NYC Midnight Round 1: 250-Word Micro-fiction Challenge 2020
Parameters: Genre: Suspense/Thriller ~ Action: Chewing Gum ~ Word: Grip [or a form of the word]
"Sounds like a cow pulling its foot outta the mud," I’d echoed my old man's words, gruffly spoken, anytime I chewed gum. The kid had it coming; though I regretted my tone. Rumination.
I clenched my armrests tight, continuing to gulp deep breaths, like my therapist instructed when sweaty fear gripped me, twisting my gut. Reality.
"Tell your brat to keep his body-parts off my seat. While you're at it, tell him to chew with his mouth closed. Sounds like a goddamn cow pulling its foot outta the mud." Would Dad's angry words be my last? Regret.
We were hurtling through space—downward—my head melding with the seatback. G-forces.
I heard crying and mumbled prayers to different gods and it suddenly hit me; I'd forgotten to pay my electric bill before I left. Random thoughts.
I thumbed the beads of my rosary one-by-one—working down the chain—my lips barely moving as I too began to mumble a rusty prayer. It had been a while, "The Lord's Prayer," feeling strange in my mouth but somehow comforting.
A ping from somewhere in the back followed by hushed spidery words, “Okay, Captain,” before a frantic voice began shouting, "Brace! Grab ankles. Heads down. Stay low. Brace! Grab ankles. Heads…" a broken record as we plummeted, the glow of fire vivid just under the left wing.
I struggled to turn my head, an attempt to see the seat behind me, "Sorry, kid." Redemption.
My conscience clear, as we plunged into a dark sea.
By Lisa H. Owens
NYCMidnight presents its 250-word Micro-fiction Challenge 2020
Round-1: 5,400 entries divided into 120 groups
Each group is assigned a Genre, Action and Word
Top-Ten from each group will move on to Round-2
Group-13: Suspense/Thriller - Chewing Gum - Grip
*Awarded 10th place in Round-1 and will be moving on to Round-2
(**Read Round-2 entry here: Te Amo, Mi Amor)
A long day of classes followed by a nightly ritual. Three roommates and one rickety table. We talked of lovers and relationships we wished we’d never had. We spoke of our creepy landlord—rumored to be a peeping-tom—the balding carpet he wouldn't replace. Him dropping by at odd hours never quite meeting our eyes, instead, gazing longingly at our nubile bodies. Candice's habit of biting fingernails way past the quick and how her mother promised an heirloom ring, bribing her to stop. She sucked hard—embers glowing—before deformed fingertips passed it on. Sharing that last Virginia Slim before calling it a night.
By Lisa H. Owens
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