Musings. Teachings. Ing-ings.
Posts tagged flash fiction
The Great Leveler
3832 days
Prompt: “Being snowed in”
They had called it the great leveler. It didn’t matter who you were, when the wall hit you, it killed you the same way as everyone else. Your tomb was that of the eternal winter, your body sacrificed to the slumbering cold as frozen shackles held you in place.
It was a slow, awful death.
And so she kept digging.
Breath hissed through her teeth as she buried her hands in the powder, viciously slashing at the ground like a burrowing animal. Auburn hair plastered against her face, frozen there by sweat and fresh flakes.
She internally begged to hear a muffled scream – but the wind denied her wishes, silencing her thoughts with a constant, howling presence. Tears began to form at the corner of her eyes from a mix of emotion and effort. They froze before reaching her raw cheeks, stinging as they burned against her skin.
As her fingers tore into the mountain below her, the snow began to turn red. Her naked hands were a mix of pale flesh and crimson stains, numbed long ago by their war with the packed snow. His body had only been swallowed up for a few minutes, and yet she knew that with every second he was closer to being bound forever to the elements.
Her vision was blinded, eyes clouded over with tears, every tattered blink sending her world into a white hell. Blood thumped at her temples, threatening to break her concentration. Was she even in the right spot? Was he already dead?
The last question echoed in her mind, urging her forward.
Her arm reached down, ready to pull up another handful of frozen debris –
She gasped, rough fingers suddenly wrapping around her wrist, tugging at her for life.
The great leveler had spared one.
Asator
2842 days
Prompt: vikings, balloons, hope, the sun
The crushing ocean pounded the longboat. Black, ominous clouds towered above, threatening to swoop down and engulf them. The merciless sea occasionally cut into the boat, splashing rowers with an icy mist. A bearded man in his thirties sat at the head of the boat, his body covered in tattered leathers and shards of bronze metal. A chain hung around his neck, a small pendant of Mjöllnir dangling back forth around his chest in rhythm with the waves.
“Row!”
His voice was bloody, beaten down by salt and fire. He pointed his axe at another bearded man in the rear of the ship.
“Baleog! With the haste of Thor, grab the balloons!”
The Viking stood, walking over to a wooden post that was slick with the ocean’s chill. Connected to the post was a cache of blue and pink balloons, each painted with a sowilo followed by a pair of vertical dots. Baleog swiftly untied the balloons, sweat dripping down his brow.
He looked back to the man with the Mjöllnir pendant, string wrapped around his knuckles.
“What now, Olaf?”
Olaf raised his axe in the air.
“Release them! For the blessing of thunder!”
Baelog opened his palm, watching the balloons sail to the skies. As they climbed, the wind began to twist around the ship, yet the sea seemed to calm.
A blast of lightning struck no more than half a league away from the ship, a thunderous crack shaking the longboat. The occupants raised their weapons, screaming back at the skies as hope filled their chests.
Thunder pulsed through the air a second time, seemingly breaking a hole through the dark clouds – the light of the sun shining through. The Vikings beat their weapons against the side of the boat, the roar echoing across the sea.
Blessed by the gods, their victory was certain.
Day Two, Vehicle vs. a Ditch
0844 days
Prompt: cookies (or other baked goods), ten stacks of notebook paper, a detective, car insurance
The back end of the Camaro sat propped up, the bonnet thoroughly burrowed into the ditch. The rear quarter panel looked as if someone had scratched an ice pick along its length, black grooves tracing the molded fiberglass. Mud was caked in the wheel wells, large chunks of grass scattered within the rims.
The scent of burnt gunpowder wafted from the driver’s side door – or rather, where the door would’ve been if it hadn’t been unceremoniously discarded to the asphalt. A metal hinge where the door used to be was crooked to the side, out of place and disjointed like a hangnail. Blue and red lights pulsed against the yellow paint, the midday sun mostly blotted out by thick clouds.
Detective Thomas sat in his cruiser, idly flipping through the driver’s license and insurance card. He looked up, peering over his dash at the Camaro. He gave a sigh, shaking his head. He’d owned a yellow ’69 SS back in his youth, and it pained him to see a brand new one decimated. His attention snapped back to the license as a female voice crunched through his radio.
“DL looks clean, negative warrants.”
To the side of his cruiser, he could see the doors of the ambulance close. The driver inside was only a kid, way too immature to be behind the wheel of a sports car – the skid marks into the ditch proof of that. He reached over past his laptop to the side, picking up a stack of graded papers and a box of cookies that he’d found in the passenger’s seat of the Camaro.
He closed his eyes as he leaned back, saying a small prayer. His thoughts weren’t on the reckless kid, but rather his parents.
