WRiting Contest #4 - Rhetoric
Senior Category Winning SUbmissions
Recess Royalty
By Lancy Lan
First Place, Senior Category
“You’ll be the horse,” she said, as if it were the obvious choice.
The slide sparkled in the sun like sugar, and the swings creaked loud, almost like candy wrappers tearing open. The wooden ship drifted through a sea of crunchy sprinkles as four best friends decided to play royalty. Girls with shimmering blonde locks and sapphire eyes, or brunette hair with emerald irises, floated past, crowns glowing as if the sun favored them. The girl with blonde locks insisted I be the horse. Plain black hair and monotonous brown eyes — like a horse, trailed behind. I swallowed the lie like spun sugars gleam. Though it bit sharp. A thorn beneath the dream. Still, I trudged on, their loyal steed to their candy kingdom, pretending the affliction was part of the game.
“You’ll be the horse”
At first, I galloped as majestically as I could, imagining sugar crystals coruscating on their fancy tiaras. I pranced over marshmallow hills and chocolate chip paths trying to keep pace, but soon I noticed the differences.
The princesses leapt and pirouetted, their laughter fizzing above me like soda bubbles, light, effervescent, sparkling, commanding the candies around them. Their elation felt light and sweet; mine felt heavy and sour, though no one was bitter.
“You’ll be the horse”
Their crowns scintillated in the sun, glowing like melted honey. Passed from hand to hand, never pausing for mine. My fingers, rough with dirt and longing, ached for a sparkle that was never offered.
I told myself I would be fine without one, but my heart thudded with unrest each time another crown changed hands.
By the end, my hooves ached from trotting behind their royal luxuries, and even in a kingdom of pretend, some steps felt heavier than others. Jubilance pranced through my ribs, bounced up my shoulders and slipped from my mouth like bursting gushers — yet my hooves pressed hard into the chocolate chip paths, heavy with the weight of my work. Quiet resentment tucked itself into each trot, even when no one noticed.
Cinderella the Thief - Written Version
By Sharon Chen
Second Place, Senior Category
Cinderella sat in a miserable pile, furious at her stepsisters and stepmother because they wouldn’t let her go to the ball.
Suddenly, the air went WHOOSH! A cloud of blue glitter exploded, and there stood a woman with a glowing wand and a mysterious smile.
“Don’t cry,” the Fairy Godmother said. "I’m here to give you a choice. Do you want to dance with a Prince who doesn't know your name? Or do you want to be rich enough to never scrub a floor again?"
Cinderella wiped her nose. "What do you mean?"
"Look at this dress," the Fairy Godmother snapped her fingers. Cinderella was suddenly wearing a gown made of black silk. "It’s enchanted. You won't make a sound. No rustling, no noise. And these?" She handed over two slippers that glittered like ice. "These aren't glass. They are hardened, sharpened diamonds. They can cut through anything."
Cinderella touched the sharp edge of the shoe. "The Royal Vault," she whispered.
"Exactly," the Godmother winked. "Now, go. You have until midnight. If you stay to dance, that’s fine. But if you want the gold... you know what to do."
Cinderella arrived at the palace. She was so beautiful, the Prince immediately asked her to dance. As they twirled around the dance floor, the Prince whispered, "You are the most graceful girl here."
"Thank you, Highness," Cinderella said, but her eyes were not on his. She was gazing at the gigantic, heavy steel door at the back of the throne.
BONG! The clock struck the first note of midnight.
"Oh no! I've got to go!" Cinderella cried, putting on a look of terror. She turned and ran away.
"Wait! I don't even know your name!" the Prince cried out as he followed her.
Cinderella lost him in the crowd, and hid behind a curtain. While everyone else danced, she removed her diamond shoe and held it like a dagger. She pressed her diamond heel against the steel and pushed.
Grind, grind, pop!
"Almost there, just a little bit more… I'm done with the rags, I'm done with the chores!"
CRACK, CRACK, SNAP!
"It’s opening! Just a little bit more! I'm done with the rags, I'm done with the chores!"
