I am literally one month away from competing for Furious Fiction for a whole year. My first entry was in September 2018! And I really feel like I’ve come a long way since then! Sure, I do suffer from the syndrome Glenn Close may feel during the Oscars and I haven’t been chosen as a winner, shortlist or longlist despite having over 10+ entries. But I’m feeling really good. It’s a challenge that despite – not technically “winning” by not being published – that I’ve been able to rise to the occasion and have many, MANY close calls on not being able to.
I highly encourage any writer, whether experience or first-timer to try this competition. Over these years, I have been published in other publications, been rejected way more times – and I think that’s really built a nice suit of armour – though not impenetrable but it has definitely helped me so much in gaining my confidence and resilience.
So without further ado. You can read the winning entries here.
And the prompts for this month were:
August 2019 Prompts
- Each story had to include, word for word, ALL of the following SIX descriptions:
SHINY, SILVER
COLD AND GREASY
SCRATCHED AND WEATHER-WORN
SWEET AND PUNGENT
INK-STAINED
SHRILL, PIERCING - One of these six descriptions had to appear in the first sentence of each story.
Benoit by Charles M.
Nothing could sway him from the shiny, silver watches and clocks he saw at the community antique marketplace he went to every Wednesday. His face beaming and his eyes aglow with excitement and joy.
Even the scratched and weather-worn pieces were inescapable of his affections and interests. He only bought the ones that were cheap and looked behind repair. In fact, it was those pieces that he paid more attention to since there was a history behind those compared to the ones still left their original packaging. He could conjure up any story about the previous owners after he would ask the merchant about them. Most of the time it was a sales pitch to ignite his interest. But it was redundant. He would have bought them either way. And would repair the watches so they looked brand new. He inherited this skill and passion from his grandfather.
He would muster up the little money he saved over the week working at the cold and greasy factories ninety miles from his home. It was not favourable – but he was desperate. He had a father to care for after all. He was all that he had.
He would come home from the factory with his hands, face and clothes all dirty and ink-stained. And would carry a heavy burden and sadness in his eyes despite proclaiming that he was alright. He didn’t think his father could hear the shrill, piercing cries in the night from an injury he sustained within the year he started work at the factory.
And then one day, he never came back home.
“And then what happened?” the therapist asked me.
I woke up from my recollection. I took a deep breath. Benoit’s face fading fast from my mind.
They called me in the mortuary. And it was there I saw his lifeless, little body. Disfigured. Covered with dried blood. And a look of sheer horror and fear on his face. He was only ten.
“I know… this may be difficult to answer and you don’t have to. But… How did you manage to get here?”
That’s easy. It turned out he was selling the watches and clocks he repaired to fund for my treatment. He made a plan for us to escape our horrible life of poverty once I got better and he saved up more than I realised. He was always sad that he felt he failed me. But every day as his father – I felt I failed him.
Now I just miss the days where he’d smell like blood orange and cinnamon – from the sweet and pungent body wash that was his favourite after he finished having a bath. And the time I will never have with him again.
Writer’s Commentary
Is it weird to say that a sort of protest/grief story that is anti Child Labour was inspired by Veronica Mars season 4? Without going TOO much into detail (because I know the wounds of the Season 4 finale are pretty fresh, the storytelling aspect of a story being retroactively told, with the twist being that the person that’s “speaking to the reader/viewer” is actually speaking to a therapist was although not an original twist / but something I wanted to tackle.
The name Benoit was always a favourite of mine. And one that I came across early 2000s when I was watching tennis and heard the name from Benoit Paire. Ironically, the story wasn’t inspired by him but another story that I wrote for furious fiction called Hometown Hero and the central character was sort of inspired by him, particularly the rather friendly/charming aspect hidden under the facade of media scrutiny and temperamental aspects of on court behaviour (the character itself was an amalgam of so many tennis players I actually really like that seem to have the trend of being “bratty” but extremely talented but also face enormous pressure to succeed).
The actual story is based on a Russian penpal I write to occasionally. Although fortunately the gritty end isn’t truthful, but people who live in harsh conditions needing to do what they need to do to survive but also having the burden with having a family member with a disability.
Then the next twist – the person with a disability having the ability to express their thoughts – and the rawness of the guilt they feel for what they have. We always think of people with disability being incapable to express how they feel – but from my work – the more time you get to spend with them – you learn more and more about them, and then you realise that a lot of society doesn’t give them the time. It was a commentary on how we disregard the mental health of people with disability. What’s seen as “too tough” in society is seen as disposable or not worth it.
But people are always worth it. And I hope Benoit shows that.
C.
The Olive Brunch 