* Top Winning Entries *
Grand Prize, Overall Winner: Emily Chapman
Dancing With Stars
My eyelids fluttered open. The silver moonlight shone enchantingly through my window, washing across my bed in patches. I sat up and gazed out the semicircle window that peeked above my curtains. I gasped. The stars.
I slipped out of bed, tiptoeing breathlessly to the window, fearing the sight would disappear. Quick, I dashed the curtains away and pressed my forehead to the cool windowpane. My heart fell. They had gone. Nothing met my eyes but the dark, ugly house across the street and the cold hard road below. The sky above held stars, to be sure, but not my stars. My stars had gone and would perhaps never return. Such a thought sent my heart in cold heat, and a tear glistened in my eye, slowly rolling down my cheek.
Suddenly it glowed. It glowed brighter and brighter, silver haloed around the droplet. A gust of cool breeze sent my sticky hair ruffling behind my back. The white curtains rustled as they batted around the windows and my pale nightgown shivered excitedly. The house across the street disappeared—the street disappeared—my feet quivered and I stepped delicately on the windowsill. A flash of light darted before my eyes, blinding my sight into an explosion of silver, until I then saw it. My stars. I shivered with glee and leaned out the window, pushing back the house, my room, my window, my curtains, until I stepped lightly into the Stars' Realm. My hair danced around my wild cheeks and my eyes brightened. I was with my stars.
Then I ran. I flew back my arms and streaked toward a silver light. The star laughed and lilted around me, twinkling and flashing so that I never knew whether she was on my left or my right or merely always before my eyes. Another appeared an instant later, and another, and another, and I never could figure out where they came from and they all laughed—high and twinkling giggles like a million silver bells on Christmas Eve—and they seemed to mightily enjoy my innocent confusion. But I laughed with them. I laughed because I with them. I was with my stars.
One linked arms with me—though I could not say it was an arm, or an appendage, or anything but a solid silver glow that wrapped around my thin, pale arm and fingers in a cool, glorious grip. We stepped high, daintily, and kicked up our heels and ran. We danced. We circled around the moon, who gave us a wise smile from his wrinkled face, and we sailed through the sky. We darted among one another, in and out and around, in the most wild Virginia Reel ever to be found. My feet tingled and chortled with giddiness. I tried my hardest to keep up with the stars, who came and went and appeared and disappeared and twirled and dipped until my mind had boggled so supremely that I tumbled down, hitting nothing but the bottomless sky. One star laughed and pulled me up, another grabbed my arm and twirled me around, and I was dancing again.
A star called out merrily that I ought to see myself, and I gazed in awe at my reflection in her silvery depths. My bare feet glowed and my thin nightgown floated effortlessly on me, rippling every now and then as if a breeze had whispered in its ear. My hair was a wild tangle of waves, but the original golden color was stained silver, as it radiated with star-like atmosphere. “You look like a star!” a small one called out, and grabbed my fingers, tainting them with her cool grasp, and away I was again, dancing my heart out with my friends. My stars.
Perhaps we danced for years, perhaps we danced for minutes that felt like years, perhaps we danced for years and minutes both, but suddenly I could feel my feet losing their cool soothe. The warm tingle coming back reminded me of the life in another world, and I gave a small sigh, desperately wishing upon the North Star that I might stay. She smiled, and touched my cheek, leaving a silver rhinestone implanted where her cool finger had lingered. “You are a star child,” she pronounced softly. And a smile crossed my face.
My stars washed away quickly after her words and I found myself standing on the windowsill again, gazing at the ugly house across the street. I stood there for a moment, feeling the last silver tingles leave my toes. Crestfallen, I gazed up at the dull, faded night sky. The North Star flashed once, and I understood the message. I was still a star. I stepped down and lightly closed the curtains. I turned softly and slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. Perhaps I would see my stars again, perhaps not. But I would always remember this night. I was a star . . . for I had danced with the stars.
