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Celebrating Maryland’s
Young Authors
45th Annual SoMIRAC
Contest AnthologyAward Winners
AcknowledgementsAs literacy advocates, we have counted our service with the 2017
SoMIRAC Young Authors’ Contest a privilege. Our carefully selected panels of impartial judges reviewed each entry and selected the top two in each category at each grade level to determine state winners. We now present this anthology of winning entries with pleasure.
On behalf of SoMIRAC, we extend special thanks to the parents of these students for helping guide them along the path of becoming exceptional readers and writers. We also appreciate the teachers for providing students with the skills essential in producing the exemplary pieces of writing in this anthology.
We appreciate our guest authors, Brynne Barnes and Todd McClimans, for imparting words of wisdom to our students. Your testimonies and tips will likely motivate the students to refine their skills as they continue writing. You might even recognize some of their names in your publishing world in the coming years!
We especially thank all local council Young Authors’ Contest chairpersons who, together with their committees, selflessly gave of their time to read and judge hundreds of local entries. We applaud your dedication to promoting reading and writing literacy to the children of Maryland. Our students get the recognition they deserve because of YOU.
Rachele Corpuz Shirley W. FaulknerChairperson, Young Authors’ Contest Chairperson, Young Authors’ ContestElementary and Middle Schools, Grades 2 – 8 High School, Grades 9 – 12
State of Maryland InternationalReading Association Council 2016 – 2017 Officers
PresidentDeb Tobin
President-ElectNatalie Stephenson
First Vice PresidentLisa Lowe
Second Vice PresidentShirley Faulkner
Co-State CoordinatorBonnie Schmeltz
Co-State CoordinatorMary Lou Nelson
Conference CoordinatorEllen Dysart
Recording SecretaryRobin Glick Baum
Corresponding Secretary
Chelley [email protected]
Membership DirectorAnn Apple
TreasurerRita Gaudiello
Past PresidentSusan Frank
TABLE OF CONTENTS
POETRY – 1st and 2nd Place Winners
Grade 21st Place Winner
SHADOW BEYOND THE SEA, by Alex Abu-Zaid 1Eastern Shore Reading Council
Ocean City Elementary SchoolMrs. Monica Piern
2nd Place Winner THIS IS WHAT I NEED, by Henry O’Dea 2
Carroll County Reading CouncilFreedom Elementary School
Mrs. Ashley Adams
Grade 31st Place Winner
BRAND NEW PUPPY, by Paige Poska 3Frederick County Reading Council
Whittier Elementary SchoolMs. Reutter
2nd Place Winner WHO IS THIS GUY?, by Bella Thomson 4
Eastern Shore Reading CouncilNorth Salisbury Elementary School
Mrs. Mary KinnamonGrade 4
1st Place Winner LIGHT OF THE DARK, by GeBria Mason 5
Anne Arundel County Reading CouncilPiney Orchard Elementary School
Mrs. Beamer2nd Place Winner
WHO AM I?, by Abigail Willis 6Eastern Shore Reading Council
The Salisbury SchoolMrs. Shelley Hogg
Grade 51st Place Winner
HOPELESS, by Amogha S. Bangalore 7Howard County Reading Council
Bay View Elementary SchoolMrs. Michelle Zachry
2nd Place Winner THE BEACH, by Clare Ballweber 8
Harford County Reading CouncilHarford Day School
Mrs. Mary Beth BallweberGrade 6
1st Place Winner HANDS, by Ayla Baser 9
Midshore County Reading CouncilColonel Richardson Middle School
Mrs. Mary Kerr2nd Place Winner
HOMEWARD BOUND, by Emma Palim 10Montgomery County Reading Council
Pyle Middle SchoolMrs. Elizabeth Saguil
Grade 71st Place Winner
ONE, by William Chapman 11Howard County Reading Council
Patuxent Valley Middle School Mrs. Jessica Nemeth
2nd Place Winner FIGHTER, by Justin Hetrick 14
Montgomery County Reading CouncilWest Middle School
Ms. Linda DeutschGrade 8
1st Place Winner DUET WITH THE STORM, by Meridythe Witt 15
Frederick County Reading CouncilMiddletown Middle School
Mrs. Shaffer2nd Place Winner
MOUNTAIN OF LIES, by Xander Hershkowticz 16Upper Shore Reading Council
Stevensville Middle SchoolMs. Kelly N. Sell
Grade 91st Place Winner
THE CANDLE, by Emily Herrold 17Carroll County Reading Council
Manchester Valley High SchoolMr. Christian Bouselli
2nd Place Winner A REFLECTION ON KNOTS, by Elizabeth Anderson 18
Frederick County Reading CouncilLinganore High School
Mrs. Natalie RebetskyGrade 10
1st Place Winner BIOLOGY, by Emily Seth 20
Frederick County Reading CouncilLinganore High School
Mrs. Natalie Rebetsky2nd Place Winner
MY RESPONSE TO YOUR IGNORANCE, by Esther Mensah 22Carroll County Reading Council
Westminster High SchoolMs. Shawn Simms
Grade 111st Place Winner
THE YOU IN UNIVERSE, by Rawan Osman 24Eastern Shore Reading Council
James M. Bennett High School Mrs. Laurie Davies
2nd Place Winner REVOLUTION IS IN THE LITTLE THINGS, by Amelia Salisbury25
Upper Shore Reading CouncilQueen Anne’s County High School
Mrs. Gretchen BiringerGrade 12
1st Place Winner MONSTER, by Mary Katherine G. Meyers 27
Frederick County Reading CouncilOakdale High School
Mrs. Emily Hill2nd Place Winner
BLIND POETS, by April Povlock 28Carroll County Reading Council
Manchester Valley High SchoolMrs. Tina Thomen
SHORT STORIES – 1st and 2nd Place Winners
Grade 21st Place Winner
THE RHYMING BUNNY AND THE HIGHLY ANNOYED FOX, by Lily Eisenberg31
Montgomery County Reading CouncilWood Acres Elementary School
Ms. Hetchkop2nd Place Winner
ARNOLD THE COW MAKES A FRIEND, by Hays Bunker33Howard County Reading Council
Ilchester Elementary SchoolMs. Terri Kent
Grade 31st Place Winner
THE MOUSE AND THE DRAGON, by Camden Swinton 35Frederick County Reading Council
New Market Elementary SchoolMrs. Teresa King
2nd Place Winner SAM THE CACTUS, by Amelia Mason 37
Harford County Reading CouncilForest Hill Elementary School
Mr. Stephen Johnston
Grade 41st Place Winner
ICE OF THE FUTURE, by Claire M. Williams 38Howard County Reading Council
Fulton Elementary SchoolMs. Rebecca Otte
2nd Place Winner ALONE, by Amelia Bowers 40
Cecil County Reading CouncilBay View Elementary School
Ms. Justice and Mrs. Vaughan
Grade 51st Place Winner
THE FAMOUS ORCHESTRA, by Maren Kneeland 42Upper Shore Reading Council
Bayside Elementary SchoolMrs. Sara Towers
2nd Place Winner FULL CIRCLE, by Summer Haddad 44
Anne Arundel County Reading CouncilSouthgate Elementary School
Mrs. Crooks ColeGrade 6
1st Place Winner THE GOLDEN FOREST, by Madison Hooper 46
Howard County Reading CouncilMount View Middle School
Mr. Jacob Jennifer2nd Place Winner
NOVA’S JOURNAL, by Lyric Gordon 49Upper Shore Reading Council
Stevensville Middle SchoolMs. Kelly N. Sell
Grade 71st Place Winner
TO REMEMBER, by Swetha Pallerla 52Harford County Reading Council
Southampton Middle SchoolMrs. Kathleen Gwyther
2nd Place Winner BEYOND THE BOUNDARIES, by Lindsay Gierula 56
Frederick County Reading CouncilBallenger Creek Middle School
Ms. Cortney KraussGrade 8
1st Place Winner COLORBLIND, by Lillian Croghan 59
Frederick County Reading CouncilSt. John Regional Catholic School
Mrs. Amanda Cody2nd Place Winner
ONE HUNDRED MOONS AGO, by Madeline Kim 62Howard County Reading Council
Lime Kiln Middle SchoolMs. Catherine Mundy
Grade 91st Place Winner
THE CONE OF THE BRAIN AND ITS MUSIC, by Brendan Grant Hylton 65Frederick County Reading Council
Oakdale High SchoolMs. Renate Owen
2nd Place Winner AQUILA, by Emily Herrold 69
Carroll County Reading CouncilManchester Valley High School
Mr. Christian BouselliGrade 10
1st Place Winner IN THE GARDENS, by Alyson Flora 73
Frederick County Reading CouncilOakdale High School
Ms. Caitlin Patrick2nd Place Winner
THE DEEP DOWN, by Megan Deitterick 77Upper Shore Reading Council
Queen Anne’s County High SchoolMrs. Laurie Elben
Grade 111st Place Winner
LITTLE THINGS, by Claire Moy 80Montgomery County Reading Council
Taipei American SchoolMs. Abigail Chen
2nd Place Winner THE HEIST, by Riley Dembowski 83
Upper Shore Reading CouncilAnchor Points Academy
Mrs. Kathleen HildebrandGrade 12
1st Place Winner THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SUICIDE, by Taylor Schaefer 85
Upper Shore Reading CouncilQueen Anne’s County High School
Mrs. Laurie Elben2nd Place Winner
VIKINGS: LOST TO HISTORY, by Samantha Buckman 88Frederick County Reading Council
Linganore High SchoolMrs. Natalie Rebetsky
Poetry1st and 2nd Place
Winners
Poetry2nd Grade
1st Place Winner
SHADOWS BEYOND THE SEA
He lurks in the Dark
His tail moves with the ocean's motions
Razor sharp teeth are white like snow
And when spotted, all fish are on the go
His big fin is always ready to win
the hunt for lobster beyond the ocean floor
But watch out!
He might take a bite or two from you
ALEX ABU-ZAIDOcean City Elementary School
Mrs. Monica PiernEastern Shore Reading Council
1
Poetry2nd Grade
2nd Place Winner
THIS IS WHAT I NEED
This is what I need
Like water to a seed
Like sunlight to a flower
On a clock there is an hour
All I need from you my friend
Is friendship ‘til the end
HENRY O’DEAFreedom Elementary School
Mrs. Ashley AdamsCarroll County Reading Council
2
Poetry3rd Grade
1st Place Winner
BRAND NEW PUPPY
I imagine you with eyes bright blue.Your mother is still nursing you.
Cuddles, snuggles, litter mates.All of you with different fates.
Brand new puppy, eyes bright blue.Sucking on my sister’s shoe.
Brand new kennel, brand new care.Brand new everything in our hair!
Two month puppy, eyes bright blue.Chewing on my brother’s shoe.
I run my hands through curly fur.Whoa! Teeth as sharp as cowboy spur!
Four month puppy, eyes bright blue.Ripping up my favorite shoe.
Run! Leap! Scurry through the grass.I jump aside to let you pass!
I will catch you, little imp!It’s naptime now, and you lay limp.
You’re like the Maggie I once knew.Her eyes were brown, but yours are blue.
PAIGE POSKAWhittier Elementary School
Ms. ReutterFrederick County Reading Council
3
Poetry3rd Grade
2nd Place Winner
WHO IS THIS GUY?Who is this guy
Coming down the chimneyBrick by brick,
Don’t leave the fire burningOr else he’ll get sick!
With a big round stomachAnd a pointy hat,
He runs the whole townLike this and that.
The presents he placesUnder a tree,
Bring little kids joyThroughout history.
Who’s the oneWearing red and white?
(You better be good,He only comes one night.)
He’s the one who lovescookies and milk.
Have you felt his beard?It feels like silk!
Who is this guy?At the North Pole
He’s the boss.So you’re asking who it is…
Guess!
It’s Santa Claus
BELLA THOMSONNorth Salisbury Elementary School
Mrs. Mary Kinnamon
4
Eastern Shore Reading Council
5
Poetry4th Grade
1st Place Winner
LIGHT OF THE DARK
When you are lonely inside and just want to hidegrab on to that piece of hope and you will find your guide.
Hope is a sparkle of light that you could never fightyou are never alone and soon you will be alright.
Keep fighting to push your fears away every night and day,say a prayer, and everything will be okay.
You may feel tired and weak and unable to speak,but remember to be hopeful when all looks bleak.
Hope will lead you out of the darknessbut first you have to do your partand agree to make a new start.
There is hope in lifeand it can help you do good things.
Trust me if you hold onyou will see eventually.
GEBRIA MASONPiney Orchard Elementary School
Mrs. BeamerAnne Arundel County Reading Council
6
Poetry4th Grade
2nd Place Winner
WHO AM I?
What’s my faith?Who am I?
I wonder this as I stare intothe night sky.
I lay awake upon my bedhoping to
see my dreams again.
A mother’s flower or afather’s son, I really want tobe someone. It’s hard to tell
what road to take, but Iknow I will make a good
choice one day.In the spirits of my heart, Ithink of love at the start.
As these words go throughmy head, I go to sleep then
wake again.
ABIGAIL WILLISThe Salisbury SchoolMrs. Shelley Hogg
Eastern Shore Reading Council
7
Poetry5th Grade
1st Place Winner
HOPELESS
His mind was a hazard to things optimisticHe had a chance to love but then he missed it
He never cared, to him, neither did his momHe only cared the day they were all gone
He once made a new friend, he was like his brotherthis boy was his only friend, he did not friend another
This friend was his absolute only concernTill’ one day, he did not return
A tragic death, his friend had to sufferHe then became weaker, his life became rougher
He wept in his room for weeksAs his tears fell down to his cheeks
His classmates called him a klutzAlong with this, they gave him bruises and cuts
As his bullies talked to him, very condescendingLittle did he know that mentally his life was slowly ending
All day long, he had the bluesHe hated the fact that the one he’d love, would be the one he’d lose
Even in this horrid life, he tried to find the positivityHe couldn’t, couldn’t even succeed in one school activity
This couldn’t be his life.it couldn’t beIf his parents and friend couldn’t live, neither could he
AMOGHA S. BANGALOREBay View Elementary School
Mrs. Michelle Zachry
8
Howard County Reading Council
9
Poetry5th Grade
2nd Place Winner
THE BEACH
I feel the golden sand,in between my toes,
why the sand is golden,I guess we’ll never know.
I taste the salty breeze,that blows upon my face,
whenever that wind blows,I’m in my happy place.
I wade in the majestic ocean,with sea creatures going by,whenever a wave hits me,
I feel like I can fly.
I observe the glorious sunset,the orange, pink, and red,
It feels right above me,right above my head.
This place is dear to me,it’s held close to my heart.
Well, most of the time,except when there’s a shark!
CLARE BALLWEBERHarford Day School
Mrs. Mary Beth Ballweber
10
Harford County Reading Council
11
Poetry6th Grade
1st Place Winner
HANDS
My soft hands,Touch your right pinkie.
Only because,In my headI trust you.
My tiny hands,Grab bare hands.
Only because,I know you’llProtect me.
My grubby hands,Wrap ‘round yours.
Only because,I realize you won’t
Ever let me go.
My bigger hands,Push your away.Only because,
I’ve forgotten how muchI love you.
My unkind hands don’t wanderBut stay, busy.Only because…
My longing hands,Crawl back to yours.
Only because,I am ready toCome back.
My bare hands,Touch your wrinkled fingers.
Only because,I can never
Forget.
My frail hands,Hold yours falling, lifeless.
Only because,It is time for you
To leave…
AYLA BASERColonel Richardson Middle School
12
Mrs. Mary KerrMidshore Reading Council
13
Poetry6th Grade
2nd Place Winner
HOMEWARD BOUNDTrudging forward.
Tired legs,Achy bones,
Empty stomachs,Cold noses.
It’s all worth it.For
Freedom.
Escape from the master,Leave familyAnd friends,
May get caught,May not,
It’s all worth it.For
Freedom.
Cold Winters,Hot summers.
Trudging slowly,Through rain,
And snow.Many moons have passed,
And there are many moons to goIt’s all worth it.
ForFreedom.
.
EMMA PALIMPyle Middle School
Mrs. Elizabeth SaguilMontgomery County Reading Council
14
Poetry7th Grade
1st Place Winner
ONEHumanity --That is us.
We are that.We say we are, but is that fact?
Are we really?Are we still?
Even when we are bent to kill?
Human--We believe we are.
We believe we are that.Even when we are locked in combat.Throwing fists, and shooting guns.
We might be human,But are we One?
I dare you now --Answer that.
As others around the world,Are being attacked.
Not by this and not by that,But by us, exploiting the act.
We are one and the same.Stop the hurting,
and you’ll stop the pain.
In the war zone,Hurting, killing--
Bone-snapping, blood-spilling.Doing it with no certain inkling;
No realization to the brain,Just to ask:
Doing this, what do we gain?I ask you that, I ask you this:
15
Are we human?Or have we missed--
The obvious fact that we are lessThan the advanced intelligence that we possess.
Do you see now?Do you realize?
Do you see it with your eyes?Do you understand what I explain
That all we’re doingIs causing pain?
Humanity--Humane only in name,We must feel ashamed,
Because we say we are human,But we are not.
Sound of gunshots;Prove this thought.
Cries of despair,As loved ones fought.We are killing people,
We are killing us.This, my friend,
I cannot understand.What we do to each other,
I cannot comprehend.
So what’s our solution?What’s the answer?
Stop the destruction;Stop disaster.Stop the hate--
And construct a new fate.Start the love--
Summon the passion from heaven above.
Listen here,Listen, guys--
We must,We must
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improvise.
We stop the violence --And arise.
Human not only in name--But in soul.
Together, as one,strong and whole.
We lay down our guns,Peace on Earth.
We will begin our rebirth.
The violence will stop;The wars will be done.
And we reunite,Together.
Finally--
As One.
WILLIAM CHAPMAN
17
Patuxent Valley Middle SchoolMrs. Jessica Nemeth
Howard County Reading Council
18
Poetry7th Grade
2nd Place Winner
FIGHTERDoes it truly take a village?
I believe not,You have much more poser within you
Than you originally thought.
Black, White, Latino, Arabic, Asian,None of it matters with hard work and dedication
Face anxiety, depression, self-doubt, and rise above,Stand up for yourself and fight for what you love.
Age, race, and gender are all just useless labels,It all becomes irrelevant when you’re ready, willing, and able.You don’t need somebody to idolize, you can be your own hero,
What other people say means zip, zilch, zero.
You can conquer anything from sea to shining sea,The bold, the sweat, the tears, fertilize the seed of victory.
You may want to follow the legacy of someone basking in glory,But each and every person has their own unique story.
Life is a journey through good and bad that gets clearer as you grow,When you truly find yourself who knows how far you’ll go.
Now is your time to step up and break through,Because I am a fighter, and you are too.
JUSTIN HETRICKWest Middle SchoolMs. Linda Deutsch
19
Montgomery County Reading Council
20
Poetry8th Grade
1st Place Winner
DUET WITH THE STORM
Scratch. Scribble. Her pencil falls onto the floor and rolls under the piano.
Bang! Her head hits the piano keys hard.
She can find a Million things wrong with her song.
She carefully recoUnts the beats again.
C.A.C.A.G.F.E.D.C. Scribble.
She puts down her signature purple pencil.
