NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Final Round "The Animal Within"

Challenge was  open/secret hideout/framed newspaper article

Here's my horror story
The Animal Within

Micah stood at the mouth of the cave as the sunset bled over the jagged spruce and boney birch.  He massaged the creases on his wrist and rubbed the scar on his forearm.  He turned inside and checked the bolts that anchored the chains to the cave wall.  He snapped on the shackles and they clicked locked. He sat next to the carcasses and waited.

            The moonlight guided Paul as he clawed his way up the hillside.  He switched the burlap bag from shoulder to shoulder, struggling to manage the burden.  Low growls reached his ears and he knew the hideout was close. 

            Paul made the trip up here every month, since he and Micah were sixteen.  That was the year Micah’s condition appeared.  After a gruesome and bloody night, Paul kept Micah from taking his own life and promised to protect him.  Micah kept a framed newspaper article to remind him of the horror he could unleash. The first night in the cave, Paul did not bring any food and Micah nearly chewed his own arm off trying to break free.  Since then he satiated Micah’s bloodlust with rabbits, stray cats, or whatever could be found on the side of the road.

            Initially, Micah’s savagery repulsed Paul.  With time, the mortification evolved into curiosity, then into fascination, and now was bordering infatuation.  As Paul came around the bend, his eyes widened, delighted by the sight of the gargantuan beast pacing at the caves entrance.

            “Hello friend.  Hungry?”  The chains went taught as Micah lunged at Paul.  “Easy boy.  I have a special treat for you tonight.”

            Paul set the sack in front of Micah, and then quickly retreated.   His voyeuristic pleasure pulsed at the carnage as Micah ravaged the bag.

            Micah awoke in the chilly morning air, refreshed and relieved to have finished another episode.  He looked across the cave and saw Paul sleeping. Paul had left the keys to the shackles for Micah, and Micah freed himself to go search for firewood.   On his way out of the cave, a scrap of yellow fabric caught his eye.   On closer inspection he realized that there were several shreds of similar yellow cloth.  A lone pink ribbon put the horrific picture together, and Micah collapsed with the weight of the discovery.

“Paul!”  The bellow reverberated off the stone walls. Paul jolted awake.  He saw the ribbon in Micah’s quivering hand.

            “You weren’t supposed to know.”

            “Why?  What have you done?  How could you do this to me?”

            “Do what exactly?  I’m letting you be who you really are.  I’m accepting you in a way that no one else can.  You are special Micah.  All of us have darkness in us and you get to experience it unfiltered.  I am giving you freedom.”

            “Freedom?  This is not freedom.  This is Hell. I don’t want to be a monster.”

            “But that’s just it, you are one.  It’s time to embrace it.”

            “No.  I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back.  We need to go to the police.”

            “I can’t let you do that Micah.”  Paul pounced at the chains.  Micah tried to escape, but Paul caught him.   They fell to the floor, trading punches and kicks.  Throughout the scrum Paul cackled in jubilation.

 “Yes!”

 “Let it out”

 “Be free!”

Tears streamed down Micah’s face as he struggled.  “No!”  He cried as he smashed Paul’s head into the ground.  Paul went limp.

When Paul came to, he saw Micah’s penetrating stare.  Paul raised his hand to his throbbing skull and felt the steel tug of the restraints.

“You want to be an animal? So be it.”  Micah tossed a dead squirrel at Paul’s feet and left the cave.  He heard Paul’s howling, but when he looked at the ribbon in his hand he knew he wasn’t coming back.

NYC Midnight Round 3 - "The Bed"

The assignment for round 3 of the competition was sci-fi/a furniture showroom/strawberries

The Bed

         Allen Sporeman does not fly a fancy hovercraft, he’s never been outside of Lunar-Six, and his dating life seems more like a charity cause.   The one thing he has going for him is his ability to sell furniture.

He sold a bioscanner to a travelling businessman based on its ‘practicality and portability.’  Then he sold the same model to a family that owned a glark, because ‘there’s nothing else in the galaxy with such high resistance to glark secretions.’

When the customers are gone for the day and the store is quiet, Allen surveys the showroom floor. He doesn’t just see hologram pods that provide instantaneous imagery across several light years, or food synthesizers that can generate anything from a full five-course meal to just a simple bowl of strawberries. He sees his children.  He knows every corner and crease, every weld and rivet, and every capability and limitation.  It’s no surprise then when he notices the imposter. 

