1998 Fiction Quill Awards

First Place

WALLS

By Kim Smith

     "Nellie has come to see me today. She doesn't seem to notice the walls, and I can't tell her."

     Nellie has always been such a good girl. She comes to see me almost every day. She arrives early so she can help the nurses dress me for the day, picking out my clothes carefully as I had once carefully picked them out for her. I don't like to see her face while she helps. Her eyes reflect pity as she bathes me. The pain of seeing her mother like this is unmistakable as she dresses my wasted body. She turns me effortlessly so the nurse can change my sheets.

     "My eyes focus on the wall. For the past week it has been changing. Moving… fading… gossamer shades of memories faintly showing through. Sometimes I can see my mother, smiling sweetly as she rocks me. Other times I can see my father's old Ford as he proudly posed for the only photo I have of him."

     She brushes my hair for me. I imagine the white wisps must be very difficult for her to control, but she always tries. As she brushes, her sky blue eyes search my faded ones hopefully. I try to make her see, but she never does.

     Once the chores of caring for me are done, she lovingly covers me with the afghan she made herself. She reads to me then. Wonderful stories of old men and big fish. Books about red ponies and even one about a girl named Scout. I remember teaching her to read. As I listen, my eyes burn with unshed tears, but she doesn't notice.

     "Last night I saw Nellie's Dad. He was standing in my parent's kitchen, smiling mischievously, one hand tucked behind his back. My heart almost stopped when I saw him. All those feelings of love and loss came rushing back. I had not seen him in over 50 years. I asked him where he had been… I asked if I could go too… He had just smiled and said soon."

     When Nellie is here she always tells me about the boys. I love listening to her talk about my grandsons. Her voice is so full of love for them it makes me forget about things for awhile. It makes me feel like I did before. Her boys, all grown and off to University, yet she still fusses over them as if they were still in short pants. I realize what a good mother she is. I want to tell her that…

     "The wall is glowing today. Opaque colors I have never seen before. I want so badly to show Nellie. I want her to see that it's all right."

     Nellie rises to gather her things, then pauses. She begins stroking my hair as she sings the song I sang to her every night so many years ago.

Hush little baby…

"Look Nellie, there is your Dad, you don't remember him…"

…don't say a word…

"but he remembers you, he held you in his arms…"

… Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird…

"he cried great big tears...he wants me to go now…"

… and if that mocking bird don't sing…

"I love you Nellie."