Pitter patter. Pitter patter. It startS to drizzle outside.
Slowly, she begins her song.
Pit pat. Pit pat. PiT PaT. PiT PaT. The quIet drizzle turns into a solid rain.
She keeps playing.
PIT PAT PITTER PIT PAT. Sheets of rain pound down on her roof.
She plays harder, and turns the volume up on her Clavinova.
Ping. Ping. Pong. Ping. HaIl begins to pound down rapidly as the sheets of rain turn sideways.
She begiNs to sing.
It rains harder, but she sings louder.
It rains so hard that all she hears is the pitter pat pit, pat pong of the raging storm.
Thunder booMs over her house.
She doesn’t care. She plaYs her heart out.
Suddenly, the rain stops. She stopS playing.
She picks up her purple pencil and writes dOwn the last few bars of her masterpiece.
Phh. She drops her pencil into its poUch. Ziip. She shuts her plastic pencil case.
The rain begins its signature drizzLe.
And she starts to play.
21
MERIDYTHE WITTMiddletown Middle School
Mrs. ShafferFrederick County Reading Council
22
Poetry8th Grade
2nd Place Winner
MOUNTAIN OF LIES
One
basic truth
can be twisted & used
as a foundation for a
mountain of lies, and bring
out that truth, to set it on top
of a mountain of lies; the entire
mountain of lies will crumble under the
weight of that one truth, and there is nothing
more devastating to a structure of lies than the
revelation of the truth upon which the structure of
lies was built, because the shock waves of the revelation
of the truth reverberate, and continue to reverberate
throughout the Earth for generations to follow, awakening even
those people who had no desire to be awakened to the truth.
XANDER HERSHKOWITCZStevensville Middle School
Ms. Kelly N. Sell
23
Upper Shore Reading CouncilPoetry
9th Grade1st Place Winner
THE CANDLE
its funny how much you remind meof a candle,
burning with passionand anger,
emitting such a bright lightfor such a small flame –
but when my breath reaches youto perform a solo ballet
across your cool delicate skin,you quiver and flicker –
just like a flame as itdances in the wind.
just like acandle.
EMILY HERROLDManchester Valley High School
24
Mr. Christian BouselliCarroll County Reading Council
Poetry9th Grade
2nd Place Winner
A REFLECTION ON KNOTS
How do I describe a knot?I could put it simply and tell you
That it is just a fasteningA tie that holds pieces of things together,
And I would be done with it.
But a knot is so much more than that-Take, for example, the knot of wire
Perched atop its nestIn a prickly metal fence that holds people in
The knot that can kill with a single touch,Sending shivers of deadly electricity
Into the bruised skin of innocent childrenTaken from their homes and families
For a simple characteristic-The knot that sits alongside German officers
As they watch over a campSmelling of blood, and smoke, and starvation,
The one that keeps secrets and tells liesThat no one wants to approach
Fearing that they, too, may be victimsOf its dangerous scheme.
And if that is not enough to tell you what a knot is,Look down at your shoes
25
Look at the laces on your sneakersThe knots that walk miles and miles with youThe kind and good ones that don’t complain
When they begin to frayWho offer no protest when you throw them away
Even after all the time they’ve spent with youThe knots that keep your feet warm and secure
That hold you together when you walk in sticky sadnessThat hide in the shadows while your face
Lies in the sun-The ones that go willingly to death
Even while you live, almost in immortalityTo them.
How do I describe a knot?I describe it as a living being, filled with its own
Emotions and memoriesAnd if you look close enough, you’ll be ableTo see those emotions and memories, too.
26
ELIZABETH ANDERSONLinganore High SchoolMrs. Natalie Rebetsky
Frederick County Reading CouncilPoetry
10th Grade1st Place Winner
BIOLOGY
Take flowers, for example:All beautiful, all unique.
All react differently to the same circumstances.
It’s basic biology.
Do you plant sunflowers in sandWhere the desert candles grow
And expect them to sprout?
Do you put roses in a lakeNext to the blooming water liliesNot expecting them to drown?
Do you expose marigolds to the Arctic spring In which the snow lilies thrive
And expect them to toughen up?
Of course you wouldn't.What kind of gardener are you?
Now think of children.All beautiful, all unique.
All react differently to the same circumstances.
Do you take kindergartners and place them in an environmentDevoid of love or acceptance,And expect them to take root?
27
Do you take teenagers and place them up to their necks In responsibilities
And not expect them to crumble when you pile more on their shoulders?
Do you expose soft hearts to the harsh judgement of society,Without anything to shield them from the cold,
And expect them to warm up?
No.Because they are living,
Growing,Human,Beings.
So what kind of a parent will you be?
28
EMILY SETHLinganore High SchoolMrs. Natalie Rebetsky
Frederick County Reading CouncilPoetry
10th Grade2nd Place Winner
MY RESPONSE TO YOUR IGNORANCE
There’s many things in this world that I can’t run from
Your ignorance happens to be one of them
How is it okay for you to think that because of my skin color,
people have a right to treat me differently,
to assume the worst of me,
to make conjectures about where I come from,
and to form opinions about who I am.
It was one thing when I thought that this prejudice existed,
but to encounter it first hand was frightening.
Contrary to what you might think
I’m not some kid’s baby’s mother,
My hair doesn’t make me unprofessional
My hoodie doesn’t make me a criminal
29
And yes, I know who my father is.
Honestly, I love my skin and
Honestly, I appreciate where I come from and
Honestly, my big hair reflects my big personality but
Rudely, the opinions you like to make about me are the same I could make
about you
And yes, I’m angry, outraged actually, but mostly I’m tired
Tired of the same of old question.
If it’s not me, why should I care?
I can’t change the color of my skin and wouldn’t even if I could, but I must
carry what you said with me for the rest my life because my one job on this
earth was to be born black and to die black and when you imply that my
skin color isn’t good enough, you have offended my whole reason for being
on this earth.
You should care because your blood is as red as mine, but your privilege,
your prejudice, and your outright racism clouds your judgement, so, thank
you for your assumptions and conjectures, but they’re not needed because
my skin color doesn’t define me and neither will you.
30
ESTHER MENSAHWestminster High School
Ms. Shawn SimmsCarroll County Reading Council
Poetry11th Grade
1st Place Winner
THE YOU IN UNIVERSE
Imagine it:the moon, the stars, and an ever expanding space.
There you are, floating like a balloon in the obsidian night sky,idly carried wherever the wind pleases.
So vast is the universe, nothing can capture its immensity.You are small, you know.
Like a grain of sand along the ocean floor, your insignificance is immeasurable.
You are nothing but a speck of dust in the great vacuum of space,and, like a krill drifting through the big, black sea,
you feel the approach of something much greater than you from behind.That imminent whale on the verge of engulfing you is fear.
What is your place in this universe?
Open your eyes now.You embrace the realization.
Just a grain of sand? Just a speck of dust?Ill-fated krill…?
No, you stop seeing what is around you and begin perceiving what is within;You are much greater.
What is the eye of Jupiter to the two lenses you behold?
31
What are Saturn’s rings or the face of the man in the moonto all the greatness and beauty and wonder lying within you?Nothing compares to the mass of muscle within your head;
your brain – your mind – has elevated the virtue of all elements.
Imagine this:you are the greatest thing in the universe.
You are you.
RAWAN OSMANJames M. Bennett High School
Mrs. Laurie DaviesEastern Shore Reading Council
Poetry11th Grade
2nd Place Winner
REVOLUTION IS IN THE LITTLE THINGSWe are not a statement.
We are just in love.Our affection isn’t
a demand for a place,to take up space.
This is no favor, no errandfor you to bear.
This—what lives in ouryoung hearts, our bliss—
is not to spite you,but rather
despite you.
We see your stares,and we raise you
white-knuckle hands locked together,swinging between us
32
as we walk past youropen mouths.
An act of civil disobedience.
We hear your whispers,and we raise youlingering glances
and smiles, in thempurity of kindness
and grace.A sit-in.
We smell your disgust,rolling in heavy waves off
your backs, leaving crackedcement in our path,
and we raise yougentle footsteps,
echoing, continuing.A strike.
We feel your glares,knocking us to the pavement
like the blast of a water cannon,and we raise you
bouquets of wildflowers tiedwith ribbon as tight as
your pursed lips,and pen ink love notes
filled with hopefor a better future.
A call to action.
We taste thechange in the air
as Bills are passedagainst our tenderness,
and we raise youa collection of picture-frame kisses.
A riot.
33
We do love despite you.And there is no space for
your slurs, verses,or twisted cliches
between our blended lipsticks.
We see your hatred,and we raise you
our fists.
AMELIA SALISBURYQueen Anne’s County High School
Mrs. Gretchen BiringerUpper Shore Reading Council
Poetry12th Grade
1st Place Winner
MONSTER
crooked claws scrape down my chestthey rush and rake with never a rest
choking me til i gasp for breathwishing me to a silent death
a ghastly gaze searches and scansdeathly and dark it plots and plans
forcing me to avert my eyesfilling me up with tear-down lies
bitter cold breath pervades the roomreaching in frozen tendrils of doom
it chills and chips at my now-blue lipspining for pain it gnashes and rips
34
this specter sulks in silent spacesin lilting lulls in worn-out places
it garishly grins with teeth like knivesready and waiting to eat me alive
never it ceases and never it diesthe mutters the murmurs the bullet-crack cries
and always i hate and always i dreadthe panicked monster inside my head
MARY KATHERINE MEYERSOakdale High School
Mrs. Emily HillFrederick County Reading Council
Poetry12th Grade
2nd Place Winner
BLIND POETS
Blind poets,All of you;
You who walk among the crowdsAnd raise your fists in chant,
Crying for a cause unknown to you,Praying for a blind change.
Blind poets,All of you;
You who work your fingersAcross keyboards and endless screens,
Who seep sorrow for men imagined,Mocking their unending grief.
Blind poets,
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All of you;You who see and reap,
You who cryAnd you who chant,
And you who rant the moral awayFrom stories of contempt.
BlindBlindBlind.
Blind poetsAmong us,Before us;
On paper and screens,In books and t.v;
Pretending to understand horror,Pretending to understand pain.
Blind poetsYou mock me,You burn me,
I who see.I who feel
Blind poets,You who sprinkle dirtOn unmarked graves,
You who bury the dead alive,
BlindBlindBlind.
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APRIL POVLOCKManchester Valley High School
Mrs. Tina ThomenCarroll County Reading Council
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Short Stories
1st and 2nd Place Winners
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Short Story2nd Grade
1st Place Winner
THE RHYMING BUNNY AND THE HIGHLY ANNOYED FOX
It was a bright, clear night. No cars were on the road. A tall street lamp shone on a small hole. In the hole there were a fox and a badger.
“What do you want for dinner?” the fox asked. “A nice big juicy turkey?”
“No,” the badger said. “A pig?” the fox said. “Boring,” the badger said. “I’ll just pick something random then,” the fox said.
And off he went. Four hours later, the fox returned home. He couldn’t find anything and
they went to bed really hungry. There was no dinner for the fox or the badger that night. The next day, the fox invited Badger over for lunch and promised he would find some food. Fox searched for a meal while Badger set the table. Suddenly, the fox saw something white out of the corner of his eye in the bush next to him. As quick as a whip, he lunged forward and grabbed a bunny who appeared to be sleeping. Fox ran home, carrying the bunny in his mouth. Right when he got home, the bunny woke up.
“Oh no ... will you ever let me go?” asked the bunny. “Aww, what a cute bunny!” Badger said. “Wait a moment! Are you
going to eat him?” “Of course!” said the fox. “You can’t eat a cute guy like him.” “But it’s our diet!” said fox. “No,” Badger said, “It’s your diet.” “You are mean,” said the bunny, “Just like my least favorite
vegetable ... the green bean!” “Wait,” said the fox, “is everything you say a rhyme?” “Yes,” said the bunny, “I always rhyme my best: oh, look at that lake
(there was no lake). It’s shaped like steak!” The fox’s mouth dropped open, “this bunny is really funny... oh no,
now I’m doing it!”
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“I am a poet,” said the bunny, “and I like to show it. Here’s my best one: I’m lying in my bed, dropping an egg on my head!”
The fox said, “That was bad.” The bunny said, “but that’s all I had!” The fox said, “let’s just ignore him.” “Oh please no,” said the bunny, “or I’ll turn into a buffalo!” “This guy
is crazy,” said the fox. “Just don’t call me lazy!” said the bunny. “What is your name?” demanded the fox. “I’ll tell you if you don’t say it’s lame!” said the bunny in a very
cheerful voice. “Get out!” said the fox. “Try not to shout!” said the bunny, starting to enjoy himself. “You know what? You’re just too annoying,” said the fox, “I’ll just eat
you before you can do another bad rhyme.” “Okay,” said the bunny, “but you should know what happened to me
yesterday! I didn’t used to rhyme, but now I do it all the time. I found a magic turnip that I ate, and now I’ve got a brand new fate. I can’t ever stop with my rhymes, and I think... that if you eat me... you’ll do it too... ALL THE TIME!! Have fun non-stop rhyming when your dinner’s done.”
“This is really creeping me out!” said the fox. The badger said, “I’m just really confused, but if you start rhyming all
the time, Fox, I’m not coming for lunch ever again. Also, I am definitely not eating a rhyming rabbit!”
“You could let me go,” said the bunny, “it would be better for you, you know.”
“Okay,” said the fox. “Yay!” said the bunny. “Just please let this end,” said the fox. “Okay, then,” said the bunny, “and good-bye my non-rhyming friends.”
The bunny hopped out of the foxhole, and in a flash he was gone. He hopped around a mulberry bush, and through the woods until he got to a small rabbit hole, where his baby bunny was waiting for him. “Guess what Daddy did today?” asked the bunny, “Daddy tricked a fox. He made him believe that he ate a magic turnip and couldn’t stop rhyming! Eventually the fox got so annoyed by my rhyming that he let me go!”
“Wow, you’re a genius, Daddy!” said the baby bunny. “I’m not a genius, but I am a poet, and here’s my best one: I’m lying in
my bed, dropping an egg on my head.” “That’s horrible, Daddy” said the baby bunny.
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“That’s what the fox said!” laughed the daddy bunny. And they both sat down to a delicious dinner of (not) magic turnips.
LILY EISENBERG
Wood Acres Elementary SchoolMs. Hetchkop
Montgomery County Reading Council
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Short Story2nd Grade
2nd Place Winner
ARNOLD THE COW MAKES A FRIEND
There was a cow. His name was Arnold. And he had lots of friends. Instead of staying in the barn all day, he loved to go outside. Every morning Arnold said, “Hi, Pig! Hi, Sheep! Hi, Chicken!” They loved to play tag, so they went down to the field. Chicken was It first. They were having so much fun – even Pig who was generally slow and oinky.
Then, something came stomping into the field. “It’s Mighty Bull!!!,” the friends cried. All the farm animals were scared of Mighty Bull. He was so big and he always thought it was funny to charge at the animals. Sheep, Pig and Chicken ran back to the barn. Chicken’s feathers were flying!
But, Arnold Cow stayed. He wanted to protect his friends. If he stayed, that would give them time to run. Now Arnold was alone in the field with Mighty Bull…and he was scared!Bull said in a deep voice, “You and your little friends have to get off MY field! I want to be alone in my field.”
Arnold responded in a frightened voice, “Well, we were trying to play tag.”Bull said, “This is MY field. Play tag somewhere else.”
Meanwhile, Arnold’s friends were hiding in the barn and watching Mighty Bull as he stared at Arnold Cow and got ready to charge. They started making lots of noise so that Mighty Bull would get distracted and come toward them. Arnold ran into the woods and hid behind a tree. He cried. He was sad and scared.
Then, Farmer Brown came out. He was a happy and nice farmer. The animals loved him, except Bull. Farmer Brown saw what happened. He said, “Shoo, Bull! Get away from my cow!” Then he ran to the cow and asked, “Are you ok?”
Arnold said, “Yes. But that was scary!” He went back to the barn where all his friends were. He said to them, “That was CLOSE! Guess we’re not playing tag today.” The friends were bummed.
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Meanwhile, Mighty Bull came up to Farmer Brown and said, “Why can’t I be on the field? It’s not fair. Cow, Sheep, Chicken and Pig are hogging the field.”
Farmer Brown wanted all the animals on his farm to be friends. But he knew the other animals thought Bull was a bully. “You know you are being mean to the other animals,” he said. “Why do you charge at them and scare them?” he asked.
Mighty Bull said, “I want to be friends with them but I don’t think they like me. They never ask me to play. So I play alone. And now they are in my field.”
“First of all, it is not your field. Second, have you tried asking to play instead of charging them?”
The bull said, “That is a good idea. I’m going to go over there and say sorry and ask to play.”
“That’s a GREAT idea. I’ll be in the kitchen making omelets if you need me,” said Farmer Brown.
So Mighty Bull rounded up all his courage and marched into the barn. The animals saw him coming and they were scared. Mighty Bull said, “Don’t be afraid! I’m just here to say sorry for what I did earlier. Would you please accept my apology?”
The animals said, “Of course we will!”“Do you want to go down to the field and play tag?” asked Mighty
Bull.“YESSSSS!!!” Arnold Cow, Sheep, Pig and Chicken responded.
And so that began a beautiful friendship. Tag, you’re it!
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HAYS BUNKERIlchester Elementary School
Ms. Terri KentHoward County Reading Council
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Short Story3rd Grade
1st Place Winner
THE MOUSE AND THE DRAGON
One cool night in a cave high in the mountains lived a monstrous golden dragon who was known to be very dangerous. At his birthday party, he and his friends played his favorite game—burn the hoop. As the dragon shot bright turquoise flames hotter than lava he rapidly burned the tungsten hoop. Within ten seconds the hoop was completely melted. After the party was over, and his friends had gone home, he became sad and lonely. He flew to his room and into his giant pit where he shot out flames. The coals flared and warmed him. Exhausted, he fell asleep on his bed of coals.
The next morning in the valley far, far below the dragon, the king woke with a start. He had an idea! He ran to his wardrobe, dressed quickly, and tumbled down the stairs in his haste. He forgot his crown so he ran back up, grabbed it, then he fell down the stairs again. When he reached the golden table, his servants brought him food and water. He caught his breath and scarfed down his mashed potatoes and gravy, his favorite breakfast. Afterwards, he walked briskly down the corridor, got into his carriage, and rode off in search of a dragon. He wanted one as a pet so it could fly him to visit other kingdoms and keep him company. He was a lonely king.
After a while the king looked out the carriage window and saw his prize — the golden dragon. He thought, “I must have that dragon!” So, the king went to the blacksmith’s shop and said, “I need the biggest dragon trap in the land.” The next day twenty blacksmiths started work on the trap for the king.A week later the trap was done, and the king was excited to set it. He found the perfect spot in his land, set the trap, and waited. After three days, no dragon was caught, so the king knew he needed a better plan. He visited the powerful wizard, whose beard dragged on the floor when he walked. The king explained his problem. The wizard gave him a magical mouse. The king said, “Why are you giving me a mouse? Is this an insult? A mouse is useless against a dragon. Plus, I’m allergic to mice.”
With his hoarse voice, the wizard said, “Take it or I’ll turn you into a frog.”
