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Jonathon Brooks

These ladies are looking fine as red wine in the evening time. This tie is about to send me to an early
grave, it’s so tight. I’m glad I don’t have to get dressed up like this for school. If there was a school dress code that required a tuxedo, I’d be getting detentions by the dozens. Did I mention how good the ladies around this wedding are looking? Damn, if I was about eight or ten years older, and wearing this same style tuxedo, I’d be a true chick magnet. I hope they’ve got good eats at the after-party. I also hope I’ll then be able to lose this tie. And of course, I do hope breakdancing is appropriate. Those ladies need to know I’ve been working on my breakdance moves for days and days and days now.

I am commonly known as Walter Walker the Fourth. Sometimes folks call me Walt. I must set the record
straight here early on. I am no Walt! I’m a Walter as sure as the sun shines. People who call me Walt don’t know pineapples from green apples. I’d rather be called late for dinner than be referred to as Walt.

Yours truly–yes, I, Walter Walker–aim to be the life of this wedding and wedding after-party. These old
dudes in their twenties think they are hot spaghetti and I’m nothing but a cold, refrigerated meatball. They believe that ‘cause I’m only twelve that I don’t know nothing about anything. Yeah, well, when they see my dance moves, they’ll be asking for dating tips from yours truly.

Uh-oh, the wedding music just started. I’ve got to pay attention now. The wedding party is coming down the aisle two by two. The dudes look decent in their wedding attire. The ladies look like heaven on earth. Damn my young age, damn it all to oblivion and gone! Oh, here comes the bride. What is that old saying about money and looks? Oh, yeah! She looks like a billion bucks! I think I got that one right.

Here I am talking all large like it’s my special day. Surprise, surprise, it isn’t. Do not misunderstand me; I
do still aim to be the life of the party. Yet I must confess this special day is not in my honor. Nope! It’s actually all about my uncle Dan. Dan is the man with the plan for today’s wedding and he’s even prepared to slip a ring on his beloved’s hand. Infinite cheers for uncle Dan! He’s not as young as he used to be. Maybe I shouldn’t say that, but damn it’s true. Dan is thirty-five years old. Dan is of age to run for president of the old USA. I think grandma, also known as Dan’s mother, doubted this day would ever come. Dan might’ve doubted it too. A lot of dudes his age are on their second marriages already. Cheers to Uncle Dan, though. The dude’s never been divorced even once. I’m all sorts of proud of him.

Now the young lady Dan gets to marry is out of his universe. That is correct. I said it. Someone had to say it! She’s so out of his league. I don’t even think she’s playing the same sport as my uncle. If she is actually playing the same sport, then she’s gone to the professional leagues, and Dan only got picked so the team would have enough players to compete. The bride is named Nicole and her smile is the reason for the invention of the smile. In other words, she is beautiful. Hell, I go all smiley myself whenever we talk and she gets to laughing at one of my stupid jokes. Nicole has never been married before either. She’s twenty-seven. I wish Nicole and Dan all of the happiness their separate universes have to offer.

The bride and groom are front and center with the minister man now. They’re all three looking slightly
anxious. Why would the preacher be nervous? It isn’t the first day of the rest of his wedded life. Sisters and brothers, the dude’s sweating. He needs a glass of water and less stage fright. He’s starting in with a funny story, though. It’s about his wedding day forty years ago. He is beginning to look more relaxed. Perhaps the pastor should’ve been a standup comedian. I mean, I’d dish up three dollars to hear him tell jokes.

Oh my! It’s time for the wedding rings. Nicole has got tears in her eyes. And, oh my holy god, I never
thought I’d see the sight. Dan is crying worse than Nicole! Get it together, Uncle Dan! If he doesn’t cease crying soon then he won’t be able to recite his vows.

I am your coolest nephew, Walter, and I’m cheering you on from the wedding cheap seats in the back of the building. Get your act together, my friend, or someone might just stand up and object to this wedding. Finally, they both stop with the water works simultaneously. Then I feel my eyes go misty just a little. They get their vows said and it’s all types of wonderful. Of course, everybody in the room knows what comes next.

“You may now kiss your bride,” the minister proclaims.