Second Place

EARL'S ADVENTURE

By Karen Marquis

     Earl slipped out of bed, crept to the door, and gently pulled on the door ring. He listened carefully for a moment, then pushed the door closed softly. His heart pounded with excitement as he picked up his pack, tiptoed to the window, and slithered out into the darkness.
     I made it, he thought gleefully. Now, I am going to find out what all of these flying monsters are really about. I don't care if the garden is forbidden to little earthworms. I'm not afraid of anything!
     The climb from beneath the tulip bulbs was a long one. Earl stopped, inches from the surface, to catch his breath. Won't see anything sitting here, he thought, and pushed his head out into the blinding light.
     "Ouch!" he squeaked, blinking his watery eyes. "Sure is bright up here!" He pulled himself out of the ground with a plop. His eyes slowly adjusted to the blinding light. Earl almost twisted himself into a knot trying to decide what to look at first. "Okay," he said. "There is only one way to solve this problem." Earl closed his eyes and recited a choosing rhyme as he turned slowly: "Ennie, meenie, minny, moe, grab an earthworm by the toe . . ."
    He opened his eyes and saw a clump of purple pansies. He knew they were pansies because of the picture books at school, but he had never seen a real one before. He slithered over and took a closer look at the flower. Stretching up as far as his little body allowed, he stuck his nose on one of the petals near the ground. It's all soft, and furry, he thought as he sniffed, and it smells nice too. A flash of yellow caught his eye and he hurried over to examine the daffodils bobbing gently in the breeze. Earl soon found himself racing excitedly from one marvelous discovery to another; not really paying attention to where he was going.
     "Oomph!" Earl said as he plowed head first into something hard and shiny.
     "What's this?" asked a sleepy voice.
     "Sorry," Earl said. "I guess I didn't see you."
     "Seems to me that little worms shouldn't be in such a hurry," the cricket said gruffly. "Ought to be more careful, I say."
     "I said I was sorry!" Earl said indignantly, backing away.
     "Humph!" Cricket said, closing his eyes.
     A little voice inside his head urged Earl to be careful, but he brushed the warning aside. He had just stopped to talk to a grasshopper, when his stomach started to rumble loudly.
     "Excuse me." Earl apologized. "I'm going to find a nice sunny rock, and have a picnic. Would you like to share my lunch, Grasshopper?"
     "Thank you for the kind offer, Earl," replied Grasshopper, gravely. "But I am expected home directly."
     "Perhaps another time," Earl said, giggling to himself at Grasshopper's dignified speech..
     "Perhaps," said Grasshopper, whirring away.
     Earl found the perfect rock, not too far away. It was flat, and warm from the sun. He heaved himself up onto the top with a grunt, dragging his pack behind him. He pulled out his lunch and wiped his hands on a clean handkerchief. As he ate, he watched Bumblebee buzzing among the blooms, Ant hurrying to her hill, and Butterfly flitting from flower to flower.
     Earl had just finished eating, when he thought he felt someone or something staring at him. His eyes darted around nervously, but he didn't see anything. He didn't look up so he didn't see the black beady eyes that watched from high up in the old oak tree. The little voice in his head warned him again, but Earl was sleepy. "Foolishness!" Earl said, shaking his head as he yawned, and stretched out on the rock. In a few minutes he was fast asleep, dreaming of all the wonderful new tales he would have to tell his friends back home.
     While Earl slept, Robin launched himself into the sky and flew swiftly toward the rock. He landed beside it, showering dirt over Earl as he skidded to a halt.
     "Huh!" Earl shouted angrily, shaking the dirt off his head and looking around sleepily. "Uh Oh!" Earl exclaimed at the sight of the black eyes and yellow beak. "I think I'm in trouble now!"
     "No trouble at all," chirped Robin, darting toward Earl with his mouth open.
     Earl didn't think. He rolled off the rock and into the dirt as the beak crashed down right where he had been sleeping.
     "Ouch!" Robin grunted as Earl scurried under a lacy daisy leaf.
     "You won't get away that easily," Robin said as he hopped over to the leaf and nudged it aside in time to see Earl bolt for cover under a nearby petunia.
     Earl's heart was pounding so hard that he thought it would explode. Robin was coming closer. Earl knew he wouldn't be safe where he was much longer. He searched around, desperately looking for a place to hide. There, he thought, spotting what looked like a little cave under a nearby rose bush; I'll be safe there. He dived out from under the petunia as Robin tried to catch him again.
     "Yikes!" Earl said. "That was a close one!" He crawled into the space between two rocks and curled himself up into a tight ball.
     "Gotcha, now!" hooted Robin, lunging toward the worm quivering in his hidey-hole.
     Earl closed his eyes as Robin's beak came closer, and closer.
     "Ow!" yelled Robin, his wings catching in the thorny rose bush. "Now look what you have done!" he complained loudly, struggling to free himself.
     Earl didn't wait around to find out what would happen next. He threw himself out of his little cave, and did the only thing a smart worm would do. He started to burrow into the earth just as fast as he could. He didn't stop until he was halfway home.
     "Whew!" Earl panted. "That, was a close one! My curiosity almost got the best of me that time! I think it's time I found something a little less exciting to do."
     With that thought in mind, Earl crawled home and snuck back into his bed. It was a very, very long time before he even let himself think of the garden again.

