Christal
Cooper
The 27th Annual F Scott Fitzgerald Short
Story Contest
Ceremony At The Scott & Zelda Fitzgerald Museum
“We
used to have a pledge that started out with one country, one people, one
language and I thought yes we need one language and I’ll tell you why – we’ll
understand each other. We misunderstand
each other and everyone’s speaking English.
Just look what goes on in Congress. If we don’t learn to be specific in
what we say then we are in trouble in this country. So this is why I really started this (The F
Scott Fitzgerald Short Story Contest) - to give everybody a chance to receive
some rewards of their work. We give
football players all kinds of awards, but the literary people and the students
that make the good grades to become our doctors and our lawyers and our
teachers and our engineers – the ones that are going to rule our world - they
just kind of ignore them. And I thought, “Well let’s give them an award for people who
can truly write the English language.”
That’s what this award is about.”
Martha
Cassels on September 28, 2014
This past September 29, 2014 Scott and
Zelda Fitzgerald Museum, located at 719 Felder Avenue, in Montgomery, Alabama
hosted its 27th Annual F.
Scott Fitzgerald Short Story Competition.
Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald Museum
co-founder and Montgomery businesswoman Martha Cassels has sponsored the short
story contest for the past 27 years.
Each year there are four winners – two
first prizewinners in the College and High School Categories; and two-second prizewinners
in the College and High School Categories.
Alexandra Jurus won first place in the University Category and Chase Lintz
won first place in the High School Category.
Amber Vance won second place in the University Category and Stephanie Nguyen-Duong won second place in the High School Category. The first place winners are awarded a plaque and $250 and second place winners are awarded a plaque.
Amber Vance won second place in the University Category and Stephanie Nguyen-Duong won second place in the High School Category. The first place winners are awarded a plaque and $250 and second place winners are awarded a plaque.
Here are their stories:
First Place College Category Winner
Alexandra Jurus
“Dust After Rain”
If there was ever a day that the broken
screen door was not in danger of slamming in the wind, it was that day. The air
was as thick as hogs’ blood. It sat densely on the dry ground like a heavy sack
and could only be gulped. Even then it had to be chewed. The taste was like
pollen and musk. I clung to the corroded, peeling railing at the edge of our
front porch, with my foot balancing on the bottom rail so I could push my neck
out in the hope of catching a sly breeze that would never come. My dress was
already sealed against my skin with sweat.
“Omega, you’re gonna break your dern
neck! What’d I tell you? That old beam can’t hold you. It’s near rotten with
mildew. I ain’t gonna be the one to hear you come hollering when it finally
gives in and you bust your face wide open,” Daddy yelled. He was propped up in
the doorframe, slurping down the oily water and sediment that passed for coffee
before we walked over to the Cole’s field.
I
jumped down anxious to avoid a whipping, landing awkwardly with my arms hanging
just a little too rigidly by my sides to look natural, and looking up at Daddy
with apparent guilt. If Daddy had still been looking my way, he would have
grabbed me and popped me one good time for looking so shameful, but by now he
was staring out at the cloudless sky as he swallowed the last few dregs of
black sludge in his dirty, red cup. I saw my daddy drink out of that cup every
day, but I never did once see Mother wash it. It fit Daddy’s hand like a
glove—an extension of the calloused hands, tattooed with soil, which somehow
never quite washed clean.
I
took this rare moment of peace to take a long look at my daddy’s face,
memorizing the tired creases and dark pores against the backdrop of those waves
of heat that look as if the world was beginning to melt. My eyes had lingered
too long.
“What
the hell you staring at, sis? Get on back inside and grab your brothers so we
can head out before the morning’s half over.”
I
ran in and called Truman and Clyde. Shortly, they tumbled down the stairs.
Clyde, the oldest, was holding Truman around the back of the neck. Truman
squirmed to free himself from Clyde’s grip. Clyde was only a few years older
than Truman, but he had shot up almost as tall as Daddy since last fall, and he
often took advantage of this new height difference whenever his smaller
siblings were close at hand. He was as mean-spirited as an old dog and took
pleasure in the nastiest things. He pushed Truman forward with a hard shove as
soon as he reached the bottom of the stairwell, making the poor boy trip over
his own feet. Truman pursed up his lips determined not to cry, and I snuck up
behind him to give him a soft squeeze on his shoulders for support.
Truman
was my darling. My oldest sisters, Claudette and Martha, helped Mother at home;
Luella was too little to do anything useful; and since Clyde helped Daddy, the
responsibility of taking care of Truman had always fallen on me. I never minded
though. He had the sweetest temperament of all us kids and shared my straw
blonde hair and blue eyes, which had an angelic effect on his features, though
it only highlighted my freckles and plainness.
Luella
walked into the kitchen ready to walk with Truman to the schoolhouse. They were
the last two of us kids left in school. The rest of us helped with the crops
mostly or stayed home with Mother. I hadn’t been back to school since about the
fourth grade, I reckoned. Luella looked so proud in her clean school dress with
her fiery red hair braided as neatly as her wiry curls would allow. I just had
to give her a good, firm pinch on the arm to make sure she wasn’t getting above
her raising. She gave a loud yelp, but one stern look from Mother hushed her up
real quick like. She gave me a nasty look, but all I did was grin in return as
we headed out the door to start our day.
