4th place! I just got my score for this year's NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge and though I'm only fourth in a group of about 30, I am feeling over the moon to have my work validated by a diverse team of judges, all successful in the field. In my last competition I placed first in my group but hey...it's a mad jungle out there and criticism/rejection are more common than praise...so it's important to celebrate your triumphs, no matter what.
Like I say, this was just round one (and true to form I wrote the below in less than 24 hours)...round two begins just before midnight this Friday, so wish me luck!
Here's my story, warts and all. My prompts were:
Drama, A botanical garden, and a fish hook. (I'll admit, this one didn't spark as much creativity for me as the last one.) I was rushing to make the deadline so it's not as polished and the ending is not as fleshed out as I'd like...but that's flash fiction for you. Lots of writing, very little time to edit/second-guess. (And by the way, it's a great experience...I encourage anyone interested in fiction writing to give it a try.)
I am the very earth you see.
I am death, yielding life-giving soil.
I am life, spring that hastens winter.
I am the everlasting witness to your deeds of good and evil.
“Oh!” I breathed, suddenly halted. Then I saw that my skirt had caught on the rough-hewn bench outside the front door. I exhaled quietly and worked my skirt loose. I had to get away! He was waiting for me.
I pulled my coat close and walked to the next corner. There I had to stop again. Gather my wits. I still couldn’t believe what I was doing. I took some deep breaths, and in the ensuing calm I found that I was, indeed, determined to go on.
The fall of my fourteenth year, I went almost daily to the Old Eofor Botanical Conservatory. In the Tropical House I’d found my own enchanted garden, ever warm, and lush with heliconia rostrata, torch ginger, and blushing bromeliad. It was a steamy microcosm of light and dark, each a necessary part of the whole.
I took with me my sketchbook and portcrayons, and drew with equal fascination brooding vampire orchid and winsome bird of paradise. I dreamed of traveling to Amazonian forests and seeing the vast horizon of the Serengeti.
Some days there were more visitors than usual—families taking advantage of a bank holiday or funnily dressed members of the Lady Fisherwoman’s Club, in for worms. It gave me equal pleasure to watch them all. I would sit and sketch, stopping from time to time to stretch my neck and observe the goings on around me. I was quiet and industrious—as a young lady was expected to be.
Fridays I could not go to the conservatory, for on those afternoons Mother and I took a basket to poor “Uncle Bo.” I would sit and read to him in a low voice, or show him my latest drawing, and he would compliment me effusively.
“Now Uncle Bo, you’ll turn our Josie’s head,” Mother would say. She would kiss the top of my head, then hunch over to look me in the eyes. “Eh?” she would say, giving me a wink.
Father spent nearly every waking hour at his bistro, churning out the city’s best chops, steaks, lobsters, game, shell fish and kidneys. But Mondays were his rest days—his days to spend with Mother and I. We often contrived to have some sort of treat or surprise for him.
“My darling girls,” and “How lucky I am!” he would say. We would rush to him and he would squeeze us tight.
Tuesdays invariably found me back at the conservatory, free to while away the hours between Mother’s schooling and supper. It was a Tuesday that I first saw him.
Elijah.
Oh, but he was tall and handsome! And his cutaway morning coat fit him so beautifully. He sat on my bench for a moment and he leaned ever so slightly, as if to peer at my half-finished Rose of Siam. But he said nothing.
Wednesday he returned.
“That is a tolerable representation of the etlingera corneri,” he said. “Though the perspective is not quite right.”
It wasn’t quite proper—to spend an hour or two every nearly afternoon conversing with a gentleman to whom I had not been introduced. And yet I did. He had such different ideas about life and society, and I found myself agreeing with him.
It was only a fortnight later that he took my hands in his and proclaimed his love for me. But alas, his family would never accept me. He begged me to run away with him.
“We should be free, Jo! You should be free to be a woman…not a simpering child, seen but not heard!” he said. “I can show you the world, sweet Jo. We’ll go to South America. We’ll go to the Orient and see the Rose of Siam in her true habitat. And you shall be free to discover your own nature!”
“Bring nothing,” Elijah had instructed. “You shall have everything your heart desires when we are well away.”
So it was that I reached the conservatory grounds and made my way to the bench outside the Tropical House. The moon had appeared, but it was the smallest sliver. I had only my sketchbook with me—that I could not leave behind. I sat and set the book down beside me. When I looked up, Elijah was standing there, his face shadowed.
“My pretty little Jo,” he said. “Won’t Mummy and Daddy miss their precious girl?” I barely heard him tease me. I was alone with a handsome young gentleman. My heart fluttered.
I looked down, suddenly feeling a bit shy. I remember that.
Of what happened next, I can call to mind only flashes. A blinding pain, and the taste of blood. Further blows to my head, then kicks to my stomach. The sound of my undergarments being rent was terrifying, and I tried to claw at his face, but he was too quick. With one hand he easily held both mine.
Hours passed. At least, that’s the impression I have. It went on forever. My garden had become Dante’s Purgatory.
Then fishing line around my neck, cutting into my windpipe. There was a metal hook hanging from it. The cold steel touched my skin. But that sharp catgut was the ultimate weapon. So easy, so easy.
Some time after—a minute, a decade—I became aware.
I cannot explain it. Unless you’ve melted into the ground, become one with the roots, you cannot know.
