First Place: Andrew Hawk, 10th, Williamsburg Jr-Sr High School, IA, (Fiction Second Place: Tin Struth, 9th, Interstate 35 Community Schools, IA, (Non-:iction)125

First Place: Andrew Hawk, 10th, Williamsburg Jr-Sr High School, IA, (Fiction)

"Lost Space"

Day 15

We shut the engines off earlier today. Yuri said it was either that or we continue losing a gallon of fuel per second. I knew we shouldn’t have tried going through that damn debris, but Vaughan is too stubborn for his own good, and now we’re paying for it. No one’s said anything to him, one part being because we know one more word would shatter him and the other being he hasn’t left his quarters since we drove straight through that shrapnel. Somehow, we still have contact with NASA, but that comes with the same little asterisk it always has. Since there’s an additional medium-sized planet between us and Houston 12 hours out of the day along with the couple of AUs we already put behind us, communication with our terrestrial friends is never as consistent as I hope. Thankfully we haven’t reached the point yet where we’d have to factor light into speed of communications, probably won’t for a long while. Yuri seems to think she can reengineer the ship with enough effort so that the thrusters will send us backwards just as effectively as we got sent forwards with the standard engines. I’m more optimistic than Vaughan. Yuri’s a genius at this sort of thing, but the odds still don’t seem to be in our favor.

Shelby, if you’re reading this know that I am going to do everything in my power to come back to you. Make sure Sam doesn’t forget me and don’t try to hide my situation from Tyler. He’s old enough to understand what’s going on.

Day 16

I ran the tally, and we have enough food and water to last us a month. I’m not really concerned about the water; ship systems already have the potential to turn our waste back into something at least drinkable. The food’s what concerns me. Hopefully I can convince Yuri to ration, though something tells me that won’t be a quick argument. Vaughan’s still in his room,

brooding over that debris field. If he’s not out in a few days I’m going to have to force my way in there to make sure he hasn’t withered away. At least Yuri’s more than enough for conversation. I swear her smile makes this trip at least somewhat more bearable. Houston says they’re going to spend the night crunching numbers over

whether or not her thruster idea can work. It’s risky

as hell, but no one’s called her nuts yet. Besides, the boys at ground zero have too much respect (and maybe too many feelings (I’ve seen your desk Matt don’t deny it)) for Yuri not to at least humor her.

Day 17

Houston ran the numbers, and oh boy they don’t look good. The hypothetical procedure required redirection of fuel to the backwards thrusters without letting it get sucked into the vacuum, then somehow modify the thruster engines themselves so that they can burn more fuel then intended, and at its climax pray something didn’t go wrong and the ship doesn’t go down in a supernova of flame. This created so many risks that Yuri could spend all day counting the zeros behind a decimal point in the odds of us getting back to Earth in one piece. I know, because she kind of did. Thankfully Houston says they’re in the process of getting a shuttle ready that can intercept our trajectory and send us back. They said it’ll be ready and sent out to us in a matter of a week. Hopefully by then Vaughan will decide he wants to rejoin society and leave his cave. Tomorrow I think I’m going to have to go in there whether he likes it or not.

Day 18

Vaughan came out of his room this morning. He didn’t say anything to me, just grabbed some food and started eating. I let him be, all I wanted was for him to eat anyway. Yuri didn’t seem to understand what I was going for. She mentioned Houston was coming for our sorry asses and he nearly flipped the table. He screamed at her, said if she was worth a damn when it came to piloting, NASA would have told her to fly the ship. Yuri tried to make things better, but

Vaughan just stormed back to his room. Thankfully I think I was the only one who heard him whisper whore under his breath. I don’t blame Yuri for his outburst, she was just trying to make things better. The fact is that Vaughan isn’t stupid. He knows he’s old enough that this one failure is enough to get him replaced with a young hot shot in NASA’s eyes. It probably doesn’t help that Yuri’s one of the younger ‘nauts in the force, but that shouldn’t be relevant right now.

Shelby, I want you to know that I love you, and even if I drift into a black hole, I will find a way to come back to you. I may not be the same man as I was going into it, but as long as our souls stay intact it’ll feel like I never left.

Day 21

Something strange happened today. During the 12-hour period when Houston should have been in open contact with us, we received almost nothing from the small blue dot. We’ve only been drifting since losing power to the engines so it’s not like light communication is the issue here. Most likely something is keeping Houston from sending us information, but there are too many possibilities of what that could be. Yuri’s been hogging the terminal all day just trying to reach another human. Swear I’ve heard “hello, can you hear me?” at least a thousand times by now. Even Vaughan seems concerned, considering he actually poked his head out of his room in order to see what happened.

Something seems off. The further we drift into the cosmos the more I’m worried something bad is going to happen, something no one back home could predict.

Day 24

Lost Space

Those two words have been rattling around in my head for a few days now, and I don’t know what to make of it. NASA to my knowledge hasn’t designated any section of space we’re travelling through specifically dangerous, but for some reason I can’t stop feeling on edge.