The
sun was beating down on the back of my neck as our hands twisted, turned, and
tugged the cotton from its boll with the same grace and precision as the hands
that would one day weave its fibers. I stayed close to Daddy. There were many
families with children like ours who, too poor to farm themselves, worked with
the Coles and other farmers during harvest times, but it was easy to feel lost
in the sea of strong, sweat-dripping, adult men who surrounded me. I noticed
Daddy stumble forward ahead of me.
“It
smells like it’s ‘bout to rain,” I said passingly, hoping he would think I
hadn’t noticed. I had barely spoken the harmless words when I saw a change in
his expression like a switch had clicked over in his head.
“What’d
you say? What did you just say? Don’t you ever say that in front of me again.
What do you think you know?”
He
grabbed my arm, yanking it up while he gave me the biggest whipping of a
lifetime. When he finished he pushed me off, releasing my arm. I felt a sharp
ache where his fingers had been. I couldn’t tell my tears from sweat, but the
mingled salt burned in my eyes as I stared at Daddy with deep pain and
confusion. I felt the burn of embarrassment, but I wasn’t sure if I was
embarrassed about what I’d said or what he’d done. Daddy turned and stalked off
as if he hadn’t said a word. No apologies were offered, but his anger had fled
as suddenly as it had erupted. As he moved away from me I noticed a musty
bottle of amber liquid slouched down in his frayed pocket. I dried my eyes on
my dress sleeve and continued to pick.
It
was a gentle rain that accompanied me on my walk that evening. It landed softly
on the dusty trail and echoed in the leaves of the trees that lined the road. I
closed my eyes and breathed in that wonderful pure smell and let the day melt
away to a chorus of cicadas and tree frogs. I stopped right quick when I opened
my eyes again, noticing Clyde and his friend, Irving, sitting on a fence a
little ways ahead of me. They were puffing out their cheeks to hold in their
chuckles, but as soon as they knew I’d seen them they started a hooting and a
hollering with no reservation. I blushed for my private moment to have been so
unwillingly shared. I stopped in front of them to see if they were headed home
as well.
“Well,
I declare, Miss Omega, you’re getting right pretty. Turning into a proper
little lady, I’d say,” Irving gawked at me. I was not going to stand for such a
speech. I threw my hands to my hips and huffed up real big so he couldn’t look
down on me.
“Irving,
you nasty boy, don’t you try talking all that nonsense to me. I don’t care
nothing about no dirty ol’ boys, and even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t give
two hoots for you.”
He
clutched his chest as if in pain. “Omega! You don’t mean it? Why I feel my
heart breaking right in two!”
“If
I haven’t ever heard a bigger pile of bunk than that! You’re a bad one, Irving
Abbot, and my mamma told me to stay away from boys like you,” I hollered,
crossing my arms to show my resoluteness.
In
a flash Irving had jumped off the fence and fixed his arms around my waist.
“You stay away from me! Stay away!” I
shrieked as I tried to twist free.
“Oh, just give me one good kiss,
sweetheart,” said Irving.
“Yeah, Mega,” I heard Clyde laugh, “why
don’t you give him a kiss?”
Clyde
grabbed my arms to hold me still as Irving planted the most disgusting smack
where my lips would have been if I hadn’t pulled them inwards between my teeth.
He just snickered and while Clyde still had a hold of me, Irving wrenched my
dress up over my head. Then without skipping a beat, I heard them both run off
down the road laughing. When I got my clothes back in order, I sat down right
there on the road and sobbed like a colicky baby for the second time that day.
When I came downstairs the next
morning, Martha quickly pulled me aside and told me Daddy hadn’t come home that
night. This wasn’t unheard of, and we all knew to steer clear of Mother if it
happened. She wouldn’t make a fuss, but you could feel what I think was just
plain tiredness in her heart on those days, and we were all hesitant t
not to add any more to her burden. Martha told me Clyde had gone into town to
find him, and I should find something to do to stay out of Mother’s way until
Daddy got home.
I was walking around the front yard
kicking up dirt and pulling up weeds around the broad, round roots of the oaks,
imagining that they were stairs into a secret kingdom in a magical wood when I
saw my uncle, Don, walking up by the gate. It struck me as odd that he would
come to our house; we kids hardly ever saw Mother’s brother outside of town.
I’d heard Martha and Claudette talking through the wall that separated their
room from the one I shared with Luella about Uncle Don bringing Daddy home
drunk a few times and Mother hollering at him, but as I’d never seen Mother
holler at anyone a day in my life, I never believed them. Nonetheless, he was
here now holding his hat and ringing his hands.
“Omega,” he said, “you better get along
now inside and get your mamma for me.” His voice was stern, but even I could
hear the fear behind it. I wondered if Daddy was still so drunk that even Don
couldn’t drag him home.
