Micro-Fiction Roundup XXVIII: Serial Killers

June 30, 2010 in Micro-Fiction Roundup

Sometimes—and by sometimes I mean always—quality is more important than quantity. While last week’s The World of Parks theme didn’t yield the mass of fruit that I had hoped, the pulp of the few pieces was indeed juicy. Some themes don’t strike that creative G-Spot in as many of our artists as others do. However, we did meet our quorum of one entry. 75% of the entries were excellent. One was a contemptible excuse to use a photo of an Asian general in the reminder post.

Here is the recap of last week’s candidates:

  • BobDog – An untitled piece about the hubris of film crews.
  • Chillbear Latrigue – “Last Friday Night.”
  • Swifter – “The Ceremony”
  • Baroness – “Twilight of a Bronx God”

Militant Rubber Ducky was the winner of last week’s contest and is, therefore, this week’s judge. Here is what she wrote:

“I choose Baroness.”

Succinct. Remember, the judge isn’t required to give a lengthy explanation as to why he or she chose a particular submission. It’s also not necessary to rank the runners up. The only thing that the judge is required to do is select. Here is Baroness’s victorious piece.

Twilight of a Bronx God, August 1977

“Scorching park day, a hunnert they say. Skinned knees, sprinklers, icy cherry Canada Dry. Running swinging shoving playing, happytired, happy boy. All day, all day, today is forever.

Ancient concrete GrecoRoman stadium to conquer. Gigantic, a pyramid to climb. Giant Apollo statue at top, like Superman. Explorer-boys, fearless. Exhaustion, doubt halfway. Soldier on!

Victory! Mile in the sky. In Apollo’s presence. Alabaster skin lashed with graffiti, lewd X across his crotch, dirty words scrawled everywhere, broken bottles at his feet. Sky is purple now, late, the kid shivers. The 44. caliber killer is out there. He wants to go home.”

Congratulations to the enigmatic and brilliant Baroness. There are so many different directions that one could go with this, but we have been on somewhat of a dark bent as of late. The Baroness’s “Twilight,” is about The Son of Sam serial killer, who terrified the city of New York in the 70′s. Therefore, this week’s theme is going to be Serial Killers. I know that we’ve done a few about mental disorders and dementia, but this type of theme really does seem to bring out your best. You can go with a famous killer, like BTK, Gacy or the Zodiac Killer, et cetera, or you can create your own. You car write about the victims, the killers, the fear, the politicians; it’s really up to you.

Here is a little theme music and a movie scene to set the mood:

The Rules:

Please not the change in the below rules for the Fourth of July week only.

  • Your entry must be 101 words or less; if you choose to title your piece, the title will not count against your 101; there is no limit on the amount of entries you can submit.
  • Because of the holiday the deadline will be Monday night at midnight. This will give the judge 24 hours to submit his or her selection to me by Tuesday night at midnight. Sorry about the shorter turnaround, Baroness.
  • If I don’t receive the judge’s selection by one of the established methods (e-mail, Wordsmoker messaging or Facebook private messaging) I will be forced to make the selection so as not to delay the next week’s competition.
  • The winner of Micro-Fiction Roundup automatically assumes the responsibility of judging the next week’s competition. Obviously that person can still submit writing, but can’t pick himself or herself as the winner. Otherwise we could end up with some sort of ridiculous perpetual judge situation.
  • In the interest of keeping tradition, I will try to select themes based upon the previous week’s submissions when possible.

Sharpen your axes and knives, micro-fictioneers. We have work to do.

Image via Elektroschutz in 132 Bildern

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/belltolls/ Belltolls

    I might use a serial killer who uses fireworks to kill people by blowing up everything they can find until July 4th…and BEYOND! Oh, wait: those are my neighbors

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/blix/ Blix

    Congratulations on the win Baroness. Excuse me if this is brief. Patience my ass, I’m gonna kill someone; as the kids say.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/rhea-pollstry/ Rhea Pollstry

    Jeffrey

    For a few thrilling, terrifying moments I imagined Milwaukee. I imagined drinks in a dark bar with a perfectly ordinary stranger. I imagined following him home, like I had done so many times before. I imagined wavering, unable to decide whether to struggle or submit. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. He would collect his souvenirs just the same.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/baroness/ Baroness

    Humbly grateful- thank you Militant Rubber Ducky. Chill too, and Blix for such kind words.
    Thank you, such a bit of cheer when I needed it. Tried to make it my tribute to that boyhood and girlhood of running around and conquering mountains, here from a boy’s perspective.

