{"id":1841,"date":"2023-06-08T11:13:42","date_gmt":"2023-06-08T15:13:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/?p=1841"},"modified":"2023-07-20T10:18:12","modified_gmt":"2023-07-20T14:18:12","slug":"microfiction-challenge-read-our-stories","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/microfiction-challenge-read-our-stories\/","title":{"rendered":"Microfiction challenge: Read our stories"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

For our final Facing the Page Together<\/strong> session in May, we issued a microfiction challenge. We circulated 3 photos and asked for stories up to 250 words in length. Read our creative results. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\"Two<\/figure>
\n

Under the Watercolor Sky<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

By Louise Rachlis<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
We always found something\nwhen we walked on the beach.\n\nTossed from a cruise ship,\nlong-stemmed roses\nThat floated to shore.\n\nPebbles in the sand\nArranged like a heart.\n\nNow a monster sand castle\nBuilt with care\n\nFragile signs of love\nThat we could share.<\/pre>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Flight Paths<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
By Jennifer Tiller<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
  <\/p>\n<\/div>
\"Two<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI wish you would quit your squawking, Albert said, his tone weary. \u201cYou know it was time they left the nest.\u201d
     \u201cI know,\u201d Eleanor replied, a sob catching in her throat. \u201cIt\u2019s just,\u201d she swallowed hard as the sob rose.       \u201cIt\u2019s just the place feels so empty.\u201d
     \u201cEmpty? The place feels roomy, the place feels great,\u201d Albert said stretching out a little to prove his point. \u201cAnd, we don\u2019t have to keep running out to get food all the time.\u201d
      \u201cWell, I guess things are easier with just the two of us.\u201d
     \u201cDarn right.\u201d
      Eleanor bent over and pecked the old post where they were perched. She knew Albert was right. Still, she just couldn\u2019t sit with it. \u201cBut what are we going to do now, just the two of us?\u201d
      Albert let out a frustrated sigh and remained quiet.
      Eleanor hated when he refused to engage.  \u201cAlbert?\u201d
     \u201cOkay, here\u2019s the thing Eleanor. Maybe we don\u2019t have to do anything. Maybe we can wake up and not have every hour of the day filled. Maybe, just maybe, we can try winging it for a bit.\u201d
     Eleanor swallowed an ant and considered Albert\u2019s response. A warm breeze ruffled her feathers. She looked out over the ocean and felt her wings relax. A day with no plan. Well, she could try it and see. She turned to Albert. \u201cFeel like bobbing on the waves for a bit?\u201d
     \u201cI do,\u201d Albert replied.
      Together they lifted off and headed out over the water.<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n
\"An<\/figure>
\n
Slow Haste<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
By Arlene Somerton Smith<\/h4>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
Baker drained his ale and picked up his briefcase. With a nod to Joe behind the bar he passed under the words HASTE IS SLOW imprinted on the pub archway. The slogan had inspired the completion of his latest mission. To survive, MI6 agents had to master the art of meticulous planning and methodical completion of tasks, building to the moment when ZAP, they could make a hasty strike at the target. \n      Mission complete, with his cargo safe in an innocuous bag that wouldn\u2019t attract attention on the underground, Baker made his way along the dark London streets to the Westminster station. He slipped down the steps and waited, back against the wall, for the next train. \n      Thirty-two minutes later, he exited and headed straight to his rendez-vous, where he would brief his partner. When he opened the door, Amanda looked up from the latest edition of The Economist<\/em>. Her eyes landed on the briefcase and she raised her eyebrows in question. \n       He nodded. \u201cShe\u2019s asleep?\u201d\n      \u201cYes, she left out the cookies for Santa and then conked out,\u201d Amanda said. \u201cI can\u2019t believe you found one. Gabby\u2019s Dollhouse has been sold out everywhere for weeks.\u201d\n      \u201cHaste is slow,\u201d Baker said. \u201cThat\u2019s the secret to a successful mission.\u201d <\/pre>\n\n\n\n
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\n
Dream Castle<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
By Adrienne Stevenson<\/h4>\n<\/div>
\"Two<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n
