Read stories from our July writing challenge winners
Sometimes writers just need a challenge to get their creative juices flowing, which is the reason why we provide online challenges each month to members of the SCWC.
The challenges (posted in the SCWC Facebook group) provide our members with opportunities to brainstorm and write pieces in a variety of different genres; winners get recognized here on the blog and the first place winner receives a small prize.
Our challenge for August? Write a short fictional story set in a beach town on the hottest day of the Summer.
We received many wonderful submissions and had a hard time picking our winners, but HERE THEY ARE!
Our top three winning entries for the July Writing Challenge are:
1st place: "The Car" by Laura Clark
2nd place: "The Beach" by Jane Mitchell
3rd place: "The Rite of Anger" by Pat Sabiston
Honorable Mention: "Hottest Day Ever" by Victoria Cole
“The Car”
By Laura Clark
The ’95 Chrysler convertible leaked when it rained. But she didn’t mind. A bleach-stained black towel crumpled against the gray velour of the backseat protected her lap on rainy days.
The faded white 2-door LeBaron was her first major purchase after the divorce. When she visited a friend at Mike’s Auto Sales, she spotted the neglected car on the back lot. The shiny rims against the dull, worn tires caught her eye from across the asphalt. The car challenged her to ignore the summer heat and walk over for a closer look. She owned the rag top two days and a small mountain of paperwork later.
Rain was the only weather that kept the shabby top closed. Well, rain and the flock of wrens that sometimes lived in the tree next to her driveway. Gracie learned the hard way the effort involved in cleaning bird poop out of cloth seats. It wasn’t a chore she cared to repeat, so the top stayed up most of the bird’s nesting season.
However, neither birds nor rain were her problem today. The radio from the student-ladened Jeep inches from her front bumper proudly declared the heat as the hottest of the summer. Gracie figured Front Beach Road’s gridlocked traffic must have kicked the temperatures up at least another fifteen degrees. Her door's
vinyl interior sizzled like a freshly oiled griddle. She reached behind her for the discarded towel without taking her eyes off the rowdy kids bouncing in and out of the topless Jeep. As the cloth stammered past her nose, she winced from the musty, foul smell of the fabric, still damp from last Tuesday’s showers. She made a mental note to remember to wash it. Until then, she’d have to deal with the stench.
Gracie spread the towel over the door and laid her arm on it. She could raise the top, but wasn’t the top down at the beach the whole point of owning a convertible?
Yesterday began her first vacation as a single woman. The next three days could’ve been a girl’s weekend, but she needed to fade into the sun and waves of the beach without the constant chatter of her friends. Unwelcome scandals shadowed her over the past year. Gracie needed the crowded anonymity of Panama City Beach in July.
Daggers from the sun waltzed with the hood’s rust spots when traffic finally began a sloth-like crawl.
Gracie could have afforded any car she wanted after the divorce settlement, but she never cared to live extravagantly. The eight-year-old Chrysler suited her just fine.
The kids in the Jeep honked and yelled at another Jeep of juveniles when they reached Pier Park. Her smile at the youthful abandonment of each vehicle’;s occupants stalled below her eyes.
Once, she was that happy and uninhibited. The tender memory made her anxious to escape the concrete sauna and enjoy waves of solitude on the sand.
A mile later, a flick of a button invited Gracie into the garage of her rented condo. She booked the single-family dwelling solely because it wasn’t in a high rise. No pleasantries in an elevator to deal with. She could walk right out the door, down a couple of steps, and onto the sand.
The blue lounge chair she had set up the day before was waiting near the surf’s edge. She had ignored a matching umbrella hanging in the garage. She didn’t want its canopy stealing the healing from the sun.
Grabbing a copy of The Glass Menagerie, a bottle of water, and a towel, Gracie made her way through the sand. Tennessee Williams wasn’t exactly beach reading material, but she liked the classics. He disapproved of her choice of literature, so she had mostly read when he was away.
Now, reading was a sinless pleasure.
Gracie arched her back to relieve the tension from the traffic as she stretched her five-and-a-half-foot frame onto the plastic chair. Sweat was already pooling around her neck and drizzling down her forehead. She wiped the moisture from her bottle across her brow, then dropped it and her book on the towel beside her.
