

To this day the two boys are still very much in love.They have teamed up to start an organization of their own,to spread peace,love,and happiness upon everyone else.

Now you know how it all started.Now you know the story of ‘Larry Stylinson’ and world peace.

GRADES 10-12 FAN FICTION THIRD PLACE: JOHN, JAMES, AND DAVID BY ZACHARY LAYMAN

This is a story of three boys, to be exact they are triplets. The names of these boys were John, James, and David. I shall tell you what these boys can do, then John shall tell the rest of this story. Two of these boys had super powers the other one was really smart. John and James had the powers, David wasn’t so lucky. In the third grade in a freak chemical accident David got two powers and everyone else around him died. David had super regenerative powers and telekinesis. John had super speed that made Quick Silver and The Flash look slow. James had super strength and could easily fight Hulk and Superman at the same time and win without breaking a sweat.

Hi, I’m John and I’m here to tell you the story of my brothers and my years in school and more. It all started in first grade David wasn’t in the same school with me and James at this point, but we got past that and we now had friends and a lot of them. Two years later David gets his powers and joins us, he gets friends almost instantly. He’s the smartest kid in the school so he makes the Brains. I’m the fastest in the school so I make the Speed Freaks, and then James makes the Jocks being the strongest one in the school. Seeing that we three boys are the best in the school we get pretty popular. These three groups were rising and the Speed freaks was the biggest group so far.

There were already groups in the school like The Krazy Killerz, The Animal Maniacs, The Dragons, Shape Shifters, and more, two of these groups combined seeing as they had the same powers but other than that they all had their own little area of the school. The Krazy Killerz were a group of people who break you if you get in their way, The Animal maniacs and the Shape Shifters combined because well they shape shift, and The Dragons were a group of kids who could spit out Fire, Lightning, Iron, Wind, Light, or Shadows and it really hurt. The only way to either become a leader or combine groups is to win a fight unless two or more leaders decide to work together.

I and The Krazy Killerz leader were close friends everyone calls her murder because no one knows her real name. She is the strongest and the scariest of her group, but can be very kind if wanted. She can turn into and call upon Demons/Angles to help her in battle, with her work and stuff like that. Three more years pass and we’re in sixth grade and now I run the biggest group in the school and James’s and David’s groups are tied in second. David is dating a girl named Lola and James is after Abigale one of the fastest people in my group. I don’t have or want a girlfriend at this point but I have many options. Two more years pass and there is a new girl in town, her name is Emily and she can turn invisible.

One year passes and we are in High school, we are happy but worried that the groups will probably split up. This will suck but I can’t do anything about it, all I can do is hope it doesn’t happen. If we do split up then I’ll try my best to bring us back together. We’re in our freshman year and we already run into trouble, there are different groups here and now they think that my group is a threat. It truly is since it’s bigger than any other group and I’m the leader. I as the leader of my group have to go with James and David to the other groups to prove we are eligible groups and that we don’t play around. They send us each to another group leader who has the same powers as us and we have to fight that person. David’s fight is first, He has to fight someone named Joseph and they both know how to use their powers very well, they both pick up objects and throw them at each other, obviously they stop what is going towards themselves and they get irritated that they can’t win so easily, David calms down pretty fast though because he has learned that if he’s angry he can’t use his powers to well. Since he’s calm and the other guy isn’t, David’s over powers Joseph and smashes him against a wall with a table, David wins. James is up next, he fights a guy named Carl. James is stronger than him so he can just over power him and beat him down, but Carl knew this, so he just used martial arts skills to use James’s power against him. James found out he couldn’t win by brute force so he had to use strategy, something he’s not good at. So he looked around and noticed that David had set the room up without anyone else realizing, it looked like a football field play. James used this to his advantage, he ran towards Carl and started hitting objects on the way there, he was launching things towards Carl so he couldn’t pay attention to him, when he finally got to Carl there was two options for Carl, dodge a table and get hit by James, or dodge James and get hit by a table. He chose to get hit by the table, he chose wrong. James charged after the table and grabbed Carl by the throat, slung him to the ground and started to pound his face till he got knocked out. Next it was my turn. My Opponents name was Tyler, he was pretty fast but not fast enough, I am fast enough to make everything go into slow motion I even have my own dimension, just like The Flash, and I can go in and out of it because of my speed. I control everything in that dimension and I took Tyler there and asked him how he liked it, he was confused so I just took him back to where we were and I broke all of his bones in about two-hundred-and-six precise punches give or take a few. He fell to the ground almost instantly and I picked him up and told him it’s ok that he was a fast healer, if he was like me he was anyways. I dropped him off at the nurse’s office and came back before anyone’s heart even beat. We took over the other groups and they converged with us.

For the next three years in high school we all did our own thing and split away from each other. David goes to college and my and James join the military, I was in the army and he was in the marines. We all did what we wanted to do after school, David graduated college with straight “A’s” and becomes the world’s best Doctor. Me and James find out we have other powers, James is has super strength and he could fly. I have super speed and I have xray vision. Me and James both switched to different branches of the military, he joined the air force, and I joined the navy seals. We occasionally teamed up the air force and the navy seals, but it was rare.

Fifteen years later, WWIII breaks out because some nation launched missiles into the air at aimed them at the U.S. and the U.K. We blew up the missiles and since some nations were attacking the two most powerful nations the world has there were some problems. We went after the nations and alliances started breaking out and everyone started fighting. My team and I killed the leaders after fighting in the war for about 5 years.

One year later, me and James Retire from the military and go back to normal lives. We both end up going to out to dinner with the people we love the most and that we left behind. I am dating Emily now and James is dating Murder, her actual name is Makayla, and David is still dating Lola, actually they are married and are having a kid. The six of us all go out and have fun. I paid for the night out and we all went bowling and played pool. I get me a job working at Sony, because Play Station for life, and I started out testing games for them. It’s a fun job and I wouldn’t change it, I get a free version of the newest system and every new game that comes out for it. James is working for a construction company and he builds things like buildings, stadiums, parks, etc.

Five years later, I get married to Emily and we have two kids, a boy and a girl. The boy’s name is Nathan and the girls name is Adriana. My two children are the best things that have ever happened to me, you know besides Emily, and we live in a nice neighborhood, but our kids don’t have powers. Or at least not that they’ve shown. James and David don’t come around like they used to only on the holidays and they barely do that most of the time, but it doesn’t bother me since David’s a doctor and James is a Construction worker they don’t really have easy jobs like I do but they love their work. My nieces name is Isabelle and she’s only two years older than Nathan. James’s first child with Lola was stillborn and they cried so much I told them to just try again. They did and now they have Isabelle, they make sure that she knows that she’s loved.

To Be Continued.