FWC: Flash, Flashier, the Flashiest Fiction! (Results)

[Sinitrena]

Welcome once again to the Fortnightly Writing Competition.

This time, we want some quick entries, or, as they are also known, some flash fiction stories.

What is flash fiction, you might ask?

It is defined as a short story with plot, characters, conflict and resolution just like any other short story, but limited to usually under 1000 words.

But that's too long for us here! Who needs so many words to tell their story?

No, we will be even shorter - but also more precise! (We're flexible with the whole character, plot, conflict stuff, by the way.)


Write a Flash story of exactly 500 words, or a Flashier story of exactly 200 words, or the Flashiest story of exactly 50 words (always plus any number of words under 10 for the title)! It should include something happening suddenly, to make it even flashier, if you get my drift, but that's very much open for interpretation - so basically, anything goes! Isn't that exciting?!?

You can do it! I know you can! We all can! Just get your trusty computer or tablet or even phone, heck, even old fashioned pen and paper will do, just get some writing done!


And look, I'm generous, I give you two weeks, two whole weeks, to finish your entry. For a 50 word story, that's just 3-4 words per day! Who hasn't some time for this! (That's a deadline of 9.April, by the way, just to make this clear.)


Oh, if you're some monster with amazing time management skills, you can even write more than one entry! That's amazing, isn't it?

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...

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What are you still doing here? Why haven't you started writing yet?

Go away, write something!

[Mandle]

I have two in mind... so far...

[RootBound]

Working on something. The word limit helps, actually.

[Stupot]

I'm halfway through a rough draft of what I intend to be a 500-word piece.

[RootBound]

Two entries from me.

Entry 1 - 50 words + title
After the Month No Werewolves Came

Spoiler

Hunters trudged quarryless, shotguns drooping. Each night after, we vigiled from porches, breaking a freezing sweat. Before next full moon, the gravedigger unearthed syringes of wolf saliva—had someone sheltered abominations, collaborated? We found prick marks dotting our necks. Night fell, moonlight cutting shadows. Our hair strained. Our stomachs raged.

[close]

Entry 2 - 200 words + title

Content advisory:

Spoiler

references to domestic violence and psychological abuse

[close]

Lesion

Spoiler

The basement windows moaned, tensing my every muscle. My no-nonsense husband shivered.

"I'll research," he said.

So he did. No one had died there. The owners had built the house recently.

"We'll fix the windows," he told me, pragmatic again. "I promise."

We'd been outbid elsewhere. I nodded.

At the closing, the owners' son and daughter ignored us, scratched their elbows, eyed the contract on the table. Sad to be leaving, I thought. A good sign?

We ordered new windows, gave over to excitement, ran across empty rooms, and laughed.

Months later, windows replaced, I called my husband to the TV.

The news detailed the father's arrest: mother mentally broken, children's faces empty, shattered housewares scattered, padlocks on the basement, insults in marker defacing bedroom walls.

He'd been all eager handshakes in person. I'd noticed the quiet mother, my instincts whispering, but after the moaning basement, I'd forgotten.

My husband said, "At least they caught him before—"

"Please don't."

"Yeah. Sorry."

He held me.

In bed, I heard three basement windows wail again. Pain and anger suffused so deep they'd opened a breathing wound. Widening now until every stifled cry claimed piercing voice, bruised air wafting across our skin.

[close]

[Mandle]

Here is the first of my entries. 200 words category.

My Wife's Two Bottles

Spoiler

     My wife was rummaging around in the cabinet under the kitchen sink the other day, cleaning it out of unwanted stuff.  Way over on one side was a bottle of Japanese sake that had turned from clear to a deep brown color.  Looking at the label, she saw that the bottle had been bought years ago.  It had obviously gone off, and so she poured its contents down the sink, the stringent odor tanging her nose, and put the bottle out for collection.

    Now, the second bottle's story:  Six months earlier; her and I are struggling to open a bottle of brandy that had been sitting on the shop shelf so long that its cork had turned rotten.  I almost got half the damn thing out with a skillfully stabbed skewer, but that bit broke off and we ended up pushing the cork down into the liquor.  Then, it was a race against time to save the expensive brandy before the ancient cork acidized it, or whatever it does.  We looked around.  There was an old sake bottle under the sink that had sat there for years.  We emptied it and found a small enough funnel to make the pour.

[close]

[Mandle]

Here is the second of my entries. 200 words category.

