Third Place: Anna Wirtjes, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-fiction) "Statistics Journal" Statistics was arguably my most boring class. The professor reviewed examples of the same concept over and over again. Since one or two examples were usually sufficient for me to grasp the core ideas, my imagination could run wild during the rest of the class. I would sit there and enjoy getting lost in my own thoughts while drawing in the margins of my notes. My boyfriend, CJ, would always joke around with me about how I would only ever doodle mountains. They were easy to draw, and are my happy place, but I decided that stats class would be my time to stretch out of my comfort zone and draw something new each day. One day, CJ suggested that I try drawing a dragon. It was and still is the worst dragon I have ever drawn. I would look forward to the times in stats when I could let my thoughts wander freely and doodle silly little pictures. It was fun to let memories that I didn’t know I even had flood my brain. It was like a breath of fresh air for my mind, and I loved it. Well, I loved it until I got dumped. For days after the breakup, I couldn’t pull myself to draw or doodle anything. It felt too painful. Everything felt too painful. I felt numb to any ideas, and it was as if all creativity had been sucked from my soul. It was so frustrating because a pen and blank sheet of paper are usually my escape. Sometimes my brain and mouth feel so disconnected, but even when I can’t form the thoughts to verbalize my ideas, my brain and hand feel connected. When I write, it is as if I don’t even have to think, but the pen just puts down my thoughts and feelings all on its own. It’s not difficult. It’s freeing. So when that connection between my brain and hand felt severed, it was like I had no escape from my internal reflections. Instead of loving the moments that I would have to sit and let my brain wander, I dreaded it. It felt like I was caught in a prison that I was creating for myself as memory after memory would replay in my head. I couldn’t stop them. One day I was sitting in stats with the vicious cycle churning through my brain when something in me clicked. Earlier that morning my cousin and I had been talking about going rock climbing. It was something that I was greatly anticipating. The idea of it felt like an act of independence from the person who broke my heart. Rock climbing was something that CJ and I had put on our bucket list, so having the chance to rewrite the experience without him involved felt freeing. I could make it my own. So, that morning,
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