Creative Writing Contest 2009

Islesboro's Fifteen Annual Creative Writing Contest

Coordinated by Katie Nelson.

Everyday we are confronted by advertisements in one form or another, be it pop-up ads on the internet, television commercials, or glossy magazine advertisements. These images are carefully constructed by advertising experts to draw our attention and encourage us to buy, buy, buy. For this year's annual writing contest, we are asking you to pick an appropriate advertisement in a magazine and write a story based on the image it presents. Students were asked to include the original advertisement with your submission.

They were told that judges would look for the following:

• How well your writing incorporates details from the image.
• Correct spelling and grammar. Good editing is vital to having a strong submission.
• Well-developed writing which includes a strong beginning, middle, and end.

This is the prompt to which students responded for this year's Creative Writing Contest. Students were awarded at an assembly March 31, 2009.

Middle School Level grades 6-8

POETRY:

Third Place: "The Whale" Emma Peabody, Grade 8

Second Place: "A Hat for Everyone" Davis Boardman, Grade 8

First Place: "Love " Krystal Randlett, Grade 6

High School Level grades 9-12

POETRY:

Third Place: "Katrina" Max Mahan, Grade 10

Second Place: "Untitled" Sally Smith, Grade 12

First Place: "I " Claire Boucher, Grade 12

Middle School Level grades 6-8

PROSE:

Third Place: "A Gift for Valentine's Day" Aven Howell, Grade 8

Second Place: "Slobber " Alexendra Craig, Grade 8

First Place: "The Unfortunate Life of a Clown Balloon" Madison Cook, Grade 6

High School Level grades 9-12

PROSE:

Third Place: "Patrick" Holden Rogers, Grade 11

Second Place: "Our Special Place" Michelle Reidy, Grade 10

First Place: "Flash" Sally Smith, Grade 12

 

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Recognized Runners-Up:

POETRY:

"Saturn" Nick Day, Grade 6

"Scuba" Pille Wood-Krusell, Grade 8

"Untitled (Rolex)" Blaise Jenner, Grade 10

"Antarctica" Jason Hatch, Grade 10

"I Was in My Own World" Gerard Scherr, Grade 10

PROSE:

"Grandpa and I" Allana Govoni, Grade 8

"Air and Simple Gifts" Davis Boardman, Grade 8

"The Race" Dashiell Marley, Grade 9

"Dreams" Heather Cilley, Grade 12

"Hauling on the East Coast" Tyler Pendleton, Grade 11

And a special thank you to:

Contest Judges and Readers: Maggy Aston, Ruth Hartley, Bonnie Hughes, Seth Johnson, Emma Lishness, Nakomis Nelson, Sandy Oliver, Melissa Olson, Jackie Stolte Sue Bolduc, Betty Boucher, Sheila Coombs, Kate Legere, Sandy Oliver, Melissa Olson, Heather Sinclair, Dave Thibodeau, Tom Tutor

And a very special Thank You to Artisan Books and Bindery, Islesboro for providing gift certificates to the winners.

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2009 Winning Entries

Middle School Poetry

1st Place Poetry

Love ~ Krystal Randlett

The waves crashed

The wind blew

I swear I could hear you.

Your laugh

Your cry

The way the moon would shine

I saw your face

Here and there

Then waves crashed

Then wind blew

2nd Place Poetry

A Hat for Everyone ~ Davis Boardman

 

In Scotland they wear a balmoral

The handsomest ones come in coral.

The cloche worn by flappers

Was really quite dapper.

He just put on his capuchon,

But Hernando Cortes did not wear a fez,

I have never seen a chauffer with a fur,

There's an aura to the fedora, often worn by Indiana Jones the explorah.

Every bachelor wears a blower, for that is proper.

Babe Ruth wore a hat

While he was at bat

And that is that

I have no more to say about hats

3rd Place Poetry

The Whale ~ Emma Peabody

As the sun sets,

It paints a gold mist in the sky

which is slowly melting to a deep blue.

The lighting hitting the icebergs

reflects back on the smooth glassy sea

making it light it.

I flick my tail

feeling it lift

into the pierced cold air.

It come down with a thud

that slaps the water

making waves dancing across the surface

I descend

into the deep, cold sea.

