Our February 2024 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #291 (provided by Stone Soup intern Sage Millen), which asked that participants write a story about a person discovering a secret passageway. Characters stumbled upon doors to incredible lands of zombies, witches, and mermaids. They found staircases in trees, tunnels in garbage cans, and a golden elixir that prevents aging. In one submission, a man in a green suit took the main character to a land of misfit creatures. As always, thank you to all who participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Honorable Mentions, listed below, and our Winners, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Hole in the Ground” by Angelina Chen, 12 “The Stars” by Xi Huang, 11 “Sewer Rats” by Alborz Yousefi Nooraie, 12 “Wake Up” by Vanaja Raju, 12 “Passage” by Chris Yihan Ye, 12 Honorable Mentions “The Hidden Truth” by Rayansh Bhargava “The Search for the Past Life” by Hope Dekkers, 13 “The Gateway” by Yuna Jung, 10 “The Enchanted Pathway” by Miya Ma, 8 “Shattered Land” by Adam Xu, 11 Hole in the Ground ANGELINA CHEN, 12 “Fine, I hate you too,” Len hissed with feral eyes. His mother and father stood before the television, his father’s hand on his console’s plug. Len clutched the edges of the couch, trying to burn a hole through his parents while sinking into the sofa cushions. “Len, buddy, we never said we hated you; we just told you to turn off the PS5—” “I was only on it for like, what, twenty minutes? I don’t want to grow up as one of those nerdy kids with no life,” Len shrilled, looking from his console to his parents. “Two hours. You’re glued to this thing, Len.” “Shut. Up. I’m perfectly fine,” with a leap, he bounced off the couch and rushed into the dining room, shutting the door behind him. Muffled pleas echoed through the closed door, which Len promptly ignored, moving toward the door. His hands shook from adrenaline, his brain struggling to escape his game. Maybe you were on for too long, he guessed. No. He shook his head. Of course not; your parents are never correct. His feet hit the edge of the “welcome” carpet, curled up in the corners that never stayed down no matter what. Len reached down, pushing away boots, high heels, and slippers until he dug out a pair of running shoes. “They…” Off came the first lace. “Don’t…” Off came the second lace. “Love…” On came the left shoe. “Me.” On came the right shoe. Len kicked the door open, laces still loose, the frigid air slicing into his exposed arms. The faint hoot of a bird welcomed his entrance outside, the light inside spilling out into the blue night. Len stared, wondering if he was too confident with his thinking. The contrast in temperatures started to get to him as he stood there, freezing his body, and he knew he had to think fast. On one side of his head, every survival instinct in his body screamed at him to go back inside, but on the other, it offered something better: freedom, feeling worthy. Then, in the middle of his imaginary debate, the dining room knob squeaked, along with the faint sound of “Len?” The sound of his name burned him, and he ran. Silence glimmered in the night like a melting candle, owls’ hoots filling up the sky. “I don’t need them anyway,” Len grumbled, though he wasn’t sure. His feet burned, and every step hurt more than the last. I should take a break. His tired legs felt relief at the remark, only now figuring out he had been running for over an hour. No, I have to get as far as possible. I can’t let them find me. Though he could mentally hear the groans in his ankles, he pushed forward, setting pain aside as weakness. “I don’t need them, I don’t need them, I don’t need–” A sudden absence of ground cut off his rant, throwing him off balance. He screamed out, yelling for help, the sensation of falling rushing toward his head. He was falling, hands scrambling to find the walls of the ditch, but all he could feel was the wind blowing past his face. He felt his throat grow hoarse, and he stopped, knowing he needed to save his breath if he wanted to survive. His eyes closed in silence, letting the darkness decide his fate. … “What is that?” “I think it’s one of those ‘humans’ mum talks about.” “It’s so ugly.” “Says you.” “Huh?” Len felt his eyes inch open, barely awake, the rest of his body asleep. “Eek! It talked!” Len could hear the voices now, one high, one just plain ear-bleeding. His limbs felt detached from his body while his head throbbed, the only indication he was alive. “Whoa, that’s so cool! I wonder if it can learn tricks,” the ear-bleeding voice squealed noisily, with Len too tired to punch the squeaky creature. “Lija, it’s not a pet. It’s just another “intelligent lifeform,” whatever that means,” Len felt something soft shift under his arms, probably a blanket, and he was off the ground. “Poor thing, it just needs to regain its strength.” Even half-sleeping, Len could feel the other creature roll its eyes. He burned with questions, but he decided to save those for later. He was alive, but he didn’t know if he would stay alive. “Floilu, you have to loosen up. When it learns how to roll over, you’ll forgive me immediately,” the shrill voice responded with a hint of dreaminess. Len would’ve thrown up if he was fully awake. Lija and Floilu, huh? Just thinking about the names gave Len chills, distracting him from the pain. It was unbearable, and he wished he was still unconscious just to feel normal. He eventually let the gentle sway of whatever the two creatures were doing lull him back to the darkness,
monthly
Weekly Creativity #291 | Flash Contest #64: Write a Story About a Person Finding a Secret Passageway
Write a story about a person finding a secret passageway. Where does it lead?