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The king knew this to be true as the wizard had turned one of the servants into a frog a week ago. The king told the mouse, “Okay, you need to lure the dragon into the trap and then you may go. Get it?” The mouse nodded his head Yes. “Good,” The king said.
Three days later the mouse located the entrance to the dragon’s cave. The mouse went inside, feeling very nervous. His nose smelled the aroma of dead animals. He found the dragon and did an Irish jig to get the dragon’s attention. Out of curiosity, the dragon followed the mouse. An hour later the still jigging mouse and dragon reached the trap. In anger, rage, and fury, the dragon melted it. He then flew back up to his cave. A week later the mouse returned to the king and said “I have failed you. The trap was melted by the dragon.” The king was disappointed. He needed a new plan.
The next day the king went again to the wizard and said, “I need dragon food.” Silently, the wizard gave the king dragon food.
In three days a new trap was set and the mouse entered the cave. Again, the dragon followed. The mouse went to the pot of food, climbed in, and dug a hole to stay safe from the dragon’s jaws and sharp teeth. Once the dragon was gone, his part of the king’s plan would end and he would return home to the wizard to eat a large chunk of cheese.
The dragon started eating. He felt different. He wished to be with the king, to be his friend. He flew to the king, bowed, and laid down. Cautiously, the king patted the dragon’s snout, then carefully climbed onto the dragon. Happy to have a buddy, the dragon flew up and out of the castle, knocking out part of the roof and a wall.
After visiting all the neighboring kingdoms, the king was voted the most powerful king in the land. And the mouse, dragon, and king lived happily ever after.
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CAMDEN SWINTONNew Market Elementary School
Mrs. Teresa KingFrederick County Reading Council
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Short Story3rd Grade
2nd Place Winner
SAM THE CACTUS
Not so long ago in the Mojave Desert there lived a very sad Prickly Pear cactus. Sam was that cactus. He lived out in the desert with Kenny the Totem Pole cactus. He was depressed because his friend Kenny the Cactus was very soft and tall. Sam the spikey and very short cactus just wanted someone to pet and love him.
One day when Sam was resting, the animals of the desert helped him. Steven the snake removed the pricks with his slimy tongue. Lizzie the lizard, with her sharp claws, scratched the pricks off. Tad the turtle with is strong shell, scraped the pricks off. Gavin the grasshopper cleaned the smooth cactus with high leaps. Then Sam woke and he was very smooth and that made him feel overjoyed.
The next day, Melissa the mother, was looking for a cactus for Cinco de Mayo so she headed to the Mojave Desert. She started walking towards the biggest hill of sand in the desert. She was looking for the smallest cactus because she was short. She looked at Sam and then at Kenny. She went to pick Sam because he was smaller than Kenny. Then she put him in the car. Melissa’s 4 kids and her husband were in the car too. Finally, when she got home, Melissa placed Sam in a pot and put him on her dresser. He stayed there until May 5th. To decorate for Cinco de Mayo, she put a sombrero on Sam and he was the centerpiece of the party. They had the best Cinco de Mayo party in history. Sam knew this was the start to a great relationship!
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AMELIA MASONForest Hill Elementary School
Mr. Stephen JohnstonHarford County Reading Council
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Short Story4th Grade
1st Place Winner
ICE OF THE FUTUREJuniper lay in bed, her eyes wide open. The letter she had found was
clutched in her hand. Three days ago she had woken up to find it on her windowsill, tied in a red ribbon. Juniper reached for her lamp and turned on the switch. The lamp’s warm yellow light flooded the room, making Juniper blink. She unfurled the letter, and put on her glasses. She reread the it, squinting at the small and swirly handwriting that filled the paper with purple ink.
When the December full moon has reached its height, go into the snow, into the night. Find the letter on the ground, keep it with you, safe and sound. Do not tell a single person, for your problems in life then will surely worsen, You are the last chance for this magic, and our end will be tragic. As this is done, do not fear, for your new allies are watching near.
Juniper did not know who this letter had come from. It was obviously not from her parents or anyone she knew. She sighed and sat up. Even though she knew this could easily could be a trick, she felt she had to do this. She had always believed in magic deep down, and at least was going to find out what this was all about. Tonight was the December full moon. She looked at the clock. 1:47. Her parents would be asleep by now.
After sitting in bed for a while thinking about her plan, Juniper tip-toed across her room and pulled on her coat, hat, and gloves which she had hid in her closet that morning. Snow boots in hand, she slowly crept through her bedroom door and started down the stairs.
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When she reached the bottom of the staircase, Juniper walked faster, feeling more confident. When she reached the front door, she slipped on her boots, unlatched the door, and stepped outside, her snowboots crunching in the newly fallen snow. The December wind hit her hard, chilling her through her coat and turning her nose the color of a strawberry. She then grew scared that she would not be able to find whatever letter might be around. The first letter did not tell her where this second letter might be. Juniper pulled out her flashlight she kept in her coat pocket for emergencies and waved it across the ground. Nothing but snow, sparkling in the beam of light. She kept walking, keeping her eye out for a small scroll with a red ribbon.Her fears of not finding the letter ceased when she was halfway across her front yard. Her flashlight beam swept across the snow, but froze when it illuminated a small scroll tied in a red ribbon. Juniper smiled, pulling off her gloves and picking it up. She pulled on the ribbon to undo it, revealing a letter in the same small, purple handwriting.
First congratulations on finding this letter, you have made a choice for the better, We now need one more favor from you, and you prove yourself good with clues, In the pond where you play, in its ice your prize will lay, When you look inside and you will see, the magic you have set free If you do this, you will have kept us from trouble, and your prizes will be doubled.
Juniper smiled. She always loved to sit at a small pond near her backyard. Nobody ever really paid attention to it, and she thought of it as her secret place to play and watch the water in the pond. Shoving this new letter in her pocket with the other letter, she took off, her flashlight scanning the ground as she ran and her boots crunching through the snow.
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When Juniper reached the pond, she kneeled down to stare into the thick layer of ice covering the water. At first she saw nothing unusual. Just ice shimmering in the moonlight. Juniper sighed. It had been all a trick, her sneaking out into the night all for nothing. But then the moon’s reflection began to move. Flashes of color raced across the ice. Juniper stared, her curly brown hair falling into her face. The flashes of color began to slow down and take shape of a city. It wasn't an average city though. It had mile-high skyscrapers and small jets zipped to the sky. Self-driving cars drove on the roads and people on hoverboards crowded the sidewalks. Slowly Juniper began to understand what she was looking at. She was looking at the future.
CLAIRE M. WILLIAMSFulton Elementary School
Ms. Rebecca OtteHoward County Reading Council
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Short Story4th Grade
2nd Place Winner
ALONE
It’s dark today. My mom’s really sick. She’s in the hospital, and I’m scared. I hope she is going to live! I don’t want to be alone. I’m going to the hospital to visit her. Oh no! The doctor said she may pass away. Just what I feared! It can’t get worse. Or can it?
Time for school. The smelly bus again. My teacher feels sorry for me. She hates my mom. She said my mom complains too much. I don’t know why she feels so bad if she hates my mom! Today I’m the king. Everyone feels sorry for me. They’re asking me if I need anything. They’re carrying all my stuff for me. I’ve asked them to stop, but they say, “You need this help. Your mom is dying. Stop saying no.” So it looks like they’re not going to stop anytime soon! It’s getting annoying, but I guess I have to deal with it until she either gets better or …. dies. I’m really scared. I’m tired. I’m gong to bed.
It’s been two days since I’ve checked on my mom. So I go to the hospital. Oh no! Why is she so still? Maybe she’s just asleep. I talk to the doctors, and they say she’s fine. She’s been given some medicine that made her tired. That scared me!
Time for school again, I couldn’t sleep last night! I’m beyond tired. I’m exhausted! I guess I have to go to school anyway! Today is gym, and I forgot my sneakers. I’ll have to sit out today. Everybody will feel sorry for me yet again. I didn’t do my homework either. The teacher said it’s fine, probably because my mom’s dying! That’s what I don’t like. Why is it so important to everyone! It’s probably happened to lots of people before! When people give me the advantage because my mom is dying, it gets annoying. I wish everyone would just stop. I feel like screaming CUT IT OUT! Of course I can’t! It’s so frustrating! People are so annoying sometimes! I’m exhausted again because we had a test at school. Good night!
I’m gong to the hospital to check on my mom. I wish it wasn’t so far away. I need to be able to get there faster! I hope she’s getting better. The
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doctor said that she has gotten worse! I have to see her! Oh my God! She’s as white as a ghost! I got her a cup of water, but it didn’t help. She is very weak and so limp. I don’t know if she’s going to make it. She feels sorry for me, but I want to cheer her up! I’m going to spend all my money and buy her some flowers! I’ll be right back. Maybe I can even buy her a teddy bear. “Mom, can I borrow $10?” She says yes. I will buy her a really cute teddy bear! I found one. It’s ….exactly $10! Yes!!! Time to stop celebrating and buy this so I can go get the flowers! Alright time to get the daisies, her favorite! Hmmm is this a good bouquet? No, they’re wilted! She needs the perfect bouquet! I’m spending all of my money for this! These are good I guess…..
Buying this was a good choice. It will cheer her up. Time to go back! “Mom? Mom? MOM!!!! Where are you?!” I need to talk to the doctors!! Where did they put her?! The doctor said “She has sadly let go.” WHAT!!!!! How could they let her die?!!? “We did all we could,” he said. OH NO!! I’m going to die without her! I’m never going to leave her! “You have to leave. You may catch her sickness, “ the doctor said. NO!! I’m never leaving her! “Nurse lead him out!” NO!!!!!!!!!!!!
So this happened. I’m not ready for school. I’m not ready for school. I can’t go on anymore. I’m all alone! I’m gong home.
50 YEARS LATER
I’m much older now. I have children of my own. I still remember the day my mom died. Soon I’ll be dead too. I’m 60 years old, and I’m in the hospital … dying. I don’t want to leave my kids all alone like my mother left me. This is not what my mom would have wanted either. OW!! Ugh! I just threw up. It hurts. Wait! Is that blood?! Of course it is. I’m really sick, but I can’t die now. My children will be heartbroken. Their mom died after they were born. She was a beautiful woman. I miss her so much. It’s time for me to go and be with her. I know my children won’t be alone. There grown up now. They have families of their own.
GOOD BYE
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AMELIA BOWERSBay View Elementary SchoolMs. Justice and Mrs. VaughanCecil County Reading Council
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Short Story5th Grade
1st Place Winner
THE FAMOUS ORCHESTRA
She was about to play in front of 100000 people. It kept ringing in her head like crazy. She was a pianist who had been rising in her local town. Then county. Then state. Now the whole East Coast knows her. In about five weeks, she has a scholarship to about five different colleges and ten orchestras wanting her to play. The only reason she played so well was because she had a secret. She couldn't even explain it.
When she played, she heard other instruments playing other than her. She wasn't crazy, though when she played in front of people, they never heard anything but her. She would also see people as she was playing. Everyone she saw was looked like people she had researched. Earlier today when practicing she had seen Adolphe Sax and heard the Baritone Saxophone as she was playing. That freaked her out a little. Just a little.For some reason, it helped. The way that seeing them would help her was by making her feel as if she was actually playing in an orchestra. Making her feel that way made her think that if she played better, she would have a future, and be as well known as the people she saw while playing.
She remembered the first day she had touched the keys on a piano. She swore she heard and saw Carlos Salzedo playing the harp. She turned around when she touched the key. She touched another key. Another harp note. She then played Jolly Old Saint Nick, and along with her was a harp. As she had progressed in her life she saw more famous musicians playing with her until more than an entire orchestra would play at the time she she started. Now she was here, on a stage. About to play in front of a judgemental crowd.
She walked over to her piano and bowed, and people applauded. She started to play Heartache, a personal favorite to play. First she hears a saxophone. She slightly looks to the side and sees Adolphe Sax playing the Baritone Saxophone. Then she hears harps, then violin, then cello which was usual.
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She then hears an uncommon one. The grand piano. The last time she heard that one was when she had played in front of a real crowd for the first time. Instead of there being a separate instrument while the famous musician played, the pianist sat next to her and played along. The keys moved with the ghostly figure. And the same situation was happening. The same figure, she now recognizes as Mozart. He looked at her and smiled, and then went back to playing. He was playing another song she liked called His Theme. It was a fitting song to softly play in the background of Heartache, as the song was about a grieving mother, and His Theme was about a lost son.
Then everything went white. When she woke up, she was just in what seemed to be a white endless room filled end to end with famous musicians. At this point, she didn't even remember the song she was just playing in front of many people. As time went by, a path formed down the army of musicians. At the end was a person too far to see. Subconsciously, she started bolting down the path towards the character. As she got closer, she saw a piano. Then the man was playing the piano. She finally got closer to him, seeing it was Mozart. All she did was sit down next to him, and start playing.
After a while, she asked, “Where am I?”
He seemed to be taken off by the question, and replied with, “The orchestra.” for a smart man, he wasn’t very specific.
“More detail, please.” She said.
“Well, this is an orchestra that has no name. You see, we show up when the next extraordinary composer is born. The day you first touched a piano, some members of the orchestra already saw your potential. You are destined for greatness, my dear.” Was his expository reply.
The words seemed to hang in the air. She would have a successful future full of what she dreamed as a little kid. She wondered what her little self would say. Maybe, Uh, DUH. I already knew that.
“I will be one of the next greatest musicians in history?” She had asked.
“Indeed. Maybe even better than I,” He said. “But it seems our time is up. Please, don’t stop playing the piano.”
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And with that word, everything went white again. She was sitting on the piano, heavy breathing. The orchestra was gone. People were clapping. The judges looked impressed. She must have still played during everything. She walked of the stage. That was a performance she would never forget.
MAREN KNEELANDBayside Elementary School
Mrs. Sara TowersUpper Shore Reading Council
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Short Story5th Grade
2nd Place Winner
FULL CIRCLE
As I walked through the farmland owned by my family I heard a noise coming from the orchard. I walked over to chase away what I thought was stray dog. There are a lot of loose strays in Virginia. Or at least I thought it was a stray. In reality I saw a small monster. It was black like midnight and not much bigger than 3 feet, it had sharp long teeth almost like fangs. It tore fruit off trees only to cast it away in disgust after one bite. It was hungry but not for apples, peaches and pears but for meat. I screamed when I saw it. I ran back to the farm house. I told my papa what I saw he chucked “I always knew you had a big imagination”.
My grandmother would tell that story often. I used to believer her when I was little. “Grandma why did no one believe that you saw the monster?” I would often ask. She would always answer “my dear Lainey, it was because in 1925 no one believed a child”. Now I’m 11, too old to believe stories like that or that’s what I thought. Now I begin a greater tale of my own.
It was a few weeks after my grandmother’s passing. My mother suggested we visit the old farm house grandma grew up in. The younger me would have said “no there are actually monsters there!” The older, more mature me was actually kind of happy, ever since I stopped believing in the story grandma told me I have wanted to visit the old farm house. As soon as we arrived you could feel a sense of abandonment on the farm, the house was dilapidated and the crops were nothing but dust. “Now I know we aren’t allowed inside the farm house but we can go in the fields and orchards” said mom. The words orchards got my attention. “Um can we split up?” I asked. “Well I guess we can so long as you don’t go far or go
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inside the farm house” my mom responded. I eagerly walked to the orchard. I immediately saw that the orchards were not much better off then rest of the farm. Most of the trees were dead. The few that were alive were leafless with bent low hanging branches. As I walked farther in the orchard a strong wind blew and dust flew. I shivered. As I continued walking what slowly came into view was amazing. The orchards were full and alive with fresh ripe fruit on every branch. Suddenly a scream pierced through the air. I saw a little girl in a frilly bonnet and a bright pink dress. “What’s wrong”?! I shouted. The girl didn’t hear me. She dropped the basket of fruit she was carrying and ran, right through me! I panicked. What happened???!!! Why was it happening????!!!! I decided to follow her and see if I could figure this out. Suddenly I realized how I recognized the girl, she looked
like my grandma!!!!!! Before I ran from the orchard I saw a small monster it had black fur, was 3 feet and it had fangs.
Immediately I remembered where I knew that ver same description from, my grandmother’s story!!! It dawned on me instantly that the girl was my grandmother. I raced to the farm house. Once again I was shocked the farm house was perfect, it was alive with life. There were no dents in the roof and smoke was coming out of the chimney. I went inside and saw a calendar. It read July 5th 1925!!!!!! I screamed which did no harm because no one could hear me. I watched as my grandmother told her father what happened. I stared in amazement and confusion as the story I loved unraveled before my very eyes.
I was terrified, how would i get back to my mother, as the depth of my situation sank in I wondered if I would ever see her again. I raced from the farm house and through the fields when suddenly a strong gust of wind blew. I watched as the grass beneath my feet turned to dust, the crops turned to nothing, the orchard in the distant turned to dead branches and the farm house decayed before my eyes. I stood there stunned and confused until a shout roused my trance. My mother shouted toward me “Lainey,
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where were you?” I was overjoyed to hear my mother’s voice “Mom, this may sound unbelievable but…” I then told her everything that happened to me while visiting Grandma’s old farm. When I finished telling her my adventure she chuckled “I always knew you had a big imagination”.
SUMMER HADDADSouthgate Elementary School
Mrs. Crooks ColeAnne Arundel County Reading Council
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Short Story6th Grade
1st Place Winner
THE GOLDEN FOREST
The sun was shining bright that autumn day. A chilly breeze made me shiver as I crunched my way through a trail of leaves. I was surrounded by the sound of rushing water, chirping birds and buzzing insects.
Suddenly the sounds around me fell silent and clouds hid the sun above. The forest that I frequently walked through became eerily quiet. A gentle gust began to blow and in the distance something white flapped against a tree. I loved this part of the forest, it was my favorite area, next to the river and not far from an old covered bridge. But today the forest was spooky and I had a bad feeling something wasn’t right.
I slowly moved down the trail towards the object on the tree. It was a piece of paper stapled to the tree. The weather and wind had damaged it quite a bit. It was crumpled and ripped in areas and the images were faded, but I could clearly make out faces and the large printed word MISSING.
The Elliott’s had been missing for 3 weeks. I remember when the news first reported the case of their sudden disappearance. I was having ice cream with my friend Kate who lived two doors down from them. They had gone hiking in this same forest and hadn’t been seen since. I could easily make out the faces of Jimmy and Veronica the youngest of the family. But Jeff the oldest and Mr. and Mrs. Elliott were not visibly clear anymore.
The Golden Forest has always been a popular hiking spot. But it has always had its mysterious secrets too. They say the forest got its golden name because in the fall when the sun hit the yellow, orange and brown leaves they cast a golden glow over the tree tops. However I know the true mystery and how it obtained its name.
Many years ago an old miner named Gold Tooth Ernie roamed these woods. There had been rumors that he struck it big and had buried his gold somewhere in the forest. He had marked the location of his golden treasure so only he knew where to find it. Unfortunately for old Gold Tooth a storm like no other tore through the forest and the river raged, flooding over its banks and washing the marker away forever leaving his gold lost.