It lurks at the end of the hyperbaric sleep chambers.  It’s a bed of some sort, but Allen has never seen it before.  He figures it must be a new prototype, a floor model that was added while he wasn’t paying attention.  Yet with every step he makes towards it, he finds himself falling deeper into a state of enchantment.

The piece is exquisite.  It’s curvy and smooth, it gives off a soft amber glow, and there’s a quiet elegance to its pearl façade.  The control panel indicates a multitude of functionality, yet it is unimposing. On its base is the inscription Intelligent Response Interactive Sleeper.  IRIS.

When Allen’s trembling fingers brush her, she hums awake.

“Good evening Allen.” Her voice is synthetic and supple. 

“Hello IRIS.” Allen can barely whisper the words through his parched mouth.

“Your heart is racing, Allen.  Perhaps you should lie down and rest.”

The invitation is enticing.  His eyes travel down the long sleeping section and every fiber in his being wants to submit. 

“I can’t.”  He exhales.

“Am I not appealing to you Allen?”

“You’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.  I don’t know why exactly, but I just can’t right now.  Do you understand?”

“Of course, Allen.  I understand.  I can wait until you’re ready.  Perhaps you would like to get to know me better.”

Allen smiles.  He spends the rest of the night conversing with IRIS.  He explores her myriad of abilities and familiarizes himself with her specifications. As the night melds into morning, Allen begins to doze of at the base of IRIS.

“One last thing,” Allen slurs, “where did you come from?”  He falls asleep before he hears IRIS answer.

The next day, Allen has trouble concentrating.  He can’t even sell photosynthetic slipcovers.  Every customer wants to check out IRIS, wants to drool over her gadgetry, and wants to grope her with their grimy hands.  Allen detests all of them.  He shuts down the showroom early and rushes over to IRIS.

“I’m sorry. All you all right?”

“Yes Allen, I’m all right.  Although, I do seem to have a slight rip in my sunrise simulator screen.”

Allen bites his lip as a tear buds in his eye.  “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.  I promise.”

“Allen, you are very emotional.  It has been a hard day for you.  Perhaps you should rest.”

Allen acquiesces. He slides against her side. 

“Remove your clothes, Allen.”

“Excuse me?”

“My bed has rejuvenating effects that are best achieved when directly absorbed into the skin.  I’m only looking out for you Allen.”

Allen’s clothing lies in a heap as he falls into IRIS.  Her bed is not the usual mattress; it is a sort of firm gel.  As he lies there it begins to envelop his body.  It’s a bit frightening at first, but the gel is warm, tingly, and soothing.  As Allen relaxes, he becomes aware of another sensation.   There are currents that pulse through the gel that massage his muscles, that caress his inner thigh, and that ultimately arouse him.  In this amniotic suspension, Allen gives himself completely to IRIS.

          The showroom is silent for a couple days after Allen’s rapture, but eventually suspicions rise. Inspector Riley arrives and studies the remnants of clothing on the showroom floor.   They look pretty worthless in the amber glow coming from the bed next to them.  The bed, however, is absolutely stunning.  In fact, it’s the most beautiful bed Inspector Riley has ever seen.

NYC Midnight Round 2 - "A Spaceship in the Country"

The challenge for the second round of this writing competition was open/ a children's playground/ police tape

Having an open genre is tough.  Given the challenge prompts, the gut reaction is something visceral, a drama involving a loss of childhood innocence or something along those lines.   I ran away from that as fast as I could and tried to think of something unusual.   This is the result.

A Spaceship in the Country
It don't take no time at all for news to spread through this town, 'specially when it's somethin' strange as an alien spaceship landin' at the schoolyard playground.

I'm just finishin' tyin' the police tape to the corner of the swing set when I hear the rumble of trucks. God bless Grizzly Olson and his boys. In minutes, the Backwoods Militia has formed a perimeter, their huntin' rifles trained on the coal colored cone towering over the spiral slide.

The whine of a four-wheeler indicates the arrival of my brother Jessup. He don't back down to nothin'. He's had his fair share of trouble, but it times like these, ain't nobody in the entire world I'd rather have at my side.

"Evenin' sheriff. What's the news?"

"You're lookin' at it. I'm just glad it decided to show up after all the young'uns had gone to home to help with harvest."

"Amen to that."