I twist

feeling the water slip against my skin like silk

As I come back up onto the surface

I catch the last glimpse of the sunset

now a blazing topaz across the endless horizon.

Clouds

Thin and wispy seemed to brush the tips of the icebergs

painting their white tops

with a smokey purple coat.

As quickly as it came

the sunset is gone

leaving everything in a shadowy silence.

I flick my tail again

and let the dark, smooth water

consume me.

High School Poetry

1st Place Poetry -

"I" ~ Claire Boucher

I

What am I?

What I am not,

My mind seeps into the crevices of the could have been,

My road entwines with an ever changing destination,

Fate is not set, but manipulated by our judgment,

My written ending never the same twice,

Who was I?

Who I will never be again,

Remorse for the trails unchosen obstructs progress onward,

The abundance of options corrupts my verdict

The person I am, constantly changing,

Who I was will never breathe again

Where am I?

Where my foot won't step again,

One precise place is unstepped on twice,

My present rapidly becoming my past,

My future hurtling towards me

I won't exist in this moment twice

Why I am?

I am to build history,

My purpose in this generation formed by overwhelming options,

New situations, persistently unpredictable,

Aid forming my future only originating from myself,

Choices I make,

Destiny I change

2nd Place Poetry

UNTITLED ~ Sally Smith

Sometimes when no one is browsing

Or when I think I'll not be caught

I tend to think about -

Mugging

A torch for rioting.

A phoenix song is burning In the eyes of all my friends,

I smile silently for the camera

Chin jutted

Slipper shirt

And folded coat

The riot must remain contained

Don't you want me to mug you?

Lilac wallpaper and perhaps

A concealed weapon,

The height of the spring line

Beating, flapping wings

Gosling white,

I am the face of clean clothes

With angry eyes

It's like a bird song, I think

Underneath the blast of curls and eyebrows

To be seen and paid for

You'd think I could put on a better guised

3rd Place Poetry

Katrina ~ Max Mahan

The 9th Ward is where I slowly walk,

Down the street of silent devastation.

Mold and mildew are all that talk.

They mask this heritage-ridden nation.

My mind almost seems to freeze,

Gathering scenes of destruction around me.

Broken traces of people's memories,

Leaves them with just a yard and a tree.

She snatched the lives of most,

Death tolls filling four rows.

Cats and dogs left without a host.

The bustle of the city greatly slows.

My lively hometown now filled with sorrow,

Pain, loss, emptiness and struggle.

Brightened by hope for a better tomorrow,

Cleaning and rebuilding takes the place of this rubble.

Middle School Prose

1st Place Middle School Prose

The Unfortunate Life of a Clown Balloon ~ Madison Cook

Just to set the record straight, being a marionette clown balloon in a parade is very far from being fun or exciting. Actually, it is quite stressful. I know this, because I myself am a clown parade balloon.

What I am forced to do is stressful for many reasons. You see, I am brought all over the world to various parade sites. Then I am inflated, deflated and inflated … AGAIN! I am dragged back and forth through parade routes. Also, being a marionette, my hands and feet, against my own will, are constantly moving. Another aspect of my unfortunate life is that I am forced to have children laugh and point at me all the time. I spend most of my uninflated days worrying about the terrible things that they could do to me next. Maybe, they will throw candy at me or stuff me into a giant Jack 'n' the Box!

I have made many friends along my parade routes. There is actually one that I should tell you about. His name is Mr. Squirrel. He was very unhappy, not that I could blame him, and made many attempts to blow away. Then came that windy day last April. He was in a parade on the shore of Lake Superior and blew away. He went so high that a blimp hit him and he popped. Although, he was very unhappy, so, I guess he didn't mind much.

Okay, on to my troubles. First, my operator is horrible! He moves my arms so high. He also makes me dance and look all happy, which I definitely am not! But, the worst part about being a marionette is not the way they make me look happy, but it is that I can not move. It makes me feel so controlled. I mean, I would not be so cynical if I was able to move or take a walk on my own. Also, I can not ever pick out my own clothes or anything like that because my outfit is painted on me! Indeed, being a marionette is quite unpleasant.

