The Fall Impression (gouache) by Serena Li, 10; published in Stone Soup October 2022 A note from Laura This week I’d like to draw your attention to Olivia Lee’s piece of short fiction, “The Note.” For me, this piece perfectly combines a sense of mystery and intrigue that carries the story and makes you want to read what happens next, with an attention to detail—a kind of deep observation—that allows you to imagine yourself at the center of the narrative. As I read this story, I want to know the narrator better. How did she discover the tree, and why is she so certain that the mysterious girl she discovers there wouldn’t want to be her friend? I also want to know more about the mysterious girl. Where did she come from? Why is she there? Did she leave the note alerting the narrator to the hunters? But despite the mystery that the narrative holds, there’s much that I can relate to and imagine clearly, like the appeal of the tree itself with its soft patches of grass beneath and the solitude it affords. Aside from the sharp detail provided in the story, another tool the author uses to help plant the reader in the center of its setting is the use of second person narration. The author uses this narrative style briefly and effectively in the second paragraph. Lee writes: If you felt the grass, you knew that it was very soft. When gazing up, you would see many birds of different shapes and colors sitting on the high branches. You would feel safe under the tree, like it was protecting you from bad things. Using this technique, the author transforms “you,” the reader, into a character in the story, steering you to experience the unfolding narrative firsthand. This weekend, I invite you to try using second person narration in a piece of writing. Play with this style of narration to see how it affects the tone of your writing and how it can act to immerse the reader more deeply in your story. Until next time, A New Magazine Page We are delighted to announce the launch of a new magazine landing page on our website! The new page makes it easier to navigate to the current issue, our archives, and past artwork and writing, all from a central location. We very much appreciated your patience during its preparation and testing phases. Be on the lookout for more exciting revisions to stonesoup.com in the coming months! From Stone Soup October 2022 The Note By Olivia Lee, 10 The path that led to the tree went zigzag, but it wasn’t very long. It had slight curves with small bumps. It was like a stone platform, with barely any cracks. But what was really a sight was the tree. It was a very tall one, its leaves dark green as ripe cucumbers. The branches curled softly, like breezes tickling waves into the air. Under the tree was a spot to sit, with patches of grass covering the dirt. If you felt the grass, you knew that it was very soft. When gazing up, you would see many birds of different shapes and colors sitting on the high branches. You would feel safe under the tree, like it was protecting you from bad things. You would sit there for a long time, but then it would be time to go. The patches of grass would sit still, hoping you would come again. I only saw someone else come once. She was a girl, one who sat quietly under the tree by herself. Often, she would fling one of her long legs over a thick branch while the other leg stayed hopelessly on the ground. I tried to say “Hi,” but before I could, the girl went off into the forest behind the gates to the left of the tree. I wanted to follow her but decided not to because if she saw me, she wouldn’t want to be my friend. I sighed. I came to visit the tree whenever I had time left in my day. Even if I had only a few minutes, I wouldn’t miss a single moment to come to the stony pathway. I’d come here before breakfast, before school, before anything, or after anything. But sadly, I had no one to bring with me. I’d ask my mother, but she was always busy knitting with her sharp darning needle or busy dealing with my sister, who was always running around. I’d ask my father, but he was too busy changing into his work clothes. I’d ask my sister . . . actually, I wouldn’t. She would be too loud and energetic to sit under a quiet, peaceful tree, and people would be annoyed. I’d ask my friend Cindy, but she was just like my sister. Talkative and energetic. I wanted someone who would enjoy the tree with me. …More Stone Soup is published by Children’s Art Foundation-Stone Soup Inc., a 501(c)(3) educational nonprofit organization registered in the United States of America, EIN: 23-7317498.
