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27 th<br />
annual<br />
of the<br />
Stories of the<br />
Season<br />
www.SouthwestOrlandoBulletin.com x December 20, 2018 — January 9, 2019 x 11<br />
The entries submitted for Southwest Orlando Bulletin’s 27th annual Stories of the<br />
Season contest told tales of special visits from Santa, mystical holiday creatures and the<br />
joy of spending time with family and friends. Whether they recreate holiday memories<br />
or take readers to imaginary places filled with elves, reindeer and their ilk, they are sure<br />
to add holiday spirit to all this year.<br />
Congratulations to first-place winner Sebastian Alemany of Windermere,<br />
runner-up Sue Sicard of Windermere Chase, and child winner Allison<br />
Belemjian of Wesmere, all of whom received cash prizes. Also included are<br />
submissions selected as honorable mentions.<br />
The staff of the Southwest Orlando Bulletin extends thank-yous to everyone who<br />
entered the contest and wishes a happy holiday season to all.<br />
Winner<br />
War Can’t Stop<br />
the Season of Joy<br />
by Sebastian Alemany<br />
Windermere<br />
It is around 10 o’clock Christmas<br />
Eve, 1917, at the war front in France.<br />
My name is Col. Martin from Brussels,<br />
Ireland. I serve in the 407th Infantry<br />
Battalion for the Allied Forces. Like<br />
many, I started as a wide-eyed corporal<br />
in the brutal trench warfare. Most people<br />
said, “With our training, the war will<br />
be a piece of cake.”<br />
But since the enemy had invented new<br />
weapons, like machine guns, our egos<br />
were silenced. They used to say that the<br />
war would be over by Christmas, that<br />
there would be few casualties.<br />
It has been three years. The casualty<br />
rate is 6,000 a day. Now we have seen<br />
the true face of destruction and despair in<br />
its most vicious form.<br />
This day was like any other. The sounds<br />
of enemy mortars and machine guns deafening,<br />
the horrid smell of the trench-diseased<br />
inhabitants, and the normal despair<br />
and sadness of losing fellow comrades in<br />
the most brutal ways imaginable. I felt completely<br />
cut off from the rest of the world.<br />
It was difficult to remember small details<br />
of my family. The exact shade of<br />
blue of my mother’s eyes. The sound of<br />
my little brother’s high-pitched laughter.<br />
I obsessed over these tiny details, trying<br />
to grasp onto anything to keep my sanity.<br />
The days seemed to blend together, but<br />
this day seemed different somehow. There<br />
seemed to be less gunfire, less casualties<br />
around me. Even the trenches smelled<br />
slightly better, as if some of the bodies had<br />
been removed.<br />
There I was with my trusty sniper rifle,<br />
doing my job as the commanding officer<br />
of my platoon for the next terrifying two<br />
hours, evading machine-gun fire.<br />
Suddenly, I heard a sound that I thought<br />
I would never hear for the remainder of the<br />
war. A cease-fire horn pierced the air more<br />
than the bullets ever had. Just like that,<br />
the gunfire stopped as we rose out of the<br />
trench, making our way to no man’s land.<br />
The faces of the men I fought with<br />
were filled with more emotions than most<br />
CONTINUED ON PAGE 12<br />
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