Westerville writing contest 2022: Category grades 6-8

First place: "A Better Life" by Lucy Elliott

Second place: "Crash Into New Perspective" by Molly Wintrow

Third place: "This Isn’t a Love Story" by Ava Amlin

Honorable mention: "Sparky, My Horse" by Sophia Barlow

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First place

"A Better Life"

By Lucy Elliott

Thalia looked around her. The smell of onions and fish made her nauseous. Without thinking, she pinched her nose, consequently dropping the tray of spices she had been carrying. The tray shattered and spices flew this way and that.

“Useless slave girl,” muttered Tita, who was the chef. Then in a louder voice she commanded, “What are you waiting for? Clean it up! You know as well as I do that the master will have both our heads if we don't prepare his dinner on time. He has guests for supper.”

Thalia nodded and began to pick up the shattered glass. She knew Tita meant well. Thalia winced at the pain of being cut by a glass shard. Looking at her hand, she saw the blood which was dripping down her hand. Quickly, she snatched a towel that had been lying on the countertop. Using the towel, she wrapped her hand, attempting to stop the bleeding. It seemed to work, so she continued cleaning the glass, this time with a broom. She had been so caught up trying to mend her hand that she hadn't heard Tita's voice calling to her.

“Thalia, see if you can salvage any of the spices, will you?” Tita, now noticing the distracted Thalia, walked over and shook her.

Thalia pulled herself from her thoughts and nodded, “Yes, Tita.”

“Well get on with it!” ordered Tita. “Can't the master buy any helpful slaves?” Hurt, Thalia picked through the mess, trying save what she could. By the time she had cleaned the mess, it was well past dinner. The master was bidding his guests farewell and Tita was cleaning the dishes, when Celia, another slave, appeared in the doorway.

“There's a boat that leaves for America tonight around midnight,” Celia commented.

“And what was your purpose in telling us this information?” asked Thalia.

“My point," Celia answered, “is that there is a boat leaving for America and tickets with our names on them.”

“You'd never make it onto that ship without money for the tickets or proper clothes, both of which you don't have,” Tita reasoned. Thalia looked down at her thin dress and bare feet. Tita had a point. Celia removed a leather pouch from her satchel. Smiling, she shook it and it jingled. Thalia guessed it was full of gold coins.

“And where might you have acquired this treasure?” questioned Tita suspiciously, eyeing the pouch.

“I just happened upon some,” Celia answered, smirking.

“In other words,” Thalia observed, “you stole them.”

Rolling her sky-blue eyes defiantly, Celia asked, “So are you coming or not?”

Thalia nodded, but Tita shook her head. “I won't run only to get caught and punished. Do as you wish but I'll have nothing to do with it.”

Celia looked disapprovingly at Tita, whirled around, chestnut hair whipping her face, and motioned for Thalia to follow her.

That night, two shady figures in hooded cloaks vaulted over a brick wall which divided the alley from the home of a renowned courtier, who was known to most as Sir Ludwig III. To Thalia and Celia, he was known as "The Master." Biting her lip to keep from crying out in pain, Thalia climbed the wall.

“This way,” Celia commanded. Soundlessly, they maneuvered the alleyways. If they were caught, they would be whipped, or worse, they could be executed. Thalia tried not to think about the latter. Finally, they reached the docks just as the ship was preparing to depart. Celia handed the pouch to a gruff man. He had a long, dark beard and spoke with a lisp. She predicted he was the captain. He accepted the money and motioned for them to board the ship. As they walked up the gangplank, Thalia heard shouting in the distance. Then she saw it. Men with torches running toward the boat, brandishing the flames. Celia was panicking. “Climb in the barrel!” Celia whispered. Thalia obeyed and Celia closed it. Thalia never really knew what happened after that. She heard men yelling about runaways. Thalia could feel her hand throbbing and held her breath until the pain subsided. She knew that any second someone could lift the lid, and she would be taken back to the house of the master she hated ever so much. But it never happened. The minutes ticked by, but no one lifted the lid and found her. She never found out what happened to Celia. Thalia presumed she had been caught and returned to her master. But none of that mattered anymore. Thalia could feel the boat lurch as it pulled away from the harbor. She climbed out of the barrel, watching her old life fade away. Hair whipping in the wind, Thalia smiled. She was on her way to a better life.

