Bethesda Local Writer’s Showcase: 2025 Adult Short Story Contest

Adult Short Story Contest – 1st Place

Rubina
By Asma Dilawari – Bethesda, Maryland

The kettle whistled and she poured the boiling water over tea in the saucepan, recalling one of the first times she had gone through these motions, now practically muscle memory. Her shoulders tensed as she remembered the audition of sorts, older aunties watching as she brought chai to them on a tray with masked confidence. They had intensely gazed at the curves in her teenage body as their sagging faces sipped chai from thin mugs she had worried about breaking. She recalled feeling so stressed about the tea preparation that she had enlisted her cousin’s help, her only confidante at the time. But B. was not an orphan like Rubina. B. was in a proper family of 6, with servants to make tea and a father who would give her money to buy sweets, so she had been quite useless in this task and had only giggled with her in the kitchen. Rubina had relied on her memories, of people standing over saucepans on gas flames, of gentle tilts of milk poured onto boiling brown water, smells of cloves and cardamom, and the sparkles of sugar granules cascading generously from a box. She had not realized then how many times she would repeat those motions in the years that followed, and how easily she would learn to prepare tea for others.

That afternoon was deemed a success; she was accepted as a potential wife to her older male cousin at the age of fifteen. This man who hid behind his mother at gatherings bore no resemblance to the image of a husband she and B. had dreamed of, with Bollywood movies and magazines feeding their imaginations. When her sister-in-law had asked if she agreed to the marriage, Rubina had felt numb, staring past her face as if there were another option behind it. …

Rubina knew what was being asked of her, that she not become a burden and find a way to live her life without being dependent on them. So, she had agreed to be married and asked only if she could still continue going to school. Years later, she would scold herself for being so naive when her sister-in-law agreed. She hadn’t realized then what the word “wife” really meant, that the tasks she would be expected to do would have no resemblance to life in a schoolyard with carefree lunches and homework; any decision about her life would be made by her husband and his mother. The lessons she had needed were not those her lovely teacher had taught her. There were no classes in school on massaging your mother-in-law’s callused feet, on how to lie perfectly still and pretend to sleep, or to stifle screams from boredom while being confined to a house to wait for summons….

After her marriage, she regretted trying so hard to look attractive; her appearance had only gotten her an early marriage and squashed any hopes of continuing school. It would be decades before she got a ticket to a new life.

Adult Short Story Contest – 2nd Place

Red Christmas
By Laura Kuhlmann – Rockville, Maryland

Their eyes are glued to the TV, lips parted as they watch Ceauşescu raise his arm and swing it back and forth, to the steady cadence of his speech. His voice rising, his hair in disarray. 

“I do not recognize this tribunal, I only answer to the Grand National Assembly.” He repeats it over and over again. He repeats it as two men grab him from behind the bench and tie his arms behind his back. 

He only stops when his wife starts yelling: “Take your hands off me, you animals!”

(…)

The camera cuts to a grey courtyard. One black and one white silhouette lean against a concrete wall. Firecracker noises erupt from the TV speaker. The cameraman follows the captain, still holding his rifle, as he approaches the two people, now crumpled at the foot of the wall. The image zooms in on Ceauşescu—his eyes open, his shirt, showing through the unbuttoned winter coat, soaked red. 

“Daria,” Ana yells, “go to your room. Now.” 

Daria sprints to her bedroom and slams the door behind her. (…)

Through the door, she can hear Ana’s sobs, and Varvara’s phlegmy voice:

“You must go home, Ana. He’ll be back from Târgovişte. This big burden is off his shoulders now.  He’ll need you. And plus, what about your child? Once he’s born everything will be better between you two, you’ll see.”

Ana’s sobs grow louder. “I don’t know if I can take him anymore.”

“Now listen here.” Varvara clears her throat, and her voice turns harsh. “Your family, your country is not something you discard when you think you’re tired. My son did his duty to this country and by God he will do his duty to this family. And so will you.”

The sobbing intensifies. 

“This is a new beginning,” Varvara says in a softer voice. “For this country, for our family. You’ll see. Everything will be different.” 

Daria grabs the wood chair sitting next to the door and drags it across the carpet, toward the window. She pulls the drapes apart and climbs on the chair. Her forehead rests against the cool glass, as below her streetlights come to life. Rain pummels the building. This year, there had been no snow. (…) Daria tilts her head to study the small hole that has appeared in the wall, just outside her window. The little pockmark is full of rainwater, oozing out and dripping down the concrete. 

“Beginning.” Her grandmother’s words echo in her head. Does this mean it’s now safe to go outside? Daria touches her palm to the glass and pushes against it with all her strength. The invisible barrier holds firm, no matter how hard she presses. The bed of her tiny nails are blue from the cold, so Daria pulls the sleeve of her scratchy wool sweater over her hand. The imprint of her fingers lingers on the glass—an incriminating ghost.

