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Bucks County Community College
  Academics  —  Academic Departments  —  Language and Literature  —  High School Short Fiction Contest

Bucks County Short Fiction Contest For High School Students

Call for Entries - 2023

The sixth annual Bucks County Short Fiction Contest for High-School Students invites entries from high school students who are residents of Bucks County, PA, or who are enrolled in high schools within the county. Home-schooled students are also eligible.

Submit your story

Eligibility

All students who are residents of Bucks County, PA, or are enrolled in a high school (grades 9-12) in Bucks County, PA, are eligible. Home-schooled Bucks County, PA students are also eligible.

Entry Rules

  1. Each entrant may submit one original short story. Stories must be previously unpublished, including in online blogs or publications. No fan fiction (based on existing books, movies or other media) is acceptable.
  2. Stories should be double-spaced, in Times New Roman 12, with standard margins. Stories may be five to ten pages, double spaced (about 1,450-2,400 words). DOC or DOCX.
  3. Please place the title of the story in the upper right-hand corner. Your name should not appear anywhere on the document.
  4. Please fill out the Entry Form completely and submit your story by 12 p.m. (noon) by Thurs. March 16, 2023. Entries must be submitted electronically. No paper submissions will be accepted. There is no cost to enter the contest.
  5. Entries that do not follow these rules may be disqualified.

Notification of Winners

Winners will be notified by the Director of the BCCC Short Fiction Contest. All contestants will be notified using the phone number or email address you provided. Note: It’s a good idea to check your phone and email in the week following the contest. If your submission cannot be accessed, this is how the contest director will attempt to reach you.

Awards

  • First place: $200 Honorarium
  • Second place: $100 Honorarium
  • Third place: $50 Honorarium

A celebratory event will be held on Weds. April 19, at 7 p.m.

The Bucks County Community College is the sponsor of the Bucks Short Fiction Contests. The contest receives support from the Department of Language and Literature. The contest director is Bucks County Community College Professor Elizabeth Luciano. Faculty of the department will serve as judges.

More Information

Professor Elizabeth Luciano at elizabeth.luciano@bucks.edu.

2022 Winners of the Short Fiction Contest for High School Students

The Bucks County Short Fiction Contest for High School Students is pleased to announce the winners for Spring 2022. Maria Kesisoglou, a ninth-grader at New Hope-Solebury High School, and a resident of New Hope, won first place for her story, “Cat’s Cradle.” Bethany Conover, a sophomore at Council Rock South High School, and a resident of Holland, took second place for her story, “What could have happened.” Adam Dombrowski, a sophomore at Pennsbury High School, and a resident of Morrisville, was awarded third place for his story, “No Chances.”  The winners’ stories were selected from a field of 67 entries this year.

The winners will receive certificates, as well as awards for $200, $100, and $50, respectively. The contest is funded by Bucks County Community College, and receives support from the Department of Language and Literature. The final judge was Joseph Shakely, a professor in the department.

For more information, contact the contest coordinator, Prof. Elizabeth Luciano, at Elizabeth.Luciano@bucks.edu.

"Cat's Cradle"

Maria Kesisoglou

First place winner

Of Kesisoglou’s the first-place story, Shakely wrote, “With the first line—‘A phone rings in an empty house late at night’—a sense of foreboding draws the reader into this well-crafted tale of supernatural horror. The story unfolds almost entirely in the form of a message left on the answering machine in that empty house, a message that is both a warning and a plea for help from the self-described ‘shut-in next door.’ The author’s deft handling of characterization, even within the confines of the tight narrative setup, has us believing the caller and experiencing a growing sense of dread that peaks with an ending that in retrospect seems inevitable but that nevertheless lands with a punch. The meaning of the title, too, becomes clear with that ending and provides a chilling metaphor to make the story linger in the reader’s mind.”

"Cat's Cradle" - Full Story

A phone rings in an empty house late at night. The calling tone echoes for an unnaturally long time before it finally clicks off into silence. Then, an automated voice utters in monotone: “You have. One. New message.” Another abrupt click and the message begins to play into the dark:


There is a creature in my yard and it will not go away. It comes at night and I know it is coming for me next. You will dismiss this call as the ramblings of the old shut-in next door, but I am telling you: once it gets me it will go for you, and so you need to get me out of here.


We probably haven’t exchanged more than a couple of pleasant smiles and waves as I sit on my porch in the morning and you leave your house to go to work. I presume that’s what you’re doing, but I don’t go out on the porch these days. Not anymore. What I’m trying to say is, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I need you to at least listen to me before you decide I’m senile, if only for the comfort of an old man.


I live alone in the house next door. My wife died a couple of years back, and I could never bring myself to sell it, though keeping up with the bills and yard work can be difficult. The kids send me money, but they don’t come to visit anymore, you know how kids are… you’re the same age as my sons are now, I believe. Maybe that’s why I’m calling you instead of the police. Funny what age and nostalgia do to you. You’re almost as much of a complete stranger to me as any officer would be, and yet here I am, asking you for help because you remind me of my boys. They’re both away for business now. If I had just called them earlier maybe I could’ve fixed this. I guess it’s my own fault for being so damn stubborn.


