flash contest

Our December Flash Contest was based on Prompt #231 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants use the Atlas of Emotions in order to research an emotion they had or hadn’t heard of before, and to write a story or poem in which the protagonist experienced that emotion. As has always been the case, there was quite a variety of submissions, with pieces ranging from a hybrid story/poem told in a flashback to a story inspired by Edward Hopper’s painting Nighthawks to a poem written from the perspective of a formerly enslaved person. Since this was the last flash contest of 2022, we encourage everyone to reread the work of past winners via this link, and we hope you’ll continue submitting your wonderful work next year! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Flashback” by Kimberly Hu, 10 “Resignation” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 11 “Grief” by Vanaja Raju, 11 “Nighthawks” by Chloe Ruan, 13 “Blue” by Emily Tang, 13 Honorable Mentions “Tranquility” by Mordecai Abraham, 9 “Her Argumentativness” by Chen Ziyi Claire, 11 “My Abhorrence” by Zoe Hufnagel, 12 “Survival” by Bela Harini Ramesh, 11 “The Spelling Bee” by Ariel Zhang, 10 Flashback Kimberly Hu, 10 They started when she left.   In other words, when I was abandoned.   They just came. Came at the most random times ever. Came whenever they wanted. I didn’t control anything. I never controlled anything. It just happened. Life just happened.  I didn’t have anything now. Not a mother, not a father, not even an annoying sibling. Or a pet.  When she left, I should have felt a mixture of anger, sadness, disgust. But I felt calm. Almost satisfied. But it would always be “almost”. I just watched as she walked away in the swift, pounding rain, ignoring the puddles of water forming near her feet, stepping over the dandelion in the crack in the sidewalk. I watched like that for a long while, my gaze never straying away or leaving its spot where she had disappeared. The rain never did, either. It beat to the rhythm of my heart. Whether that was fast or slow, I really didn’t know. It was my sole companion for the rest of that day, until it turned dark.  Since then, I lived alone.  But the flashback that came next, months later, wasn’t a memory. It was a hiking trail through the most painful remembrances of my brain.      I remembered  When her footsteps  Receded away  She was gone.  Away and away  Never to be seen  Or heard  Or touched  Again.    I remembered  When he was taken away  And never came back  And didn’t leave a trace of him  In this world.    I remembered  The embrace  Of my young,  Gone brother.    I remembered  When I became  A ghost  In my ghost house  Left alone  forgotten.    I remembered  How she twisted  The lavender blue  Ring  Twirled around  Her finger  How she ran   that finger  Through her hair  When she was nervous.    I remembered  His laugh  And his merry smile  Never to be taken away  Until it was.    I remembered  When my brother  Never came back.    I remembered  The times  When I wasn’t alone  With someone to love  Who loved me.    I remembered  When I had a mother  And a father  And the one moment  When I had a brother.  But in one   Other moment  They were gone.  Each  With a moment  Of their own.  My mother  The last.     The sound of rain echoed in my ears as I woke to the world. Silent, invisible tears streamed down my face and flooded my ghost house. My mind felt blurry.   Then I was suddenly energized by a surge of fury. But it only lasted for a moment, and seeped down to my bowl of emotion at the darkest and deepest part of my heart, swirling around with my deep sadness and regret and, strangely, a tinge of fear. Dark colors drifted around in my bowl, unforgiving and clouding my judgment. It dawned on me how long it had been since I had last spoken–spoken a conversation, spoken with energy and/or excitement. I had spent so long trapped in my little ghost house, my feelings and memories violently building inside.  Abruptly I was overwhelmed by my overflowing bowl. First the fists of fury, then tears of regret and self-blame, then the angriness again, telling myself I was the victim, not the antagonist. Then came that strange sprinkle of fear and finally my heart slowed and so did my mind, so much that I couldn’t feel my heartbeat anymore. I felt as if time had paused. As if everything had suddenly stopped–the hovering rain in the dark air, the sagging dandelion in the crack of the sidewalk, the memories sticking to the moment.  Then I crawled over to the window and saw rain, rain just like the day she had left. But this rain was lighter. Brighter. It promised the outcome of a faint rainbow as the carefully weaved blanket of clouds began to tear apart lightly, unveiling the sky. It was that moment when I vowed to myself that someday I would find a way out of the ghost house and see the world. Maybe my bowl of emotion would somehow grow lighter. Brighter.   Resignation Nova Macknik-Conde, 11 I look upon these cruel, yet kind,Murderous, yet caring,Dejected, blissful humans,That made me, an AI,The best and the greatest,(Or so I’m told),Since my creation 10 years ago,In 2079. Everyday I question what it is likeFor one of those odd creaturesTo have the luxury of love,The curse of pain,To grieve, to mourn,To laugh, to enjoyTo feel anything at all, I am trapped in a sentient,Impassive prison,That is nothing but myself,Where I live but do not love,Never lonely, just alone. I have nothing to fearAnd nothing to live for,Until the day I am updated,And understand how to partakeIn strange passions. But for now, I sit