Contests

Our May 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #251 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants write an enemies-to-lovers story. Molly’s prompt resulted in some of the most creative work I’ve seen submitted to the Flash Contest in a long time, with submissions ranging from a poem about the rivalry between pi and pie, an origin story for the pluot, and a mock interview between vanilla cake and chocolate cake. As always, thank you to all you participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “The Big Red Barn” by Elena Bonnette, 10 “The Girl Across the Bridge” by Aaron Duan, 12 “11:06 PM” by Lauren Kim, 13 “The Butterflyherd” by Mary Lane, 11 “The Captain and the Admiral” by Lui Lung, 13 “The Story of the Pluot” by Ariel Zhang, 11 Honorable Mentions “40-Love” by Yuhan Cai, 12 “Yin and Yang” by Inaya Dar, 13 “Of Nighthawks and Roses” by Owen Duan, 12 “Vanilla Cake vs. Chocolate Cake” by Chloe Lin, 10 “Pie and Pi Share the Spotlight” by Ayaan Pirani, 11 “House Animal” by Melody You, 12 The Big Red Barn Elena Bonnette, 10 Once upon a time, there was a Big Red Barn that walked on big, stumpy chicken legs. And inside that Big Red Barn was a big red robot named Pepperoni. And inside Pepperoni was a big red dog with the name Wild Cherry. One day the Big Red Barn, Pepperoni, and Wild cherry got very bored of living in Pasadena, so the barn decided to use its chicken legs and moved to Hollywood to become a romance movie star, and meet other barns to be friends with. The Big Red Barn had always wanted to be a movie star, and was excited for this chance. The Big Red Barn waited and waited for his big break, and finally saw a notice for auditions for a love story set on a farm. At the audition, he noticed a Blue Barn, who looked vaguely familiar. He stared at her, trying to recognize who she was. The Blue Barn stared back with an equally suspicious look on her face. She quickly hurried away, and they parted. But, Wild Cherry knew who she was. Her great, great, great, great grandfather’s cousin’s children’s second cousin’s mom’s dad’s worst nightmare. So sadly, as it was, the Blue Barn and the Big Red Barn had to play the lovers in the big romance movie called Romance Under the Willow Tree. When it was time for the big mushy part, they were still glaring at each other, leaning in, and then, “BARK! RUFF RUFF RUFF! STOP!” Wild Cherry exclaimed,“Murderer!” The movie crew gasped. The Big Red Barn and the Big Blue Barn connected the dots. “I HATE YOU!!!” yelled the Big Red Barn. “WELL, I HATE YOU MORE!” screeched the Big Blue Barn. “Hey! This isn’t part of the script! CUT! CUT!” hollered the director. But the film crew kept filming and caught the rest of the argument: “I looked up the history of this family and I found out that your great, great, great, great grandfather’s cousin’s, second cousin’s mom’s dad, used his big, stumpy, chicken legs to stomp on my great, great, great, great grandfather’s cousin’s second cousin’s mom’s dad’s big red dog! And you killed him!” said the Big Red Barn, a sob catching in his throat. “Well I looked up my family’s history and found that your great, great, great, great grandfather’s cousin’s, second cousin’s mom’s husband’s cousin stole a piece of barn wood from my great, great, great, great grandfather’s cousin’s second cousin’s mom’s husband’s cousin’s body! Stealing isn’t nice so that’s why I hate you.” They stomped off in separate directions. Two years later, the Big Red Barn, Pepperoni and Wild Cherry were relaxing at a beach in Honolulu, Hawaii. They were there because they were bored with Hollywood and uncomfortable with the Big Blue Barn in their midst. Wild Cherry came back from surfing and he saw the Big Blue Barn. She ran up to Pepperoni and barked at him to translate his barks to the Big Red Barn. When the Big Red Barn heard this, he wasn’t too happy and tried to hide. But it was too late. The Big Blue barn saw him. She gracefully flounced over and handed him a gift. “I’m sorry for the drama at the movies,” she said. “It shouldn’t matter about our ancestors’ wrong doings, it should matter who we are now.” The Big Red Barn accepted the gift. “ I’m sorry, too. You have a kind heart. You’re not a murderer like your great, great, great, great grandfather’s cousin’s, second cousin’s mom’s dad. Also, maybe it was an accident. I am very sorry. I will give you a piece of wood from my own skin to replace the one my ancestor stole.” Then Wild Cherry barked in delight as the Big Red Barn opened the gift. It was a pair of XXL water shoes, a pair of XXL tennis shoes and a pair of XXL tap dancing shoes (tap dancing is very important in the barn culture). The Big Red Barn didn’t know what to say, so he put on the water shoes, grabbed a giant red surfboard and ran to the water, water shoes squelching, with the Blue Barn, the surfboard, and Wild Cherry. (Pepperoni stayed on the beach since robots shouldn’t get wet.) The two new friends sat on the surfboard and gazed into the sunset together. 4 ½ years later the Big Red Barn sent Wild Cherry and Pepperoni to pick out an engagement ring for the Big Blue Barn. It would be a perfect scheme. The Big Red Barn would be with the Big Blue Barn and she’d never notice the bot and dog were gone! Then he would propose to her! When he got to the park, she was already

