Creative Writing Competition 2025: Upper Division, First Place

You are not gonna believe what happened to me last Thursday.

It started normal. I came to school, dragging my backpack like always, and trying to ignore the fact that I forgot my math homework again. Mr. Reisert gives you the look if you say, “My dog ate it,” so I had to come up with something way better (spoiler alert: I didn’t).

Anyway, I went to my locker like I do every morning. Locker 207. Right next to Benji’s, who smells like peanut butter 90% of the time. I turned the combo: 27–15–42. Same as always. But when I opened it…

There was a sandwich inside. A floating sandwich.

No plate. No bag. Just hovering there like it was magic or something. Turkey and cheese. Mustard. Lettuce. One bite taken out of it.

I stared at it for like five whole seconds.

Then, it blinked.

I swear on my collection of limited edition Pokémon cards — it blinked.

“WHO DISTURBS MY SLUMBER?” the sandwich growled.

I screamed. Like, full-on, high-pitched, unmanly shriek. A girl walking past dropped her binder.

“Did you just scream at your locker?” she asked.

“There’s a—there’s a TALKING SANDWICH,” I said.

She rolled her eyes and walked away.

The sandwich blinked again. “You have awakened the Keeper of the Turkey Realm. Now you must complete the Quest of Crumbs!”

I slammed the locker shut.

Nope. Not today, talking sandwich demon.

I ran straight to Principal Young's office. Busted in there like the world was ending.

“There’s a sandwich in my locker and it TALKS and it wants me to go on a quest!”

She looked up over her glasses. “Eli, do we need to call your mom again?”

“No!” I said. “I mean—yes! Call her! She needs to know too!”

But of course, no one believed me.

Until lunch.

Benji opened his locker (208), and a slice of ham flew out and stuck to his forehead. It made a wet splat sound. He screamed.

Then lockers all over the hallway started shaking.

Meat started flying out of them. Floating meat. Sandwiches, hot dogs, burgers—some glowing, some spinning. One had laser eyes.

Turns out, the cafeteria had ordered “Enchanted Meat Products” by accident from some sketchy online vendor called MagikMeats.com.

All the sandwiches were cursed. Mine just happened to be the leader.

Long story short: the janitor had to fight them off with a mop that he dipped in marinara sauce (don’t ask), and the lunch ladies summoned an ancient pickle from the walk-in fridge to banish them.

And me?

I was named “Sandwich Slayer of Sixth Grade.”

I even got a certificate.

So yeah. That was my Thursday.

And that’s why I never open my locker without goggles anymore.