I became aware. I was one with the sweet, rotting sugar cane mulch…the roots of the resinous tree above me…the fine, desiccated bodies of beetle and butterfly alike. I am become ancient taproot. Rebaptized by dew and the faintest spray from the tiered fountain, I am a garden of light and darkness.
Like I say, this was just round one (and true to form I wrote the below in less than 24 hours)...round two begins just before midnight this Friday, so wish me luck!
Here's my story, warts and all. My prompts were:
Drama, A botanical garden, and a fish hook. (I'll admit, this one didn't spark as much creativity for me as the last one.) I was rushing to make the deadline so it's not as polished and the ending is not as fleshed out as I'd like...but that's flash fiction for you. Lots of writing, very little time to edit/second-guess. (And by the way, it's a great experience...I encourage anyone interested in fiction writing to give it a try.)
Garden of Light and Darkness
I am the very earth you see.
I am death, yielding life-giving soil.
I am life, spring that hastens winter.
I am the everlasting witness to your deeds of good and evil.
“Oh!” I breathed, suddenly halted. Then I saw that my skirt had caught on the rough-hewn bench outside the front door. I exhaled quietly and worked my skirt loose. I had to get away! He was waiting for me.
I pulled my coat close and walked to the next corner. There I had to stop again. Gather my wits. I still couldn’t believe what I was doing. I took some deep breaths, and in the ensuing calm I found that I was, indeed, determined to go on.
***
The fall of my fourteenth year, I went almost daily to the Old Eofor Botanical Conservatory. In the Tropical House I’d found my own enchanted garden, ever warm, and lush with heliconia rostrata, torch ginger, and blushing bromeliad. It was a steamy microcosm of light and dark, each a necessary part of the whole.
I took with me my sketchbook and portcrayons, and drew with equal fascination brooding vampire orchid and winsome bird of paradise. I dreamed of traveling to Amazonian forests and seeing the vast horizon of the Serengeti.
Some days there were more visitors than usual—families taking advantage of a bank holiday or funnily dressed members of the Lady Fisherwoman’s Club, in for worms. It gave me equal pleasure to watch them all. I would sit and sketch, stopping from time to time to stretch my neck and observe the goings on around me. I was quiet and industrious—as a young lady was expected to be.
Fridays I could not go to the conservatory, for on those afternoons Mother and I took a basket to poor “Uncle Bo.” I would sit and read to him in a low voice, or show him my latest drawing, and he would compliment me effusively.
“Now Uncle Bo, you’ll turn our Josie’s head,” Mother would say. She would kiss the top of my head, then hunch over to look me in the eyes. “Eh?” she would say, giving me a wink.
Father spent nearly every waking hour at his bistro, churning out the city’s best chops, steaks, lobsters, game, shell fish and kidneys. But Mondays were his rest days—his days to spend with Mother and I. We often contrived to have some sort of treat or surprise for him.
“My darling girls,” and “How lucky I am!” he would say. We would rush to him and he would squeeze us tight.
Tuesdays invariably found me back at the conservatory, free to while away the hours between Mother’s schooling and supper. It was a Tuesday that I first saw him.
Elijah.
Oh, but he was tall and handsome! And his cutaway morning coat fit him so beautifully. He sat on my bench for a moment and he leaned ever so slightly, as if to peer at my half-finished Rose of Siam. But he said nothing.
Wednesday he returned.
“That is a tolerable representation of the etlingera corneri,” he said. “Though the perspective is not quite right.”
It wasn’t quite proper—to spend an hour or two every nearly afternoon conversing with a gentleman to whom I had not been introduced. And yet I did. He had such different ideas about life and society, and I found myself agreeing with him.
It was only a fortnight later that he took my hands in his and proclaimed his love for me. But alas, his family would never accept me. He begged me to run away with him.
“We should be free, Jo! You should be free to be a woman…not a simpering child, seen but not heard!” he said. “I can show you the world, sweet Jo. We’ll go to South America. We’ll go to the Orient and see the Rose of Siam in her true habitat. And you shall be free to discover your own nature!”
“Bring nothing,” Elijah had instructed. “You shall have everything your heart desires when we are well away.”
So it was that I reached the conservatory grounds and made my way to the bench outside the Tropical House. The moon had appeared, but it was the smallest sliver. I had only my sketchbook with me—that I could not leave behind. I sat and set the book down beside me. When I looked up, Elijah was standing there, his face shadowed.
“My pretty little Jo,” he said. “Won’t Mummy and Daddy miss their precious girl?” I barely heard him tease me. I was alone with a handsome young gentleman. My heart fluttered.
I looked down, suddenly feeling a bit shy. I remember that.
Of what happened next, I can call to mind only flashes. A blinding pain, and the taste of blood. Further blows to my head, then kicks to my stomach. The sound of my undergarments being rent was terrifying, and I tried to claw at his face, but he was too quick. With one hand he easily held both mine.
Hours passed. At least, that’s the impression I have. It went on forever. My garden had become Dante’s Purgatory.
Then fishing line around my neck, cutting into my windpipe. There was a metal hook hanging from it. The cold steel touched my skin. But that sharp catgut was the ultimate weapon. So easy, so easy.
***
Some time after—a minute, a decade—I became aware.
I cannot explain it. Unless you’ve melted into the ground, become one with the roots, you cannot know.
I became aware. I was one with the sweet, rotting sugar cane mulch…the roots of the resinous tree above me…the fine, desiccated bodies of beetle and butterfly alike. I am become ancient taproot. Rebaptized by dew and the faintest spray from the tiered fountain, I am a garden of light and darkness.
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