AWG Short Story Writing Prompt - The Greatest Shame

Hello Writers!

To celebrate one year of existence, The Ashland Writers' Group will hold a one-off slam-style reading.

The challenge: to see if your revealing, first-person anecdote gets us hooked in 700 words or less. We prefer a rendition from real life, but fiction is also welcome.

Parameters:

Max Length, 700 words.

Read aloud only, no copies.

10-minute discussion on the quality of the hook, the arresting incident, strength of tension, level of humor, and resolution.

(Author's note: This isn't completely true story, but it is an amalgamation of thoughts and experiences, ranging from vaguely similar to verbatim exact, pushed into a consistent narrative form, with exaggerated characters and simplified backgrounds.  Names have been changed in this version, names were not changed for the oral telling)

Eyes dart back and forth faster than an Olympic sprinter. Heart races and the slight taste of metal edges the sides of her tongue. What is possessing me to do this now? Why am I being so stupid? She thinks, hoping her thoughts will bully herself into stopping. It doesn't work. And in a public place? Can't you just go home Caroline? You can do this in the privacy of bedroom!

This year she's been at the top of her game. She can't understand why her classmates think high school is hard; everyday gets better. Memories of confused, friendless middle school days are quickly dissipating and in its place a carefully forged persona is erected, giving her purpose and sense. She can finally define who she is, and that surety of self is perfect for sewing seeds of friendship.

A month ago she was honored with a trophy. “Most Valuable Player” Though Coach Souza was more likely to taunt her and run the team into the ground, the speech that accompanied the trophy was one of the most touching. He told the team that she was the rock of the defense, and while the team was known for it's offense, it was the combination of the two that won the state championship 4 years running. “Old Man of the Mountain” he nicknamed her, referencing the ever stoic, never-changing rock formation, famous in New Hampshire.

In middle school, she was weak. She let hurtful gossip drag her into self-pity. But now she is strong, sure, confident of herself. The world understands that nothing bothers her, neither physical pain, nor the absurdities of clique drama. And she doesn't need tell people that she is immune. They can see it. They see it in her punishing workouts. They see it in her clothes, from the baggy cargo pants and steel-toed military boots that say “I don't care about your stupid fashion” to the tight-fitting t-shirts that show her muscles and trim form, to the butch hair cut that made her sister say “I can't tell if you are a boy or a girl!”

She loves her muscular legs that can sprint around the field and hit the ball away from an offensive assault. She gives up her jacket to shivering teammates, braving the biting cold winds of late autumn in New England. Even then, her face resembles unyielding ice more than human flesh.

So why was she trying to ruin it all? Why is she here, in the school library, taping away at the keyboard? Each tap chips away at her carefully constructed wall, threatening to destroy it.

She hears the library door open, and her heart jumps! Minimize! Minimize! Work you stupid button! She clicks frantically trying to will the computer with her thoughts. She wants to fling her head towards the doorway to identify the intruder, but she knows it will invite more suspicion. She thrusts her irises far left until they hurt, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person who could ruin her. She cannot see if the window is gone on her computer screen.

The figure approaches. Laura Zellner. Shit! One of those girls who used to smile at me while she told her friends I'm pathetic. Might as well broadcast it on TV. Her heart threatens to burst out of her chest.

Laura speaks, “Did you decide your topic for Srta. Rozenburg?”

She dares to hope, glancing at the screen. The web page Mezoamerican Culinary Traditions stands proudly, beaming joyous rays of electronic light.

“Uh, yeah” she responds, wanting to sigh in relief and hoping the shakiness in her throat isn't in her voice. “It's on Aztec food. Uh. You?”

Laura speaks but the Stoic Warrior Queen of Tiverton isn't really paying attention. She's sure her inattention will ensnare her in some kind of humiliating trap Laura is setting, but this time, she truly doesn't care. Nothing could be as bad as what could have been if she had gotten caught.

Laura finally leaves. She clicks on the minimized window. The page stares her down accusingly. I know your secret. Says the internet.

She clicks the “X” on the page and Lovely Renaissance Dresses winks out of existence.

Less than one year after she graduates from high school, a rock formation in New Hampshire crumbles to dust.