Showing posts with label Wicked Wednesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wicked Wednesday. Show all posts

12 October 2011

Sloane


Hey, guys and gals! It's Wednesday again, so time for another flash fiction. This one is set in a post apocalyptic era. Enjoy, and don't forget to check out the other great flashers!


Soft claws tickled the fiber optic cable as Father’s voice moved across the lines towards the big TV’s in the city centers. Below the blinking lights, the only flashes of color in the drab world, the citizens stopped to watch as the screens flickered to life. A slideshow played across their sights first, prompting the women to cover their mouths and look away and the men to grind their jaws in shame.

Ever repressive, Father reminded the citizens of where they’d just come from. Rolling green hills morphed into scarred landscapes void of life. A smiling family lay in the street in the next beat, dead, while their neighbors raided their home for any supplies. So was life in the post nuclear era, until Father stepped in and waved his hand.

He brought control, compassion. He made the citizens feel right again. Father took the colors away, and in doing so took the fire out of the masses. When everyone is wearing grey, Father said, no one has reason to fight anymore. When no one has hair, there is no envy. When no one can have babies except those we deem worthy, the world can be reborn. Father ruled the world from his comfortable easy chair in the Carolinas.

Or so they said.

When the prelude ended, the screen went black and only Father’s booming voice could be heard above the shrill cry of a seagull somewhere near the shoreline.

“Citizens,” he began. “I bring you wonderful news.” The crowd inhaled expectantly. “The breeding program, as you know, has hit a few bumps in the road here and there. We’ve had a failure or two. But tonight, I bring you a live birth of our first Crown.”

A roar erupted from the crowd as they cheered and the screen flashed to show a woman in a small room. 

The walls were composed of cement and she laid on a bed of hay, sweat beading on her forehead as her face twisted with an expression of pure agony. Several women surrounded her, dabbing at her skin with wet cloths as she pushed, and several fresh blankets sat at her side to welcome the baby.

“As you can see,” Father continued, “we’ve provided our best facilities for the birthing of our very first Crown. The child will be raised to breed with others like it, and together, they will spawn a new race. Our new hope. A new future.” His voice swelled with pride as the woman’s scream pierced the night air.

The crowd gasped and watched, wide eyed, as the baby’s head began to crown. Little arms followed, and the child turned his head back and forth in the cold night air to find his breath. His cry shook from his new lungs and the woman sobbed as she looked upon her son, the first Crown to be born in a world long thought dead.

Father’s voice swelled with pride. “The child shall be called Flint. Say hello to our savior.”

Far across the city, away from prying eyes and ears and in the depths of an old abandoned warehouse, a woman clamped her teeth down on a dirty washcloth against the searing pain erupting across her stomach. Her breaths came quickly as the contraction subsided and she looked to her husband.

“Are we doing the right thing?”

He glanced over his shoulder as the woman on the screen continued to push. “Would you want our child to be trapped in the breeding program forever? Used like a dog?”

“No, but…Where are we going to go, Ryan?” She bit down as another contraction rolled through her and gripped the iron rods falling from ceiling to floor next to her head. A whimper escaped her.

Ryan knelt next to his wife and stroked her hair. “All right, Carinna, you’re doing great. We’ve come so far. We’ll find that little patch of land that grows near Canada and move there, and make our little family where Father can’t see us. Right? That’s the plan?” He smiled, but looked at the blood pouring from Carinna with fear racing through his body.

She smiled weakly, her cheeks pale and drawn. “Yeah, that’s the plan. The baby’s coming, Ryan.” Her eyes flew open as the urge to push overwhelmed her. “Oh, god, the baby’s coming!”

Ryan positioned himself to catch his child. “It’s okay. Push, sweetheart, push.” So much blood, he thought. Too much. Something was wrong.

The head full of black hair crested first, followed by the arms, in sync with the Crown on the giant TV’s. The baby took a giant gulp of air and whimpered as Flint released his first cry.

Carinna gasped as the blood flowed freely from her body. Weakened, she let her head fall back.

“A girl,” Ryan whispered. He laid the baby across her mother’s breast and Carinna raised her head to smile at her daughter.

“She’s beautiful.” Carinna raised a hand, but her fingers fell away limply as her eyes closed.

“Carinna?” Panicking, Ryan dropped to his knees beside his wife and listened for a heartbeat. The faint thud slowed and stopped as his ear pressed to her chest.

In shock, he sat back on his heels and looked at the baby. She stared back at him with eyes the color of the summer sky, never making a sound.

Ryan swallowed and glanced out at the TV. Father was just wrapping up, telling the crowd about the new boy. “Flint, huh?” He scoffed. “What a name.” He gingerly clipped the cord connecting his wife and child and put the little clamp on before lifting her into his arms. “Carinna says you were a fighter from the beginning. We’ll call you Sloane.”

He stood and walked to the window to look over the city from the decrepit warehouse with Sloane nestled against his shoulder.

“Sloane. Just you and me against all of them.”


