7 DAY STORY WRITING CHALLENGE #2 WINNER

Prize: £500

Finalists

Western: Ray Aina

Paranormal: Lauren Wesley-Smith

Thriller: Deryn Pittar

Magical Realism: Sara Staggs

Chick-Lit: Laura Varney

Historical: Kent Perry

Horror: Rhian Yoshikawa

Dystopian: J.C. Roskell

Crime: Robert Burns

Romance: Rachel Smith

Science Fiction: Nimisha Kantharia

Fantasy: Michael Forsythe

Honourable Mentions

Bean Sawyer Chick Lit

Jonathan Braunstein Chick Lit

Debbie Wingate Science Fiction

Ernst Muller Paranormal

Joelle Simpson Historical

Stephen Lavelle Historical

Elizabeth Liang Historical

Dhevalence Moodley Western

Hana Johnson Western

Ken Towl Western

James Bernthal-Hooker Western

Alicia Roberts Magical Realism

Catherine Harris Magical Realism

Anna Robinson Magical Realism

Shreya Vikram Horror

Nicki Blake Horror

Larry Frank Romance

Joan El Faghloumi Romance

Gabrielle Ginn Dystopian

Elliott T. Collins Dystopian

Amanda Hurley Dystopian

Dillon Morgan Dystopian

James Bardez Dystopian

George McAlear Thriller

Amy Alexander Thriller

Tim Callahan Thriller

Yannis Verkes Thriller

Joanne M. Girod Fantasy

Fhi Love Fantasy

Andrew Atkinson Fantasy

Marko Stott Fantasy

Maria Dean Fantasy

Helen Dudley Crime

Kate MacGuire Crime

and the winner is…

Sara Staggs

Wind Boy

(MAGICAL REALISM)

Uuka ran his whole life, all thirteen years of it. He could run a mile by the time he was one. His father and mother, Yomelela and Thandi, sat and proudly watched their twelve-month-old confidently stride down the dusty lane away from their tin and cardboard shanty, weaving through the pulsating crowds that pushed against him until he disappeared into the masses. Yomelela waited in front of the shed until Uuka returned while Thandi went back inside to stir the mealie pap, so it did not burn. 

            Although they tried for another child, the winds shifted each night as Yomelela and Thandi met at their mattress on the floor. The constant change confused Yomelela’s sperm and left Thandi’s eggs lonely and shedding each month. Their nighttime meetings waned as Uuka grew and continued to run.  

            Six days a week, Thandi walked to Madam’s house to clean and cook. She brushed her hair into a bun and donned her black dress and white apron. Yomelela worked at the hotel, greeting visitors at the door and opening it for people who could open doors for themselves. Uuka stayed with his maternal grandmother, Umakhulu.

            Thandi returned in the evening, worn from her day of work and the long hot walk home. When she saw her son sprinting to greet her she smiled, her teeth blinding white against charcoal skin. “Have you been running all day, Uuka?” She lifted her three-year-old child and settled him on her hip.

            “Umakhulu said to keep running,” Uuka told her. “So I did.”

            “I see.” Thandi let Uuka slide down her hip to the ground. She took her son’s hand as they walked towards their home.

            Later that night, while Uuka slept, Thandi wiped the pot dry with a thin gray rag and frowned. “Yomelela,” she whispered, “do you think all this running is good for him?” She studied her son. A layer of dirt covered the soles of his feet no matter how hard she scrubbed, so she had stopped scrubbing and accepted it.

            Yomelela shrugged. “It is what he can do. Why should it be bad?”

            Thandi did not know. The wind shifted, pushing through the still, humid air. The back of the frail structure vibrated. “I suppose it is fine,” she said. The wind died down.

            Thandi set the pot in the corner. The wind shifted again, sending a warm breeze through the window that brushed her cheek lightly. “Let’s go to bed,” she said to Yomelela. She blew out the candle and a comforting darkness filled the room. The warm breeze covered Yomelela and Thandi as they held each other on their mattress. That night the wind stayed steady and soft as they made quiet love, their bodies intertwined and melted into the darkness around them. Yomelela’s sperm did not get confused.

