First Place Flash Fiction, Grades 7-8

Lily Wissler

The Ten O’clock News

Jane Matthers felt her traitorous lips lift into a smile, though she did not let it drop right away. Swishing around the remainder of the drink in front of her, Jane was leaning on her elbows, balancing on the edge of her bar stool. She was antsy for something, though she would never admit to what it was. That was a secret she’d take with her to the grave. If the undisclosed were an object, she would carry it between her painstakingly sanitized hands and clutch it in front of her carefully chosen cardigan.

Jane had been a cautious child. Picking and pulling apart her every movement. Her words had always been so premeditated that she often found herself saying things that belonged to future conversations. The quality showed now as she shushed her hiccupy-giggles with an ease that had been practiced for years.

Jane recounted the evening’s events. The screams played over in her head like her own personal soundtrack. She had felt comfort in the stabbing and slashing. There was neatness to it like a freshly printed dictionary.

Jane wasn’t as careful to withhold her giggles this time. She felt wise. She had taken care of everything, tied every loose end. What she hadn’t accounted for was the mess. Jane had to burn the cashmere sweater, but it was worth it. After the first spike of adrenaline, she knew it was worth it.

With restless limbs, and soaring spirits, Jane watched the TVs before her. Sport stations droned on about jumps and baskets. She laughed at their blissful ignorance. They didn’t know sport. Not as Jane did.

But just to the right of that TV was another tuned to a news station featuring a breaking story. The reporter was describing the ugly murder of notable socialite, Abigail Hues.

Abigail was Jane’s bully in her banal school experience. Abigail’s torments followed Jane through life like her own dark cloud. So Jane made it go away.

Jane chuckled again, and when the people around her began to stare, she shrugged and motioned at the screen replaying a basketball move.

Jane looked at the clock, and started to count down. Twenty-nine… Twenty-eight… Twenty-seven… When she reached one, officers came barging through the doors. She jumped with calculated fright.

Staring with an undecipherable look on her face as the police handcuffed a flabbergasted Henry Hues, Abigail’s husband. She watched with devilish delight as he was dragged from his bar stool, while his friends looked back at him with mirrored expressions. For Henry hadn’t heard of the homicide until the ten o’clock news.

If the police dig deeper into the crime, they might find a loose end that would lead them straight to Jane Matthers’ doorstep. Though they won’t search that hard, because the answer they want, and is easiest to prove, is being shoved into a black and white cruiser with screaming sirens.

Besides, who would suspect a soft-spoken, cardigan wearing, reserved librarian would commit such a crime?

Second Place Flash Fiction, Grades 7-8

Caitlin Bowling

The Weeping Willows

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there lived two weeping willows. At the time they weren't weeping willows, but dancing willows. The two willows lived on the edge of the bank of a pond. They were very close friends. The biggest willow was Willy and the smallest was Willa. They were both strong, tall, and proud.

Whenever Wind would come by, they would dance together. Wind would sing a beautiful tune as well. People would come and sit on the bank to watch them dance and here Wind sing. Children would come and climb the brances. Wind, Willy, and Willa were very happy.

One night, a terrible storm came upon them. Wind was sick and hurled violently. Suddenly, out of nowhere, lightening struck one of Willy's brances, and it fell and crashed on the ground. Wind moaned and howled for Willy was in pain.

The next morning, some lumberjacks came to the pond to rest and have a drink of water. They saw Willy's branch lying on the grass and knew he probably wouldn't make it. So they cut Willy down to a stump.

When the lumberjacks left, Willa cried and wept. Here strong branches lowed to the ground. Wind howled and moaned. Any every stormy night, Wind remembers what happened to Willy and moans and howls till the storm is over.

And that's how the Willow tree came to be weeping.

Third Place Flash Fiction, Grades 7-8

Mila De Spain

Date

I walk up to him. Yes, him. My stomach squirms, my feet try to make me walk away, but my friend nudges me back to my senses. She whispers sweet encouragements in my ear as I try to calm my racing heart and cool my flaming skin.

Deep reverberations enter my ears and bombard my brain with noises, my own breath, hot and scared and stuck in my throat like a bone, waiting for me to choke on it, my booted footsteps as they slap the ancient, marble floors. I feel faint, and yet I keep going. The only sounds omitted are spoken by the few peers still in the hallway, stretching time like gum to have a few more precious moments with their phones.

Goosebumps tickle my skin - I forgot my jacket in favor of the tee I love. The drafty hall propels me toward him.

His name on my tongue, I ask the question that no one answers truthfully: “How’s your day?” He responds, but I’m not even listening. I’m wracking my brain for all the information I know about him. What’s his middle name? His favorite color? Anything, anything that I can hold onto if he gives the answer I’m hoping he won’t. But he will, I just know it! It was stupid to ask, I should have known that!

My short fingernails dig into my shivering palms as I reach my hand into my right pocket, pulling out two small, grey tickets.

“Wanna see that comedy this Saturday? I-I managed to get tickets,” my voice shakes. I’ve wanted to see it for months, but I should have asked my best friend Sophie, instead.

Time stops like it does when my control on my fragile mind slips. I notice everything - the gentle curves of his fingers on the smooth surface of the locker door, the sound of his breath as it exits through his pink lips parted in a polite smile, his curvy blonde hair that falls in wavy locks over a tan-skinned forehead, but I can’t bring myself to gaze into his fierce, yet kind, hazel eyes.

My heart beats even faster, though I’m not sure how it’s possible, I start to sweat and my breath quickens. There’s no way he’ll come, and yet...a pinprick of hope remains. Pure determination fills my racing heart.

Time starts moving again, albeit slowly, and I see a smile created on his face, showing teeth. His well-cut nails drum quietly on his thigh. Short eyelashes flash as we both blink, him in kindness, and I trying to stop by eyes’ trickery. Tiny tears edge into my vision. Why would anyone smile at me?! A word forms, settling on his lip before being blown out into the air. The sweet sound is like being kissed and electrocuted simultaneously. My heart practically stops, and my breath grows shakier. I feel like weeping with joy. One casual, amazing word that changed the course of my life.

“Sure.”

Honorable Mention Flash Fiction, Grades 7-8

Autumn Kern

Writing Thing

I sat on the outer ledge of the house that my heart longed for, like I did every day after school. The cold stone digging into my legs, as my eyes floating over the familiar scenery. My heart distracted by the old houses in front of me.

This is the house that I’ve loved for months now. With its old stone work outside surrounded by the beautiful stone designs and old glass windows. The roof itself is my favorite and would certainly belong in a museum, bearing smooth, designed red shingles. Red as the blood in my veins. Only gliding, swirling edges could line the red roof top.

My lungs inhaled the fresh spring air, chest peacefully rising and falling. I stood to leave, grabbing my book bag and slinging it over my shoulder, taking one last glance at the house. I prepared to walk home, when movement caught my attention. The front door of the old house swung open and an old man sauntered out, a small letter in hand. In curiosity I stayed still, feet placed firmly on the pavement near the old metal gate.

He stopped a couple of steps before the gate and quickly opened it and a kind gentile aura surrounded him. He smiled gentility at me and began to speak.

“Hello” he began.

“I’ve noticed your love for this house of mine, so I decided to give you this, I hope its not to strange but have a nice day!” and with that he handed me the crisp envelope and slowly made his way back to the house, silently turning and waved before entering the house.

I stood there shock etching itself deep in my mind, making its way onto my face. But curiosity took over, my hand slowly opened the white crinkly parchment, inside contained a small note and a strange key. The note read as follows:

‘ Hello! I’ve noticed you seem to have taken a liking to my house, I’m very glad you are. My children don’t want to inherit this old house, and I have no one else to give it to, so you seemed like a good candidate. So I decided I’d give you a key. I’d like to get to know you better as person but I’ve decided to give you partial ownership of the house until my passing, after which you will have full ownership. I hope your day is well.

The note ended with a small neat signature and a phone number. My mind had never been so full of confusion and happiness in my entire life.

First Place General Fiction, Grades 7-8

Ben Kneblik

The “Death” of Tom Soiler

The year 1996:

A long time ago...well, not that long ago but more than a little while, I died. Yes, I know, it’s so tragic. Of course, some of you may be thinking: “But you are obviously still alive if you’re writing this” and yes, I applaud you for “mastering” the art of observation. I am still alive, and this is my story: The “Death” of Tom Soiler...and no, I’m not the character Tom Sawyer. That’s not me. My name is Tom Soiler, and this is how I died…

At the time, I was walking down a long, newly, paved road to the grocery store where I worked bagging groceries. I had taken the long route around the forest because the muddy bike trail that I normally took was a lot more squelchy than usual from last night’s rain. I could not walk the trail without getting copious amounts of mud on my black work pants. I cannot lie - it was a smoother walk than the trail to which I was accustomed. At this point I was attacked by a strange beast (who wishes to remain anonymous) and swallowed in an instant.

I have now changed employers. The company that I now work for does not employ me to bag groceries. It is a company called the Un-divided Resurrection Services or URS. It works like this: Targeting the brain, the company sends a message of request to the person that is dying and asks, “do you want to stay alive?” Of course, any person dying would likely want to answer “yes”, but what they don’t see if the long list of tiny words below the question. These words state that the person who is saved will be indebted to the URS and therefore under their service until the debt is paid off.

My case was special though. While I was inside the anonymous beast’s stomach, I received the message from the URS. Thinking that they meant I would be dying soon, I took the invitation to continue living. I was immediately transported to the receiving location located at the URS warehouse in the clouds above Utah. At the same time this deprived a very respectable, anonymous beast from its brunch. The URS company immediately put me to work sending messages to poor helpless people and animals that had gotten into the same predicament I had been in a mere few hours ago.

Twenty years later:

I sat glumly at my URS desk staring at an empty pot of dried dirt (a birthday present) that had once held a living cactus. I had kept it in good condition for five months before it had died unexpectedly, which was not my fault, of course. The reason for my plant’s untimely demise was a certain half-troll who worked in the compartment across from me. One day when he was drinking his favorite soda - Jalapenos galaxy’s devil - he thought my cactus was looking a little dry, naturally. He poured some of his drink on it and scorched the cactus away. He felt very bad for this and gave me the rest of his drink in apology; but when I sampled it, the heat of the beverage caused my heart to promptly quit. I was taken to the URS hospital and am now back at my desk after a long and delightful week of break.

The buzzer rang indicating lunch, and I slowly got to my feet. Plodding over to the lunch cafeteria I discovered Ned, my half-troll neighbor, cleaning up a drink machine that he had leaned against and accidentally demolished.

“Hey Ned,” I greeted.

“Hello,” he replied in a deep resonating voice.

“Why are you so depressed?” I wondered.

“Job long, me tired,” he responded sullenly.

I thought for a second…

“Look, Ned, I think I can get us out of here!” I hissed in a voice barely above a whisper. Ned’s eyes widened.

“How?” He asked.

“Well, it’s right in the rulebook I was reading earlier. It says that if you don’t actually die before they transport you, then you’re eligible to be set free and sent back to earth!” I hissed.

“You no die?” Ned whispered in a secretive voice.

“No, actually, and if I report to the manager, I might get a free walk out and come back to get you!” I regretted saying this last part because I knew that if I did get out then I probably wouldn’t come back to get Ned.

Ned giggled with glee. The thought of anything happening out of the ordinary here would make anyone feel happy at this place.

