Wow, apologies everyone. I have been extraordinarily slow getting this done. And I do mean myself, everyone else was on top of it, I was not.

To start off. Here are the stories and their authors.

Thank you to each one for submitting your stories. It was a pleasure to read all of them. Unfortunately, this year I did not have a chance to make banners for our winners, but please bear with me.

In Second place

We Have

…

A wonderful,

Short story

On wrestling with grief

Through the holidays

…

Bridges

…

By

Yours

Truly

…

Abigail Engle!

Congratulations Abigail!

This was a truly heartfelt story. Dealing with that wrestle with guilt and grief is something that needs to be brought up more often. Abigail did wonders incorporating that into her story.

We did feel it needed mentioned that the race between the first and second place stories was incredibly close, and while we did pick a first place, they are both amazing stories.

Please go check it out Here

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…

…

In First Place

We Have

…

A story,

Told from the perspective of an innkeeper,

of Christ’s birth

…

The Birth of Christ: A Narrative

…

By

Yours

Truly

…

C.L. Mullikin!

Made as factually correct as possible, Mullikin did a wonderful job maintaining the truth from the Bible and incorporating that wonder of Jesus’ birth; that I often forget when just reading the bible. Please check this out, it is a stunning work.

Go Read it here

…

Thank you for reading,

Congratulations to our winners,

And I will see you next time,

Kenzi Ember

by Abigail Engle

As I open my eyes, I know what the calendar will read before I turn to look: December 27th. This year it’s a Monday. Last year it was a Sunday. Last year I went exploring with Cadan the afternoon of Sunday, December 27th. The weather was not ideal—overcast, snow flurries, and a high of 20 degrees—but we didn’t care. Well, he didn’t.

I realize I’m crying. What a way to begin the day. I roll over onto my back. Now the tears stream down the side of my face, but the wet stuff produced by my nose has to stay there. I wonder dimly if I will suffocate on all that snot. I don’t care. Suffocating wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

“Madelyn?” My mom is banging on my door. Why is she banging on my door? It’s only 10, and I’m on Christmas break. And anyway I don’t ever let her bother me.

“Madelyn, are you up?” More banging. I don’t want to say anything; the last thing I need today is for her to catch me crying. I sit up and start frantically wiping my face with the sleeves of my pajama shirt. But now they’re soaked and I’m using my sheets. It’s no use anyway, Mom is standing over me now.

“Madelyn, honey, what’s wrong?”

Her hand is on my shoulder. I shrug it off. “Nothing,” I say.

She sighs and stands up. Good, she’s getting used to this. Maybe soon she’ll learn to leave me alone.

“Well, pull yourself together and be ready to go in ten minutes. Can you do that for me?”

“I don’t need to pull myself together and I’m not going anywhere.”

She sighs again. I hate that sound. “You’re going with us to the movie. Grandpa bought all of us tickets, which was very generous of him. I need you to get up and get dressed and brush your hair…try and do something to look at least presentable. I’m not going to do it for you, you’re fully capable, and you can’t stay barricaded in here forever.”

❈

I’m stuck in a situation I would have loved a year ago: squeezed in the back of a minivan, surrounded by my siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles. The conversation is loud, the music is louder, and I’m not interested in either sound. In this sea of color and family togetherness I stick out like a sore thumb, one that’s infected and rotting. But I don’t mind. I like it like this. I just don’t wanna be here.

“Hey, Madelyn,” my cousin Tracy nudges me. “Remember that time when we were like, eight, and we went to that amusement park in Indiana and we both ate too much popcorn and threw up?”

I give her a blank stare. “Yes,” I say, refusing to betray any emotion.

She keeps trying, the fool. “Well, that was funny, wasn’t it? Like, just think about it,” and she goes on trying to explain the joke to me, but if she thinks treating me like a two-year-old is going to make me have a good time, she’s dead wrong.

“So don’t you think it’s funny?” she concludes. I shrug, roll my eyes and retreat to my corner with my hood pulled over my face. I can’t help but think that Tracy used to be my favorite cousin—she is only two months older than me, after all. I feel a twinge of…something. That’s not regret, is it? I’ll only feel regret for one thing.

An image appears in my mind: flashlights illuminate a twisted body at the bottom of the ravine. A dusting of snow has already fallen on it, and more is drifting down around it. The ground is a mess of dead leaves leftover from fall and snow tainted by both dirt and blood.

I shudder. Though I’ve seen this image countless times, it never fails to chill me to my bones. I have to blink back tears, especially as the minivan is now parking by the movie theater.

❈

The movie is entirely too long. I have a headache by the end of it, yet I haven’t paid any attention at all. It’s a nonsensical cartoon about animals and there were several moments that tempted me to run to the bathroom and vomit. But I had strategically been placed in the exact middle of the row, right between Nora and Lora, my annoyingly giggly twin cousins.

When I’m home, I try to escape to my room but I’m intercepted. “Not so fast, young lady.” My mom latches onto my arm. “You’re going to go thank your grandfather for buying us tickets, and you’re going to tell him what a good time you had with your family today.”

“Mom, no.” I try to wrench loose, but she’s gripping too firmly. I’ll have to make something up. “Can I just go to the bathroom first?”

“The bathroom?”

“Yeah. I haven’t gone since before the movie.”

She reluctantly lets go. “Okay, but come right back. And I want you to spend some time with us today. It’s not good for you to stay locked away.”

“I know,” I mutter as I walk away. I don’t really have to go to the bathroom, but I’m starved for some alone time. The second the door closes, though, I know I’ve made a mistake. I sit down on the lid of the toilet, hug my knees to my chest, and cry as silently as I can. I shake violently from the effort. Somebody’s going to hear, I think as I take in a rasping breath, but my grief is too big to worry about being heard.

I cry because there are no more distractions to keep away the visions of that Sunday late in December, when I lost one of the most important people in my life. No, that’s not right. You silly girl, any outsider observing you would never think he was just “important” to you. This boy must have been your everything. Why else would you be sobbing hopelessly in the bathroom, your body shrouded in black, an entire year after losing him?

And for the first time, I actually ask myself: Why haven’t I moved on?

Because he was your best friend, and you will never have another.

Why not, though? Why obsess over the dead when you can find happiness among the living?

My family has nothing to offer me. They know nothing of my pain.

Are you so sure?

None of them know my mind.

Have none of them lost people they loved?

I don’t like this internal dialogue. I press my hands against my temples, as if that will make it go away. I’ve stopped crying; arguing with myself has turned out to be quite a distraction.

“You’ve got to do something about your oldest, Rebecca.”

My grandmother’s voice, coming from the living room, makes my head jerk up. That’s my mom’s name. I’m her oldest. They’re talking about me. I sit frozen still, straining to hear what’s being said.

“I agree.” I think that’s my uncle. “She’s never going to go anywhere in life if she doesn’t drop the goth look.”

I’ve heard that one before, and I don’t intend to go anywhere in life.

“I know,” sighs my mom. “I should’ve talked to her sooner, but I really wasn’t worried at first since…well, you know. I just thought she was going through the grieving process. It’s just gotten so out of hand….”

“Well, you can’t blame yourself, dear,” consoles my grandmother. “She won’t even talk to you, right?”

My mom laughs bitterly. “She won’t hardly be in the same room as me, let alone talk to me, beyond telling me to ‘leave her alone’ or ‘give her space.’”

“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” my uncle joins in again. “What has she done the entire time we’ve been staying here, besides doing who-knows-what locked up alone in her room?”

“I’ve seen that room of hers,” says my older cousin, Derek. I don’t like Derek. “It’s literally a goth wasteland, dark and smelling of rot. She doesn’t have anything normal in there, like, I don’t know, books, or pictures on her wall, or anything besides her bed and blackout curtains over the window. You really should have her clean it sometimes, Aunt Rebecca.”

His father scolds him. “Now, Derek, that’s no way to speak to your aunt in her own house.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to be related to that kind of trash.”

And I hear no more. I know Derek is right. He’s a jerk, but he’s right. I am little more than trash. I have no reason to be alive any longer. What have I even accomplished with my life, besides causing pain and bringing shame to my family?

I hardly realize what I’m doing as I stand up and walk out of the bathroom. I turn and start to go down the hallway.

“Madelyn?” It’s Tracy. Of course she had to run into me now.

“What?” I glare at her.

She shrinks back at the harsh reply. “I just wanted to say hi. We haven’t caught up in a long time.” She pauses, as if to take a closer look at me. I don’t like being examined, like I’m some kind of artifact or endangered animal. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” I brush her off and walk away, right out the back door.

Next thing I know, I’m going down into the woods.

I know what I have to do.

❈

“Have you been down this way before?”

We’re standing in the middle of the woods, and he’s pointing down an abandoned, overgrown asphalt road. I shake my head. “No. At least, not in a long time.”

“Oh, it’s super cool. There’s a bridge about a quarter mile this way. The whole thing hasn’t been used in decades. Do you wanna go see it?”

