Congratulations and a great, big thank you goes out to all of the creative writers who rolled the dice for a library writing adventure! We were thrilled with the entries received for Kenosha Public Library's first ever Dicey Plots: A Library Writing Adventure challenge.
Writers were given a dice and an adventure sheet with writing prompts for possible story characters, settings and conflicts or problems. The roll of the dice determined the starting point, but our writers took us on the real journeys. We loved the imagination and wittiness shown in every story to get those dice rolls to shine through on the page. It's not easy to brainstorm just how that sick royal ended up on the wrong bus! So kudos to all those who rolled with the challenge and turned in stories for us to enjoy.
And now the winning story in each category, except teen because there were no entries in that age group.
Kids 6-12: Bob Wishes by Frederick
One day Bob the duck was walking along in the forest when he saw an injured fox laying on the path. Bob was a little scared of foxes but he decided to help anyway. He saw the fox had a thorn in its front left paw, so he carefully pulled it out and ate it (he was hungry). The fox got up.
“Hi, I’m Jxbol, but you can call me Jack. I’m a magic fox, and when someone helps me I give them three wishes. So here you go! Just think the wish in your head and it will come true!” Jack said.
“Wow, thank you.” Bob replied. “What should I wish for….. hmmm…..”
Jack said “I’ll leave you to it, bye! " and teleported away. (Remember, the fox was magic.)
At home, Bob decided he should wish for a best friend to wrestle with. The next morning a cat showed up at his door and they became best friends.
Later, Bob found out where the cat came from. The cat used to be a house cat tabby but now was Bob’s friend and a Siamese. So Bob eventually decided to wish for the cat to return home.
And for his last wish, he was hungry again so he impulsively wished for the most yummy potato ever and started a potato farm where everyone could enjoy his potatoes for free. The end.
Family: Nessie's Birthday Cake by The DeCarlo Family
Farmer Cyrus loved his family and he loved his dairy cows. Of all his cows, Nessie was his favorite, and every birthday, he gave her a special cake made with apples, blueberries, bananas, corn, greens, leaves and oats. He never forgot her birthday. And Nessie remembered he never forgot.
Nessie, with her black sea-monster shaped spot, was one of his prettiest cows, and Nessie knew it. She had won first place in plenty of county fairs, and this year, Farmer Cyrus was going to enter her in the Wisconsin State Fair for the first time. He drove down with Nessie from his farm in the Driftless Region and dropped Nessie off at the state fairgrounds. As for the cake, Farmer Cyrus had brought it along and asked the officials to keep it cold and fresh in one of the fairground refrigerators.
Then he checked into his nice hotel room in West Allis. He was ready to relax. He kicked up his feet and enjoyed a good night's sleep. In the morning, he brushed his red beard, put on his favorite cap and ate a hearty breakfast. He was just about to drive down to the fairgrounds to see how Nessie was when his phone rang. It was Clare, his sister, stuck at the Milwaukee Airport.
“Help,” she cried. “My ride got canceled and I need someone to pick me up.”
Cyrus scratched his head. “Can't somebody else? It's Nessie's birthday, and I can't forget her cake.”
“I've tried everyone. And you know I don't want to miss Nessie winning a prize.”
“Fine. I'm coming.” He got into his pickup truck and drove to the airport.
Meanwhile, in her pen that morning at the fairgrounds, Nessie was feeling fine and frisky. It was her birthday! She just knew. But where was Farmer with her cake? He was supposed to have come thirty minutes ago. She mooed. Nothing. The keepers tried to soothe her with some oats.
“Don't worry,” they said. “Your farmer got tied up and told us he'll be here soon.”
Nessie stamped her hoof. This was not what she wanted to hear. Where was Cyrus and her cake? She waited ten minutes. Then she grew impatient.
Nessie opened the pen gate with her strong tongue and ran out, bursting the ropes. At first she walked around the stalls, mooing and searching. None of the other cows had seen her farmer. The humans gave her funny looks and asked where her owner was.