~End~


The other great flashers:



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Elyzabeth M. VaLey (m/f)
http://inadreambeyond.blogspot.com/

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05 October 2011

Forest Wanderer

It's Wednesday again, and you know what that means!

FLASH FICTION!

Here's the simple offering this week, not quite 1,000 words. Enjoy, and don't forget to check out the other flashers!



Thick green leaves tore from branches as the young woman flew by them, frantically running for her life. She panted for breath, her bare feet expertly weaving among roots reaching up from the forest floor in a vain effort to trip her as the heavy boots of intruders gained on her. Her black hair fanned out behind her and shimmered in the moonlight, slicing suddenly to the left or right with her sharp movements.

Why did she have to wander so far? Her mother warned her against such things. There are some things in life you never learn, Onatah, she thought. She’d lost the trail, the familiar, worn path so well traveled by her ancestors for centuries and wove her way to close to the roaring ocean. The savory salty air pulled her in and she only wanted to glimpse the water once before she followed her path back home.

But the men in gleaming silver armor had spotted her and licked their lips once before the chase began. They carried long pieces of metal that shot out pellets of poison the likes of which young Onatah had never seen, and she knew if they caught her she would never see her family again.

Using the brightest star in the night sky, Onatah wound her way through the trees and prayed for the elusive forest goddess to drop down and help her. A flash of white to her right briefly distracted her and a root caught her foot.

Onatah landed face first in a pile of mud and leaves. Coughing and gasping for breath, she pushed herself up and turned to see three men closing in on her quickly. Wide eyed with fear, she scrambled to gain her footing, but the mud was too slippery and she floundered and fell again. The men laughed, the sound cruel and harsh on her young ears. They spoke in a language she’d never heard before, and Onatah furrowed her brow in confusion and shook her head. Tears streamed down her face.

A man stepped in front of her. From the angle she sat in, Onatah could see his great, round belly underneath the armor, dark with hair and filth. She shuddered, thinking of that on her virgin skin, and closed her eyes.

The snap of a twig nearby brought the men into a frenzy. Nervous, they pulled their weapons into a ready position and waved them around frantically, seeking the creature that made the noise. A whisper made them jump, followed by a tinkling laugh. Onatah froze. Could it be?

Could the goddess have come to save her?

She hardly dared to breathe as the men huddled together, back to back, for safety. The forest seemed to sigh around them, every tree shifting in unison as though they took a step back. Onatah gasped when a woman landed in a neat crouch in front of her.

The woman’s shock of white blonde hair brushed the ground at her feet, and her leather skirt slit up both sides to the thigh. Another piece of leather was tied across one shoulder and draped down to cover her breasts, and across her lithe stomach lay a sheathe of weapons. What appeared at first glance to be a large stick was actually a carefully molded staff forged of the bark of a petrified tree.

When she stood to her full height, she was deceptively demure. Onatah found herself being dragged away by a set of invisible hands just as the goddess looked at her and winked. “Onatah,” said a handsome man with ice blue eyes and the same white hair as the goddess. “Your village is just over this hill. Go now.”

Without a backwards glance, she ran.

~End~

The other magnificent flashers:



Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk
 
 


Elyzabeth M. VaLey (m/f)
http://inadreambeyond.blogspot.com/
 




Ryssa Edwards (m/m)

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31 August 2011

The Zeppelin (8/31/11)

It's Wednesday again! Time for another Silver flash, and although I *just* finished this one, here she blows. This is my first attempt at steam punk, and I'm not so sure I like writing in the genre, but we'll see where it goes. Enjoy, and be sure to check out the other great flashers!

*For once, there's no language or violence. Don't let this deter you.*


The harsh wind blew across the landscape, scattering whatever remnants of life remained in the parched and war torn desert. What used to be a lush and green haven in the middle of the Kansas plains had shifted with the advent of a weapon that destroyed everything.

Tucking my head down, I turned my parasol against the wind to deflect the dust and kept a hand on the front of my dress to prevent the petticoat being exposed. The city sat quiet at the noon hour. All the locals would be at the bank, negotiating their rations for the week.

When old Johnny Two-Bit stepped in as our leader, we were all so lost that no one objected. Nobody spoke up. When Johnny started haggling us, and taking our most prized possessions, we realized our mistake all too late. But what else were we supposed to do?

The government practically abandoned us. “Tainted,” they yelled, pointing their long, crooked fingers at us. “Diseased,” they whispered, and spread the festering lies throughout the country. The whole damned place turned against our little town, and forced us to fend for ourselves.

They rebuilt the entire country and abandoned us.

But I’m not bitter or anything. The bank sat straight ahead of me, already with people lining out of the front door. A deep sigh snuck from my chest before I could catch myself.

“Excuse me?” The sharp voice came from my left, just inside the shadows of the alleyway.

“I didn’t say a word,” I replied, my voice tart. I might pay for my attitude later, when the night sky sends a chilly breeze through my flimsy windows.

“You needn’t say anything at all for me to hear it.” The man partially stepped into the light. One side of his face was set with a mechanical sheen, and where his eye should have been a ticking clock mechanism whirred and twirled.

