Emily Nghiem

“Survivors of Shakespearean Suicide” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #257

Through the door, STAGE RIGHT, DOCTOR BACON, a university professor in his late sixties, enters his small office clinic, with a globe and lamp next to a bust of Shakespeare and stack of books on the desk, UPSTAGE CENTER. DOCTOR BACON picks up his clipboard and pen from the desk, but notices his executive chair is missing. He turns to count three PATIENTS, seated CENTER STAGE, including the culprit who has commandeered his swivel chair.LORD HAMLET, a clean-shaven man in his late thirties or early forties, seated STAGE RIGHT, is tied fast in a...

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“The Next Step” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #174

The house was exactly as he left it. When Uncle Steven moved to hospice last spring, he had already transferred all the rights to his books and published articles to his nonprofit foundation, the Lamont Library. After he died in August, he left his house to me, his only niece, since he never married and had no children of his own. Months had passed, but nothing had been touched. Even his last two case studies he had planned to archive for the library were scattered in boxes stacked to the ceiling in the study. No one had shown much...

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“Treasure Hunt” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #173

"Carla!" Clay burst into my room, and jumped up and down my bed, until I finally woke up. He dangled a blindfold over my face, insisting that I put it on. I hadn't changed my clothes since I fell asleep in them, after working late the night before.My little brother grabbed my hand and pulled me out of bed. I stumbled down the hall, still half asleep.“What in the world?” I thought. A chorus of familiar voices sang out."Surprise!”Clay removed the blindfold. I opened my eyes, as my family sang "Happy Birthday." I should have known they would pu...

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“Happy Returns” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #173

What a joy to work in customer service after Christmas, I thought.It wasn't close to noon yet, but all the sales staff were overwhelmed and ready for a break. My line was moving fairly quickly, when a difficult customer I knew too well started a commotion. The elderly matron held up Marla's line, making sure everyone heard the drama unfold."That's 'Mrs. Buford' to you, young lady! And these towels weren't used. Can't you see they still have the tags attached?""No, ma'am. I wasn't implying that --" Marla tried to calm her."Every year my frien...

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“Don't Say Anything” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #64

I could barely remember the last time Beverly and I celebrated Halloween. Between churches frowning on pagan traditions, and rumors of poisoned candy and razor blades, we started skipping the holiday over the years, and just focused on Thanksgiving instead. The last time I asked my wife about giving out candy for the kids, she refused, explaining she could never look at costumes of witches and devils after she heard horror stories of children kidnapped for ritual abuse. She was afraid of attracting evil spirits. I never asked again.The most ...

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“Karmageddon” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #60

In a final dramatic bid to eradicate Humanity, and the root cause of suffering, spam emails, flame wars over climate change, and endless Hollywood remakes plaguing the Universe, the Enemy command redirected its computer-generated intelligence to orchestrate an unprecedented three-pronged attack to wipe out Planet Earth. Combining top military strategies from Mars and Jupiter, with the best Area-51 conspiracy theories from 8chan to QAnon, these Alien forces unleashed the ultimate trilogy of destruction, as never before attempted on any theatr...

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“Seventeen Saints” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #49

"A Message from the Universe"by Sister Helena St. Martin"Behind the Iron Curtain,Beyond the Fall of Rome,There's hope in the uncertain,And truth in the unknown.”My last conversation with Helena was a one-sided argument, which I recall too vividly. How can you forget the joy of yelling furiously at someone who refuses to speak.Sister Helena knew how to torment me. As a Pulitzer-nominated poet and political advocate, she had a way with words that moved mountains in your mind you never knew were there. Digging deep to reopen hidden wounds while...

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“Power of Prayer” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #48

“Olivia!” I scolded my Godmother. “Next time, call me like anyone else. Please!”Strangling her was not an option. Unless I wanted her to flip the SUV and kill both of us.“There was no place to park -” She protested. “I just prayed to God to tell you I arrived. And He did!” “By setting off every car alarm in the parking lot?" As we turned the corner, I sank in my seat, utterly embarrassed. I glanced back to see the entire law office arguing outside, fumbling with car keys to silence the annoying sirens. Triggered by an act of God.“It’s c...

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“8:46 Peaceful Assembly” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #46

“Single-file! Whoa, buddy, back up. Around the barrier. Everyone, Single-file!”The line captain herded us like cattle, directing traffic toward four separate sound stages. I didn’t expect a mixed team of volunteers and police to handle such a diverse crowd of thousands at the Houston rally.“How did they organize all this in three days?” I asked my friends, who had talked me into videotaping the event. Justine and Paula showed off for the camera, blowing kisses in full body paint. Justine flashed her body, covered in an ocean of metallic blue...

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“Final Word” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #44

I. CluelessFor once in eternity, God didn't know what to do, although he was omniscient.And knew it. Or he thought so. Now he wasn't so sure.If he knew all things in heaven and hell, which was a hell of a lot more than heaven alone, he would instantly know in advance how to respond in the future.But he didn't. Nothing made sense anymore!The chances of human beings finding a way to outsmart God were lower than a snowball's chance in hell, or heaven and hell combined, whichever was worse. How could they set him up behind his back, in front of ...

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“Overtime Loss” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #43

I'll always treasure the letter my Mom wrote me when I turned thirty, telling me how proud she was of me, the grown man who was still her perfect baby boy. She even credited me for why she brought Matthew into the world, so I'd have a younger brother to play with, since Aaron was several years older. To her, Aaron, Matt and I were her pride and joy. To everyone else we were the Bailey boys, who played and fought with each other like a pack of wild puppies, never knowing when to quit. In the open fields near our house, we shot arrows up in th...

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“My Life as a Performance Art Piece” by Emily Nghiem

I.No, this isn't where my story begins.I haven't even been born yet, much less conceived.By the time I am --born, that is --and I've had a few years to collect my thoughts on the subject --this is how I might depict myself:As a character in a television seriesbased on the story of my life,my life as a performance art piece . . . .II.My Lifeas aPerformanceArtPieceCharacters: Kathy, a 38-year-old artist and divorced motherEric, her 16-year-old son, high school basketball starPatty (Patricia), his 17-year-old girlfriend, member of the dance tea...

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“Making Friends” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #41

I met Mr. Casey after I injured my back and quit doing yard work. My dear Edna gave our tools away to the old man to store in his garage, a few blocks away on the other side of the school. Since Mr. Casey ran the church program for students working odd jobs during the summer, we donated our lawn mower and gardening tools in exchange for free services, which he continued to provide during the school year when the kids were too busy.Lately, however, after his dog Max died in late August, Mr. Casey withdrew from church activities and stopped ma...

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“For Better or Worse” by Emily Nghiem

Submitted to Contest #40

Pressed against the passenger seat, I grappled with my safety belt, held hostage in a truck racing ninety miles an hour down the blackest road I’d ever seen. For two hours from Austin to Houston, a raging drunk screamed in my ear how this was all my fault. Wallace had obviously lied to me about not drinking earlier that night. We were only at the festival to catch a friend’s band, and planned to leave after saying hello. After I caught him with a beer, he insisted his 300-pound body would absorb it, if he waited an hour before driving. He ne...

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