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350 for 50

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Three cheers for this year’s winners of our 350 for 50 contest, now in its 15th year! Young writers were challenged to compose a short, 350-word story that included the sentence “The sound was impossible to ignore.” In addition to having their stories illustrated with original artwork, each winner enjoyed a $50 online literary shopping spree. Congratulations to all!

Illustrations by Aliisa Lee

THE SIREN’S SONG
by Annie Wang, age 10

I know better than this, I told myself. I know better than to sail into a cave with mermaids who can sing you to death. And I know better than to drag my friends into this too. Still, we keep rowing. Each time the oars hit the water’s surface, I feel the siren’s presence. I glance behind my shoulder, and see a green fishtail. We were officially in the siren cave.

The next step was vital. Get tied to the mast for protection. Only then could I listen in safety. Listen as the sirens sang their songs. Unfortunately, before my friends could tie me up, the sirens began to sing, I couldn’t resist. The sound was impossible to ignore. Before anyone could react, I dove headfirst into the water. Behind me, I could hear my friends shouting my name, but the siren’s song swallowed me, and I disappeared.

Immediately, I was thrown into a different world. The sirens sang about my past, and how I became a sailor. The verses were different parts of my life, with one thing in common, the loneliness and feeling of rejection from everyone I knew.

The last verse was different. The sirens didn’t sing about my past. They sang about my future, as if personally calling to me. They sang to me about the world I longed for where everyone loved me, and hugged me like I mattered, even my sister shared her toys with me. My teachers praised me for doing good on homework, and I had someone to sit with during lunch. This alternate universe was everything I had imagined, and it could come true. All I had to do was reach out to the sirens’ outstretched hand and hold on tightly.

The hand wasn’t one of the sirens however. My friends had come to rescue me. But the sirens had already won my trust. I couldn’t be pulled away. I could still join the sirens but, would I sacrifice my friendship for a better future?

THE HALLWAY HOUDINI
by Zachary Wen, age 12

As I stepped out the door of my dorm room, I heard a click behind me…and froze. The sound was impossible to ignore. It was the sound of stupidity. It was the sound of locking yourself out of your own room. I threw my bookbag to the floor, and snapped back to face the door. Filled with dread, I put my hand to the handle, praying it would still be unlocked. It wasn’t.

I felt sick to my stomach, and paced the hallway, thinking of ways to get back in.
My first instinct was to brute force it. Putting my foot against the wall, I pulled forcefully. When the door didn’t budge, I really started to panic.

Luckily, bad ideas were my specialty. Thinking I was some type of 007 agent, I attempted to get into the ventilation shaft. Taking a breath, I jumped up and found a handhold. The only problem was that our dorm rooms weren’t exactly what you’d call “premium residences.” Meaning all ceiling tiles within a five-foot radius fell down in a mess of dust, white powder, and Styrofoam boards. Along with it came a side of unnecessarily loud sounds: clattering, crashing, and smashing.

Our neighbors in room 207 came out, blinking in confusion. They feasted their eyes on the mess.

“Cool,” one of them said, while munching on his Lay’s.

Then their door slammed.

Deciding to clean the mess later, I continued brainstorming ways to get back into the room. Deciding to go with the “international spy” theme, I tried to picklock the door with a paperclip from my class notes .

Recalling knowledge I had acquired during the summer, I wiggled the “pin,” and finally heard a click—the sound of the paperclip getting stuck. Trying to yank it out only got me friction burns. Then, to my surprise, the knob twisted, as if of its own accord. I jumped back in surprise.

The door swung open, I stared into the face of my disoriented roommate, still in his pajamas, a large dollop of shaving cream on chin.

“Dude. What are you doing?”

SOUNDS OF MUSIC
by Shreya Visvanathan, age 14

I stepped on stage, my nerves tingling, my mind a jumble of thoughts. I drew in three long, deep breaths and tried to exhale out all of my worries and angst. I rubbed my sweaty palms and gripped the back of my violin firmly. I tightened my bow to allow for a smooth, melodious tone and plastered a smile on my face. The spotlight was on me now. My first solo concert.