She liked the sun. She felt the sting of its lasers lighten her chocolate hair as it darkened her freckled skin. She liked the feel of her body as the heat pulled the tension from her muscles and discarded it into pellets of water. Her mind told her to consider a move to the coast.
Hazel eyes closed, Gracie inhaled the colors of the beach. She could feel the cobalt of the waves as they grabbed each piece of sand, kidnapping them, never to be seen again in the ocean’s depths. The taste of the breeze reminded her of the last time she attempted to bake; chalky, bitter, yet flavorless. And the sun. Her sweat was now forming a silhouette on the shadow underneath her. She didn’t move as the heat broiled her skin. Her threadbare emotions desperately gripped the fire, searching for lost tranquility and peace. She allowed the sun to scorch tears from her eyes.
The evening sky over the Atlantic was chicken pox’d with white dots. Black ocean fingers targeted unsuspecting prey on the sand. A porch light a couple of condos to Gracie’s right vaguely lit a lone fisherman standing ankle-deep in the surf. She sipped her glass of tea as she watched him fish. The darkness hadn’t cooled the air. Perspiration shed away the coconut soap of her shower an hour before, yet Gracie sat on her step, relaxed against the banister. She was thankful for the liberation the sun had graciously given her today. It burned deep into her soul, confiscating the suffocation and death of her marriage. It boiled out the pain in her spirit and then caressed her body with the promising warmth of a future. And when it went to bed for the night, it sent a promising gust to blow away the ashes of what was.
It was a good day.
“The Beach”
By Jane Mitchell
She always had a hard time figuring out why everyone flocked to the beach on scorchers like today. If you weren’t in the water, you were miserable. If you were in the water, the sun was roasting the top of your head and back, so being in the water, or out in one-hundred plus temperature was miserable. Being near this many people, young and old alike made it even more unbearable, if that was possible.
She surveyed the shoreline, and contemplated the best path to the water. She needed the path with the fewest obstacles. Trying to maneuver around tents, sand castles, small creatures running on two legs, and the occasional four-legged creature that darted here and there was about to give this mother a headache.
Oh, why couldn’t she have waited just another few hours? Most of the crowd would be going inside for dinner. There would be a few beachcombers looking for the perfect sea shells. Little
ones with buckets full of half-broken shells, wanting more. Parents tossing many of them back
in the water when the small ones’ eyes were diverted to a seagull swooping down for their final catch of the day.
She continued to look around, trying to find that perfect path. If she went to the right, she would be able to go in near the guy that had the sea-doo stand. There were three beached, so that meant at least two were still out on the water. If she stretched up, she might be able to see if it looked like the attendant was ready to wave one of the smelly, motorized rides back in. If he did, then going to the right would be too be hectic with all the excitement of getting the driver to slow down enough to bring the miniature boat into shore at just the right speed to get it far enough in, and keep it from washing back out with the next big wave. If she went to the left, the trek would certainly take longer. She would need to navigate around several more tents and beach towels that were strewn all up and down this portion of the beach.
She considered it her beach. Sure, she had to share it with all the vacationers, but she guessed, by the looks of things, that she had been coming here much longer than any of them. They were all young, soft and most were turning bright pink. She, on the other hand, was brown and had more wrinkles than all of them put together. She didn’t mind the wrinkles. They were a part of living. The brownness of her skin, more than made up for any discomfort she felt when she looked at the wrinkles. She loved her skin tone. She felt that it was the prettiest thing about her at this age. It was a sign of great amounts of vitamin D and good health.
She continued to look to the right, then back to the left. No one seemed to be paying attention to her and that was a good thing. The last thing she wanted to do was to call attention to herself, especially in her condition and in this heat. If only she could get in the water long enough to cool off some.
The more she thought about it, the more she talked herself into pulling herself up and waddling down to the shoreline. Just as she made the commitment, and head to the left, a game of volleyball started up about halfway between her and the shoreline. Ugh. She flopped her overweight-self back down and groaned. There was no way she was going to try to maneuver through that bunch, with all of their running, diving and high-fiving. There was just no way.
She was burning up and needed to do something soon. She hadn’t had a drink in a while and was sweating like a stuck-hog, at least that’s how it seemed. She had sand sticking to every part of her body. Every wrinkle was coated with sea salt that the hot, dry breeze had blown in.
On top of that, was a layer of white sand, and it was hot. She had tried not to move too much, but Lord have mercy, she couldn’t help but fan herself, trying to find some relief.
