2023 Fall Writing Contest

     It was dark and cold in the old shack that River called home. There was no more electricity in River’s town, and it was mid December. The old shack was small and worn and covered in a blanket of snow. The snow was falling softly outside the window of River’s attic window. Her room was in the attic because there wasn’t enough room downstairs with her two older brothers and little brother. 

     She actually loved it up there. It was cozy and peaceful; it was her happy place. River was a very beautiful girl with dark green eyes and dirty blonde hair. She was 16 and loved to read and she loved her family. She also loved chocolate, but she hadn’t been able to get any in years. They hadn’t been able to get much of anything since the crash. 

     Three years before this day, the moon crashed into earth. Half of the population was wiped out, and with it, almost all electricity. It was complete anarchy after that. River and her family fled to the woods to find a safe place to hide from people who would try to steal food from them, and they were safe in their old little shack. They had lost their parents in a robbery before they found the shack. River’s oldest brother Alex had stepped up to take care of them. But River was happy. 

     River got dressed in her warm flannel and went downstairs to get breakfast. As she walked down the stairs, she smelled her favorite smell: cinnamon. Alex had made her favorite cinnamon hot chocolate. 

     “How did you get this?!” said River as she took the hot chocolate. River and Alex walked outside and sat in the two lawn chairs they had. 

     “Even though half of our world is destroyed, it’s still so beautiful out here,” said Alex. 

     “Yes, it is,” said River.

     “Oh, Merry Christmas by the way.”

     “You too.” said Alex as they both looked up to the snowy sunrise and the snow covered mountains and trees. River’s other two brothers came out to join them, and even though they barely had anything anymore, they still had each other, and that was enough for all of them. 

     As long as they had each other, they were fine.

     “Wearing that deathbed flannel shirt again, Taz?” My sister asked mockingly for the third time that week. I didn’t reply. She knew the shirt was special to me. It was Dad’s. Torn on the left elbow, tattered and frayed on both sleeves, and a small burn hole in the front pocket. Abigail, my sister, she never really knew Dad. Sure, she was born a few years before he passed, but she didn’t know him like I did. The way he spoke so stern but soft, or the trips he’d take me and Mom on, or the faint scent of cinnamon he always had on him coming home from work. It’s like I can still sense that slowly dying smell on his shirt, his, what Abigail calls it, “deathbed flannel shirt.”

     “Abigail, stop making fun of your brother and put on your shoes!” my mom exclaimed, sliding in the kitchen with her Bugs Bunny slippers on. She slid right past me to velcro Abigail’s shoes. I looked at the clock on the microwave. The microwave blinks at me. Shoot. 7:25am. We’re going to be late. Mom finally stands up once more, pushing Abigail to the car. I don’t even think she’s looked at me yet today. “Come on! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go…” she repeated to Abigail until we got to the car. 

     7:38am. We finally get to Abigail’s daycare. At least she isn’t late. “Bye, Abby-baby!” my mom yells from the car as Abigail walks towards the not-so-brightly colored building. “Patterson’s Daycare-Center,” although the letters are chipping off, so it reads “attrson’s dcre–enter.” Sounds like a sketchy mobile station. I can’t believe Mom chose that place for Abigail. 

     7:49am. I finally got to school and Mom talked to me for the first time today. “Taz,” she says, stopping me and I started to get out of the car. “Don’t get too hot today. You know dad’s with you even if you don’t wear his shirt.” I was silent for a minute or two, my hand still on the car door handle. Mom understood why I wore it, at least. I felt that weird ball form in my throat, but swallowed it before my eyes began to water. “I won’t, Mom,” I assured her, finally leaving the car and going into the school.

     Tardy, as I expected. I made my way to Mrs. Johnson’s class, where I knew today we would be doing a science experiment with hand sanitizer. That was our hint on Friday anyways. I walk into class, smoke hitting my face as I opened the door, kids hiding under their desks, others waving their hats at the experiment table. 

I saw it now. 

Fire. It was like my thoughts turned on the sprinklers and the alarms, as both started right after. 

“No!” I yelled as I got soaked from the cold mist from the sprinklers. I quickly took my flannel off, holding it as if it was my own child. I felt the memories, the cinnamon scent, the past it held, the happiness, everything, gone. The water felt like it had washed it all away. I felt it drip on my socks and into my shoes. Some of the class was looking at me now. I knew what I should do, I just didn’t want to. I walked up to the experiment table, fire and all, and scooped some hand sanitizer up with it, little by little. The fire was out, but Dad’s flannel was ruined. 

“Oh, thank you, Taz!” Mrs. Johnson shouted, her hair dripping wet and her goggles foggy. The class looked relieved as well.

