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  1. Lilly James Haro

    Lilly James Haro The Grey Warden

    Apr 26, 2014
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    Kirkwall, Free Marches, Thedas

    Past Contest Flash Fiction Contest #31 - 'Then the Night Came'

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Flash Fiction Contest Archives' started by Lilly James Haro, Feb 29, 2016.

    The theme for Flash Fiction Contest #31 is "'Then the Night Came” which was chosen by previous winner @SethLoki. Remember the word limit is 150-450 words and all entries must be posted anonymously in this thread by 6:00 pm EST March 19th. 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."

    Please do not use the same name as another entry as it makes it quite confusing for voting, thank you :)
  2. criticalsexualmass

    criticalsexualmass Active Member

    Jul 27, 2013
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    Cat-215 words

    “It’s just a cat,” he tells himself as a flattened lump of fur recedes in the rear view mirror, lines in the road coming together with distance behind a twitching carcass. “There’s a billion of the damned things in the world. Hell, it’s not like I intended to hit it, I didn’t even see it ‘till the last second.” He hits the volume as David Lee Roth explains why he’s hot for teacher, leaving the road behind with the memory of a cat that briefly thumped under tires.

    “It’s too far away to matter,” she tells herself, mesmerized by the chrome and speed of the approaching thing. For the damage done, there was very little pain. Little brains are capable of understanding mortality too, especially when one evolves to make her living at killing. They can even keep memories, and recollections of warm laps and belly rubs flit by like butterflies. The face of The Child is visible before closed eyes, saying words she can’t comprehend but that reverberate within the tiny part of her brain capable of plumbing the fathoms of warmth, and comfort, and love. The cold darkness of the coming eternal night holds no fear compared to the memory of her family, and in her final breaths gentle purrs rumble past shattered and bloody teeth.
    Last edited: Mar 1, 2016
  3. BoddaGetta

    BoddaGetta Active Member

    Nov 2, 2010
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    Colorado, USA
    Sidhe [449 words. Violence and slight language warning]

    Cursed forest or not, he would not lose their child. An arrow zoomed overhead, close despite twilight's descent.

    “Come on!” he urged as they entered the treeline. Warm air enveloped them and snow ceased to crunch beneath their footfalls , contrary to the harsh winter.

    Hoofbeats halted at the edge of the woods, panicked whinnies from steeds muffled by the foliage.

    “Onward!” roared someone. Branches cracked as their pursuers gave chase, not swayed by superstition.

    The child screeched, Jarek whirled around to quiet her, only to have terror knock the wind from him.

    His love laid facedown, five arrows protruding from her back. Their daughter struggled beneath her prone body.

    “No!” he wailed, and dove to her side beneath more arrows; this time they were ablaze. He flipped her over. Her lifeless eyes stared at nothing as their daughter stumbled into his arms.

    Around them, the dry dead leaves on the ground ignited. Arrows cascaded volley after volley like rainfall.

    He hoisted himself to his feet and ran, hugging the toddler to his chest. Water trickled in the distance.

    Meters more and he was there. Jarek slid down the icy outcrop, behind the riverbank. He sank to the ground, murmuring soft reassurances into his daughter's auburn locks to quiet her whimpers.

    A strong odor of grass caused him to snap his eyes open. In front of him stood a naked woman, unperturbed by the icy water she exited. Approaching flames illuminated her. Vines, flowers, and leaves made up her hair, her skin green, underbrush sprouted in each footprint, and encircling them all on the banks of the river, young women donning green —it was Aine.

    The goddess crouched in front of them, grinning. “You want your bastard to live, Prince Jarek?”

    “Yes! Anything!”

    Aine and her nymphs vanished. Trees snapped and groaned, earth rumbled and quaked, wolves howled and growled, crows cawed and flapped in a chorus of nature's wrath, culminating with the tortured cries of men.

    Aine emerged from the silence that followed. His daughter squirmed out of his grasp, waddling over to the forest goddess's outstretched arms.

    “No...” he breathed as she picked up his little girl. “NO!” He made to stand, only to feel smooth, sharp stone on his throat from a blade.

