This semester, Flat Hat Magazine held a short story contest open to all students at the College of William and Mary. Participants were asked to write a short story based on the song “Movement” by Hozier. William Zurborg and Mateus Krauss Dutra wrote stories connecting readers to imaginative spaces. Zurborg’s interpretation will take you to “João’s Eatery and Bar,” where you will hear about the enchanting voice of a mysterious singer. Dutra, on the other hand, was inspired by the willow tree of the chorus. Congratulations to the winners, and thank you to everyone who submitted!

– Emma Saunders ‘24

Flat Hat Magazine Short Story Contest Organizer

João’s Eatery and Bar (est. 1953)

- William J. Zurborg J.D. ‘22

To find João’s, you have to descend a flight of stairs below street level and walk down a single-file hallway to a red door. Behind that door is where I heard her for the first time. Her jet-black hair reflected streaks of gold from the candles lighting the room. I took a seat at the bar as she strummed her guitar and sang her melancholy tunes. All eyes were locked on her, but her eyes were fixed on something far from here.

“She’s singing Fado — Portuguese songs of longing and loss,” the bartender said in a hushed tone.

I was entranced, unable to move. Her words, though foreign, began to make perfect sense to me, as if translated by the strings of her guitar. Sailors departing for unknown lands, perhaps never to return — lives forgotten in all but song.

I stayed all night. When she finished, I put a five in the jar and left through the red door. Behind that door is where I heard her for the last time. The city reemerged atop the stairs, cold and indifferent to the happenings at João’s.

Under the Bough of a Willow Tree

- Mateus Krauss Dutra ‘23

The bough of the willow tree shook with a gust of wind. Two boys sat underneath its cascading leaves. The sun was setting but taking its time, and the August heat of the day had mellowed into something resembling coolness.

One of the boys, blonde, lithe, and strong, was still a bit sticky with sweat from running around all day. The other had thin black hair and was wearing a button-down, long sleeve t-shirt. He’d spent all day inside and hadn’t sweat a drop.

The former was enjoying their stillness; he’d had his fill of running. The latter could only feel the absence of the energy that should’ve been his by the right of youth.

They looked like negatives of each other; despite being close friends, there was a universe of distance in the six or so inches that separated them on that summer night. This could be the last time they saw each other, and so they — who were usually so easy and open — found themselves completely silent.

So they just moved. Slowly drawing closer together. And as the sun moved down to the horizon that night, like it does every night, they too moved closer together.