Uncle Dan hesitates for a moment as he takes in Nicole’s beauty on their special day. Then he gives a kiss fit for a king. Uncle, I never knew you even had it in you. Nicole kisses him back like a fairy tale queen. That kiss belongs in the movies. Perhaps their universes are closer than I’d previously stated. What do I know about the art of romance? Remember, I’ve only been around for twelve years. I am not allowed to run for president for another twenty-three trips around the sun.

After the applause goes silent, Dan and Nicole walk by me with their eyes devoted to each other. They’re paying less than zero attention to anyone and everyone else. I decide to interrupt anyway. I knew I had something brilliant to say.

“Dan, that kiss was Oscar worthy! I mean, seriously, it was like, out of a blockbuster movie. Nicole, were
you as impressed by the smooch as I was? Heavens to Pluto, it was out of this universe! You two are a match made someplace really grand. All the joy and kisses and love to the two of you forever and ever. Amen, holy hallelujah, and pass the cocktails and brews. I’m ready to get toasty or toasted or whatever the kids are calling it these days. Cheers, Nicole; cheers, Dan!”

After my short congratulations monologue, Nicole lets out a laugh and even a small adorable snort. “Walter, you are by far the funniest kid I know. Thank you so much. You better not get too toasty, though. Your folks might frown upon that sort of behavior. Ginger ale and root beer might be more appropriate than the stuff that gets you toasty. Cheers, sweetie!”

I can feel my face turning crimson when Dan gets his say in. “You are the mayor of awesome town, my
nephew, my dude! Thanks for showing up for us on our special day. I can’t wait to see those dance moves you’ve been boasting about for months. It’s on to the reception now. The DJ is going to be spinning those songs all night long. I plan on doing some dancing myself, you know.”

“I bet I can out-breakdance you, Uncle,” I say with a serious face.

Dan laughs like I was joking around. The dude doesn’t know when he’s being challenged to a dance competition.

“I’m sure you can,” he replies.

His giving up on the competition so quickly makes me smile all goofy and sincere. “You two are dynamite together. Now let’s get the F with three dashes out of this place and go party.”
The old folks call it a reception, but I call it the after-party. The crowd is starting to loosen up while losing ties and tuxedo jackets. I just parted ways with the jacket, but I’ve still got that chokehold–commonly referred to as a tie–on. I guess I still want to look the part of the gentleman for the ladies. The partygoers are boozing it up. I’m sipping my pseudo-cocktail. It’s a Moscow Mule minus the good stuff. It’s all good, though, ‘cause I can be smooth and charming without being fueled by alcoholic beverages.

Fried chicken is on the buffet line amongst many other delightful looking food options. Should I load up on the chicken before the music starts? What a dilemma! What if I eat to my stomach’s content and then get to dancing and then get sick and make a fool of myself out on the dance floor? The shame–oh the tragedy that would be! Play it cool, Walter, play it cool like Samuel L. Jackson played it in that scene in Pulp Fiction. No fried chicken for me until after I put on my show.

Nicole and Dan are about to say some pleasantries and do the champagne toast. Their speeches are
so heartfelt. The moment feels like movie magic again. Nicole gets the final word as she states, “Thank you all so very, very much for being a part of our special day! Enjoy the food and wine and each other’s company. The music’s about to start up any minute now. Grab someone you know to dance with or be really brave and ask someone you don’t know to dance. Life is all about living large and taking chances. Seriously, Dan and I took a chance and now look at us! This is a joyful day and a party so let’s act like it!”

When the kind words are over the music starts. Now I don’t know the song or the artist, but it sounds
good to me. I throw back the final gulp of the Moscow Mule, minus the liquid courage. I take to the dance floor. Others are beginning to head that direction, but they haven’t made it there yet. Yeah, that’s right, all eyes are on me. So the first thing I do is remove that damned tie and toss it high to the sky. Then I lock vision with Uncle Dan and he’s smiling like he’s so proud of me.

“You’ve got this, Walter!” he yells as he stands up from the wedding party table.

And I bust out those breakdance moves like anyone and everyone or perhaps even no one is watching.
In the moment, I am in my own universe. All else fades and there is no stage fright, or dance floor fear, or whatever. The crowd might be going wild or they might be staying calm. I don’t know; I don’t care. I feel like all the possibilities the galaxy has to offer. It’s as if it is my special day also. Some are maybe just seeing a kid having fun, but it’s more than that for me. It’s my moment on the moon.