    “Anything,” Aine reminded. “You can have more daughters, I cannot.”

    The dryads surrounded her and smiled in welcome to their new sister, leaving Jarek to watch them recede to the forest night.

    Jarek gained a crown, but not an heir. On the dusk of each winter solstice, he journeyed alone to the forbidden forest, watching from afar as his daughter danced with faeries beneath the moon, ageless, timeless, oblivious, but very much alive.
    Last edited: Mar 11, 2016
  4. frigidweirdo

    frigidweirdo Member

    Nov 13, 2015
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    Camping trip (449 words)

    So they decided on a camping trip in the woods. I really don’t know what has gotten into them of late. This is definitely the worst idea they’ve had for at least a month.

    If this had been some alternative dimension where some natural disaster had happened the night my brother was conceived, I think I would have genuinely enjoyed going off into the foods for marshmallows over the camp fire and bug hunting with my parents.

    But…. But…. Ahhhh, I can only scream.

    “Ok guys” my father said optimistically, “let’s put up the tents.” The psychologist had told my father that his son needed a positive outlook. Personally I agreed. A boot up my brother’s arse is the most optimistic thing I can think of right now.

    I actually got real good at hiding it too. The first time I tried it, my brother was sobbing like a baby before my foot got anywhere near his backside. I got grounded for a week for that too and I didn’t even get the satisfaction of making him hurt either. I knew the next time I got grounded, it’d be because I’d actually done the deed.

    After a few groundings I got smart. If I went and gave some story about why he was crying first, my parents actually believed me too. It was amazing and my brother hated me even more for it.

    The tents were up. Only two temper tantrums from my brother. My father looked suicidal but it was his idea in the first place, so no sympathy there from me. Then we went to find firewood. Apparently the little bugs on the wood are so scary that my brother had to run off and sit in the car crying. My mother went and dealt with that one. My father and I had a nice twenty minutes. Then we made the fire, which was apparently scarier than seeing horrible little bugs. But the funniest thing, in the darkest sense you can imagine, was that the marshmallows made him absolutely freak out. Unbelievable.

    The afternoon came and it just got worse and worse. The water was too cold. The air smelt funny. I was getting tired of hearing the screaming and wailing. A boot up the arse wasn’t a viable option either as we were always in view of our parents. But when we were alone I told him “when it’s dark, I’m going to get you, and get you good.” He ran off to the protection of our mother for the rest of the evening.

    And then the night came. “You two boys are in that tent, we’re in this one” my father said. Cue evil laugh.
    PBNJDraftNumbA likes this.
  5. salzerine

    salzerine New Member

    Mar 13, 2016
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    That other boy
    (279 words. Violence)

    Tom was never a big believer in her art, but some of the world’s biggest leaders seem to value her sayings.
    One of his followers had overheard her. She had mentioned that there were two possible targets.

    As much as he loathed acting on an overheard conversation, he didn’t want to take a chance; he didn’t want his targets to get away. Those lesser mortals had to be done away with. He knew his targets wouldn’t stand a chance against his might.

    He was aware of both their locations. He knew whom he wanted to kill first. Although he would face more resistance, and might even have to spare the life of the fighter defending the target, he wanted to go there first.

    That evening however he felt a bit weak. He had contracted a virus. Though he was immune to most viruses that severely affected normal humans, this was different. It seemed to have latched on to the human part left in him, and he couldn't cure it inspite of his abilities.

    He contemplated. Maybe it would be wise to kill the easier one first. There wasn’t anyone protecting this target. The would-be defenders had already turned insane.

    And even if there was, he wouldn’t have to spare anyone’s life. Killing made him feel immortal, stronger. Yes, that’s where he would go tonight.

    Tonight he would choose the path of least resistance.

    And then the night came.

    He arrived at the target’s house dressed in his robe. He barged in and made his way up the stairs.

    His target was sleeping in the crib.

