2012 Celebrate the Arts Writing Contest winners To recognize and encourage the talents of literary artists, the Arts Council of Westerville,

Westerville Public Library and the Westerville News & Public Opinion invited writers of all ages

to be a part of the 2012 Celebrate the Arts Writing Contest.

The contest, in addition to calling upon writers to share their works, was conceived as a

new dimension to the monthlong celebration of the arts in Westerville during April.

This is the sixth year for the collaborative event which originally launched in January

2007.

Writers submitted their entries according in categories arranged by age or grade in

school. The submissions were required to be original works of 800 words or less. Any genre was

welcome: poetry, free verse, short story and others.

The winning entries follow. A collection of all the entries also has been published and is

available for checkout in the library collection, as well as online at Lulu.com.

Writers, their families and fans gathered for congratulations, refreshments and the

opportunity to read from their work at the Reception for Writers held at the library April 14.

(NOTE: No edits were made the writers’ entries for punctuation or spelling.)

1st Place Category: Grades K-2

Tatum’s Winter Fun

By Tatum Hubble I love many things about winter. Sledding is fun because my dog tries to bite the sled when my brother

and I sled down the driveway. Building a snowman is something I like to do with my daddy. He likes to

make the snowman bottom big. I like to put on the carrot nose. My family and I enjoy making snow

forts and having a snowball fight. Maximus, my dog, loves when I make snow angels. He attacks me

when I am on the ground. He also has fun trying to bite our gloves. One of my favorite winter foods is

flavored snowflakes. My mom and I use our imagination by sticking out our tongues and catching the

snowflakes. We yell what flavor we caught. My real favorite winter food is hot cocoa. I drink it when I

come in from playing in the snow. There are lots of things I love about winter!

2nd Place Category: Grades K-2

The Haunted House Book

By Katy Mullins

I remember when my dad pulled up by a gas station. Over the hill there was standing a creepy

house. I went over the hill and I went inside. A hand grabbed me. It started to twirl me. It pulled me

into another room. It was so dusty and it had spider webs everywhere. I ran everywhere. I went for the

door. Kabamm! It closed just like that. No I don’t want to be here all alone.

I went upstairs. Creak, Creak, Creak. I found a piece of paper. It said, “Legend. There is no

way out except: 1. You must find a ruby. 2. Find the silk glove. 3. Find the bell. 4. Get the ghost breath.

5. Get the black dress.” Then it said, “To get a tub and mix all of the things you find together.”

Then I started to look. A ruby, hmm…. Oh I know the chest I saw. I looked. There it was!

Now where could that glove be? Oh, I know where it is. It is right up here in the clothes drawer.

I was right.

Okay, where’s that bell? I climbed to the top of the tower. There it is! Now where’s the ghost

breath? Oh, I don’t find it. I have to catch it. OMG, a ghost! I got it! The ghost breath!

Now where’s the dress? Could it be in the sewing room? No, because it’s not sewn. Could it be

in the closet? Yes it is! So I mixed it all up. I spread it on the door and I was out. That’s the story.

3rd Place

Category: Grades K-2

A Treasure Hunt

By Jordan VanLandingham

I hunt up a leaf. I hunt up a tree. I hunt up a house.

I hunt up a doughnut! I hunt up a doll. I hunt up a box.

I hunt up a door. I hunt up a moon. I hunt up a planet.

I hunt up a door. I hunt up a staircase.

I hunt up a bed and go to sleep.

Honorable Mention Category: Grades K-2

Nimo

By Lucy Grilliot

Nimo is my best friend ever. Nimo’s favorite food is pizza and mine is too! Nimo and I like

blue. Nimo has 4 brothers, 5 sisters, 0 cats and 0 dogs. Nimo goes to Emerson. We like to swing. Nimo

was born in Africa. We play together every day!

Nimo is the opposite of me. She has black hair and I have yellow hair. She has darker skin than I

do. Nimo has nine brothers and sisters and I only have one sister. Even though we are a little different,

we’re still good friends!

1st Place Category: Grades 3-5

The Vinder Viper

By Alex Fletcher

Once upon a time there was a guy name Rick White. Rick lived in a big house with a lot

of windows on Powderhorn Lane. On April 5, 2012 the phone rang. Rick answered the phone to a guy with a low gruff voice. He said “This is the Vinder Viper. I vill be there in 5 days.” Rick was really scared. He went through the town asking people if they had ever heard of the Vinder Viper. He also tried to find the Vinder Viper on the computer.

A few days later the phone rang again. Rick answered the phone to hear “Hello, this is the Vinder Viper. I vill be there in 2 days.” Rick locked his bedroom door and hid in the closet for 2 days.

Two days later the phone rang early in the morning and Rick answered the phone again to

hear a guy with a low gruff voice say “Hello…this is the Vinder Viper. I vill be there in 1 hour.” Rick thinks to himself and decides he is not going to be scared any more. I’m getting out of this closet.

One hour later the doorbell rings. Rick nervously answered the door and a pleasant

looking guy in a uniform says “Hi, I’m here to vipe Rick Vhites Vindows can I have a drink of vater please?”

Rick felt much better after all the research online and asking people was for nothing,

because now Rick White knows that the Vinder Viper is a just a guy that can’t pronounce his w’s correctly and washes windows.

2nd Place Category: Grades 3-5

My Crazy Family

By Stephen Troutner

My family is crazy everyone says, and it’s true. Every year is different, but between my Uncle George who lives in an insane asylum, and my Grandma Schnippy who lives on a farm, I go nuts. My Dad and sister Julie both have short term memory loss which makes me and my mom’s life hectic. I can tell my sister the same joke over and over again, and she will laugh every time.

Every year my mom makes us keep our presents from Uncle George. She says it’s very polite, but

I think that since he is crazy he won’t know. This is my thank you letter to Uncle George last Christmas. 3.14 Crazy Lane Off in the Head, NY 54321 April 1, 2099

Dear President (or whatever you are right now,) The Barbie you gave me is great. My action figures completely destroyed it. Also the headband is now part of a slingshot I use a lot. The purple butterfly dress is now getting eaten by the insane oversized Chihuahua you sent me last year for my birthday. Oh by the way, the Chihuahua also ate the pink backpack I got from you last Christmas.

