from Remember the Flowers Winner (Poetry) of the 2021 Stone Soup Book Contest All I knew of the cold was the grocery store— the frozen food aisle where we shivered in our T-shirts while Umma piled gluten-free pizza into our cart, the cardboard covered in frost, disguising the image of promised tomatoes that would thaw and bake in the oven, their warmth exploding in your mouth on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Window of Color We felt we were frozen, you and I, as we passed packaged peas and hardened mango chunks. We huddled beneath our shopping bags, wore them like capes, ignoring the amused smiles of warm, sweatered customers. We distracted our shivering minds with images of chocolate and vanilla ice cream shining from the tops of lids, an image denying reality. We begged Umma to pick one up. The scoops seemed to smile at me. She passed right by the ice cream section— it was cold again. Remember the Flowers was released on September 1, 2022. You can order the book at Barnes & Noble or through our Amazon store: Amazon.com/stonesoup.
Highlight from Stonesoup.com
From the Stone Soup Blog Smartphone Addiction: One Middle Schooler’s Perspective When I look at my classmates’ faces, absorbed in their smartphones, they look eerily expressionless, even hollow. Their eyes look tired and droopy; their faces look drained and sulking. They look like they have no choice. It is almost as if they are compelled by some unseen force to use every second of the time limit their parents have set on their devices. I cannot help but think of them as stuck in quicksand. They are not even trying to get out of it! I think my fellow classmates, and most middle school students and teens, are addicted to smartphones. Smartphones have taken over our society. According to 2019 data, 53% of American children own a smartphone by the time they are eleven. Eighty-four percent of teenagers own a smartphone. I have read many news reports in which researchers claim that smartphones can be fun and educational for children and teens and help them socialize with others. As a middle school student who sees the negative impacts of excessive smartphone usage in school, I strongly disagree with these claims. Parents must take the responsibility because they are the ones who choose to give their children smartphones. Some parents think that by setting time limits and parental controls they can control their child(ren)’s phone use. I think this just makes things worse. Students in my school use all the time they have on their smartphones until their time limit goes off. They seem to be waiting for that time in the day when they can use their smartphones; they are the first thing they reach for at lunchtime. This machine seems to immerse them. Sometimes I imagine them turning into machines. Why do parents give their children smartphones? This question has been haunting me, and I think I finally know the answer now. Parents want to have a good relationship with their children, so they give them everything they want to make them happy. Parents may also think that their child is growing up and they deserve to have a smartphone. It is possible that their child is nagging them to have a smartphone because their friends have one. Some parents want their children to be able to communicate with them or contact them. Some others may think that there are many advantages to using smartphones, including playing games, socializing, having fun, and learning. Yet others may think their children are not susceptible to these kinds of behaviors. Others might think the disadvantages are minor. I do not think any of these are good enough reasons to give your child a smartphone because of all the severely negative impacts it can have on a child. It breaks my heart to see children not being children, and students not being students. Children are missing social and academic experiences in school. They are getting into patterns of behavior that are hurting them now and will hurt them in the future. I urge parents not to give their children smartphones at such a young age. Give children their childhood back. This is an abridged version of the original article. To read the full piece, go to Stonesoup.com/young-bloggers/. About the Stone Soup Blog We publish original work—writing, art, book reviews, multimedia projects, and more—by young people on the Stone Soup Blog. You can read more posts by young bloggers, and find out more about submitting a blog post, here: https://stonesoup.com/stone-soup-blog/.
The Hero and the Dragon
A hero prepares to slay a dragon—but the dragon has other plans The hero had not signed up for this. When she had set out on her quest, sword raised, ready for an adventure, and eyes sparkling with ambition, she’d never predicted that she’d arrive here: standing in a dragon’s lair, facing the beast’s flames. The hero attempted to draw her sword, but it seemed far too heavy for her to wield, weighted down by the curdling fear in her gut. Still, she lifted her chin and said to the dragon, “Prepare to meet your doom, you vile creature.” The dragon, who was a beast of great culture and respect, took personal offense to this statement and said, irritated, “I don’t understand why dragons always have to be vile creatures. Tell me, hero, what makes me so evil that you have no other choice but to smite me down?” Baffled, the hero groped for a reply. “Because, well . . . you’re a dragon. Dragons breathe fire and serve demons and eat people.” Sigurd Faces Fafnir, the Dragon The dragon raised an eyebrow. “I breathe flames to cook; I have never seen a demon in my entire life; and I find humans to be quite crunchy, so I’m a vegan. That may be a perfectly fine reason to rid this world of me and my all-plants diet, but my point is, you’re making inaccurate assumptions about dragons.” The hero’s eyes narrowed. She knew of the tricks dragons played and knew not to be fooled by their words. “Just because you use flames to cook, it doesn’t make them burn any less dangerously. Just because you haven’t seen a demon doesn’t mean you don’t serve them. And you may be vegan, but how would you know what people taste like unless you’ve devoured them before?” She found the strength to lift her sword and raised it, baring it at the dragon. “You, dragon, and all the others like you, have an evil, blackened heart. And so I must vanquish you.” The dragon sat down, bracing its large head on its arms. Its interest was aroused; no hero had ever talked back to it as fiercely as this one. “So what if my heart is dark? Everyone was born with the same heart beating in their chests. Mine was pure once, and it still can be. Perhaps it is not so different from yours. Is that not enough for you to spare my life?” The hero’s sword faltered. She hadn’t come on this quest to discuss philosophy with a beast. She hadn’t even come here to slay it. Once again, she hadn’t signed up for this. But she also hadn’t anywhere else to be, so the hero told the dragon, “Even if you once were good, you have done things so awful that it has turned your heart black, and that is why we are different.” She paused as a thought occurred. “However, people can be open to change. If you apologize for what you have done, if you regret your horrible deeds, maybe I will see that your heart can be pure again and spare your life.” The dragon tilted its head to the side and looked intently at the hero. “Why should I say sorry for doing what a dragon was made to do? The world didn’t say sorry when it made me like this—when it made me a creature for brave heroes to come and slay because they have nothing better to do.” It smiled an odd, almost sad smile that showed its rows of razored teeth. “If you’re looking for a villain to blame, hero, I suggest blaming the world. It is the cruelest of us all.” The hero’s sword faltered. She hadn’t come on this quest to discuss philosophy with a beast. The hero mirrored the dragon’s smile. “I find it easier to fight things I have at least a little control over, dragon.” “I think,” answered the dragon, “that a true hero does not fight because it’s easy. A true hero fights because she believes in what’s right.” “Those heroes often find themselves burnt to a crisp by dragons,” the hero—but maybe not so much a hero anymore—said. She sheathed her sword. “I’m late for supper, dragon; I must be on my way.” She turned to go and paused. She hadn’t signed up for this, had she? And yet . . . “Maybe I’ll come over tomorrow for tea?” The dragon, for the first time in a long while, blinked in surprise. And then it laughed, a dry sound that sounded like the crackling of flames. “I would most enjoy that.”
