Congratulations to Michelle Weidenbenner who won the February writer’s Challenge with her delicious story “A Vision in a Kiss”:

Mom and Dad could peek at Trae and me from the kitchen window of our new home, but we didn’t have anything to hide.

Yet.

We were taking a break from unloading moving boxes—my parents had insisted. I couldn’t believe our permanent home would be a few blocks from Trae’s.

He sat across from me at the wooden picnic table the movers had placed in the shade under the maple tree in the backyard. The humid summer air clung to our skin and made Trae’s tan glisten in the fading sunlight. He blew up at his wavy, tousled blond hair that had fallen out of his cap and onto the sides of his flushed cheeks. I welcomed the sun’s descent almost as much as the sweetness of Trae’s smile. I sipped my Coke, feeling the fizzle of energy on my tongue and tasting the jolt in its bite. Trae reached for my hand that rested on the tabletop. He paused, and brushed his fingertips to mine. “Happy birthday, Willow. Sweet sixteen.”

“Not until tomorrow.”I winked.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” I leaned toward him.

He folded his arms across his chest and smirked. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. You have to wait until our official date tomorrow night.”

I reached over, snatched his U of M cap off his head, and darted around to the side of the house. He sprinted after me. I dodged the rose bushes and tripped on the hose, lost my balance, and fell in the wet grass. He slid beside me like he was stealing second base and sat so close I hoped hecouldn’t smell my sweat-basted pits.

He grabbed his cap back, smoothed his hair, and placed it on his head. “You thief.”

“I’ve wanted to do that all day.” I grinned.

He bent his head toward me, staring at my lips. I couldn’t move—didn’t want to move. He gently touched my chin. “I’ve wanted to do this all day.” The speckles of grey in his blue eyes seemed to change—almost light up and twinkle. His peppermint gum blended with the scent of the nearby roses. My heart raced. I wanted him to kiss me, but I didn’t. Not if it meant seeing the girl again. I closed my eyes and felt his lips moving toward mine. Inside, joy exploded into a million little fireworks in my head and sizzled down to my toes. Please let this time be different. I shut my eyes ready to flinch, but hoped I could hold on.

He whispered. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, holding my breath and feeling the hotness of his lips close to mine.

His arms encircled me and I felt the courage in the risk of his hold.

When his lips pressed against mine, a light beneath my eyelids shined like the bulb of a camera’s flash, then clicked off, leaving only darkness. And just when I began to revel in the electricity of his kiss, a dim spotlight illuminated the girl and a vision played like a slow motion video.

Dark shadows passed over the grey concrete floor where she sagged in a chair. She looked about six-years-old. Her head hung limp and her strawberry blonde curls fell onto her chest, covering her face. A red backpack lay on the floor beside her. Her thin arms, tied behind her back, draped the sides of her seat. The dank scent of putrid mold and animal feces permeatedfrom the ground, seeping up like black fog, filling my nostrils and smelling like death. I wanted to scream, but no sound came. Then it did. My shrill voice echoed off the walls. “Someone help the girl!” Her head bobbed up like it was too heavy to lift. Her dazed eyes locked onto mine. Igasped. She looked familiar. Who was she?

Someone shook me. “Willow!” Trae’s voice.

I gasped for air like I’d been running, opened my eyes, and saw the power in Trae’s eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Pulling away from him, I let my arms fall to the side. My whole body shook. “Did you see her face this time?”

He nodded. “She looked up when you screamed. You know her, don’t you?”

“She looks familiar but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before. Who is she?”

Trae shook his head. “I don’t know, but…” he reached for my hand, hesitating. Probably because if we touched again we’d see her like we had the last three times. But there was something else. He paused.

“What?”

He whispered, “She looks like you, only younger.”

Michelle Weidenbenner  – http://www.randomstorygenerator.com

Are you a My Book Therapy Team Member? Take part in the March Writer’s challenge!
We’re looking for CONFLICT. If you’ve written a great ARGUMENT, less than 700 words, we want to read it!!!  This contest is for Team Members only. The winner will be posted on the Friday Blog, April 6th, and will be recognized in the monthly MBT Chalktalk!! In addition, all participants will be entered in a drawing to receive their choice of the MBT workbooks! Submit your story by March 30th on the MBT Writer’s Challenge Form.
PS – All entrants receive 49 points, and the winner of the challenge earns 210 points from the Booster Club. (Earn points to receive gift certificates to use in the MBT store!)