Our February Flash Contest was based on Prompt #190 (provided by intern Sage Millen), which asked that participants write a story about a character who falls into a bowl of tomato soup and into a magical land. The whimsical yet specific prompt served as the perfect vehicle of creativity for our participants as we received more submissions—43!—than we ever had before! While every story was naturally based upon the same premise, these stories could not have had more variety. Submissions ranged from an epistolary story addressing a corrupt king to the origin story for a pet rabbit to a story surrounding the subsequent events of the eerie, dystopian “Orange Day.” As we received a record number of submissions, we found it extra difficult to choose only ten stories worthy of mention, so we added a sixth story to our honorable mentions. As always, thank you to all who submitted, and please submit again next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “The Magic of Tomato Soup” by Ananya Cronin, 9 (Fishers, IN) “Dear King Solanum” by Sophie Li, 11 (Palo Alto, CA) “Tomato Island” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 10 (Brooklyn, NY) “The King Who Fell into a Bowl of Tomato Soup” by David Yu, 11 (Hong Kong) “Ten Times” by Natalie Yue, 10 (San Carlos, CA) Honorable Mentions “It Started with the Tomatoes” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) To”Clara and Whiskers” by Elizabeth Sabaev, 11 (Forest Hills, NY) “Reality or Subconsciousness?” by Emily Tang, 12 (Winterville, NC) “Colors” by Liyue Sally Wang, 11 (Newton, MA) “Wish upon a Dream” by Eliya Wee, 11 (Menlo Park, CA) “Gone Tomatoes” by Savarna Yang, 13 (Outram, NZ) Ananya Cronin, 9 (Fishers, IN) The Magic of Tomato Soup Ananya Cronin, 9 “Brooklyn! Lunch is ready!” My brother, Mark, called from the bottom of the stairs. “Coming! I yelled in return. I shut my green science book and hastily arranged my other textbooks, novels, papers, pencils, and notebooks. I glanced at the tiny snow globe sitting patiently at the edge of my desk. Inside was a miniature model of my pup, Henry, with snow piled around him and wearing a bright red Christmas hat. I looked down at his loyal hazel eyes, knowing that this ruffled pile of caramel brown fur would follow me anywhere. I gently dusted the snow globe and tenderly positioned it beside my gleaming laptop. My brother called again. “Brooklyn! Hurry up!” “Okay, okay!” I replied. I stood up, then strolled out the door of my aqua blue bedroom, into the red hallway, down the wooden stairs, through the living room, and into the basil-colored kitchen. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, cabinets lined part of the wall, and steaming bowls of tomato soup sat on the brown table. The smell of sizzling tomatoes and basil filled my nostrils as I sat at the table, eager to devour my food. Within moments, all my siblings were at the table: Lilly, 8, Liam, 10, Mark, 12, and Will, 16. We silently stared at each other, communicating only with our eyes. We all began to devour our food at the exact same moment. The tomato soup tasted like summer in a bowl. A perfect balance of sweetness and creaminess. I dipped my spoon into the liquid substance and raised it to my lips. When I looked up, everyone appeared oddly entranced by their food. Then I heard it. “Tap, tap, tap.” It appeared to be coming from the laundry room. It grew louder and faster. “Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap–tap…” I glanced around, wondering if anyone else had heard the sound. But when I looked, Lilly, Liam, Mark, and Will were all gone. A sense of dread flooded over me. I instinctively reached down to grab Henry’s collar, but my hand met nothing but empty pockets of air. My heart began to thud as I felt a bead of sweat roll down my forehead. I didn’t bother to wipe it away. I took a deep breath and looked down into my tomato soup just in time to witness the tip of my spoon disappear beneath the surface. I reached into the bowl of soup and attempted to retrieve my spoon. Instead of feeling the hard metal of the spoon or the smooth bottom of the ceramic bowl, all I felt was emptiness. I screamed. “AAAAHHHH!!” I tried to pull my hand out of the red creamy substance that strangely gripped it, but found that my hand just went deeper and deeper into the soup, pulling my arm and the rest of my body into the unknown. I don’t know how much time had passed, but when I woke up, I found myself in a soft pile of grass. It tickled my feet, and I giggled, just the tiniest bit. But within a moment I remembered what had just happened. How did I get here? Where am I? Will I ever go back home? I got up hurriedly, feeling as stiff as a tin man in the rain. I used my arms to pull myself forward into a sitting position. I stood slowly. Something in my mind told me I should run. But the other part of my mind wanted to stay here forever in this curious, wonderful place to explore. I wasn’t sure which part of my mind to listen to, but I was certain of one thing: I was very hungry. My grumbling stomach reminded me that it was still lunchtime, and I needed more than just a couple of spoonfuls of tomato soup. I glanced around me, trying to get the lay of my surroundings. There were trees of all sorts, each with leaves of different shapes and colors. Some trees had knots in their trunks that looked like faces and animals, while others had lights that seemed like stars for leaves, each a different color. There were no flowers nearby, just weeds and trees as far as I could see. The
Contests
Weekly Creativity #190 | Flash Contest #40: Write a Story about Somebody Who Falls through a Bowl of Tomato Soup and into a Magical Land
Write a story about somebody who falls through a bowl of tomato soup and into a magical land! To submit to this month’s Flash Contest, click here.
