WRiting Contest #4 - Rhetoric
Laureate Category Winning SUbmissions
There Was Always a Wolf
By Riley Tam
First Place, Laureate Category
Set up a stage with a lawn chair and cup of coffee. Hold the cane in hand. Walk on stage with cane, and hunched back. Newspaper underneath my armpit. Slightly groan as you sit down. Pick up the coffee. Take a slow sip.
Oh.
Pause
I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got something to tell you.
My name is Richard Jefferson and I am seventy-nine years old. I was a lawyer for thirty-two years and I want to tell you the story, about the three times someone tried to save my life.
Hold up three fingers and hit the cane on the floor once.
The first time, I was forty-one years old. It was a late afternoon, sitting in my cubicle on the eleventh floor, staring out the window, thinking of how best to represent my client. My-coworker Michael dropped a thick newspaper on my desk.
Drop the newspaper on the ground.
“Richard, actually take a look at this. Magnitude 9.6 earthquake. Scientists say it’s the biggest earthquake we’ve ever seen and it’ll run all the way up to Canada. They’ve been saying it for decades, but nobody’s listening"
I picked the newspaper up, flipping through it carelessly.
“Michael,” I said, “They’ve been saying this since the 70’s for a reason. If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now.”
He shook his head and walked out. I went back to my case.
Take another sip of coffee.
The second time came from Daryl Coleman, my best friend since kindergarten. He worked as a civil engineer, spending his life creating the foundations of new highrises.
He called me one evening, saying “Rich, I need you to listen to me.”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve been running tests across the city. All of downtown Portland is going to fall during a major seismic event. Do you know what’s under us? It’s loose soil. Sand and landfill. The earthquake will turn all of it to liquid. Your family needs a plan.”
My arrogance remained. “Darryl, you’re an engineer. Of course, you have to overthink everything. If it was that bad, the city would’ve done something.”
Darryl hung up. He never hangs up.
I should have called him back.
The third time was my wife Elena. She was always smarter than me yet I never admitted it.
She began by placing articles on my nightstand from magazines to more scientific reports. Each one said the same thing, “The Big One is coming.” “The Big One is coming.”
One evening, during Oregon’s football game against the Huskies, she asked “Richard, can we switch channels to the news? I think the government is making some sort of announcement about the Big One. We should make a plan, get an emergency kit, do something-”
I cut her off. “Elena, the scientists have been crying wolf for forty years. We are fine.”
I continued watching football.
At 10:49 that Sunday morning, the earth proved me wrong.
The 6 minutes that followed were a blur. I can only remember ending up in my backyard, bones shaking, holding my wife tightly. The ground still vibrated. But my beautiful city, the one I had spent my whole life in was…
Pause. Swallow.
Unrecognizable.
And Darryl…was doing a site assessment by the waterfront that Sunday morning. On the loose sandy soil, he’d warned me about.
Pause for longer.
Hold up three fingers.
I was given three warnings. Michael. Darryl. Elena. You know the story of the boy who cried wolf? Everyone says the lesson is, don’t lie or else no one will actually believe you when the wolf comes.
But after seventy-nine years, I’ve done some thinking. We don't actually know the boy.
The boy cried wolf three times. Three times. And then the wolf came.
So maybe the lesson isn’t just about the boy.
Slowly point the cane around the room. Rest it back down.
It’s also about the villagers who stopped listening.
Pickleball Hero
By Eric Miao
Second Place, Laureate cat
A hero arises. A pickleball hero. Not the hero prophesied in ancient scrolls, but the kind forcibly dragged out of the house by his mother. Me.
I had already heard enough at school to know what pickleball was supposed to be. A senior sport—but not high school seniors—senior citizens. Retirees in sun hats with sunscreen smeared across their face. I had never touched a pickleball paddle, didn’t know the rules, and had zero interest in forced bonding.
We pulled into a gravel lot beside a formidable warehouse. This, I was told, was where heroes are made.
The first trial was easy. Two grannies stood in front of me. The ball floated, the rallies were slow, and they apologized whenever they won a point. The organizer asked if everyone was “having fun”. Oh yeah, this was real fun… I was barely moving and still winning. My assumptions were confirmed. This wasn’t a real sport. This was exactly the cakewalk I had expected.
