Scholastic Art and Writing Awards

The Void

I jolt awake. What is going on? I look around as screens flicker in the dim light. I place my hand on my chest to calm myself down. I see a void all around me, an almost invisible room holding the darkness around me upwards. I try to scream, but nothing seems to come out. My voice is trapped in silence; panic claws at my throat, choking my cries before they can escape. I feel a suffocating sense of isolation, as if the absence of sound is a physical force, pressing in on me from all sides, leaving me in a void of both sound and light. 

Taking a deep breath, I focus on the dim glimmering screens, searching for some sign, some clue that could explain where I am and how I ended up here. The screens seem to pulse with a faint energy, displaying indistinct images that shimmer in and out of focus, taunting me with their incomprehensibility. My mind starts to race—could this be a dream? A nightmare?

Suddenly, a screen starts playing. 

Is that…is that what I think it is? 

I was a toddler standing on a stool by the kitchen counter, my small hands and cheeks covered in flour as I “helped” my mom bake cookies. She would let me pour in the sugar and mix the batter, laughing as I got more dough on the counter than in the bowl. I tried to mix the dough, but I wasn’t so great at it. The wooden spoon kept slipping out of my hands. I looked over at my mom. I saw the grin on her face—like she’s just as amused as I was, even though it’s obvious we were both going to be cleaning this up later. Grinning, I tossed a handful of flour at my mom. 

“Alyssa! I’m going to get you back!” she shouted as she chased me around the kitchen. I couldn’t stop laughing. The room was a mess, flour everywhere, but I didn’t care. We were both laughing too hard to notice. 

Somehow, the cookies made it into the oven. I watched the timer, 24:19, 19:31, 6:53, 2:47. Beep, beep, beep. I jumped up to pull the cookies out of the oven, almost forgetting the oven mitt. As I opened up the oven, the smell filled the room, rich and warm. The golden edges were just right, and the chocolate chips were all melted into the soft dough. I could hardly wait to grab one even though it was still too hot. 

Breaking off a piece, I dipped it into a warm glass of milk, and I took a bite. It was perfect. After waiting for what seemed like forever, we ate the still gooey cookies together, dipping them in milk while we laughed and smiled. 

What‘s happening? The thought echoes in my mind as desperation claws through me. Without thinking, I pinch my arm hard, hoping for some jolt of reality to break through the haze of uncertainty. I feel a sharp pain, and then a numbing sensation spreads across my skin.  

This isn’t a dream. The realization sends a mixture of confusion and terror coursing through me. However, the odd mix of sensations leaves me just as confused, as though I’m floating between two realities—one that seems distant, yet so familiar.

As I tried to process it, another screen stopped flickering. I watched myself wake up at my grandparents’ house on Christmas morning. 

“First one under the Christmas tree opens presents first!” my uncle yelled. My cousins and I raced each other into the living room. The stockings were overflowing and presents piled high up under the tree. Grandpa sat in his old recliner, smiling and holding a steaming cup of coffee while Grandma passed everyone hot chocolate. The adults gathered to watch the kids open their presents. First Alex, Aubreigh, then me. I opened my presents. A beautiful doll with a tacky flower dress and a volleyball. Then, I opened the final and largest present.

“The dollhouse!” I cheered while hugging my parents. “Thank you so much, Mom and Dad!”

I smile as the screen fades to black, a slight tear falling down my cheek. 

All at once, I jolt up straight as the realization hits me. How I got here.

It was late, the streets quiet as I made my way home from the library. I glanced at the blue glare on my phone—3:00 AM. My eyes felt heavy, exhausted from hours of cramming for the chemistry final in a few hours. Only two more finals to go before graduation. Almost there. I yawned and shuffled across Stephenson Avenue, my steps sluggish and half-conscious as I headed back to my dorm.

Then, a blaring horn. Sudden, bright lights flooded my vision. And then—

I remembered. I looked out into the void surrounding me.

“Hello?” I finally manage to whisper, my voice fragile against the quiet breeze. It feels absurd, calling out into the void as if I might somehow hear an answer, yet the act of speaking gives me a fragment of hope. I strain my ears, listening intently for any reply, but only silence meets my whisper, echoing back to me in mocking tones.