Alright, I thought, first I need to find the senior manager’s office.

“I help find the senior manager’s office!” Ned stated proudly. It was uncanny sometimes how he picked up on a topic even if you didn’t announce it audibly.

In a few moments we stood outside the colossal doors that led to the senior manager’s office. We had used the ventilation system to get there. In that corrupted work place, you couldn’t even issue a complaint because security was so tight.

A dull voice from a hidden speaker echoed throughout the hall. “Welcome to Senior Hall. If you would like to issue a complaint you may place it in the box on the left wall. It will be reported when the senior manager is un-busy. The approximate time that she will be available is in seven point five million years.”

I noticed that the complaint box had a sign over it that read: Exact Number of Complaints Issued.

The number below read zero.

“We no going to get a complaint to her if she no here till seven million,” Ned pointed out.

“Well then we’ll have to work around the rules a little,” I said.

~~~

The senior manager had been having a delightful day on her artificial beach. In fact her last 700,000 years had been this way up until a half-troll named Ned and a forty year-old man named Tom had broken down her front doors. The next minute, she was pinned against the wall by an eight-foot tall half-troll with breath smelling strongly of jalapenos.

“We’d like to issue a complaint,” Tom said

“Oh!” She replied, “of course.”

Ned released me and I ran to my desk to grab a pen and paper.

“Yes?” She said politely sitting down, pen ready.

“Well, it started when I didn’t die,” Tom said.

“Oh, you didn’t die? Well, I’ll look into it. Do you remember who messaged you at death?” She asked.

“No, how should I,” Tom wondered.

“I’m not sure we actually offer that information to our clients,” she added.

“Well then how am I going to be set free?” Tom exclaimed angrily.

“I’m sorry sir, but we can’t-” she tried to say, but Tom cut her off.

“You’re going to let me go back to earth or...or I’ll sue!” He said.

“Yah, that’s funny,” she said sarcastically. “You see, in the company contract it states that you can’t sue until your debt to the company is paid and since yours isn’t...you can’t.”

Ned roughly grabbed her and hoisted her up into the air.

“You’ll let us go or you go up to the ceiling,” he said to her. “Alright,” she said, exasperated. He set her down. Walking over to a filing cabinet, she took out two yellow folders; she retrieved two plastic cards, handing one to Tom and one to Ned. “These will open any doors outside the URS perimeter, but after that your on your own,” she explained.

A voice suddenly blared over the loudspeaker:

“Attention!” It said, “we have two law violators. They have not returned to work on time. If any employee sees Tom Soiler or half-troll Ned then they are required to report to the senior manager. You may return to your work, thank you.”

“Yah ok,” Tom said hastily, “come on Ned. Let’s go, quick.”

“Well, have a nice time while you’re out!” She called as they ran off down the hall. They reached the broken doors and raced out around the corner.

“The fugitives have been sighted outside my office,” she said into the microphone on her desk. “Do not be afraid to stun on-sight.”

~~~

I ran along side Ned down the plush, carpeted hallway with electric lanterns bordering the marble walls. The place looked like it could be part of the prince’s palace in Cinderella.

“The shipment port is up on the right side,” Ned said.

We reached the shipment port in less than three minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I knew that the senior manager had probably released some sort of assistance, but I didn’t care; all I knew was that I needed to get out of here and back to my house where I belonged.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” I said as we turned right into the shipment port and saw the great array of space aircraft.

The whole dock was made of stainless steel and full of shiny, silver aircraft with the URS logo on them. An observation deck lay inside the wall about thirty feet off of the ground and had a long glass wall for...observation, I guess.

“The one on the left,” Ned said pointing to an airship off to the side that was more elongated and sleek than the others.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Me used to fly that one for job,” he said.

“What did you do with it?”

“Fly it,” he responded.

“No, I mean why did you fly it?” “Flew for a king,” he said.

“No way.”

“Yes, he said he liked me because I didn’t need pay,” Ned explained.

“That’s so cool! Let’s take it,” I agreed.

Racing around the ship we saw that it was marked with the gold words “Star Racer”. When we reached the back we raced up a ramp to the ship that looked like something from Star Wars. We reached the top and I stopped in my tracks. The inside was furnished for an emperor with almost ten rooms!

“I didn’t know we were taking such a nice ship,” I exclaimed with joy and guilt.

“We no get caught in this,” Ned said.

“Why won’t we get caught?” I asked.

“This king ship; it equipped with good systems,” Ned said. He sat down in the drivers seat turning the ignition...It didn’t start.

“Oh no, what are we going to do now!” I exclaimed.

“I go fix,” Ned said.

Then we heard a voice from the dock.

“Now, now,” it said, amplified from a megaphone, “Come down out of there. We won’t harm you!”

I began to panic. The ramp was shut so we couldn’t exit even if we wanted to! That was when the engine started. The engine revved to life and then quieted down to a low purr.

“Yes!!!” I exclaimed, “Wow! This engine is silent!”

The wheels began to turn as Ned steered us forward and turned left towards the bay doors. I pressed the garage door opener that hung above the driver’s seat and the giant, metal, space doors opened.

We slowly picked up speed and flew out into the open air and clouds that reminded me of marshmallow fluff.

“Oh my God, we did it!” I yelled, hopping up and down in my passenger side seat.

“What we do now?” Ned asked.