First place winner in the first category: Elisabeth Grace Foley
The Meaning in Meatloaf
I shut the book, and sighed. It was time to make meatloaf.
I’d been reading in my room—sitting on my bed, which always made my back ache. It was always colder in my room than in the rest of the house, especially in the chilly twilight of a winter afternoon; I’d put on a sweater but my nose and fingertips were still icy. I could have sat in the parlor where it was warmer and where there were comfortable armchairs, but I liked the old-fashioned glow of the lamp in my room; I liked being able to put my book neatly away in the corner of a bin I reserved for library books instead of leaving it lying out on a table somewhere, and I liked the comparative solitude. I preferred to be alone when engaged in single combat with a perplexing book.
I’d known all afternoon that at a given point I’d have to stop reading and make the meatloaf for supper, and that was a given point I always dreaded. Meatloaf was a strenuous supper to prepare as suppers go—getting my hands deep in ground meat so cold from the refrigerator that it made my chest ache—chopping up an onion so potent that it usually left me stumbling blindly across the kitchen for a wet napkin with which to smear my mascara across my face, to the only partial relief of my stinging eyes.
I slid off the bed and put the library book away—a thick, worn old hardcover, its pages yellow-brown and spotted with stains into the nature of which it was best not to let one’s self inquire. I didn’t know yet if I liked this book or not; I didn’t know where the author was trying to go or what (if anything) she was meaning to say; and I was depressed by her portrayal of a home life of drudgery, futility and apparent purposelessness. Was that what she really thought? Or would it end up making some kind of sense in the end?
I came into the empty kitchen and looked around in the cold half-light.
I’m never going to be that way, I suddenly thought.
I switched on the lights, took out the meat and the dishes, the onion and the breadcrumbs, and fell to work. I worked more briskly and deftly than usual. I wasn’t suffering through cold ground meat and stinging onions; I was putting together a meal that would be substantial, hot and savory, set out on a dinner table set neatly and attractive to the eye.
When the meat was in the oven, I swept the kitchen floor, straightened chairs, cleared miscellaneous items off countertops. I set the table, taking an extra bit of trouble to make it as attractive as I wanted it. I folded the napkins in triangles instead of the everyday rectangles—the style I’d known since childhood as the “party way.” Maybe no one would notice a difference; maybe nothing would look or taste any different than usual, but the way I felt about what I was doing made all the difference in the world. This was life, after all; this dinner was a part of my life and the lives of the people I shared it with, and I thought with a kind of fierce satisfaction that there was no reason why it shouldn’t be the best I could make it.
My thoughts went back to another book I had read recently—a story that had gloried in domesticity, glowing transparently with happiness and enthusiasm for the round of everyday home life and its fulfillment. I’d finished that book on a cloud, and floated into that same kitchen with an expansive desire to capture and keep that enthusiasm in my own work and life. Odd, wasn’t it, how reading two so very different books could have the same effect on me for exactly opposite reasons. One spurred me to emulate, the other to disprove, but the end result was the same.
I shouldn’t need the stimulus of a book, I reflected a little remorsefully, to produce this feeling. It really ought to be there all the time. I wished I could preserve the way I felt right at this moment—the way I’d felt that other time—the earnestness and the uplifting resolve to make everything in my care the best it could be. There are many little things in life that can lift your mood and make you feel blissfully, unreasoningly happy for a little while, but this kind of happiness had something real behind it; something that mattered.
Oh, well. I knew I wouldn’t always succeed in keeping this moment in the forefront of my memory; there would be other days when plates and pots and pans couldn’t look anything but plain and grim and tiring. But for tonight, anyway, with the words of those two so different long-dead authors swirling around in my mind, it all made sense, and I could see the beauty and the meaning in meatloaf and paper napkins folded into triangles.
