 2010 / 11th Annual Chistell Writing Contest Winners
NOTE: Congratulations to all winners and finalists and everyone who entered this year's contest! Congratulations again - Winners Honorable Mentions!
The full text of the winning short stories and poems are below the list of the winning and honorable mention poems/short stories.
1st Place Short Story - "Lonely" by Seun Odukoya
2nd Place Short Story - "Life on a Raft" by Tim Brugger
Honorable Mention Short Story - "Faded Colors" by Janene Ryan
1st Place Poem - "Valentia" by Calvin Kuntz
2nd Place Poem - "Teenage Years" by Megan Landis
Honorable Mention - Poem - "Dear Marriage Proposals" by Rushda Rafeek
1st Place Poem - "Valentia" by Calvin Kuntz Copyrighted
The day will pass; my eyes will close
A day that God will quietly bestow.
I'll sleep within swaying blades of grass,
And let my soul's senses catch each pass
From the cool, inviting murmurs of a breeze
That wraps round the ever dancing trees.
That's a heaven I'll collect with warm sight;
The daring cliffs of Valentia and her light.
My dreams will then be free to breathe,
Winding down my warm sweater sleeve.
2nd Place Poem - "Valentia" by Megan Landis Copyrighted
Stranded alone,
In the teenage world.
A place where insecurity,
Eats at your mind,
And temptation lures to you a cliff.
Confusion lingers in the air,
Breathed in by our struggling souls.
And the maze of opportunities,
Both frighten and intrigue us.
A chapter of life,
That is unbearable for some,
And rough on us all.
It's time to find self-understanding,
And conquer self-love.
Both, at time, are impossible.
Innocence is lost,
And never found again,
As these years steal our youth,
And twist us into adults.
1st Place Short Story - "Lonely" by Seun Odukoya Copyrighted
I hate the rain.
No, do not get me wrong; the rain, I mean the water that falls from the sky is absolutely wonderful and relevant. It's a source of life, so to speak. But "the rain" as far as I was concerned was a harbinger of bad news. Let me explain what I mean.
The night my father turned mum into a cripple, scared me for life and walked out of our lives forever; it had rained cows and bulls literally. The day Peju, the girl that took me off the streets and cleaned up my act died, Bariga had been flooded. The day I got shot in my left cheek, it had been raining non- stop for two days.
That was not to be taken to mean that every time it rained, some shit happened. No, I had some cool memories too, around rain. What I meant wat "the rain" hence the relevance of quotation marks, was of a particular kind, that kind that started with no warning, that kind that soaked you to your skin within moments, that kind that rained forever. That was the kind I meant.
The wind picked up again, gusts that whipped my hoodie and jeans closer against my body. Snuggling deeper, I squeezed my eyelids to a squint, trying to see far ahead. Traffic was practically non-existent and it was dark. Rhonda had not wanted me to come out in this, I recalled. But then she hardly wanted me to do anything. I noticed a peculiar kind of waiting, watching around her the past week, almost as if something- she was waiting for something to happen.
Rhonda
A fresh gust of wind blew up again as I huddled deeper into the hoodie she had insisted I wear as I left the house. Boy was I glad I had listened to her for once. I also had not wanted to go anywhere, but I had to work. I had not been able to look at her as I shrugged away the restraining arm she placed on my arm, but I mumbled a low "I'll soon be back" and bounced, not waiting for her reply. For almost a year and some, she and I had been sharing my small self-contained apartment. She'd needed a place to stay, and I'd needed some female company, someone to keep the place in shape. It had been a mutually benefiting arrangement.
I still did my dirt, even when she began sharing my bed. I mean it wasn't like we were in a relationship. She knew what the deal was, had known it from the get go. She was a soldier, Rhonda. She never complained.
What upset everything though was that after eight months of our living together, my mum had come visiting. Right there, I watched my carefully orchestrated bachelor life go up in smoke. Mum had fallen irrevocably in love with Rhonda. She must have been like the daughter she'd never had. After a week, Mum had left, but not before reminding me about the fact that she was all I had (she never remarried after pop), and that she wasn't getting any younger. Where were her grandchildren!