“Where’s Daddy?” I said, not moving an
inch
“Well now, honey, I think I’d better talk to
your mamma about that.”
“Why?”
He
was becoming increasingly agitated.
“I
really don’t want—”
At
that moment Clyde ran down the lane like a bat out of hell.
“Mega!
Mega!” he cried, “Mega, Daddy’s shot himself!” he ran through the gate
hollering and crying.
I
heard a loud thud behind me. Mother must have come out on to the porch when I
wasn’t paying any mind, and she kneeled there now, collapsed in a heap, gasping
for air.
Uncle
Don came out onto the porch and sat next to me on the steps. I was watching
lightening bugs in the yard, thinking about when Daddy had shown me as a
young’un how to catch them in my hands. I couldn’t seem to make myself
understand that he was gone.
“Is
my daddy in hell?” I asked quietly.
“What?”
gasped Uncle Don in shock.
“Well,
the preacher said suicides don’t go to heaven cause the bible says we ain’t
supposed to kill anybody, not even ourselves. So I reckon that means Daddy’s
gone to hell,” I explained matter-of-factly.
Don
took off his glasses and dragged his hand down his face while he thought
quietly for a moment. “Darlin’, your Daddy wasn’t always—,” he said, pausing
between his words, “—quite right."
Not in his head, so to speak. I don’t think he really knew what he was doing
when he took his life. Now I don’t think God is so unkind that he’d keep us out
of heaven for doing something when we didn’t know no better.” He looked at me
as if expecting to see my relief, but I just leaned my head down to my arms at
the end of my knees and shrugged up at him in response.
Late
one evening, a week after the funeral, Claudette and Martha sent the boys and
me down to the nearby pond to give Mother some quiet. Clyde and Irving had
spent the walk pushing and pulling Truman until he was miserable and taunted
him until he agreed to race them in a swim. I knew full well that Truman’s
little arms wouldn’t carry him nearly as fast as Clyde and Irving’s long, lanky
limbs, but he was in a huff now and wouldn’t be told off.
I
dipped my toes into the edge of the warm water, digging them in the bottom to
feel the soft mud squish between them. The boys’ heads bobbed up and down in
the pond as they thrashed about making the most awful racket. About halfway
across Truman started to slow down. I thought he must have given up seeing how
hopeless the whole business was. He stopped fast where he was. Sickening waves
of panic washed over me.
“Clyde!
Oh my God, Oh my God, Clyde,” I yelled desperate to get his attention, but he
was still swimming and couldn’t hear me. I’d never learned how to swim and I
couldn’t go to help my sweet boy. Irving had made it to the other side of the
pond and seeing Truman’s distress, he dived back in immediately. Truman was
struggling to keep his head up, but his tired body was treading slowly in the
murky water. Irving had nearly reached him but the waves he was creating were
only pushing Truman further under water. Then all at once he disappeared. I
felt as if I had swallowed my lungs. I couldn’t breathe or yell. Irving dipped
under in search of him. Clyde, now aware of the confusion, stood equally frozen
at the opposite end of the pond. Seconds crawled along, but it felt like the
world had stopped.
Irving
immerged into view dragging Truman behind him. My legs gave out from beneath
me. Truman wasn’t moving. It had happened so suddenly I couldn’t make sense of
what I’d seen. My eyes raced back and forth and I felt helpless so far from
where he lay motionless. The boys stood over him taking turns shaking him,
patting him on the back, and listening to his chest, but neither of them really
knew what to do. Finally Clyde, after listening for a heartbeat, jumped up suddenly
with a howl. He was screaming hysterically. I knew immediately my baby boy’s
heart had stopped. I fell over on to the bank and retched as I wept. The pain
that seized me was more powerful than anything I’d ever known. I was blinded by
my tears and couldn’t move to save my life.
When
the boys had made their way around the pond Irving scooped me up to take me
home, walking by Clyde’s side, carrying me as Clyde carried Truman. All I could
see from where I lay were Truman’s sunny boyhood curls dripping with the now
cold water that had extinguished the spark of his life.
The
broken swing’s tired hinges creak as the low wind brushes against them. The
weeds and wild onions sway, as I stand for another day in this faded doorframe
staring out at the dead heat. I marvel at how time creeps slowly in this sleepy
town, and yet blindly declines to stand still when the most precious among us
are ripped away to fall forever outside of its command. Instead it wrenches us
forward in our grief, forcing us to break ties with the dear ones it leaves
behind. When will the wind cease, or the crickets take a moment of silence? And
why doesn’t the sun know to bow its head in solemn respect and make way for the
rain to weep? Only dust is excused from this loathsome constancy, waiting
patiently until only dust is excused from this loathsome constancy, waiting patiently until it is joined with us.
First Place High School Category Winner
Chase Lintz
“Covenant”
The mass of helmets lurched backward as
the landing craft plunged into the dark water.
Sea spray glistened on the surface of everything it touched, catching
the light of the artillery fire. Private
Eddie Hagen glanced at the faces of the men around him. Some were praying, while others held pictures
or mementos of sweethearts and family before carefully tucking them away inside
of their jackets. The rest stared into
the unknown, their faces expressionless, betraying no inner feelings.