“My word,” I said, my voice little more than a shocked whisper. “Sir, what’s happened to your face, pray tell?”

“Well, dear lady, so happens I missed payment on a debt I owed to Johnny, due to the government taking my homestead.” He reclined against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, his coat tails falling around his knobby knees. I only just noticed his pants cut off short, exposing pale and hairy legs.

I stepped back and drew my chin up. “I am terribly sorry to hear of your loss, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I must make payment to the banker for my family’s weekly ration.”

No sooner had I taken three steps than he spoke again. “Pray tell, woman, what exactly you gain by giving the bankers two thirds of your meager income each week?”

Seething, I quickly backtracked and shoved him a little ways into the alley.

“Are you trying to get me thrown in jail?” My hissed words fell on deaf ears.

“I just wonder,” he said in a languid fashion, “if I might be able to interest you in an…arrangement, of sorts.”

My eyes narrowed. Of course. My family had the only hearty farm in the county, the only one turning enough of a profit to make the bankers take notice. If this man could get me on board with whatever crazy plan he had in mind, he might catch the eye of the very bankers who had cut off the side of his face.

“An arrangement.” I snorted and turned, my parasol prepared for the blast of hot wind. “You must take me for a fool.”

“No, I take you for a genius,” he replied with a soft and husky tone, grabbing my elbow before I could step into the sun. “You should come with me.”

“I don’t want to.” I made to jerk from his grasp, but just at that moment three burly guards from the bank strolled by. My words caught their attention.

“Oy!” The taller one peered into the shadows as I sank back. “Who be there?”

I cleared my throat and stepped forward. “’Tis I, Gwen of the McFarther farm.”

A low chuckle rumbled from deep in the man’s chest. “You should be at the bank, woman. You have dues to pay.”

“But if you’re leaving, the rations are gone.” My voice dropped to a whisper as the realization of my precarious situation set in.

“Oh, now,” said the second man. “We have some spare rations you can have.” His leering smile raised the hairs on my neck. “For a price.”

As they stepped forward, every instinct in my body lit on fire, telling me to go with the mechanical face man. I turned in the dark alley, reaching for him, and he caught my hand.

We tore through the narrow space as quickly as we could. Lucky for me, I’d chosen my boots to wear under the long petticoat. Who would have noticed, anyway? Just before we reached the sunlight, the world dropped out from under me.

My back hit a smooth wall and I found myself careening down a slide until I flew out on the other side and landed on a soft pile of blankets. When I came to a rolling stop, my dress was tangled around my limbs and sticking up in parts from the stiff corset. I heard soft laughter from the mysterious man and struggled to reign in the obtuse fabric as my cheeks burned red.

When I turned, my mouth dropped open. A machine sat in front of me, hidden in an underground cavern. Long and oval, and four times as big as I’d ever seen, it hovered on strings holding it to the ground.

“What is that?” I stepped back and landed square against my savior’s chest.

“That, my dear, is a zeppelin, and what we’re going to use to change the world.”

~End~

The magnificent flashers:

Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk
 

 




Cherie Noel (m/m/m)
http://talesfromthewritingcave.blogspot.com  *VIRGIN*

 
Julie Hayes (m/m)
 
 
Freddy MacKay
 
Sui Lynn (m/m)

Ryssa Edwards (m/m)
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17 August 2011

Plague (8/17/11)

Hey-ooooooooo! It's Wednesday again, which means a brand spanking new flash fiction piece. Enjoy, and don't forget to check the other magnificent flashers out! They write, too. lol

*GENERIC DISCLAIMER*

In the small town of Bruhearst, Nebraska everybody knew everybody else. The high school quarterback dated the head cheerleader, and the mayor held town hall meetings with all five hundred and forty three townspeople in attendance.

When the plague hit, rising from bacteria in the water welled beneath the earth’s crust during a massive earthquake in California, Bruhearst didn’t expect to be affected very much. The old men sitting outside of the barber shop laughed as their younger counterparts stocked up at the local grocer.

“Young fools,” they said. “We ain’t gonna be hit with no plague.”

Three weeks later, those old men were buried in the trench outside of town. The military would come by and burn the bodies under a controlled tent to prevent fumes escaping. Sammie watched as the huge trucks rolled through town, their tires leaving gouged tracks in the muddy street where the asphalt had been broken. Her baby shifted in her arms at the rumbling noise and she rocked him gently. The commanders blasted instructions to the houses at large, unsure how many survivors would actually listen to them.

“Citizens, we implore you to remain indoors. If you need supplies please call four-oh-two five-five-five three-eight-one-four. We will bring you supplies as we can.”

Sammie turned away as the voice droned on and on, seeping from an invisible man locked away inside the airtight truck. While they patrolled, making sure no stragglers were wandering the streets, Sammie and anyone else who’d been smart enough to stock up on supplies to last them three months, had been holed up in their homes for weeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d smelled fresh air.