Thanks again, Mark

Ever since my Grandpa Schnippy died my Grandma Schnippy has been acting crazy. Grandma Schnippy doesn’t recognize us or her best friend Ginny Mallow, who is heartbroken and comes every day. One time we stayed for a week at my Grandma Schnippy’s. It was very interesting being with her for an entire week. This is what wrote to thank her for hosting us.

6143 Golden St. Cactus, Texas 53234 August 9, 2099

Dear Grandma Schnippy, The week-long visit was really enjoyable. I can never resist those homemade pot-pies you have that are leftover from 2075. My bellyache was the best one yet and the home remedy you gave me really did the trick. And those Turkish cobblers from when you lived in Turkey were the best! By the way, when did you live in Turkey? That straw bed you rigged up was so comfy that I was wondering if you could send me some of that straw. That horse drawn wagon was awesome! And the record player was beyond any mp3 player I’ve ever seen.

See you later, Mark

At my doctor appointment, when I was 13, I learned that I had started going crazy too. I couldn’t believe it! What was happening to me? Was our family doomed? Millions of thoughts raced through my head… Imagine what silly things I’d start doing now. Wait… what’s my name?

3rd Place Category: Grades 3-5

The Mona Lisa

By Natalie Hoffman

It was a cool summer day at the best summer camp in Paris. Alice and Samantha were walking down to the lake to meet Michael. “Why do you think he wants us to meet him down there?” asked Alice. “I don’t know,” Samantha answered. When they reached the side of the lake, Michael came running at them. “Someone stole the Mona Lisa!” Michael screamed breathlessly. “What!” Alice and Samantha screamed. “How could you not know?” their enemy Violet said, coming out of the bushes. “What do you want Violet?” Alice said annoyed. “Yeah, I thought you were ignoring us?” Samantha said as Violet stormed off. “We should go to the museum,” Michael suggested, forgetting what just happened.

They went with Michael’s idea. As they went to the museum, they only talked about the Mona Lisa, wondering what happened to it. “So this is it,” Michael said as they arrived at the crime scene. There was velvet around where the Mona Lisa had been and a police officer. They looked around to find anything suspicious. About an hour later, Alice got tired so she tried to lean against the wall, but instead she fell right through the wall and landed on a smooth surface going upward. A few seconds later she realized that the wall opened. “Are you okay Alice?” Samantha said, worried. “Yeah I guess,” Alice said feeling the top of her head where a bump was now. “Alice, you found a secret passage!” Michael said excitedly. “Don’t go in. It’s too dangerous for kids,” a police officer interrupted their happiness. When Alice got up, the passage immediately closed again. As they left they saw the police trying to get it opened again, but it wouldn’t budge. They even brought in the chief to try and get it opened. “I can’t believe they can’t get it opened. I mean you fell right through it,” Samantha said laughing as they left. At their cabin, they turned on the T.V. and the whole thing was all over the news. Alice opening the door, Alice was the only one who could get it opened, and how the police can’t get it opened. When Alice and Samantha were asleep, Michael sneaked into their cabin. Michael shook Alice and Samantha to get up so hard that Samantha fell off the bed. “We need to get in the museum and go through the passage,” Michael said showing them things to help them get in, that he got at spy camp one summer. “Fine, let us get dressed first,” Alice said, too tired to argue. They left for the museum at midnight. When they got to the front doors it was locked, but Michael found a paperclip in his bag. It took him a while, but he did it in about four minutes. They went through five corridors before they reached the Mona Lisa display. There were lasers blocking the area. Samantha did gymnastics every year so she carefully did cartwheels, flips and backbends across the lasers. When she reached the other side she turned the lasers off so they could come across. “I think you’re the only person who can open it,” Michael said Alice slowly took a step forward and it opened. They all walked through and the passage closed. “How long have we walked?” Samantha said as they reached the top where a long, but skinny safe was. “About an hour I think,” Alice answered as Michael was already trying to get the safe opened. Clank! They turned around and saw that Michael got the safe opened and in it hung a big picture with a brown haired woman with a little smile. “We found it!” Michael said excitedly. “We should go on. The person who stole it could be over there,” Samantha said as she pointed to another passage. They continued through the passage for about another hour until they saw a ladder, and a peak of light. Alice was the first one to climb the ladder. When all of them got out, they realized they were next to the lake at camp, behind bushes. The same bushes Violet crawled out of two hours after the Mona Lisa was stolen. “Violet stole the Mona Lisa!” Samantha said.

They ran back to the museum, but this time they came back to five police officers and Violet. “Violet stole the Mona Lisa!” Alice said in a confident voice. “How do you know?” the chief asked. Alice explained everything that happened from beginning to end. “It’s true. Violet’s fingerprints are on it,” a police officer said after Alice was done, since they also brought the Mona Lisa back with them. The rest of the summer was perfect. It was more fun and less mean there without Violet, although nobody knows what happened to her.

Honorable Mention Category: Grades 3-5

An Emotional Day By Alyssa Gaskill

Tick…tick…tick…riiinnggg. That’s when I jumped up out of my seat and ran out of the classroom door. I darted out of the school and went to the second grade door to pick up my little brother. We both raced to the car where my dad was waiting for us. My dad was in the car, but nobody else was with him. The suitcases weren’t there, and my mom, dog, and older brother weren’t there either. I was thinking what’s going on, but I couldn’t figure it out. The car ride home was very quiet. I was asking my dad what was going on, but he didn’t say a word. He just kept his mouth shut. Now, I started to get worried. We pulled into the driveway only to find nobody home. My dad got out of the car, went inside, picked up two bags, and got back into the car. We drove to Mount Carmel Hospital’s parking lot. When we walked in, we went up to the front desk. My dad asked if we could see Rebecca Gaskill. Now, I was petrified because that was my mom’s name. The front desk lady said she was in room three hundred. After thanking the woman, we quickly made our way to room 300. My dad opened the door. He told my brother and me to go inside because there was a present waiting for us. My brother and I slowly walked in. The first thing I did was break down into tears. My little brother asked what was wrong and if mommy was okay. Then, he walked in even further to see three people lying in the hospital bed. He asked me who that other person was laying next to mommy. My dad said, “That’s your new baby sister Isabella.” I asked to hold her, but he said, “No. She came out to early and she is very fragile. We can’t let her be held by anybody except mommy. We have to have a nurse in here at all times. That’s why she’s here.” Hearing my dad say those words broke my heart. My cheerful tears turned into devastated tears. My mom asked me if I was okay. I said, “Yes, but I can’t believe that something might be wrong with her.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. The test results came back and the doctors are just being cautious. She will be fine. We actually get to go home in one week if she’s still doing well.” With those words, I was elated.

