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
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Weekly Creativity #249: Rewrite a Book’s Ending that Didn’t Satisfy You
Rewrite a book’s ending that didn’t satisfy you.
How Stories Work—Writing Workshop #62: Spring
An update from our sixty-second Writing Workshop with Conner Bassett A summary of the workshop held on Saturday, April 1 The workshop started with Conner showing us four paintings that all involved some element of spring—glee, excitement, flowers, calm, peace, etc. Before we began to read some examples of poetry about spring, we asked ourselves what we think of when we think of spring. We summed up our ideas in a list that included hopefulness, warmth, and brightness. Then we read “After the Winter” by Claude McKay. It incorporated rhyme, imagery, and musical language to convey a feeling of spring. The next poem, “In Just” by E.E. Cummings was similar—it was fast, fun to read, and felt free and excited. We looked at two more spring paintings, both of them very peaceful. This is how most people think of spring. However, the three poems we looked at next were very different. In the first section of “The Waste Land” by T.S. Eliot called “Burial of the Dead,” April is referred to as “the cruelest month,” while in “In Perpetual Spring” by Amy Gerstler, a garden is portrayed as “a good place to sulk.” In “May” by Jonathan Galassi, there is a disgusting description of rotting leaves. All of these poems describe spring in a negative way—plants sprouting from the ground like zombies, puddles of mud, flowers with thorns. We then listened to twos songs—“Spring” by Antonio Vivaldi, which offers a lively picture of spring, and “The Rite of Spring” by Igor Stravinsky, which shows a different side of it. The Challenge: Write a poem about spring. The Participants: Emma, Amaya, Samarina, Stella, Sarah, Lilian, Rachel, Polina, Aarush, Lucy, Nysa, Anika, Amelia, Daniel, Lindsay, Anushka, Miya, Nathan, Aaron, Yueling, Lina, Eric, Anna, Georgia, Jacey, Alice, Seva, Madeline