The baby didn’t stir as she laid him in his crib. Sammie had switched to cloth diapers to prevent running out, and would breastfeed for as long as she needed to. She had a small garden in her locked tight greenhouse with access from the backdoor to sustain her small family.

Speaking of, where the hell was her husband? He’d left over two hours ago to visit the neighbor down the street and see if the elderly woman needed any food. He took their only gas mask and gun and still hadn’t returned. Worry seeped into her.

Settling into the rocker by the front window, Sammie picked up her knitting and began working on baby Brayden’s new winter hat again. The clacking of her needles created a soothing sound of familiarity for her, drowned out only by a periodic helicopter flying overhead or the sound of an echoing gunshot somewhere in the distance.

Sammie stopped moving for a moment, listening. Gunshot?

The back door burst open and her husband, Joe, burst into the kitchen. Sammie threw her needles to the side and slid to a stop at his side as he fell to his knees on the tiled floor. Blood dripped down from between his fingers over his shoulder.

“Joe?” Panic had Sammie on edge as she glanced towards the door, expecting the military to raid her home.
“Joe, what happened?”

“They shot me. The bastards shot me,” he managed, grunting with pain when she tried to sit him back against the cabinets so she could look at the wound.

“Who shot you?” She peeled away his shirt to reveal a shotgun wound. The buckshot had exploded out of the barrel and hit him in several spots along his shoulder. “Was it the military?” She stood and grabbed a clean towel to stem the blood flow.

“No, Sammie. Bob. Bob shot me.”

She stopped and swallowed. “Bob?” she repeated. “From three houses down?”

“Yes, that Bob.” Joe took the towel she offered and held it to his shoulder. “He stopped me on my way home, demanded I give him all of our bread stock. I told him no and pulled my gun out. But then his wife came up behind me, all wild eyed, and she knocked me over.” Joe grimaced under the pressure of the cloth.

“And then what?” Sammie backed away a few steps, realizing he didn’t have the mask anywhere near him.

“They tackled me, ripped off my mask and…” His voice trailed off as Sammie stared at her husband with wide eyes. “Oh, god.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She kept her voice low to not wake the baby, but her anger was hard to control.

“I’m sorry,” Joe whispered and struggled to his feet. He advanced a few steps. As he came closer, she noticed the beads of sweat forming on his head and the red lines shooting into his eyes.

“Christ, Joe, you’re infected!” Sammie stumbled backwards, putting a chair between herself and her husband.

“Help me, Sammie,” he said, his voice cracking as the infection began to latch into his body.

She turned and ran to the baby’s room, slamming and locking the door behind her. Brayden stirred in his crib as Joe slammed against the door in an attempt to break it down. Sammie clapped a hand over her mouth and crept backwards as the tears flowed down her face. Her fingers stumbled across a phone and she looked down with a sense of dread forming in her belly.

“Sammie,” Joe wailed from the hallway as she dialed the numbers slowly. “Sammie, help me. I need you right now, baby.”

“Emergency services,” said a nasally voice from the phone. “How may I assist you?”

Sammie swallowed and steeled herself. “I need help.”

Joe beat on the door.

“What is the nature of your emergency, ma’am?” The operator seemed almost annoyed.

Sammie sobbed silently as Joe’s fists ravaged the door. “My husband went outside without a mask."

~End~

The flashing crew:




 
Pia Valeno (m/m)
http://piaveleno.com
 
 
 
 
 



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10 August 2011

It's Raining, It's Pouring... (8/10/11)

Wednesday again! Here's the writing, and don't forget to check out the other great bloggers listed below!

*LANGUAGE/GORE* (I like 'gore' better than 'violence')


Thunder clapped above the trees as the car wended its way along the curved road between the woods. The young girl in the passenger seat squealed, nervous and excited all at once, and squeezed closer to her boyfriend. He smiled and tightened his grip on her hand as he drove steadily forward in the sheets of pounding rain.

“Hey, babe,” he said with a laugh. “What are you worrying about?”
“This is one hell of a storm. I’ve never seen anything like it around here.”

“Well, don’t you let this nasty thing bother you. I’ve got everything under control.”

They drove in silence for a few moments, the only sound her soft breathing as she stared out of the window and traced the racing droplets path down the glass. Trees whirled by, a smear of green and brown and blonde as a face swung out of view from the branches.

“Holy shit,” the girl whispered, pressing against the seat.

“What?” Her boyfriend looked over with concern.

“Did you…There was a person in the trees.” She pointed with a shaking finger towards the window.

He glanced out the window, skeptical. “I don’t see anything. Must have been a trick of the rain.”

“No, there was a face and she…Well, she flew into the trees.” The girl pursed her lips, realizing how stupid she sounded. “I just thought I saw something. Never mind.”

“Ok, let’s just get you home out of this storm,” he replied, yelling over the loud thunder which smashed overhead.

She nodded and sank into the seat, wondering if she’d imagined the mysterious face in the window. Lightning lit up the night sky as she glanced out the window and saw the face again. An impossibly beautiful woman stared at her, keeping pace from the trees with the car going forty five miles an hour down the slick back road. The woman raised a finger to her lips and gave an impish grin before she disappeared into the night.

