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First Place Flash Fiction, Grades 7-8 Lily Wissler the Ten O'clock News

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First Place Flash Fiction, Grades 7-8 Lily Wissler the Ten O'clock News 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.
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