Sisipho came with her father’s caramel colored skin and her mother’s probing black eyes. She grew at twice the rate of her peers, her big eyes always on her brother, who she worshipped. Uuka, in turn, doted on his sister and brought her with him throughout the township.  By the time he was ten, he was known in the community as unfama womoya, wind boy, mostly because of his speed, but neighbors suspected there were other unexplainable things in his reach. Sisipho never left his side unless he was running, but she could always see him, no matter where he went.

            “Sisipho,” Thandi said as the girl sat outside the shanty and drew circles in the dirt, “where is Uuka?”

             “He is just coming around the corner to the East, and will be home soon,” Sisipho replied.

            Thandi nodded and went inside. The smell wafting out made Sisipho’s mouth water. Thandi and Yomelela could afford meat now. The turn in their fortune caused a stir within the township. That it coincided with the birth of their daughter had gone unnoticed.  

            In his last year of life, Uuka’s parents decided in low tones that it was time for Uuka to have an education.

             “We have found you a school,” Thandi said one evening as the family prepared for bed. “Umakhulu knows the headmaster of a school for boys and says she will talk with him.”

            Uuka smiled.

            “She will also buy you the books and some shoes,” said Thandi. “You will need to thank her.”

            Uuka nodded. “I will thank her first thing in the morning.”

            Yomelela turned towards his son. “The school has a running team,” he said. “All she asks is that you be on it. Win the races and Umakhulu will be proud. That can be your thanks.”

            Uuka flushed. “Yes, Utata.”

            Sisipho shook her head and her beaded braids clicked. “He shouldn’t run there,” she said, staring at her brother.

            “He will run,” said Yomelela.

            Sisipho lay down on the mattress she shared with Uuka and faced the wall.

            The next week, Uuka put on his new leather shoes. As the sun rose, he walked down the lane towards the exit of the township with Thandi by his side. The sky displayed layers of orange, yellow and red as Uuka left the township for the first time in his life. At the fence, he turned back and waved goodbye to his sister. Sisipho stood alone in the doorway of the shanty and returned the wave slowly.  

            He arrived at the school with his shoes intact and clean, the white collared shirt his mother sewed for him unstained. His tan pants revealed his ankles, but Thandi promised she would sew him a new pair when she had the fabric.

            The school was a long one-story, yellow cement building with “Dyeburg’s School for Boys” written in black letters on the side next to a black metal door. Small windows sat evenly spaced from both sides of the door.

            Thandi knocked on the door. A tall thin man with silver in his dark hair answered after a long minute.

            “This is Uuka,” Thandi gestured to her son. “I am Thandi Mahle. My mother called about him attending your school.”

            The man looked Uuka up and down. “The runner, correct?” he asked.

            “Correct,” Thandi answered. She stood straighter, her eyes bright and proud.

            “Come in,” the man said to Uuka. “I am Mr. Mbtomo, the headmaster.” Uuka stepped inside. “School ends at 3pm,” Mr. Mbtomo said to Thandi. “Today there is a race after school that Uuka will run.”

             “Very good,” Thandi said. She turned to Uuka and hugged him with tears in her eyes. “Learn a lot,” she whispered. “And run fast.”

The boys in his class teased Uuka mercilessly, led by Axhoba, a burly boy with dark curly hair. Uuka’s pants were too short, he sneered. How could he not read or write? He was from a township? At least they lived in real apartments, not in tin and cardboard huts, they laughed.           

            Uuka gazed out the window which overlooked an unkempt grass football field behind the school surrounded by a dirt track. He waited until the final bell and took his school-issued blue and yellow sports uniform to the bathroom to change. It was time to run.