Our April 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #248 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus, which asked that participants write a scene (in prose or verse) from a dysfunctional family gathering. With this prompt coinciding with Easter, a holiday known to often result in dysfunctional family gatherings, some participants had plenty of recent personal experience to draw on, though most submissions focused on Thanksgiving, funerals, or birthdays. Among these fabulous submissions were a story about a family of bumbling animals, a story about a shallow family clamoring for their matriarch’s estate, and a story about a family that came together after an unfortunate death. As always, thank you to all you participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Our Time” by Lauren Kim, 13 “Aunt Edith, Rest in Peace” by Evelyn Lien, 11 “A Funeral to Remember” by Zoe Pazner, 12 “The Wibblywobbles’ Topsy-Turvy Reunion” by Lucia Tang, 11 “From the Darkness” by Hailey Chua Yixin, 12 Honorable Mentions “The Cohens” by Elijah Dais, 13 “Mischief and Misfortune” by Owen Duan, 12 “Smile!” by Iris Fink, 11 “Stop” by Ella Ka, 1o “Miscommunications” by Peony Katira, 12 Our Time Lauren Kim, 13 I The three of us sit around the circular table, facing each other. Everyone is on their phones, including me, but only so I don’t have to be the first to speak. I just can’t. We live in one house, under one roof, and people call this “family.” Family — such an undefined word. I see faces that I didn’t see for at least 3 weeks while living in the same house. I mean, it’s not fully my fault. I’m only the youngest child. They never even tried to understand me. Or was I ever understandable? I think I was. But deep inside, I know that the correct answer is that I was not. But does that make everything my fault? No — is what I want to believe, but I concluded: possibly. Should I be the first one to talk?   II Everyone being on their phones makes me feel like I should be, too. I glance at Mom. She has the same expression from when she used to say that I should be the better person, the more responsible one, because I have a younger sibling. I am sick of her. I don’t hate her, who hates their parent? I just hate when she talks to me. How can she possibly not get that? I can feel that someone was answering all the questions I was throwing. It said, Maybe because all I did was ignore them? I tried to hide this voice inside me when I had to admit eventually. Maybe this whole thing would never have happened if I had said something more than “good” when my mom asked me how my day went. Maybe. Does that make me the person who should talk?   III I try to hide my face, glancing at each person with my phone that I wasn’t even looking at. I look at my children, trying to remember the last time I really talked to them. I feel shameful that all I can recall are instances when I was angry at them. But who cares? I’m the one who earns every single dollar in this house — all by myself, too. I don’t have to be shameful at all. I’m not even sorry. No matter how much I repeated this to myself, though, I had to admit that I am sorry and that I do care. And mostly, that I regret. Someone said that regret is the most painful hell a person can possibly be in. Well, I guess I am living in hell. I hope I can end it… I really do. Maybe I should start the conversation. Should I?   IV Breaking the silence, everyone hears a voice, a very awkward one, “How was your day?” Or was it really “a” voice? Aunt Edith, Rest in Peace Evelyn Lien, 11 Aunt Edith has fallen,And so her family gathers,To mourn her passing. A grieving father, a crying mom.A cheating husband, a silent son.Saying their last goodbyes,In a room filled with white lilies,Aunt Edith, rest in peace. A demanding mother, a heart-broken wife,An absent daughter, a loving aunt.Classical piano music,Cannot cover the whispers.When will this service end?Who can have her jewelry?Glamorous outside, festering inside.An apple left to rot.In a room filled with white lies,Aunt Edith, rest in peace. A Funeral to Remember Zoe Pazner, 12 I would never admit this out loud but I hate funerals. I hate the silence of it, I hate the crying. I hate the obligation to go and I hate the speeches. I thought about this as I walked with my husband, Jim, his hand in mine to a funeral home for a wake. One of Jim’s many uncles passed away and we were going to pay our respects. I did not know his family very well but I promised myself to be the dignified young lady I was brought up to be and make sure I was being supportive of Jim even though I really did not want to go. As we neared the door to the funeral home I thought about the concept of a wake. I suppose it could be appealing to some, getting to see their loved one for a last reunion but I personally think it’s a bit morbid. I want to remember the people I love as they were, not some lifeless body in a casket who got dressed up by strangers. I am pregnant with my second child and the last thing I would ever want him to see is my dead body when it is my turn to go. I lost my train of thought when my husband stopped me in front of the funeral home’s doors. He said, “Before we go in I would like