FlashFiction is one of the best ways to improve your writing, but it's also fun. I've had a blast writing little bits for various #FlashFiction challenges. Below are my entries to some #FlashFiction sites and badges of the ones I've won.For more flash fiction snippets, please visit my blog where I host #ThursThreads - the Challenge Tying Tales Together on Thursdays.
If you're interested in writing flash fiction, or even just reading what others write, you can visit the #ThursThreads tab on my blog. You can check out the previous winners and all the written stories there.
#MenageMonday Challenge and Judge's Pet 10/10/2011
Three prompts: The photo at left, the phrase "about last night", and Judge's prompt of Dorian mode, a musical scale from the ancient Greek. Up to 200 words.
Det. Dorian Mode sniffed the air of the abandoned room, inhaling the symphony of scents at the crime scene. A pile of men’s clothes draped haphazardly over the desk chair beside a pair of ergonomic flip-flop sandals, reeking of cigarettes and sweat. One sock sprawled at the base of the chair as if pointing to the aftermath of the killer’s psychotic celebration.
“The blood’s in the other room,” Treble whispered, the gracile man extending a shaking arm the same direction as the sock.
“Tell me about last night,” Dorian growled as he stalked carefully through party debris of beer cans and greasy pizza boxes.
“I dunno what happened. One moment me an’ Clef was havin’ a thumpin’ good time with that girl; the next I come back from a beer run and found this.”
Dorian froze at the threshold of the bedroom, his fury boiling up from his gut as he scented the putrid stench beyond the blood. Body parts decorated the bed and bureau like some awful Halloween get-up and blood painted the walls in garish runic swirls. His brother Det. Phrygian Mode stepped up beside him, his own canines extending. “What was it?”
Dorian gritted his teeth. “Ghoul.”
#MenageMonday Challenge and Judge's Pet 10/3/2011
Three prompts: the photo at left, the phrase "last call" and the Greek gods in reference or as character. 200 words max.
Athena bowed her head over the muddy soil of the two week old grave. She’d been named for the Goddess of Wisdom and Strategy, but her last op to apprehend gunrunner Michael Jackson had ended with the death of her partner. Some strategy.
“Oh, God, Ky, I’m so sorry.”
They’d staged the op at a costume ball on Halloween night at a local night club. Most of the men wore nothing more than a sock, while the women wore three postage stamps. She’d felt overdressed in her Vegas Vamp costume.
Ky had been the sexiest man there in his Thor getup, but it hadn’t stopped the gunrunner’s bullets. She’d lost a piece of herself when he went down.
“Last call,” she whispered, upending a 750ml bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey onto the headstone. “I wish I’d said I love you.”
Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, making her yelp and drop the bottle.
“You can say it now, if you like.” His breath brushed her ear.
She turned, scanning his body. “You’re alive?”
“Merrahs are hard to kill. Especially Ky Merrah.” Then he winked. “Unlike Michael Jackson, I don’t catch ‘fire’ easily.”
Three prompts: The photo at left, the phrase: "Follow the scent" and Judge's addition: "David Gilmour as character or reference". Up to 200 words.
Jack’s nose took him to the hallway filled with numbered doors. A sign changing the speed dating event location from 224A to 224E hung above the number plaque.
He pushed on with a low growl, following the scent of the woman he’d been tracking since the Live 8 concert in July of 2005. The concert where he’d lost his humanity and his best friends.
The image of the buxom redhead who’d offered a ménage a quat to Jack and his two best buddies solidified into reality as he rounded a corner to find meeting room 224E. She stood at the door, chatting and flirting with a new victim; a slender athletic male who resembled David Gilmour in his younger years. Just like Brad had.
Jack’s fury at the memory of their mangled bodies covered in her scent roared through his body, causing the change. He couldn’t protect Brad and Carl, but he’d save this young man.
Her scent intensified, spiced with fear, as he launched his wolf’s body at her. His jaws closed around her throat and he took savage pleasure in tearing the meat of her muscles away. He savored his victory as she bled out between his paws.
#FridayFlash with the Friday Fictioneers 9/16/2011
Two prompts: the photo at left and the phrase "Live or Die", only 100 words.
The glow over the eastern horizon heralded something more than just sunrise.
"It's live or die time," Chiera muttered, straining to hear the sounds of their approach.
Oh, she knew the phrase was "do or die time", but the outcome would be the same, either way.
She'd never tried to catch a gryphon before, but Cecelia's taunts had been too much and now she was out here at the edge of the Rended Forest, with nothing more than her wits, a leather rope, and some catnip.
The soft hiss of feathers through the air was her only warning.