My NYC Midnight Submission, 2nd Round (Flash Fiction)

Well, a whirlwind weekend with lots of outings and freelance work resulted in me drafting a quick story and editing said story and not liking the story but submitting it anyways. My luck is usually when I feel good about a piece the judges don't give it a good score, but when I dislike it I get a decent score. So we'll see if that trend continues on with this round. Didn't score great on my first round action/adventure entry. So we'll see how the genre of horror fares for me. Genre: Horror. Location: Outdoor music concert. Object: Animal crackers.

I let the animal crackers guide me on this one. I present...

"Jibber Jabbers Live!"

I check my buds to make sure they are stuffed well inside my ears putting as much of a barrier between me and the overly excited mass of kids surrounding me. The toddlers cover up almost every inch of green in this park. Several feet away my parents lift my little sister high in the air as a flag for me to wave at. They’re excited to see me work my first job. But more so they’re excited to see the Jibber Jabbers live.

Kids love the damn Jibber Jabbers. They seem to be the only thing to settle them down. The Jibber Jabbers appeared on TV two years ago and parents couldn’t live without them. I tried watching with my sister once but after a few minutes the noise, well music, made me twitch. Had me rubbing my ear against my shoulder to get rid of a scratch. But my four-year-old sister was stone with a smile on her face. She clapped to the auto tunes and the fuzzy red, yellow, blue and white creatures that looked like a bear with a giraffe’s neck and a cat’s face. It was all pretty disturbing to me but my parents, all parents appreciated the Jibber Jabbers because they provided sixty minutes, without commercials, of child-free time.

I give a limp wave to my parents and sister before adjusting my Jibber Jabbers cap. The wind is non-existent thankfully so the tri-colored tassles don’t fling in my face—hitting me in the eye, nose, making it to my mouth—unless I move my head too fast. I’m wearing a yellow shirt for the Jibber Yowza.

I’m on the outskirts of the crowd surveying to see if there are any spots on the lawn. I’m surrounded by cackling, sniffling, burping, crunching on animal crackers while trying to talk spit and crust flying into the air, hyped up kids ages four and up.

I turn back to my family and see my mom motioning for me to take out my buds. I shake my head. No way I want to hear these kids in stereo. No. Freaking. Way. They encouraged me to take this job. It got them discounted tickets and am also learning responsibility. Yeah great, I say seeing a woman on a blanket near the stage change her child’s diaper…in public.

I inhale big regretting taking this job. Management wanted teens mainly because we have the energy to deal with the kids. That anyone between the ages of fourteen and eighteen (with working papers) can deal with loud noises and children who pee anywhere and everywhere. Hey, we’re young only way to go is up!

A couple of burly, thick guys in black that remind me of secret service on TV are a barrier between the people and the stage. These guys are the only dark spot. Like any kid is getting beyond that wall of black.

The static hum increases. It buzzes in my ear and seems to be sneaking inside, coiling itself past my ear drum into my brain. I stick my finger in my ear like I want to shake it out.

I hear a bleep and the stage lights up even with the sun. I blink rapidly but look away unable to take the sun and the ultraviolet green from the arena. I stare into the audience. My sister’s face is super round and glistening in excitement with mom and dad on either side of her.

Once the announcement starts up the crowd goes crazy. Screams and screeches abound with wild clapping. I stuff my earbuds in more, while the sound isn’t completely cancelled out it is dulled a good amount.

I keep my back to the Jibber Jabbers. There’s another usher near me, Robert, who’s staring at them. He sticks his tongue out while mimicking hanging himself and I laugh. The kids that can walk get to their feet and gyrate to the beat pulsing around me.

Robert bobs his own head and then, suddenly, he’s frozen. I’m about to ask if he’s okay when my eyes dart sideways and notice I’m looking at a sea of little mannequins. The kids are statues. The adults are moving, freaking the hell out in fact. I face the guards to yell at them about the kids, but the men aren’t solid like before. They’re jittery masses with their arms twitching along with their mouths, blood seeps from their noses and veins pulse in their necks like snakes with a big old heartbeat.

My heart pumps hard and fast as I take it all in and see a mother’s eyes bleed, her pupils going black. The child in her lap is motionless and staring ahead at the Jibber Jabbers.

I dart into the audience heading straight for my sister and parents when my dad clutches his neck. I’m too far away, other people shivering and falling around me as I watch my father ooze blood from not just his eyes and mouth but from his skin like he’s sweating the stuff. I fall beside him and mom in her fold out chair. Mom slides off her body limp with my sister in her lap dazed. I look at the stage for the first time not wanting to take in anymore of the bleeding parents young and old. When I see the Jibber Jabbers they’re in a row, fuzzy beings of red, yellow, blue and white. I always thought they were just people in a suit. A hot, big suit but one of them, Jibber Yowza, smiles exposing jaw upon jaw like a shark. Wet, scaly lips close over the teeth. I can’t hear what is said nor do I want to when its large orbs lock on me noticing I’m one of the young people not comatose and not bleeding like the adults. I don’t take out my earbuds. I grab my sister and run like hell, making animal crackers dust under my feet.