Now remember, a voice echoed in my head, Exactly 8 beats before you come in. I nodded and started counting.

…1…2…3…

I slowly turned my head to look at the audience.

…4…

I squinted ever so slightly only to make out entire rows of hunched heads and drooping shoulders facing lit up screens.

…5…

Not a soul looked at me and I was about to start.

…6…

PHONES! People were on their PHONES! Here I was shaking with fear trying to seek validation from the audience and no one cared enough to look up. All the hours of diligent, intense, repeated practice until the tips of my fingers resembled the rich, dark shade of my crimson dress. What if I didn’t play? Would they know? Or care?

…7…

I closed my eyes. I see musical notes floating above my eyes and the opening refrain playing in my ear. The Beethoven doll that sits on my piano waved his baton at me. I reflect on his determination, despite insurmountable odds, to write beautiful music. Suddenly I realized I owe it to him. I’m playing but a tiny piece of his work, and I owe it to him to get that at least right.

…8…

I smiled genuinely for the first time. My hour of glory.
…

I placed my violin on my shoulder and began.

I confidently struck a chord and gracefully pulled my bow through the strings of my violin to play the opening note. The sound of yearning, the sound of hope, so powerful, so euphonious yet so poignant. The heads moved up like synchronized swimmers and stared right at me.

The sound was impossible to ignore.

#3799F
by Willow Yoo, age 16

She winced as the chip passed into her veined arm, “Do we have to keep doing this so often?” The doctor’s eyes were covered by a plastic shield, his eyes covered as he stood above her. His mouth was set in a firm line, his lab coat pristine without a speck of dirt or stain to be seen.

“It’s your planned monthly chip insert. It will be sore,” The doctor let the droplets of blood fall into a small plastic bag and scribbled #3799F.

“But my mom, she paid for the Plus plan so I didn’t have to do as many chip updates,” Ella protested, feeling her face growing hotter by the second, “She worked extra shifts at the daycare the past four months to be able to afford one semester of Plus.”

“I’m sorry, Miss, but haven’t you heard? Plus is now the same as Regular, the Head has introduced a Lux tier.” The doctor turned away and exited, his lab coat swishing as his squeaky chukkas traced the clean tiles of the floor. The sound was impossible to ignore.

Ella’s vision blurred as she gazed at the harsh slashes of #3799F at the top of her paper, smudged with fat tears, cursing the smiling woman in the advertisement below. She was leaping through a field of dandelions as glistening letters spelled, “Bring out your happiest self with BetterMind, Emotion Regulator©!” The gray bulge in Ella’s arm had been a constant since her mother had noticed her frequent sleeping and mood swings.

“Ella, don’t worry,” Her mother had said, “We’ll get you fixed up right away.” After her mother’s BetterMind app trial with Ella’s first chip implant, she hadn’t looked back.

Ella sat back in the crunchy paper on top of her chair, scrutinizing a transparent panel on the wall across. She got up, ignoring the every-visit-warnings of “Don’t do anything” as she made her way to the mysterious glass. Cautiously reaching up, she rapped on the glass before peering closer.

Staring back at her was a huddle of white lab coats, all smiling coldly.

350 for 50

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350 fo 50_2017We are incredibly pleased to announce the four winners of our annual 350 for 50 writing contest! Young writers were challenged to compose a short, 350-word story that included the sentence, “Every movement was in slow motion.” Winners from our four age categories each enjoyed a $50 shopping spree on Amazon. Congratulations to this year’s winners!

Illustrations by Aliisa Lee

OUT IN THE DARK
by Stella Zeng, age 10

“Are you ready?” the scientist asked, pressing a few red buttons on the machine, “Three, two, one, GO!” A blue chair spun around twice, and then she was gone.