1st Place Category: Grades 6-8

The Silver Dollar

By Kalie Sivick

The year was 1937. I was seven at the time and my little brother Sam was five. It was the week after Christmas and we had each been given a dollar as our present. We had gone to the movie theater before; it was no big deal for us to walk there alone. However, a spectacular new movie theater had recently opened up, and we had been desperate to go since it opened. Our parents would not give us money for the theater, of course, or even pay us for the work we did around the house; we had had to wait until Christmas. Our parents thought it was silly and a waste of money, but we didn’t care; we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to go to the new theater. We had saved our Christmas money for an entire week, which was a hard feat in itself. The temptation to head up to the corner store for some penny candy was almost overwhelming. However, I knew I would not have enough for the film if I wasted any money on childish desires. One cold morning at the start of January, Sam and I threw on our clothes: tattered, worn pants of undetermined origin and warm, wool Christmas sweaters that our mother had spent so many hours knitting. I helped my little brother into his old parka and mittens and struggled to get on my own, too-small coat. We headed out the door, promising Mom we’d be careful. I held my money in my clenched fist inside my flimsy glove. It was one silver dollar, a dollar that my father had worked hard to earn in the coal mines and deserved to keep himself—but instead chose to give it to me. My cold gloved hand holding tight to Sam’s, we hurriedly crossed the street and entered the movie theater. The first glimpse at the new theater! It was grand, taller and wider than I could ever have imagined. Decked out in beautiful crystals, the main hall gleamed and sparkled, leaving us in breathless awe. Timidly, we approached the large, brightly colored stand in the middle of the room. An older, jolly-looking man peered over the counter at us, smiling. “Well, well. What can I get you two boys?” he said, spectacles sliding down his nose. “Ummm… two tickets for As You Like It, please, sir,” I said, voice quavering. “Ho-ho!” laughed the jolly old gentleman. “Isn’t that film a bit…mature for you boys?” Not sure what to say, I replied, “Oh, no, sir. We’re very mature. Our mother helped us pick out one we’d like.” The old gentleman stroked his beard. “Well, all right then.” He pulled two ticket stubs out and handed them to us. “Let’s see. That comes to… thirty-five cents each, so, seventy even.” I took off my gloves, took out the coin and handed it to the man. “That’s for me,” I said. “Sam’s on his own.”

Sam, looking slightly green, tugged on my sleeve. When I looked down at him, he whispered to me, “Mark, I ain’t got my money.” “What? You had it when you left! It’s in your pocket,” I said, suddenly worried. “No, it ain’t,” he told me. “It musta fallen out.” Looking crestfallen, he said sadly, “And that was a whole silver dollar, too. Now I ain’t got no way of seeing the movie.” He looked so disappointed that I said, “You know what, Sam? I’ll pay for you, too.” Astonished, he looked up and said, “But Mark, that’s your Christmas money! I ain’t gonna do that to you!” Not regretting my decision at all, I told him, “Nonsense! C’mon, let’s go see that movie!” Now, so many years later, I don’t remember much about the movie; I have no recollection of what happened after. But what has stayed with me, even now after my brother is gone, is the joy I felt in being able to truly give something from my heart to someone so special to me. Sam, I will never forget you.

2nd Place Category: Grades 6-8

Red Checkered Dress By Gabby Gates

It was a warm Saturday in July. The sun was shining brighter than ever as we drove on the country rode. My friend Maggie and I were going to my grandparent's farm for a late afternoon barbeque. When we arrived a sweet little girl in a checkered dress sat on an old rusty swing set near a line a trees. I walked over to her and asked her where she was from, thinking it must have been one of my grandma's friend's child or grandchild. She stared up at me blankly and started swinging again.

"Well that was weird," I say, "She must be shy or something." I had never seen her before and the way she looked at me just gave me a strange feeling.

"Ya, that really wasl" Maggie exclaims because she could already smell my grandpa's old fashioned steak and his famous blackberry pies.

I laugh as Maggie takes a deep, long breath of the fragrant air. "I guess I will ask Granny who she is. She was pretty darn cute."

"Do it quickly, will ya?" She says running to the front of the barn door. "I'm starving l" She opens the barn door and we see our family and friends square dancing, laughing, and having a great time. My grandpa is at the grill, and my grandma is sitting with a bunch of her colleagues at a picnic table.

I walk over and give her a hug and tell her how excited I was. "Hey Granny," I say, "nice to see!"

"You look precious, Heidi!" She says twirling me around so she can get a good look at my cowboy boots and tied up plaid shirt.

"Thanks, and by the way, who is that girl out there on the swing set?" I ask pointing to the now empty swing set. Wait, what? Empty! How could that be?

"Darling, I think your overheating," She says steering me into an area where humongous fan is blowing.

"But I swear! She had pig tails and a red checkered dress on!" I said confused. This didn't make sense! My grandma paused in her tracks.

"Did you say....red checkered dress, Heidi?" She narrowed her as at me, and at first, I thought she we would get mad at me. But instead, she rushed over to a table and brought back a young woman, about in in her 30's. "Heidi," she said, "tell Ms. Savannah what you just told me." So I did, and after that, they looked at each other silently.

"What is going on here?" I asked. I really had no idea what was happening at the time and neither did Maggie, who was stuffing her face with pie.

