Love may not literally make the world go round, but love stories definitely made the visitors to Half Price Books in Fremont Hub go around the book shelves recently as they read the stories posted on the pillars of the store.
Local writers came up with creative stories at “Flash Fiction – Love makes the world go ’round,” a writing contest co-sponsored by Fremont Cultural Arts Council along with Fremont Creates, Half Price Books, Infinity Care LLC, Jack’s Brewing Company and Nothing Bundt Cakes.
Al Minard, board member, Fremont Cultural Arts Council and organizer of the contest said, “In these times of so much negativity, I have tried to pick themes that are uplifting and give the reader a nice warm fuzzy feeling. We had interesting entries this year from a variety of writers from 4th grade to a 96-year-old, and a multitude of nationalities. The enthusiasm of writing short stories has opened a window for people to try out their writing skills to see how they are admired by the general public.”
First place (tie) was awarded to “Fragments of Love” by Moukthika Kuruva and “Love through Generations” by Samuel Rodriguez. Second place went to “The Last Letter” by Vibha Vyas. Third place (tie) went to “Council of Dogs” by Stephanie Uchida and “Finding Courage Together” by Nayanica Mishra, and fifth place went to “Rufus’ Last Supper” by Cristian Medina.
President Emeriti Award, “The Globe Spinner” by Alina Nazareth won a Nothing Bundt CakesTrio. Margaret Thornberry, who selected the story for the President Emeriti Award said, “I enjoyed the stories this year and I chose ‘The Globe Spinner’ for the award because of the structure, the humor and the ‘heart.’
“It starts from a cosmic point of view, then the narrative focus changes to the story of a wee puppy being loved and learning to trust a little girl, and and then returns back to a cosmic overview, along with a bit of a smile along the way…because, as the Creator points out, Laughter has its own job to do, and can’t really step in and take over Love’s job of keeping the world spinning in its orbit.”
Visitors who came to Half Price Books that day and voted for the stories expressed their opinion about the event. Paul Davis, who submitted two of his own stories, said, “I am amazed at the variety of stories that have been written. We live in a creative and inventive community.” Knuti Van Hoven, another contestant pointed out, “All day long we had people of different ethnicities and ages coming in. All of them had one common factor, they all liked to read, write and judge literature.”
Al Minard concluded by saying, “Flash Fiction contest is a fun event and we plan on holding another one in September. The theme has not yet been determined. As more people learn about this contest it seems to get more people interested in writing and this is a good trend.
“All the stories were good and some were exceptional. We read seven stories at the final event at Fremont Creates closing ceremony at the Fremont Event Center on April 27th. It was hugely enjoyed by the local public. It is important to enjoy life as much as we can. Happy reading!”
Read the winning stories below and at fremontculturalartscouncil.org.
Fragments of Love
By Moukthika Kuruva
I think sometimes of how we are all made of love, stitched together by the kindnesses and gestures of those who came before us, their affection woven into the fabric of our being.
Like how whenever I write the variable “x” in math, it curves exactly the way my mother’s did, when she spent hours and hours working through equations with me. The habit has stuck, and I think back to my mother’s loving smile as she taught me to solve equations, her patient voice guiding me through each step.
Everytime I go to dance class, or perform for an audience, I see my father’s younger self – dancing rhythmically to old Telugu songs, to the delight of his teachers and classmates. I see my own younger self, hoisted on his shoulder as he danced with me around the room, laughing with me.
My favorite Carnatic pieces to listen to are those my grandfather loved to hear on the radio. My most used makeup product is one my aunt first introduced to me and showed me how to use. I devour books, just as my uncle loved to. I make tea exactly the way my grandmother’s loving hands showed me how to.
How terrifying, how achingly beautiful it is to see it: the affection, the habits, of so many people I love linger inside me. How strange it is to be a mosaic of so many souls, all the pieces fitting together in ways I don’t even recognize.
Love is something you carry with you, quietly, in every little detail of your life. And somehow, that feels like the most beautiful kind of immortality. It never leaves us. It never stops shaping who we are.
