Published: 7/14/1999
Types: Arts, Literature
by Paul L. Bancel I felt a rush of chill air as I opened the door and stepped up onto the silver running board. The Expedition was one of the behemoth SUVs. It was August. The air conditioner was blasting. I crunched my long legs under the dash and wedg...[MORE]
Published: 7/14/1999
Types: Arts, Literature
by William Bulkley Monk clunked at the box, his fingers, fists and elbows raining quirky dissonance from the keyboard, angry, crying, laughing, screaming, yet, at the utmost, swinging, swinging all the way. The room hushed, every ear straining not to mi...[MORE]
Published: 7/14/1999
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
the african american experience by Ella N. Singer 1 the african american experience is thick like molasses brown and bitter sweet sticks to the roof of your mouth like...[MORE]
Published: 7/14/1999
Types: Arts, Literature
by Randall Garrison At night the rain turns to oil. It sticks and glistens to the street. Tonight the neighborhood is dark and there is no sound except the sound of the bats. Nobody walks. Nobody even drives through anymore. At the edge of the ne...[MORE]
Published: 7/14/1999
Types: Arts, Literature
by Christina Parmelee I woke to the sounds of whistles and young children screaming. I rubbed my eyes and groaned, must be Saturday. Every Saturday one of the blasted schools near my apartment plays one of its silly games. One minute I felt normal and t...[MORE]
Published: 7/14/1999
Types: Arts, Literature
by Curt Waugh Lloyd stared at the wall, disinterested. Always disinterested. He tossed the ball, bounce, bounce, catch. Whatever. Turned it over in his hand. Gave it a look. Smelled it. Toss, bounce, blah, blah. It was his usual mode of operation. He ha...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature
It seemed to have been taken right out of some stupid conversation my friends and I would have. — Stolen Lines judge Eric C. Novack is author of local cult novel Killing Molly and publisher of Elitist Publications. Nitpicking A. Zayne Tawil, Livonia Stolen Lines, Grand Prize “Spid...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Maps Doug Tanoury, Detroit Honorable mention, Poetry Sister Antonina’s map Of the world worked Like a large window shade That pulled down And went up noisily In true window shade fashion, Its roller turning made the sound Of a morning dove cooing, and The map’s fabric winding up Were win...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Centri Sociali Romani (Roman Squats) Laurie Smolenski, Detroit Honorable mention, Poetry we occupied an abandoned meet packing plant, where ghosts of slaughtered cows haunted hallways that we would later paint in kaleidoscope murals of one thousand rainbow shades. we built stages and sound system...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Bubble Wrap and Packing Foam Matt Sadler, Detroit Third Prize, Poetry And what did you do with yourself today? The sun closes its empty eyelids, the unemployment line breaks for a meal, the janitor jangles his giant ring of keys. Doesn’t it seem he could unlock anything? Why doesn&rs...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
For Buzzy Karin Hoffecker, Birmingham Second Prize, Poetry This autumn afternoon, one of red and gold fire in the canvas of the sky, I thumb the photo, Easter Sunday 1960, you, brother, dressed in gray flannel trousers, jacket, boxy bow tie. We smile hand-in-hand, my white crocheted gl...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Raymond Carver once wrote in a poem of his own, “Make use of the things around you.” The poet behind “My Father’s Song” and “For Buzzy” makes use out of such universal themes as melancholy and loss and guilt and brings forth the “thinginess” of t...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature
The Day the Ice Cream Talked Back Jules Deward, Royal Oak Honorable Mention, Fiction It started out as a great idea, after all. Technology had finally given her the ultimate answer for quick weight-loss woes: The Calorie Counters. She had watched the infomercial with insatiable attention, and for...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature
The Fifth of May Lori K, Redford Third Prize, Fiction I knew I’d find a pen in her purse. I knew Danielle had one — a blue ballpoint Bic pen with bite marks on the tip. I’ve dove my hand into many a strange purse to know exactly where to feel for my salvation — underneath the wallet, ...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature
The business of fiction is to create a world so similar to the reality we live in that you cannot see the thin line between what is real and what is not. This story, with its different point of view, recounted the life of an anorexic character, and I feel a tremendous empathy with her. The journal...[MORE]
Published: 7/26/2006
Types: Arts, Literature
