I'm thrilled to announce that my short story, "Mother Knows Best," won First Place in round two of the NYC Midnight 250-Word Microfiction Challenge writing contest!
5,400+ people entered the competition back in October and I am now one of 125 writers moving on to the final round!
The way the contest works is: you receive a prompt at 11:59 PM containing a required genre, action, and word. You then have 24 hours to write a 250-word (maximum) short story incorporating all three.
This is my second year doing the contest, and I've had a blast so far. The combination of the time constraint, unforgiving word count, and hyper-specific prompts have proven to be a surprising source of creative inspiration!
It turns out that when you have less time to get stuck in your thoughts, the imagination flows a little faster and feels a bit more accessible. Phew.
Here is the prompt and my winning short story!
GENRE: Suspense/Thriller
ACTION: Getting an oil change
WORD: Crack
Mother Knows Best
“Hurry up!” I hiss at Johnny.
It’s only been four hours since we escaped, and we’re already slowing down.
He rolls out from underneath the car and glares at me. “It’s not my fault none of these cars have gotten an oil change for the last year. Do you want to try making it across Arizona on a bad engine?”
I huff, but he’s right.
“FUGITIVES,” is our only warning before Collectors flood the garage and surround us with guns.
A disembodied voice fills the air. “You are both property of The Collective, and not allowed to leave the facility.”
Johnny walks over and grabs my hand. He cracks a sad smile. “We had a fun day, didn’t we? Almost like a first date.”
He maintains eye contact, even as the bullet travels through his skull.
A loud sound fills my ears, and I realize that I’m screaming.
An imposing figure walks through the sea of Collectors.
My mother.
She stops in front of me and sighs.
“Can we stop this silliness, Bella? Do I need to keep teaching you what happens when you break the rules?”
A rivulet of blood runs from Johnny’s open skull and pools against her boot.
The view sucks me in like a swirling miasma of regret.
“Yes, we can stop,” I hear myself say. “Please…let’s stop.”
My mother grins, satisfied. She wraps me up in a warm embrace.
“Good girl,” she coos into my ear, and I shake as the ground stains red.