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Congratulations to the Short Story Contest Winners!!!
Here are the first, second, and third place short story endings for you to read. Congratulations to the authors of these stories, and thanks to all who entered the Teen Advisory Board's short story contest.
First Place
story continued
by Jonathan Troyer
Laura looked at her reflection in the mirror, admiring the long, white, wedding gown that flowed from her body flawlessly. She always imagined this day somewhat differently. Indeed, she did have the flowers and her handsome groom; there was only one thing that put a damper on this fairy tale wedding. The note. It came in a small square envelope earlier that morning, written where the return address should have been were three little words, “Your true love.” Inside was a beautifully handwritten note that read, “To my true love, I have learned that you’re to be married. My entire life I have waited for you to pass even a glance in my direction, but instead, you marry another man. Know this. If I can’t have you, no one will. Your servant always”
Laura quickly looked out the window and gasped in horror at the sight of the main section of the church where she was to be married going up in flames. How could she report it? Sign language doesn’t work over the phone. Near muteness prevailed over her desire for regular speech.
She heard sirens screaming in the distance, and when she looked, she saw three gleaming fire trucks barreling down the small street, the scenery reflected on the dark red sides and chrome trim as they passed. Relief turned to cold helplessness as she watched open-mouthed as one by one the trucks passed by the church and turned onto a side street, speeding out of sight. She cried out in frustration. She could sense the day crashing, falling apart in front of her, and she could do nothing to stop it; it was spiraling out of her favor. This day was not supposed to be like this.
A knock at the door startled her so that she felt as if she had almost vomited her heart. A sweetly familiar voice, “It’s your mother, dear. May I come in?”
“Igh.” That had been her vocal “yes” ever since she was a toddler.
The door knob twisted, and the door was flung open. There was her mother, looking uncomfortable as can be. Behind her stood a man whose face she could not place. It suddenly dawned on her. He was Brian Gulope; he lived in the same dorm, two stories above her. He had gotten to be a familiar sight over the past two years at college, since he had many of the same classes as she. He had also attended many of the same weekend parties as she. He was hard to miss, always in the middle of several of the preppy cheerleader types and enjoying the various favors they showered on him. Laura had joked with her ever-present translator that Brian might turn into a cheerleader himself if he wasn’t careful.
Now she was not joking. Menace was unmistakable in his eyes as he brusquely shoved her mother into the room, a large rifle at her shoulder blade, directly behind her heart. “Come here,” he commanded Laura, his finger poised on the trigger. He saw that she noticed. “That’s right, come or your mom dies, simple.” Laura slowly made her feet move toward him. When she was close enough, he clamped his hand on her shoulder and pulled her to his side, simultaneously shoving her mother toward the mirror. Laura winced as she saw her mother’s head snap back as she stumbled to the ground. Only then did Laura see the black box attached to her prostrate mother’s back.
“Don’t worry, hon,” crooned Brian, “it’s a bomb. I didn’t want her bothering me anymore.”
Laura was outraged at his callousness. He expected her to marry him if he killed her mother and burnt the church all on what was supposed to be her wedding day? She had never been attracted to him; now she despised him.
He took her out of the room and guided her quickly down the hall, out the door of the church wing, and into a waiting panel van. When he climbed in the driver’s seat after shoving her in the back, he turned back and coldly said through the bars that separated the cab from the back, “There’s some, um, more comfortable clothes back there for you.”
She looked around the dimly lit floor of the van. There, in the corner, was a bag. She reached in, feeling lots of smooth fabric. She gripped a wad and pulled. Up came a blouse of hers. Another reach in produced a silky mini-skirt she hadn’t worn in years. She dumped out the bag, revealing the rest of the contents. Tights, shorts, tank top. The van turned sharply, throwing her violently against the side of the van. A loose screw tore the side of her dress, revealing too much. She quickly attempted to hold the gash shut, but another sharp
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turn sent her rolling toward the other side of the van. She frantically tried to use her legs to avoid hitting the side, but the van accelerated quickly, throwing her back, her legs involuntarily going up over her head. Brian laughed, and she saw he was watching in the rearview mirror. She felt her face burn with embarrassment. Laura couldn’t imagine she could hate the guy anymore than she already did, but he exceeded her expectations with a small comment. “That guy you were gonna marry is a loser.”
Fury exploded in her. In her mind, “Ben is to successful as Antarctica is to cold,” was a perfectly accurate comparison. His computer programs, for the most part, had been worthwhile ventures. He wasn’t wildly successful, but he had more money than most college students pursuing his career, psychology. With a burst of energy combined with pure adrenaline, she reached through the bars and grabbed Brian by his hair and yanked him back. He screamed, swerving to the left. Suddenly she realized where they were. They were headed toward the side of the bridge that spanned the largest river in the state. A flash of blue and silver flashed in her vision. The van jerked up and stopped violently, sending both their heads crashing into the ceiling, pained exploded in her hand. She pulled her hand back, noting that it was already swelling. All she could see out the shattered windshield was blue, contrail crisscrossed sky. The next thing she saw was a fist that throttled her back. She landed hard on her back and looked up to see Brian sliding a large portion of the divider to the side and stepping into the back, his breath coming fast, as was hers. Something rose up within her, and she lifted her knees to her heaving chest and kicked him in the chest. He flew back and disappeared out the hole of a windshield, screaming. She rolled forward to her knees, only hearing her breath above the whizzing of the cars outside. She struggled to the front and peered over the hood of the van. She saw nothing but roiling river water.
Her heart stopped for a fraction of a second when Brian’s face rose above the hood. When she saw he was looking lower than her face and realized exactly what he was looking at, she reached forward and slapped him across the face. A surprised look crossed his face as he twisted, falling. She leaned forward and watched as he splashed into the water. He did not make a move to save himself from floating away; in fact, he did not move at all. She once again heard the wail of sirens in the distance. She suddenly remembered the rip.
She didn’t want anyone else seeing that much of her. She quickly took the pair of pantyhose and tied it around her stomach, effectively covering herself. She heard the siren get closer and closer. Then it shut off, and she heard the slamming of a door and footsteps approaching the van. “Anyone in there?” said a deep voice. She tried to respond, but all that came out was a garbled mixture of sounds. A face appeared in the window, a weathered, concerned face bordered by a beard and topped by a beanie that bore the word, POLICE. She frantically signed to him that she was kind of okay, but needed help, and the guy had gone into the river. She saw the officer’s face pale, and he brought the radio to his lips, muttering something about a translator and a tow truck. She definitely needed a translator right now. He reached out, his eyes holding hers and opened the door. She silently stepped out. Her legs, finding the pavement to be solid, straightened. She looked up at the officer who was looking her over, eyes wide. She looked down and saw blood seeping through the pantyhose and out of numerous cuts on her arms. Another police car followed by a tow truck and also an ambulance roared up stopping beside the first. The truck pulled up on the other side of the van, and the ambulance stopped perpendicular to the two police cars. An older woman approached from the second police car, smiling at her. She signed, “How are you?” Laura signed back, “Shaken. I can hear.” The woman looked confused. “You mean you just can’t talk, but you can still hear?” the woman said loudly. Laura nodded. The woman looked at her curiously, “So can you tell me why you ran over a motorcycle?” Laura was confused now. She looked back at the van, then noticed the tire sticking out from underneath the door frame. It was still turning. She looked at the woman with a helpless expression. The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she made a hand gesture. Laura felt her hands being forced behind her back and heard handcuffs closing around her wrists, the sound increasing in volume until she woke up. Her alarm clock said 6:30 a.m. It was her wedding day.
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