My siblings and I were sitting in our home discussing how you can talk to your parents to make them trust you more. My sister Maria said, “Our parents think that we wouldn’t have the strength to walk away from a bad situation. We have tried telling them that we have already walked away from bad situations, but that is not good enough for them.” My elder sister Jeanne argued that the issue of trust can be a source of considerable tension between youth and parents. My younger brother Christopher, my elder brother Nelson, and I all agreed. In the middle of our discussion, our parents came back from the market. They bought me shoes, and I was happy because I did not have shoes for going to church. Jeanne said, “Today, I will prepare a good meal. You will enjoy it.” Nelson said let us wait for what you shall prepare for us. After a brief time, Jeanne brought beans and rice to the table for our evening meal. As we ate, our father said to Nelson and me, “We shall not be with you for a while. Make sure you take care of yourselves.” “Where are you going to be?” Nelson asked. My father answered, “We are going to Kampala, Uganda to see whether we can get a job, and move away from this miserable life of eating green vegetables.” Nelson agreed, saying, “I hope when you will reach there, everything will be okay. And you know how much we love you. We cannot spend even twenty-four hours without seeing you. How long are you going to stay there?” “We shall be away for only one week,” my father answered. My brother Nelson said, “I wish you a wonderful journey.” * When my parents started their journey from DRC to Kampala they were very happy about the city. My father made a friend called John and asked him how he might get a job. John answered, “You have a chance. My boss is looking for another person who will replace me.” My father asked, “To replace you? What have you done?” “Nothing wrong. I need to see my children in Ghana,” John answered, “one of my children is very sick from malaria.” John said that he was leaving the next morning, and he told my father, “let us go and see my boss now.” * After his first month of work, my father sent some money to us. My elder brother Nelson told our father on the phone, “First, one week passed, and now it has been one month. When will you come back?” My father and mother wanted to remain there due to the beauty of the city. So my father answered, “We shall send you money for transport. Meet us in Kampala.” After one week, our parents sent the money and we took the journey to Kampala. We loved the city so much. There were many kinds of foods like matooke and cassava and a lovely, mild climate too. My brother Nelson made many friends as we adjusted to our new home. He started smoking and drinking alcohol with a new crowd of friends. After some weeks of this behavior, my parents called a family meeting. My father began, “Our children, we trust you. Your friends, we don’t. We are afraid of the problems they’ll bring into your life. Look for a good friend who will advise you to follow a good path. A friend that can help you in your future life.” “We love you,” my mother continued, “We do not hate you. From today, we don’t want to see these kinds of friends anymore.” * Early one morning, my parents woke us up and told us to pack everything. Nelson asked where we were going and my parents answered that we were soon going to Nakivale, a refugee resettlement in the southwest of Uganda. I was very annoyed with this information. What I did not know at the time was that my parents did not have good jobs or enough money to stay in Kampala. Once again, we were forced to take a journey. I wondered how I could make good friends in the Nakivale refugee settlement. I thought, if I am angry, I will need someone to vent to. If I am sad, I want someone to tell me it is going to get better. I didn’t want to leave my friends and have to adapt to a new environment once again. I had my family, but I would be alone without friends. * I still live in Nakivale with my family. For now, I am happy to have my best friend called Charles. He comes from a poor family of beggars and he is very humble and clever. I don’t feel okay when I don’t have friends, because friends help me with ideas and advice and cheer me up when I’m sad. Life made me leave many friends in many different places throughout my journey. But I am here now, and I love my family so much and I am happy to have a supportive friend that guides and sustains me. This story was peer reviewed by: Sabrina Lu
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Flash Contest #72, February 2025: Create a story, poem, artwork, or musical composition that reimagines Valentine’s Day in an unexpected way—Our Winners and Their Work
Our February 2025 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #313 (provided by the Stone Soup editorial board), which asked to create a story, poem, artwork, or musical composition that reimagines Valentine’s Day in an unexpected way while avoiding typical Valentine’s words like love, roses, and hearts, and instead, use unconventional imagery, themes, or emotions to express connection and affection. 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 “A Saint’s Last Whisper” by Wing Hey Chan, 15 “Pebbles” by Naomi Ng, 13 Honorable Mentions “Here’s Your Order” by Sophie Lin, 11 “Unhappy Very Unhappy Valentine’s Day” by Katherine Liu, 6 “A Pianist’s Soulful Melody” by Gavin Liu, 15 “Unveiled” by Lexi Neiman, 17, “Hidden Treasures” by Lily Wu, 12, “When the Silver Tip Dances Again” by Victoria Xu, 10 “The Ocean’s Bond” by Erica Zhan, 12 A Saint’s Last Whisper Wing Hey Chan, 15 A Saint’s Last Whisper In secret halls where whispers stay, a priest still dared to disobey. He joined the hands the law forbade, and for his crime, the price was paid. His final breath fades into gray. The cold bars whispered of despair, A frozen grip in the stagnant air, Where shadows clung to the damp stone walls, And silence echoed through endless halls. His soul, imprisoned, felt the chill, a slow, cruel bite, and time stood still. Behind the bars, he carved a line, a final note, “Be ever mine.” The jailer’s daughter read his plea, the ink smeared as her eyes could see: but fate was set, he’d not be free. The years have passed, his name remains, a tale of loss, of bonds, of chains. Yet still, on