Twinkling Lights
Panasonic Lumix ZS
Strings of Fate
A wizard regrets his spiteful decision to change a young boy’s fate In a place where unknown darkness lingered beyond wooden shelves, where books flew and pages of paper fluttered like flowers, where clocks ticked and chimed far away and the lanterns were strung with glimmering strings, a wizard sat in the center of the floor. His aged hands hovered over a luminous globe. With a flick, the clouds cleared from it, revealing a boy with messy hair and untied shoelaces trudging down a sidewalk, kicking at a rock. The boy reached his mansion and was welcomed home with hugs and kisses. The wizard summoned a book with a wave, a mean gleam in his eyes. He deftly pulled a glimmering string from it, then wound the string around his fingers, again and again. He twisted and weaved the boy’s fate until he was satisfied, then tied the string to the book and watched it fly off into the darkness. Years passed. The wizard’s hands began to tremble. His eyes, which used to be so brilliant and mischievous, were now wise and knowing, full of somber weight. One day, a book unexpectedly flew into his sight. The string inside was blackened at the edges. The wizard reached for it. Once the string was pulled out, the globe cleared, revealing the same boy, except now a youthful teenager. He was taking care of a coughing parent while working on homework under a dim candle. The teenager kept on writing, but soon he began crying, tears gleaming like crystals as they landed on his papers in large, wet circles. Drift The ticking and whirring and rustling and creaking in the room all suddenly stopped. For the first time in centuries, it was utterly, heavily silent. The wizard’s horrified expression was fixed on the teenager. His sobs echoed from the globe to fill the whole room with their sad, layered volumes. The wizard rubbed at his eyes, then his wrinkled face, before he began to wring his robes with shaking fingers. Abruptly he got up with a speed he thought had been long lost to time. The wizard grabbed a new, sparkling string and began to weave it into the blackened one with careful precision. The noise in the background started up again, softer, but growing louder as the puddles of pooling sunlight seeping in from windows began to move toward the west. Finally, when soft, sleepy moonlight brushed against the shelves, the wizard was done. He tucked the string back into the book and sent it off. In the globe, the teenager awoke from restless slumber to find a parcel at his doorstep. Inside was a bottle full of pills and a wad of money. Immediately he jumped with delight and fed the pills to his sick parent. The wizard watched with contentment at the teenager’s happiness. He then dismissed the sight from the globe. He fell asleep on the floor strewn with fates.
I
Acrylic on cardstock
Mountain in the Tundra
As I climb up the mountain, I choose to be alone. As I brave the cold, I feel quite bold as I encounter a heaping Boulder. It is a rock the size of a meteor, and I am colder.
Sigurd Faces Fafnir, the Dragon
Pencil
Water Droplets
Acrylic
Bound for Somewhere
from Remember the Flowers Winner (Poetry) of the 2021 Stone Soup Book Contest When, at ten thirty you took to Turning the knob of the piano bench, Raising it to your height, And sat on the tattered black, On the wooden floor upstairs, I thought, A good day to play Going on vacation. From the cabinet top, I took down The round blue hatbox trimmed with white ribbons And painted ladies on the side Watering potted flowers In little brown straw sun hats Under the summer sky. Inside I packed ten velvet hats. I took the green one out and put it on. Someone’s something bought it Once upon a time At an antique store. While you repeated Hanon Downstairs, I packed Then lugged my box of hats Onto a white Ikea chair And boarded my Steam train Bound For somewhere. Remember the Flowers was released on September 1, 2022. You can order the book at Barnes & Noble or through our Amazon store: Amazon.com/stonesoup.
The Curtain Rod
from Remember the Flowers Winner (Poetry) of the 2021 Stone Soup Book Contest One day she came to school clutching a long black curtain rod, leaning against it like a cane, looking like a wounded soldier. Her foot was injured— that was all. Hurt in a fall from a towering step stool. We sat on the red-brick wall by the playground, wondering what on earth we could play. Recess faded away from our minds as the rusty red wall became a canoe. Hand in hand we rowed our boat, dragging the hollow curtain rod through our sea of wood chips. The game went on all recess. We visited Italy, Spain, and Korea. Two days later I climbed a yellow step stool. Longing to be like her, I mimed a fall and begged my mother ardently for a metal curtain rod. Remember the Flowers was released on September 1, 2022. You can order the book at Barnes & Noble or through our Amazon store: Amazon.com/stonesoup.
Sunset Waves
Acrylic
