2022 Writing Contest Winners
Student Prose
First Place: What Issac Remembered
by Catherine Steiner
Issac remembered two things from that night.
One: Elliot had snuck into his bed after complaints of a nightmare.
Two: he had forgotten to lock the door.
Their parents had been on hero escapades throughout the city, protecting the civilians from violence. Which meant that Issac and Elliot were alone again.
Every time their parents prepared to leave, his father would kneel down in front of him and run through every emergency plan he trained Issac in. Although he always listened, he was used to these kinds of worried rants from his father. He and Elliot were on their own most of the time, and he felt like if something happened, he wouldn’t have to press the emergency necklace his parents made him wear. He could defend his brother and himself well. His powers had recently developed and he had been practicing. He would never tell anyone, but some part of him itched to be a part of the fight, to be just as useful as his parents, to proudly protect his little brother. He felt ready to be a superhero, he was ten years old, he could handle himself.
At the end of every speech was, “Remember to lock the door Issac.” Followed by, “I always do, Dad.”
The sound of the front door opening would haunt him forever.
Elliot had been pressed to his side, breathing heavily with drool dribbling down his face, and in those first few moments as he heard the intruder walk through the door, Issac wished to be like him; to be utterly unaware of the bad thing that just came into their house, to be dreamlessly sleeping, ready to wake up to the comforting hugs of their parents homecoming.
But Issac was awake, and he stilled in horror at the sound of someone moving through their apartment, opening and closing doors, rummaging through closets and cabinets.
Some part of him knew that this person was looking for them.
Some part of him just wished it was his mother who had forgotten her gloves.
He tried to move around in his bed without making any noise to alert their position. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see that his necklace was resting on the edge of his bedside table. He was told to never take it off when they were alone, but Issac thought it didn’t matter.
At that moment, it was his biggest regret.
Ever so carefully, Issac tried to maneuver his little brother further under the covers, pausing each time he squirmed. Once Elliot was settled deep under the blankets, he then stretched his arm back to get the necklace. As he was reaching he could hear the intruder moving down the hall to his mother’s study, the muffled noise of the door slamming open permeated across the apartment, echoing in his ears. Issac tried to calm his shaking breaths as he reached his arm out further. His brain struggled to remember the scenarios his father taught him, apparently he didn’t teach him enough because his mind was blank aside from, Get to the necklace, just get the necklace. Dad and Mom will be here soon.
His arm stretched until his shoulder grew taut and his fingers just grazed over the iron chain. He curled his hand around it, but before he could get a firm grasp, the movement of his unsteady hand against the necklace sent it over the bedside table.
It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
Issac froze, heart pounding, blood rushing to his ears. He could hear the intruder in his mothers study pause as well.
Then he heard running down the hall towards them.
Faster than Issac had done anything in his entire life, he jumped from the bed, snatching the necklace, and pressing the emergency button as he held it close to his chest. He moved behind the door, his frog pajama shirt pressed against the cool wallpaper.
It was at that moment Issac realized that he had never truly been scared before.
The door opened, and through the light in the hallway, Issac could see the person’s shadow as they looked in the room. From his perspective, the room looked empty, beside a small lump at the bottom of the bed. Issac let out a soundless sigh of relief at how still Elliot was. The little brat couldn’t seem to stop moving when he was awake, yet when he was asleep, he was as still as stone.
Issac closed his eyes and pressed himself even further against the wall, waiting to hear someone find and grab him.
But nothing came.
After several moments of silence, Issac pried open his eyes and saw that the shadow from the doorway was gone. The room was silent. They must’ve moved on, his quick thinking must’ve worked!
Ever so carefully, he unpressed himself from the wall, his hands still wrapped around the necklace.
Mom and Dad are coming, they’re on their way. Elliot is alright, we’re gonna be safe, was the last thing he thought before a shadow moved in front of him, blew something in his face, and the world turned to darkness.