I’ve always insisted on doing things by myself. Of course, I can’t remember, but I imagine I’ve been this way since I was a child. You only came here a few years ago to my recollection, so you wouldn’t know that I fixed up our entire house by myself. Before my wife and I moved in, the house fell fairly far into disrepair after the previous owners accidentally caused a fire. At least, that’s what we were told by the agent, but when we arrived, I didn’t see any signs of scorching or ashes. The place was just…overgrown. It felt almost wild, with vines crawling up walls laced with thin cracks, weeds growing out of gaps in the front porch, and scathing grass bending in a cutting wind. It rather unnerved my wife, I think, as she seemed uneasy for the first few weeks living there; however, I had some experience from helping my father out around the house as a teenager, and I was diligent in doing yard work every day until the dense jungle had been reduced to a relatively normal lawn.


Yard work has always been comforting to me. Being outside, working with my hands - I genuinely enjoy the regular task of keeping the lawn tidy. My sons were born soon after we moved, and growing up they kept me busy, but I always found the time to work in the yard. As I’ve gotten older, my wife has tried to convince me to hire someone to do it on account of my bad back, but I can’t bear the thought of someone else taking over my carefully established routine. After her death, going into the backyard and digging my hands deep in the soil became the only way I could truly feel my grief. Taming the wilderness is as familiar to me as breathing.


So, I have encountered plenty in my backyard. You know how many animals come and go every day, crossing the border between our yards and the woods behind them. There are countless times when I’ve woken up to a pile of feathers in front of the back door or bloody messes of unidentifiable meat near the trees. You must understand that this wasn’t like that.
It started with the rabbits. Maybe around a year ago, give or take. Ever since my children stopped coming around. I was bringing some broken branches that had snapped off during a summer storm to the back of the yard, dragging them almost inside the forest. It was a sunny day with very few clouds, directly contrary to the stormy weather the night before, and the bright light was glinting off of something that lay beneath one of the large pine trees. Putting the branches down, I walked closer, thinking something from my deck had blown across the yard. Instead, I approached to see the still body of a small, brown rabbit.


I wasn’t surprised at first. Foxes and coyotes are found in abundance in this area, you know. I figured the poor rabbit had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But no, it couldn’t have been that, I realized. The fur of the rabbit was smooth and undisturbed; it was not matted with thick, rusty blood or peeling away in patches. In fact, there were no signs of injury whatsoever. It would have looked like the rabbit had just gone to sleep if it had not been curled into an odd mimic of the human fetal position. All of its limbs and its head were pressed into its chest, compacting the corpse into a tight ball of fur. Those limbs should have been broken, contorted like that, but the rabbit was not bleeding at all. It was certainly a bit strange, but I honestly didn’t pay much attention at first. Any number of things could have caused that rabbit to die in that peculiar position, I told myself. I went about the rest of my day as normal.


The next week, another one turned up. This time closer to the center of the yard, but still curled up unnaturally tight. More kept on coming. Eventually, I had to start disposing of them, because no scavengers or predators were picking them up. Even though they were sitting in the yard for days on end, there was, oddly, no smell. Usually, the stench of animal carcasses after just a day outside is worse than anything. It’s a strong odor of rot, coppery blood, and dirt that distinctively marks the animal as dead meat. At no point did I catch the faintest hint of it from the bodies. Sometimes, it wasn’t even an entire corpse. Just a paw, or an ear, again with no sign of damage. These ones weren’t twisted but instead looked as if the rest of the rabbit had vanished… or the animal bits purposefully dragged to my yard.


When the deer leg appeared, I only rationalized the mysterious remains further. I justified the oddity of the rabbits by imagining skittery foxes, constantly scared away by the dogs across the street before they ate their kills. Trying to stay logical, I saw no reason to panic over the deer leg. I found it easily enough, cast in heavy shadows by the pine tree that it was under. Come to think of it, it might’ve been the same pine tree as the first rabbit… I wasn’t paying attention back then. It was small, most likely from a small buck or young doe. The leg was torn from its socket, a bone protruding from the joint. It was picked clean, absent of any remaining sinew or blood. I looked around the rest of the yard after discarding it, but the rest of the remains of the deer were nowhere to be seen. Chestnut fur and a sleek, polished hoof were the only indications that the stripped leg had once been one of the soft-eyed creatures I saw in my backyard.


I should’ve known it was a warning. If only I’d realized sooner; I would’ve sold the house immediately to try to avoid what I now know was coming. Rather, I marked it up to eccentric predator behaviors. “Mother Nature works in her own ways,” I repeated to myself over and over again when the flock of dead crows covered my lawn in dark, unruffled feathers. I spent the afternoon sweeping away the birds’ stiff and curled bodies, only to wake up the next morning to a mass graveyard of squirrels, all coiled under their kinked tails.


