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
winners
Flash Contest #49, November 2022: Write a story where a character confronts their worst fear—our winners and their work
Our November Flash Contest was based on Prompt #228 (provided by Stone Soup contributor Sage Millen), which asked that participants write stories (or poems) in which their characters confronted their worst fears. I’m particularly fond of this prompt as it is not only generative of new work, but it is also an extremely helpful exercise in revision. This month’s crop of submitters and submissions was particularly diverse, with pieces ranging from a story told from the perspective of a migratory bird to a poem from the perspective of a murderer to a love letter to baseball—just to name a few—and with three out of five of our selected winners being first-time winners! 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 Trick up Sam’s Sleeve” by Kyle Chinchio, 9 “I’m Sorry” by Eiaa Dev, 13 “Baseball Spirit” by Miles Koegler, 11 “Icarus” by Nova Macknik-Conde, 11 “A Long Journey” by Jack Ryan, 9 Honorable Mentions “Because of the Dog” by Sofia Grandis-Oliveira, 9 “Esmera’s Wish” by Kimberly Hu, 10 “Fear” by Yuqing Li, 11 “At Home with the Music” by Madeline Male, 14 “Wild Waters” by Natalie Yue, 10 The Trick up Sam’s Sleeve Kyle Chinchio, 9 Hi, I’m Sam and this, the story I’m about to tell you, is the scariest thing that’s ever happened — well at least to me. I’m a pretty ordinary kid. I have blond hair that reaches just past my ears, curling slightly at the ends. My face is dotted with freckles here and there; and I’m skinny, with knobby elbows and knees. And my personality? I’m shy and try not to call attention to myself. When I can, I grab a seat in the last row of every classroom, shrinking behind the kids in front of me. I go to school at Bellevue Elementary, and everyday my to-do list is the same. Get up, go to school, return home, rush through homework, play video games, have dinner, climb into bed – rinse and repeat. But at least I have my best friend at school, Daniel, to share it with. Daniel and I have known each other for forever. Our mothers met in yoga class while they were still pregnant with us and we were born within days of each other. Like me, Daniel is often bored by school too. He always asks plaintively, “Do we have to go to school today? Can’t we just skip it?” There’s one other thing that’s important to know about me: I have a weird phobia that pops up from time to time, preventing me from participating in seemingly innocuous activities like school assemblies, birthday parties, or museum outings. Not a boring phobia like a fear of spiders or heights, but rhabdophobia – which means I’m really scared of magic. My parents and friends always tell me, “Magic isn’t real!” Or my sister says, “You’re such a scaredy cat! Aren’t you eleven?” Despite everyone’s assurances, each stronger than the next, I’ve always felt magic was real -– not the Christmas kind, but something ancient and inexplicable, a malevolent force pulsing beneath the fragile fabric that makes up our reality. When I was three, I went to a magic show and my sleeve caught fire after a wayward spark flew in my direction. The magician, his ridiculous top hat askew on his head, looked at me as if we were the only two people in the room and smiled. From that day forward, I was convinced magic was real and I wanted nothing to do with it. But enough backstory, you’re probably thinking. Let’s get to the good stuff: Me, facing my greatest fear — Magic. It all began on a chilly Saturday evening. Daniel and I were walking toward the park, tossing a baseball back and forth, aluminum bats slung over our shoulders. The trees, their spindly branches bare of the leaves and flowers that will rebloom in the spring, rustled overhead as we walked past. We could hear the skittering of crepuscular rats and insects as they emerged from their dens, drawn by the darkening twilight. The vibe was decidedly eerie. That’s when I saw him: The magic man. Not a magician with trick cards and a box with a hidden compartment, but a real sorcerer — his crimson, velvet robe flapping in the air as he approached us and his steel-gray hair tied in anemic bun at the base of his neck. He didn’t say anything, lips pressed in a thin line, but I could sense magic — and evil — on him. Quickly, he strode past us, and although the wind was strong enough to plaster our jackets against our stomachs, suddenly the air stilled around him and he disappeared. I turned to Daniel, but he seemed unperturbed. “What?” he said, a crease had sprung up between his eyebrows. My eyes widened in surprise, but I only said, “Nothing, let’s head to Smith field and throw a few pitches.” I went to bed that night with a single thought crowding my brain “He’ll be back and when he returns, it’ll mean nothing good.” The next morning I told Daniel about what I had seen. To my surprise, he erupted into peals of laughter. “That’s so weird,” he said between giggling fits, attracting the attention of almost everyone in the hallway. “What do you mean you can ‘sense magic?’ I’m sorry about laughing, but this is just too funny! What does magic even feel like?” I knew to convince him, I needed to return to the park with him in tow. We slipped out after lunch and before math class when the playground monitors were busy with the first graders, who had released a box of earthworms by the swings. As I suspected, the strange figure was back, sitting with a few henchmen on the bench under a gargantuan oak. Like the
Congratulations to our Book Contest 2022 Winners!
We’re thrilled to announce the results of this year’s Stone Soup Annual Book Contest. It was a pleasure and an honor to read and consider all the manuscripts as well as incredibly difficult to select our two winners. We are excited to share more about the authors and their books in the coming months—stay tuned! Winners Poetry An Archeology of the Future, Emma Catherine Hoff, 10 Fiction The Handkerchief Woman, Lily Jessen, 14 Finalists Poetry REALITY IS HERE FOR YOU, Analise Braddock, 11 Imagination, Bethel Daniel, 12 Sunny Fitting Sangeeta, Raeha Khazanchi, 13 Simply Complicated, Madeline Male, 14 Scenes From Before, Pauline McAndrew, 14 Fiction Cousins, Emily Chang, 14 Let Me Go, Ariadne Civin, 13 Shattered Moon, Ivy Cordle, 13 Autumn Floods and Winter Fires, Nami Gajcowski, 12 In the Secret Cedar Woods, Elena Gil, 13 The Roaming Realm, Madeline Longoria, 14 Norcelia, Sabrina Lu, 14 These Words That I’ve Written, Jenna Reenders, 14 Maple of the Moss Folk, Kana Shackelford, 13 Overthrowing Antecessum, Isabella Washer, 13 Sparks, Eleanor Wernly, 11