“I’ve always wanted to see the moon.” I said, and we flew to our next destination.

~~~ Anything could happen in the future, and I knew that we would probably soon be caught. But this is just a lesson to all of you out there: If the message comes to you in your head when you die:

Do you want to stay alive?

Don’t say “yes.”

Second Place General Fiction, Grades 7-8

Audrey Kneer

My Best Friend, The Ghost

I thought Brianna would die peacefully in her sleep, not crushed between a car and a brick wall.

She was walking to school one day, just like any other day, going across the crosswalk. I remember the screeching of metal and the burning of rubber. I remember seeing an F-150 barreling down the road, the driver wearing a cruel smile, zeroing in on her, fast. She opened her mouth to scream but was cut short by the pickup truck ramming into her chest. I could tell her ribs were broken. I remember her long, red braid flying out in front of her. Most of all, I remember the shattering impact that made her black out. Forever.

She’s dead, I thought. The truck rammed into our school, and her blood left a dark stain on the tan bricks. I snuck a peek at the mangled body - and wished I hadn’t. The gruesome image still remained in my head, even though I closed my eyes. Police soon swarmed the area, and school has been canceled. Even though I knew she was dead, I needed to make absolutely sure before I give up. “Bri!” I called out. I plowed through the cops to see if my eyes aren’t tricking me. “Oh no. No! Brianna, please tell me you’re all right. Please, I’m begging you!”

“You know this person?” A policeman asks.

“She’s my best friend!” I paused. “Is she dead?” I can hear the fear in my voice. I already know the answer, but I can’t accept it, not yet. The policeman looks uncomfortable.

“Miss, we’re going to have to ask you a few questions…”

“My name’s Donna. Is she or isn’t she dead?” I howled.

The policeman looked at the ground. He whispered, “Yes. She is dead. But we need to know what happened to her. Did you see it happen?”

I scowled. “Yes. That lunatic over there,“ I pointed to the driver, “shot down the road, running a red light and hit her dead on when she was using the crosswalk.” The cop scribbled down everything I said. Then I pushed away and broke into a run. I run all the way to my house, my dark hair streaming into my face. “Mom! Dad! Brianna’s…”

“Dead. Yes, I know,” finished my mom, whose eyes were red from crying. She gestured toward the TV. It was turned on to the local news, showing pictures of Bri’s dead body. I stumbled into my room, trying to make sense of it all.

Of course she’s not dead, I told myself, this is probably a trick, another prank. Maybe like that time she changed all the school’s clocks to three o’clock. Then again, how could she have faked that body being hit, and there was all that blood too… “Donna,” I head someone say. But it’s not coming from somewhere in my room. The voice spoke inside my head, and it sounded like someone I know. Someone like…

“Brianna! Where are you? I’m gonna wring your neck once I find you!” I tore my room apart looking for her. She sighs.

“Donna, you’re not going to find me, no matter how hard you try.”

“Of course I’ll find you,” I paused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Cause Donna, I’m a ghost. That’s why I’m speaking in your head.”

I hesitated. “How can I be sure it’s you? How do I know my brothers aren’t playing a cruel trick on me?”

“You want proof? I’ll give you proof. Watch this.” The particles in the air started to solidify, making a human body, Brianna’s body.

“Happy?” Brianna asked, and this time the sound comes from her mouth. I open and close my mouth a few times. It’s definitely Brianna, with her tattered jeans and red sweatshirt, but she’s floating two inches off the ground and I can see straight through her, literally.

“You’ve, you’ve convinced me,” I stammered.

“I thought so. Listen, for some reason, I can’t move on to the afterlife. Maybe it’s because I’m supposed to do something, but I can’t put my finger on it. I have a hunch that it might have something to do with my killer,” she paused. “Donna, I know this is going to sound crazy, crazier than what’s already going on, but I think my murderer is Duncan Haroldson.”

“You’re kidding,” I managed a nervous chuckle. “Do you really mean the Duncan Haroldson that stars in like, a bazillion movies? Please, I’m sure he has better things to do than drive along the streets of Ohio,” I reason. Brianna gave me a piercing glare. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead person.

“I’m positive. You and I both can identify his face from more than a mile away. There’s more to it too; I think he meant to kill me.” Brianna looked at me to see if I dared question her this time. I kept my mouth shut. “I don’t know why he wanted to, but I’m sure my death is not an accident. The expression on his face showed he was determined to hit me.” I nod my head slowly taking in what she’s telling me.

“Okay, if Duncan Haroldson was the one who killed you, and if he meant to, then he can easily deny it. He’s a professional actor and a multi-millionaire so he could hire really good lawyers.”

“I know what I have to do to move on to the afterlife,” Brianna stated. She looks me straight in the eye. “I have to find out why he killed me and prove him guilty.” Then she dematerialized, leaving no sign she was even there. Sleeping is not easy when you know your best friend is hovering above you, even though you can’t see her. I eventually drifted off, and when I woke up this morning, Bri was relatively visible and she had something to tell me. “I figured out something cool about being a ghost last night,” she said, her eyes dancing with mischief. I rolled my eyes.

“What?”

“I can transport anywhere I want to, provided I’ve been there or seen a picture of it.”

“Cool.” I narrowed my eyes. “Wait, that’s not all you did, is it?”

“Nope! I transported to Duncan Haroldson’s mansion and got on his phone.” Her face darkened. “But I’m not sure you’re going to like what I saw. Yes, he meant to kill someone, but it wasn’t me, Donna.” She lowered her eyes. “It was you.”

“WHAT!” I yelped. “Whaddaya mean I was supposed to die?!”

“He texted one of his buddies that he was going to run over the second girl to cross the crosswalk. I’ve been the first one to cross for three weeks. I ran late yesterday, the first time in a long while. He said the ghost would help him with a bank robbery tomorrow.” She sank down to the bed and buried her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t be dead right now, Donna. I shouldn’t be dead.” I took a deep breath.

“I think we need to do something big to bust Duncan, Bri, and I have an idea. The text said he was going to rob the bank tomorrow, right? What if he kidnapped me, knowing you would come after me, but you didn’t cooperate, so he couldn’t have a clean getaway?”

“You want to get kidnapped so Duncan thinks he’s got what he wants, but he doesn’t. That plan is so messed up, so unpredictable that it just might work. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

Tomorrow did come, and school went by in a flash. On the outside, I acted normal, but on the inside, I was terrified. I tried to swallow my fear, to remind myself that this needed to be done. I found myself at the bank at ten o’clock, just like we had planned. “Bri, where are you?” She materialized right next to me.

“Right here.”

“Don’t do that! You gave me a heart attack.”

“Be quiet before he hears you,” she whispered. Her eyes grew wide.

“Donna, behind you!” Bri shouted. Too late, I realized what she meant. A gruff hand covered my mouth and grabbed my arm. Another pair of arms took Bri, even though she was transparent. “I can’t dematerialize!” She shouted in my mind.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? An accidental ghost and a girl that’s supposed to be dead,” said an unfamiliar voice. Duncan Haroldson stepped out from the shadows. The hand in front of Brianna’s mouth kept her from speaking out loud, but she shouted a string of swear words a mile long in Duncan’s head and mine. “Don’t bother struggling, ghost girl. His hands are covered in salt, which enables him to touch and hold you. Too much on you will burn, legend says. Shall we try it out?” He held up a large bag of salt. Bri’s eyes grew wide with hear.

“No, we won’t,” she whispered into our heads.

“I thought so. You, bring her inside and don’t let her go.” He said to her, his voice dangerously low, “Ghostie, you are going to go through the wall and disable the alarms. Take more than five minutes and your friend gets a bullet through the head.” The goon let her go, and she did what she was told, which unnerved me. Brianna was not the type to take directions easily. We entered the bank, and Haroldson’s thug kept me firmly in his grasp. Meanie #2 grabbed Bri back, but she didn’t struggle. We could only watch as Haroldson broke into the safes.

“Donna, I’m only talking in your head, those guys can’t hear us,” Brianna said. “Anyways, I called the police and tipped them off that a robbery was going to occur at ten thirty tonight, sort of as insurance. It’s ten twenty-seven, and it looks like Duncan’s finishing up. The police aren’t going to arrive in time, so when they try to take us outside, put up a big fight. Hopefully we can stall them long enough for the cops to come.” I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me! They tried to move us outside quickly. We fought hard, but then Duncan casually pulled out a pistol.

“I’m gonna tell you once, so you had better be listening. Mess with me once, I’ll shoot you in the leg. Mess with me again, I’ll shoot you in the head.” I stopped immediately. I could only hope that the police would be ready. When we get outside, my hopes soared. They came! My troubles were far from over, though. Duncan coolly lifted his gun to my head. “Try to shoot me and this girl dies,” he shouted plainly. I glanced at Bri; her eyes were squinted in concentration. I watched in amazement as the gun jerked violently and finally came loose in his hands, flying away.

“Mr. Haroldson,” a cop said, handcuffing him, “you’ll have to come with us.”

They questioned me for another hour, though they couldn’t find the second girl that was taken hostage. I wonder why. The authorities found Duncan guilty of Bri’s murder and robbing the bank, and he was sentenced to fifty years in prison. Once the cops dropped me off at my house and my mom was done smothering me in kisses, Bri visited me in my room.

“I’m moving on tonight, Donna.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. But I’ll see you again, Donna, I promise.” She smiled at me and dissolved for the last time.

Third Place General Fiction, Grades 7-8

Sophia Toth

Guess What Happened in Room 413?

It was a dark and stormy night, when the 7th grader walked into the school. His palms were sticky with sweat. He slowly crept into the abandoned building. The boy had felt uneasy, as he had found the building’s doors unlocked. A cackle of thunder boomed and the lights flickered overhead. He felt a breeze blow against the back of his neck.

How odd, he thought.

As he stepped foot in a classroom, the doors of the lockers in the hallway suddenly sprang open. As every item imaginable was flung from the clanging lockers, the boy made a mad dash for an open classroom window. He lept through the silver portal into nothingness.

Nick Nivergreen woke with a start. He peeled his bedsheet off of himself, drenched in a cold sweat. Oddly enough, he’d been having dreams similar to that lately. The dreams, always ending with him running through a classroom. Today was Monday, so Nick had to get ready for school. He bashed his alarm clock. It hadn’t even gone off. Nick was an early riser, but he liked to set his alarm just in case. He also liked to be prepared. Nick threw on a pair of clothes and went downstairs.

Nick’s parents weren’t usually up for another thirty minutes or so, and he had the TV all to himself. Nick was an only child, which he enjoyed, except for when none of his friends were home and he got lonely.

After eating breakfast, Nick went down to the bus stop. There weren’t very many other kids in his neighborhood and only one of them waited at the bus stop with him. When Nick finally arrived at school, he rushed in and quickly began to grab his things for class from his locker. He hated being late.

Nick’s first period was math. He didn’t like math, but he despised the teacher even more than the subject. Nobody liked the dreaded Ms. Jonsand. She’d been teaching since the dawn of time and would put you in detention for an untied shoelace! Nick always tried to be on his best behavior in her class. So far, he’d have yet to get a detention.

In first period, there were no incidents. But second period social studies was a whole different story. Not that the teacher was bad. He really liked Mrs. Shropshire. It’s just that strangely unlikely things had been happening to Nick in room 413. The first day the problems started, today, his pencil sharpener exploded in his pencil bag. That was always a real pain, because it dirtied up the inside of his new neon green case and spewed pencil shavings everywhere! Nick had just passed it off as bad luck. The next day, another bad thing happened! Through an open window, a wasp flew into the room! As the students danced around, trying to avoid the wasp, Nick pondered the meaning of his bad luck. That night, Nick had another of his strange dreams. This time, he dreamed that a swarm of bugs flew out of his social studies textbook and chased him around the school!

The next day, Nick opened his locker to find a nest of ants living off a moldy sandwich and his social studies textbook! Nick frantically tried to repair his book, but too much damage had already been done.

“I hope I don’t need my textbook for the rest of the year,” Nick said angrily under his breath.

As Nick threw the moldy sandwich in the trash can, he realized something. All of these bad things were connected! They all had something to do with Mrs. Shropshire’s room, unlucky room 413! He decided to bring up the matter at the student council meeting, which was tomorrow.

“Has anybody else noticed the strange things that have been happening that are related to Mrs. Shropshire’s room or subject?”

Everyone in the room just stared at each other. Nick rolled his eyes.

“Like exploding pencil sharpeners, bugs in the room, etc.?”

The student council members started talking all at once.

“Raise your hand!” Nick shouted over the commotion.

