Hey, hello, and welcome to a very special post on I'm a Book Addict. It's Phoebe here and today I'm going to announce the winner of our very first writing contest! This was a very close call and I really did enjoy reading all entries but the person who will receive a $25 IHop gift card is.......
David S! I loved how his writing really transported me to Vietnam and I felt like I was right there with the characters. Without further ado, here's David's winning story entitled "Deciding on Young Love": Ha Van Son stood there admiring his handiwork. I have done well. I am an old man and very slow, but for a month I have worked the picture in my mind. Now, it is here before me. He looked at the handsome dwelling of thatched palm leaves. In many ways the hut he had fashioned was like the other huts in the village of Song Bac. Only the double sloped roof set it apart from its nearest neighbor. The roof for a married woman. He smiled. The hut he had so lovingly constructed was for his daughter and the young man who would soon become her husband. “Father?” He turned to see her emerging from the hut. She was wearing the wedding gown her mother had been sewing for many weeks. “Is it not beautiful?” she asked, whirling around and around, a dazzling vision in white. Like her mother. She is the very image of her mother on the day of our wedding. “It is beautiful, my daughter,” he said, catching her in his arms. To Ha and his wife, Le Ly had always been a miracle child. Before Le Ly, other babies had been born, lived a few hours, then died. But from her first cry, she was all they had hoped for. She was small, like her mother. And, like her mother, fair of face. For eighteen summers she had been the joy of their lives. To Ha, she had always been his precious Little Flower. So, when his wife told him one night that it was time to arrange a marriage, he lay there in the bed beside her with his mind reeling. Marriage? My Little Flower? The thought was too much for his mind to hold. “So soon?” he said, finally, in a voice he could hardly recognize. “So soon,” his wife responded gently, taking him in her arms. Trieu Au had been seventeen when her parents arranged her marriage to Ha who was nearly forty at the time. Ha had known that one day it would be his responsibility to make the marriage agreement with the father of a promising young man. But, over the years, as he watched the boys of Song Bac grow, he pushed the thought from his mind. She is but a child, he thought. Someday I will study the question and make a wise choice. Now, the “someday” was suddenly here. The following evening, after the three of them had eaten their meal of fish and rice and after Le Ly had left the hut to visit a friend, Ha leaned back, lit his pipe and said the first male name that came into his mind. “Hugn. What do you think of Hugn?” Trieu Au was turned away from him washing their eating utensils, but the young man’s name stiffed her already straight back, an unmistakable sign. “Not Hugn,” he said, thoughtfully stroking his goatee. “What about Tri Van? He is strong. A good worker, from what I have seen.” “A sad face,” said Trieu Au, turning toward him. “Le Ly needs happy.” It is true, Ha thought. Tri Van does have a dour face that never knows a smile. It is also true that Le Ly always looks as if something wonderful is happening. It is a gift from her mother. Even now, after thirty years of marriage, Ha always found pleasure in looking at his wife. She had that same look of wonderment, that same happy disposition. There were a few wrinkles around her eyes now, and the small birthmark on her left cheek – a discoloration the size of the tip of his finger – had become somewhat darker over the years, but she was still a joy to his eyes. The birthmark, he told her, only added to her beauty. Ha nodded his acceptance of her verdict on Tri Van and tried another name and then another. Finally, after a half-dozen names had been rejected, Trieu Au finished the dishes and sat down beside him, taking his wrinkled hand in both of hers. “It is Nguyen,” she said, with a conspiratorial smile. “Nguyen? Little Nguyen?” The image that came to mind was of a small boy Le Ly had played with from the time they both were toddlers. He realized that Nguyen must be grown by now, but somehow he had failed to follow the growing. “Little Nguyen?” “They are in love,” said his wife, touching his cheek gently. “They have always been, I think.” “In love?” He spat out the words as if they were bitter in his mouth. He was silent for a moment, thinking. How can the selection of proper marriage partner be left to a pair of eighteen year olds who are in love? “It is our decision,” he said firmly. “Is it not our decision she should be happy?” Ha took another puff on his pipe and withdrew his hand from hers. They had barely known each other when their marriage was arranged. For them, love had come in the natural order of things; the marriage first, then the love. “This cannot be.” “She says it will be Nguyen or no one.” There was a long silence as Ha wondered what had gone wrong that the child they had raised with such love and devotion would now dishonor her parents so. “In love?” His wife nodded. “We will speak of