About the Writing Contest:ÿThis year, exactly 252 pieces of poetry and 42 pieces of fiction were submitted to our annual writing contest (see the poetry winner here). All authors’ names were removed before the entries were delivered to the judges. Each judge named his favorites, printed here, and two runners-up.

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Maria sorted the mail like she was dealing a hand. With a flick of her wrist she pitched it expertly onto the kitchen table as if the three empty chairs were poker players ? bills, junk and correspondence of possible importance. She hesitated with the last piece, undecided as to which pile it belonged.ÿ

?Jesus Christ, already?? she said, loud enough that her boyfriend, Alex, lowered the volume on the sports talk station and turned from the stove.ÿ

?What is it?? he asked, and she pulled it from the envelope with a little wave of disgust, as if it were a traffic citation.

?A Christmas card,? she said.

?That?s jumping the gun a bit, isn?t it?? he laughed. ?It was just Halloween.?

She read the inscription aloud: ?Wishing you and yours a joyous holiday season from your friends at Town & Country Insurance.? She put her finger in her mouth and made a gagging sound. ?There?s nothing like a Christmas card to make you want to kill yourself.?ÿ

He shook his head. ?Don?t say that.?

She tossed the card into the junk-mail pile to be shredded. ?You know I don?t mean it,? she said quietly.

He switched to a music station and flipped two perfect omelets onto plates. She cleared the mail away, poured coffee and they sat down to eat. A Billy Joel song came on.

?Now, listening to that could make someone step off the ledge,? he said, and switched the radio off.ÿ

?Thanks, I don?t need that stuck in my head all day. It?s bad enough with the sound effects from the slots. I hate those fucking Wheel of Fortune machines.?

?Wheel! Of! Fortune!? Alex yelled.

?Bastard,? she laughed, ?it?s not funny! I must hear that a thousand times a shift.?

?Poor baby,? he said and reached across the table to touch her hair, and she was reminded of how he used to do that to A.J.ÿ

Aside from the sound of cutlery scraping against porcelain plates or the tap of the salt shaker against the pepper, they finished breakfast in silence. They relished the calm of their late-morning brunches as both worked second shift in chaotic environments. Alex was a line cook at the Marriott next to the Convention Center. Maria was a poker dealer at Philadelphia?s first and only casino, a former sugar refinery on the waterfront called SugarHouse that her fellow employees called SuckerHouse. She wasn?t sure if the nickname was meant for the patrons or the employees.ÿ

Maria cleared the table as Alex poured more coffee.

?Sorry about earlier,? she said. ?I just hate it now.?

?Hate what??

?Christmas.?

He nodded. ?It?s ruined, isn?t it??

Sometimes she wanted to slap him. Of course it?s ruined, she thought; everything?s ruined.ÿ

?I have to go get ready,? she said.

Maria showered, dressed and applied far more makeup than she ever wore in her former career as a realtor. ?We want this to be a Vegas experience for our patrons,? her manager had emphasized to the female dealers during their orientation, ?so glam it up.? How anyone could ever confuse Fishtown with Las Vegas was beyond Maria?s comprehension, but she played along for the paycheck. She lined her eyes with black kohl and applied mascara thickly.ÿ