    The killing curse flew across the room and never rebounded. Neville Longbottom was dead!
  6. doggiedude

    doggiedude Contributing Member

    Feb 15, 2016
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    Florida, USA, Earth, The Sol System
    Eyes (450 words)

    I looked at him directly in the eyes and whispered “Why?” No response. I hated looking at those eyes. I’ve heard people call them hazel but they just look brown to me. Again I said “Why? Why would you kill her?” He looked like he was about to answer me then just pursed his lips. Light was fading in the room and I could see the dying orange haze of the sunset from the mirror. I looked at my brother again and said “Give me some reason. She was our sister dammit. Do you have any idea what mom and dad are going through right now?”

    He finally responded “No. I don’t.” He bit back saying more and licked his lips. I heard our parents call him a psychopath when we were ten.. At the time I had to look up the word to see what it meant. No emotions, no remorse, no empathy. I didn’t really understand at the time. Now at twelve I think I understand it better but still ….. How can he be like that.

    He said “Why are you so upset over this? You didn’t like her either.” I whispered as loud as I dared “I may not have liked her but I never wanted her dead.” He looked at me again with those eyes, that stoney stare. I wish I could understand what was going on in that head of his. Then he said “Don’t worry so much, they’ll never know unless you open your mouth.” I wasn’t so sure of that. He had used a pillow over her face when she was in the crib. I was pretty sure I’d seen some crime show where they had caught someone who did that.

    I could hear mom crying in the bedroom next door. Dad was saying something I couldn’t understand but maybe I heard my name being said. The light in the room was fading more, I idly thought to myself that I should switch on a light. I never liked being in a dark room with him, it would be bad later when it was time to sleep.

    The doorbell rang. Then I could hear mom and dad going out to the front door. He said “You won’t say anything will you?” I thought about that for a minute before responding “No. I’ll keep quiet.” Even if I was, I wouldn’t let him know about it in advance. The fading sun was gone. I couldn’t see myself in the mirror anymore. Good I hated those eyes, my eyes. Dad came in and said “David, we need you to come out here.” Then paused before saying “Why are you sitting alone in the dark?”
  7. BruceA

    BruceA Senior Member Supporter

    Feb 7, 2016
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    A thief from the Night (410 words)

    Night began as a whisper: a rumour of shadows at the very edges of the Day. But once started, it quickly gathered pace.

    Leba knew Day would fail soon. The dark cracks would spread, tendril-like through its foundations. Inevitably, Day would split, shatter, and crumble into the sea.

    And when Day failed she would too.

    As she ran, Leba risked a glance, back, towards the Waghorn. Immediately, her breath was sucked from her lungs, pulled back back towards the dark rocky outcrop. Despite this sign - this symptom - they were not following.

    Not yet, anyway.

    The tide was coming in fast, threatening to cut her off from her friends. The hungry sea licked at her feet. It tasted her. It wanted to consume her. Her feet sank a little deeper into the wet sand with every stride. A moment of doubt overcame her. She had left it too late. She would be swallowed by the sea, or the sand. Or the Night.

    No. She could make it. She would make it. She had to.

    Leba knew her friend’s waited for her, but could not see them. The distance and the diminishing light made that impossible. Over the sound of her breathing - in….OUT….in...OUT - and the pounding of her heart and feet, she fancied she could hear them shout. Encouragement? Warnings? She couldn’t tell.

    She could feel the sharp edges of the stolen object cutting into the palm of her left hand. The pain gave her comfort, strength even. Pain meant it was safe.

    She could see them now, her friends. Emaj was jumping in the air, hands and arms all over the place. She could hear him, too. His words, shouted over the sand, distinct and clear: “You CAN make it Leba: come on!” Nimos was standing statue-like beside him. She could see he was not looking at her, but straight behind her.

    She would not look back. Not now. She had seen them before and had no desire to see them again. She could feel their icy presence, as they closed on her, cold fingers at her neck. Emaj was yelling for her to HurryUpForFuckZake! She was close enough to read the expression of terror on Nimos’s face, to see the dark stain of urine crawl down his breeches.

    She was nearly there. Emaj had stopped jumping and was reaching down, his strong hands reaching for hers. She was going to make it.