Did you ever notice? I think I recall hoping you wouldn’t at the time. My stubborn streak of independence was still going strong, and I didn’t want to be pestered by offers of help from well-intentioned neighbors. Stupid of me, in hindsight, but my dogma was still that the deaths were from natural causes, albeit extreme ones. If someone had just pointed out to me the
complete strangeness of it all…I want to believe that it would’ve changed something, anything, if someone had just…been there. That week back in November, when the neighbors went on vacation and you left for…wherever? That week that I was completely, utterly alone? That was when it came.


It was exactly six weeks ago, the second full moon of November. A blue moon. I awoke in the dark for a glass of water. It had been a late night and I wanted to fall back asleep as quickly as possible, so I didn’t turn the lights on. I walked downstairs in the dark, quickly grabbed a glass and filled it, and started going back upstairs, Stumbling out of the kitchen and climbing the stairs, I was overcome by a sudden feeling of apprehension. My world felt like it was collapsing around me, closing in on all sides and slowly narrowing around my shaking body. The glass slipped from my fingers, spilling water over the floor and shattering into a million pieces. Shock ran through my body, and my gaze jolted upright, directly towards the living room window in front of me.


And then I saw it. It never once turned its head towards the house, but I am convinced that it saw me first, that it let me see it. Against the backdrop of midnight, its bluish-purple, inky coat appeared fluid, slipping in and out of existence as it carefully moved across the grass. I never took my eyes off of the creature, but it would suddenly appear several feet away from where I last saw it. I watched it slink across the lawn, encased in shadows, and as it moved towards the streetlights, I finally saw it in sharper detail. My breath caught in my already frozen body.


The creature was cat-like, the size of a lion and the shape of a panther, but it had… too many limbs to be either one of those. Too many limbs to be any sort of animal I knew. Each one was smooth with muscle; at least eight different rippling legs supported the huge beast.
Additional bones jutted out of its shoulders and spine, contorting in impossible ways to form warped, shifting structures on its back. One second it whipped razor-sharp tentacles in the air and the next the bones were solid and still, forming finely pointed spikes down the creature’s lengthy spine. The eyes had pupils so large that it was impossible to see the irises, but even the black cavities seemed to glow with intense ferocity. Its face was pulled back in a snarl, revealing a pair of huge fangs the length of my forearm. They dripped with a dark, thick liquid that shone ruddy scarlet.


Monsters don’t exist. I know that. But even as I was aware of that fact, I watched as what could only be described as a monster stalked across the road to the house of the neighbors across the street. Their dogs, I noticed then, had been dreadfully silent the entire time. As it got closer to the house, it started dissolving into the darkness more frequently, sporadically reappearing in a completely different place. No matter how intensely I gazed out my window, fixated on the beast, I just couldn’t keep track of it. The last things I saw before it disappeared for the last time were its fangs, drenched in a bloody, soaking crimson. I spent the rest of the night on that stair, watching and listening. The howls I was expecting never came.


I went over the next day before the neighbors came back. Still half convinced that my visions from last night were part of a dream or perhaps sleep paralysis, I walked up to the neighbors’ fence and saw their two dogs, large Golden Retrievers, curled in the fetal position in the backyard, their bodies cold and unmoving. There was no blood, no damage: all the usual signs I had come to associate with those wild animal corpses in my yard. Except this felt different. Never before had the creature attacked anything close to human, at least not to my knowledge. Those animals were wild, they were part of something other. Dogs are, as they say, man’s best friend. The deaths of the dogs felt malicious, as if the creature was mocking me.


Over the past month, I’ve seen it two more times. Both times, I’m certain you and the neighbors were both away. There is never any noise to warn me, just that horrible tightening in my entire body. Then, I find myself shock-still and watching as it circles the house and disappears into the darkness. Two weeks ago it killed almost all of the neighborhood cats. People were upset, reasonably, as I had no good explanation for why eight cats had suddenly appeared in my yard, lifeless with no apparent cause of death. I’ve stopped going out on the front porch if only to give them all peace of mind, but nevertheless, the neighbors across the street left again two days ago. They seemed the most unsettled by the passings, as if they knew there was a force behind the deaths more sinister than an old man. Their kids play in the street sometimes, and I am loathe to imagine what the monster would do if one night they were left at home alone.


It is hungry for human flesh, I can see it in its all-consuming eyes. I do not know why it only hunts for those weak and alone when it could easily bite a healthy man in half, but it seems to have relegated itself to wild animals and household pets until now. I don’t know what changed, or why it has suddenly decided to hound me, but I have known since I saw its gleaming fangs that it will not go away. It will come for me soon and then steal into the night, fading in and out of view like it isn’t real, but it is real and it will destroy me.


Utter darkness surrounds my window as I call you now from my kitchen. No lights are on in your house either, but I can see your car in the driveway. Are you home? Can you even help me? There is a dreadful resignation to my fate stirring in my chest with the knowledge that I am powerless against these powers of which I know nothing about, and it makes me want to curl up into a ball so tight that I never have to face them again. This monster and I are playing a game of cat’s cradle, and my fingers will only form a grandfather clock that counts down to the end of my life. I can only pray that you are able to break the strings.


