NYC Midnight Round-2: 250-Word Micro-fiction Challenge 2020
(After placing in the top ten in my group in Round-1, I moved on to Round-2.)
Parameters: Genre: Romantic Comedy ~ Action: Raising a Hand ~ Word: Pattern [or a form of the word]
There was something peculiar about the way the raven-haired boy marched across campus. Propelled forward by the wind—stopping to gaze at the sky—his lips moved, chastising the clouds.
He seemed weird. I was intrigued; and that’s why I signed up for Spanish 101.
I'd stopped the strange boy to ask why he was angry at the clouds, but he shrugged, his face reddening. Then mumbled apologetically, "No hablo inglés," and looked at me. Really looked. Straight to my soul. Feeling an electric current pass between us, we jumped in unison, dropping sack-lunches.
Later, I began to think en español. Señora Sanchez had a way of inducing that.
"The way to truly learn is to immerse yourselves in the language," she dramatically rolled each "r" to disguise that she was truly Jersey through and through.
"Traducir al español," she trilled. We obliged.
She pointed and pantomimed. We translated: escuelas, azul, beber, ventana. I sat by la ventana and lazily traced a pattern of hearts framing:
Antonio + Becca
in the morning condensation while daydreaming and hoping the boy could decipher my backward-window-message as he marched past on his way to English as a Second Language.
I wondered if in his class, Mr. Dickers pointed as Antonio translated: schools, blue, drink, window.
"Earth to Becca. Care to join us? Who can conjugate love en español?" interrupted my reverie.
I raised my hand. Someday we would meet in The Commons—Antonio and I—and I'd murmur, "Te amo, mi amor," and he'd whisper, "I love you."
By Lisa H. Owens
NYCMidnight presents its 250-word Micro-fiction Challenge 2020
Round-2: 1,200 entries divided into 30 groups
Each group is assigned a Genre, Action and Word
Top-Five from each group will move on to the final round
Group-1: Romantic Comedy - Raising a hand - Pattern
(*Read Round-1 Challenge here: Redemption)
I have a reoccurring dream of flying. I glide above a lifeless landscape—sunrise above a destitute city. Morning traffic gridlocked, the cars haphazardly abandoned and silence only pierced by a blaring horn. Coffee cups on a bench. A lone glove on the ground. Two dogs sniffing an oily sack turning on each other with a vengeance in anticipation of a morsel. A campus lawn. A rolling tumbleweed of masks propelled by wind and laptops left open on scattered blankets. I hover over a glass-topped building spying a face—illuminated—as fingers fly over a keyboard searching for an answer.
By Lisa H. Owens
Just 100 Words
100 Word Stories - January 2021 Photo Prompt