First place winner in the second category: Cailyn Mikunda
The Ride
“I don’t think so, Sarah” I said, hesitation obvious in my voice. “It’s so high up, and what if...” I trailed off. “It could break!”
“It’s not going to break, silly,” Sarah stood laughing at my not-so-hidden fear.
We stood under the Wild Thing, the biggest roller coaster at ValleyFair. I watched it, half mesmerized, half horrified by the speed and noise of the coaster as it rushed over our heads. My stomach flipped at the way the coaster leaned to the side, almost off the tracks. My breathing quickened, and my heart thumped louder in my chest – just from looking. Sarah wanted me to actually ride it! No thank you, I got enough thrill just watching.
She ran off to the first roller coaster, Steel Venom, while I stood waiting, contemplating a roller coaster ride. In my opinion, I was planning my funeral. Death by roller coaster didn’t sound that bad.
On second thought, it sounded awful. Back and forth went my mind. Yes and no, yes and no.
In the midst of all this thinking, Sarah’s roller coaster started. It went from a standstill to up in the air in a matter of seconds. People were screaming. Screaming! American torture, that’s what I say.
It stopped.
The coaster froze way up at the top of the track. The riders dangled in their seats. I, on the ground, was as afraid as those in the seats. I was trembling with nervousness, still rocking back and forth inside, trying to determine if I indeed wanted to do this. The coaster dropped, and the screaming began again. Up the other side, down backwards. Up again. Freeze. Slide down. The screams, the screams. Finally it stopped, and Sarah walked over with a huge smile, as if she’d been though the best part of her day at eleven in the morning, not at all as though she’d been strapped into a torture device. Perhaps I sound morbid, but that is how I saw it.
“You ready?” she asked me.
“I...I. Dunno...” It looked interesting, but not fun -crazy, but not in a good way.
“Come on. At least walk over and see it.” She pleaded with her eyes too; I saw the laughter in them.
“Fine, I guess I’ll come with. But no promises about riding it!” And off we walked to find the entrance to the Wild Thing. Once we found it, I looked at the description sign at the gate. Hmm, not for people with heart conditions, broken limbs, or pregnant women. Stink! I couldn’t plead any of those to get out of going. Then I saw the number at the top of the sign. 5. It was the most “thrilling” level of ride Also known as most horrifying, most death defying, most unattractive level.
“It’s a FIVE? Sarah, you are NOT taking me on a FIVE the first time I ever ride a roller coaster!” The tone of my voice turned up like a question.
“Great! So, you’re going!” She grinned. She had caught me.
“What? No... I didn’t say...”
She interrupted, “I’ll ride with you, and you’ll be just fine. I’ll even hold your hand if you need to.” I wasn’t sure if holding her hand would be a sign of things going well or not, but I finally, reluctantly, agreed to go. (I had unwittingly gotten myself into it, in the first place.) We walked to the gates, and I watched the excitement on everyone’s faces. They were jabbering-- saying how“cray” it would be getting on, and how “totally epic!” it was getting off.
How does one breathe again? I was terrified. My face went white, and my stomach flipped. I looked sick.
“Are you okay?” Sarah asked. I only nodded back. “You will be fine. It’s not going to break. You will be just fine.” She kept reassuring me the whole time we waited.
“I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this.” I mumbled it over and over, like a chant, a death march.
We reached the front of the line, and climbed into the empty cars. I was so confused and so scared, I couldn’t figure out how to buckle myself in.
“It’s like this,” Sarah said, showing me how. We must have been a interesting car to watch. Her face was gleaming with excitement, and mine was the exactly opposite. Now that I was sitting in the coaster with the operator talking over the loudspeaker, my heart was filled with dread. I started humming a Psalm, lyrics running through my mind. I knew for certain that the ride would never end well.
