Spring 2018 Writing Contest, Author at Short Fiction Break

To Keep the Beast Away

Rune’s fingers ceased their slow, rhythmic tapping. His thoughts had carried him away from the poem he was reading. Rubbing his eyes, he was surprised to find them aching. As he tried to resume reading, the lines blurred and twisted and overlapped. What was the time?

“Sir?”

The librarian’s voice came from her desk, hidden behind shelves. Its sound was weighed down by tiredness, hollow as if disembodied. The Swedish man played with the thought for a second — a ghostly librarian gliding through the shelves, watching readers.

“We’re closing in half an hour.”

He snapped out of his reverie, his head jolting up, his eyes following reluctantly, but he had to know, he had to look. Outside the window was a solid black wall.

A Thousand Fires

It was after midnight when the soldiers marched to the village in Myanmar. Flames flickered as if the sun had exploded.

“Wake up,” whispered Mya, ripping her son from his dreams.

There wasn’t time to pack. No food, no warm clothes. Kafia rubbed his eyes, arms around his mother’s swelled belly.

“Momma, what’s happening?” Fear and a million questions stared back at her.

“We have to go.”

White Blanket

May 24, 2018 by Spring 2018 Writing Contest 2018 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Hot 0 Comments

It starts with a light kiss, a gentle pressing of the lips together. I feel tiny, I feel completely unworthy of having this man standing above me, looking down on me. He is burly sinew, he is mature, he seems like a god, he may actually be one. What am I doing?

Yet there is an electricity between us I haven’t felt in a long time, like a shock, and it spreads a sparkly warmth down to my toes.

A Visit From Death

May 23, 2018 by Spring 2018 Writing Contest 2018 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Existential 0 Comments

Save for a faint beeping noise, the room was quiet. It looked and smelled like most hospital rooms I’d seen, cold and antiseptic. A man occupied the couch in the corner, fast asleep. The body of a young boy, about twelve years old, lay on the bed, emaciated and unmoving. The body was connected to several machines surrounding the bed by various tubes and cables. The boy’s soul sat on the side of the bed, legs swinging absentmindedly. A thin, diaphanous cable stretched from him and disappeared into the body’s chest. He glanced at me then turned away, assuming I was just another mortal.

“Hello, Wes.”

Forgive Me

May 22, 2018 by Spring 2018 Writing Contest 2018 Spring Writing Contest, Drama 0 Comments

That morning, my mother had not felt well enough to get out of bed. Her breath was laboured and it was, no doubt, from the dust and plaster in the air which we had no choice but to inhale. She called out from her room as I was trying to calm the boys. They were inconsolable and at one and two-and-a-half years old I couldn’t help them to understand that maybe there would be more food tomorrow. I held Faisal close to my chest and rubbed Tahir’s back hoping that it offered some comfort.

Rasha jumped up before I had a chance and said, “I’ll check Grandma.” Her tender, helpful heart made me smile just a little and I secretly hoped that she never lost those traits despite the circumstances in which she would have to grow up. She galloped down the hall and at the same second I saw her disappear into the adjacent room, I felt the sound before I heard it and my stomach sank.

I Am Not A Crook

May 18, 2018 by Spring 2018 Writing Contest 2018 Spring Writing Contest, Hot, Thriller/Suspense 0 Comments

We could have gone back to work at old man Metzger’s nursery, shoveling gravel and six varieties of manure, each guaranteed to singe the nose hairs off a rhino. We could have caught up on the gossip, snide jokes, and nasal bickering tossed around by Betsy and Selma in the pig-hole they call the employee’s lounge. We could have gone back to collecting our Friday paychecks, enough for a week’s supply of Ramen noodles and five nights at Andy’s rundown neighborhood bar.

We could have left before any real damage done, and I was considering just that, getting ready to grab Pluto by the back of his collar and drag him out of there, already thinking how we’d laugh about this moment in years to come while tossing back beers and smirking at women. We could have turned back.

Then Pluto shot Gert Franklin and it all went to hell.

One Final Leap

May 16, 2018 by Spring 2018 Writing Contest 2018 Spring Writing Contest, Drama, Historical Fiction, Hot 0 Comments

A jittery stillness shrouded the streets of Berlin. From where he stood, the dull glow from searchlights formed ghosts on the Wall, their bodies twisted and skeletal. Werner threw his cigarette to the ground, relishing the hiss which followed as it melted the snow. Its flame, small and flickering, died in an instant. He was itching to look down at his watch — to count how much longer he had to wait — but stopped himself. Seeing the time would make it real.

Instead, he concentrated on the surrounding buildings, which were hunched downwards as if exhausted. No light could be found — the tenants had nailed their windows shut with wood because the Vopo didn’t want anyone jumping to the West. He missed being able to see into their homes, though; he liked to spend his shifts watching figures walk to and fro, seeing their lives unfold, imagining their stories. Now, there was only the darkness.

The Maze

April 23, 2018 by Spring 2018 Writing Contest 2018 Spring Writing Contest, Drama 0 Comments

The four had been searching for a way out of the windowless, hinge-less room for hours. Jordan paused her fingering of the padded wall to check over her shoulder. The other three searched at the far end of the big open room.

“Yes! Found something! It’s a button!” one of them said.

“Push it!” said another.

CHHHSSSHHHT. CLICK-CLANK. A panel emerged from the wall like a pocket door and slid across the floor. Everyone froze, watching it lock in place to create a new wall in the big open room.

Author: Spring 2018 Writing Contest