A couple months ago I posted my story from the first round of the NYC Microfiction Competition. I made it to Round 2 so thought I’d share my entry with you again.
Good luck to anyone else who is taking part!
The prompts for Group 15 were:
Action: Washing the dishes
I’m home, but I don’t feel at home. I sit on the sofa in the front room, the streetlamps outside casting a subtle light in the darkness. It feels real – being alone with the tears that stain my face from the memory.
Get off me.
It’s just as dark as it was that night, but this darkness calms me. I don’t see a talent to sadness, but I think he did.
The gentle rumble of cars lulls me to a sleep-like state. They sound like his voice in my ear, but I know with every increase they’ll slink away into the night. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I could always make out what he was saying.
Get off –
A car siren wails. My eyes shoot open. A figure stands by the window. I know he isn’t really there.
I wash the dishes for a while. The bubbles pop each of my nerves until I remain an empty body in an empty house. I think we do anything we can to distract ourselves.
Turns out when something wants to get in, it will.
The wind thrusts open the window and he stands before me, fingers curling around my neck.
I dangle there a while – in his strangled grip, in a dream-like state of craving and hurt. All I can do is smile and hope to wake up to the pain.
Those three words tickle the edge of my tongue.
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