My NYC Midnight Submission, 1st Round (Flash Fiction)

As mentioned in my previous post this past weekend the first round of the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Competition commenced. And it was 48-hours of craziness. Though the Twitter-verse wasn't as rowdy as usual. Perhaps because of the condensed time and the fact that there are only two more episodes of Breaking Bad left! Priorities. Anywho, for the first round my genre was Action/Adventure, my location was a Castle (which completely threw me as I never write about castles--you can thank Disney for that), and my object was a Bucket.

This was my first idea and it stuck. Don't love it but I think I hit all my bases. And of course it's after you hit the send/post button that you start seeing holes. Augh. Ah well. Thoughts/comments welcome.

I present Ascent:

You were always the favorite.

“That’s not true, Jeremy” Mia mumbles to herself, gulping air as she runs up the stairs. Her lungs feel like they’ll burst. Both her legs start to get that jelly feel as she ascends. In the darkness, each heel on a cobblestone step feels like a badge of honor.

Mia’s side brushes against the railing sending a flame from her right. The burn and stink of torched skin and hair are abundant. Jumping up another step she sucks in a scream, not wanting to hear her pain echo. On the upside, the fire provides the only light she’s seen since she initiated her climb.

The temptation to dose her leg with water from the bucket she carries is thwarted by the knowledge of how important it will become. She tries not to have too much water slosh out.

Mia stumbles, a stone gives way. “Pay attention!” she yells at herself. Her hair sticks to her neck and her bare shoulders; her tank top adheres to her skin. The whole castle, well the ruin it’s become, is a puzzle. A puzzle designed to screw her royal. Her father said it was an artifact remade to push present-day soldiers to the brink, to build the best of the best in lieu of older methods. Another stone crumbles and falls screeching before it hits the ground reminding Mia of how far she doesn’t want to fall.

Don’t die.

“Yeah, Jeremy, I’m trying.”

When she said this to him Jeremy didn’t look so sure from his wheelchair. He was her older brother, tall, but no one could tell anymore since he was always seated. He’d made it so far too. Their father was highly opposed to the new methods of testing. But was confident his children would make it out, with a little wear & tear. Then Jeremy returned with broken limbs beyond repair, practically a pretzel. Others came back broken or not at all. The announcement that Mia would be next in line was when her father was found in his office. No note. No reasoning. Just legs dangling, his neck twisted by the cloth tied to a ceiling fan. Mia was glad she hadn’t seen him like that. It wasn’t the Miller way.

Her right leg tucks under her, another cobblestone loosens. Regaining her momentum Mia jerks to the side touching the brick railing, and that’s when something shiny enters her periphery.

Her mind is on Jeremy’s words when she hits the floor. Her chest jams against the stairs inciting a strangled cough. There’s wind against her back and the sound of clothing tearing. A chill hits her skin. Another sting turns into a burn. Craning her neck the pendulum swings back where it came from.

Her attention snaps to the bucket on the step below her, tilted and losing water every second she stares at it. She pushes herself forward avoiding gaps where she senses them.

The castle looked huge when she approached it. A crumbling structure decimated at the top by bombs with pillars and columns’ jagged edges shooting into the sky. She headed inside with no supplies. “You come into this world alone, you leave it alone,” was all she was told.

She wobbles. “Don’t touch anything but the bucket.”

Air gets harder to take in. Her body is an unwanted weight. And that damn bucket. Its rope handles dig into her palm.  Water swishes around. She wants to take a drink, bathe in it, dab her wounds. But she can’t, she needs every bit she has.

Mia gulps tapping down the excitement when she feels the last step, the ground above it flattening under her. Her eyes have settled on the darkness. Her hearing and the cool air on her skin are so much more pervasive now.

They wanted me to fail. They’ll try the same for you.

“There’s always a way. I’ll make it. The Millers will be back on top.”

You’re way too hopeful. Just like Dad was.

“That’s a bad thing. Hope?”

Look where it got him.

The thinning of the air this high up. The sting on her back. The scorching throb on her calf. The overall ache of her legs causing her to tilt backwards almost losing her balance. The parch of her throat. All of it is designed for her to fail, like Jeremy said.

Even lifting the bucket makes her heave, like she’s been carrying a boulder instead of water. She readies it, slowly pouring with each step she takes. Each splash confirms there’s ground for her to continue going forward.

And then the splash stops. The droplets descend lower, revealing just what she thought: a gap in the path.