Third Place

FIRE AND SHADOWS

By M. M. Trent

    There is a road into the cotton field now. Earth re-seeds, taking back the house and yard. Only shadows remain.
    Shadows of a man who worked this land alone and of a wife who matched him task for task, day for day. He coaxed crops from these sandy acres; she preserved them, put the bounty into canning jars and brought summer sunshine to the table in winter. What ease they once had was swept away by a depression. They had become shadows of another time, an old way of life.
    Shadows of two children who were freed from city life for a time each summer; children who joyfully shed the city along with their shoes and learned their heritage first hand. Gathering berries, shelling peas and beans, weeding the garden, they lived a farm life little changed from that of the previous century.
    Shadows of summer days when puffy white clouds roamed the skies and heat waves shimmered on the horizon. The shadow of a child dancing across the hot sand clutching a jar of water and ice, savoring the chill of it under the sun's glare. The shadow of a man pausing for a cooling drink and a talk with the child as a sweeping cloud shadow brought a moment's shade and relief from the pressing heat.
    Only shadows remain. The land lies fallow, but on these sandy hills there is set a holy seal, the fire of remembrance for a place where love has been.

Fourth Place

RAILROAD TO THE SUN

By Melvin Niswander

     The Arequipa-Puno train, operated by a British company, left the station around 7:00 P.M. I had booked a sleeper, recommended by European and American travelers as a means of allowing the recumbent body to adjust to the overnight change in altitude. Puno, Peru, sits on a Andean plane 12,350 feet above sea level. Getting there is like no other trip — a step back in time.
     Crimson velour covered the bench seats of the wooden sleeping car, and two brass lamps provided reading illumination on either side of the compartment. A window allowed a view of the station platform. A stainless steel sink and enclosed toilet completed the furnishings of my small compartment. I stowed my suitcase on a rack above my seat and settled down to await the departure for Puno.
     A whistle pierced the calm air at dusk, and the train gave a noticeable lurch as the wheels began to inch forward. Well-wishers on the platform waved farewell to the departing passengers as the train opened the distance between us. Arequipa began to disappear.
     The setting sun cast a mauve patina over the barren volcanic hills, painting a scene akin to the lifeless surface of Mars. Save for the clacking wheels of the narrow-gage rail cars and the animated chatter of the passengers inside, our little capsule of civilization was the only evidence of other human life on earth. Presently, a porter knocked at my door to announce dinner was being served.
     Varnished wood surfaces, maroon carpeting, starched white tablecloths, and crystal glass globes enclosing dim electric ceiling lights and wall sconces defined the decor of the dining car. Waiters in white shirts and black pants, balancing trays of food, walked with a kind of spread- eagled gate to avoid losing their balance in the swaying car. The maitre showed me to a table where, I judged immediately, an English gentleman was sitting. His tweed suit, sandy moustache, and head of tousled hair could lead me to no other conclusion.
     We introduced ourselves. Geofrey told me he was a mining engineer on his way to Juliaca, via Puno, to look into modernizing their tin mining operation. He had chosen a typical European meal — roast beef, seasoned boiled potatoes, and fresh string beans. I opted to have a Peruvian dinner. As the waiter noted my choices, I ordered seviche (marinated fish in lemon juice), biftec pamplemusa (pounded and rolled beefsteak, marinated in grapefruit juice and served with broiled pineapple rings), camotes (sweet potatoes in an orange sauce), Arvejitas a la francesa (so-called French peas cooked in lettuce leaves, small onions, and other seasonings). During the meal Geofrey inquired about the unique cuisine of Peru, one of the few countries in Latin America with a long list of distinctive national dishes.
     The train puffed its way ever upward, the wheels clicking a rhythmic pattern over the rails as the dining car filled and emptied its guests. Geofrey and I discussed the international situation over brandy until I began to feel its effect. I glanced at my watch. It was nearing 11:00 P.M. The dining car had become an after-dinner lounge as other passengers lingered over coffee and drinks. Pungent cigar and cigarette smoke dropped a hazy scrim over the car. I decided to call it a night.
     Sometime later I was awakened by the sound of the train engineer's checking the axles, bearing grease, and air brake connections between the cars. This was a switchback stop. We had reached a point where the rail line ascended steeply in a zigzag course. Presently, we started the labored climb through the cold, starry night toward our destination on the shores of Lake Titicaca.
     After the last stop I slept fitfully, feeling the effects of the altitude. My breathing was more rapid, shallow, and forced. Lying flat seemed to depress my ability to breathe deeply so I sat propped up in bed. I got up to drink a glass of water from a bottle of Agua Chuquitanta sitting on the wash stand. It seemed to help, but sleep was elusive.
     Sometime around 4:00 A.M. I dropped off into a demi-sleep. I awoke again at 5:30 and decided to get up, shave, dress, and look outside the window. The gray dawn did not allow me to see far beyond the stone walls marking property lines. As the light filtered over the peaks of the snow-capped Andes several thousand feet above the plateau, I noticed an occasional adobe, thatched-roofed hovel from which wispy smoke curled into the clear, still air.
     The train clacked onward, picking up more speed now on the relatively flat terrain. I went to the dining car for coffee, hard rolls, and orange marmalade. The smell of the aromatic Andean coffee greeted me at the dining room door, the tobacco smoke from last night having cleared.
     The train coasted to a stop in the station a little after 7:00 A.M. The cold, thin air pierced my clothing, and I pulled my parka more tightly around me. I directed my taxi driver to the tourist hotel near Lake Titicaca, checked in, and dropped my bag on the floor of my room. I flopped on the bed, gasping for oxygen, and lay there until dinner that evening. I knew I wouldn't die, for people actually lived in Puno, had babies, and appeared to thrive, although they had learned to move slowly.
     I roused myself at 8:00 P.M. and decided to try to eat something. One of the waiters produced a tabloid-size menu. I waived the menu aside, gazed at him with a last-rights look, and ordered chicken soup.
     I was beginning to wonder if the trip was worth the discomfort. By the following day, I would agree that it was an adventure of a lifetime. Three days later I was eager to continue the daylight trip to Cuzco, capital of the once-glorious Inca empire. By now I had grown accustomed to being so near the sun, although I had not adjusted completely to surviving on depleted oxygen.

