Play Live Radio
Next Up:
0:00
0:00
0:00 0:00
Available On Air Stations
We're working to fix a technical issue causing problems with our broadcasts. We'll have it resolved as soon as possible. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Short Fiction Contest: The Night Before The Wedding

For our 50th Anniversary Short Fiction Contest, we asked you to send a 700-word, or less, story in which Montana Public Radio is mentioned in some way. We'll be accepting entries until March 15, 2015. Winners will be announced in April. This story is by Derin Dorsett.

The weight above her eyebrows felt heavier and heavier, creating a deep wrinkle.

“Are you mad?” her daughters teased her and giggled.

The joy from those giggles didn’t erase the furrow.

-a Botox shot would be nice- a thought passed her mind.

Bed time was right at the beginning of a jazz jam on MTPR.  She clicked the ‘snooze/sleep’ button on that old radio. The countdown was on.

“You’ve got 30 minutes! Girls, put on your pajamas! Brush your teeth! Try to pee! Ok, here’s your milk”

“Please read us a story, mom!”

“Not tonight. My eyes feel dry. But I’ll tell you what, let’s lie down and close our eyes, and I’ll make up a story about your future … or about my past.

Once upon a time… "

“Mom, is this a princess story?”

“Shhh. Close your eyes. There was a princess who lived in a palace. The palace sat on top of Ugly Duckling Peak. At an elevation of about 9,000 feet…”

“Mom!”

“Ok, I won’t go into details…
 
Oh, that old palace. The creaking floors, the walls, the ceiling, the chairs, the tables, the bed frame, the toilet, and toilet paper holder were made from timber that came from those same mountains.”

One girl giggled. The other was already deep asleep. The mother tucked them in and continued the story.

“The princess lived all alone in that palace.”

“Wait, wait, don’t tell me… Then a prince came and rescued her and they lived happily ever after.”

“No. It didn’t happen exactly like that.  She actually didn’t mind her loneliness. Being alone in that majestic place made her feel strong and wise.

Strong she was, indeed. Her slender muscles were finely sculpted, wrapping her long bones.

She was an excellent hunter!

Every year, at the end of summer she would prepare her camo clothing:  mountain lion boots, skunk hat, elk coat, two pairs of cotton socks, and change of underwear.  And same as everyone else down in the valley, she too stopped shaving her face.”

This time there were no giggles. She paused. The girls were finally asleep.

She hated stories with no endings, so she lowered her voice and continued the story hoping to put the last gal to sleep.

“The freedom that her life style gave her was almost overwhelming. Free to take a lungful of unpolluted fresh air.”

She took a deep breath and collapsed her full body mass into the mattress, submerged into the depths of a dream. A symphony played in the background, as her fingers tickled the keyboard. Time was flying on the sky. It was real? She could see it, as she glanced out the biggest skylight in the castle. Time moved from east to west, passing by soft clouds and quacking flying ravens.

She stopped, stood up, and slammed shut her laptop. The worries of the day kept rolling through her mind.

As always, there was not enough money.

She rushed out the palace’s door and into the grocery store. The milk! She had to buy milk before the sell-by date!

No, she could not be losing it for a jug of milk.

She took a deep breath as she had done before. The cloud of smoke she had been walking around in was inhaled in an instant.

Her girls were standing in front of her, staring with glossy eyes, puffing on their tiny rolled buds.

She closed her eyes as hard as she could.

-It must be bad Kaarma- she thought.

Blue blood started coming out of the right corner of her mouth.

“Doctor, I want a humane death!” She screamed at a white figure at the distance.

A thick needle stabbed her. The syringe full of pink liquid dangled from her neck.

“The wedding! I’m late for the wedding!” He exclaimed, and walked out to a yellow pasture.

In the distance, she saw The White Little Church.

The church bells were ringing loudly. The two brides turned towards the altar, their veils blowing in the wind.

The church bells rang louder, annoyingly louder.

She turned and smacked the ‘snooze/sleep’ button on that old radio. The countdown was on.

------------------------------------------------------------

Enter your story in the MTPR 50th Anniversary Short Fiction Contest.

 

Chérie Newman is a former arts and humanities producer and on-air host for Montana Public Radio, and a freelance writer. She founded and previously hosted a weekly literary program, The Write Question, which continues to air on several public radio stations; it is also available online at PRX.org and MTPR.org.
Become a sustaining member for as low as $5/month
Make an annual or one-time donation to support MTPR
Pay an existing pledge or update your payment information
Related Content