I didn’t submit anything to the Alibi’s short fiction contest this year, so I feel particularly free to say they made terrible choices for 1st and 3rd place (which is a ripoff of a well-known Twilight Zone). My selections are from the Honorable Mentions. mjh
mjh’s 1st: “Second Impulse”
If only the dog hadn’t died. But there was the new neighbor, digging frantically in the secluded corner behind his shed, trying to bury Fido before the family returned to wail over his act of vehicular homicide.
Any minute he would unearth the human skeleton. There would be no wallet, no clothing, no dentures to find; but the bones would reveal the congenital limp. That was always the worst of an impulsive murder. It was so hard to dispose of all the evidence permanently.
Now there was no choice. The unlucky neighbor would have to disappear. An offer to help, a blow from a second shovel. Nothing could be easier.
Only, where would she hide the body?
—Thayla Wright
mjh’s 2nd: “Small Print”
Unceremoniously, the Build-a-Universe kit arrived, crammed into my mailbox, displacing my cat Schrödinger from her favorite sleeping place.
The super-stringed box, labeled with my assumed name Ima Godd, magically unfolded itself at my first touch.
Astoundingly revealed were quantum baggies full of pin-wheeling plastic galaxies, fuzzy balled proto-stars, shrink-wrapped neutron stars, and a dark, sucking bundle of black holes.
Following the instruction book, I Hawking-blended all those ingredients into a cosmic soup.
But time stood still when I read the manual’s last line that froze everything at T minus zero entropy–“Big Bang not included.”
—John Orman
mjh’s 3rd: “Dreams”
The little girl dreamed of having a cat, ballet shoes, flawless skin, and her first school dance. As a collegian she dreamed of straight hair, iambic pentameter, and roaring lions on the steps of the White House. Then came the dream of the perfect soufflé and a baby supported by Ken, the perfect man. (This led to fantasies involving the mailman.) Following were visions of saving polar bears, going vegan, and educating the masses. World peace was in there somewhere.
Now she keeps it simple. She dreams of dancing the tango. And sex—coming out of nowhere sex—unexpected, intense, dripping, and hot—with a stranger. Saving the polar bears is still in there somewhere.
—Judy Garner
mjh’s Honorable Mention: “Not Art”
Dru catches fairies and bakes them into cakes. It’s not an art, she says, it’s a science. She wakes up early and stalks through the garden. The best fairies come out early. Who would want to eat those lazy fairies that only wake up at noon, to drag themselves out and slouch from tulip petal to tulip petal? No. That’s like buying Hershey’s chocolate when you know you could drive downtown and get the good German stuff for just a few dollars more. Only 2 a.m. fairies are cake-worthy. She grinds them into the batter, juices them into the frosting, decorates the top with their crunchy little bones. “Delicious.” She licks her fingers. “Science,” she says. “Not art.”
—Sara Cordova
alibi . june 14 – 20, 2007
http://www.alibi.com/index.php?story=19383&scn=feature
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[mjh: Until next year, I leave you with my entries from yesteryears:]
2006: mjh’s blog — I Submit
2004: mjh’s blog — Ridiculously Short Fiction