So, one day, I was just floating on down a parade route and this kid was being horrible. He stood there laughing and throwing rocks at me. I was extremely frustrated by this kid. So, I forced my foot out, very close to his devil like head. He became so scared that he ran, crying all the way, to his mother. I then received a restraining order and a firm talking to from my operator. But, the, the kid came back with all of his friends and they all laughed at me! I was mortified by the whole situation.

Another bad thing about being a balloon is that you can not get too close to sharp objects. I have bee very good about this except for one time last October. I was just making my way though a parade and then, out of no where came a huge float of giant, dancing ballpoint pens. Of course, my marionette operator decided to lower my foot and… POP! Now, there is a huge bandage under my left foot beneath my big toe. You would be surprised, accidents like this happen all the time. My friend, Babbet the Bat, who is also a parade balloon, lost a wing because of a flock of killer crows. She had to undergo an extensive surgery and rehabilitation program. Parade balloons and sharp objects are definitely not friends.

It may seem as if all parade balloons are friends. This is definitely not the case. There is a major rivalry: animals and circus people balloons vs. people and advertising balloons. This whole thing started several years ago because the animal and circus people balloons were getting more jobs. So, the other balloons became jealous and resentful. Then came the Battle of the Balloons. It started because a chef balloon attacked a ringmaster marionette. It all went down hill from there. Oh, then, who could forget the horrible Clown Strike. The clown balloons (including me) went on strike because we weren't getting paid as much as other balloons and marionettes. The parade financial advisors finally gave in. Parade balloons have a very long history.

Being a clown balloon is a very busy job. But, my favorite part is being able to travel. I have been to every province in Canada and Maine, Wisconsin and Washington. I have only been on an airplane twice. Once, when I went to Washington, and the other time was when I went up north to Nunavut, Canada. I absolutely positively hate airplanes. The baggage people assume that, well I am baggage. So, they stuff me into a windowless, warm, stuffy room. It is quite unpleasant and I can't even see the beautiful views below. Also, being stuffed in a box, I can not visit with the other balloons on the trip. I would much rather take a boat or a bus to different parade routes.

You may be wondering what parade balloons do during their free time. Well, most of the time we have small gatherings and just talk or play board games. Our board games are giant and inflatable. But, our owners and handlers do not allow us much time to ourselves, so, the gatherings do not happen as often as we would like. We, the parade balloons, all despise our owners. They are always dragging us to parades and walking us up and down them and making us feel exhausted. But, a guy's got to make a living.

2nd Place Middle School Prose

Slobber ~ Alexandra Craig

Oh, that smells good...what are we having today? Is that Chunks 'O' Chicken? Maybe Seafood? Aw, who cares! Its food! Food, food, FOOD! Aw, that's yummy! Hey Dakota! This is my bowl! Eat your own food! Water, I need water! Run, run! Sudden urge to run! TJ! Chase me! Haha! I got your favorite toy! What are ya gonna do now!

That's Slobber. He is a yellow lab, and he has four sisters and two brothers. He lives in a small house in a suburban area. Today, it is rainy, and cloudy, and cold. Slobber is inside, playing with his siblings and their toys. His owner is a woman with perfect teeth, and dark blonde hair just above her shoulders. Her name is Julie. She recently got married to a tall man named Grant who has black hair.

Julie! Grant! Look! I'm sitting! Don't you want to give me a treat? See see? I'm a good boy! Good boy! Wow! SUNSHINE! Look Julie! The sun is shining! See see! Right there between the clouds! Let me o out, please! Please, please, PLEASE! Ooooo, the door's open! Run! Ah, fresh air! Toys! They're everywhere!

This was normal life for Slobber. Normal until Grant's sister left for Taiwan, and Grant and Julie had to cat sit.

Come here Fluffy! Let's play Chase! Where are you hiding? Come out, Come out wherever you are! Ha! Found you! You thought you could hide from me? Boy, were you wrong! I got a sniffer that can smell a pork chop from a mile away! You smell like that foofy soap they use at the place where they make your hair short!

"Slobber! Leave Fluffy alone! Get outside, right now!" yelled Julie.

"Julie, what's wrong? He's just playing Chase," Grant said as he defended Slobber.

