So, there is a monthly Aussie writing competition called Furious Fiction that is open to writers all over the world, and I've decided that I'm going to try my best to enter every month. You can find this month's entry form with all the details here. 55 hours to write 500 words for a chance to win $AU500.
Prompts for September:
1. Story must include either an ATTIC or a BASEMENT
2. Story must include some kind of INSECT
3. Story must include the words EARTH, WIND, FIRE and WATER
I was right on the limit this month at 500 words total - I had close to 800 on my first draft and then had to cut them back. Please tag me if you decide to enter too - I'd love to see what you come up with!
Read on for my entry, if you wish...
“Spring Cleaning!” she declared firmly, holding aloft a duster and an empty cardboard box like a sword and shield. “We need to declutter!”
Her unwilling troops groaned. Every year it was the same, and none of them wanted to fight another costly battle. Each child scurried off to hide various precious items from their mother’s determined gaze, each silently wishing Marie Kondo had never been born.
“You have until lunch time - donation boxes are in the hallway”, she called, determinedly cheerful. “Remember, only keep what sparks joy! I’ll be up in the attic if you need me.”
She surveyed her battlefield. Plastic tubs of Christmas decorations – they could stay. Penny’s scooter, Rosie’s skateboard, picture books, a bag of dress ups now outgrown, those could be donated.
Rolling up her sleeves, she moved ruthlessly, bringing order to chaos. Moving with purpose and surety, evicting the occasional spider with her feather duster. All was going according to plan. Until she found the box.
She had moved it up to the attic on their anniversary. Five years he had been gone. Five lonely years since she had tearfully kissed him goodbye, his death blessedly releasing him from the prison that cancer had made his body.
Last year she had decided it was time to stop clinging to his ghost so tightly, and had put this box away. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t resist. The moment she opened the lid, memories held her captive, and she was drowning.
His wedding ring, a twin to the one still on her own finger, the gold heavy in her palm.
A Polaroid from a holiday; they were windswept and slightly sunburned, but happy, the glittering water behind them almost blinding as it reflected the summer heat.
A small velvet box with his grandfather’s cuff-links, silver marlins – quite ugly really, but special to him, and therefore precious.
She pulled out the silken cloth nestled underneath it. His wedding cravat, still defiantly fire red despite the darkness. It held the faintest trace of his aftershave, an earthy amber scent she still loved.
His wallet, still full of store cards, receipts, and faded photos of their children, with gummy baby smiles that he had adored and loved to show off at every opportunity.
Each item in her hands was a memory of a life and love that had ended too soon. She had done her best not to turn their house into a shrine. She could see him now, rolling his eyes at her sentimentality, telling her to chuck the lot in the bin. But she needed them. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t hold him, but these worthless things – they took up space, counterbalancing the empty place within her. They proved he had been here.
Did they spark joy? She gave each item a watery smile and kiss as she replaced them, sighing out the heaviness in her heart, wiping away the silent tears. Not joy. But they did spark memories. And memories of him were golden.
Not the Naughty List #furiousfiction #shortstory #christmas #microfiction
“Get back to work,” a fat voice bellowed.
Sherry Wintersleigh yawned, stretched her arms wider and opened her eyes.
“What, what, what,” she began.
“He’s always like this,” whispered a passing elf.
“But Christmas is…,” Sherry said. The shadow standing over her shook his finger at her.
“You heard what I said,” bellowed Santa. “On your feet.”
“Finished,” whispered Sherry as she stood. Santa…
Buff notebook, fine point pen.
A grubby dog-eared novel more well-read than me.
“Moby Dick” by Herman Melville. I’d already made sure they had a spare.
All I had to do was wait. I kept my head down. The only sound I could hear was the scratching of my pen on paper. I was meant to be making notes. But I was making doodles that only a shrink could understand.
Every so often I reached out,…
My submission for last to last month’s Furious Fiction
The guidelines said the story must be set at a wedding or funeral.
The moment I dreaded the most arrived. This time it bore the name of my ex-boyfriend and his soon-to-be wife. "Pearl Johnson weds Lucas...", my stomach turned. Everything around began to get blurry. I didn't read further. How could I allow myself to be so ridiculous? It had only been a week since he said it was "officially" over between us. He's the kind of person who moves on fast. I should've seen this coming. Rarely do emotions give us a warning. Perhaps that's why I was crying.
A week later, I picked out a blue dress for myself. It was a beach wedding. I took a few deep breaths in my car before walking out. Coincidentally, the theme of the wedding was blue too. A pang of embarrassment hit me. But I brushed it off. I found a seat somewhere in the fifth row, hoping to blend in with the crowd.
A few moments later, the groom arrived. I couldn't help but notice his blue tie. The bride looked resplended. My heart sank, not because of jealously but regret. Had I not spoken about moving abroad, perhaps, today I would dress in white. Maybe I'd get a new ring with a sparkly gem.
During the vows, Lucas said something that stayed with me. Lucas said Pearl wore blue the first time they met three months back. Immediately, it occurred to me. He had cheated on me. Three months back, we were having dinner at his parents place in Sacremento. The bile in my stomach reached for my throat. All of this had been a lie.
He went on with his speech. He said Pearl wore blue every time they met because he said it looked good on her. That's when I could only see the color all around me. It was in the flowers of the bridesmaids' hair, the confetti, the wreaths. All of it was blue, including me. "For once, blue wasn't gloomy, it was happy", Lucas ended. Perhaps that was the moment I needed most.
In my blue gown, I felt happy. Yes, there was remorse. Everything between us was over. Lucas had managed to cut every tie between us. Yet it was better than ending up with a cheater, I pacified myself. Today, the actual sting of it hit me. I was carrying this gash around for a week. Today, he plucked out the scab that was beginning to grow back. It felt like I was a lone soldier. I had forgotten to wear a bulletproof vest under my blue gown.
A flower girl handed me some confetti. I left the wedding after the vows, took off the blue gown and flung it out of my apartment window. Blue will always mean gloom for me, I mused as I saw the fabric trail off landing on an unassuming grocer.
