I’ll see you next Sunday, kiddo, his father says. He doesn’t know why it has to always be Sunday. Why couldn’t it be a Friday, or a Monday, or a Saturday, even? Calvin didn’t understand. He didn’t understand a lot of things. He didn’t understand how to tie his shoes, and he didn’t understand what a bunny had to do with tying his shoes either. He didn’t understand why Santa only came once a year, and why he couldn’t get presents every day so he could have all the stuff the other kids have at school. He didn’t understand why his mom cries at night after they see his dad every Sunday.
Only on Sundays, she sits on the edge of her bed, her face in her palms, elbows on her knees, and sobbing uncontrollably. Only on Sundays, Calvin is awakened by her cries, shoots up from his bed, rubs his eyes, takes his blanket off, and walks down to the end of the hallway. Only on Sundays, Calvin paces towards his Mom’s room, her sobs silencing out the low creek of her bedroom door as Calvin slowly opens it. Only on Sundays, Calvin looks at the back of his heartbroken mom, asking her, “What’s wrong, Mommy?” causing her to startlingly turn around, her dark brown hair whipping in her face, only then to hastily push it towards the back of her head, ushering over to Calvin, picking him up with a forced smile as she says, “Nothing. Nothing at all, sweetie. Now let’s get you back to bed.” Only on Sunday’s, she brings Calvin back to his room, tucks him in, and kisses him on the cheek, wiping tears away from her eyes as she says she loves him, then slowly exits the room, this time closing Calvin’s door so he wouldn’t be awakened by her heart-aching cries. Calvin never understands why all of this happens only on Sundays.
I could hear laughing like being held underwater by playful waves crashing down on my head laughing laughing laughing me under.
It’s like being wrapped tightly in a blanket composed of your own thoughts. Except the blanket gets too tight and starts to suffocate you.
Like an anaconda and it’s prey,
my thoughts and me.
I’ve fallen prey to my own thoughts and it’s slowly killing me. No matter how hard I try, the screams of self-doubt and anxiety run wild through my brain. No matter how hard I try, they’re too fast for logical thinking to catch up. No matter how hard I try to remain still and calm, the real me fades away as I’m left in the dust, and soon there is nothing but fast heart beats, and sweaty shaking hands.
No matter how hard I try to take deep breaths,
no matter how hard I try to lower my ever increasing heart rate,
no matter how hard I try to focus on a single person in the crowd,
no matter how hard I try to steady my hands,
my thoughts are too fast for me to catch up.
I stare at the audience. They stare back. I feel frozen in time.
I could hear laughing like being held underwater by playful waves crashing down on my head laughing laughing laughing me under.
*Italicized text from Jason Reynolds’ Long Way Down
I‘ll never understand how you survived those days living in the plague How you accepted all those answers never understanding how vague The toxicity should have killed you, it would have killed a thousand men Yet there I stand, hoping to teach you a lesson
rachael perez
(winner)
“untitled” / julia waldorf
If I could say one thing to my younger self, it would be to live in the moment. Every year I look back at the year before thinking wow that was the best time of my life. I never learn to appreciate the present, but wish I was in the past.
evie Vincelette
(runner up)
What´s it like?
What´s what like?
What´s it like being grown up.
Responsibility, accountability, and maturity.
What are those?
Don´t worry about it.
Worry about having fun and being a kid.
But I want to be an older kid.
You don’t want to. Stay young we aren´t anything cool.
peter resnick (runner up)
HONorable mentions
Hey, Lindsey.
I’m writing to you to give you valuable advice. Don’t do the handstand on the coffee table. It’s not as amusing as you thought. Your older self is now suffering with a scar across her forehead that stands out in the sunlight.
Lindsey mcculloch
Dear little Emma,
I know you’re having fun right now, and I’m proud of you. But always remember to enjoy the little moments. Never take for granted what you have and always believe in yourself. Growing up is scary, but it comes with its advantages. Just remember, you’ve got this.
emma rosekrans
Dear Sam,
Hey, it’s you from 3 hours in the future… While you recover from that shock, here’s an idea. Try to finish your submission for the school writing contest.
4 hours later:
Dear Sam,
Hi, it’s 1 hour later… You finished it. Let’s hope we can win this thing!
sam mclaughlin
What’s going on past me? I’m from the end of this year. And no, it’s not a good year, but make it better and Listen Up. You wanna get rich? You need to invest in GameStop stock – trust me. On January 22 this year, it’s going to skyrocket. Get rich.
tyler groeber
I am 15 and you’re 4 so you should trust me when I say don’t go sledding. If you do, you better move when your cousin Malik says, “Watch out!¨ Don’t be a fool and try to turn around to see what is about to happen.
The Mask Mask of light and color Hands painted silver Wood swords and costumes, playful performances on the cushions. Running in the garden. Harmonious, Playful, secure. Boundaries are blurred into a vibrant versatile world. Then comes the shadow, It meticulously watches your actions. Precise, Skeptical, Neglected. The garden has died. Costumes hidden in the cupboard. Cushions are just a place to sit, Hands are dull. And its gone, The Mask