this another day.” Ha Van Son hoped the passage of time would bring him new insight. The following day and the day after, while the women in his life moved around him in unnatural silence, he thought of Le Ly and her declaration that she would marry only Nguyen. The more the women waited for him to speak, the more determined he was to extend his silence. I am the village elder. More than a hundred people turn to me for advice and council, and does my opinion stand for nothing with my own family? Finally, as the three of them were eating their first meal one rainy morning, Trieu Au broke the silence. “Nguyen will come to dinner,” she said. Ha bristled. How can this young man be allowed to insinuate himself where he is not welcome? Trieu Au spoke again. “To help with your decision.” That night, over dinner, Nguyen talked to Ha of hunting and fishing and of the crops and the rains that continued to fall. Nguyen wanted to know everything about the journey Ha had made as a young man from Song Bac over the rolling foothills of the Amanese Mountains east to the smooth white sand beaches of the South China Sea. “How wide is the sea?” he asked, his eyes as full of wonder as Le Ly’s had been each time Ha retold the story. “It is very wide,” said Ha, gruffly. I will answer his questions, he thought. I will not be drawn into conversation. Then, as he looked at the hurt that came to the boy’s eyes, Ha broke his resolve. “It is wider than many rivers,” he said. “So wide the sun rises up out of it in the morning.” “And the sand,” said Nguyen, shaking his head in awe. “Tell me about the sand.” As Ha described sand the color of gold and the consistency of sugar, Le Ly smiled, looking first at him and then at Nguyen. When the story seemed about to end, she gave her father a little wink the young man did not see. “Tell him about the farmer, father. About the farmer and the pig.” “Yes, please,” said Nguyen. “I was traveling along the road, about a day’s walk from the sea when I saw a farmer lifting a large pig up to an apple tree.” “Lifting a pig?” “Like this,” said Ha, standing to demonstrate the farmer’s struggle. “After the pig had eaten an apple, I called to the farmer: ‘Excuse me sir,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t it save a lot of time if you picked the apple and put it on the ground?’ The farmer looked at me as if I had made a silly suggestion, and asked “What’s time to a pig?” Nguyen laughed with the others, shaking his head and faking a punch at Le Ly. “You,” he laughed. “You make me the fool.” The conversation continued in an easy way. And, though there was no talk of marriage, Ha couldn’t help but notice the looks that passed between the young man and his Little Flower. They are the looks of love, he thought, lighting his pipe and withdrawing behind its aromatic haze. The conversation continued to swirl around him with his wife, his daughter and this grown-up Nguyen laughing and talking as if the family bond had already formed. As Ha listened from behind the haze, he began to understand the deep feelings between this handsome young man and his Little Flower. Finally, he knocked the ashes from his pipe onto the floor of the hut and looked into Le Ly’s smiling eyes. “And now, about the marriage,” he said. “I will build the hut.” For many days the monsoon rains had prevented him, but with the wedding only three days off, the hut was finished. “See, my Little Flower, a double slopped roof. For a married woman.” Please give a round of applause to David in the comment section below! Now, I also decided to include the second place story as I was really captivated by all of the descriptions in it, and I loved how I could picture the beach and the ocean from the words used to illustrate it! The second place winner is: Arika L. Here's her story entitled "A Mermaid's Invitation": As I walked down the shore on a September evening, I had a smile on my face. I leaned into the balmy air left over from the baking-hot afternoon and enjoyed the calm silence of the evening. Little waves lapped onto the soft, wet-brown sand. The sky was pink with the fiery setting sun, a gentle breeze blew toward the sea, and everything felt right. I walked blissfully on for just a few more minutes, enjoying this rare evening of serenity on the shore; no tourists to be seen. Absolutely no one and nothing was on the beach for as far as I could see in the hazy late sunlight. I suddenly realized how cooped-up and repressed I'd been feeling the past few days. We had had houseguests over for the past four weeks: aunts and uncles, cousins and friends all in our small four-bedroom house. This beach stay was the grand finale, and although everyone would leave in a few days, I was starting to feel a real need for space and freedom. So I decided to sing, freeing my voice and throwing caution to the wind. I sang popular songs, then songs from my grandparents’ time, then music with no words, then music I made up myself, right there on the spot, a harmonious slapdash of sounds. The sun sank lower, and lower still, and was just about to disappear below the horizon. So I reluctantly told myself I should turn around and get back to our beach house bursting with people. At