Our July Flash Contest was based on Prompt #210 (provided by Stone Soup intern Sage Millen), which asked that participants write a story about glasses that did more than just improve vision. As of late, Sage has set a precedent for uniquely specific, wacky prompts that allow writers to focus largely on storytelling. Unsurprisingly, we received a wide breadth of submissions (including one poem), with fleshed out, vivid plots that ranged from the all-too-real consequences brought on by lie-detecting glasses to an exploration of the ramifications of glasses that hide what the wearer wishes not to see to a heartwarming tale brought on by glasses that can resurrect any memory into the physical realm. As always, we thank all who submitted and encourage you to submit again next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “A Memory” by Hayden Carroll, 10 “More, or Less?” by Peri Gordon, 12 “Liar” by Sophie Li, 11 “Memories through the Lenses” by Audrey Ren, 11 “Numb” by Eliana Wang, 13 Honorable Mentions “The Passing Lens” by Natalie Jong, 9 “The Things We Don’t See” by Lui Lung, 13 “A Strange Gift” by Bela Harini Ramesh, 10 “Defining Deeds” by Emily Tang, 13 “Eccentric Eyeglasses” by Melody You, 11 A Memory Hayden Carroll, 10 Feel the frame Dip in the middle, Are you brave enough to put them on? Do it. Do it. Look through the delicate glass, That can be broken with the slightest crack. What do you see? A world, with all your hopes and dreams Trapped inside. Melted candy drops from trees, Instead of sticky sap. Take your newfound treasure off, Before you become, none but A memory. More, or Less? Peri Gordon, 12 “I’m fine! The doctor will tell you the same thing! I’m fine, and you can’t make me go!” I bellow. I picture myself as an enormous bison and try to make myself as heavy as possible as my mom drags me to the car. Why can’t I be like my dog, Pine Cone, and prevent a trip to the doctor by barking, running away, and flashing irresistible puppy eyes? “Amity, I’m going to find out what’s wrong with you whether you like it or not,” replies my mom in an eerily calm voice. “I think this new doctor will be really helpful. He should…bring a very different perspective to the problem.” Yeah, right. That’s what my parents said about the last five doctors who found nothing wrong with me. Nobody understands that the reason I’ve been throwing up every night for months–ever since my ninth birthday–isn’t because of a physical illness. But I force myself into the car, slamming the door closed with all of my strength just for the fun of making Pine Cone bark. Twenty minutes later, the examination begins. I grumble, “How long will this take?” and Dr. Clumer, a squat man with bright green eyes, says, “That depends on you.” I scowl. After twenty more minutes, Dr. Clumer announces that I’m in “optimal physical condition.” But after only ten more, I am told that I need to get glasses. I snort. “I have 20/20 vision! And…you didn’t even test my vision! What do glasses have to do with vomit?” “See for yourself,” replies my crazy new doctor, handing me a pair of thin gold frames with shiny lenses that seem to twinkle. The next thing I know, I find myself clamping my fingers around them, entranced. The gleaming lenses are hard and smooth to the touch, and although it’s silly, I find myself asking, “Are these lenses made of diamonds?” Dr. Clumer laughs in a way that makes my hands tingle–my body’s way of telling me that I’m nervous, whether I like it or not–and replies, “No, dear, they’re made of bovite.” Bovite? I turn to my mom, who shrugs, then looks away, seeming unusually worried. I ask the doctor, “What will the glasses do?” “I wonder…” says Dr. Clumer in a singsong voice, paired with a piercing stare. Is he…mocking me? Testing me? Having officially decided that everything this doctor says is completely unhelpful, I slowly place the glasses onto my narrow nose. The doctor disappears. I spring back in shock, crashing into a desk. “Mom?” I ask in a shaky voice. “Everything okay, sweetie?” She turns to her left. “Does this mean they’re working?” “Mom, who are you talking to?” She continues speaking to the empty space to her left. “Amity can’t see you?” She pauses, as if listening to someone else, then says, “Oh my God.” “What do you mean, ‘Oh my God?’ Who can’t I see? The doctor?” I rip off the glasses, and suddenly, there he is again. My mom approaches, but I back away. “Okay, what just happened?” My mom glances at the doctor, who is apparently too deep in thought to pay any attention to his patients. I double my volume. “WHAT JUST HAPPENED? WHAT. JUST. HAPPENED?” When no one responds, I prepare to break the stupid glasses in half. I start to– “Sweetie, don’t do that,” my mom says, rushing to my side and grabbing the glasses before I can break them. The glasses that make people disappear–but only for me. Who am I, just some kid she can let a mad scientist experiment on? I verbalize this, and Dr. Clumer shakes his head. “I’m not a mad scientist. I’m trying to help you. I know there’s nothing physically wrong with you. You keep throwing up because you’re upset. Disturbed.” “And we need to know why,” my mom interrupts. I roll my eyes. “Yes, we do,” the doctor continues. “But we also need to remedy the problem. These glasses do more than help you see. These glasses help you block out the things you don’t want to see–they can block all five senses, actually.