“This is it, Buddy!”
Eddie managed a smile in return for the
hearty slap on his shoulder and twisted around to acknowledge a friend.
“We’re finally gonna kick some Nazi
ass!” Vince DeLanzio grinned down at
Eddie. “Remember, kid, the rules are the
same just like it was in the old neighborhood.
Stick with me. We’ll do just
fine. Besides, your sister will never
marry me if I let any thing happen to you.”
“You know something, Vinnie, that’s
really funny. She told me to watch out
for you.”
Suddenly, both men were distracted by
an explosion, which sent more spray into the craft. The roar of airplanes filled the sky. As they passed overhead, the black and white
“invasion” stripes painted on their lower bodies could be seen. The markings let the Allies know that these
were their own, for protection against heir anti-aircraft guns. The soldiers watched them as they made their
way through the flack and over the cliffs.
“Son-of-a-bitch! Do you see that shoreline, Vince? How the hell are we gonna make it up those
cliffs? We’ll be sitting ducks, just
waiting for Fritz to blow us all to hell!”
Eddie attempted to adjust his gear and
renewed his grip on his rifle. Amid the
chaos and ever increasing artillery fire, he thought of his last visit to
another beach, Coney Island. During his
high school years, as the weather grew warm, he would cut classes with Vince
and hitchhike to the beach. Vince had
always been the bolder one. Orphaned at
an early age, he had been raised by an aunt.
Without a father’s guidance, he had grown up streetwise and cocky.
On the other hand, Eddie had the
advantage of a loving, structured family life.
His dad was a kind and forgiving man.
It was his mother’s Irish temperament, which had kept him on his
toes. His sister, Tess, had the same
fire and beauty as their mother. Vince
had been smitten with Tess for years. In
fact, Eddie was sure that his friend was in love.
Vince and Eddie had signed up for the
Marines at the same time. After basic
training, the two had strutted like peacocks before family and friends. As full-fledged fighting men, they would now
join in the fight against he Hun. When
the time came to say good-bye, Eddie avoided the look in his parents’
eyes. He could not avoid Tess,
though. With tear-filled eyes, she made
him promise to look out for himself, as well as Vince. She then turned to his friend, placed her
hand son his shoulders, and kissed him for the first time. Vince watched her run upstairs to her room,
leaving him weak in the knees. Regaining
his composure, he said his farewell and walked out the door.
Suddenly, the barking orders form the platoon
leader interrupted Eddie’s thoughts. The
back wall of the craft crashed into the water and the throng of men moved
forward. Plunging into the icy surf, the
Marines gasped as the cold wetness penetrated their clothing. The dark, green depths caused many to
flounder, already weighted down with excess gear. This, combined with the mortar fire aimed at
them from the tope of the cliffs, caused many to believe they had seen their
last day.
As Eddie struggled toward the shore, a
bullet pierced through the man in front o him, causing him to fall
backward. He looked into the lifeless
eyes before the sea covered the soldier’s face and claimed his spirit.
A second later, Eddie felt a sharp pain
in his side. Before losing his balance,
he felt a strong arm lifting him up.
“Are you okay, buddy?”
Eddie shook his head in reply as Vince
struggled to maintain his own bearing.
The water became shallower, but rolls of barbed wire presented another
problem. Others cried out in pain as
they fell or tripped onto the biting barricade.
Finally, the two spied an opening and scrambled to the shore quickly
followed by others.
“Where are you hit, Ed?” Concern shown in Vince’s face as his eyes
searched for the source of the red stain, which slowly traveled downward.
“Just beneath the shoulder. Man, it stung like hell, at first. Now it’s kinda numb.” Eddie gasped and dropped his head onto the
wet sand.
“Give me your gear.”
Eddie raised his head as he felt his
friend unbuckle the pack, and ease the straps form his shoulders.
“What are you doing, Vince?”
“I want you to start crawling toward
the cliff. See that niche over
there? Head for it. You can’t make it in your shape with all this
gear. I’ll be right behind you. Now, go!”
The firing intensified, but Eddie said
a silent prayer and clawed his way to the wall of rock. Bodies of dead and dying were all
around. Ironically, they served as a
protective shield. As he approached his
destination, a hand reached out and grabbed at the collar of his jacket,
pulling him to safety. Within the
shelter of the rock, Eddie could see others inside the crevice.
“Can you see my buddy?”
“Don’t see much of anything moving
right now, mate.”
Eddie peered into the dark corners and
recognized the British uniforms. A
clicking sound engulfed his hears, and he realized that it was his teeth. Known he could not restrain his fear, he
wanted at least to control his trembling.
Glancing at the man next to him, he noticed that he, too, was shaking.
The mist from the sea began to rise,
only to mingle with the smoke form the mortar fire. Eddie lay against the cliff, feeling weak and
helpless. More men were coming ashore,
and staying alive. They were making
progress. He wondered how much longer
the battle would last, and where Vince was.