"Heidi, that was Savannah's little girl Willow you were talking about, and she died last year from drowning. It was her 4th birthday, and she had just gotten a new red checkered dress." Everything that was in Maggie's mouth fell out onto the floor. "But that couldn't have been her, she is dead."

"What?" I asked. Chills were going down my spine as we all looked at the torn piece of red checkered cloth on the old rusty swing set.

3rd Place Category: Grades 6-8

The Yeas and the Nays By Michael Wade

It had been months since the last time Retsewville had been a pleasant place. The city had been forced to make undesirable decisions in the previous few years and was now paying for what were, in some’s eyes, bad choices. The city, for many years, had prospered, leading the way in issues including libraries, businesses, and until recently, education. Due to a few levy failures, though, the city’s once strong education system had crashed and burned, until finally, the schools were left with little more than a few teachers and hundreds of uninspired students. Since 2012, when the big split had occurred, the city had been divided. There were those who were still in support of the schools, usually referred to as “Yeas”, but there were also those who wanted the schools to pay for earlier poor judgment, commonly called “Nays”.

With the two strong, opposing opinions, there was much tension in the air of Retsewville, but the Yeas and the Nays were still intermixed. Neighborhoods were filled with both Yea and Nay residents who enjoyed acting “polite” to each other. For instance, when a Nay left for work and saw a Yea, he would spit at him, only to receive a glare and an obnoxious painting on his garage door when he returned home that evening. Likewise, when a Yea spotted a Nay mowing his lawn, the Nay would soon realize that, oh no, his lawnmower blade just cracked on an unfortunately positioned large plywood “VOTE YES” sign protruding from the grass. The Yea would soon be avenged, however, when he realized that his own lawnmower had been stolen and was currently being smashed to bits by his enraged neighbor and his sledgehammer. And, with yet another levy approaching, the “polite” acts of both sides were only becoming “politer”. It was March 4, 2013, one day before the big voting day. Rallies everywhere brought hundreds of Yeas or Nays, trying to get people to vote in their favor the next day. Zach Carter, a twelve-year-old, could see five different street-corner rallies from where he stood. He was from one of the rare families that was neither for the schools nor against them. He could not understand what made Nays any different from Yeas, and for that matter, from himself. Having been out on a walk, he stared at the opposing people and dreaded the walk home, a walk on which he would have to pass multiple street corners of energetic, passionate Yeas and Nays. Zach started walking, stopping only when a crowd got in his way. It was the third time he stopped when a rally leader covered in “VOTE YES” clothing came over to him, holding a microphone. “What’s your opinion, young man?” he asked, smiling. “I—I don’t really have one,” Zach mumbled into the microphone. “Come on, kid, you’ve gotta have a preference. Everybody’s got one!” he continued happily. Zach wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he looked into the man’s eyes and began to speak into the microphone. “Don’t you people realize how crazy you are?” he began tentatively. There was an immediate response of defensiveness from the crowd; the man hesitantly let Zach continue. “All you’ve done over the past year is hate the Nays. Both sides have their faults, and both have their strong points. But that’s no reason to hate your neighbor. Why can’t we go back to the great community that we used to have? What I’m trying to say is that all of you Yeas want to help the schools. I agree that something needs to change. But what also needs to change is your attitude towards the Nays. They’re never going to help you if you just hate them. That won’t get you anywhere. Maybe if you actually were nice to them you could get them to vote in your favor. But that’ll never happen if things stay how they are.” He handed the microphone back to the man, who had a look of utter surprise on his face. Zach had walked only a few steps away, though, when the crowd behind him erupted in cheers. He looked back to see the man giving him a thumbs up, and he continued walking. From what he could hear, the man had raised the idea for the crowd to go around to the other rallies and street corners to negotiate. Zach continued home. Three weeks later, the hatred between the Yeas and the Nays had subsided almost completely. Lawnmowers were returned, and garage doors were cleaned off. Sledgehammers were left inside, and saliva remained in peoples’ mouths. But most importantly, the city had reached a decision that pleased everyone. Unfortunately, that is as much as I know about the city of Retsewville.

Honorable Mention Category: Grades 6-8

Luke’s Culinary Quest

By Nathan Schroeder

One very cold and dark winter's night Luke Chops was eating a spicy curry, which was tangy at first

than sweet. When Luke was very little, he decided that he would go into the culinary arts so he could be on

Americas Top Chef. So whenever his parents weren't home, he would experiment with different spices and

meats to see what he could create, today it was curry that he made of many different little spices and meats

his parents had just bought. Luke knew that if he could make curry when he was only 13, then he could be

Americas top chef.

2 years later from that point, Luke was graduating from Genoa Middle School, and moving on to

Central High School where he than decided to take a cooking class, Luke knew that he would pass, he just

knew it. On his first day of cooking class Luke walked and realized there was nobody in there except the

teacher, and Luke. "Where is everybody?" Luke asked. The teacher, a short and stout woman, replied, "

Your late, take a seat and prepare me a filet minion in the next five minutes or detention for the rest of your

puny high school career! Luke went to work trying to put it together with the tools she provided him, a

flashlight, a magnifying glass, and frozen steak. Unfortunately, Luke failed and had detention the next day,

and the next, and the next, and so on.

4 years later, and 720 grueling detentions cleaning up his cooking teachers room, and failing at

cooking, he finally got accepted to the Ohio College of Clown Arts were he went on to be the replacement on

Two and a Half Men, replacing Ashton Kutcher.

