The Dreams of a Dancer by Aberjhani

you called him for dinner, or dragged him to lunch with your friends, or interrupted his artwork for a question. You smile at that face, and the boy looks at you like he can sense the change. Through the window, you wave. His mother knows you, but he doesn’t, so he cocks his head to the side. Then, slowly, as if he needs to think through the motion as he performs it, he waves back. He steps into the next rectangle, which is closer to the street, when the door of his house opens and out steps his mother. His head snaps up to look at her before she even speaks, and he hops from his dirt patch onto the sidewalk. He removes the stick from its place against his neck and tucks it neatly beneath the bushes in front of his house. It’ll be ready for him tomorrow, after the rain has come and gone, but his canvas will be mud. You notice the bottoms of his feet are darker than they should be, stained from the dirt. His mother should make him wear shoes in the house, so he doesn’t track dirt all over her floors, you think. She pulls him quickly into the house by the back of his t-shirt, her dark face shadowed with worry as her eyes find the clouds rolling over the sky. Without trying, you smile. She seems to know the importance of teaching him when to come back inside — and he seems to be learning the limits.

1st Prize - Flash Fiction Winner

The Dreams of a Dancer

By Kylie Kamau

Layla Prince dreamed of being a dancer. Her mother Mikayla wanted to dance, too, when she was Layla’s age but no one believed in her. When Layla found out they were holding auditions at the Dance Theater of Harlem In New York City, she was excited to audition but also nervous. “Mom, what if I’m not talented enough for the Dance Theater of Harlem?” Layla asked, putting her head down. Her mother lifted her head and looked into her brown eyes and said, “Sweetheart, you can do anything you set your mind to.” Layla beamed and pirouetted across the floor.