I smile. “Yeah. Why not?”

I have nothing else to do. I agreed we would spend the afternoon exploring, and Cadan wants to go down this way.

But he frowns at me in concern. “Are you sure? It’s cold out here. We can go back if you want.”

“Oh, it’s not that cold. I’m good. And I want to see the bridge.”

He smiles big, that pure, goofy smile that demanded a return smile from even the grumpiest of old men. “Okay, if you’re sure. It’s totally worth it.”

“I believe it. Did you say it was a quarter mile down this way?”

“Yeah, why?”

A smile that I hope is mischievous dances on my face. “I bet you can’t beat me there.”

And I take off into the woods, running as fast as I can without slipping in the rotten snow and wet leaves. “Hey! No fair,” Cadan yells as he makes chase after me. I laugh, overcome by a sudden rush of joy. I am young, I am free, I have a best friend.

There’s a bridge all right, and I do reach it before him. I collapse in exhaustion, my body tingling from exertion and cold. It’s so cold.

“I beat you,” I call out to Cadan as he gets to the bridge.

“I noticed,” he replies as he bends over, trying to catch his breath.

I laugh again as I stand up and walk over to the edge of the bridge. I’m higher up than I was expecting. “Whoa. How far is that drop?”

“What?” He’s still recovering.

“Come over here, you idiot.”

“Okay, okay,” he says as he obliges.

“So how far do you think that drop is?”

“I don’t know. Twenty feet, maybe.”

“Hmm. Pretty dangerous, right?”

“I guess.”

We stand there for a little bit, looking down into the bottom of the ravine. There may have been a river there, but now it’s just a mess of the same dirty snow, rotting leaves, and trash.

“Wait, I may have an idea.” Another smile is dancing on my lips.

“What is it?”

“Well, what if I dared you to walk on this ledge”— I tap the bridge’s railing—“all the way across? From end to end?”

“And what if I do it?”

“Then I’ll buy you hot chocolate.”

He nods, smiling, as if he’s considering my offer. “Okay. And what if I chicken out?”

“Then you’ll buy me a hot chocolate.”

“But I want one too.”

“Then you’ll buy one for you too.”

We both laugh. “All right, you’re on.”

“That hot chocolate is going to taste so good—especially since I won’t be buying it,” I tease as he walks to the other end of the bridge.

“Oh yeah, same.” It’s a lame attempt at a roast and we both know it, but it doesn’t matter.

“All right, here goes nothing.” Cadan hoists himself up onto the ledge. “Whoa.” I see him wobble just a little bit.

“You good?” It’s just now occurring to me how potentially dangerous this could be. I try to shrug off the feeling. We’ll be fine.

“Yeah, it’s just a little higher than I thought it would be.”

“I love hot chocolate.”

“Okay I’m walking.” He takes one shaky step, then another. The wind picks up as he makes his way across the bridge. It tousles his messy dark hair. My stomach flip-flops as I realize how truly handsome my best friend is, and how fragile he looks in his current position. It scares me. I’m about to call out to him, never mind, I’ll buy you hot chocolate anyway, this is a stupid dare, and then the wind really picks up. I struggle to stay upright as the frigid blast slams into me. But though I stay on my feet, I’m not able to react to what I see happen before me. The tall boy in the bright blue coat teetering on the edge of the railing loses his balance. His arms flail in the air as he tries to steady himself. He lifts one foot, and a scream finds its way out of me as he puts it down hard on thin air. Then he’s gone.

I scream again, and it echoes in the frozen forest. I stare at the railing, not wanting to go look over it. So I turn and run, even faster than last time. I slip and fall twice, but I pick myself up and keep going. I’m an absolute mess when I finally reach my house. I’m covered in mud and leaves and melting snow and tears.

“Madelyn, what’s wrong? Madelyn, what happened?” The faces and their questions swirl around me, and all I can manage to say is “Call 911. Cadan fell.”

The next hour is a blur. Flashing lights arrive. Men in heavy uniforms ask me more questions and I try to answer through my hysteria. The sun sets.

“Madelyn, listen to me,” my mother says. “You’re going to have to go show the firemen where the accident happened. Can you do that for me?”

Somehow I do it. I lead them down the road, down to the bridge, then we’re looking over the edge, and the image below sends me right over the edge.

It’s Cadan’s body, twisted and destroyed from the fall.

❈

The sky is alive with sunset as I hoist myself up to that cursed railing. I swing my feet over the edge and watch them dangling in the fading daylight.

It hurts to be here. I have avoided the woods at all costs for a whole year.

Probably the only thing you’ve actually accomplished this year.

Yeah, not like it’s worth anything though.

Kinda like me.

I look myself over. Black leggings, black hoodie, black shirt underneath—not quite adequate winter wear. A small gust of wind hits me and I shiver.

The brick of the ledge is hard underneath me. It’s a reverse oven, sapping the heat out of me, much like it indirectly took Cadan’s life. Indirectly. Now, am I directly or indirectly responsible? Do I stand equal with this ledge, or even worse?

I didn’t mean for him to die. I didn’t think he’d fall. I’m just naive and stupid. I’m not evil, I’m just stupid.

Stupid people are mended easier than evil people, but they both have to learn. But while that’s the extent of what stupid people have to do, evil people must learn in order to then be reformed.

Thank goodness I’m not evil.

I would be crying now, but all my tears are gone. Instead I sit numbly, tracing my fingers along the cold, cold stone of this ledge. I am very cold. The feeling is rapidly fleeing my extremities. I wonder, will I freeze to death if I sit here long enough? I’m tempted to see what happens if I spend the night here. Obviously no one will come for me.

But no, that’s not true. My mom still loves me, I think, though I’ve treated her horribly this past year. And Tracy. She was only trying to be nice to me—which is more than I can say for Derek.

And besides, if I want to stop being stupid I have to learn, and I can’t learn if I’m dead.

So maybe every day is an opportunity. I close my eyes and tilt my head back. I breathe in the crisp fresh air. At last, I feel alive again.

“Madelyn! Hey, Madelyn, what are you doing?”

My automatic reaction is to be annoyed at the disturbance, but then I catch myself. This is an opportunity to learn, to try again.

It’s Tracy, calling from where she’s just come into view. Oh, I guess she’s running now.

I lift my hand in a lame attempt at a wave. “Hi Tracy.” I sound stiff and gross, but it’s a start.

She reaches the bridge and stops short. “Oh.” She’s just now realized. “Is this where your friend…?”

I nod absently. “He fell off this railing and died.” It feels strange talking about it. Nobody likes talking about stuff like this, even after a year.

“Oh man. I’m sorry.” She comes closer now, her hands in her pockets. There’s pity on her face and I hate it. I don’t want pity and I certainly don’t need it.

I turn away. “Don’t be. It’s been a year.”

“Well that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”

She’s coming even closer now. I hope she doesn’t touch me. And I don’t like what she’s saying.

“I don’t think it should hurt this bad, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve become a self-centered jerk. I stay in my room all day and I bite off heads if someone dares exist around me. I keep dwelling on the past when I should be focusing on the future. I’m…stupid. And I shouldn’t have treated you like that today.”

I fall silent. Why did I just tell her that?

“Um.” Tracy is thinking, I can tell. “Well I guess it’s good that you’re self-aware—”

“Oh, good grief, Tracy, never mind me.” I whirl around to face her. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been thinking a lot. What did you come out here for?”

She brightens. “Oh yeah, your mom wanted me to come get you for dinner.”

“What even for? She knows I never eat meals around other people.” You hardly eat meals at all, you 100-pound shrimp.

“Just come on.”

❈

It’s dark by the time we reach my house, crunching up the hill in the snow. Light shines outward from the windows, creating a glowing effect. I can hear conversation and laughter from inside.

I shrink back. “I don’t really want to go in there,” I say lamely.

“Oh, stop being silly. It’ll be fun.”

But the second I step through the back door, I know I’ve made a mistake. The kitchen is full to bursting with people I’m related to, and they all quiet down once I appear. I don’t like this. Everybody is looking at me.

Then I see the banner. “We Love You, Madelyn,” it says.

I scan the room frantically, then lay eyes on my mom. “Mom?” I squeak out. “What’s going on?”

Tears glisten on her face. “It was Tracy’s idea, honey. She put all this together. She misses you. I miss you. I feel like I don’t know my own daughter anymore. But I still love you. I’ll always love you, no matter what. And I think I speak for everyone here when I say that.”

“She does,” my grandmother agrees, as she reaches an arm around Mom to hug her tightly.

Other voices chime in, too, assenting.

It’s all too much. “But Mom,” I say through tears of my own. “I’ve been so horrible to you—to all of you. I’m a jerk. I don’t know how….”

My mom is hugging me now, comforting me—that’s something I haven’t let her do in a long time. “It’s okay,” she says, running her hand through my hair.

And for the first time in a whole year, I feel something nice: peace.

I’m not okay, not yet. In fact, I’m still crying. But this time it’s different. These tears will heal me. And I will try again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, until everything is made right again.