Honorable Mentions

THE GIFT
By Kim Smith

Kerry jumped at the sound of the man's voice so close to her ear. She hadn't even heard the elderly gentleman's approach.

"Yes... yes... they are wonderful."

From her perch atop the hood of her rusting red Tempo, Kerry could see most of the park spread out before her. The narrow canal that separated her from the dazzling spectacle brought her even closer with its reflections.

The town had gone all out this year. The miniature lighthouse glowed and winked with a thousand drops of light. The fountain nearby alternately gleamed red, then green as it mumbled and murmured its greetings.

The main area of the park showcased a dazzling carousel in whites and reds. A life-sized manger scene was bathed in the mellow light of a single shining star attached to the eave of the structure. Small buildings, lit from within, displayed smiling bears and laughing children. A little further down the path, a joyous Santa busily packed his sleigh.

The water, dotted with gossiping ducks, rippled as the unseasonably warm wind caressed it. The lights mingled with the water in a swirling waltz of color.

Kerry's blonde hair blew wildly around her head as she waited for the gentleman to either speak or be on his way. He looked harmless enough in his weathered overcoat and run down loafers. What was left of his gray hair whipped cheerfully in the wind and his faded blue eyes appeared kind. As their silence wore on, she found herself hoping he'd stay to talk with her awhile.

When he finally spoke, she was pleased to hear hints of 'the old country' in his voice. Germany? Belgium? She wasn't sure.

"I've been coming to see these lights since they started stringing a few bulbs over 30 years ago. Back then, they only put a few in the trees and called it good. It was still more lights than I had ever seen together in one place before."

"You haven't missed a year? That's wonderful." Kerry smiled as she spoke. "I've been here a couple of times in the past few years, but this year they seem so much brighter."

"I've seen brighter years than others myself." His soft chuckle was almost snatched away by the wind before Kerry could hear it. "I've seen a couple where the lights were so brave against the darkness that I couldn't help but notice them. Still, there were years when I walked by not seeing their life or feeling their power at all. They belonged to someone else those years."