"Mum," I said feeling exasperated, "Be patient. When my life is more together that it is right now, I'll look for a girl."
"Look for a girl?! Pikin, are you mad? This girl no? What is wrong with her eh?"
Fortunately Rhonda was away then, so there was no one to overhear us. I tried to reason with Mum. "Rhonda is just a friend. She's just staying here for awhile until she get herself together. She's not--"
Mum interrupted. "I did not raise you singlehandedly for you to grow up into a fool. So you are just going to sit back and watch some other boy come and take away this girl? I think you are smarter than that. What more could you want?"
"Mum," I began, but Rhonda came in at that pint and that was the end of it. Looking back over time now, I could see why Mum had become so besotted with her. But then I began to hate her for warming her way into Mum's good graces, and fool that I was, I refused to see the wisdom in Mum's words. I had no friends, but once or twice I heard whispers of "what a great girl" and "what is she doing with him?!" All that did was make me madder, and I began to lash out at Rhonda, poor innocent girl who was just trying to make me happy. I did not believe she could put up with my crap, but she did. What a girl!
Well, that was going to change tonight, I thought, feeling the bundles of notes in my pocket. I had been a mere tarmac boy, grabbing twenty bucks from filthy conductors, when I met Peju, a girl who belonged in another world. She cleaned me up and took me to her dad, the Union's legal adviser. He had moved me to the president, who made me his bookie, no more walking the streets. By the time Peju died from jaundice a year later, I had saved enough to put Mum in a flat, get her round-the-clock help and move from my shanty into a better place. Whatever was left of my savings had gone to playing a role at her funeral. I'd had to start over.
Now two years down, and the president had thought to reward me for years of faithful service. When he called for me that evening, I had no idea what was in the offering. He spoke about loyalty, gave me a meal and offered me a choice of three (obviously university girls) with him. When I declined, he chuckled and muttered "Rhonda". Then he gave me three bundles of notes and a deposit slip which showed an account in my name with a balance of three and a half million bucks. Just like that, I had become a millionaire. He had sent me home with a pat on the back and ordered Jacobi to drive me. I declined, saying I wanted to walk. I was still in shock.
Suddenly, my irritability at the weather returned. I wished I'd allowed Jacobi to drop me like the boss suggested. I wanted to get home in a hurry. I started jogging. As I neared my apartment, the scar on my cheek began to itch. This is not good, I thought. A few minutes later, I rounded up the corner adn came in sight of my apartment. There was a light in my window and I felt gladdened by the sight. She was waiting. Why then, was I feeling uneasy? Why was it raining like that again? Grunting to myself about superstition, I opened the gate, jogged into the compound and round the back. Within seconds, I was standing in my warm sitting room.
"Babe, I'm back," I call as I take off the water-proof hoodie and hang it in the verandah. I come back in and start to take off my sneakers when I notice she hadn't answered. I frowned. That was so unlike her. I stand up, pulling the bundles out of my pocket and placing them on the table. Then I notice two covered plates and beside them a note. Inexplicably, I'm terrified; I go barging into the room and flick on the light switch. Her bags are gone. Stunned, I walk back into the parlor and slump into a chair. She's gone, is all I think. As I look around, my glance falls onto the note and I reach for it. Opening it, I read:
Darling,
I'm so sorry. I can't live with you anymore. It's no fault of yours; I'm the one who fell in love. We had an arrangement; I should have stuck to it, but you are so kind, so gentle; I got carried away. I love to look into your eyes, but those same eyes tell me it's no good, to stop wasting my time, you'll never feel the same way. I should just let you be, live your life in peace. I sincerely hope you'll be happier now. Do find somebody, okay? Don't be selfish or scared, you have so much to give the right person and I have no doubts you'll make a great father. You deserve your own family. I'll miss you."
Absently, I touch the plates; then I start startled; they were still warm. She could not have gone for long. I rush for the door, and then I stop and walk back slowly to sink into the chair I just vacated. I did not deserve her, I think. It's better this way. She'll find someone better, someone who had more sense and did not live in his own world, someone who . . .