Overcoming Labels: Touching Spirit Bear, Reviewed by Olivia Shekou, 13
In our modern world, people seek to rid themselves of all anger, yet, they haven’t realized that anger can’t be disposed of. Similar to the broad spectrum of human emotions, anger is part of our human experience. However, through reflecting on this human emotion, we can gain perspective on how anger has a role in shifting our consciousness. Couldn’t we shift our outlook on anger as an experience that we have some level of control over, much like a flame that depends on the fuel it is fed? Ben Mikaelsen’s book, Touching Spirit Bear, follows 15-year-old Cole Matthews’s journey, as he learns to gain the upper hand over his anger. After viciously smashing Peter Driscal’s skull into a sidewalk, Cole is given the choice to serve a year of restorative justice on a remote Alaskan island. When Cole arrives on the island, he immediately burns down his shelter in an act of anger and soon after, he is mauled to “an inch of life” by the mysterious Spirit Bear. Although he is immobilized, Cole is determined to survive. In his emotionally vulnerable state, Cole demonstrates care for other creatures, and he begins to reform with the help of Garvey, his Minneapolis parole officer, and Edwin, a Tlingit Indian elder. Even though Cole has gained the upper hand over his anger, he is unable to truly reform until he has made amends with Peter, who attempted to commit suicide. When Cole invites Peter to the island, he mentors him, teaching him about healing and strategies to control his anger, and Peter eventually reforms too. Two valuable takeaways from Touching Spirit Bear are that anger is one of many human emotions and by itself doesn’t define us, and that second, anger can be rechanneled and repurposed to produce a positive outcome. Anger is just one emotion in the mixed bag of human feelings, and it would be unreasonable to label someone as angry simply because they are experiencing that emotion. We are more than our emotions. Society struggles to see beyond these exhibited emotions; it takes seeing through them to get a true glimpse of someone. For example, when a parent calls out their child as “selfish” or “rude” for how they behave, the child is being superficially labeled for what they did in the moment. In Touching Spirit Bear, Cole Matthews is driven by rage when he viciously attacks his classmate Peter Driscal, burns down his cabin on the island he was banished to, and attacks the Spirit Bear. While Cole’s attack on Peter may be seen as an act of anger, if we look deeper, Cole’s true motive was to make him care in ways that Cole was never cared for. Growing up as a neglected child, Cole was never cared for and even as a teenager, he still feels that others don’t care about his feelings. As a result, Cole turns to anger and violence because that was what he was taught. His very own father beat him to make him care and respect his word. Similarly, although Cole’s act of burning down his shelter was done out of anger, we must understand his past and the context in which he was raised. In the same way, when Cole attacks the Spirit Bear, he is angry that the bear doesn’t fear him, but on a deeper level, wanted to make him care about his presence. Eventually, Cole arrives at the conclusion that he is not defined by his anger and says, “I just realized that I’m not a bad person. Nobody is… People are just scared and do bad things. Sometimes people hurt each other trying to figure things out” (168). When Cole comes to this self-realization, he looks beyond the surface of his emotions, realizing he is processing his neglected and abusive upbringing. It was in this self-realization that Cole was able to forgive himself and move beyond labeling himself as angry. There is so much more than what meets the eye when it comes to our emotions, which are so often fueled by one’s past experiences, unprocessed grief and trauma. Therefore, it is too simplistic to label someone as the emotion they exhibit. On a subconscious level, anger can be one’s greatest teacher as it offers insight which can lead to change. Through reliving anger and experiencing the consequences of acting out in anger, one may process what led them to anger. When Cole attacks the Spirit Bear in an outburst of rage, the animal mauls him to a state of near-death. It is through reliving the mauling several times in his mind that he can process his anger and the motive behind his attack. Cole’s pride is tested when the bear isn’t afraid of him. Realizing his own pride and desire to be seen, Cole is able to understand his abusive father on a deeper level. He learns that his father was abused as a child and held on to his unprocessed grief and anger, which carried over into his relationship with his son. With this perspective, Cole is able to forgive his father’s countless acts of neglect, assault and abuse. With the help of Edwin, a Tlingit Indian elder, and Garvey, his Minneapolis parole officer, Cole sets out on a healing journey and a path of reform. Cole soaks in a frigid pond and rolls away the “ancestor rock” to let off steam, yet the most significant step to his reform is showing compassion to his victim. In the aftermath of Cole’s attack, Peter attempts to commit suicide twice. Feeling compassion, Cole invites Peter to the island. He hopes to gain back Peter’s trust and make amends for assaulting him. Cole is profoundly aware of his change of heart and tells Peter, “‘I’m part of some big circle that I don’t understand. And so are you. Life, death, good and bad, everything is part of that circle. When I hurt you, I hurt myself, too. I don’t think I’ll ever heal from what I did
