Our October Flash Contest was based on Prompt #223 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants randomly choose a word from the dictionary and use that word to start their story or poem. A welcome change from some of our more specific prompts, this open-ended prompt led to far and away the most submissions we’ve ever received for a Flash Contest: 62! As such, it felt fitting to select six winners and six honorable mentions instead of the usual five. Among the plethora of submissions was a poem that plumbed the depths of mythological oceanic lore, a story written from the perspective of a creature who claimed to live inside of computers, and a story featuring a race against time in which the dwindling hours punctuated every section of the narrative. 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 “Ghost Ash” by Josie Barrer, 11 “Finding Permanence” by Joshua Gordon, 13 “Uranomancy” by Emma Hoff, 10 “The Dream” by Mika Lim, 12 “Bittersweet Star” by Vanaja Raju, 11 “Plum” by Melody You, 12 Honorable Mentions “Reunited” by Wenonah Brewer-Nyborg, 12 “The Countdown” by Sophie Li, 11 “Football” by Jeremy Lim, 10 “Orange” by Lui Lung, 13 “Fathom the Depths” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 11 “Into Your Computer” by Aryaman Majumder, 11 Ghost Ash Josie Barrer, 11 Hypnotized by the alluring mountains before me, I stepped toward the edge of the cliff. The anabatic flow balanced out the humidity in the air. The trees confined the moonlight, also blocking the clear sky and the vacant clouds. The stars glistened in the empty night sky. Words could not describe the view that was put before me. I turned my back toward the breath-taking sight. The woods stretched far beyond the eye could see. The trees came apart at a narrow trail, creating a path for me to jog. I stopped suddenly, as the path before me turned to darkness. An icy chill sent a shiver down my spine. The campsite where I stayed for the night seemed to be miles away. “Dad!” I shouted, in a desperate wail of help. I froze, as the bush right beside me moved. I had an insecure feeling I was being watched. A faded body, shining in the dark night rose from the bushes. It wore a white cloth and its face was expressionless. I was too terrified to move. My heart and breathing stopped as the mysterious creature lurked before me. Reality snapped back to me and I ran down into the darkness. I tumbled and landed on the hard, rocky surface. I screamed. A loud and deafening scream. The human-like creature floated toward me, noiselessly. It rose higher into the sky and now came directly above me. It looked down at me for a harsh second. I closed my eyes and turned my head to the floor. I waited, a second, then a minute, then turned to see a pile of dust on the ground. Finding Permanence Joshua Gordon, 13 Permanent. That’s what I thought my life would be. I thought I would always have my loving mother’s sweet giggle, my lionhearted father’s bellowing laugh, Jack the dog’s big slobbery kisses, and me in the middle of it all in our small blue house on Elm Avenue, smiling until my mouth hurt. But, back then, I was just an innocent little kindergartener, unaware of the impending disaster. That disaster was the car accident. I was safely snuggled up in bed, sleeping, when my parents died. Somewhere along Highway 20, an intoxicated driver slammed into my father’s van coming home from an evening party. It was all over in a few minutes. That’s all the police at the front door could say before my wailing drowned out their voices that told me what they had told so many other people, not stopping even when their strong arms picked me up and hurried me into their car. That was the end of my life at Elm Avenue. As I moved from foster home to foster home, from Birch Street to Oak Boulevard to Maple Way, each night I lay on my back, unable to sleep in the alien environment, picturing that fateful night. The swerving car, the unsuspecting van, the ambulances and police cars with sirens blaring, rushing to the scene to try to save my parents. How they couldn’t. Now, once again, I was being relocated, as the woman in her white uniform informed me. Relocated like an object, I thought. An object nobody wants. This time, the reason was that my foster father had accidentally overwatered my beloved ficus plant. I had, of course, been reasonably mad. I just might have been too mad. One thing led to another, and he decided that caring for a foster child was too much work. In an instant, that impermanent life was gone forever. A gentle knock on the door startled me from my thoughts. I gingerly placed my new Boston fern that I had been clutching in my lap on the waiting room desk. I inhaled deeply, then slowly let the air out through my nose. I had done this before, but that same nervousness possessed me every time, that small flicker of hope impossible to extinguish that my new parents might truly love me. “Come in,” I squeaked feebly. The door swung open, revealing a single woman. Her short blond hair fell in curls to her spotless white lab coat. Our eyes met for a few seconds, and I realized she was almost as nervous as I was. Then she spoke. “What a nice specimen of Nephrolepis exaltata!” She exclaimed, noticing the plant on the table next to me. “Did you know that, according to old folk tales, Boston ferns are a sign that there are fairies nearby?” She looked around as if the stories were real before
random words
Weekly Creativity #218: Make a List of 10-15 Unrelated Words, then Write a Story/Poem Incorporating All of Them
Make a list of 10-15 unrelated words, then write a story/poem incorporating all of them.