Flash Contest #63, January 2024: Write a Story Based on an Unexpected Response to a “Would You Rather” Question–our winners and their work
Our January 2024 Flash Contest was based on Prompt #286 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants write a story based on the classic game: Would You Rather. There were many incredibly creative takes on this prompt, and characters had tough decisions to make. They debated between super speed and super strength, a girl left her hometown–never to return, and a boy chose to change career paths after accidentally destroying cheese shop property with his pet rat. In one submission a Would You Rather spirit even forced a girl to decide between two delectable concoctions: pickle-filled oreos or a poppyseed cake doused in gravy. As always, thank you to all who participated, and please keep submitting next month! In particular, we congratulate our Honorable Mentions, listed below, and our Winners, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “I’d Rather Not” by Alia Ashworth, 12 “Thankfulness” by Rayansh Bhargava, 10 “Would You Rather?” by Meghan Li, 13 “The Boy with the Rat” by Alborz Yousefi Nooraie, 12 “Two Years Ago” by Vanaja Raju, 12 Honorable Mentions “Balance Has Been Achieved” by Jayan Byrapuram, 12 “Would You Rather” by Angelina Chen, 13 “The Word” by Yuna Jung, 10 “The Spirit of Rather” by Kate Le, 11 “Would You Rather” by Josi Prins, 12 I’d Rather Not ALIA ASHWORTH, 12 “It’s just a game,” I whisper to myself, taking a deep, calming breath. I know it isn’t true, but it helps steady my resolve, imagining that it isn’t the single most important thing I’ve ever done in my life. My cursor wavers, darting from one button to the next. I push a strand of hair behind my ear, my mind racing. The silence of the room, only interrupted by the brief humming of my laptop, is almost deafening. This is I’d Rather Not, an intense game show where 80 competitors fight for the chance to answer one single question. I survived four rounds of rigorous physical and mental challenges to make it into the top five competitors. Now I have twenty minutes to decide my answer to one single question: Would you rather be rich, famous, powerful, admired by the world, but never be sure if those closest to you are only in it for the money and attention, or live a quiet life out of the public eye, but with real friends and real relationships? The catch is, whatever I answer will come true. And I now have 11 minutes and 48 seconds to decide my future. If I choose option one, the next few years of my life will be an incredible whirlwind of lights, fame, riches, and glory, whereas option two will lead down a road similar to what would have happened if I had never been invited to join I’d Rather Not. My cursor hovers over the button for option one. It would be so easy to click it and be ensured riches and glory for the rest of my life. I glance up at the clock. I only have 6 minutes and 17 seconds. I close my eyes, and an image flits through my mind. Me, in sixty or seventy years, laying in a bright, blindingly white hospital, an acrid, overly clean smell fills the air. I’m wired up to a machine, and I can see my heartbeat on a screen. In one world, I’m surrounded by loving friends and family, and in the other, paparazzi. Would I rather breathe my last breath in the company of friends and family, people I love and who genuinely love me back, or the flash of cameras and buzz of recording devices? Would I rather my life be a constant publicity game or a genuine attempt to be the best I can be without conforming to society’s idea of perfection? Would I rather…? I open my eyes, resolved in my choice. I turn to the screen, a smile on my lips. It’s almost funny. I competed for so long, risked so much, only to go back to the way I was before. No, my life won’t be glamorous, I won’t be envied by millions of people. I won’t live my life in the spotlight or be insanely wealthy. But honestly, I think, as I choose my answer, I’d rather not. Thankfulness RAYANSH BHARGAVA, 10 Heimlich Praüse Alaëdor gazed out the window in his room. The sun was setting in the distance, and Heimlich’s mind was distant as well. All that was on his thoughts was his longing—his desperation—to visit Earth. In Qasøe, Earth was a forbidden subject because of the cruelty displayed there by its inhabitants, but Heimlich nevertheless had always wanted to visit this tranquil yet aggressive planet. Whether it was the architecture or the cultures, Heimlich didn’t know. His whole life he had dreamt about being asked whether or not he would want to leave Qasøe and live on Earth, and his answer would have obviously been the latter. “Heimlich Praüse Alaëdor, come down here this instant! You’ll be late for school!” a voice interrupted Heimlichs’ thoughts. Heimlich stood up from his post near his desk, grabbed his packed bag, and trudged downstairs. Qasøe was a familiar place; but Earth was not, and Heimlich was eager to get a glimpse at it. “Mother—” “No, Heimlich.” His mother responded tiredly, as if she’d heard this question hundreds of times before; and she had. “But Mother—” Again Heimlich was dismayed by his mother’s response, and he reluctantly sat down to eat his våflia. He deliberately forced each spoonful down his throat quickly, and then leapt up and waved goodbye to his mother as he headed out for school. “Heimlich, don’t try anything you know I wouldn’t approve of!” his mother called after him. Heimlich just shook his head and began to jog, his backpack waving loosely behind him. The buildings were ramshackle and run-down, with some having loose windows and falling-off doors. “Earth must be so much better than this.” Heimlich moaned. Slowly, he approached the
