Fiction 101: 2007
The winners of our fifth annual super-short-story contest
For the fifth year in a row, CityBeat asked readers to write us a story no longer than 101 words. And, like in past years, our marginally qualified and only slightly buzzed panel of judges sifted through the entries, lobbied for individual favorites and narrowed it all down to the 20-something stories reprinted here.
For maximum Fiction 101 enjoyment, we encourage you to convene a discussion group--meet at a coffeehouse, bar, living room, whatever. Read the stories aloud and then discuss. What does the groundhog in “The Accident” symbolize? What might Karl Marx have to say about “Timmy the Termite”? And is the first line of “First Time” literal or figurative? Good stuff, all of it.
A big thanks to everyone who entered--especially those of you who’ve made entering this little contest an annual tradition. We look forward to reading what you come up with next year.
First place
Summer Vacation
Our town is dismal, the color of coal. Dad spits black, even on weekends. August is too hot and I can’t swim in the strip mine anymore because Joey drowned there. Everyone sits on the porch in their underwear and complains. Uncle Ralph talks about sex, tells us Aunt Millie’s tits weigh eight pounds. Mostly, I’m bored. At night, I avoid my older brother and sleep nude against a broken window screen. In September, Our Miss Brooks makes us write about summer. I make something up and get an A. Nobody wants to hear the truth about summer in this place.
Bil Fuhrer,
Clairemont
Second place
First Time
His dick shot bullets, but I wanted him anyway.
“No!” my mom gasped.
“You’ll die,” the priest warned.
“I’ll miss you,” said my sister.
“He can’t die a virgin,” I said. “I love him.”
We chose a motel near the VA. He trembled at my touch, shuddered as he entered, whimpered.
I said, “Shhh.”
We both cried. He called my name as he came. It was so loud I couldn’t hear for two days.
The governor put him away. His letters call me: Angel. Goddess. Savior.
I recovered, but he’s ruined sex for me. With other men, the safety’s always on.
Nicole Vollrath,
University Heights
Third place
You Should Try Yoga
It’s true--yoga can increase awareness.
After class, while lunching, I heard my fork scream, “No, not the Kung-Pao! My tines--they burn!”
My stick of Trident yelled, “Stop it, man! This is torture!”
Later, it was my phone, not my boyfriend, that yawned during another marathon conversation.
As I sought refuge in a warm shower, I swear each droplet snickered as it fell past my slightly zaftig form.
I then turned up the volume on my CD player only to hear the music drowned out by the stereo coughing, “Garbage!”
Tomorrow I will try step aerobics. And drinking.
Adrienne Bischoff,
Serra Mesa
Honorable mention
Oblivion
I call from Nunu’s, Turf Club, Star Bar, leave a message.
“Hey,” I say, “don’t forget the sweetness in that Romanian girl’s mouth.”
“And don’t forget the way that one fat guy watched that other fat guy waddle out of the bar, like, poor bastard.”
“And please remember to remember how that homeless lady stared into her clamshell mirror, touching the corners of her eyes.”
Tonight all the citizens of my head will drown in Stella, shots of Sambuca, and tomorrow I’ll wake alone in the strange light of oblivion, floating in my sheets, three messages on my phone.
Ryan Griffith,
Bankers Hill
Untitled
When I was promoted to Senior Engineer, I was given my pocket protector. For the past 42 years I have used my pocket protector. Today’s Senior Engineers have given up the pocket protector. Today it is a computer and a cell phone.
Yes, we need pocket protectors! Remember, the levies held during the time of pocket protectors. In my day, I once drove a car that had a big steering wheel. Do you see big steering wheels today?
Lunch was good, but the tuna tasted like cheesecake. The cook said it was cheesecake. I know she works for the Soviets.
Barry Pulver,
Rancho Penasquitos
Penance
“Bless me, Father, fer I’ve sinned. It’s been 42 minutes since my last confession.”
Mary enunciated in the proud country way when a person’s humility should be acknowledged. The third confessional at St. Yeats of Sligo was like a favorite pair of her milking britches; the box had a similar smell and conformed to the humps of her bum like she’d been squatting in it all day.
“Jayzus wept, Mary. Weren’t you just here? Sure the cushion still has the shape of your backside in it!” Father Timothy crossed himself over his rational unholiness.
“Five Hail Mary’s, Mary,” he sighed.
Brian White,
San Marcos
Published: 10/16/2007
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Comments
Hey South_eastWard: This is a selection of the <i>best</i> entries. We didn't vote on best by zip code. And actually, I don't recall any entries from San Ysidro. If the core audience comprise those who entered this year's contest, then I suppose we catered to them.
I guessed that much. Hey I'm just making an honest observation here and I'm not saying these stories are not worthy of publication; I enjoyed the lot of them. But you have to understand that if I didn't say it someone else was and in a much meaner (and condensending) way. I live in El Cajon now but I grew up all around south county and it just seems strange to me that no one from that area had a story to tell. Despite the lack of night clubs and hip eateries and 'culture' it has an immense history and may I say (in my opinion) is way more of a dramatic dynamic than any other part of san diego. I know your response and let me assure you I'm already dreaming of things to write. I don't even pretend to be a writer but I'll write something for the south. For the brown and black part of san diego, for imperial and euclid, for the almost ceasless ocean of suburbia that extends all the way to the border, for those long and twisting eucalyptus lined avenues. I guess in a way I should thank you city beat, thank you for the motivation to represent this part of a city. To bring to light the great cultural schism in San Diego, which the inhabitants of the near downtown and northward are all too oblivious to.
Bring it, Southy! Tell me about the magic of El Cajon in 101 words. I, for one, think it would be fantastic to have you---and others from the parts of SD that you mention---represent the under-represented. CityBeat (apparently this site doesn't accept html code, so I can't italicize here) and all the other local papers could use some vivid technicolor. And who knows: you may discover that you are, in fact, a writer after all.
Yo South_eastWard,
Funny you should talk about geography -- I was happy that with the diversity we got in the winners, but now that you mention it, we certainly are deficient in the south. That's probably because we just don't distribute very many papers in that area -- compared to uptown and the beaches.
It would be great if this inspired comment-makers to respond with their own short stories.
--Editor Dave
now I'M inspired to write for these areas too.
If home is where the heart is, then my heart's in the hood.
what up city beat? is this all you guys are gonna publish? You can't tell me no one from south county (paradise hills, national city, south east, chula vista, san ysidro) submitted anything worth mention. Or (understandably) is it your duty to cater to your core audience.