“We’re full.”

The sun had dipped below the horizon, fading into the hue of a blood orange. “Finally,” I sighed.

My lower back exploded in shooting pain as I turned away from a few merchants I’d helped settle between a large family.

The inn’s courtyard was awash in tents of every color, like the skeins of yarn merchants paraded—green, ochre, magenta, and even purple. Caesar’s census meant a tighter squeeze for everyone, but the sheer labyrinth of people and animals astounded me.

As did the smell.

“One hundred and twenty-seven. I counted them myself.” My father made a weary noise that seemed to ripple from his bones.

I dragged a damp rag across my forehead, cool water trickling down my chin. I melted into the shade and the sound of the cicadas.

“Stay out until dinner to make sure no one else tries to come in.” My father addressed me, but his dark eyes looked far away.

The bile in my empty stomach thrashed like a storm. “Yes, Father.” Stretching my dust-coated legs, I wove down a passage between tents and blankets spread on the dry, late-summer grass. There had been almost no rain for months, and our once-deep well didn’t seem as boundless as it had in preceding summers.

Striding out of the courtyard, I gritted my teeth to stifle the ache in my spine.

“Hello.” A man’s nervous voice penetrated the rumble of the innyard.

I turned, face twitching from the effort to not scowl. There’s not enough space for another body here.

The man stood, resting his hand on the drooping neck of a donkey. He was average looking, maybe a little timid, but it was his wife who caught my eye. She huddled against the donkey, bathed in dust that dyed her clothes, skin, and hair the same chalky brown. And she was pregnant. Her arms clutched her ribs as if she was trying to shield the baby inside of her.

“Would you please be so generous as to let us room here tonight?” The man leaned over his staff, knees shaking, but his voice was earnest.

In the dimming light, both of their faces glowed with a strange otherworldliness, like the wind had eroded their flesh, leaving behind only their souls.

“We are out of room.”

Their eyes met, a wisp of fear, like smoke after incense, lingering there.

“Please, are you certain?” He leaned forward.

The bile in my stomach burnt with shame. “We were never meant to house so many.” I gestured to the tents full of people hunched over baskets of dried food, their clattering voices ringing in the evening stillness. “We are full.”

“Do you know of anywhere we could stay?” These words spilled from the cracked lips of the woman. Twin tears cut canyons through the dust on her face. Hopelessness rested over her like a veil.

“No.” I shook my head. “Nowhere in this inn.”

The donkey, as if it had heard this before, started to turn its head back the way they came.

“But there is a stable,” I pointed in the direction of the city edges, where hills sprawled like waves of a distant sea. “Though I’m sure you don’t care to stay there.”

“Thank you.” The man’s voice shook with gratitude.

The woman’s head dropped to her chest, lips whispering a feather-soft prayer.

I nodded, turning away, glad to get the couple out of my sight.

But their image was burnt into my mind as I sat beneath my stucco roof, my small family crouched on a low step, washbasin at our sides as we recited our blessing.

“Blessed are you who brings the grain from the earth and the rain from the skies. Have mercy on us, Father, and sustain our needs while we roam this earth.” My father murmured.

The toil of the day seemed cramped up inside of each of us, stopping speech. We passed barley bread, olives, and goat’s cheese around silently.

I didn’t mind it. I wondered what the man and woman I’d given the stable to were eating tonight—probably dates and bread, like everyone else. Still, racing like a lion, my mind knitted together tapestry after tapestry, guessing their story.

Were they farmers from a distant island? Were they the children of merchants who lost their livelihoods at sea? Fishermen who spent their days on a boat, calloused hands gripping nets?

The lamp’s oil had reduced to a few beads as I realized I sat alone on the stoop. Common sense made me rise, snuff out the light, and crawl onto my mat for the night.

The crackle of smoldering fires and voices interrupted the darkness.

I pressed my face into the reed mat, inhaling the aroma of cool earth below.

But no matter how many times I wrapped my head in my gritty cloak to shield it from the babel, a strand of light whispered in.

I sat up. My spine creaked harshly against the soft breathing of my family.

In the hewn-out window, a bright star pinned back the night.

Carefully I crept down the stairs, stepping into my sandals. Outside, in the sluggish, smokey air, I bundled a loaf of barley bread and a cloth full of cheese into my cloak.

My mind seemed content on roaming restlessly until I’d left the food at the stable. The night air was a relief as I traveled towards the rolling fields outside of the city, where sheep slept in silky dells.

The star beamed brighter in the fields, like hammered silver. My feet carried me down the hills, soft wind humming a lullaby. The racket of the inn dwindled as the lights of the city faded behind me—and yet, an unfamiliar light shone from the hills.

Feet hesitating, I approached it.

Golden light cascaded like a river, spiraling up into the sky. I tried to gulp down a growing lump in my throat. Cradled in the palm of the hills, shepherds crouched, heads buried under their arms and their sheep.

Yet I could not turn my head away from the flurries of silver and gold, like wings of doves and feathers of eagles.

“Do not be afraid!” A voice like the melody of thunder boomed across the fields. “I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today, in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord! This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

My heart stuttered at the mention of a manger.

I squinted through the rising gales, trying to decipher the figures; hundreds, maybe thousands of them swirled in the velvety sky, singing a song as rich as pillows of spices.

“Glory to God in the highest heaven! And on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests!”

They slowly blinked out of sight, like stars when the sun blooms on the horizon.

Timidly, the shepherds rose on trembling legs, eyes starstruck.

“We should go and see what has happened!” One of them called.

But I didn’t stay to hear their conversation. My sandals raced across the hills, towards a scattering of stone stables, hewn from a rocky outcropping. How infinite the night seemed! How vast the world’s secrets had unfolded in such a short time.

He is the Messiah, the angels had proclaimed.

Suddenly coarse bread and cheese seemed pitiful—bread, cheese, and a stable for the savior of the world.

I swallowed thickly, pausing outside of a carved window.

A pale glow softened the harsh darkness. I peered carefully in, listening.

The cry of a baby warmed the silence. Soft, folded hands rested on a bundle of humble wool. Nestled in the hay, the man’s and woman’s faces were tender, as if the presence of the tiny soul had hushed their worry.

The delicate picture of dusty rafters and the silhouette of sleeping sheep spread out its hands like an invitation. Yet, my feet didn’t stray any nearer, not daring to interrupt the scene.

All the stars in the heavens seemed to press kisses down on the earth, as if a storm would never ache the ground again, as if somehow the softest peace would come to rest behind every sleeping eyelid, and every heart could brim with such deep love as appeared now.

And though I dropped the bundle at the door and slipped away into the silent promise of the night, a voice inside told me this would not be our final meeting.

~*~

“13 Then he said, “Hear now, O house of David! Is it a small thing for you to weary men, but will you weary my God also? 14 Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall call His name Immanuel. 15 Curds and honey He shall eat, that He may know to refuse the evil and choose the good. 16 For before the Child shall know to refuse the evil and choose the good, the land that you dread will be forsaken by both her kings. 17 The Lord will bring the king of Assyria upon you and your people and your father’s house—days that have not come since the day that Ephraim departed from Judah.”

Isaiah 7: 13–17

This is your FINAL reminder that submissions for the writing contest are due TONIGHT at 11:59pm, your time.

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Please visit the linked post for the submission link, it can be found at the bottom of this post

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Unfortunately, this year, we currently only have 2 submission. We do need a minimum of two more submissions for us to judge this contest, for a total of 4. If you have a story you’d like to submit or know of a friend who might have a story, please submit or reach out to them. The more submissions the better, but we do understand not everyone can write a story in this category.

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We hope to see short stories from many of you,

Kenzi Ember, and the Team

This is your friendly reminder that submissions for the writing contest are due December 31st at 11:59pm, your time.

-

Please visit the linked post for the submission link, it can be found at the bottom of this post

-

Unfortunately, this year, we currently only have 1 submission. We do need a minimum of three more submissions for us to judge this contest, for a total of 4. If you have a story you’d like to submit or know of a friend who might have a story, please submit or reach out to them. The more submissions the better, but we do understand not everyone can write a story in this category.

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I will post one more reminder on the day as a last-minute call for stories

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We hope to see short stories from many of you,

Kenzi Ember, and the Team

As I mentioned in November’s Garden Brief, this announcement will be about our annual short story contest. We will be taking a couple of weeks off over Christmas break, however, if anyone would like to write a post for us to post during that time we’d love to have you.

Alright, with that cold wintry picture, who is ready to spread the news and start writing?

Well, that was a disappointing cheer. Let’s try that again.

Who is ready to start writing?!!

Ah, much better.

For those of you who don’t know what this is, we host an annual writing contest. They are a chance to write a short story on a given theme. Hopefully enhancing your writing capabilities and giving you a chance to spread the word about your writing capabilities. This is only the 4th Writing Contest in the history of Reflections from a Fractured Garden! We hope that you will join us and share your story!

