“Facing Reality” wins 1st prize in short story contest

“Brilliant,” said Georgia Warner, seasoned short story contest judge. She was referring to the winning short story in the ShtoryTime contest, which I was delighted to be notified was mine!

The rules for the short story contest were simple:

• 1,000 words or less

• must use three prompts released just one week before the submission deadline

• the three prompts were: someone’s ex, gallery, umbrella

And without further ado, here is my “brilliant,” prize winning short story.

~ Nan

Image by NG Swett from 10x10” acrylic painting on canvas board

Facing Reality

by NG Swett

My ex-therapist was a good listener, but he just didn't get it. Certainly, I was sleep-deprived and approaching a big milestone birthday. But my obsession and encounters with the number 50 weren't just delusional. His prescriptions only amplified the signals.

He dismissed all the 50th anniversaries lately as mere history: the first moon landing, Russia's space launch to Mars, and the establishment of the EPA -- to name a few, but I could go on and on. And what about the ordinary, everyday sightings of the number, down to the 50% off sale on those journals he recommended, and the coincidence of the fifty-dollar insurance co-pay? He wanted me to talk and talk and talk about my childhood, an enriching subject for sure. I want to get beyond all that!

For someone who didn't believe in magic, he sure put a lot of stock in wearing all the sports fan merchandise on game days. I called him out more than once on his belief that a jersey or a mug can decide the outcome of a game.

Running out of sessions turned out to be a good thing. A string of synchronicities led me to a group that gets it. I've just had my weekly televisit with my Territorial Specialist by satellite, and as I head out to pick up dinner to bring back to my apartment, I feel energized. Today’s observations relayed and recorded: the value of the letter L in Roman numerals (50), how long it’s been since we’ve had a constitutional crisis like this (50 years), and how long an imperiled legal precedent has been in place (also 50 years). Taken together, TS and I see the magnitude and gravity of the situation.

Passing by, I see a big gold banner hanging from the front of the museum. It's for a fifty-year retrospective, and I know I must pop in. I follow signs to the gallery dedicated to modernity and find the retrospective show. There is a buzz in the air, and my antenna goes right up. I know TS will appreciate my findings. He may even pass them up to the umbrella organization for all the territories, The Org, which I’ve come to envision as a supra-global council that assembles in the skies on dark nights.

“Sending dispatch for 50-year wave series. Level L high potency source. Copy.” Right here in the gallery, I type with my thumbs and check for typos before hitting SEND. I pocket my device and continue viewing the artworks, taking a dizzying circular view from the center of the room. TS always accepts my dispatches and helps me sort through the data and signals coming across the 50-year wavelength. My pocket vibrates.

It’s TS. “Please stand by."

In truth, TS is the kindest voice in my life, and the professionalism and courtesy are truly top rated. Take it from me, a lifelong member of one of the world’s oldest professions: Clerk. Lately, encounters with irate and deranged members of the public have become unavoidable, causing so much distress that it’s nearly impossible to remain in my job. Let’s face it, my profession is facing obsolescence. So whether it’s frenzied dispatches late at night, after watching the news scroll in red blocks across the bottom of the television screen, after doom scrolling up and down my phone's news feed, or after calmer morning epiphanies, TS is always there and always helpful. Together, we've detected patterns revealed in 50-year events and crises, and we also know that the size of the surf is growing bigger and wilder. We can sometimes see hundred-year waves. We believe that something tectonic is about to happen. Taken together, events will reach a tipping point. The wave will peak and collapse into itself in a wild frothing, roiling undertow of chaos and destruction. When it comes to waves, TS says the best place to be is out front, so we've been working on figuring out what exactly to expect and how best to prepare.

As I stroll through the exhibit, what I see confirms what we’ve already discovered but which only art can reveal as powerfully as this: the bold shapes and colors, the irreverence, the abject rebellion and revolution vividly signal a complete obliteration of all of our most animating beliefs.

“Go ahead,” TS comes on again with a buzz.

I step out of the gallery into a dark hallway, type in my dispatch, and on my way back into the gallery, I re-read it for typos. SEND. I’m taking one last look at the exhibit when my hand buzzes. It’s TS.

“Begin preparations immediately to reach high ground. Expect increasing instability, a cresting of the wave, a long moment of silence, and a catastrophic crash, followed by a gradual clearing.”

“Got it,” I tap, exiting the museum. On the sidewalk, I glance at people coming toward me and watch everything in my peripheral vision. I’m alert.

Back in my apartment, I gobble down my combination platter and start to pack. I’ve got the news on in the background, and I’m half listening for the thing that will be the tipping point. Hopefully I’m not too late. I throw all the things I’ve put aside for this occasion into a duffle bag. Thankfully, I’ve liquidated all assets, both earned and inherited, and entrusted them with the Org. Their proprietary geo-political calculations, which use new computer technology beyond mortal comprehension, are sending me to a familiar territory where I’ll be safe.

It is with a lightness of being that I exit the building for the last time. I’m heading to the terribly beautiful Outer Lands Archipelago, where I’ll be joining a team studying waves and flying reconnaissance missions in and out of the fabled island where I grew up. The primordial land masses have secrets to share dating back to the Ice Age. Hopefully, close observations will reveal the key to unlocking the future.

Acknowledgement: I’d like to thank my friend Toni for generally encouraging me to write and letting me know specifically about this fun short story contest.

Link: ShtoryTime is a holiday short story contest that’s open to all. For more info visit the website here.

Copyright: The short story and the cover art are copyrighted by NG Swett.