Writing Battle: Pirouette

I participated in the Fear Flash Fiction writing battle back in October. As always, the task features 3 random prompts: 1 genre, 1 character and 1 object that must be incorporated into the story. Despite the 1000 word limit, I was excited to tackle mystery for the first time.

I would never have tried this genre otherwise. As much as I love who-done-it novels, mystery requires a lot of thoughtful planning which feels intimidating. However, a short story requires focusing in on a snapshot of a bigger story, and I found that to be the key to approaching this battle.

My first attempt had the same characters with a similar premise, but it took place in the station with both detectives reviewing what they knew of the case. My early readers found this moment to be too removed from the mystery, which was great feedback. So I narrowed the focus onto the moment when they found the body, and through this I figured out the big twist for myself.

In the end I was very happy with what I submitted. The story felt clean, tight and everyone who read it was surprised by the twist. Similarly, when I put the story up for the writing battle community to read it garnered a good amount of positive feedback. During the judging phases I received pips, digital badges of acknowledgement, from the judges for my creativity and my character. I even received a digital award for Incredible Impact, which was only given to one story per round. I was feeling really good about the battle leading up to the results.

But it didn't go as expected.

My story didn't even make it past the preliminary round. The preliminaries are based on seven head-to-head battles, where your story is directly pitted against another and the judge picks one winner. I think my impact award is actually from just one of these battles. I only won four out of the seven, which wasn't enough to push me to the second round. Given how good I felt about my story, the results were disappointing.

They do release the judges scores and allow you to see which stories you 'battled' against. Two out of the three stories I lost to were strong and I can see how personal preference could favour one over the other. I received generic feedback from the judges, which are form responses based on the categories they score, and doesn't include any specific feedback. One judge marked my characters as needing improvement, while another scored my characters 5/5. These kinds of results make it hard to figure out what I could actually do to improve, which is a huge part of why I like doing these battles in the first place.

But I think that is the lesson to be had here; stories are subjective. What one judge loved about my writing, another identified as needing improvement. And I'm still super proud of my story. Plus, one of my best friends made it to the next round with his story, so that lifted my spirits immensely. The experience wasn't a complete loss.

I hope you enjoy my first attempt at a mystery story. Who knows, maybe we'll see these characters come to life again in an expansion or longer story. My dad has requested as much :)

---

The required prompts for the Fear Flash Fiction: Mystery, Dancer and Net.

Pirouette

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that a body was a human being. Detective Hanks is aware he should be disturbed by that thought, but after seeing as many bodies as he has he can’t bring himself to care.

The body, a twenty-something caucasian female, has been identified as Elena Nikov, principal dancer for the National Ballet. Her blonde hair is tied back in a bun as her once blue eyes, now clouded by the hazy gray film of death, stare blankly at the stage lights. Her stick-thin body was found centre stage by the costume designer that morning.

Hanks takes a slurp of his fourth coffee of the day, wondering how many cups it would take to bring some warmth into his pale skin, as he stands at the head of the body. The forensics team made quick work of the crime scene, namely because there was very little evidence to find. The only thing that stands out is that she is lying with one arm and one knee raised like the stupid chalk outline of a body that TV people love to use. No one actually falls like that in real life.

“What’s that thing in ballet where the dancer spins on one leg?” Hanks asks Detective Friar.

The broad-shouldered man looks up from where he’s crouched next to the body’s legs. It’s remarkable a man as big as he is can squat so easily. Perhaps it’s all those workouts he claims help him with the stress of the job. Hanks doesn’t understand why anyone would choose exercise over a glass of single malt whisky.

Friar’s bald, black head winks at him under the house lights of the theatre. “It’s ballet, Hanks. There’s a lot of spinning on one foot.”

Hanks gestures him on with a twirl of his pale, cracked hand. “You know, the common one.”

He can see Friar fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You mean a pirouette?”

A pirouette. She looks like she died mid-pirouette. That could make sense. Before he can continue the conversation Friar says, “It’s clear she was placed here.”

Hanks nods. They’ll have to get a timeline set up, so he might as well throw in the obvious two cents. “The designer said that skirt costs a lot of money.” He points his chin to the pale-pink tutu and bedazzled bodice the body’s wearing. “There wasn't a dress rehearsal today, so no reason why she’d be wearing her costume.” Which means it had been stolen, either by Elena or by whoever dressed the body. A request for the security footage, if any existed, had already been made.

Friar pointed to the legs. “Except for the tights.”

Hanks glances at him over his half-raised coffee cup, a surprised snigger coming out more like a cough. “Come again?"

Friar might be younger, but his knees still crack as he stands. “My twelve-year old’s in ballet. Fishnets are definitely on her do-not-wear list.”

Hanks didn’t know Friar had kids. He didn’t even know which city his own boys lived in. Cherie wouldn’t tell him if he asked. The only time she talks to him is if there’s an issue with her alimony cheque. Hanks had had to make a lot of compromises in the divorce. He’d been making compromises ever since.

He finishes his coffee as Friar continues, “Why would she be wearing full costume and makeup, but not the right tights?” He pauses, giving Hanks an inquisitive look. “You alright?”

He meets the probe with a questioning look.

“You seem a little… checked out.”

“Hmm.” Hanks looks disappointedly down at the empty styrofoam cup. “No blood. No wounds or injuries except for the bruise at the elbow, probably from a syringe. Overdose, eh?”

But Friar isn’t looking convinced. “Why here?”

He has a frustrating habit of doing his job well. Hanks’ last partner would’ve eaten up that cause of death easily, but ever since Friar transferred to their underfunded and aging department Hanks is actually having to use his brain for the first time in a long time.

“Maybe she wanted to put on one last show. Shoot ‘em up then drop dead.” He tilts his head as if looking at the body from another angle will make a difference. “She could have laid herself down like that.”

“Maybe,” Friar says, but Hanks knows from his tone he’s just placating him. “Still, I’m gonna talk to the costume designer again. You’ll connect with the coroner?”

Whenever the hell he decides to show up. Hanks nods to Friar, who exits stage left.

Alone with the body, Hanks lets out a quiet sigh. She is so perfect, it’s as though the embalmer already got to her. She looks exactly like the photos of Elena online, but she is wearing a stolen tutu, with tights that aren’t to code and she clearly didn’t die in the theatre. There’s hardly even a smell.

For all the money Elena had to use to disappear, she should’ve hired better people to stage the body double. Now Hanks, with a long-eroded conscience and an extra million under his mattress, has to find a way to make sure his keen-eyed partner doesn’t realise that their body isn’t actually Elena Nikov.

Police work was a lot simpler when he was solving the puzzles, not burying them.