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This week, we present responses to the following prompts:

Anticipation: Write a story leading up to a major event or holiday and end it before it actually happens. Try to leave your readers wondering by playing around with ambiguity and cliffhangers.

Cooking: Delicious meals are universally regarded as a labor of love. Tell the story of a recipe from start to finish: harvesting blackberries to make jam, foraging for mushrooms, roasting marshmallows — and how the experience affects the people who prepare and eat the meal.

General Writing

Prompt: Anticipation

Never What You Expect

By Kyle Emerson

Age 17, Bradford, Vt.

I can’t believe this is happening. I’m marrying the woman I love!

It’s funny how love works. It’s never the girl you think you love, but the one that’s right for you. You don’t realize it until she comes into your life. You never know it until you know her, until you know her quirks and her flaws, and love every part of her for who she is.

“Do you wish to take her hand in marriage?”

“I do,” I respond without hesitation.

The priest smiles, for he knows how I feel and is grateful for having the honor of announcing our eternal love.

She says, “I do.”

On the outside I’m calm, grinning the widest grin a man ever could. On the inside, I’m freaking out. This is actually happening! This is the greatest moment of my life! What do I look like right now? Probably like a little kid at the fair. But I don’t care. What matters is her and only her. This moment is more important than anything in my life, and I’m going to cherish it and enjoy it for as long as possible.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

I lean in.

Falling

By Tobin Durham

Age 14, Corinth

It’s Saturday night. The wind is making a moaning sound and the rain is steadily drumming on the roof. A flash lights up the room. A couple seconds later there is an ear-splitting clap of thunder, followed by a minute or two of quiet. Then it repeats itself — lightning, thunder, lightning, thunder.

Every time the room is lit up I take a couple of steps. I know it is not fast enough, but I can’t bring myself to continue forward in the dark. What if there might be another one lurking on the floor, waiting for an unsuspecting human to step there?

I make my way toward the door. Lightning, take a couple of steps. Thunder, wait for a couple of seconds. Lightning, thunder, and on and on and on. Finally, I reach the door. I grab for the knob; it is oddly warm. I open the door and step outside, where my clothes are instantly drenched. I start to run faster and faster. The farther away I can get from that thing, the better! After what seems like hours but is probably only a couple minutes, I stop and slow down to a walk. I am safe!

I take one more step… and feel the ground fall away beneath me.

Prompt: Cooking

Picking Berries

By Nora Fahey

Age 14, Bradford, Vt.

We hike, laughing and talking along the way, until we reach the top of the hill. The berries there grow as far as the eye can see. We pick for hours and compare the pounds and pounds of juicy, ripe berries.

Then we climb down the bank and back to the vehicle, piling into the old, beat-up truck that only gets used when we come up this awfully maintained road. The truck squeals to a start and we begin to roll down the road back to the house. With each bump we hit, the truck rears and groans as if it is in pain.

When we pull into the driveway, we see the dog barking and chasing chickens through the garden. We all pile out and go into the house to rinse the berries, and then begin making my mom’s famous wild-berry jam. We wash our hands and get the pots out.

“Put the berries in the pot, and then run downstairs and grab the jars and the big bag of sugar,” my mom says.

The berries begin to boil. A sweet aroma wafts from them and the air smells of blackberries and raspberries. I pour the sugar in, a cup at a time, and the scent gets stronger and sweeter. I can’t wait for my mom to make some fresh bread so that I can spread the sweet, fresh wild-berry jam on it. I add a few more special ingredients, and then I let the jam cook.

Now it is time to pack away the sweet, sticky mixture, so that this winter I can put it on my toast every morning. The small glass jars are hot as the jam fills them. I put the lids on and then let them all cool, until each lid pops (this tells me that it is sealed). I carry them downstairs to the shelf and put them away until the coming winter.

Prompt: General

Under the Lights

By Noah Anderson

Age 13, East Thetford

Friday night, under bright, white lights,

with sweat and blood in a non-stop fight.

A dirty battle until the end,

without the time to comprehend.

Giving all of your heart and soul,

trying your best to gain control.

Giving everything on the field —

never stop, never yield.