|This is my favorite meme.|
YO this is Si and it is time for CFFC Y1W42 WINNERS! Thanks to everyone for participating and let's get right to it!
Leara Morris-Clark's Party to the Crime
A fun little snippet of a story! I like how it's quickly established what the relationship between the main character and the teen (or so I assume) is. With a minimum of explanation the reader can see exactly what the situation is in this story--great "show not tell"! The ending amused me--"I am not very good at this adulting thing." (I sympathize!). I liked the balance of dialogue in this story. I would have liked to see more interaction between the characters, or had a bit more of a backstory/description woven into the piece. At the moment it is a bit abrupt--what is "You" like? Overall, great flash piece!
First Runner Up
Catherine Custard's Time
This was a very interesting take on Mother Nature. Usually we see her as a loving, necessary entity, here the piece points out some of the cruel dichotomies of the world brought about by her. There are some great lines here--" Even when you are happy your bounty is inequitable" for example. I don't think I've read a vengeful piece against Mother Nature before so this was quite original! We can feel the narrator's bitterness and anticipation of Mother Nature's demise. One suggestion I would make is to weave in these lines a little more clearly: " There is one on whom you depend. The Sun— he is your king, your lover. ". This was unexpected from the previous line: " You are queen but your reign will not last forever." Here I was expecting to see imagery of climate change, or even Time as you have later in the piece. I especially liked that the ultimate enemy here is Time, which will destroy all in the end. Great imagery and excellent piece!
with The Caller
Okay, I really loved this piece. Excellent job with the tension especially. I love how you start out with the frightening call, then while we wonder why the narrator received such a call we hear about how unexpected it is to them. The varying lengths of the paragraphs follow the tension of the story very well--great pacing. We can feel the narrator's confusion and fear. What had they done to deserve this? And finally the twist--it was a wrong number! One suggestion I have is to work with the lines following "it belonged to one of those wretched creatures burdened with a tonal deficit"--the tone here doesn't fit the rest of the piece, and I wondered why the narrator had such strong feelings against someone with this kind of voice. I like how you give just enough background for the reader, but we switch back to the suspenseful present quickly. The sentence fragments do a great job building up suspense. Excellent story!
“I see you. You don’t think I can but believe me, I do. There is nowhere you can hide.”
And then, click.
Even though the message was clear. I replayed it just to be sure I’d heard it right. The voice was unfamiliar. It had a high-pitched whine to it, muffled perhaps, or, more likely, it belonged to one of those wretched creatures burdened with a tonal deficit, inflicted from birth with a soprano screech, a castrato, perhaps, a shriek destined to shatter the simple pleasures of life by driving anyone within earshot away with their violently unpleasant, fingernail-on-blackboard lilt.
It screamed ME! ME! ME! Feed me! Love! Obey me!
The threat was beyond me.
I had lived, up to that moment, the most spotless of lives. I opened doors for old ladies, for old men, for strangers who were half a block down the street in the oft chance that they wanted to enter the building, any building I happened to be entering, and, occasionally, even buildings I had no intention of entering.
But beyond that, I had never, to my knowledge, interfered with anyone.
I lived an ascetic life. It was not necessarily by choice. Rather, my childhood was constrained. Home-schooled, a rural upbringing, a community nearly childless, a situation driven by economics.
I was surrounded by ancients, most uninterested in my uncomplicated ways.
Life as an adult followed much the same isolated pattern. I became a practical nurse and gravitated to the care of the elderly, nursing homes for the most part, homes increasingly occupied by the demented, elders unable to recall their lives.
I felt in good company.
But never had I been threatened like this.
My heart was racing.
And then…the phone rang again.
The same piercing voice.
“Oops, sorry. Wrong number again.”
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