Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists

Flash Contest #18: Use a classic opening line as a starting point. The week commencing July 27 (Daily Creativity Prompt #91) was our eighteenth week of flash contests, and produced a lot of entries. Our entrants took the opening words of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, and I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith, in all sorts of creative directions. The pieces we received ranged from stories about extreme weather, to family and family history, and to some introspective narratives. We immensely enjoyed reading all of the writing we received; well done to everyone for your work on this challenge, and especially to our Winners and Honorable Mentions, listed below. Read on after the list of winners to enjoy the winners’ work for yourselves. Winners Wash the World Away by Fern Hadley, 11 (Cary, NC) Streaks by Rachel Feldman, 10 (Narberth, PA) My Manderley by Anna Haakenson, 12 (Beach Park, IL) A Letter by Shuyin Liu, 8 (Kirkland, WA) Pour Your Heart Into the Sink by Alice Xie, 12 (West Windsor, NJ) Honorable Mentions No Possibility by Katherine Bergsieker, 12 (Denver, CO) The Light Will Come Through Again by Sneha Jiju, 12 (Chandler, AZ) Dream and Dream More… by Prisha Aswal, 7 (Portland, OR) In the Kitchen Sink by Allie Dollar, 11 (Monticello, FL) Deadly Heat Wave by Nishil KC, 10 (Chantilly, VA) Fern Hadley, 11 Cary, NC Wash the World Away Fern Hadley, 11 Like Mom quoted Jane Eyre a few times: “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.” It perfectly describes today. I stare through the window, my chin propped on my hand as I watch sheets of rain fall from the sky in waves, bouncing off the asphalt. Rain is collecting on the window’s mesh board like dewdrops on spiderwebs. For the most part, I love rain. Sometimes when humid storms sweep across the city, I go outside, my arms outstretched, my face turned to the sky. There I’ll stand, my eyes closed as warm raindrops fall onto my face. At night, rain is my lullaby. I can hear the gentle patter of raindrops through my window, and the melodic rhythm soothes me to sleep. But today, the rain appears no more than a nuisance. Beside me, Luna gazes out the window with me with an intrigued expression. I stroke her silvery grey fur as I wonder if she ever wishes she could stand outside in the warm rain like I sometimes do. We don’t allow her out for her own safety, although I think she wants to. “I wish it wasn’t raining,” I confess to Luna. “Now I can’t take a walk.” Or can I? Luna glances at me with wide blue eyes before turning back to the window. Her eyes look like the window’s glass, clear and wet with rain. Sometimes cats are better companions than humans because they can’t talk. “Honey, where are you?” I look over my shoulder. “I’m over here. By the window.” My mother steps into the living room. “There you are. What do you want me to make you for dinner?” “I don’t know.” I rub Luna’s chin as I continue to watch the rain. “If you don’t care, I’ll make lasagna,” Mom offers. She knows I hate lasagna. “Just make Dad’s favorite,” I sigh. “Tacos?” “I said Dad’s favorite.” I glare at her. “I didn’t say Stanley’s favorite.” Mom sighs. She leans against the wall and crosses her arms. “Hon, we’ve been through this before.” “You asked me what I want for dinner.” She ignores me. “Look, I know Stanley can’t ever replace your father. But both you and me had to get through the loss of your father, so please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, okay? Stanley’s doing his best right now, and I am too.” “Mom, all I said was that I want Dad’s favorite for dinner.” Mom shuts her eyes. For a moment I regret what I said, but then she just turns and walks back into the kitchen. I feel even worse. I keep staring out the window, hoping that the rain would let up. Pulling my phone out, I check the weather app. It tells me that it won’t stop raining until ten in the evening. I grumble and shove my phone back into my pocket. Suddenly, an idea escapes from the depths of my mind. I quickly catch it before it can flutter away as swift as it came. Memories emerge to the surface. That, I inform myself, is a stupid plan. I decide to do it anyway and race out the back door. The screen door slams behind me. “Honey, what are you up to?” my mom calls from the kitchen. “Be back soon!” I yell back. Only moments after I leave the house, I’m soaked. I didn’t bother to bring a sweater, and I don’t care. I fly down the block, the sound of my footsteps lost in the storm. Past the forest. Over the fence. Through the field. Make a left. I run past my house, where Mom may or may not be making Dad’s favorite. I run past the school, the library, the cafe. I run past the mall, the warehouse, the police station. All the while, the storm is relentless. I decide I need a break. I sit down on a bench in the park, catching my breath as the rain drenches my hair. The first time I ran in the rain was before I even joined track. Dad had still been alive then, and he used to run with me all the time. “Where are you two going?” Mom stuck her head out of the kitchen. “Just taking a walk or something,” Dad grinned. Mom shook her head. “ ‘There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.’ ” “What is that—Peter Pan?” “Jane Eyre.” Mom put her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t be taking a walk in the rain. You two could