7 DAY STORY WRITING CHALLENGE #3 WINNER

Prize: £500

Finalists

Western: Hana Johnson

Paranormal: Timothy Callahan

Thriller: Bean Sawyer

Magical Realism: Susan Wigmore

Chick-Lit: Katrina Moinet

Historical: Linda Flynn

Horror: Rosemary Cox

Dystopian: Stewart Clark

Crime: Valeria Yarusova

Romance: Correen Robinson

Science Fiction: Nimisha Kantharia

Fantasy: Joanne Wescott

Honourable Mentions

The following are writers who just missed out on being a finalist!

Maria Dean Dystopian

Laura Varney Horror

Emma Mc Douall Horror

Robert Burns Fantasy

Megan Choritz Romance

Riaan Hofmeyr Historical

Molly Andrew Chick Lit

Beatrice Hussain Thriller

Ruth Barber Western

Nicki Blake Western

Lisa VanGalen Western

Maggie Long Science Fiction

Krystle Hare Crime

Ryan Fleming Magical Realism

Natalie Gubbay Magical Realism

Hannah Brown Paranormal

Yannis Verkes Paranormal

David Hanson Paranormal

Long List

The following are writers who just missed out on being an honourable mention!

Dystopian

Hai Pham, Elisabeth Malmgren, Marie-Louise McGuinness, Bee Jarvis, Mary Fletcher, Tamsyn McKenzie, Kimary Clelland, Nelli Shulman.

Horror

Karen Walker, Rhian Yoshikawa, Jonathan Braunstein, Miriam Ouma, Rebekah Marriner, Raistlin Allen, Ella Rainz, Annica Steyn.  

Fantasy

Allan Price, Ricky Cai, Hilma Sigurdardottir, Julie Staines, Nicole Bescoby, Sandra Baker, Paride Taravella.

Paranormal

Lauren-Joy Rosenbach, Lisa Short, Xavier Menezes, Susie DesLauriers, Deborah Thompson, Margaret Duffy, Lawrence Frank, Rowan Taylor, Armand Diab, Christine Whitelaw, Connor Thornley.

Romance

Judy Campbell, Ann Struck, Joelle Simpson.

Western

Mairibeth MacMillan, Amanda Ingram, Cindy Bennett, Adam Borzik, Marlene Pitcher.

Historical

Andrea Doig, Deryn Pittar.

Chick Lit

Kim Dickinson, Brittany Tauscher, Connor Pruss, Amy Alexander, Margaret Darby, Michelle Fraser, Joan El Faghloumi.

Science Fiction

Raeesah Chandlay, Findlay McCombe, Amanda Hurley,
Kim Russell, Sean Wright, Sarah Wain.

Crime

Anthony Lambert, Erin Norris, Terry Bowler, Maddy Coope, Judith Wilson, Nicky Taylor, James Tobin, Michelle Perry, Lisbeth Tull, Stephen Lavelle, Joanna Garbutt.

Thriller

Busisiwe Ngwenya, Debbie Wingate, Edward Savage, Pete Armstrong, Fhionna Mac.

Magical Realism

Daydree Snow, Jonathan Roskell, Amalee Bowen, Lisa Verdekal, Audrey Ingram-Mulder, Samantha Carr, Jonathan Blaauw, Cat Zablocki.

and the winner is…

Hana Johnson

Lone Star

(WESTERN)

There it lay, paw wedged between the iron and rust of the freight tracks. Its gray fur swirled up on its hind legs as it beat ravenously at the rails. The white puff on his chest expanded, then softly sank back down into a bed of powdered glass. The rabbit dove into the dirt with his two front paws, rippled his back leg against the bars, and dug aimlessly until his fur coat glistened in the morning sun.

He pushed, and pushed, and pushed himself away. He pushed so hard, he was too tired to breathe anymore. He was too tired to think about the new season and the fruit he would bring to the farms. The pumpkins and apricots. The loose nuts and apple trees. He glanced up at the sky to forget his longing. Clouds puffed together, making it look burnt. The hazel color reminded him of many things, but it didn’t persuade him for very long. His eyes fell to the ground again. Too tired for nuts, the rabbit thought to himself. He folded his ears back as a clicking sound began in the far-field of the hickory stained grass. 

It drew closer. The clicking turned into a whistle. He braced himself by focusing on the sound of mosquitos and hummingbirds, and hummingbirds eating those mosquitos. Sour heat and sweet flowers settled in the air around him. He lifted his nose to the shadow of the train and sniffled one last time before his body burst against the iron rails.

“If only he’d known he was one dig away from reaching the farm,” Carter said. 

Boe chuckled and slouched back against the tree. “And h-how woulds you know that?”

"I've seen a lot of rabbits before,” Carter said, looking back at him. He shrugged his shoulders and flipped his eyes back to the tracks. “Tomorrow, another one will get stuck two rails down from the last, and the train will continue its usual route no matter what. It’ll happen for at least the next couple of mornings.”

Boe shook his head and drank the remainder of the Bud Light from his can, then he crumpled it up. “Not if the rain drowns em out.” 

“No,” Carter said. “That’s the thing. The train always gets to them first.”

“Shame,” Boe muttered, sliding his brown boots back up past his ankles. He threw the can to the ground and stood up to brush off his jeans. “We shoulds go, b-before the sun sets.” 

Night inched forward as they backed away from the trees, knowing they shouldn’t be anywhere near the dark tracks of Lone Star. Owls began their nightly feasts, having gotten used to the brink of insanity. They twisted their heads as owls often do and warned the rest of the creatures the best they could. Every creature except the rabbits, which were burrowed so deep in their holes, the sun could never find them. 

And so they knew a lot--the owls--they knew where to go when everything was quiet. 

