1st Place

Feet on Fire

“To the secret fort!” Nikki said
And we ran out from the shelter
Of the weeping willow.
Our feet hit the ground,
Hot and burning
But we were wild and
Invincible!
Through trees and bushes
There was a clearing small enough
For two 6 year olds and a table,
Where we planned our adventures.
We lived off ripened strawberries
Her grandpa grew and we learned to fly
Off swings, shoes first,
To the ground.
Every day ended
Reluctantly.
We found a caterpillar

It had been days since Lionel had made a stop, it was raining, and the station wagon had begun to reek of sweat and piss. You could feel the weight of the musky scent in the air. Twelve jugs sat, filled to the rim with urine, swishing in the backseat. They were his only quiet passengers. Lionel had exhausted his Vienna-sausage-and-cracker supply at this point. He had also run out of urine storage, and he longed for sleep he wasn’t getting. He needed to make a stop, but he wasn’t sure if he was still being followed. He glanced in

The cashier looked up from the counter with his zombie eyes.

"There's no price tag on this shirt," he said flatly.

Steve inhaled deeply, and then let a sigh escape from his lips. "I know," he replied, "that's what I've been trying to tell you. I found it over on that rack," he gestured, "with those other shirts. Now, I really like this particular shirt and I don't really care if it is on sale or not. I just want to buy it."

The cashier held his scanning gun and stared at his register screen as if an answer would spontaneously appear.

There’s dust stirring up everywhere we walk
This place is dry as death and depressing as hell
Would be as quiet if we weren’t here
The Nazis made their mess and now we’re here to tidy it
Three years here and the ugliest thing I’ve seen
Was a lunch of Limburger and tea