flash contest

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

Our March 2023 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #244 (provided by Stone Soup intern Sage Millen), which asked that participants write a fairy tale with a twist: the princess had to be the villain. With such a fascinating prompt, it’s no wonder we got over 40 submissions! Among those 4o+ submissions were a story about a tiger-poaching princess, a story about a space princess, a story about a princess willing to blow up her betrothed, and a story about dueling Disney princesses. 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 “Birthright” by Asha Akkinepally, 12 “Her Carmine Eyes” by Eiaa Dev, 13 “Princess Preservation” by Rhea Kachroo, 12 “The Sun Shines Again” by Pranjoli Sadhukha, 13 “The Princess’s Tiger” by Melody You, 12 Honorable Mentions “The Princess Who Didn’t Want to Marry” by Isabella Bhagwandin, 12 “A Land Frozen in Time” by Aaron Duan, 12 “Within the Tower Walls” by Juwon Ha, 11 “Warrior Princess” by Kaia Lee, 9 “Damsel of Distress” by Emily Tang, 13 Birthright Asha Akkinepally, 12 He lay on the hard, cold floor. He led his sister to the dance floor. His clothes were ragged and overlarge. His clothes were perfectly tailored and brand-new. The ceiling dripped with a reeking, unidentifiable liquid. The ceiling was hung with glowing chandeliers. He winced as someone cried in pain. He laughed as his sister twirled around. Someone shoved a tray of stale bread and unripe pear at him. The table was set with a feast of the finest culinary delights. He raised a tin water cup to his lips. The king drank from a crystal wine goblet. He coughed, sputtering at the foul taste. The king let out a strangled cry as his eyes rolled back and his throat turned blue. With a final scream the ruler collap— He closed his eyes. He did not want to relive those moments–those moments when his father died. Those moments that cruelly threw him into this prison, stripping him, too, of his life. Of all he had ever known. Honestly, he wasn’t sure who had it worse. His father’s passing was supposed to be his rebirth. He was supposed to be in the palace, preparing for his coronation. Instead, he was in the kingdom’s most infamous prison, sharing air with its most infamous criminals. “Get up,” a guard barked. All the deference he had once commanded had vanished, replaced by an almost inhumanity. “You have a visitor.” He rose to his feet, blinking matted hair out of his eyes. Only one person remained from his old life—one person believing his innocence, that he did not poison the king, that he did not wish the worst for his own father. A girl entered into his line of sight then, looking out of place in the damp, dark prison, with her layers of tulle and glittering tiara. “Leave us,” she commanded the guards. “But, Your Highness—” She threw them an imposing glare. “I said leave us.” They scurried off, and he had never felt more grateful to his sister. She looked him up and down, examining his wretched state. He expected her to exclaim at how they were treating him, to demand reprisal from the injustice, but instead—“You are rather disappointing.” He recoiled. “Excuse me?” She eyed him disgustedly. “Look at you, reduced to this pathetic mess.” What was wrong with her? “Pathetic? The throne is my birthright! I’ve been working my whole life for it, and it’s wrested from my grip just as I am finally about to taste it! Of course I’m going—” “It’s your birthright,” she repeated softly. “Yes. You did nothing more than exist and the throne was yours.” She advanced closer. “Do you know what you are right now? Useless. Do you know what I’ve been my whole life? Even though I am, by far, the more deserving between us? Even though I am the one who knows our exports and imports by heart, who is fluent in 10 languages, who memorized all the foreign ambassadors’ names?” They were inches apart, and there was a rage simmering in her gaze that he had never seen before. “Useless.” His world was dying more and more with every drop of venom she infused her words with. Or perhaps he was dying—he felt little more than an empty vessel at the moment. She stepped back, smoothing her gown and her expression. “Until now. I’ve always been an excellent multitasker.” Realization dawned. “You killed Father! You framed me!” He was filled with an emotion he’d never experienced before. How could his sister do this? When had she planned it? “All so you could have the crown!” She tsked softly. “Unfair, isn’t it?” She laughed. “I know the feeling. In my experience, when a game’s unfair,” she said, smiling callously, “you change the rules.” She sauntered out. “Never trust anyone, dear brother. Especially your own family.” It was the last thing she ever said to him. The guards scampered back in, and he had never felt more hateful to his sister. He fell back to the floor. His threadbare clothes spread around him. Wet splattered on his face. Someone moaned in agony. The bread and pear nearly broke his teeth. He didn’t touch the water. It tasted bad. Her Carmine Eyes Eiaa Dev, 13 Chirps, croaks, and caws echo throughout the vast, endless forest. The grass glimmers under the sun’s harsh, unrelenting glare. Drops of the early morning dew cling to its fibers, glistening with a keen freshness. Flowers of all kinds, from the extravagant hydrangea to the lethal aconitum, dance in the soothing breeze. But behind its façade of beauty, the forest holds the deepest and darkest of secrets. Obscured by aging vines, a pair of carmine eyes glow with murderous intent. Who would have thought that the bane of the kingdom’s existence was a lot closer than