Contests, Creative Nonfiction

Student Creative Nonfiction Contest

Stories Based on Real Life: We’re looking for writing that is vital, ripe and engaging. Writing that pushes past or against literary or life’s boundaries, plays with style and form, and makes its own rules.

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Hometown Memories: Spring 2014

Creative Nonfiction, Words

Hometown Memories: Spring 2014

As I reach Woodlands train station, everything and everyone is moving in the speed of lightning. The human traffic moves like a colony of ants, coming from various directions. I soon realized that if I had stopped walking, everyone is going to crash into one another. Access control gates slams inward and outward like huge resounding metals in a factory. They go in sync and people go through them as quickly as they can – afraid the gates might just slam them. I walk without a care in the world. 7am: I am on my way to school.

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Creative Nonfiction, Volume 4

Chasing Song

Cordelia Vizcaino Leal I open my eyes to blinding powder, white light. A blurry view after what feels like an eternity of darkness. I blink hard to melt the snowflakes …

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Creative Nonfiction, Volume 4

Eating Together

Nicholas Salvador “Nikko! Get the table ready, the food is done!” Piping hot bowls filled with bakareta, a beef stew with tomato sauce, carrots, and potatoes, and pancit, …

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Creative Nonfiction, Words

Keeping Up Without the Joneses

By Connor Buckley ...This story is entirely a product of an interview that I conducted with my grandmother, the Milly of this story. It is a fictionalized reimagination of true facts and actual happenings. No scene in this story is my invention. My inventions are the circumstances that place the scenes, circumstances that are meant to be constructions of the fictionalized narrator’s memory.

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Creative Nonfiction, Words

In a Nutshell

By Nigel Newton …I was born on July 28, 1990, and immediately regretted it. Had I been given the option I would’ve stayed in the womb indefinitely but life, much like Kim Jung Il, is a stern dictator that does not believe in personal freedoms.

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Creative Nonfiction, Words

Waltz with Elliot

By Peter Iannitto ...He’d have no momentum to continue if it weren’t for the smack in his veins. He doesn’t get his kicks from the stage anymore. As the last note of his orchestration fades away we’re left with a sad, frightened man, mumbling into the microphone, kindly asking the audience to stop yelling requests. He stares at the floor, recoiling into his shoulders, terrified.

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Creative Nonfiction, Words

I Like, I Love.

By Allison Laroche...I like making lists. I like drinking with people, but I dislike being drunk. I like things I find in lost-in-found, thrift shops, and old vests my mother brings me from her youth. And I like that, too. Youth. I like the lingering scent of mine, when I think about it. Hot summer days trigger that sensation. Cigarette smoke, (maybe clove cigarettes, as well) Egyptian goddess oil mixed with sweat, cheap car fresheners, pumpkin lattes, and tanning lotion.

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Creative Nonfiction, Words

My Walk

By Bartosz Mrugacz ...I remember that sunny May evening in Warsaw. I was walking down the Krakowskie Przedmiescie towards the gates of the Old Town, where I was supposed to meet my friend. I felt this refreshing wind mixed with warm sunbeams on my face. The sun was still up above roofs of Warsaw’s tenement houses from the 19th century. I was not thinking about anything in particular. I was walking alone, enjoying the cloudless sky.

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Creative Nonfiction, Words

Mi Nidito

By Allison Laroche...People tend to disappoint me. They are weak and dependent on one another. For as long as I can remember, I have been alone. I have been on my own emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, financially, and physically. I look around at my closest surroundings, the college I attend, the establishment that I work at, the inconsiderate and polluted streets filled with inconsiderate and polluted people, and my nest. I live alone. I am incapable of living with another person.

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Creative Nonfiction, Words

One Penny

By Sarah Rogowski...My eyes are round and wide like apples as the bundle of buildings grow bigger. My parents are in the front seat and my older brother is beside me, picking through the latest Mad Magazine. I roll my forehead against the window as I stare at the cardboard cut-out buildings in the distance. My favorites are the twin towers.