Guarding Gay

Spoiler

     I was bullied all through high school by rednecks.  Trevor Haines was their leader.  No matter where I went, same class or not, he was there with his pack of inbreds.  They would shove me and pull my long '70s hair, screaming "Fag!" in my face.  Fuck them, though.  I wasn't gonna cut my hair for no one!  I wasn't even gay.
   
    College was better.  Long hair was cool there!  I graduated out of Utah State and a black suit was waiting for me even almost before our mortarboards hit the ground.  I was recruited into the FBI pretty much there and then. 

    I grew old in the service, to the impossible age of fifty.  The reason I'm now writing this is because of a gay pride rally.  There had been credible terrorist chatter picked up over Intel networks:  Some gay-hater planning to gun down a speaker. 

    I stood there, by the stage, scanning for the shooter, and that's when I saw him:  Trevor-Fucking-Haines, ducking backstage, reaching into his redneck denim jacket.  I drew down and plugged him.  The screams at me killing him haunt me here in my prison cell.  He'd been reaching into his jacket for his speech.

[close]

[Mandle]

Here is the third of my entries. 200 word category.

Gatekeepers of Smoking

Spoiler

    Fuck, wherever I go, it's the same:  the local cafe has a smoking room, but they make it as uncomfortable as fucking possible.  There's no tables or chairs.  And you can't even take your coffee in.  A cig and a coffee, right?!  It's supposed to be a set!  Ever the rebel, I take my coffee in anyway.  Halfway through my rebellion, a shaved-head barista pops in and tells me the rules. 

    It's getting even worse, years later:  It's raining, so I get under an awning and pop a light.  A security guard comes out with his massive ginger mustache and tells me to piss off.  Can't smoke here, he says.

    Decades later, a nurse comes out and catches me lighting up a cig on the balcony of the fucking hospice I paid good money to be in.  Fuck her platted blue braids as she puts the oxygen mask back over my mouth and forces me back to my room.

    An indeterminable time later, I am standing at golden gates.  A bald man, another with a huge red mustache, and a lady with blue braids are waiting with white-feathered wings spread.  In unison, they say, "We tried to warn you."

[close]

[Stupot]

There's No Taste Like Home
by Stupot

Spoiler

The meat was moreish. Nathan held out his plate and allowed his friend and next-door neighbour Gregory to fill it with more of the tender cuts. He spooned on some of his host's homemade barbecue sauce, and shoved another juicy piece into his sticky mouth. He looked out over the town. Nathan had always dreamed of having a party on the roof of his apartment. Residents weren't technically allowed up here, but Gregory's mother owned the building.

"Thanks for letting us up here, Mrs Perry," he spoke through a mouthful of meat. Pork, perhaps? He wasn't sure, he didn't care.

She smiled back at the boy, "It's a pleasure, Nate. We're glad to have you celebrating with us."

"What are we celebrating?" he said.

Gregory flashed his mother a questioning look. She nodded, allowing Gregory to answer. "My dad got out yesterday!"

Nathan stiffened. "G-got out?" Mark C. Perry, The Blackbridge Muncher wasn't meant to even be considered for parole for another ten years, at least.

"Well, actually, he escaped. He'll be up later. He's just resting downstairs."

Nathan swallowed and regretted it. The stories of Gregory's father came flooding back. He suddenly didn't want to be eating meat.

Gregory and his mother's demeanours shifted. This once wide-open rooftop was now a pig-pen and he wanted to get out.

"I think maybe I should—"

"Who would like some more meat?" Mrs Perry smiled at Nathan. "Nate, dear, why don't you go down and get the rest. The door's unlocked. There's one tray left on the side."

Nathan stood slowly, unsure what to do or say. They watched him. Gregory gave him a nod that said, "Go on then, we'll be waiting."

Nathan opened the door to the rooftop exit and descended the stairs to the fifth floor. He picked up the pace and ran past Gregory's apartment door towards his own. Chest heaving, he started to open his door. But something made him stop– the lingering taste of that lean, luscious meat. He wanted more. He turned around and retraced his steps to Gregory's door. It was unlocked, as Mrs Perry had said. He opened it slowly. And stepped inside.

"M-Mr Perry?" Nathan called gently. He judged it better to make his presence known, lest he surprise a hungry cannibal. But no one responded. He walked through the corridor to the Perry's kitchen. On the side sat a huge platter of the choicest cuts Nathan had ever seen, marinating on the countertop. Despite the flies, he found himself wanting more. He picked up the tray and cautiously returned through the apartment, and up the stairwell to the roof. He used his elbow to turn the handle, kicked the door open and stepped onto the roof.

Mrs Perry stood, arms wide open, "There you are, honey."
And Gregory smiled. "Welcome home Dad."