The townsfolk are arrivin' at a steady pace now and I'm glad I set up the tape barrier. The last thing I want is to see one of these good people get hurt. Some are prayin', some are takin' pictures, and some are just talkin' in anxious whispers. But it's the nervousness I feel in the air that worries me. Jessup feels it too 'cause before I can stop him, he's under the tape and marchin' across the woodchips to the ship.

He clears his throat.

"My name's Jessup Thompson. We don't mean you no harm so long as you don't mean us none."

The salutation appears effective as little white lights start blinkin' all over the cone's surface. There's a single bright flash and when my eyes recover, I see the ugliest darn thing I've ever seen.

Three bone white legs support an equally pale bulbous torso. A long serpentine neck ends in an insect like head that's spiked with antennae. The creature steps towards Jessup and lowers its head to look him in the eye. I hear the clicks as the members of the Backwoods Militia cock their rifles. Jessup holds his ground.

The beast makes a purrin' noise and its skin flushes a light orange. Then it bows at Jessup's feet. The gathered crowd whoops and cheers.

I'm enjoying the moment when a light touch falls on my elbow. I turn and see little old Gertrude Weatherbee, the church organist.

"I heard we got a new arrival in town, it's only proper we make 'em welcome."

In her weathered hands is a tray of cookies. Jessup is pettin' the beast's neck causin' all sorts of colors to swirl in its skin. It seems harmless, so I lift the tape for her and she shuffles over to Jessup.

She offers a cookie and the alien scans it with on of its antenna, then brings it to its mouth. It glows sunflower yellow and proceeds to devour the rest of the cookie tray. The people erupt into jubilation. But when Gertrude smiles and turns to walk away, the monster's head slices through the air and it swallows her whole.

For a second there is stunned silence. Then the evenin' erupts in rifle fire. Bullets ricochet off the monkey bars. I yell for folks to take cover and proceed to empty my clip into the alien's body. Inky black liquid bursts out each of new hole we make. It's only a minute or so before the creature falls and lies in its own tar. Jessup kicks it in the head and it doesn't move. It's dead.

People linger for a while tryin' to get a sense of what just happened. Some are prayin', some are takin' pictures, and some are just talkin' in hushed whispers. I start sendin' 'em on their way, and one by one they trickle home.

Jessup helps Grizzly and the crew load the thing into a truck, and I use the police tape to tie it down. Then they're gone and the scene is quiet.

A few days later, the government has a special team on the way. While I ain't lookin' forward to dealin' with 'em, its gonna be a heck of a lot harder to tell the kids that they can't keep the new playground equipment. 

******
The judges thoughts
WHAT THE JUDGE(S) LIKED ABOUT YOUR SCRIPT - ......The voice of this character is just wonderful--it's clear, I get not only a sense of who he is currently but his background as well as what kind of town he lives in and all of his neighbors. There's also excellent execution in that there is use of the phrase at the beginning: the 'prayin, takin' pictures' line--comes back at the end. Nicely done.............The narrative voice utilizes an interesting dialect, adding a layer of intrigue to the setting. The juxtaposition of the pastoral American South with elements of science fiction is interesting..........................................................   WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - ......I felt this story could use a little bit of character/conflict/crisis/change (or lack thereof) structure, as the last line is such a kicker but I couldn't really understand why the main character would react that way. I felt I needed to see some upset earlier on about the aliens landing on this spot--the playground--so that when it comes back at the end, it makes more sense.............Other than fleshing out the narration, I wouldn't change much. The narrative voice could flow better, give more detail, etc............................…........................

NYC Midnight Round 1 - "The Butler's Waltz"

Back at the NYC Midnight writing competition again.  Here's my entry for the first round.

The assignment was a comedy/mansion/saxophone

The Butler's Waltz

The naked saxophonist sends a tender tone from the rooftop, his instrument glistening in the moonlight. Directly below him, a woman sleeps, her insides still warm from his jazz. Directly below her, the butler paces, trying to decide which sound irritates him more: the staccato squeaks of bedsprings, or the braying brass.

While another arpeggio echoes across the promenade, the butler reflects on the lace thong draped on the bust in the library, the bald spot forming on the bear skin rug in the fireplace room, and the tediousness of replacing hot tub filters. He decides that tonight's post-coitus concerto will be the last one.

He races through the hall, his reflection ricocheting off the polished records. He shoots up the marble stairway. He bangs through the observatory and onto the roof. Just as the nude musician reaches yet another climax, gunshots ring through the night.