            Six boys in various school athletic uniforms milled around the starting line on the dirt track. Uuka and Axhoba represented Dyeburg and eyed each other malevolently.

            The coach was as stocky man with deep set brown eyes. “Where are your running shoes?” he asked Uuka.  

            Uuka looked at his bare feet. “I don’t have any.”

             “You’ve been running barefoot? For how long?”

            “Thirteen years,” Uuka said. 

            The coach laughed and the boys joined in.

            Uuka blinked back tears. He had never cried before, at least not since he was an infant. Once he discovered running, he had no reason to cry – he never fell, no one ever teased him, hunger had not bothered him, no one ever attacked him. All his family was still alive. He had been protected somehow in the township. He thought of Sisipho’s words. He shouldn’t run there.

            Uuka felt a bubble growing in his chest and recognized it as anger. Clouds gathered overhead. The wind began to pick up, blowing from the West.

            The coach looked at the sky. “Looks like a storm is coming, boys,” he said. “Let’s get going before it starts raining.” He turned to Uuka. “Uuka, if you want to run barefoot, go ahead. Line up, boys!”

            The boys jostled for their places as the clouds darkened and the force of the wind increased. They pushed Uuka to the back and the bubble of anger grew inside him.

            “On your mark, get set, GO!” The coach blew a black whistle and a clap of thunder exploded overhead. The boys were off. The wind whipped their faces, rain poured and obsured their vision, their shoes caught in the sudden mud. Uuka leapt ahead. The boys pushed through the punishing wind that seemed to propel their competitor forward.  

            Three of the boys were too thin to win against the wind and quickly fell away. That left three runners plus Uuka. One slipped in the mud, landing face first, his nose quickly breaking. Blood poured down his face. Uuka kept on, his eyes straight ahead, body upright, he vaulted like a gazelle through the water. The last two boys worked to keep up with him, fighting to be able to go home and tell their fathers that they had not lost to a barefoot boy from a township. A gust of wind caught one boy unawares from the side and blew him into the chain link fence with cruel force. He slid down the fence to the ground and did not move.

            Only Axhoba and Uuka remained. Axhoba ran with determination until he was just behind Uuka. He pulled up next to him and noticed that Uuka was smiling, that he was not out of breath. Uuka looked at the boy and bared his teeth in a grin that sent a shiver down Axhoba’s spine.

            Two miles away, Sisipho sat on her mattress and looked at the square of sunlight coming through the window. She lay down on the thin bed she shared with her brother. She closed her eyes and watched him run.

            On the dirt track, Uuka and Axhoba kept running. Uuka’s anger grew. Sheet lighting appeared. A flash of finger lightning struck from the cloud to earth. Sisipho curled her index finger towards her body. The lightening hit the top of the shanty and found its way through the last crack in the roof, down to where she lay on her bed.

            Uuka increased his pace and crossed the finish line 100 meters before Axhoba. He felt anger melt from his chest, and then he felt half his heart die. Something had gone wrong. The storm ceased, the clouds parted and the winds stopped. The sky cleared to blue. Axhoba stumbled over the finish and collapsed in the mud, his broad chest heaving. 

            Uuka began to walk off the field.

            “Where are you going, Uuka?” yelled the coach, standing next to Axhoba’s body. “You are not dismissed!”

            Uuka walked back to the township. For the first time in his life, he did not feel the urge to run. He turned into the shanty and saw his sister. She could have been sleeping except for the dark black burn mark that marred her sternum through her yellow t-shirt.

            “Sisipho,” he whispered. He knelt by their mattress, their shared home for ten years. “Wake up. You must wake up.” He heard an animal-like noise, guttural and full of grief; he realized it came from him. “Sisipho!” Uuka began to shake violently. His body turned from black to white to clear, see-through to his veins and bones. His smooth black hair whipped around his head and his skin moved like water and then disappeared, first his fingers then his arms, legs, hips. “Sisipho!” he yelled once more as he floated away and joined the wind to which he had always belonged.