With one final push, the diamond shoe cut through the steel.
SHATTER! SMASH! KABOOM!
The vault door swung wide open, revealing mounds of treasure.
"I'm done with the rags, I'm done with the chores!" And she was. She took the treasure, moved to Hawaii, bought a beachside villa and lived happily ever after. Without the prince.
Dubai, Norway, Nowhere
By Deven Mundi
Third Place, Senior Category
As I got into the car, I was already annoyed.
John was going to Dubai, too hot.
Alex was going to Norway, too cold.
And me? I was apparently going nowhere.
Mom was in the driver's seat, squinting at her credit card statement, as it had personally hurt her. She sighed. Once. Twice. Three times.
Not the best timing.
But desperate times call for smart & mischievous children.
Rule of three:
Plant the idea.
Play the victim.
Provide the solution.
I buckled my seatbelt slowly. “You know,” I said casually, “spring break is kind of important.”
No response.
“It’s like… memory-forming age. Prime nostalgia years.”
She kept scrolling. “What do you want?”
Too direct. Stay calm.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just thinking about how everyone’s going somewhere. John’s melting in Dubai. Alex is freezing in Norway. Meanwhile, I’ll be… here. Probably staring at the same four walls.”
She glanced at me. “You survive here every day.”
“I mean, we don’t have to go anywhere crazy,” I said quickly. “Hawaii would be nice. Perfect 25 degrees. Pool. Relaxing. Family bonding. But that’s unrealistic. I get it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Hawaii is unrealistic, but you brought it up.”
I sighed dramatically. Once. Twice. Three times.
“I just think,” I continued, staring out the window like I was in a coming-of-age movie, “in ten years, I won’t remember this random Tuesday. But I would remember sitting on a beach with my mom.”
Silence.
She closed her banking app.
“You are laying this on thick,” she said.
“I’d do extra chores,” I offered. “Dishes. Laundry. Even bathrooms. Three whole weeks.”
She blinked. “Bathrooms?”
I nodded solemnly. “I’m growing as a person.”
She stared at me. Then she laughed. “You are the most obvious con artist I’ve ever met.”
“But a lovable one?”
She shook her head, smiling now. “We’ll look at flights. Somewhere nice. Not Hawaii.”
Success!
I tried to stay calm, but my seatbelt suddenly felt tighter because I was sitting straighter.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, I texted the group chat:
Pack sunscreen.
3
By Miquel Fung
Honourable Mention, Senior Category
Once upon a month ago, in a place we'll definitely be the 51st state of, there were 3 kind of little pigs. Fifer, Fiddler, and Practical, with their mother… that just kicked them out, warning them of financial problems. Fifer competitively played poker, Fiddler accidentally made a pyramid scheme, and Practical became an engineer.
The financial problems caught up to the pigs, 9 people wearing sunglasses indoors, having the same facial expressions giving off confidential government vibes, and speaking through mics even though they were all next to each other.
"Let me in, let me in", the IRS said.
"I won't", was Fifer's answer, "and the door is fastened."
The IRS used a different door and taxed Fifer's untaxable earnings.
"Let me in, let me in", the IRS said.
"Okay", was Fiddler's answer, "the door is open."
The IRS came in and filed a tax because they can be bigger than fines.
"Let me in, let me in", the IRS said.
"I won't," was Practical's answer, "and the hatch is sealed."
The IRS didn't have the machinery to explode a Hobart's Funnies Sherman Crab I tank.
"Pay your loan at the bank," the IRS said.
"Okay," said Practical.
Fiddler paid the loan incredibly quickly.
"File your taxes," the IRS said.
"Okay," said Practical.
He filed his taxes.
"Pay off your relatives' debt," the IRS said.
"No, I am not legally responsible for that," said Practical, so he filed a lawsuit against the entire government and won.
The IRS couldn't find a way to legally tax extra to Practical pig, so they attempted to seize his primary asset, his Hobart's Funnies Sherman Crab I tank, but then were each brutally cut into many pieces and yes a lot of blood when they got ran over with 43 metal chains spinning rapidly at them.