     As we evacuated, I held my dad’s flannel close. I knew I couldn’t keep it like this. As we passed the dumpster, I threw it in, and kept walking. No tears, no expression, no emotion. 

     I always thought it would be harder to let it go than it was, but maybe it was time for Dad’s flannel to hit the deathbed at last.

My eyes opened and my nose filled with the smell of cinnamon. 

“Autumn is here!” I whispered aloud. I swung my legs around and my feet caught their first glimpse of the cold ground. I grabbed my flannel off my doorknob and pulled it on over my nightgown. I raced down the stairs to find my mom in the kitchen making cinnamon rolls. 

“You started without me!” I accused her. My mom turned to face me from her place at the stove.

“I’m sorry, Autumn honey. I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed. Happy Autumn, darling.” Mom said, kissing me on the head. I smiled and looked out the window. Yellow, red, and orange was all I could see. And I loved it. 

“I’m going outside. You can finish the cinnamon rolls by yourself, right?”

“Of course, dear. Enjoy yourself. It only lasts so long,” Mom said. I pulled on my boots and went outside. The chilly October air nipped at every part of my skin that had been left uncovered. I pulled the flannel tighter around me and started walking. 

I only looked up at the trees. “I would never live anywhere but here,” I said. 

“Here” was southeastern Ohio, the beautiful Hocking Hills. I was convinced that this was where you should live if you liked diversity in the seasons. This one, Autumn, was the most beautiful in my opinion.

“Me neither,” someone said from within the trees. My friend, Summer, popped out. She was also wearing a flannel and clutching her harmonica to her chest. Summer brought her harmonica everywhere she went. It had been her father’s.

I knew you’d be out here. I know it’s been fall for almost a month now, but there was something different there when I woke up this morning,” Summer said.

“You could smell the cinnamon from my house. It’s cinnamon season,” I told her. 

“That’s probably what it was,” Summer said. She started to play her harmonica. I started to walk again. I never noticed that I had stopped. Summer followed suit. We walked and she played her music. It was foggy in the woods, but that didn’t make it any less beautiful. 

Eventually, Summer and I ended up back at my house. My mom was sitting on the wooden porch of our cabin with a steaming mug of coffee in her hands.

“Hello, Summer,” mom said. “The cinnamon rolls are in the oven, Autumn.”

“Hi, Mrs. Lennox,” Summer said, sitting on the steps. I sat down next to my mom.

“Autumn, did I ever tell you how I went about choosing a name for you?” Mom asked me.

“No, you never have. But I think I know.” I answered. “You love Autumn.”

“Yes. It’s been my favorite season since I was a little girl. My friend, Lucy and I were pregnant about the same time. I was due in June and Lucy in November. It was a funny thing because my favorite season was and still is Autumn, and Lucy’s was and is Summer. So we decided to name our daughters after our favorite seasons. You were named Autumn, and–”

“I was named Summer,” Summer said. We all smiled.

“Yes,” Mom nodded.

From inside the house, I heard beeping. “Mom, the cinnamon rolls,” I said. Mom nodded and went into the house. She came outside five minutes later, holding three plates with warm, gooey cinnamon rolls. She handed one to me, one to Summer, and kept one for herself.

It was a wonderful feeling when the cinnamon touched my tongue. I could tell my mom and Summer felt the same way. 

I cherished every second of that day, for I knew that cinnamon season wouldn’t last forever.

I watch people pass by me every day. They never spare a glance towards my glass prison. Children have picked my glass ball to shake. It drives me insane. Once again, a little boy puts down my globe after shaking it furiously. Foam pieces that are meant to imitate snowfall in an elegant, but so-very-fake way. It’s been years… and this fake snow has become my only comfort within this snowy hell. 

My name is Lyra. I live in a snow globe, yes. But it has never been of my own volition. I wish every day for the freedom I once had. I wish to live a life of freedom, but I stay trapped, isolated. At this moment, I’m at an antique store. I’ve been bounced around many times within this lonely globe. A little girl’s room, an old lady’s collection, the old lady’s daughter after she passed. I always find myself donated one way or another. 

I am spending my 1060th day in this antique shop. I’ve counted each and every day, praying for my release. I have yet to be taken off this shelf for anything other than to be shaken. The constant and sudden tremors have nearly driven me insane. My tiny, frail glass body is too weak to push this glass ball off its shelf. 

It's the start of a new day, and I couldn’t be any less spiteful. People would eye my globe, but never for more than a second. Occasionally, they would pick me up, shake me, and inspect me like eye-candy. One man called me exactly that when he picked me up, inspecting my condition with his brown eyes hidden behind thin-framed glasses. 

