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Writing Contest winners

Winners announced in Library System’s Writing Contest

Children, teens and adults entered short stories and poems for the Newport News Public Library System’s Create Your Own Story Writing Contest in April.

NEWPORT NEWS, Va. – Children, teens and adults entered short stories and poems for the Newport News Public Library System’s Create Your Own Story Writing Contest in April.

As part of the Library System’s celebration of National Library Week, April 10-16, the winning children, teen and adult authors received prizes and will have their stories and poems printed in a winning entries booklet and the Library System’s emailed newsletter.

Entries were submitted in three age categories: children 8 to 11 years old, teens 12 to 15 years old, and adults ages 16 and older. Entries could be one poem and/or one story of 250 words or less on any topic.

Winners are Caleb Felton, age 10, for “Kickball Fun”; Marieke Limon-Duparcmeur, age 9, for “Poem”; L. Childs, teen, for “Your Future”; Janice S. Boone, adult, for “The Do Over”; and Tia Clark, adult, for “Breathless.”

Here are the winning entries in each category:

Create Your Own Story Writing Contest Winners, children

“Kickball Fun,” by Caleb Felton, age 10

It was the first day of school. Eric and his classmates were playing kickball during recess (boys vs. girls).

“Let’s go!” shouted Adam, as he rolled the ball to Lucie. Lucie kicked the ball into the air, but Eric caught it. The boys all cheered.

Eric was excited because he never got a player out before. At the end of the first inning, the boys were winning 2-1. Eric felt like a superhero. Unfortunately, he had no idea what was about to happen.

Just as they celebrated another catch, Mrs. Hinrick, the P.E. techer, strolled over to introduce a new student. Her name was Pam and she wanted to play.

Pam was amazingly good. She caught three outs. The boys lost 5-4, but Eric wasn’t angry. Although Eric wanted to win, he knew in his heart that Pam needed the win more than he did. He understood how difficult it was being the new kid at school. Eric was the new kid last year, when his parents moved to Virginia. He congratulated her, showing true sportsmanship.

The next day, during P.E. their class played volleyball and fortunately Pam was not as good in volleyball as she was in kickball. In the end, the boys won that game 7-2. During lunch, Eric drew in his journal a red kickball flying through the air over a huge crowd. He was eager to play kickball again. The thought of playing someone as good as Pam inspired him to get better.

“Poem,” by Marieke Limon-Duparcmeur, age 9

My cat is a bat. A bat is a cat. The blend is a wind. The wind is a blend. The hurricane is a burricane. And a burricane is a hurricane. A non-color is a color. And a color is a non-color. A toothbrush is a brush and a brush is a toothbrush. There is a lot of blood in your body. Everything is normal. Every animal is a animal and a color is a color. The wind is a gust wind not anything else. Music is not anything but music. Who is not my friend is my friend. But that is not really true.

Create Your Own Story Writing Contest Winners, teens

“Your Future,” by L. Childs

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I see God making away for you.

With a touch of love

And a hint of passion

I see your future filled with happiness

When I see your smile

I know your love is in denial

And it’s something I never can replace.

Create Your Own Story Writing Contest Winners, adults

“ Broken Child!” by A. Frazier

I was never really accepted in this place called home

Looking all around, but there I stood alone

Mama was always working

Daddy, forever gone!

Mind lost in confusion

My heart remains broken

Soul wrapped up in delusion

A trip far away is my only token

To a much happier life,

One that would actually make me smile

So I reach in my pocket, pull out my knife

To cut loose the string

That's attached to this Broken Child!

“The Do Over” by Janice S. Boone

Like rain, the feelings of regret soaked Milo’s soul. How had he gotten to this point? He thought for the thousandth time. Scanning the contents of a nearby trashcan, Milo deftly snaked his hand in and grabbed a partially eaten hamburger and a half container of french fries. As he sat on a nearby bench and hungrily devoured the food, Milo thought about how one bad decision had changed everything. If only he could go back in time. Staring sleepily at the passing cars, he remembered when Chad, his stock broker, had interrupted his nap that fateful Wednesday afternoon claiming that “A-Chem” stock would skyrocket in price the next day. In greed, Milo jumped at the opportunity and recklessly used all his savings to buy the stock. By Friday, he knew he’d made a horrible mistake. He had lost all his savings and when he got laid off the following week, he spiraled in a whirlpool of debt. Weary from thinking, Milo slept.

Disoriented, he awoke to ringing. Thinking it was the pay phone next to the bench where he slept, he let it ring. The ringing continued so Milo reluctantly opened his eyes and was shocked to find himself laying in a recliner in the den of his old house. His eyes roamed around the room while his mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. The phone still rang and Milo absently glanced at the caller ID. It was Chad. Milo did not answer the phone.

“Breathless,” by Tia Clark

When I was a kid, I was drawn to crazy things, like eating ketchup straight from the bottle and when I felt like vomiting, I’d say to my mother “Is this a disease?” to which she would say “No stop it, stop being so wasteful.” I once drank a glass full of spoiled milk, and while I digested lumps I ran to her cradling my stomach, and she told me it’s not gonna kill me, and next time, to read the expiration date.

When I was seven, I was diagnosed asthmatic after weeks of a barking cough. My mom stood beside my hospital bed and held my hand and stroked my hair. She touched my chest like she wanted to reach inside my skin and feel my lungs, to pull out the secondhand smoke with her bare hands. As I inhaled and exhaled deep wheezes, she watched the doctor’s face as I watched hers. She cringed with every hiss of my fragile lungs. She blamed herself for something.

Now I grab the faces of strangers on first dates or after dancing, hoping for that kiss that will take my breath away. I blow my paychecks on day trips to waterfalls and sinkholes in search of that breathtaking view. I spend hours submerged under the lukewarm water of my bathtub, not to drown, but just to be breathless again.

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