1st Place

Category: Grades 9-12

The Money Jar

By Michelle McKenzie

When I was seven years old, Mama gave me the money jar. I asked her what it was for, and she just laughed. She said it was for me to save my pennies in, since I had acquired a fine collection from rakin' Miss Hawlbrooke's lawn and sweepin' Mister Miller's sidewalk. Before Mama gave me the jar, I had set the pennies (and sometimes nickels, if Miss Hawlbrooke was in a particularly good mood) on my bookshelf, right above Tom Sawyer and Mama's copy of “Uncle Tom's Cabin”. After a year or two of savin', I started dreamin' of buying Papa a new car, like the one sittin' in Mister Miller's drive. He'd always say “See that car, Annie? That blue one over there?” and I'd say “Yes Papa, sure thing.” Then he'd go on and on about how he was gonna buy that car someday, and take me and

Mama and Susanne all over town. I would smile and close my eyes, picturing Papa drivin' us to church on a fine Sunday morning, seein' everyone's jaw drop as we pulled up. “This one's got character, though,” Papa would smile, turning away and pattin' our old station wagon. When I was ten, I thought about buyin' Mama a new dress, the one I'd caught her lookin' at in the store. It was beautiful; bright purple with flowers printed all over. I watched her look at it longingly, fingering the price tag. Then she turned away, pulling me and Suzanne to her sides. “Now what would I do with that?” She'd laugh. “I got my two girls. Don't need no dress.” We walked past the rest of the store windows, smilin' and laughin' with each other, and not once did Mama ever look at that dress again. A week before Suzanne's eight birthday, I asked her what she'd want, if she could have anything in the world. She sat and thought about this for awhile. “In the entire world?” She asked, lookin' up at me. “Yep. Anything,” I said, waiting for her answer. “Nothin',” she said finally. “Nothin'? Nothin' at all?” I , surprised. “Nope. I got everything I want right here,” she smiled. “Don't need nothin' else.” No more than a few months later, Mrs. Edgar went ill. She was a middle-aged woman, with more than seven kids at home. Mr. Edgar had died years ago, from drinkin' himself to death, people said. Mrs. Edgar herself kept in good health, it seemed, until Pastor Brown informed us of the bad news one Sunday morning. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, waiting for everyone's attention. “As some of you know, a member of our congregation, Sara Edgar, has fallen ill. Unfortunately, none of her children are old enough to work, and Sara will require surgery at the hospital up in Springfield.” He paused, taking up the offering basket that was always passed around after service. “Today's offering will be going to Mrs. Edgar and her family. And in God's name, have a generous heart. They're going to need anything you can spare.” He passed the basket to the first pew. “We will keep them in our prayers.” The church stirred, as people began to dig through their wallets for more quarters. I sat next to Mama as she pulled a five from her pocket. A thought suddenly occurred to me. Slowly, I stood up, making my way past the pews, towards the door. As soon as I got outside, I ran as fast as I possibly could towards home, through the front door, and up the stairs to my bookshelf. I wrapped my arms tight around the money jar, heaving it off the shelf. I ran, slower this time, out the door and around the corner towards church. By now, the service had ended, with people gathered outside for the social hour. I searched for Pastor Brown, not seeing his face among the crowd. Nobody noticed as I slipped inside the church, through the propped-open door. As soon as I walked in, I saw Pastor Brown at the altar, head bowed. Not wanting to disturb him, I set the jar down on the nearest pew. It would be better if no one knew, anyhow. I was about to leave when Pastor Brown spoke. “I see you have quite a lot of money in that jar,” he said. I turned to face him.

“Yes sir. I've been savin' this since I was seven, if I remember right.” “I'm extremely impressed with your generosity, Miss Annie, but are you sure?” He asked. I thought for a moment, not that I needed to. I had known the answer for a long time. “Yes sir,” I said with a smile. “I got everything I want right here. Don't need nothin' else.”

2nd Place Category: Grades 9-12

Grabber

By Alexandra O’Hare

The girl walks around the store. Nothing much to look at; she’s short with light brown hair hung down to her shoulders. Her eyes were a simple muddy brown, with a petite, rounded face. She had a skinny frame, which completed her nonchalant and unimpressive figure. She was never noticed, never looked at by anyone. Even her own parents had never looked up at her over his morning paper on school days when she was a child. To everyone she was just invisible. She remained invisible as she glided down the neatly organized maze that kept its customers separated. They were, as she thought, just rats in an unwinnable maze that had three dead ends, one way in, one way out. Her eyes gazed over the channels holding their valued pieces of junk that she had no interest in. Her eyes continued with their scan, trying to find something, some object that could be worth her intended goal. She had to find something because it had to be today. No other day would do. She had woken up that morning and known she would do it. Today she would finally gain enough courage to do what she needed to do. She just wanted a reaction, some kind of sign that someone knew she was alive. That morning had been like all others with her usual bowl of cold cereal and her parents maintaining their usual spots. She just studied them as her spoon continued to dip in to the murky milk below. Finally, as she finished and no sign of her existence was regarded by either guardian, she gathered her things and left as she had become accustomed to doing each day. As the girl recalled the usual morning events, she spotted something. Something so simple, not even worth noticing or bothering with her intended act, something that was like her. It was perfect; to her it was absolutely priceless. Her hand reached out to graze the clear cellophane wrapper covering the simple pack of gum. It gave a soft crinkle beneath the weight of her fingers. Her fingers curled around it and pulled the colorful paper pack back to her, slowly sliding it into her pocket. With that, a smile stretched across her thin lips as she made her way to the front of the store. Her heart was pounding with nervous excitement, and her palms began to sweat profusely. She curled her fingers continuously and began breathing through her tiny mouth. She had finally reached the front of the store and walked towards the exit as the rush of the event was surging to her brain. The automatic doors

slide open and shut, beckoning her to freedom. The overt noise of the Plexiglas carried back and forth on rubber wheels signaled her approach to absolute immunity. By the time she had reached the doorway, her excitement had begun to drain. She was actually going to get away with it. She would remain unnoticed even after she had let her sticky fingers snatch a simple pack of gum. She stopped for a moment as one last opportunity for someone to catch her. She began to take a step when a voice caught her attention. “Oh miss,” the young gentleman called to her, “have a nice day.” He gave her a genuine smile before turning and walking back toward the maze of shelves. The girl gave a half smile in return, with a hint of disappointment. and walked out the door. Stepping out into the sunlight, the invisible girl heaved a sighed, unwrapped the gum, popped a piece in her mouth, and said to herself, “Happy Birthday to me.”

