This was my first ever NYC Midnight fiction entry. 250 words is a lot less than you think once you start writing, as a result of which I'm really impressed with the people who do well at the Microfiction 100 word variant. This one did pretty well - I came third in my group, and progressed to round 2, where I pretty much bombed with my "Indiana Jones-esque" tale of archeology, theft and murder. I'll add that if I can find it.
Written for the NYCMidnight Flash Fiction (1000 word limit) challenge. Prompts for this were:
Genre: Crime Caper
Location: A pub car park
Item: Hairspray
Written for the NYCMidnight Flash Fiction challenge 2023. My writing prompts for this round were:
Genre: Horror
Location: A man-made lake
Object: A windchime.
There was a word limit of 1000 words. I used every one, but I've tweaked a few since. This one didn't do so well, though I got some good feedback.
The things we remember
Are those that choose to be remembered.
...
I did not say it was YOUR choice.
Life chooses your memories for you.
You can exert mental pressure to change the choice
It rarely works
But it is noble to try.
Triggered as usual
By an unknown car
driving past to an unknown destination
containing unknown people.
After a moment
They realise that they do not care about those people
And the darkness returns.
I turn on the light and can spot no animal
I walk out of the room onto the landing
And no creature greets my eyes
I head downstairs, flicking switches as I go
Each fresh room I illuminate reveals no living things
Except for me. I realise.
I am the animal in distress.
That is, after all, much easier than walking backwards.
The child with her chooses not to have an easy life
And instead skips sideways, clutching her umbrella in one tiny fist
And the strap of her teddy-bear rucksack in the other
Her bright yellow raincoat a contrast against the greys of the city street
a breeze rushes through and an open window at the back of the house slams closed with a bang. I'm distracted and it makes me jump.
I was not ready for the noise.
Jack is very apologetic but I should have closed that window as soon as the sun went down, so I smile, treating it as a timely reminder.
I lock the window as Jack closes the door.
"Listen" he says, that eager look on his face that he always gets when he has what he thinks is an amazing plan.
"I have an amazing plan."
Write a letter, in character, possibly starting with "There is so much I want to tell you" or similar, to someone your character is close to / has a level of intimacy with.
-------------------------------------
I have so much I want to tell you. Since I was with you, things have changed a lot. I've not seen most of my friends or family for a long time, I'm not sure how long, but it's getting so that their faces are starting to swim like the koi carp in the pond in my new home, never quite clear, and getting more distorted when I reach out and try to touch them. Yours, so far, remains sharp and clear, partly on its own, partly through the imposition of my will on my own memory It's colder here then it was where you are. Of course I'm only assuming you're still there, and if not, that someone arranges for this to reach you. It's not easy to find someone when you leave first and then you don't know if they have also gone.
Very unfinished. Idea is that it's from a dog that's been rescued from somewhere overseas to one of his friends in the kennels.
The familiar tingle moving around betwixt the hairs.
Allow yourself to fully relax as the enormous grey spider decides where to nestle.
Move your head slightly to keep her exploring.
Soon she will lay down her egg sac and shortly you will have so many more sensations.
You are so lucky.
Move your consciousness to your arms. Be aware of the straps restraining them.
Similar to the ones on your ankles. So soft and padded and comfortable.
They are there to protect the spider from any accidental movements.
But also to help you to enjoy the stillness,
and to allow you to savour a full month of peace and quiet and relaxation.
"Well, mainly, it's because I'm pissed off." she retorted. "I've never been asked for something so stupid before in all my life, but you're in charge, you should know what you're doing, I have to try to make it happen, but it's really bloody stupid."
David looked affronted.
"And what's that you're doing with your hands?"
She grinned. "Funny you should ask, as you're about to find out."
How about now, as I pour warm sweetened milk on your shoulders, and release a bag of raccoons into your pants?
What did you do to me? Nothing. As you know, you've never even seen me. The reason for this pursuit is nothing so trivial as worldly offence or misfortune. It simply IS. There is no further need to justify it.
What will happen when I catch you?
You already know that too. Let's not talk about that right now.
You'll tell me I'm a snek
When I punch you in the throat
You'll think that I'm a stoat
If I bite you in the thigh
You'll consider me a fly
But when I sieze your foot
I'm probably just a mutt
Write a podcast/meditation.
Could be about sleeping
or
to alleviate stress,
to relax,
to commune with your higher self,
to stop smoking,
couch to 5k,
mindful eating,
to believe in yourself,
deep kindness
or whatever
-----------------
You are in your garden.
Sit comfortably, close your eyes, allow yourself to smell the clean air.
Feel the sensation of the wooden bench on your back and legs.
Settle into the seat, resting your arms on the table.
Enjoy the clean, fresh air, breathe deeply of it.
Take a sip of your water. Savour the pleasant freshness.
You do not want a cigar, or a glass of whisky. Or a bag of chocolate.
Your day has been bad, but you do not need those things to relax.
There were moments when you wanted to karate chop people in their windpipes,
But you are working remotely, so you couldn't get to them.
And now you're in your garden. The working day is over,
You have survived another day.
You can relax completely.
Listen to that noise. It's your work phone
bleating impotently about yet another failure caused by the incompetence
of the people you said we shouldn't hire in the first place.
It can wait. You have time. Breathe deeply. The air tastes of nothing.
The water tastes of nothing. You cannot taste the warmth of the
excellent bottle of scotch you have in the kitchen,
as it tempers the bitterness of the remnants of the smoke from that Cuban
that you've been saving for a special occasion. Or a shitty evening.
You do not need the smooth chocolate no matter how much of a perfect
counterpoint it would be to the savoury earthiness of the cigar
or the fire of the spirit.
The noise grows more impatient. You are not impatient. You just know
that you're not paid enough to care this time. Consider Bob. He's meant
to be on-call tonight. Why are they contacting you?
Consider it a compliment, you can fix things he cannot.
Or maybe he's just better at ignoring it than you are.
He's better at most things than you, is what your mind tells you.
It's objectively not true, but you do like to torture yourself with such things.
Maybe you'll be fired. Maybe you should attack someone in the office.
Pick up the cigar. Sniff it. You do not need to smoke it.
You are in control of your own destiny. You can reject it and enjoy the clean air.
Feel the weight of the exquisitely engineered cutter in your other hand.
The satisfying snick of the razor sharp blades cleanly removing the cap end.
The reassuring click and fizz of the jet lighter and the first few wafts
of leaves grown on an island thousands of miles away
being burned in a garden in Wigan.
Open your eyes and go get the whisky and the chocolate.
You deserve it.
They're all twats.
Specially Bob.
All prompts based on the short story "Wants" by Grace Paley. An unusual week given that it focused on prose rather than poetry. The speed writes were based on gathering ideas rather than on producing anything creative per-se.