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My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices and crunching footsteps headed my way. The voices sounded angry and I had a bad feeling, so I found cover in a thick bush that left me cringing in pain because of the stabbing sharp thorns. I dealt with the pain because I was hidden from view. The voices came from two men, one who had a high pitched squeaky voice and the other man who appeared the angriest had a deep, raspy voice. The two men walked by me and disappeared under the bridge. When I didn’t hear them anymore I came out of cover. I had to pick thorns off my clothing and skin. It was after I removed the last thorn when I looked up and saw that if I had backed up any further I would have been stuck in a thorny briar patch that stretched as far as I could see.
I still did not see where the men had gone, but the last place I saw them was below the bridge. I was sure something was wrong. Not just because the two men were angry, but they were not dressed like normal hikers. They looked more like coal miners. They were dirty and wore rubber boots. The man with the squeaky voice had a helmet with a lamp. A low humming sound began coming from the bridge. I walked over to investigate.
I walked under the bridge and saw it overgrown with strange looking ivy. When I touched it I realized it was plastic and fake. I pulled it from the beams under the bridge, and as I did so a door was revealed. I put my ear against the door to listen. It was hard to make out over the humming, but I could hear the men talking.
“ You’ve got to be kidding” shouted the man with the raspy voice!
“ No, I swear boss, I saw a girl hiding in a bush outside” squeaked back the other.
There was more talking, but the humming got louder and I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The door swung open knocking me to the ground and into a puddle of mud. I tried to get up but slipped and the man with the squeaky voice grabbed me.
“ Gotch ya” he said.
“ Why are you here “ asked the raspy voiced man?
“ I’m just walking…let me go” I shouted!
“ Walking? More like ease dropping! Mouse! Put her with the others!”
The man with the squeaky voice was named Mouse. He was a short round man with raggedy hair. Mouse grabbed me and pulled me into a room. It
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was a utility room with shovels and picks, shelves with lamps and hoses. A single light flickered dimly lighting the room.
“ Sit down“ he said pointing to a chair. He tied me up and locked me in the room.
I began to yell for help over and over.
“ That won’t help” said a voice.
I looked across the room and could see a figure chained to a shelf unit. It was Mr. Elliott.
The Elliott’s were all chained to the shelving units. They told me of their ordeal. How they had been hiking and came across a hose running along the river. They followed it upstream and came across the two men digging up the river bed. The larger man with the raspy voice became agitated that they were there. He forced them to the bridge threatening them with a machete. When they reached the bridge they were chained in the room and have been there since. Little Jimmy said they barely fed him. They later heard the men talking about the miner’s gold and finding it.
My constraints were loose and after working through the knot for hours I was able to free myself from the chair. I looked around room and saw the machete Mr. Elliott had spoken of. I grabbed it and was able to use it and unscrew the bolts holding the shelving units together allowing all the Elliott’s to pull the chains from the shelves.
Mr. Elliott was able to force the thin locked door open with one blow of his shoulder. The two men weren’t to be found. We ran from under the bridge and down the trail which I came. I had the machete with me. The Elliott’s clanged as their chains rattled.
In front of us flashlights appeared.
“STOP” loudly someone shouted!
I remembered the briar patch and guided the Elliott’s toward the sticker filled bushes. I frantically chopped a trail. The branches filled with thorns grabbed and clawed at us as we scrambled through. The two men followed us in. The further we ventured, the smaller my trail became. The chain still attached to the Elliott’s began to tangle in the vines and pulled branches down and enclosing us. The men became trapped and lost in the thick briar patch.
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Hours after we cut our way free you could still hear the men yipping and yelping. We made it back to a main road and flagged down a car and the driver called the police. The police came like an army and raided the woods finding the thorn covered men still lost in the briar patch.
“You’re lucky” said the officer in charge. “ These men are wanted in 5 states and 2 countries. Mouse McCoy and Angelo “The Elephant” Torretti are International fugitives. You are a brave little girl”.
It had been a long night and the morning was awaking. The river was calm and the humming from the generators that pumped water out of The Elephant and Mouse’s dig area had stopped. A piece of rotting wood floated downstream with a faint red star on it and the initials G.E. The sun peaked over the mountain tops and sent its rays over the tree tops. The forest glowed gold. It was a beautiful sight.
MADISON HOOPERMount View Middle School
Mr. Jacob JenniferHoward County Reading Council
57
Short Story6th Grade
2nd Place Winner
NOVA’S JOURNAL
August 20, 2018
It was my last day in this place, surrounded by walls, locked in by bars. They had placed me here in April. I had been locked away from the world after I had done it. The crime had been epic, my escape plan flawless. The only mistake, relying on another human. I had an accomplice, but I will not speak their name, it would pain me too much. I got thrown in here while they didn’t even get acknowledged. They walked away, I doubt that they even remembered me. I was invisible, unnoticed by my peers, or as I like to call them, my inmates.
I had spent two months planning the crime. I wams going steal from the Macy’s cash register. I worked my way into the ranks. In my first two weeks, I had been promoted into cashier. My plan had been working perfectly. But then, I made the mistake to tell my “friend” Her name was, wait I’m not telling you! I told you that I wouldn’t say her name! Wait, why am I talking to my diary? Well, anyways, back to the story, I was the cashier. I signed up to close the store and waited until everyone was gone. I walked over to the cash register and popped it open. I stared at my findings. It was empty! I spun around, suddenly feeling as though someone was watching me. Then, I saw it. A black camera in the corner. It’s red blinking recording light taunting me. I knew that the camera hadn’t been there before. I had spent so much time making sure that I wouldn’t get caught. Someone must have tipped them off. And only one person knew.
My face contorted even more when I heard the police sirens coming towards me. I knew that it wouldn’t matter if I ran, I would get caught anyway. That would just dig me deeper in my hole. I stood in the doorway as the police cars came closer and closer. The red and blue lights reflected off of my face as I stared at them. Then, to make the situation even worse, my “friend” stepped out of the police car. I was mad. Madder than I had ever felt in my life. Even writing about it makes me fe-
Sorry, pencil broke. I guess I pressed a little too hard. Most things make me mad and the only thing that I can do to get the anger out is
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writing about it. Again, gotta stop talking to my diary. I feel so dumb. Only girly-girls keep a diary, but the guards had given it to me the first day along with my white jumpsuit and told me not to try to escape. I may or may not, have ignored them, well you were there, in my pocket along for the ride.
As I sit here, my pencil in hand I can see my inmate being dragged out of his room. The two guards that took him had on shades and a dispassionate expression on their faces. He is going home, to parents who love him, to a happy home. At least, for now. Everyone that came here came back after a while. The call of crime was to much for them.
I was supposed to go home tomorrow, back to my little brothers, my mother, and my father. It would be just in time to get back to school.
August 21, 2018
I have been loaded into the black car like a duffle bag before vacation. They placed me in the back as all of the grown-ups went into the front. Fine with me, more time to think by myself, no grown-ups to hold me back or stop me. I didn’t understand why I needed so many guards. I mean come on, what is a sixteen year old girl going to do, jump out of the window? Yeah, like I could fit! We are going to be driving for a long time. More on this when I get home.
August 22, 2018
Well, I didn’t reach home. About an hour in, we came around a sharp bend. A jolt shook the car and we toppled over, right off the edge of the hill that we had been driving on. As I heard the metal crunching over my head I panicked and placed my hands on the glass. Big mistake. The glass shattered, the little bits embedding themselves in my hands. I winced in pain every time I moved them. As the car continued to roll down the hill, I tried to place them in my lap but my hands were flying all over the place. As I write this, my hands have been wrapped up in cloth. I can’t put any weight on them, and I have started to climb the hill that we fell down. I looked on the crash and saw another car. That was what had caused us to roll down that hill, that was why I was stranded in the desert at night alone. All of my guards are dead. The car got washed into the river. Turns out that a sixteen year old can crawl out the window.
August 23, 2018
I woke up after falling asleep in the desert. I had been walking for hours, and let me tell you, that’s not easy with no hands. When I woke up I
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tried to flex my hands but I found out that they were tied behind my back. The rope dug into my flesh and I realized that someone was on the other end. I looked at him and saw the glint of metal in his hand. It shined in the dim moonlight as I stared at him. He stared back and said “Everything in this world can kill you but I can do it the most efficiently.” I started to breathe quicker, I was pretty scared. I mean come on. What would you do in my situation? I decided not to show any weakness and replied “Let’s see how your efficiency applies to me.” He stepped back, obviously startled that a kid like me would speak out. “Well, sassy I see.”
I rolled my eyes and looked at him. I let out a little huff of put on annoyance. I wasn’t going to let a complete stranger see my fear. I wasn’t going to let him get a leg up on me. As I write this, I have been locked up in his basement, away from the world. My hands were freed though, obviously. Good thing I keep a spare pencil in my pocket, that thing broke my other one.
August 24, 2018
I am in the woods, a giant tree sheltering my back. Let me catch you up. So, after that other entry I promptly fell asleep. I woke up again one hour later, or so I thought, that thing didn’t give me a clock or anything. I formed an escape plan in my head and waited until thing (that’s what I call him) came to bring me some food. I picked up, well, you and slapped him on the side of the head. He fell down grunting in pain as I stepped lightly on his back. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay!?”
“No.” He grunted, through clenched teeth.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I was talking to the book.”
I smirked and walked up the basement stairs. I locked the door behind me, try getting out of that, I thought. I ran out the door into the woods.
August 25, 2018
I have been walking for many, many, many miles. I took a break and am now sitting in a oak tree. Hey, I may have grown up on the mean streets of New York, but I knew how to tell one tree from another. I looked up at the stars and saw how pretty they were. Have you ever looked up at the stars? Wait, of course not, still a book, not a person. I don’t know what I’m thinking. Oh, whatever. Wait, what’s that? Wait, why am I still writing? I need to follow this new lead!
August 26, 2018
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Hey. I am currently drinking hot coco on the train. Guess, you’re wondering how I got here, huh. Okay, so back to the tree. From the top I saw some lights, like a single house or a tiny cluster of houses in a row. I climbed down the tree, careful not to drop you. I started to run, faster and faster as I came closer to my destination. Whenever I wasn’t sure of which way to go, I climbed another tree and scouted out the path that I was going to have to take. Trust me, it took forever! I had to hike for about three hours. When I got there, I stumbled into the town, covered in dirt and leaves. I didn’t know how odd I looked, on account of being in the middle of nowhere for about five or six days. The second the townspeople saw me, they all screamed and ran for cover. Well, all but one. A lady was standing on the edge of the town and she beckoned me towards her. I walked towards her and heard a crack behind me. I whipped my head around, alert after the whole “trapped in the woods” thing. I turned back and she was gone. I walked toward the place that she had been and found an abandoned train. I hopped on, jumped to the controls, started the train and drifted slowly away.
LYRIC GORDONStevensville Middle School
Ms. Kelly N. SellUpper Shore Reading Council
61
Short Story7th Grade
1st Place Winner
TO REMEMBER
The aged woman who was gazing out of the window thought the October leaves were the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. The treetops resembled vast sheets of amber mixed with vibrant yellows and reds. The leaves that had fallen to the ground beforehand danced in the wind, and the woman had found this quite amusing. A small smile played across her face as she observed the fluttering leaves. The elderly woman ceased to regard the young woman entering the building many floors down.
The young woman stepped through the doorway, clutching a wrapped box and was greeted by a warm gust of air. Slightly pink in the cheeks from the cold, she walked to the front desk.
“Good morning,” the kind man behind the desk welcomed her.“Hello,” she replied, anxiously brushing blonde hairs away from her
pale face. “I’m here to see my mother – Eileen Alldredge – in room three-fourteen.”
The man nodded. “If you could sign in here,” he instructed, holding out a clipboard and pen, “and may I see your ID, please?”
The young woman did as told, signing and handing him her ID, and the man offered to show her to the room. She nodded, thanking him, and they popped into the elevator.
“It’s nice of you to bring your mother a present. The seniors here typically never receive much from their families.”
The woman smiled. “It’s a photo album. I’m hoping she’ll remember some things.”
The elevator doors opened to a sign reading “Alzheimer’s Patients.” The man led the young woman to a door. A small metallic plate next to it read 314.
The man raised his hand and knocked. “Ms. Alldredge?”Upon hearing her name along with the knock, the gray-haired woman
inside turned away from the window, carefully adjusting the cannula that disappeared into her nose.
“Come in!” she called.She watched as the door eased open and a man in a senior citizen
center uniform stepped in.
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“Oh, hello, Ronald,” she said happily, recognizing him.“Hi, Ms. Alldredge. Your daughter is here to see you,” Ronald spoke.
He stepped aside, allowing Eileen to view her daughter.Eileen stared. Who was she looking at? Do I have a child? she
wondered. What is her name? Eileen closed her eyes and tried to remember, tried to grasp memories that seemed nonexistent. All at once, her child’s name came back to her.
“Rivera,” she said. Rivera walked towards her mother, a smile splitting her face. Ronald quietly exited, closing the door, and made his way back to the ground floor.
Rivera placed the wrapped gift box on the table and kneeled down next to her mother’s wheelchair. They hugged for a few moments. Rivera was careful to not disturb her mother’s oxygen tubes.They broke apart. “How’re you doing, Mom?” the young woman asked.
Eileen chuckled. “Good enough. Good enough. Good.”Rivera’s smile faltered for a moment. Though her mother’s
Alzheimer’s was not terrible, it was steadily growing more severe.“Are you doing well?” Eileen responded to her daughter’s greeting.
Rivera grasped the box.“I’m doing great, Mom. Aiden got a pay raise. The kids are doing wonderfully in school,” Rivera listed off. She was about to show the present to her mother when she caught the blank, rather confused look on Eileen’s face. “Aiden is my husband, Mom,” she said gently. “He’s tall and has brown hair and brown eyes. He works at – “
“Does he treat you well?” Eileen cut her daughter off. Rivera smiled.“Yes, Mom. He treats me more than fine.”“What – what did you say about your kids?”“Your grandchildren? They’re twins. Both boys, both identical. Both
play soccer. They have dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, like me. One is named Grayson and the other is Julian.”
Gradually, the elder woman began to nod. “Grayson. And Julian.”Rivera held up the box. “A present, Mom.”Eileen’s eyes widened. “For me? Me? For me?” After a prompt nod from her daughter, she held her hands out. With a
smile, Rivera gently placed the box into her mother’s hands. Eileen began to unwrap it, slowly at first and increasing her pace as she neared finishing. The box was bland and brown. With wrinkled hands, she lifted the lid.Inside lay a bright and colorful photo album, the words To Remember written across the front. Eileen stared, processing it.
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“Take it out, Mom,” Rivera prompted, nervously bouncing on the balls of her feet.
The older woman picked it up. A frown crossed her face. “What is it?” she asked.
“A photo album.”“Can I look through it?”“Of course, Mom.”“The first page had a picture of a young teenager somewhat
resembling Rivera. There was a caption scrawled in tiny, neat handwriting below it: You, at age thirteen. Rivera stood next to her mother’s wheelchair.
“Who is that?” Eileen asked curiously, pointing to the girl in the photo.“It’s you,” Rivera replied.“Me?” her mother blurted in disbelief, eyes moon-like.“Yes, Mom. It’s you.”“Oh, wow! I look so young!” the elder exclaimed.“You were only thirteen,” Rivera said with a laugh.Eileen turned the page. The photo on the next page showed an image
of Eileen around the end of her teenage years. Her grin was wide and happiness practically seemed to radiate from her. She was holding a slightly blurred letter with an official-looking seal.
“When you received your acceptance letter to the University of Michigan,” Eileen read aloud, eyes darting across the words. She looked up at Rivera, beaming. “Wow! I went there?”
Rivera nodded. “Yep. A degree in nursing.”As the sun slowly inched overhead, Eileen eagerly flipped through the
collection of pictures. Each picture brought a brief, elated discussion. Together they re-witnessed Eileen’s life – when she met her husband, when she was married, when she gave birth to Rivera, along with the sorrowful passing of Eileen’s husband.
Having had thoroughly admired each and every picture, Eileen softly closed the album and set it on the table.
“Did… did you like it, Mom?” Rivera asked temptingly after a long silence.
“Rivera,” Eileen said quietly yet affectionately, “I thought it was perfect.”Eileen shook her head in astonishment. “I forgot it all, Rivera. Those memories were… nonexistent. I mean,” she added, “I still don’t have them back, of course, but I do know my past – my story.”
“Could you summarize your life for me?” Rivera asked cautiously, yearning to see how much her mother would remember.
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Though Eileen thought it was a marginally odd request, she nodded.“I grew up in Wisconsin. I went to the University of Michigan to earn
my degree in nursing. There, I met my future husband, Jeremy Alldredge. After college, we married. We had you,” Eileen continued with a warmhearted smile. Rivera laughed.
“Jeremy was a chemical engineer and I was a nurse. You grew up and went to college and then medical school, finally becoming a doctor. You married and had twins. Jeremy… passed away. I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and… here we are,” the senior finished on a rather sober note. She gazed up at her daughter.
“Did I do well?” Eileen asked with a soft chuckle.Rivera grinned. “Really well done. Exceptional, even.” She glanced at
her watch. “Goodness me, I’ve got to pick up the kids from school.” Rivera gathered her keys and purse and stuffed stray bits of wrapping paper into the trash can.
“You’re leaving?” Eileen asked, adjusting her oxygen cannulas. Her daughter looked into her eyes, ridden with guilt.
“I’m really sorry, Mom. I’ll visit again as soon as I can,” Rivera apologized, bending down to hug her mother. They hugged and Rivera straightened up. She opened the door. “Bye, Mom. Love you.”
Eileen beamed at Rivera. “Love you too, sweetpea. Be safe.” She turned back to the window.Rivera stepped out of the room, closing the door soundlessly behind her. Making her way to the elevator, she descended. The doors slid seamlessly open and Rivera stopped the front desk to sign out.
“Hello, again, Ronald,” Rivera said, filling out a row of the sign out sheet.
Ronald turned his head to her. “Oh, hello,” he said in a cheerful voice. As Rivera was setting the pen down, Ronald spoke up.
“Ma’am… your mother is not doing well,” he admitted. “Her breathing problems are worsening and her Alzheimer’s is progressing and an… unexpectedly fast rate.
“She’s not likely to remember any of this tomorrow.”Rivera sighed. “I – I know. But I also know that she will try,” Rivera
spoke, “try to remember.”Ronald nodded somberly. “She’s strong. To remember is to try. And I
can tell that your mother will never give up.”Rivera smiled the best that she could. “Thank you, Ronald. I’ll visit
again soon.”
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She walked out of the building, hunching her shoulders against the wind. Striding quickly to her car, she knew that her beliefs – along with Ronald’s – were true.
Eileen would never abandon her attempts, never give up.Eileen would always try.Try to remember.
SWETHA PALLERLASouthampton Middle School
Mrs. Kathleen GwytherHarford County Reading Council
66
Short Story7th Grade
2nd Place Winner
BEYOND THE BOUNDARIES
The undergrowth parted easily to the black wolf’s bulk, terrified bunnies and shrews fleeing as the massive animal half-heartedly pursued them through the grass. The others of the pack named him Elliot, much to the wolf’s dislike. When his mother had uttered the title to him he had defiantly turned up his muzzle, earning himself a swat over the ear. For the rest of the time, Elliot reluctantly accepted the name and continued through life, deeming the incident only minor.