Looking out at the edge of the beach,
he saw the back of a familiar figure.
With soldiers scrambling back and forth, Eddie found that he could not
take his eyes from the lone form.
Slowly, the man turned, and faced Eddie’s questioning stare. The left side of his face had been blown away
with shrapnel. His arm hung limply at
his side. Even with half of his body
badly torn, Eddie knew that it was Vince.
Both men looked at each other.
Eddie could not speak or move. He
could only gaze at the face of his friend.
Finally, Vince turned, and disappeared into the smoke and chaos of
battle.
“Sorry bout your mate, Yank. He’ll probably turn up down the shoreline
somewhere, where we’re supposed to be.”
The voice broke into Eddie’s trance,
and pulled him back. Still he could not
speak the look in Vince’s eyes before he vanished played over and over again in
Eddie’s mind. It had been a look of
satisfaction at knowing that his friend was safe, and that he had kept his
promise to the one he loved. It has also
been a final farewell.
Later on, as the medic finished
dressing his wound, Eddie found himself lying in one of a hundred rows of
inured and dead soldiers. The glory of
war was all around. Blood stained the
sand, and the ongoing explosions of battle sounded in the distance. For now, though the moans and crying of men
filled the air.
“Here, pal, have a cigarette.”
Eddie looked at the medic’s face and
murmured a “thanks” as he accepted the offer.
Still trembling, he brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled
slowly. Lying back, he could only think of
the fact that he was on a beach. It was
chilly, just like Coney Island in the spring.
Coney island.
He peered over just as a handful of
more British soldiers made their way between the rows of bodies. One stopped to shift the weight of a load
that he carried over his shoulder, before resuming his journey. Eddie could see that it was the body of a
young Private, arms hanging limp and lifeless.
The medic stopped the man, and lifted
the head of the boy.
“You’re wasting your time, mac. This one’s dead.”
“Continuing his trek, the soldier replied over
his shoulder, “I promised his Mum that I would look out for him.”
Shaking his head, the medic turned his
attention to the next link in an endless chain.
“Promised his Mum.” The words rolled
over in Eddie’s head. Promises. The
entire beach was filled with broken promises, yet Vince had managed to keep
his. The cigarette slipped through his
fingers into the sand. The sun now shone
through the haze, resembling a Ferris wheel in the distance. Water lapped back and forth on the shore, and
the cry of gulls, somewhere, phased into he laughter of children. Eddie closed his eyes, and wept.
Second Place College Category Winner
Amber Vance
“Fate’s Promise”
Bang!
It didn’t sound like thirteen different
shots being fired. They were so
synchronized, it was one ear-ringing blast.
However, you could hear four different bodies fall lifeless to the cold
earth. Thieves would not be
tolerated. It wasn’t until they removed
the corpses that she unclenched her eyes.
“March!” They trudged on.
Maggie despised German. Every word, no matter how softy spoken,
sounds ugly and harsh. If you want
beauty, then listen to the French language.
Even the cruelest French word sound honey-dipped. But that sweetness had long been replaced by
the German devils’ commands.
It was dark before they set up camp for
the night. The wind whistled through the
icy air.
“You’re shivering to death. Your lips are turning purple.”
“Your eyes play ticks on you,
sir.” Her eyes shifted to each soldier
nearby.
“Here.”
Maggie cautiously took the worn, brown blanket from his hand and slipped
it around her shaking shoulders. “You’re
mistaken. I can see you quite clearly.”
Colonel Bennett turned from her and
rejoined the older soldiers near the fire.
Tilda met Maggie’s eyes with a smirk and then gazed down at her sleeping
son.
The 22-year-old American girl ignored
her friend, “Where did we leave off this morning?”
After half an hour of basic English
lessons, a desired distraction from their harsh reality, most of the prisoners,
including Tilda, were asleep. Many
people would find it difficult to let sleep consume them if their bed was a
frozen path through the dark foothills of southern France. But these battered innocents welcomed rest
in any form. As far as freezing to
death, well, there are worse ways to die.
Four years ago, France was completely
different. It thrived. Her parents had encouraged her to study art
abroad. Another war seemed unimaginable
at the time. As a Christian young woman,
she felt little threat from continuing her studies while battles ensued across
nations.
With illumination from the full moon
overhead and the fire a few feet away, Maggie glanced at her floral patterned
dress, which now hung on her body like a soiled flag.
“Maggie, don’t be so bold.”
“Well, those bastards should have
learned for the first time! Come on,
Caroline, this is 1941. Where is
France’s backbone? Hitler is nothing
more than a power-hungry child throwing a temper tantrum.”
Suddenly, German soldiers were posted a
few shops down form the café stomped up to Maggie, arresting her for treason.
“Get your hands off me! I’m an American! You can’t do this! I’ve done nothing wrong!” She struggled against their vice-like grips
until one slapped her hard across her face causing her head to collide with the
cobblestone. Before she fell unconscious
she saw blood speckled on the flowery gown her mother made her.
“Maggie! . . .Maggie! . . .!
Maggie!” Hushed cries brought her back
to reality.
