I enter in some writing competitions just to keep my mind fresh and stretch it in ways that I don't usually get to do. Sometimes, just adding certain parameters and restrictions lets you run in an entirely unexpected way and the results are fun. I enjoy it immensely. And I post them here for you to read. I'm thinking about compiling them into an ebook, just so you can have all of the stories in one place.
The latest story is for the
NYC Midnight 2013 Flash Fiction Challenge Round #2. This time, I was able to get first place for the first round (posted
here) and I got first place for the short story below. The brief? Write a 1,000 word short story in 48 hours that is a fantasy, set at a train station, and featuring a bottle of wine. You can interpret it anyway you want.
I really enjoyed writing it. Actually, it's probably one of my favorite short stories I've written for this competition. And I hope you enjoy reading it.
The Land of Snollygolly
Though he had spent every night of the last ten years at the train
station, no one had ever paid attention to the old man. Maybe it was
because his clothes were in tatters. Or maybe it was because he
smelled of sweat and alcohol. For whatever reason, he was invisible
to the rest of the world.
“Myrtle always made sure that I wasn't lonely,” he would mumble
to no one in particular. “Myrtle loved me.”
One night, while clutching a bottle of wine in a paper bag, he fell
asleep while the trains came in and left. People boarded them and got
off. No one disturbed the old man.
He woke up some time later to find the train station completely
empty. All the lights were off except for the lone bulb above his
bench. He peered around, unable to find another soul. In fact, the
station was so dark, it seemed that he couldn't see more than than
ten feet from the bench.
“Strange,” he murmured to himself. He took another swig of the
wine. It was okay; he still had over half a bottle to keep him
company.
After a few minutes, a beagle walked in and sat beside him on the
bench, not on the floor as normal dogs would. The old man scrutinized
the dog as the dog watched him. He found it more strange that the dog
was paying attention to him than the fact that the dog was sitting on
the bench like any human would. What's more, he couldn't shake the
feeling that he'd seen this dog before.
“You lost, fella?” he asked.
“Nope,” the dog said. “I'm just waiting for my train.”
Surprised, the man blinked. What did you talk about when you were
talking to a dog? He didn't know. He just knew was that he was
curious. “Where ya headed, fella?”
“I'm on my way to the Land of Snollygolly.” The dog looked up at
the man. “The train should be arriving any minute.”
The man took another drink of his wine bottle. “What's in the Land
of Snollygolly? I ain't ever heard of it.”
The dog gave a bark of laughter. “Only the most magnificent
mountains!” He spread his front paws wide. “And purple canyons so
deep, you can't see the bottom. There's unicorns and dragons and
more. And there's every kind of candy imaginable just waiting to be
eaten.”
The old man gave a toothless grin. “Like Whoopsie Rolls?” That
was his favorite candy when he was younger. He sometimes dreamed
about that candy.
The dog nodded sagely. “It grows on trees there! You can just pluck
it off and eat it.”
“Mmm,” the old man agreed. He took another drink of his wine. It
certainly didn't taste like the Whoopsie Rolls of his youth. But it
at least it filled a hole.
“But that's not all,” the dog continued, getting more and more
animated. “They have the most magnificent feasts waiting for you!
You just wish for what you want to eat, and faeries whip it up and
deliver it to you.”
“Really?” the old man asked with a chuckle. “Anything I want?”
“Yep,” the dog said. “Anything.”
“Like the pecan pies Mother used to make?” The old man's mother
was a master of making pies. Pecan pies were her specialty. She had
died when he was little, taking her recipes with her. He hadn't been
able to find anything close his entire life. He would give anything
to have a slice of one of those pies again.
“Just the ones,” the dog said. “But I haven't gotten to the
best part.”
“The best part?”
The old man was certainly intrigued now.
“The people there. They're the nicest people ever. Whatever you're
doing, they'll give you a belly rub.”
The old man took another drink of his wine. “I don't think they'll
give an old man like me belly rubs,” he admitted. He looked down at
his own belly which wasn't as fit as it used to be. He'd had far too
many bottles of wine.
The dog shook his head. “In the
Land of Snollygolly, they give everyone
belly rubs.”
“That does sound like an amazing, magical place,” the old man
said. “I wish I could go there.”
“You should
go there, Charles,” the dog insisted. “It's all ready for you.”
It took the man a few seconds to realize that the dog had called him
by name. No one had called him by his name in years. He had become
nameless, one of the many homeless people in the city. Suddenly, from
the cobwebs of his memory, he recognized the brown spots on the dog.
“Nemo?” the man asked incredulously. He reached out and ruffled
the dog's ears. “Nemo is that you? Why, it's been...”
Nemo gave him a doggy grin. “It's been over thirty years, Charles,”
he said.
The man took another drink of his wine. It was nearly empty. “Wow,”
he murmured. He put a hand to his forehead. “I hadn't realized it'd
been so long...”
Nemo nodded. Somewhere in the distance, a train sounded. “It has
been too long, Charles. And Myrtle's waiting for you.”
Charles couldn't believe his ears. “Myrtle?” he asked. “Myrtle's
been waiting for me?”
“Yep,” Nemo said. “And she wants to give you a belly rub. Or is
it a kiss? That's what humans do, right?”
Charles laughed. He looked at his bottle of wine. It was a pinot
noir, Myrtle's favorite kind of wine. When she died, he took to
drinking it to remember her by. But if she was waiting for him in
this Land of Snollygolly, suddenly the wine didn't seem so appealing.
The train pulled up to the platform.
Nemo got up and looked back at the man. “Are you coming?” he
asked.
Charles straightened his jacket and smoothed out his thinning hair.
He stood up, leaving the bottle of wine on the bench, forgotten in
his elation. “Yep,” he said. “I'm coming.”