this midwinter’s night, we speak his name in candlelight, his vow now whispered through the plains. Pebbles Naomi Ng, 13 A pile of smooth pebbles lies on Delia’s desk next to a crumpled velvet bag. She strokes the surface of one of the stones with her thumb. This one is ivory white, speckled with gray dots. This one is from the beach, the first pebble she’d received from him. He tripped, his foot caught in a tangle of seaweed. He yelled out. His knee fell on a seashell, the kind that kindergarteners doodle on pieces of paper. The kind with sharp edges. He sat up and cradled his injured leg, tears budding in the corners of his eyes. Delia ran to him. “Eli! Eli, are you okay?” she asked, prying her brother’s fingers away from his cut. “It huuurts,” her brother cried. “There’s salt in it. It hurts. It really hurts, Dee.” He buried his face in her shoulder. She hugged him close. Delia can hear his voice in her head. That seashell was mean! Imaginary-Eli whines. Sooo evil. Later, after their mother had gotten a bandage for his wound, he handed her a little rock, ivory white, speckled with gray dots. “Did you know penguins give pebbles to those they love?” he asked, toying with a lock of her hair. “It’s a gift of affection.” She laughed. “I did know that,” she said. “But, ah… I think that’s for mating purposes, bud. Not for sisters.” “Well,” he huffed. “That’s why I’m not a penguin. But did you know that if the other penguin accepts the pebble, it can be used to build a nest and start a family?” “That’s really cool, Eli.” Now, Delia’s hand reaches for another stone, this one a little smaller than the previous, given to her on her thirteenth birthday. “Happy birthday!” Eli yelped, bounding into Delia’s room. “Dang it, now you’re five years older than me again.” Delia rolled her eyes. “I’m always five years older than you, there were just two months when I was twelve and you were eight.” Eli sighed loudly. “You’re no fun.” “I’m plenty fun,” Delia protested, getting up from her chair. “Come on, the sun is out. Let’s go for a swim.” “It’s too cold,” her brother grumbled. “Besides, I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket, fished something out. “You’re the best sister, Dee.” In his palm lay another stone, this one the size of a dime and the color of cloudy sky. “And you’re the best brother.” There’s a total of thirty-eight pebbles, collected over a period of four years. Some oblong, some round. Some a warmer hue, some a cooler one. Eli was always on the lookout for unique rocks, had wanted to be a geologist. She’s nineteen now, and tired of the mess in her dorm room. So she had opened every drawer and sorted through every item, when she had come across a little velvet bag filled with little stones. She wishes Eli were with her, and he could’ve visited easily, if… if… If he weren’t lying in a coffin, six feet under, in the cemetery four miles away. She had been driving the car when it had crashed. Had just gotten her license, was sixteen years old, was driving her brother to school. If she had just slowed the car by the tiniest bit, or hadn’t missed a turn at the previous intersection, they wouldn’t’ve been hurt. “I’m gonna unbuckle and take off my jacket,” Eli said, clicking out of his seatbelt. And then— A screech of tires. The crumpling of metal. Someone cried out. She wasn’t sure if it was her or Eli. She felt numb, like she couldn’t move. There was something resembling peace, resembling tranquility, wash over her. Then the pain. Something was crushing her leg, like a vice, and she couldn’t pull free. She glanced at her brother and saw him crumpled unnaturally, his head leaning against the shattered car window. His eyes were closed. She felt the world go silent. She didn’t even hear her own voice when she began to scream. She hasn’t driven since then, and chose to stay local for college so
Flash Contest #71, January 2025: Create a story, poem, artwork, or a musical composition based off of the painting “Champs de Mars: The Red Tower” by Robert Delaunay using the ekphrastic method —Our Winners and Their Work
Our January 2025 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #312 (provided by Stone Soup students Emma Hoff), which asked that participants create a story, poem, artwork, or a musical composition based off of the painting “Champs de Mars: The Red Tower” by Robert Delaunay using the ekphrastic method. 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 “Modernism’s Blinding Earthquake” by Gavin Liu, 15 “The Red Tower: When the Old Order Makes Way for the New” by Nathan Qu, 13 “Mr. Eiffel” by Derek Zhang, 11 Honorable Mentions “Through The Eyes Of Time” by Wing Hey Chan, 13 “I Remember” by Isabel Sands, 15 “The City of Gray” by Sydney Kesselheim, 12 Modernism’s Blinding Earthquake Gavin Liu, 15 Leaning city buildings crumple in the tower’s flame. Angels fall — or are they attempting to rise on Jacob’s ladder to evacuate modernism’s earthquake Sky’s gloominess tests angels’ golden wings to avoid fiery-red beams as Delaunay’s frantic mind holds no doubt of what demise modernity will bring— his desperate plea to Parisians to see civility’s tumbling collapse and the Eiffel Tower’s meaning— earth forgotten—unable to withstand the heavy iron, steel, and electric light as nature’s goodwill lags behind modernism’s deception. Nature’s resistance—crackling lightning striking Paris’s elegant tower made red— to unsnare people’s ignorance to instead wake in sun’s golden tower of love. The Red Tower: When the Old Order Makes Way for the New Nathan Qu, 13 Burst of burnished bronze Blasts archaic world order Into smithereens City’s lustrous lights welcome The twentieth century Mr. Eiffel Derek Zhang, 11 The gloomy city shines with light A shiny tower is beheld Emitting light as it’s shown Glowing bright in the sky Clouds of color surround the tower Red veins channel through As the sun shines in envy Drawing people like mosquitoes Symphony of awes heard from miles The soul of the Eiffel looks in pride The only star in the gray As time slowly grinds by The Eiffel tower stands still Breathing fresh air all it does The whisper of winds passes by People come to see the top The same their forebears had Years of respect has gone by Other places have gathered fame But the Eiffel still dominates Crowned the king of the sky Always to be remembered in the mind