Quick disclaimer: we do require a minimum of 4 contestants to enter. If there are less than 4 contestants, we will not announce winners. Please spread the news and share this contest with everyone you think would be interested in joining.

Theme

This year we are doing a slightly more specific theme than we have in past. Our main prompt is a personal narrative about your favorite winter memory. Hopefully this will help some of you writers to know what to write about and submit stories. We do understand that this may be too personal for some. We decided that if this was the case you could instead write about an ideal winter day. Feel free to change the names, we won’t know and there is no reason anyone should share super personal information.

We hope this gives all of y’all both a strong prompt as well as giving plenty of room for those who prefer a little less constraint. If you have any questions, please let any of the authors know.

We will be judging the stories based on a couple things. The first is how well you followed the theme. Either one of them. The second thing that will be taken into consideration is the quality of your writing. The third main thing that will be taken into consideration is how well you grab our attention and keep it. Does the story follow a good plotline? Does it all make sense? And does it make us want to keep reading?

Your standard writing contest. Alright, let’s move on to the guidelines!

Guidelines

Your story should be between 1,000 and 8,000 words. We prohibit swearing, graphic violence, and inappropriate themes. Adults are allowed to submit their stories, but if less than two adults enter, their stories will be judged with the rest. This contest will produce gold and silver winners. The gold winner will be offered a chance to be a guest author for Reflections, if declined it will go to the silver winner. Both gold and silver winners will have their story featured on here.

The deadline for this month’s contest is Wednesday, December 31st at 11:59pm your time. To enter this contest, you do have to be a subscriber to the Reflections from a Fractured Garden. The winners will most likely be posted before the 11th of January. If there is any reason you may have to submit late, please send a message letting me know so we can make arrangements and possibly still accept your story.

Last year we had so many contestants that we added a bronze winner as well as two honorable mentions. We’d love to be able to do that this year too.

We hope you all enjoy writing your stories for Star of the Winter. Once you’ve finished, you may submit your story using the form below. Please note that the form will ask for a link to your story. We request links to docs made using Microsoft Word, Google Docs, or something similar. (Please please before you submit your link, go onto your document and make it viewable to all with the link.) Overall, make sure to have fun! Don’t forget that the deadline is December 31st.

The Form

Hope to see you!

Kenzi Ember

I sat on my computer typing as I tried to focus on the screen in front of me instead of the hollering on my lap. My baby niece screeched where she sat, pounding her chubby and usually adorable fists down on my knees over and over again.

I had literally tried everything to stop her from crying. Fed her, changed her, even tried to burp her for a bit. I had to get my school done, and I had promised my sister, who was out on a work trip tonight, that I would watch the darn baby.

Meg was usually much more patient and a sweet baby. But now everything in me screamed “Brat, brat, brat.”

This baby was being a brat. I could never have kids of my own. I doubt I could handle not being able to quit from a job like that. You don’t even get paid, I had told my sister. I babysit, but only for money.

My sister had laughed and told me that the love your child gives to you is worth more than all the payment in the world.

I looked at this baby girl in her pajama onesie and tear-streaked face and frowned. I saw no love for me in her face.

Babies don’t even know what love is. How could it possibly love you?

“Meg, please,” I begged, pushing my schoolwork aside finally and bringing her up to my lap. “I really want to sleep. Can you shut up for one second?” I kissed her cheek but she kept wailing.

What was wrong?

My phone rang and I was surprised at the caller. Colin. My boyfriend didn’t ever call this late. He loved his sleep.

I accepted the call and put him on Facetime. “Hey. You good?”

“Yeah, just decided to check on my beautiful angel because I love her,” he sang sweetly, running a hand through his messy and ruffled brown hair.

I smirked and nodded. “Right. The neighbors texted you, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. Mainly Aaron.”

Aaron was the one who had introduced me to Colin, a couple years ago. He was Colin’s best friend, and one of mine, along with being one of my neighbors. He didn’t really approve of babies though, and the fact that my older sister, who I lived with, left me alone with hers.

“I didn’t think she was being that loud.” I rubbed the top of Meg’s head, twirling her small baby hairs between my fingers.

“What do you mean? I can barely hear your voice over the phone right now.” Colin chuckled. “Have you tried changing her?”

“Wow, Colin. You must be a genius. I hadn’t thought of that,” I responded sarcastically.

“So you have?” Colin was used to and unfazed by my sarcasm. Which was probably one of the things that I loved about him. He was much easier to be myself around.

“What about a song?”

The question caught me off guard. “A song?”

“Yeah. Kids love songs. See, she’s singing one right now. She must be attempting opera.”

She was for sure screaming high at the top of her lungs. I frowned at Colin.

“You think you’re so funny, huh?”

He smirked. “I know I am. Just give me a minute. I’ll be over in a sec.”

This time my frown was from worry. “It’s midnight. You’re going to drive over in your dad’s car at midnight?”

“No, I’ll use our van. Plus, it’s only 11:14, silly. We should be good. And if you don’t seem to know how to shut that baby up, your neighbors will kick you out of the neighborhood, so you obviously need help.”

Before I could object, he said, “Love you, bye,” quickly before hanging up and I groaned.

“So annoying.” I didn’t mean it. But I also didn’t want him to get into trouble for trying to help me quiet down my niece that I’m old enough and mature enough to handle.

I tried burping her again and giving her a pacifier once again, but she pushed it away and screamed some more.

Colin was over within fifteen minutes, and I heard his mom’s van pull into my sister’s driveway. I peeked out the window where a neighbor was coming out of their house, all disgruntled and frowning.

They shouted something at Colin. He just replied with a smile and a wave.

Only Colin, I smiled to myself.

As soon as he stepped inside the house, he snatched the baby from me and swung her around up in the air.

“Oh my gosh, hellooo Meg!!” he sang in a high pitched voice.

She gave a squeal and slowly started to laugh as he threw her up in the air a few times, catching her nicely.

“If you kill my niece, my sister will kill me,” I told him, knowing that he’d be careful with her so I didn’t really have to worry.

“I have no doubt about that,” he chuckled, setting her down on the couch. “And hello to you too.”

He turned to me and kissed my forehead before turning back to the baby. He crossed his arms and squinted at her. “Now what to do with you.”

As soon as he had set her down, Meg began to cry again.

“I don’t know what her problem is,” I groaned, rubbing my temple.

“She obviously wants attention, it seems. Plus, she’s a bit tired,” he stated thoughtfully, like he was a doctor giving a diagnosis.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t realize that you were around babies, Colin,” I told him, surprised. After all, he was an only child, and didn’t seem like the type to babysit for people.

Colin flushed and scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “Well, I, uhh… find babies—interesting,” he finished weakly.

“That sounds grossly suspicious,” I laughed, nudging him.

“Alright, fine. I’ve always thought it would be fun to be an older brother and then– well, a dad. But I’ve always been an only child so the closest thing to taking care of kids that I have is researching about them and the way they think.” He shrugged like it wasn’t kinda creepy at all. “It’s actually kinda fascinating.”

“Babies?”

“No, you goober.” He flushed again, laughing. “Psychology in general. The way the mind works. How children work and teenagers think. Even adults.”

“You sound like some kind of therapist,” I said, taking his arm. “Well, work your magic.”

He smirked and cracked his knuckles impressively. He sat down on the couch and picked Meg up in his arms, rocking her up and down on his knee.“So, you haven’t tried just spending time with the baby?”

“That’s all I’ve been doing the past day and a half.” I frowned. What did he think I’ve been doing?

“I mean like, actual quality time. Having fun.” He looked up at me. “You said you haven’t tried singing yet.”

“Babies don’t know what fun is.” I crossed my arms.

“They don’t need to.” Colin pulled out his phone. “Choose a song for her.” He reached out and handed it to me.

I took it. “This is ridiculous.” I searched Songs for Crying Babies and lullabies and “Gummy Bear” was the only thing that was popping up. “Nothing’s on here.”

I heard mad giggling from where they were sitting and I looked up.

Colin had Meg on her back on the couch and was tickling Meg furiously, laughing as she gave her cute little giggles.

I watched, surprised. This was going nowhere. How would tickling help her fall asleep?

It did help a bit with the crying problem though. I’d much prefer her laughing hysterically to bawling.

After ten seconds he paused, and Meg looked up at him, disappointed.

“I’ve got a classic.” He stood up and took the phone back and went to his home page on his music app. Then he tapped a song.

Baby Shark, doo doo doo do do

Baby Shark, doo doo doo do do

Baby Shark, doo doo doo do do

Baby Shark!

I scowled at him. “No way.”

He began to do the dance moves and pulled Meg up to her feet on the floor. “Come on, dance with us!”

“Why is that even on your home screen, Colin!”

Meg stomped around grumpily for a bit, not liking being pulled off the couch and her comfy crying position along with no more tickling, and just watched Colin dance like a monkey to the song.

“See, she doesn’t even think it’s funny,” I pointed out, glad to be right for once.