flash contest
Weekly Creativity #210 | Flash Contest #45: Write a Story about Glasses That Do More Than Just Improve Vision
Write a story about glasses that do more than just improve vision.
An Unsent Letter
Ellis Yang, 12 (Los Altos, CA) An Unsent Letter Ellis Yang, 12 Dear Miriam, That morning in the city, two weeks before you left, I walked down the avenue as I do now. No sudden alteration great enough to be recognized transpired, for outwardly it was only a brief two weeks. For me, however, it could NOT be more different. My eyes gaze from down to up — from freshly cemented roads to twisted shrubberies to ostentatious Victorian-style houses behind the sidewalks. I follow across the first avenue, past the barbed wire fence, until I sight the rusty 49 on the condo’s face where you had lived. I am thinking of you, old friend, Miriam, as I walk down this avenue today. I am reminiscing about you. –––––|––––– “I can’t take it.” Your voice breaks up. “The other girls, the boys too, they’re all so — so — I don’t know. Whenever I do anything they all gang up on me — when someone else does they’re half blind. Don’t you think I’m not intimidating enough? Is it a ‘me’ problem?” I shake my head. If I could talk, I’d ask, “Ya who finna gave you that idea. Ain’t no girl deserves to fall victim to this madness. Ain’t nobody. Ain’t nobody these days knows you better than I. When I say you’re fine, them words are fortified by experience.” But I hold my tongue. “Girlie, you’re fine. Them broads can tail whatever browbeater they want. Better trust me when I say you ain’t a pushover,” I say. “But nobody else thinks that.” A silence. “Sharon asked me to hang out with her last Saturday. At my house. You can think what happened next. That morning Ma yanked me awake and we plowed through all the disgust in all the space — and then she never showed up. Nope. We sat on our couches, for what, an hour? And she never came.” I fold my arms. “Oh… that sucks. Really.” “Guess what — it gets worse. Sharon — oh god, I hate that girl so much — she posted this goddamn — what was it, they went to the beach, she and the girls? Look at them all, eating pizza and playing volleyball. Look at all of those jerks at the goddamn place —” “Woah there —” “— Look at her. Ditching me over a goddamn stale pizza. She could have just told me! Goddammit! That shrew! I can’t believe we’re friends.” I place a hand on her shoulder and sigh. “Then find new ones. She finna hang out with the popular kids — fine, if you’re so sure, ditch her. Don’t cut ties with her, just drift apart, you and her. Hate interacting with her — just don’t. No need to go all out.” “Alright…” you say. I reckon that’s a good enough answer. Over the next few weeks it gets worse. In PE, you say, Miss Hart asks y’all to pair up into twos. Of course you turn to Sharon — what other kid is there to stick with? But no — she’s already waving her racket next to Maggie. You slump away, wiping away your worthless tears in the ladies’ room. Ya say that during lunch Sharon saves a seat for Maggie and her gang as invisible currents tug y’all away. Her texts, too, come in slower — then stop altogether. Girl ghosted you completely. Ya say that some kind of dynamic between y’all has shifted — not dramatically, though, as if they could only be particularized in the subconscious… They occur gradually, too implicitly to measure, but you are certain. You are unsure of why — and so am I, but you are sure of it, nonetheless. –––––|––––– Today as I walk down Willow Avenue I remember your twinkling eyes — and beneath them your earnest smile — beneath that your sorrow. The diverse yet interconnected world we occupy is a beautiful one, and my time over at your place has helped me appreciate it. Yet as I gaze at the street, I swear it is not the same without you. I wish you had stayed somewhere nearby or switched to some closer school. Nonetheless, I am grateful that you trusted me enough to confide in me. Yours truly, P. Monica This story was originally submitted as part of Flash Contest #43, May 2022: Write a story where somebody betrays their best friend for a slice of slightly stale pizza.
