THS Writing Contest 2019 by THS Writing Contest

Short Story Writing Contest 2019

Note from the Organizer: This year, I am excited to organize the Troy High School Short Story Contest for the fourth time. This time, once again, I am amazed and delighted at the stories I had the privilege to read. The creativity of students always manage to blow me away. My aim for the contest is to inspire students to find writing as a medium to share, reflect, and create. For me, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve had the amazing opportunity to share my voice with others, advocate for others, and been able to express myself with writing. I want to facilitate others to do the same, which is why I started this contest. In addition, I wanted to give back to my alma mater that has helped me become the person that I am today. Lastly, I want to express my sincere gratitude to all who made this contest possible: Dr. Charles Steltenkamp in helping me organize this competition and for being a wonderful mentor; Mr. Remo Roncone and Mr. Daniel House for all their support; and everyone who participated in the contest by sharing their writing! Sincerely,

Ellen Zhang (Troy High School, 2015)

Winners:

First Place: Rules to a Weapon by Tracy Li ................................................................................... 3 Second Place: falling by Pallavi Chigurupati ................................................................................. 7 Third Place: Snatched Time by Sandhya Srinivasan .................................................................... 11 2

Rules to a Weapon By Tracy Li

Every weapon must obey its master. That is the first rule. There are the typical weapons like guns, knives, swords, and poison. Then there are weapons like Xia. Xia was the King’s weapon. She was his soldier, his one line of defense. If anyone wanted to harm the King, they’d have to fight through Xia first. And no one ever survived Xia. It was always in and out. Never linger, never stray. Xia knew exactly what to do. Eventually the number of bodies piled up. It never mattered to her though, it was just another hit, another job. Xia never made a mistake. She couldn’t afford to be careless. In and out. In and out. Xia preferred knives. Poison was quick and clean, guns were swift and easy, but knives were different. The feeling of the hilt in her hands, the way they sliced through the air. They gave her power and elegance, like she was a musician and her knives were the instrument. Xia liked the little mess the knives made. She enjoyed the thought of someone cleaning up after her. “And how are the Turman brothers?” The King looked aged, even though he was not too old. There was a time when he had a fire to him, a spark that Xia unwillingly adored. Now he sat at his throne all day, waiting for Xia to bring him any news about the war or the hits she had made. “They’ve been taken care of.” Xia found it laughable that there were rumors about the two of them having an affair. They were always locked in rooms together, but only to share important information that could not reach the public. Somehow the maids turned it into a romance. It was not so far fetched, she supposed, since the King never wed. With the war going on, there was no chance he could find respectable royalty to marry. The King’s eyes bore into hers. They were black, like Xia’s, devoid of any emotions. Xia often wondered if he was still capable of things like empathy or love. She doubted it, because she knew the things he had been involved with. “I have another mission for you. Find Kea Hafal and take her.” He never said kill or murder, as if he was too scared to speak those cursed words out loud. “Actually, I am on a different mission,” Xia spoke. She lifted her daggers out of her belt, appreciating the familiar feeling of the handle in her grasp. Without a warning, she launched the dagger at the King’s head, nicking his ear. The King knew she purposefully aimed for that spot. Xia never missed.

The King felt his feet float away. “What’s going on, Xia? Is someone bribing you?” He moved around, most likely looking for an open exit. He was out of luck however, because Xia always made sure the doors were locked. “It is the Cherbs? The Ramsols? I’ll pay you double what they’re offering.” Xia laughed. It was a humorless laugh, harsh and cruel. “This isn’t about money, your Highness. It’s about doing what I’ve been waiting to do for years. Let me tell you a little story.” Xia strolled over to the King, flashing her blade as she moved closer. “Go ahead, get comfortable. It’s storytime.” “Once upon a time,” Xia started sardonically, “There was a small, poor village. This village lived peacefully for hundreds of years. It didn’t have a lot of money, but somehow it was still happy. One day, the village was under attack. Bullets flew through every street and fire enveloped the village. Amidst the chaos you could hear someone screaming that the Crestals were responsible. There was a single girl fighting among the others. When her parents dropped dead to the ground, she didn’t waver. She just kept fighting. After the streets were littered with bodies and the intruders left, a man came up to her and offered her something she couldn’t refuse…”

***

“What’s your name, lady?” The young man asked her. “My people call me Xia. But I guess all of my people are dead now.” The girl answered, bitterness and emotion overwhelming her voice. “I watched you fight out there, I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you learn combat?” He put a hand on her shoulder, as if trying to comfort her. Xia didn’t have the heart to tell him that the gesture just felt awkward and empty. “I trained with our village’s soldiers before they left for the Palace. I thought it would be best to learn to defend myself in case, well, in case something like this happened.” Her eyes met the man’s. His were wide with pity, astonished that something like this could happen. “Who are you anyway?” Xia questioned, wondering what this strange man was doing here. “My name is Doran, Prince of Helda. I’d like to recruit you to the Palace. Your combat skills are exactly what we need there. We need protection, especially me. This war is brewing and we need all the security we can get. Not only will you be rewarded, but you’ll be able to get revenge on the Crestals who did this to your village.”