With a long beep, the house falls silent again. No one is home, and won’t be until the next week, after the owner of the house returns home in a rental car from a business trip with his neighbor’s sons. The young man will climb the steps to his elderly neighbor’s front porch first thing the afternoon he returns home, eager to get to know the man he heard so much about from his colleagues. When the door fails to open after repeated knocking, he will go around to the backyard to see if the old man is tending to his lawn like usual. As he walks in the shadow of his own house, he will see movement in the darkest corner, but he will forget about it a moment later. He will think that for the rest of his life he will never forget the sight of the old man’s twisted body, bloodless and perfectly preserved among the tall, scratching grass and untamed vines, not realizing that he has looped the thread and continued the game.

"What Could Have Happened"

Bethany Conover

Second place winner

Conover’s second-place story, Shakely said, is “a mix of fantasy and surrealism, told in the first person by a would-be novelist experiencing writer’s block. Her stop in an odd book shop with an equally odd proprietor launches her into something that seems halfway between dream and reality. The author of this story creates a narrator who remains believable and engaging whether musing on her fate, conversing awkwardly with an eccentric stranger, or struggling to get her bearings in an alternate reality. The genre-bending introduction of notes of mysticism and existentialism elevate this story well above the mere adventure tale.”

"What Could Have Happened" - Full Story

I could have had a life full of blissful memories, but instead they're full of dread. I wish I had lived a different life…a different story. One in the fairy tales with princesses and knights in shining armor. That is what I thought my life would be like. I dreamt of being older, and being able to do what I wanted to and live out my imaginary dreams.


When I walked in the bookstore, the little bell above the door rang. But, that was the only sound in the room. Just the little ringing sound. It was sorta spooky. From the outside of the book store, it seemed so small. But, when I walked in, it looked like I entered a whole new world. I didn’t notice this when I first entered, but there was this old woman sitting behind the counter. She was reading a book, so she didn't see me come in. Her face was worn, and she looked like she had many stories to tell. The odd thing was she didn’t seem that old. It was her hair. It wasn’t gray or all white, it was black. As black as a lump of coal. She had this innocence about her. She was just sitting there reading a book, not questioning the world around her.


“Excuse me?” I said politely. I tried not to sound bothersome. I hate it when I bother someone, I feel embarrassed. She didn't respond. The old woman just kept reading and flipping through the pages.


I asked again, “Sorry to bother you, but do you sell any notebooks?”.


She responded with, “Yes.”


That's all she had to say. After saying that she went back to reading. I thought she would tell me where they were in the piles of books all over the floors, walls, tables, and shelves.
“Where would they be?” I asked.


“Go to the back. They are labeled with a blue sign,” she said. Her response almost sounded sad, like she’d been asked that question too many times, “What do you need it for?”


I thought it was weird that she would ask me that question. She didn’t seem that interested when I first walked in. But now, it seemed she wanted my life story. I thought I would tell her everything because it seemed like she wanted to hear.


“I am writing a novel. I kept trying to come up with an ending for it and I filled up my last notebook. So I came here to try and find one,” I said with pride. I am very proud of my writing, so when I talk to someone about it, I go all in. I kept talking,


“It's about a wizard named Opal. She is learning new magic and her job is to protect the city of Tallem,” I didn’t want to say too much, because I wasn’t exactly done writing it. “I’m not finished yet. I can’t come up with a way to end it.”


“I hate endings,” the old woman said, “The authors never get it right. They always kill the villain, and the hero lives happily ever after. It's the same every time.”


I understood what she was saying. You don’t want to do the character wrong. I never really liked endings. One reason why I can never come up with one is I barely know how my life is going to end.


“Me too” I responded, “I wish books could last forever, where the characters can live out their lives.”


The old woman had already gone back to reading so I didn’t want to disturb her anymore. I continued to the back looking for the notebooks. The store was much bigger on the inside. There were so many books filled with so much inspiration. I wish I could read them all. I loved reading books just as much as I liked writing them. There was this ambiance about this place. Like there were so many stories untold, and secrets to be discovered. I wasn’t sure if that was a good feeling or a bad one. I finally got to the back of the store. It seemed like I’d been walking for days. There was this little table full of empty books. Some were older than others, but, there were no new ones. Some still had notes in them, and I couldn’t read some of the handwriting. I selected a brown cloth book, with patches on the front. It seemed odd for a notebook, but nevertheless, I took it and went to the front to pay. The old lady was still sitting there reading her book, yet it seemed she never turned a page…almost frozen in time.


“How much for this notebook?” I asked.


The old woman responded, “It’s yours, no cost.”


I was baffled, I didn’t think she would give me the notebook for free. No one gives out stuff willingly. There had to be a catch.


“Are you sure? Is there a catch, or something I have to do?” I said.


“No one has been to this shop in a long time. I’m barely making any money anyway,” she said, “This is just a hobby, selling books, I only do this to meet others who share my aspiration for books.”


