1) To see if I had anything else in me besides this one story I've been working on for so long.
2) It looked like loads of fun!
Well it certainly was a lot of fun and I did manage to come up with a story.
The first round consists of two stories, one of which has been submitted, and another which we'll write in September. I say we because it looks like about 1500 people from all over the world have entered. We're divided into groups of about 30 and each group gets its own prompt with a genre, location and object. That's right - you don't get to pick your own genre! Then we have 48 hours to write, edit and submit a 1000 word or less story that fits that genre, is predominately set in that given location and mentions the object.
My Genre/Location/Object was:
Mystery/Homeless Shelter/Shovel
Here's what I came up with for the first story of Round 1:
Urban Treasure
All I wanted was a bed, but this was one of those places where they try to get involved. I regretted not accepting Jayden's offer. He'd only ask for my body; these people wanted my soul.
“Station twenty-three, second floor.”
The white girl at the desk handed me a blanket with a sweet smile I immediately mistrusted. It had an air of forgiveness, as if she were smiling at her pet cat to reassure it she still loved it after she'd caught it messing on the carpet. She forgot I'm not an animal, that I know what pity looks like.
I stared at her stony-eyed, enjoying the sadness that rolled through her flat, blue eyes. She was disappointed I didn't like her. I fought back a grin, which would have ruined the effect. It was the happiest I had felt all day.
“There's one more thing.” I always waited until after check-in for this part. “I have my little girl with me. She's four. She can sleep with me.”
The volunteer sighed, then nodded, the closest I ever get to approval. “Keep her with you. No running around unattended.”
“Ashante!” I called.
My girl scampered out from behind the entrance column where I had stashed her as I came in. She defiantly chose the long route across the lobby, deliberate revenge for my making her, a great girl of seven, pretend to be a baby. She came to my side sucking on the end of one of her braids, still clutching that red plastic shovel. She'd found it on the beach a few nights ago while I was working and hadn't put the damn thing down since.
It irritated me, her repetitive insistence that she needed it. Needed it! As if that shovel fed her, as if that shovel had walked through Brooklyn in August to find her a place to sleep, as if that shovel had carried her half the way. Ashante didn't need a stupid piece of cheap plastic. She needed her momma. Was gratitude too much to ask?
“I learned my alphabets backwards today,” Ashante announced to the shelter volunteer. “From the Avenue signs—”
I jerked her hand. “That's enough, Ashante.” Like I needed the whole damn city knowing my steps.
“One flight up.” The volunteer smiled again, holding the stairwell door. The smile was different now, but I could still see through it. She begrudged me my baby. My right fist balled up underneath the blanket.
Then I remembered the money. I didn't have time for fighting. I needed to think.
I ain't dumb. I knew I wasn't getting it back. You lose cash in my world, you lose it forever. You deserve to. But, I needed to know how it happened. I had been careful and finally had enough to get us an apartment before the weather changed. We couldn't spend another winter with Jayden. He was too unpredictable and Ashante was getting old enough to comprehend. He'd have her cutting rock by March.
I took Ashante to use the bathroom and shower, then pulled our toothbrushes out of my backpack. Hers had a little blue parrot on the end. “Arr,” she said, heedless of the pasty white bubbles dribbling down her chin, “I'm a pirate.”
I hustled Ashante back to the main room. She was still clutching the shovel.
We found our station. It was an old cot, like I knew it was going to be. Why couldn't that saintly volunteer have just called it what it was? I wouldn't have hated her so much.
I laid down and closed my eyes. Ashante sat at the bottom of the bed, digging a paper and a few broken crayons from her little bag.
I ignored her, thinking about the money. I had it three nights ago, down at Coney. The next morning, gone. Who could have taken it? One of my dates? Why would they? How would they even think to look?
Pride fought to prove theft, but it didn't have a case. My shame knew I must have lost it beneath a motel bed or dropped it out my pocket on the street like some idiot tourist.
But that felt impossible. It was an inside pocket I made myself. I always kept the tiny bag of folded bills there, trading them for higher denominations to keep the bulge from showing through my shirt.
The pocket hadn't been torn; the Velcro opening hadn't been tampered with. Not even Jayden knew about it. Jayden. If someone stole it, he was the obvious choice. Except Jayden would have confronted me. We would have fought and he would have yelled and hit me for holding out. He wouldn't just invite us to stay like nothing had happened. I must have lost it.
I drifted off to sleep, filled with anger and self-loathing.
I woke up alone.
“Ashante! Baby, where you at? Ashante!” I shouted, ignoring the angry protests of sleepy strangers.
I searched the room, the floor, the building. Nothing. Frantic, I returned to our cot, clawed at the blanket, shook it like I expected Ashante to come tumbling out of its folds.
The bed was empty, except for a crumpled drawing of a pirate ship, a severely ill-proportioned starfish and something that vaguely resembled a pier.
I dropped the picture and ran out of the shelter. I tore down Bedford Avenue, fueled with a mixture of fear and pride. My heart hammered as I followed the Avenue signs. R, S, T. Yes, my baby knew her letters. I crossed against the light the last few blocks and didn't slow down until I hit the ocean.
I found her under the boardwalk, in the corner where we'd spent the night before last, the red shovel working busily.
“Ashante!”
She beamed up at me. “There you are, Momma. Did you get my treasure map?”
My eyes trailed from her to the hole. Deep inside, one corner of a tiny plastic bag peaked up out of the sand.
***
Well, there you have it. I posted it here just as it was submitted to the contest.
Peace & love to all and best of luck to all my fellow Flash Fiction competitors!