Issac always said that he didn’t remember anything that happened after that. After the Anarchist blew knock-out powder in his face, the next thing he knew he was waking up in that hospital bed, covered in burns.
But that wasn’t true, Issac did remember.
And more than anything he wished he could forget.
He remembered waking up on top of a rooftop. It was still dark, aside from the city lights below them, and next to him was Elliot, still asleep, but tied up and gagged.
Issac almost broke down at the sight of his four year old brother in such a state, but he forced himself to calm down and assess the situation.
They appeared to be alone, they were under a covered area, Issac was not gagged, but his wrists were bound.
And it was raining.
The next thing Issac remembered was an iron grip on the back of his shirt, lifting him in the air as it walked him toward the edge of the covering. It was light out now, the fresh sunrise peeking over the buildings, but it was still raining. He saw his parents, held down by Anarchists, watching in horror as their eldest son was marched towards his one vice.
Without seeing who was carrying him, he knew who it was.
He remembered kicking his legs, pulling at the hand gripping his shirt, screaming, crying as he was forcibly taken to the edge of the covered area, face to face with the downpour.
Olethros was saying something to his parents, he couldn’t remember. All he was focused on was being inches from the rain, and the strangling feeling of his shirt being pulled against his neck.
Then came the quick sharp pain. Later people told him that the Anarchist leader had jabbed him with The Caller, a device that calls forth any power. Which was probably why Issac became so vulnerable in that moment, because he would’ve never willingly gone into his ghost-form around rain. Never.
When he was thrown out, he felt like he was on fire. His skin was melting. The places where the rain had hit him were to be carried as scars for the rest of his life. Fire replaced his blood and it was igniting his whole body. He never thought that someone could scream as loudly as he did in those moments, his throat was ripped raw over the pure pain that was his whole being. No longer was he himself; he was agony, infernal agony.
Then he was nothing.
Apparently, Olethros was merciful and took him out of the rain moments after throwing him out there, but Issac didn’t remember that moment.
The only thing he remembered after being tossed in the rain, was waking up once more, face planted on the concrete, blisters and burns covering his entire body; just to watch Olethros untie his widely awake younger brother and take him to his parents.
Issac tried to move, tried to will himself to get up and attack Olethros, free his brother and jump back in the safe arms of his parents; he tried to call out to them, but his torn up throat prevented
him from doing even that. His parents looked devastated and horrified. His father was struggling against the people holding him, looking at Olethros in a way that would make the gods quiver.
But this wasn’t a god, this was Olethros.
And Olethros didn’t hesitate as he injected Elliot with a mysterious black serum that caused him to yell and cry out in pain.
Then in one moment, Olethros and his goonies were gone.
And Elliot was different.
That was the last thing he remembered.
# # #
One: Elliot had snuck into his bed after complaints of a nightmare.
Two: he had forgotten to lock the door.
Their parents had been on hero escapades throughout the city, protecting the civilians from violence. Which meant that Issac and Elliot were alone again.
Every time their parents prepared to leave, his father would kneel down in front of him and run through every emergency plan he trained Issac in. Although he always listened, he was used to these kinds of worried rants from his father. He and Elliot were on their own most of the time, and he felt like if something happened, he wouldn’t have to press the emergency necklace his parents made him wear. He could defend his brother and himself well. His powers had recently developed and he had been practicing. He would never tell anyone, but some part of him itched to be a part of the fight, to be just as useful as his parents, to proudly protect his little brother. He felt ready to be a superhero, he was ten years old, he could handle himself.
At the end of every speech was, “Remember to lock the door Issac.” Followed by, “I always do, Dad.”
The sound of the front door opening would haunt him forever.
Elliot had been pressed to his side, breathing heavily with drool dribbling down his face, and in those first few moments as he heard the intruder walk through the door, Issac wished to be like him; to be utterly unaware of the bad thing that just came into their house, to be dreamlessly sleeping, ready to wake up to the comforting hugs of their parents homecoming.
But Issac was awake, and he stilled in horror at the sound of someone moving through their apartment, opening and closing doors, rummaging through closets and cabinets.