You should have seen my face. I had the biggest smile. I was happy that she was happy, and that she saw me as a good person. I saw a little bit of myself in her. I left the store with a new notebook, and a mind full of inspiration.


“Why can’t I come up with an ending?” I said out loud, “Just end the book.”


I talk to myself when I can’t come up with ideas. It's just something I do. It didn’t really help, but I did it anyway. I was back at my place and I started to fill up my new notebook. But, I just sat there with an empty mind. Before, at the bookstore, I was inspired to write. I felt like I could write a thousand books in one lifetime. I had lost that inspiration. At this point, it was a Sunday night. Well, more like Monday morning. It was 1:00 am in the morning. I had to go to
school. I kept thinking about the old sign outside the bookstore, wondering how it looked in its former glory. I thought about all the books that laid on the floor, climbed the walls, and ran up the bookshelves. Books can tell a story without even opening them. I love the way the title draws the reader in and the way the cases of the books wither away with every read. I knew I had to go back. I felt like that store has so much to offer, and could help me end my book. After school, I headed back to the bookstore. The walk was familiar, so I knew I was heading in the right direction. My head was filled with so many thoughts and emotions. I couldn't wait to be back. As I approached the door, I took another close look at the sign. I was trying to see any remains of the name. All I could make out was M, G, C, B, and K.


"Hi again" I said to the old lady, "What is the name of the store?"


But, she wasn't there. The store was empty, and I was the only soul in sight. In a way, I was happy no one was there. I could work on my book by myself. So, I sat down at the only table I could find that wasn't covered with books and began to write. It felt like time stood still, like I am the only thing moving.


"Why can't I figure this out!!" I screamed out.


I had come so close to figuring out the ending. But, I hit another roadblock. I needed inspiration. So, I did what any book lover would do. I went through the bookstore looking for a book to read. There were so many books. It felt like voices were coming from the books, begging me to read them. Some of them almost sounded real, like they were whispering right into my ear. There was the old book, with a dark purple outside, with wilted pages. I could barely make out the name, but I think it was called The Knights Blade. It stood out to me, but it was on the top of the bookcase. I found a ladder nearby and started to climb. It didn't occur to me how tall the bookshelves were, until I was ten feet from the ground. I felt like I was climbing a mountain. The air seemed to get colder and thinner the higher I got.


"Almost there" I said under my breath, "Almost got it."


My hand was skimming the spine of the book, but I could not yet grab it. I decided to jump and grab the book. Once my feet left the steps of the ladder, it felt like I was floating. In the few moments I had, I grabbed the book and held it close. My dismount from the ladder was extraordinary. But, when I tried to return my feet, I failed. My feet slid off and I began to crash to the ground. During this moment, time moved even slower than before. Yet, I didn't have time to get a hold of the ladder. The book flung from my hands and began to fall along with me. The pages fluttered in the air. It was mesmerizing. I almost forgot I was falling. The book hit the ground before I did, and as it landed, it laid open, with the pages glowing in front of me. The pages were actually glowing! I tucked myself into a ball, to brace myself for impact. I was sure I would get a concussion. As I landed on the book, the luminous light engulfed me and it felt like a warm blanket was wrapping around me.


After the fall, the air felt clearer, the dust in the air disappeared. I stood up from the ground and went to pick up the book. But it was gone. I must have hit it when I landed. I decided to go back to the table and get my things. I was going to head home. I was happy the old lady didn't see me fall. That would have been embarrassing. As I walked out the door, the little bell rang once more, and the madness commenced.. My first step out the door felt odd. I found myself stepping onto grass. Where did the sidewalk go? I was amazed when I looked up and saw what stood in front of me. The world I once called my home was gone, I was somewhere else. I was so shocked that I almost got run over by a fast moving object, rolling by.


"Is that a horse?" I said, with a puzzled look on my face.


That mysterious object that went by was a carriage. What was a carriage doing here? I had just noticed that the buildings that once stretched to the sky, had become shrunken shacks that were only a bit taller than me. What was going on? I must have hit my head pretty hard. The roads were covered with dirt, the buildings were all worn down, and there were more people on the street than before. I ran up to someone asking if this was some kind of prank or something,


"What happened here? Is this a joke?"


"What are you going on about?" the mysterious lady said. "You better get moving, the battle will start soon."


"What battle?" I said with the most puzzled look on my face. But before I could ask another question, she pushed me into a nearby cart and it started to drive away.


"Good luck," the lady yelled.


Luck? Why would I need luck, where was I going? I got as comfortable as I could in the pile of hay. There were others sitting around me, all swords and one with a wooden staff.


"I'm Char," the guy next to me said, "Nice to make your acquaintance."
Why was everyone talking weird? "I am Yara," I said. I have no idea why I would tell them my name. "What is happening here?"


"You don't know what's going on?" one said, "What are you, living under a rock?"


Char said, "That's Oliver, don't mind him. He's got a brain the size of a baby dragon's talon."


"Dragons?" I asked.


"Yeah, dragons. Heading to them now." said Oliver, "Speaking of which, where is your gear?"


"This must be a joke," I said. I really had no idea what was going on.


