2021 Wake County Library Short Story Contest Winner

The 2021 Wake County Library Short Story Contest opened up in April to writers of all ages. Contestants had a month to write a short story on any subject, up to 1500 words. Across ages there were over 1000 entries, and the adult entries were at about 170. I’m happy to say I won first place, and I am so grateful for another opportunity to sharpen my skills and compete in the writing world. My entry is below, and I hope you enjoy it!

Take Me Away

Avaleen McDowell needed a vacation. But running through the arid plains of Africa with a lion on her tail was not what she had in mind. Avaleen zigzagged through the dry brush, squealing as the cat closed in. The lion was still yards away, but showed no signs of stopping.

“Get away!” Avaleen fumbled with a jar of spice and scattered it blindly into the air and towards the lion, before pressing the jar to her nose and sniffing. Nothing. Why didn’t this thing come with instructions?

When a quirky peddler had knocked on her door selling spices that promised to “take her away,” she didn’t know the woman had meant literally. The first whiff of the sweet Tanzanian clove had indeed transported her into a hot night in Dar es Salaam, a lively city off the coast of Tanzania. She swayed to the rhythm of msondo drums as she sank her teeth into sweet, fried dough and danced with a handsome man named Rehema. It was a welcome respite, as an average day for Avaleen was rowdy children, cold meals, and countless messes.

Just as Rehema had offered her another skewer of spiced meat, a swirl of wind sent dust into her face. One regrettable sneeze later, she’d ended up here in the blazing heat of an unfamiliar plain scattered with bushes. About to become Simba’s lunch.

Avaleen squealed again as the lion roared, all the while rubbing the jar of spice and pleading to the heavens. “Take me back to Rehema! Take me back home! Take me anywhere but here!” Her foot tangled in a bush and she tumbled into the dust. Bells echoed in the distance, and Avaleen cried in earnest. The death toll!

“I don’t wanna die!” she screeched, covering her face in her hands. The sound grew more intense, and shouts soon followed. Avaleen peeked one eye out and spied a pair of dark, dusty feet. Her eyes traveled up a pair of muscular legs draped in a layer of deep, red cloth secured around a thin waist. More legs arrived in a flash of dust, earth vibrating with their stomps and hums. A kind face greeted Avaleen with a smile.

“Wamerikani?”

“American,” Avaleen nodded. Her heart was pounding, and not just because of the lion. The man in front of her had a smile as bright as a thousand suns.

“I am Naengop. The lion fears the Maasai and has run away. But where is your party?”

“P-party?” Avaleen allowed Naengop to help her from the ground and guide her through the group of Maasai warriors.

 “Did Ngai send you instead of the rain?” The twinkle in Naengop’s eye put Avaleen at ease. They traveled across the plain to a tangle of thorny trees rounding a circular row of huts. The huts resembled upside down acorns topped with straw hats. A woman approached Naengop, head smooth as a marble and dyed red. Naengop spoke to the woman and she smiled at Avaleen.

“Ah, Wamerikani? Welcome!”

And welcome is what they made her. Avaleen was dressed in colorful fabric and beads and given a tour of their village. She joined in their festivities, clapping along as they sang and danced. She watched in awe as a group of young men began an “adumu,” a jumping contest. The rhythm of their chant became her own, and she found herself vocalizing with them. “Hey, ayah ah!”

They painted her face and stuffed her full of stiff, white ugali mixed with sauces and meats. Avaleen turned nothing down, and as day cooled into night, she chewed boiled bark while Naengop shared the history of the Maasai.

“The lions steal our cows. There is not enough land to graze. We must work in cities or farms to survive, but Ngai has made us strong.” Avaleen felt the pride in his voice. She shared her own stories of American life as a woman of color. Her fears and her hopes.

Avaleen was given a small hut for the night, but nature called the moment her bottom touched the cool ground. Avaleen zipped out of the hut and into the blue and black night. Away was her only objective. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally desecrate some sacred Maasai ground.