An odd scent drifted in on the summer’s breeze, filling the wolf’s nose unpleasantly. Though the smell was somewhat uncommon, Elliot recognized it instantly - fox. The acrid tang of carrion and dirt was clearly threaded through the scents of prey and the nearby humans. Steely eyes sliding to the side, the wolf struggled to pinpoint the source of the terrible stench before loping off to the crest of a hill, eyeing the animal at the bottom of the slope.
“This land belongs to the wolf pack east of the lake!” Elliot snarled with sovereignty. The foreign animal’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing in an almost dismissing manner. Outraged, Elliot strode down the hill, lifting his chin high with confidence, his tail lashing to and fro.
“This land does not belong to the prey here, yet you allow them to reside here. Who is to say that I am not allowed to?” The fox sneered before breaking off into a childish cackle, making the wolf’s hackles raise.
“Mice and pitiful rabbits do not hold importance.” Elliot stated, rolling his eyes negligently. “Facetious foxes who puff out their chests with fabled pride, on the other paw, certainly do. You will leave this land at once, or my claws will be happily acquainted with your fur.”
“Have you no respect for prey at all? Surely your pack has learned to thank Mother Earth for the food it supplies you,” Scout retorted sharply, his fluffy tail lashing as he stared up at Elliot. “Or do you only consider me competition? Is that it?”
“You are a trespasser. You are not welcome here, I have told you. I suggest you leave and go back to your own lands.” Elliot growled, his lip curling upwards to reveal two sharp sets of teeth. He watched in satisfaction as the fox in front of him winced and crouched to the ground.
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“My lands do not have what I need.” The fox murmured, glancing to the side as if he were thinking hard about something. Elliot recognized the telltale signs of tension as the scent of the fox became heavier, weighted down with anxiety.
Elliot narrowed his eyes, watching the fox carefully. After a few moments of pondering, he murmured, “If I spare you a shrew, will you leave?”
“A shrew? Certainly, if you could spare me just that.” The fox replied, shifting his gaze back to stare hopefully up at the massive wolf.
Snorting through his nose, Elliot huffed, “A shrew, at the most. You may have it if you tell me where you come from, and your name.” He offered.
Taking the bait, the fox nodded slowly. “Alright. I am called Scout by my group. We come from the land southeast of here. May I have my fair share now?” He asked expectantly, the skin above his eyes wrinkling as if the fox was arching an eyebrow.
“Yes. I will return in a few minutes time - do not move from this spot or the deal is off and I am hunting for your pelt. Understood?” Satisfied when Scout nodded, Elliot turned with a swish of his tail and bounded off in search of an unfortunate rodent.
Elliot returned as promised, a shrew dangling carelessly from his powerful jaws, muscles rippling beneath his ebony pelt as he moved. As Scout promised, he was waiting in the same spot, his nose twitching as he scented the prey. Elliot dropped it between his paws, leaving the fox to crouch down and sink his teeth into the shrew’s flesh. Elliot watched, satisfied, as Scout thoughtfully chewed and dipped his head. “I thank you for allowing me to indulge, wolf. I will return to this land no longer.”
“That is unnecessary, young Scout. Refer to me as Elliot, if you please. That is what my pack calls me. Your courtesy has persuaded me to negotiate letting you hunt here, at least. You may take your findings back to your pack, or your mate, cubs, whatever. I will speak to my alpha, and will return to you in a day's time. Do you have any protests?” Elliot asked, raising his chin in question.
“Very well, Elliot. I will wait outside your territory’s borders for you to deliver your answer.” Scout murmured, bowing his head respectfully. The wolf gave a pleased nod in response, turning and hurdling back over the crest of the hill to have a, hopefully, peaceful chat with his alpha.
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The day was gloomy and dark, the sky shrouded with gray clouds, reflecting Elliot’s mood greatly. The alpha had, reluctantly, agreed, as Elliot threatened to abandon the pack and create his own to overthrow the previous. Their heated conversation had taken too much time and extended into his eating period, leaving him hungry and without food.
“Scout!” Elliot howled irritably as he approached the territory’s borders, marked clearly with the wolf pack’s scent.
The vegetation rustled as Scout daintily stepped through, lifting his furry head to ask, “You have an answer, yes?”
“Indeed. After speaking to my alpha, he agreed to let you, and you alone, to hunt in this land. You are the only one to be allowed to do so, understand?” Elliot asked, punctuating his words with a lash of his tail.
“Yessir. I completely understand. Scout and Scout alone.” The fox parroted, his honey-brown eyes sparkling with delight. The gesture almost made Elliot feel bad for the lanky animal.
“Good.” Elliot paused for a few moments, staring tensely into Scout’s eyes before letting out a quiet exhale. The fox had certainly been respectful, after his slight sarcasm in the introduction. It would only be kind to reward Scout. “Would you like to come hunt rabbits with me?” Elliot asked after a few moments of hemming and hawing.
A broad smile lit up Scout’s face, brightening the dreadful day that Elliot was having. A soft grin pulled the corners of Elliot’s lips up into a similar smile as Scout bowed his head and squeaked, “Yes!”
Elliot was beaming as he followed Scout, who had scampered frantically past the wolf and up the slope towards the heart of their territory where a copse of oak trees made their home. “An unlikely pair, certainly,” the wolf commented to himself, pricking his ears up and tuning in to any suspicious noises from the underbrush. “But I have no doubt that I will enjoy these upcoming moments.” Glancing to the side to check that no other intruders had arrived, the wolf looked back to Scout, whose bushy red tail was disappearing into a bramble bush. Smiling to himself, the wolf dipped his head and crouched, following after the fox gleefully. The promise of a new beginning was surely warming the wolf’s chest.
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LINDSAY GIERULABallender Creek Middle School
Ms. Cortney KraussFrederick County Reading Council
70
Short Story8th Grade
1st Place Winner
COLORBLIND
It’s my gray apartment building. With my gray furniture and my gray room. My gray dog. My gray everything. They tell me I am colorblind, but what does that even mean? What is color? Of course, that question sounds silly to anyone I ask; but, I honestly do not understand. Everytime I go to my optometrist, I ask them that question. They always respond, “Color is what something looks like. What color does that chair look like?” I respond, “gray” because everything around me is grey. Then they continue to tell me about how, while I cannot see them, there are colors other than gray. But still, color is extremely confusing. If you think about it, objects do not really have a “color.” Light just reflects off of them in a particular way to give them a certain look. So, really, color cannot be defined by a single person. Who knows, maybe everyone sees colors differently, but they still agree upon a certain name for each one. Maybe everyone else is colorblind, and I am the only one who sees correctly. Or maybe I need to stop thinking about this before I really start to confuse myself.
It is only every once in awhile that I ponder such deep thoughts as what color really is. I try to keep myself busy in order to stop my mind from wandering so much; but, sometimes it is unavoidable. Such as right now, as I am sitting on a bench outside my apartment building, waiting for a bus. I just cannot help but desire to see color. I feel as if no one even understands me, simply because I have this disease in my eyes. It is so frustrating, that I don’t even know where to begin. All these gray people, they can see color, they can experience the world in its entirety. But I cannot.The gray bus is here. At least when I get to work, I can distract myself. I climb the rusty gray stairs and the driver asks tells me to “pay up.” I offer
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my five dollar bill as I mumble, “here.” Then I drag my feet as I walk to the very back, slumping in the corner seat.
Today is a particularly bad day. I cannot stop thinking. I know, thinking is a good thing, but for me it is a curse. I mean, how is it fair that the man sitting in front of me can see, but I cannot? Exactly, it isn’t. Everyone else but me can see! That gray woman can, the gray mailman, even that kid over there! Sure, he kind of looks funny because his whole body is a strange color, but at least he knows what color is.
The gray bus drives away, with me sulking in the back seat. I sigh and try to clear my mind of all the distractions in my life. My therapist taught me how to meditate the other day, and I have yet to try it. Forget the gray woman, they gray mailman, and the strangely colored boy. The strangely colored boy. Colored. Color. Hold on, I must have been imagining something. I did not see color; I can’t see color! Okay, I am calmed down again. Alright, just one peek back to check. But I can’t get my hopes up. Wait, what am I thinking? Ugh! One day I am going to go mad for thinking of all these crazy things. Okay, on the count of three, I will look back. One...two...three.
Oh my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh. Maybe it was gray, just a weird shade of gray. I had to have been. By now, the boy was just a little speck, so I could have easily gotten confused. But there’s a chance! There’s always a chance I could not have been imagining. But, what can I do? The bus is already five blocks away, and picking up speed. It might mean I am crazy, but I have to do this.
“Um, excuse me. Excuse me, mister. I need you to stop the bus. Err… I have to get off now.”
“I am very sorry ma’am, but I am not allowed to stop this here bus until y’all reach your destination.”
“But… But, I need to get off. It’s, um, an emergency! I think I am having a heart attack,” I gasped as I pretended to fall back into my seat.
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It worked; the driver slammed on his breaks and I bolted for the door. I shoved it open just before the driver yelled at me to “get myself back on this dang bus!” He just was too slow for me. My vision was my handicap, but my speed was my advantage. I wanted to continue running toward the strange boy I saw. Or imagined. I am still not quite sure. Unfortunately, the streets of New York City were not made for people like me, sprinting down the sidewalk. I got caught into a mob of people before I could make any more progress. They were trying to move in the opposite direction I was, and were inching forward at a rate of about one foot an hour.
After what seemed like a lifetime, I made it back to my apartment building. The boy wasn’t there. I stared up into the sky and began to cry as I criticized myself for letting me gain so much hope over something that couldn’t possibly be true. I mean, there was absolutely no chance that stupid boy could have been in color. Zero. And even if I thought I saw him in color, wouldn’t everything else be in color, too? Ugh! Maybe I am going insane. Maybe this is it. Maybe someone will show up at my apartment room door tomorrow morning and take me away to a mental facility. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. “Stupid, stupid, STUPID,” I mumbled to myself as I watched the sky. How on earth can one person think such stupid thoughts.
Then it happened. I saw it again. A color, at least I think it was. A shimmer, something in the window of the apartment next to mine. “I am going insane… Something is happening to me… Maybe I am losing my mind. Probably. I should check into a mental hospital. That is what I will do. Hopefully, I don’t completely lose it before then…”
But there’s always a chance. No, I have to stop thinking like this. I AM COLORBLIND AND NOTHING WILL CAN EVER CHANGE THAT. Nothing. Ever. But I guess if I really am going insane, it won’t hurt just to check.
So now I am walking up the stairs of my gray apartment building. With the gray furniture and my gray room. With my gray dog. With my gray everything. Finally, I reach my apartment door and walk one room over. I knock on the door. I hear footsteps. The door knob rotates. The door opens a
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crack. Someone asks who it is. I tell them my name. They tell me to come in. I look around the corner. I see a shimmer in the air, but no boy and no color. I take a step inside the door. As usual, gray furniture, gray room, gray everything. The the shimmer comes closer and I hear footsteps. It is close now. I can feel it.
“Hello,” the shimmer says, “My name is Forest.”I turn the corner. Color. Not everywhere. Only the boy. Color. I feel
dizzy and lightheaded. I think I might faint. He offers me his hand to steady myself. I hesitate, but decide I must take it to avoid passing out.
“Am I going insane?” I hear my own shaky voice whisper.“I don’t think so,” he says, but with slightly more confidence than me.
“I am colorblind, and I can see you in color too.”
LILLIAN CROGHANSt. John Regional Catholic School
Mrs. Amanda CodyFrederick County Reading Council
Short Story8th Grade
2nd Place Winner
ONE HUNDRED MOONS AGO
“The light in her eyes, the sound of her laugh, the way her lips subtly tilted into a smile… I remember it all, my boy. Every last detail.” The old
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man bent down and ruffled his grandson’s thick, golden curls with a muted sigh.
“What happened, Grandfather? Please, please tell me! I’m old enough!” Peter’s blue eyes widened with pure childlike excitement; his hands twisted as an effect of extreme anticipation.
The man pretended to ponder this suggestion: he playfully cocked his head to the right and tapped an index finger gently against his cheekbone.
“Alright, Peter,” he drawled with a wink. “On one vital condition. You must listen with all your might- every word holds meaning, my child.”
His request was met with an eager nod.The white-haired man smiled softly, a paroxysm of memories
reentering his mind. The jubilant mood quickly escaped the room as he begun his unbelievable tale:
“I was a Nazi Soldier in Adolf Hitler’s army during 1933 when I turned twenty-four. I watched as children, women, and men were murdered. Slaughtered. And although those memories haunted me for many years after, I-” He paused, took a breath, and wiped the unshed tears in his eyes. He looked at his beloved grandson. “I am so very thankful that I was the one who encountered death numerous times and not you. So extremely grateful.”
A dramatic pause. Peter looked at him for confirmation. “This… this killing went on for six whole years. My commanding
officer, General Theodor Eicke, led my troop out to find Jews and ordered us to drag them off to the horrid concentration camps. These concentration camps were the most horrible thing that one could ever imagine- Jews were captured and taken against their will, beaten, and forced to work in despicable places. Sometimes, the people that were captured were so injured that they perished because of fatigue, starvation, or worse. Children were separated from their mothers; husbands were torn apart from their wives. But you must know, my boy, that I found absolutely no delight in watching this. I was depressed; I considered myself a murderer of thousands. I didn’t think that I was even slightly worthy of life.”
The old man’s eyes still held an impossibly large amount of conviction as his gaze locked onto a pair whose color mirrored his own. His grandson placed a tiny hand on top of his grandfather’s rather scarred one as a gesture of support.
“On one fateful night in December, I was ordered to show my presence at the book burnings. Nature itself appeared to be unsupportive of Hitler’s ways- lightning scorched the ground every minute and high winds
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made it nearly impossible for the fire to start. Eventually, everything started to go according to plan, when I heard a feminine cry and witnessed the most beautiful woman being dragged to her knees by soldiers-”
“Was that Grandmother? Who was that woman?” Peter’s words came out in a tumble.
The elder squeezed the youthful looking hand with love.“Yes, my dear boy. That was Adina Birnabahul. Now hush, Peter. Let
me finish,” he said, poking his grandson’s shoulder.“In continuation, your grandmother grasped a book from the
scorching fire and clutched it desperately to her chest, saying, ‘Why have you destroyed these beautiful things, these gifts from God? Have you no respect for knowledge? If you are to burn books, then I will surely burn with it.’ Adina looked at each of the nazi soldiers dead in the eye and whispered, ‘You will pay for what you have done. For what you will do. One hundred times and then some.’”
Peter’s mouth dropped open and his eyes filled with the sense of awe. “Grandmother was feisty!” he exclaimed. His grandfather laughed and bent over, slapping his right knee while Peter grinned enthusiastically. The story continued:
“Everything after that was quite a blur, to be perfectly honest. I remember my fellow soldiers lifting your grandmother and preparing to throw her into the fire. And I-
“I just… I just reacted. Her words struck something deep in my soul; my heart longed for forgiveness. Not only from her, but from every family, every soul, every child that I might have affected. I sprinted to the guards that were holding her captive and knocked them out by hitting their head with the butt of my gun-”
His grandson’s mouth slackened with surprised shock. The man made an effort to sooth him. “Nothing harmful, my dear boy. It probably just left a bruise on the skin of their temple.” Peter blew out a sigh of disappointment and was rewarded with a cheeky grin in return.
“Anyway, I released Adina and shoved her onto the open, neglected countryside that contained the Jew’s houses, and silently begged her to escape. After a moment of contemplation, I decided to run, too. Because I knew- I knew that I would be killed as a punishment for rebellion and disobedience. As we ran, our breathing became more and more labored; we heard bullets be released from their guns as soldiers made an effort to end our lives. My adrenaline rush came so quickly…my body failed to recognize
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that I was on the edge of collapsing. Adina, however, never looked so strong. So determined. So very beautiful. Her black hair was flung behind her shoulders as the wind pushed it back violently; the length of her eyelashes pressed against her tan skin, and small streaks of blood lined her clavicle and palms. I could practically distinctly make out the shadows of rectangular structures when my left shoulder felt like it was on fire. The pain was almost unbearable. Even more so when we ran, for the blood came in gushes of red and black. ”
Silence.“By the time we reached her house, my lungs were about to burst; my
legs were on the verge of collapsing. I don’t remember Adina’s house very well… a few of my memories are disoriented, and I am old, my boy. All I can recall is that it was small- very petite. Simple. Plain. And, dare I say it, I think that was why it was the most beautiful thing I ever found comfort in. After she ushered me inside, Adiana locked the door and said, ‘Thank you for what you have sacrificed.’”
Peter puckered his lips and raised his eyebrows. “What happened next, Opa?”
The old man bit his lip to suppress laughter. “She knocked me out,” the grandfather said bluntly. “And when I woke up, I was wrapped in blankets so tightly that I feared my blood flow would stop. There was a crackling fire to my right; fresh bread and water rested to my left. My arm-” He touched his shoulder in remembrance- “My arm was bandaged and the bullet was taken out of my flesh. I knew that Adina had done what she had done so that I would not have to be conscious when the pain started. And although we constantly hid in fear of being caught, our time was spent preciously. Over the next eight months, she looked over me, protected me, laughed with me. It was at that point that we started falling in love.”
Peter started to purse his lips in a flirtatious way. His grandfather lovingly smacked the side of his head.
“During the second month, we were sitting by the fireplace when I mentioned that I was mostly illiterate. Your grandmother had a fit, my boy. I wish you could have seen it. ‘How could you not be able to read? Books are vital for survival, my love. My heart is in anguish!’ she mourned. So as a gentleman, I allowed her to teach me to read and write. It was the most difficult thing that I ever conquered, Peter. But Adina revealed to me a passion that I would never have discovered if I hadn’t met her. I found such joy when skimming over words on parchment. On her birthday, I asked her to marry me, and Adina neither accepted or declined. ‘I’ll marry you if you
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learn to read perfectly within one hundred moons from now.’ So I did. And she finally married me.”
The boy’s countenance expressed a sense of humor.“Your mother was born a year later. After the second World War, your
grandmother and I moved to America to start a new life… to forget our past.”
The younger boy gazed up at his role model with a new-found admiration.
“Twenty years later, you, Peter Abraham Schmidt, were born into this world. But on the same day, your grandmother suffered a heart attack; she died four days later.”
Tears escaped from the old man’s eyes. “Forgive me, my dear boy, if I may have avoided you for the first few years since your birth. I blamed you, as wrong as it was. I’m sorry. I was being unreasonable and my heart was hardened. But when you were four years old, I remember you walking up to me and saying, ‘Stop moping. You’re not very fun at all, Opa.’”
A smile lit both faces.“On that day I smiled for the first time in forever. I see her spirit in
you, my grandson. Don’t push it away. Let it guide you for as long as you live.”
And with those few words, the story was concluded.“I love you, Grandpa,” whispered Peter. “And Grandma loved- loves-
you too.”Peter’s grandfather tilted his head and placed a kiss on a head full of
golden curls.“I know, my dear boy. I know.”
MADELINE KIMLime Kiln Middle School
Ms. Catherine MundyHoward County Reading Council
Short Story9th Grade
1st Place Winner
THE CONE OF THE BRAIN AND ITS MUSIC
I never wanted to move anywhere nor did I ever feel like doing anything… I always feared the worst out of myself. I just wanted to meet the expectations that my family set for me. I have two siblings--I guess it’s safe
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to call them that--and whatever my father or mother set out for them to do they would do it using instinct and logic. It was almost automatic the way they did these things. They never took a second to think, never moved their eyes to blink, and they never even thought about not doing these things. They just wanted to move on with their lives, and they did. I was by myself, my whole entire life I had always been lonely but at least when they were around I could pass by the time in a way that made my life feel meaningful, and then they just left. I never really heard much from them, I would get some happy birthday cards and such but nothing else. They didn’t care about anyone but themselves.