    Below is utterly skippable.

    (DVD extras: Rice Stadium in Pelham Bay Park was an enormous concrete and limestone stadium from the 1920′s, truly Greco-Roman kitsch, but to a youngster in the 70′s it was an explorable marvel. For a kid loving Greek mythology, it was such a stage for imagination. It was immense, and already crumbling. It took forever for small pre-adolescent legs to climb to the very top to see “Apollo” in the summer heat. And yes it was just as urban-dismal Bronx 1977 as you could imagine, a famously bad year where “Ladies and gentlemen, the Bronx is burning”. Before he was caught, Son of Sam was known as the “44. Caliber Killer.” Fear and rumor were rampant, some of his killings were nearby, and everyone had a wild tale of a suspect running through their backyards. Hard to exaggerate the paranoia of that time.

    And the heroic 20 foot tall Greek-style statue so defiled by the 1970′s I thought was Apollo was actually a French limestone sculpture entitled American Boy. Which I only learned after I wrote this, but even more appropriate. Still a God to me. He was saved.

    Rice Stadium was demolished in 1989, a crumbling wreck. But the outlines, the scars of the vanished neo-classical stadium are still visible on Google Earth. Noticed it trying to retrace parts of my childhood, as one does. )

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/bobdog/ Bobdog

    Congratulations Baroness. Enjoyed it very much. Did he say serial or cereal? I always get them confused.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/baroness/ Baroness

    Ugh sorry for the blagging..

    Cereal killer would definitely be Count Chocula. Hello, undead vampire.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/blix/ Blix

    AND YOU CAN SEE THEM THERE, ON SUNDAY MORNING

    It kills by nature, thoughtlessly moving closer to its victims. Unable to run, the little ones go first. It is relentless and the tally rises exponentially. The larger ones sense the presence of danger and start to flee. Straight towards the shore; where they wait with fishing poles. Are they real? Preparations are made. Volunteers arrive and we give them things to do. Unhatched eggs go east. Hands, bonded with hope, are held in the sand. Vent the fucking vent and stop it! The Dude abides in the name of destiny.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/fuldis-closure-2-2/ fuldis closure

    That was beautiful, Baroness. Inspired by it:

    CHIT CHAT

    I know you.

    What girl never swirled your hush hush of knives all up in her sugarplum dreams?

    You on streetcorners. In diners. You driving a butter-yellow truck through every dark parking lot of my childhood.

    Your bright, starving eyes.

    You’ll never eat what we eat. You’ll always be outside of windows, fingers bloodied, digging up concrete for scraps, chewing razors.

    When you die, your mind will keep minding. Nothing else.

    You. Forever.

    Oh, but we’ve been searching all my life, near misses between us. And isn’t this a perfect night? Haven’t we reached the end of a strange strange tunnel?

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/katekate/ katekate is squared

    All The Victims Have Boats Named After Them

    “The victim’s name is Kimberly Ann Seaswirl. She was found with her head stuffed in the toilet, throat slit, just like the other 17 victims.”

    His partner pulled out her sunglasses and squatted next to the body. “I guess you could say her life really ended up… in the shitter.” She stood, putting her sunglasses on and staring into the distance.

    “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you think this is fucking CSI?” her partner yelled, exasperated. He pushed past her for what he swore was the last time. “And take your fucking sunglasses off. It’s dark outside, asshole.”

