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.
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Flash Contest #44, June 2022: Write a scene in which you meet your past or future self—our winners and their work
Our June Flash Contest was based on Prompt #207 (provided by contributor Molly Torinus), which asked that participants write a scene (as a story, a poem, or a play) in which the author met their past or future selves. This prompt, a creative reimagining of the classic “write a letter to your future self,” resonated deeply with our participants as we received over 40 submissions! The participants’ brilliant work ranged from a semi-fictional origin story for the author’s pet guinea pigs to a time-bending competition over the homework of the author’s past, present, and future selves to a heart wrenching letter asking that the author’s future self be kinder to their soon-to-be-dead brother. If I may inject myself into this short summary, in all the time I’ve been judging the Flash Contest—since September 2020—I have never seen such a crop of brilliant writing. It took me over two days to ultimately decide the winners and honorable mentions, of which there are six each—one more than the usual five—and even then two more pieces were selected for the regular and Covid blogs. I distinctly remember being blown away by the quality of writing and artwork the first time I encountered Stone Soup—better and more robust than that of my college peers—and my admiration and awe for you contributors has only increased since I became an employee. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to all who submitted and have submitted their work in the past, and please submit again next month! In particular, we congratulate our Winners and our Honorable Mentions, whose work you can appreciate below. Winners “Have We Met?” by Alia Ashworth, 11 (Thousand Oaks, CA) “The Visitor from the Stars” by Hanbei Bao, 11 (Lakewood, CO) “Homework Thieves” by Wilson Chen, 10 (Portland, OR) “Last Vacation” by Caroline Gao, 11 (Milpitas, CA) “The Interview” by Savarna Yang, 13 (Outram, New Zealand) “Piano Can Transcend Time” by Joycelyn Zhang, 12 (San Diego, CA) Honorable Mentions “Future” by Sophie Li, 11 (Palo Alto, CA) “The Life of a Guinea Pig” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 10 (Brooklyn, NY) “Time’s Reminders” by Audrey Ren, 11 (Linwood, NJ) “Me Too” by Daniel Shorten, 11 (Mallow, Republic of Ireland) “Déjà vu” by Eliana Wang, 13 (Potomac, MD) “A Second Chance” by Hannah Wu, 12 (Washington DC) For the Stone Soup blog “White Lilacs, Purple Lilacs” by Cayleigh Sukhai, 12 (Manitou Beach, Saskatchewan, Canada) For the Stone Soup Covid blog A Strange Dream by Melody You, 11 (Lake Oswego, OR) Alia Ashworth, 11 (Thousand Oaks, CA) Have We Met? Alia Ashworth, 11 I brace myself, expecting something crazy or wild. Nothing happens except the flashing screen of the watch… You are now entering 2022. There is a strange feeling of weightlessness, a sense of wild exhilaration, and then my feet land solidly onto a sidewalk overgrown with thorny weeds. I feel the California sun beat down and I exhale in relief. It works! The time machine ACTUALLY works! My mind races with the implications of this amazing discovery. I can smell the gas fumes as a car races by, and I am surprised to see a man actually steering the car. I forgot they still steer cars in 2022! So rustic. I turn to look at my old house. A rush of emotions threatens to overflow as I stare at where I spent most of my childhood. Suddenly a girl opens the door. Her blond hair is a little longer than shoulder length and her eyes are focused intently on the light blue paperback in her hand. She is completely absorbed in the book and appears not to notice me. The girl is… me. I look so young… If only I could be that carefree and innocent again. I did feel like I was on top of the world all those years ago, and all I wanted was to grow up so I could look the part. How wrong I was. I stroll up to her, trying to appear nonchalant. “Hi,” I smile warmly. “Hi? Who are you?” Young Alia asks, surprised. “I’m Al… Alana. I’m from the future,” I burst out. I realize that if I tell Alia my real name, it might ruin the space-time continuum… or something like that. Alia stares at me like I am crazy and starts slowly backing away. “I know you… in the future. Your name is Alia. That book you are reading is…” I pause for a moment as I struggle to remember the title, “So You Want To Be a Wizard, if I recall correctly. It is not your favorite book, and you just want to finish it so you can read something else. Am I right?” Alia’s jaw drops. “How do you know that?” “I told you! I’m from the future!” I roll my eyes. I don’t remember being so dense. “Okay… So, do robots take over the world? Who do I marry? Do I marry? Do I have kids? If so, what are their names? OH, OH! What stocks should I invest in? What job do I have? Am I rich? Are my siblings rich? Where do I live? Is it a big house? What college do I go to?” Alia pauses for breath. Oh, Alia. There is so much you do not know. If only I could tell you. But you will find out in good time, and it is not my place to tell you before it is time. “I… can’t tell you.” “What? Why not? I want to know! At least the stocks, please!” Alia is obviously confused. If I told you the stocks, you’d be so rich. But still I can’t… “Well… if I told you, things might turn out differently. And then I would cease to exist. That would be sad for me. Actually, I’ve never tried ceasing to exist, but I doubt it would be extremely enjoyable. I just wanted to see if the time machine would work. And now I’m going