It seems to me that the only thing that drives people forward is the thought that maybe karma will come around one day and hand them money and healthy relationships. That was the only reason as to why I helped other people in the first place. I was always a foolish person. After a while I didn’t really want money anymore, my grandparents would just give up their value to me whenever they thought it was their time to die. Maybe I was just ungrateful or perhaps selfish, but what I did know for sure was that I was always thinking about the future. It always seemed like there would be this big moment in my life that would guide the way that I lived. Only, it never really came, at least not at the time that I expected it to.
I was too young to understand anything really when everything started to change. I was fifteen years old, five foot seven, and never really used cell phones that often. Maybe that’s why I was lonely, because people were too addicted to their phones to realize that I was even there as a person rather than as a nobody. That’s what people thought of me, they thought that I was just faking my way through life and all of the emotions just to try to end up with the best possible outcome. They were almost right. I was diagnosed with lower spectrum autism when I was six years old. Because I was autistic I had to take this “special” little program with several other people in which we worked on our social skills. This means that on every tuesday of school during the afternoon I would go down to this room to where people worse off than myself--in an intellectual sense--were playing board games so that I could beat them at those very same board games. It was common for there to be a lot of yelling when I came in and out of the room. Those children never really grew up, at least not to my preferred knowledge on growing up.
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Maybe that’s what made people hate me, I tried to grow up too fast. Whenever someone would talk I just cut them off and talked about politics or numbers. Usually people expressed signs of boredom over the way that I would deliver my sentences rather than the actual topic itself. That’s probably why I took drama, so I could play the role of an antagonist and get away from being the actual antagonist that I was in real life. I’ve always speculated on many things about my life but I know I really should stop doing that, it bores people very much to have to listen to someone do that without fully understanding what the person is talking about. Conclusively, the biggest problem I ever had was being in love. I was too distracted by the concept of love to even bother with making friends. The girl that I had a crush on loved to act, at least I think she did, otherwise she wouldn’t have been taking drama class with me and twenty other people. I talked to her and we had conversations, she laughed sometimes at the dumb things I said. We were both very silly people who actually understood each other. Talking to her was the most fun I ever had at that point in my life.
I seriously thought that she would fall in love with me and that we would have a mutual relationship of understanding and kindness. Then one night, I went to a middle school dance. It was for the 8th graders and back then people were already taking each other out on dates. I guess I could’ve asked her out beforehand but I didn’t bother. I never understood why I did anything, I just thought I didn’t do it because I was too young to go out on a date in the first place. I thought that maybe I understood myself for once at least in that regard until I saw her there. She was gorgeous, it wasn’t just the brown hair and the pretty dress that did it for me though, I just thought that she was gorgeous as a human being. I never got the chance to find out why I felt that way about her though.
When I walked towards her I began to see that someone was next to her holding her hand. I pivoted to the right towards the coca-colas and recollected my thoughts. I hadn’t seen her all night and I had to go to the bathroom right then. The bathroom was empty when I got there, and after I took care of my business I saw myself in the mirror above the sink and I started bawling. It’s not a good memory for me to keep but I still remember that image of me twisting my face and squinting my eyes as my glasses got foggy. The paleness in my face was highlighted by the tears streaming down it to make it seem pinker. I was just gasping for air without speaking a
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word, the lights would just flicker a little bit. I turned my head towards the door after I was finished and left, keeping the things that happened in that room a secret. I don’t look at a lot of mirrors nowadays.
I never thought about her again for a while, at least not in the way that I used to. I just gave up on the concept I created for myself, it was just too foolish for me to keep the thought of her and me together bearing down on my shoulder. I thought my life wouldn’t be worth anything if we didn’t become something so I just cut her off. All I cared about was success and hard work from that point forward, nothing else. I didn’t bother trying to make friends with anyone anymore and the only people that I bothered talking to were the teachers, my fellow actors, and my parents. It’s funny to me that at that point in my life the people who had been taking me to play these board games finally let me go because they just saw no point in trying to tutor a child that’s always been intelligent. I didn’t need help anymore.
They were distracting me anyway, they were only there to stop me from realizing my full potential. I was good at acting but I wanted to be good at something else which at that time was writing. In this day and age it’s not hard to be better than most kids at writing stories, because most of the ones I meet can’t even write correctly nor can they even comprehend the meaning of the word “grammar.” Although I knew that I was good at writing, people told me that whenever I wrote a short story it didn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe they were right, I was becoming very introspective with myself in a way that would make me introverted from society as a whole. I didn’t think about it that way however, at least not when I needed to.
I always wrote stories about myself, and I would always talk about my failures in life and how I came to them, hoping to make other people understand how much I changed as a person. I ended up writing over 100 pages worth of poems and short stories, all of them were carefully crafted and inspired by the experiences I had in my own life. I printed them all out, it took months but eventually I got enough paper to do it. Everyday I would just be in the hallways asking if anyone wanted my “collection” as I named it. I would walk around constantly yelling out things such as, “These stories won’t just confuse you, they’ll make you think about the developments in your own life.” I figured that I should be straightforward. Honesty wasn’t the answer.
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For weeks I was struggling to move my feet back and forth in the hallways when I tried to tell people about all of the hard work I put into making the collection. Most of them didn’t even look, and for those who did, they just glanced. I was slipping further away from reality and towards what I would consider depression. After I got home from school I would just bang my head against the wall until I felt dizzy, then I promised myself to never do it again and the very next day I would.
My mindset at the time was awful, I didn’t care about the fact that I had parents who cared for me because nothing harms me more than my own personal state of mind. After two weeks had passed I was still trying to give out the collection to no avail, and then someone came up from behind me. I turned around to see who it was… it was her. It was a complete shock for me to see her, then she casually asked me for the collection with a smile on her face. I handed it to her with sputtering hands and when went to walk away she started reading it, her friends starting asking for it too, and then soon it was… everyone. I did it. People were reading the collection and telling other people to read it too, even the teachers ended up asking for it. My parents were proud of me for once. I honestly couldn’t describe how happy I was at the time.
Of course, since most of the stories I wrote didn’t make much sense to begin with, they would always come to me to ask me questions about them. I thought that I was prepared to answer these questions, that I had been working my whole life to answer them. This was the big moment. Then someone asked me “What is your book about?” I just froze. I spent months writing all of these stories and I didn’t even know what they were about, what the main idea was. No one understood my stories after all… it was pointless.
It just went through my head over and over again how badly I messed up, my depression was on repeat. Nothing was changing, I was still just the same outcast in the corner of the hallway. I was just staring at my lunchbox when the girl I had a crush on walked up to me and told me that I never put a title on the collection. “The Cone of the Brain and its Music.” When she gave that title to me I finally realized how wrong I was. Someone did understand. It only took a moment for me to blurt out, “Do you want to go out?”
End
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BRENDAN GRANT HYLTONOakdale High School
Ms. Renate OwenFrederick County Reading Council
Short Story9th Grade
2nd Place Winner
AQUILA
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Soaring and diving through the blue skies was a metamorfósi, an eagle to be precise. The bird flexed its powerful talons, beams of the blazing sun beating down on its feathered back. Soon enough the she-bird became tired of glidiing effortlessly though the morning clouds and decided to return home.
Landing softly on a balcony ledge, the eagle fluttered down and swiftly transfigured to its original state. A girl, no – the princess stood looking down at the waking city beneath her. Her straw-like hair blew in the breeze, eyebrows furrowing together in a train of thought. The royal had countless winsome features ranging from her dashing freckles spotted across her pale cheeks, fetching icy eyes, plump rosy lips, and small dimples in her delicate smile which would always manage to catch her acquaintance off guard.
A rustling sound came from behind her and she quickly tried to pivot, losing her footing on the narrow ledge.
“Aquila!” a disembodied voice yelped. Aquila turned in time to see two boys running towards her, her brothers, Pegasus and Serpens.
The princess’s mouth opened and she appeared to be saying something but her words were swept away with the wind. The girl fell backwards and plummeted towards the city’s streets. Moments before she hit the ground, wings sprouted in place of her arms and her skinny frail body was now significantly smaller and covered with plumage.
At the top of the balcony, the two brothers looked distraughtly over the edge when, sure enough, an eagle flew up and practically hit them directly in the face.
“Peg!” Aquila snarled when she was back in her human form. “You could have at least said something rather than almost killing me.”
“Well aren’t you lucky you can fly,” Peg said, an arm wrapped around Serpens, the younger of the two.
“Not the point,” She growled, rolling her eyes. Serpens listened with wide eyes, unaware to what was really happening. The scrawny prince had
only been in this world for ten years, but had been kept in the palace with their mother and father. Pegasus, who was better known by Peg, was the complete opposite. He bore strong, powerful
features with his shoulders being unusual defined and arms particularly long. The prince was five years older than his brother but four years younger than his sister, the heir to the throne of their kingdom.
Speaking of this kingdom, there was something special about it. Everyone’s name here was coordinated with a type of animal, one which was their metamorfósi or something they could transfigure into.
After a few moments, Peg spoke again and louder than the last. “Father and mother wish to see you. Family midday meal with a special guest.” Aquila raised her eyebrow and exhaled deeply, following her brothers through the windy halls.
They reached the dining halls and the doors opened, presenting the king and queen of the realm. The king wore a cap of silver atop his head, the queen with liquid silver flowing past her shoulders and down her back.
A strange man stood beside the two, his beady eyes narrowing as he examined the three children. He wore a robe of darkness, a collar around his neck. His nose was quite pointed, cheekbones defined to form his ovular head.
“Children, this is Duke Corvus of Rome. Corvus these are my three children Aquila, Pegasus, and Serpens.”
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“Lovely,” He stuttered, still examining them from head to toe. Aquila frowned, trying not to have her tongue slip with some rather vile and colorful language. Silence settled among them until the queen decided to break it with a quiet voice. “Shall we take
our places at the table?”“Ah, yes. Lunch is served!” King Cepheus bellowed, his laughter ringing throughout the hall. The
highborn mortals ate their delicacies with grace, napkins in laps and elbows off the clothed table. Every so often Queen Cassiopeia would quietly scold her youngest and eldest children, trying to make it as unseen to their guest as possible. Before long, conversation had sprung up like a weed – unwanted and tedious.
“Now, whom is the eldest - the heir of your three children, Cepheus?” Corvus asked in his usual nosy manner. Aquila gave a side glance to his father who in no way hesitated to answer the question.
“My eldest and heir is Aquila. We have high hopes and expectations for her as a leader in the future,” He replied eagerly, beaming at his daughter. Aquila forced a smile, but was already dreading the conversation which would follow.
“Ah, Aquila. Such a beautiful name… tell me – what would you propose for a trade deal between our lands?”
Aquila looked towards her father who, of course, nodded at once. “Well I suppose we would have to first agree on what goods we would trade and how often. Of course there would be many legal and official papers to follow it, and an arranged meeting with the true leader of your land –“
“True leader? My ‘true leader’ was the one who sent me to your kingdom!” Corvus flared in his croaky voice. The young leader shifted in her seat, taken back by the sudden remark.
“Truly sir, I meant you no offense,” She looked at her father weakly, desperate for some sort of backup.
“No offense,” He mimicked, know completely off his rocker. “What you meant is to debilitate my title!” Corvus glared at the girl and her elderly father. By this time, Cassiopeia had led Serpens and Peg to the hall where they would be escorted by a maid to their rooms. Their mother would never find out they always found some way to escape.
“To think you would raise your child to follow your pursuit. Disgrace,” He spat, pushing his chair out to rise.
“Corvus, she meant nothing to harm you and your pride. Surely if we just discussed this in a reasonable manner – “The king tried to start but was interrupted by the Duke.
“No, this will be the last time you and anyone of your kin try and question my power! My little pet will be paying you a visit soon!” He stammered before marching out of the doors with his head held high. The king sunk into his chair with a sigh, a hand to his head.
“I’m sorry, father, I truly didn’t mean any harm!” “I know my child… I shouldn’t expected anything less from Corvus. Just as I remember him.” Aquila hesitated. “This has happened before? You’ve met with that egocentric psychopath
before?”Cepheus lowered his eyes, nodding his head at his daughter. “Unfortunately yes. I was put in the
exact same situation as you, my daughter, trapped and helpless.” The princess was quiet for a moment, processing the information before speaking again. “What
did he mean by his ‘pet’?” She asked.“His pet sea serpent, Cetus.” Her mouth fell open, eyes wide with dismay.
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“This Duke is definitely a psychopath,” Aquila said with no emotion, still in shock. Her father chuckled, patting her on the back.
“Certainly. Tell me, did you see anything on your morning flight that could hint where he would hide such a creature?”
She tried to recall her flight from earlier that day, rummaging through every small detail she could remember. “Wait! I did see a ship with the words ‘havis absque velis” carved into the wood. It’s Latin for ‘the ship with no sails’. Just so happens the ship had no sails to sail across the waters but two leather-looking reigns into the water.”
He stood up, exclaiming with a grunt of a sort. “He’s keeping it in the depths of our harbor. Aquila you must take your brothers and Sagittarius the archer with you – you must defeat this creature before it wreaks havoc across the land!” Cepheus put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her in for a tight embrace father-daughter embrace.
“Even little Serpens?” She asked with pain on her face. “You’ll need all the help you can get, especially someone with the talent and ability of Serpens.
Now off you go, and don’t let your mother catch you.” He gave her a weak smile before giving his daughter a kiss on the forehead.
“I love you, father.” And with those final words she scurried off to find her brothers.
Aquila exited the hall and bumped into two ashamed, scared boys. “Peg! Serpens! I thought mother sent you to your rooms?”
Serpens gave her a toothy grin. “We always find a way to escape.” Peg laughed besides his younger brother, giving him a high-five.
“I’m assuming you both heard what father and I discussed?” The princes nodded, the joy that was once on their faces had vanished.
“Run along and get Sagittarius. Meet me by the first pier in twenty minutes for I have one other warrior to round up.”
Aquila bolted up the stair well, feeling the walls for the hidden entrance. When she finally found it the passage clicked open, revealing a dark narrow tunnel. She followed it until light started to float through the room and soon enough revealed a hidden balcony. A dove sat on the edge and the girl approached it with loud steps, making her presence know.
“Columba?” She whispered, staring a permanent form of a metamorfósi. “I need your help.”
Sagittarius, Peg, and Serpens stood waiting diligently at the first pier. Two birds fluttered down, one sprouting into a human. The skies were already dark and swirling with the potential of a storm. Winds blew furiously, the golden hair of Aquila becoming a tangled mane.
“Alright, listen. Columba, Peg, and I will take it from the sky.” Aquila shouted over the wind. “Serpens will try to attack from the water and Sagittarius from land. Everyone clear?” They nodded their heads before taking off in separate directions.
Aquila and Columba flew through the skies together when suddenly giant jaws rose from the sea – practically snatching Aquila out of the air. The sea serpent rose from the dark waters, spikes protruding from its scaly back. When the monster opened its mouth a whole different world appeared, filled with razor sharp fangs.
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Immediately the two birds watched arrows fly from the shore, hitting the creature’s long body. The snake retaliated by letting out a loud screech and flailing its head in the air. Aquila hovered over it as bolts of lightning shot down from the skies and onto the snake – it was one of her skills.
This time the serpent snapped its fangs on the closest thing nearby – Columba. Only her tail tip was caught in its grasp but she tumbled towards the water. Just as she was about to hit cold water, a second smaller snake rose from the harbor to catch her and carry her ashore. Aquila followed Serpens, landing next to the soaked child.
“Can you mend her?” She asked hopefully. He nodded, touching her wounds delicately. “Aim for its tattoo looking eye,” Serpens said, all his focus reaming on Columba. The arts of
medicine was his specialty. The princess looked back up at the monster, spotting the circular figure her brother had mentioned. And just like that, she was back in the air.
Aquila circled its head while Peg attacked and vice versa, waiting for the time to strike. When she saw an opening the princess dove in, a bolt of lightning on her tail. The flash hit the tattoo and caused sparks to fly, pushing the eagle and Pegasus backwards.
The sea serpent Cetus had frozen and disintegrated into ash. Aquila had been pushed down towards the ground and tumbled across it when she collided with it. Peg had landed a little more gracefully, as he had wings. Citizens had already gather around them and cheered. Blood dripped from Aquila’s temple, but nevertheless she smiled – for pride coursed through her veins.
EMILY HERROLDManchester Valley High School
Mr. Christian BouselliCarroll County Reading Council
Short Story10th Grade
1st Place Winner
IN THE GARDENS
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Too often we are left to wonder how many secrets we can keep before they all come spilling out. We can hide them in the back of our minds, in boxes under the bed, even other people, if we dare. But sooner or later, no matter how hard we try, all is revealed, and the mask we once wore cannot be replaced. But what happens once we’re seen, exposed for all we truly are? I suppose it all depends on who looks behind the mask.
Footsteps crept into the house, quiet as the August air that trickled in behind them. Cold hands, clutching roses, pushed the door shut, allowing the sound to echo throughout the house. From an upstairs bedroom, Julia stirred at the familiar sound.
“Dad?” she called, prying herself from the midst of a dream. “Is that you?” Sliding out of bed, she ran to the balcony, and spied her father down below. He looked tired, as he often did, but smiled all the same at the sound of her voice.
“Good morning,” he laughed, opening his arms as she rushed down the stairs, “sorry I was gone so long.”
“I thought I told you not to spend all night out there,” she sighed, falling into his embrace. Julia had decided long ago that the time he spent in their gardens was getting to be ridiculous. They were, in all fairness, beautifully maintained, especially considering how sizable they were. But despite their success, they were certainly not worth losing sleep over. Pulling away from the hug, she noticed something red peeking out from the corner of her eye; roses.
“They finally bloomed!” she exclaimed, delicately plucking them from her father's grasp. “Hmm, but there aren’t nearly enough for a centerpiece...” she observed, “do you think I could go pick more? Please?” She crossed her fingers behind her back, praying he’d say yes, as he was rather strict when it came to the gardens. “I promise I won’t mess anything up,” she continued, “I’ll be super careful, I swear.” Her father just shook his head.
“Not today, Julia,” he replied, trying not to notice the disappointment in her eyes. “I could really use some sleep, and you know I don’t like you going out there alone. How about I take you out tomorrow, and we’ll pick some together?” Julia nodded solemnly in false acceptance of the plan, as a trip to the gardens was a promise he often made, but seldom kept. She would just have to prove that she was perfectly capable on her own, even if it took a slight bending of the rules to do so.
It was nearing eight by the time Julia finally snuck out of the house. She had allowed herself just enough time to ensure that her father was
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sound asleep before heading to the gardens, for the last thing she wanted to do was wake him. Stepping outside, it was the cool morning air that hit her first, dancing with the trim of her nightgown as it skimmed across the ground. As she followed the cobblestone path around the house, she thought back to the last time she’d been allowed to come this way. It had been at least two years, maybe three, for time had a funny habit of slipping away. She remembered walking through the gate, mid spring, as a birthday present of sorts, for a walk through the gardens was the only thing she had asked for. It had taken a lot of begging, but by the time her birthday finally came around, she found herself wandering the paths with her father at her heels, searching for the perfect flower to take back with her.