“Meg, dance! Go, go, go!” he sang, grinning at the baby, still dancing. “Can you do it for Uncle Colin?”

Meg gave a small smile.

“Uncle Colin?” I snorted. “That sounds stupid. She’s not calling you that.”

He winked at me. “Well, I hope for it to happen someday.”

I frowned, confused, before it hit me. I blushed. We were only seventeen, for gosh sakes. I smiled despite my disapproval.

Meg began to raise her arms in the air, slowly shuffling her feet. It was clear she didn’t really know where to move her body.

“Oh, yeah, look at her go!” Colin was still dancing and laughing as he watched Meg begin to giggle as she jumped up and down. “I think we’ve got an American Idol in the house!!”

It was a cute scene, but it felt awkward with me standing there, refusing to be a part of it. But there was no way I was dancing to a baby song.

Colin paused his dancing for a second to switch the song. It was Pizza Angel from Veggietales.

Of course. Veggietales was Colin’s childhood. He had only forced me to watch it with him a hundred times instead of actually going out to see a real movie.

Meg apparently knew this song because she squealed and jumped up and down. Now she was dancing for real, and I couldn’t help chuckling at her small little shuffle.

“Wow, she’s got some moves!” Colin laughed. He looked at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I wonder if she got it from her aunt?”

“I’m not dancing.”

“Come on!” Colin grabbed my arm and gave me a twirl. “It’s not hard. You just do a little shake here and there.”

“That’s a really weird description.”

He ignored my remark and began to move my arms around as he grinned and danced beside me. I made my arms limp so it was obvious that I wasn’t going to let him win this.

“Why don’t you cheer your sister on?” Colin asked me, still holding onto my hands as he wiggled my arms into the air. “My plan won’t work unless you help.”

“It seems to be working already.” I peeked over at the baby, who was now yawning as she moved. She caught my eye and grinned happily up at me. “She’s getting tired.”

“Thank goodness,” Colin sighed, smiling as he looked back at her too. His gaze turned back to me. “Hey. Nice cartoon panda pajamas.”

I rolled my eyes. “Har har.” I noticed that he was still holding onto my hands but not forcing me to dance with him anymore.

That was all he had needed to do. I began to slowly move along to the music. He grinned again but didn’t say anything. No teasing.

All three of us stood in the center of the living room, at midnight, dancing our heads off like the craziest people ever.

“You’re really good with children.” I hadn’t really thought about my words before they came out suddenly, surprising both of us, but I meant it. “I know it’s late, but I’m probably going to get better sleep than I was going to, thanks to you.” I gave a light laugh.

So did he. “Yeah, with all the phone calls I was getting from Aaron, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep either.”

“Why don’t you just silence your phone?”

“I couldn’t do that.” He frowned at me. “It’s nighttime. Someone could call because they’re being robbed, or hurt, or hanging off a cliff.” I grinned and he raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe they just need help putting their niece to sleep. Who knows?”

“I guess that makes sense.” I let go of his hands and turned to Meg. “Hey, sweetie. You tired?”

Meg was sitting down now, rubbing her eyes. She looked up at me with no emotion.

“Ahh, come here.” I held out my arms and picked her up. I looked over her shoulder at Colin. “I’ll be back.”

I trudged into the nursery and set her down. I twirled a small bit of her hair around my finger, smiling at her.

She was a brat. But she was the cutest brat I’ve ever seen. Colin had some stiff competition.

I kissed my niece's cheek before leaving her, already half asleep, in her crib. I turned on her camera monitor, turned off the light, and closed the door most of the way before walking back into the living room.

I smiled as soon as I heard Aaron’s voice over what I knew was Colin’s phone. “Bro, are you blasting The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything from Veggietales right now? I can hear it from over at my house.”

“Maybe,” Colin responded casually. “I was helping someone put Meg to sleep.” He glanced at me pointedly.

Aaron gave an audible sigh. “Well, can you at least turn the music off now if she’s in bed? I’m going to get no sleep tonight.”

Colin grinned. “Do I have to? This song is fire.” His response was Aaron hanging up.

I walked over to him, and he wrapped an arm around my waist. “You got him pretty upset.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine and laugh about it tomorrow.” He looked down at me. “You should get to bed, and I should return our van before my mom finds out it’s gone. She’ll probably think it’s stolen, along with me.”

We both laughed and he gave me a quick kiss before walking to the door. He stopped and turned around. “Oh, and by the way– next time, we’re doing limbo with Meg. I can just see how that can turn into a fantastically fun disaster.”

He was teasing me. I grinned back. “Yeah. Sounds perfect. We can follow it up with a finger-painting session using baby food. Nothing says ‘artistic masterpiece’ like pureed carrots on the walls, since chaos is truly the goal here.” I opened the door wider for him. “Goodnight, Colin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’m leaving, Miss Pushy.” He held up his hands in defeat.

“And thanks again. For the record, you’d make a great dad.” I lifted an eyebrow. “You have the jokes for it.”

“You’d make a great mom. You have the attitude for it,” he shot back smartly before rushing out the door before I could swat him on the arm.

He rushed over to his van and peeked over the edge. “Love you!” he called out before getting in.

I watched him drive away in the dark as some of the neighbors stood outside and frowned at me and my sister’s house in annoyance.

I just smiled and gave a small whisper. “I love you too.”

Meet our contestants:

Now, we only had four submissions… but it was really hard to distinguish between them. Our two winners, we had to pick someone for first place and someone for second but it was really tight and split pretty evenly despite there being an odd number of authors judging. All that to say, don’t be disappointed.

Our second place winner…

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THE CHOSEN

by Z.Rise

This is a wonderful story is about the balance that is needed between two tribes to find peace. You can find it here

And finally…

in first place…

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Two for Meg

by Jessi Delanett

This is a delightful story about a young girl who offered to babysit and give her older sister a break, and had a bit of trouble… You can find it here

Tonight would be a night to remember. A night for the histories, for the tales around the fires, for our enemies to speak of in hushed whispers. After generations of feuds and battles, the La Teka and the Lucango tribes would finally unite, through one sacred night. A night of peace, unity, and love.

“Jama’al!”

I open my eyes, to find Nasryn running towards me, a bright smile on her face. Her dress flutters behind her like the shining trail of a shooting star, and her locks twist up into a ornate crown. Dozens of roses, seashells, and threads of gold shimmer around her thick brown locks; symbols of beauty, connections, and prosperity for our future. She skids to a stop in front of me, a rosy flush coating her rich brown skin. “The elders are asking for you, we’re about to start the dance!” She says, skipping back as she gestures towards the midst of the camp.

“The dance?” I follow her, tilting my head. She grins, nodding as she leads me deeper into the camp. The air is rich with the smell of roasting meat, and shimmers with hundreds of lanterns, keeping the world bright against harmful spirits. Or so said the Lucango wisewoman.

“Yes! To show unity. It’s a Lucango custom, it’s so fun, I promise. Just follow the music!” She grabs onto my arm. I blink, my heart skipping a beat as we weave through the crowd. The drums thrum louder and louder, until we reach the middle of the camp. A circle of people dance in rings around a roaring bonfire, arms linked, chanting in time with the drums. Overwhelmingly Lucango, obvious from the flowing green and white robes. I had to admit, their regalia was elegant. Not so good for battle, though. It was no small wonder the Lucango was such a small tribe. Herbs and poisons could only do so much.

I pull back as Nasryn drags me close. “Whoa, I can’t--La Teka don’t dance, Nasryn. We fight.”

“It’s nearly the same thing.” She says, whirling towards me and clinging to my arm. She’s still smiling, as bright as the moon overhead, bouncing on her heels. My heart skips another beat. “Just follow in time—feel the music. Follow your instincts.”

“It’s not the same thing--”

“Please, Jama’al?” she whispers, stepping closer, her amber eyes glittering with excitement.

I stop, my breath catching in my throat.

“Dance with me. Please. At least once, before the ceremony.”

“I--okay.” I say softly. “Teach me how.”

She grins. “Ma be adida! Wonderful! It’s easy, just breathe and feel your way through it.” She pulls me close to the edge of the circle, shifting to move in time with the music. A couple of the nearby Lucango shoot me wary glances. I ignore them, watching Nasryn. Stepping to the side as she does. Then forward, closer and closer to the circle. In constant motion, to the side, and around and around in circles, weaving forward and back like the tides. The steps begin to flow, as the drums grow faster, deeper, louder, reverberating through my bones. She was right. The beat of the drums and the touch of her hand, in mine, as we move in time with the tribes, fill me with the same fierce thrill as battle. The movement, the unity, the cries of joy as we draw closer to the fire, faces bright with sweat and happiness--

A scream echoes through the air. “Jiko! Stop. Help!”

I tense, whirling around. The drums stop, a confused hush sweeping through the crowd as we turn towards the voice, still vibrating with the thrill of the dance. One of my tribewomen, from the La Teka, rushes towards the fire, eyes wide, face uncharacteristically pale. “Our chief has been poisoned. He’s dead!”