"I know what you mean," Kerry said. "They were only Christmas lights last year. They were pretty to look at, but it always felt like the magic belonged to someone else. I felt like a prying child looking at another person's gift."

"You see the magic now?" His face had taken on an amused expression. "You have accepted how beautiful they are?"

"I think beauty can be bought these days. You can purchase it at the cosmetics counter at Wal-Mart and at the local Hallmark Outlet. I wonder if real beauty can be seen at all."

Good humor gleaming in his eye, the gentleman asked, "There is beauty in the face of a child, isn't there?"

"There's real beauty in the sound of their laughter."

"Can we not see beauty in the eyes of a woman in love?"

"The real beauty lives in her heart."

"What about the spring flowers after a hard winter?"

"More so in the wind that's touched them."

"Wet snow on a windless night?"

"The feel of it landing on your eyelashes."

"A beautiful woman walking toward me?" His eyes glowed mischievously.

"Her soft giggle as she walks away."

His warm laughter bounced across the water and reverberated back to mingle with her own.

Easy silence settled between them as they gazed at the lights' soft reflection.

"Do you believe there is a God... Mr.?"

"Odiel... Odeil is fine. I don't stand on ceremony. Yes, there must be a God. It's December... almost Christmas. We are both enjoying the company of a new friend. The wind is warm and the night is bright. There are ducks on the water not five feet from my shoes. We can hear children across the way enjoying the lights. There is a swan dozing over there by the light house... only God could give us so much."

"God takes a lot from us too."

"Not more than we can bear to part with."

"Are you sure?" Kerry asked doubtfully.

"Quite sure. We are both still here, aren't we?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

"There is no supposing, young lady. At this moment, it doesn't matter what you've lost, had taken away or have carelessly tossed aside. You have been given many things as well. You are young; you seem intelligent... you can feel beauty. There are many in the world that cannot even see it. You've been given much more than has been taken away."

"It's hard to let go, Odeil."

"Why?"

"Because I'll fall."

"Where will you land?"

"Somewhere unfamiliar to me."

"Will there be children's laughter and love in your heart? Will there be wild flowers in the wind and glowing August silence? Will you have snow on your eyelashes? Will you believe those Christmas lights over there are for you too?"

"I feel as if those lights are mine this year."

"Then you have already landed... accept them for what they are." Odeil began to shuffle back toward the darkness as he spoke.

"But... what are they?" Kerry called after him.

"A gift." Odeil said. "You are feeling their magic. The beauty lies in your acceptance."

IF IT AIN'T RAINING
By Charity Tahmaseb

     Raindrops fell on Beth's sodden dinner tray. The rain formed streams around the peas and carrots and water drops beaded on the greasy chicken. At least the apple crisp was still warm, soggy but warm. The rain increased in intensity and the rest of her meal floated away.

     Somebody was going to say it; Beth knew it. If not a cadet, then one of the drill sergeants would saunter by at any moment. Thumbs hooked in the canvas equipment belt, he'd hold his head high, his face protected by the large brim of the Smokey the Bear hat. He'd appraise his cadets with a keen eye, confirming what he believed to be true. They were the sorriest bunch of soldiers he had ever seen. He'd smile that evil drill sergeant grin and say, "If it ain't raining, it ain't training."

     The drill sergeants gave the command to bivouac for the night. Thirty cadets abandoned good order and discipline in the rush to find the highest and driest spot to set up their pup tents. Sarah and Beth found a protected area among a thicket of pine trees and unrolled their shelter halves.

     Their numb fingers made it difficult to snap the two halves together. Sarah held the poles steady while Beth secured the tent pegs. They slipped into the ground. Too easy, Beth thought. The peg slid out of the saturated ground and the pole wavered.

     "I think we're going to need some rocks to hold the tent pegs down," Beth said.

     "Never mind that. Why is there a huge puddle in the middle of our tent?" Sarah asked.