Flash Contest #43, May 2022: Write a story where somebody betrays their best friend for a slice of slightly stale pizza—our winners and their work
Our May Flash Contest was based on Prompt #202 (provided by intern Sage Millen), which, like her last contest prompt from February, dealt with food in a remarkably whimsical way. This time the food was pizza rather than tomato soup, as participants were asked to write a story where somebody betrays their best friend for a slice of slightly stale pizza. Once again, the submissions matched the sheer creativity and ingenuity of the prompt as submissions ranged from a direct address story in verse to a story set in an interrogation room to a piece of historical fiction set during the Bay of Pigs Invasion. We were also so impressed with the work of Ellis Yang in their story “An Unsent Letter” that we decided to publish it separately on the blog at a future date. 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 “The Stale Pizza Slice” by Suanne Li, 8 (San Jose, CA) “The Perils of Pizza” by Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) “The Triad Trials” by Emily Tang, 13 (Winterville, NC) “The Trash Pandas and the Pizza” by Michael Wilkinson, 12 (San Carlos, CA) “Would You Like a Slice?” by Joycelyn Zhang, 12 (San Diego, CA) Honorable Mentions “Hope” by Jeremy Lim, 9 (Portland, OR) “The Tale of the Raccoon” by Anushi Mittai, 10 (Beaverton, OR) “The Last Slice” by Arshia Ramesh, 12 (Overland Park, KS) “Kaleidoscope” by Cayleigh Sukhai, 12 (Swift Current, Saskatchewan, Canada) “Two Best Friends and a Slice of Pizza” by Savarna Yang, 13 (Outram, New Zealand) For the Stone Soup blog “An Unsent Letter” by Ellis Yang, 12 (Los Altos, CA) Suanne Li, 8 (San Jose, CA) The Stale Pizza Slice Suanne Li, 8 Living in an unwanted and forgotten bag of chips in a landfill, Round Belly and I munch contentedly on a large pizza in a pillow-covered couch inside. We mice are best friends and our absolute favorite food is pizza, especially ones with pepperoni. My house is a perfect place to eat pizza because of its delightful combined smell of expired cheese and rotten potatoes. Chubby Cheeks, a rat, scurries to my snug house, waving his hands in the air, a sign that there is exciting news. “Beginning-of-autumn party! Tomorrow! All day long! Lots of apple pies, apples, pumpkin pies, pumpkins, pecan pies, and pecans! In my house!” Chubby Cheeks gasps, words gushing out of his mouth. His fur spikes up, and he runs in little circles rapidly, leaving clouds of dust behind him. “There will be a contest at the end of the party! Come to win the grand prize!” At night, I roll around in bed, unable to fall asleep. When I do, I dream about having a huge, huge pizza, enough to cover mountains, valleys and plains and to fill the oceans, rivers, lakes, ponds and springs. I wake up in the morning, and I mischievously shout in Round Belly’s ear, “PARTY!” “Ugh,” he mumbles, “be a good mouse and please just let me sleep for another 24 hours.” “NO! BEGINNING-OF-AUTUMN PARTY!” I loudly whisper, but he lets out another loud snore. I finally grab a pie from the fridge and hover it above his pink nose. “Party!” he shouts, immediately sitting up. As I place the pie back in the fridge, Round Belly excitedly runs in place, his legs a blur. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” We race to the party next door. Reaching the door first, I shout with joy. Round Belly catches up, panting with exhaustion. Entering the backyard, I spot brightly colored balloons attached to neon tables and vivid banners. “Time to eat!” I joyfully shout. After I am done chomping on a few hundred pies, Chubby Cheeks announces, “Contest begins for the grand surprise!” He throws open a velvet curtain in the back, revealing a miniature house with no windows snugly tucked in the corner of the backyard. “You will hear the rules once you are in the miniature house. One mouse or rat at a time, please!” I rush to the little house and climb up the steps. Chubby Cheeks unlocks the door. He happily gestures to a couch, then settles in a wooden rocking chair and grabs a stopwatch. Closing the door, he enthusiastically squeaks, “Name five different types of cheese! Whoever does it the fastest wins! Start… now!” “Swiss, mozzarella, cheddar, cream, colby jack!” I shout in a rush. “2.57 seconds! Well done!” Opening the door, he hollers, “Next! Round Belly!” Standing on a chair on top of a table, Chubby Cheeks announces, “the winner of the contest is… Round Belly, with 1.03 seconds! His prize is a stale slice of pepperoni pizza!” As the crowd cheers, claps, and applauds, Chubby Cheeks jumps down and hands the grand slice of stale pizza in a box to Round Belly. Filling with excitement, Round Belly bursts with joy. “Uh… can you hold the pizza for me?” Without waiting for my response, Round Belly pushes the box towards me and makes a straight beeline to the bathroom. Having the stale pizza right in front of my nose, I am already drooling. All my thoughts are directed right towards the pizza. Round Belly sprints back and plops on the couch. He closes his eyes, moves to the center of the couch, and gets ready to eat the pizza. He opens the box in a flash and only finds pebbles rolling out of the box. “Hey, where did my pizza go?” Lui Lung, 12 (Danville, CA) The Perils of Pizza Lui Lung, 12 The dim glow of the single lit lamp outlined the grim lines of his face. His lips were pressed tightly together, his brows furrowed, and the only telltale sign of his true anxiety was the repetitive, rapid rhythm of his bouncing knee. Up and down, up and down. The jangling of keys parted the thickening