3rd Place Category: Grades 9-12

Hark, Your God Comes

By Jillian Hadley Koval

A mass of frantic and anxious people stood fighting the wind. The cry had gone from house to house, “God is coming!” They all, at least the older of them, had been waiting for this glorious day forever; their pastor had promised he would come. The adults tore their children, sleepy-eyed and grumbling, from their dreams and pulled them out into the mounting tempest without even dressing them. There was no time; today was a momentous day! The sky was dark and ominous, as if preparing to swallow up the earth; the wind was attempting to knock over all exposed objects in the alleys and streets, and the great noise of trees crying out to the minatory sky for mercy rustled in all ears. A crowd of pajama-clad, disgruntled, and surprised-looking individuals was gathering in the middle of an open field, each person doing their best to stand upright in the ferocious wind and look peaceful in the chaos of the forthcoming storm. The pastor stood in the bed of a rusty, old pickup which had been sitting against the tree line for an eternity, rotting into a pile of rust and metal bones. Nevertheless, it was a glorious pedestal upon which he addressed his people, rising far above their heads in a type of transcendent glory. When enough had huddled together before him, he exclaimed, “Here! Your God comes! I promised you this day; your hopes were not forgotten by me or your heavenly father!” The cheers were muffled by a thunder clap. The wind was now threatening to overtake the small children and bring them to the ground. “Pray to God! He has come to reap the wheat and tear up the weeds! Pray he will save your souls on his march across the world! Pray you are in his favor!” Suddenly, a horrifying wail pierced the surrounding pandemonium, flying overhead like a host of unseen spirits. The assembly tensed. It was a tragic sound; like that a lone, dying leviathan or demon would produce if finding itself abandoned in its final moments. Growing; it was the sound of Death, one long, sour note in the requiem for dying gods, and the sound of air leaking from the earth as it collapsed in on itself. As it grew larger than the atmosphere - wrapping itself around every huddled, shivering body present – it announced the coming of something magnificent and merciless. Suddenly, there was fear.

“Hark! The bellow of a mourning God! He has begun his cleansing of Earth! He weeps for the lost sheep he has trampled! Hark, the trumpet of the Angel of Death! He is passing; who will be crushed as he passes by?” He paused, lifted his head, closed his eyes, and basked in the melancholic siren rising over the horizon. He looked separate from the world and its unrest, ethereal, his face in a pleasant smile. Oh, how his people loved him! He was a man of God; surely he of all could recognize his own heavenly master arriving to receive his faithful! Certainly God was near! The painful note echoing in the sky had become a long, doleful sigh as it died down, still resonating across the field. The pastor stood motionless, bathing; it seemed, in the coming glory. Another noise came tearing across the field; a train was coming. “Hear!” he yelled, “Do you hear that? That is your God! He is coming on the horizon! His footsteps are earthquakes, his voice is thunder, he comes in a cloud of wrathful black –“ Although the powerful resonance overtook his voice, he continued to scream and wave hysterically. The now terrified and lurid people turned and saw a great mass, a vengeful cloud like Moses’ own people witnessed, ravishing and flying across the land. Several screamed; God was surely coming for vengeance! He was horrifying to behold, annihilating all evil in his path and destroying the soiled landscape. They must look away! They all turned to their leader. He lay prostrate on the ground, muttering a final prayer, and his company followed suit, each soul trembling and mortified. Their children began to cry. God was coming, and who knew what would happen as he passed by! In a basement nearby, a family crowded together as the tornado passed overhead. The sound like a train tearing across the houses drowned out the screams.

Honorable Mention Category: Grades 9-12

Why Having Superpowers Isn’t Always a Good Thing

By Julie Bodette

Hi. I’m Luke Marks. And I can set things on fire using my mind. Believe me, it’s not a good thing. People avoid me, just because they think I burned down the

last school I went to. That’s not true- it was only the chemistry lab. The one person that believes me- Sophie Gray- is my only friend.

I never thought it would save the world. It all began on a bright spring day, near the end of the school year. Birds sang, cars roared past,

and students compared plans for summer as I walked up the steps of Edison High. Sophie passed me, long brown hair moving in the breeze.

Suddenly, everything was silent. The chattering of the students, the sounds of the birds, the roar of the cars going past- it all stopped. I looking around slowly, stunned. Everything was frozen in time. That is, everything except for me, Sophie, and a man in a suit walking rapidly towards us.

“Hello. I’m Agent 1027 and-“

“Are you from the future?” Sophie had walked down the steps and was staring incredulously at the man. “Did you just stop time?”

“Yes and yes. I need your help. The president of the United States is threatening to nuke Europe if all the countries there don’t agree to his demands. They think he’s bluffing. He’s not. We’re about an hour away from a nuclear war.”

“Uhhhh…” I stared. “This is important! I’m talking about the destruction of-“ “We get it,” said Sophie, “But what does this have to do with us?” “I need you to deactivate the nukes. Here” He handed us a scrolled paper. “This is a map of

where they’re kept.” “You have to be kidding me,” said Sophie. “Why us? We’re just ordinary kids.” The man started to fade away, along with the rest of the world. “You’re not, and you know it!”

he said, before everything disappeared. ***

I opened my eyes to see a small closet filled with uniforms. The smell of cleaning fluid burned my nose.

“Where are we?” “My guess is a janitor’s closet.” Sophie unrolled the map of the base. “I think we’re here,” she

said, touching it,” and we need to go here” “Doesn’t look too far.” Five minutes later, we were wearing uniforms and walking down the hallway, trying to look

normal. “This is too easy,” I muttered “Shh..” “You! Do you have ID?” asked a guard. I froze. “Of course we have ID, said Sophie, sounding casual. The guard held out his hand. With shaking fingers, I searched my pockets for a card, a piece of paper- anything. Sophie and I both found cards and held them out. “You’re Joe Smith?” the guard asked me “Yes.” “And she’s…” He squinted. “Kevin Brown?” “My full name is Kevinette.” There was a tense moment while the guard examined the card and I struggled to keep from

laughing. “Whatever you name is, you do have permission to be on this level so…” He waved us on. “Kevinette? “ I asked when we were out of earshot “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” We reached the end of the hallway. A fingerprint scanner was embedded in the door at the end,

the only thing standing between us and the missile bunker. Sophie moved towards the scanner, but I shook my head. “Don’t. It wouldn’t recognize our

fingerprints.” “Then what?” “ATTENTION. ALL PERSONELL ARE ALERTED THAT THE MISSILES WILL BE

LAUNCHED IN THIRTY MINUTES.” “We could find another way-“ “Okay” But the map only led us to another, identical door. And another. And another. “I swear, we’re going in circles, “said Sophie, reaching towards the scanner. “We’re out of

options.”