Flash Contest #39, January 2022: Pretend you’re explaining COVID-19 to people in the distant past—our winners and their work
Our January Flash Contest was based on Creativity Prompt #185 (provided by Molly Torinus, Stone Soup contributor), which challenged participants to write a story in which the protagonist explained COVID-19 to people in the distant past. What a way to begin the new year! Molly’s thoughtful prompt led to a surge of creativity; these stories took us on journeys to Ancient Egypt and Greece, invented time travel via carrier pigeon, and centered on ghostly interactions. We even received a play set during the end of the Black Death! While each and every story was a pleasure to read, we narrowed down our selections to the usual five winners and five honorable mentions. As always, thank you to all who submitted, and please submit again next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “What Are You Talking About?” by Audrey Billington, 10 (Hillsboro, IL) “Dear Jane” by Finoula Breen-Ryan, 10 (Bridgeport, CT) “The Warning: A Play” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 10 (Brooklyn, NY) “Old Answers” by Daniel Shorten, 10 (Mallow, ROI) “The Ghost of You” by Eliya Wee, 11 (Menlo Park, CA) Honorable Mentions “Covid-19 Explained to Ancient Egyptians” by Poorvi Girish, 8 (Fremont, CA) “Royally Messed Up” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) “Dear People of the Past” by Zayda Parakh, 12 (Chattanooga, TN) “COVID-19.63” by Divya Srinivasan, 12 (Sammamish, WA) “COVID Time Travel” by Savarna Yang, 13 (Outram, NZ) Audrey Billington, 10 (Hillsboro, IL) What Are You Talking About Audrey Billington, 10 I was in the process of trying to beat my jump rope record when I saw it. I tripped over my incoming rope, catapulting towards the ground. With my arms crossed, I peered at the blue-gray animal pecking at bits of dropped popcorn. A scroll, small and white, was attached to its skinny legs. A scroll! That was unbelievable. Carrier pigeons were things of the past. Who on earth could be sending me a message using a carrier pigeon?! Curious, I left my jump rope lying on the ground and rushed towards the animal. Upon seeing me, it abandoned its station by the popcorn and let the paper drop out of its legs. “Thanks,” I muttered, unaware of the contents inside. An old-fashioned stamp was plastered on the paper to keep the scroll together. Even if the sender was determined to relive the past, they probably couldn’t find a stamp like that. It wouldn’t be cheap, anyways. The stamp appeared to be an artifact from the 1950s: monochromatic with a president’s face on it. Zig-zag lines blurred together. While still wondering how the sender could have gotten access to that stamp, I ripped the scroll open. Even though the whole scenario showed signs of a historical writer, the note surprised me much more than I expected. It was written in cursive! No one used cursive in 2022. The weirdest thing was that it was penned in ink. Not pen ink, though. Quill ink. “Dear Linda, I live in disorder now. Polio is just a terrible pandemic. I constantly live in fear. I don’t even want to have you over for a slumber party! It’s all too risky. I wish life would return to normal. I don’t want to stress over the idea that I might acquire paralysis. Why? Why must this happen to us? Can life not return to normal? Oh, Linda, it’s all quite terrorizing. I miss the old days. Oh, I miss them so much. Your friend, Susan.” The letter read. My eyes exploded. Polio? Linda and Susan? Paralysis? What did all of this mean? I toyed with the idea that it might be a prank, but I went against it. I knew from personal experience that pranksters couldn’t write that well. This was something more serious. I wasn’t exactly sure what to tell her. I brainstormed a selection of both dumb and serious ideas. Eventually, I settled on a few sentences that didn’t make me sound like an idiot. “Dear Susan, my name’s not Linda. It’s Jordan. I think you might be confused. Did you mean to send this to me? I’m assuming not. Also, polio? Do you mean COVID?? Please clarify. -Jordan, not Linda. P.S.: What year is it?” I threw the last sentence into my letter as a fun addition. Just in case time travel was real, I had to ask whether or not she lived in 2022. There couldn’t be any harm done. That night, I squirmed in my bed. I was unable to sleep. My anxiousness to see the reply from Susan was uncontrollable. I attempted to fall asleep, but my eyelids fluttered at a rapid rate. To my pleasure, the pigeon appeared in my driveway the next morning. Its eyes appeared to water at the assortment of fruits sitting in a woven basket. I took great happiness in providing my messenger bird with snacks. My heart was flipping over and over as I sprinted to retrieve the scroll from the bird. The fatigue caused by my unwelcome all-nighter didn’t cancel my thrill. In fact, it only enhanced it. I couldn’t believe my luck. A person who was possibly stranded in the mid-twentieth century was trying to communicate with me through letters! Anyone else would’ve deemed my situation impossible. “Dear Jordan, it’s weird not writing Linda at the top of this letter. I’ve never written to a Jordan. I feel as if you are the confused one. What are you talking about? Jordan, it’s 1955. The polio vaccine was released a few months ago. Do you not know what polio is? Are you unaware of the raging pandemic sending us into quarantine? What is COVID? A disease of your imagination? And yes, I didn’t mean to send this to you. I intended to reach Linda, my dearest friend. I have no idea how the pigeon gave the letters to you. It’s all so confusing! -Susan” I wasn’t sure whether or not the response excited me. For one thing, I could