Her weight in this heat was a huge deterrent. When she was in her element, she would move with ease. She stayed cool, calm and collected, but out here, the sun, the noise and the lack of water was wearing her nerves thin. If one person said the wrong thing to her, about anything, she was likely to snap their head clean off. She knew her limits and this heat and crowd had her teetering on the edge.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, she saw two of the sea-doo’s being called back to shore. Oh great. She would head for the right side of this crowd, just as soon as they hit the sand.
She may try to go ahead and start getting up. That was a job in itself. Until you were her size, her weight and had her girth, you just didn’t have a clue on how hard it was to get up from a lounging position. Many times, she would try to do the old heave-ho and do a roll to the left, then a push off and roll to the right, hoping that she didn’t push too hard and keep rolling to the right. She needed just the right amount of momentum to get all the way up, without falling all the way back down again.
She continued to watch as the sea-doo attendant motioned the vehicle up on shore. First one, then the second one. The drivers made it in without running over anyone. But with them, came the nasty fumes that rolled in like a nasty dark rain cloud. The smell of the fuel made her gag. She hated that smell and now, with her condition, it made the smell even worse. Add to that this oppressive heat, the noise of all these intruding vacationers and the inability to just walk straight down to the water, without everyone stopping and staring. Talk about pressure. She knew the minute she pushed herself up, and caught the attention of just one person, the mummering would start. It would ripple from the center and go out all directions, like a stone that had been plunked into a lake. It was bad enough that the right side of this packed beach- front was going to gawk and stare, but if anyone on the left saw her waddle out of her back-row area, they all would stop everything they were doing and follow every step she made. With her luck, even the seagulls would start their squawking, alerting even more creatures.
Well, it was now or never. The attendant was walking back to his little shed. It looked like all the sea-doos were in for a while. Now was her chance to make a run for it. She hoisted her big backside up and off she went. Ten feet, then twenty feet. The sand was scorching hot. The skin that was making contact with this fiery substance was burning, but there was no turning back. She had to get in the water, no matter what it took. She was not turning back.
She knew that the back row had seen her go by and was starting to whisper. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she caught their movement out of the corner of her left eye.
She had been here before. Onward she pushed. She had at least fifty, maybe seventy more feet to go. If only she could make it to the second row of tents, before the back row started rubber-necking, watching her backside as she swayed from side to side. If she could run, she would have, but boy, that would have caused even more of a commotion. To see something her size, just pick it up and take off running towards the waves, like a carefree, frolicking child.
She smiled a sly smile to herself at the thought of what the on-lookers would think and say if she dared to do such a thing.
But alas, in her delicate condition, she was destined to waddle, and waddle she did, as fast as she could go. She waddled ten more feet, then ten more. She knew that the whole right side of the beach was watching her. Pointing and some, she was sure, was laughing at such a sight. They even looked back to see where she had come from, not that it was any of their business.
Once she hit the water, she would be sure to not come back out until the sun went down and they all had gone in, leaving her alone on her beach.
Ahhh, the life of a sea turtle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“The Rite of Anger”
By Pat Sabiston
She was okay being alone, just not under these circumstances. Kathy was still working through the stages of widowhood grief. Anger was a surprisingly good and satisfying stopping place in the process—not having to explain herself at unexpected outbursts and allowing her to wallow in negativity.
“Great … weather you can wear,” she muttered as she stepped out the sliding glass door of the fifth-floor Gulf Front condo. The County’s text alert was direct: “Weather Advisory: Today will be the hottest day on record for this area. Avoid direct sunlight and stay hydrated. If you experience a heat-related illness, immediately call 911.”
Panama City Beach was the last place they’d vacationed, and she was pleased to get the exact accommodations where they’d planned their future to downsize to just such a piece of paradise.
But it wasn’t to be. Her husband had been so sure he’d return to her he’d defiantly walked himself out the front door to the ambulance, not once looking back and only offering a slight wave over his shoulder.
She delivered a premature anger-stage tantrum in the middle of the hospital’s ICU. Kathy had screamed a string of obscenities she never knew she had in her vocabulary at the beleaguered doctors and nurses. Drained of all energy themselves, the medical professionals worked tirelessly trying to exorcize the fluids from her beloved’s Covid-strained lungs. And just as sure as he’d walked out their door, he was gone for good.