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Creative Nonfiction

Hometown Memory Series

By Fred Bouchard    This series of personal sketches was drawn from the ‘hometown memories’ of students in response to watching Lowell Blues, a short film by Henry Ferrini based on readings from Jack Kerouac’s written recollections of growing up in Lowell, MA.

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Creative Nonfiction

Thrill of the Chase

By Nicholas Cabrera     Select: jetpack. Start matchmaking in 3… 2… 1… *boop* Deep, ominous male voice declares, “Slayer.” Jetpack over first wall. Vision impaired. I am taking heavy fire. Aim at head, four shot kill.

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The Despair of Tomatoes

Creative Nonfiction

The Despair of Tomatoes

By Annie Sklar:  My tomatoes are not cooperating. All summer, they have been weedy, leggy, spiraling in long, single stalks along the twine frames that I so thoughtfully set up for them. For hours I carefully laced lines from the porch railing to the wall, drilling holes into the side of the house so they could have a sturdy anchor. I wanted the best for my garden. But these tomatoes, they are ungrateful. Like bratty trophy wives, they demand constant attention and a small fortune to be spent upon them.

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Boys and Girls

Creative Nonfiction

Boys and Girls

By Dave Lee:   Honestly, what else does a guy think about at that age? We boys were not interested in platonic relationships with the girls. It seemed as if sex, or the desire for it anyway, drove us all to do and say absurd, stupid things to the girls. For my part, I can’t even believe some of the girls I went after at that age. For their part, I’m surprised the majority of them even stayed at Berklee, although, many did leave.

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Creative Nonfiction

The First Thanksgiving

By Luis Lascano:  The doorbell woke me up from a nightmare. Still asleep and confused, I almost stumbled while I was walking toward the door. The only thing I could see through the peephole was the enlarged version of one of my roommates, Vanessa. I remember it was only five days before Thanksgiving and it was really cold outside. But her face and her Home Depot uniform were totally covered in sweat. I opened the door, and I noticed she had at least six grocery bags in each hand-- "Help me, Luisillo, this is heavy." While I was helping her, I got suspicious about the plan behind that brutal grocery shopping: maybe Vanesa wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving "The American Way".

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Creative Nonfiction

One Winter Morning

By Kikuta Norihiro:  Cold Bright day. White Breath. Beautiful low peach winter sun. Birds are singing in the middle of pale tree. Storm brought snowman to a new jacket last night. He is smiling with carrot mouth. Picked up the newspaper. Under the sunbeams, colorful advertisement becomes stained glass. Looked up the garden. Small playground is covering by decade of time and scent of snow.

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Creative Nonfiction

Fooled by the Fifty-Seven

By Aidan Sherry:  The fifty-seven bus has a strained relationship with its riders.  It is a bus with unrivaled convenience and comfort.  It takes its loyal followers sometimes within feet of their final destination.  While it is a good friend to many, it is also an unreliable friend, a friend that should not be depended on in desperate situations.  Many have fallen victim to its sporadic schedule.  Classes have been missed, deadlines passed, and relationships ruined because of an incredibly late fifty-seven bus.

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Creative Nonfiction

In the Music

By Suzanne Hanser:  As a child, I thrived on my family's songs and piano music.  But I did not know then all that music could do for me.  Through it, I played out my desires, pain and turmoil.  Through it, I invented melodies to validate my dreams of a healthy future.  After abdominal surgery, my dissonant piano compositions screamed so I didn't have to.  After the deaths of my parents, the dirges I wrote spoke a grief as no words could.  And after I birthed a stillborn baby, only music could comfort me.

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Creative Nonfiction

Middleman

By John Lippincott:  Have you ever been cut off by a careless biker while you were strolling peacefully down the sidewalk?  That biker is usually me late for class. However, yesterday morning I was a careful and calm biker who slowly pedaled his way towards you coming from the opposite direction. I observed every detail of your stature when we crossed paths. As if I were a scientist looking through a microscope, jotting down experimental data. Creepy? Yes, absolutely.

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About Us:

FUSION is Berklee College of Music’s global arts magazine. We publish writing, art, photography, video, and music by our students, alumni, faculty, staff, and internationally recognized guest artists.