2025
GRAND PRIZE | ELEMENTARY
Alexandra SALADRIGAS – The Aviator’s Tree – was in 5th grade at St. Philip’s Episcopal School.
Teacher: Paul Fajardo
Excerpt from the story
“Papa, I can’t leave you!” I said, my eyes watering.
“He sighed heavily. “You need to go. Everything will be fine. Grab my bag; it’s already
packed.”
Now sobbing, I grabbed his worn out, leather bag. Then, I turned to him again, “How do I
know you’ll be okay? What if something happens while I’m gone?”
He looked at me with his wise, deep brown eyes and squeezed my hands. “Just go, Cristie.
Mi laikim yu,” he finished in Tok Pisin, our native language. It meant “I love you.”
I kissed his forehead before heading out the door. Deep down, I knew it might be the last time
I’d see my father, but I would do this for him, no matter what.
As I rode in the scorching heat of New Guinea, a rush of excitement coursed through my
veins, but something was bothering me. My father hadn’t told me anything about his friends, or
this treasure, and I didn’t know what to do.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn’t realize I had arrived. The airfield was a lone
landing strip carved into the grass, surrounded by dense, tropical foliage. Bordering it, were a
few hangers with aircraft parked inside.
I had tied up my horse and slung the leather bag over my shoulder when a woman stepped
out of one of the larger planes. She was fair-skinned with cropped, curly auburn hair, and wore a leather flight suit with a silk scarf wrapped around her shoulders. She smiled, revealing a slight gap between her two front teeth. “You must be Cristie!” she exclaimed, grinning as she shook my hand vigorously. “My name is Amelia.”
My jaw dropped. Amelia Earhart ….”
GRAND PRIZE | MIDDLE SCHOOL
B. Kristina SAMUEL – The Sound of My Father’s Boots – was in 8th grade at Carrollton School of the Sacred Heart.
Teacher: Shaune Scott
Excerpt from the story
“Weeks passed. Then months. Life got quieter. And a little harder.
We still had cereal, still did laundry, and still locked the door each night. But there was a missing heartbeat in our home. Some mornings, I’d find Mom standing still by the porch, her eyes fixed on the boots she’d placed on the front door step of the porch as if it were an offering. But every evening, she tried. She’d smile when I got home from school. She’d ask me to help stir the stew, even when her hands could’ve done it faster. She’d put on his favorite records and hum along like it didn’t hurt.
Looking back, I know now she was holding herself together for me. And somehow, even when I didn’t feel strong, I believed her smile enough to keep going. Mom read his letters at night, her voice catching every third word. I stopped waiting by the door. I stopped listening for the boots.
One night, I told her I couldn’t remember the sound anymore. That was the first time I saw her cry without trying to hide it.
We went to the closet the next morning. She pulled out his second pair of boots, dusty and cracked, and placed them by the front door. That night, she tapped them softly against the porch.
Thud. Thud. Scrape.”
GRAND PRIZE | HIGH SCHOOL
Michelle ERAZO – Afflicted – was in 10th grade at Miami Arts Studio.
Teacher: Sylvia Quintana
Excerpt from the story
“I think oft of John Proctor.
Not just the man who stood at the gallows, but the one who once stood in the fields, sleeves rolled, sweat on his brow, voice sharp but fair. I see his smile, rare though it was, and the way he looked at Elizabeth, even when she turned away.
I think too of Abigail, though her face is harder to summon now. They say she left town, vanished one night with Mercy Lewis. Some say she fled aboard a ship. Others claim she joined the French. I know not the truth, and I do not wish to. She is like smoke in the wind, twisting, curling, fading. I pray she forgets me. I pray I forget her.
But sometimes, when I walk alone or sit by the fire, I remember her as she once was, before all this. I remember a day when we were but girls, and Abigail dared climb the tallest oak in the village green to fetch a ribbon caught in the branches. She fell, scraped her arm raw, but did not cry. She only laughed and said the tree had not won. There was strength in her even then, fierce and glittering. I think that is what I followed, not her lies, not her rage, but that fire that made the world seem conquerable. I wanted to be near it.
I remember the forest too. The wind in the trees, the drumbeat of our feet on the mossy ground. I remember laughing, laughing as if nothing could ever touch us. We danced like girls do when they forget the world is watching. That night, it was not spirits we conjured, but something else: boldness, recklessness, the wish to matter.”
FIRST PLACE | ELEMENTARY
Snowy GUO – Power and Dignity – was in 5th grade at Gulliver Preparatory School.
