Sorry for the wait! I got super busy. Voting will continue as normal now! Just a reminder:
So far 4 stories have been voted on. Here are the rules once more:
- For 48 hours, you can vote which one of the four stories below you like the best.
- Finally, one more poll will be put up with the last 5 stories.
- The three winning stories will be voted on next!
- The winner of the final poll will be the first Writing Event Winner! The Judge’s picks will also be announced at that time!
Coin-Operated Boy has won the first vote!
Before voting, please read all 4 of the stories below. They are anonymous to try to remove any bias voters may have for their friends.
…Well, Better than the Alternative by Will Wood
“Maddie, the sun’s gonna set soon, you need to wrap it up.” I leaned forward on the sidewalk, trying to see around the cars parked along the curb. She slowly made her way over and pulled the bicycle to a stop about a meter away from me.
“Come on, dad—“ she glanced over her shoulder, back into the cul-de-sac. “Just a few more times? Pretty please?”
I furrowed my brow in thought before looking back up. I met her eyes, smiling.
“Alright, I guess you can. Just two more times, though— I’m counting!” I shouted as she cycled away, not letting me finish. Sighing, I sat up on the warm pavement and took a sip from my thermos, the coffee burning my tongue.
I wonder if she’s ever ridden a bike before today. Should I tell her that I haven’t? I thought.
She emerged from behind the cars before taking a sharp turn and heading back down the road.
What would she think of me?
Before I could form an answer, I heard metal crashing into brick, soon followed by a scream. I quickly stood and scrambled past the cars, trying not to stumble over my own feet. Sure enough, she’d crashed into a mailbox and fallen onto the road.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked, crouching down beside her. She held one of her skinned knees to her chest with bloodied hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. With some encouragement, I managed to get her to stand, and lifted her bike from the unscathed mailbox as I held her hand. “We’ll go home and put some medicine and a Band-Aid on those, alright? And, I’ll… I’ll fix you a glass of lemonade.”
She nodded, sniffling. With one hand on the bicycle handle and the other in hers, we began to head home.
My mind wandered as her cries began to quiet down. This entire situation could’ve been avoided. Why wasn’t I keeping an eye on her? Maybe the bike was a bad idea after all. This would’ve never happened with her mother. I should’ve known better.
I wasn’t perfect. There was plenty wrong with me. Hell, more often than not I found the disheveled figure staring back at me in the bathroom mirror to be nothing more than an awful excuse of a man, much less a father.
In a way, our disagreements were comforting. The idea that she might somehow turn out like me terrified me.
We’d made it back in just a few minutes. I told her to go inside while I put her bicycle back up in the garage. It’d be a while before we’d get it down again, I figured.
Inside, she’d already gotten the box of bandages down from the medicine cabinet. Though her hands were shaking and blood was pooling in her palms, she managed to get one onto her knee. I helped with the rest.
I later stopped in front of the door to the garage, bicycle helmet in hand. Peering into the living room, where she sat wrapped in a blanket on the couch, I felt a knot release from my chest; she was going to be alright.
Maybe I’d overreacted a little bit.
I’d failed most of the people in my life, to be fair. I wouldn’t dare admit it, but my parents had failed me. The cigarette burn scars scattered along my forearms served as a written reminder of the promise I made to myself all those years ago, back in my childhood bedroom. I’d never hurt her as they had hurt me.
Once back inside, I hurried to the fridge and grabbed a small bottle of pink lemonade. My first instinct was to take the entire bottle over, but with a moment’s hesitation, I turned back around and emptied it into a small plastic cup.
“I got your lemonade,” I said, setting it onto the coffee table. She lowered the blanket and reached out for it. I took a seat beside her on the couch.
“Thank you.” She studied it before setting it back down. “Y’know, Mom used to always get me lemonade after school. We’d always go through the drive-thru and use the app on her phone to get discounts. She’d get me lemonade instead of something for herself ‘cause she didn’t like anything they had.”
Unsure of what to say, I kept silent. She looked up at me, confused.
“… Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Thanks, Dad. I just, um,” she paused, her voice breaking. “I still miss her really bad.”
In the beginning, it was hard. It was no secret that she’d loved her mom more than anything. On the day the caseworkers brought her to my doorstep, any last bit of stability left in our lives was stripped away from us both; we spent those first few months jumping between rentals, schools, and jobs. Our home was plagued by arguments and uncomfortable silences. But, slowly, I learned how to love again. I learned how to welcome her into my arms and let her cry on my shoulder when she found herself aching for her mother’s warm embrace, although I knew I’d never be able to completely ease her pain.
Even so, we’d made progress. I’d found a half-decent job. We hadn’t moved in eight months, longer than ever before. She’d tell me about her friends over fast food dinners with a smile. I’d sought out help. As I spent more time around her, I came to realize my fears had no ground. We were getting better…
… but what good did any of that do? Here we were, still stuck in the same place we’d always been.
