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
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
All We Can Do Is Wait, Reviewed by Sita, 13
All We Can Do Is Wait by Richard Lawson is an incredibly moving story about life, death, and the gray area in between. It is set in Boston, Massachusetts, with the collapse of the Tobin Bridge bringing hundreds of people to Massachusetts General Hospital to hear news about their loved ones. Among them are five teens: Scott, Alexa, Jason, Morgan, and Skylar. Scott is waiting to hear about his girlfriend; Skylar worries for her older sister; Morgan hopes for news about her father; Jason and Alexa—siblings who are not close—try to comfort each other about the fate of their parents. As they all sit in the waiting room, their fear and agitation pushes the teens together, and they end up forming a surprisingly close bond, even though they have only known each other for a few hours. The characters felt incredibly lifelike and relatable, and the author manages to make the reader empathize, if not sympathize, with even the most detestable characters. In a very short span of time, each character undergoes a change of heart, priorities, or of character. Jason and Alexa start to repair their fractured family; Scott tries to finally let go of the past; Skylar learns the importance of confidence and self-reliance; Morgan learns to accept change. In addition to its captivating characters, the prose in All We Can Do Is Wait is well written and does an excellent job of conveying emotions. Jason says he “still felt rooted in place…because he didn’t know what was left of his life inside.” Skylar “felt herself standing very much in the middle of it. Not the center of it, not the focus of all this chaos, but caught in its tightest, fastest winds, circling around her, whipping past and jostling her like turbulence.” On the surface, this book seems like many others: a saga highlighting the dystopian undertones in our society, simply following the trend of forcing character development with over-the-top disasters. But it is much more than that. Waiting rooms, where the entirety of All We Can Do Is Wait is set, are just what they sound like: rooms meant for waiting, settling in as we twiddle our thumbs until we are called in, or we get The News, or really, whatever gets the story started. They are rooms for the “Inbetween.” But in this book, waiting rooms are not the place where you wait for the story to start; they are a story in themselves, rooms full of soon-to-be widows or orphans, full of future history-book-worthy events. This novel explores the moments before death, the seconds before the grief sets in, the instances before someone’s world changes, and how knowing that you are in a room meant for exactly that can bring strangers together or extinguish the last remaining embers of a once-close relationship. All We Can Do Is Wait by Richard Lawson. Razorbill, 2018. Buy the book here and help support Stone Soup in the process!
Apples, a poem by Mason, 9
Apples A sweet fruit, round like a ball. Pieces split with a slice of a knife. Pushing and shoving, hands start to reach for the slices. Long after the apples are finished, a slice lies forgotten under the table. Entering the room is the family puppy, Sniffing, who munches the unseen slice.
