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Creative Writing Contest

Creative Writing Contest

Perspectives on the things we do for love: crazy, intentional, embarrassing, sly, poignant, challenging, compassionate, charitable, ….

Across the Street​ by Vy Nguyen​

The squirrel was standing at the pavement, gazing at her love across the street, a bird that was full of pride, a jet black crow, a charming mystery she met the day before. Shiny dark eyes, feathers like a starry night, a delicate beak, everything she could ask for.

Bags all set, the squirrel was ready to spend the rest of her life with her lovely crow. Taking a deep breath, she dashed straight into the street, her pupils dilated in high anticipation, adrenaline rushed in her veins, heart beat fast. Suddenly, it was dark, a heavy gust of wind swept through her fur. On the lamppost, the crow uttered a continuous flow of caws as another car sped towards the poor squirrel paralyzed in red.

That afternoon, in the midst of the street, a flock of crows were fighting among each other for a fresh meal.

Because I Love You, I'm Leaving You by Ashley Van Meter

I’m moving as far away as I can possibly go. When you’re gone for two, three nights in a row with no explanation, when you drag dirty metal junk through the door, picking it apart in a drug-fueled frenzy to extract the tiniest sellable piece from it, when you fall with the bathroom mirror and shatter on the floor, I agonize about what I could’ve done to help you, the love of my life. My angel. My king.

Why didn’t it work, being your martyr? Sacrificing myself to save you! It’s changed me, love. I’m not the same any more.

So it’s come to this. Because I love you I’m pulling the plug on us, draining this warm bath I’ve made to make you feel like everything is comfortable and beautiful. Until I pull that plug, you will never stop pushing that plunger.

Muddy Beginnings​ by Joelle Erickson

Once again I’m stumbling over soccer balls in the stinging rain, questioning why I’m playing this imbecile game. Across the field, she majestically noses her sturdy foot under the ball and propels it into the guarded goal. When she scores her face illuminates and her eyes fire from within; I stand motionless, staring, longing for her as I recall why I chose to start soccer. The game resumes, and I start running but my feet fumble and I land face first in a slurry of mud. Drowned and humiliated, a warm hand is placed in mine. Glancing up, her luminous face is inches away, mouthing something I cannot hear. Her eyebrows scrunched in concern and those tawny eyes so near, I melt into her warm embrace. 

The Boy and His Ball by D Lee

He sat quietly, water spilled on the floor next to his ball.

“Why can’t you pay attention to what you are doing!” she yelled, wiping up the water with a floral paper towel. She picked up the ball and threw it. He jumped back as it rolled near his feet.

“Get your toy and go in your room,” but before he could move, “Go! Now!”

He grabbed his ball, ran to his room, and jumped on the bed. He curled up and waited patiently. He did not mean to spill the water. He was just happy she was home. He missed her all day and he just wanted to play with her.

He crept back into the kitchen after a few minutes and placed the ball at her feet. “I’m sorry baby,” she whispered as she stroked his head. He sighed and wagged his tail.

 

This is Kiba. You can tell he is a rascal.

The girl is Chacha. She’s a kisser!

 

 

What They Said by Julia Ismael

She said firm as the ground beneath, “They ain’t no such thing as love. There’s work and there’s want,” and I believed my mama. She know.

He woulda said as gentle as fabric softener, “They ain’t no such thing as love. There’s work and there’s want,” and if we ever met, I’d believe my pops. He’d know.

He said flat as unleavened hotcakes, “I’m leaving and never coming back,” and I believed my husband. But he only know want not work.

Girl said fine as peach fuzz, “I love you, mama,” and I believed my daughter. But she only know want not work.

Boy said tired as a one-armed hanger, “I’ll never finish my stupid homework,” and I believed my son. But he only know work not want.

Mirror says resolute as a jawbreaker, “I want to work to love you fully,” and I believe myself; I work for love.