2022 SHORT STORY WINNERS

FIRST PRIZE

Sam Lazure

Wolf Teeth

I know what I am.

That’s what you’ve come to find out, isn’t it? You, circling the whole truth of me like the vulture you are. And I’ll tell you, because once we were friends. Once you would have already known.

So walk with me for a while. The woods are close and the paths are dark, but I could find our way even without the moonlight to guide us. So come with me and I’ll tell you a story. The whole story. The story of what you did and what I became.

This is how it started: I was home to a wolf. Not one of those dirty, muscled dogs you see on nature documentaries, but a true wolf, a real monster. A Beast. It was a child’s nightmare of an animal: shadow-stalking, prey-hunting, heart-eating.

Most of the time it slept, nestled among my internal organs. Sometimes, when I was tired, or scared, or angry—especially when I was angry—it would uncurl from my stomach and rise. It would crawl up my throat, blocking my words, and fill my mouth with its teeth. That’s how I knew it was a wolf, by the shape of its teeth. I would think, my teeth aren’t this long. Or sharp. Or dangerous. And I would know the wolf was there.

It was a menace and a monster, yes, but it protected me. It only ever protected me.

Are you beginning to understand?

I didn’t have many friends. Of course I didn’t. Whenever I looked at my peers, they seemed small and sunken, pulled in on themselves without a beast inside to fill the hollow places. The teeth were also a problem—sometimes it would get out when I didn’t want it to, snapping and snarling.

Then I saw you, and I knew. The wolf did too. As I introduced myself it pressed against my throat, trying to get out. I should have listened to it. But, at the time, I was too enamored to heed my only real friend’s warning.

I can’t explain how I knew. You stood taller than the others, your shoulders spread like wings, your mouth curved into a sickle smile. When you spoke I could hear a faint edge to the words as they struggled past something waiting in your chest, something that echoed my own.

You know this part. You know how close we got, how we would run in the woods in the dark, laughing at the moon. How we didn’t need anyone else. How we were free and wild, with monsters curled around our hearts.

Do you understand yet?

Careful, this part is tricky. You’ll have to watch for roots. No, we’re not lost. I know exactly where we’re going.

Do you remember the day it all changed as clearly as I do? We were walking through the forest as we so often did, not lost but not found, either. Slowly, the canopy fell away, revealing a window of star-studded sky. You pulled me to the middle of the clearing, your face dead serious, your voice hushed.

You asked me if I’d ever forced the wolf out.

I laughed it off and tried to keep walking, but you were still standing there, waiting for an answer. When you got like that you were insufferable, picking the truth out of everyone and anyone.

So I told you the truth. I told you I was afraid.

You told me it was time, that it was something we needed to do, to heal. Together we stood among the shadows, and I could feel the wolf pressing against my lips. Our eyes met, and I was the first to look away. When I looked back you were already taking a few steps back, already opening your mouth.

The sickle beak came first, then its body, unfurling like a cloud of ink. It spiraled into the air, a bird like an oil spill, golden eyes fixed on the stars.

I never could back down from a challenge.

My wolf was so beautiful. Where yours was wings and talons mine was teeth and claws, fur the colour of quicksilver, eyes like burning metal. A scream in the shape of a predator. It moved like smoke, like mercury, flowing over the night-stained grass.

When it emerged it had taken all the sharp points with it. I could feel my body relaxing, adapting to the new emptiness. I filled my lungs with air and breathed easier than I ever had before.

At first I relished the feeling of my body belonging only to me. Then the loneliness became too much, and I moved to call it back.

Before I could you lunged forward. You, with your war chants and hunting howls. You, who chased the pair of them into the trees and the dark. You, who turned to me with a more gentle smile, grinning as if you’d just won.

I pushed past you and tried to follow but they were too quick, nothing but darker shades of night against the shadows.

You never did understand. I was never afraid of the wolf.

I was afraid it wouldn’t come back.

After that I felt like others looked, small and sunken. The empty places where it used to curl were like voids, like maws, and I moved carefully so I wouldn’t fall in. I still dream of it, of fur and claws and teeth.

Why now? Why am I telling you this now, after months of silence?

Observe the canopy peeling back. Observe how the moon hangs in the sky like a promise. Observe the time of night, and the clearing we’re walking into.

I’ve thought a lot about this.

In order to catch a wolf, you need the right kind of bait.

I can’t explain how I knew. You stood taller than the others, your shoulders spread like wings, your mouth curved into a sickle smile. When you spoke I could hear a faint edge to the words as they struggled past something waiting in your chest, something that echoed my own.

You know this part. You know how close we got, how we would run in the woods in the dark, laughing at the moon. How we didn’t need anyone else. How we were free and wild, with monsters curled around our hearts.

Do you understand yet?

Careful, this part is tricky. You’ll have to watch for roots. No, we’re not lost. I know exactly where we’re going.

Do you remember the day it all changed as clearly as I do? We were walking through the forest as we so often did, not lost but not found, either. Slowly, the canopy fell away, revealing a window of star-studded sky. You pulled me to the middle of the clearing, your face dead serious, your voice hushed.

You asked me if I’d ever forced the wolf out.

I laughed it off and tried to keep walking, but you were still standing there, waiting for an answer. When you got like that you were insufferable, picking the truth out of everyone and anyone.

So I told you the truth. I told you I was afraid.

You told me it was time, that it was something we needed to do, to heal. Together we stood among the shadows, and I could feel the wolf pressing against my lips. Our eyes met, and I was the first to look away. When I looked back you were already taking a few steps back, already opening your mouth.