“I know, Maddie. I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I’m promise I’m trying my best. Really.”
“I know.” Her bandaged hands, resting facedown on her lap, had stopped shaking.
Things could be a lot worse, I thought. I’d promised myself to get better for her sake, and I was going to.
I had to.
Hold On by Belle Sisoki
I stand in a forest. Tall, slender, almost midnight black tree trunks loom over me. The bright green leaves rustle in an almost rythmic way. I look up as far as I can, and see glimpses of turquoise blue before it dissapears from view. The wind rustles my hair around my face and I hear the faintest sound of Malaysian drums and war cries. I turn all around, straining my ears to pick up the sound again. From my right, I hear the sounds of horse hooves. A beautiful black stallion gallops towards me but is slowed by the beautiful leather white halter pulling at his mouth. The woman riding the stallion has black hair, green eyes, and the fairest skin I have ever seen. " My name is Odiza." The woman says. “You should not be here, for you are not of this world.”
“I don’t know how I got here.” I say.
“Hmm.” Odiza says with a curious face. “I will take you to see our leader. Hop on.”
“I don’t know how to ride a horse” I say, raising my hands palms up.
“You don’t need to know. Just hop on” Odiza says gently. She clicks her tounge, and the horse kneels down. I clumsily climb on the flank of the horse. Once I’m settled, seated right behind Odiza, I hear the sounds of a flute coming from infront of me. A herd of horses comes out from the trees. Saddled on top of the horses, were people like Odiza draped in turquoise robes with gold trim along the edges. Their saddles were black as night and their horses were all the same soft chesnut brown. The only one that was different was Odiza’s horse.
She raised her hand and I notice a silver ring lined with green gems. She looks towards the people and says something in a language that doesn’t sound familiar. The people nod. They place their straw hats on their heads and turn their horses around. They wait until Odiza is in the front. I look behind me and they form a triangle, like a flock of geese migrating south for the winter. I turn back and face foward. And I see the most brilliant white light.
I Dreamt We Spoke Again by Death Cab for Cutie
You know those people that draw themselves towards you. The type of people who you just feel right when around them? I met one of those people once. She was wonderful, The sweetest human to ever exist. Her name was Meline and she was my best friend. See we grew up together, we were friends since kindergarten. Our parents were friends, and her siblings were mine and vice versa. Let me tell you a story about my best friend, One that I never thought would be the end of us.
It was our first year of highschool and we were nervous. She was nervous for highschool, I was nervous because this was the year I decided to let her know that I wanted more than just friendship. So the year started as normal until she made new friends and started to leave me behind. We had always promised to stay together, but I guess that doesn’t carry over when you’re suddenly popular. I could never have lunch with her friends, like she was embarrassed of being friends with me. This continued on for a while until I confessed my feelings in front of the school. I had bought all of her favorite things and crocheted her a homemade stuffed animal of her favorite animal (the marmot). SO I did it during prom season, in front of her new friends. This one action would be my downfall.
As soon as I asked, she threw the flowers at me, their thorns creating wounds of shame. She kept going on and on about how I would never be good enough for her, and that the very notion of me was disgusting. Yeah, SOmetimes when you think you know someone, you can be wrong. So very wrong. I kept waiting for her to come up to me and apologize for what she did, humiliating me in front of the whole school. That day never came. I see her in the halls sometimes, she sees me then looks away pretending she never saw me. I guess it would hurt her image, the popular kid hanging out with the school freak. Even now even after everything she’s done I still want her back.
Sometimes the universe likes to mess with me and put her in my dreams, when I wake up I never can remember what she said to me. Just that and then back to being strangers again. And every single day for the rest of my freshman year I had the same dream. I dreamt we spoke again.
Ash in the Sun by Vundabar
I followed the whim of the wind into the south, where I decided to settle down. There I met the man of my dreams, who showed me how." Life’s a breeze. Just ride it out." He told me as we walked through the desert landscape. As we walked, I started to notice him falling behind, stopping and stumbling. Till I stopped to see he was on the ground. Over and over, He’d recite these words to me: “and maybe someday, babe my ash’ll land on your nose. I guess we’ll never know whichever way the wind blows.” The heat became blazing by noon. I kept him company till he took his last breath." Death to heat stroke," I concluded. Well, I used to have fun, when I was young. Now I’m just ash in the sun. All dressed up, and burnt out. What’s it matter anyhow? Then I just kept hearing his words “… I guess we’ll never know whichever way the wind blows.” Just bury me, bury me please, I can’t go home, I can’t stay here. Just bury me please, I have nothing to lose. His words then again came back to me: “…Whichever way the wind blows.”
Please vote on the contents of the story, not the song that inspired it!
- …Well, Better than the Alternative
- Hold On
- I Dreamt We Spoke Again
- Ash in the Sun
The poll will close in 48 hours! Please try to vote fairly.
it was so hard to pick one.