Val Amant Author My Writing Sucks Contest

The Val Amant
My Writing Sucks Contest!

The My Writing Sucks! Contest was devised to encourage writers to write and worry about the other stuff later, such as the mechanics of writing. You can write about anything you want to write under one thousand (1,000) words. The winner will receive a Barnes & Noble gift card. Register and have fun!

Val Amant Author Laughing


by Al Toman
submitted on September 10,2017
words: 1421

I was standing in line waiting for my turn to kick the ball.  

It was early October in 1962.  The wind would turn brisk at moments.  When it settled, the warmth of the sun warmed my skin but more it warmed my heart and soul.   Then it would get ripped away by the wind, sending a shiver down my arms from its icy phantom touch.  I reached for my zipper on my jacket and pulled it up to my neck then down a couple of inches.


Somehow today felt different.


Someone decided that we students needed to exercise for at least thirty minutes each day and it didn’t appear to be Miss Nora’s decision.  She decided that we’d spend our thirty minutes outside today playing kickball when she found out that that was what the other seventh grade teacher was doing.

I smirked and watched the ball get grabbed up by the wind as it sailed above second base after Jimmy kicked it. He ran as fast as he could to first base and rounded the other players until he landed on second.  It was getting close to my turn to kick the ball.

The wind suddenly picked up again bringing sand dancing up off the pavement some of which parked in my eyes.  I turned, quickly looking away from the playfield.  My eyes caught the disabled and disadvantaged children near the school building, where they were being assembled on top of the short bank to watch us play.  A girl I figured probably around  my age was sitting in a wheelchair.  She appeared to be looking straight at me as if our eyes magically met; the wind blowing sand into my eyes for a reason.  She looked sad.  The gods knew.   

The Fall of a sick feeling started in my head which quickly fell down and spread into my heart, then quickly fell into my stomach with a galumph turning and churning making me feel very upset.  I then quickly looked over at Miss Nora, holding my stomach.  She was standing and talking with the other seventh grade teacher.

The wind quickly rushed by me again, the gods were speaking to me.  I turned without any further hesitation and sprinted towards the bank.  I needed to make the terribly sick feeling Fall away and hopefully bring a smile to her face.  

They stood their ground watching me as I approached them on the run.  I focused on her face and knew exactly what I needed to do to remedy the sick feeling and to please the gods.

I ran behind her chair, releasing the brake and slid my sneakers on the blacktop pavement as we descended the slope to the playground.  It went so quickly her teacher and mine didn’t even have time to realize what I was doing.

I noticed her white knuckles as she gripped the arms of her chair.  She leaned forward and looked ahead with a degree of anxiety as we descended the slope.  Once on the playground she looked back smiling the wind taking her hair back, her eyes big with excitement.  

I got back into line in the same place where I left it as if that time never passed.  We were next to go to bat.  Miss Nora and the other teacher watched us with a mixture of curiosity and awe.

It was our turn.

I brought her wheelchair just past home plate facing first base and I got ready to kick the ball.  The ball was tossed and it rolled towards home plate.  I stepped backwards putting my weight onto my left leg then kicked the ball the hardest I ever kicked the ball letting the gods take it away.  I grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and pushed her as fast as I could.

We safely made it to first base.  My team cheered louder than they ever cheered in the game.  I saw Miss Nora’s face turn into a smile.

Marion, an immigrant from Germany, was a well-built strong boy struggling with the English language but he knew soccer.  His turn was next.  He kicked the ball way out into left field.

I was immediately off first base and rolled her to second. I glanced out into the field where the other kids were still scrambling to track down the ball. I took the opportunity to get her to third.  

I heard Marion on my heels, yelling at me to keep going, half in English, half in German.  I did.  I turned and pushed her to home base, scoring, Marion scoring right behind us.  

She turned and laughed clapping her hands, totally exhilarated our eyes danced and celebrated together.

She looked so beautiful to me.


Marion didn’t stop running.  He ran towards the assembly of disadvantaged children and returned with Thomas in his wheelchair.  Thomas and Marion were both psyched, laughing like long time friends.

Shortly, the game got interrupted as all of Miss Nora’s class ran up to the children on the slope.   Every single disadvantaged child was now playing kickball with us.

My stomach quickly fell into happiness.  My heart fell in love.  My brain fell into jubilation showering my body with the warmth from the gods.


Somehow today felt different.




The five minute warning bell rang much too soon.  I frowned as we all took our new friends back up the bank where we found them.

I ran her up the bank and rolled her chair up in line with the others. That  didn’t stop them from smiling, laughing and talking animatedly about our game.  I secured the brakes to her wheelchair, before walking around to kneel before her. I looked deep into her brown eyes, and I placed my hands on her chair’s arms.  Everything and everyone suddenly disappeared from my world except for her.

