Alright. The submissions are compiled, the judges are ready…

I should have the results VERY soon – at the soonest, Saturday and at the latest, Monday.

Thank you everyone! You all did fantastic work and I’m excited to see who will win!

Ever without wax!

Miracle

by raven14

The last thing I remembered was climbing into bed, exhausted- in my own house. It had been the night before my thirteenth birthday.

But now I had no idea where I was. I didn’t see my bed or my room’s walls or door. Instead, I was lying on a soft bed of moss in a forest.

My house had been replaced with mountains and rolling hills. Rays of golden sunlight shone on me through the trees. I basked in it for a moment, enjoying its warmth. Then I stood.

I heard birds singing and the sound of running water…a river. It flowed clear and blue right next to me. I was in a forest.

The ethereal forest was thick with trees. The birds I had heard perched in it, singing their long, sweet notes.

Everything was beautiful…but I was lost. Or I had been abducted. Of course, if that was the case, then wouldn’t my kidnappers be keeping a better watch on me? I appeared to be the only one in the forest. That couldn’t be right.

I looked around one more time, and I saw no one.

Then I heard a voice. I spun around, and to my great shock I saw a winged horse standing behind me. I gasped and backed away.

“Greetings young one. What brings you to our forest?” he (it had a male voice) asked kindly.

It talked.

“I-I’m lost. I don’t know how I got here. I was asleep in my bed, and I woke up here. My parents are probably worried…I’m worried! Please don’t hurt me!” I rambled.

“Calm yourself child! I won’t harm you; I’m here to help you. I can take you home if you would like,” he replied in a soothing voice.

“I’ll help,” said a tiny voice. Greater shock filled me as I looked at the horse’s shoulder…where a fairy sat. She stared at me with a smile on her face.

“Introductions would help,” the horse then said, a humored expression on his face. He knew how shocked I looked. “I am Sarthael, the oldest of the winged horses. And this is my little friend Tear Drop, a young fairy.”

“I’m Autumn…a young human girl,” I said. I felt myself begin to relax around these strangers. They were both kind and friendly…could they really mean me any harm?

“What a lovely name!” Tear Drop said, flying over to on my hand. A smile lit up her small face.

“Thank you,” I replied, smiling myself.

“Now young Autumn, would you like a little tour of our home as we take you back to yours?” Sarthael asked me. I hesitated. “I promise you we mean no harm.”

“I-I trust you,” I said. And I found that I really did. “Yes, that is fine with me. And thank you.”

“Certainly!” Sarthael replied. “Now, climb on my back,” he then said, getting to his knees so I could get on. I was suddenly very glad for my horse lessons.

I climbed on, completely trusting him and his friend. I didn’t really think they meant me any harm. I wrapped my fingers around his mane, and Tear Drop settled herself on my shoulder.

Then we were off.

Sarthael soared into the sky, gently flapping his soft wings. It was wonderful.

We flew over the forest and a meadow full of flowers. As we did so, Tear Drop called out, “I live at the edge of the forest near that meadow with my family and the rest of the fairies! Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is,” I agreed. I actually wished I could go down and roll about in the flowers.

Sarthael talked as we flew. “I too live in the forest. I and my wife have many children and grandchildren.”

“What is this land called?” I asked.

“The Land of Light,” Sarthael answered. It was a strange name. But then, the name of my home would be strange to them.

“I live in a place that I think is very far from here, called Windber. It’s a town in Pennsylvania, near Pittsburgh,” I said.

“Now those are some strange names!” Tear Drop exclaimed, laughing. I laughed along; she was right.

We flew over purple mountains, and green hills. I saw brownies, trolls, elves…every fairy tale creature I had only ever read about. They waved as we flew past; I waved back.

“Ah my young friend, our journey comes to a close,” Sarthael called up to me. He flew down to the ground and landed. A tree stood there, and there was actually a door in the tree. “Go through the door, and you shall arrive back in your own land.”

I was sorry to go. Sarthael, Tear Drop, and place were so amazing and wonderful. I wanted to stay and explore. But I knew I had to go back.

I hugged my new friends, and said, “Good-bye, I shall miss you. I’ll never forget you!” Then I stepped through the door.

~

I awoke and stretched my arms. I was back in my own bed, and sunlight streamed down on me. My mother called my name, saying it was time for breakfast.

It had only been a dream…or had it?

THE END

This is exactly 867 words!!

O, this piercing feeling

O, this disagreeing action

O, how I wish it to end

And so, how it is not

O, this fearful life

O, this dangerous greeting

O, the voice of anger

How it’s whisp’ring in my ear

O, it says to give in

O, I say I shall not

O, it makes me furious

And yet, I stand with not a fall

O, I feel to slip

O, the inducing pain

O, how he, the anger is here

And how he wishes me dead

O, he says to smile

O, to laugh it off

O, to take my time with leaving

To watch them dying and scoff

O, the horse of his voice

O, the too-cold grip

O, the voice of evil

How he whispers in my ear.