I stiffen, my heart dropping,

Our chief. The rock of the La Teka--

Dead?

A soft hush rushes through the La Teka intermingled in the crowd. I stumble back a step, my hand curling in a tight fist. Focusing on keeping that fist, rather than the stinging at the back of my eyes.

We don’t cry out—the La Teka never cry out. But our chief...

Dead. On the night of unity.

Another scream rings through the air, from the opposite side of the camp. Nasryn whirls this time, her grip tightening on my arm. A Lucango woman burst through the crowd, hands clenched around a black rose, and a knife, with an etched black knife. A La Teka knife. Dripping with blood. “Lacan wa! Our wise woman--” She stops, choking on a sob. “She’s been killed!”

“No!” Nasryn gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. A loud cry tears through the Lucango. I blink, head spinning. Both leaders—dead?

“You La Teka! You traitors!” A woman wails. A cry of agreement rises from the Lucango, angry eyes turning towards the warriors in the crowd.

“Our chief is dead too.” A La Teka brother hisses. Marak, the chief’s son. He narrows his eyes at the woman. “From Lucango poison!”

“What a relief!”

“How dare you!”

The crowd flies into an uproar, the La Teka standing tall, shouting in their black uniforms, at the Lucango, in their white and green, glaring back at them, shouting even through the tears running down their faces.

Nasryn turns to me, eyes wide, hands clasped around a pendant at her neck. I catch her gaze flickering down my black clothes, flashes of grief—and fear—sparking in her eyes. “Jama’al--”

“We wouldn’t do this.” I murmur, my gaze dropping to the ground. Our chief would never stoop so low. “We La Teka fight with honor. Never... like this.”

“Who...else, though?” She whispers, her gaze flicking up to mine. I catch her gaze, and she waves a hand. “Not that I’m blaming you, but that was a La Teka knife...”

I shake my head, turning towards the cool of the forest as I exhale. “I know.” A La Teka knife, through and through. Everyone knew it. And the Lucango were the best at poisons, and could’ve easily killed our chief.

But they didn’t seem to be like that either. They honored family. Nasryn had told me, if they had disputes, instead of fighting it out like we La Teka did, they sat and spoke about it with their council, until an agreement was reached. They didn’t reach for death.

And even though we La Teka fought, we would never kill a wise woman on a sacred night. To do so was to enrage the spirits, whose wrath could be worse than a thousand-year war. I grit my teeth, swallowing back the lump in my throat as I scan the forest around us.

“What’s wrong?” Nasryn whispers.

“Something... feels off.” The air felt too still. Like right before an ambush. My gaze searches the shadows, for--

There.

A flash of movement. Of red.

“Cilo.” I hiss, grasping the hilt of the knife at my belt and taking off towards the forest. The shadows swallow me up into the dark of the night, branches and bushes pressing in on my form. I slow, footsteps silent over the brush, as I hold my breath. Listening.

Crickets, chirping around me. Owls, fluttering overhead. A breath of air, behind me--

I whirl around, knife raised, to find Nasryn behind me, eyes wide. I exhale, nearly dropping my knife. “Nas--”

She shakes her head, tapping her finger to her lips, then pointing into the shadows. I follow her gaze.

A scrap of red cloth, hooked on a branch deeper in the trees, fluttering in the wind.

Nasryn latches onto my hand, jogging forward, soft as the wind. I follow, keeping my knife clenched tight in my fist. We slow near the scrap. Nasryn scans the trees. I watch the shadows, the moonlight dissolving the trees into wisps of a enemy. Hints of a threat.

She steps closer to me, pushing up onto her tiptoes, her breath light as a butterfly’s wings against my ear. “I’ll go back to camp and tell them we spotted a Cilo member. You try to catch him for me, okay?”

A smile tugs at my lips as I meet her gaze and nod. She nods, waving at me, then disappears back into the shadows. I hold my breath as I listen to her leave. Still scanning the shadows. The Cilo clan was to the west, closer to the sea where they did their trades. More than likely, the spy would need to head there eventually, but if he was smart—and if he knew a La Teka was hunting him—he'd double back towards the east. Unless he was really smart and trying to throw me off, and heading to the east despite the smarter move of going to the west--

A scream echoes through the forest, then abruptly cuts off. I freeze, the hairs rising at the back of my neck.

Nasryn.

I turn on my heel, flying through the forest, branches and vines whipping into my face, footsteps instinctively finding the fastest, softest place to land, hands pulling out two knives in preparation--

I burst into a clearing, the moon shining down on the dewy grass. Nasryn lies bound in ropes on the ground, a filthy red rag stuffed into her mouth, eyes bright and angry. Four Cilo men stand around her. La Teka knives in hand.

I don’t give them time to react. I don’t even have to think.

I twist my knife in my hand, flinging it forward as I race towards them. The knife slides deep into the man’s chest, and he lets out a choked gasp, stumbling back.

One of the others lets out a loud battle cry, racing forward, knife raised high overhead. I whirl towards him. He swings his knife, aiming a kick at my side in the same smooth motion. I jerk away from the knife swipe. Slashing my knife at his leg. Ducking down. Swinging back up, drawing back half a step, kicking forward. Hard.

My foot crashes against his jaw. His eyes go wide as a sharp crack echoes through the air, before his eyes roll back and he slumps to the ground.

Breath, behind me. I whirl around, just managing to block a knife swipe from a man behind me.

He comes around with his other hand, a spiked club rushing towards my stomach. I jerk back, hissing as the tip of the club claws into my skin, ripping past my clothes, searing pain against my waist. I press a hand around the wound, blood already hot and slipping against my fingers. Breath coming a little quicker.

Gotta make this quick.

I watch him carefully, circling. My gaze flicks around the clearing. One man in front of me, a leer on his face, club with my blood in his hand. Nasryn, still on the ground. The other man—his gaze landing on Nasryn as well.

He barks out an order in a sharp, strange tongue, moving towards Nasryn. The man with the club roars, lunging towards me. I twist my knife, sending it soaring towards the club man’s chest. He twists to the side—too slow.

The knife goes flying past, through his chest, and into the tree trunk behind him with a solid clunk. As his body falls, I whirl towards the last man.

I would not let my chief’s killer slay my betrothed.

I reach for another knife.

My hand grasps at nothing but air.

The last man yanks Nasryn to her feet, shoving his knife against her throat with a sneer. “On your knees, hands in the air, or she dies!”

I skid to a stop with a growl, gaze darting to Nasryn. Her eyes stay locked on mine as she sucks in a deep breath.

The man smirks, dragging her backwards towards the forest. “Good. I’m sure my king will enjoy hearing her screams at the alter.” He sneers, pushing his knife harder against her throat.

“Don’t you dare.” I snap.

Nasryn closes her eyes, her brows furrowing as she exhales, whispering something underneath her breath.

The wind rustles as the forest quiets.

“Meanwhile, you go back to your clan like a good La Teka. Tell them all how pitiful your fight with the Cilo went. Just like your weakling chief who--” He stops, as the world before us shimmers, and the air goes dark.

A low rumble thrums from behind us. Growing in power. Like thunder, but—more fluid. I stiffen, shifting forward and glancing around. An army? Or... something more?

And all of a sudden, they burst from the trees. Heading straight towards the man. Not an army of men, but an army of owls.

I duck, scrambling back. The man screams as the dark cloud descends upon him in a horde of razor sharp claws, piercing beaks, and throaty hoots. I roll over to one of the body’s, yanking a knife out and wiping it on the grass, then crawling towards the flock. The man’s still screaming, the noise shuddering with panic as the flock pulls them back, farther into the trees. I tense, searching the cloud for any instance of Nasryn.

I can’t hear her—there's only fluttering black feathers, scraps of red fabric, and glistening golden claws. No hint of the white of her dress or the gold in her hair.

Had the man killed her before the flock even attacked?

Had the owls killed her?

I lunge to my feet. The flock separates instantly, rushing into the trees and disappearing into the shadows.

The man’s body lays on the ground. Nearly unrecognizable under the mass of feathers and bloody claw marks.

Nasryn stands behind him, panting. Her dress is spotless, shining, as moonlight drifts through the air again. A single owl feather is perched at the top of the crown of her hair. Like a chieftain’s headdress. Her gaze flicks to mine as she stumbles forward, a glistening line of blood at her neck. “Jama’al--”

“Are you okay?” I whisper, hurrying forward and pulling her into my arms. She nods, her head against my chest, arms tight around my back.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” She whispers, shaking.

“What was that?”

“I don’t--I don’t know. It just—they must’ve known.”

“They--known what?”

“The owls—I’ve always taken care of them, the Lucango always do. They must’ve heard me...heard us... and wanted to help.” She whispers, her breath calming again.

“Our chief would’ve considered that a sign.” I murmur, glancing down at her.

She blinks, her gaze meeting mine. “A... sign?”