The girl leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the glass, trying to see where the woman went. She couldn’t see anything for the driving rain streaming around them, blocking out even the trees in some places.

A thud overhead made both of them glance up. The girl swallowed. “Steve, did you hear that?”

He nodded, looking between the roof and the road. “Yeah, I did. Must be a branch or something, Marie.”

Marie remained unconvinced. A branch that size would have dented the roof. Instead there was no mark, only the soft scratches of something shifting with the curves of the road. Marie blinked and looked forward just as the woman’s face dropped into Steve’s line of sight.

“Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed, and pulled the wheel hard to the left. The car went into a slow spin, every second painstakingly clear as they swerved to the side of the road. The car tilted onto two wheels before flipping onto its side. Marie’s screams filled the air as Steve bounced in his seat, having forgotten to put on his seatbelt before they drove away from the movies.

His head cracked off the steering wheel with the violent movements as the vehicle rolled one last time onto its top and Steve fell unconscious. With shaking hands and tears rolling down her face, Marie struggled to steady her breathing. She put a hand on the roof in an attempt to soften the blow as she unstrapped from her seat and fell into a heap amid the glass and shards of metal surrounding her.

“Oh, god,” she sobbed, crawling towards Steve’s lifeless body. “Steve?” She shook his shoulders once and watched as his head rolled to the side to reveal a gaping wound. Tendons and muscles lay exposed as blood poured from his neck and Marie watched in horror as the beautiful woman rose behind him to look her dead in the eye with Steve’s blood dripping down her chin.

Marie screamed again and tried to crawl backwards out of the car, but the woman moved too fast. She disappeared, and before Marie could blink, her shirt was being pulled and she was dragged into the rainy night.

The woman crouched in front of her, head cocked in a calculating stare.

“What do you want from me?” Marie’s cries filled the night.

“Only your soul,” she replied with a soft tone and attacked. Within seconds, Marie lay dead next to the car.

The rain continued to pound around the two lovers, dead before they could know what was attacking them. A sigh escaped the woman as she looked at her victims. The rain could wash away the road dirt, bit could never wash away the curse staining her soul.

~End~

As promised, the other magnificent storytellers:

Chris Quinton (m/m)
 http://chrisquinton.com
West Thornhill (m/m)

Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk
Heather Lin (m/f)
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03 August 2011

Hustle (8-3-11)

It's Wednesday again! Without further ado, here's the story, and don't forget to check out the other fantabulous flashers:

*LANGUAGE/VIOLENCE*


Hustle and bustle, bustle and hustle. Never stop moving in the battle to leap forward in this crazy world.

She watches as the people rush by, carefully selecting her next playmate. Innocent brown eyes and dimples make her a vulnerable target, and the rotten men leap towards her on any normal day, eager to taste of her milky white skin.

Unfortunately, they never get quite so far.

A man catches her eye as she sits on the park bench. He’s tall and handsome in his sharp business suit, chatting into his cell phone and eyeing her down with a voracious hunger. He can’t match her, though. She throws him a shy smile and walks away slowly, making sure he’s following her in the burgeoning dusk.

Like a lost puppy, he is.

“Hey,” he says, jogging up beside her. She slows her pace to let him catch up. “Are you walking alone?”

“Yeah,” she replies with a soft voice, tucking hair behind her ear.

“Can I walk with you?” She nods and he falls into step beside her as the last of the sunlight dips behind the horizon. “What’s your name?”

“That’s inconsequential.” He stops walking suddenly, in exactly the right spot in front of her dark alley. She shoves him into the shadows, and he lurches backwards a few steps. “What I want to know is, will you love me?”

“Wait – What?” His fear is palatable in the air, and she licks her lips on the salty sweet aroma.

“After you rape me, will you love me?”

“I’m not – I would never…I wasn’t going to rape you.” He throws his hands up in defense, letting a nervous chuckle escape him as he gauges his exits. She’s limited them to one. Straight through her.

“Oh, but you would.” She smiles in the darkness, her teeth elongating from her gums into daggers. “And then you would leave me to rot in the corner like the rest.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he says, backing away from her as she advanced.

“Why won’t you love me? Am I not pretty enough?”

His hands shake as he tries to bat her away. “You’re crazy.”

“Love me.” She grabs his shirt and drags him closer, letting her tooth graze his cheek and draw sweet blood.

“I don’t want to. I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

He lunges forward, trying to jet past her, but she catches his ankle and rips through his Achilles tendon. Blood sprays across the alley, and he gives a strangled cry of pain as she pulls him towards her.

“Where are you going, my love?” she whispers.

He says nothing, but just sobs under her hands as she snakes her way up his legs. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’ll make you love me.”

“You can’t do that.”

She chuckles, relishing in his trembling body. “Sure I can.” He tries to scream as her fangs rip through his abdomen, but only a strangled gurgle comes out. The sweet essence of his blood gushes into her mouth, and she can barely contain her excitement at the sound of his beating heart just beyond the tender skin.

