"Priceless" by Desiree Kendrick— Our September 2020 Gold Medal Winner
Desiree Kendrick is our first place winner from the contest posted in our September, 2020 issue and she is the first Blank Spaces contributor to ever take first place three times. Congratulations, Desiree!
What the judges had to say:
“So nicely told, and from such a surprising angle, the image was used subtly yet engagingly so that readers could deepen their own imagining of a time, and life, gone by. ”
“A very clever and imaginative way of bringing this image to life, giving it depth and history. A simple, crisp narrative with identifiable characters. Many of the images show a good eye for details that we can all relate to, such as the initial handshake and the description of the living room. ”
Meet DESIREE
An Event Planner by day, a writer by night, Desiree fused her Bachelor of Arts with a Project Management certificate. Publishing credits include Blank Spaces magazine, Nod literary magazine, Black Dog Review. You can read her work at www.desireekendrick.com.
Priceless
an excerpt of Desiree Kendrick’s winning story
It was an ordinary day with an extraordinary outcome. That’s how I remember it.
The car tires grumbled as I drove across the gravel driveway. Overgrown gnarly bushes protected the cracked sidewalk. Someone had boarded up an upper floor window, giving the impression the house was winking at me. The dwelling belonged in a horror flick.
My job involved securing the gift-in-kind artwork from the donor. I rehearsed my thank you speech. At most, we’d share a pot of tea before I jumped in my car, art stashed in the trunk.
The front door creaked open.
I waved. “Good afternoon. You must be Mrs. Foley. I’m with the university.” I crossed the yard and ignored the loopy garden gnomes.
She was petite, shoulders hunched, with white hair tucked behind her ear. Her hearing aid, super-sized glasses and an embroidered apron were her accessories of choice.
“I’m Kirsten,” I said.
She extended her bony hand and I regretted squeezing too hard.
“I made lunch.” She tapped her cane.
We passed through a dingy hallway into her formal living room. When I say formal, I’m talking dollies draped across the TV stand and plastic ivy creeping in a brass pot. A macramé contraption hung from the ceiling like a vacant jolly jumper for ghosts. The room had fallen into a nineteen seventies abyss.
I coughed. Was the dust on the mantle decades old or someone’s scattered ashes? The musty stench was reminiscent of an old cellar. Plates of cottage cheese and cherry tomatoes were set on two TV tables.
to read the rest of the story, order your copy of the December 2020 issue.