Teacher: Dr. Xuan Jiang
Excerpt from the story
“Tough, painfully endless darkness surrounded me, from end to end, no hope of getting out. Except… one. A speckle of green, a clover.
I ran towards it, but only to feel my feet run farther away. I stopped and stared at the tiny green hope. My only hope. A tear slid down my cheek and I lifted a finger to catch it. It was monotonous, too. I dropped it, unable to contain the feeling that told me I was doomed. Then the droplet turned into a man, a mean, greedy-looking man. He took a step towards me and smiled wickedly, showing his twisted and ruined teeth. More tears strolled down my cheeks. As he got close to me, his breath smelled like rotten eggs and onions. It hurt just to see him, but to smell him, added more to the torture.
“You are just a girl, no other than a girl,” the man said, each word making me feel worse. Then with one bewitched crackle, he grabbed my beloved clover of hope and engulfed it into his fist.
“DO NOT!” I screamed, shuffling my feet towards him, but it was no longer there. Despite that, I still kept repeating it. Each time, my voice produced less of a quiver. Each time, I kept telling myself inside that I am stronger than the man and that I was not the one getting overpowered.
The man looked at me with a pained expression, the sneer no longer there. I was satisfied as I walked towards him with ease. He looked at me one last time before my tiny clover exploded, immersing the man and his darkness into green. Fresh, luscious green. What was once a clover is no more. Instead, there is a leaf. Then a tree. A forest. Until the green slowly but steadily takes place of the darkness.”
FIRST PLACE | MIDDLE SCHOOL
Ellora RAI-WALLS – Fly on the Wall – was in 8th grade at George Washington Carver Middle School.
Teacher: Rebecca Fiori
Excerpt from the story
“Standing up, beet red, Minch marched over with the Sunday Times in his hand and rammed it on the window, nearly shattering it. A shrill noise pierced through the air, startling Minch just enough to fall back in horror. “Who is there?! Reveal yourself or I will not hesitate! ” he shouted out shooting his head in every direction, he did not make it clear on what he would not hesitate to do but the livid look in his eye was quite extreme.
Suddenly, a small giggly voice was heard: “Oh well, I wouldn’t want that now would I!”, Minch jerked his head towards the direction of the noise, practically steaming. “Is this some joke!? I will not hesitate to shoot you between your eyes. Reveal yourself!”. This sent the little voice into a hysterical laughing fit, Minch wondered if he had gone mad, perhaps this was the stress leaking into his mind. “Please stop this, tell me your name!” he demanded, the little voice giggled once more, “For names I have none, what use would they be for me?”. Minch stood there dumbfounded, staring at the open space for which he swore the voice came from, “I do not understand what you mean? May you please elucidate yourself?”. The voice sighed, “Such big words for a man with such mediocre writings, I am shocked that you do not know who I am after your pathetic assassination attempt.” Assassination? Minch stared blankly for a beat before it registered from whom the voice came from, “You don’t mean to tell me you’re the bloody fly on my window?”. “I do not mean to tell you anything.” the voice responded snarky, “I simply am. If you truly don’t believe me, come closer. ”
As Minch stepped closer, adjusting his glasses, a little spec came into view, and the closer he observed the spec, the more horror registered on his face as the voice continued from the little fly. “You see, I tell no lies, simply unbelievable truths.” the fly stated matter of factly before continuing, “You know Minch, I’ve been observing you these past few days and it is very clear to me, and everyone else, that you’re an absolute wreck.” Minch’s face scrunched with offense but before he can respond the fly continued, “I pity you I really do, for you see I myself am an aspiring writer.”
FIRST PLACE | HIGH SCHOOL
Emi RAMOS – Made in USA – was in 9th grade at Interlochen Arts Academy.
Teacher: Sage Mitchell
Excerpt from the story
“I remember that day, that national park road—Yellowstone, I’m almost sure I saw a grizzly bear somewhere. I remember how my dad pulled the lyrics up on the family phone and made me read them. He told me it was his favorite 4th of July song, a sentence that would lead me to many Google searches about the Vietnam War later. And he said it wasn’t nearly as patriotic as one would think from the chorus, unless you were really listening. So I really listened.
And I got it.
The chords, the drums, the words, my parents and their story. My America and how— after all its beauties and screw-ups—it was still impossibly mine, the endless pine trees outside the car window reaching for the clouds, my dad’s voice as the last note ended and the radio turned to static: “We risked everything, Sofi . For our dream, for you. And it was worth it.
You were worth it. ”
“Your destination is on your left,” Siri’s voice says.
I open my eyes, and a limestone porch waits for me. Home, sweet home. My mom and dad with pastries at the front door, gooey cheese and Disney smiles.”