“Wait …” I looked at the door. Like the rest of the base, it was metallic. If I could set things on fire with my mind…

I held my hand against the door. The cool white metal turned orange. Sophie stared incredulously. “You can… melt through metal? I moved my hand in a circle, creating a hole. “Come on” We climbed through the hole, which I then sealed up, as well as the crack in the door where it

usually opened. “ONE MINUTE TO LAUNCH” We split up, looking for some kind of self destruct or stop launch button. “THIRTY SECONDS TO LAUNCH” “I found a manual!” called Sophie, frantically flipping through it The door opened, guards rushing through. “You have to enter a code on the center display panel!” called Sophie “15…14…13…” I shook my head, trying to listen for Sophie’s voice above the sounds of gunfire. “9…8…7…” I felt a sharp pain, and noticed that the world seemed to be turning red. “6…5…4…” Sophie was there, saying something, but I couldn’t hear it. She started typing frantically at the

keyboard. “3…2…1” The world turned black.

1st Place

Category: Adults

On Teaching

By Jennifer Ryjewski

I sat in my older brother’s first grade classroom watching his teacher direct the kids before a party and in a heartbeat I knew that I WANTED THAT JOB. I was three or four at the time and that dream was put on hold only once or twice in high school when I considered becoming a zoologist (who wouldn’t want to play with monkeys all day?) or a veterinarian (more animal love) or an anthropologist (visions of observing native tribes in the rainforest sure sounded exciting). Practicality and other logistical issues (animal excrement, euthanasia, cholera) eventually brought me back to my first dream.

I graduated from Miami University in 1996 with a bachelor’s in elementary education and a minor in Spanish. I intended to use the Spanish skills I had honed in college, and a school district outside of Chicago hired me to do just that. I started that year with so many grand aspirations and plans to change the world. Lots of long days, longer nights and many tears brought me to a Reduction in Force letter in the spring. I had poured out my heart and soul to those kids only to be dropped by the district due to budget cuts. A teacher left the school that summer to stay home with her babies and a great shuffling of staff took place so that my position reopened. I was hired again. I continued to teach in Chicago for five years more, moving classrooms every year, and changing schools every other year.I got married and moved to North Carolina, teaching in Chapel Hill for two years. Though my skills as a teacher improved with time and practice, the job never got easier; the expectations I set for myself only increased. At the end of those eight years I felt like I had been chewed up and spit out, that I had given my all and had nothing left at the ripe old age of 29.

At the end of that last year, a student told me about a website students could use to rate their teachers. Though I was curious about what the kids had to say about me behind my back, I was also afraid to find out. After a difficult day, I logged onto the site and searched for myself. Though I read reviews of my colleagues in all of the schools where I had taught, no review of me existed anywhere. Suddenly I felt very humbled. For all the work, all the time, all the tears I had poured into my job, for all the sleepless nights I had had thinking and worrying about my students, for all the tutoring sessions, all the letters I wrote to them, not one student had anything to say about me, good or bad. My aspirations to change the world fizzled and drooped. Though I had done my best, I hadn’t made the difference I had so hoped to make. Years later as a stay-at-home mom to three wee ones I am still in touch with a few former students, a list that grows thanks to the wonder of technology and things like Facebook. What a terrific thing to see these 12-year-old kids all grown up with independent minds and ideas. I didn’t change the world but I did get to take part in it at least and I have pacified myself with this feeling of participation if not one of affecting change. I did my best and I guess that’s as good as it gets. In the fall of 2010, I contacted a former student and it was that note online that opened her heart to me. Though Emily had painted a perfect life to me in her letters and cards over the years, her reality was one of the grimmest I know of personally. Her over-achiever status was a thick veil covering the trauma she had experienced. Here was a girl hurting from years of neglect and abuse, alone in the world with this terrible secret. Nine months later, Emily moved in with us and four months after that, felt comfortable enough to call me and my husband “mom” and “dad”. We have adopted her even though we never felt called to adopt before. While my husband and I are wandering through how to parent a 22-year-old,our new daughter is wandering through how to be a part of a loving, stable family. Somewhere between now and last year at this time I realized my true purpose as a teacher. I wasn’t meant to be remembered for changing the world. I was meant to help. Though I didn’t make a lasting impression on almost all of my students, I have made a difference to one. And that is more than enough.

2nd Place Category: Adults

At College Commencement

By Helen Cho

I could say I knew you when— pale and enamored of the obtuse, the perverse and the incontrovertible; you laid down a line that only you could see, fixing with a baleful glare, all who dared cross it for reasons that you yourself did now know, (but I’m sure could have come up with). I could say,

you were as graceful as a gosling ready to turn into a swan, beak banded with stripes of black and gold, neck arched in a posture that could be described as regal but you would have protested you were much too plebian for that; but the flame would have blazed in your eyes at the comparison, you searched for those comparisons that would define you. I could say, that you went to find those answers in the world, caught a train bound for Mozambique, got off at the station, and turned to the four corners of the world. You turned North and beheld the boundless beauty of the polar caps and you were a seagull perched on an ice floe, eyes half-closed, feathers ruffling in the wind, ready to take off for the next port. South held miles and miles of white beaches, and you were there at sunrise, with just you and those crazy sandpipers chasing the tide. (crazy you) You turned West, and all of Europe laid at your feet; you were in the golden hills of northern Italy that Van Gogh had painted, or stuck in a red Fiat driving in circles at the base of the Eiffel Tower. (those crazy Parisens) You know, the sun blazed in the East, off the roofs of gold pagodas; rickshaw drivers clip-clopped in the winding brick streets for pennies a day. You wondered how the world survives. Survival is never assured, I guess, although I believe it in the main, because it’s as comfortable as an arm chair, and for choosing to believe it, just as I choose to believe this. You saw the four corners of the world and came back happy. And I knew you then.