Some part of him knew that this person was looking for them.
Some part of him just wished it was his mother who had forgotten her gloves.
He tried to move around in his bed without making any noise to alert their position. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see that his necklace was resting on the edge of his bedside table. He was told to never take it off when they were alone, but Issac thought it didn’t matter.
At that moment, it was his biggest regret.
Ever so carefully, Issac tried to maneuver his little brother further under the covers, pausing each time he squirmed. Once Elliot was settled deep under the blankets, he then stretched his arm back to get the necklace. As he was reaching he could hear the intruder moving down the hall to his mother’s study, the muffled noise of the door slamming open permeated across the apartment, echoing in his ears. Issac tried to calm his shaking breaths as he reached his arm out further. His brain struggled to remember the scenarios his father taught him, apparently he didn’t teach him enough because his mind was blank aside from, Get to the necklace, just get the necklace. Dad and Mom will be here soon.
His arm stretched until his shoulder grew taut and his fingers just grazed over the iron chain. He curled his hand around it, but before he could get a firm grasp, the movement of his unsteady hand against the necklace sent it over the bedside table.
It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
Issac froze, heart pounding, blood rushing to his ears. He could hear the intruder in his mothers study pause as well.
Then he heard running down the hall towards them.
Faster than Issac had done anything in his entire life, he jumped from the bed, snatching the necklace, and pressing the emergency button as he held it close to his chest. He moved behind the door, his frog pajama shirt pressed against the cool wallpaper.
It was at that moment Issac realized that he had never truly been scared before.
The door opened, and through the light in the hallway, Issac could see the person’s shadow as they looked in the room. From his perspective, the room looked empty, beside a small lump at the bottom of the bed. Issac let out a soundless sigh of relief at how still Elliot was. The little brat couldn’t seem to stop moving when he was awake, yet when he was asleep, he was as still as stone.
Issac closed his eyes and pressed himself even further against the wall, waiting to hear someone find and grab him.
But nothing came.
After several moments of silence, Issac pried open his eyes and saw that the shadow from the doorway was gone. The room was silent. They must’ve moved on, his quick thinking must’ve worked!
Ever so carefully, he unpressed himself from the wall, his hands still wrapped around the necklace.
Mom and Dad are coming, they’re on their way. Elliot is alright, we’re gonna be safe, was the last thing he thought before a shadow moved in front of him, blew something in his face, and the world turned to darkness.
Issac always said that he didn’t remember anything that happened after that. After the Anarchist blew knock-out powder in his face, the next thing he knew he was waking up in that hospital bed, covered in burns.
But that wasn’t true, Issac did remember.
And more than anything he wished he could forget.
He remembered waking up on top of a rooftop. It was still dark, aside from the city lights below them, and next to him was Elliot, still asleep, but tied up and gagged.
Issac almost broke down at the sight of his four year old brother in such a state, but he forced himself to calm down and assess the situation.
They appeared to be alone, they were under a covered area, Issac was not gagged, but his wrists were bound.
And it was raining.
The next thing Issac remembered was an iron grip on the back of his shirt, lifting him in the air as it walked him toward the edge of the covering. It was light out now, the fresh sunrise peeking over the buildings, but it was still raining. He saw his parents, held down by Anarchists, watching in horror as their eldest son was marched towards his one vice.
Without seeing who was carrying him, he knew who it was.
He remembered kicking his legs, pulling at the hand gripping his shirt, screaming, crying as he was forcibly taken to the edge of the covered area, face to face with the downpour.
Olethros was saying something to his parents, he couldn’t remember. All he was focused on was being inches from the rain, and the strangling feeling of his shirt being pulled against his neck.
Then came the quick sharp pain. Later people told him that the Anarchist leader had jabbed him with The Caller, a device that calls forth any power. Which was probably why Issac became so vulnerable in that moment, because he would’ve never willingly gone into his ghost-form around rain. Never.