The church’s door handle was cold. Mary was late, and was sick with the knowledge, knowing that her wishes to melt invisibly into the crowd was becoming increasingly impossible. She swallowed, trying to persuade herself to move.

They said you’d be welcome any time…

Idiot. That was when she had been a kid in Sunday school, scrubbed bright and happily wearing a pink dress with lacy socks and Mary Jane’s. Not now, with puffy eyes, black jeans, and a grotesque reputation. She felt like a bolt of holy lighting would strike her down for entering this place of God.

It is too late now, she told herself. You’d be a coward if you turned back.

The handle was icy cold in her palm. As she turned it, her stomach was raided with nervous jitters. The door groaned, as if its peeling panels loathed the sinful creature that painted its fingerprints on its worthy metal. Doors don’t think, she rebuked herself becoming self-conscious of her audience: a door and a chilly mudroom.

The mudroom was empty. It opened directly into the sanctuary, she remembered. Another door to conquer. She went to that other door, pressed her ear to the crack, feeling the splintering grain pricking her skin. They were praying.

Instantly she felt convicted. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t religious, she wasn’t even good. The words were muffled through the door, but she recognized the low, reverent hum of the pastor’s voice, and the righteous silence of the participants. Her resolution to enter slipped, and she lingered by the door quietly.

She suddenly could not imagine entering that door, walking with a thousand eyes drawn to her like moths to light, demanding the reason she was defiling their hallowed communion. She closed her eyes, her last traces of courage dissolving. Their ideals of love couldn’t be wasted on someone like her.

She turned away but heard children’s voices coming from the room downstairs. Curiosities attracting her like a magnet, she walked down the worn staircase into Sunday school.

A little girl proudly recited her verse, swinging her knees back and forth and grinning broadly. The girl was wearing a fluffy, pink dress, and her brown hair was pulled back into a perfect ponytail.

Mary touched her own mussed black hair, knowing that brown roots poked out of her scalp. She wished she could warn that girl never to tarnish that shining, sweet attitude with the black things Mary had defiled herself with – make her promise never to ignore truth because lies seemed more profitable.

A tear melted away from the hard mass of hurt Mary, escaping from the shell that she had meticulously built around her feelings until she was free from pain – and love.

“Hi!” The little girl walked up to her, grabbing her hand. “Want to play with me?”

Mary was startled, and almost pulled away, but for the shining blue eyes smiling sweetly at her.

“What are you playing?” Mary asked, dragged into a circle of laughing children.

“Bible. They’re the disc-ip-les, I’m a baby, and Miss Sarah is being a Phar-i-see,” the little girl said, letting go of Mary’s hand and cooing in a childish imitation of a baby.

Mary looked around to see who was playing the Pharisee. It was a woman, her Sunday school teacher from so long ago – Mary’s great aunt – wearing a face of utter shock.

Mary’s face fell, she stared at the floor. She shouldn’t have allowed the children’s easy acceptance beguile her into hoping for redemption.

“Mary?” The woman asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Mary whispered. Suddenly, she felt warm arms cascading around her, tears fall on her neck.

“Oh, Mary!” The old woman exclaimed. “You are an answer to prayer.”

“I – “ Mary was speechless.

“My sweet child,” The woman lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, heavy with mascara and black eyeliner. “What sort of life have you led?” She asked, softly, to herself. As if the whole town didn’t already know.

“I was afraid to come,” she said, as if somehow it was a credible excuse.

Sarah’s eyes were pooled with tears.

“Oh, my dear child,” she said gently, wiping the tear from Mary’s shamed face. “You were always welcome here.”

“I’m not even good,” Mary murmured.

“Only God is good,” the woman said.

Mary stared back at the floor, feeling a sinking taste of desperation rising in her throat. Sarah’s soft, old hands touched her cheek gently. Another tear broke free from Mary’s cracking shell. The loving touch squeezed her heart, stabbing it with emotion. A soft cry escaped from her lips.

“What hurts you?” Sarah gasped.

“I – “ Mary wept in the old woman’s arms, her heart sliced open, open for forgiveness to enter. “Can I come home?”

“Oh, child,” the woman’s face was wet with joyous tears. “Yes. Yes you may. Please do!”

She was forgiven.

“I smell winter,” Tourmaline said, wiggling her toes in her boots.

“Winter is a season, not a smell,” Mary corrected her four-year-old sister.

“I smell it,” she insisted, her face upturned to the sky. “There is snow in the sky. I hope it comes down to me. Do you think so, Mary? I think it will, if I ask nice enough.”

“They are just clouds, Lime.”

“A ton of suspended ice particles,” Lance mimicked her, walking towards them. “Right, Mary?”

“She needs to learn sometime that the world is not a fairytale,” Mary defended herself, glaring.

“When did you become the expert on reality? Oh, right, since you turned fifteen.” Lance was sixteen.

Mary turned away from him. She gripped Tourmaline’s mittened hands and rushed down the steps, Lance’s long strides stalking them down the driveway.