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/katekate/ katekate is squared

    That story is dedicated to Chillbear.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/chillbearlatrigue/ Chillbear Latrigue

    @Kate2: Thank you. I like the sunglasses angle.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/militantrubberducky/ MilitantRubberDucky

    They’d met online and, with the arrogance of a woman who believed she controlled everything in her little bubble, she agreed to meet for drinks. Between the alcohol and him lavishing her with attention she desperately sought with her thigh highs, it took little coaxing to get her to his place. As the electronic lock engaged, he noted the doubt, then shock, that crossed her face as he smashed the business end of his hammer against flesh and bone. Those silvery-white scars criss-crossing her wrists were a cry for help to do what she couldn’t – he was happy to oblige.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/katekate/ katekate is squared

    @MRD: That was profoundly disturbing. Well done.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/irishbreakfast/ irishbreakfast

    I apologize for being late to the party: Congrats to Baroness and a hearty “well-deserved.”

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/irishbreakfast/ irishbreakfast

    What I Learned On My Summer Vacation

    Texas Longhorns are not tricked-out cattle. They are smart and they jump. They can clear a six-foot fence without a running start. During the day they stoically endure the gawping tourists, the unwelcome familiarity of the Park Rangers. At night they hop over the barbed wire. They move in a quiet line to the most isolated campsites. With one swing of their heads they slice through tents, fillet sleeping bags and tease out the contents. They carefully score and gouge flesh, mimicking wounds caused by cougars or bear. They’re back in the pen well before sunrise, horns rubbed clean by mesquite.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/fishnetsandcigarettes/ Fishnets & Cigarettes

    I am, in fact, posting a micro-fiction, but i wanted to add this to the theme music.

    httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHFK1yKfiGo

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/fishnetsandcigarettes/ Fishnets & Cigarettes

    He took 9 girls that same summer, ages 15 to 20. Each connected only by gender, innocence and teenaged lust.

    “You’ll always be the one” he would say each time, as he passed the joint and urgently took them in the back seat. They sacrificed for love, for a ticket out of childhood. In the end, it was hardest on those who wanted, more than anything in the world, to believe him, overlooking the dishonesty in his eyes.

    Each time he left., wrenching their hearts and leaving behind a trickle of blood, as he went on to the next.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/spiralbetty/ spiralbetty

    Brainstorming

    Catastrophe Cleanup. Hmm, not bad. In big letters on the van?

    Out, Damned Spot.
    Maybe a plaid logo? Perhaps better not to imply anything about the lady of the house.

    Post Traumatic Mess Restorer. Not very sensitive, but catchy, if a little syntactically off.

    You Slash ‘Em We Wash ‘Em. Very inappropriate, but highly descriptive, a plus.

    We Do the Math. The Aftermath. Heh. Only if we end up on a reality show.

    Hazbeens: You’ll Never Know We Were There. Sadly, no.

    Knights in White Tyvek. Classic rock radio ads?

    Crime Scene Cleaners. This Time it’s Visceral. Oh, dear…

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/bobdog/ Bobdog

    My Dad

    The door slams.

    He didn’t hit her this time. He’ll be gone for two…three…four days, and when he returns he’ll be the world’s greatest dad, for a while. Soon he’ll be brooding and moody again, drinking too much and quick to smash a dissenting face. We now know when to hide, when to shut up, when to duck and roll with the punches.

    Mama says he’s a gambler. “Maybe he’ll win this time. It’s nice when he wins.” And we stay.

    I say we need to run, far and fast, now; I found his duffle bag in the trunk.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/militantrubberducky/ MilitantRubberDucky

    You don’t learn. You meet strangers in chat rooms, you wink at the nice boy at the coffee shop, you take the same route home everyday from work, oblivious. I understand though; stupidity is a chronic disease, and you need help overcoming it. Perhaps group therapy; Dumb Ass Anonymous has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Sometimes a little thinning of the herd is in order. So go on, keep ‘checking in’ at various locations on Facebook and grinding against strangers in clubs; I’ll get to you eventually and you’ll learn the error of your ways – for good.

  • http://wordsmoker.com/help/members-3/militantrubberducky/ MilitantRubberDucky

    Wow, talk about down to the wire!