Hire
Writers
Editors
Home Tour About Read What's New Help Forums Join
My Account Login
Shop
Save
Support
E
Book
Store
Learn
About
Jesus
  



The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge

BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN

INSTRUCTIONS

how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level

ENTRIES

submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners



Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.





TRUST JESUS TODAY

TRY THE TEST



Share
how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: The Short End of the Stick (02/20/14)

TITLE: Wrong Gold
By Jack Taylor
02/22/14


 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
 SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND
 ADD TO MY FAVORITES

Wrong Gold

Ive been pushing through this almost as hard as when I gave birth to Tristen. The results didnt make sense. Four years of focused effort. Four years of excruciating frustration. Four years of being applauded and affirmed and acclaimed. Gone like an ice cube on a hot griddle.

Eddie and I had perfected our synchronized twizzles, our progressives, our swing rolls and that was before we even put on our skates and hit the ice.

Our visualization was intense, our choreography sound. Wed watched a thousand hours of the American superstars Meryl Davis and Charlie White and another thousand of the phenomenal Canadian duo of Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir. Gold medals were all but assured.

And then it happened. Without warning. On a Tuesday morning. An hour before the earliest rooster dared to crow. Not that there were many roosters wanting to crow a week after Thanksgiving.

I got up like I always do. Karate chopping the alarm into submission and then emerging from bed like a steam roller falling off a cliff. The floor never got softer but it prepared me for the ice coming up.

Some days I literally crawled to the shower and kept it on super-cool until I screamed in submission. My brother, Ernst says he still doesnt forgive me for stealing his sleep with my blood-curdling yells.

When I emerged in my sweats I was as gregarious as a daisy at noon. The energizer breakfast was waiting on the dashboard of the van as always while Dad warmed things up. I muttered my short version grace and steeled my gaze onto the sparkling roadway. The clouds hid the full moon Id seen only last night. I urged our iron chariot on through the skids.

Eddie would be waiting. He was always waiting. Before I knew it wed be doing our multi-rotational one-foot turns in a carefree twizzle like wed been doing since we were six. I might miss if I got the mumps or the measles or the flu but Eddie always seemed to be the healthiest male specimen on the planet. And wow could he smile.

There was no more comfortable place than in his arms. I was probably twelve before I started feeling that his strength was something more than just the growing biceps from his workouts. He seemed careful how he handled me and he was always quick to apologize if he put me in danger. The moves became dizzier and more daring but wed seen the Olympians set the example and we were next.

The stupid mistake Id made at prom in the arms of another brought consequences which mom or dad graciously took care of each morning when I went back to the ice. They had such dreams and now got the short end of the stick.

So had Eddie.

Eddie had waited each day. Without a word. The steps were harder to remember but he was a patient teacher. Waltz, foxtrot, killian and several positions he had worked out in his own mind.

I often went to sleep visualizing the killian position with Eddie. Hed be holding my left hand with his left hand while standing slightly behind and to my left. Hed put his right hand on the right side of my waist. Id place my right hand on his right hand and bend my arm in a perfect triangle. And wed glide and glide and glide. Right into dreamland.

Wed been through a dozen coaches as we outgrew the skill of the previous ones. The last two had been ones who courted us. Our current coach was a former Olympian whod noticed us not far off the podium at nationals.

It was this coach who met me at the door of the arena on the morning that changed everything. He blocked the entrance as I attempted to squeeze past him. I can still hear our conversation.

Cant keep Eddie waiting, I said.

Hes not going to be waiting.

What do you mean? Hes always waiting.

Eddie was riding here on his bike.
An hour ago a car skidded into him and crushed him against a concrete divider.

Oh my goodness. Weve got to go to him. Hell be expecting me. Hurry dad.

Dad knew as he took me in his arms. Hes not expecting you, sweetie. Hes not expecting anyone.

Coach put a small box in my hand. It was in his pocket. A ring. Gold. It has your name on it. Im sorry.


The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


This article has been read 126 times
Member Comments
Member Date
CD Swanson 02/28/14
Wow - that was a sad story! So many emotions surged through my body, excellent writing, and on topic...but so sad. Sometimes that is what life is, so it had the earmarks of reality all over it.

Good job.

God bless~
CD Swanson 02/28/14
By the way...I'm assuming it's "fiction" --I pray this was fiction.

God bless~
Lillian Rhoades 03/02/14
What a perfect title for this story! I like the subtle way you introduced your pregnancy and other "sub-topics" without interrupting the story's main focus.

Consider editing for punctuation, especially commas.

" I might miss if I got the mumps or the measles or the flu, but Eddie always..."
"He seemed careful how he handled me, and he was..."

You had a "Wow" ending that grabbed my heart.
Lillian Rhoades 03/02/14
Correction :-)
"I might miss if I got the mumps, measles, or the flu, but Eddie always seemed..."