Every hand in the room was in the air. Nick loved being the president of the student council. As soon as the advisor of the club, Mr. Lucha, left the room, Nick put his plan into action. He signaled to the vice president, who just so happened to be his best friend, Colleen Storm, and told her his plan.

Colleen gave Nick her puzzled face, but finally replied with, “Let’s give it a go.”

“Is anyone going to go help out at the basketball game tomorrow night?” Nick questioned.

The student council was selling dog treats at basketball games to help raise money for the school. About half the club put their hands up.

“Good,” Nick decided, “If you want to put an end to this curse, meet Colleen and I in Mrs. Shropshire’s room during halftime.”

Just in time, Nick and Colleen rushed to their seats as Mr. Lucha entered the room.

“Discussing tomorrow’s fundraiser plans?” He asked.

“More or less,” Nick whispered under his breath. The next morning, Nick was a nervous wreck. Last night, he spent all of his time getting the supplies he needed for the fundraising booth, and for the curse-ending business in room 413. Some of the items that were in Nick’s bag included duct tape, ten combination locks on a chain, sidewalk chalk, a bag of Norse mythology and Silly String. Of course, Colleen was bringing some supplies as well. Nick managed to make it through the school day without:

1. Exploding from excitement 2. Getting a detention because of his social studies textbook that looks like it went through a blender and didn’t live to tell the tale The basketball game was right after school, and Nick was going insane in 8th period English. Finally, after what seemed like all eternity, the bell rang. Nick grabbed his backpack and headed for the gym.

“Colleen, wait up!” Nick shouted as he spotted her in the crowd, “Did you bring the candles?”

“YES,” Colleen grumbled, “Along with the FIFTY OTHER THINGS you asked me to bring.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said.

The two friends hurried into the gym to set up the dog treat stand. They still had to wait until halftime to put their plan into action.

“Yeah!” Nick cheered as the home team took the lead with a three-point basket.

Nick was so immersed, he was startled when Colleen whispered, “It’s halftime.”

Unsupervised, Nick and Colleen slipped away, bags and all. Nick and Colleen told the other student council members to cover for them while they were gone. Colleen jimmied the lock on the door of the building as Nick kept watch. They snuck into room 413 and saw four other kids waiting for them inside.

“How’d you guys get in here?” Colleen asked.

“I told Miss Annalise I’d forgotten something in my locker and she let me in,” answered a girl named Kateri, “Then I went around back and let these guys in.”

Nick was impressed. “Well, you guys all know what you’re here for, right?” He asked.

All four of them nodded.

“Nick,” said Colleen, “Take it away.”

“First, let’s set up the room,” Nick ordered, like a drill sergeant. Nick knew they only had fifteen minutes, maximum.

First, they rolled up the blinds all the way, and duct taped the seams of the windows shut, except for one. That window would come in handy later. All of the cabinets that had handles on either sides of the drawers, close together, were bolted down. The combination locks were slipped between the two handles and clicked shut. Colleen lit some candles and placed them strategically around the room. Ant traps were placed in the corners of the room and bug spray was squirted in the air. Finally, Nick used a piece of sidewalk chalk to draw a circle on the floor around the six friends.

“Stay inside the protective circle,” Nick warned. This was the part of the plan that could go terribly wrong.

Colleen took the one desk inside the circle and pulled out the velvet bag of Norse runes. She took out a clean white cloth and laid it over the top of the desk. Colleen selected three runes from the velvet bag, a casting of the Norns. The Norns are the Norse goddesses of fate.

Two runes lay face up. One rune lay face down.

The first rune, which represents the past, was the rune , Isa. Isa stands for a challenge and frustration.

The second rune, which represents the present, was the rune , Eihwaz. Eihwaz stands for hidden influences and reliability.

The rune which was flipped upside down, lay hidden. Nick held his breath as Colleen flipped the tile over, like the page of a book.

The third rune, which represents the future, was the rune , Wunjo. Wunjo stands for pleasure and glory.

Nick breathed a sigh of relief. Colleen removed the cloth from the table and put away the runes. Then she got out a tube of paint. In thick strokes, she painted the rune Wunjo on the desk.

For the next part of the plan, Nick used the classroom projector to pull up an artificial bonfire on the wall. Thunder crackled somewhere overhead. Nick pulled out a bag of charred hot dogs he’d salvaged from the trash can at his house.

“O gods and goddesses, please accept our offering,” Nick chanted. He threw the burnt hot dogs out the window that had the projected picture of the fire around it. It looked as if the hot dogs were being thrown into the fire.

Suddenly, in mid air, a bolt of lightning shot down the hot dogs. One girl screamed, but Colleen instantly clapped her hand over the girl’s mouth.

“Free us from this curse!” Nick continued.

A glowing golden aura lit up around the protective circle. Everyone froze for a moment, stunned, especially Nick. It seemed as if his plan had worked, but he couldn’t get too excited yet. They still had to get out of here. “Good job gang,” Nick breathed, breaking the silence. He lead the way out of the room, his friends close behind.

For good measure, as soon as he closed the door, Nick showered it in Silly String. Before he could stop himself, he sprayed Ms. Jonsand’s room across the hall.

Colleen rolled her eyes. “Let’s go guys,” she muttered.

The team arrived back to the sale booth just in time.

“Mr. Lucha didn’t even notice,” pointed out a boy named Max.

Nick looked at him gratefully and said, “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

Nick couldn’t wait to go home and get a good night’s sleep. He was exhilarated, but exhausted.

The next day, Nick was prepared to look as innocent as possible. All Nick could do was hope that the principal didn’t suspect he was the one who ransacked room 413.

Nick finished unloading his backpack and walked down the hallway. He peered into room 413 and stifled a gasp. The room was spotless. No Silly String, no duct tape. Nick had to find Colleen. He rushed to his homeroom. There she was, sitting opposite from Nick’s desk in the far right corner of the room.

Colleen whirled around in her seat and mouthed, Did you see the room?

Nick nodded, his eyes wide. What did this mean? Was the curse lifted? The two friends found out when they got to Social Studies.

There were no bizarre incidents during class. Nor were there any the next day.

A week later, still no incidents had taken place in room 413. Nick knew the job was well done. There was no more curse of room 413. The dreaded curse would never bother anyone ever again.

First Place Flash Fiction, Grades 9-12

Emily Bronwyn Hinkle

Yeti Another Problem

Christmas had come and gone. Above the snow, shimmering lights of Aurora Borealis danced across the sky. Icy wind caught up the white drifts, tossing them against the outer edges of the city where Lawerence was on patrol. His thermal uniform kept out most of the cold, but it wouldn’t be long before he’d need to report in. The human body could only take so much of the frigid Polar weather.

Candy cane resting between his fingers, the man continued strolling through the light storm. Of course, besides working in the merciless cold, taking this job had meant quitting his cigars. You couldn’t well be head of Santa’s security force and smoke. Still he hadn’t complained much. The pay was reasonable anyway.

He toyed with his weapon not noticing the hairy shape that loomed from behind a snow drift until it had launched itself forward. Its eyes alight with hunger, a snarl in its throat.

Lawerence turned, firing his gun and rolling to the side. He hastily pushed a button at his belt, signaling a distress call to the other security members.

The yeti roared, halting and clawing at its arm, more alarmed then injured. Lawerence stood, peppermint resting between his teeth.

“I was hoping for an easy night.” He remarked, eyeing the creature. “Do you know how much paperwork this’ll cost me?”

It growled. Lawerence glanced at his allegedly improved energy weapon, eyes darting back to the hardly singed patch of fur on the yeti’s arm.

Elves and their prototypes, he thought impatiently. He pulled the candy cane from his mouth and tossed it down. The Yeti dropped to all fours, saliva dripping from its teeth.

Lawerence switched his weapon’s power setting to maximum, far beyond the acceptable safety limit. He yanked away the failsafe feature he’d been tinkering with, quickly pulling the trigger. He stiffened as the the gun clicked softly in his hands, giving out a slow, dying sputter.

“Dang.” He muttered.

The yeti charged. Managing to grip Lawerence’s shoulder it pushed him into the snow. The man kicked the creature’s face, yelping as it dug its claws into his leg. He fumbled with the gun, pulse racing, adrenaline pounding. He aimed again.

A flash of blinding blue light snapped through the air, sending a wicked jolt down the man’s arm. A metallic taste sprung into his mouth. The yeti swayed, dropping Lawerence’s leg. Its eyes rolled back in its head, and it toppled forward.

Laurence realized what this meant all too late. The creature collapsed on top of him, crushing the air from his lungs.

“Oh for the love of the North…!” He gasped out, trying to push the unconscious monster away. “Ow…”

“Sir!” His fellow security members at last arrived, elves and men alike, weapons pointed at the Yeti.

“Someone get that thing off him!” one yelled. With an effort they managed to free Lawerence. He sat up, spitting a clump of white fur from his mouth.

“What…” he gasped, “took you all so long?”

Second Place Flash Fiction, Grades 9-12

Taryn Howard

Red Ties, and Cold Breathes

The sun kissed the moon goodbye, as you kissed her hello. This all happened while I kissed the cold air of heartbreak and depression. Jealousy ran through my veins, and pain through my mind. This was not what we promised would happen, this is not what I intended.

It was pretty much two years ago, when we met on the cold wet grass of high school. You’d been cliche and bumped into me, knocking each and every book from my locker out of my pale hands. I looked up to the ocean in your eyes. My breathe even caught in my throat. You laughed with that silly, too loud of a laugh, and picked up my books. I thought you were cute the way you had apologized.

It was almost 14 months ago, when you asked me out. A blush on your cheeks, and a determination in your voice. You laughed at my nervous giggle and hesitant answer. You told me I was cute, and how you’d liked me since we met. You wanted me to be your love. This was a new beginning to my life. Your hands even shook as you gently stuck a color bouquet in my pale hands.

It was 10 months ago, when I said I loved you out loud and you said it back immediately. It was after prom, and you had gotten a red tie even though I had a blue dress. You apologized and said you felt so bad. But it was okay, because I loved you and you loved me. Your lips grazed my lips for the first time then, as an apology.

It was 7 and a half months ago when you cradled me against your cold chest, and told me everything would be okay. My dog had been hit by a car, and instantly died. You told me, and in these exact words, “Lovebug, everything will be okay. It’s okay, and I love you forever and always. This will be a problem we get through together” I’ll never forget those words. They made me feel like a queen. I crowned you king.

It was about 5 months ago when I let you meet my parents. My mother took me behind closed doors and told me you were just a burden. That you were only a bug wrapped in a rose. I told her I hated her and she was wrong. We were meant to be. My father didn’t meet you. He told me I wasn’t supposed to be with someone so wrong when I was the right. My father told me I would get hurt, but I kept my mouth closed. You were my partner in crime.

It was 3 months ago, you brought me to your house just so we could snuggle together. You let me wear your pajamas and pick the movie. We stayed up all night just to talk about our life together. Together, we planned out our house and everywhere we would travel together. I thought you were my one and only, just as I was yours.

It was a month ago, you told me you never wanted to lose me. You spoke in the calmest voice, of how we would get married and spend our life together. How you could never even think of being with another girl. You made butterflies invade my tummy. This was going to last forever.

It was a week ago, when I laid eyes on the girl you were speaking with. But I was naive, narcissistic. I believed I was all you wanted. I was all you need. How was I supposed to know she was the one with the red dress all along?

It was just yesterday, when you told me you wanted to plan a surprise for me. You wanted to take those two years from my life, and protect them with your life. You gave me the same flowers as the first time, only they were blue.

Between all these months of small kisses and breathes of love, you got lost somewhere. Or maybe it was me who got lost. I found the blue of your eyes to be like diamonds, yet you found mine to just be gems of odd worths. Isn’t crazy how things turn around so easily?

I guess it’s today, and all I have to say is you lied. Between you and me, you never loved me. I guess, when my mom said there was something off about you, I should’ve listened. I guess when my father told me I was dating a player, and this was a phase, I should’ve been more aware. But I guess we all have to experience some heartbreaking truths. And mine is you.

Third Place Flash Fiction, Grades 9-12

Helen Sparrow

Penance

My beloved gives me up for Lent every year. No matter how longingly I look at her, how much I try to dissuade her, without fail, when she comes home with those ashes on her forehead, it’s goodbye, lover. Despite what she says, I hardly think I’m bad for her health, or getting between her and God. Haven’t I been her sweetest, most devoted companion, consoling her when she cries and reveling with her in moments of joy? I don’t care how fat she gets, or if all her teeth rot away. She should think about me. Why should I have to suffer, when I’ve done so much for her?