Avaleen could not see, and an unfortunate run in with one of the acacia trees left her bloodied in more than a few places. No small wonder the things were called devil thorns. Stepping in a thick pile of dung didn’t help. A chorus of lowing cows sent her flying through the thorns without thought. By the time she realized the spooks were of the bovine variety, Avaleen was standing outside the Maasai village. A tiny calf joined her, following the path of destruction she left behind in the thorny trees.

“Oh no.” Avaleen tried to shoo the calf back into the bush, but the little hamburger took off running, its brown hide disappearing into the night. Avaleen would have turned right back around, but her conscience prevented it. The Maasai had fed her, clothed her, and given her a safe place to sleep for the night. Naengop had told her the cows were considered sacred. Peeing on sacred ground was bad. Losing a sacred cow? Much, much worse. Avaleen went after the calf.

The little brisket was waiting for her just over the crest of a small hill. As soon as Avaleen got close enough, he took off again. “Come back here, Meatloaf!” Avaleen snorted. It was funny, she thought. Her tumble into the bush seconds later? Less so. Her weave tangling, catching, and separating from her scalp? Expletive worthy.

The calf came back to gloat, making a sound Avaleen swore was laughter, then bolted as she stood. Avaleen proceeded to chase the calf through the east African plains. But the calf was too spry, and Avaleen hated running. She collapsed to the ground in a heap of dust and began listing all her favorite beef dishes.

“Veal parmesan, filet mignon, oxtails.” The calf approached, and Avaleen lowered her head. “Porterhouse, medium rare. Bottle of A1 on the side. Come here, Chuck Roast.” As soon as the calf was in reach, Avaleen grabbed its neck, holding on tight. The calf cried out, making a racket she was sure the whole tribe could hear. She was right.

A spear whistled past her, and Avaleen jerked her head up. A group of Maasai were headed her way, torches and spears in hand. Not a smile among them.

“Mwizi wa ng’ombe!” Naengop pointed at her and another spear flew, landing an arm’s length from where she stood. Avaleen yelped and released the cow. She knew what that phrase meant. Naengop used it often while describing the lions that made off with their cows. They think I’m a thief!

“I’m so sorry!” Avaleen tried to explain, tried to push the calf forward, but the little jerky wouldn’t budge. Avaleen took a few steps back, and the calf took a few steps with her. “This isn’t what it looks like!” She shooed the calf again. “Go home, little T-bone!” The calf gave a disinterested snort. Another spear split a loose shoelace on her badly torn sneakers. “Th-thank you for the lovely meal.”

Avaleen gave an awkward bow and darted off as the Maasai began an angry chant. She tripped over her laces, still partially adhered to the ground by the spear, then tumbled to the ground, sending up a flurry of dust.

Avaleen sneezed and the world turned green. A plume of black and white feathers fanned out and vibrated in front of her, sending her into yet another screaming fit. The fluttering ostrich tucked tail and ran, leaving Avaleen to wonder at the cool air and massive, green canopies surrounding her. Her eyes trailed a pair of zebras as they trotted to a nearby lake. Avaleen followed, gasping in awe at the sight of pink flamingoes, black rhinos, and brown wildebeests.

The emerald waters reflected the sun, the skies, and one tremendously disheveled black woman. Avaleen leaned in closer, just as an elephant blared behind her. With a quick slap of its trunk, it sent her headlong into the water.

Avaleen thrashed. Moments later, she hit the ground with a thud and a screech. Angry shouts mingled in the air as a herd of children stomped down the stairs. “Mom!” Her children began shouting at once, as Avaleen stood up. A self-check confirmed her clothes and shoes were intact. Weave present and accounted for. Skin void of scrapes. The jar of spice dry and secure. Was it a dream?

Her children clomped back up the stairs, loaded with snacks, and Avaleen sank into her couch. It was just a dream. A vivid, terrifying, exhilarating dream.

A black feather fluttered down, landing by Avaleen’s feet. An ostrich feather. Avaleen pulled out the jar of spice, fingers trembling. With a smile as big as the Serengeti, she twisted the lid and sniffed.