Weekly Writing Workshop #1, Friday April 3, 2020: Inspiration From Random Words
Our first Weekly Writing Workshop! The Stone Soup Weekly Writing Workshop is open to all Stone Soup contributors and subscribers during the COVID-19-related school closures and shelter-in-place arrangements. Every Friday, we meet for one hour via Zoom to respond to a new writing challenge, write together in our virtual room, and then share what we have written with one another. At our first session on Friday April 3, we introduced ourselves, broke the ice by naming our favourite animal (if we had one!), and then got to work on a word challenge. Everyone in the room came up with a random favourite word, which we captured on our whiteboard, and then we got down to half an hour of serious writing. The Writing Challenge: Write a story, poem, or other prose, using at least 5 of the words on the list! The Words: orange, trustworthy, glass, scrapbook, future, luscious, garden, biography, grandfather, run, gallop, sniff, canter The Participants: Lena (10), Anya (13), Liam (12), Eli (7), Jay (9), Abhi (11), Vivian (11), Anna (15), Lucy (12), Ma’ayan (11), Ever (10), Mico (13), Silas (10), Catherine (13), Stella (13) We were so impressed by the writing the participants produced. From haunting poems and reflective prose to outer space adventure, free verse, and a tale of a fruit’s imaginary life, it was just amazing what the workshop inspired, and incredible to see what polished work could emerge in such a short time. Read on for the great pleasure of reading some of our writers’ work. The Storyteller by Lena Aloise, 10 I descend the narrow staircase of my thoughts, Slice the lock from the pirate’s chest of my mind, But the treasure that lies amongst the settling dust, Is not buttery golden coins, Nor rough slices of glistening jade. But the firm feeling against my palms, The satisfaction pouring into my soul is but the same. I pull a story from its cage, Wrestle it under a thin coating of dreams. Sprinkle gently with a handful of wishes, Then part the mist surrounding and reveal a truth. As I jump from the shores of the world I have crafted, I dive into those perilous waters, And return to the banks with something all new. The Garden through the Mirror by Lena Aloise, 10 I stare back at an unfamiliar soul, Through the portal of crystal glass. Eyes two inky pools of brown, Staring back into mine, Swirling clouds of emotion, My past, my future, My fate. Cover the room in a thick fog, And from the misty tendrils, I emerge, Pushing through the uncertainty. I wander through those narrow corridors, Until I enter a world, One of color, Vibrant reds and oranges, One of light, Lucious rays that fill me with warmth. A garden. Spilling off their narrow stems, Are the fruits of memory. And the green shoots that sprout, From the soil of knowledge, Are those of triumph, Those of success. I run through the waving grasses of sorrow, Nipping at my ankles, The crimson droplets forming on my skin, Are those of tearful memories. And the soft breeze, Gently tugging at my shoulder, Whisking away the sharp pain. Is that of stories. This garden of my mind, A scrapbook of my past, My biography, Not yet written. A chamber of possibility, Containing the keys to the doors, Of who I can become. Untitled, by Anya G., 13 It was a dark and cold night, a night when all wild things are best left to their sulking devices. It was the type of night where it might as well rain; it might as well pour, just to fill the vacancy of life and soul in the world. However, the night had no effect on the young girl. At half-past ten, by the toll of the old grandfather clock in the parlor, which stood gathering dust in an untouched corner, she rose from bed, pushing her silk curtains open to admit the silver, luscious moonlight into her room, spilling across the floor; light; the opposite of a shadow. And so she tiptoed down the great hall, past the looming oak doors that guarded her family from the menacing shadows of night. She slipped downstairs, just a flicker of light across the black shapes of furniture silhouetted in the night. She could only contain her excitement for so long though, and upon reaching the great glass doors that led to the terrace, flung them open and flew into the night like a bird getting its first taste of fresh air. It didn’t matter that the air was heavy with malice or that chilling whispers of the wind caused the hair on the end of her neck to stand up. It didn’t matter that the stone on the terrace was cold on her bare feet, cracked and invaded by damp moss. She ran, her blue nightgown trailing behind her. If she were a horse, her mane waving in her wake, the expanse of the front yard was her pasture, the promise of fresh green grass stretching on forever. She reached the end of the yard, and paused, her breath coming in long gasps. Her cheeks were flushed from the run, her fingers tingling from the clawing cold of the night, but she had not accomplished her mission yet. She jumped over the hedge that bordered the lawn, and winded her way through thorny bushes that snagged her gown, and ensnared her blond hair that flowed like a waterfall. And then she reached it, a small clearing in the bramble. She sat on the cold, firm soil, inhaling the sweet aroma of fresh earth. She bent over into the bushes, moonlight splashing her face with an all-knowing light, and retrieved a lantern. Reaching over again, she produced a box of matches, and struck one. Once she had lit the lantern, it filled the space with a warm, orange light. It was a light that was like a piece of sweet candy melting on your