Julie opened the door and Slobber sluggishly waddled out with his tail between his legs and his ears flattened. Once outside, he looked at his brothers and sisters, frolicking in the dying grass that was to be cut once more, and he walked towards the street.

Boy these sidewalks are filthy! Isn't there some guy who cleans these? Oooo! Half a hotdog, smeared with ketchup! This is better than the food Julie gave me! No. No thinking about Julie, or Grant, or Dakota, of TJ or any of them. They don't care about me so I don't care about them.

Slobber walked about two miles before he found the soggy newspapers cornered between the dumpsters and the cold bricks of the alley. He could hear dogs barking in the distance, and he could smell the trash that would be the smell of his new home. Slobber scrounged up some food for the morning and decided to tuck it under the dumpster, so no other dog would take it while he was sleeping.

In the morning, Slobber ate an apple core and then walked the streets to see what else he could find. He didn't sleep very well though; the population of rats was growing.

Boy, if I were home right now, my belly wouldn't be making funny noises. Oh, I need food! And sleep! Hey! You look like a nice person! Take me home! To your home! Please? No don't walk away! What about you? Please? Somebody notice me!

Slobber wandered the streets for eleven days before he realized nobody would take a dirty, smelly dog from the streets into their clean, warm home, so he slowly made his way home. As he found the street that his house was on, he looked at the lampposts and his picture was on almost all of them. As he walked up his driveway, and then up the steps, he got the feeling one gets when they are surrounded by people who care about them. He scratched on the door, and when it was opened, he saw the friendly faces of Julie and Grant, and his brothers and sisters. As he was showered with love, and kisses, he looked in the corner of the kitchen, and saw five little yellow labs, and he knew, he always was loved, and he would be loved by five more faces.

3rd Place Middle School Prose
A Gift for Valentines Day ~ Aven Howell

The cold February air traveled in with Miss Tanner's third grade class, returning from recess. After boots had been replaced with sneakers, wet jackets had been hung, and a few minor injuries tended, short stocky Miss Tanner stepped up to the front of the class.

"I have an important announcement to make." Miss Tanner immediately had the attention of twelve young people. "Since this year snow days prevented us from having a gift exchange, we are going to celebrate Valentines Day with a 'Secret Santa' gift swap. I've put a twist on things this year though. No one will know who they are giving their gift to, only their gender. The names have already been randomly assigned. Don't forget to purchase a gift. I'm sending home a note to remind your parents."

In the front row, one particular third grader was ecstatic. Luke's entire face had lit up at the mention of a gift swap, from his bright green eyes to his wide smile. Right when things were settling down after the holidays, this was just what everyone needed right now to liven things up; another holiday. He dimly heard Miss Tanner, in the background of his busy thoughts saying, "Now remember, this is not a competition."

Luke quickly looked behind him to see Katie intensely staring at him. He stuck his tongue out and she did the same.

Nothing could have assured a competition more than that.

Luke was unusually quiet on his way home from school. His jet black hair was a mess, but he didn't care. Luke was deep in thought. What do girls like? He wondered. It had to be special. Katie would probably get chocolate, so that was out. It had to be better than chocolate. What's better than chocolate? Maybe that glossy $50.00 real wooden baseball bat in the store, but not much else. Anyway, most girls wouldn't appreciate a baseball bat enough.

Suddenly Luke knew exactly what to get. He remembered seeing it at the jewelry shop in town, and the price tag. Luke was $20.00 short; he only had $30.00 in his piggy bank. He would need to do a lot of chores, but Luke knew he could make enough if he worked hard.

At the same time, Katie sat on her bed, fiddling with the pink bedspread, doing the same thing that Luke was. Her blond braids had fallen into her eyes, but she hadn't noticed yet. "What do boys like?" Katie wondered aloud. Possibly candy, but everyone bought candy for Valentines Day. The present she was going to buy had to be better than that, better than Luke's present. A boy wouldn't like a necklace.

Katie suddenly had an amazing idea. Every boy in her class loved sports, baseball in particular. Katie had seen several of them circled around the expensive baseball bat in the store the other day, talking about what they would each do to own it. She remember the price as well.

"I guess it's washing dishes for me." Katie leaned back and sighed. $20.00 seemed like a lot of money to make, but if she began right now, she could just make enough. Katie forced herself to go downstairs to set the table for 50 cents.