Love Through Generations
By Samuel Rodriguez
The aromas of roasting tomatoes, onions, and chili peppers filled the house. The enticing smells made me get up from my chair where I was playing video games and go visit my mother in the kitchen. When I got there, Mom said, “Hey!” Then I started thinking how I would get past the level I was stuck on.
Lost in thought, I stared at the floor. I asked Mom, “What are we having for dinner?”
“Chile verde with rice. Your father’s favorite!”
Then Mom started going into detail about the way she had the ingredients roasting on the stovetop and how the recipe had been passed down from her mother. But instead of listening to her, I kept thinking about my video game. Finally, as Mom continued talking, I blurted out “Sounds good Mom, gotta run!” and went straight back to my room to keep playing.
That night Mom and I watched a family sitcom. In the show, a young man forgot his mother’s birthday.
I told Mom, “I would never do something like that to you.”
She said, “You wouldn’t do anything that blatant, but sometimes you do little things that hurt.”
That night in my room, I realized that I was not the son I thought I was, like when I bolted after she started telling me the story of her chile verde.
The next day, the smell of Mom’s handmade tortillas radiated through the house.
I was almost at the end of my video game, but I walked to the kitchen and said, “Mom, tell me the story behind your tortillas.”
The Last Letter
By Vibha Vyas
Mia found the letter tucked inside her grandmother’s favorite book, the edges worn with time.
My dearest Mia,
Love is not just in words-it’s in the quiet moments, the sacrifices no one sees. It’s in the way your mother tucked you in at night, the way your grandfather held my hand through every storm. Love is not perfect, but it is patient, unshaken, enduring.
One day, you will wonder if love is worth the risk. You will question if it’s strong enough to survive the world’s weight. But, my love, the world turns because of hearts like yours-ones that love despite the fear.
When you find that kind of love, hold it close. Give without keeping score. And if love ever asks you to be brave, say yes.
Because love, Mia, always makes the world go ‘round.
Tears blurred her vision as she clutched the letter to her chest. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying her grandmother’s words like a quiet embrace.
And in that moment, Mia understood-love never truly leaves. It lingers, like ink on an old page, like a heartbeat in the silence.
Council of Dogs
By Stephanie Uchida
One winter evening, the dogs lay by a roaring fire, content, with many bones scattered about them. In the manner of dogs, they discussed matters among themselves in an easy, companionable way. Tonight, something in the cold stars made them serious, and the topic turned to the love they had for their masters.
The Retriever thumped her tail. “It’s simple,” she said. “I love my people, and they love me back. Whatever they desire, I bring them, and I never once bite it.”
“Hmph,” sniffed the German Shepherd. “That’s a poor, puppyish sort of love. I stay awake at night with my ears pricked, and if any intruder comes to harm my family, I won’t hesitate to rip him to shreds.” He bared his fangs.
“I think love can be both fierce and kind,” said the Collie. “When I herd the sheep, I snap at their heels, but would never bite them, though they don’t know it. Sheep are very stupid, you know. Without me they would wander off and fall into ditches and be preyed upon by wolves. But if one gets lost, I will go to the end of the world to bring it back.”
“I too seek,” said the Hound, “I force my way through grass and brush with my pack to bring down the Fox for my master.” She put back her head and bayed.
“I’m soft and fluffy,” yawned the Lapdog, displaying a curling pink tongue. “My master likes to hold me, and I like to be held.”
The rest scoffed, but the lapdog didn’t care, for he was too fluffy to think much about others’ opinions. So each prided himself or herself on being the best dog, and knowing the most about love. But in the end, they were all correct.
Finding Courage Together
By Nayanica Mishra
Abigail, a sea anemone of vibrant purple and emerald, shuddered at the flick of a familiar orange fin. Betty, the buttery fish with eyes like hungry beads, was patrolling the reef. A cold wave of fear washed over Abigail.
Sadness clung to her like the dirt, dulling her shine. Usually, her own gentle currents kept her clean, but she was too tired to clean herself now. She felt her weight dragging her down.