"I don't know what you guys are talking about, but one moment I was writing a book in the bookstore, and the next I was here."


"This is the Realm. Where knights go and fight dragons out in the outer rim of the city. You are one of those nights" said Char, "Now, what do you have to offer?"


The next few hours we traveled along the dirt road down into the valley. I wish you could have seen it, the sights were beautiful. I was now thinking I was in a dream. How could dragons be real? I must have passed out when I hit my head on the ground.


We arrived at a base camp. It's something I've never seen before. It was exquisite.


"Here we are," said another person who was in our wagon. "This is Realm One, where all of you will be staying for the time being. You will train here, sleep here, and live here. Until, the time comes for all of you knights to fight."


"Fight dragons?!" I screamed, "You're joking, this must be a dream."
Everyone stared at me like I was mental.


"This is your duty. You were selected to defend the Realm." a woman yelled.


They emerged from the crowd and looked down on me. She was at least 6 feet tall. Her eyes were as blue as the sea, and her hair was as dark as coal. I could tell she was the leader around here.


"Name and ability?", she asked.


"My name is Yara, and I have no abilities. I just walked out of a bookstore and appeared here. I can't fight and I most definitely have never fought a dragon." I said.


I was beginning to become stressed. Where was I, and how could I get out?


"To training then," said the woman. "If she was selected, then she must fight. Char, take her to the training arena. Help her discover why she was selected."


Char and I headed to the arena, and on our walk there, he explained everything. He told me that dragons were taking over the northern mountains in the Outer Rim. This is where the Realm gathered its energy and magic. He told me he was a warlock.. I didn't believe him until I was floating 10 feet in the air, while he pointed this wooden staff at me. That was his way to channel his magic.


"This is it," Char said, "Show me what you got."


"I don't know what you want me to do. I already told you I don't have any abilities."I said, very annoyed. Nothing magical has happened to me, I haven't made anyone levitate. I haven't pulled a rabbit out of a hat, or fought a dragon.


"I will blast you with a small amount of my magic and you try to deflect it." Char said.


Was he insane? But, before I could say anything he blasted me.


"Ow!" I said.


Then he blasted me again.


"Ow! Stop! I already told you… I don't know what you want me to do."I said.


He blasted me again, and again, and again. I was so weak and felt like I would pass out. As he was about to blast me again a bright blue light emitted from my chest and shielded me from the blast.


"What was that?" I said, "Did I just do that?"


"I knew you had it in you. Now, let's try again." Char said to me.


He had the biggest grin on his face. He seemed proud of me. He trusted me.


A couple days went by, and I was beginning to get used to this life. But, I was still questioning where I was and how I got there. After my training with Char, I was getting used to my new found power. I still didn't understand it fully, probably because I've never used magic
before. I also have been training with my team. They were the people that were on the wagon with me. Each had their own talents and abilities. There were 5 of us…Char and I, and then Oliver, Yelana, and finally Platz. Oliver and Platz were brothers, and were the swordsmen. They each knew how to fight, and had defeated at least 5 other dragons. Yelana was the oldest of us all. She was the daughter of the chief. Yelena was the tall woman with the deep black hair that I'd met earlier. She was a dark fairy, yes, a dark fairy. She didn't have any wings, but her magic was just as powerful.


"The time has come, It is time to approach the outer rim," said Yelana. "Gather your supplies, my mother Zelena is waiting for us."


Yelana was the leader of the group, and was becoming a close friend. We were the only women on the team, so I feel like she understood me better. But, Char was a close second. I was still not prepared to fight a dragon, but I think I had gotten used to using my magic. It might be because I wrote about it so much. I just don't know how this will end. Will I make it back after fighting the dragon?


"Don't we need armor?" I asked.


"Only Oliver and Platz get armor, they are swordsmen, the rest of you are magic holders," screamed Zelena, as she was coming out of her tent.


Everyone had their gear and was ready to fight. All but me. Was I ready to risk my life for a world I just encountered?


The ride to the outer rim of The Realm wasn't too long. I was so busy practicing my magic. Char was still teaching me some new tricks. Like how to create icicles out of my hands. He said they were good to use against the dragons.


"Here we are!" Oliver shouted, "Better hope this doesn't go south.


"Never does!" Platz screamed back.


As we were unloading from the wagon, I felt the ground beginning to shake, and the air was getting hotter. A dragon was coming.


"Get ready Yelana!" Char said, "Yara, remember your training, and trust yourself. Platz and Oliver, swords at the ready. This is going to be a big one."


Then, I saw it. I saw the dragon. It was the most massive creature I had ever seen. It was dark green, with fiery red eyes that could burn you with one look. I was about to slay a dragon. I ran towards a small hill, I was hoping to gain the high ground for an advantage. All of us were fighting. But, I could tell the team was getting worn out.


"Yara!" Yelana yelled.


Char screamed, "Look out!"


