1. Lilly James Haro
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    Lilly James Haro The Grey Warden

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    Past Contest Flash Fiction Contest #17 - "Demons"

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Flash Fiction Contest Archives' started by Lilly James Haro, Dec 28, 2014.

    The theme for the latest Flash Fiction contest #17 is “Demons”. Remember the word limit is 150-450 words and all entries must be posted anonymously in this thread by 6:00 pm EST January 18th. Make sure to include the number of words and any warnings. You can also make your entry private simply by clicking more functions before posting, and click the box that makes the post viewable by "Members Only."

    Good Luck!
     
  2. HelloImRex
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    HelloImRex Contributing Member

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    Demon Inc. [475] (Language, drug references, just really crude in general.)

    “Goddamn it Oscar, for the last time, don’t wear a goddamn suit to work.”

    Across the table Oscar was wide-eyed. In most ways he was the pinnacle of what the company wanted, big horns spiraling out of his forehead, long black menacing beard, triangular-tipped red tail, a body that looked like a lobster. However, today his tie was on fire. They told him it was a glandular problem, something off about the sweat gland secretions, something explosive. He hurried out of the room thankful his skin was too red to show embarrassment.

    But this story isn’t about Oscar and his sweat glands; it’s about Demon Incorporated. Eyes were back on the boss.

    “Quarterly projections show us up by 66%,” he lectured pointing to the pie chart with a pitchfork “and it’s all thanks to your guys's hard work. We got big deals coming from big drug companies everywhere.”

    There was applause, resounding applause.

    “Take your assignments last week,” he continued in preparation for a speech, “John here was able to convince a whole church congregation that they were crazy after just three brief appearances. Do you know how hard it is to get those people to think they’re crazy? Seriously, great job.”

    Smoke billowed from John’s blue, oily nostrils. It was the equivalent of blushing, and he should be blushing, he was receiving the day’s second round of resounding applause.

    “Or George,” the boss interrupted wishing he had motioned to save the clapping for the end, “Those teenagers he caught doing shrooms at the lake, all of them are still in the loony bin.”

    More applause; and George was clapping for himself. What an egomaniac.

    “And Phillis,” the boss added, “she did good too.”

    Someone had to keep the equal opportunity lawsuits at bay.

    “That’s 273 people in a week on anti-psychotics, a record. However, we did have an incident.” The room hushed. “One of our own broke our most sacred rule. What is that rule? I want to hear it.”

    “No killing.” murmured the employees in unison.

    “That’s right,” confirmed the boss, “remember that. Meeting dismissed.”

    Shuffling ensued, the room began to empty.

    “Oh, Clarence,” the boss exclaimed, “don’t leave.”

    Clarence looked like a giant beaver, not a demon. It was unfortunate he didn’t fit in, out of room to explain it any more.

    “You were supposed to convince the girl’s parents they were crazy and instead you convince them to give her an exorcism before killing them. What the hell.”

    Clarence couldn’t face it, he turned around in shame.

    -Click-

    “You’re going to shoot me?” Clarence yelled in disbelief.

    “Goddamn guns these days.” the boss angrily mumbled. “But yeah,” he continued, “we don’t tolerate mistakes. You know, business. Wait here.”

    The boss left the room, door ajar, nothing for Clarence to do now but sit and wait. The boss’s chair was comfortable.
     
    Last edited: Jan 6, 2015
  3. theoriginalmonsterman
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    theoriginalmonsterman Pickle Contest Administrator Contributor

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    Onward (443 Words) [Warning: The "H" word is used twice]

    It never fades. The pain just seems to linger. Constantly mocking me; controlling me. I’ve been losing my mind ever since I was a little girl; constantly delving deeper and deeper into a never ending abyss of Hell. I barely manage to keep myself… under control. It all began on that day… *gulp*. I can remember clearly just like the faces of my parents. Terror… it arose. A war broke out between us and the unknown. I was alone… *cough* my parents had been taken by whatever the Hell those things were. The piercing red eyes; that’s the last thing I remember before the world faded out. Waking up… *sniff* I was lying in rubble. Buildings… they were torn to shreds. All alone… I was the only one left to feel any remorse towards the dead. The only thing was… *cough* I couldn’t. There was something wrong… with my mind. It wouldn’t allow me to cry or scream. I began to laugh, but it wasn’t me who was laughing. I could feel crawling around inside me. The demon. It took away my emotions and the color in my eyes. All I could now see was grey… grey everywhere… just grey. I wanted to cry and scream, but I had to hold the pain in. The demon it wouldn’t let the pain out. All I could do was move my aching body. Looking for some way… *cough* out.