Our eyes spoke to each other without either one of us saying a single word.  It seemed like forever.  “What’s your name?”

She smiled a loving smile at me. “I’m Ginny,” she said softly, the wind tossing her hair across her face. She placed her hand on top of mine.  

The electricity from her touch quickly ascended up my arm filling my entire body with the powerful passion of love, creating a warmth a hundred times greater than that of the sun on my arm.

I smiled. “I’m Al.”

I gently pushed her hair out of her eyes as we continued to stare at one another, our eyes speaking pure love.  

I knew then and there how today was different.


Read Come Dance with Me! to see how Ginny and Al tell their story.

A heart warming sweet love story which will bring a tear to your eye.

~: Love is Pure, Passionate, Powerful, and Painful :~





Love Fall

by Volodya Sokolov
submitted on September 10,2017
words: 953

Love Fall


He looked at himself in the mirror atop his dresser in his bedroom and adjusted the lapels of his black casual jacket.  He wore the pleated light blue button up shirt that she adored.  She saved her money and bought it for him.  He reached into the dresser drawer then placed his foot up on the metal bed post rail.  He polished his shoe with the buff cloth then switched, polishing the other spitting on a scuff.  He returned the cloth to its proper place and looked into the mirror again.  He fitted the black western fedora onto his head, slightly tilted, the way she liked to see him wear it.  

He could see her in the mirror standing behind him giving him the much needed encouragement.  

“It’s time.  I need to take the fall,” she said.  

Her voice reverberated in his head.  He saw her love that they shared since kindergarten through eleventh grade flash before him in the mirror.  They were inseparable.  They were each other’s lifeline right to the end.  

Her mother left her father and her when she was very young.  He was a wonderful father working two jobs as well as on the weekends to make as comfortable a home for them as possible.  He was with the town police during the day and a security guard at a manufacturing plant at night.  The deficit was that she never got to see and be with her father.

He buttoned the one button of his jacket, turned out the light, and left his room closing his door.


She sat down on her bed and reached for her black studded fitted jeans that he bought for her.  She slid into her red three inch heels she found at the Salvation Army store, leaning as she carefully buckled the strap of each shoe.  She stood up pulling on her polo shirt bearing his picture, one where he was in his fedora playing his guitar.  She slipped into her black casual jacket that matched his.  She flipped her long blonde hair to her back straightening it out.  She walked in front of her dresser, carefully applying the red lipstick that matched her red shoes.

She could see him standing behind her watching her with love glimmering in his eyes, he loved her so much.  She could see, hear, and feel his love.   His mother died young, his father became a welfare alcoholic.  When they met, he literally had no home, but she became his home.  She asked him for tonight and he lovingly held out his arms to her in reply.  She watched their memory replay in the mirror as she reached out touching the mirror, touching him.

She put down the lipstick and reached for her western fedora, placing it slightly back off her forehead, how he liked her to wear it.  She stood at the mirror staring for what seemed to be an eternity, a lasting moment forever embedded into her short lived memory.  She turned off the light and closed the door behind her as she left her room.


They met on the North side of the track on Avenue B.  It was a brisk Fall evening, one month and two weeks after school started, they were in their senior year.  It just turned dark with the cooling sunlight still reflecting off the clouds, making everything appear visible as darkened silhouettes in the moonless night.

They stood under the yellow colored streetlamp facing each other, only inches apart, hearing the sounds of Mother Nature of the night, the hum of the streetlamp, and their breath.  He reached for her face as she leaned forward on her heels, holding his waist.  They kissed passionately, the brims of their fedoras touching, bending.

The whistle blew in the distant.  He kissed her nose sweetly and took her hand.  She looked into his eyes then down at the pavement as they walked towards the track and turned to the left leaving the light of the streetlamp.  They walked several feet then sat on the slight incline holding hands resting on his leg as she placed her head on his upper arm. They were shrouded in the shadows of the dark.

The whistle blew a second time, nearing their place of darkness.  He looked at her as they both stood then squeezed her hand as they crossed the north rail of the track and walked the track east, away, embraced, their lips on one another’s, both expressing their love for each other.

The whistle blew several times as it passed Avenue B, the wheels screeching showering sparks, steel rubbing against steel.

The train came to a dead stop a hundred yards or so past their fall.


The true story scene eluded to in Cross the Tracks

A heart warming sweet love story which will bring a tear to your eye.

Free download available at


~: Love is Pure, Passionate, Powerful, and Painful :~

Printed copies available by special order