The Chronicles of Harris Burdick Writing Contest Winners

It’s catch-up time here on the blog, so I’m pleased to finally present to you the winners of our Chronicles of Harris Burdick writing contest! Each of the following winners wrote stories based on one of Chris Van Allsburg’s illustrations — and will receive a copy of the book signed by Chris!

This story comes from Stephanie P.:

The cool summer breeze blew across the water and Tabitha smiled, lifting her face to it.  She swayed from side to side on the dock watching her reflection in the water.  Her family had been coming here for as long as she could remember, all of 6 years, and she loved it.  Now at a very grown up 8 years old, she knew what to expect from this small lakeside village in the Hamptons. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her white dress and tucked her light brown hair behind her ears waiting for the tapping of her nanny’s clunky shoes on the dock. She never had much time by herself, never had much time to be a kid.

The willet’s circled and cried as they danced in the breeze coming in off the ocean. Tabitha loved to see the soft grey bird’s circled flight because they seemed to dance on the wind. She took in the huge houses with emerald green lawns trailing down to the ocean and thought about how funny it was to see such wealth when so many had so little.  The sound of scraping shoes on the dock made her turn and despite what her mother had always told her, she couldn’t help but smile.

The sandy haired boy smiled back sliding his hands into tan corduroy’s that had clearly seen better days. The red and green knit shirt he wore reflected the green in his eyes and like the birds circling high above them, they too danced. She found herself unable to keep from moving toward him.

She looked into his face and felt a twinge come over her, a memory she couldn’t quite grasp, as if she’d met him before. She knew this was impossible, because as the queen of the summer season in the Hamptons, her mother knew every family, everyone who mattered. Still Tabitha turned her head to the side in wonder as she felt able to breathe again, as if she’d waited her whole life for this moment.

“Hey” he said with a lazy smile, his accent slow and southern as he stepped closer, “I’m Nate”. She felt her smile widen because somehow she had known it before he’d spoken.

“Hi, she said softly, “I’m Tabitha”.  She felt suddenly shy and would have looked down but he reached out and took her hand. “I know”. He said softly raising her eyes to his, “I don’t know how, but I know.”

She smiled as his hand closed over hers and the world began to spin. Pictures of other times, other lives, flashed in front of her eyes.  Images of Ancient Egypt and Greece, medieval Italy and colonial America danced before her until finally at the end, an image of them together on the dock in the sunlight.

She tucked his hand more firmly into hers and watched the bouncing waves.  She caught his green eyed gaze and smiled, thinking that this strange July day was absolutely perfect.

And this story is by Olivia W.:

Mr. Linden hugged my mother, shook hands with my father, and then turned, smiling, to me. “It’s wonderful to see you again as well, my dear,” he said. “My, haven’t you grown! I do believe this means you’re old enough to visit my library.”

“Are you sure?” my mother asked, her face cast in shadow by the light shining out onto the porch where we stood.

“Absolutely,” said Mr. Linden. “I think she’s definitely up to the task. We’ll go after supper, shall we?”

I smiled back at him and nodded, not wanting to give him any reason to change his mind.

I barely listened to a word of the conversation during supper. I twirled my fork back and forth between my fingers and watched Mr. Linden as he talked and laughed and moved his hands along with his words. I didn’t hear them, though– the words, I mean. My ears were on the floor in front of the last room along the third floor hallway straining to hear any snatch of a sound.

Why listen to a library? Aren’t they just filled with books, which don’t make any sound at all except when they whisper to each other in their secret book language. Ah, but you see: Mr. Linden’s library was magical. My mother and father said it wasn’t–they said I wasn’t allowed in there just because some of his books were old and expensive–but I knew better. It was me and Mr. Linden’s little secret.

After supper, Mr. Linden shooed my parents into the parlor and took me by the hand. “I’m going to unlock it for you, and then I’ll leave you to look around as long as you want. There is only one rule, but you must take great care to follow it.” We arrived at the nondescript wooden door that had enchanted me my entire life. “Can I trust you?”

“Of course,” I told him.

Mr. Linden inserted his key into the lock and turned. “You must close all of the books before you leave. Don’t want anything escaping, do we?”

I slipped into the library and he closed the door, leaving me alone with the shelves.

I didn’t sit down to read any one book for the first hour; I just flipped through this one and that one and then carefully closed it before placing it back in its space on the shelf.

Later, though, I took The Jungle Book into the window seat with me. We were staying the night at Mr. Linden’s on our way to visit my grandmother, and Mr. Linden kept my parents busy so there was no admonishing face telling me to go to bed.

As children staying up later are wont to do, however, I soon fell asleep without realizing it, the book still left open beside me. The other stories whispered to each other in their secret book-language as jungle vines began to crawl across the sentences that gave them life.

Congrats to both our winners! We’ll be holding another flash fiction contest inspired by Chris Van Allsburg’s illustrations later this year, so stay tuned for another chance to win a signed copy of The Chronicles of Harris Burdick!