    I walked for days… weeks. I tried so hard to get away from them, but they were always staring from behind me in my reflections… and following me in my shadow. Death wasn’t an option. I couldn’t bring a knife to my neck. Overtime… it got worse… I nearly lost all my senses. My eyes stung with blood. It was the end… I thought. Someone then tapped me on my back…*sniff*. Turning around I saw them. The others with demons like my own. They all had the same gloomy look on their faces. In front of them was a tall elder man. He looked down at me with his bittersweet eyes, and handed me a key. I held it tenderly in my hands. Then the elder man pointed with his frigid finger at the huge group of civilians following him. He then said with his last breath “Hope” and then with that his pupils faded and he commenced to turn to stone. After a heartbeat of silence his body was nothing more than a paperweight of cement. This is why we keep walking, although we have lost many lives along the way we all know well though that we have something evil will never conquer… Hope.
     
  4. criticalsexualmass
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    criticalsexualmass Active Member

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    Demons (247 words)

    My kitchen is always cluttered, even after I clean it. Maybe it’s too small, or maybe I’m just overly negative about everything. Sure, there are some dirty dishes in the sink, but just a few coffee cups and glasses. The groceries are put away, the chairs pushed under the table. I don’t know, nothing looks right anymore. Not like this, anyway.

    There’s a simple nightly routine now. Get in from work, fill the little ice bucket. In my pocket is a fresh bottle of bourbon. I leave it on the table with the ice while I look for a clean glass.

    I spend evenings with my bottles now, laughing about past victories and defeats, wondering how things could be different. I’m alone, and it’s my fault. I drove them all away. Sometimes, I wonder where my friends are. Other times I just wish I had her back, and the kids would come home. Every night is a replay of the Life that Was. Eventually, everyone gets a turn, their memories playing in my head like video.

    As the bottle empties I notice my reflection at its corner. I see my face, bloated and distorted, the edges of my head pulled away into horns as my image follows the curve of the bottle to the open cap. I turn my head slightly, and the horns blend back into my head, my reflection looking suddenly normal. But I saw them, and I know that the horns belong to me.
     
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  5. Lancie
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    Lancie Contributing Member

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    Him (435 words)

    They managed to hurl me in the back of an ambulance and have me locked in a secure, padded room. Sectioned. There is one porthole window on the door. Someone walks passed every ten minutes. I can time them from my bed but the guy on shift now is usually a minute or two out.

    It's all so I can't hurt myself, apparently.

    It's not me, though. I can't seem to get this through to them. The more I talk, the worse they seem to respond. They bandaged up the patterns and burns on my arms and back. I tell them again and again that I'm not the one doing it.

    How, I asked the doctor, do you suppose I managed to do those kind of intricate marks on my back? I can't reach. I tried to demonstrate said limited reach but he thought I was getting aggressive.

    Psychologists and psychiatrists and various mental health nurses have flocked to me like gaggles of geese. Hip, young youth workers with their cool hair styles and jovial 'hey, it's alright!' attitude are making things worse. This one, in particular, is making Him angry.

    This youth worker has a jingling silver bracelet with Christian charms hanging off it. Her long pale blonde hair is swept back, revealing a rainbow of studded earrings. She smiles warmly with small white teeth.

    I'm so tired that indigo smudged skin sagged beneath my eyes. Everything hurt. And He is starting to simmer.

    “Why don't you tell me how you're feeling?”

    “Pissed off.”

    “Why?” she asks, leaning forward intently.

    “It doesn't matter. Nobody will listen to me. Maybe I should have visited that pervert priest instead.” I grumble. This seems to catch her off guard. I look over her shoulder at the shadow bubbling and blistering against the door. "Go away," I tell Him.

    Young youth worker thinks I'm talking to her. "I really am here to help you," she tries to take my hand and that really makes Him angry. I am His.

    “I'm not talking to you." I pull my hand away. It's too late.

    He's standing behind her. All tall and raging eyes with black wings dripping like oil from his bony shoulders. The thing that has terrorised me since I was a child, but He is all I know. He is all I have. He was the one who rescued me from my crackhead of a mother when nobody else would.

    He unhinged his jaw and let out a gurgling screech, His talons braced for attack.

    I nod. “Go on,” and turn away while He eats lunch.
     

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