Post by Mr. Showtime on Sept 26, 2011 9:01:53 GMT -5
As some of you know I am currently in a short story contest. With the Ziggy Zaggs I came in 13th and I need a top 5 finish to make it to the next round.
Round #2
Limit 1,000 words
Genre: Open
Location: A Children's Playground
Object: Police Tape
It’s around dusk and the shrill autumn wind bites a lonely man’s face, as he sits on the curb. He’s been at this location numerous times. The squeaky merry-go-round and the laughter of children which generally fill the air, has vanished. Today the children are replaced by flashing lights and a parameter of yellow police tape. A normal man before today now is left alone, glaring at his wallet. The New Jersey license indicates that his name is Matthew Morrison, but this isn’t his focus. The picture adjacent to his identification is of a little girl, in a bright pink puffy winter jacket, sliding down the very slide that sits behind him. He looks back at the playground and notices the real life slide looks grey and dreary, not the same jovial object that the little girl is gleefully sailing down.
“Excuse me, Mr. Morrison,” says an older man, flashing a gold badge. “I’m Detective Johansson. Would you like some coffee?” Morrison reaches up grabbing the hot beverage from the policeman, giving an appreciative nod.
“Any updates?” asks Morrison, never taking his eyes from his wallet.
“Nothing new,” grimly replies the detective. “We know that you daughter was last seen on this playground. During recess a number of students have confirmed that she’d been playing with them. After the free period was over all of the students were asked to return to their classrooms. That’s when they noticed that she’d gone missing.”
It has been the same story since Matthew arrived. If he hears, We’re doing everything we can, one more time he might burst. Currently he blames everyone; the teachers for not delivering on their responsibilities of ensuring the children’s safety, and the police for not making any progress. He’s been sitting on this cold ground for hours and all they’ve provided him is a stale cup of coffee.
The detective, attempting to consult the dreadfully fearful man, sits next to him and says, “You know you shouldn’t be out here all night, you’ll catch your death.”
“What’s the point?” retorts the grieving man, looking at the detective for the first time, his sunken eyes a burning shade of red.
“You have to keep hope alive, it’s the only way we’re going to find her,” replies the detective, having seen this situation before he knows how hard parents take this. “No matter what it takes, Mr. Morrison, we will find her.”
“That’s kind of you, but I know you can’t make that promise,” chokes Matthew, helplessly trying to keeping the tears from welling up in his eyes. “Do you have kids?”
“Yes, a boy and a girl,” admits Johansson, a weak smile spreading across his face as he looks back at the swings, swaying in the wind. “I actually bring them here from time to time.”
“Tell me something then,” asks Morrison. “If you’re little girl went missing, what would you do?”
“To be honest, I’d probably be doing the same thing,” confessed the policeman. “I wouldn’t rest until I found her and God help anyone who dare lay a hand on her. I swear I’d…” The detective trails off, never fully finishing his threatening thought. Matthew Morrison knows the feeling. He keeps hoping to see her cruise up with a parent who has harmlessly taken her home. The thought of what some sleazy pedophile might be doing to her brings him to the brink of regurgitating his lunch.
The firm grip of the detective squeezes his shoulder and Johansson says, “Don’t worry, we’re doing everything we can.” Morrison sneers at the cliché reassurance. The detective stands as he notices the bouncing of a flashlight from the adjacent woods. A uniformed cop emerges with a very pale expression on his face. The detective slowly begins to walk away, trying not to the grab Morrison’s attention. It wasn’t a very good attempt, for the moment that Morrison saw the expression on the young cop’s face, he jumps to his feet and races towards the woods, tearing through the police tape like the marathon winner.
“Did you find her?” demands Morrison, grabbing the lapels of the policeman’s coat. Detective Johansson tries to restrain the frantic father, attempting to allow the officer to speak.
“I’ve found something, but you should really wait here, sir,” suggests the policeman, looking wearily at his superior officer. Detective Johansson looks at the father, who shakes his head in disagreement.
“Take us,” says the detective.
“But sir?”
“That’s an order,” demands Johansson. To Morrison’s relief the policeman turns and lights the darkened forest. It isn’t far before the young man stops near a fallen tree. Years of being uprooted from the ground have hollowed the long trunk, and through the hole in the top bright pink can be seen glowing in the darkness. Morrison drops to his knees. Frantically he begins to rip away at the bark, increasing the holes size to the point where the little girl could be seen completely. Her face is a few shades paler than it should be, and her body is laid out in the most awkward position. Morrison breaks out in the most terrible sobbing as he reaches down to his unmoving daughter. Terror engulfs him as his hands slide in under her body and pulls her out of the dead trunk. In an act that almost causes Morrison to drop his daughter, she slowly smiles and begins to open her eyes.
“Daddy I won,” she says her cheerfully, through chattering teeth, filling her father with an indescribable joy.
His voice quakes as he replies, “What do you mean sweetheart?”
“I told Tommy he’d never find me,” she explains. Morrison, tears streaming down his face, chokes out a laugh. In a matter of moments this has gone from the darkest day in his life to a day that he learned what truly matters. The two officers help him off the ground as they return to the roped off playground, and back to a brighter life.
