Winning Submissions

This summer, I submitted four poems and two stories to Behind the Vision's 2021-2022 The Next Generation contest. Three entries (one poem—a haiku—and both stories) were selected for publication. Below, I'll share those submissions and the prompts which inspired them.

For more amazing stories inspired by these prompts, you can buy a copy of the anthology here. (I don't receive any portion of the proceeds from the anthology sales; I just believe in supporting a good cause, and Behind the Vision's mission qualifies.)

Haiku, Scared, "Wheel"

Wheel of Death

Wheel of poison turns

Spraying death upon us all.

Someone, please save us.

Horror, 1st Person, "Butter" (1 paragraph)

This body butter isn’t working. The collagen is supposed to smooth wrinkles, but my skin is still crinkled like a discarded paper bag. Iron is supposed to minimize scars, and the oils should make me soft and silky smooth. Yet here I sit, covered in sandpaper and silvery lines… I guess it could be the quantity of the ingredients. I must not have boiled the body long enough to melt all the fat and extract all the collagen from the bones and iron from the blood; time to get the chainsaw and start again from scratch. Of course, I’ll get it right next time.

Romance, 3rd Person, "Tulip" (300-500 words)

Lucy Thibodeaux never thought that love was something she could have. She only knew three things in her life: art, pain, and sadness–that pervasive, empty sadness that strips away layers of your self-esteem like turpentine stripping paint until you’re left with nothing but the canvas. Her mousy brown hair was always tangled in a bun, spattered with paint. Her round face and slim frame gave her the appearance of an animated stick figure. She learned young, from her father, that the only thing beautiful about her was her talent–and even that was nothing to write home about.

Ting!

The bell sounding above the studio door broke through Lucy’s melancholic introspection. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” she called out to the visitor, setting aside the instruments of her craft and shedding her stained linen apron as she hurried around the corner to the main room. There stood the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes upon. Long, flowing waves of amber hair framed a tawny face with warm bronze tones that caught the soft white light of the spring morning spilling through the windows and spun it into a golden glow that reflected in her emerald eyes as they scanned the finished canvases that hung on the stucco walls.

“How can I help you?” Lucy stammered, briefly stunned into silence but quickly recovering her voice.

The young woman in the foyer turned toward the counter with the grace of a prima ballerina and smiled as she approached, sending Lucy’s heart into a flutter. “Hello,” she answered, “Are you Lucy Thibodeaux?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Lucy confirmed, her heart skipping again to hear this angel speak her name.

“Yay!” The young woman clapped her hands rapidly in a gesture of delight. “Do you take commissions? I saw all these beautiful paintings through your window and I’d love to have you paint something for me.”

“Absolutely,” Lucy replied. “What kind of painting are you interested in?”

“I’d like you to paint a tulip bouquet in this vase,” she said as she pulled an ornate ceramic vase from the messenger bag draped across her slender body. Tears welled her eyes as she explained, “Tulips were my mother’s favorite flower, and this is her vase. She passed away last year and I miss her terribly.”

“I would be honored,” she said. “Tulips were my mom’s favorite, too.” She pulled a commission form from the counter drawer to price the painting and collect contact information. The customer, Angela Rousseau, filled out the form and paid the deposit, but she lingered at the counter, gazing at Lucy.

“You know, you are absolutely stunning,” Angela stated as if it was the most obvious thing ever observed. “Would you like to get a drink with me after you close?”

And so it was that Lucy Thibodeaux met the woman she would later marry, each one carrying a bouquet of tulips–for their mothers–and believing the other to be the most mesmerizing woman in the world.