“W-where am I? I thought I was supposed to be at my house, not hanging on a branch in some random place two hundred feet above the ground!” She cried for help, and tried to get down from the tree, “Help, help! I’m stuck!” She cried, but her words just drained away into the silence of the night. She was lost, in a gigantic, thick, forest, hanging off a massive rainforest tree. She started to make her way down, but it was taking forever. Every movement was in slow motion.

For a brief moment she looked down to the bottom of the tree and saw a glimpse of her skin. It was brown and furry! Oh no she thought. “I-I’m a sloth. Oh how the heck am I supposed to get back?” She said aloud, “I’m 22 and already getting lost in a bunch of trees in the middle of nowhere. I wish I could have a normal life sometimes.” Around her was filled with wet leaves and light brown tree trunks. She was definitely a sloth. “Wait, how will I get back to the science lab?” She wondered, afraid, “A giant teleporter and shape shifter isn’t going to appear out of nowhere ri… AHHH”

A giant, flying object came soaring through the sky. It looked familiar, like the one she had sat in to teleport here in the first place. It had the same blue chair, red buttons, and it had the same shape. She wondered, is this my way back home? With no hesitation she slowly made her way to the familiar machine, one claw at a time. She was right, it was her way back home.

Slowly, while making her way to the seat, she wondered whether this machine would work or not. Then, with a push of a few red buttons, the blue chair spun around twice and the sloth who was on the chair was gone.

THE HEIST
By Zachary Wen, age 11

Penelope was about to complete her legendary heist of the famed Zephyr Diamond, and her eyes widened at the dazzling diamond. Geometrical-shaped light glinted off the Alice Blue walls. Penelope’s hand trembled. Carefully, she placed her gloved hands on it, and quickly stuffed it in her bag. But something strange happened the second she did. Every movement was in slow motion.

What…? Penelope thought and turned around to see if anyone was behind her. No one. The sensation was unreal. Her skin tingled, her muscles stiffened. She could feel her heart pumping.

I need to get out of here! Her mind yelled. She started to run toward the exit with all her might but had barely moved from her original position.

And that’s when the alarm sounded. It deafened her, and the guards moved in, guns blazing. It was like a scene from The Matrix. Penelope weaved and dodged the bullets, and she felt a drop of sweat start to venture down her neck. The stakes were nothing like she’d ever experienced.

She disarmed the first guard and elbowed him in the face. Slowly falling like an injured bird, his body gave a jerk when he hit the floor and bounced up an inch. Ok, maybe you don’t have to do that for every guard, she chided herself: she was running out of precious time.
The door out was only a couple of meters away, but it felt like kilometers. She ran with all her strength, but still moved slow as a slug. Adrenaline was the only thing fueling her now, and her legs were close to giving out. She turned around to see the guards catching up and willed herself to run even faster. Her muscles burned and her bones ached.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she made it through the archway, and looked back, to find, to her terror, a silver bullet zooming right toward her. Suddenly she realized it was the magic of the diamond. Now she had a choice: drop the diamond and live, or hold on to it and take what was coming.

MIRRORED FEARS
By Sofia Lachmann, age 13

“Five minutes to curtain!”

Our director’s voice sounded distant compared to the ringing in my ears and the lines I had practiced for weeks spiraling in my head. Every movement was in slow motion. The people around me, putting finishing touches on their costumes. The whispers of everyone backstage, reciting lines. My thoughts seemed to be the only thing in the room that was running a mile a minute. How could they be so calm, knowing they were about to go out on stage in front of hundreds of people, knowing they could ruin the night with one wrong word?

A tug on my dress brought me back from my maze of a mind. I turned to the young girl, who like me, was wearing the blue and white dress that hinted at our role in Alice in Wonderland. With her blond ringlets and round eyes that were filled with worry, I was transported to the memory of when I had worn that dress, feeling the same anxiety.

