WNIJ called for submissions, and scores of writers responded from all over northern Illinois.
Our Flash Fiction contest, announced Aug. 29, sought very short stories (about five hundred words) in keeping with a prompt issued by our judge, Molly McNett.
McNett is an award-winning author whose story, "La Pulchra Nota," appeared in the 2014 edition of The Best American Short Stories. For this contest, she wanted the first sentence to describe "an outrageous, inexplicable situation."
We received 110 submissions. Of these, McNett selected four winners -- one first place and one second place, with two stories tying for third.
Today we'll feature one of the third-place winners, "The Tragedy of Childcare," by Ben Covey. Covey is a senior at Milledgeville High School in Carroll County. McNett says she was impressed by the story's structure:
It’s written in the form of an explorer’s journal, so I got very curious and had to do a little Googling I confess; and it seems to be inspired in part by the British Antarctic expedition led by Ernest Schackleton, also called the Nimrod expedition, which happened at the same time as our story here or very close to it (1907 or so). I’m not sure that Schackleton kept journals, but I know some other British explorers have, certainly, and the tone seems true to what we might find; it’s rather reserved and sticks to the facts -- and lets the reader be the one to react and to feel something.
We include the full text of Covey's story beneath this video of him reading for WNIJ. We'll feature the other third-place winner tomorrow. Listen during Morning Edition at 6:44 and 8:44, and then come back here for another video reading and more information.
The Tragedy of Childcare
by Ben Covey
June 12, 1907
My team and I have, at long last, summited our eternal foe, the mountain, only to find ourselves in the company of a small, juvenile boy. At the summit of the second-highest peak on this magnificent Earth, I stand here as a king ordained by God, and yet, at my feet lies this subject of mine, scarcely old enough to speak. He can walk, but only in tottering steps. I am reminded of my son.
The loss of Pritchard to the journey has left us with a small surplus of scotch and four portions of food. These would have gone to myself and to Thurgood, but we have recently convened and decided that these supplies should be better spent on the child than on ourselves, as we have agreed to escort him down with us.
June 15, 1907
The last several days have proven to be the most difficult. We are well underway in our descent and yet, remarkably, the child has not slowed pace since we set out. He does not consume much food, having only eaten enough to sustain a small dog in three days, which I cannot comprehend. My crew watch in awe as, exhausted, they are outrun by a small child, laughing as he traverses and surpasses impossible odds. The men interact with him as one might interact with a feral animal- tentatively, with caution. They allow him to move first, sometimes encouraging but never demanding for fear that, at any moment, the boy may unleash some terrible, unseen power on them. I, myself, have considered this. What if we are in the presence of something supernatural? I contemplate these things as I lie here, cold, and tired. I have scaled many mountains, but could never prepare for this.
June 18, 1907
I have been unable to keep consistent logs due, in large part, to a sudden drop in morale. Someone in our ranks has been stealing food from our stores, and we are very nearly out of scotch. The situation is made worse yet by the ever-present babbling that the boy has taken to in recent days. He will not keep quiet, and I can feel it wearing on the tattered fabric of my mind.
June 31, 1907
I am writing this as a final warning to the finder of the remains of our expedition. Beware the sky, for it presents cruel gifts. I am here, sleep deprived, starving, freezing. Many of my men are feared dead, or have run screaming onto the blue horizon. I consider that the blood was spilt over this innocent life, and I weep. This mountain has burned away my humanity.
Perhaps he is my God, and I have sinned. But no, I find it more likely that he is the Devil, sent to torment me for coming to this sacred place. I know I am being punished for my vanity. I know what I have become. I, the king above men, am nothing to a child.
