Our December 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #278 (provided by Stone Soup intern Sage Millen), which asked that participants craft a story around a family heirloom. Our submitters wrote about a variety of items passed down between generations including rings, a bracelet, a deer figurine, necklaces, a wooden fox, and a piano that unleashed a demon. Some of these heirlooms were desirable–giving their original owners’ descendants special powers–while others were cursed. As always, thank you to all who participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Honorable Mentions, listed below, and our Winners, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “The Box” by Nandan Chazhiyat, 12 “A Music Memory” by Chrysanthi Constantinou, 13 “The Holgate Gauntlet” by Yuna Jung, 10 “The Path to Atlantis” by Ethan Lee, 9 “Twain’s Pencil” by Gargi Mondal, 11 Honorable Mentions “The Chandler’s Revenge” by Matilda Carliner, 10 “The Locket” by Angelina Chen, 13 “The Wooden Fox” by Wilson Chen, 11 “Santanic Symphonies” by Andrew Khawam, 13 “Cursed Earrings” by Taeeon Alya Kim, 12 The Box NANDAN CHAZHIYAT, 12 Fear was clouding my mind. My parents had just told me that they wanted to talk to me, and every bad thing I had ever done was in the forefront of my mind. As I walked into the office room, an unusually weighty silence filled the room. I looked inside and…I was in the wrong room. I slowly walked over and opened the door. “Hey, we have something for you.” I was confused. I thought they were punishing me, but they are giving me something? “What is it?” I spluttered. “As you know, we have a…rather large family.” my mother begins. “And we have many things passed down, but this one is rather special,” she finished. My father takes out a small black box, curved and twisted with engravings and chips in the material. As I reach out my hand to take it, I feel a coldness surrounding it. I grab it in my hand and instantly, a dark energy seeps around my hand and through my arm there’s a sinking feeling. I shiver. I feel…different. “Normally it isn’t that violent!” my mom says. I shriek in surprise as I feel a coldness curving through my body. “GOODNESS GRACIOUS GOLLY GEE WILLIKERS!” my mom screams. “What just happened?” I quiver. “That was a spirit, not evil. It helps you. It’s lucky in a way.” “HOW IS THAT THING LUCKY?!?!?!?!?” I scream. “IT ALMOST KILLED ME!” “It will teach you, just listen to it.” And so I listened. And I learned. And I got better. What did it teach me, you ask? It taught me to fight. “Good job!” my mother exclaimed when she saw my practice. “You are getting better! You are finally ready to start the REAL training.” “Real training?” I asked in a meek voice. Suddenly, I am pulled into a swirling tunnel of lights. I am thrown roughly onto the ground. A feeling of bile creeps into me and I throw up. Black surrounds everything except a small island I am on. I look up and a pair of white eyes stare back. “AHHH!” I shriek, crawling back on the hard stone surface. “Do not be afraid,” it says. “IT’S A LITTLE HARD TO NOT BE AFRAID WHEN YOU GET VIOLENTLY YANKED INTO THE VOID ALRIGHT?!?!?!” I scream. “You need to test your skill,” I hear. The voice seems to come from everywhere at once, and every voice is a symphony in this one. And so I am not afraid. And I train. And train. And train harder. I have been hunting someone. He steals from the poor and gives to himself. He kills ruthlessly, and leaves no potential money-grabbing opportunity alone. And I know where he is. As I walk into the small, broken door of the museum, night encroaches on me. He seems to have disabled the lights and security. Clever. I hear the shuffle of feet. Shh shh shh shh. I walk toward the jewel room. And I burst into it. There he is. The man I have been trailing for so, so long. You see, after my training, I fought people who did evil. And this person is one of my greatest adversaries. “You can’t escape now,” I crow. “OOOOOOH yes I can!” He crows back. And he runs. The power of my box-spirit pulls me forward, grabbing the back of his shirt. He turns and punches me in the gut. I block his fist and ram his elbow into his face, hurting his arm and face. He tries to go for a left hook, but I grab him and flip him over; however, he manages to kick me in the face. I step back, reeling from the blow and send a flurry of punches his way. I hit a few, but he dodges the rest. I kick his leg and pull it out from under him, forcing him to the ground. I kneel on him, ending the fight. Or so I thought. He rips reality, and suddenly, I am falling. The air whips past me, striking my cheeks and pulling at my skin. He grabs me and punches me so hard I seem to fly. The concrete street is still hundreds of feet below me, but I know in my mind it won’t be far away for long. I feel a cold shiver in my arm, and I turn just as he knees me in the face, causing a burning, stinging pain in my nose. I try to punch back, but I’m too slow. In what seems like an hour but is only a few seconds, I fall. And fall. And fall. I try to turn, to flail, to do something, but I cannot. My shirt tears from another brutal punch, and a flash of light as he teleports away. The punch shoves me back, so I have a few more seconds. In that second, I know I will die. SPLAT
Flash Contest #61, November 2023: Ask ChatGPT to write a short story; then write the sequel–our winners and their work
