Filed under: Writing Stuff
So the second round of the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Contest snuck up on me. First because I never wrote down any of those dates on my calendar, and second because I didn’t know I had made it till the same day the next round began.
Didn’t get a very high score on the second story–only 8 points our of a possible 25. Unfortunately, the judge’s comments have as of yet not been provided, so I could not learn from my mistakes on that one. But combined with the 20 I got on my first story, I still made it into the top 100. (84th, I believe). So here I go again!
(assigned prompts at the bottom for those curious what was required for the story.)
The Gift
We’re almost through the Serenity Prayer when Carla’s skin disappears. She makes us say it at the end of every meeting. We’re supposed to close our eyes, but I never do. Prayer, god, religion—I never got into all that.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,” we say, “the courage to change the things I can, and the—“
It’s on the word wisdom that her face begins to fade away. Her eyes with that too-blue eyeshadow and all those crow’s feet, that ponytail with the stupid green scrunchie…it all vanishes. Suddenly her face is just a yellowed skull with gnarled teeth pushing each other in a million different directions, fighting for real estate.
I’ve always had “The Gift.” At least, that’s what my mother called it, even when I was a little girl. I knew my father was a troll long before he ran away from us. I could literally see his giant nose covered in warts, green skin, long, wiry black hair diving down his back. In high school, I chose the late gym class because the coach of the other class had pupil-less black eyes and the big flat nose of a pig; a year later, he tried to corner a cheerleader in the locker room.
It’s been just as much a curse as a gift, though. I can’t turn it off. Have you ever tried to talk to a guy at a club when he has the tentacles of an octopus and the head of a dog? It’s hard not to react, even when you know you shouldn’t. Just try not to fight back when the cop arresting you has one giant eye and the tongue of a snake. And what would you do if your friend came at you from behind, attacking you with razor sharp teeth? You would defend yourself, of course! But none of that holds up in court.
I’ve only ever found one way to stop it—alcohol. And lots of it.
But those days are all behind me now! I’m starting over. These meetings are the beginning of my new life. Sure, I’m required to go. But by the third or fourth, I started to actually like them. Every Tuesday, for an hour, I’m not alone. Last week, when I got my one-month chip, it was the happiest day since Dr. Jensen approved my release.
These people here, in this church gymnasium, they understand me. Sure, Carla has a lot of rules, and can be a bit of a bitch. But the rest of them, they’re my friends. Or the closest thing I have, anyway. Paul over there, he always nods when I talk. And Sadie, the one by the coffeemaker? She smiles at me, even when I don’t smile first. I’ve heard most of them speak to the group at one time or another, and I relate to them. They have problems. So do I. We help each other.
So when I see Carla for what she truly is, I know what I have to do.
I remain calm. Everyone is milling around, reluctant to go back out into the real world. I walk past Joey, who’s still in his seat, thumbing through his Bible. Past Theresa, who’s busy folding up all the chairs and stacking them against the wall.
By the entrance to the gym, near that pathetically bare trophy case, there’s a door marked “Equipment Room.” I stride purposefully toward it, my gaze unwavering. The door is unlocked. Thirty seconds later, I’m returning with an aluminum baseball bat the size of my arm.
Carla’s back is to me, but Theresa’s shriek makes her whirl quickly. My arms are raised; the bat is above my head, primed to swing.
“Maria, what are you doing?!” she says. Her tone is calm, but there’s a quiver in that last word that tells me: she knows that I know.
“I know what you are!” I shout at her. “You’re Death! But you won’t take these people! You won’t take me!”
There’s movement to my right, but Carla puts up her hand. “Paul, no!” she says, and I suddenly realize he was about to rush me. He’s still poised, arms half outstretched, eyes locked on me.
Carla’s eyes are locked on me too. “Maria. Calm down. What’s wrong?”
“I see you. I see you for what you are.”
“Maria. Let’s talk about this. Put the bat down. I know about your visions. Are you having one now?” Her tone is sweet, seems genuine, like she wants to really talk. But her face is a hideous skull, staring eyelessly into me. How did she know about my visions?
Oh, of course! She’s a supernatural being, like me. She can see what I am, just like I can see her. Now it all makes sense!
But why did she leave me alone all these weeks, when she knew I would see her true form? Why didn’t she stop me, or kill me before I exposed her?
She is reaching out to me, walking slowly. “Why don’t you give me this bat, and we can talk. You’ve had a good month. You’re doing well! You don’t want to ruin that…” Her hand is almost touching mine.
Wait! She’s not reaching for me, she’s reaching for the bat! Oh god oh no one more second and she’ll have it she’ll beat my head in we’ll all die no more time to think I have to save us don’t doubt trust your gift—
Her hand touches mine, and it’s too late. As I fall, I can hear the hollow ring of the bat hitting the ground, and Carla shouting “She must have had a stroke or something! Someone call 911!”
Now she’s above me, brushing my hair out of my eyes. She leans down and whispers, “Shhhh, don’t fight it.” As the dark starts to close in, I feel a deep sense of relief. At least now, my visions will finally stop.
______
ASSIGNED PROMPTS: Genre: Fantasy. Location: Alcoholics Anonymous Meeting. Object: Baseball Bat.
