NYC Midnight
I was in the top 5 of my group in Round 1, so I moved on to Round 2, Group 4.
Genre: Sci-Fi
Subject: The Olympics
Character: A physical trainer
(Not more than 2000 words - I only used 1102.)
Caspin6
Caspin6 was once an Olympic hero, but fell from grace. Now is the chance to redeem himself.
Like a goose. Your head is up, proud. Strong. Yes, like that. Never side to side. Never! Stay focused.
Caspin6 loved the boy as if he was his own son. The boy was smart, he was funny, and he had a strong jaw. And the boy loved Caspin6 like a father. Caspin6 remembered the moment when the boy’s mother first approached him at an amateur level event.
“Are you Caspin6?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
She pushed the boy in front. “He’s a prodigy,” she said.
HE is not your opponent. SHE is not your opponent. THIS is your opponent. THIS is your enemy. You must consume your enemy.
The boy was eight maybe nine. He was all blonde hair and ketchup stains.
“What’s he, eight?” asked Caspin6.
“He’s six,” said his mother. “Just turned.”
“And I’m a hundred and six.”
“Please,” pleaded his mother. “Or he’ll be sent to the mines and his life will be a waste.”
Always break your enemy. Break them in half. Always. Break them in thirds if you can.
Caspin6 looked into the eyes of the boy’s mother. They were steadfast and unblinking. In fact they were almost lifeless save the tears streaming out the sides and rolling down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” said Caspin6. “He’s too old. You should have come to me when he was four. By the time he’s ready, he’ll be fifteen. Today’s champions are ten, maybe eleven. There’s just not enough time.”
"He’s only six,” the boy’s mother cried. “I swear.”
But that was years ago. And more than two decades since competitive Hot Dog eating had become an Olympic sport, which was when the world belonged to Caspin6…
Caspin6 had been a prodigy as well. By the time he was six he was able to swallow half-pound burgers in a single gulp. He could drink 4 liters of SuperCoke in under a minute. He had set 7 world records by the time he was nine. He saw his first Olympics when he was eleven. He went gold in solids, liquids, and oils – the first time someone had won the Triple Trache since Kalel18.
Caspin6 was a legend, and at 15 he went to the Olympics again. He went gold in liquids and oils. Men wanted to be like him, women swooned in front of him. Caspin6 was driven. But during the Hot Dog competition, he lost focus. He became distracted by the crowd cheering his name; and dipped his hot dog bun for a millisecond too long thus rupturing his esophagus and his chance for gorged glory.
When you dip, dip quick. Never let the bun soak. NEVER! You move your wrist like lightning!
Caspin6 hid from the world after his Olympic folly. He kept to the shadows, but with years of esophageal training, he made it back to the fringes of competitive eating. He’d always have the hunger. He would often place and sometimes win. But he was never the same…
The boy was his redemption. The boy was going to make it right again.
Remember when you swallow, swallow hard! Nothing gets left behind. You want to feel it in your chest, you want it to echo in your glutes, and you want it to land at your feet.
The boy had been to the best doctors, the best dentists, the best larynx men, the best esophagus men. The boy had been checked out by everyone. His mother had been right. The boy was a prodigy.
Breathe in! Deeper! Now hold it. Hold it. Hold. Stretch your cheeks. Stretch them! Feel the burn! There was was a trumpet player – I can’t remember his name - but his cheeks were as big as oranges. I want yours as big as grapefruits!
The boy had perfected the water training. He was able to keep 6 liters of carbonated water down in his belly no problem. There was no room for improvement. The GulletXspander6 was certainly controversial, but everyone at that level was using it. And it wasn’t all the pharynx drills. The boy could do those upwards and backwards. But perhaps the JowlsX9000Pro had been too much.
Yes, perhaps the JowlsX9000Pro had just been too much. Had they flown too close to the sun?
Hunger is not in your belly. It’s in your heart! And it’s in your mind.
Caspin6 had taken the boy all the way to the Olympics. They were heroes. The crowds threw breading at their feet. As the games began, the boy easily won the liquids. He also won the oils. And now he was favored to win the Hot Dog competition 10 -1. He would complete Caspin6’s legacy. Presidents, emperors, and dictators gathered to watch the Windpipe Wizard and the Boy who would be King. The world drew a breath and watched…
But ‘twas not to be.