Our November 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #278 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants use ChatGPT to generate a story and then write their own sequel. Submissions this month were set in fascinating worlds. Some were desirable with mountains of candy and lush gardens and others were terrifying with swarms of rats and evil villains. Explorers traveled back in time, a girl breathed life into a snowman, and two friends became K-pop stars. As always, thank you to all who participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Honorable Mentions, listed below, and our Winners, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Detective Henri Leclerc” by Rayansh Bhargava, 10 “The Dark in the Light” by Courtney Fong, 12 “The Sequel to The Elf with Royal Blood” by Chaesung Kwon, 10 “The Rise of Rob” by Taj Malinis-Jackson, 10 “Crime of the Future” by Emma Zhou, 10 Honorable Mentions “A Strange Encounter” by Angelina Chen, 13 “The Avalanche” by Vihaan D, 6 “The Resurrection Stone” by Mia Goldschmidt, 10 “Time Travelers” by Dara Jin, 10 “Reverse Evolution” by Luke Tang, 13 Detective Henry Leclerc RAYANSH BHARGAVA, 10 The Incredible Detective Amidst the turmoil of World War II, in the heart of occupied Paris, there was a detective whose intelligence shone like a beacon of hope. Detective Henri Leclerc was renowned for his sharp mind and keen observation skills. Despite the dangers that lurked around every corner, Henri was determined to outwit the enemy and protect his city from the shadows of war. One crisp autumn evening, as air raid sirens echoed through the narrow streets, Henri received a tip about a secret meeting between enemy agents in a dimly lit café. He adjusted his fedora and tightened his coat, his eyes gleaming with determination as he headed toward the rendezvous point. Inside the café, Henri discreetly observed the suspicious gathering. He overheard hushed conversations in German, piecing together fragments of information. With his photographic memory, he memorized faces and snippets of dialogue, his mind working like a well-oiled machine. Outside, the rain began to fall, creating a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on the cobblestone streets. Henri trailed the agents through the twisting alleys of Paris, his footsteps silent, his presence unnoticed. The enemy spies led him to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, where they vanished inside. Peering through a cracked window, Henri saw the agents gathered around a table covered in maps and documents. Their sinister laughter filled the air as they plotted their next move. Unfazed, Henri pulled out a miniature camera and captured each detail, ensuring he had evidence to expose their plans. Just as he was about to retreat, he accidentally knocked over a stack of crates. The noise alerted the agents, and they stormed outside, guns drawn. Henri’s heart raced, but his wit remained sharp. “I wouldn’t make any sudden moves if I were you,” Henri said calmly, stepping into the dim light. The leader of the spies, a menacing figure with a scarred face, sneered. “Who are you?” Henri flashed his badge with a defiant grin. “Detective Henri Leclerc, at your service. I believe you dropped something back there.” He tossed a roll of film onto the table, showcasing the incriminating photographs. The spies exchanged uneasy glances, realizing they were outsmarted. “You won’t stop us, detective,” the scarred leader spat. Henri’s eyes gleamed with confidence. “Try me.” With the timely arrival of French resistance fighters, the spies were apprehended, their sinister plans thwarted. As the sun rose over the city, Henri stood tall, a true hero in a time of darkness. His intelligence and bravery had not only saved lives but also sent a powerful message – that even in the face of adversity, the human spirit, coupled with a brilliant mind, could triumph over tyranny. And so, Detective Henri Leclerc continued his fight against the enemy, his intellect serving as a guiding light, inspiring others to join the resistance and stand up against injustice. His legacy echoed through the streets of Paris, a testament to the power of intelligence and determination in the darkest days of history. Return of the Enemy Henri Leclerc didn’t suppose that the spies, also known as, in the French Resistance, the Enemy, would ever return after their embarrassing defeat they had in the warehouse. So when a case file landed on his desk with an intercepted message from the Enemy, he was surprised. “What is this?” Henri asked his assistant Jacques. Jacques didn’t answer. It was a rhetorical question. Obviously Henri knew. “Sir, we don’t know how to decode it. All we know is that it is titled ‘Operation Green Light.’” Henri observed the paper with great interest. After a thin silence, Henri laughed loud. “Oh, Jacques! This is the simplest code available — ever! The Enemy must think we are stupid!” He showed Jaques a slip of paper that had the simple code written down on it. Jacques shared in Henri’s laughter, and together they read the message, this time with ease. Hello, Agent 102. This is Agent 206 reporting from the Reichstag building in Berlin. We would like you and your team to steal the Mona Lisa and bring it to the National Treasury here in Berlin. Please do so covertly. It is only a matter of time before France and Paris are liberated, and we want to take all the treasure we can before that. Act immediately,
Flash Contest #60, October 2023: Make up an imaginary celebrity and write a story in which they are the main character–our winners and their work