They tried to catch her, but Nessie wouldn't have that. She ran away and found herself on the midway among the noisy rides. Where was her farmer? The more she searched, the madder she got.
Nessie rampaged the fairgrounds. She scared the other animals. She charged through the agriculture exhibits. She burst through the shops. She overturned the games. She raged through the food stands, snorting and sniffing. Everywhere she rampaged, people ran pell-mell, screaming, “AAAAAHH! Someone catch that crazy cow! Nobody said the state fair was dangerous!
Even the security couldn't catch her, though they ran and chased her in golf carts.
The head fair security guard called Cyrus.
“Sir, we really need to contain your cow! She is destroying the fairgrounds.”
“B-but I'm stuck in traffic! I had to pickup my sister.” He grew redder than his beard.
“If you can't come immediately, we will charge you with damages and disqualify you both.”
Farmer Cyrus grew pale. He gripped the wheel. He was still ten minutes away. There was no stopping Nessie when she was mad. And all because she wanted that cake.
“Play her music! Wait, you can find her cake in the—”
“Oh, no. We've got a report she's about to destroy the cream puff stand!” Click.
Not the famous State Fair Cream puffs! Cyrus moaned aloud. The state fair was going to be ruined, all because he forgot to give Nessie her cake first.
“Move over,” Clare said. “I won't let the state fair get trashed because of me.”
They switched spots and Clare took the wheel. She was a race-car driver. She zoomed off the highway, ignoring speed limits, careening around corners, chased by cops, their sirens blaring and she got them there in five minutes flat.
Cyrus, Clare and the cops found Nessie by the chaos of the destroyed cream puff stand, pawing like an angry bull and not a nice cow. They were about to shoot her with tranquilizers! The guards aimed. Cyrus covered his eyes.
Then a country band performing at the fair started to play. Nessie stopped instantly, soothed. In that moment Farmer Cyrus rushed to the fairgrounds' kitchen fridges and found Nessie's birthday cake, Clare running behind him, grabbing handfuls of vegetables and fruit.
Clare chucked the produce at Nessie.
Farmer Cyrus put the cake in front of her. Nessie stared at him, angry. She wouldn't eat until he sang “Happy Birthday”. She mooed thank you and chomped her cake
Farmer Cyrus winced at the damage left in Nessie's wake. Mad people stared at him.
“I'm really sorry, it's all my fault.” Farmer Cyrus sagged. “My and my dairy farmer friends will donate our finest milk for the cream puffs and we'll rebuild it too. And I'll cover the damage Nessie did.”
A kind soul in Cyrus' town started an online fundraiser and raised enough funds to cover everything. The cops and fair security left Cyrus and Clare off with a warning once Clare treated them with a round of old-fashioneds, cheese curds, and cream puffs.
As for Nessie, she won second place. That was fine. Farmer Cyrus had remembered her cake. As for Farmer Cyrus he made sure to never ever to forget giving Nessie her birthday cake for any reason.
After that memorable state fair, he never forgot.
Adults 19+: The Infinite by Sebbie Ire
Ring, ring. The stupid bell rings every time someone opens the sliding door to the train's singular bar section. Lana cleans up the glasses from the meager brunch.
A surly old man is the last of the brunch drunks to leave. The bell rings again as he leaves and stumbles through the door.
Didn’t even tip. Lana thinks. She cleans up from the brunch and groans. Occasionally, a regular train rider passes through the “bar car,” forcing her to plaster a trained smile to her face. They coo and dawdle, admiring the authentic dull copper lighting and fake golden highlights on the counter. Then ring, ring, they leave. Lana rolls.