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Second place

"Crash Into New Perspective"

By Molly Wintrow

My friend and I were in a restaurant having some juicy hamburgers with sweet fries, heaven. It was snowing, I didn't mind it at all, the snow was nice. I had everything done for the day! Everything was quiet in the restaurant until, BANG!

A car ran into the wall! I felt my heart race, the car destroyed the building and snowed us in! I wanted to yell, but I swallowed the anger and prayed this might resolve soon.

"Are there any doctors here?" The manager called out, only silence rang. Not a single person here could have been a doctor?

Another staff member came from the back. "The ambulance will be here shortly, it's backed up right now. Sorry, everyone, we will be here for a while until we get everything settled,"

So much for having a good day. I could feel the cold creeping in like a snake. I made eye contact with Aiden across from me with worry.

"He is bleeding badly, I need everyone here to help as much as possible. The manager was looking at everyone. This is the one time I don't want to be picked to do anything. "You, yes you, get up in the back and there will be some bandages, let the staff show you."

Why can't the staff get the bandages for him? Is he not capable enough? I went into the back and there were so many bandages.

We gave the bandages over in a rush. "I need you to apply pressure to the arm and Kyle can you check his pulse?" The manager pleaded with us meanwhile in the back Aiden was silent as a mouse hoping to not be asked to do anything.

The man was all bandaged up and all we could hope is that his pulse kept steady. The manager gave him a blanket hoping he wouldn't get too cold.

"Hey, what about us?" I muttered. Aiden hit me, giving me a "You're not important right now look." Only 15 minutes had gone by and nothing to do and yet questions always kept popping up.

A couple of minutes later the man woke up dazed and confused. "Why is my car in the wall?" He tried to scream but it only came out as whispering. Something must have happened to him before.

"Hey don't worry there will be an ambulance soon, Kyle, get him a burger, please. Wait, I remember this guy, it was the old manager. Sir, do you know why you are here?"

"Am I in a dream, I was just hungry for some burgers and I ended up here, crashed apparently?" The old manager whispered.

I was so shocked he could speak, my mouth was gaping open. "You're not in a dream sir, you crashed into our building." Kyle gave the man a burger, "Maybe this will help?"

"I'm sorry for so much trouble."

The ambulance was here and so was a truck that was scooping the snow up. I was free. I mean we were free. I raised my arms in victory but Aiden smacked my hands down. "Learn some respect."

The sun slowly began to set...

Aiden insisted that we go see the man. I don't know where we were going but we just went.

"Hello, I hope you both are doing well. I forgot to thank you for helping me." He started writing down a check for 5,000 dollars each. My jaw dropped. Is it even possible to give a check for 5,000 dollars? I guess that's why he is the old manager.

"Thank you so much, sir." Aiden and I both said in unison "I didn't help though." Aiden added on.

"Well even if you didn't it is still compensation for ruining your day." The man replied with a heartwarming smile. I felt so bad, I meant I did do something but it's not like I deserve it, I was complaining the whole time.

We had a conversation with the man and left. We got in the car. It was dead silent. "We both know I don't deserve this money," I said hoping for some advice.

"Maybe you can give someone the money and help them." An idea came to me. “Let's go to the restaurant again."

The next day...

I went into the restaurant alone, the manager was there again. He looked at me with a sorry face. I felt worse than I was earlier.

"Here, I got some money from the old manager, take most of it for yourself and 20 dollars to Kyle. He did help after all. A smile grew on his face. "Thank you so much and will do!"

I returned to the car and went home. I think today is my favorite day.

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Third place

"This Isn’t a Love Story"

By Ava Amlin

Sebastian’s Point-of-View:

The Traveling Literary Convention. Ivy had mentioned that before I went into my interview. She said she'd explain more, but she was gone when I left You've Got Books. Was she avoiding me? Nah; she probably went home after her shift like normal.

I took to Google, where I learned that it was an international festival themed around anything readable. It toured all over the world; this June, it was coming to Findlay. And at each festival, an up-and-coming author was chosen as a speaker and their newest book was showcased.

After more scrolling, a hyperlink caught my eye: writing contests. No wonder Ivy was excited, this thing is right up her alley.

I found myself pausing my research, smiling and thinking about her. Wouldn't it be cool if I took her to the festival? She was probably going anyway, but it'd be fun to explore it with her. She was so passionate about books (another reason I liked her).