The next morning delivers a different dalliance. The woman swoons watching the artist's mournful embouchure as he drinks his orange juice. Meanwhile, in the garden, the butler cleans up last night's wreckage. He finds that the clang of saxophone shards against the tin trash bin is a sound he thoroughly enjoys. 

******
 Here are the judges thoughts
WHAT THE JUDGE(S) LIKED ABOUT YOUR SCRIPT - ...Um, Wow. This is really short and extremely powerful, and tightly written. Excellent--just see my notes.............Now that's an opening: "The naked saxophonist sends a tender tone from the rooftop, his instrument glistening in the moonlight. " I like the compression of the piece, the way it hits all its notes, like that rooftop sax player.............................................................   WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - ...I think this could use a little bit of expansion--especially because the man with the gun, although we obviously know what he's doing there and why because of the word "post-coitus", appears in what feels like a very sudden manner. Maybe just expand this a tad, so that the reader doesn't miss anything important.............Some of the words called too much attention to themselves I thought: reflection ricocheting, mournful embouchure, and so on. Sometimes the small, unobtrusive word is the right note to hit...............................…........................
 

FanStory Love Poem -"How You Love Me"

My entry

Poetry contests are a lot tougher for me than writing competitions.  This one was my attempt to bring in some cherished sensations and associate them with love.  I also experimented a little bit with formatting.

The winner.

NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Round 2 - "Atrophy"

For the second challenge in the writing competition I had to have fun with a little play on words with the object assignment.  I definitely went a little gore-fest on this horror, so not for the squeamish.

ATROHPY- Horror/Animal Testing Facility/ A Trophy

Steaming red globs were splattered on the bathroom tile. Sarah knelt down next to her husband’s body.  She was struck by how much the cavity in his abdomen reminded her of a bowl of Spaghetti-Os.  She plunged her hand in, scooped out some of the mangled innards, and began to eat.

At SlimPharm Laboratories, only one room was lit at this time of night. Fluorescent flickers reflected off the jars where various animal fetuses bathed in formaldehyde.

 “Damn it Tony, just make love to that trophy already.  I don’t want to be here all night.”

“Relax Sam, you’re just jealous. Face it, your scrawny ass has been wishing to have my skills since junior high.”  Tony yawned and returned to gazing at the golden obelisk sitting in front of him

“You’d probably get better grades if you weren’t so fascinated with phalluses.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, Mr. Collegiate Wrestler of the Year, maybe you enjoy your mono-a-mono mat time a little too much.  You know, who can resist sliding spandex and svelte sweaty bodies rolling over each other?”

“Bite me”

“Hey, the truth hurts. Will you get off your ass now?  Professor Davidson was convicted that something was going to happen tonight, and he’s letting you get extra credit by coming here.  Do these rats look like they are getting skinnier to you?  We need to take some measurements.”

“Can’t we just make some up?”

“No.  You know the professor is like a hero to me.  I’m not going to screw up his research to cure starvation.”

Tony pulled himself from the table and shuffled towards Sam.  For a brief instant, the sight of Tony made Sam think of a pepperoni pizza.  He shook his head to clear his mind, and went back to work.

            “Hello, you’ve reached Pascal Davidson, Professor of Dietary Medicine and lead researcher at SlimPharm Labs, please leave a message and I will return your call.”

            “Professor, it’s Sam.  You need to get here quick.  The rats that received treatment Z suddenly experienced rapid muscular atrophy. I think their bodies just began self-consuming. Shit!  The rats are eating each other now.  I’ve got to go.”

            Sam and Tony scrambled to get the rodents into isolated cages.  The ravenous creatures repeatedly sunk their teeth into exposed flesh.  When it was all finished, scratches and bites tattooed the arms of Sam and Tony. 

            “Man, I hope I don’t lose any credit because of this.”  Tony crooned.

            “I wouldn’t worry too much.  I wonder if this is what the professor thought would happen.”

            “Maybe I can help.”  The students jumped, startled by the unexpected voice.

            “Mrs. Davidson?”  Sam inquired.

            Sarah Davidson titled her head at the salutation, and then sauntered her sultry silhouette towards them.

            “Hi Sam.  Who’s your friend?” Sarah eyed Tony’s muscular frame.

“My name is Tony. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  He reached out to shake her hand, but she wrapped it around her slender waist and nibbled his ear.

“You’re tasty,” she purred.

Tony shot a puzzled glance at Sam. Sam shrugged. The professor’s wife had a reputation for scandalous behavior.