*** 4

All wielders must master their weapons. That is the second rule. “I followed you through everything Doran. I was there when your father died. I was there when you assumed the role of King. I killed so many, no questions asked, because I thought I owed my life to you, because you saved me when I lost everything. I spent so many years of my life devoted to you. Until I finally found out the truth.” Xia slid her arm over so that the tip of her knife met the King’s throat. “The Crestals didn’t attack my village. You did.” It was pointless to deny it so the King just stood there, looking defeated, like he knew this day was coming. And he did know, but he never expected it to come from Xia, the person he trusted the most. “You organized the attack to blame the Crestals and gain the excuse to start the war. It was one of your first duties to prove that you were fit to be King. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Do you think I’m that stupid? I’ll admit, I never even thought about why you were there, at my village. Now I know. You were just there to see if your plan was going according to schedule. It worked didn’t it? You got your war. You got me.” The King opened his mouth, throat uncomfortably resting on the blade. “This isn’t what I wanted.” “Of course it isn’t. The war has drained you out. You’re old now, even though you shouldn’t be. When I first met you, you still had life in your eyes. You still had honor and dignity. What happened, Doran, you couldn’t handle the thought of all the lives you’ve taken?” The King had the decency to look ashamed, if only to try to save his life. It was a useless attempt, Xia had him cornered. The only person he knew would save him out of a situation like this was Xia, but now Xia was the one threatening him. “After I found out, I took my time. I knew I had to gain your trust, no matter what it took. I obeyed you for so long, taking out all the people you gave me. I made sure I could be with you in locked rooms like these, made sure I was your only line of security. How could you be so naive? One guard, Doran? One single protection from the world. How could you trust me?’ The King’s eyes were exhausted, eyebags sagging. “You were the only one Xia. I put everything into you because of all the years we had together. Do you think it was easy to trust you? I was absolutely convinced you would spend your life defending me. I am wary of every single part of my surroundings except for you. You were the only person I’ve ever really trusted. You were the only person I’ve ever truly loved. And now you’re going to kill me.”

***

“Don’t. Move.” Doran immediately froze in place. He had wandered off while his royal advisor went on about proper etiquette for the funeral. Somehow he dawdled into the woods and got lost. He was sure he was in illegal Cherb territory. “Not everyd ay you find the young prince in your area is it? Can’t wait to show the National Guard what I’ve found.” Doran turned around to find himself peering at a large man staring at him hungrily. This was bad. Really bad. If Doran didn’t get out of this, his head could be on display in the Cherb Main Square. Doran punched the air around him hoping to hit something. Several hands grabbed at him before he could, holding him down. Three more men had come around, now vigorously groping Doran. “When someone finds me, you guys are in big trouble.” The men laughed, not taking him seriously. They started boasting about the reward they’d get from the Guard, cheering for the capture of Doran. Suddenly, the men were silenced by a loud thunk. Doran spun around. Protruding out of one man’s stomach was a knife. Doran smiled. Someone leaped out of the trees and for a minute, all that could be seen was a glint of sunlight in the reflection of a blade and a spray of blood. During the skirmish, Doran shut his eyes, resting for a second while Xia took care of things. When he reopened his eyes, he saw Xia inspecting his body for any injuries. “Couldn’t have gotten here before I stepped into that pile of poison ivy? I’m going to have rashes for days,” Doran joked. “You’re a moron,” Xia replied.

***

“Remember all the time we spent together, Xia? Please, have mercy.” Xia laughed her cold, empty laugh. “I’ve killed 207 people for you. As I’m splitting their skin apart, they cry out for mercy. But I don’t care. I did all it for you. And now it’s finally your turn. I don’t think you, out of all people, deserve my mercy.” The weapon can always backfire. That is the third rule. Xia slid the knife over his throat. She liked leaving a little mess. She left before she could watch him die. In and out.