When he was thrown out, he felt like he was on fire. His skin was melting. The places where the rain had hit him were to be carried as scars for the rest of his life. Fire replaced his blood and it was igniting his whole body. He never thought that someone could scream as loudly as he did in those moments, his throat was ripped raw over the pure pain that was his whole being. No longer was he himself; he was agony, infernal agony.
Then he was nothing.
Apparently, Olethros was merciful and took him out of the rain moments after throwing him out there, but Issac didn’t remember that moment.
The only thing he remembered after being tossed in the rain, was waking up once more, face planted on the concrete, blisters and burns covering his entire body; just to watch Olethros untie his widely awake younger brother and take him to his parents.
Issac tried to move, tried to will himself to get up and attack Olethros, free his brother and jump back in the safe arms of his parents; he tried to call out to them, but his torn up throat prevented
him from doing even that. His parents looked devastated and horrified. His father was struggling against the people holding him, looking at Olethros in a way that would make the gods quiver.
But this wasn’t a god, this was Olethros.
And Olethros didn’t hesitate as he injected Elliot with a mysterious black serum that caused him to yell and cry out in pain.
Then in one moment, Olethros and his goonies were gone.
And Elliot was different.
That was the last thing he remembered.
# # #
Second Place: Crossing the River
by Roan McAuley
I am standing on the edge of a river in between two towering waterfalls. The one to my right is cascading down from the heights of an unclimbable mountain, while the one to my left drops off into an abysmal abyss. The river lies before me. There is no bridge, natural or otherwise.
It would seem that the only way forward is through.
However, I think as I look backward, it would be much easier to stay here and do nothing rather than cross. There are so many things that could happen, so many ways to be strewn off-course, so many possibilities for failure. What’s the point of trying when the chance of success is so small? Why maintain hope, when hope appears to be hopeless? Why try, when trying is the only way to fail?
Discouraged, I sit down on the riverbank.
The river continues to flow, unaware and apathetic of my choice. It moves on, moving as the world watches. Yet still moving. Its pace is constant. Almost hypnotic. The river is not burdened by the choice to move forward. It moves forward because it has no choice.
I stand up.
I’ve been viewing this as a set of two choices: Move forward or don’t. But the two choices that actually lay before me are quite different: Move forward or stay behind.
I step forward and set my foot into the river.
The water switches between freezing cold and boiling hot whenever it chooses. It swirls around my foot, pushing and pulling at it, as if tempting me to pull it out and go back to shore. To retreat. An overwhelming sense surrounds me just as much as the water surrounds my foot. But there is no going back. I have already taken the first step. It would be unfair to turn back now.
I step my other foot into the river.
The water begins to move faster, as if the river desperately wants for me to fail. The current grows stronger. My feet stay in place. The thought enters my mind of turning around, of giving up. But I resist that temptation. Even though it would bring me back to a state of comfort and stasis, that is not why I’m moving forward.
I begin to walk through the river.
I am climbing a mountain without gaining altitude. The other side of the river, so enshrouded in mystery, ultimately unknowable, doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. I begin to question and doubt myself. Am I ready for this? A small tidal wave knocks into me from the side and I almost lose balance. Is moving forward really the right choice? A strong wind whips at me from above. Is this really worth it?
I take another step.
The solid ground underneath me suddenly gives way and I sink into the depths. The water is too deep for me. I struggle to stay afloat, but panic flows through my body just like the water flowing all around me. I’m unsure if my own tears are joining the torrent. I begin to swirl around in chaos along with the water and nothing but fear fills my mind. All is lost. I’ve failed.
Then I see it. The other side. The destination.
My eyes are suddenly wide. A sunbeam of hope lights the way as I struggle. As I struggle forward. The fog that’s been floating around this whole time seems to lift. I feel my resolve strengthen and my speed increase as I swim towards the other side of the river. The water is still rushing around me just as fast as ever, the sensation inside is still just as overwhelming, but I carry on anyway. The effort is just as difficult, the physical resistance just as strong. But I move forward anyway.