In a quick movement, a screen flickers into light. I see myself exploring the woods behind my house with my best friend. It felt like we were on a secret mission every time we went deeper into the trees. We’d build forts out of branches and pretend we were pirates or explorers, searching for hidden treasure. Sometimes, we’d race to the creek, trying to skip rocks across the water, our laughter echoing throughout the woods. Those summer days felt endless, and every new discovery felt like an adventure waiting to unfold.

But as the screen shifted, that carefree joy began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of unease. At first, the images brought a smile to my face—childhood laughter, adventures, unforgettable moments with friends. But then, my attention was drawn to a new scene that felt incredibly different. 

There I was, grown up, sitting alone in my bedroom, scrolling through my phone. One trend after another, one song after another.

Suddenly, I heard the door creak open. I barely looked up from my phone, my fingers scrolling absently through my feed, barely registering what I was even looking at. 

My mom’s voice was hopeful and cheerful. “Hey, you want to bake Christmas cookies with me?”

I didn’t even look up. My thumb kept swiping. Cookies? Please. The last thing I wanted to do was hang out in the kitchen and act like I cared about baking cookies. 

“Ugh, no,” I muttered, not even bothering to lift my head. She paused, like maybe she thought I didn’t hear her. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to fake excitement for some dumb family tradition that didn’t even matter anymore. Finally, I heard the door click shut, the soft thud of her retreating footsteps. Whatever. It’s not like it was a surprise. I wasn’t in the mood for her crap today.

The phone buzzed again—new notification, new post. More stupid stuff that didn’t matter but somehow kept me hooked. Without thinking, I tapped it open. The world outside of my phone just didn’t exist. It was easier to scroll through my feed than actually live in the moment.

The screen glistens, a new scene. I woke up. I just want to stay in bed, but of course my stupid parents are always trying to pull me into their lame plans. I heard the door creak open again. It was Dad this time. 

“Do you want to come to the grocery store with me?” he asked, all casual, like he wasn’t going to hear a “No” within two seconds. I didn’t even look up. My eyes were glued to the screen, my thumb swiping like I was on autopilot. Grocery store? What was the point? Why would I waste my time walking around buying stuff I didn’t even care about?

“Nope, that’s fine Dad,” I said, my voice flat and dismissive. Like, duh, I was in the middle of something way more important than whatever he was asking. He had to know that, right? I didn’t even try to sound polite—just straight-up blunt. Finally, I heard his footsteps leave. The door clicked shut.

And that was that.

I didn’t care. I didn’t want to care. Who needed the grocery store when there were posts to scroll through and things to ignore? My thumb kept scrolling. The world outside felt like some random movie I wasn’t in. Why bother with anything real when I could just live in this little bubble of mindless scrolling and pretend friends online?

As I watch myself in disbelief, one screen of that scene turned into ten screens, ten screens into fifty screens and soon, all screens were covered with me on a new day, in the same stupid room, on the same stupid phone–

I run frantically, the screens blurring, not because of the wind, not because of the speed, but because of the torment of emotions welling up inside me as I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.

The honk of the car rings in my ears, every blink shows the blaze of the headlights on that last cold night. Every searing memory is a constant reminder that I may never be able to go back. The thought of never baking those cookies with my mom again and never being able to come home to the warmth of my family. We were together. I was safe. We were all safe. And now it’s like all of that is slipping away from me, fading into the distance.

But there’s a truth settling deep inside me, something that feels almost like a whisper, but it’s insistent, sharp, and real. I have one option left.

I charge toward the nearest screen, determination coursing through my veins. I want to rewrite my story. The moment my hand reaches out to destroy the flickering image, the ground beneath me gives way with a violent shudder. A crack splits the floor open like a jagged wound, panic surges within me, and my fists curled and tightened, feeling the ache of regret. Before I can react, the world beneath my feet crumbles. The air rushes upward, pulling at me with a strong force, and I stumble, my body pitching forward into nothingness.

I try to scream, but my voice is swallowed by the roar of the abyss, consumed by the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Desperation surges through me. My fingers claw at the empty space, grasping at anything, everything—trying to hold on to something—but it was just air.

I’m falling. 

My heart pounds in my chest like a drum, each beat a battle against the pull of the void. My mind races, searching for a way out, for something to save me to reality, to keep me from being swallowed whole. But there is nothing. The sensation of falling stretches on endlessly, like I was suspended between two worlds, neither of which would ever let me return to the life I knew.

With one final, desperate breath, I reach out with all my strength.

And the world…freezes.