Her boots slip slightly from the wetness on the stones and she finds the edge.

Her legs are unreliable even bending she feels the tremble shake up through her spine.

A curse filters up through her throat along with a gurgle. She sucks back her fear, her anger, the mucus accumulating and spits. At first she hears nothing but the whistle of the wind up this high. And then there it is. Splat. Her saliva hitting the other end of the path.

She doesn’t know how many feet but if she could spit that far, she could jump it. She throws the bucket, hears it soar and bust on the other side.

Mia steps back, readies herself. Another breath, more burning. Running start and up she forces herself to think, to do. When she lands her knees crack against stone. Her face smacks a sharp edge and wetness lines her cheek.

Her arms automatically reach up to touch the barrier. The sear through the air alerts her too late. “Don’t touch the railing,” she reminds herself and in that same moment she’s met with ultimate darkness. The sharpness imbedding itself and the pain searing through her head is immediate.

Mia touches her eyes but is met with the feathery tip of darts. Once again, someone’s failed.

#NYCMidnight Flash Fiction Competition: Yup, I'm Back In It

After a year long hiatus in which I did not do as much writing as I liked and freelance consumed my life (kinda still does in a way with other things) I took a break from the NYCMidnight competitions to save some pennies and copyedit psychology supplements. Fun? Sure, why not. But, seeing as how the flash fiction challenge was coming in I decided to enter for the early deadline and will again be in it for at least two rounds in the flash fiction competition which commences tonight at exactly midnight.

So, my next post will be my entry in the first round and we'll see what I get in terms of genre, location, and object prompts. The last time I entered the flash fiction competition I got science fiction and horror along with some random a** objects (for the horror it was mouthwash). I got a higher rating on the horror, which I was not a fan of, than the science fiction one which I thought was amazing. Just goes to show you never know what the judges will like.

From the time I get my prompts I will have two days to complete the story and must submit by the end of the weekend (before midnight, specifically 11:59pm). After the first two rounds highest scores will advance to the third round and so on to the fourth.

Wish me luck! I always enjoy the NYCMidnight competitions for the camaraderie on Twitter (hair pulling, b****ing about genres, panicking galore) and have met some really cool people through the competition and read some amazing work. It's a fun twist at writing something outside your comfort zone and seeing what you're capable of. Having done the short story and flash fiction competitions before I've learned I can do romantic comedy and horror as well as other genres. Just because you write in one doesn't mean you have to be relegated to it. If your aim is to write a good story that'll come through.

Good luck to all who do the competition and I look forward to reading your pieces and complaining about mine on Twitter right along with you.

My NYC Midnight Submission, 2nd challenge (Flash Fiction)

This past weekend all of NYCMidnight registrants were either excited or solemn about the second challenge in the first round of this year's Flash Fiction contest. Rankings were posted late last week and many of us in the Twitterverse were not happy, though some were. Rankings encompassed people receiving points (or not). You could get from 1-25 points. The higher the points the higher your ranking. I was in the top 15, but rated pretty low with 2 points. Those not in the top 15 received a score of 0.

That being said a low score on the first challenge doesn't necessarily remove you from the entire challenge. You can score pretty high on the second challenge and the combined score, if high enough for your group, could carry you to the next round.

Feedback I received from members was generally very complimentary and helpful. Comments from the judges noted that my science fiction piece was sci-fi all the way (score!) but a bit too political and not subtle enough (nuts!). I do like the story and as mentioned in my previous NYCMidnight post I got inspired pretty quickly and wrote it within a few hours. I'll more than likely edit it down and rework it a bit and see if I can submit to a lit mag that specializes in science fiction. We'll see. First I have to get through my growing literary and YA projects.

This challenge I received the following: genre, horror; location, aquarium; item, mouthwash. Pretty random huh?

I have to say I didn't like it at all. I've read and seen a lot of horror in my day but have yet to write any successfully.

Since the flash fiction challenge takes place from 11:59pm on Friday to 11:59pm on Sunday you can imagine being blocked may hinder your creation. While I was gung ho about my story last challenge I was completely (read: completely) blocked for this one. I wrote several drafts that I hated and the damn aquarium was getting in my way! I didn't want to utilize any animals in the aquarium as that seemed too easy. In many moments of being blocked I thought "What would Stephen King do in this situation?"

One of the contest members sent me this freaky post about a giant worm that ran rampant at an aquarium in the UK for inspiration. Did you check it out? Way creepy, no?!

In the end I wrote a piece I semi-liked. And when I was done I realized that the location prompted was not a predominant locale in the piece. I tried to rework it in the remaining time I had but it just wasn't working. So, there is an aquarium but the judges may disqualify me for not having a majority of the action inside it. Eh. I wrote and submitted and cheered my fellow writers on. Doubt I'll make it to the next round, but there's always next year.