Before I could block, a blast of fire came from the dragon's mouth, and it consumed me. I felt the crisp flames wrapping around me and my skin burning. I was blinded by the light and collapsed to the ground from pain. The next thing I remember was hearing my team scream my name. I felt like a ghost watching over my burnt body. I could see them defeat the dragon, and approach my body. I was gone.


I closed my eyes for just a moment and when I opened them I was lying on the ground in the bookstore. I was back. What just happened? The purple book was lying on the floor, with its pages open. And on the pages I read, Char screamed, "Lookout!" The next few pages were blank. The story was yet to be finished. At that moment, I knew why this bookstore felt so mystical. The book had become my life, and I was part of the story. All I could think about was what could have happened. All my life, I wanted to live in a fantasy world. I had never seen a dragon or used magic before finding this magical bookstore. I finally learned what my purpose would be… and that was to write the ending of The Knights Blade.

"No Chances"

Adam Dombrowski

Third place winner

In regard to Dombrowski’s story, the judge noted, “‘No Chances’ is an ambitious story that manages within just a few pages to evoke the dystopian visions of Orwell, Burgess, and Serling. Its opening is calculatedly disorienting, reflecting the situation of the narrator. We don’t lose patience with this minimal exposition, though, because we are experiencing it just as the narrator/protagonist is and because the author has a good sense of what information to introduce, when to introduce it, and how to accomplish all this in a way that seems natural and organic to the story. The emphasis on setting—sterile, cold, and claustrophobic—provides an effective backdrop for the emergence of the ideas at the core of ‘No Chances.’”

"No Chances" - Full Story

Diiiiiiing. Some awful sound rang through my ears, which jolted me awake. When I got up though, nothing seemed right. I had this ringing headache, was sitting on some metal floor, and had no clue where I was. My mind seemed so fogged up, and I could barely think straight. I tried to recall something, anything that I could remember, but sadly I had nothing. I decided to look around the room to see if I recognized anything.


The room I was in was like a prison cell. The entire room was constructed out of reflective metal, so anywhere I looked, I could see a distorted image of my face staring back. I felt like something out of a fever dream. On the far side of the space, a series of paintings were lined up against the wall. From left to right, they create a scene that descended into madness, at least I think it was some madman art. It could have been a party because my eyesight was too blurry and messy to focus. The most remarkable feature was that the room was completely open to the hallway adjacent to it.


Even though my head was spinning, I got up and stumbled into the corridor outside of the room I was in, and again, my eyes continued to deceive me. The corridor was identical to the room I was just in, instead extending for a longer distance. The shiny surface continued to move and manipulate light, and for seconds, I felt as if I was falling into a void. I tripped on the moving floor, and landed directly on my shoulder. I could hear a loud CRACK, and looked down at The floor reacted with a ghastly scream, and an alarm sounded. Two massive guards appeared at the far end of the hallway and shouted, “Intruder! Freeze immediately!” They started to charge at me, and in a bruised mess, I got up and ran.


I was able to run for a bit until I came to a dead end. The two guards from before were catching up to me so I desperately tried to claw at the reflective panels, but one guard caught up. He slammed right into my body, and flew into one of the mirror panels, which shattered into a million pieces across the cold floor. The lights started to spin, and the guard barked for backup. I tried to slug a punch, but he grabbed a fist, and bent my wrist back 180 degrees. I let out a dying cry, only to take a fist to the eye from the guard over top of me, his fist as solid as a rock. I tried to get up, but had no strength, falling back into the depths of the void in my head.
—
I woke up in a metal chair staring up at the screen. My back felt bent out of shape, and my right wrist was on fire. I tried to look for any bit of information that could hint me towards my location. The room was definitely more eerie than my prison cell from before. A figure suddenly spoke up, “You thought you could get out.” The figure turned around to face me, and turned out to be some guy in a snappy suit. Striding across the room, Barland continued to chuckle to himself. The guy seemed a little unhinged for someone donning a clean tuxedo. He resumed his monologue, “You’re a dead man walking, so I suppose letting my little secret slip wouldn’t hurt. You were supposed to be a test subject for my new brainwashing technologies, however it appears you tried to escape. You wouldn’t give up without a fight, though. I applaud that. It’s rare to see rebels like you around anymore.”


“We know all of you have had, and will have no chances. We needed to restrict your movement and your ideas, once and all. If you look in front of you, there is an opening to where you can find the rest of your brethren that failed to escape us. It won’t be too late before you can join the rest of them, and I know my machines would love to blur you next. That is what I do here. I simply blur people’s minds to the point where non one can understand the truth. No free thinkers, no problems, just order.”