“This plant is called lavender,” her father had said, pointing at the pale purple flowers near the edge of the path, “and over here is where I’m growing the butterfly bush.” One by one, he had taught her the names of all the plants, until they eventually came to the Tiger Lilies. She remembered how enthralled she had been with their bright orange radiance, and the tiny dashes of brown that littered the petals. That was the flower she’d taken home.
Shaking herself from her daydream, Julia found she was finally at the gates that she’d entered once before. The gate itself was black, towering over her head with intricate swirls and designs that hinted at the world they contained. The gate was then connected to a large stone wall that encompassed the gardens, hiding them from passersby who never knew to look. The sweet smell of flowers floated out of the gate, luring her in, calling her home. And so, quietly as she could, Julia slipped past the gate and into her father’s hidden wonderland. It was even more beautiful than she remembered! The leaves of the trees and vines overhead filtered the sunlight into a warm, golden glow, highlighting the leaves of the foliage below. All around her, flowers of every color bloomed. Honeysuckle draped itself across the walls with patches of white aster and lavender lining the paths. Large flowering bushes sectioned everything off, so finding the roses would be no simple task. With every corner she turned, Julia felt farther and farther from the roses, but despite her confusion, she was never lost, for she was perfectly content no matter which way she turned.
Eventually, as she wandered farther down the path, the sound of running water met her ears. Curiosity growing, she began to follow the noise, trying and failing to recall seeing a source of water during her last visit. Turn after turn, the noise grew, until finally, the culprit was revealed; it was a stone fountain, water shimmering past the brilliantly carved figures emerging from the stone. Her favorite part of the fountain, however, was
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not the fountain itself, but rather the circle of red and white roses that bloomed around the base, climbing the sides so that their leaves skimmed the water and scattered tiny petals across the surface. Pulling her sleeves over her hands to protect them from the thorns, she leaned down, and reached for the stem of the fullest white rose she could find. But as she grew closer, something farther down caught her eye, hiding beneath the soil of the flower bed. Delicately brushing the dirt aside, she extracted what appeared to be a ring of some sort, dulled by mud that had dried across its face. Careful not to lose it, she dipped the ring into the fountain, rubbing away the grime with her thumbs, and revealing a small teardrop diamond. It shone like a tiny galaxy in her hand, refracting every ounce of golden light into a million stars throughout the body of the gem.
“What on earth are you doing back here?” a voice exclaimed suddenly, nearly causing Julia to drop the ring. It was her father.
“Dad I’m sorry, I just—”“Did I not tell you to wait until tomorrow!?” he exploded, words
dripping with a rage that Julia had never before seen in him. Watching wordlessly, she clutched the ring in her hand, as if holding it tightly may transport her back to the safety of her own room. “It’s not safe to come out here all alone, Julia,” he continued, cooling down a bit, “Just go back inside, okay? And don’t let me ever catch you out here again.” And with that, she fled the garden, past the roses, past the vibrant blooms and twisted vines and golden rays of light spilling across the walls, running and running until she was finally back inside.
It was days after the garden incident, and Julia was still trying her best to avoid her father. This was partly due to her frustration with his pointless rules, and partly so that she could proudly wear the ring around the house without him ever knowing; after all, it was her treasure to keep, not his. With this onset of silence in the household, however, came a growing need for human interaction, which is why one rainy Sunday morning when the doorbell rang, Julia jumped at the chance to answer it.
“How can I help you?” she asked with enthusiasm, smiling sweetly at the man and woman at the door. Noticing the solemn expression on the faces staring back at her, she immediately regretted her tone. Before her stood an older woman, makeup smudged around her eyes, and a photograph held within her shaky grip. On her shoulder, a comforting hand rested, belonging to the police officer that seemed to be escorting her around. He was a younger man whose eyes reflected the sincerest of empathy, though the rest of his face appeared unfazed.
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“Miss,” he began, focus shifting to Julia, “have you seen this person before?” He gestured toward the photograph the woman was holding. It depicted a blonde girl with rosy cheeks smiling at the camera, mid-twenties at the most.
“Her name is Jennifer,” the woman whispered, trying not to cry.“I’m sorry,” responded Julia, shaking her head, “I’ve never seen her
before.” The woman sighed, grim acceptance crossing her face.“Please contact the local police department if anything turns up,” the
officer added, forcing a smile.“I will,” replied Julia, and with that, she began to push the door shut.“Wait!” a voice cried, prying the door back opened. It was the woman,
eyes locked on Julia’s left hand. “That ring,” she exclaimed, voice trembling as she spoke, “that’s Jessica’s ring! Her wedding ring!” The woman lunged for the diamond, struggling to pull it off of Julia’s finger.
“Mrs. Green, please,” the officer yelled, pulling the woman back from Julia. “Miss,” he continued, speaking to Julia this time, “where did you get that ring?” Her heart began to race a million miles a minute.
“Just in my back garden,” she stuttered, “I found it on the ground... I swear I didn’t steal it sir.” The officer nodded, requesting instead to speak to the owner of the home. Naturally, she complied, calling for her father, and finally breaking the silence that had overcome the house.
“Glad to see someone’s finally talking,” he called back with a laugh, joining them at the door. Mid-approach, however, he froze, eyes resting on the officer, who was now holding the ring in the palm of his hand. The officer’s eyes stared him down accusingly.
“Sir,” the officer spoke sharply, “I sure hope you’ve got a good reason for storing a missing girl’s jewelry in that garden of yours.” Her father said nothing, praying the silence might hide his guilt, but it didn’t matter, not anymore, for Julia could finally see through the act.
“Don’t lie,” she whispered, looking up at her father. “Not again. Not anymore.” And though her words were weak, they pierced through his silence, and with with a final breath, he removed his mask.
Too often, we are left to wonder how many secrets we can keep before they all come spilling out. We can hide them in the back of our minds, in boxes under the bed, even buried in the garden, if we dare. My father wore a mask of flowers, and I believed him, for his words were made of daisies and his head was filled with roses and he hid all of his secrets in the roots of pretty things. But he hid his truth in shallow graves, and buried
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deep his flesh and bone, so when I looked behind his mask, nothing did remain.
ALYSON FLORAOakdale High SchoolMs. Caitlin Patrick
Frederick County Reading CouncilShort Story10th Grade
2nd Place Winner
THE DEEP DOWN
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Human beings have proven over and over that empathy is not a quality we need to survive. Rather, not having it helps us live on. A lack of empathy helps you forget about the child who broke his arm on the playground. A lack of empathy aids you in being able to move on from the person’s heart you inevitably shattered. A lack of empathy allows you to walk right past the man dying in the street.
But what if right now you’re listening to a man you’ve brushed off countless times as you walked through town?
My name is Nathaniel, and I’m one of the five hundred thousand homeless citizens of the United States - part of the number that’s overlooked everyday and passed off. When people look at the homeless, they may say “Oh, that’s terrible.” It’s only half true; deep down is where people keep their true thoughts, the ones that are too horrible to say aloud for fear of being ridiculed. In the Deep Down, the people who walk by think, “at least it’s not me.”
It’s a small town I live in, with empty sidewalks and empty roads, even during daytime. The occasional car or jogger may pass by knowing with full confidence that they have an unblocked path ahead of them due to fewer people. It’s so different out here than the big cities I’ve been to as a young boy. The scenery and the buildings may be different, but a person out here is no different than a person in places like Baltimore and Chicago. Everyone’s the same in the Deep Down.
On some evenings I like to take walks down the empty sidewalk, illuminated only by the flickering street lights. This time of night, everyone’s asleep in their own houses. No one pays any mind to the homeless man going for a stroll, the homeless man reflecting on why he doesn’t like humanity and what he has observed in his days alone on the street.
I took in the houses as I passed them. The people in this town are very dedicated to their own lives, not so much the lives of others. Although I recognize faces, I never know names. There was the man in the suit with black hair and lines on his face that constantly put his lips in a frown. He always glowered at me as he walked past. Judging by the direction he went every morning I suspected he may be a lawyer. Then there was the woman who occasionally had her child walking with her as she came by in the afternoons. The woman ignored me, but the child always looked with big, blue, intrigued eyes, sometimes even pulling as if wanting to wander closer. The child’s mother always pulled them back. “Come along now,” she’d say. The child always obeyed.
Different lives, yet all the same. For the most part I was ignored, as if I were nothing more than a tree or a bush - something that blended into the scenery, not worth a pedestrian’s interest. Every now and then a stranger would leave change or sometimes a dollar if I was lucky.
You may recall my words of humanity lacking empathy. You may be thinking to yourself, “But sir, are you not contradicting your own claims? Haven’t these people been kind enough to try and help you out?” Then you should probably remember what I said about the Deep Down - “at least it’s not me.” When they look at me, they picture themselves sitting on the sidewalk,
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huddling in blankets in attempts to keep warm. They say to themselves: “But what if that was me?” That’s when the money comes out.
Even before I lost everything I recognized this apathy, to an extent. It wasn’t until I actually did lose my old life, when the distractions all went away, that my eyes were opened to what everyone is - selfish, uncaring. I’ve learned the only thing that matters in life is yourself, seeming like a good person in order to obtain friends and allies - but in truth doing everything you can to take care of you, and only you. But always remember the Deep Down.
“At least it’s not me.”My brother was sick. Mentally, that is. He had a hard time recognizing what was reality,
and had a tendency to lash out. This was another case of humans being apathetic. They saw him in public when he couldn’t control it. I saw the looks he’d get. Occasionally the same looks I’d get, the “what a shame” ones. But for the most part, the looks were ones of fear or annoyance. “What a freak” their expressions would say. It was worse because this was a situation where people couldn’t put themselves in that position. They didn’t understand my brother’s way of thinking, couldn’t grasp why anyone would act like that. He didn’t experience much the false sympathy that I’ve gotten.
I think this was the first time I realized people weren’t kind after all. Then my brother got taken away, and I have full confidence he is getting the same
treatment wherever he is now - perhaps even worse there than he did here. If I could talk to him now, tell him my thoughts, maybe he’d even agree with me. Actually - I know he’d agree with me.
At this time, dear reader, I have made it to the busiest part of town, the square. This is where all the offices are, and for the most part where all the people who walk by me end up, and where some of the few restaurants in town are located. As a kid my brother and I came by the burger place for a snack after school. How different things were from now. We were separated, in bad situations and in a world of empty people. People who are all different, yet the same.
I must admit, however, that I am not dissimilar to everyone else. I’m not one to display empathy much either, and I attribute this to human nature. I take comfort in knowing it’s not just me. As a child my mother would always tell me I needed to be more sympathetic. “You’re just the same though,” I’d reply. “I watched you ignore that woman who needed help.” No one has the right to tell you that you need to be something if they’re not capable of it either.
In fact, just the other day I was made a bystander. On one of my walks I passed an alleyway near the housing section of town. As I approached I heard a man’s voice speaking, escalating into yells of anger. Just as I began walking by the alley, I heard the gun go off.
The shooter and I made eye contact as I continued walking. I glanced down at the lifeless body on the alleyway floor, but soon my gaze returned forward and I kept making my way down the sidewalk.
At school they taught us never to be a bystander when you see someone getting bullied - you’re supposed to take a stand and defend the victim. But what if everybody only pays attention to the words from the Deep Down- “At least it’s not me”? That had been the first thought going
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through my head when I became the bystander. I told myself, “The man should not have let himself get shot. It’s not my problem.”
And I simply moved on. As does all of man.
MEGAN DEITTERICKOakdale High School
Mrs. Laurie ElbenUpper Shore Reading Council
Short Story11th Grade
1st Place Winner
LITTLE THINGS
There was a day in late August -- do you remember? -- when I left school early to find you at home. I was eight, though I could not think of a
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time when I had seen you in our little house when it was still light, when I could look past the coffee farms and see the mountains etched across the sky. Each day you woke with the sun, to scrape back your hair with an old scarf that had belonged to your own mother and hurry out the door for your work in the fields, only to come home when it had been long dark.
But that day I came home early from school, and my face was wet because with every step I took, my classmates’ words seemed to follow me, waiting at the corner of every road, puffing up with the dust. Ikimara. Stupid girl. Ingurube. Ugly pig. And in quiet voices, almost like a breath, Tutsi.
I opened the door, we did not keep it locked, and you were inside, chopping bananas. You put your knife down. You did not ask why I had left class. You took my face in your hands. Umwana wajye, you called me. My child. You comforted me, your strong hands were rough and calloused, and you used your fingers to brush the tears from my face. Then you took me to the market for mandazi and the warm, flaky bread melted on my tongue.
You bought an extra for Gahiji, our neighbor of seven years, and tucked it into your purse. You made easy conversation with the mandazi seller about the ridiculous price of cassava nowadays and about the weather. Too hot for the season. I stared at your lips as you spoke, and took another bite of the sweet fried bread, chewing slowly as you passed the vendor the rest of the money. We walked home, taking the long way so we could stop at Gahiji’s house. My hand was nestled in yours. You held it loosely. Gahiji was outside in the plot in front of his house, raising his hoe and swinging it down, breaking the earth to pieces. Thwump, thwump, thwump. You approached him, the greasy paper held out to him in offering.
Our neighbor put down his hoe, and used his big paw to swipe the sweat from his face. He did not speak when he unwrapped the paper and saw the treat, though he smiled, and it reminded me of the fondness I would hear in my Data’s voice when he spoke about our friend down the road. We watched as Gahiji devoured the bread, there one second, gone the next. Ah, he said, patting his stomach like he had eaten a great meal, It’s the little things in life, and he invited you inside. But you said no, that you had to return home. For work in the morning. Gahiji saw me hiding behind you and waved. He told me how big I had grown, and admired my hair, tied back with a scarf like yours. How kwishyuka I was to look like my mother, he said, and have eyes like my Data, God rest his soul. You smiled and flicked at my chin with your thumb, and we went home.
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That night we sang songs and watched the oil lamp dance shadows across the walls. We lay on the ground and ate cassava and the last bits of the mandazi, laughing and talking until the edges of our mouths hurt. Most days our food was scarce and the fire burned low, and on those days our smiles were rare, but that night, with food in our bellies and laughter in our hearts, we felt incredibly rich.
When I was ten, I came home early from school one day. The principal had dismissed us even though lessons were not over, and so I walked the road alone. I walked past the church, where three women clucked and gossiped in a circle at the threshold, and past the market, where two boys were kicking a ball. The wind blew my hair into my face, and it struck me that I had forgotten my headscarf at school. I thought about going back. But I turned onto our street, and I saw you waiting for me in the middle of the road. You wore your scarf, the blue one, and I was suddenly worried you would beat me once you learned that I had left my scarf behind again. I reached you, my shoulders pulled up to my ears and my hands tangled in the folds of my dress, but you didn’t notice my bare hair, whipping in the wind. Instead, you grabbed my hand and pulled me into the house.
You did not ask why I was out of school early. You were quiet, your forehead worried into a frown. I did not fully understand, though I knew you were scared, and I asked you what was going to happen to us. You shushed me, your strong hands, rough and calloused, fluttering about your face as you stared at the door, like you were waiting for someone to knock. You looked at me and told me to stay quiet. You sat down with me and said that we were going to pray. I asked you pray for what and you smiled at me. To be safe, you said. To not be Tutsi, you whispered then and you did not mean for me to hear you but I did, and I felt ashamed because we were Tutsi and not Hutu and you did not want us to be Tutsi. You grabbed my hands, pressed them together in between yours and started the prayer. I closed my eyes. Yours stayed open.
We heard shouts from outside and you told me to stay in the room and hide under the table. To not come out and to not say a word. That you would come get me. I did as you said, and you draped a cloth over the table. I watched as you disappeared behind the blue fabric, but I could still see the shadow of your calves. I watched through the cloth as your shadow padded over to the door. I heard shouts from outside and the door banged open. You cried out. Oya, you shouted. Genda! Genda! A man yelled Tutsi!, as if he had not heard your screams for him to leave. I heard a slap. Footsteps, swift and startled, leaping out the door; footsteps, heavy, pouncing after. The door
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shut suddenly and the sounds of movement were muffled from through the walls. You screamed and I scrambled out from under the table. I ran to the door and peered through the crack, much like I had the many nights I waited for you to come home, your back slumped from the weight of the crop on your shoulders, and I saw three large men standing over you. You were on the ground. One man was on top of you and one of the other men was laughing. I saw a sliver of his face, distorted and ugly, and recognized Gahiji, our neighbor of nine years, his teeth bared in horrible laughter. Tutsi, he sneered at you. It beat in my heart, echoed through my blood, Tut-si Tut-si Tut-si. The man heaved himself off you. I couldn’t see what was going on through the crack, a man’s back blocking me, but you screamed and thwump and then you stopped screaming.
I stayed behind the door, not breathing as the men spoke to each other, and one asked if didn’t the Tutsi bitch have a daughter. I ran back to the table and threw myself underneath, but not before I heard Gahiji speak, saying that she was probably at school, and they would go there next to look for the Tutsi inyenzi, the roaches. And the men laughed, but you were still silent. I waited for your voice. I waited all night for you to come through the door like you always did and I knew you would, until it was the morning and the sun rose but you did not rise with it. Light shined through the cracks in the door. I crawled out from underneath the table. I crept outside and saw you on the grass. Like you had slept there through the night, waiting for me to come out and find you.
Your eyes were open and staring up at the sky, like you had been caught in the middle of prayer. Your shirt was ripped open so your breasts were exposed. Your skirt was around your ankles, and your scarf, the blue one, had been thrown to the side. Your head gaped at me, pink and soft on the inside, it was too big to be healed with a kiss, a smile. I could smell it, and it was not like when you came home from work with the dirt beneath your nails and faint eucalyptus in your hair. It was red and black and hate. A hoe beside you, left there like an afterthought.
I dropped next to you because you were gone and Data was gone and I was still here but I could not bear to touch you, could not bear to stand either and so I crawled and pulled my way over to the bush behind our little house, my ears ringing and my hands shaking and the words beating in my heart Tut-si Tut-si Tut-si Hu-tu Hu-tu Hu-tu Ma-ma Ma-ma Ma-ma.
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CLAIRE MOYTaipei American School
Ms. Abigail ChenMontgomery County Reading Council
Short Story11th Grade
2nd Place Winner
THE HEIST
Before we knew it, we were already dead. We appeared as if we had just taken a shower in our clothes. Our ears were flooded with the terror-filled screams of the unlucky bystanders who, the “wrong place wrong time,” phrase applied to probably now more than ever. At one point, the screams were so loud and freakish we couldn’t tell whether our ears were legitimately bleeding or our heads were just that sweaty. We wouldn’t have been able to tell either way under those skin tight masks. Now, the bystanders were forced to be quiet or risk death. We’d been in here too long. They were procrastinating, and doing a damn good job at it, too. It was almost as if they’d been through this same situation before. They knew what this was. I glanced around the luxurious building. Walls matte black with diamond-like marble floors. I felt as if I was the only one who had a sense of guilt, despite the fact I was the one who had arranged it. I realized just a
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tad too late, this wasn’t the right way. Way too late. My associates had no regard, however. I could tell they were beyond fed up with how this had gone so far.