“Enjoy the ride!” the loudspeaker voice said, only halfheartedly. I am sure the man said it day after day, and it was only a second nature un-enthusiasm, but to me it sounded sadistic. It sounded more like “Enjoy your death by roller coaster” than “Enjoy the ride!” I was, by now, unfortunately strapped in. I heard the groan of the motors starting up, and click click click of the chain pulling the cars to the top of the first hill. It was slow, painfully, painfully slow. I’m sure it was intended to build excitement but all it built in me was overwhelming dread.
We reached the top, and the first car went over. Gulp. The second car went over. Remember to breathe, Cailyn. Third car. The tension was horrible. I expected us to take off flying at any moment. We didn’t. No one did. The cars went slowly over the top of the hill until every car was over. We were stuck, stranded at the top of the coaster, but everyone was over the top. I thought we should be moving. I glanced at Sarah and whimpered. I gave in and grabbed her hand. Better to die with a friend, I thought.
We flew.
The coaster took off without warning.
People screamed, and I sank into my seat. The pit in my stomach grew, and I closed my eyes, squeezing them as tight as they would go. I was clinging to Sarah’s hand, curling my body into a ball, as well as I could over the seat belt.
“Are you okay?” Sarah asked midway. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t! I didn’t have a clue what I was feeling. Was I okay? The only thing I knew was I was still living. The coaster went on and on. It finally slowed down, and I remembered to breathe. Was I breathing the whole time? I wondered. I couldn’t remember. The cars pulled slowly in back at the gate, and I got out, My legs wobbled like a seasick sailor’s. My body trembled, and I found my way off the platform and back down to my friends.
Then it hit me.
I was still alive. I didn’t die on the roller coaster. Instead I felt wind rush through my hair. I flew.
“Did you like it?” they all asked me.
My only answer was “I don’t know.” I thought about it more though. The more I rolled it through my mind, the more I liked it. The coaster didn’t kill me, it make me feel more alive. It reminded me what it’s like to breathe when you think you can’t, or what it’s like to fall, spiraling out of control, only to be brought back safely. Yes, I think I liked it.
The rest of that day, I went on coaster after coaster. Riding as many as I could squeeze in. Sarah was pleased with my new love for coasters, and I was too. I rode the Wild Thing one last time before I went home. I threw my hands in the air, and looked over Minnesota.
Yes, I thought to myself, yes. This is the place to be: at the start of life, at the top of a roller coaster.
First place in the third category: Charlotte Anderson
Field
‘Do you want to go for a walk tonight?’ I texted Calder, the moon shining through my open curtains, and the clock announcing the time as eleven-thirty. Insomnia generally affected us both, so I assumed he was awake.
The reply came soon. ‘Sure. Field?’
‘Yeah.’
I pulled on a sweatshirt and crept down the dark stairs; my sister and parents slept on.
I walked to the edge of my small town, enjoying the silence offered by the inactivity of humans. Why don’t more people seem to appreciate this? I asked myself.
Calder was already waiting for me, standing in his ever-present black coat. Neither of us said anything. Sometimes words aren’t needed.
We walked to the edge of the field, the wind playing in the grass and our feet crunching on the gravel road the only sounds. Calder was in a more dreamy state than usual. He didn’t seem to notice where we were going, nor that I stared at him with concern. His hands twitched at his side, a sign he was in deep thought.
“Cal.”
He jumped and looked at me.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Life.”
“Calder.”
He shook his head and continued walking.
“Calder, talk to me.”
“It’s nothing.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I pressed, agitated. He always needed pressing. Did he not trust me enough to talk to me?
“I’m not sure if there’s anything wrong or not.” He walked deeper into the tall grass, letting his hands brush at the tops. He half-closed his eyes and eyes and stopped.
“Maybe talking it out will help.”
He shrugged.
“You’re frustrating me.”
“I don’t mean to.”
I bit my lip. He never did. Sometimes his obliviousness annoyed me more than anything.
We continued to wander. I loved our field, and I loved the memories Cal and I had buried in its soil. Our friendship always grew here, like the grass or the corn on the opposite side of the road.