“Oh, Co-,” she glimpsed at a huddle of
soldiers leaving the fire to see if anyone was taking note of their
exchange. All clear. “Jude, I’m so sorry!”
“No sleep for ya?” He stood adjacent to her, seemingly watching
the prisoners to make sure none escaped.
“I will soon, sir. I prefer to be with my thoughts for a
while.” Staring forward, she tucked her
knees closer under her chin with her auburn hair cascaded over her slim arms.
“You have to take better care of
yourself. I saw you today give your
bread to your friend Tilda and then later your blanket to her son Raymond. This journey is savage and you’re only making
it harder for you to endure. Being kind
won’t help you survive.”
“Being selfish and cruel won’t help me
live with myself, either.”
Finally his vision shifted to her
huddled body on the ground. “And without
you, I have no air in my lungs. You’re
strong, my darling. But I can see your
body weakening more and more each day.
Promise me you will do your best to live.”
She smiled softly at his words. “I promise.”
“I have to tell you something
important. It . . . well, it changes
everything. Fort de Perrot serves only
as a transit camp to another prison, a concentration camp. Not sure how long you’ll be kept at
Perrot. But this other prison . . . this
other prison has a gas chamber.”
“What are you trying to tell me!?” Her voice hitched.
Placing his finger over his lips, he
checked to see if her outburst had drawn any attention. A few yards away, one soldier observed their general
area. An owl flew over them. The soldier’s stare followed it across the
sky.
“If you go to that other prison, you’ll
die there.” He clenched his jaw. “We have to act before we reach Perrot.”
To clam the chills rippling through her
body, she focused on his red handkerchief.
“You can’t get away this easy!” Yanking her by the arm back to him, the
soldier continued attacking her neck with his mouth.
“Please, stop!” Maggie tried to twist out of his clutches,
but his muscular arms held her locked in place.
Sliding his hands down her trembling
body, he grasped her full hips and pushed her against the wall. With his intentions clear, bile rose in her
throat. She screamed for help until he
muted her with his hand, still roping her curves with the other one. Shoving against his solid body did nothing,
but she kept trying to force him off of her.
The mountain of a main defiling her
neck and chest disappeared, causing her to fall on her hands and knees.
“Are you alright, miss?” A Young officer, looking to be only four or
five years older than her, bent over and helped her to stand. “Miss?”
“Oh!
Yes, I am now. Thank you!” Peering at the handsome stranger for too
long, she wondered about his English accent paired with his German uniform.
Off to the right, she watched her
assailant scurry down the street holding his swollen jaw.
“I’m sorry he touched you. Know that he will be punished. I’ll make sure he doesn’t dare come near you
again.” Removing a red handkerchief from
his suit’s front pocket, he gently wiped her neck and face.
A few days later they approached the
railway. Twenty freight cars awaited
them. The Nazis ushered about seventy
people into each car. Maggie and the
others were directed to stand with their hands above their heads to make room.
Quickly her arms grew sore and fatigue
set in. In such a cramped space, they
suffered days without eating or drinking.
The overwhelming stench of unclean bodies and urine suffocated her
relentlessly.
“Exit the train!”
Gulping
in fresh air, Maggie immediately searched for a soldier with broad shoulders,
cocoa brown hair shaved close on the sides, and a mysterious scar on the right
side of his chin. She spotted her love
about three cars away.
“I said, move!”
Her head snapped toward the forceful
voice and the shriek that followed.
Eight-year-old Reymond lay motionless in the snow. The ice near his head was tainted red. Tilda covered his body with her own,
protecting him from any further blows from the stock of the soldier’s gun. Within seconds, Colonel Bennett was pushing
the gun against he assaulting private’s chest, carefully picking up the boy and
assessing his wounds.
After Reymond was bandaged, Maggie
promptly met Colonel Bennett behind the designated passenger car.
As soon as he saw her, he grabbed her
shoulders and said in a rushed whisper, “We escape tonight. There’s a fallen tree on the track not far
form here so it’ll take them some time to move.
I’ll come get you. About two mile
up that hill and pas the tree line is a yellow cottage. There’s a path right before you get to it a
mile long that leads to a boatman. He
will sail us to a port where we can board a ship voyaging to England, where I
have family. Take this. It’s more than enough to pay our way.”
She furrowed her brow, “Why should I hold
onto the money? And what about Tilda and
Reymond? I can’t leave them
behind!”
“We’re not leaving them behind. Listen, Maggie. I’m not running away for me. I’m running away for us. I can’t live like this anymore. Having to watch and permit this torture. Anything could happen when we escape. No matter what, you have to keep going. You’re strong, remember? Protect Tilda and Reymond . . .and especially
yourself.” He grazed the back of his
fingers against her left cheek. “I will
save you from this fate. We will leave
here alive and happy. That I promise
you.’ Tears sprung to her eyes. Dimples formed in her cheeks as a long lost
smile found its place again. He brought
her body flush against his. Her arms wrapped
around his neck and they shared a tender kiss, their first of what they hoped
would be many.
