One Read Writing Contest Winners

As part of this year’s One Read program, we invited you to take inspiration from Shelby Van Pelt’s “Remarkably Bright Creatures” and write something from the point of view of an animal, in 250 words or less.

Thank you to everyone who entered and shared your poems, essays and stories.

Our two winners are Joei Asher-Smith and Alyssa Holland. Honorable mentions go to Taryn Duffy and Shelby Guag.

We are excited to share these stories with you!

The Warmth of the First Spring
By Joei Asher-Smith

I stretched awake, snuggled in the deepest edge of the burrow. Mommy says that’s safest for me.

Mommy?

I looked around for the warm presence I was craving. She isn’t here?

Poking my nose through the fresh blanket of snow covering the entrance of our burrow, I hope to catch her familiar scent. Is she waiting for me outside? She told me to never wander far but she did. I’ll bring her back.

I followed her pawprints, nearly hidden by the new snow.

Mommy?

Only the wind answered back, sending chills down my furry spine. My tail twitched from the cold, but I have to continue.

The path isn’t unfamiliar; I passed our old burrow and the clover patch we used to eat at. She isn’t here, either.

Her footprints stop suddenly by a tree. I smell her, I smell mommy!

Following the faint scent, I walk around the tree to find a small tuft of fur. This is mommy’s fur, she was here.

The wind roars, picking up. It’s too cold. Mommy, where are you? You always keep me warm.

I curl up close to the tree. She’ll find me. She always does. My ears and paws are cold. I rest my eyes, for only a moment.

. . .

I open my eyes to a familiar figure wrapped around me.

The snow is gone; warm sunlight pours through the trees. Flowers litter the ground, and the air smells like spring.

Mommy rests her nose against my forehead. Finally, I’m home.

 

A Bed Bug’s Defense
By Alyssa Holland

Dear Landlord,

I am writing in regards to the eviction notice you served me in the form of the pest management company truck I saw in the driveway this morning.

I must ask – in the animal kingdom, who makes a more considerate roommate than me?

I do my best to live around you. You work a day job. I only walk the house at night, silently. At four millimeters, I am barely visible to the human eye. You would not even know I was here, save for the minuscule red bumps on your legs.

Did you know that almost half of the human population has no reaction to my bite? Naturally, I had hoped you would be part of that portion, but is it my fault that you are not? And even when I do bite, I do so while you sleep. I inject a mild anesthetic so I do not wake you. The whole process takes a mere five minutes.

I do not spread disease. That is more than can be said of the goldendoodle you feed and fawn over and allow to sleep in your bed. Yet you lump me in with “pests,” as if I were in any way comparable to a Lone Star Tick or a buzzing mosquito with a stinging bite.

All of this to say: as the owner of the house, I will respect your decision. But good luck finding a roommate as thoughtful as me.

Regards,
Your Soon to Be Exterminated Tenant

 

The Grove
By Taryn Duffy

The earth tells me something is coming. I feel two distinct rhythms travel through the warm soil. One steady. One slower stopping every few steps. I lie still beneath the waxy leaves, my belly pressed against the cool dirt where the sun cannot reach.

Above me, the trees are heavy with sweetness. Orange hangs in the air…. Blossoms, bruised fruit, the bitter scent of a peel split open on the ground. I taste it all. Damp earth, Warm bark… and now, something new.

Them

Their voices arrive before their shadows. One speaks more than the other. Their feet crunch against the path, sending small tremors beneath me. The quieter one stops nearby.

A shadow steals my warmth.

“Watch where you step. We sometimes see snakes in the grove.”

The footsteps change. The quiet one shifts. Slowly now. Carefully. Both faces turn downward toward me. I do not move. For a moment, they search the fallen leaves, the tangled roots, the patches of sun between the trees. The quieter one peers beneath a low branch.

Close. But not close enough.

The other begins walking again. After a moment, the second follows. Their voices soften. Their footsteps fade.

Sunlight finds me once more. I slide beneath the leaves and across the path they have left behind, tasting oranges on the air. The grove is still again.

 

The Second Cup
By Shelby Guag

I’ve guarded The Lady for seven years. The Lady doesn’t speak or move. She also doesn’t mind when I perch on her shoulder.

The woman started showing up not long after The Lady first arrived. The first time the woman visited, I saw her from a long way off, making her way through the uneven grounds, a coffee in each hand. I thought at that time that she was coming to meet someone, as I’ve so often seen humans do. Instead, she came straight to The Lady. When she got near enough to see me, her face turned to shock and she shooed me! I thought it was quite rude, but I flew away anyway. Not far, just to a nearby tree so I could still watch her. She sat one coffee on the hard stone at The Lady’s feet, and she cried.

Since then, she has returned every Thursday. I know it’s Thursday because she always says “It’s Thursday again!” or “Happy Thursday”. She doesn’t seem particularly happy, even when she laughs or smiles and sets the second cup of coffee on the stone.

Today, the woman throws me a bit of bagel. She says “Your sister got the job. I know you’d be proud of her.” After some time, she leaves. She makes her way past the many other stones that other people sometimes come to visit. It’s strange how they all talk to someone who cannot answer. I can’t answer either, but every Thursday, I listen.