Last week's contest results!

Actually dawdling around is my new way to torment writers.
I think it's very successful. I could hear Colin gnashing his fangs all the way from North Carolina!

Special recognition

C. Dan Castro 

I am not a coward.

“Gentlemen, tomorrow’s sortie against Ploesti will cripple the Nazis.”

Some men...boys cheer.

I know I wouldn’t make it back.

“Heil Hitler? We’ll hail a firestorm down like God’s wrath.”

All the boys whoop.

It’s suicide. I’ll feign illness.

“What about air defenses?” God, he’s 18?

“Partisans with HEAT rounds’ll smash ‘em. Let us breach AA defenses.” If the partisans show.

“Gentlemen, tomorrow we end this war!”

The boys erupt, unleashing a cacophony that if the Ploesti Nazis could hear it, they’d quake.

I can’t...won’t abandon these boys.

These men.

I’m not a coward.

This just grabs you and doesn't let go.
I had to look up Ploesti but the the entry is sublime even without knowing the details.


TS Rosenberg

Built my empire with sweat equity. Years of rice and beans. When I gazed up at the skyscraper bearing my name, I cried.

After the hostile takeover, I moved fast to the “acceptance” stage of grief. I hail from Chicago, where corruption's part of life.

Then they smacked me for breach of contract. My sortie with lawyers (Dewey, Cheatem & Howe) left me so broke I couldn't buy beans, never mind rice.

Slipped into the “disgruntled ex-employee” stage of grief.

Chicago knew something about fires, too.

I gazed up at the skyscraper. My name faded within the smoke. I cried.

Of course, any mention of Dewey Cheathem and Howe will catch my eye.
Rice and beans on the building phase, then on the downward slope is a nice mirror.

And of course the subtle reference to the cost of revenge. Lovely work.

John Davis Frain

The four-way is now a stoplight. I pass the theatre where my procrastination backfires. It’s a three-story condo. Lover’s Resort (i.e., Coal Mine Road) is grown over.

At Mom’s, the oak is gone. Tire swing, too.

I’m surprised when my key works. Guess it would have all this time, ten years and change.

Inside, memories hail from the walls. Mom asks if I’m here to fix the toilet. Every bone, every fibre, aches as I bend to hug her. She can’t remember my name.

I thought when you had no one, no one could hurt you. But I’m wrong, Mom.

If I had a heart, this would be tugging at my heartstrings.
Lovely use of language here.

JustJan

Unbeknownst to Pam, the new thermostat Jim installed in her mother’s apartment was a direct portal to Hell. Programming it sent her on a sortie to the land of fires, red-hot hail, and teeth gnashing.

“This is a breach of contract,” Satan wailed.

“You actually wanted my mother?”

“She’s post-menopausal and feisty--she can handle the heat.” His eyes twinkled. “Besides, most husbands don’t read the fine print when they ask me to take their mother-in-law.”

“You mean--?”

Satan giggled. “For all eternity.”

“That’s genius!”

“Pure evil! Wanna watch?”

And so Pam learned the true origin of reality TV.

Satan wailing and giggling is perfection.

Efa foy

It’s picture day and the boy breaks out in fish scales.

Peachy. Derek and his alpha-ilk will LOVE this.

He tugs at the plates breaching his flesh. They tug back.

Can we wait this out?

The bathroom door thumps—“Hon, bus’ll be here soon”—as gills blossom on his neck. Miss the bus, and he’ll have to face Dad’s switch-stiff ire.

So, that’s a no.

Even toothpaste smeared, they are stunning: Blue-green iridescent.

Maybe this’ll work?

Deep in the striations or tiers of himself, he changes, too.

This could be his eucatastrophe. At least, he’ll be visible.

This is a stunning work of imagination and metaphor. 


This was the only week in memory where I knew who had won the moment I read the entry.
This week's prize goes to Efa Foy.

Efa, please send me your mailing address and the kinds of books you like to read and we'll get you your long-overdue prize.

Thanks to all of you who took the time to write and enter.

And all of you who were unbelievably diplomatic about the long wait for results.