The sickle beak came first, then its body, unfurling like a cloud of ink. It spiraled into the air, a bird like an oil spill, golden eyes fixed on the stars.

I never could back down from a challenge.

My wolf was so beautiful. Where yours was wings and talons mine was teeth and claws, fur the colour of quicksilver, eyes like burning metal. A scream in the shape of a predator. It moved like smoke, like mercury, flowing over the night-stained grass.

When it emerged it had taken all the sharp points with it. I could feel my body relaxing, adapting to the new emptiness. I filled my lungs with air and breathed easier than I ever had before.

At first I relished the feeling of my body belonging only to me. Then the loneliness became too much, and I moved to call it back.

Before I could you lunged forward. You, with your war chants and hunting howls. You, who chased the pair of them into the trees and the dark. You, who turned to me with a more gentle smile, grinning as if you’d just won.

I pushed past you and tried to follow but they were too quick, nothing but darker shades of night against the shadows.

You never did understand. I was never afraid of the wolf.

I was afraid it wouldn’t come back.

After that I felt like others looked, small and sunken. The empty places where it used to curl were like voids, like maws, and I moved carefully so I wouldn’t fall in. I still dream of it, of fur and claws and teeth.

Why now? Why am I telling you this now, after months of silence?

Observe the canopy peeling back. Observe how the moon hangs in the sky like a promise. Observe the time of night, and the clearing we’re walking into.

I’ve thought a lot about this.

In order to catch a wolf, you need the right kind of bait.

RUNNER-UP

Kei Repuszka-Proulx

Second Hand Battles

Most people think I started smoking when I was 14. Being honest, I started smoking before I was even born.

My mother smoked cigarettes when I was in the womb. And she occasionally smoked in the house when my siblings and I were younger. It got worse when my father left my mother. My older brother and sisters were rarely home, but since I was just a baby, I had to stay with my parents inside. No open windows. No doors between them and I to separate the smoke from the baby. I was inhaling smoke with every breath my fragile body took. I couldn’t go to my room to get away from it because, well.. Firstly, I couldn’t walk, and second, I shared my bedroom with them.

By the time I was 5 years old, I couldn’t do much physical activity because my lungs were already affected by the smoke that I’d inhale. Because of that lack of activity, I had gained weight much faster than all of my peers, and I got picked on for that.

By the time I was 8 years old, I had moles my first cigarette. It wasn’t a full one, and it was actually an E-cigarette- but I still remember it clearly. It was grape flavoured. I remember coughing and getting dizzy and coughing more, but grape was- and still is- my favourite flavour. So every time my mom wasn’t around, I would sneak into her room to use it secretly; she caught me one time, and she cried and I cried and she got really mad at me. And she yelled. She yelled a lot back then.

I promised her that I would never smoke again- cigarettes, vapes, or any drugs. Alcohol too.

For the next 4 years, I didn’t touch any of those things at all.

In 2016, I got put into foster care. My older siblings had already moved out by then.

In 2017, my foster parents’ grandkids stayed with us for a little while. The oldest one, a girl, was less than a year older than me; she used to smoke. Her and I were good friends.

In the autumn of that year, we were both outside together going to the park near my house, and she pulled out her vape. She offered for me to use it; I said yes.

After that first inhale, I could feel that same feeling emerge from way back in my brain. The dizziness, the coughing- it felt like opening a drawer from a filing cabinet that had always been locked before. I didn’t even know I remembered that feeling until that day. Soon after, her and I became closer and we’d go for these “walks” very often.

In the years after that, I battled with addiction, mental health issues, lost friendships, and almost lost to suicide. All of these things are a story on their own, so I won’t get into those right now.

What I will say, though, is that I’m still here. I’m a writer. A few years ago, I was so caught up in my addiction that I couldn’t even see a month into the future. I had absolutely no goals or inspirations. I don’t remember a particular turning point for me; I think it was a slow turn over the past year or so. Although, I did realize that the temporary pleasure of smoking was taking away from the permanent pleasure of doing what I love- writing.

Now, I am 17 years old, and I start college classes tomorrow. I’m still in high school, so those classes will be alongside my high school courses. When I do graduate, I’ll go to university to get a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature, Media, and Writing. I’d like to be a journalist.

Most people think I started smoking when I was 14, but after looking forward and seeing the future ahead of me, I don’t think that really matters.

2021 POETRY WINNERS

FIRST PRIZE

Morgan Sheppard

Clipped Wings

I stay low, close to the nest,

the warmth comforting.

I crave more.

The sky is a blank canvas

for my ambitions.

The blue calls me

Soar. Soar. Soar.

I take the leap and fly,

swirling through the air.

Each twist a reflection of myself,

each dip displaying my potential.

Still, I hear them on the ground–

snickering, doubting, criticizing.

My wings, not large enough.

My flight patterns, too abstract.

My heart collapses.

My wings fall, defeated.

I plummet to the ground

I look up, let the blue absorb me

Sore. Sore. Sore.

RUNNER-UP

Audrey Kawa

Arms of a Willow

If you were to walk out of a moment

It would be like walking out of a life

And Mother always said to trust but I distrust people greatly and it gets me places

That is why I am here, huddled in the arms of a willow

And his body is captured in the clutches of the Earth

Because he emerged from the city streets

He was something better

He trusted, “I can make you a star”

I watched him take hits and bruises

Heard his voice crack in the microphone on the verge of tears

My Mother said, “That boy is really something”

And I said, “That boy is really losing something”

They wrecked his soul

They drove him to his own demise in the form of a glass and a needle

Emerging from the common, being something better than average

And it landed him in the dirt

I sing only for myself and for my big brother’s grave