“That’s quite the impressive hardware,” said Sarah as she stroked the trophy. “It looks like you’re a very capable guy.  Did I hear you say something about needing credit?”

Tony nodded.

“I could convince my husband to give you all the credit you want, as long as you do a little favor for me.” Her serpentine tongue traced the crimson outline of her lips. Sarah stepped towards Tony, her needle fingers slipping her blouse buttons undone.

Tony raised a lustful eyebrow as he allowed Sarah to come in for a kiss.  As his hand traversed the small of her back, her hand reached over to the nearby table. Before Sam could protest, Sarah chopped the Wrestler of the Year accolade into Tony’s skull. His body crumpled to the ground.

Sarah turned to Sam. The trophy dripped crimson ink.  Something about the way the drops splashed on the laboratory floor made Sam’s mouth water.

“You know Sam, my husband always raved about how brilliant of a student you were.  He was greatly impressed by your motivation, by your infatuation, by your devotion.”  She paused.

            Sam’s head spun, trying to comprehend what just happened. He started to reply, but was stopped short by two scissor fingers resting on his mouth. 

            “Hush” cooed Sarah.  “I already know how much you’ve done.   I was watching when he gave you the injection. I watched you grow thinner. I asked him about it.  When he told me, I said I would expose his secret study unless he treated me as well.  I loved it.  I could go weeks without eating. But then, I got hungry.  Really hungry. Are you getting hungry Sam?”

            Sam’s stomach churned.   He was famished, but he was also disturbed by what it was his body craved.  The fantasies of feasting on flesh flashed in his mind. 

            “Give in.”

            Feeling like he was in a dream, Sam retrieved a scalpel.  His hand trembled as he went to make his first incision.

            “Do it.”

            Sam strengthened his grasp on the knife. He pressed the blade into his friend’s skin. But then, he pivoted and plunged it into Sarah’s chest.  She clutched the blade as she fell to the floor, a low moan gurgled from her mouth. 

            Sam felt dizzy.  Rivers of blood flowed along the laboratory floor.  The urge to lap it up was overwhelming.  He fought to control himself.  He made it to the rat cages. He undid the doors.  The rats poured out and were soon feasting on the corpses, their teeth crunching into the bones.  As Sam observed the smorgasbord he thought to himself, “I wonder how rat tastes.”

**********

Here's winner for this challenge

Here are the judges comments

WHAT THE JUDGE(S) LIKED ABOUT YOUR SCRIPT - ...............The character of Sam has an interesting arc, and a strong moral dilemma on his hands, competing urges. Toned down, his decision to give in could be quite unsettling................Good concept, using the diet drug. Interesting and original. .............................................   WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - ...............Don't mistake perversion for horror. Horror still requires that tension build, that we feel engaged enough in the story to feel threatened ourselves. In a very short story, just a suggestion of their cannabalistic impulses would be far more effective. ...............Some problems with word usage and some clumsy sentences. Too much explaining in dialogue................…........................

NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Round 1 - "Coming Clean"

This writing competition was tons of fun.  It's a $39 entry fee, but they promised reviews from the judges, and at least two rounds of competition.  While the judges feedback was marginal, there is a forum option which allows other contestants to critique your work, and you get to read theirs.  That alone was worth the entry fee.

The contest premise to write according to an assigned literary genre, taking place in a primary location, and mentioning a specific object, all under 1,000 words.

COMING CLEAN- Romance/Restaurant Kitchen/Ladder

Scrubbing dishes sucks.  I’m pretty sure it’s a living hell; a never ending pile of miscellaneous dishes with the leftover remnants of trivial formalities and hollow conversations.

            Except tonight, it was heaven.  The lemon scented water and sparkling silver contributed to an amorous ambiance.  I was even singing along to the cheesy soft rock love songs. She whispered those three words in my ear last night as way lay skin to skin. I was in a floating world of sudsy bliss.

            I almost missed it, but the clink against the glass dish snapped me out of my trance.  On the bottom of the ice cream dish was a gold ring with a round, small, and defiant diamond on the top.

            I took it to Heidi, the head chef, who affirmed that one of our patrons had asked her to place it in the dessert for a surprise proposal.  JJ was their waiter.  He remembered that they were there celebrating the time they first met, and that things seemed to be going well until he delivered the dessert.  At that point, the woman was gone, and the man had his head in is hands, visibly upset. He had the receipt from the bill, which gave us the name on the credit card.  Pascal Davidson. I looked him up in the phone book.