It was the day of the gift swap, Friday, February 15. Every student had a carefully wrapped present in front of the. The air was charged with excitement. Everybody was wondering what they would receive, who they were getting it from and who the gift in front of them belonged to. Especially Luke and Katie. After years or rivalry, competition had become common between them, but no less nerve wracking or exciting. Each was hoping that their present was bigger, better, cost more.

Finally the moment had come. Miss Tanner leaned over a piece of paper and began reading, working down her list.

"Gail Abbot, your gift goes to Johnny Walker. Danny Collinson, your gift goes to Courtney Green," and so on.

Luke became increasingly nervous as she approached his name.

"Luke Hail, your gift goes to Katie Snowe."

Luke couldn't believe it. He had washed dishes and cleaned all week for his present to go to Katie?

Miss Tanner was reaching Katie's name now. Katie was feeling slightly smug that Luke's present was going to her, but she forgot about that when she heard Miss Tanner.

"Katie Snowe, your present goes to Donna Roberts."

Katie, taken aback, raised her hand.

"Yes, Katie?"

"Miss Tanner, I bought a present for a boy."

"Oh yes, let me see, I'm sorry Katie. Your present doesn't go to Donna, it goes to Luke Hail."

Katie was shocked, and for a few seconds her mouth hung slightly agape as she stared disbelievingly at Miss Tanner.

Every child had finished ripping the wrapping paper off of their present, and most were chattering excitedly, either praising or lamenting their present. Only two children in the classroom were silent as they stared at their gifts.

On their way out the door, Luke caught Katie's arm.

"Hey Katie, I juts wanted to tell you, that, that, you did a great job, I mean," he said, turning red, "I mean your present is really good."

"Thanks," Katie said quietly, "Yours too. I really love that necklace."

Miss Tanner had unintentionally begun a friendship that would last a lifetime.

High School Prose

1st Place High School Prose

Flash ~ Sally Smith

There was a whisper of violet on the open air, a draft caught forever in time between the softly breathing window and the vast suction of the abyss that was the open doorway. Life was but one long summer day sprawled out immovably on a pink chaise, one heel rigid with the effort of maintaining a heel on the soft and slippery fabric. Sometimes I missed such effortless mobility. The kind that I saw in the faces pressed against the box, looking in and oftentimes frowning. But what was that humming sound?

Like a sour note, it was carried up upon that last updraft of air before all of the time had stopped; one long perpetual sound, low and then suddenly it was high. The last thing in the frozen, aching room capable of variety or change. My eyes, cold and arch, seemed to be pointed to that strange noise's birthplace, just off beyond the corner of the page. Beyond reach, beyond movement. Outside the box of our advertisement. My companion, a darker haired model than myself, eyes pointed up and away at something unseen and haughty raised her eyebrows and called off shrilly, "You would do so well, you know, to wear your hair tall. Why do you not wear it so?"

"Because darling," I wished somewhat fervently now that I might be able to swap my own expression for one of less absent thought, "I am vogue." Though I could not see her face I knew it to be one of abject ferocity. Like a huntress she had been captured by the camera in a stance that was now to be agelessly dominant.

"It is better like this," swept out in her dark and gangly pose I imagined she must know something that I did not. She had once been the face of Chanel she had told me, a life much more committed than ours; from the moment the click of the camera flashed it was a world of tipped hats and French lips. She must have been afraid I think, trapped in a box that spoke another language. Unable to move her fingers and toes forever amongst a company that she could not exchange ideas with. Perfect loneliness.

But here was that humming sound again. I wanted to ask if Chanel in brunette could hear it but a strange and sudden fear prevented me from doing so. What if this noise was not audible but the product of ears long put out of use? One wrong word, a sentence hung by a phrase that did not exists here and I had this sense that our portrait might shatter. Into a million pieces. Probably first the window, perfect and unseen, next the couch. Here a toe, there a nose; my body ruined in a world that stirred. I could see the eyes of the frozen huntress, scrambled like a Picasso; no longer angry but torn, curls glued and cut together, ringlets no more. What a face and what a sound. The humming. It was moving. If I could draw breath my chest would be aching.