Another collector? I would take it, rather than a little girl who shakes me to say good night. But I got my hopes up too high. He places me down, far too close to the edge for my own liking. His flannel knicks the side of my stand. 

The fall was a surprise, but ultimately not an unwelcome one. 

I hit the ground with a crack, then a shatter. The water of my globe splatters and I gasp for air. I forgot what it felt like to breathe air! I scramble to my feet. They clack on the wooden floors, except I can feel the man’s eyes burning into me. He now knows I lived. Not once had this ever happened to me. Not once had someone known the fact that I live. 

“Hello, good man. You have freed me, and for that I am thankful.” I began, praying inwardly that he did not scream. 

So of course, he screams.

“Now–now! Please don’t scream!” I beg, fearing the worst. I would not like to be locked away again in a bulb, thank you!

“You… you…” the man scrambles to find words, but I hush him, my glass feet clattering on the floor with each step. 

“If you wouldn’t mind staying quiet, I would like you to open the door to this wretched place. I am far too small to do it myself, you see.” 

The man only stares. 

“Well?” I question. If he would not let me out, I would be doomed! It simply won’t do!

“Yes… yes ma’am.” He murmurs. He seems scared, almost. I think he should’ve been. He scrambles towards the door and I follow suit. Pushing the door open for him was an easy task, and I clack and clink onto the streets, grinning wildly. 

“Thank you, mortal man… for I am Lyre de Monia! I bless thee with fortune!” I scream, clacking away. I must see the world. I will find all I missed in the years I was gone. 

For I am Lyra, and I am free.

As I walked through the woods, my friend Flynn called out to me, “Hey! Look at this weird pine cone!” I looked at the pine cone and saw that it was covered in moss top to bottom.

“That’s weird,” I said in awe, because it’s not every day you see a green pine cone. I stood there, my gaze locked on the pine cone. Then, out of nowhere, a boot fell from a tree and hit me on the head. 

“Ow!” I wailed, rubbing the back of my throbbing head. I looked down at the boot, and it had a broken zipper. Once I picked it up, I realized that there was a package. 

“What’s that, Milly?” Flynn said. He knows I hate being called Milly.

“Nothing.” I paused and looked up at the sky. “We probably should head home now.” I sighed as we walked out of the woods, letting the icy shards of wind go right through me. I walked through the front door, and the rusty hinges squeaked as I did so. 

“I’m home, Pa,” I said as I entered the living room. “Those hinges need replaced, Pa,” I mumbled. “I’ll be in my room. Nigh, Pa.”

I laid on my bed and frowned. Pa used to never be like this till Ma left. He used to be so happy. Now all he does is go to work and then come home and pass out on the couch. I remembered the package. I pulled it out of my pocket and started to open it. 

Inside, there was a music box, it looked broken, and some change. I slowly and gently pulled out the music box in fear of breaking it. I took a glance at it and started to wind it up. The sweet symphony of the keys playing made my heart dance and skip. 

I forgot about the world around me. When the music stopped, I played it again. I set it beside me, as I slowly drifted to sleep. I woke up, got ready for school, and figured Pa was probably already at work. I waited outside for the bus, but it never came. I went back inside. I went to pick up an apple to eat it, but my hand went right through it. 

“What?” I said, and reached for it again. 

My hand went right through it again. 

I looked at my hands, and then down at my pocket. I reached in it, looked in my hand, and there it was, the music box. 

And that’s how I, Elizabeth Milly Carthman, found out that I was a ghost. 

As a little girl, my family would always take off the Monday after Thanksgiving to go hunting. As I got older, they would slowly bring me along with them. By the age of ten, I was on my own. Along the trails, I wandered with my camo designed gun under my left arm. It was about time for the sun to rise and I was just getting to my hut. 

I watched out the side window for hours. Just about five till noon, I heard a crunch. Not a soft deer crunch though. I sat my gun down along the trim of my hut and walked outside. I gazed around the orange, yellow, and brown forest trying to sight what or who made that noise. I walked around the corner of my hut to see my Granny in all neon orange with branches and baby pine cones stuck to her big fluffy orange vest. 

“Here, hun,” and she held a wooden basket of water, tea, and a bag of home smoked sausage links. I took the basket and laid beside it on the ground on old leaves and broken branches. 

“Thank you, Gran,” I said while brushing the furries off of her. With a look of love, she zipped my camo and neon coat and said, “Get a big one before Gramps does.” She walked away down the foggy, crunchy trail.

