The University Center for Writing-based Learning hosted its inaugural flash fiction contest during the 2019 autumn quarter. All DePaul students, faculty, staff, and alumni were invited to submit their best fiction with the limited word count of 350. After a difficult deliberation process, the Outreach team selected the first place winner and two finalists.
1st Place
“The Bride” by Tess Melvin
My mother said they raised her in that mask, the lotus-girl, and stitched it into her hairline. She said that was what happened when you were born too beautiful: they plastered you over with tin foil and sugar so that every time you looked in the mirror, you would see what your parents made you.
As kids, we would go down to the pond to chip at pyrite just under the surface. I would fashion gold flakes and flowers into a crown and she would tell me every time that she couldn’t take it home, but she loved me nonetheless. I imagined her eyes crinkled when they smiled. She told me she’d forgotten their color, but she thought they were brown.
When they introduced her to her fiancé, everyone said what a shame it was. She was early, still pink with childhood, and had to roll up the sleeves of her mother’s wedding gown. He talked to her endlessly. He wanted to see her, really see her, because this was a husband’s power.
They found him the morning after her wedding night, crumbled to ash. Hours afterward she showed up on my doorstep with the mask hanging askew and her face streaked with tears. I saw her eyes for the first time: impossibly dark, struck with amber and gold.
He saw me, she sobbed.
No, I said. He didn’t see you at all.
Finalists
“Monster” by Patty Kelsey
On November first, Jean wants to treat herself. She figures there’s probably candy on sale after the holiday, so on her way home she stops at the 7-11. As soon as the receipt is crumpled in her pocket she’s unwrapping a nutty, caramel-drizzled chocolate bar. It’s over after three bites and she ducks her head to lick the plastic. Jean sighs and thinks what a great treat that was.
As Jean continues to walk home she chews on her fingernails. Maybe she imagines it, but she tastes sweet milk chocolate on each bitten finger tip. What a treat that chocolate bar was, Jean thinks, the best I’ve ever tasted.
Jean pinches on a hangnail and pulls the tab of peeling skin back until blood pools next to her nail bed. Jean sucks on it and tastes silky caramel. Where have you been, her mother asks Jean when she gets home, what took you so long. Instead of responding Jean bites her tongue so hard her teeth sink through it like chocolate nougat. Jean smiles, now her mouth is filled with the taste of the most delicious candy bar she’s ever tried. Her mother screams, terrified.
“Ben’s Drunken Courtship Through Text Message” by Nick Enquist
It was almost midnight and Ben was at the Crow’s Feet Pub in Lincoln Park. He huddled over his phone at the end of the bar. The patrons circled around him as if he were a stature to get their drinks and the bartenders only half checked on him every 15 minutes He was on his third shot of tequila and desperately texting many people who might want to fuck him.
The first woman he texted was Tracy. They would often screw after Ben bought pot from her.
u up?
Hey babe!
Ya.
I’m super high rn.
Weed?
Molly.
Can I snag some?
Lol! Fly to Vegas
Fuck! I forgot.
Jelly.
Tracy said she’d return in a few days, but by then Ben shifted to his most recent ex Maria. When Ben told the story about how they broke up to his friends, he often said it ended on good terms.
Hey.
Ben, i’m trying to sleep.
You need any help?
😉
FFS. piss off.
Ben called her a bitch and blocked her.
After drowning in another shot and venting about her to anyone who would listen, he went over to Facebook and saw pictures of Ryan’s fishing trip.
Even Ben thought that Ryan was too good for him. Ryan apologized for every joke, outburst and insult Ben could conjure; Ben could never figure out why, but Ryan loved him.
How’s it going?
I can’t talk right now.
Oh okay.
I just wanted to check in.
Thanks.
But I can’t talk.
Can we tomorrow?
I don’t think I want to.
Look, I could use a friend.
Just 5 minutes?
Ben waited for twenty. There was no response.
The red-headed bartender asked if he was okay. Ben sniffed and said he was fine. Another shot and Ben’s thumbs worked harder than they ever before to call upon someone, anyone who could at least sit with him for even an hour.
But when four a.m. came by. Ben stumbled out of the bar into the cold October night alone. He had just sent one last text that read, I’m sorry.