Confusion! It was boring to sit forever in a teacup of tulle. But how easy! So simple were the rules that they hardly needed to be explained. Limbs stretched to positions of comfort and elegance and then it was SNAP! The world was over. Forever young, forever unreal. Life within the picture. Safe and warm and eternal. Glowing skin and teased hair. If only the muscles on my face could drop. If only I could forget the sensation of a scream, or a smile, or sleep. The humming, it thrummed. Nearer and nearer until I could see.

Wings and feet, the body of a fly. Small and dirty but mobile, whizzing in between the tufts of skirt and point of shoe. Alive and here. Movement in space, friction without gravity. Perhaps if I tried I might move my hand, the one bearing the long and quintessentially pointless champagne flute? But was I mad?

I heard her voice as a focused my will, "Dear Lord, what is that racket?"

The champagne flute slipped. With the kind of thud that echoed like a crash it rolled like something vast and loud along the floor, and my eyes followed it silently.

2nd Place High School Prose

Our Special Place ~ Michelle Reidy

It really didn't matter how we got here, that's not important. The important thing is why we were here.

We came here on our bikes we had found months before, abandoned in the woods. They were old rusted metal frames that we took home and fixed up. We wove our way down the twisting and turning dirt driveway, through the rolling hills of green grass and dandelion weeds, all the way to the edge of the lake. We have been coming here for ten years now. When we were younger, our parents would bring us here for picnics on the hill next to the lake. We loved to come in the summer and we would lie on the warm grass that tickled our backs and soak up the warm heat that radiated from the sun. As we grew older, we started to make the trip down to the lake on our own. It is our special place, where no one can bother us, or tell us what to do. There are no adults enforcing rules, or telling us that we have better things to do with our time.

Seth had moved to this small town ten years ago and we were friends almost instantly. For some reason, I found that I could talk to him about anything. He was never judgmental, never critical, and never prejudicial about what I told him. He just listened and offered advice.

The spot at the lake was like a getaway, a place where we can be alone. Not once have we come here in the absence of the other. It is always together, just like everything else we do. The lake is like our corner where nothing can go wrong, where the great perplexities of life are solved, where we create more memories. One of those memories is our first time swimming here. Seth and I were standing on the dock, bundled up in our life jackets and arm floaties with our toes hanging over the edge of the dock. We looked like giant rainbow colored marshmallows. Looking down at the water, we could see our reflection looking back at us. Excitement and fear shone on our faces. Simultaneously, we reached for each others hands. 3…2…there was no turning back now…1. SPLASH! The instantaneous sense of panic flashed through my body as the cool water of the lake swallowed our bodies. Seconds later, we began to rise. Our heads popped out of the water and we began laughing. Our splash sent ripples across the glass like water. We swam back to the dock and flopped onto the deck like fish. We lay there soaking up the sun's rays, talking about the amazing feat we had just accomplished. We did it together just like everything else we had done over the past several years.

The answer to why we are at the dock today is that Seth is moving. In the ten years we have been together, this will be the first time we will be separated. Seth wasn't just moving to the next town over, or to another state, but he was moving across the Pacific Ocean. When I knocked on his door earlier, he opened it and looked at me. I could tell that he already knew what was going on. He grabbed his helmet and bike and we peddled the five miles to the dock. Down the twisting and turning dirt road, and through the rolling hills of green grass, we rode in silence.

Not only was Seth moving, but it was the last week of summer; our last week together until who knew when. We sat at the edge of the dock with our pants rolled up and our feet in the water. Even though we were not speaking, we were still having a conversation. That was just the way it seemed to be with us from the very beginning.

Our memory book was sitting between us. The front of the notebook had a red sailboat the we had painted on the cover. The notebook came everywhere with us and was filled with all sorts of fun memories, quotes, pictures, and small items that had some meaning to us. After sitting in silence for what seemed like forever, he finally spoke.

"I'm scared too."

With that said, I couldn't hold back my tears anymore. I brought my feet out of the water and sat hugging my knees with my chin resting between them. Tears were flowing down my face alike a river, and soaking into my pants. The tears left a salty taste on my lips which reminded me of swimming in the ocean, another memory shared with Seth. He scooted closer to me and wiped the tears from my cheek. A small smile started to blossom like a flower on my face. Seth could always make me smile. He put his arm around my shoulders and said, "Let's make the best of our last week together. I don't want to remember us like this."