But they weren't looking at Nathan.

Nathan followed their eyes down to the platter of meat in his hands. He looked up again and grinned.

"Let's tuck in."

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(500 words + title)

[Mandle]

Here is the fourth of my entries. 50 words category.

Backlot to the Future

Spoiler

     The thrill of my life was riding the backlot-tour tram at Universal Studios back in nineteen-eighty-five and seeing Michael J. Fox and Christopher Lloyd in their iconic roles. Then the tram rounds a corner, cloaks, takes off, and the eighty-eight-miles-an-hour rush.  I recommend this tour to anyone here in twenty-forty-five.
 

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[Mandle]

Here is the fifth of my entries. 200 words category.

Leaving Home

Spoiler

      The thrust under the richest man's on the planet's ass thrilled him.  Finally, after dredging through the bullshit of economic systems that were below his intelligence, he was leaving this shithole of a planet.  The rocket snapped off its first phase, headed back to land on the doomed Earth he had escaped.  He had his hands gripped to the armrests, with a grin on his face.

      Docking went without a hitch.  He floated from his Dragon capsule out into the first hallway of the spacecraft he had duped the current administration into building.  It was beautiful.  The walls were white, and chopped along with just the kind of little lunchbox-sized modules displaying green-scrolling data that he would need.

    Seated in his commander chair, looking out through the convex glass fronting the kilometers-long craft behind him, he gave the final command to ignite the engines, and pulled the upload headset down over his cranium.

    "Commence upload of consciousness?" asked the computer in the middle-school-crush voice he had chosen.

    "Make it so," he replied, the badass.

    Five million years later, he asked the AI the same question over again: "Am I still the poorest being in the universe?"

    "Still no detectable currency."
 

[close]

[Sinitrena]

About four days left! And we already have 8 entries! Fantastic!

Will we get more? Of course we will, because you, yes YOU reading this right now, will take some time out of their weekend and write something. Right?

[Baron]

A Tragedy of Errors

Spoiler

Prospero opened the door to gaze out at the torrential rain, the bottle of milk sitting just out of reach. His heavy eyebrows drew down over his eyes like the thunderclouds hanging over the Earth. Some wizard should invent something to solve problems like this.

He slammed the door shut testily, for there would be no milk for his coffee this morning. The deliverum next to the door rattled, but no milk shot out from its magical horn. Anything non-living that landed on the front stoop should be transported into his foyer before it had a chance to get wrecked. Prospero kicked his invention, wondering what had gone wrong this time.

In the end, he decided today was not the day to care. He climbed the stairs in a cranky mood, passing Igor at the first landing. The servant proffered a tray with dark coffee and darker porridge.

"Master no like breakfast?" the hunchback asked.

"Not today," Prospero sighed, patting his servant on the shoulder. Igor was as dedicated as he was simple. There was no point in burdening such a fragile mind with his malaise.

On the next landing up there was a little sitting area where he usually took his breakfast. It was dangerous to open the curtain, he knew, especially when he was in a brooding mood. The little clockwork puppet he had invented to stop him from such foolishness sat in his little sconce, shaking his head sadly.

"You're not the boss of me," Prospero told him, reaching for the drawstring.

The curtains opened, revealing a portrait. A few of the candles around the shrine spluttered to life. There she was—Beatrice—the love of his life. How long ago had he lost her? He stared with sadness down the length of white beard that reached nearly to his knees.

The little clockwork puppet waved in alarm, causing Prospero to scoff at his efforts. He drew the curtain closed again, and continued his ascent.

He passed another landing, this one containing the temporum. The machine he had built to turn back time had never managed more than to make his fingernails grow in reverse—a rather painful experience. He kicked the machine in disgust, causing it to whimper.

He climbed higher and higher up the tower, passing projects and dreams as incomplete as he himself. The relentum that was supposed to slow things down, the ungravitum that was supposed to make things lighter, the oblivium that was supposed to erase painful memories ... He kicked each in turn, useless things.

He was useless. He had failed as a wizard, and he had failed as a man. Prospero reached the top of his tower, and for once he accomplished something of note. He flew.

There was a long moment of near silence in the tower as the failed inventions whirred and churned. And then the deliverum rattled to life and spit out a baby swaddled in a very large robe. Igor scratched his head and went to tend to it.

[close]

[Mandle]

Here is the sixth of my entries. 50 words category.

2:31:15

Spoiler

    I was in a bicycle shop waiting on a repair when I saw a monitor on the wall. It said, "This monitor will disappear in 2:31:15".  The seconds were counting down.  I came back a day later.  It was gone.  The staff had no idea what I was talking about.
 