Anything was accepted: novels and screenplay excerpts, poetry, essays, even comics! The only limitation was that you had to be over five years old. I was older than five, though Mom might disagree with that at times.

More searching led me to an interesting fact: co-written works were accepted. A sketch started to appear in my head.

I'm no F. Scott Fitzgerald, and I'd be willing to bet Ivy's no Charles M. Schulz; but we'd be able to put something together, right? It was almost March, which gave us roughly three months to write something acceptable.

But would she want to write something with me? She's probably never written anything with anyone before, and she seems hesitant to hang out one-on-one. But this was a great chance to get closer with her...

"Seb! Hot dogs are ready!" Ollie yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

"Okay, coming, bro!" I replied.

I made up my mind. The next time I see her, I'll ask if she wants to co-write something for the contest. She says yes, great; she says no, I enter one of my comic books. No biggie.

Ivy’s Point-of-View:

He was here, again. Two days in a row. My heart rate quickened when I saw him, though it had no reason to. Was he here to talk to me? I know I kinda ditched him yesterday, but I couldn't help it. I had to babysit my sister so my dad and stepmom could go out for dinner.

"Oh, look who's back! It's Crabs!" Ansley cooed from behind the checkout counter.

"Yes, I see that."

Sebastian’s eyes met mine. We exchanged friendly waves, and he made his way to me.

"He's probably here for you, Ives," she persisted.

"I doubt it.”

"Hey Ivy!” Sebastian greeted as he approached us, “I, uh, have a question for you..."

"Oh?"

"So, I, uh, checked out that festival you mentioned yesterday. You probably already know this, but there's a writing competition, and you can co-write for it…so…would you wanna, like, write something with me?" he asked, toying with the ends of his flannel shirt.

He wanted to write something with me?! How sweet! I was flattered, he saw a potential partner-like a collaborator-in me. I had planned to enter independently though, and I couldn't spend that much time alone with him. I was already confused enough about my feelings towards him.

We both jumped as the saxophone solo from the "Careless Whisper" started blaring.

"Sorry, misclick," Ansley explained.

I shot her a discreet glare. That was no mistake; she was messing with me now.

"So, what do you say?" A small, forced smile was faltering on his face. He was so cute-normal, I mean-when he was nervous. Oh, he was so gentle! I didn't want to hurt his feelings!

Sure, it’d be a lot of alone-time, but he was funny and creative! I'd never co-written with anyone before, it could be amusing! Plus, I needed something new to draft while I edited my novel. Nothing bad could happen, right?

"Sure, that sounds fantastic!"

“Really?” Sebastian’s smile grew confident and his eyes shined with enthusiasm. "Great! When would you be free to work on it?"

"I'd have to check my schedule, but soon."

"Okay! Thanks, Ivy! See you at school!" he turned and left.

I spun to Ansley. “Really? The romantic saxophone?”

“Hey, I was right! He was here for you!”

"I suppose…did I make the right choice, Ans?"

"Duh! He's cute, socially awkward but friendly, and wants to spend time with you!"

"But a year ago, I would've said most of those things about Tanner."

"But he's not Tanner. What’s there to worry about?"

I guess she was right. I was overreacting. It's just writing, it's completely platonic. I wouldn’t let myself fall in love with Sebastian; I didn’t need another heartbreak.

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Honorable mention

"Sparky, My Horse"

By Sophia Barlow

Sparky is my horse,

He is worthy of your trust,

He’ll run along all day,

Leaving trains in his dust.

Sparky and I were riding one day,

He lives up to his name,

Suddenly out from a bush,

A mountain lion came.

Sparky right then began to fray,

He ran as he could run all day,

He bucked me off into the bay,

Then Sparky ran astray.

Sparky ran all day and night,

Looking to escape his plight,

When the lion came in sight

Sparky stood prepared to fight.

Sparky and the lion fought,

How that mountain lion was taught,

To mess with Sparky ever not,

No lunch that day the lion caught.

How glad was Sparky to see his home,

The house, the barn, the garden gnome,

And best of all I was okay,

When Sparky threw me into the bay.

All is well,

We made amends,

Sparky and I are still best friends,

And so another adventure ends.

For Sparky and me.

This article originally appeared on ThisWeek: Westerville writing contest 2022: Category grades 6-8