He reached behind us and picked up the notebook. Pulling a blue pen out of his baggy cargo pants pocket, he opened to the next blank page. Then, he drew lines separating the page into seven boxes and wrote the days of the week above them. I watched the pen glide over the paper. The lines were so smooth it was like he was creating a ribbon that could just pop off the page as he drew.

When he turned to me, he looked me straight into my eyes. His eyes were serious but the special sparkle appeared as soon as he smiled. What should we do? He said calmly.

We sat there for the next two hours filling the page with what we were going to do. It was so full that we had to go onto the next page. It may have helped if our writing was more organized, but like all the other entries in the notebook, things were written sideways, in circles, and even upside-down.

There was no time to waste so we got right to our plans. That night, Seth and I went down to the dock with the notebook, some popcorn, and blankets. We watched the sunset stain the sky a beautiful pink and orange hue. When it was finally dark enough the stars were shining bright, we watched for shooting stars.

Throughout that week, Seth and I spent almost every minute together. With all of our plans, we made the week last as long as we could, but it was not long enough. We did not want to say goodbye so soon. It's the end of the week now and Seth leaves tomorrow. When I woke up that morning, I walked straight to his house. I was wearing the pair of jean shorts and gray sweatshirt that I fell asleep in the night before. My green flip-flops squeaked from the morning dew as I walked along the wet grass along the well worn path to Seth's house. His house was not far from mine but the walk seemed to take forever. The more I wanted to get there, the farther away it seemed.

When I finally arrived, I sat in one of the chairs on his porch waiting for him to come out. A half an hour went by and he still was not out yet. Finally, his mother came out with a steaming cup of coffee and sat down. She didn't notice me at first. She looked peaceful but caught up in her own thoughts. When she noticed me, she didn't seem surprised. I didn't want to tell her that I had been sitting there for a while but somehow, I almost thought she knew. Her wavy blond hair was messy and she was still in her pajamas and bathrobe. She smiled at me and motioned for me to follow her. We went inside and we sat on the couch. The smell of coffee filled the room and made me feel like I was at home. Boxes were stacked all around the room with labels written on the side saying things like "Dining Room", "Living Room", and "Photos." An empty feeling filled my chest as I thought of Seth leaving. I could feel tears swelling up in my eyes but I didn't want to show my weakness in front of her.

We sat in silence for a few minutes and then she began to talk. She started to tell me about the house and how excited they were. I clenched my fists, not because I was angry but because I was sad and scared. I didn't want them to leave. They were like my second family. Then she suddenly stood up, throwing her hands in the air and said, "Too bad the deal fell through and we are not moving."

"I stood up and gave her a hug. The tears that were previously tears of sadness were now tears of joy. I looked up at her and pointed upstairs. She nodded. I ran up the stairs as fast as I could, threw open Seth's door and jumped on the mound of blankets on the bed. There was a loud growling sound that came from under the pile of blankets. Two hands popped out and pulled the blanket down. Seth opened his eyes and when he saw me, he sat up and smiled. I smiled back. We hugged and started to laugh. His mom called up from downstairs and asked if we wanted some waffles just like old times. We couldn't' seem to stop laughing as we made our way downstairs. We stuffed ourselves with his mom's waffles that we drenched in syrup.

Afterwards, we hopped on our old bikes and began a new day. Down the twisting and turning dirt road we rode, through the rolling hills of green grass to the edge of the lake. The notebook came with us and we filled it with our new memory: Best friends, together forever.

 

3rd Place High School Prose

Patrick ~ Holden Rogers

Once upon a time, there was an evil little gnome named Patrick, who lived in the Hotel Las Vegas, where he caused mischief and trouble. Patrick had lived in the hotel for many years, surviving on room service scraps, bars of soap, and tiny mints from the tops of pillows.