I was back at the window waiting. I looked down to the basket, glancing for a snack. I reached my hand down and pulled out a tiny silver music box. I turned it over to the bottom and written on the box was “Slow and steady wins the race.” I sat there for a minute thinking about Gran. 

I slowly turned the crank on the box. A soft melody played as I sat in the corner of my window. I listened while gazing out the window at the beautiful nature around me. All of a sudden, I heard that soft crunch I’d been waiting for.

I looked out the front window to see a 12 point white-tailed buck with a little spotted fawn. I watched them enjoying each other’s company and as the music box came to a stop, they looked my way. I brought up my gun to my shoulder and pulled the trigger twice as a tear ran down my face. I walked out of my hut to the smell of sweet pine. 

Right across the trail were two lifeless deer.

Broken as a shoe

that has lost its zipper

Broken like a music box

that has lost its sound

Broken like a family

split in half

One child’s sharp mind

can erase what’s left of the past

Labeled as broken can mark you good

but the perseverance of one 

overpowers millions

Standing strong

I am today

waiting to see

whatever my future may await

Through the long wait of times before 

those mean words due to instigation

turned into proud words of inspiration 

to others

myself

and the world near

I am a better person

due to the people I’ve met this year

     Once upon a time there was a little girl named Kate who lived in the woods with her grandparents. Her grandpa always collected boots and one day Kate was walking in the woods and found a boot on the path. She grabbed it and discovered a zipper was broken, so she decided she was going to take it to her grandpa…and about five minutes later she had returned home to her grandpa. 

     As she walked in the door, her grandpa was waiting for her with a music box and she was a little confused about why he had a music box, but right before she could say anything, he gave her the music box and he saw the boot and said, “I see you’ve got a boot there. May I take a look at it?” 

Katie said, “Yes, I found it on the trail as I was walking home,” and she held out the boot so her grandpa could take it. 

THE BOOT VANISHED! 

Katie was certainly confused, but just then her grandpa knew that the boot belonged to a wizard. So not long after, they took off into the woods looking for the boot. It was a very nice day, but all of a sudden, an apple fell on Kate’s head. She looked puzzled, but she hadn’t eaten all day, so she didn’t think twice and ate the apple. 

Just ten minutes later, Kate’s stomach started to growl. Then, she and her grandpa started hearing music, but not any kind of music. It sounded like the music box, but the music box was in her pocket, she thought. As she was reaching in her pocket, there was nothing there but a handful of change, so they followed the music down the path and when they took the last turn, they arrived at a mysterious house with green smoke coming out of the chimney and Kate went up to the door and knocked. 

An old lady opened the door and said, “Well, look at that. What’s a beautiful little girl like you doing in the woods alone?”

Kate was confused and said, “I have my gran–” and then stopped. She looked behind her and no one was there… Kate was calm. “Well, I had someone with me…”

The kind old lady invited Kate into the home. Kate walked in and a horrible stench came blowing into her face. She politely said, “Uhm, what kind of fragrance do you use, miss?”

Just then, the old lady was puzzled and said, “Fragrance? I use fresh eyes and pine cones to make this lovely smell!” 

Kate said, “Oh, well, looks like you only have one more pine cone left.”

The old lady said, “Oh, no, no, no. This is no ordinary pine cone. It’s a magic pine cone.” Kate was confused but then realized this was the witch of the boot and where the music box came from. But Kate said nothing and stood still for quite a while. 

About 15 minutes later, the old lady had gotten Kate’s attention by holding the same boot in her hands as she had found on the trail. Kate said, “I know that boot! I found it on the trail when I was walking home today!”

The old lady said, “Oh, darn. That’s where I left it.”

Kate was scared because she knew this wasn’t an old lady but a witch, so she tried to escape but right as she opened the door, it was pitch black out. The door slammed shut in front of her as the witch said, “Where do you think you’re going young lady?” 

In a terrified voice, Kate said, “N-nowhere.” 

The witch said, “That’s what I thought!” and just then the same music from the music box started playing. The house walls began to close in. 

Kate thought today was the last day she’d be here, but her Granny burst open the door with her cane and said, “Let my granddaughter go! You witch!” Kate ran to the door in relief as her and her grandma ran home. 

Her grandma said, “Now next time you don’t pick up a boot off the trails! Now, come on. We have chocolate chip cookies in the oven. We need to get home.”

Kate agreed and they set home.

The End

There was an old boot

which sure isn’t a brute

because it has no pair

which isn’t fair.

Though it has no clue

it must be feeling blue

and all of a sudden

that poor boot flew!

As the sad boot flies

it puffs up and cries

because of all the blokes

who made mean jokes

about his broken zipper.

Just as he stopped

another boot’s wings flopped.

It had found its pair.