The second trial was against a middle-aged duo. The ball stayed lower, the rallies stretched, and the apologies disappeared. I started running, sweating, and missing shots I thought should be easy. My legs burned. Keeping up was a struggle. But, 11-8. Tight win!
The final trial seemed a sure thing: two geriatrics stood on the other side of the net. Easy win, but they were quiet and serious-looking. No smiles. Fully confident in their abilities. Their returns had little power, yet every ball came back no matter how hard I hit it. They were an efficient machine. Then, smack! There the ball went, grazing past my leg. I had lost.
On the way home, my mom called me her hero—not for my performance, but for coming out with her. I’ll take it.
The Three Californian Chickens & the I.C.E. Pig
By Nathan Wong
Third Place, Laureate Category
Once upon a time in Los Angeles, California, a working-class Latino chicken had three chicks. As they lived life in the slums, they followed three different paths: one was a tradesman, the second a lawyer, and the third joined the Venetian Boardwalk Reds, who were constantly fighting Crips who tried to sell on their terriotry.
One day, the first little chicken was working on a roof when an I.C.E. pig came along and said, “Little chick, little chick, show me that you’re a citizen.”
The little chicken pointed at a police officer and said “I wouldn’t even show my passport to him.”
The I.C.E. agent replied with, “Then I’ll gah-ruff and puff and bring ur illegal butt in!”
The little pig then ran to his brother, the lawyer, and said, “That dude is trying my throw butt in the bin, even though I’m a citizen.”
The lawyer said to the I.C.E. agent, “I know this, and you know this too: the law says trying to arrest my brother is stinky poo.”
The I.C.E. pig was angry. “To me, the law is something very new, so I’ll gah-ruff and puff and bring ur illegal butt in, too.”
The brothers then ran to the third brother, who was hanging out with the Venetian Boardwalk Reds. The I.C.E. agent said “Look at this little brown chicken bum! Worse than the worst criminal scum. So, I’m gonna gah-ruff and puff and bring ur illegal butt in.”
The third chicken casually replied, “Your racist stuff is done, and do you know why? BECAUSE I’VE GOT THE BIGGER GUN.” The Venetian Boardwalk Reds pulled out their guns, too.
And the I.C.E. pig ran away screaming “Once we elect Erika Kirk, I’ll get my revenge and a bunch of new perks”.
And they all voted for Bernie happily ever after.
The Rescue of Rapunzel
By Ellie Lee
Honourable Mention, Laureate Catory
In a forest stood a tower wrapped in ivy and sunlight—no door, no stairs, just stone reaching the sky. [Look skyward.] At the top of that tower lived Rapunzel. She lived with Mother Gothel, the woman that saved her when she was a baby. Gothel believed the king and queen planned to take advantage of their newborn daughter—Rapunzel.
So when Rapunzel was born Gothel made her choice. [Hold the baby in your arms, whispering.] “I will be the one you can trust,” she whispered, holding the baby close. “I will be the one they fear.” So she took Rapunzel to the high tower, to keep the world out. Gothel taught her songs, stories, and laughter.
On Rapunzel's birthday, floating lanterns drifted across the sky [See the lanterns drifting!] beyond her window. Rapunzel dreamed of going to the lake to watch the lanterns. [Increase volume and intensity]One day, a thief named Flynn Rider, ran from the guards and found the tower. With nowhere else to go, [Looking side-to-side as if for a hiding place.] he cried for help. Hearing him, Rapunzel looked out her window. Rider called out, [Looking up.] “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” She was hesitant at first, yet after seeing the royal guards, she lowered her hair [Act out the lowering.] and let him in.
At the sight of each other [See each other.], both fell instantly in love. Rapunzel was confessing that she’d never been outside, when she heard Gothel yell, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” Not wanting to be found out, the two climbed out a different window. Flynn and Rapunzel retreated to her parents, who in their joy, [celebratory gesture!] threw a celebration for the return of the king and queen's lost daughter. And everyone but Gothel lived happily ever after.