Then, a flash of orange and white. Clyde, a clownfish with bold and beautiful stripes darted into view. He wasn’t like the other sh who ignored her. Clyde hovered near her, nudging away pieces of algae that clung to her.
As Abigail felt the layers of dirt lifting off of her, a warmth bloomed within her.
But Clyde’s eyes had a flicker of sadness. “It’s nice to meet you, Abigail,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of that sadness “It’s just… I don’t really have a safe place to stay.”
“Clyde,” she swayed, “you can stay here. Among my tentacles. They will protect you.”
Clyde’s eyes widened and hope filled his heart as he found comfort among Abigail’s tentacles. A comfort settled over Abigail too as she found a sense of purpose. Betty was still a threat but now, Abigail wasn’t alone. In offering safety, she had found a companion. Two lonely hearts, finding solace and strength in each other’s presence, it was a tiny testament to how even in the vast ocean, love, in its most selfless form, could create a world.
Rufus’ Last Supper
By Cristian Medina
I was born under the kitchen table, where the best smells lived. My first memory was Mama scratching my ears, her hands warm and greasy from cooking all morning. “Rufus, mi amor,” she said, pressing a kiss to my nose. I belonged to the Mendez family: Mama, Papa, and my two boys, Andrés and César. They loved me. They fed me well. Life was good.
The meat in our house was special. It never smelled like the neighbors’ carne asada or the stray bones in the alley. Ours had a sweetness, a depth, a… familiarity. The first time I stole a bite from Andrés’ plate, the whole family laughed. “Ah, Rufus,” Papa chuckled, ruffling my fur. “You have the taste of a true Velázquez.”
Years passed. I grew old, my muzzle gray, my legs stiff. I learned things, like how Papa always returned from his “hunting trips” with a new leather belt. How Mama would mutter prayers over a simmering pot of pozole, bones gleaming in the broth. How Andrés and César whispered about the missing mailman.
But they never hurt me. I was their baby, their Rufus, their good boy.
Then one night, my legs gave out. I couldn’t stand anymore. The family gathered around me, their eyes full of sorrow. Mama stroked my head, tears dripping onto my fur. “Oh, Rufus,” she whispered, voice thick with love. “You’ve given us so much.”
Papa kissed my forehead. Andrés and César sniffled.
Mama sighed. “It would be a shame to let you go to waste.”
The last thing I heard was César’s voice, soft, grateful.
“He’s going to make the best birria.”
Then everything went dark.
The Globe Spinner
By Alina Nazareth
“I would like to resign as the Globe Spinner,” said Love.
“Then I would like to be in that position,” said Lust.
“I didn’t know we could nominate ourselves,” said Doubt.
“Enough.” said The Creator. “Love, I have never heard you complain before. You loved giving Earth that little extra spin every time two people fell in love. You do a wonderful job of speeding-up and slowing-down time.”
“But no one falls in love anymore,” Love protested. Humans are depraved beings commoditizing every feeling for Likes and Shares. I am just not motivated to spin the globe anymore.”
“But Love makes the world go ‘round. It’s always been that way,” insisted The Creator. “Do we really want to give people a dizzying high from Lust or Power?”
“What about Laughter?” said Love. “Laughter can make the world go ‘round.”
“True.” contemplated The Creator. “But Laughter has always been the best medicine. Any other ideas?”
When they had exhausted all options, The Creator ordered everyone back to work.
“Look beyond humans for motivation,” whispered Wisdom as they scurried out of the room.
Far below, Susie excitedly entered the animal shelter. Little pups rushed to chomp on the little treats she had brought with her. But she fell for a timid little labradoodle. His nametag said Amar. Amar sidled to the back of his cage, whining, untrusting of this little human. But Susie understood that Amar needed time to love her back. She visited him every day and finally after a month, he licked her wrist. He was ready.
‘I swear the world spun a little faster when Amar finally chose me.” Susie would say for years after. Her friends would nod politely at the “sweet story.”
Far above, the Globe Spinner whistled merrily on his way to work.
