Wednesday, October 3, 2012


Our September contest is over and we have a winner!

Matt Owens is happily married with two great little boys. He runs a ministry to children for a living, and lives in a land flowing with turkey and coyotes. Though he loves writing fiction as often as possible, he also writes about how to stay sane in children’s ministry at

Congrats Matt! Read his winning story below...

Sarah’s hands trembled as she pushed through the crowded Wellington bus to embark on the first stage of her pilgrimage to discovery.

At the front of the bus, the driver was staring at her. Sarah imagined the driver was a porpoise. Then she realized he merely looked like one.

“Impatience isn’t virtue,” she patronized.

Stepping down from the bus, she squandered her footing and fell headlong onto the curb.

Cheek on the street, she saw many feet passing. The street was splendidly busy with buckled brown boots, white slippers, children’s shoes, a spattering of knitwear, and something horrible – a pair of rather gnarly, grotesque feet. They were overly hairy, and the toenails had want for care. As she hadn’t been used to seeing such literal down-at-heel standards on feet, she imagined the worst of the rest of them.

A small, silver-haired woman squealed in panic, “See here, no time for lying about.”

An arthritic-looking elderly man shouted, “But don’t be bashful. Not a moment to spare. Not one.”

Aghast at all this, and fairly frightened at being half under the bus, she fainted.
The world about her was hazy and dark. She remarked out loud, somewhat dreamily, what a dreadful place this was: it smelled harshly, was too warm, hadn’t enough light, needed more flowers, ought to haven’t been so rummaged, and the sort.

She’d been face down on a dirty couch, and, looking about, saw those bizarre feet again.

“Lordy, but I’ve spent all my time in Wellington looking at feet such as these,” she muttered.

Attached to the feet were two short legs. From there sprouted a concise body, wrapped in a knit sweater and shrouded in a shawl. There, two appendages – arms, if it were true – flapped madly. “Damned gadflies.”

Sarah squelched out, “Come away from the drapery foul creature, stunted troll, fiendish spook!”

“Ye talkin now, what?” it said. “Save yer pluck for yer wee pilgrimage.” And this thing laughed haughtily.

Another voice bellowed from an adjoining room. “Perhaps it wants to know about the door.”

“Ye Kraken,” it replied. “Of course she wants to know about the door.” Then, turning to her, “Sarah, is it? Hardly a suitable name.”

It now seemed this monster was simply the elderly woman from the street.

“How do you know my name? And what door?”

“The door, what? I’ll tell ye. It’s there –“ she pointed hastily. “Ye must go. Can’t do to be late.”

“Late, for what?” Sarah asked.

Another monster – the old man – raced to Sarah’s side and helped her get up.

They shoved Sarah roughly beyond the couch and into a parlor.

She was appalled at their discourtesy. “How do you mean?”

In the shadow on the wall the old man reached his withered hand and took hold of something. Twisting, he wrenched it back.

A warm, green light spilled into the parlor.

Before she had a chance to share her offense, she was pushed into it, screaming.

“Narnia awaits,” said the old man.


  1. Congratulations, Matt. I loved the creativity of this. You should keep going with it if you haven't already.

  2. There's no plan in the works for more. Thanks for the inspiration and the chance to do this! It felt great to put something out there.