Doesn’t she ever think that it’s downright rude to just ignore a steadfast, faithful amigo who’s been with her through thick and thin, and never asked anything in return? Doesn’t she know how much it hurts for her to pass me by without so much as a glance, when I gaze at her so lovingly, wanting with my whole heart to take her to myself, especially on that particular day in February? Grrr. Couldn’t she make an exception for Valentine’s Day?

Every once in a while, she slips, and comes crawling to me unexpectedly. I welcome her with open arms. I cherish these moments. What I don’t cherish is the mortified look she gets on her face when we’re done, as if by returning to where she belongs she has committed some kind of sin. Most of the time she runs off crying, and if it’s early evening, she usually heads straight to her car. I know where she’s going, and I wonder why she seeks consolation in the rote words of a priest, when, if she let me, I could give her all the comfort she’d ever need.

I always tell myself to hang in there—it’s only forty days. But every year the same questions still run through my mind. Will she come back to me when this is all over, or will this be the year she decides she’d be better off without me—or at least, if she saw less of me?

But then, just as I’m about to despair, and I don’t think the questions can circulate one more time without pushing me over the edge, Easter arrives. That fateful morning, she runs over to me, drooling, well aware that her torturous fast is over, and without hesitation begins to tear my clothes off, moaning my name the whole time.

“Chocolate! Chocolate!”

First Place General Fiction, Grades 9-12

Dorothy Seabrook

My Other Side

Night.

He hadn’t known that she existed, at the Beginning.

He was a king glittering in golden armour, a living paradox: an embodiment of extremes. He was sunlight and wakefulness: burning so bright he could not contain himself - he set everything ablaze.

At his command, the ivy and the great oaks rose: twisting vines and great leaves unfurling, creeping up through loose, rain-soaked earth to bask, no, to relish in his glory. Noble Pines and Silent Birches alike rose to stand as grand and exalted officers in his vast army: stalwart and eerie in their unvoiced allegiance to him.

When he appeared, the world stood at attention: unable and perhaps unwilling, to shut him out.

And in his wrath, he was all fire and heat, causing streams to run dry. He was without mercy then. He beat down relentlessly, cut down those that he had risen, sucking up all moisture so that the ground cracked in the fervor of his ire, so that crops withered, and creatures fell, dead, in the dust and drought.

A wielder of both Life and Death. A tyrant, a beloved king, all in one.

Until night.

She came in a stream of darkness; cascading down onto Earth from the lily white stone that floated lazily in the abyss of space. She was a child in his world. An intruder in his realm. A new creation molded by the unknown and all knowing presence of their universe.

In a harmless spirit, she poked the clouds, and left a tender blotch of blooming blackness. All his life all he had known were the burning heats and garishly bright lights of his existence. He didn’t think it possible for the world to be turned into any other form. The young babe giggled, and poked the sky once more.

He grew cautious. Skeptical, as she explored her surroundings. She wasn’t graceful. No...she was the furthest thing from. Night tumbled along the skies and rolled across the vast waters. She jumped over the rocky mountains and glided along icy landscapes. She mingled with the trees, before kicking up the sands in his once scolding deserts.

Everything he created, she diminished. Everything that once shone in his demanding pigments of fire, she transformed into a soft array of dark blacks and blues. Yet her rule depended on him - on what he had accomplished, or what he had destroyed: she was left to resolve the state in which he had left the waking world, or, at times, when she felt his rage had been just, to continue the punishment: utilizing the afterglow of his waning presence as she saw fit.

It wasn’t until she arrived had he ever felt the unease of being challenged. The strange sense of having to share his world with someone that could not and would not bow before him.

She was a mystery.

So, he watched from afar in silent curiosity. And strangely enough, as hundreds of millions of years went on. His curiosity morphed into appreciation. That appreciation sprouted into love.

A hopeless love, that he knew could never be.

She was quiet. Surrounded by the sounds of chirping cicadas and the forlorn calls of the great wolves that occupied the distant mountains. She was not fire. Nor heat.

Night was his polar opposite; his other side. She brought tranquility and peace. Lulling the weary, the unfortunate, the exhausted, and wounded into a state of rest. Security. Safety. She was a time for relaxation after the hardships of Day.

But she would never be his.

She was beautiful. Enigmatic. Captivating everything around her. She had the clouds and the stars - silver, winking creatures - at her disposal. Comets and planets alike - they made themselves known to only her.

Quiet, gentle, and somehow poignantly, distinctly, sad.

And even if he could stay with her, as he had so wanted since the beginning of Everything, he knew, he did not deserve her.

Yet every time she reached out to relieve him of his position, a strange spark took over him. The spark of Twilight.

And for that moment.

That instant.

That fraction in time, they lit up the sky, together. She was there in his embrace. Her sapphire locks dangled over the crimson peaks and copper clouds. His turquoise palace collided with her violet rain as champagne pink kisses bubbled up in the midst of their diffusing sea. And he thought, it was only right, that they could set the sky ablaze in such a beautifully elegant way...But that was it.

All he got. Then he was forced from her presence.

And his heart ached. Dully, quietly: a subtle throb in his chest.

And he thought:

What a fool he was.

For loving her.

______

Day

For the first few millennia she had stewed in both admiration and irrational anger at his apparent ignorance about her very being.

He was brash, brazen, and sometimes, on occasion, dangerously violent. He was not afraid to blind those that looked too long upon him, not afraid to burn and destroy. To spark forest fires, that spoke of only his rage.

But it seemed as if she saw none of that as time endlessly flowed between them. No matter how many attempts to change, she could only see his beauty. His strength. His compassion and his hearty wealth.

She loved him.

And it terrified her. She didn’t know how or why she had come to feel such a way about him, and so fast. But she found herself enjoying his appearance in her dark chambers. And when he was gone, she found herself gazing at him with longing as he lit up his side of the world and flourished its life within.

He was their creator, their necessity. He was what they wished to never be without.

But what was she?

Unimportant. Worthless. Terrifying. They didn’t need Night. With Night, came nightmares. They didn’t need darkness. With darkness came fear. She was just a poor substitute for their true provider.

When Day came, they rose for him, putting on a magnificent show of their lives: their encounters, their loves, their thoughts, and their mistakes. He was never bored, never feared, never despised, and never alone.

But when Night came...they hid. They tucked themselves away inside their barriers of stone, dirt, wood, and even ice. Anything in order to escape her: the acute absence of everything that he was. She lacked the ability to burn bright. She had no authority, was calm and distant. Still, from then on, she waiting in breathless anticipation for the time when he would grace the sky, simply for the fact that every time he saw her, the most striking, gentlest smile would cross his face, so different from his usual facade. The kind of smile that would make her ink dark skin bluish gray.

He’d hold her, and a flush of warmth would sweetly drown her.

And for that moment.

That instant.

That fraction in time, they lit up the sky, together. She was there in his embrace. The kiss of Dawn.

And in Dawn, she felt Day upon her, killing all her thoughts of insecurity, sorrow, pain, and loneliness.

His flaming fingers tangled themselves in her chilled indigo hair. He pulled her close to gaze into her mesmerizing starlit eyes. A brilliant clash of gold and silver. She heard his voice - a soft rumbling on the breeze, nothing more than an enchanted whisper:

I missed you.

Her heart melted for him, and she felt herself giving into his poetic charm. Thousands of words hung stubbornly behind her lips.

I want to stay here, with you.

But she had to leave. She could not remain.

Though he would dawdle, it was only enough for them to speak briefly.

Her entire body ached with dreams and hopes of their future together.

She knew they would never be granted…

Because they were impossibilities.

She would never be able to claim him.

And even if she could stay with him, as she had so wanted since the beginning of Everything, she knew, she did not deserve him.

With every Dawn. And every Twilight.

They were one.

Only to be quickly torn apart. That was it.

All she got.

Her heart bled silently as she thought…

What a fool she was.

For loving him.

Second Place General Fiction, Grades 9-12

Mary Alice Gebhart

Haunted

“What do I do? He’s been waiting there all day.” Wendy glances back to the window. Visibly shuddering she faces her friend with a concerned look. She paces away from the window with hesitation and then back to it to look at the figure below.

“That’s creepy.” Hannah answers, not looking up from her phone.

“Of course that’s creepy. All he does is be creepy. That’s their thing.” Lee adds from where she’s perched on the top bunk above Wendy’s empty bed. She pulls her long black hair from it’s bun and runs her hands through it.

“I’m pretty sure they sign a motto.” Hannah adds. She counts off on her free hand: “Be creepy. Stare hollowly. Scare the life from passing tourists.” She shrugs, letting her phone fall into her lap. “It comes with the whole ‘being a ghost thing’.” She air quotes with a roll of her eyes. “Plus he’s new at it. He just may have forgotten how to move. Happened to the little girl, the Annie lookin’ one, who wanders the third floor sometimes. Even her pigtails froze.” Hannah pulls her own bleached hair into pigtails with her hands. Lee snorts with laughter.

“That was horrible.” Lee places a hand over her heart with some sympathy. “She blocked the hall to the intermediate lab. I walked too close once and my chi was wonk for a week.” She shivers dramatically.

“Her poor medium too.” Hannah’s demeanor turns somber. “The girl was her sister and she kept crying in the hall hysterically. You’re lucky Kyle’s a stranger.” She looks seriously at Wendy. Wendy stops pacing to look at her roommates.

“Oh my god, it was horrific.” Lee voice holds no humor now. Her hand falls from her heart and into her lap. She casts her eyes downward. “She was just standing there, tears streaming from her face as she called her name and told her stories. She was there for days.” They were quiet for a bit, silence enveloping the room.

“Well, knock on wood!” Hannah breaks out rapping on the frame of her bed with forced enthusiasm. “I’m sure he’s fine, ghosts have a warped sense of time.”

“I should go bring him back inside then,” Wendy makes up her mind and moves toward the door. “before Madame puts the wards up for the night.” Wendy grabs her jacket from the hook by the door. “Pass me my shoes.” Hannah kicks the tan Uggs at the foot of her bed toward the door. “Thanks.” Wendy says slipping her feet into them.

“Good luck!” Lee calls as Wendy pulls the door shut behind her.

She pads across the hall and down two stories before she gets outside. “Kyle!” She calls, hoping to get the apparition’s attention. The figure does not turn around. Wendy shoves her hands into her pockets as she walks over to the figure. It crosses Wendy’s mind that illuminated by the overhead lights with his hood pulled up, he seems like a cross between the cover of a morbid teenage romance and a picture hipsters scrawl depressive song lyrics across.

She reaches reaches him easily. Getting his attention is the hard part. Tapping the shoulder of an incorporeal being doesn’t exactly work. She bites her lip and claps near his ear. He doesn’t so much as flinch. Rubbing her cold hands together she walks around to his front. His eyes are closed, but his face is far from serene. Wendy flinches with sympathy.

The door flies back open and Wendy turned to see a five foot figure covered mostly in a large pink robe. Bunny slippers poke out from beneath the hem and a knitted hat is pulled snug on her head leaving just her dark brown eyes and slightly lighter skin bared to the cold.

She walks over with quick measured steps. “It’s a trance.” The newcomer says as she scans his face. Her voice is soft and muffled with a faint trace of a southern accent, Kenzi. Wendy knows little about her but that she’s been here longer than Lee, so at least four years. She’s also Kenzi not Mackenzie; Hannah was adamant about that. She looks to be about sixteen, so a year or less younger than Wendy. “A light one. He may need some help to break it.” She turns to Wendy.

“Uh, yeah.” Wendy answers. “I knew that.” She rubs the back of her neck with her nearly numb hands. “How do we break it?”

Kenzi seems to contemplate this question, looking up at the stars before deciding. “Well, I think the right word should work.”

Wendy raises her eyebrows. “Like ‘abracadabra’?” She laughs a bit. Just a month with a sort-of- dead tagalong didn’t even manage to scratch the surface of the supernatural.

“Something like that.” Kenzi says seriously. She tucks a curl of hair back into her hat. Wendy’s eyebrows fly to her hairline. “Did his name work?”

“No. Uh, Kyle?” The boy still does not move. Wendy looks at Kenzi from the corner of her eye.

“Huh, well then something else significant then. His last name or loved one’s names?” She shakes her arms to let the sleeves fall down her cold hands.

“I don’t know. He’s not very talkative.” Wendy fiddles with the a loose thread inside her pocket. She twists it around her index finger until the string snaps.