Caspin6 could hardly remember all that happened. He could see flashes of light. He could hear screams. There were sirens. There was shouting. Someone pushed him down…
Caspin6 closed the door and sat at his desk. He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He brought up the hologram of the Hot Dog competition from the night before. The blue light shimmered in front of him and the boy appeared. His technique was flawless. Every bite was masterful. Each chew had such economy and power. The way he lifted his head, like a goose, was all with a rhythm and sense of divine purpose. The way his fingers pushed and caught and pushed, the way he kept his elbows in. A tear rolled down Caspin6’s cheek. It was so beautiful. Such beauty. He stopped the hologram, and took a slow breath in and out. Caspin6 looked through the dark. And then he let it continue.
The boy had quickly ripped the hot dog into thirds. He dipped them into a shallow bowl of water before shoving them in his mouth and filling his cheeks like parachutes. Chew, release, chew, release. Grace, such grace. And then on the down bite, there it was. His left cheek. The boy was going to need stitches, perhaps even reconstructive surgery. Caspin6 stopped the hologram again and looked away. He stopped the hologram again and looked away.
Caspin6 was tired. His hands were tired. His mind was tired. He felt dead. He grabbed a handful of SuperFritos sitting on the desk, threw them to the back of his mouth and swallowed. Within seconds he could feel his arteries open wide and the stream of blood rush into the waiting valves of his heart. The familiar ka-pound ka-pound ka-pound in his chest sent back a current of electricity throughout his body. He could see his fingertips pulse. He was hungry.
Fin.
BONUS: If you're interested in the creative proces, what's below is how the story went until about 6pm on Sunday. I was worried about the suckitude. So I read it to my wife who confirmed the suckitude. So I pretty much scrapped it and started over. I got it done, and uploaded with two minutes to spare - 10:58pm (CST)...
Caspin6
Caspin6 was tired. His hands were tired. His mind was tired. He felt dead. He grabbed a handful of Zestulon sitting on his desk, threw them to the back of his mouth and swallowed. Within seconds he could feel his arteries open wide and the stream of blood rush into the waiting valves of his heart. The familiar ka-pound ka-pound ka-pound in his chest sent back a current of electricity throughout his body. He could see his fingertips pulse. He was alive again.
Caspin6 leaned back in his chair and raised his calendar. The blue light shimmered in front of him. He waved it three weeks prior and stared into the screen. He gestured to the left, flicked past three windows, and pulled up the hologram of Caspin9 singing Happy Birthday in Zoran. Caspin9 looked just like Caspin8 except for his chin. No dimple.
Such a sweet voice, thought Caspin6.
Hearing footsteps he waved his calendar back to the day. A brilliant blue flag with a bright yellow star hovered over his desk, and next to it a picture of Caspin12, the youngest male three generations removed. The door opened. Kalel18 was dressed in a suit the same color as the flag. A bright yellow pin shined from his chest.
“I see you’re set,” said Kalel18 in his booming voice looking through the screen.
“Yes,” said Caspin6, the flag floating between them.
“How is he today?”
“He’s good,” said Caspin6. “He’s good, still asleep. It’s going to be a good race.”
Kalel18 stared down at Caspin6.
“There’s something different about you today.”
“No, I’m the same. Always the same.”
Kalel18 reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver sheet. He held it out to Caspin6.
“Is this necessary?” asked Caspin6.
“No.” But the silver sheet remained.
Caspin6 touched the silver sheet with his fingertip, removed it, and looked away. Kalel18 tapped the sheet twice on the side and once on top.
“Zestulon?” he asked. “Almost thirty? How are you not bouncing off the walls?”
“I’m 119 years old.”
“I’m 130 and I would be in orbit.”
Caspin6 shrugged his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t be taking Zestulon,” continued Kalel18. “It’s only for athletes. Or possibly children. Do you have enough for Caspin12? Please tell me you didn’t take all the Zestulon. Caspin12 is racing in less than three hours.
“There’s plenty of Zestulon. Not to worry.”
“I don’t need to tell you how important this race is.”
“No.”
Kalel18 cleared his throat and put his hand on his chest.
“In 3106 contact was made, in 3108 the games were played, in 3110 Earth was betrayed, in 3112 the Zorons were slay-“
“I know how it goes,” said Caspin6. “I was there.”
“This is the 3162 games. This is historical. The worlds are watching.”
“I know.”
Kalel18 raised his arm in a salute. Caspin6 mirrored him.
“I’ll be on the top deck,” said Kalel18 before clicking his heels and disappearing down the hall.
Caspin6 rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed the false bottom. He pulled out a flag. On one side it was Earth’s flag, a bright yellow star set against a brilliant blue background. But on the other side it was a deep red with six green dots – the Zoronian flag.
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