Students get creative in Writing Tournament |

Students get creative in Writing Tournament

Editors Note: This is the second of a three part series that publishes the winning entries from the Nevada County Superintendent of Schools recent Writing Tournament for middle school students. This week will feature the unedited first-place entries in Creative Writing in which students were asked to write about a snowman.

Creative Writing

7th Grade, 1st Place

Alexandra Brown, Union Hill

Wind howled in the freezing air that chilled the blanket of snow below. Animals lay in their burrows sheltered from the wintery weather. Two kids, a big brother and a little sister, watched the storm progress through their huge backyard. They hoped the wild weather would stop the next day.

The rising sun made the snow sparkle. The brother and sister leaped outside with pure joy. Finally the storm was over. The young sister, wrapped with scarfs, made a snowman with the icy snow. She smiled at her new friend as she wrapped her fluffy scarf around it. The brother went off exploring and came back with two perfect twigs for it’s arms. They joyously skipped back inside as the sun set.

As winter crept on, the brother and sister happily checked on the snowman each day. But as spring approached the freezing snow, it melted the white ground. The two children became worried for their snowman.

Since their snowman was icy, it kept its form for quite a while. But, knowing that it would eventually melt, the brother and sister kept worrying about their perfect creation. Grass and flowers grew steadily around the snowman, and his carrot nose had to keep being replaced, for the birds weren’t sheltering any more and ate anything they could.

One day, the snow had all melted and left the snowman all alone. A monarch butterfly fluttered across the hill on which the snowman remained. Spring sang in air and blossoming flowers swayed. The little creature, avoiding the snowman, showed slight demurity and flew away from the out-of-place snow. Clouds then covered the sky and promised rain the next day.

The two children crept outside. They thought of the perfect solution of saving the snowman! The brother took out his camera and took a picture of the surviving snowman as the first drop of rain fell.

Creative Writing

8th Grade, 1st Place

Leo Zlimen, Seven Hills


“Snow Day!” the shout came from a small child somewhere in the heighborhood, jubiliated at the chance to miss school. But this was no day to be outside.

It was one of those days when you were glad to have a warm hearth fire to curl up next to. One of those days when the wind screamed outside, almost seeming as if it was trying to smash through the windows and escape the cold itself.

One of those days where the world seemed to have stood still, where nothing moved, and all was perfectly silent except the torrential cursing of the wind.

But Frosty had no fire. He was alone, outside, being constantly buffeted by the raging of the elements. Alone with no hope of surviving when the storm puttered out. Yet still, he was happy.

Frosty’s first memories were those of small, warm hands sculpting him into being, molding the snow into a recognizable form.

He had watched as the little boy put a scarf around his neck and a woolen hat on his head. He felt no warmth, of course, for warmth was not his to feel.

As time went on, the snow had gone, and each winter he had been reshaped and remade, each time just slightly differently. Many winters had come and gone since his creation, and in many ways it seemed to Frosty that nothing had changed. Nothing except the boy.

He had started out as all children do—young, innocent, and carefree—but that time does pass. It gives way to the influences of anger, love, and sorrow, the three emotions which shape us into our adult self. All of this Frosty saw, and he remained motionless as always when the little boy became a much bigger boy and left to continue his education.

Frosty knew that this winter would be his last.

He might never again feel the gentle warmth of human hands caressing his icy surface and shaping him into something more than just a pile of snow.

Yet he was at peace, for he knew it was the way of all things.

At this point the blizzard intensified, knocking Frosty’s head clean off his shoulders.

Now Frosty was beginning to get afraid—for even snowmen feel pain. He thought about all of the years he had spent in the company of that young boy. It all seemed so long ago. And as he remembered, so too did his heart become heavy with grief.

Finally, Frosty’s heart could bear it no longer, and his icy shell of composure and wisdom cracked and fell away like an icicle breaking off a building to land and shatter on the hard, cold ground.

And so he cried.

Not the warm gush of tears that we as humans know, but instead the steady drops of barely liquid water pouring off his face and coming to disappear in the frozen snow.

If he could, he would have screamed his anguish to the world and revealed that for all his wisdom, he was still much like a child in many ways.

Yet he mourned not for himself, but for the child he would never see again.

But even the most dreadful sorrow cannot escape Fate’s cruel grip, and so when the great oak fell and landed on Frosty’s head, he was forced to withdraw from the mortal world and return to the snow.

20 years late r…

A curious sensation. Flashes of color, white, dark, white again. Then vision.

A snowman’s head was completed by a small boy of 6 as he added two coal eyes, dark as night on the clean white snow.

A snowman that vaguely remembered the touch of human hands.

A snowman that long ago—had been lost, never expecting to see the grey light reflecting off the snow again. Yet here he was, reborn from the snow as the Phoenix is reborn from the ashes of the fire.

He felt the boy pat him on the head, and as he gazed out, saw a man standing in the background.

He knew the man as the small boy who had first shaped him so many years ago.

Now, he knew that the circle was complete. He was where he belonged—outside in the snow as a guiding light for young children everywhere.

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