He didn’t want to have to visit a family today.
Danse Kontest @ DAS CLOOB
2845 days
Flash fiction, 300 words.
Prompt: dance contest, something glowing bright green, wrinkles, a particularly forlorn statement
It was Saturday night at Das Clüb.
The DJ had been spinning hot tracks all night, lighting the seizure-inducing room on fire with absolutely filthy dubstep. A mix of wannabe euro-trash and kids with extremely baggy black pants crowded the dance floor, moving awkwardly with the music. Two teens with tangerine-colored duct tape on their chests started swinging bright green and purple glow-sticks. Every agonizing pulse of bass ripped through their eardrums, shaking their eyeballs like guppies bouncing around a too-small tank.
Suddenly, a circle cleared in the center of the room. Oshi Dayumsun knew it was time to impress the respectable, nubile darlings that had been watching.
He hit the floor.
The DJ knew what was about to go down.
Track switched.
Walking out to the center, Oshi slowly began moving, his head bobbing to the atmospheric intro.
Suddenly, the drop.
Dayumsun began to work his magic, pumping his arms out to the side with vigor. His feet shuffled back and forth, quickly flinging him around with little effort.
Oohs and aahs filled the crowd. Arms were waved in the air. Someone seemed to yell his name. Twice. It was incredible. Dayumsun’s heart was pounding. He spun, dropping to the floor. His hand hit first, his body twisted before he was launched back up. He jumped back. As the song slowed down again, so did his motions. He was swaying to the rhythm.
A man wearing a black suit pushed his way through the crowd, making his way to the circle that had cleared for the king of the club. The mysterious man had sharp, roughly accented features – his brow wrinkling as he approached Oshi.
When he spoke, his voice was cold and forlorn, filled with sorrow and disappointment.
“Stop listening to terrible brostep.”
He turned around and walked away.
The DJ yelled down to Oshi, “Dayumsun, you just got served.”
A little adventure?
1995 days
Prompt:
Try this…..a cave in the mountains, a woman’s shawl, a box of old coins and a shotgun
The flickering light from the torch coated the etched stone walls as the masked man slowly made his way through the cave. He had been walking through this granite maze for hours, the grip of his old double-barrel shotgun firmly in his grasp. His hold on the gun had been so tight that one could’ve sworn it was simply an extension of his being, a lethal prosthetic. His breathing was heavy against the cloth tied around his face, his lungs further burdened by the thick, old air that remained still in the cave. The acrid smoke from the torch further suffocated him, occasionally causing him to go into a coughing fit.
The man put a hand to his brow, his knuckle clearing away sweat that hadn’t been absorbed by his cloth mask. He imagined it couldn’t be much further — each step increasing his anxiety. The torch’s flame touched a particularly volatile portion of the wood, sending sparks spitting out at the gray walls. The explosion of light gave the man a brief burst of visibility, allowing him to see a chest of some sort in the distance. It had only been a few paces from him, but he was so far from the entrance of the cave that all light had been completely snuffed out. Cautious, the man approached the chest, kneeling down in front of it. He looked down at his right hand, the shotgun still pressed into his palm. He let his grip on the weapon loosen, the weapon falling to the stone floor. The noise of metal quickly meeting stone sent an echoing crack throughout the cave, although it was completely drowned out in the man’s head by the sound of his own heartbeat.
The latch on the chest was rusted, the wood itself covered in iron dust. His fingers scratched at it, the sweat from his palm causing him to struggle. The tips of his fingers found a flaw in the wood, allowing him to pop open the latch with little effort. He flicked the top of the chest open, the lid smacking against a granite wall with a thud loud enough that it startled a few bats that had been deeper in the cave.
The masked man held the torch up to the contents of the chest — the light flickering off of gold and bronze coins. The man ran his hand into the box, his fingers knocking around the various pieces of metal. He bit at the corner of his cheek, curiosity causing his fingers to go deeper into the box. His eyes lit up wide for a moment before narrowing. He felt something different.
The tips of his fingers hooked a piece of cloth buried deep under the coins, slowly pulling it out. As it became visible his eyes narrowed further — it appeared to be a woman’s shawl. His free hand ran over the textured piece of cloth. It had been covered in dust and residue from the metal coins, most of the threads torn and way beyond repair.
A noise echoed behind him — the sound of boots pounding against the granite floor. He grabbed a handful of the coins, wrapping them within the shawl before snatching them off into his pocket. He grabbed his shotgun from the side of the chest, quickly leaping to his feet. He held the torch out in front of him, entrusting his safety to the depths of the cave.
He didn’t look back.