Once night had fallen, the two women
and young boy were prepared to flee from their current nightmare and impending
Hell. Sneaking out of the supply car,
Colonel Bennett had gathered all of the necessities, such as matches, kerosene,
food, water, blankets, and medical provisions for their trip.
He pointed at Maggie, Tilda, and Reymond. “You three!
Step outside for questioning.”
They continued with the ruse by looking
around frantically.
As they exited the train, a guard
posted by the door nodded his head at Colonel Bennett.
Slipping by a couple of freight cars
unseen, they began their trek up the deeply snow covered hill. Suddenly, Maggie, who was in the lead, heard
shouting and dogs barking from back at the train.
Just as she was about to look over her
shoulder, Colonel Bennett insisted, “Move faster! Keep going!”
The pounding of her heartbeat in her
ears accelerated her exhausted body. At
least twenty-five men were pursuing them.
Rapidly, a barrage of bullets was fired at them from about 100 yards
away. But the night provided a great
cover. Then a groan echoed all around
her. She had to look back.
Colonel Bennett collapsed into the
white powder. Running back towards him,
she halted when he lifted his head.
“No matter what, Maggie. If I’m not there in an hour, then leave. Go!
I’ll find you, I promise.”
She wanted to protest. She wanted to tell him that she may be the
air in his lungs, but he’s the blood in her veins. She would not only refuse to have a life
without him, but also she was unable to have a life without him. Life without love is no life at all. But she knew that she must have faith in the
promises they made to one another. So
she ran for Tilda and Reymond. She ran
for herself. And she ran for a future
with her savior and love.
They waited at the dock for two and
half hours and there was still no sign of him.
Rustling in the forest alerted them of someone’s presence. Immediately they hid, especially when Maggie
glimpsed a German uniform. Colonel
Bennett stumbled through the thicket clutching his left shoulder.
“You made it!”
Maggie dashed into his chest, causing him to wince form her jarring his
injured shoulder.
He hugged her tighter and softly placed
a kiss on her forehead. “I keep my
promises.”
Second Place In The High School
Category
Stephanie Nguyen-Duong
“The Sweet Escape”
The Divers are renowned for their
partying and drinking. Many say they are
enjoying the perfect life. Everyone
aspires to be part of their glamorous social circle. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with Charles
Diver, the famous, novelist, and his wife, Alison, the most beautiful woman in
the world? However, this glittery life
isn’t as perfect as it seems.
With the window open, Alison could hear
the melodious chirping of the birds coming back after the tenacious
winter. Subtly, the delicate fragrance
of the peach trees perfumed her room.
The young girl snuggled into the sun’s warm embrace. Alison opened her eyes, and faced the clear
blue sky that greeted her. A cheerful
smile illuminated her serene face and an overwhelming sense of happiness and
reminiscence reigned in her.
Journal: May 1st, 1926
Dreamed of THAT summer. Once again, it’s intriguing how the pleasure
scent of the peach trees always brings back those memories. This smell is forever engraved in my
mind. The one of our happy times. How
could I forget? The summer of our
rebellious youth, of our innocence. How
I wish I could go back to those times.
Blaring music, piercing laughter and
drunken bawls mingled with the nauseating smell of tobacco and alcohol.
“How surprising! Alison Diver, the most lively and
enthusiastic person in the room is not dancing; rather, she is depressingly
drowning herself in her misery! I’m
Freddie Moore, by the way.” A gentleman
with captivating eyes that reminded her of the sea strived to start a
conversation.
“My, such a cocky fellow. I like you!”
the dazzling host of the party laughed brightly.
Journal: May 2nd, 1926
Get to know Freddie, a young fly
boy. Very nice guy. And really funny! Like Charles before . . . Really, how fame transforms
someone so drastically? It’s like I
don’t know Charles anymore. Words can’t
describe how I despise this new arrogant and truly despicable man! Who does he think he is? Just because he sold a few books he pretends
he’s the best? I don’t’ want to think
about Charles, it only makes my blood boil.
Anyway, had a really great time yesterday. We went outside and walked barefoot in the
garden. Like fools we screamed our lungs
out while on the swings hanging form the peach trees. Like me and Charles back then . . .
Since that meeting, Alison regularly
slipped away to Freddie, escaping her stressful married life. For so long, she yearned for the happiness
she used to share with her husband and here was an opportunity for her to have
it back. She hadn’t given much thought
to this relationship for both were clearly not committed to it. Nevertheless, it became apparent that their
feelings for each other were legitimate.
This realization caused her great distress. Immense guilt consumed her. In the beginning, she denied it. However, she has come to accept the truth.
To
Freddie Moore
From
Alison Diver
September
19th, 1926
My
darling Freddie,
You
don’t know how much I miss you. Knowing
we are breathing the same air under the same sky gives me solace. When I see an airplane, I amuse myself by
thinking you are the one making it fly.
It’s idiotic, I know. How have
you been? Thanks for the Egyptian dress,
it’s marvelous! Have you had the chance
to visit other countries?
