Fiction 59: Kids winners
Blossoming writers, fifth grade and younger
The Weeping Willow
The limbs dangle in the wind swaying left and right slowly. The wind sounds like magical melodies. My voice says, “Hello” in a soft tone. They answer back, “We may not say a word. We can only listen to your sweet harmonious voice.” They sway again. I try to listen … nothing comes. They say goodbye and the wind blows.
Zephyr Polsan, 10
When asked about what her motivation was for writing her story, Zephyr Polsan said, “I love willow trees” and “I love to write stories.” That was more than enough for the Sherwood Montessori fifth-grader— who also enjoys acting, dancing, singing and doing art—to create this beautiful story that caught the eye of judges.
The Packaging Up of Christmas Lights
I despise February 14. It’s the precise day, yearly, that Mrs. Connelly takes us down, string by string. It’s depressing, the thought that the simplicity of our radiant light is no longer needed. I appreciate the boisterous racket the kids down the street make, horsing around. Before, snatch! … shove! … SLAM!!!!! I’m stuck with cardboard claustrophobia until Christmas next year.
Annika Edstrom, 11
Annika Edstrom does not limit herself to one artistic pursuit. The Blue Oak Charter School fifth-grader does like to write—and she created her second-place story for a class assignment—but she also makes time to dance, sing, play piano, act (she’s playing Flounder in the upcoming production of The Little Mermaid Jr. at Laxson Auditorium), and play golf with her dad.
Long Blonde Hair
Max had long blond hair and dirty clothes. People thought he was a girl. He was too shy to tell them that he was a boy. Max liked to play Yahtzee with his little brother. He was really good at skateboarding. People would say, “She is so wonderful at skating.” He would just say, “Thank you,” and ride away.
Cedar Bailey, 7
It’s probably not an accident that there are a lot of similarities between Cedar Bailey and his character Max. Like Max, the Sherwood Montessori second-grader is fond of riding his skateboard, and he said that he even drew his own deck design, a picture of a skull that his dad helped him paste onto his board.
We burst through the brush. My pack stays low to the ground. We sniff to follow the scent. Then we spot it, the elk. One by one, we take shots at it. Running by it and slashing at it. We’re a blur to it. It can’t see us. It tries to fight back. But we’re too fast for it.
Colin Philippi, 10
As I watch the coyotes howl, I hear a small bark from the middle of the pack. I realize the runt must be in trouble, but it is natural for the runt to die. The now agonized barks start to fade slowly but surely. Then, the pack commences to move. The coyote’s small body is very limp and bloody.
Declan Onstot, 9
The Time Comes
I was gripping my wand tightly, sweat and blood dripping down my solemn face. Would I live or die? Could this be the end of Snivelis? There he was, so I made my move. “Windras!” I shouted bravely. His wand hurtled toward me. Then it came, the end of the evil Snivelis. “Kilosa Manis!” and he was finally gone.
Bridget Mary McCabe, 9