Houston’s recovery shuttle was supposed to arrive today, but all I can see out the windows of the ship is white specs of stars on top of pitch blackness. I want to tell myself that the launch must have been delayed, maybe because of the communication issues that we’re still suffering from, but there’s nothing.

Just a few moments ago I caught Vaughan rummaging through the medicine cabinet. Claimed his head hurt. As usual, I didn’t question him, but if our situation grows worse, I’m going to need to ask him to be more transparent. I would never blame him for anything that happens on this ship, and hell, all I’m experiencing is a bad feeling. But if we’re all clear with each other about our individual situations, then any actual complications we experience can be dealt with faster and more efficiently.

Day 26

I woke up in a cold sweat today. Usually my dreams are hazy, but last night was different. I vividly remember seeing fissures of light wrapped around some distant point in space, swirling around, yet when I tried to break my stare, I found all motor sense stuck, as if I couldn’t escape from the astronomical marvel in front of me. The same sense of motionlessness struck me when I woke up. I just sat there, not being able to feel anything. My legs, my arms, just slowly suffering from what felt like a spike being hammered into my head. Thankfully when I did find the will to get up there was a sedative in the medicine cabinet that at least brought me back to the way I was before. Only issue was now instead of just the words Lost Space bouncing around in my skull, that terrifying sight was too.

I didn’t see Vaughan all day. I did however find Yuri broken down in tears. She isn’t taking the loneliness of space well at all, and I guess the least I could do was offer her a shoulder to cry on.

Her eyes are too pretty to be smothered by tears.

Day 27

This morning Yuri seemed normal, and I asked her about last night. She didn’t know what I was talking about and kept eating breakfast. I didn’t want to press her, maybe she just didn’t want to remember it? Vaughan came out of his room for food, and I asked him if he wanted to come out and talk with us. He didn’t respond, just walked back into that damn room. I swear to god one more day and I will be storming in there.

I checked my desk and saw a picture of an unfamiliar face. Three faces, actually. There was a woman with auburn hair and green eyes, then two boys, one older with a tussle of caramel curls and what looked like a toddler with the same hair as the woman’s. What I don’t understand is why the toddler had my eyes.

Day 30

I woke up with Yuri hovering above me, wearing nothing more than her undergarments. I panicked a little, but she shushed me, told me to follow her. I couldn’t really just sit there, so I walked out of my room and found her standing by one of the ship’s windows. Outside that glass panel was the same anomaly from my dreams, except right in front of the ship. I panicked again, desperately begged her to

do something, to turn the ship around and escape what would obviously lead to our elimination if we drifted too close to it. She just smiled and pulled me in herself. I felt the taste of her lips on mine, the pounding of my heart against the pounding of hers, and over top of it all, the sound of Vaughan’s laughter a few rooms away occasionally interrupted by the word whore.

Day 31(?)

When I woke up and didn’t see the gates of hell, I breathed a sigh of relief. Something seemed to stir next to me, and I realized a woman had her arm wrapped around my chest. I suppose if I was still a teenager I would be filled with an insatiable pride, but this just felt wrong,

her youthful, glowing face not what I expected to wake up to, but I couldn’t tell you what I did expect.

I left her warm embrace and walked out of my room. The window outside was a tapestry of stars, yet this wasn’t what I expected either. I checked communications with Houston just to cling to a little remaining hope, but of course, there was nothing. When I turned from the terminal, I heard the sound of a door quickly closing. I suddenly became conscious of my lack of clothes, and quickly made my way back to my room.

Later that day I checked for some medication to treat my head, but there was nothing in the cabinet.

Day ???

I don’t understand. Yuri was still in my arms this morning, but I don’t remember sleeping with her. I remember screaming as the ship was getting torn into two pieces, me trying to reach my hand out to Vaughan as I slipped further and further into a pit I couldn’t see surrounded by light trying desperately to hang on to Vaughan as well.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

Return

I woke up in a foreign room. A bright light overhead makes everything hard to see, a doctor above me barraging me with questions. And a woman saying something over and over again.

Do you remember me, James? It’s Shelby.

Who the hell is Shelby?

Second Place: Tin Struth, 9th, Interstate 35 Community Schools, IA, (Non-fiction)

"The Monster in My Closet"

Her parents always assured her that no, there weren’t any monsters or demons in her closet. As a little girl, what could she do but believe them? Mom and Dad knew everything, and they knew that the chasm of darkness behind that thin wooden door whose paint always stuck to the doorframe during summer did not, in fact, hide any wild creatures. They knew everything.

Well at least she thought they did. She took their word as truth, because they’d never lie to her. And she’d nod with tears in her eyes when Mom leaned down to kiss her baby-soft forehead, and she’d smile weakly when Dad would ruffle her bright red hair, she’d assure them she believed them. She’d never lie to them.

But, time moves on. Parents grow older, they gain white hairs, they lose the ability to lie to not-so-young children. And kids grow older, they lose the ability to trust every word from their parents’ mouths.