I’m
going to get a divorce with Charles. I
thought about it a lot. Why didn’t I
realize sooner that I didn’t love him anymore?
That I only loved the memories we created together? I’m such a fool. The other day, he came back home with a woman
he got pregnant, begging me to ask my brother to abort the baby. And he had the nerve to say he loved me! I don’t know if I’m supposed to laugh or
cry. It hurts but it’s like I’ve become
so inured to it, I don’t care
Anymore. When you come back, let’s get married. You will be my husband and I will be your
wife. Freddie and Alison Moore, the
Moores! Sounds funny. In a good way, of course.
Come
back quickly!
Sending
you thousands of kisses!
Ali
Two weeks later, Alison returned home
form a party earlier than usual, just before sunrise. A fight had broken out between her and
Marisa, the Ritz owner’s daughter.
Marisa had caught her boyfriend drooling over Alison. Something about
the married woman always made girls boil in jealousy – either because of a boy
problem or an inferiority complex. Even
breathing consisted of a sin. Alison
went through the grand hallway in towards her room. To her surprise, a dim light emerged from the
study’s half-closed door.
“I expected you to be out partying and
whoring around.”
Alison muttered as she opened the door,
contempt and a hint of jealousy in her voice.
She stopped abruptly and her eyes widened in shock. Shattered glass, scattered books, broken
chairs. Breaking the deafening silence,
Charles’ rancorous laughter filled the room.
“Alison Diver . . My beloved.”
Both were staring at each other with
boundless hate, disdain. How did they
become like this? Where was the
mischievous boy she fell in love with during that innocent summer? Somewhere inside of her, she wished, she
believed everything could go back to the way it was then. However, every day, the harsh and caustic
words spitting from her husband’s mouth buried her hope; today was not an
exception.
“Or should I say, Alison Moore?”
The last word pierced Alison’s heart
like a knife and she felt her whole world collapse when she saw the letter
rumpled in Charles’ hand. How?
Alison was now locked in her
bedroom. Her egotistical and
manipulative husband ordered their maids to prevent his wife from sneaking away
form their villa. They would bring her
food, which she never touched, and changed her sheets with difficulty, for she
always stayed in her bed and refused to cooperate.
This was the routine for months until
Freddie finally returned.
Alison perceived a subtle smell of
cologne in her bedroom. She felt
Freddie’s protective arms wrap her frail waist.
“Love, you’ve become so thin!” Freddie exclaimed, in shock.
“That’s a minor thing . . . Now that
we’re together, everything’s alright,” she weakly chuckled.
For hours, Alison and Freddie babbled
about everything and nothing, giggled at nonsensical jokes and contemplat3ed
each other’s presence.
Hearing his wife’s jovial laughter
resonate in the house, a rare sound lately, Charles took a break from his writing
to check on her discreetly. Alison was
talking to herself yet again, a custom she had picked up lately. Now she was speaking to Freddie as if he were
in the room.
Shocked, it all dawned on him. The returned letter with the non-existent
address, her odd behavior, everything.
Photo 2b
F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald
1920
Public Domain
Photo 7
Image of store/bar front window by Alexnadra Jurus
Copyright granted by Alexnadra Jurus
Photo 8
Image of little girl crying by Alexandra Jurus
Copyright granted by Alexandra Jurus
Photo 9
Image of crosses in a cemetery by Alexandra Jurus
Copyright granted by Alexandra Jurus.
Photograph Description and Copyright
Information
Photo
1
Martha
Cassels
Copyright
granted by Christal Rice Cooper
Photo 2a
F. Scott & Zelda Fitzgerald Museum
Copyright granted
Photo 2b
F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald
1920
Public Domain
Photo 3
Martha
Cassels, Alexandra Jurus, and Willie Thompson, Executive Director of the Scott
& Zelda Fitzgerald Museum
Copyright
granted by Christal Rice Cooper
Photo 4
Martha
Cassels and Chase Lintz
Copyright
granted by Christal Rice Cooper
Photo 5
Image of screen door by Alexandra Jurus
Copyright granted by Alexandra Jurus
Photo 6
Image of screen door by Alexandra Jurus
Copyright granted by Alexandra Jurus
Photo 6
Delicate
Balance
Painting
attributed to Greg Olsen
Copyright
granted by Greg Olsen
Photo 7
Image of store/bar front window by Alexnadra Jurus
Copyright granted by Alexnadra Jurus
Photo 8
Image of little girl crying by Alexandra Jurus
Copyright granted by Alexandra Jurus
Photo 9
Image of crosses in a cemetery by Alexandra Jurus
Copyright granted by Alexandra Jurus.
Photo 10
WWII:
Europe: France; “Into the Jaws of Death — U.S. Troops wading through water and
Nazi gunfire”, circa 1944-06-06.
Attributed
to Robert F Sargent
Public
Domain/ Library of Congress
Photo 11
Image
of the deportation of Jews in Paris layered on top of the Nazi red handkerchief
Photo 12
1920s
photographic image of a woman in her room writing.
Photographer
unknown
Fair
Use Under the United States Copyright Law
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