Flash Contest #48, October 2022: Start the first line of your story/poem with a word chosen randomly from the dictionary—our winners and their work
Our October Flash Contest was based on Prompt #223 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants randomly choose a word from the dictionary and use that word to start their story or poem. A welcome change from some of our more specific prompts, this open-ended prompt led to far and away the most submissions we’ve ever received for a Flash Contest: 62! As such, it felt fitting to select six winners and six honorable mentions instead of the usual five. Among the plethora of submissions was a poem that plumbed the depths of mythological oceanic lore, a story written from the perspective of a creature who claimed to live inside of computers, and a story featuring a race against time in which the dwindling hours punctuated every section of the narrative. As always, we thank all who submitted and encourage you to submit again next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Ghost Ash” by Josie Barrer, 11 “Finding Permanence” by Joshua Gordon, 13 “Uranomancy” by Emma Hoff, 10 “The Dream” by Mika Lim, 12 “Bittersweet Star” by Vanaja Raju, 11 “Plum” by Melody You, 12 Honorable Mentions “Reunited” by Wenonah Brewer-Nyborg, 12 “The Countdown” by Sophie Li, 11 “Football” by Jeremy Lim, 10 “Orange” by Lui Lung, 13 “Fathom the Depths” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 11 “Into Your Computer” by Aryaman Majumder, 11 Ghost Ash Josie Barrer, 11 Hypnotized by the alluring mountains before me, I stepped toward the edge of the cliff. The anabatic flow balanced out the humidity in the air. The trees confined the moonlight, also blocking the clear sky and the vacant clouds. The stars glistened in the empty night sky. Words could not describe the view that was put before me. I turned my back toward the breath-taking sight. The woods stretched far beyond the eye could see. The trees came apart at a narrow trail, creating a path for me to jog. I stopped suddenly, as the path before me turned to darkness. An icy chill sent a shiver down my spine. The campsite where I stayed for the night seemed to be miles away. “Dad!” I shouted, in a desperate wail of help. I froze, as the bush right beside me moved. I had an insecure feeling I was being watched. A faded body, shining in the dark night rose from the bushes. It wore a white cloth and its face was expressionless. I was too terrified to move. My heart and breathing stopped as the mysterious creature lurked before me. Reality snapped back to me and I ran down into the darkness. I tumbled and landed on the hard, rocky surface. I screamed. A loud and deafening scream. The human-like creature floated toward me, noiselessly. It rose higher into the sky and now came directly above me. It looked down at me for a harsh second. I closed my eyes and turned my head to the floor. I waited, a second, then a minute, then turned to see a pile of dust on the ground. Finding Permanence Joshua Gordon, 13 Permanent. That’s what I thought my life would be. I thought I would always have my loving mother’s sweet giggle, my lionhearted father’s bellowing laugh, Jack the dog’s big slobbery kisses, and me in the middle of it all in our small blue house on Elm Avenue, smiling until my mouth hurt. But, back then, I was just an innocent little kindergartener, unaware of the impending disaster. That disaster was the car accident. I was safely snuggled up in bed, sleeping, when my parents died. Somewhere along Highway 20, an intoxicated driver slammed into my father’s van coming home from an evening party. It was all over in a few minutes. That’s all the police at the front door could say before my wailing drowned out their voices that told me what they had told so many other people, not stopping even when their strong arms picked me up and hurried me into their car. That was the end of my life at Elm Avenue. As I moved from foster home to foster home, from Birch Street to Oak Boulevard to Maple Way, each night I lay on my back, unable to sleep in the alien environment, picturing that fateful night. The swerving car, the unsuspecting van, the ambulances and police cars with sirens blaring, rushing to the scene to try to save my parents. How they couldn’t. Now, once again, I was being relocated, as the woman in her white uniform informed me. Relocated like an object, I thought. An object nobody wants. This time, the reason was that my foster father had accidentally overwatered my beloved ficus plant. I had, of course, been reasonably mad. I just might have been too mad. One thing led to another, and he decided that caring for a foster child was too much work. In an instant, that impermanent life was gone forever. A gentle knock on the door startled me from my thoughts. I gingerly placed my new Boston fern that I had been clutching in my lap on the waiting room desk. I inhaled deeply, then slowly let the air out through my nose. I had done this before, but that same nervousness possessed me every time, that small flicker of hope impossible to extinguish that my new parents might truly love me. “Come in,” I squeaked feebly. The door swung open, revealing a single woman. Her short blond hair fell in curls to her spotless white lab coat. Our eyes met for a few seconds, and I realized she was almost as nervous as I was. Then she spoke. “What a nice specimen of Nephrolepis exaltata!” She exclaimed, noticing the plant on the table next to me. “Did you know that, according to old folk tales, Boston ferns are a sign that there are fairies nearby?” She looked around as if the stories were real before
