Joyce Hong, 11 (Oakville, ON, Canada) A Vacation, an Idiom, and a Wedding Joyce Hong, 11 Todd slowly exhaled and pressed the button on the radio. Maybe there would be some song or some old nostalgic tune that would cheer him up for a bit. Allard was still at the university in some neuroscience graduate classes that Todd, graphic design major who’d graduated years ago, would never be able to understand. At least he had some time to himself before Allard would be coming back. The radio burped before letting out a few long, miserable notes: “Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead…” He smacked the button to change the song. “We don’t talk anymore, like we used to do…” Click. The radio belched once more. “You told me you love me, why did you leave me all alone…” “Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name…” “We go, breaking up like cell phones, when I speak—” Todd picked up the radio and promptly tossed it onto the floor. While it didn’t seem even remotely broken, the music did stop. Maybe there was something broken inside. Like how there was something broken inside Todd. He had to fix this. Because Allard was a good guy, and he didn’t do anything wrong, and Todd didn’t want to hurt him. And if Allard began to realize that Todd didn’t love him anymore—of course, he meant, if Allard began to believe, inaccurately, that Todd was falling out of love with him, Todd wasn’t sure what he would do with himself. Because then it would be his fault. So. He had to fix this. Now, the only question was how. “Sam, my man—” “I’m not your man.” Beep. “Melia, I need your help, my lobelia—” “Did you just compare me to a flower?” Beep. “Rowan McGowan, you must be knowing—” “That is a pathetic rhyme, and you know it.” Beep. “Rochel, don’t hang up!” A few moments of silence. Beep. “THIS IS NOT MY DAY!” Todd threw his head back, slamming the phone back on the holder. “Why is everyone being so—so annoying today?” Slumping down into the chair, the door creaked closed behind him even though he hadn’t opened it in the first place. As Todd spun around in his chair, Allard gave him a sweet, puzzled smile. It was the type of smile that used to make Todd weak at the knees. Cute, but it didn’t make his knees feel weak anymore. “I hope that everyone doesn’t include me.” Allard said, slinging his bag off his shoulder and dropping it onto the rug. Todd studied him in silence, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Allard’s face was beginning to look increasingly concerned, his smile faltering a bit as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. “Todd? You alright?” Letting out a small, sharp laugh, Todd nodded vigorously. “Course, Ally. Course. Just… Everyone was hanging up on my calls. ALL OF THEM. Sam, Mel, Rowan, Rock. I haven’t even tried to call Bill yet, but I’m sure that he’ll hang up, too.” “Well, actually, I saw him at uni today, and he’s going to his fiancée’s brother’s place in Trinidad for their wedding! He was actually supposed to pack weeks before, but he’d procrastinated and now he’s really hurrying and hoping that Amanda won’t catch him. So, Bill probably won’t pick up at all!” Allard’s shoulders went back, his expression so innocent, so proud of just knowing this, but again, his smile faded quickly. “Well… I guess that didn’t help much.” “Well, you know, I’ve always told you that your optimism is infectious, hm, love?” Todd fell back into the chair. Going to his fiancée’s brother’s place in Trinidad… “And besides, speaking of going on a trip, I’ve decided to go on a vacation! Alone!” Todd slapped his thighs. “Whaddya say?” “Todd, it’s the middle of the year. And alone? Do you remember what happened last time?” Todd did remember what happened last time. Seven years ago, when Allard had been twenty, and Todd had been twenty-one, but still he remembered. How could he forget? “Todd, you’re not looking so good.” Allard gave him an adorably worried look. “You want to get off the boat before it starts?” Allard thought Todd didn’t see him, but Todd had been watching his every move as he’d glanced furtively at the speck that was Long Island. He was not going to ruin Allard’s birthday. “Nah,” Todd said, lifting his chin up. “I’ll be fine.” He was, of course, lying. His stomach lurched as the boat began to move. Involuntarily, Todd felt his hand grip the side of the boat tightly as his other hand threaded naturally between Allard’s fingers. He’d mentioned before that he got seasick, but… He. Was. Not. Going. To. Ruin. Allard’s. Birthday. “How long until we reach the island?” Todd said weakly. “Bout ‘one hour twenty minutes,’ I think they’d said,” responded the tall, spectacled girl sitting next to them. This was the girl that would eventually become one of their closest friends. Melia. She peered more closely at them. “You okay? You’re looking a bit green.” Todd smiled at her placidly, trying not to let himself seem too ill. He decided that not responding would be the best option because if he were to open his mouth, he was afraid he’d hurl immediately. Casting a sympathetic look at Todd, Allard squeezed his wrist, relieving a bit of the nausea. He’d remembered. Well, of course he’d remembered. Allard had always been the better boyfriend. Todd had just reached into his pocket for his seasickness medication and opened the box when the ferry rode over a high wave. Allard reached over, sweeping Todd’s hair away from his face as he yodeled out his lunch. “I’m sorry,” Todd said earnestly to the girl. In silence, she handed him a vomit bag that had seemingly spawned out of thin air. He took it
Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists
Forest Fire, a poem by Prisha Aswal, 8
FOREST FIRE Sparks Fly Crackling Sound Trees Down On fire Smoke rises up to the Sky Wolves Howl Bears Flee Ash Fills up the Ground Elk Run for their Lives. Birds and Butterflies try To Escape to Sky Crickets, Worms and Ants Fry Thunder Strikes, The Wind Blows, Making it Worse Animals Die Trees Burn, Dogs Bark, Fire Spreads Across, Lives Lost Homes Destroyed , Treasures Gone Memories Turned into Smoke Disappear into the Sky That has Turned Orange and Red.