the moment I turned to head homewards, the sun’s rays disappeared from the sands. The beach took on a more somber aspect. And at that same moment someone called my name. “Serena!” I whipped around, anticipating my cousin Sara, or maybe my aunt Amy. No one was there. I wondered if the voice was God’s. “Serena!” I heard again. I turned slowly, scanning the beach, then the wooden walkway, then the beach grass, then the beach again, then the ocean, then- I caught my breath and whipped back to face the ocean. A mermaid was there. An electric shock shot through me head to foot. I stood rooted to the spot. I debated whether to run or stay; all the mermaid stories I'd ever heard dashed through my mind. While I was thus immobile, I stared at the mermaid. She was at the very edge of the waves, as close to land as she could get while still being in the water. Her skin was luminous and pale, and her dark hair streamed over her woven seaweed top and into the water. Her tail looked like it was spangled with hundreds of emeralds, while her fingers, wrists, and neck really were sparkling with jewels. But the most striking thing about her was her face. She was indescribably beautiful, and she was laughing. “Serena!” she called again, and this time, I didn't hesitate. There was something about her voice that made me want to sprint towards her at full speed. As it was, I forced myself into a quick walk. As I did, all the things I’d ever heard about mermaids careened through my head. I stopped about six feet away from her, silently and stupidly staring. “Closer,” she commanded. She pointed vaguely at my legs with one bejeweled hand. “Come… come down.” I maneuvered into a reclining position about three feet away from mermaid and the little foamy waves. I tried to seem nonchalant and tried on a little smile, but inside, I was a messed-up tangle of fears and expectations. Is she going to grant me a wish? What shall I wish for? Will she grab me and dive underwater? How will I escape? The mermaid calmly looked me over, smiled, then announced, “I am Nerina. Now. Will you be Serena or will you choose a mername?” she asked matter-of-factly. Her voice was like music from a reed flute - cool, smooth, and quick to change intonation. “I… don't understand,” I croaked gravelly. Nerina winced at the sound and flicked her tail impatiently. “Choose your name and let’s go!” “Why? Where are you taking me?” I asked. “To learn sirenity, of course,” Nerina smiled with a hint of contempt for my ignorance. “To become a mermaid in all but tail.” All I could manage was “Why?” Nerina laughed indulgently. “Humans are so curious about everything! After sirens decided not to sink humans’ ships and to try to coexist with humans, they had nothing to do! All their singing talents and beauty secrets had hitherto only been used to sink ships. So they decided to put their talents to a good use and teach both young mermaids and human girls alike the secrets of former sirens. The selection process is simple: only those with the finest voices are chosen. Because of your beautiful singing a moment ago--” here Nerina smiled-- “you will be the first human ever trained in sirenity and merskills.” I was elated and flattered at the same time! A mermaid had selected me to learn to swim like a mermaid, to sing like a mermaid, to be like a mermaid! I opened my mouth to say Yes, a hundred times yes! But then I thought of my parents. They would be heartbroken if I left them, and after just a little while, so would I. I raked my fingers over the wet brown sand. “Thank you so much for the honor of the invitation. But I can’t leave.” I said, fighting back tears. The tears won, and dripped down my face onto the sand. I will never get another chance to be a mermaid, I said fiercely to myself. I jabbed my fingers into the sand. Never. I finally looked up to see Nerina staring fixedly up the shore. Her gaze was so focused and and so intensely fierce it made me shudder. Then she saw me looking at her and her angry gaze all but disappeared. She took off a necklace I hadn't seen before. The chain was just a thin strand of seaweed, but a glistening pearly pink conch shell embedded with pearls and beautiful stones hung from it. She handed it to me with a beautiful smile and said “Whenever you're ready, come to the sea and blow this. I'll be waiting.” Then she turned and vanished into the sea. I lay there for a moment, then got up, brushed myself off, and started back to the house, conch clutched tightly in hand, as the first stars twinkled in the newly nighttime sky. Congratulations to David and Arika and thank YOU for reading this post! Love, Phoebe (Exec. Worm) SPECIAL NOTE: Do you want to help us spread the word about our blog and recruit some new Book Addicts to join our book-lover's community? Email [email protected] telling us that you want to help us grow and we will email you our I'm A Book Addict flyers that you can print out and put in your local library, bookstore, or community center! Then, you will get a shout-out on our blog as one of our "Dedicated Worms"!
1 Comment
Rose E.
7/29/2017 07:39:53 am
Both stories were fantastic, you guys! Wow! Great job!
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