It was one night, at just eleven years old, that she heard a noise come from her closet. She was sure it had been real, and for once in forever she was scared. Scared of what hid behind that tacky purple door. It was the nights after that where the noises continued.

It was nights after that when she realized she wasn’t a little girl. She was growing up, and she wasn’t supposed to be scared of the monsters in her closet. But she could feel their presence, the looming danger of the creaks and shrieks that they made. It was quiet at first, ignorable, insignificant, something a growing girl didn’t need to be afraid of.

But oh, how she would quiver in years to come. As the shrieks became blood curdling screams, as the taps on the wall became the frantic banging of a creature begging for release. That little-grown-girl was thirteen. Finally, she decided to open that door, to check on the demons that needed her help. They called to her, and she answered.

She pulled that ever-sticky door open and found the devil, painted in bright blues and pinks and whites, in reds and oranges, yellows, greens and indigos, violets and navy blues. She found the devil in vibrant colors, and she led him out into the light. She fed him, kept him company, took care of him, became his friend. This little colorful demon, however, was slowly draining her. Sucking her blood, taking what he shouldn’t,

he took her childhood. This little-grown-girl was no longer little. This grown girl-

She was no longer a girl. This little rainbow demon was the death of her, a shell, a foreign one. They weren’t little, they weren’t a girl. They were just themself, nothing more, nothing less. And so they told Mom about the little demon in their closet, told her what he took from them. Mom accepted the loss.

With the screaming and scraping gone, it was quiet. Too quiet. Yet it was as loud as ever with the monster’s nagging. He could never be silent, he could never sit still. And so this not-so-little, not-so-girl pushed him back into that closet. The door never closed, no matter how hard they tried. They pushed and pushed and pushed. It never closed, it never stuck in the corners on humid summer days.

And what did the demon do? He started shrieking and clawing. And nagging. All three at once, it never went away, it only got worse. The little demon in the closet was begging to be let out once again, begging, begging, begging.

And so the grown kid let him out, once more. Sat him on their bed, glared at him with their arms crossed. The kid hated the little demon, the little rainbow devil, although they vowed to never push him back into that godforsaken closet.

At fourteen years old, he had never wanted more to throw the demon into the gaping closet. He had never wanted to punch a hole through its face so much, he had never wanted to tear out its eyes and rip off its skin, rip off the reds and oranges, yellows, greens and indigos, violets and navy blues more, to rip off the pastel pinks and pastel blues and whites. He had never before wanted to kill something so badly. Or at all.

But, as little boys grow up, they become angry. As little boys see the long hair in their fourth-grade school pictures, as they see their naked reflection, they become angry. And they become sad. This little-grown-boy had had enough. This little rainbow demon would never leave.

And so he welcomed the monster out onto his bed, sat him down. Sat beside him. The little-grown-boy sighed. Then he cried. A pitiful noise, a pitiful sight. So much so that the demon thought that this little boy had never looked so grown, so worn.

He saw what he’d done. And he hugged the boy, embraced him with his pink and blue and white skin. And he bled. The little rainbow demon bled onto this

little-grown-boy the blood he’d stolen all those years ago. But the demon’s blood was ice, whereas the boy’s was boiling hot. Ice with pain and sadness and hopelessness. Fire with passion, hatred, and fury.

The boy looked at the monster. And he asked questions in which the demon could not answer, screamed at the demon until it shrunk back in its colorful skin. “Why did you do this to me?” “Take me back!” “I hate you!” “Why don’t I recognize myself?” “Why is she in the mirror?” “Why did you do this to me?” “Why?” “Why?!” The demon could not speak.

The demon could not answer, and the boy knew that. But he still asked. And he was still left without answers. So he hugged the monster. And the monster hugged back. They cried, the boy begged, the monster said nothing. The boy sobbed, the monster sighed.

Mom always said that there weren’t any monsters hidden in the dark of my tiny, cluttered closet. She was so sure, I was so ready to believe her. But. Things change. Little girls grow older, grown girls grow older still, and little boys become angry. I guess that’s just how it goes. For me, at least. There was always a monster in my closet, one not even my parents could see. The monster that swept away my childhood, the monster that I wish I could throw into a pit of blazing lava.

The monster in my closet, painted in reds and oranges, yellows, greens and indigos, violets and navy blues. In blues and pinks and whites. And this little monster, this little rainbow devil, he will always be by my side. He won’t ever surrender, and even if I could get rid of him, he’d always be shrieking and scraping at that sticky, finicky door. And so I leave it open. Maybe someday I can calm his nagging.

Maybe if I cut his arms off, if I inject him with chemicals, if I cut and shape him like a piece of wet clay, maybe one day he’ll be quiet. Maybe he’ll leave on his own. But that closet, he won’t ever go back in, I won’t let him. No matter how much I wish he would.

This little rainbow demon, he’s mine. Forever and always. I know that, and I’ll have to be fine with that.

But for now?

I’ll be a not-so-little, not-so-girl, angry little-grown-boy.

Conclusion: laying in bed with the door wide open

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