Rietje Becker

Sam Becker

Sean King

Ben Syverson

Zoe Becker

Zachary Slovin

The scent of spring was in the air. Floral. A pleasant change from the past few months of snow. Finally, a chance to wear my new shorts, thought Marvin.

Marvin got up the courage to walk across the room and empty out his department store shopping bag. Out of the bulky bag fell the tiniest, flimsiest, most reflective pair of red shorts you've ever seen. Marvin put them and left the room without once looking in the mirror.

Marvin knew he looked good in his tiny red reflective shorts. He knew this because everyone looks good in safety shorts. In the next room he put on his dayglo orange safety vest. He snapped it shut and strode out the door marked EXIT.

Suddenly, he was surrounded by police cars, cops jumping out, shouting, guns drawn, pointed at him, yelling. Marvin froze in his tracks, in his fetching red shorts, his safety vest flapping in the breeze.

Could the flash mob be starting already? It wasn't even noon. He threw on his glittery sunglasses, got into his crouching pose, and began his routine. He noticed the quizzical expressions on the police mens' faces, and suddenly realized no one else was dancing.

What a nightmare. Who organized this flash mob anyway? Oh yeah. He did. And no one responded. Maybe because a flash mob during a police march is a terrible idea. Or maybe because he forgot to tell anyone about it. Either way, his 12th birthday was about to become unforgettable.

Flashy shorts

Ben Healy

Kristen Myers

Ross Weijer

"Well, you're the last person I ever expected to see here," Abraham Lincoln One said to Abraham Lincoln Two as he casually drew his sword.

Sure, he'd have to defeat the rebellion in the South, but first, Abraham Lincoln One (the original) would have to defeat his own clone. Their swords clashed in the Lincoln Bedroom (then just called the Bedroom).

Lincoln Alpha fenced Lincoln Beta, both careful yet bold, both fighting for his life. Each matching the other, unable to surprise an opponent who was the same person. Both Lincolns’ were tiring when there was a sudden flash of light and a booming noise.

And with her, her entourage. They rushed ahead, cleaning surfaces, looking for threats, talking to bystanders in hushed tones. Once the carpet was unfurled, as it were, Beyoncé waltzed across the threshold.

Beyoncé’s dress was blinding. Glittering sequins cascaded down her shoulders. The cleaners were relieved at having cleared the carpet in time. That is, until they noticed a large wrinkle. It was ten feet ahead and in the direct path of Alfredo, an actor distracted by the vision.

Alfredo's visions came and went, but when they arrived, they were usually prompted by bright flashes: a terrible affliction for a celebrity on the red carpet. His eyes rolled back in his head and he spoke in a language not heard for eons. It was a dire warning.

"This is the final vision you will receive. Heed this warning", a giant ball of fire filled Alfredo's vision. "A meteor is coming, holding a great peril inside, it is not the meteor you need to be afraid of, it is what is inside", a glimpse of a sharp-toothed grin flashes.

Alfredo couldn't sleep that night. Visions of meteors and what impossibilities they could entail clouded his thoughts. Perhaps the meteor would crack open for a Kinder Egg reveal, except in place of delicious treats, hordes of demons and misery. Eventually sleep came.

And in this sleep, perchance did Alfredo dream. A dream of shuffling off mortal coils of fettucine, at which point Alfredo would never be taunted about his name again, and could have all the meteors, demons, and Kinder Eggs that he wanted. Not necessarily in that order, though.

Lincoln in the Beyhive

Savannah Curry

"Pressure decreasing - now at 97%." Everything else about the ship seemed fine. But something was off.

There must be a breach, but where? Vera paced up and down the cabin looking for window cracks or stresses in the seams. This was a test flight but no one on the team was prepared for an air leak. She had all but given up the search when, without notice, the ship took a dive.

Bart, the submarine operator looked at her with an evil smile. She recalled the moment she had recommended against his promotion, was this his way of getting even? She scanned the room frantically looking for the leak. Time was of the essence.

As she frantically searched for the source of the leak, she implored Bart. “Why aren’t you helping me look? If this submarine sinks you’ll be in big trouble too!”

But he wouldn’t be in trouble. See, Bart had a bit of a secret plan. What his submarine mate didn’t know was that Bart had been clandestinely dealing with the Germans, who would be gliding by momentarily to rescue him, and only him.

It was at that moment he realized his mistake. He had told the Germans to send the attack cat on his submarine mate, his identical twin Cart.

It's Always ze Germans

Rick Fox

Thunder rang out. Oh crap, he thought. Was it hide in a ditch? Under a tree? Why hadn’t he paid attention during those lessons? He army-crawled through the field, hoping that was the right thing to do. Three feet away his sister watched him, a bemused expression on her face.

Moments later the rain started. Drizzles at first, then buckets. Jon looked over his shoulder for his sister and saw nothing. Just tall grass and dark clouds. After remaining calm for a seconds he shouted desperately, "Becky!"

Becky was playing hide and seek, of course. She was a regional champion at the game and was practicing for the state competition. Jon, forgetting this, grew more hopeless by the second as he recklessly searched the tall grass for his sister. 

Jon’s mistake was searching in the grass. To truly hide in the tall grass, Becky had become the tall grass. It was a special technique she learned in Nepal.

It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, only the haystack itself was really a pile of needles.

But in the end, that's all the transient nurse practitioner was ever looking for: a duty. And here, in that lonely pile of used needles, she found it. Too bad there's not a pile of sterile gloves to accompany...

Zachary Slovin
@zacharyslovin

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Zachary Slovin@zacharyslovin

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Zachary's Stories

Zachary Slovin
@zacharyslovin

Awards
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