falling By Pallavi Chigurupati

Waving to friends from our study group, I reach my car and shove my backpack and books into the backseat when my phone starts ringing. I pick it up, smiling as it’s my best friend, Simon. “Hey dude, what’s up?” “I..I need your help….” My smile fades when I hear how soft and limp his voice sounds. It’s like something is tugging at his vocal chords, and it takes his full concentration to push the words out. “What’s wrong? “I want to end this, Lisa. I’m sorry, but.. I can’t do this anymore.” “Simon? Where are you? Simon? Simon!” Silence. My ears ring in the silence as the blood pounds through the veins. It feels like I’m floating along in a dream—as if all this couldn’t be real and the call from Simon is just a figment of my imagination. Everyone is still moving about around me, but my legs are rooted to the ground, set in stone. I grasp my phone, trying to steady myself as I start to panic—the shaking in my hands and the harshness of my breathing take over my senses and obscure my thoughts, replacing rational thinking with disbelief. Think, think, THINK! My mind screams at me to stay focused. My nails dig into my palm, deeper and deeper until I see a hint of crimson, hoping that maybe this will be enough to keep my usually well-oiled mental gears moving. Where could he be? I manage to calm myself down just enough to picture the one place he’d go, and in a split second, I’m slamming the door of my car closed and sprinting down the street. I hear people call my name behind me, but it’s foggy–as if I’m running through water. 7

Why would he do this? I can barely hear the sounds of my own breathing as I push myself to go faster and faster and faster until I’m literally gasping for air. My brain is screaming for me to stop and breathe, but I know I can’t stop until I find Simon. The bridge—get to the damn bridge, Lisa!” Seconds feel like years and when I finally, finally reach the bridge, I see him there, sitting on the edge, more calm than I’d seen him in a while. It was as if someone pressed pause on his typically-caffeinated personality. “SIMON!” I scream his name until tears obscure my vision and the taste of metal kisses my throat. People turn to look my way and shock crosses their faces when they see Simon–my Simon–on the edge of the cold, concrete bridge. I run towards him. All I can see are all the days we’ve spent on this very bridge together, blankets and picnic baskets in hand as we laugh together. We would lay the blankets down on the wide concrete wall and politely nod at strangers who would come to tell us about the danger of falling. Some people would only shake their heads at us, scoffing at how careless we were or laughing at our stupid actions. We’d smile and laugh, knowing that the danger of falling was very real and that we were having too much fun to stop what we were doing. Sometimes, when we were feeling especially bold, we would jump into the water. The first couple times, we’d hit a rock or a log or some random item dropped by an occasional passerby. Eventually, we had a mental map of everything in the river–no rock or log or tourist item laid unknown to us. Every cut and bruise served as a reminder of how reckless we are when we’re together. His calm demeanor only heightens my panic and hysteria. His chest rises up and down slowly, as if he’s planned this moment for years and is finally ready. He is finally ready to achieve his distorted vision of peace. I hit the concrete wall of the bridge, stretching my hand out to grab his shirt, arm, leg— anything to stop him from falling forward. But I am too late.

Simon topples forward, plunging down into the raging, rocky river below. His body takes only a second to disappear beyond the cold, gray stone, but I can still see him, falling over and over as if these few seconds are playing on repeat forever. Barely a second later, I plant my hand onto the concrete and swing my legs over the wall, falling straight for the place in the river with the least rocks. I hit the water with a chilling splash, sinking below the cyan. Almost immediately, I see him. His body sinks slowly into the depths. Blood from a hefty cut on his forehead dissipates into the water, tinting it a murky brown. I swim towards him, pushing past the surrounding rocks and plants and ignoring the cuts and scrapes on my hands. Reaching out for him, I wrap my stinging palms around his arms and pull his head up to the surface. I gasp for air when we reach the surface and swim as fast as I can towards the shore. I hear people shouting above me, screaming for an ambulance—anyone who could lend a hand, really. My hands place themselves over his chest where his heart is and start pumping fast. I count to thirty in my head, just as they taught me in school, before blowing air into his mouth. Over and over, I repeat this process, refusing to stop until either the ambulance comes or I see a sign that he is still alive. My whole body burns from running, swimming, and conducting CPR. I can barely see through my wet hair, but I continue to anyway. Just as the ambulance comes, Simon gasps for air, jerking forward and coughing up the water in his lungs. He falls back towards the ground, but I catch him, lifting from under his arms to help him onto a stretcher. Quickly, he’s lifted into the back of the emergency vehicle. “I have to go with him!” I plead to one of the nurses, who is trying desperately to calm me down. “I have to know if he’s okay!” “M’am, you can’t come with us; only immediate family is allowed,” The nurse tries to give me a warm blanket to dry off and stay warm, but I push it off my shoulders aggressively. “He doesn’t have family here!” Everything is becoming blurrier and foggier, but I refuse to back down. “All his family lives in a different country. Please, Miss, you have to let me go with him!” “....Lisa?”

