NYC Midnight 250 Word Microfiction Challenge 2024
#writing #fiction #sciencefiction #scifi #competitions #flashfiction #microfiction #nycmidnight #nycmidnight250
Not sure exactly when it was that I found out about the NYC Midnight writing competitions, must have been at least a few years ago now though. Probably around COVID, which would make sense because it's the type of thing that people were doing while they were locked in their homes... I'm also not sure what it is that brought me back to it this year. But I made the decision to finally pony up the entry fee and actually get serious about it.
Microfiction isn't something that I write or read a whole lot of, but I do like the idea. Get something down quick within the 48 hour deadline, try to flesh out an entire story within a ridiculously small word count (250), and make it memorable and engaging.
The competition started Friday night at 9pm (midnight in New York City). I stayed up till probably 4am or later. I wrote probably 6 different stories, these three below are the best ones from that batch. The last one is the one that I submitted.
As Hope and Promise Fade
“I'm only two drinks away from crying.”
His inflection was serious and sincere, but I was already well past 6 or 7 drinks myself... Not quite gone, but certainly well enough intoxicated that I was at ease with anything he could “tell” me.
J-Rod.
His tiny mouth didn't move along his grey skin, his thoughts conveyed it all; his name, his mission, the future, our place in it. The fact that they were our ward, and that Humanity was fucking shit up, the top 1% of the top 1% who were responsible. So the rest of us didn't think anything of it. Their almond eyes were a comforting sedative for the political insanity. Lo and behold, the very nature of our sovereignty and independence was at stake.
I couldn't concentrate though, for some reason the bartender is busy slapping a baseball into a well-worn glove, meanwhile, a gal with curly long blond hair and a purple sequence dress is in the corner of this dusty saloon off the 376 North—some 200 miles north of the S-4 facility—she sang her heart out. Whiskey was all out, but no one wanted the gin, so I dug in.
“Stare into the glass... Wait for the time to PASS!”
Bartender can't be more than seventeen, but it's been a few years since J-Rod's people showed themselves to be wards of Gaia, mother earth. It's the life generating capabilities of the planet that they care about. Couldn't give two fucks about scared apes with nukes.
Point out the Bounce
Last night's late night snack isn't sitting too well. We're both feeling it as we get bounced around. I look to my left and I can see Patricia blanking out as her eyes roll back into her skull.
Not only are we bouncing around like a child's toy, the Ward 7 Spherical Security System deployment procedure is not a very fun experience. You only have a few minutes to strap in against the wall before the sphere shoots out shattering the ground and blocking out the natural light from above, it engulfs your entire habitat. It's like a transformation, except there's still a lot to rebuild after it's all over.
My gut throws a “YEAHAAGHAR!” out of my mouth as I try coming up with any word that describes my emotions colliding with my thoughts as they pulsate in a liquid thud against the front of my brain, one after the other. Dark thoughts I'd rather not see. So I go back to the training.
This is definitely what they taught us. Shock, exhaustion, and a vasovagal response. Vision shifting to pure white.
One final slush of blood smacks against the front my skull; “Attacks can persist for up to 12 hours.” It was in the fucking fine print of the brochure.
When I awoke I could tell that we were oriented on our backs, slightly swaying. The first thing I did was look in her direction.
“We made it,” my smile says to hers.
Palpable Gravity
Cla – Dunk!
Cla-Dunk!
“Nova Juno! You're just too young!” That's what they tell me anyway. Papa especially. Nonsense.
Clah-dunnnk!
clahdunk clahdunk-clahdunk...
It was much more fun when our ward didn't have any gravity. Gurdie just doesn't bounce the same since they turned it on. Plus the machines let out a high pitch, but Papa says he can't hear it. I keep telling him he's just too damn old. “Wait till you get to be my age!” He says.
“What do you think, Gurdie?”
I like watching him spring to life. Sometimes I call him just to see his eyes glow blue, and then I yell “GO BACK TO SLEEP” before he can ask me what I want him to do next. I don't really do a whole lot with him, he doesn't do much anyway. But when he's offline, he's good for bouncin'. Least, he used to be. Stupid gravity.
Ms. Cyris says this is the way humans used to live before we came out here, 390 million miles away. She also says that I shouldn't talk about gravity like it didn't exist before. That it was always there, just not as much of it. I guess that's why they put me in timeout.
Gurdie is supposed to teach me, answer my questions, help me understand, but I just keep him offline most times.
Cla – Dunk!
Cla-Dunk!
“Hey Gurdie!”
He spins around, his glowing blue eyes meet mine.
“Are you finally ready for your lesson, Nova?”
This particular competition/challenge, we were given a genre, a word and an action. I was in Group 1, which was “Sci-Fi”, “ward”, and “bouncing a ball.”
My first story doesn't work because it doesn't actually have a bouncing ball in it anywhere. My second story I thought was kind of clever, but everyone seemed to like the one about the kid, so that's the one that I submitted, 🤞.
There's also another competition in January. That one is a full short story competition though. I've already got my calendar marked. I'm not so concerned with how well this one goes, just getting over the hump and actually writing something that I submitted somewhere was nice to do. I am looking forward to the feedback though, that's part of the reason to do the competition.