(For a full list of prizewinners, please click here on 2019 Competition ).

Fade
by Samantha JC Hoh, Philadelphia, USA

“Did you know cicadas actually live for many years?”

Tak, tak. Our sandals smack the stone in rhythm as I try not to stumble over the hem of my yukata.  

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“It’s true! They spend years underground and only come out when they’re ready to mate. Then they die off and the cycle continues, I guess.”

The sun is disappearing behind the trees, bathing the sky in blinding gold. I inhale the heavy air and listen. The cicadas’ cries are high and mournful. Like my own breathing, I’ve become so accustomed to them that I no longer hear them until I concentrate. Before, they used to wake me.

“What a sad life.”

“You think so?” His tone is indifferent, and he pauses a moment. “You know, you’re lucky you won’t be here when they start dying. They drop out of the trees and land in people’s hair.” He grins at me.

But, I think, the dying has already started. The other day I saw one on its back, writhing like a fat, dismembered thumb with bulging eyes. Its legs were still moving, erratic and slow.

Help! Anyone, please help! If you could just get me back on my feet again, I’ll be able to fly! I’ll fly away and sing for you…

A cool breeze dries the sweat from my hairline, and I catch the scent of cotton candy. I wipe my hands on my thighs and force a chuckle. “Why are we talking about bugs, anyway? You better not make me lose my appetite.”

“We both know you never would,” he says, and I give him a shove.

That night, we promise to meet again as the fireworks disappear into the black sky.

The chorus fades when summer ends, and I’m already long gone.