Had he felt her lips brush his cheek as she said a last lover’s benediction?
Now, on the sun-drenched balcony, she was close enough to hear the flaps of the double-red flags warning beachgoers of the treacherous waters where rip currents could pull them to their inevitable demise.
“I paid $5,000 for this once-a-year vacation, and you aren’t going to tell ME I can’t go in
the surf!”
All afternoon, Kathy had been mesmerized watching the boiling surf pounding the packed sand much like the waters just before a hurricane’s landfall, when she thought she saw a dolphin. She narrowed her eyes and looked harder into the inky waters topped with white foam.
A speck of a man’s head was bobbing up and down like a fisherman’s lure, oblivious to the magnetic drag of the undertow. Onlookers pointed and screamed to him that help was coming. A Sheriff’s patrol car sped to the scene and stopped a few feet from the high waterline. The officers shouted to the man through a bullhorn to remain calm while a LEO in a dive suit fastened a surfboard around his ankle.
Kathy put down her book and rested her chin on the railing to watch the drama unfold.
Unbelievably, the man taunted his rescuers. He made obscene gestures as the officers teamed up for the rescue. He swung at the man trying to corral him in the waves, and spewed saltwater in his face. After about 20 minutes, the lawbreaker was secured and escorted onto the beach. Still, he wasn’t done with his antics trying to run from his captors. He dodged and weaved evading their grasps like an expertly trained dancer slathered in Crisco. So, the officers simply circled him and casually leaned against the patrol car, patiently waiting.
He shoved one officer and spit at another. And still, they waited. The man kicked at the sand, and made one last vain attempt to escape. As quickly as a shark attacks, he was handcuffed. But just as suddenly, the man dropped to his knees. The deputy let go of his grip, and the man firmly face-planted into The World’s Most Beautiful Beaches.
Later, the news would report the man had succumbed to a heart attack from his exertion in the waves, a high alcohol content in his blood, followed by his temper-infused drama. Sadly, no family or friends filed a report that he was missing.
Kathy could not break her gaze as his form was secured into a body bag and then removed from the morose scene. Little by little, the beachgoers returned to their pool lounge chairs, beach volleyball games, shell seeking, and sunning their zinc-covered bodies as if absolutely nothing life-changing had just happened. Would they respond to the Rapture the same way? she wondered.
Kathy shook her head as if to eliminate the disturbing scene from her brain. She picked up her journal, and turned to that day’s devotional in her copy of Our Daily Bread.
“Therefore now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live!” The timing of the Jonah quote could not have been more poignant, and Kathy didn’t believe in coincidences.
Had the dead man ever been loved and cared for by family? Had there been a wife?
Kathy’s husband knew all of that and more. And, she knew she’d see her beloved again. Still, she was just as certain he’d want her to live a meaningful life of purpose moving forward, but she’d been stuck as if embedded in anger quicksand.
Her gaze fell back on the page. “Then the Lord said, ‘Is it right for you to be angry?’”
Kathy swallowed hard. She looked up to the sky and was captivated by a lone seagull, swooping and diving while making circles in the warm beach air. The bird was undeterred about his future, so sure of his direction and provision.
“No, Father. I guess it’s no longer right for me to be angry,” she whispered. It felt so liberating to confess.
After all, she thought. Life is short, and eternity is long.
As she tucked herself into the massive, king-sized bed, on the side where her husband would have slept, she felt a comforting warmth envelope her. It was a sensation she’d never known, nor would ever feel again. At the same time, she remembered yet another promise from the Word and said it aloud.
“Joy WILL cometh in the morning. I’m sure of it.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Victoria Cole
Erica Brown checked the weather app on her phone again. 105 degrees. Erica couldn’t believe her eyes. She was only sixteen years old but knew that had to be some type of record for Monterey, California. She had lived here her whole life and could never remember being this hot. Since it usually didn’t reach above seventy seven degrees in Monterey, her house did not have an air conditioner and she felt like the heat was suffocating her. Most of the houses in the area didn’t have an air conditioner. Usually residents of the little beach town could just open their windows and cool down the whole house. Luckily both her parents were at work, so she was home alone. As soon as she had woken up that morning she knew it was hotter than normal, and not just with the humidity that clung to the town. The first thing she did was bring all the standing fans from around the house to the living room. Five in all. Erica found outlets all around the living room, plugged them in and pointed them all towards herself on the couch.