“Where are you two going?” He asked lazily. “Skye joining you, Mary Contrary?”

“None of your business.”

“We are going to the store because Grammy needs medicine, right Mary? What does contrary mean? Did I ask the snow nice enough? Will the snow come, Mary?”

Lance stopped, staring at Mary. Mary froze with thinly controlled emotion, and Lance was shocked.

“Is she sick again, Mary?” Lance asked softly.

“Why else would we be getting medicine?” Mary asked bitterly, turning back to the driveway, pulling Tourmaline along.

“Mar, can I help at all?” Lance easily kept her pace.

“There is nothing anyone can do.”

“Do you need money for the medicine?”

Mary shook her head, tears cutting trails down her face.

“The doctor says it’s a waste. That – that I should let her die, stop wasting money on medications because nothing will save her.”

“I am so sorry, Mary,” and he was. He knew that if their Grammy died that they would both be entered into the foster care, would be separated and hurt. Their hands brushed.

They were far down the road now. Tourmaline was dragged behind them, unnoticed, barely able to hold their pace. She felt abandoned.

“It’s not your fault,” Mary said, suddenly moving away from him. If Skye were in my place, she would not have moved, he thought. Then he scolded himself, guiltily comforted by the thought that Skye would not comfort her.

Tourmaline suddenly stumbled, jerking Mary back. She started crying, dirt in her eyes and her knees scraped.

“Tourmaline!” Mary fell next to her and tucked her into her arms, cradling her on her lap. “Oh, Lime, I’m so sorry.”

Tourmaline saw Lance’s face bending over her own before she turned and buried her face in Mary’s shirt. Mary smelled warm, like autumn, and like the nutmeg she had spilled when Grammy had started screaming.

The pumpkin pie had been left messy in the mixing bowl when Mary had ran to Grammy. Tourmaline had snuck her finger in the batter and licked it. It smelled better than it tasted. It tasted like raw pumpkin, which was not very good.

“I love you, Mary,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” Mary whispered back. “Did you know I love you more than anyone in the world?”

“Yes. I love you like that too, Mary,” she said.

“And you know what?” Lance asked. “I love you both.”

Mary smiled awkwardly. The moment was dangerously close to sentimental. Grammy was still dying, and the thought filled Mary with a black vacuum of fear. She stopped smiling.

“We have got to go,” Mary said.

“Alright,” Lance said, picking up Tourmaline. Tourmaline closed her eyes. She liked the way Lance smelled, too. He smelled like trees and gingerbread.

“Medications aren’t life,” Lance said gently, looking at Mary.

“They are what give her life.”

“You should know that she stays alive for you two.”

“Then why is she dying?” Mary almost screamed it. She started sobbing, her heart angry with guilt. She felt betrayed and she knew she should not. Grammy could not stop the dying, not even for them. “We’ll find a way. We have to.”

“Alright.” There was no convincing her. Now they were at the pharmacy and Lance stayed outside with Tourmaline. Lance felt the little girl squeezing him tight.

“I don’t like the doctor,” Tourmaline said, muffled in his chest. The doctor smelled like needles and too much soap, and he never smiled with his whole face.

“He helps people live, Limey.”

“He smells cold, like a wall,” she said. “He doesn’t like me.”

“I’m sorry, Limey,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. She giggled and sat up so she could see his face. Lance tucked her soft, blonde hair behind her little ears. She giggled again and buried her face back into his shirt.

Mary came out crying and gripping a cheap plastic bag. For a moment she just stood there, in front of Lance and Tourmaline, and then she buried her own face in his shirt. He held them both for a few seconds, before Mary resurfaced and breathed deep.

“Thank you, Lance,” she whispered and started walking back to the house. Lance followed with Tourmaline. The walk was silent and sad. When they reached their house, Mary stopped on the front-steps, not daring to go inside. Lance put Tourmaline down and the little girl ran up and took Mary’s hand.

Lance was about to leave when a snowflake dawdled out of the sky and touched Tourmaline lightly on the nose.

“Thank you sky!” Tourmaline sang out, giggling as snow fell around her. Lance looked at Mary with the trace of a teasing smile. She shrugged in surrender.

“Come on, Lime, we can finish the pie now,” Mary said, bravely mounting the steps and opening the door. “Maybe Grammy will want some once we are done.”

Tourmaline skipped into the house and Mary began to follow her, pausing a moment only to look back at Lance and smile gratefully.

“Goodbye, Mary Contrary,” he said.

“Goodbye,” she stepped inside.

Winter fell around the house, and pumpkin pie warmed within, the last taste of autumn. A new season was beginning.

Author’s note: By the way, this is not to suggest I can do anything right on my own, which is why I said Christ was my guide- coz we can’t do anything right or really good on our own without Him.

I did what was right,

With Christ as my guide,

I fought the good fight,

In shame I’ll not hide.

You couldn't believe the things I've seen
Just from the window of my own house
Just from the paintings I marvel at
Just from my dreams and my guesses and my doubts.