One day his mother, Dianne, left him in their room while they were on vacation. Sadly, she never returned to collect Patrick. It's uncertain why Patrick is such a mischievous little gnome. Was it because he was still battling with the internal conflict of his childhood abandonment? Was it because he was forced to wrap himself in dirty tinfoil and climb into the air vents to keep warm in the winter? Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that, over the years, he had consumed semi-lethal quantities of chemicals from the soap eating. We'll never know.

Patrick was slightly less than three feet tall and his dirty-white hair stuck out haphazardly from his filthy gnome hat. He wore traditional gnome clothes, pants and a matching shirt with a belt to prevent from catching fire in the tiny air vents. Patrick's face might have once been attractive and cute, but after years of torment it had grown into a twisted scowl. He had razor-sharp teeth and beet-red eyes and he wore steel-toed boots, perfect for crushing people's dreams.

Patrick's idea of a fun night out consisted of breaking and entering, releasing elevator cables, setting the fire alarms off at 3 a.m., and distributing bits of rancid hotel garbage in the suitcases of unsuspecting hotel guests. Patrick was so evil that he would disrupt the hotel's computer system, charging innocent families for x-rated films! He had no friends and that's the way he liked it! He didn't want to be nice; he didn't know how to be nice. He was like a crazy robo-gnome programmed to HATE.

One night while out making trouble in one of the hotel's guests's rooms, he found a box of childrens crayons. A good box of crayons was Patrick's one weakness. He sure could eat those tasty little treats. His favorite color was the fir-engine-red. He began devouring the crayons, color after color. He squealed with delight as the colors combined and separated in a tornado of flavor within his mouth. Then suddenly the hotel room's door swung open. The lights shot on, but as fast as he scampered he couldn't get away!

"Those are my granddaughters," an enormously obese woman yelled, who was now standing in the door way.

Patrick had to think fast if he was going to make it out of here alive… she looked hungry. Just then she purse slapped him across the face. Bits of crayons from his mouth sprayed across the room, sticking to the window that overlooked the Vegas strip. He staggered back, crawling across the room. He wasn't fast enough though, before long she was on top of him spraying him in the face with pepper spray. Incapacitated on the floor, Patrick rolled across the carpet. He could hear the sounds of the woman dialing the 9-1-1 for help.

"I'll be damned if I'm going to let Fat Albert be the end of me," Patrick thought as he struggled to his feet.

"YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE," he yelled as he jumped onto the bed, slammed his head on the ceiling, and flipped over the woman and out the door.

Staggering through the hallways, eyes ablaze, Patrick made out the bright red EXIT sign. His tiny black heart skipped a beat, maybe he would make it out of here alive! He ran for the sign, but suddenly two men jumped out from behind the corner. One was tall and skinny, the other was short and bulky. The tall one had a long pole with a net on the end. The short one had one of those do-hickeys that they use to catch dogs, the kind with the rope that tightens around the dog's neck. Patrick took evasive action. He ran up the side of the wall, grabbing the short man's dog catching tool. He quickly wrapped the rope around the tall man's neck, strangling him to death!

"OH MY GOD," yelled the short man as he ran down the hallway.

"GET BACK HERE," Patrick yelled.

Running after the man, fire in his eyes, Patrick jumped to grab him. He just caught the heel of the man's boot, tripping him and sending them both down the stairs. Patrick tumbled down the flight of stairs and smashed his head across the hard marble floor. Jumping to his feet, he ran for the door, his last chance of escape! That's when it happened. He slipped and fell on a slot machine token, cracking his skull on the casino floor. He quickly fell unconscious as the policemen swarmed around him.

When Patrick woke up he was in a tiny box, closed in from all sides! There was no escape! No way out! He was going to die in this box! He couldn't find a way out, he couldn't possibly survive! He started getting angry. He was suddenly filled with a white hot rage! He began ripping the box apart, smashing it to pieces! When he escaped he found that he was on a lone island. The bright sun beating down, stinging his eyes. Where was he? How did he get here?

Suddenly he remembered what had happened. His repressed memory was lifted. After slipping on the casino token, he was bound and gagged. He was thrown into a police cruiser, which drove him to the airport. Patrick had a lot of crimes to account for over the years. He was taken to a plane and packed in a box, labeled for none other than… LEPER ISLAND!

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," Patrick screamed, "THIS ISN'T OVER."

TO BE CONTINUED

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