“Most ghosts just want to think, helps them cope and cross.” Kenzi keeps her eyes on Kyle this time.

Wendy nods, apprehensive. Her beginning medium classes at least drilled the basics of ghost whispering, the three ‘Cs’: care, cope, and cross. Kenzi’s silence stretches, making her uneasy.

“You’ll figure it out.” Kenzi assures. “Try a memory from the last month.”

“Sure.” Wendy tries to remember. She thinks back to their trip out to the docks last week. She steps forward a bit as she begins. “Kyle, it’s Wendy, remember last week-”

“No,” Kenzi interrupts forcefully. She rocks forward a bit with the word. “Tell a story. He doesn’t remember that’s why he’s lost. Reel him in with a story.”

Flushing with embarrassment Wendy starts again. “We went out to the pier.” She shifts from foot to foot as she talks. “The first time being off this tiny island since Madame brought us here last month.” She looks to Kenzi. They meet eyes and Kenzi nods. Wendy continues, “Lee was acting as if it was the best thing in the world. She was going stir crazy. The trip was pushed back a week because of our arrival, and Lee’d run out of her carefully curated chocolate collection two days before.” She smiles with the alliteration. Her expression slips closer to a wistfulness than worry. “I think she blamed me a bit, but she doesn’t seem the type to hold a grudge. Hannah planned out everywhere she was going to take me, she had a list typed out in her phone and everything. Madame lined the thirty-six of us up and onto the boat. It seemed like something out of Madeline: ‘Thirty-six little girls in two straight lines.’”

Kenzi huffs out a laugh. Wendy pauses with brief surprise, then continues with a smile. “I’d never seen San Francisco before. I’ve never really been out of Kansas before. You cracked a joke along the lines of ‘we’re not in Kansas anymore’. Though with our situation I’m sure you’re Toto. Little scottie I’m carrying around everywhere. You must have travelled a lot in your life. At least you seem like the type, plus your accent. I’d like to know how a teenage British boy ended up passing away in tornado alley. I hope you’ll tell me someday.” She pauses frowning. His face seems a bit more relaxed, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Well, Madame loaded us on to the ferry. The woman who drives- or whatever the term is for boats- she used to be a student here. The ghost that had brought her to madam had long since crossed. Hannah told us that. She’s sort of gossip-y and you told her so. She pretended she couldn’t hear you, and you got mad. She doesn’t mean it I’m sure. She’s just not used to rooming with a medium and her ghost. I get why you don’t like staying in the room with us then. It’s got to be uncomfortable for you.” She clears her throat and looks at her feet as she continues. “Uh back to last week, wow, I’m way off topic. We took the ferry out to the docks and went up to the pier. Lee made a mad dash for Ghiradelli's. Hannah tugged us off to the stores. I think you wanted to ride the carousel, though I doubt you’d admit it. We should ride it next time. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

“I like the one in Brooklyn better.” She hears a groggy voice say. Wendy looks up, delighted. They both relax and smile as he continues. “It’s an old one,” He pulls his hand out of his pockets to motion with his words. “It’s like a hundred years old or something. It’s gorgeous. My mother had us stop by there once. But I’ll hold you to a ride on our next trip out.” Wendy resists the urge to hug him. She bounces on her feet instead, filled with pride. She hears the door open. Both girl and her ghost turn to see the door fall closed with a flash of pink bath robe.

“Who was that?” Kyle asks.

Wendy gives the question some thought before answering with a smile, “A new friend.”

Third Place General Fiction, Grades 9-12

Jessica Salguero

Still

The pain was unbearable, the noise from the background faded away as I sat there at my desk while watching a stale presentation on the necessity of bees. I hated my environmental class, but it was the last class that was between me and my lovely bed that had plush green blankets and one of those pillows that has beads inside of them.

After what felt like eternity, the tedious ringing was almost like music to my ears. I crammed my books and worksheet into my already cluttered bookbag. Sprinting out of the class, I collided with some of the students on my way to the parking lot. I drove my crappy, black Toyota Corolla home. As usual no one was home, this was normal for me, my mother was a doctor so she practically lives at the hospital. I don’t know why but today feels like I haven’t slept in weeks, which is technically true. I practically knocked down my door and crawled under my sheets.

My slumber was soon interrupted by the angelic voice of Harry Styles, he was telling that I didn’t know I was beautiful, which was a lie because I knew. Looking down at my phone I saw that my neighbor/school acquaintance was calling me. I answered the phone right in the middle of Zayn Malik’s high note.

“Hello?” She never called me before. I mean let’s be real, who calls people anymore?

“Hey girl! Sorry for calling ya, it’s just that you didn’t answer any of my text messages,” that explains the call.

“Ya, I was asleep sorry about that, so what’s up?” This was so awkward I barely talked to this chick.

“Well my best friend is throwing this huge party and like I really need a ride. You could also stay for the party, it will be totes fun!” I never liked her, but I kind of needed some fun in my life. Right now my grades were complete shit and studying was turning my brain into mush.

“Ya sure, what time do you want me to take you?” I needed to start getting ready.

“Well, I texted you a while ago about this boppin’ party and I like, totally thought you saw it, but you were sleepin’. So ya need to leave now. Bye, be right over in a sec.” She hung up on me.

My phone told me it was around nine o’clock. Crap, I don’t have time to get ready. Whatever, I fell asleep in the clothes I went to school in so I would just wear that to the party. I checked myself in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look like a complete mess. I was wearing black skinny jeans and an army green crop top. My blonde hair was a mess so I quickly combed my fingers through it. I also applied some black eyeliner so my blue eyes would pop.

The doorbell rung and I snatched my keys from the table where I had tossed them after I got home from school. I opened the door while slipping on my black flats.

“Ready to party?” She asked while examining my appearance. From the way her nose scrunched up I don’t think she approved of my look. I mean she was wearing a sequined blue dress that barely cover half of her boobs and I think if she bent down that “dress” would quickly become a shirt. So, I didn’t care if she disapproved of my outfit choice also I didn’t have time to make any improvement.

We drove in complete silence, the only time we talked was when she was telling me directions. By the time we had arrived it was almost ten o’clock and the party was in full swing. Drunk teens scattered around the barn, where the party was being held.

I didn’t know anyone at this party nor would I like to. My neighbor had left me as soon as we arrived, so I decided to grab a beer and sat on a couch that, I’m guessing the host, had placed outside under this pine tree. Kids were dancing and doing other stuff that I was not ready for yet. I drank my drink slowly, I was only having one because I had to drive home. Some time had passed and I was still on this tattered, old, orange couch. I decided it was time to leave and my neighbor could find another ride home. I don’t even know her name, I think it’s Stephanie or something that started with an S, or was it R for Ryan. Hmm. Standing up from the couch a drunk guy attacks me and started to kiss my neck.

“Get off! Go make out with a girl you actual have a chance with!” This guy looked like a creep with his daunting green eyes and black hair. He was also very pale which added to the his look, he looked like a guy was getting ready to murder you.

“Bitch!” He spat at me. He then proceeded to throw his beer at my face.

Great.

I ran inside the barn house and swam through the crowd of sweaty, hormonal teens in order to find a bathroom. I tried to use the toilet paper to wipe some of the beer off my shirt but it was a lost cause. The door to the bathroom was opened and slammed shut.

“Get out! I’m still in here” it was the disturbing guy from outside.

He locked the door and gave me a chilling stare. For some reason I couldn’t move or tell him to get out. His stare was so dominant that I felt as if I needed permission to do anything.

He walked up to me and touched my chin with his forefinger while his thumb caressed my bottom lip. He leaned down to peck my lips. The hairs on my body stood up. I shiver and my eyes closed. I would not open them till it was over.

Nothing. I felt nothing and I remembered nothing. Nothing. I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling. I hadn’t slept all night. I don’t remember the drive home or anything really. For now all I saw was the shadow on the ceiling and how it was appear then disappear. From the number of shadows I saw walking across my ceiling, I was in bed for three days. I never got up. I didn’t want food or needed to go to the bathroom. My phone kept ringing, it was most likely my mother calling and asking why I hadn’t been at school for three days. I know I needed to get up but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything.

I finally decided I should get some water. My throat was dry and sore. When I returned from the kitchen I noticed the flowers that were next to my bed on my stand. The sunflowers had lost their petals from the lack of attention. I stared at those flower for what seemed a like a good hour. The tears slowly fell from my eyes. I laid under my sheets hoping they would protect me.

The days have flown by rather quickly. I’m failing all my classes because I don’t do anything. I just lay in bed and when I feel well enough, I go to school.

Today has been the worst day ever. I woke up and started to vomit. Not much because I rarely eat. My mother doesn’t think I have the flu, but I don’t think it could be anything else. I went to school today, hoping it would make today better. I was wrong.

After lunch I started vomiting again, but this time I saw a floating tampon in the toilet. It had been three months since the party, and my monthly visit hadn’t arrived. As I stared at the tampon that was swimming in my vomit something happened. I didn’t feel nothing anymore. Hate started to course through my veins. Hate for the thing that was growing inside of me. Reminding me of the thing I was trying to block out.

I couldn't get rid of the problem because I couldn’t afford an abortion and I can’t ask my mother. I guess I’m stuck with this nightmare. But I did get free check ups at my mother’s hospital. I left the school and drove straight there. The nurse examined me and told me to get ready for the ultrasound. As I laid there all I could think about was ways to get rid of this problem. My thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound. It was almost sounded like music.

“What’s that sound?” I turned to the screen and saw a little alien.

“It’s that baby’s heartbeat,” my baby heartbeat sounded like a symphony composed by Mozart.

Months blurred together as my stomach grow more each day. I started to eat and go to school again. I somehow was getting my life back. I felt again. I felt hope and love. I got ready to receive this gift that had helped me get my life together. I decided to name her, Hope and I decorated her room with pink sunflowers painted all over the walls. The crib was my old white crib that had been use for many generations. And my baby was the next to use it.

Life was good. I tried to eat healthy and took vitamins. This baby was my answer to my problems. She would be my reminder of the horrible thing that happened to me, but she was also the one who saved me. That night I promised myself to shelter her from all the suffering in the world. The next day was a blur. I was rolled into a room filled with doctors and nurses. They kept demanding me to push and push. It was hard and painful. I felt like I was trying to push through a brick wall or something. I saw the doctor use a pair of what looked like tongs, and the baby slip out. My angel had finally fallen from heaven.

I was wrecked. I laid my head down and looked at the mirror that was on the ceiling. My eyes started to close. The doctor was carrying a blue/purple object. Before, I could make out what it was I fell asleep.

When I had woken up the first thing I wanted to do was see my baby. The nurse said my body needed rest and the doctor would come later. All I want is to hold my baby and take her home. But, I did feel like someone ran over my body with a truck.

The next time I woke up the doctor was in my room. He was sitting on a stool next to my bed.

“Good afternoon sleepyhead!” He was extremely bubbly from some odd reason.

“Can I see my baby now?” I was growing impatient and growing worried. I’ve been in this stupid hospital for two days.

“Well, somehow your baby got stuck inside you. Everyday the baby grew weaker and weak and eventually she died. The baby was stillborn. They was some damage done on your body so that’s the reason you’re in pain right now, we are going to prescribe some medicine and help you feel better I’m very sorry we did not catch this sooner,” the doctor rose from his stool and left my room. This time I felt pain. The pain from my body and the fact that it died inside my stomach.

Life went on, just without me really participating in it. I would wake up, go to school, take my medicine and try to sleep. The medicine helped take away some of the pain, which was losing battle everyday. Tonight was different I felt pain was unbearable. I swallowed a handful of pills and slowly let the pain drift away.

Honorable Mention General Fiction, Grades 9-12

Alexis Weaver

Thistle Bush

-The Ending-

It may seem odd to you to begin a story at the end and end the story at the beginning, but it’s fitting for Avdell’s life. If you read from the back of this book to the front, you would have a complete story in chronological order, and if you think about it no one can spoil the ending. As you read I ask you to think about this one question: Does anything ever really have an ending?

-Chapter 4-