I struggled to come up with a reply. I whined, “You can’t do this, can’t you? This is a violation of human rights that the UN discussed decades ago! Everyone deserves to see an accurate image of the truth.” Barland stopped me right there, “Tut-tut. You see, Reimer, it’s not necessarily misinformation. Allow me to introduce my side of the story…”


“About five years ago, the world was in total chaos. Differing opinions everywhere, no sense of compromise, and no sense of unity. It was awful! Being an amnesiac, you wouldn’t remember, but it was not a safe world. Then, the atomic bombs were deployed, the great purge followed suite, and to this date, the world has suffered much more catastrophes than it should be subject to! The world needed a sense of control, because without it, it would continue to spiral to its demise, so I carried out my vision of a world united by common view. I knew that I could give a sense of consistency and uniformity to an embattled world.” I was speechless, and stuttered, “What kind of consistency? From what I have been able to see, the world looks like a worse mess. Nothing has changed for the best, besides your lair here.” Barland stayed silent for a moment, and walked towards the other side of the room. He grew angry and muttered, “Everyone thinks the world is fine. If a fire consumed the whole Earth, no one would care, because it’s simply an illusion to their hearts by now. They can’t tell left from right, they won’t know the truth. All they will know is what I dictate to be right and what I dictate to be wrong. There are no chances for a revival.”


Suddenly, the far side of the room opened up to a view of some type of movie theater. Within, rows of people stood together, staring at one big screen. The people did not seem human though; they droned in some monotone voice and looked dried up. All the color from their skin had disappeared, and everyone looked like skeletons. It was one of the saddest scenes of my life, and I wish it would have disappeared in front of my eyes. The whole room seemed to be devoid of life, something that I felt that I tried to prevent for so long. Barland added, “This is what cooperation looks like, what order sounds like, what unity feels like. This is order.” He slammed his fist on an adjacent table to prove his point.


On the screen, a series of images across the theater screen. One read “2+2=5”, and another read “2+2=6”. Another set showed a lush forest and a dead desert. For both images, a loudspeaker boomed, “Everything is fine.” Everyone nodded in agreement, some even chanting along with the speaker. The thing that hurt me the most was the following set of images. It showed a bright yellow picture of the world symbolizing prosperity, a dark red photograph of the world in flames symbolizing death and suffering, and a pale blue image of a frozen wasteland. Everyone in that cage joined together in a chorus, “All the same. All the same. All the same.” It was as if the truth had simply disappeared.


A new prisoner in the corner of the movie theater caught my eye. We made eye contact for a second, and all I saw was a single tear running down his cheek. Some machine was deployed onto his head, and the man started to scream the most frightening scream I had ever heard. It broke my heart, and he kept repeating, “Please, no! Don’t do this! This makes a nightmare for me!” Barland laughed, “You see, I am able to profit off of fear, and all it takes is a simple twisting of perception.” The machine whirred about, suddenly glowing in all possible colors. The man’s whimpering slowed to a sigh of relief, but his skin lost its distinctive shine. I banged on the window, trying to get his attention. When the machine came off, he greeted me with a dead stare that hid an empty mind. His rationality, sense of goodness, and morality was all gone. Barland laughed, nearly sounding like the Joker without clown makeup.


I winced and nearly threw up, and Barland turned around and grinned, “Are you bothered?” I snapped, “Of course, you sick animal. You just wasted an innocent life!” I looked in horror at the monster that stood before me. “You’re leading people off a cliff to their death, much like the lemmings.” Barland looked me in the eye, and sighed, “Well, they are not aware of it. And in the end, they will not realize that I had manipulated them into doing my bidding. It’s their loss for believing lies.” I struggled in the white coffin that I was strapped in, trying to break free. “You monster,” I screeched, and as soon as those words left my mouth, I immediately regretted speaking out.


Barland turned away from the wall and walked towards me. With every step, his face filled with more and more rage. I had nowhere to run, since I was locked into the chair. “Spare me”, I pleaded, only for him to grab me, unlock the chair, and lift me into the upper limits of the room. He cackled in reply, “I’m not done with you. You’re not getting out of here without me.” Simultaneously, he let out a ferocious roar and slammed me against the floor. Crunch. I could feel all my bones shatter as Barland continued to laugh.


A camera opened from the ceiling and stared directly onto the mess that I was, as well as a large speaker. The people from the movie room were now watching us, locked in the same dead stare from before. “Look at him. He tried to challenge authority,” he whimpered through crocodile tears. I was enraged, but my body could not physically move. Barland continued with his speech about challenging authority and accepting information. “It’s not safe anymore. Even if any of you deviate from our word in the slightest bit, you will end up like him. We only want what is best for you,” he cried. The crowd nodded in agreement.


I mustered the last bit of energy I had, and hollered, “You’re a fake! He’s a fake! Barland is twisting your perceptions of the situation!” Suddenly, Barland turned around and whispered, “That’s what you want to believe. It is purely out of your own whims and desires to shame me. Or is it simply your pre-exisiting dislike for my character? Or fear? Anyways, who is going to believe you?” The crowd nodded in agreement, and Barland looked at me and whispered, “What’s the point when no one can tell right from wrong?” He continued to laugh along with the rest of the crowd in the theater below. The laugh progressively degraded into crude mockery, reflecting Barland’s vision of a world without redemption. The room itself began to mess with my eyes, and soon enough, I was completely lost. Barland slugged me in the chest, and I felt like my lungs collapsed. I closed my eyes to the buzzing whir of a machine, and felt the color leave my skin. All I remember was Barland’s sadistic laugh, or was it a cry of sorrow?

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