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[Sinitrena]

And that's it! We have 10, I repeat, 10 entries!!!

Look at them, here they are:

50 words:

- After the Month No Werewolves Came by RootBound
- Backlot to the Future by Mandle
- 2:31:15 by Mandle


200 words:

- Lesion by RootBound
- My Wife's Two Bottles by Mandle
- Guarding Gay by Mandle
- Gatekeepers of Smoking by Mandle
- Leaving Home by Mandle


500 words:

- There's No Taste Like Home by Stupot
- A Tragedy of Errors by Baron


As you can see, I sorted them into their word count categories. This is for voting purposes.

You have 1 vote for your overall favorite entry, no matter how many words were used to tell the story. This vote will decide the overall winner.
You have 3 additional votes, 1 for each category. These votes are more or less just out of curiosity but might be used for tie-breaking purposes. (Anything else wouldn't be fair, because the distribution of stories is too uneven.)

Voting is open untill end of April 13th.

And remember, you don't have to have entered in order to vote. We want all the votes. All of them!

[Stupot]

50 words:

Spoiler

After the Month No Werewolves Came by RootBound

[close]

200 words:

Spoiler

Leaving Home by Mandle

[close]

500 words:

Spoiler

A Tragedy of Errors by Baron

[close]

Overall favorite:

Spoiler

A Tragedy of Errors by Baron

[close]

[Baron]

So many stories! Good work, everyone. 

FEEDBACK

@RootBound

Spoiler

The plot for the vampire story was spot on. I think it would have been the perfect story at 60 words, but it just reads a little awkwardly, trying to cram in all the juicy details into 50.

The child abuse story was awesome, disturbing content aside. That last line was haunting. Bruised air? You sir, are a poet.

[close]

@Mandle

Spoiler

The mixed-up bottles was amusing, if only because my own wife has done this. Twenty years of WHMIS training has left her undaunted - just put a label on it!

"Guarding Gay" had more twists and turns, including the doozy at the end. You crammed a lot of character development into just 200 words - this was by far your strongest story this time around, in my opinion.

"The Gatekeepers of Smoking" was shallower and more predictable.

"Backlot to the Future" - interesting.  Feels a bit like the Jetson's version of the year 1980, though. Time travel tourism in twenty years? I wonder if people will even be able to afford groceries in 20 years.

"Leaving Home" was more thought provoking. What does status mean when you are the only one left? All those retired hockey players are so buddy-buddy after punching the crap out of each other throughout their careers because only they "get" each other. Those winner-takes-it-all types are setting themselves on a lonely path.

"2:31:15" was clever - got my vote for the short category.

[close]

@Stupot

Spoiler

"There's No Taste Like Home" - Whaaaaat?!?    You got me, Stupot. I thought for sure the cannibal was going to jump out and eat him. Nice twist.

[close]

VOTES

Spoiler

It was a close call, but I vote RootBound (Lesion) for best overall. For category specific votes, I vote Stupot (No Taste Like Home) in the 500 word category, Mandle (Guarding Gay) in the 200 word category, and Mandle (2:31:15) for the 50 word category.

[close]

[Creamy]

All the stories were enjoyable. I chose the first ones which came to mind 2 days after reading them.

50 words:

Spoiler

- 2:31:15 by Mandle
Simple, yet full of possibilities.

[close]

200 words:

Spoiler

- My Wife's Two Bottles by Mandle.
I like the twist. Funny how this mundane story was the first one I remembered, before all the other epic and tragic ones.
I can't help but imagine that Mandle put the blame on his wife for his own blunder 

[close]

500 words:

Spoiler

- There's No Taste Like Home by Stupot
Fun in a wicked way.

[close]

Overall favorite:

Spoiler

- There's No Taste Like Home by Stupot
These last 2 lines cracked me up.
It doesn't feel completely fair to judge a 500 story agasint a 200 or a 50 one though.

[close]

[cat]

My votes:

Spoiler

50 words:

- 2:31:15 by Mandle


200 words:

- Guarding Gay by Mandle


500 words:

- A Tragedy of Errors by Baron


Overall:

- Guarding Gay by Mandle

[close]

[RootBound]

My votes:

50 Words:

Spoiler

2:31:15 by Mandle

[close]

200 Words:

Spoiler

Leaving Home by Mandle

[close]

500 Words:

Spoiler

A Tragedy of Errors by Baron

[close]

Overall favorite:

Spoiler

A Tragedy of Errors by Baron

[close]