Our October 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #273 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants get into the mind of an imaginary celebrity. We received 60 submissions this month, and they were certainly creative. There were musicians, fashionistas, astronomers, and basketball stars. Even a pirate was dropped into the mix! These celebrities definitely did not disappoint with their antics and reflections on the difficulties (and benefits) of being famous. As always, thank you to all who participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Honorable Mentions, listed below, and our Winners, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Caught in the Spotlight” by Nikita Fishman, 12 “Behind Closed Doors” by Mia Goldschmidt, 10 “A Gloomy Winter’s Night” by Kellyn Hu, 13 “The Star of the Show(?)” by Mary G. Lane, 12 “Fake” by Kelly Shi, 13 Honorable Mentions “Desiderium” by Erin Bai, 11 “The Dopamine Rush” by Sophie Li, 11 “Stupid Fame” by Serena Liu, 10 “Jewel” by Emma Luo, 10 “Virulencer” by Luke Tang, 13 Caught in the Spotlight NIKITA FISHMAN, 12 ~Belle’s Perspective~ My heart raced like a stallion on the brink of a thunderous gallop. I stood backstage, just minutes away from performing, the air electric with anticipation. Mentally, I rehearsed my choreography one last time, each step etched in my mind like a vivid painting. I wiped my hands, now glistening with a sheen of sweat and took a deep, steadying breath. “이제 갈 수 있어요!” Jin, my manager, called out. We’re good to go. There was no time for contemplation, no room for the nagging shadows of doubt. I was swiftly ushered onto a rising platform, its mechanical hum resonating beneath my feet. The deafening roar from the audience grew more pronounced, engulfing me in a tumultuous crescendo akin to a relentless tide crashing against the shore. Now, they could catch a glimpse of my forehead. The cheers triple in intensity. As I officially graced the stage, a luminous sea of lights embraced me, momentarily blinding me. However, I quickly adjusted to the new environment, scanning the crowd, a constellation of stars that stretched before me. “What’s up, Los Angeles?” I roared, my distinct accent adding a touch of authenticity I knew my fans loved. I face-planted onto the hotel bed, utterly drained. I began shedding my backstage sweatshirt with an exhausted groan, feeling the weight lift from my shoulders as it came off. Taking a deep breath, I started the arduous task of rising to my feet, savoring each counted second as I made my way up. I was young, an age of twenty-seven. But after six hours of dancing, twisting my body, and enduring rough days at the gym, there were times when my body felt like it was years away, and sometimes I was a 72-year-old. Just yesterday, on the eve of commencing my world tour, the nurse lifted my shirt upwards, brandishing a needle as lengthy and sharp as a rapier. After finding the center of my back pain, the nurse pinpointed a location between my spinal discs. In the blink of an eye, the petite but menacing dagger pierced my flesh, plunging its venomous fangs into my body. A distinct feeling of pressure followed this as it penetrated deeper, as if a minuscule tunnel had opened beneath my flesh. It was my first cortisone shot ever and recommended by my manager. I wonder what my fans would think if they knew my secret. I managed to sit up straight, reaching for my phone. With a quick tap, I opened Instagram and navigated to the photos I had posted earlier from my performance, diving into the comment section. I was welcomed with an ocean of encouragement and a deluge of heart emojis. An infectious smile plastered my face. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long before the venomous hate comments surfaced, slithering toward me like malevolent demons emerging from the shadows. “She’s flat,” one voice hissed, while another accused, “Wearing such revealing outfits, aren’t you ashamed?” The cruelty peaked with a spiteful command, “Why don’t you wear something respectable for once!” I sighed. I received an abundance of comments like these, and with each nasty remark, their impact seemed to cut even deeper into my tired soul. Wearing more provocative clothes, or what some might call revealing, is simply an attempt to tap into the Western market. Is that so wrong? Furthermore, I fail to understand how wearing revealing clothing automatically equates to negative judgment. Suddenly, I find myself isolated in the middle of cultural conflicts. My Korean fans prefer me to maintain a more cartoonish appearance, while my manager encourages me to leverage my rapping talent by adopting a certain dress style. Suddenly, a loud knock resonated through the room, jolting me from my deep thoughts. “Who is it?” I questioned. “나야, 네 엄마야!” a familiar voice responded. It’s me, your mom! “Oh, come in, Mom!” My mother entered the room, cradling a mysterious black box in her hands. I noticed a subtle tremor in her fingers as she settled on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently envelop my hands within her own, the moment heavy with anticipation. “What’s wrong?” I asked, unsure of my mom’s pale expression. Without uttering a word, she extended the black box toward me, her silence adding to the intrigue. What could this be about? With anticipation coursing through me, I carefully shifted the box lid, unveiling its contents. At the center, a gleaming silver knife and a mysterious note lay in a sea of white confetti. I carefully picked up the message, reading it. I know where you live. I also know where your family lives. I know your address; don’t think I don’t know. ~Jong-Su’s Perspective~ I sighed while running my fingers through my hair. I took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp, cold air. The night’s cool touch brushed against my skin, serving as a whisper of reassurance amidst