“The forest always chooses its leader somehow. It’s not just up to the people. A tiger came up to our chief before his ceremony and led him to the village where he found his wife. Things like that.”

She lets out a startled laugh, shaking her head and gazing around. “Maybe...”

“Either way. I’m glad you’re alright.” I whisper.

She looks up at me, her eyes glistening. “Me too.”

I smile, my gaze flickering to the forest again. “We should... head back to camp. It’s obvious the Cilo were behind this, which means we’re not only without our leaders, but we have a war on our hands.”

“Perhaps this is even more of a unity than the clans originally intended.” Nasryn pulls away from me, the feather in her hair quivering as her gaze drops to the dead around us. “I mean... if this is a sign—if we’re at war with the Cilo—if I were to become the wisewoman of my clan.” A smile tugs at her lips as she glances at me again. “You’re already my betrothed.”

I smile, stepping towards her. “A Lucango wisewoman and a La Teka warrior. Turned into--”

“Something new. Something the people as a whole could agree to.”

“If they haven’t killed each other from grief after all the time we’ve been away.”

She blinks, whirling towards the trees and racing back in the direction of the camp. “Right!”

I grin, stepping over to one of the dead Cilo and hoisting him onto my shoulders. The strap of his belt thuds against my back as I run after Nasryn. The hilt of the La Teka knife lodged into his sheath thrumming out a tune of proof. Proof we La Teka were honorable. Proof the Lucango really just wanted peace. Proof the unity of clans could end in love, and not just war and grief.

Most importantly, proof the Cilo would be brought to their knees.

Nasryn falls back in step with me, and after a few moments, we arrive back at camp.

Smoke from the smoldering bonfires lies heavy in the air, along with cries and sobs from the Lucango. But the camp is still. The tents empty, the lanterns dim and glistening with burnt oil and ash. Nasryn slows, clinging to my arm as we walk deeper into camp, towards the cries. Scanning... listening... watching.

And there. In the middle of the camp. All of the Lucango, huddled together around the bonfire. The La Teka surround them, a couple dozen guarding, with the majority a few yards away, arguing over something. One of the guards glances my way, his eyes widening. “Omera?”

I raise a hand in greeting as the others turn towards me, their gaze immediately snapping from me, to the body around my shoulders, to Nasryn, stepping forward at my side.

“You went hunting with a Lucango after the death of our chief?” The chief’s son, Marak, scoffs, his eyes narrowing.

“What have you done to my people?” Nasryn snaps, stepping forward. Marak’s gaze darkens as he steps towards her, the tattoos covering his chest glistening in the firelight.

I tense, pulling her back and turning my attention to the crowd. “Everyone, listen! Calm down. We have news—this is not a fight of Lucango versus La Teka.”

Marak scoffs. “How can you say that, brother? They poisoned my father!”

I nod, forcing back the emotion threatening to roil up from my stomach. “I know. I have reason to believe this was a staged attack. From the Cilo.”

The crowd falls silent. Even the arguing group quiets, turning their attention to me. I hoist the body from my shoulders, letting it thud to the ground.

“We found a spy in the forest and followed him. Four ambushed us—nearly killing Nasryn. Thankfully the forest decided to save our lives. You know the Cilo camp is far from here. They have no other reason to travel here.” I crouch down, snatching the knife from his belt and holding it high. Watching as the light of the dying fire glimmers against the blade. “They had several La Teka knives, that matched the one from... from the Lucango wisewoman.”

A soft cry rises from the Lucango still huddled on the ground.

“May her spirit rest in the stars.” I say softly. “She didn’t deserve this. But we La Teka would never steal her before her time. We may be fighters, but we would never disrupt a night of honor, such as tonight.”

“How do we know you’re not just saying that!” A Lucango woman cries. “You could’ve planted that knife yourself.”

“What about my father?” Marak says, frowning. “He was poisoned, and we all know only the Lucango deal with such things.”

I shake my head, opening my mouth to speak, but Nasryn squeezes my arm, stepping forward and raising her head high. “He didn’t plant the knife. I was with him the whole time. The Cilo had multiple La Teka knives already. And yes, we Lucango know poisons. But we also honor the peace of unity, and the connection of the forest. Tonight was not a night to be interrupted. The Cilo decided to intrude... and the forest fought back, with a flock of owls.”

A soft gasp rises from the Lucango again, and a few of the La Teka exchange curious glances. Nasryn nods, stepping closer to the crowd and spreading her arms. “The flock killed the man attacking me. For those who don’t know—owls don’t flock together, and never hunt together, unless--”

“They mean to reveal a sign.” Someone whispers.

“Or a leader.”

“She has the feather in her hair, still!”

Nsaryn pauses, reaching up to touch the feather pricked into her locks. “Ah--yes. That’s what it means.”

Marak’s gaze flickers to me. “You mean to tell us, the Cilo slew both leaders, to start a war. And the forest just up and decided you two==from different tribes—were meant to step forward and lead us?”

“I don’t see why not.” I say, holding his gaze. “Feel free to go check the clearing if you like. Eight hundred paces east. You’ll know you found the place when you see a Cilo body covered in blood and owl feathers.”

He shoots me a glare, waving a hand at one of the scouts. The boy nods, darting towards the woods, then lets out a gasp. I whirl around. Expecting the Cilo, already, or maybe something worse--

A flock of owls cover the branches of the trees, like fresh snow. As far as the eye can see. Silent, with golden eyes shining like burning embers.

The boy stumbles back, letting out a soft cry.

One of the owls fly forward towards the crowd. A scrap of red fabric clutched in its beak. It soars around the camp, circling the Lucango, swooping past La Teka, brushing right over Marak’s head. Then straight towards me.

I bristle. Nasryn squeezes my arm, stroking her thumb over the inking on my skin. “Yuweyo. It’s okay.” She whispers, as the owl swoops up. Before perching atop my head, its claws brushing against my scalp.

I freeze, breath catching in my throat.

“It is a sign.” A woman from the Lucango rises to her feet, a smile sparkling through the wrinkles coating her skin. No one stops her. Their gazes are locked to me. “The forest has chosen.”

“It’s just an owl!” Marak scoffs. “It’s a bird. How can a bird choose a suitable--”

The owl atop my head lets out a sharp screech. Marak stops short, stepping back and holding out a hand. “Okay, okay—the forest has chosen.”

The woman laughs, raising her hands to the sky. “It’s folly not to see this is truth. The forest has given us everything—our home. Our food. The La Teka’s weapons and stealth and the Lucango’s livelihood and remedies. And now they have given us our leaders. If anyone objects to this truth, step forward or forever hold your peace.”

I glance around, my breath still in my chest. The crowd stays silent, gazes from the La Teka and Lucango alike, latched upon me and Nasryn.

“Let these two—Jama'al of La Teka, and Nasryn of Lucango, lead us well. And let the stars be their guide.” The woman says, her voice carrying high over the crowd as she holds out her hand towards us, palm up. One by one, each of the Lucango does the same.

Nasryn presses a hand to her heart, shifting towards them and holding her hand out as well. “Thank you.” she whispers.

And then—one of the La Teka warriors step forward. He falls to one knee, thumping his fist to his chest and bowing his head. “May your steps be sure.” He says.

The vow of a warrior to their chief.

One by one. The others follow suit. Dropping to one knee, fist strong over their heart. Saying these—these words that speak their trust, their loyalty, that they will stand at our side as I lead them. To victory. “May your steps be sure!”

I glance at Nasryn, sucking in a deep breath. She smiles at me, her eyes sparkling. The feather in her hair fluttering as the owl’s claws dig into my scalp.

I step forward, crossing my fist over my shoulder. “May our swords swing true.”

In the meantime, I just wanted to remind you all that our short story contest is going to close on Saturday (the 7th) at 11:59pm. We currently only have 2 submissions, and we need 4 to announce a winner.

Spread the word and make sure to submit before the deadline. Check out our old post (Wildflower Whispers Short Story Contest) for the submission form. If you are not a subscriber and you would like to submit a story just pm (me) or leave a comment letting us know and I will give you the questions we need you to fill out so that we can include your story in the contest.

Thanks!

—Ken

Due to school and general business of life, this is the first short story contest that we’re hosting in 2025. Our last one was during the month of December. Since it’s been a while since the last contest, I’m going to go over the general rules first.

Guidelines

Your story should be between 1,000 and 8,000 words. We prohibit swearing, graphic violence, and inappropriate themes. If you have any questions about if your story fits the guidelines feel free to reach out to and I will be happy to let you know whether we can accept it. There are no major requirements for how your story should flow so feel free to be creative with this one. Adults are allowed to submit their stories, but if less than two adults enter, their stories will be judged with the rest. This contest will produce gold and silver winners. The gold winner will be offered a chance to be a guest author for the YA section, if declined it will go to the silver winner. Both gold and silver winners will have their story featured on the YA section.

Whether we have bronze winners as well and how many guest author chances we give will also depend on how many entries we have. And on that note…

We do require a minimum of 4 contestants to enter. If there are less than 4 contestants, we will not announce winners. Please spread the news and share this contest with everyone you think would be interested in joining.