In no time at all I’m standing next to him, holding his hand. “Simon, I’m right here.” “Don’t...leave….” I look toward the nurses, watching as they exchange worried glances between them. I hold their gazes fiercely, daring them to challenge me. “I’m not going anywhere.” Finally, the nurses cave in, allowing me to climb into the back of the truck to sit next to Simon. I clutch his hand gently as the truck starts moving, ignoring the crowd of people forming around the scene. I breathe out, finally allowing myself to relax a little. I close my eyes as I work to calm my racing heart. Still holding Simon’s hand, I lean back against the side of the truck, breathing in and out slowly. “I shouldn’t encourage this, seeing as you could’ve gotten hurt as well,” One of the nurses starts out slowly. “But you saved him. He’d be dead if you hadn’t jumped in after him.” I push his mop of messy, brown hair out of the way and take in his soft features for what seems like the millionth time–the same features I thought I had memorized long ago. Once, to refresh my memory. Twice, to remind myself that he is still alive. Three times, so I’ll never forget the sight of him alive again.

Snatched Time By Sandhya Srinivasan

She rolled over in her bed, her eyes slowly opening. The sheets beside her were empty, cold, and wrinkled. She was out of his warm embrace which had guided her into a tranquil sleep. Now, she only heard the ticking of the clock on the wall. The soft ticks, like little heartbeats, usually so calming to her, only sounded ominous in the early hours of the grey morning. They reminded her of the time she had left—the short, sweet, precious time. The grey light filtered through the gap in the drawn curtains. Must their last day together be filled with dreary skies? She slowly sat up, swinging her feet to sit on the side of the bed. She suddenly felt a chill spread through her body: the warmth of last night was gone, replaced by a cold absence. The absence of him beside her, the absence of joy. The ticking of the clock matched the beating of her heart—fast and frenzied. She took in a deep breath, shuddering as she did so. Time. It all came down to that, didn’t it? Their lives consisted of stolen moments: short frolics in the meadow behind the house, quick kisses and holding of hands, fleeting nights of passion, brief moments of peace and quiet. The momentary smiles their eyes made when they passed each other in the hallway of the house. She walked slowly to the kitchen. He was already dressed, drinking his morning cup of tea, butter and jam spread on his toast. A plate of baked beans was by his side. A mishmash of a breakfast, but he had to leave soon. There was not enough time to have a full, proper breakfast. She leaned against the wall, watching him as the dull grey light streamed in through the window, dousing him, filling in the angles of his face, giving him a cloudy coat of gloom. “Hiya, love,” she whispered, her lips trembling, and her eyes blinking rapidly. He looked up at her, his wide blue eyes tinged with sadness. Those wide blue eyes that showed her the whole sky, the sky that they were under, and the skies that they had never seen. Those wide blue eyes that only saw her—saw her as she was. She pressed a hand to her mouth. He was tearing her apart. Time was tearing her apart. If their lives were two pieces of string, one would see them intertwine intermittently, tying themselves up into tight knots of passion and furious love on the brief but wondrous nights when they clung together, never letting each other go. And then, the strings would continue, apart from each other, only to knot together again later. “Hiya,” he murmured, his eyes glittering with unfallen tears. “I’m so sorry.” She shook her head vigorously, trying to stifle her sobs. It was never his fault. It was all time—time delivering him briefly to her before ripping them apart. “I can’t help it,” he whispered gently, setting the toast down on the plate. “You knew it would happen.” She nodded her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She did, didn’t she? She knew that these short days, these ephemeral moments would end quickly. They always did. 11

He drank the last of his tea and set the cup in the sink. He left it there unwashed; a shot of happiness penetrated her, for it was a little reminder of him. A reminder that his beautiful, soft lips had touched. She wasn’t going to wash it until he came back. She watched him as he scooped the beans into his mouth, his eyes affixed on her the whole time. She had to press herself against the wall: she was wracked with heartbreak and melancholy knowing that it would be a long time before she saw those blue eyes again. Those eyes that contained the whole sky. He left the dishes in the sink and walked to the door. She took his coat out of the closet and helped him put it on. “Thank you,” he said, a sad smile blooming on his face. She matched his smile in return. He opened the door to go, but before he stepped out, he planted a kiss on her cheek. A fire-hot kiss on an ice-cold cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his breath caressing her ear. She tried hard not to burst into tears. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice thin like a ribbon, so thin that scissors could easily have snipped it. He turned to leave, and she grabbed his hand as if she was grabbing time itself. Snatching time out of the air, furiously, desperately clawing at it, then clutching to her chest to never let it escape. He gently pulled her hand off his. “I have to go,” he said sadly, a round, glistening teardrop sliding down his face. “I hate it, but I must. You can see that, can’t you?” Her whole body shook and quivered like a feather. She felt something rupture inside her. Her heart, which could not bear the thought of them being apart. He squeezed her hand and left, his figure receding down the pathway. The two strings of their lives had left the knot of love and solace. They now splayed out, hastening towards heartbreak and loneliness. But yes, she could see, even though her salty tears were blurring her eyesight until she could no longer discern his lithe, tall figure in the grey morning light. She could see that their time together had run out, evanescing with him in the mist of the morning.