      \"Remind me again,\" he said. \"Why are we here?\"\n      \"We're here because this was as close as we could get to New Zealand.\"\n      \"Ah.\" He turned back to gaze out over the sea. \"That's why you insisted on the sand castle.\"\n      I nodded, though he couldn't see with his back turned. \"More or less in the shape of the White City of Gondor.\"\n      \"That was a nice touch.\" He looked over his shoulder at our pitiful effort, soon to be overtaken by the tide. \"Too bad there's no Aragorn here to ride to the rescue.\"\n      I stared at his hunched shoulders. Once upon a time, he had been my Aragorn. But I was expecting too much. Even Aragorn couldn't turn back the tide.\n      The grey horizon, setting sun struggling to penetrate the pervading gloom, mirrored the state of our marriage. There had been too many upheavals, too many failed reconciliations. All that remained was the lingering aftertaste of soured affection. Our one remaining hope had been that emigration\u2014a new chance in a new land\u2014might give us what we needed to repair our lives.\n      Enter the pandemic, then financial turmoil. By the time we might have fulfilled our plans, we could no longer afford them. \n      \"So,\" I said. \"Where do we go from here?\"\n      Still facing away from me, he said, \"I guess I'll start swimming. The rest is up to you.\"\n      I returned to the car, leaving him and my dream-castles to erode into the past.<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
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\"Two<\/figure>
\n
Bird’s Eye View of the Coronation<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
By Louise Rachlis<\/h4>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
So tell me about it,\nThey cut the crusts off?\nAll the sandwiches?\n\n\u201cYes, cucumber and watercress\nHam and cheddar cheese\nEgg salad and tuna\nTomato and basil\nCream cheese and olives\nButter and sliced radishes\u2026\u201d\n\nAnd Cheez whiz and maraschino cherries?\nAnd peanut butter and jam?\n\nWhere can we find these crusts?\n\n\u201cIn the wake of the Coronation,\n\nTrash collection will be pushed back a day!\u201d\n\nYou don\u2019t say!\n\n\u201cThe Trafalgar Square pigeons will show us the way!\u201d<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
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\"Two<\/figure>
\n
A Picture with No Words<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
By Carlo Gallina<\/h4>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n
It was a beautiful morning the day he left us.  \nA swimmer since he was a kid, he loved the water. So, it kinda made sense he\u2019d go that way.  \nA sandcastle with a moat but no bridge? \nOr maybe the bridge washed away like the connection he once had with us.  \nFuck!  \nA symbolic suicide note?! I mean how fucked up do you have to be to make a goddamn sandcastle note for your friends. \nJesus Christ! \nI didn\u2019t know. None of us did. He was quiet. But that was always his way, wasn\u2019t it? Thoughtful. Shy. Quiet. That was Jacob. \nNo one imagined how completely detached he was and that was the thing, wasn\u2019t it? All of us, so preoccupied with our own little dramas. Not caring much for other people\u2019s bullshit, if I\u2019m being totally honest.  \nA quiet mind so busy. A busy mind so fuckin\u2019 quiet and answers? Answers?! \nWhat answers do any of us get in the end?  \nWe searched the entire beach that day. Nobody wanted to find him. I mean, who would want to see him like that. So permanent. Just wet and finished.  \nThis picture, taken by Sarah, was called, 'A memory not soon forgotten'. She was a photography major. \n\u201cIt\u2019s about the person no longer there,\u201d she told her professor during her class finals. It\u2019s all any of us have left of him.  \nA picture with no words. <\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
For our final Facing the Page Together session in May, we issued a microfiction challenge. We circulated 3 photos and asked for stories up to 250 words in length. Read our creative results.<\/p>\n
 Read more<\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"author":9,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[24,4,6],"tags":[39,10,20],"class_list":{"0":"post-1841","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-byline-magazine","7":"category-canadian-authors-association-ncr","8":"category-ottawa-writers","9":"tag-microfiction","10":"tag-professional-writers","11":"tag-writing-contest"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1841","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/9"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1841"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1841\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1881,"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1841\/revisions\/1881"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1841"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1841"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/canadianauthors.org\/nationalcapitalregion\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1841"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}