For the art entries the winner is @CosmicKestrel!

For the poetry entries here is the winning poem!

I'll put your picture on the wall

Tear out those empty faces

Warm hearts in better places

I'll scream until my lungs give out

Donate another tear

Wishing you were near

You're buried six feet under

But I can't escape the hell atop

I'd give anything to swap

I'll hold your ghost close

Visions of what we once were

Memories fading into a blur

I know that God took your hand

But Satan's possessed a man

Gave him a gun and a plan

So don't look back darling

Fly away little angel

Pretend Earth was just a fable

For the short story entries the winner is Orangutan101.

"I saw the stories on the news when I was younger. Reporters with fake pity explaining the violence and hate. Pictures of children lost too soon and scenes of sobbing parents, packed full with incomprehensible grief. Not able to safely tuck daughters and sons into bed at night and place warm, comforting lips upon young cheeks. I never cried, being not yet ten, unable to grasp the situation. These were far off places, towns I never once visited, names I did not know, friends that were not mine to mourn.

They slowly began to disappear, uncontrollable sobbing turned down like a volume knob. No, the well of horror never did dry up, it rained harder if anything, but the country's pity evaporated. Dead children were not news anymore, just a fact of life. "It's not real if I can't see it" became an unspoken motto. I blame myself for being blind as much as I blame the ignorance of older generations when it came to my life.

People always wait until it's too late to take action, I'd be a hypocrite to claim otherwise. Only now with footsteps down the hall and stilled breathes did I bother to cry for the children lost. A silent trail of salty water for each soul taken too soon. Blue eyes of wonder tucked away into Mother Earth. Sunshine smiles caked in blood. Hindsight, as much of a devil as the man roaming the halls. The school was silent now, screaming silenced, teeth chattering as we all awaited our fate. I guess middle school really is the worst time of one's life. Footsteps came closer to the classroom, slow and methodical as twenty young hearts raced to the brink of bursting. The shoes stopped walking as the monster wearing them turned. Old wood creaking open, probably the janitor's closet not more than twenty feet away. Three children begging, three shots, three more coffins prepared.

Footsteps came again, completely in control of the situation, my classmates and I reduced to nothing more than defenseless prey. Through the darkness and blurry vision I could make out still breathing bodies shaking, inhaling, exhaling. Terrified, but still alive. Why has no one ever told me what a privilege it is to breath? The door handle shakes angrily. Desks and chairs hastily stacked threaten to spill over. With a final lunge from the monster they do, making no sound as supplies dance across the floor, fleeing for cover of their own. A piece of paper floats in front of me, percentages. What percentage of children will die today? What fraction of people' worlds will be shattered. He looks around, hungry, scared, sad, pained, angry eyes scanning the crowd of shaking future corpses. I look with him. Our backs packed tightly against the farthest wall. No teacher to be found. She lay dead in the hallway, a bullet in her chest the price to pay for protecting us. Textbooks blocked the way to us, prayers from angels to protect us. Everyone wears white and blue, the colors of the school. They were meant for the pep rally, never to happen now. They will soon be joined by red. What irony, red, white, and blue. America. Loud popping sounds erupt and the red seeps through.

Oh Mom, I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to help with dinner tonight. I promise I'll never complain about doing my chores again, just please save me. I'm scared. Dad, please help me. No more snarky comments will leave these lips, just please, tell me it will be alright in that soft way you do.

Cobalt eyes meet hardened brown. I guess thirteen is truly an unlucky number."

As always I do this for my little sister. May she remain alive and untouched.