Megan and I had so much fun reading all your entries for the first O.C.Writers writing contest, until we had to decide on the winners. After some agonizing, nail-biting emails, we arrived at a first, second, and third place. We hope you’ll be as inspired by your fellow writers as we were.
With no further ado:
Our third place winner is (drum roll) J. M. Cools.
We enjoyed J.M.’s terse treatment of the prompts. In few words, she set the scene and took us there. Megan and I walk on the dark side in our fiction, so we were happy to go. And cool ranch Doritos are always a plus.
Fourth of July
The sun had set behind the mountains, politely retiring so that the blank canvas of night might become visible. In its place, plastic light swords flickered like neon torches—a precursor for the colorful explosions to come.
High pitched chirping and the laughter of children danced across every tombstone in the graveyard. Their giggles of excitement and anticipation drowned out the sound of their bare feet slapping the gravestones that interrupted the otherwise grassy cemetery.
An earthy, wet smell of dirt and grass wafted from behind them, grounding me in the moment. This was happening. I was about to spend the Fourth of July celebrating with the dead.
As if on cue, what I suspected to be some kind pf spirit sent a chilly wind my way. One that was unusual for the summer. The goose-pimply response of my skin was a welcomed one, a temporary respite from the heat.
To make the moment near perfect, the sweet and savory taste of cool ranch Doritos filled my mouth. They brought me back to a simpler time. I could taste every single aspect of them: the ranch powder, the corn of the chip, and the satisfying crunch as I bit into them.
Just as I finished the last one, the first firework erupted. It was time