3RD PLACE! This book. It’s about me, I know it. A year ago, around a month after my daughter’s funeral, I found it in one of the dozens of boxes full of her belongings one night. I had opened it, expecting it to be a diary of some sorts, but it was a story. You wouldn’t expect it from the cover, you know, what with the intricately carved rose thorns and lack of title. But that’s all it was. A story.

2ND PLACE! As I stared at the knife that I had somehow been able to shove in my mother's flesh, half of its blade shone in the pale moonlight, making the remaining blade sticking out gleam in a way that made my stomach twist. I looked at my trembling, shaking hands covered in the dark residue that splurged and splattered out of her now lifeless body - her lungs had gurgled with the blood, which grew quieter and quieter until the pouring of the substance was completely silent. Too silent.