So, here goes nothing...here's my 2nd challenge entry, First Date:

I noticed him working at the café in the Pacific Aquatic Center. I was there for a school assignment. I saw him staring at me before quickly turning away as I sketched the stingrays. He's one of those lonely, quiet boys. Keeps his head down, barely speaks, but is polite, has a nice smile even.

Our date is at the aquarium. He can get us in for free. A perk he says. When he picks me up in his beat up car he seems happy to not be wearing the prerequisite sea green shirt and hat with a copyrighted mermaid on it.

As soon as he steps out the car to get our tickets I check the glove compartment. Soap, mouthwash, toilet paper, hair gel, and deodorant spill out onto my lap. I grin when I see the bulging garbage bags in the backseat, shoes scattered on the car floor.

He isn't quiet when we have sex in the aquarium. He pushes me up against the shark tank. As marine life swims around us he presses against me, whispers in my ear that I am beautiful and lovely and all those nice words he thinks girls like to hear during.

After, I smooth my skirt and he checks the fly on his jeans. The air is musky and damp, water under our feet. He takes my hand as we wander through the makeshift sea around us. He tells me this was one of his favorite places to come as a kid. I nod as he talks about his life now that his parents are gone. Losing mine is something I'm trying to prevent. 

  He tells me he had a nice night. Kids holding balloons shaped like sea turtles and dolphins bump into us while we're in queue to exit.

“It doesn't have to end,” I say. “I live right across from here.”

He starts to shake his head but I hold his face still with my hands.

“I'll take care of you,” I assure him like I do all the others.

He whispers it seems like everything creaks once we're in the house. He holds back but I take his hand, urge him to follow me.

  He asks if I hear something, a buzzing underneath us. I almost curse under my breath at my mom working when she's supposed to be resting. I shake it off, force a grin.

“I'm on the first floor,” I whisper. Pointing upstairs I tell him, “My mom's room is up there.”

I see his shoulders lower and him relax.

I close the door behind me. Move to sit on the edge of my bed and lift my skirt a little higher, mid-thigh. The edge of his lips curl. I know he'll do whatever I want.

He clears his throat, asks if I have anything to drink. “Maybe a beer?” I tell him I have something stronger. I open the drawer beside my bed, pull out the round yellow pills, offer him one on the tip of my finger. He hesitates before taking it and swallowing. He watches me as I pretend to do the same.

I push him down on the bed, lay atop him. He's about to start in on his litany of beautiful words when I place a finger on his mouth and tell him to “shh,” just “shh.” Within minutes he's out, his limbs limp when I pick one up to make sure.

I change into my work clothes. Remove the skirt, pull on my overalls and boots. The clear poncho goes over everything. I grab my goggles and consider how heavy he'll be.

I pad down to the basement. See Mom's back hunched over as she starts the table saw. The lower torso of my previous date in front of her drained and chilled, ready for slicing.

Our packs are dwindling. Only a few crimson ones hang on the walls.

Mom coughs into her elbow. “We may have to find a bigger town,” she says without looking up.

“Yeah. Maybe a big city? No one would miss anyone then.”

“Maybe. So expensive though.” She turns to me. Her face is paler now. Her plastic apron is pristine and I remember her when she was a healthy homemaker. Before she got sick. Before Dad left. Before she stopped being a nurse. Such a shame to bloody it.

“How's this one?” she asks, motioning upstairs.

“He's nice. Homeless.”

Her lips go wide, curl up at the sides. “That's my girl.”

“He's an okay lay too.”

Her smile turns to a frown. “You know I don't like to hear that.”

“I used to hear you and yours you know.”

Mom's cheeks turn as red as the contents of our packs. She mumbles, “I hope you're at least being safe.”

I roll my eyes, put my hands on my hips. “Duh. I'm always careful,” I say.

Mom approaches me, takes off her thick gloves. Her hand shakes as she reaches to pat my cheek.

“I know you are, sweetie. I love you.”

Now my face blushes and I look away.

“You've handled this really well,” she adds.

“I had to. Dad was so chicken shit--”

She holds up a hand to silence me as she sighs.

“The cancer is spreading, sweetheart.”

I try to push her hand away but she closes in, hugs me.

“Yeah and I found someone. I'll keep finding someone until you're well. We'll hoard as many organs and blood and marrow as possible.”

I look around the basement. At the tubes, sharp metal, and machines meant to help us transfer blood. At the freeze locker emitting white smoke. At the severed head of the last guy I met, his eyes closed thankfully.

“I know,” she says into my hair. “You're so proactive. A go-getter.”

I tell her she'll be fine. I'll take care of us.

“Speaking of which, I'll go get him now.”

[© copyright 2011 Jennifer Baker-Henry]