3rd Place

Category: Adults

A True Story of Love and Courage

By Dorothy Roloson Raduegge Rector

"I dropped my keys; can you get them for me?" "Keys, what keys?" I asked. "To my red convertible," he replied. We rummaged together, as we did so often these days, through the covers on the sterile, steel hospital bed...a bed in which he'd been confuted for nine months. There were no keys to be found, and no red Oldsmobile convertible to be driven. But he drove that shiny, big beautiful car, with its top down, daily. He hadn't owned that car for twenty years, but never forgot the feel of the power behind the wheel, and his brown, silky, gray-free hair blowing in the wind. The lost keys were symbolic of the many losses he'd experienced. He'd been a prominent banker for thirty years. Various, serious medical problems led to loss of job, leg, eyesight, drivers license, kidney function, ability to walk, play the piano, lead his band, The Rhythmmakers -- therefore the major loss of freedom and independence. But he did not lose his positive attitude. He turned crises into opportunity -- an opportunity to help others deal with problems. He called on amputees and became a vital force in the Franklin County Amputee Support Group. He was a lay minister to others, utilizing his listening skills. He did not lose his many friends. At sixty-four years of age, he maintained contact with friends from first grade onward. They called and visited and related stories that I, at times, wondered why they were still alive or had not faced incarceration. They laughed together and loved each other. He grew closer to his children and grandchildren. They did not want to lose a father nor grandfather they respected, admired and loved. One who introduced them to the world of music, camping, silly and scary movies, they would watch all night Friday nights. He laughed with them and shared funny stories. He rekindled a relationship with me, his wife and caregiver. He commented once, "We've lost a lot of time, haven't we." I replied, "No, we've always shared quality time." "What are you doing?" I asked as he lay in the hospital bed placed in the living room next to mine. "Petting the dog," he replied. "He likes to keep me company on the bed." No dog was allowed in his room, where dialysis was performed. But in his thoughts and needs, his dog was with him. Looking for keys that were not there, driving a car while in bed, fishing for fish without water -- you might question had he lost his mind. No! He had not suffered that loss; he was grasping for everything in life that was precious to him, that he loved and yearned to do again and again. We have lost his physical presence, but will never lose a lifetime of memories and the love of a husband, father, grandfather and friend...who touched our lives. Submitted and Written by Dorothy Roloson Raduegge Rector, whose husband, Rudy Raduegge died September, 2000.

Honorable Mention Category: Adults

Breathe: A Memoir

By Hilary Kirchner

We put our neon pink and green swim towels in the grass between the two neighborhood pools. My sister Jenny, already an advanced swimmer at nine years old, jumped into the big pool. I watched her, then looked at the kiddie pool. Nothing but babies in waterproof diapers. I wasn't a baby anymore. I was in the beginner swim class after all. “Mommy, please? Can I go in the big pool with Jenny?” I begged. “Not this time, you're not done with swim lessons yet,” she replied. “But how will I get better if I don't practice?” I learned early that feigning ambition usually worked. She sighed, took my hand and guided me down the ladder into the big pool. She made me hold the pool wall and practice my swim exercises. Inhale chlorinated air above the surface, exhale giant bubbles below. Repeat. My sister, bored with floating around while I practiced swim basics, challenged my mom to a race. Mom hesitated unwilling to leave me, but luckily, my father had just arrived from work in full police uniform. He chatted with the teenage lifeguards and absently nodded to my mother that he would watch me. “Do not let go of the wall,” she said. I nodded and watched them swim off. It didn't look so hard, just float on your belly and kick. I could totally catch up with them. So, I pushed off the wall and started to kick. I kicked hard and fast, and moved my arms the way they did. But I didn't go anywhere. I sank. I kicked harder. Still, I sank. I didn't get a breath before I went under. Bobbing heads turned into blurred, stinging views of swimming legs. What do I do? Do I wait for help? No. No one saw me push off the wall. No one knew I was under here. I can't swim! I can't breathe! My lungs burned; I had no more bubbles to push out. I had to get air and help fast. I let my body sink until my feet hit the bottom. Then I pushed off. I broke the surface just enough to grab a breath and see that no one saw me yet. I exhaled and sank to the bottom again. I pushed upward once more, grabbed a smaller breath and screamed. Still no one. Next try---sink, push, breathe, scream! I swallowed a stomachful of chlorinated water. It burned my throat and made me feel sick. Again. Sink. Push. Breathe. “Help!” This time I heard my mother's voice as I went back under. Push. Scream! Splash. Sink. I was getting so tired. My lungs begged me to just give up and let them breathe. I just couldn't do it though...I had to give it one more try. I looked up from below, preparing for my final push. Just as my feet touched the bottom, I saw a black form rushing toward the water. It quickly set something down on the pool deck. Giant shoes came at me next and strong arms grabbed my waist, hoisting me up. There was water in my ears, eyes, nose, and throat. Yet, I heard my mother screaming and looked at my father, his uniform soaked through, lifting me to the deck. Finally, smelled the fresh air and tasted the vomit and chlorine that followed. I was still coughing up water when the lifeguards ran over. “We're so sorry,” they said with looks that indicated they were worrying more about their jobs than me. The lifeguard who had been in the chair closest to my failed attempt at swimming tried to explain that she thought I was faking it and just splashing around. I rolled my eyes at her, coughed up water for a few more minutes, and looked at the pool. It had all seemed so easy. I felt so embarrassed and sad that tears trickled down my cheeks. The water was still and clear, as if I had never fought for my life and won

just a few feet away from its edge. The only thing that marked the spot was my father's police hat, its brim and badge pointing at what could have been my grave.