Morning came again. Carter and Boe walked back out through the trees of the forest. Boe’s flannel got caught on a branch and tore in loose strands near his bottom right pocket. 

“D-Dammit,” he said, tracing his fingers over the torn patch. “There’s gotta be somethins we can do to g-get outta here.” 

“It’s been three years,” Carter said. “If there was a way out, we would have found it by now.” 

They continued to walk through the trees; Boe catching bugs between his fingers; Carter ducking and hiding next to the plants. Hours passed this way.

“Shhh,” Carter said. “Do you hear that?” 

Boe shuffled his feet together and hunched down a bit. He tilted his head in all sorts of directions. “It’s n-nothin.” 

“Exactly.” 

Silence covered the tops of the trees. No birds, no bugs...no rabbits. 

“So w-whada we know thens?” Bow asked, continuing to walk over a pile of loose bottle caps. 

“We know what we’ve always known. There’s no way out of this place--”

“Then, w-where’s all the animals goin?” 

Carter shrugged again, knowing they probably just went somewhere to hide. He didn’t feel like explaining it to Boe. It was already beginning to be a long day. 

Boe sunk his head. The train of Lone Star could be heard coming from the very far field. He listened then said, “Whats about the t-train tracks?”

Carter remained silent. He’d watched the rabbits try to cross them for three years now. They never made it to the other side. 

“I-I’m sure we could jump em or somethins,” Boe uttered. 

“Enough,” Carter said. “There will be no crossing those tracks.”

He followed Carter through the remaining brush to stare out at the field. It was different, the grass was no longer hickory. It was golden.

Carter stepped a bit closer, the back of his boot crunching down on fallen twigs. “You ever seen the grass that golden before?” 

Boe slowly shook his head. “I didn’t even knows it could be that c-color. It sure is perty.” He turned to Carter, the corner of his mouth lifted. “D-does that means things are changin?”

“No,” Carter said, maybe a bit too hastily. He squinted his eyes out toward the tracks and watched as the train fled across. He knew it had changed. He knew it by the silence and the lack of animals. And Carter didn’t know if it was good. 

They stayed there and studied the other half of the field. The half that sat across the tracks and carried real-time. The half that was just a small part of the rest of the world. 

“N-never any planes in the sky,” Boe said. “S-shame.”

Carter laughed. “I’m surprised you even remember what a plane looks like.” 

“W-why wouldn’ts I? I’m olders than you dammit.” 

Boe was older than Carter. He was a hundred and twenty-eight years older than Carter to be exact. It’s the one unimaginable thing he knew about himself. 

After a long, hard afternoon observing the sameness, the sky soon fell to a gray, and the first faint stars of the night began glistening. Owls resumed their places in the high-up trees. Their warnings were silent. 

“We should go now, its dark. We’ll come out first thing tomorrow,” Carter said, walking away from the spot. He paused and turned around. “You coming?” 

Boe slid his back further down the tree and tilted his hat down over his forehead. “Y-you go on aheads, I’ll b-be there in a few minutes.” 

Carter nodded and disappeared through the path in the woods. The cabin wasn’t far, and night had been settling colder than usual. He thought about Boe on his way back, how he slouched down against the tree when the night was approaching. He’d always been afraid of the dark. 

Carter layed down on the bed and listened to the sound of owls. They were lonesome and loud as they cried. He mimicked them by sobbing into his pillow until eventually crying himself to sleep. He’d wondered why the sounds were even there in the first place, when they’d been gone so many times before. 

Morning came again and Boe was not there. 

Carter searched around the cabin, even headed to the bar down the street where he usually liked to go. There was no sign of him. 

Finally, Carter decided to take a hike through the woods, even though he hated being alone in the forest. There was no conversation, no words. Just his breath and whatever sounds the day allowed. If it was a day, Carter was still unsure what to call it. 

The grass was still yellow near the tracks, and all Carter found near the tree was Boe’s hat. It lay there in the dirt, the color faded and the fabric worn. He picked it up and brushed it off with two firm swipes. 

Maybe I don’t know as much as I thought I did, Carter thought. 

He squinted at the tracks and buckled his knee against a tree stump. No rabbits or birds again. Carter thought for sure there would be rabbits for at least the next few days. He thought he knew they’d get stuck in the rails. 

Then, a sound accompanied the honking of the train. A cry, much like the sobbing Carter often fell ill to. It came from the tracks. A shriek so loud, that the rabbits came out of their holes to see. 

And there, body lying morosely in the center of the tracks, was Boe. He had tried to cross the railway. His body sparkled in the powdered glass as he squirmed for freedom, screaming out from the bottom of his lungs. Screaming out whatever vowels he could muster in Carter’s name.

Carter raced down the hill. It was the farthest he’d ever been away from the trees. The closest he’d ever been to real-time and knowing what was out there. The power his knowledge would grant him in crossing the tracks. 

He ran faster. The clicking of the train turned into a whistle. He picked up the pace and dropped Boe’s hat in the golden field, trampled over a rabbit hole, went blind for a few seconds by something that appeared to be a glimmering sheet, and found his body running slower from a power that didn’t belong to him. 

Boe lifted his chin to the shadow of the train and closed his eyes. He felt the ground rumble and the shaking in his skin. He knew what would come, he knew the only way to see the other side of the tracks was to go be with the rabbits. And that was it, Carter hated those rabbits. He cursed them, and kicked them, and cried in watching his best friend's body burst against the iron rails of Lone Star. 

It wasn’t silent as the rabbits. It wasn’t there one minute and gone the next like the wind often blew. The golden, hickory, gray, invisible, whatever the grass felt like being that day, turned a sticky red. Because Lone Star was a powerless place. A sick, awful, cruel place that you could know everything about, yet never know anything at all.