Adult Short Story Contest – 3rd Place

Waterfall
By John Simpson – Germantown, Maryland

“If we don’t get this under control, the Old Man’s gonna replace us both with robots!”

Peters grunted by way of reply, more than the comment deserved. No robot ever made could replace human experience, or be flexible enough to adapt in an emergency — which is what they were in right now. Absent a great deal of luck, the whole system would collapse. God only knew what might happen then.

A veteran spacer at forty-two, Jock Peters was Station Engineer, and the last thing he needed was to be told his job: not by the trillionaire whose cost-cutting layoffs and sub-spec construction methods had caused this mess, and certainly not by some snotnosed college boy pretending to be his superior.

Kid’s not completely wrong, though, he thought. Things are FUBAR. At least lives aren’t at risk. Then, reconsidering, he grimaced. I hope.

Aloud he said, “Check the pressure on number three dehumidifier.”

His downy-faced boss did so. “Thirty-eight and dropping. When it gets below dew point, atmospheric moisture will start condensing.” The kid’s voice cracked. “All the roots will get wet, mildew and rot. We’re gonna lose this whole crop!”

The least he could do is give me a hand, Peters thought unfairly. It takes skill to trace an electrical fault in even a simple device, and this orbital station, with ten miles of solar panels, a quarter million grow lamps, a hundred times as many underground irrigators, and perhaps ten billion individual support components all working together in an intricately balanced system, was anything but simple. The lad’s degree was in agricultural management. Damned college kid. An electrician’s ticket would at least have been useful.

Peters worked steadily, testing one circuit at a time manually until he reached the next short. Sparks showered as the whole panel tripped — again. “Fault in Circuit 32,” he said laconically as he worked his way back down the resets, stopping at 31. More cross-wiring, dammit! I’m getting too old for this. For a moment he glared resentfully at the burnt-out hulk that had once been the computerized controls. Then he shook his head and got back to work.

“How long ’till night?” he asked, marking 32 and starting again at 33. His so-called manager mumbled unintelligibly and he asked again, louder.

“How should I know?” whined the boy.

With that, the long-suffering engineer finally ran out of patience. He stood, marched to where his nominal superior sat sulking, and… gently placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders. Boy’s trembling. Terrified. Their eyes met, locked. “Listen, kid. There’s exactly two people on this whole station: you and me. Sink or swim, we’re in this mess together. You can choose to help, or else you’re part of the problem. Get me?”

Adult Short Story Contest – Honorable Mention

Mama Bird
By Olivia Ikenberry – Silver Spring, Maryland

The plan was simple. Galvine’s unearthly beauty, part of the curse, made this seemingly easy to execute. It proved more difficult. Though her curse had an enchantment element, her hostile and often violent behavior overshadowed any sorcery. She often enraged or insulted potential suitors. Occasionally, they would flee for personal safety. One such young man lost two fingers when she “flirtatiously” bit them off.  Exasperated with his daughter, he took her to the forest for a walk. He told her the truth about his family and her curse. She realized she would never be free of her wickedness and flew into a rage, lunging at her father. He bashed her head with a large rock, rendering her unconscious. When she awoke, she found herself at the bottom of a well. Her head was ringing and spinning. She could feel the crusted, dry blood of the wound on the side of her head. She struggled to get her bearing when she heard a shout from above. 

“Hello, below!!” the voice of a young man rang with enthusiasm. The sun was too bright for her to get a good look. Frankly, she didn’t care to. His voice hurt her head. She was content with this well as her tomb. She said softly,” Please go away, Sir. Your assistance is not needed nor is it wanted here.”, hoping to deter further interest in her plight. “Your father sent me here to fetch you and paid me handsomely to do so. I am an honest man of my word. Having promised your father that I would fetch you and you will be indeed be fetched. I have fallen into this very same well several times. Thrice as a child and once this past spring. I am more than capable of fetching you.” Galvine, in a last effort, pleaded, “I am not fit for society. I beg you to leave and don’t look back. I am not what you suppose I am. Leave me in peace.” He did not. He jumped into the well, tied her to his back, and scaled the wall brick by brick with no hesitation. On land, he untied her from himself. He looked at her and was instantly enchanted. 

Funny enough, Galvine felt a hint of enchantment too. How could someone be such a fool, she wondered. She wanted to follow him and see his world. Her curiosity about this man almost took the stinging throb out of her head wound. “ You surely are the most beautiful and rare woman in all the world, as your father promised. He also promised your hand in marriage. You are too special to take…” He stood up to walk away. “Sir, you do not take. I give.” she surprised herself with these words. “I cannot. I am not worthy.” “You can, and you will.” she grasped his hand. With his hand holding her hand, there was a stillness in her, at least for the moment. They were married at dawn the next day.

For more information on the Local Writer’s Showcase, please visit https://www.bethesda.org/bethesda/localwriters