1st Annual Writing Contest

Prose Category Winner: Jaylynn B (Grade 11) My Brother, Painted Red This man is not my brother. He lives in my brother’s house, with fragrant lilac bushes and gnarled hawthorns guarding its exterior. He owns the cattle my brother once owned, and he walks the fields my brother tended. I see him each night, from where my stooped cottage lies nearby, belittled by his grand lodge. Even now, awake at the witching hour, I can see yellow lantern light radiating from its windows, as if he were still drinking, content by the fire. As if he had something still to be content about. In every aspect this man is my brother, with his handsome face and ample wife. The townspeople notice no difference, hanging on to all he says, despite his foolish bravado. They fawn, sigh, croon, they do everything but see. All they know is that he wears my brother’s pristine coat, and laughs his mocking laugh. For, if he has the same eyes and smile, then surely, that man is my brother. But he is not, because just last week I killed my brother. The creature came from the woods; most strange things do. For weeks, the beast had mutilated livestock and terrorized people. I lost nothing, for I had neither creature nor penny to my name. My brother lost scores of goods and cattle, his swelling farm marred under cover of darkness. Eventually, action was required. I knew this was my chance to prove to the villagers that I was more than my brother’s less impressive shadow. When I volunteered to kill the beast, they mocked my false gallantry. However, when my brother stood behind me, they no longer questioned the proposed quest. Like a vassal, I was to hold my brother’s guns as he did the work. The village knew my place, and simply wished that I would learn it, too. The next night, laden with hunting gear, I followed my brother into the woods. We followed footprints and broken branches out past the path and into forest so dark, it seemed like inky water. First, we passed a tree with thin, papery leaves like dead hands. I stopped and stood. “Merely a common oak,” my brother said. Next, a stream whispered unimaginable things. “A babbling brook!” my brother dismissed, for the woods inspired no fear in him; nothing did. A hole of deep black that smelt of lilacs, bones of foxes arranged in patterns, unmarked graves consumed by moss, to all these things he paid little mind, but then we found the beast. I hid. Like a coward I ran, away from its teeth, claws, the danger, and away from my brother. When I finally crawled from the brush, my brother had already slayed the animal. He hadn’t needed my help or even my presence. I was shamed. “Just a wolf!” He laughed, “It was only ever a wolf.” I knew how grateful the people would be to him and not to me. I could claim insanity or inebriation, but I had had no ale that night. I was coldly sober as I shot my brother in the temple, his back turned. I was clear of mind as I dumped his corpse into the strange pit we had passed. Only a bloody remnant torn from his beautiful, moss-coloured coat remained as his body plummeted into the saccharine darkness. There cannot be a ‘better brother’ if there is only one. I dragged the wolf’s carcass back alone. “We were separated,” I told the villagers. “The beast must have devoured him. A piece of his bloodied coat is the only trace I found. However, I killed the monster! I avenged my brother!” The people wept. They grieved for him as I knew they would never grieve for me. People thanked me, mourning yet heralding me as a hero. I was given a key to my brother’s house, and told to care for his widowed wife. For once, people’s eyes were trained upon me - me alone. I was content and slept, dreaming of nothing. Three days later, a figure walked from the woods; most strange things do. He wore a moss-coloured coat and a familiar, infectious smile. My brother had returned to the people’s elation. Amid celebrations in town, I was the only one who noticed his fine coat wasn’t torn. “I can’t believe I became so lost!” my brother laughed. “Thank God for my brother. Thank God he killed that devil!” My restless sleep since his return is plagued with horrible visions of my brother’s bloody and mutilated face, his corpse lying in darkness, his mouth decayed into a contorted, hideous grin. I wake in twilight to see my not-brother standing in the field, cast in pale moonlight, digging. In daylight, I see a hole deeper than is rationally possible. When I approach, the hole seems to yawn before me and stink of sickly sweet lilac. Tonight, I return to these woods, down a hauntingly familiar trail. My not-brother has almost finished his work, and I feel death’s hands already closing ‘round my throat. My time dwindling, lilac washes over me as I stand before the hole. It’s cold and damp as I lower myself with the rope I brought. At the bottom is a slumped figure curled on its side, a rancid, musty scent of rotten meat, of blood. Yet, decay has not rendered it unrecognizable. I see the familiar coat, the hair, the jaw. It is my brother. It’s his face that suddenly turns to me and smiles. Verse Category Winner: Phoebe H (Grade 11) An Objection What’s the big deal with you anyway? How on earth can just about everybody love you, All they can do is talk about how magnificent you are. I have a hard time believing that you could be so goddamn wonderful. Take this as a formal objection to you and all your doings. Because I tried my hardest, I really did. No one can say I didn't give you a shot. To be brutally honest you're no good to look at, You've always been too stuck in your ways, and you have no consideration for anyone at all. Protect yourself from hurt in the backwash Dear god, do I loathe you, Butternut squash.