This story gave me something to think about: the fragility of life and changes that could turn our lives around in a couple of minutes; the honest description of the struggle of an average citizen who gave himself the opportunity to step into someone else’s shoes for a moment.— Short Fic...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature
Glenn Forter, Detroit • Runner-up, Fiction He stood in the dark room peering through the dusty window. A spider busied itself in the corner of the pane, carefully weaving a silken web, strand by glistening strand. The early light toyed with the silky threads, dancing shadows across t...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature
Matt Sadler, Detroit • Runner-up, Flash Fiction Pastor Anthony is sleeping with Barbara down the street. We can tell by the choirs of angels singing music above her house. You have to admit, choirs of angels (even just one choir) hovering above a house, with their multitude and their...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature
Maria Maniaci, Sterling Heights • Grand Prize, Fiction Faster. You need to go faster. Through the streets and down to the Malecón, your bare feet slapping the pavement. Car horns bleat and music blares from doorways and open windows. The two of you twine in and out of traffi...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Stephanie Antonian Rutherford, Portage • Honorable Mention, Poetry> A pile of black strands on the bamboo floor. My abandoned hair, from a night of unconscious twisting, braiding and rebraiding, offers itself as evidence of my maniac vanity. My hair has a memory. A weight. It began wi...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Michael J. Barney, Dearborn Heights • Runner-up, Poetry Why should I ode you, odious wretch, wrecker of the still velvet night, blotter-out of stars, despoiler of dreams and mysteries; you who heave your honeyed laser-beam of light deliberate as a drill-bit into my innocent eyes; yo...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Butcher Black, Detroit, Runner Up, Poetry LAMP ABANDONED when once the sun’s promise escaped the famous form. Among the nothing singers: shafts and canyons, steel cactus, skull and stars. ...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Cynthia Bostwick, Port Huron • Runner-up, Poetry This year, as every year, the lake ice in the gray river floats south. Lower down it will jam and lock tight the channel. No ships will move and docks will break with the press of it; nothing can stop the ice from deepening, widening a...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature
Donald Levin, Ferndale • Grand Prize, Poetry Every midnight when we leave our small room in the boarding house basement where we stay beside the lumberyard in Hazel Park we drive to Birmingham, to finish the night inside an empty theatre. We clean. We pick up what the rich leave beh...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature
Nevada Scheffler, Royal Oak • Grand Prize, McOndo Ten a.m. on Sunday, a half-caf soy steams morning crust from my eyes, though I’d tossed with adrenaline the night before — the night I knelt and asked that old-fashioned thing my forefathers had asked all the way back to the...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature
Erik V. Wicks, Royal Oak • Runner-up, Flash Fiction Viktor Donaldovitch, never a cheerful sort, was in an unusually sour temper. He was curator and director of the Museum of Giant Stalin Statues, and the job was not going well at all. Donors were getting hard to find; only American...[MORE]
Published: 7/27/2005
Types: Arts, Literature
Tom Driver, Croswell • Grand Prize, Flash Fiction The guys from the shop are over and dismantle the wood chipper. They dig a hole by the back yard fire pit and bury it. “Shit steel — thin gauge,” Lou says. “Cheap screws — stripped threads,” Frank adds. ...[MORE]
Published: 8/25/2004
Types: Arts, Literature, Poetry
Empty Structures Anne M. Rashid, Detroit, 1st place When there is nothing left of this city that you remember, write it down. Pick up the pieces of old Hudson’s, the last department store on Woodward, the chandeliers that hung over the perfume counters, the intricate railings that took you...[MORE]
Published: 8/25/2004
Types: Arts, Literature
The Sad Little Pen (As Told by a Jerk) A. Zayne Tawil, Livonia, 1st place The thousand-dollar fountain pen was beautiful and dignified, but he never got to write anything. His owner wanted to protect his investment, so he kept the fountain pen locked in a shiny glass box and never let him anyw...[MORE]
Published: 8/25/2004
Types: Arts, Literature
First Place Patrick Dostine, Harper Woods Killing Time My Uncle Albert and my dad announced we were going to the dump. So my cousin, my brother and I raced back to the cottages to get our pellet guns. The three of us hopped into the back of my uncle’s big pickup next to the garbage b...[MORE]
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