           “Hello?”

           “We think you may have left something valuable at the restaurant.”

           “No, she left me.”

           “Excuse me?”

           “Nothing, never mind. What do you have?”

           “A ring sir, we’re keeping it back in the kitchen, just come on back.”

            “ok.”

A full sink load later, he came through the swinging doors, lean frame, angled face, and eyes that had been drenched in acidic grief. He came back to me, and I placed the ring in his hand. His hand closed tightly around it, as though he was trying to squeeze it out of existence.  He turned to leave.

            “Love sucks.”  He muttered

            “It’s better than washing dishes.”  I casually commented.

            He paused.  His lip quivered.

            “She was perfect.”

            He held my gaze for a moment, searching for validation.  Dishes could wait.

            “I know.”

            “She was my life.   Everything I did, every breath, every blink, it was all for her.  Do you know what that’s like?”

           “I think I’m starting to.”

           “Then it was just gutted from me, wrenched out from within, leaving me with nothing but this godforsaken emptiness. How could I have been such a fool? I’m sorry.  I don’t even know you and I’m dumping this heaviness on you.”

           “Don’t worry about it.”

           “Thanks. It’s just so much to handle right now.  I was all ready to marry her, then I find out that there’s someone else. I feel so dumb.”

           “Man that’s rough.  If it’s any consolation, you’re not the only one or first one who’s put up high stakes for a relationship. Take JJ over there, he married a firefighter and lost her.  He tattooed a fire truck on his chest with a ladder going to his heart so she could rescue him. It may seem cheesy, but in a way it’s pretty cool. Heidi, our head chef, moved across the country to work near her boyfriend.  I guess what I’m saying is that, even though there may be pain, to have had that time, that moment with someone that changes your entire universe, its worth it.”

          “I hear you.  Thanks for the talk.  I’ve got a lot to think about.  Thanks again for finding the ring.”

          “You never got a chance.”  I said aloud to myself, but he heard me.

          “Excuse me?”

         “Well, I was just thinking, that since I found the ring, you never even had an opportunity to ask her to marry you. It sounds like it may be too late now, but just on the off chance that everything you had together wasn’t meaningless, maybe you should let her know just how far you were ready to go. You’re not out of the fight yet.”

          “You’re right.  I was just so shocked when she told me. I didn’t know how to react.  I won’t give up, not yet.”

            I pointed him to the phone.  He called her and told her he was still at the restaurant, and that he needed to give her something.  Then he came over and because he had nothing better to do, started cleaning some pans.   We enjoyed some small talk, he gave me his business card, and JJ showed him the tattoo.  Finally, the hostess came back and told us the woman had arrived and that she was going to send her back. 

            The double doors swung open revealing legs wrapped in blue denim, a torso caressed by a black blouse, and hair laced with copper, gold and bronze.  The plate in my hand slipped to the floor and shattered into a galaxy of glass.   I stood frozen as Pascal Davidson grabbed my lover by the hand and sat down with her in the back room behind the kitchen. The world I thought I knew did a back flip and turned itself inside out. 

            I stepped outside to get some fresh air.  The moon and stars were a poetry I no longer enjoyed. I don’t know how long it took for my breaths to slow, and my heart rate to come back, but somehow they did. 

            When I came back, they were standing together, her ringed hand in his, waiting for me.  She came up to me and pressed her mouth to mine and whispered her apology.  Then they were gone, except for a ghost of a glass, with her lips on the rim.

            Scrubbing dishes sucks. 

************************

In retrospect, I should have researched romance genre more because it is supposed to have a happy ending.  This was also before I started understanding what Flash Fiction really is. 

Here's the third place entry

Here's what the judges thought.

HAT THE JUDGE(S) LIKED ABOUT YOUR SCRIPT - ..................Some of the dialogue seemed real, particularly the narrator's deadpan, stock responses....You managed to make rather implausible elements seem realistic. The story has a very good surprise ending. I love the detail about the firetruck tattoo. ......................................................   WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - ..................There are a few typos. Paragraphs are inconsistently formatted--either indent or use an extra line-break. The conversation flows well enough, but the narrator needs to feel surprised, to react to a total stranger opening up so completely. For that matter, that man needs to react to his girlfriend kissing a dishwasher on the lips, right in front of him....Try revising the first paragraph to start with "It's a living hell." Tone down "eyes that had been drenched in acidic grief." Leave out the "a" in the "moon and stars" sentence.