By Courtney Amber Kilian, with audio : 3rd Annual Fiction Contest Winner, Judged by Skip Horack
Color has history. And, our sky is black. During the day it melts into a metallic gray, its edges a charcoaled red, as if it has burned too. During the night it glows with heat, tender skin pulled back to expose a wound.
By Hope Coulter : 3rd Annual Fiction Contest Finalist
It began as a “disturbance,” a white blur off the coast of Africa, which the man on the Weather Channel said was becoming organized. “I’m not,” said George cheerfully. Jill, his wife, stood watching the TV in boxers and a tank top. Her frown suggested that she was organizing her own system of turbulence.
By Kristie Letter : 3rd Annual Fiction Contest Finalist
The best time to invest in real estate is when the market’s down. That’s when I got in.They were burying Little Roy, but thinking about that hole in the ground made the space between my fingers feel like poison ivy.
By Joan Kane Nichols, with audio : 3rd Annual Fiction Contest Finalist
Kicking off well-worn sandals, Rose lifted her face to the breeze blowing up from the ocean, cooling off the warmth of the late June day and ruffling the beach grass, bayberry bushes, and clusters of Rosa rugosa surrounding the dune shack’s splintery deck.
By Sonya Huber, with audio : 3rd Annual Nonfiction Contest Winner, Judged by Christopher Cokinos
Fall in love with a blue-faced interstate sign for highway 35-W in Minneapolis; ache and hold back tears because Minnesota winters are so cold and the sign has no choice but to shudder and brave the wind like a ragged prayer flag.
By Jacqueline Kolosov, with audio : 3rd Annual Nonfiction Contest Finalist
West Texas: by midday, the fierce heat of early June has climbed to 103. About four o’clock the wind picks up, and the sky turns that smudgy blur of brownish-pink that suggests a coming rain, though the woman has lived here long enough to know that such a sign can prove to be a tease.
By Marco Wilkinson : 3rd Annual Nonfiction Contest Finalist
We are all boats alternately swimming, treading, and floating on any current that can bear us. The New York Times tells me that only one in ten cells in the human body is human. In a sweat lodge, the leader tells me we are floating on a turtle’s back in a great water.