Flash Contest #34, August 2021: Use J.M.W. Turner’s painting The Banks of the Loire as a starting point for a stream of consciousness piece—our winners and their work
Our August Flash Contest was based on Creativity Prompt #164 (provided by Anya Geist, Stone Soup ’20–21 Intern), which, combining art and writing, challenged participants to write a stream of consciousness piece based off of J.M.W. Turner’s painting The Banks of the Loire. The result was, unsurprisingly, breathtaking! In their own unique ways, each piece evoked Turner’s painting with stunning vividity. Reading the participants’ work, it was easy to envision the kneeling lady in red, the arching trees, and the backdrop of the seacliff, the tops of sails just visible through the mist. Participants also interpreted the qualification of stream of consciousness in a variety of ways, with their submissions ranging from meandering prose without punctuation to highly structured poetry to paragraph blocks written from the perspective of a tree! 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 “A River Flows in Me” by Inca Acrobat, 11 (San Francisco, CA) “The Melancholy Landscape” by Sophie Liu, 9 (Surrey, BC, Canada) “The Watcher” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) “Scattering Beams” by Emily Tang, 12 (Winterville, NC) “The Banks of the Loire” by Alexis Zou, 13 (Lake Oswego, OR) Honorable Mentions “A Dream or the End?” by Phoenix Crucillo, 13 (Los Angeles, CA) “Thoughts Harbored” by Rex Huang, 11 (Lake Oswego, OR) “Perspectives Not Human” by Ivy Liu, 9 (San Jose, CA) “So Still” by Sophie Yu, 13 (Houston, TX) “The Magical River” by Natalie Yue, 9 (San Carlos, CA) Inca Acrobat, 11 (San Francisco, CA) A River Flows in Me Inca Acrobat, 11 You fail to speak to me Even when the moon has risen Above the glittering Loire When my mind is awake But my body still Especially then You turn your back away My dreams fade away Sophie Liu, 9 (Surrey, BC, Canada) The Melancholy Landscape Sophie Liu, 9 A Dreary, Undisturbed, Abandoned, Landscape. As gloomy as a muddy, Dark, Overworked, Horse, In the rain. The trees wilting in the sky, No longer proud and sturdy, But miserable. The sky covered in menacing, Evil clouds, Hiding the jumpy, Comforting, Blue, Sky. Peaceful, And calm. Not even a single shout, A single bird chirping, Or the wind howling. The place is as tranquil as a person sitting beside a campfire, With the stars glittering above them, Without a sound being uttered. Only one, Lonely, Human being in the whole, Vast greenery world. The place is a boring Blobfish, Without any beings, Except blobs of nature to make up the empty, Lonely, Land. The unwelcoming, Still, Desolate, Landscape. Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) The Watcher Lui Lung, 12 There was a stillness that hovered in the air. It wasn’t the peaceful kind, more of the silence before a storm struck and razed everything in its path. I dutifully remained unmoving, listening faithfully for the endless thrum of life already etched into my memory. It was constant and ever-changing all at once, the irresolute rhythm to an unfinished song. This had become my existence: eagerly awaiting nothing by the riverbanks, observing a world I could not make a difference in until I grew too old to stand. The crunch of a fallen leaf snatched my attention, a discordant note in the delicately balanced symphony. A woman knelt, the sleeve of her dress slipping from her shoulder. This sight was not new to me. There had been hundreds before her who had visited, and thousands before them. Those who came and went were far too many to be remembered, both old and young, some carrying joy, but most bearing misery. Whether it was happiness or grief that led them to my home, I knew they all sought something for themselves, and I could tell from their faces what it was that they looked for. The desperate found comfort in meaningless details that went unnoticed by another, so that even the babbling of water could be heard as a familiar voice, or a breeze could be the huff of a lost lover’s breath. Then the woman shifted, my gaze leaping to her again, and her face was turned from me. The gleam of her dark hair gilded by noon sun was all I could see. Her perch was motionless beside the river, enough so that she could have been a painted figure listening for what only she could hear. She was indecipherable this way, a statue carved to be admired but never touched, beautiful but unreachable. Who was this mystery? What brought her here, to sit by these banks as I did? Did she hear the music in the rush of the Loire? I wanted to… I simply wanted, I realized. I wanted, and I could not have. Frustration burst like a wave. The sky inevitably splotched to orange and red, and the woman left me. She rose, the hem of her skirt against the ground a whispered addition to my song. I remained rooted in my position. People wandered here to find their purpose, but what was my own? I was the Watcher, I supposed, and I always would be. My purpose was to see and not feel, to ask my questions and to know they would not be answered. It was a bitter truth. I watched until the crimson of her dress became a faint speck, until the spell she had cast was lifted. How much longer would I continue to watch? Was I to stand here for a lifetime? I’d crumble eventually, slower than those I saw passing by, but I was dying all the same. Perhaps everyone did have a place in this grand composition I could not yet make sense of, and this was my cruel fate, a punishment for a crime I did not know of. A cool gust of wind rustled my branches. I stood still once more. The river murmured on. Emily Tang, 12 (Winterville, NC) Scattering Beams Emily
