NYC 100-Word Microfiction Challenge

In April, I joined thousands of others in the NYC Midnight 100-Word Microfiction Challenge. I continue to learn and grow as I practice these microfiction and flash fiction contests, and I've certainly learned a few things about myself as a writer. For one, I'm increasingly aware that the moment I sit down, my brain zooms out to huge ideas. Novel-sized, trilogy-sized ideas. This is not a boast. Far from it. Longer is certainly not always better, and I participate in these challenges to hone the skills of word economy and clarity.

My assignment this go-round included the Action and/or Adventure genres, the action of trying not to fall asleep, and the specific word: relative. At some point on the morning of the challenge, my wife mentioned toy claw machines and I knew exactly what I wanted my piece to be about: A dystopian, over-populated world in which 9th graders must race from one place to another without being collected by a giant claw and taken to be de-seeded. Here's the story:

The Race

I thumb the too-long belt Dad gave me. My only relative starved me food but fed me warnings: “Don’t come back if you lose!” 

A helicopter’s whir and heartbeat fill me.

The Claw!

Creaking, metal fingers grasp. My brain shuts down.

The plan! 

Loop the belt around a prong. 

Shimmy my skeleton through.

Tether to the chain. 

Wait.

I fight sleep as The Claw swings toward the Failures, who wait aboard a bus bound for de-seeding. A runner glowers at my trick. The Claw plucks him, one breath from crossing. I free myself and leap.

Dad grills steak for dinner.

I would post the feedback the judge provided verbatim, but I'm not certain that's allowed. There were a lot more suggestions than there were compliments. The judge appreciated the list structure in the middle of the story, the development of the character who is both a skeleton and a planner, and how I showed success in the last line.

The criticisms included the fact that there is so much going on in the story that it's hard to follow, it's hard to visualize much of it, including the race itself, and the sense of what is at stake isn't clear.

I'm in the final stages of self-publishing my debut novel, so I won't be going back to rewrite this piece. Fitting a story into 100 words feels like what I can imagine cooking a meal in one of those tiny kitchen cooking videos is like. Practicing writing still serves its purpose!