Overwhelmed, flooding, drowning in my own thoughts, I spotted somebody slowly crawling towards the front door. It wasn’t until that moment I realized how unfit I was for this gig, but I had no choice. This was my doing. I arranged this. At this point, it wouldn’t make any difference. I swallowed my emotions and lifted my leg back. Bam. Crack. The familiar sound of a kick to the face, which I had been on the receiving end several times. The intention was to leave without any physical injuries, but you could see in everybody’s eyes they were already injured emotionally to fulfill a lifetime. The execution had been slick. Weeks of planning prior to the gig had comforted everyone and established a sense of confidence. Tick. Tick. Tick. The room so forcefully silent, aside from the angry demands of an associate and the lonesome clock. We needed to leave on our own now, or we’d be leaving in body bags in less than five minutes. We’d already been here for about eight minutes, and the cut off time was twelve. I guess I’d been so consumed in the depth of my own thoughts I hadn’t realized how far we’d gotten. Click. The first door had finally been opened. Anxiety had replaced my blood and was now flowing through my veins so much every minute felt like five. We were almost done. I could no longer afford to allow myself to wallow in my own thoughts. I wanted this. I planned this. I had to follow through. It was crunch time. Suddenly, I felt a tug on my pant leg. My instant reaction was to turn and kick with full force. Not as a punishment, but as a lesson to everybody. We were not playing. Bam. Crack. Followed by a loud scream and shout of terror mixed with anger. It had not come to my attention there could’ve been toddlers in the “audience.”I found out the hard way. I looked down to my right to where I had launched my foot unknowingly into a small child’s face. Blood everywhere. I backed up in complete shock. My thoughts got the best of me once again, and once again I paid the huge price for it. I turned for a split second to see if we had obtained what we came for, but before I could notice anything, I felt a sharp pain in my back, as my body was thrown multiple feet in front of me. I’d been tackled by, I assume, the toddler's father.
Bam. Bam. Bam. Hit after hit into my jaw and face. His punches like rocks being smashed against my skull. What happened next, I can no longer accurately describe. All I know is I was lifted up by one of my associates, and despite being so dazed and confused, despite my head throbbing like a church bell on a Sunday morning, despite being unable to see anything clearly, I could make out the lifeless body followed by a puddle of blood on the ground. I lost it. I flailed, using whatever last adrenaline I had in my body to escape the grip of my associates. They began to yell at me, although I was not able to make out what they were saying. Maybe if I had, I would’ve stopped. I was thrown against my will back onto the concrete-like ground. The floor felt like ice. It almost felt good, but I had no time to wallow in the short moments of comfort. Still unable to walk on my own, I tried to lift myself up. Failing time after time, I was finally helped by two other associates. I had been stood up too fast, and felt as if I was going to faint. I needed to try and escape before the police arrived, which would be any moment. I managed to spit out some sort of twisted concoction of words, which I must’ve said clearly enough, because I was finally left alone to stand on my own two feet. I almost fell, but I managed to keep myself up. Discreetly holding myself up on the wall, I began walking toward
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the door. When I came in close enough range, I hurled myself toward the door using all my remaining power, followed by angry muffled screams behind me. At first, I thought for sure I was clear for the time being...until I remembered we had left at 4:30pm...It was dark by the time we arrived. Blaring sounds of sirens and demands surrounded me, Still too dazed to make anything out, I looked to my side. It all felt like slow motion then. I felt an arm wrap around my neck with nerve-damaging force. Still in snail-like motion, blinded by lights which I felt burn my pupils, I looked out of my peripheral vision to my right, blinked, and suddenly felt no constriction around my neck. Almost as if I had become a ghost. I looked to my right again only to see one of my associates using another associate as a shield while firing a gun from behind. All in slow motion, I saw a horde of bullets flying toward them both, and one by one, bullets pierce their bodies as blood sprayed from their bodies all around. Suddenly, I was looking up to the sky in excruciating pain, falling towards the ground. It was my body which was descending to the ground. It was my body which launched blood all over the surrounding radius. It was my body which was now lifeless on the ground. It was my body which had been betrayed by my associates and had been abused by a violent array of bullets...my body which brought this nightmare bank robbery thought to life...
RILEY DEMBOWSKIAnchor Points Academy
Mrs. Kathleen HildebrandUpper Shore Reading Council
Short Story12th Grade
1st Place Winner
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SUICIDE
It was a chill autumn morning in Manhattan. The kind of morning that had people buttoning up their coats on the street, walking quickly to guard against the cold. The sky was a fair blue, and a mischievous breeze snuck through the streets, slipping in between layers, brushing against people just for the pleasure of leaving goosebumps.
A woman stood before the threshold of that famous monument to engineering, the Empire State Building, craning her neck for a glimpse at the top. A red dress peeked from underneath her beige coat, as yet unbuttoned and caught by that naughty breeze. She wore a string of pearls at the base of her throat, but they were hidden by a white scarf knotted tightly against the chill. She didn’t move
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for a good while, and once she did, it was only when she had finally made up her mind. She followed the flow of the people into the building.
The attendant at the front desk was pleasant enough. He smiled genuinely, deepening the creases around his kind eyes. He directed Evelyn to the elevator and wished her a lovely morning.
She wished him the same, but her smile was not nearly as genuine. It was painted on with red lipstick. She wanted to wipe it away as soon as she made it to the elevator. Alas, she had to fix it in place. There were more people to talk to. It was hardly becoming of a lady to be grim on such a fine day in that great city.
The elevator was close and suffocating. A tinny version of “Fly Me to the Moon” stole the breathing room other people hadn’t already claimed. Evelyn struggled to breathe, and matters were not made any better by the rushing of the elevator as it climbed to the very top. It created the most awful plunging sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Clutching her handbag like a lifeline, Evelyn focused on the people around her. There was another young woman like herself, standing primly in the opposite corner. Her makeup was just so, her hair only slightly teased by the breeze outside. Evelyn wondered where she was off to. To work? To visit a lover? Just to appreciate the view? Wherever she was going, she had purpose. Much like herself, Evelyn thought.
She turned her attention to another occupant. A man with a briefcase and a smart hair cut. He stood easily on both feet, proper but relaxed. He was quietly smiling to himself, as if he had just thought of a clever joke. He looked so much like Barry...hair the same shade, the same build, the same unassuming manner. Evelyn felt the pit in her stomach clench.
No. No, it wasn’t clenching. It had turned into a flock of butterflies, but not the good kind. These weren’t the butterflies she had gotten when Barry kissed her for the first time. No, they were the butterflies she’d felt when Barry asked her to marry him. Frantic little things, straining against her stomach, struggling to fly up her throat and out of her mouth.
Evelyn swayed for a moment, only for a moment, and in more ways than one. She wanted so badly to get out of that elevator. To take the stairs from whatever floor she was on, down to the street, down to the subway, and take the train back to Barry. What on Earth was she doing? She was leaving him, just like her mother had left them.
She remembered the months leading up to her parents divorce. Her mother was always tired, always frowning. More so whenever her children were around. Oh, how she loved her bed! She barely left it. And when she did, she was not herself.
Evelyn could recall one night, when she’d gotten up for a drink of water, and found her mother standing in the kitchen. It was pitch dark except for the warm yellow flicker of a candle on the countertop. Her mother stood facing the sink in her pale silk nightgown, a letter folded neatly beside her. She was holding something over her wrist. Something that caught the light of the candle.
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Something that gleamed. Evelyn froze in the doorway, butterflies fluttering up her throat. Suddenly, the grandfather clock in the hall chimed three in the morning. Evelyn couldn’t hold back a little gasp. The something fell into the sink with a loud clatter. Her mother whipped around, her eyes wide and startled, just like, as her father would say, a deer in the headlights. It took her a moment to focus on her daughter, but once she did, her shock turned to anger. She grabbed the little girl’s hand and dragged her back down the hall to her bedroom, all the while scolding her in a sharp, brittle voice: Out of bed at this hour--- water? you don’t need water you’ll just wet the bed---what on Earth were you thinking? Evelyn had wanted to ask her the same thing, but by the time her mother had tucked her into bed and slammed the door, she never got the chance.
Evelyn shuddered at the memory, one of her gloves relinquishing her handbag to clutch the railing lining the wall. As much as she hated to admit it, she was too much like her mother. What she was doing...she gritted her teeth. No. She had to do this. She was no good for Barry. Who was to say she wouldn’t do to him what her mother had done? She couldn’t bear the thought of breaking his heart. He was better off without her.
A voice startled her out of her thoughts. The man with the briefcase had turned to look at her with concern.
“Ma’am?” he asked softly, “Are you quite alright?”She gave him her painted on smile. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” she lied
politely.He didn’t look as though he believed her, but he nodded, and when the
elevator dinged, he got off at his floor. With him gone, Evelyn closed her eyes, tried to wrangle her butterflies, and
prayed for the 86th floor.
After what was either a very long heartbeat or a very brief eternity, they arrived. Anyone who was still in the elevator, including Evelyn, left that claustrophobic box in favor of the chill New York air.
As quickly as she could, Evelyn separated herself from the crowd, and found a quiet spot by the wall on the east side of the observation deck. For a moment she paused, just to take in the view. Of the last things a woman could see, Manhattan from the 86th floor wasn’t too shabby. All the way up here, the noise of the cars and people below couldn’t carry. It was strangely peaceful, an alien sensation in New York City. Even Central Park, the safe haven of the city, wasn’t this quiet. Evelyn breathed it in.
Balancing her handbag on the wall, she removed her makeup kit and touched up her lipstick, then closed it and placed it beside the handbag. Despite the cold, she took off her coat, folded it up, and laid it on the wall. Next, she unwrapped her scarf, folded that up, and laid it on top of the coat.
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She shivered as another breeze sprung up, tugging her scarf off the edge of the precipice. She bit back an exclamation of surprise, not wanting to draw attention to herself, as she watched it drift down the side of the building like an early snow flake.
Carefully, Evelyn lifted herself onto the wall, and slowly straightened, holding out her bare arms for balance.
“Hey!” someone shouted behind her. “What are you doing?”Evelyn didn’t hear the shouting. She didn’t hear as that someone started
running towards her. “Lady!” they yelled, gasping. “Lady, stop!”She tensed her legs.“Don’t do it!”He was better off without her. “Please!”She leapt.
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TAYLOR SCHAEFERQueen Anne’s County High School
Mrs. Laurie ElbenUpper Shore Reading Council
Short Story12th Grade
2nd Place Winner
VIKINGS: LOST TO HISTORY
The sharp sting of salt filled her nose as a hearty gust bit into her cheeks, and she listened to the rhythm of the waves pounding up against the wood. Each time that the body of the ship dipped and swayed, she heard the sound of water smacking the sturdy hull, as steady and soothing as a heartbeat or a tender lullaby.
Perhaps that is the solemn voice of Ægir wishing us well as we sail to depart from his waters, she mused in silence, feeling yet another powerful wind urge their vessel forwards into the endless expanse of rippling cerulean. Aside from the frothy ocean spray that dusted her skin and burned her eyes, her tongue was bathed in the flavor of the sea as she chewed on a strip of salt-dried meat, listening to the members of the raiding party playfully jesting with one another. The sun was shining through the slightest veil of white clouds, providing just enough golden light to warm the furs wrapped around the warrior’s bodies, cumbersome pelts so thick that not even the bitter wind could penetrate them.
Within the body of the longship there was a gathering of twenty combatants, their burly figures pressed shoulder to shoulder in the confined quarters of the seafaring vessel. The furs and leather which weighed heavy across their broad shoulders only added to the substantial mass that occupied the ship, but the warriors found nothing but amusement in the act of stretching their limbs as far as they could reach, nudging one another deftly with leather boots and broad oars to earn some leg room. She herself had joined in, pushing at Ygnwe’s calves as he tried to claim some space between mounds of bulking gear and weapons. He was refusing to budge, baring his teeth at her playfully as he pulled on a strip of meat with his teeth, mocking the throaty growl of an animal before he spoke in his boyish pitch.
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“Ay Torunn, I would save some of that strength for the Englishmen. I daresay you will have none left in your body if you contest me further,” Yngwe joked, shoving her once more with his heavy boot. Although his weight only shifted her slightly, she forced a shallow smile back, and felt the blood rush to her cheeks. At such a blow to her strength, some of the older warriors had chuckled, taking humor in such a humorous comment.
“Let us not forget who bested who back in Jokulsa, Yngwe. You may have brute strength, but that makes you a brute, and I have yet to falter with my sword and shield,” she bit back. It was Yngwe’s turn to flush crimson, and after a moment, he fell victim to the same raucous laughter that she had suffered. The neighbor that she had trained under, a bearded man who went by the name of Åke, had tossed back his head with a deep and hearty chuckle.
“We will make warriors of you yet,” he commented, a broken-toothed grin bringing amusement to his normally stoic visage. “That is, assuming that you do not die at the hands of the Christians and their mighty warriors. Hope that rather, you will defeat your equal on the battlefield, and finally earn yourself some glory.”
“Let Torunn be, Åke,” the man called Björni hollered from the far end of the longship, a glimmer of playfulness in his dark brown eyes. “You know that she will face no other woman in battle. Those English prefer to keep their defenseless women cowering in their homes, tending to their whining English children,” he spit the final words with a sting of contempt. He then dug his dagger back into the thick piece of wood he had been carving, as though it were the flesh of an Englishman that he was hungry to kill. Some of the other Norsemen chuckled as well, but Torunn did not so much as flinch at this second playful insult to her womanhood. Having heard those same words many times before, it had long since stopped scalding her deeply.
“I have a chance against any Englishmen in combat, even if their swords are double as sharp as your wit,” Torunn said with a glance over at Åke. “I need no reminder that a woman’s strength is so imposing that the English cower at the sight of a woman with a blade in her hand.”
“Perhaps it is best not to joke of the strength of the shieldmaiden that you trained, Åke,” Björni chuckled. “If I were you, I would be glad that it is the Englishmen she will be meeting in battle.” Defeat played across Åke’s face at such a rebuke, but it was only moments before his typical neutrality returned. But Torunn’s heart had suddenly sped up at the talk of a true battle, as it always did when she envisioned a field of enemies standing before her. The words that came next rolled off of her tongue effortlessly, and she reclined casually as she spoke them.
“We all know that battle is not promised on this voyage.” As she expressed her thoughts, she imagined running towards a wall of Englishmen, their bodies covered in shining metal armor, a team of archers poised above them, ready to
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strike at the first sound of the horn. “Jarl Sigvaldr said that this journey would be one of trades and of well-wishes. The English are already threatening to come to our homeland at the prospect of steady trade,” she reminded, to which the man beside her chuckled. With a casual flick of his wrist towards the sky, Yngwe tilted his chin back, and allowed the brilliant blue to reflect off of his eyes, which were glassy with the clouds of daydreams.
“Týr yearns for all but well-wishes and happy trading. The mightiest warriors in Valhöll beside him look from the skies and thirst for blood. They wish for our swords to be soaked with the red tides of battle, and they wish that we carry forth the legacy of the Northmen!” Yngwe’s passion had swollen as he had spoken, but Torunn did not bother to try and silence his ramblings, for a voice towards the back of the ship cut in with a gruff reminder.
“Do not invoke the gods if you do not wish to call trouble upon us,” the hollow tone spit at the younger man, and although Torunn could not see the face of the speaker, she knew that it must be one of the more weathered warriors accompanying them. Admittedly, she too had flinched at the mention of the mighty god of war, for the strength of Týr could sway victory or death, and bring strength to the swords of the strong-willed. If the god was troubled by Yngwe’s naivety, there would surely be naught but misfortune in the wake of conflict.
But perhaps the phrase that caught Torunn most strongly was Yngwe’s mention of their fallen ancestors, the Norsemen that had come before them and been slain in the throes of combat. She had thought on legacy and tradition more than once, and pleaded to Òðinn for some answer on the death of her father, for a sign that she would carry on what he had left behind. Not so much as a single black bird had graced the sky as an answer to her prayers, nor any wisdom offered from the god that she was named for. Though she sought a worldly purpose through her training with a sword, through sacrifice, through talk of riches and victory, Torunn felt as though the legacy that she fought to sustain was nothing more than a hollow hole in her chest.
“Maybe it is best to finish your meal in silence, Yngwe,” Torunn offered, pulling the dagger from her belt and running her thumb against the flat part of the blade. Reduced to chewing on the salted meat wordlessly after being chastised, Yngwe grumbled in what must have been reluctant agreement, and let his shoulders drop back heavily against the edge of the ship. At that moment, yet another strong wind came, urging the crew forward through the water, the dragonheads leading the way with malice in their lifeless eyes.
Is that what we come bearing? Malice and destruction, death and contempt? Tell me, Freyja, how can we bring life to the ground we tread when we sow our future with the blood of the English? How may I ever bring a child into a world if I have been slain, and my kinsmen torn to pieces by our enemies? Thor, with your might and your strength, you know the victory that we need to bring the men home to their wives and their children, yet with each voyage we return with more
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wounds and more funeral pyres to build. Òðinn, do you crave our fathers and our uncles so dearly that you steal them away from their homeland? What future do we stand to defend in Jokulsa if these English maim our families and intoxicate our children with their strange faith? Why do I go to fight today, for nothing more than the hope of trade? I do not wish to see the day that our homeland falls, nor the day that the last of my kinsmen lies in the dirt. I would rather die than have stains of blood be the final story of the warriors from the North.
Torunn sent her thoughts vainly to the gods, shutting her eyes as the longship rocked gently beneath her, almost as a mother would rock a child to sleep. The sea was steady beneath her, promising, supporting the weight of the swords and the shields and the leather armor cinched tight around wide-barreled bodies. These men were warriors, and many of them were family. Most all, except for Yngwe and herself, had borne their sword before and gone to the great English halls and tread on foreign soil, and filled the pouches on their belts with weighty gold coins.
Do they often ache for home? Torunn pondered, taking a quick glance at her comrades faces. Most of them were content, while others lay in the clutches of sleep. The pining she felt for the soft soil of Jokulsa beneath her feet had become unbearable in that moment, and the thought of tradition pierced her heart like the arrow of an enemy archer.
Looking up at the arching crest of the dragonhead, Torunn listened to the rugged wood slice through the water, gliding silently across the frothy waves, spraying salt up into the air so that it stung her nose pleasantly. The carvings across the side of the ship came to life beneath her fingers, an intricate maze of knots and of beasts, telling stories of the gods that wished them good fortune and good sailing. There were swords piled beneath furs and pelts, sacks of coins stamped with the faces of kings from lands bordering both freshwater and saltwater.
The warriors of the North will never fade in memory, and I will not die today, nor will I die tomorrow. She promised this to herself, feeling a static in the air. It was as though Thor was speaking to her, promising that the legend of the northern warriors would continue to carry far and wide, and that they would never be forgotten. My children will know the strength of their homeland, and of the warriors that the world calls Vikings. Our ships will sail the seas forever, our dragonheads leading the way, and that will be our legacy.
Despite the strength of her conviction, just for the briefest moment, she swore she could hear the roar of a mighty English army rising up from across the sea, and chills stole her breath away.
SAMNATHA BUCKMAN
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Linganore High SchoolMrs. Natalie Rebetsky
Frederick County Reading Council
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