“You know what they say. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

~End~

The other flashers:


Chris Quinton (m/m)

Victoria Blisse (m/f)

Lily Sawyer (m/m)



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27 July 2011

The Factory (7/27/11)

It's Wednesday again, and we all know what that means! Here's a little ditty based on a real life experience from yours truly. I'm sure you can guess where the real life part is. lol, enjoy!


My friends didn’t seem to understand the feeling of wariness I held at the sight of the old blown up factory. “Come on, Sarah,” they whined, tugging me along the decrepit path towards a cracked open door as I dug my heels into the ground. “We’re only going to run in and run out.”

Run in. Run out. Simple enough, right? So I let them lead me into the forbidding door. The stories surrounding the factory were enough to scare the pants off even a seasoned haunted house traveler. Producing ammunition for World War II, thousands of workers were present on the site when a spark from a dropped cigarette ignited a fire. The factory exploded in a shower of fire and brimstone, and every single person inside the building that day died.

Every single person.

Understandably, I felt a tad nervous to enter the scene of a mass death. But I seemed to be the only one apprehensive, so I followed them in. Stupid of me. “Hey, guys,” I whispered as they got ahead of me. “Isn’t there a guy who lives here and guards this place for the KKK or something?”

My friend Beth giggled, waving off my suspicion with a flick of her wrist. “That’s an old legend, Sarah. Geez.”

Our breaths echoed louder than our footsteps as we entered the abandoned building. Adrenaline burst through my body in spurts as I took in the scenery. The old machines sat where they’d been destroyed, forgotten by time and eaten by dust and the vermin that thrive in such festering conditions. A thick layer of filth sat on the cement floor, disturbed only by our footprints, and the moonlight filtered into broken windows, casting ominous shadows in dark corners.

“Okay,” I said with a nervous laugh. “We’re in. Now can we go?”

“What’s the matter?” taunted Justin from ahead of me. “Too chicken to come see the stairs to heaven?”

The stairs to heaven. When the explosion happened, half of the entire upper floor had been blown up, but that single stairwell remained, reaching into the skies like the hand of god.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I am.”

Beth sighed irritably and grabbed my hand, dragging me forward in spite of my suddenly heavy feet. The lack of breathable air didn’t seem to affect her, nor did she have the same feeling of being pulled in four different directions like I did.

We were halfway up the stairs to the second floor when we heard it. Heavy footsteps were barreling down on us from the first floor, streaking across the cement in a determined run, straight for us. Beth screamed and ran up the stairs, and like a fool I followed her.

The footsteps stopped as suddenly as they’d begun, and Justin peeked his head around the stairwell.
“Nobody there,” he whispered. Beth’s haggard breaths tickled my ear as she clung to my arm, as though I would offer any protection.

She giggled, believing the danger to be past us, and continued up the stairs. I turned to follow her, but the hairs on the back of my neck shot straight up and I felt eyes the color of the night boring into my back from the ominous shadows. One hand on the rusted railing, I looked over my shoulder.

A man stood right behind me, his mouth hanging open from a dislocated jaw. Pieces of flesh hung from his cheeks, and one of his eyes rolled in its maggot infested socket.

He reached a skeletal hand towards me as I stumbled back and fell onto the step with a silent scream that refused to erupt from my throat. I felt the blood drip from my cheek as his long, curved nail sank into the tender flesh. He drew his finger back as I watched, wide eyed, and dragged my blood across his tongue. His eye flashed, the pupil enlarging and shrinking, and then a roar began flowing from him. The ethereal sound built in force until I curled into a ball on the stair and covered my ears in an effort to stop it.

When a hand landed on my shoulder, I jolted away and tumbled down three steps onto the hard concrete floor below. Terrified, I stared at Justin and Beth as they watched me. The shadows behind me whispered and convulsed with mal intentions, and I could feel their probing eyes and invisible hands reaching for me.

The screams in my throat finally found their voice, and I shoved past my friends and ran down a long hallway, shrieking the entire way. Glass windows showed me the outside world, teasing my sights with the freedom I couldn’t quite reach. The sun was setting, and to my right, deep within the building, a light shone in a window.

My mind told me to turn back, to run towards my friends and the relative safety of their numbers. But my body deceived me, and my legs kept running towards the light. I rounded a corner and heard soft music playing just before a door down the hall opened and a man skidded into sight.

His shotgun was raised to his shoulder and I briefly registered the manic look in his eyes as I struggled to stop and turn around. But when I looked back, the skeletal man was reaching for me again, and I had no choice but to run towards the lesser of two evils.

When the shot rang out, I hardly felt the slug ripping into my heart and out the other side, leaving a spray of blood on the floor behind me just before my body hit. I felt a hand grab my hair and give me a hard tug and then I was staring at my body and the young man who’d shot me.

The shadows engulfed me and all light faded from my vision.

Run in. Run out. That was the plan.