My hand reaches out and grabs the other side.
With all the strength I have left plus a sense of renewed energy coursing through me, I pull myself out of the rushing rapids. Water falls off of me as I emerge from it. I collapse on the other side for a moment. Then I realize my accomplishment.
I stand up and look behind me.
The river is still flowing, just as it was before. But now… it seems smaller. Not more insignificant, nor smaller in power or worth. What’s smaller is its unfamiliarity. It is no longer unknown. It is no longer connected with that fear. Not for me. I have overcome that particular trial. I have a new direction now.
I turn to look.
Forward.
# # #
It would seem that the only way forward is through.
However, I think as I look backward, it would be much easier to stay here and do nothing rather than cross. There are so many things that could happen, so many ways to be strewn off-course, so many possibilities for failure. What’s the point of trying when the chance of success is so small? Why maintain hope, when hope appears to be hopeless? Why try, when trying is the only way to fail?
Discouraged, I sit down on the riverbank.
The river continues to flow, unaware and apathetic of my choice. It moves on, moving as the world watches. Yet still moving. Its pace is constant. Almost hypnotic. The river is not burdened by the choice to move forward. It moves forward because it has no choice.
I stand up.
I’ve been viewing this as a set of two choices: Move forward or don’t. But the two choices that actually lay before me are quite different: Move forward or stay behind.
I step forward and set my foot into the river.
The water switches between freezing cold and boiling hot whenever it chooses. It swirls around my foot, pushing and pulling at it, as if tempting me to pull it out and go back to shore. To retreat. An overwhelming sense surrounds me just as much as the water surrounds my foot. But there is no going back. I have already taken the first step. It would be unfair to turn back now.
I step my other foot into the river.
The water begins to move faster, as if the river desperately wants for me to fail. The current grows stronger. My feet stay in place. The thought enters my mind of turning around, of giving up. But I resist that temptation. Even though it would bring me back to a state of comfort and stasis, that is not why I’m moving forward.
I begin to walk through the river.
I am climbing a mountain without gaining altitude. The other side of the river, so enshrouded in mystery, ultimately unknowable, doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. I begin to question and doubt myself. Am I ready for this? A small tidal wave knocks into me from the side and I almost lose balance. Is moving forward really the right choice? A strong wind whips at me from above. Is this really worth it?
I take another step.
The solid ground underneath me suddenly gives way and I sink into the depths. The water is too deep for me. I struggle to stay afloat, but panic flows through my body just like the water flowing all around me. I’m unsure if my own tears are joining the torrent. I begin to swirl around in chaos along with the water and nothing but fear fills my mind. All is lost. I’ve failed.
Then I see it. The other side. The destination.
My eyes are suddenly wide. A sunbeam of hope lights the way as I struggle. As I struggle forward. The fog that’s been floating around this whole time seems to lift. I feel my resolve strengthen and my speed increase as I swim towards the other side of the river. The water is still rushing around me just as fast as ever, the sensation inside is still just as overwhelming, but I carry on anyway. The effort is just as difficult, the physical resistance just as strong. But I move forward anyway.
My hand reaches out and grabs the other side.
With all the strength I have left plus a sense of renewed energy coursing through me, I pull myself out of the rushing rapids. Water falls off of me as I emerge from it. I collapse on the other side for a moment. Then I realize my accomplishment.
I stand up and look behind me.
The river is still flowing, just as it was before. But now… it seems smaller. Not more insignificant, nor smaller in power or worth. What’s smaller is its unfamiliarity. It is no longer unknown. It is no longer connected with that fear. Not for me. I have overcome that particular trial. I have a new direction now.
I turn to look.
Forward.
# # #
Honorable Mention
Jan (Biography for Jan Brady)
by Tyler Skogman
You think you know a hero, and then you see Jan…
Jan is a lady who worships squirrels. Shrines are built for the rodents and peanuts are gifted to them, all by a single woman… Jan greatest hero in the universe.
