Litany - NYC Midnight 250 Word Microfiction Challenge 2022

It was competition day on Saturday. This one came to me quite quickly on Saturday morning from the Genre/Event/"word" prompts (Drama/Losing a key/"vest"). Once I had it written out with a few edits, my brain blanked, so there was no more work on it after that.

I still like it! I hope it's good enough to get me through to the final I hope you enjoy too.

Litany

The key to the tabernacle isn’t in my vestment pocket. Eucharistic ministers used to do all of this while we performed the rites. Marcella Cochrane had filled that role once. 

I am frozen before the tabernacle. I remembered her coming to me, begging a much younger man to save her from her husband’s beatings and belittlement. “Before the baby comes,” she’d said.

“For better or worse. That was your promise.”

Why had I said those words, that empty litany?

“And he promised to love and honour me. Is this love, Father?”

I had no answer, but she did.

“Oh, what would you know.”

The congregation is growing restless behind me. The Deacon appears with the key. I retrieve the ciborium, almost dropping it. Liver spots on my shaking hands reflect the state of my soul.

Why had I involved the bishop? He had gone to Michael Cochrane, who once again ‘punished’ his wife for embarrassing him. Imagine being more embarrassed about what the priest knew than what he did to her?

She almost died. Tommy Cochrane was born with “profound disabilities”. That was my fault.

As I hold up the Host, the congregation repeats “Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world...”

Michael’s body was found yesterday, two miles from home. Of course there were rumours when he disappeared, but nobody involved the police. Justice had been served. Nobody accused her. “Let he who is without sin...”

I cast no stones. I had done what was needed.

As always, I welcome constructive feedback in the comments, or if you just want to tell me I'm brilliant... ;)

A Step Ahead

I've been getting on with the whole "living" thing. It can be tedious, so I like to break it up with a challenge or two to myself. The current endeavour is to enter a writing competition each month. This month's is a short story writing challenge that will begin next Saturday, but that's not what today is about.

No, today is about the previous competition I entered. Once again, NYC Midnight have their 250 Word Microfiction challenge running and I'm in it. I put my story in last November (the 19th, to be precise) and found out yesterday that I achieved 5th place in my group and I'm through to the next round.

If anyone would like to read the story it is below. I hope you enjoy it and, as always, I welcome honest, constructive criticism.

Aquisition by Degrees

Her arm flopped to the other side of the bed. As she twisted, the quilt went with her. My knees were cold, but my head was full of pyrotechnics from the earlier argument.

I heard her teeth grinding, wondering if she was mulling it over too? Or was she asleep already? Without her mouth guard? Oh, but I’m the obstinate one.

I rolled myself back under the quilt. She turned onto her back, taking it further away. My entire right side was exposed to the November cold.

I tiptoed to the cupboard. It was in here somewhere. I banged my head on a Christmas tree and stubbed my toe against the vacuum cleaner. How had the towels ended up under the toilet rolls? Oh, but I’m the disorganised one.

I found the sleeping bag and zipped myself into it in the hallway, penguin shuffling back to bed. Central heating was great but I missed climbing into a sleeping bag fresh out of a hot press. And it smelled sort of mouldy.

Within minutes I was entangled in the sleeping bag. The smell was overbearing. I had to escape, struggling back under the quilt. The heat from her was so inviting, but she rolled away from me. Taking the quilt. Again! Oh, but I’m the inconsiderate one.

To hell with it. I spooned in, putting my arm around her. She relaxed against me, her heart beating softly on my wrist. I wanted to say sorry. She’d won me back again, somehow.

I'll post my story prompts next Saturday, and maybe use this blog as a sounding board for upcoming projects.

Bye!

Cut Short

It didn't work out. Sadly, I didn't make it through to the second round of the competition, but I'm happy with my story. I'm should receive feedback from the judges soon. Looking forward to seeing what they thought.

In the mean time, here's the story. Let me know what you think.

Their Man

His face was unforgettable. It had been behind the gun that killed her sister. Seeing him, Number 5 in a lineup for her stolen purse from the day before, brought back all the fear and confusion Dana felt five years ago.

How reassuring the police had been back then. With CCTV from the convenience store and my eyewitness description, they were sure to find their man.

Well, here was “their man”. Could she point him out, keep all the other details of the bag snatch the same? They would take DNA samples, right? Then match him to Shanice’s murder? She’d heard stories about DNA evidence going to waste. Could she falsely accuse him and hope?

But there was number 2. That was the man who robbed her, for sure. The comb-over and huge overbite were giveaways. If another witness were to pick him, both men might get away. Dana was raised to do the right thing, and she’d been growing past fear.

“Number 2,” she said, pointing at comb-over.

“You’re sure, Miss Carey?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Hey. About number 5...”

“Officer Denton?” He looked like he’d been caught stealing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that. He’s one of ours. We sometimes ask the guys to step in. Did you see him earlier?”

That figured. He was “their man”, through and through, and never caught.

Dana decided to buy the gun she’d resisted these last five years. What might she, raised to do the right thing, use it for?

So Few Words, So Little Time

I entered a competition. It's another flash fiction competition. I'm starting to get a feel for the style and I like the shorter than short stories I've been creating. 250 words is VERY LITTLE. Having to conceive, write, edit and submit 250 words in a genre chosen by someone else, that must contain a particular event/action and a specific word (often the easiest part of the challenge) is even harder.

Doing all of that in 24 hours is ...

... SO MUCH FUN!

I know 250 words doesn't sound like a lot. It isn't. Writing 250 words is also not hard. Writing 250 words in a story is another matter. Formulate the idea based around a character who we have to care for in 40 words or less. Describe the scenarios (terrible, of course) in 80 words. Then there are 80-90 words to challenge the character and resolve before giving a denouement (positive or negative) in 20 words.

The most important things are, this must be internally honest and subjectively satisfying to as many as possible. How?

I've set myself a couple of rules:

1. No matter the scenario, it must be believeable! The reader must be able to imagine themselves facing this challenge.

2. It must not be irredeemably bleak. There must be some hope to cling on to. A reader can empathise more easily with a character who faces a surmountable challenge. Why? Because nobody likes no-win situations.

3. The ending must feel like it is leading to something else. The end of the story isn't the end of the story. The character must be moving forward with something (horror is the exception to this, where the protagonist may well be eviscerated by a horrid beast).

So, out of the 5486 entries for the competition, only 1150 will go through to the second round. I'll be happy if I get that far.

Wish me luck?