     Beth studied the small lake and then glanced to where Arnold and Kevin were completing their irrigation trench, meant to direct water away from the inside of the tent. Only they really hadn't finished it. They left the two sides of the trench open, rather than connect them. The result was a flash flood straight into Beth and Sarah's tent.

     "Hey! You guys going to finish that?" Beth yelled at them.

     Arnold tossed his entrenching tool so it stuck in the ground near their tent. "No, but you can."

     "Better yet," said Kevin, "why don't you girls join us?"

    "Why don't you go to hell?" Sarah said.

     The boys laughed and crawled into their tent. Sarah and Beth exchanged glances. There wasn't much a of choice, either finish digging the boys' trench or move the tent.

    "Rocks," Beth said.

    "Go. I'll get the trench."

     She lugged the rocks back two at a time while Sarah finished with Arnold and Kevin's trench and started in on the one around their tent.

     They were the last pair to spread out their foam mats and sleeping bags. Beth arranged their boots on her side of the tent, while Sarah spread out their uniforms along the rucksacks.

    "You know," said Sarah from the depths of her sleeping bag, "if I weren't so warm, I'd go pull their tent stakes."

    "I'd be right behind you."

    "Later. We'll get them later." She sighed. "I can't believe I thought Kevin was cute."

     "I can't believe you made out with him behind the dumpster."

     "You practicing for spook school already?"

     "It's called Military Intelligence, and no, I was just curious why you kept volunteering to do my trash runs."

   "Last time I do that." Sarah laughed.

     "What so funny?"

     "I was thinking, here you are, expecting James Bond, and you end up in a mud puddle."

     "Yeah, well, my recruiter lied to me." Beth thought for a moment. "It's not the mud I mind. It's the 'what's a pretty girl like you doing in the Army?' that really gets me."

     "You can't be pretty and patriotic."

     "I swear, if I hear it one more time, I'll shoot someone."

     "With blanks?" Sarah asked.

     "You're right, that would get my weapon dirty." Beth paused and then added, "I'll wait for a live-fire exercise."

     Sarah's giggle tapered into a sigh. "You know what I hate? When guys assume I joined up to get a husband, or because I'm gay...or both."

     "A man-hunting lesbian?"

     "That's guy logic for you. Now go to sleep, Octopussy."

     "Goodnight, Brumhilda."

     The aroma of a warm chow hall breakfast woke them the next morning. Eggs, bacon, biscuits and coffee urged the cadets to dress as quickly as possible.

     "No puddles," Sarah said.

     Beth stuck her hand inside a combat boot. "Dry?sort of."

     Beth planted a foot on one of the rocks that secured their tent for the night and laced up her boot. Cursing echoed from the slope above her. She looked up to see Kevin and Arnold's tent sagging in the middle, the two support poles almost touching. The green canvas was darker than it should be, stained with water and mud.

     Beth nudged Sarah, who laughed and stomped up the hill. She leaned close to the fluttering canvas. "You boys stay dry last night?"

     Kevin crawled out of the tent on his hands and knees, wearing camouflage pants and a frown. Arnold followed, stumbling over his long legs. His mud streaked glasses obscured his eyes.

     Sarah tossed Arnold's entrenching tool on top of the shelter. The tent wobbled and sank into the mud with a soft sigh.

     "I guess you know what you can do with that," she said. When she didn't get a response, she added, "Maybe you boys should have joined us last night." She giggled and dodged Kevin's soaked camouflage top he had spun tight. It snapped at the air, missing Sarah by several inches.

    Beth was pulling her rucksack closed when she noticed an eyeglass case a few feet away. She held the mud encrusted case between two fingers. After considering it for a moment, she trudged up the slope and handed it to Arnold.

    "Thanks." It sounded like an apology.

    "You know what they say, don't you?" she asked.

    "No, what?" His brow creased behind his glasses. "What comes around goes around? Divine retribution? Bad Karma?"

    "No, I was going to remind you." She toed the soggy canvas in front of them. "If it ain't raining, it ain't training." She turned and walked back down the slope.

     Beth just laughed when the eyeglass case hit her in the back of the head.

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