Theme

As I mentioned in our YA Brief our theme is Spring! This may feel a little bit like a stretch and possibly a little hard to write, so because of that we are going to give you a few examples and ideas for what we mean by spring.

The idea is to write something in the springtime of the year, or maybe something to do with new life, a fresh start, a love conquers all odds kind of thing. This is very generic, so we hope you have fun branching out, and we aren’t making the spring theme mandatory, although we’d prefer to stay away from some slightly darker stories.

As I mentioned in the paragraph above, Spring theme is not mandatory, because it can both be hard to write about and may be a little bit limiting. That being said, if you do have something fitting for the theme we’d love as many spring stories as we can get.

Given that we aren’t being strict about the theme, we’d love stories with the theme, but that will not be in our judging criteria. The first thing that will be taken into consideration is the quality of your writing, fairly simple so I’m not going to explain it. The second main thing that will be taken into consideration is how well you grab our attention and keep it. Does the story follow a good plotline? Does it all make sense? And does it make us want to keep reading? And for this specific contest, the third thing we will be judging based off of is, dark versus light. All I mean by that, is we want some lighter stories, not exactly fluffy, just not quite as harsh of a reality as some of the stories we had for our winter theme. Not super important, but we’d love a break from the harder stories, which does not mean your story shouldn’t have a moral story or something like that, just think something you’d read after reading a story that leaves you a bit sad. Anyways, I didn’t explain that amazingly, but hopefully you get the idea. If you’re still confused please just reach out to me and I will be happy to clarify, or you can leave a comment below and I’ll try to clarify it there.

Deadline

So, this post is going out on the 9th of May. That’s a bit later than I meant to send it out, if we left the deadline to stay at the end of May that would only be 3 weeks, and I don’t think that would be enough time for enough people to submit stories so we can properly judge. Because of that, we have decided to extend the deadline. The deadline will be June 7th, 11:59 your time. We will be slightly lenient with the times, but please try to have your story in on time. We will try to have the winners posted around the 14th of June. If there is any reason you may have to submit late, please send me a message letting me know so we can make arrangements and possibly still accept your story.

We had a little trouble last time with figuring out who’s story belonged to who, so we are instituting 2 new rules.

The first one, make sure your name and title are at the top of your short story document submission. We need to be able to see your name and title on the document before we start reading. We also need an accurate word count, either at the end of the document or at the top, we don’t mind if it’s slightly over the 8k word count, we do mind if it’s under the 1k word count, since 1000 words is a relatively small number, we require that you have the minimum number, because otherwise it’s not really a story at all.

The second rule is that before or after submitting you must go on to your document and make it available for anyone with the link to view. If you would like to give us either commenting or editing permission that is also acceptable, but we must have viewing permission, and it is annoying to have to figure out who each story belongs to and then go ask them to allow us to read the story, since without being able to view the story we can’t actually see your name and see who we have to reach out to. We’ve had problems with this before, and that is the only reason we are making these rules.

We hope you all enjoy writing your stories for Wildflower Whispers. Once you’ve finished, you may submit your story using the form below. Please note that the form will ask for a link to your story. We request links to docs made using Microsoft Word, Google Docs, or something similar. Overall, make sure to have fun! Don’t forget that the deadline is June 7th at 11:59pm.

Thank you so much for reading and entering.

Ken

Wildflower Whisper Submission Form

Our Winter Writing Contest is now closed. (Though we will be flexible with the deadline by a few hours.) We are so excited to be judging this!! And extremely happy that all of you joined us this year!

We got a total of 11 entries! Because we have so many, we've decided to do 3 winners: Gold, silver, and bronze. We've also decided to give both Gold and Silver winners a chance to be guest writers, and all 3 winners will have their stories featured on the YA section.

We are so glad you joined the Star of the Winter; and wish you a happy New Year!

Sincerely,

The YA Section Team

For those of you who don’t know what this is, we occasionally host writing contests. They are a chance to write a short story on a given theme. Hopefully enhancing your writing capabilities and giving you a chance to spread the word about your writing capabilities. Given the time of year, we decided to make this a Winter themed contest. This is only the 3rd Writing Contest in the history of the YA section! We hope that you will join us and share your story!

Quick disclaimer: we do require a minimum of 4 contestants to enter. If there are less than 4 contestants, we will not announce winners. Please spread the news and share this contest with everyone you think would be interested in joining.

Theme

The theme of this contest as stated above is Winter Themed. It’s a pretty broad category and there are no super specific requirements. However, we do require that the story be set in a winter aspect. This could be wintery scenes, a Christmas scene, a cold crisp day, however you want to set it up. We will be judging the stories based on a couple things. The first is how well you followed the theme, if there is nothing remotely similar to winter in it, we will have a problem with that. The second thing that will be taken into consideration is the quality of your writing, fairly simple so I’m not going to explain it. The third main thing that will be taken into consideration is how well you grab our attention and keep it. Does the story follow a good plotline? Does it all make sense? And does it make us want to keep reading? With that in mind let’s move on to the guidelines.

Guidelines

Your story should be between 1,000 and 8,000 words. We prohibit swearing, graphic violence, and inappropriate themes. There are no major requirements for how your story should flow so feel free to be creative with this one. Adults are allowed to submit their stories, but if less than two adults enter, their stories will be judged with the rest. This contest will produce gold and silver winners. The gold winner will be offered a chance to be a guest author for the YA section, if declined it will go to the silver winner. Both gold and silver winners will have their story featured on the YA section.

The deadline for this month’s contest is Tuesday, December 31st at 11:59pm your time. To enter this contest, you do have to be a subscriber to the YA Section. The winners will most likely be posted before the 11th of January. If there is any reason you may have to submit late, please send a message letting me know so we can make arrangements and possibly still accept your story.

We hope you all enjoy writing your stories for Star of the Winter. Once you’ve finished, you may submit your story using the form below. Please note that the form will ask for a link to your story. We request links to docs made using Microsoft Word, Google Docs, or something similar. Overall, make sure to have fun! Don’t forget that the deadline is December 31st.

Submit your Story!

*in a dark corner*

*a sharp voice emerges*

*a mysterious whisper*

Welcome Welcome

This is inviting you to this month’s short story contest. As you can tell, the contest is titled Mysterious May. Let’s go through the details…

This month’s theme…

In this beautiful month of May, we will be embodying mystery. All short story submissions will be judged based on quality, intrigue, and especially the aspect of mysteriousness. This can range from genres such as murder mystery to mystical high fantasy or eerie realistic fiction. We do ask for only mild violence and gore, and prohibit all use of vulgar or offensive language as well as themes containing suicide or self-harm. Overall, attempt to hook us with your stories this month and keep us on the edge of our seats, longing to know what happens next. If you execute this theme well, you may end up winning Mysterious May.

Share

Guidelines

Because this is mystery, we’ll be expanding the word limit to 8,000 words with a minimum of 1,500, which will hopefully force you all to be careful about details and plot sequence. As previously stated, we prohibit swearing, graphic violence, and inappropriate themes. There are no major requirements for how your story should flow so feel free to be creative with this one. Adults are allowed to submit their stories, but if less than two adults enter, their stories will be judged with the rest and the contest will produce gold and silver medal winners.

The deadline for this month’s contest is Friday, May 31. All updates will be posted on Fridays this month so subscribe to stay tuned. To enter this contest, you do have to be a subscriber to The YA Section. The winners will most likely be posted before the first Friday of June.

We hope you all enjoy writing your stories for Mysterious May. Once you’ve finished, you may submit your story using the form below. Please note that the form will ask for a link to your story. We request links to docs made using Microsoft Word, Google Docs, or something similar. Overall, make sure to have fun!

Submit your short story!

This is just a quick reminder that our short story contest’s deadline is tomorrow. At around 8:00 p.m. EST, we’ll close the form and we’ll decide on a winner. Don’t sweat if you’re not completely done with your story. Just try to start wrapping up your story if you haven’t already. Hope you guys all had fun with this contest! (The form is linked below so you don’t have to scroll way down to the other post.) Have a blessed day! 🙂

Submit your short story!

My name is and I’m one of the authors for The Young Author Section blog! As you can tell from the title, we are hosting a short story contest this month! In this post, I’m just going to explain how it will work and attach the submission form at the bottom of the page. 🙂

So, first off, there is no theme for this month’s contest. You can write a short story about anything you want in any genre! If you check out the form below, you’ll find it’s pretty self-explanatory. Just write a one- to seven-thousand-word short story, with nothing explicit or anything. Then submit your story by Tuesday the 26th. As mentioned in the submission form, the winner of the contest will have their short story featured on the blog and will have the option to write a post as a guest author in April (if not, whoever places second will be offered this.)

So, I guess that’s all you need to know. There is no age range for this contest so you can share the form below with your little brother or your grandma. All are welcome to submit a story!

Submit your short story!