And outside, the rain continues to fall.
2nd Place Short Story - "Life on a Raft" by Tim Brugger Copyrighted
Today
It's been over a month and a half now. I know because I've marked every sunrise like clockwork, right here on the beam, and there are "almost" 50 of them. "Almost" because with some of them it's kind of hard to tell. And, truth be told, I can't help feeling I missed a day or two somewhere along the line. This heat's making it harder to remember a lot of things lately.
Before Today
I'd done all the things in life I was "supposed" to do up to this point, and the time was rapidly approaching to implement "The Plan." Since "The Plan" had been in place for 32 years now, as you might imagine I had the main points down pretty well. The first step was finding her, and I was pretty certain it was going to take a while. Then, lo and behold, there she was. As if she'd been waiting a long time for me too. Oh, "she" is "Morgan" by the way, a 38-foot Cheoy Lee Ketch I found south of Long Beach. Perfect.
From there we sailed back up to Portland, "Morgan" and I. I can still remember it was a nice ride, giving us a chance to get a feel for each other. We moored on the Columbia for almost three years, saving every penny.
Even with everything that's happened since, it's been worth it; every last moment of it. I've seen incredible things I can't begin to describe. The most beautiful acts of nature and man, happening all over the world, right in front of us everyday. I think that makes me pretty damn lucky when you think about it. And believe me; I have had plenty of time to think about it.
Closer to Today
It was a couple months ago I was on my way to the Galapagos Islands via Hawaii. That's when my whole world, literally and figuratively, turned upside down. It was a Maverick wave that did it. The conditions were a bit rough at first, but nothing too out of the ordinary. The storm grew so slowly none of us realized how bad it'd gotten until water started coming over the bow. Not a ton at first, but more and more with each series of waves. Then, as I was coming over a crest, I caught the Maverick out of the corner of my eye, turning just in time to watch it hit me broadside. Damn that thing was huge! Next thing I remember was under water looking up at the helm. Not good.
I was able to swim from under the boat to the surface. The waves were still coming pretty steady, but I remember seeing the dinghy heading down a pretty big swell and thinking I better get after that thing. I guess the force of the impact tore the dinghy from its davits. Whatever the reason, it was pretty damn lucky and I took off.
Back to Today
Let me fill you in on my current situation by explaining something. When sailing, the number one rule is you have to be ready for all contingencies; that kind of thing. Outfitting my dinghy was no exception. It's a sailing dinghy with a rain catcher, a tarp to jerry rig as protection from the sun, a deep sea pole with plenty of extra line, lures and assorted survival equipment.
Yeah it's small, especially when you've been here as long as I have. But it seems to be working out pretty well. Not surprisingly, I spend a lot of time scanning the horizon. For other boats of course, but that doesn't seem too likely anymore. Now I spend most of my time looking for anyone of the million wonders that occur out here. Just the other day I sailed right by a couple of orcas tearing into something like they hadn't eaten in weeks. I couldn't see what they were enjoying so feverishly, but whatever it was had all their attention. That was just as well, because they were each bigger than my 9-foot dinghy.
Later Today
I know it doesn't make sense but the more I think about it, the more I'm starting to like it out here. I miss a lot of people. I'm pretty sure of that. Actually, I miss a lot of things.
After Today
Seems like a long time ago now since I picked up pen and paper. I haven't been counting the days lately, kind of pointless really. Einstein was right, time is most certainly relative. It is what we choose to make of it, and I take solace in that.
Final Day
I can't seem to catch anything with this damn pole, not sure what's wrong with it. Some rain would sure be nice, no sense having a rain catcher when there's no rain. It might help my lips too; they've been bleeding pretty badly for awhile now, and this salt air really stings. I miss that tarp; it blocked the sun out pretty well for a few weeks there. I guess I shouldn't complain too much, it really is beautiful out here. Well, the sun's finally setting and I'm getting pretty tired.
Good night.
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