So, you know that moment when you wish you had a way out? Then you realize just biting the bullet and getting it over with is the best thing to do. Take me for instance. This is my third year for hosting a writing contest on my blog. The first year I didn’t have many followers and I only got four entries. The next year I had more followers and I received a good amount of entries. (Ten or fourteen or so.) This year my blog has had a lot more activity and I got… One. One entry. Hey, it’s good for me though, having to admit this on my blog. I like at least keeping up the image that I know what I’m doing on Noveltea, but since that’s only an image anyway, it’s likely to be shattered many times over and in reality, that’s ok. 🙂
I have three consolations: 1 – Listening to good music as I type this. 2 – Having a totally supportive cousin. 3 – I really like the story winning story! 🙂
And now, here is Jordan Link (a girl from my writing group) with her fabulous winning story of 456 words:
The Beauty in Small Things
Age 17. I am a glistening blue star, a bright galactic miracle that never fails to shimmer. I walk with a poise rivaled by none but Her Majesty. On my gown are thousands of crystals, each encompassing my dream to become her, to be followed by a fleet of servants like each of my steps is divine.
But tonight I walk alone, with myself and my prosperity. I hear the soft clamor of a cathedral’s bells, and the barking of a servant’s dog. I hear the soft patter of my bare feet against the cobblestone, and the hushed whisper of the wind as it tickles my cheeks. Despite it, I can not bring myself to admire the beauty in small things. I withdraw my mirror, and find comfort in the polish of the girl who stares back.
As I round the road’s bend, someone brings me to a halt. A small girl peels away from the shadows, like she was delivered from the darkness itself. She runs up to me before I can cower away, and latches onto the skirt of my gown.
“I wish I were a princess, so I too could wear such a beautiful dress.”
I kneel down, and cradle the girl’s hands in mine. Her palms are coarse, like little coals.
“Little one, it is imperative that you strive only to be a better version of yourself.”
Age 20. I am sprawled out on my bed, with a fan in one hand and a pastry in the other. By the end of the impeding guard’s announcement, both of those items have found the floor. I run down the hall, and only the train of my dress pursues me.
Age 21. Someone wants to arrange an audience with me. The people insist she is the best blacksmith around, that she could recreate the Holy Chalice if that was her will. I do not believe in foolish tales, and arranged instead her execution.
Age 23. I have an affliction, I think. The townspeople call it “The Plague”, but, in terms of intellect, they are hardly superior to rats. Neither royals nor Catholics can die from the plague.
Age 23. This tower is dark; so much so that light seems to cease at its windows. They say the doctor will be here soon, and I hope to God that they are right. There is a fair view of the countryside, but I can not bring myself to admire it. The sill is dirty, even more so than the ashen floors.
While I can still write, I will admit my faults. Opulence is as transient as an arrow’s flight. If only I had seen the beauty in small things.
Jordan! Congratulations! Please email me for instructions of how to receive your prize at: aidylewoh(at)gmail(dot)com
Y’all, check back tomorrow for an extra-special post! And I hope you’re having a wonderful Monday!