I cut out the dancing when the song cuts out. Nicole yells, “You were amazing, Walter! We love you!” And all at once the wedding after-party house erupts with applause.

Now for my second act, I’m off to find a lovely lady, a friend of the bride, to dance with, ‘cause I know how to slow dance also.

Allison Brown

She entered the courtyard from the top of the stairs, dressed in a ballgown of rich, velvety, emerald-green satin. The gown was intricately embellished with swirling lace that framed a fitted bodice, flowing sleeves like delicate petals, and a flared skirt cascading to the floor in soft, lapping folds. She knew she’d probably gone a bit overboard when consulting the seamstress, but if this job required her to infiltrate the gala, she might as well look the part.

She checked once more that the delicate porcelain mask—matching the green of her dress—was securely
in place before descending the steps.

She kept her head high, soaking up the curious glances as she descended. Each look of wonder, envy, and
lust made her feel lighter, as if she were floating. But as she neared the final steps, her heart halted.

From across the courtyard, she caught sight of someone she had desperately hoped to avoid tonight: the Captain of the Guard.

He stood apart from the crowd, his imposing figure unmistakable even in the sea of glittering masks and
swirling gowns. His formal attire was tailored to blend in with the other guests, but the subtle gleam of polished armor beneath the dark fabric betrayed his purpose. Unlike the revelers around him, he wasn’t here to enjoy the party—he was here to control it. His broad shoulders and rigid posture made it clear he commanded not just attention, but obedience.

When your job involved quickly and quietly ending the lives of influential assholes within the king’s inner circle, the Captain of His Majesty’s Royal Guard was the last person you wanted noticing you.

The mask obscured most of his face, but she didn’t need to see it. She had made it her business to know
exactly who he was. No mask could hide the intensity of his sharp, unyielding gaze.

A shiver ran down her spine, cold and sharp, as their eyes locked for a single, tense moment. She tore her
gaze away, forcing herself to breathe. One more step.

She made it to the bottom, but her foot caught on the hem of her gown, causing her to stumble and tear the base of the skirt.

Before she could regain her balance, an arm slid firmly around her waist.

“Are you alright?” The voice was deep and rich. She looked up and found herself face to face with a man
wearing a plain mask. His deep brown eyes, however, caught the light in a way that compensated for its lack of embellishment.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She broke eye contact and corrected her posture, attempting to summon the voice that made her sound more important than she was.

Her words evaporated when she noticed his chest was emblazoned with the badges and regalia of the
Royal Guard—his rank and honors proudly displayed for all to see. They glittered in the lantern light, almost too bright against the black fabric of his uniform.

“Miss? Are you alright?” he repeated, his voice soft and warm, yet with a trace of hesitation.

He was younger than the Captain. Unlike his superior, he was dressed in his full uniform. The cut was
sharp, immaculate, not a thread out of place. He stood straight, shoulders squared—almost like he was posing for effect.

“Did no one ever teach you that the last step is always the trickiest?” he teased in response to her silence.
She tried to step quickly out of his grasp, only to stumble again. He reached out to steady her, but she
raised a hand to stop him as she found her footing.

“I don’t need your help,” she said, finally regaining her voice, trying to evoke authority. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, visible despite the mask.

“Would you rather I let you fall in front of all these lovely people?” he asked, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Well—no, I just—I…” She glanced toward the Captain, hoping her little misstep hadgone unnoticed.
Unfortunately, he was watching their exchange like a hawk eyeing its prey.

She turned her attention back to the guard, taking a steadying breath. “I no longer need
your assistance. Thank you, but you may leave me now.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Miss. I’d hate to be the man who steps on your toes,” he said with a
chuckle. “You know, when you aren’t stepping on your own.”

Her face grew warmer. She cursed her boss for sending her on this assignment and cursedherself for not
arguing that pulling off a hit at a party swarming with guards was a terrible idea—masquerade or not.

Without waiting for her response, he turned to walk back to his post.