~End~

The other great flashers:

 
 

 
Sui Lynn (m/m)

Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk

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20 July 2011

The Priest (7/20/11)

It's Wednesday and I'm back! Thank goodness, I felt lost last week not composing a flash fiction. Here's a little ditty I whipped up, with intentions of carrying it into a novel. Hope you like it!

*LANGUAGE/VIOLENCE*



Heavy rain beat upon the stained glass windows of the church as the priest pounded on the keys of his laptop. Another letter, but this one would be to the Diocese in Rome, requesting permission to do an exorcism. The parents were convinced the girl was infected with a demonic presence and Father Luke was inclined to believe the same.

With a heavy sigh, he began to read the letter he’d written:

Regarding the case of Lisa Newberry

I arrived at the unassuming home in a quiet cul-de-sac on the 15th of August in the middle of a severe thunderstorm with not a star in sight after a frantic phone call from Mrs. Newberry. An array of vehicles littered the driveway, much to my confusion. Upon entering the home, I was immediately accosted by a woman named Maggie Hialeah, a psychotherapist brought in by Lisa’s grandmother.

Ms. Hialeah, naturally skeptical of my purpose in the home, attempted to convince me my services weren’t needed, and that Lisa is simply suffering from severe schizophrenia, coupled with dementia. As is my duty, I investigated regardless of her claims.

As I neared the stairs, my arms became heavy, legs slower. I felt as though something was trying to shove me back, and this became the first indication in my mind of a supernatural presence. Ms. Hialeah, in stark contrast, moved as though nothing at all affected her, and in fact seemed rather concerned about me.

Each step on the stairs required a great deal of effort, as my shoes suddenly felt as though they were filled with cement. My chest became heavy and breathing laborious, though I am a fit man. The air reeked of sulfur, and when we finally crested the landing, I was greeted with a shocking sight.

Lisa lay in the bed, her hands and feet chained with secure leather straps. The sheets crumpled beneath her as she struggled and hissed at me. But while Ms. Hialeah walked straight towards her and smoothed the girl’s hair out, I fell against the wall with terror flowing to my very soul.

I didn’t see the pretty young woman who had smiled at me from various pictures in the downstairs area, which is also what Ms. Hialeah saw. What presented itself to me was the demon head. Her eyes narrowed and blackened from the usual vibrant blue. The ears were pointed and bulbous, and as she smiled at me, her teeth were formed into viciously sharp points, each one capable of ripping my flesh from my bones. Small horns grew from each side of her bald head, curled and red, ending in a sharp tip just above her forehead.

Like a fool, I lunged forward and pulled Ms. Hialeah back. Alarmed, she immediately withdrew from me and I knew no matter what I said, she would now regard me as a loon, and quite possibly a dangerous one. I thought quickly, and asked to see what sort of treatment she was attempting with Lisa.

Ms. Hialeah sat down with her pad of paper next to the bed and snapped her fingers. Lisa immediately fell into a sleep so deep her entire body collapsed against the bed. I’ve not seen anything like this before. “Now, Father,” Ms. Hialeah said. “What you’re about to hear might bother you a bit.”

“I run confession,” I replied simply, ever a foolish and naïve man.

Ms. Hialeah began asking questions about Lisa’s past. But as she did so, and as Lisa answered, in a soft and feminine voice unbecoming of the vile head attached to her body, the air began to thicken even more. The night sky outside blackened, and a clap of thunder preceded the lights flashing out. We were cast into darkness, save for the lightning hitting the ground outside now and again. In these brief moments of light, I watched a horrific scene unfolding in front of me.

The demon had escaped Lisa’s body. He crouched on her chest, a tiny little man with long talon like fingers, completely naked. Darkness blinded me again. When the room was illuminated once more, he had shifted to Ms. Hialeah’s shoulder. She remained oblivious as he looked towards me and ran his tongue up her cheek. Darkness, and then in the light, I watched, horror stricken, as he…well, he mounted her without her knowledge and emptied his seed into her. The lights came back on just as he climbed onto Lisa once again, and Ms. Hialeah screamed.

She saw him, as well.

The demon winked at her and flicked his tongue out in a crude display before shoving himself into Lisa’s mouth. He dislocated her jaw and pulled her mouth to a disproportionate size to sink in as Ms. Hialeah sprung from her chair and flattened herself against the wall. I, meanwhile, lunged forward in an attempt to grab the demon but he was too quick for me.

Ms. Hialeah has retreated to her home, unaware of what grows inside her.

Respectfully, I…

Luke paused, listening to the faint sound in the hall of the church. A woman’s cries reached his ears. He closed his robe and prepared to counsel someone.

What he instead found was a woman crawling up the aisle, using her fingers as grips to pull herself along. Her protruding stomach made for an obstacle and a trail of blood followed her, smeared down her legs. Luke rushed forward to help her, and when he turned her over he found himself staring at Maggie Hialeah.

Her face gaunt and pale, she stared at him with desolate eyes as her stomach gushed blood. “Father,” she whispered. Luke struggled not to vomit at the sight of her pale flesh wriggling and contorting with the demon child inside.

“Kill it.”