    And then the Night came.
  8. brutemaw

    brutemaw New Member

    Mar 17, 2016
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    Beachwalkers [435 words]

    When the bodies were first announced to be washing up from Cannon Beach, the entire state of Oregon waited on its toes to find out how anything had made it across the Pacific and found land, a host, a city. The current could have brought them out of another state entirely where, perhaps, there was an account of serial killings and missing persons. While the latter proved to stand to reason, missing person cases went cold after a certain amount of time. Especially with no body of evidence to further any accusations.

    After a few months of gathering up carcasses, however, professionals denounced the murder assumption. There was nothing linking anyone to anything and eventually empty graves were being dug just up the road from Cannon Beach. Those who worked closely with the bodies reported nothing out of the ordinary and soon returned to their regular schedules. There was simply nothing they could do to prove or disprove their own theories; sharks digested the bones they swallowed and for all they knew, there wasn’t anything too vicious out in those seas.

    Then the night came.

    Shadows along the shores became more than whispers over breakfast and dinners. No one was allowed to walk down there past ten o’clock. Security had stepped back their game ever since tourists stopped frequenting the beaches, afraid of being mugged or stumbling along one of the mysterious hook-up sites. The native residents knew better than to disregard the laws they had enforced themselves. A stray dog or few could be spotted trotting out of the fog in the hours before dusk, but they bothered no one. They housed under the stairs and drank from the drains; but after a few weeks, even the dogs disappeared.

    It was the larger, slower shadows, with no faces and no business being there after dark that startled those who lived strictly beach-side. There was one report of someone going down to talk to the people walking along, only to have that neighbor disappear. More vicious rumors spread. Mythos. Sirens. Tricks of the light. The same way boats crashed into the rocks on the stormier days, people wandered out too far and simply sank beneath the mist, never to be heard from again until their mangled, sea-stricken corpses washed back ashore. The graves on the sides of Cannon Beach's many dunes began to turn up empty. The small town lived in their false comfort, shoving it all away as their own wild imagination, too much briny air, or a storm.

    And then the night would come, as would all those shadows. Their numbers would grow.
  9. TurtleWriter

    TurtleWriter Member

    Nov 14, 2011
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    Sacramento Valley, CA
    Fade into Darkness (447 words)

    The old man laid in his hospital bed and felt cold through the thin sheets. He heard one noise and that was the machine keeping him alive. He looked at the blank visitor sheet on the wall. He waited in silence for any living soul to come in. The door opened and his doctor skipped to his bed side. He did his best to hide it in his face, but the old man knew the doctor was happy.

    The doctor cleared his throat, feigned a serious look and said, “I have terrible news. Your test results came back. You only have a few days left to live. I suggest you call your loved ones to let them know.”

    The old man glared at the doctor as he pranced out. He had already known he was going to die, sensing it through his body. That bastard didn't have to be so happy about the news though. He turned his head toward the visitor sheet again, staring at it for a long while. The rage he felt warped into depression.

    He clutched at his arm as his monster from the past came back to haunt him. He needed to slay it again, as he thought he had many times before. He scanned the room for his weapon of choice. He did not see a single bottle of scotch, brandy, whiskey, beer nor wine. Unfortunately, there wasn't a drop of alcohol in the room. His only hope, the pain meds, were diminishing from his system. The evil beast fearlessly foisted itself unto his mind.

    The demon made him reminisce about his past. He remembered when the kids were young. They tugged at his shirt, begging for his attention. He had rewarded their efforts with a backhand to the face. How dare they interrupt him while he was drinking his favorite scotch? Then, he recalled his ex wife screaming at him about how lazy he was. That dumb broad didn't understand a thing. He relived the castigation his family gave him when he went through his divorce and lost custody of his kids. He struggled to stop the over flowing memories from coming back.

    He grabbed at his bed for dear life. He needed to hear from a loved one to squelch his inadequacies. His fingers trembled as he dialed his son.

    “Hello?” said his son.

    “Hello son. It's your dad. I'm terribly sick and about to die. Would you please come see me?”

    “Who? I don't have a dad.”


    Grief and sadness seized him. He shook as the phone fell from his hand. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he let his soul fade to darkness.
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