“Wait.” She reached out to touch his arm, then quickly withdrew her hand, remembering that a “lady”
wouldn’t do such a thing. “I’m sorry for my outburst. I was just… embarrassed.”

His smirk returned in full force. “It’s alright, Miss. It happens to the best of us. Just… for everyone’s sake, let me know if you plan on approaching any more stairs tonight.”

With a wink, he turned, leaving her frozen in place. It took the chiming of the clock to snap her out of her daze.

She spun on her heel, panic bubbling up inside her as she searched for the nearest escape route—job be
damned. She had to get out. But before she could take another step, she slammed into something solid.

Not something—someone.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs and sent her mask askew. She staggeredback, hands instinctively reaching out to steady herself, and her heart plummeted as her fingers brushed against cold metal: armor.

Slowly, she looked up—dread creeping over her like ice.

The Captain.

He stood towering above her, eyes hard beneath his mask, his expression unreadable but lethal. His grip
was swift, hand clamping around her arm with the force of a vise, pulling her in close. His mouth hovered just inches from her ear.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” he hissed, his voice low, dangerous. In one fluid motion, he
reached up with his free hand and tore the mask from her face. “This mask might fool all the others, but it won’t fool me. I’ve made it my business to know exactly who you are.”

Her throat tightened, making it hard to swallow. She tried to wrench her arm free, but his hold only
tightened, his gloved fingers digging into her skin.

“I suggest you come quietly,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, “unless you’d prefer I drag
you through the courtyard for everyone to see.”
Her pulse pounded in her ears, her thoughts racing as she looked up into his cold eyes. She was caught—and he knew it. The gala, the job, the mask—all of it crumbled under his scrutiny.

Just as she braced for whatever was coming next, her gaze flicked sideways, catching the stunned face of
the sarcastic guard from before. His jaw hung slightly open, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was witnessing.

One last flash of defiance surged through her.

“Does the way to the dungeon involve stairs?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm
despite the pounding in her chest. “I may need an escort.”

Jonathon Brooks

The lighthouse was pure beauty. It was a work of art. People traveled from near and far to catch a
glimpse. Then, of course, they could brag to all of their friends that they’d been there. The lighthouse was the largest in the state of Maine—often visited by the tourist crowd. Its colors ran red and white. Photos were often taken of it, accompanied with joyful smiling faces. Families on vacation often behave like they’re on vacation. And if one cannot live in the moment, then how can one truly live fully? The family found the lighthouse to be captivating.

Photos were flashing left and right and up and down. The kids were capturing their parents. The Mom and Dad would get the snapshots of their kids. Moments captured in photos stay the course of time. Mom thought about how the kids would look back on the lighthouse moments fifty years in the future and smile. Dad imagined how he would gaze back at the photographs five weeks in the future and be visited by gladness. The kids, brother and sister, were busy making funny faces for their pictures. They weren’t thinking about the future; they were loving the moment in time. Pictures were happening down and up and right and left.

There’s often a friendly soul in any crowd. This individual is other-centered instead of self-centered. Lighthouse crowds are similar to any other sort of crowd. On this occasion, in this fleeting moment, the kind person was an old lady with a majestic smile. She’d been enjoying the charming family, the kids’ funny faces, and the parents’ obvious love for their kids and each other. The woman with the majestic smile approached the photogenic family. She inquired if she could take a photo of the four of them together.

The parents quickly agreed to the sweet request as Dad handed over his digital Polaroid. The charming
family took center stage in front of the white and red lighthouse with its sea behind it. The boy and girl cut out the funny faces even though they were not instructed to do so. As a plethora of photos were captured, the family rejoiced and smiled like the sun.

Once the elderly lady had taken dozens of pictures, Mom asked if she could get some of her near the
lighthouse. The woman was delighted at the gesture. Mom, with her excellent skills in the art of photography, took many pictures of the kind-hearted stranger. After the photo session was completed, the family showed her the pictures and insisted she choose her favorites. Well, she was happy to do so. Mom printed the woman’s five favorites for her to take as souvenirs.

After all of the pictures were taken for the day, and the five joyful folks had departed, it was as if the
lighthouse itself was smiling. Even the sea was calm and at peace. Fifty years in the future, the memories captured in the snapshots would remain.

Kali McIntosh

Jon Tribble Winner