Avdell stared into the murky water, looking at her ragged reflection. Her lip, split open like a popped seam, and her bruised eye, barely open, proved her strength. She staggered a bit as she tried to sit down. Her chest felt compressed, from shortness of breath, and exhaustion, but mostly fear. She had just fought to the death, with...She couldn't even think about it now, it was too surreal. Her victim hadn’t stayed for long; right after the fight was won, her victim dissipated into bright sparks of light. She was alone now, as alone as anyone can be, without friends or family. The way she saw it, she was always alone, even when she was surrounded by a slew of people. No one understood her, no one understood her situation. To be honest, she didn’t even know herself. Her past was like a dirt smudge on a window, you knew the outside was just beyond that window, but you couldn’t see a thing. That’s how Avdell lived her life not knowing her past. All she knew was she had one. Advell sat under the bridge, holding her tarnished pocket watch in her cold bony fingers. Life everything else, Avdell had no idea how she obtained this clock. It was a beautiful sight, with it’s gold trim, thin silver fob chain, and on the front, an engraved image of a thistle. Inside, silver clock hands kept the time, gears could be seen shifting, and roman numerals told the time. Avdell heard a sound she looked behind her but saw no one.

She ran.

She tripped over a rock on the ground, causing the pocket watch to fall from her hands, and placing itself under her foot, crushing it. A bright white light shined into the dark night sky, from the pocket watch. She fell in.

-Chapter 3-

Avdell fell from the somber sky into a thistle bush.

“Ouch!” She yelled stumbling out of the bush. She looked around her; she was still under the bridge, it was still twilight, and she was still alone. “Fighting is futile, you won’t win.” Avdell jumped at the sound of this voice, she had heard it not long ago. She hid behind the bush, concealing herself. A silhouette ran by, then another followed. Avdell squinted in the darkness, trying to see the faces. For some reason, this scene was familiar to her, as if she was real living her life. The two shadows faced each other, fists clenched. Avdell’s mind sparked!

“I remember this fight, but how could I be seeing it now?” She whispered to herself as the two shadows lashed at each other. One of the shadows stepped into the light of a nearby street light, exposing Avdell’s porcelain skin. She moved out of the light quickly as the other shadow lunged at her viciously. The light now shined on her face revealing another Avdell. Hiding behind the bush, Avdell watched the fight remembering herself winning against the robot of herself. They fought a bloody battle, the past Avdell was bleeding from her right arm, her dominate hand. Bright green and white sparks were flying from the robot’s neck. Avdell took a rock from the ground, the size of her small palm but sharper than the thistle bush she had fallen into moments ago, and bashed into the robot’s head, causing a massive gap. Avdell watched behind the bushes, amazed at what she saw. This had already happened to her, but how was she re-living it? The past Avdell stoon unsteady over the robots body as it disappeared. She walked over to a nearby puddle, staring at her ragged reflection in the murky water. Behind the bushes, Avdell was so astonished by everything she had seen, she stepped backward. Once again her pocket watch found itself under her foot, be crushed once more. The same bright white light shined from under her foot, engulfing her in.

-Chapter 2-

Avdell fell onto the hard cold ground. Rubbing her throbbing head, she looked around her for the pocket watch, but it was nowhere to be found. She found herself crouching behind a metal desk, filled with test tubes, vials, and all sorts of mechanical contraptions. She looked around the room, dark and barren, letting her eyes adjust. She stood up surveying the room, which smelled like a sterile hospital. Avdell picked up a test tube, containing a purple iridescent liquid of some sort, shaking it lightly. She had no idea where she was this time. Was part of her past home to this bleak laboratory? A slight murmur was heard from the other side of the glass door by another metal desk. Avdell inched closer to the door cautiously touching it lightly. The glass door had a frosted image of a thistle bush. Why do I keep seeing thistle bushes everywhere? She thought to herself. She turned the handle slowly opening the door into a brightly lit room. Two men in crisp white lab coats were working at a large metal desk. Avdell shut the door quietly but it seemed the scientist couldn’t see her anyways. She walked up to the desk looking the shorter man with blonde hair in the face. He looked at her or more of through her. She turned around and saw a poster on the wall of a graph, he must have been looking at.

“I don’t think this will work,” the shorter blonde haired man speculated. The other man was bald and of average height. He looked over a clipboard in his hands as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Well, why not Artie?” Artie walked over to the large window and peered inside. He looked away after a few seconds thinking very methodically. “She’s getting out of hand.” Artie gestured to the window. The bald man didn’t seem to believe him and kept looking over his own notes. Artie sighed looking at the window again.

“Look, Ben, we need to,” He looked to Ben trying to find the right words. “Fix this.” He said at last. Ben finally looked up from his clipboard with a almost sad look.

“You want to kill her? We’ve worked for years with her. We can’t just stop now!” Ben shook his head refusing to listen to Artie another second.

“No, I want to erase her mind and send her out on her own. Then maybe we could make a robot of her.” Artie looked hopefully at his co-worker who didn't’ seem persuaded.

“Artie, robots are not the same as what we have here.” He said shaking his head, but it seemed his co-worker was not going to give up.

“They are unpredictable, not like robots.” Artie’s last plea didn’t seem to be making an effect on Ben. “Fine, you continue with this and see where it takes you! I on the other hand am going to make progress with a robot.” He through his pen on the ground and walked out the door with the frosted image of the thistle bush. Ben stared at the door for a minute almost expecting him to come back. When he didn’t, Ben looked back at his clipboard and continued with his thoughts. Avdell walked cautiously towards the window. She wanted to see the “she” they were talking about, and Avdell was almost certain who it would be. She looked in the window, and took in a sharp breath. Inside, she saw herself running on a treadmill. Her face was gaunt, her eyes blue from tiredness, and wires were hooked up to her entire body. Seeing herself this beaten down drew tears to Avdell’s eyes. She touched the window lightly as if her past self could see her. Why was I being tested on? She thought as she watched fatigued past self run.She looked back to Ben who was now looking at the window himself. His eyes were soft and sad as if he cared for her. Avdell wanted this memory to stop. She wanted to go back to the present. Just then a glint of light coming from a tile on the floor caught her eye. She kneeled down looking at the depressing slate flooring. One of the tiles appeared to be shifted just so you could see a glint of light. Avdell grabbed the loose tile giving it a hard tug. She fell on her back unto the hard cold ground with the tile in her hands. Setting the tile aside, she looked into the hole that was left. What she saw she couldn’t believe. There sitting in the little dark hole was the tarnished pocket watch that miraculously kept appearing. She reached in and grabbed the battered gold watch holding it gingerly in her soft hands. She held it close to her ear to hear the ticking, but it didn’t make a sound. Avdell shook the pocket watch open then twice until she hit it on the tile floor. All of a sudden the ticking returned and once again the bright light emanating from the clock. She fell in.

-Chapter 1-

This time, Avdell fell onto the same tiled floor, knocking herself unconscious. When she awoke she was still laying on the floor. She sat up rubbing her throbbing head. She looked down at her hand to see she was still holding the pocket watch.

“How?” She whispered in astonishment. She smiled and gripped the pocket watch with all her might. She stood herself up to see she was still in the laboratory but for some reason it looked nicer, more clean. The same metal desk was in the middle of the room as well as the big window. Avdell was scared to look in the window, afraid to see her past self again. But when she looked her past self wasn’t there, the room wasn’t even lit. She turned around just as a person in a lab coat walked in. The man was of average height with brown hair, but for some reason he seemed oddly familiar to her. Avdell couldn't see the man’s name tag, but she was sure he was Ben. He seemed younger and less burned out than she had seen him before. He wore a great smile as his co-worker, Artie, followed in behind.

“What is it you wanted to show me?” Artie asked. Ben pulled out a small bile of a iridescent purple liquid.

“Well, you know the other day at lunch when you were talking about being able to see into the future?” Ben asked Artie.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I think I can make that happen. Just hear me out.” Artie shrugged his shoulders taking a seat in one of the stools. “I was thinking of ways to make a serum that could do just that, but the thing is I need past memories. So, a couple of days ago when I was walking I saw an orphan on the side of the road freezing from her lack of coat, hat and gloves. I took her in and extracted her memories.” Realizing what Ben had said, Artie jumped out of his seat with a grin.

“If this works Ben you’ll be a genius! Where’s the girl now?” Ben flipped on the light to the small room on the other side of the large glass window. Avdell looked at her past self sleeping soundlessly on a gurney. She couldn’t take it anymore; her past was too much to take. I was a normal person, a normal teenage girl! She yelled in her head as if anyone else could hear her.

“Take me back to the present, watch! I don’t want to see anymore!” She yelled at the pocket watch as if it would obey. When the watch didn’t release it’s beaming light she banged it on the tile flooring.

“Take me away from here!” She cried banging the battered watch repeatedly on the cold ground. After six bashes to the ground, she hurled it at the wall. She watched as the pocket watch hit the nearby wall with a sharp metal sound. She slumped to the floor and cried for a moment. She could hear the scientists talking over her past body in hushed tones as to not wake her. As she cried her a rush of memories flooded her mind. Images of her reading in a beaten up chair, swinging on a tree branch, and sleeping in a lumpy hard bed swelled in her mind. She stopped crying and tried to remember everything. This was not hard for her to do since they had been lost to her for so long. She remembered the many foster homes she lived in, the horrible dinners she ate every night wishing she had a home and the feeling of loneliness, but most of all she remembered herself, five years younger than she was now, sitting on the side of the road freezing to death, after being kicked out of the foster home for being too old. I would have died if that scientist hadn’t saved me. She thought to herself. Ben was like the father she never had. He talked to her, unlike everyone at her foster home, he fed her nice hot meals, unlike the slop on a plate from the home, and he even let her get a puppy, a white husky with two different colored eyes. Artie was never nice he thought of her as an experiment, not a person. He was the one, she remembered now, that erased her memories and sent the robot out to kill her. Now having her memories back, Avdell realized what a gift she had, always knowing the future. Just at that moment the pocket watch sprung open and light shined brightly for the last time. Avdell knew this was the last time. At that moment she remembered the laboratory’s name. The one that gave her a new life or one could even say a new beginning. Avdell walked into the beams knowing where she would go or more of return to to thank a very kind bald scientist, Thistle Bush Laboratories.

-Beginning-

Everything has to start somewhere, but not everything has to start at the beginning. Of course you can see now why this book had to start from the end because the end wasn’t really the end. Everything has an end, but does it really? New things are born everyday because old things end. It’s the way life works. As I said before, no one can spoil the ending for you, but not because you’re staring at the end because the end is just another beginning. So I ask again: Does anything ever really have an end?

Honorable Mention General Fiction, Grades 9-12

Rose Tyler

Out of Mind

(1944)

I watch him flash his smile at every soldier who passes. He puts a reassuring hand on their shoulder while he looks them straight in the eye, and says, “Good luck. It's tough out there. We all know that by now.”

I secretly wait for him to do that to me, to give me courage. When he reaches me, he says in his warrior voice, “You seem like a trustworthy man. If anything ever happens to me, I want you to take care of me. No one else. Do you promise to listen to my last words? Heaven knows they'll be uttered out here.”

I nod ferociously, silently praying that Chris's last words won't be uttered out here, with only me to hear them.

(1999)

Puddles of rainwater collect in the cracks of the sidewalks. Neon flashing lights appear distorted in their watery reflections. I am quiet, standing alone along one of these streets, while all the pedestrians throw their money into little slots and jump for joy when they ring. I can hear their cries of desperation outside. I am standing on a corner. My foot taps frantically at the ground. Maybe if I tap hard enough it will break. I try to picture the sidewalk shattering into a million pieces below me, and then I envision myself being swallowed by the Earth, my screams enveloped by the thunder of collapsing ground. But all they would hear are coins smacking against metal. They would only listen wildly for the sound of more coins jingling in their pockets.

