SENIOR PROSE 1ST PRIZE
Arnold Pfeiffer was a rotten pilot.
Or so the officers on the aircraft carrier RECLUSE thought. But they had no choice. Arnie was the only pilot left on the listing, battle-scarred behemoth who could attempt the mission.
With his hands thrust defiantly into the pockets of his flyer's jacket, he strode across the shell-shattered deck amid the strafing of enemy craft. He lept nonchalantly into the cockpit of the machine he was proud to call his own. His long thin fingers ran deftly over the familiar controls.
The engines roared; the deafening sound rebounded off the twisted hulk of the superstructure.
Slowly, the F-106 rolled forward, then began to pick up speed; faster and faster it roared along the deck, enemy shellfire bursting about it on all sides. There was a prayer on the lips of every officer and seaman as their last hope of survival hurtled along the runway, soared over the end of the take-off ramp, and then dropped into the ocean. And as the flaming RECLUSE slipped beneath the surface of the sea, the sole survivor looked up at the sky from his life-raft, shook his fist, and cried through the smoke-choked air, "Arnold Pfeiffer is a rotten pilot!"
SENIOR PROSE 2ND PRIZE
Add the tenderloin age of firsty-five, Cheddo Raffinke was besmit by the odely luv of his life. She were anicely sugary! gurl of trebedous jello hair, bud nod too tall for Cheddo -- vebby tidy three-inch maid.
Alackadaisy! his muther ad father frowned deftly apod the match. Add so also felled Ra- moda's parrots also. "They treat us just like Romio add Julio" puttered Cheddo sadly, madfully tempting nod to weep. Lurchily, as the storey goes, there were hops still for the jug luvvers. Nod log a lengthy tide after, Cheddo scrawled the drained pike to Ramoda's widow, scooped her furmly in his fist (she was odely a tidy three-inch made) and flowed off into the knight. Thus lived they haply ever ever. Still, tweddy years past, as he looked at crinkled tidy Raboda, Cheddo timely wuddered, "Wah have I diddy diddy do?"