“I’m scared,” the girl whispered. “I don’t think I can do this.”

I could see the fear radiating off of her, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt and her downcast eyes. It was impossible not to see myself in her, when I was about to go on stage for my first ever performance all those years ago. I softened, smiling as I pulled her in for a tight embrace. Her small arms hugging my waist, I told her the same words I had been told.

“It’s normal to be afraid. The only thing you can do is remind yourself that your fear does not control you. As we go on stage, just remember that being brave is being able to continue, even with your fear.”

As I encouraged her, I felt the words calm my own fears, settling my mind. I smiled again at the little girl, taking her hand as our act began. Together, we took a deep breath as the curtain rose, walking hand in hand onto the stage.

Fearless, even with all eyes on us.

IF THAT MOCKINGBIRD WON’T SING
By Claire Tang, age 16

In Kansas, the land-locked heart of America, fathers like to sing a song about mockingbirds: If that mockingbird won’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. It’s a song about replacing good things lost with new and better things, a litany of warranties.

On my eleventh birthday, my Papa gifts me a birdcage painted poppy-pink. Inside is a mockingbird with eyes like night pinned to glass. Papa tells me how he caught it with his two hands, how he climbed a mulberry tree and lay so still on one of the branches the bird mistook him for the sky. He had inched toward it quietly. Every movement was in slow motion. When the avian neared enough, he hugged it with a cold fist. It flailed against his palms with erratic simplicity.

I hang the birdcage up in my room, next to the window that the night fills with stars. The mockingbird doesn’t sing a note for weeks, and I joke with Papa that he owes me a diamond ring.

During the last dregs of summer, Papa tells me about the high-position job he received at a startup company in Singapore. He’ll be leaving Kansas indefinitely; his flight is on Monday.

“How could you leave?” My futile protests catch on tear-salted syllables. “Don’t you owe anything to the people who love you?”

But Papa doesn’t breathe a note. He just walks outside, his arms tight to his sides like folded wings. From my window, I can see him breathing in hard, beating pulses of air, like the flapping of wings. He’s crying. Every now and then, he raises his head to look at the trees or clouds or airplanes. At one point I think of dragging him inside, but it seems too rude. So I only wait, a small thing watching.

Night falls like a soundless film of gasoline, the sun bursting into a million flames of gold, leaving behind a diamond-studded horizon. Papa’s shadow grows longer and longer. I call for him to come home, but he doesn’t respond. Just slants his head back, a creature considering the sky.

It’s Here! Our Annual Writing Contest

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350 for 50 typewriter popAre you ready for it? Yes! It’s time for the Cotsen Children’s Library’s annual 350 for 50 contest! We challenge you to write a short, 350-word tale that includes the sentence, “Every movement was in slow motion.” (just 344 words left to go!) Winning stories will be illustrated and published here on Pop Goes the Page. Additionally, winning authors will enjoy an online $50 literary shopping spree!

Open to ages 9-16.
Contest submissions are due by 3:00 pm ET on Friday, April 12, 2024.

350 for 50 Contest Submission Requirements

  • Stories must be no longer than 350 words, and MUST include the sentence, “Every movement was in slow motion.”
  • The sentence MUST stand alone in the story (not be a part of another sentence).
  • Submissions are accepted in e-mail text fields ONLY please. Attachments or files shares will NOT be accepted. No Google docs!
  • One submission per author, please. E-mail to: cotsenevents@princeton.edu
  • One winner will be selected from each of our four age categories (ages 9-10, 11-12, 13-14, 15-16).
  • The following MUST be included with your submission: Your name and age (as of April 12, 2024).
  • Your name, information, and story title are not included in the 350 word count.
  • No submissions in verse or in graphic novel format, please.
  • Literary shopping spree is limited to books and writing materials.
  • Winners will be notified via e-mail on April 26, 2024 and posted on this page.
  • Questions? Email: danas@princeton.edu