100-Word Microstory Contest Winner, Grades 9-12
It was the ugliest effing sweater I had ever seen. "Surprise!" Grandma's outstretched hands holding sought-after baseball cards morphed right under my nose into the plaid eyesore before me. "For your next football game!"
"Yes, it is perfect for today—right?" My mother warmly suggested as she forced the sweater over my head.
"Gee, Mom, sure!" returning a sardonic grin, for which I was promptly side-jabbed. Trying to cover my bruised abdomen and ego, I slipped into the bathroom. Studying my appearance in the mirror, it hit me: The involuntary ugly-sweater contest had commenced, and I was the lone participant.