Winterfest Drabble Challenges

~ exactly 100-word stories using 3 given elements ~

WFOL 2022

Catherine, Bethesda Fountain in Central Park, a Fountain Pen

A suddenly-warm late-winter day. Catherine lingered in the park, gathering in the blue, blue sky, the sweep of clouds, the joy of birds flying free in the more hospitable air. Could she remember it all?

Vincent avowed she brought the sun below, the scent of all seasons. But did she?

If only she could memorialize …

And there, on the concrete rim of Bethesda Fountain, a fountain pen. Vintage, a barrel of azure, white and gold – the colors of all above. The Angel of the Waters seemed to smile in bronzed gift as if sure the right words would come to her.

Vincent, a Balloon, the Mirror Pool

His meditation was interrupted by a brush across his cheek. 

Eyes closed, he fanned it away. 

Not a bug. Not a bat. 

His reverie was broken by an image of Father wrestling through a rush of Chiroptera (a storm-cloud of winged assassins, so he’d claimed).

Vincent laughed, not even softly.

Another brush. He opened his eyes. A purple balloon bobbed overhead, its tailing ribbon corkscrew-curled.

A marvel finding an opening, another journeying through twisting chimneys and rocky points, intact in defiance of probability.   

He drew it down. Usually things drifted up from the Mirror pool. Not today.

Anything was possible.

Jamie, a Ticket, the Brooklyn Bridge

Jamie parked her new bicycle at the corner of Front and Dover, hitching the shining chain around the lamp post. The Brooklyn Bridge almost overhead, the ground rattled. Up top was almost too much, but Isaac said meet here, and she was right on time. Even a little early.

“You like your ride?”

She looked up to see her trainer on the fire escape, one floor up. “I sure do. Thanks again.”

“Once is plenty. Get on up here, let’s do the work.”

Two hours later she emerged on the street, sweaty but energized.

“What the heck? A parking ticket?!”

Samantha, a Homework Assignment, the Whispering Gallery

“Samantha! C’mon. Lunch hour’s almost over.” 

“Hush, Geoffrey. I’m doing the homework assignment. Pipe down, will ya?”

“It’s not due til Friday. I don’t even get it. This new music teacher has some funny ideas.” He kicked a post on the Whispering Gallery bridge, which made Samantha huff and scoot farther away from the dust he stirred up. Kinda the opposite of what he really wanted to happen.

“The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind,” he muttered. “We’re supposed to ‘interpret’ that? Geez.”

Samantha pointed. “Either out.” She pointed again. “Or beside me. You pick.”

He sat down.

 Mouse, Raspberry Jam, the Great Falls

The boy didn’t have the words for this sensation. He knew to hide the shining thing he’d found, scuttle away, find a place where he could see out, but not be seen. Where he could have it in peace, get it all into his mouth fast before … before the growlers came, the snatchers. 

Here was good. Big place, lots of shadows. Crouching spots. Lots of water falling down, big roar. Water to drink too, trickle trickle trickle.

He attacked the lid. Stuck. He could fix. His pockets held his treasures. 

He sighed at the taste, felt his face stretch wide. 

William, a Book of Poetry, the Mirror Pool

Funny nobody ever thinks to come looking for him. Breakfast over, lunch … folks are satisfied, he guesses. Plenty in the pantry for latecomers. Two o’clock every day, he just … slips away.

The Mirror Pool. He settles down to a chiseled bench, opens his satchel. Pulls out his manuscript. Looks over the pages he’s already written. 

He chuckles. Folks would think he’s writing recipes. And he is, but more than that. Memories of tastes and moments. Who first made him blueberry pancakes, how a bowl of blueberries now brings back *that* kitchen, *that* voice. 

For every recipe, he writes a poem.

Father, a Candy Bar, Catherine’s Apartment

Vincent strode through the open balcony doors of Catherine’s apartment. Her smile was beacon enough, but she held something in her hands.

“You found one! And with a photograph of an English garden on it,” he said, not completely surprised. “Where?”

“At the flea market on West 77th.  I kicked over a stack of metal pans and there it was on the shelf behind them.”

“And inside?”

“Not 1940s chocolates, obviously, but what Cadbury’s calls a Milk Tray now.”

“A rare treat, he said. His favorite, back then.”

“I hope still his favorite.”

The doorbell buzzed.

“Father’s here!” Vincent whispered.

Rebecca, a Letter, Central Park

Rebecca touched the letter in her pocket. Sebastien had brought it down, the only person who knew everything. She couldn’t open it Below. It seemed a Pandora’s Box, like she’d been studying in class before she had to leave. She didn’t want to unleash anything ugly.

She headed into the Central Park Ramble. Vincent and Devin went to Turtle Rock at night, but she’d need the light of day to read whatever was inside the envelope. The path was deserted, all the benches empty. She slit the flap with the little knife she carried now.

A newspaper cutting drifted out.