By Eloise Schultz, with audio : 4th Annual Fiction Contest Winner, Judged by Teague Bohlen At some point, she stopped wearing the ring. I noticed when I came home from the library, helping her peel wax off the kitchen counter. When I asked, she told me that it had slipped off while she was swimming and sunk to the bottom of the lake. They searched for it, a gold glint in the mud and pebbles, but soon gave up.
To Know a Place : Nonfiction by Melissa Matthewson, with audio and gallery 4th Annual Nonfiction Contest Finalist, Judged by Kathryn Miles This used to be the place that settled into a deep silence with cows who quaked in the dead grass at the hush of snow, the world around them dormant, sleeping, at rest. Now, at the close of summer, my husband rejoices for this—for the trembling, for the snow. As a farmer, autumn brings a rush of joy, the hope of winter a consolation; he’s made it through the heave and draw of relentless work—the tractor turns quiet, the hum of summer finishes.
By Nancy Geyer, with audio : 4th Annual Nonfiction Contest Winner, Judged by Kathryn Miles One Sunday afternoon in late summer, in an industrial park in Ithaca, New York, a man with a keen eye for detail flagged down a police officer to report a possible child abduction. After additional officers were called to the scene to canvass the city’s south and west neighborhoods, the police department issued a news release seeking assistance from the public.
By Emily Wortman-Wunder, with audio : 4th Annual Nonfiction Contest Finalist, Judged by Kathryn Miles Air pushes from the mouth of the Henderson Molybdenum Mine like the breath of something sleeping, heavy and stale and subterranean. I stand awkwardly with the rest of the tour group at the edge of the company cafeteria, our mine-issued irrigation boots gritting against the vinyl tile floor, our hard hats and safety glasses reflecting the glint of the overhead fluorescent lights.
By Jen Hirt, with audio : 4th Annual Nonfiction Contest Finalist, Judged by Kathryn Miles It’s a Viking-vast ocean, cold as starfish shadow. Tide pools claim their shores and barnacles drain a crispy suck of a sound. My Labrador gulps saltwater and gags and recovers and takes more. Neither he nor I are from this land—we know a shallow murky river back home.
By JoeAnn Hart, with audio : 4th Annual Fiction Contest Finalist, Judged by Teague Bohlen Rare Offering. Paneled library, garden room, Sensational distant views, historical landscape. Gated community. Great room with stone fireplace. Traditional charm, idyllic family setting. Call Leslie for a private viewing. An exclusive property of Brancaleone Realty.
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.