In the train’s defense, the railway is the first of its kind: a cross country bullet train from San Diego to New York. On this maiden journey, most passengers are locomotive fans, journalists, and members of whatever street corner that surly old man came from. When her ratty scoundrel of a boss told her about it, he called it the Titanic of the good ol’ U.S of A. “It’s state of the art, Lana. Really chill. Next level facilities, and the “bar car” is a thing of beauty,” he’d said before adding that her transfer to it was non-negotiable. To be fair, the ‘bar car’ is immaculately equipped. Even as someone with deeply embedded motion sickness, Lana feels none of the usual bumps, vibrations and turmoil of high speed travel. The blacked out windows are the finishing touch, isolating the bar car from the outside world. It’s the homiest section of the train.
Lana’s phone dings. Her girlfriend: the only reason she isn’t currently jobless, messages her wondering how long it will be. They met online, but long distance has irked both of them. This train is the perfect opportunity to finally meet her, then quit her job. Before Lana can respond, her signal dies. She gives up.
Ring, ring. The door slides open. A woman passes Lana by with a vacant stare. She doesn’t spare Lana a glance. Lana scoffs loudly to no reaction. Whatever. Lana starts polishing the glasses as the opposite door rings and the woman leaves. Only ten more hours. Just ten more hours.
“Hello.” Lana drops her glass. The voice is unnaturally low like some kind of god. In fact, it is the voice of god. The tone and depth is uncannily like Morgan Freeman’s.
“Could you at least shuffle your feet or someth-” she stops mid sentence. “Get out of here, kid.”
Sitting across from her is a young boy, no older than nine. His bug eyes drip with dewey innocence. His sandy hair is unkempt and boyish. He rests his small hands on his cheeks.
Lana stiffens. “How did you even get up there without making a noise? This is a bar, not a playground. Go find your mommy and leave.”
The boy speaks and Lana jumps. “We have not visited this part. We thought we would have a conversation before work.” The kid has Morgan Freeman’s exact voice.
Lana waves her hands. “Ok, ok. Where’s the tape recorder? There is no way that’s your actual voice. Tell me you’re punking me then leave.”
The boy sets his hands on the table. “We do not carry those.” Something creeps across the child’s throat then bulges and audibly clicks. “Does this suit us better? We thought we researched what body and voice would be the most relaxing.” It’s a boy’s voice. It’s a boy’s tone. But it’s missing the flickers of life, joy, and inflection that makes human voices human.
“Oh. No. That’s...better” Lana turns to the cabinet and grabs a shot glass, the cheapest Vodka she can find, and downs it. Glass crunches under her feet as she turns back to face the boy.
“Lana?” He says with a hint of a question to it. “You are the last human with speaking capabilities left on this vessel. Let’s discuss. You can join us if you like.” He pats the stool next to him.
Lana pours a lager steps, around the bar, and sits next to the boy. “This is a prank, right?” she asks, sipping on the beverage as warmth fills her. “How do you know my name?”
“We are studying you and your contraptions. We have deviated in our development from your kind in miraculous ways, but we have some incompatibilities. We struggle to connect.”
“What does that even mean?”
The boy raises his hand as if to pat Lana on the shoulder. “No!” She slaps his hand away. Her vision fades. Her blood chills. Her entire arm crawls with the sensation of insects breaking through her skin from the inside while an Infinite takes hold of her sense of self before the sensation fades.
“That was incredible. We must try this again.”
Lana does what any reasonable person can do when theInfinite encroaches onto her. She runs. But the train car is only so large. The glass! Even if the light from outside is blocked, it is still glass. It can break. Lana grabs and flings a bar stool into the window. It bounces, but a small crack forms.
The boy calls out from the bar. “We do not believe that is a good idea.”
“Screw you.” Lana shouts back. She picks up the stole and slams it into the glass with her full force. The window doesn’t break, but the shaders stopping all light from reaching the inside fail, letter her look through the window.
The motion reducing capabilities of this train are far greater than Lana could have assumed. At their height, the mountains in the distance look like a well drawn topography map. The clouds. Some kind of light from the sky suspends the train mid-air. No. They are continuing to rise.
Ring, ring.
The boy’s voice comes from directly behind her. “Ahh. The rest of us are here.”
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