WHAT
DRAMA!
WHAT
TALENT!WAIT FOR ME!WINNERS
SEPTEMBER 2018 STORY CONTEST
Act of KindnessFirst prize 10 and under
Lydia Rosenburg, age 10
Bellingham, WA
The boy curled against the rundown brick wall, too
weak to even sit up. The pain behind his eyelids had
dulled to a throb, but now his world was nothing but
darkness. How long ago had it happened?
Day and night, darkness and light were all the same
to him now, but he guessed that it might have been a
few weeks ago. The thin cloth of his tunic did nothing
to protect him from the cold winds and icy snows of the
mountain winter, and he couldn’t remember the last time
he had tasted food. His home was gone; all that was left
of Kanjaro Village was smoldering ruins. He had no fam-
ily, and the people who cared for him had not realized he
was gone until too late.
He was snapped out of his half-conscious memories
by a barely audible gasp. Soft hands caressed his thin
ones as someone knelt beside him. The person, a girl of
about his own age, pushed something into his hands.
Bread! He struggled to raise his hands to his mouth, but
the girl guided them, her gentle touch a reassurance
to his numb arms. One bite... another... he felt his
strength returning with each mouthful.
“Th-thank you,” he gasped.
“You’re welcome,” the girl said, her voice as soft
and gentle as her touch. She pulled him to his feet and
wrapped a warm blanket around his narrow shoulders.
Then, she supporting him, he leaning on her arm, they
made their way out of the alley.
First prize 11 and up
Eliana Aschheim, age 12
Santa Clara, CA
Simple Gratitude
The sound of the bell enters bored students’ minds.
They shove binders into open and waiting backpacks and
stampede to the door. With all the rush, I almost couldn’t
see her. Mrs. Araule. It’s her f irst year of teaching, and
she seems very stressed. She always has something to
do. I pity her. My class is a tricky bunch. Way too many
kids caring nothing for their education, squandering
it and their teacher’s patience by talking. All the time.
She must love to teach to be teaching my chatty class.
She’s done a fair job! Interesting lessons, explanations of
important—but little—things. Most teachers skip the
confusing little bits, but not Mrs. Araule.
I carefully put my binder in my backpack and slowly
zip it up. I sling it around my shoulder and walk down the
aisles. I’m the last kid to pack up. There’s a slowdown at
the door, too many kids pushing to get away.
Mrs. Araule looks exhausted and has already started
to grade our homework, caring nothing about the
aggressive kids at the door. My classmates’ desks are
scratched with swear words and pencil marks. I reach
hers. It has a cup holding an assortment of pens and a
stack of papers on one side. There are lines under Mrs.
Araule’s eyes and white hairs mixed under her black ones.
Behind her is the whiteboard scattered with pronuncia-
tion tips and accent mark rules from today’s lesson.
“Mrs. Araule?” I ask.
From hunched over, Mrs. Araule sits up and looks me
in the eye with a small smile. Despite her weariness, her
eyes are sharp and smart, like her personality. Maybe she
thinks I have a question. I don’t.
“Thank you,” I say, and give her a small smile of my
own. Hers broadens. Mrs. Araule’s eyes are appreciative.
She sighs a small sigh of relaxation.“It’s my pleasure,” she replies. Everyone else has left
for the afternoon, so I am alone as I exit the classroom.
Mrs. Araule is a good teacher. She really is.
Second prize 10 and under
Mei-Li Mann, age 8
Cleveland, OH
Hanging with My Cousins
“Do you want to do gymnastics in your basement?” I
asked my cousin, Lorena.
“Sure! I have a panel mat we can use.”
“Let’s change into something more comfortable,” I
added.
In the basement, which was half carpeted, half not,
Lorena and I did different routines that we made up on
the spot. We played music on my aunt’s iPhone as we
took turns doing front handsprings, handstands, forward
rolls, cartwheels, roundoffs, backbends, and more in our
routines. We watched each other, and we piggybacked
on each other’s moves.
A few minutes into our f irst routine, Alonzo, Lorena’s
older brother, came downstairs to watch us. When he
saw what we were doing, he asked if he could join.
“Yes, Lorena just did her routine, so now it is my
turn. You can go after me,” I replied, and Lorena started
the music. A few seconds into the routine, Alonzo started
distracting me with silly noises. I fell hard on my ankle. I
was able to get up right away, but when I was done with
my routine I told my cousins I needed to take a break to
rest my ankle.
Alonzo did a routine next, but since he didn’t know
many gymnastics skills he just kept falling down.
“Can we show you some moves you could use in
your routine?” I asked Alonzo when he had f inished.
“Yes,” he replied. “I might not get everything right,
but I’m going to try.” As Lorena and I were showing
Alonzo some moves, Lorenzo came downstairs.