~End~

Please enjoy the other great stories, including a couple from some new to our loop authors!

West Thornhill (m/m)  {NEWBIE}
http://wthornhillauthor.blogspot.com/ 
 
Chris Quinton {NEWBIE}
 
Julie Hayes (m/m)

Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk
 
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
 
Sui Lynn (m/m)

 
Heather Lin (m/f)
 
Ryssa Edwards (m/m) 
 
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06 July 2011

Number 53 (7/6/11)

It's Wednesday again, and you know exactly what I'm going to say here, don't you? That's right! Time for a flashing. Here's this week's, and don't forget to check out the other great flashers below.

*PROBABLE LANGUAGE WARNING* I honestly can't remember sometimes, so this is a default warning these days. lol


“Number 53!”

I stepped forward and pushed my hair out of my face. The Superior demanded to see our faces when we received our daily ration of bread and meats. The retina scanners wouldn’t work if our eyes were blocked, after all.

“How many in your family, number 53?” The soldier’s voice was quiet and respectful, a stark contrast to the gun hanging behind his back and the jagged scar running down the side of his face from temple to jaw.

“Just me,” I replied. The measly hunk of bread and eighth pound of meat I received would feed me for a whole hour, but they expected this crap to last us for a day. A family of four got a pound of meat and a loaf of bread, barely enough to hold over two kids, much less a husband who had to go into the coal mines and work all day. The family across the hall from me were constantly malnourished, and I often sacrificed my meat for the children.

Number 76 watched as I scurried away, my parcel clutched tightly to my chest. The grey buildings stared down at me, and I knew that any of those windows could hold Superior Agents, watching my every move. But 76 insisted on following me, straight to the backdoor of my apartment building.

“53,” he said in a clear voice.

I froze and swallowed before looking over my shoulder at him. “Yes, 76?”

“Did you see the feral cat?”

A meeting, then. “No. Where was it at?”

“I saw it outside of building 44. I think it’ll be back out around 8 tonight. See you later.” He pivoted on a heel and walked away. I watched until he rounded a corner. Number 76 was the revolutionary of our society, forever trying to find a way to bring The Superior down.

After the war of 2370, the world disintegrated. Literally, the nuclear weapons left everything a shell of its former glory. Farmlands were scorched, cities leveled, and entire cultures decimated. My parents had taken me, just an infant, to the heartland of America, the one place that seemed impermeable. We assimilated into a society, and The Superior took over. He assigned the men to the coal mines and the women were to stay home and bear child after child to strengthen the society.

But my parents couldn’t have any more children. The radiation from the war had rendered mother infertile. When her condition was discovered, she was taken from us and I never saw her again.

I was ten. Number 76 found me in an alley behind The High Command Offices, bawling in an alley. He took me under his wing, just five years my senior but already so much more educated. When father passed away, 76 ensured I had an apartment and a job.

8 o’clock rolled around much too quickly. I stepped out of my door and found the doe eyed little neighbor girl staring at me. Her ribs were clearly visible through her shirt and her cheeks were gaunt.

“Hello, 434,” I said softly and knelt in front of her to pull a small parcel from my coat. “I have some leftover bread, if you want it.”

She reached out with tiny hands and took it slowly. I smiled and patted her on the head before I left. Getting to building 44 was tricky. The Superiors had guards roaming the city at night, and if a woman was caught out alone, I would be in quite a bit of trouble. The grey structure loomed ahead of me, dark and apparently abandoned.

I slipped into an ajar door and let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Nothing moved, and I couldn’t find any light. “Hello?” I whispered. “76?”

A hand shot out from the darkness and grabbed me, dragging me into the shadows with his hand securely clasped over my mouth. I froze and let him take me. If he was a guard, I would be killed for fighting. If he was 76, I was safe anyway.

He pulled me into a dark room and shut a door behind us before releasing me. 76 stepped into the slanting moonlight coming through a window. I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at him. “Hey, 76. What was all that about?”

76 bit his lip and stepped towards me. “53, there’s something you should know.”

“What is it?” The urgency in his voice made me wary.

“I’ve always loved you. I would walk through fire for you.”

I blinked a few times, trying to absorb what he was saying. A loud bang from the hallway made me jump. “I don’t…What’s going on, 76?”

“Everything I’m doing is because I love you. Can you understand that?”

Panic began to seep through me as the loud noises neared us. “76, what are you talking about?”

“I had to do this, 53. To save you, and to save all of us.”

The door burst open behind him, and guards flooded into the room. I screamed and threw my hands over my head as I fell to my knees. Their flashlights honed in on my head, the lights blinding me when I tried to look up.

“That’s her,” 76 said, his voice cracking. “She did it. She killed The Superior.”

My jaw dropped as they wrestled me to my feet and slapped handcuffs on me. A soldier shook his head. 

“It’s always the quiet ones, you know?”

76 hung his head in shame as they led me away, and I knew I would die while he rose to power. The son of a bitch.

~End~

The other great flashers:



Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk

Pender Mackie (m/m)
http://pendermackie.blogspot.com
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