Round #2
Limit 1,000 words
Genre: Open
Location: A Children's Playground
Object: Police Tape
It’s around dusk and the shrill autumn wind bites a lonely man’s face, as he sits on the curb. He’s been at this location numerous times. The squeaky merry-go-round and the laughter of children which generally fill the air, has vanished. Today the children are replaced by flashing lights and a parameter of yellow police tape. A normal man before today now is left alone, glaring at his wallet. The New Jersey license indicates that his name is Matthew Morrison, but this isn’t his focus. The picture adjacent to his identification is of a little girl, in a bright pink puffy winter jacket, sliding down the very slide that sits behind him. He looks back at the playground and notices the real life slide looks grey and dreary, not the same jovial object that the little girl is gleefully sailing down.
“Excuse me, Mr. Morrison,” says an older man, flashing a gold badge. “I’m Detective Johansson. Would you like some coffee?” Morrison reaches up grabbing the hot beverage from the policeman, giving an appreciative nod.
“Any updates?” asks Morrison, never taking his eyes from his wallet.
“Nothing new,” grimly replies the detective. “We know that you daughter was last seen on this playground. During recess a number of students have confirmed that she’d been playing with them. After the free period was over all of the students were asked to return to their classrooms. That’s when they noticed that she’d gone missing.”
It has been the same story since Matthew arrived. If he hears, We’re doing everything we can, one more time he might burst. Currently he blames everyone; the teachers for not delivering on their responsibilities of ensuring the children’s safety, and the police for not making any progress. He’s been sitting on this cold ground for hours and all they’ve provided him is a stale cup of coffee.
The detective, attempting to consult the dreadfully fearful man, sits next to him and says, “You know you shouldn’t be out here all night, you’ll catch your death.”
“What’s the point?” retorts the grieving man, looking at the detective for the first time, his sunken eyes a burning shade of red.
“You have to keep hope alive, it’s the only way we’re going to find her,” replies the detective, having seen this situation before he knows how hard parents take this. “No matter what it takes, Mr. Morrison, we will find her.”
“That’s kind of you, but I know you can’t make that promise,” chokes Matthew, helplessly trying to keeping the tears from welling up in his eyes. “Do you have kids?”
“Yes, a boy and a girl,” admits Johansson, a weak smile spreading across his face as he looks back at the swings, swaying in the wind. “I actually bring them here from time to time.”
“Tell me something then,” asks Morrison. “If you’re little girl went missing, what would you do?”
“To be honest, I’d probably be doing the same thing,” confessed the policeman. “I wouldn’t rest until I found her and God help anyone who dare lay a hand on her. I swear I’d…” The detective trails off, never fully finishing his threatening thought. Matthew Morrison knows the feeling. He keeps hoping to see her cruise up with a parent who has harmlessly taken her home. The thought of what some sleazy pedophile might be doing to her brings him to the brink of regurgitating his lunch.
The firm grip of the detective squeezes his shoulder and Johansson says, “Don’t worry, we’re doing everything we can.” Morrison sneers at the cliché reassurance. The detective stands as he notices the bouncing of a flashlight from the adjacent woods. A uniformed cop emerges with a very pale expression on his face. The detective slowly begins to walk away, trying not to the grab Morrison’s attention. It wasn’t a very good attempt, for the moment that Morrison saw the expression on the young cop’s face, he jumps to his feet and races towards the woods, tearing through the police tape like the marathon winner.
“Did you find her?” demands Morrison, grabbing the lapels of the policeman’s coat. Detective Johansson tries to restrain the frantic father, attempting to allow the officer to speak.
“I’ve found something, but you should really wait here, sir,” suggests the policeman, looking wearily at his superior officer. Detective Johansson looks at the father, who shakes his head in disagreement.
“Take us,” says the detective.
“But sir?”
“That’s an order,” demands Johansson. To Morrison’s relief the policeman turns and lights the darkened forest. It isn’t far before the young man stops near a fallen tree. Years of being uprooted from the ground have hollowed the long trunk, and through the hole in the top bright pink can be seen glowing in the darkness. Morrison drops to his knees. Frantically he begins to rip away at the bark, increasing the holes size to the point where the little girl could be seen completely. Her face is a few shades paler than it should be, and her body is laid out in the most awkward position. Morrison breaks out in the most terrible sobbing as he reaches down to his unmoving daughter. Terror engulfs him as his hands slide in under her body and pulls her out of the dead trunk. In an act that almost causes Morrison to drop his daughter, she slowly smiles and begins to open her eyes.
“Daddy I won,” she says her cheerfully, through chattering teeth, filling her father with an indescribable joy.
His voice quakes as he replies, “What do you mean sweetheart?”
“I told Tommy he’d never find me,” she explains. Morrison, tears streaming down his face, chokes out a laugh. In a matter of moments this has gone from the darkest day in his life to a day that he learned what truly matters. The two officers help him off the ground as they return to the roped off playground, and back to a brighter life.
