This month’s piece, created by @hydraart generated some incredible stories. I chose this work of art believing there were numerous stories buried within it, and I was not disappointed. Each entry took a completely different perspective on what is happening this scene. In addition to reading the winning piece below, I hope you’ll look for my Honorable Mentions post later today to see some of the other interpretations that gave this story competition for the win.
The winner for this month’s contest is…Maree Brittenford @mareebrittenford! Congratulations! If you like the story below, you may also want to check out the three books this author has published, which you can find by clicking here.
As a reminder, I celebrated the new year by featuring one of my favorite artists, @hydraart. If you’ve been following this contest, you may remember that this artist was also featured in January of 2019 and 2020. This seems to now be a New Year’s tradition, and I am happy to be able to continue it this year. If you would like to see the pieces previously featured by this artist, you can view them here:
The piece for this month was titled, “Hide and Seek.” Here it is with the winning story below:
It was a soggy, sullen sort of war. Fought over a piece of land that neither side actually wanted.
If their leaders were in a saner place then the grim swampy valley could’ve been deemed no man’s land, and left as a natural barrier between the two nations.
Instead they pushed and pulled at each other and when they gained a little ground they tried to build fortifications on the slightly firmer islands that rose a few inches above the water.
Ethel was no patriot. She didn’t see the point of wasting so many lives over such a place. All she wanted was to live a quiet life, but she was forced into the conflict, just like so many others.
Search and Rescue was what she was supposed to be doing. But it was a joke. She searched, but there was no rescue. The ones she carried back were either thrown back into the conflict or executed, depending on the colors they wore. The ones who were injured were supposed to get some kind of treatment. Mostly they just died.
The wind currents were brutal as she walked into the narrow pass between the mountains. It was part of what made the valley so unusual. Of course if a bird gained enough height they could fly across, but to get access to the valley one had to walk through the pass. It was too dangerous otherwise.
She was soon able to take flight over the mist that swooped and swirled through the valley, as if the spirits of all those killed were lingering.
She had to angle down low to even see anything through the mist, cutting dangerously close to the ground, and dodging the few spindly trees that suddenly appeared out of the mist ready to cut her down.
A movement caught her eye and she banked to investigate. Ethel’s landing on the spongey ground was silent, as silent as her wing strokes.
It wasn’t a bird, it was one of the little creatures. It cowered in the ruins of an old fort. The valley was infested with them, and most of the larger birds of prey considered them convenient snacks, but something about the way they acted troubled Ethel. She didn’t like food that looked at her with so much intelligence in it’s eyes. So she pretended not to see it and took flight again.
Perhaps some day, when the endless war was over the little creatures might make something of themselves, down there in the valley.
