Heather Haze

Micro Fiction Challenge

The stories below are entries written by Heather Haze for the annual Microfiction Challenge hosted by NYC Midnight. 

From the NYC Midnight website: "The 250-word Microfiction Challenge is a competition that challenges writers around the world to create very short stories (250 words max.) based on genre, action, and word assignments in 24 hours. In the 1st Round (November 20-21, 2020), writers are placed randomly in groups and are assigned a genre, action, and word assignment.  Writers have 24 hours to craft an original 250-word story (maximum) in their assigned genre, with the assigned action taking place, and incorporating the assigned word."  

"The judges choose a top 10 in each group to advance to the 2nd Round (January 15-16, 2021) where writers receive new assignments and again have 24 hours to craft original stories.  Judges select the top 5 writers in each group from the 2nd Round to advance to the Final Round of the competition taking place February 19-20, 2021 where writers will receive their final assignment of the competition.  Feedback from the judges is provided for every submission and there are thousands in cash and prizes for the winners.  Sound like fun?  Join the competition below and get ready for November 20th!"

For more information, please visit http://nycmidnight.com 

The Fickle Flame of Fate 

                                                                              

           

The Fickle Flame of Fate
by Heather Haze

 
           

 

       
Contest: Microfiction Challenge 2020
Round: 2
Genre: Fairy Tale and/or Fantasy
Action: Extinguishing a Fire
Word: Clear
Results: pending

“Who are you?”  Abigail gazed upon the robed figure before her bed.  The figure’s face was hidden beneath a cavernous hood, two red flames for eyes.  Abigail was not afraid.  She’d been ill for many days, confined to bed. The only people she’d seen were her parents and doctors.  Even the doctors had stopped coming.  It was nice seeing someone new, even one so strange.  

The figure spoke with a deep, dispassionate voice. “I am the destroyer, the taker of life.  I am the dark shadow of creation, ever present, ever patient; the inevitable end to all that begins.” 

A moment passed.  “Oh,” she said. 

“Are you not afraid?” the figure asked.   

Abigail shrugged.  “Should I be?” 

“I have come for you, Abigail.  It is your time.”  

“Oh,” she repeated. “Why?” 

The figure answered, “From the moment the flame is lit, it is doomed to sputter and die, from the smallest ember to the mightiest of suns.” 

“What about you?” asked Abigail. 

“I am the destroyer,” said the figure.   

“But—” 

“Enough talk!  All will become clear.”   

The figure waved its arms.  Abigail’s chest grew indistinct, a tiny flame burning fitfully within.  The figure floated closer and closer.  Abigail took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  At the last moment, she yanked the figure’s hood and blew with all her might.  The figure shrieked as the fires of its eyes flickered out, the whole of its spectral form dissolving away into nothingness. 

“Now I’m the destroyer,” said Abigail. 
  

 

Chewing Gum 

                                                                              

           

Chewing Gum
by Heather Haze

 
           

 

       
Contest: Microfiction Challenge 2020
Round: 1
Genre: Suspense and/or Thriller
Action: Chewing Gum
Word: Grip
Results: 1st Place

“We’re gonna kill you, bitch!”

Doris took off running, slinging her recently recovered backpack over her shoulder and leaving the boy who’d taken it moaning in pain on the pavement behind her.  The group of bullies had taunted her ever since she left the school grounds.  She’d been in detention again, this time for chewing gum in class.  The principal said she had an attitude problem, but she suspected it was more of a pigmentation problem.  She wasn’t the only one to break a few rules, yet somehow seemed to be the only one suffering the consequences.  Now her troubles appeared to have followed her home.

When the boys started following and threatening her, Doris phoned the police.  The operator thanked her and said they’d “look into it.”  Great. Then one of the boys grabbed her bag and ran.  She chased him down and swept his legs, a handy move she’d picked up in Taekwondo class.  The boy tried to fight, but she slugged him and retrieved her bag.  But the other boys weren’t far behind, enraged by what they’d seen.

Doris reached into her bag as she ran, fishing desperately for her phone while the boys got closer.  Finally she gripped it, drawing it from her bag just as she turned a corner. 

She never saw the flash of the gun, or the terrified eyes of the officer holding it.  She only heard the shot.  There was a moment of searing pain, the gushing of blood…then darkness.