Jan was born on October 26, 1948 and has brown hair and hazel eyes, she has a younger brother named Mike. As a child Mike was somewhat of a troublemaker, pranking Jan and her mother. At one time Jan’s mother threw her makeup kit because there was a spider, Mike was laughing at this for a while. Mike now has a few pet squirrels which Jan is extremely jealous of and she often plots to take the squirrels away from Mike however all attempts thus far have ended in failure. To this day Jan has never stolen the squirrels and she also hasn’t ever obtained a squirrel for herself.
To make up for the fact that Jan does not own any squirrels she owns many stuffed squirrel toys that she worships. Large dishes of peanuts are awarded to the squirrels as gifts to the so-called “gods” that are stuffed squirrels. Photos of wild squirrels were taken and framed in Jans front room, small electric candles were placed around these photos. It is said that Jan prays to the squirrel photos every night, possibly hoping that a squirrel will descend from squirrel heaven and become her pet.
Mike once called his pet squirrels “Rats” this angered Jan greatly probably because of her extensive worship of squirrels so what was a joke to Mike it was a top tier offense to Jan. Why Mike called the squirrels rats is unknown it could have been as a simple joke but most people speculate that it was to mock that Jan has never successfully stolen the squirrels but this has yet to be proven.
When wild squirrels go near her she is said to have been seen speaking to the squirrels. It is unclear if they can understand the noises coming from squirrels and the squirrels can understand her or if there is just some kind of telepathic link allowing them to speak to one another.
Her worship of squirrels has lasted for several years and will likely continue well into the future she will probably be worshiping squirrels for the rest of her life. That is to say if she does not become goddess of the squirrels, a role which comes with immortality and absolute rule over every living squirrel this would include her brother's pet squirrels at last fulfilling her lifelong dreams.
Jan might be old and crazy but when questioned she would take a squirrel over the entire universe and that should be something to strive for.
# # #
Jan is a lady who worships squirrels. Shrines are built for the rodents and peanuts are gifted to them, all by a single woman… Jan greatest hero in the universe.
Jan was born on October 26, 1948 and has brown hair and hazel eyes, she has a younger brother named Mike. As a child Mike was somewhat of a troublemaker, pranking Jan and her mother. At one time Jan’s mother threw her makeup kit because there was a spider, Mike was laughing at this for a while. Mike now has a few pet squirrels which Jan is extremely jealous of and she often plots to take the squirrels away from Mike however all attempts thus far have ended in failure. To this day Jan has never stolen the squirrels and she also hasn’t ever obtained a squirrel for herself.
To make up for the fact that Jan does not own any squirrels she owns many stuffed squirrel toys that she worships. Large dishes of peanuts are awarded to the squirrels as gifts to the so-called “gods” that are stuffed squirrels. Photos of wild squirrels were taken and framed in Jans front room, small electric candles were placed around these photos. It is said that Jan prays to the squirrel photos every night, possibly hoping that a squirrel will descend from squirrel heaven and become her pet.
Mike once called his pet squirrels “Rats” this angered Jan greatly probably because of her extensive worship of squirrels so what was a joke to Mike it was a top tier offense to Jan. Why Mike called the squirrels rats is unknown it could have been as a simple joke but most people speculate that it was to mock that Jan has never successfully stolen the squirrels but this has yet to be proven.
When wild squirrels go near her she is said to have been seen speaking to the squirrels. It is unclear if they can understand the noises coming from squirrels and the squirrels can understand her or if there is just some kind of telepathic link allowing them to speak to one another.
Her worship of squirrels has lasted for several years and will likely continue well into the future she will probably be worshiping squirrels for the rest of her life. That is to say if she does not become goddess of the squirrels, a role which comes with immortality and absolute rule over every living squirrel this would include her brother's pet squirrels at last fulfilling her lifelong dreams.
Jan might be old and crazy but when questioned she would take a squirrel over the entire universe and that should be something to strive for.
# # #