Sally Stewart
Born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1993 Sally, a sophomore at GlenOak High School, was the youngest member of the Guild for nearly a year. Originally a poet, she was the featured on Moontowncafe.com, and her poem “For Whom It Concerns” was listed as the Top Poem on the site for two weeks. Speech and Debate keeps Sally in front of people constantly, and she’s never met a microphone she didn’t immediately fall in love with. Sally believes that short stories (her main poison) keeps her from standing still, or even worse, running in place. She lives with her parents and likes cats.
The Captain’s Ship
2008 winner
They lined up at the gate at 5 a.m. By 7:30 a long line had formed and the ones in front hung from the bars. At 8 o’ clock they would start to mutter, and whisper in their turn.
The ninth hour of that day was slow in coming; the rain hard on it’s heals. The dreary men stood with head turned down, and silence over all. They waited for the eerie sound their ears strained to hear.
The mist swirled, and the clouds curled. He came upon them like a ghost. The Captain’s boots clicked softly as he paced along the line.
“My men follow to the end,” the broken sign read. But times were times, being as they were, when gold was gold and pay was pay. The cost of one’s life for the promise of a penny was a risk worth taking. The price is always high, and the reward the same on the Captain’s ship.
“A fine storm today lads,” he’d slither in their ears. He left a feeling on one’s face; a chill would run down their backs. They’d shake their heads and carry on, nothing would happen today.
Then it would start in the back of their minds. A little voice would whisper “The wind is picking up; it does look like rain…” This was nonsense, of bloody course, but a single thought is shared by lots…
“Why do you do it, Captain? Why do we come here when it storms?” The Captain watched them work and answered with a sigh.
“I ask that they follow me into the storm, and hope no one returns.”
“You want us to die out at sea?” the horrified crewmen cried. In a dripping voice the ghostly captain would whisper,
“It’s exactly what happened to me.”
Dragon Door
2008 winner
The creaking and gurgling of the Door echoes throughout the cave. Several of the monks praying there looked up expectantly. The silver panel rippled, and the hideous figures of the Door formed. When the Dragon’s intricate claws and body had been cast in the silver, a tumble of arms, legs, and flesh fell out. The flesh formed itself into a body. A young man in his late to mid teens stumbled to find his balance.
“NO! Let me go back! I-I want to go back!” He began shouting. There was a look of terror in his eyes, and his whole body shook uncontrollably. Three of the monks looked up from their prayers, the others shuffled irritably, stubborn to be undisturbed.
One of the monks rose from his straw mat. He took the irate boy by the arm and walked to the Door. The black robe clad one placed the young ones’ hands on the front feet of the Dragon. The feeble torch light cast shadows on the horrid, twisted face primarily concealed by the black coif. The teen’s stomach lurched and he squeezed his eyes shut. A toothless smile burned in his mind’s eye.
From the depths of his hood, the monk drew a glowing red stone. With grey withered hands he pressed the stone into the Dragon’s eye. A dripping creaking, and a horrid smacking sounds slithered from the silver casting. The thinnest and more intricate of the details began to blur. The face and body began to become disfigured. To his horror the young man saw his own fingers being absorbed by the silver panel. He cursed under his breath for opening his eyes. While muttering to himself about the beauty of the English country side, all of him was engulfed by the silver.
The monk ran a hand over the panel. The Dragon and the man had disappeared. With a distasteful lick of his cracked lips, the elder returned to a straw mat on the floor. The running of the Door on its track shook the cave, raising dust and making the torches flicker.
Chilling liquid splashed over the boy. There was a metallic smell, and he bit his lips to keep the taste out. He felt sick, and the sudden feeling of falling overtook him. When the idea of tumbling to his death entered his mind, the Door on which he had been riding lurched to a stop, throwing him forward into another cave. His body fell flat on the cold stone. He was conscious of blurry images advancing upon him. Wet, slimy film washed over him. He felt a twist in his stomach and bile in his mouth. A convulsion shook him and he felt no more…