No…slowly, like the grass. The corn grows too fast and only lasts in the summer before it’s cut away.
We only occasionally met each other somewhere else. Neither of us owned it, but it was our field.
Cal picked a stalk of the yellowing grass out of the ground and started picking the seeds off it, but his eyes looked beyond the it and into a world I couldn’t see.
“Something’s up.”
“The usual.”
“You’ve never been real good about explaining what the usual is.”
“I know.”
“You know…sometimes it feels like you’re just dismissing the fact that I care about you when you refuse to answer me.”
“Well, I’m not trying to…” He flicked a seed above his head, and the breeze took it from eyesight.
“Well, that’s what it feels like.” I crossed my arms and glared at him.
“I don’t want to depress you with my thoughts.”
“Maybe I can help.”
He dropped his grass on the ground and started walking again.
I grabbed his shoulder. “Look at me!”
Calder’s eyes flitted up to meet mine, and then glanced back to the ground.
“What is wrong with you?” I demanded, letting my hand drop. “Why can’t you talk to me? Why do you refuse to let me help?”
“Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head.” He jammed his foot into the dirt, still not looking at me.
“There is nothing wrong with my head!”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He looked up at the night’s sky, and waited for several moments before saying anything.
“I don’t know…existing hurts. I touch a tree and feel its hardness…and it hurts intellectually. A billion questions and a billion answers, and they all rack at my brain, begging for attention. I want to answer all of them and give each the attention they deserve, but my head’s not big enough. My imagination can’t seem to reach where I want it to go, and it hurts.
“And that’s just the trees. What about the stars and the dirt and emotions and the extent of human imagination and the tiny little cells? Think about how such tiny things build up the universe and make it all work. Surely they came from somewhere, but where? Where are they going?
“What if everything is a lie created by my own imagination? What if nothing of this is actually real? What if I’ve surrounded myself with questions that can’t be answered because there are no answers?”
He stopped, and I noticed how the tears on his face reflected the light of the moon.
In that moment I felt like I knew nothing, and I felt completely separated from the young man before me. How could I ever understand a mind like that? How could I even try?
I watched as three feet of distance expanded into hundreds of miles, thousands of questions the pavement between us.
Sometimes I thought I had understood Calder. Sometimes I thought that if I could have heard his thoughts I could have helped him. But other times I felt utterly helpless.
“I…oh Calder. I want to help.”
“I know.”
“I can’t.”
“Sometimes you do. And sometimes I like my sadness.”
I clenched and unclenched my right hand. “But you can take all that pain all the time?”
“Sometimes it’s not painful.”
“But tonight it is.”
He nodded.
He stared up at the sky again, and I followed his gaze to the glittering balls of light. The only question I could ask was How amazing is that?
Yet there stood my best friend with pain in his eyes I couldn’t interpret, nor understand, and this wrenched at my heart.
I walked the few steps and hugged him, hoping to heal something. I wanted to help. I wanted to do something, but what could I say?
I released him after a moment
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Because that’s helpful,” I snapped.
“Actually it is. Sometimes I think that even my chaotic brain couldn’t think up something like friendship.”
My heart lifted a little. “I try.”
“And my heart will be forever thankful of that.”
I checked the time on my cell phone to hide my smile. Twelve-thirty.
“I should go home.”
“See you later.”
I turned and made for the back road, wondering if he said those things just to make me feel better, or if I had really helped anything.
I couldn’t imagine being so alone in my head like he was.
I slipped in the front door and crept back upstairs. Knowing I would be unable to sleep, I pulled out my phone again.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked Calder.
I waited a few minutes. ‘Fine.’
‘Positive?’
‘Charlotte, I really can’t tell you how much of a help you are.’
I smiled, then fell asleep.
~ ~ ~
A huge thank you to all the entrants! Your stories were wonderful! Thank you so much for participating in the challenge!
