2024 NATIONAL MEDAL
for Museum and Library Service Finalist
You didn’t need a doctorate, to know something was wrong. Grief was a beast,
and attacked from the inside out. So, they stepped up. Church was on Sundays,
and couldn’t kill them. Long walks were healthy for everyone involved. Movie nights brought
laughter. When the cemetery gates opened for her, it was for all of her, not the pieces his
Death had left behind. It was the least they could do, after all.
Recovery Walk by Maina (a Short Story Contest entry)
Other’s success stories inspired the man’s practice following his doctor’s declaration of permanently lost walking ability. After enough recovery for independent slow strolls and questioning the claim, the doctor confessed his reluctance to admit the lack of certainty of recovery. The patient advised to instead encourage waiting for answers after long term practice and treatment. The doctor apologized and agreed to hereafter inspire patients, congratulating the man’s wisdom, recovery progression, and hopeful persistence.
The Next Mourning by Amanda Visokay (a Short Story Contest entry)
You didn’t need a doctorate, to know something was wrong. Grief was a beast, and attacked from the inside out. So, they stepped up. Church was on Sundays, and couldn’t kill them. Long walks were healthy for everyone involved. Movie nights brought laughter. When the cemetery gates opened for her, it was for all of her, not the pieces his Death had left behind. It was the least they could do, after all.
The Interrogation by Shikhar Dixit (a Short Story Contest entry)
Detective Rappaport decided Gordon Tho's guilt the day they met. A weird man with difficulties socializing, Tho brought down Rappaport's wrath. The detective "interviewed" Tho in a small, tight and hot room after Tho admitted he was on antipsychotic medication that overheated him.
The detective took a break every hour. Tho sweated through his fleece shirt within one hour. Requests for water were ignored.
After seven hours, Rappaport had a confession.
I am K99. My training began at the tender age of five, to kill one man. A specific man, the same age as I. He will attempt to commit a crime. The greatest crime, in my estimation.
Mass murder.
I want him to look me in the face and know that he will never know another day. My true identity will remain classified until The End.
Dylan shook under his covers. There was a monster under his bed, he was sure of it this time - he could hear its claws skittering across his floorboards. He had to check, to be brave like his father was always telling him to be. He picked up his flashlight, threw off his blanket, shone the light under his bed, and let out a shriek as his cat scampered out of the room.
Dylan shook under his covers. There was a monster under his bed, he was sure of it this time - he could hear its claws skittering across his floorboards. He had to check, to be brave like his father was always telling him to be. He picked up his flashlight, threw off his blanket, shone the light under his bed, and let out a shriek as his cat scampered out of the room.
""Come on, Bear.""
The leash dangles limply from Rebecca's hand as her Labrador trails behind her, tongue lolling out of his gray muzzle. She sits on the bank of the lake and he flops down next to her, resting his head in her lap. She strokes Bear's fur as the sun sinks below the glittering water.
Tomorrow will bring tears and goodbyes, but for now they have this moment. They have each other."
The school bell rang the end of day at Lincoln High School. Marcy ran
frantically out the door before her tormentors could dump on her.
She heard them laughing, shouting, ""FATTY you'll never get the boys to like
you"".
Marcy found solace in writing and martial arts. One day she shouted back
""ENOUGH"" surprised, the bullies stumbled, their laughter silenced. Marcy
walked the halls unbothered - a quiet triumph in her step.