She lay on the couch in her bikini, trying to get the slightest bit of relief from the heat. She needed to focus on something other than how hot she was and the amount of sweat going down her back that she knew was sticking her to the couch. Erica flipped on the televi
sion to distract herself. She turned on the news and just as she had suspected they were reporting on the weather. “In a national heat wave, the city of Monterey has reached 105 degrees, breaking the record of 104 degrees set on September 2, 2017. Residents should try to conserve as much energy as possible to help prevent rolling blackouts throughout Monterey County. Residents are encouraged to stay indoors as the air quality is unhealthy for all individuals. In other news-”
All of a sudden, the house went quiet. Erica looked at the television screen which had gone black.She pushed the power button over and over on the remote control but nothing happened. With her last ounce of hope she looked at all the fans surrounding her. The blades on all of them were slowing down.
Panic made its way to the surface.
Her worst fear had come true. The rolling blackouts had affected her house. There was no way she could stand to be in this house without her fans. Erica racked her brain for a place she could go to cool down. She could go to the beach, but didn’t want to be in the direct sunlight, plus the air quality was supposedly terrible. Which eliminated any outside destination she would normally hang out at on a summer day. She could go to a restaurant but she didn’t really have the money to go anywhere. Her babysitting money had slowed down as most families were taking a summer vacation. Since her funds were low, she could also exclude the movie theater and really any other place that cost money.
Come on Erica, think. There has to be somewhere that is inside and free. Another five minutes passed as she was thinking. She needed to think faster because she was one step from being drenched in sweat. All at once the perfect location came to her.
Erica went to her room and changed into shorts and a tank top before heading to the front door. Once there she took a moment to contemplate her mode of transportation. Since she didn’t have a car, she had two options to get where she was going: her bike or to walk. With some quick thinking she decided that even though her bike may be more strenuous, it would be faster than walking. She didn’t like the idea of the hot wind blowing on her face but she would have to deal with it since it meant getting out of the heat quicker. Erica grabbed her bike from the garage and started on her journey.
Even though she hadn’t been to the library in years she still knew the way by heart. When she was a kid, she and her mom had gone to the library every Saturday. Every time they went, Erica would check out three books every time but by Thursday was begging her mom to go back for new ones. Somewhere in her preteen years she had been convinced that reading wasn’t cool and hadn’t read for fun in at least four years. Erica was more excited that she had ever thought she would be to go back to the library. Even if it was just an excuse to get out the heat.
After what felt like forever, Erica’s destination was insight. Just a few more minutes of this sweltering heat, Erica thought. She pulled up to the bike rack and chained her bike. Luckily for her, Monterey was a walkable city. Everything she needed done she could basically walk or ride her bike to accomplish. She walked into the Monterey Public Library. The air conditioning blasting in her face had never felt so good. She was surprised how empty the library seemed. She thought everyone would have had the same idea she had.
Erica stood near the front door for a moment soaking in the atmosphere. She had forgotten how exciting it was to be surrounded by books. She felt a smile creeping onto her face and she couldn’t stop it. She took a deep breath of the book scented air. She walked towards the fiction section and browsed until she found a book that struck her fancy. Erica carried the book to one of the nearby tables and set it down to stare at the beautiful cover. She had always loved the cover even as a little kid. Her mom had told her the book was meant for adults and she could read it when she was older and Erica thought sixteen was old enough to finally be able to read the book. The cover looked so serene with a white background and then a simple picture in the middle with two black silhouettes of men sitting by a lake. The title of the books was, “Of Mice and Men.” The author was John Steinbeck. Of course growing up in Monterey she knew all about John Steinbeck but had never read his work before. She opened up to the first chapter, excited to see if John Steinbeck was worth all the hype the town gave him.
Before Erica finished the first chapter she was hooked. Drawn into the world of Lenny and George, rooting for all their dreams to come true.
Erica leaned back in her chair, content with her decision on how to spend the hottest day of the year.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Congratulations again to the winners of our challenge. We loved reading and sharing your stories.
Would you like to see your own stories or other creations here in print? Take part in our monthly challenges, and we may see you here on the blog next month! (Learn about the challenges on our Facebook group, and you can always email us at scwritersconference@gmail.com with questions or for more information.)
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