I shove my hands in my pockets to keep them from shaking. A dog barks a little ways away. He looks like a Dalmatian with his ivory fur and black splotches. His throat quivers as he bellows.

“Hush, boy,” I whisper. I don’t know what to say to comfort him, but his low bays pierce through my mind like a bullet. I feel myself slowly sinking into a migraine. “Hush.”

I hear the sound of a door closing sharply and when I turn around to see, I collide with a man’s fist. I taste the metallic thinness of blood, and I feel my heart freeze. A man stands before me, his hair is disheveled and a muddy brown color. His face is unshaven, and he is so close to me I smell the bitter scent of alcohol on his breath. A violet vein running through his forehead pulses with the rise and fall of his chest. I feel a shot of pain in my own face but the strength of shock limits it.

“Don’t you dare touch my dog, Mister! If you go near him again you won’t ever see the light of day another time!” he howls. His words are slurred and hard to understand, but the threatening glare in his eyes makes me cower beneath him. His hand holds my shirt in a tight, twisted grip, forcing me to lock eyes with him.

I am not a strong man. My arms are pale and thin; my abdomen is a sheet of paper. I do not drink. I do not gamble. I am the quintessential opposite of this man. Yet my life rests in the mercy of his fist, the fist that can beat me until I am nothing but a lump. My life has reached this point too many times. I tremble in his arms, but eventually, after several prolonged seconds, he sets me down and snarls.

“I didn't touch him,” I whisper under my breath after he's already moved back into the casino.

I quickly jump back and smooth my jacket and pants, liking I'm trying to remove every stain of the man. I turn my back to the dog, and fortunately his relentless barking stops.

A heavy envelope in my breast pocket is weighing down my chest. I know what it contains, but I refuse to look at it. I would only cry and smear the words written cursorily in black ink. I shove my hand into the pocket to make sure the letter is really there and not just part of my imagination. But I feel the rough paper envelope stiff from the thick sheet of paper inside it. I finger it delicately, not wanting to crease the paper or leave a mark.

And once again I wait. I wait. Breathing. But shallowly. I feel hardly alive. I don't want to be alive. Not when he's dead. How can I possibly be alive when Chris is dead? What am I compared to him? Nothing. I was the gangly, wimpy boy, and he was the tan, robust man. At the same age I was half as wise as him. He could lead effortlessly. He would have had no problem tackling the drunk gambler. He could have gotten him into a deadly headlock. Why is he dead? He shouldn't be.

I breathe in deeply to distract myself from these thoughts. They only leave me screaming. Screaming. The people inside scream. I hear them hollering and the intense ring of a winning machine. Click. Click. Screams. Ring. The cacophony from inside overwhelms me. I sink to my knees, my hands covering my ears. My mouth gasps, heaving from the depths of my stomach.

Suddenly, I feel a light tap on the back of my shoulder. My head shoots back in fear. A man stands before me. His hair is cut closely to his scalp and his face is riddled with wrinkled scars. His lips fold into a gentle smile, and he stuffs his hands bashfully into his pockets. I recognize him instantly. I just don't believe him. I don't believe he is here. He can't be.

“Chris,” I say breathlessly, my words floating on the border of nothingness.

His gentle smile widens, so I can see his pearl-like teeth. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and stretches them out to me. I clumsily fall in his embrace, squeezing him as tightly as I can, praying he won't disappear. I feel his firm hands wrapped around my back and a warm tear slip from his eye to my neck.

I reluctantly pull back from him. I don't want to let go of him. If I do, he might vanish. He's taller than me, so I look up to look into his eyes. I fumble in my breast pocket for the letter, knowing it must be in there. Chris doesn't speak, his eyes just rest calmly on mine. My hand grasps the stiff envelope, and I hurriedly, awkwardly yank it out of my pocket.

“You can't be here. I have this.” My voice trails off as I hold up the letter.

He motions for me to open it. I tug at the sealing glue and take out the folded paper. I quickly unfold and glance at the monotonous words typed blandly, lacking emotion. My eyes breeze over them, soaking in the words I have read time and time again. It is a notice of death in combat.

But when I glance up, Chris is walking away from me. He's already made enough progress that I run to catch up with him. I run so fast I quickly lose my breath and begin gasping wildly for air. I can't reach him. I am stumbling miles behind him. He moves slowly, but he's gone so far.

“Please!” I cry. “Come back. You were here! Why did you leave?”

I fall to the ground in the middle of the street. The harsh ground scrapes my knees. I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes, crushing the tears that keep falling. Gone. Gone again. Gone.

My mind feels invaded, like someone cut straight through it, emptying their unwanted thoughts into it, until all I can hear is the relentless pang of grief. A bright light shines abrasively at me. I see it coming towards me, waiting until it can get me in its grasp. It's growing, like a car's headlight moving closer, but not attached to any car. Then, within a few painstaking seconds, it envelopes me.

~

My eyes open with a start. They feel difficult to open. I bring my hand to my head, and feel thinning hair covering a rough scalp. The veins in the back of my hand seem dark and thick, and the skin on top of them is spotty. I'm lying in a hard bed with bleached white sheets. Tinted bright lights shine down on me. A little boy with sandy hair and freckled cheeks sits beside me in a chair against the wall. He's beaming at me with a toothless grin. He seems six years old, a beautiful age.

“You're awake, Grandpa,” he says in a delicate voice.

“Was I sleeping?” I laugh. “And I'm not a grandpa. I know I have a couple gray hairs, but I'm not that old yet. Don't even have kids.”

“You were sleeping. And yes, you are a grandpa. You're my grandpa. My mom says sometimes you forget things. But you're her dad.”

“I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong guy, bud. Would you mind telling me where I am?” I ask.

“You're in the hospital. My mom said that you had a really bad attack. That happens to you sometimes. It's pretty scary,” the little boy said, rocking back and forth in his chair.

I stare at him, bewildered. “I don't have attacks.” My mind flits to images this boy couldn’t even understand. “I'm not in the war again!” I’m not having any attack.

I’m shrieking, nervously clawing at the blanket covering my legs. “And I'm not in a hospital! I told you, I'm not your grandpa. Now scram before I call the police!”

He hurries out of the room, but he doesn't seem too anxious. I toss the blanket off my legs. Over to my left sits a picture frame on a book shelf. I try to stand, but my legs are unreliable. I slowly balance my way over to the photograph. It's a black and white image, a picture of two men on a battlefield. They are dressed in full uniform, beaming as they appear to be heartily singing together. I recognize the man on the right. He is myself; I am him. The man beside him, singing, is Chris. His face is clean and smooth, and his mouth hangs wide open, frozen in a time I can’t conceive of now.

I clench the photograph in my hand. My grip tightens and I shudder just before I throw it to the ground, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. Then I fall back against the bed and sob.

(1945)

We're sitting on a log cut in half eating corn on the cob. Our tall legs bend at the knee, so long they brush against our ear lobes. It was just mail time. Everyone’s elated to receive letters from home, as nearly everyone does. I sit beside Chris, my buddy. I just met him a couple weeks ago, but I think we've both shared every detail of our lives to the other. We laugh. We’re each twenty years old, in love with someone far away. I watch bits of corn spray out the sides of his mouth as he throws his head back laughing.

A photographer comes near us. With his tall camera, he approaches. One eye is scrunched up close to the lens as he angles the camera to fit all the soldiers. His open eye blinks when the camera emits its bright flash. Chris and I are in the middle of laughing from his chewed corn spewing all over me.

The photographer's furry upper lip curls into a smile at the sight of us.

Chris leans over next to me and says quietly, “We ain't ever gonna forget that one. Keep it, Jim. After I'm long dead. Don't lose these memories. They’re all we got.”

In the next moment there was something like a thunderous explosion. I never saw him again.

Honorable Mention General Fiction, Grades 9-12

Hunter Hicks

The Journal of a Pan-Dimensional Traveller

Experiment: The Asterisk Project

Purpose: The purpose of The Asterisk Project is to enable a human being to [INFORMATION REDACTED] also refered to as [INFORMATION REDACTED].

Entry:

Let me get one thing cleared up before you begin asking yourself, “Does he work for the government?”. No, I don’t work for the government. I’m an independent, what we in the field of inventing call ourselves when we don’t have an employer. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, or at least I haven’t, seeing as you can’t respond to my questions or anything else that is written in this journal. My name is David Malcom, I’m 27 years old. I invented The Asterisk Project. Oh, and I’m sorry for redacting that information about the purpose of the project, if you knew what it did before I showed you, it wouldn’t be as cool.

Today I am not testing, not experimenting, I’m putting it to use. Today is Tuesday, July 27, 2032, the time is 6:51 Am, and today I become the first ever living organism to travel to a different dimension. The process was very long and boring; numbers, calculations, errors, blah, blah, blah. You are either reading this because I succeeded, or because I failed, fingers crossed.

Entry #2:

Well, I’m alive. And in a different universe, so that’s a plus, I think. This universe consists of humans living inside their dwellings. But the strange thing is, they live only inside their dwellings, they never come out. I’ve tried to talk to some of them but they’re scared. But what of? All I know is that I’m going back to my universe.

I’m back, just minutes after I left. It’s interesting, I was in the scaredy-cat universe for about an hour. But apparently, the hours are converted into minutes back in my universe, which I will be calling Earth Prime, from now on. Speaking of time, I did some calculations and discovered that I have a five hour window of time before the crack in the fabric of the universe to Earth Prime closes. Which means that, at most I have five hours to spend in other universes, or else, I’m trapped jumping universes Indefinitely.

Entry #3:

I jumped again. I should have learned from my attempt at becoming a pro poker player that I have terrible luck. In this universe, dimension jumping was invented in the 1970s. The man who invented it travelled and gave the secret to every dimension he jumped to. Many travellers came to this universe by chance, just like me. This caused the government to regulate any and all jumps. And guess what? There’s a five hour cooldown period between arriving in this universe and leaving. Remember the whole, only have a five hour window to get back to Earth Prime? Yeah, big problem. I’m currently locked in a jail cell with only this journal and my pen. For five hours. Without my jumping equipment.

One hour into my five hour confinement, and I’ve tried begging the guards to let me go and to let me go home, that I’ll never come back. They wouldn’t hear it. I tried to tell about the five hour window, and that I came to this universe purely by accident, They wouldn’t hear it. According to them, criminals and terrorists have used that excuse before. I Just Want My Family Back.

Three hours on the inside. I’m regretting not bringing pictures of my wife. Her name was is, Alice. I can’t talk like I’m never getting back to Earth Prime. I am getting back, I have to.

Four and a half hours in and I’m getting out of here. A female guard believed my story and risked her job to let me go early. I’M GOING HOME!! I ran far away from the holding building, for safety’s sake. And I jumped. The deadline was 12:53 PM, I jumped at 12:18 PM. Twenty-five minutes to spare. I’m home. I’m gonna hold off on jumping for a while.

Entry #4:

It’s been a month back at home. I’m not so sure it’s actually home though. It started when I went to work. My boss wasn’t there which is odd because he’s a stickler about being on time, then my co-workers began calling me sir. This was strange as I’ve never been called “Sir” before. After all of this I realized, I am the boss. I gave myself the day off to think it through. I told myself that it was a fluke and that, in my tireless efforts to complete the Asterisk Project, I was promoted and just forgot about it. But soon, more oddities began to occur. I was playing a trivia game with all of my close friends around me, when the question, “Who was the 16th president of the United States?” Immediately I knew the answer.

“Abraham Lincoln!” I said, quite fast as I fancy myself a history buff.

All of my friends began to look at me strangely. I asked why I was being looked at like I was “from another dimension” eh, eh. Ok that’s stupid. But anyway, my friend Rick said that Lincoln was Vice President to Stephen Douglas. They said I practically idolized President Douglas. Now I was worried.

I rechecked my calculations for the Earth Prime window. I discovered a number that was meant to be positive, but due to erasing it looked like a negative. This number skewed the time of the window. Care to guess when it really closed? Four-and-a-half hours. I’m in the wrong universe.

Entry # 5:

I’m jumping again. I have to. Alice Prime is alone and probably scared that her husband hasn’t come back. I’ve told Alice 2 and she doesn’t want me to go but I have to. I told her that her David is probably out there jumping and is as alone and scared as I am. That convinced her to let me go. I’ll probably never find a universe this close to my own. But I have to try. The machine is on, I’ve said goodbye, and I’m ready to spend my life searching for Earth Prime. Let’s Do This.