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  1. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    Flash Fiction Contest #4- "Not Again"

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Flash Fiction Contest Archives' started by Lewdog, Apr 21, 2014.

    The newest and greatest Flash Fiction Contest #4 is "Not Again" as picked by contest winner Garball. Please keep in mind the new word limit of 150-450 words. Send all your entries to me via private message by midnight EST May 4th. Make sure to include the number of words, any warnings, and whether you want your story posted in the public or private sections.

    Thanks everyone and good luck!
     
  2. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "There's Been an Incident"
    (448 words) Language Warning

    Aubrey didn’t inhale as she heard the steel lines screech and rumble like giant guitar strings getting louder and louder until they were so incredibly loud that she couldn’t hear the birds anymore or the wind in the trees or the thoughts in her head and then finally she breathed in and stepped out…

    Rapid, sharp vibrations cracked against the base of the train like rocks in a giant blender. People in suits and pretty dresses could feel her bits and pieces pound at the soles of their feet. The train braked hard and slowed to a stop. Passengers sat in a confused silence. ‘I bet we hit someone.’ A young woman called with a laugh.

    ‘Attention please,’ the guard’s voice crackled through the intercom, ‘uh … there has been a fatality.’

    ‘Fuck…’ some guy barked, ‘I’m gonna be late for work!’

    Prying eyes stared at emergency crews arriving outside. Blue. Red. White. Paramedics walked up and down the line with purple plastic bags; collecting whatever they could; collecting her reasons in blood—her reasons to doubt; to fear; to hate; to cry. All her reasons to cry were bagged up and carried away in those little purple bags. The driver had to be replaced. He will never forget her eyes—her young blue sparkling eyes. He will never know, but always wonder; why?

    ‘Couldn’t that selfish loser just top themselves at home?’

    ‘Easy, mate.’

    ‘Easy? I gotta be somewhere!’

    An hour passed. A hum and a crackle: ‘um… attention please, we may be delayed for some time; uh… they’re still trying to get body parts out from under the train.’

    Three hours later the train lurched to life. The workers worked. Went home. Slept. Woke. Went to work, forgot, grumbled, complained, sighed, moaned, and stared at the clock. While somewhere, out there, a hand knocked on a door. The door opened. Two young policemen stood with hats in hand. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ one said, looking at the peeling white door-frame, ‘but... there’s been an incident.’

    Why? Aubrey was only eighteen, beautiful and full of life. She had a golden light around her; a warm happiness that made everyone around her smile. But there were just too many things in the world that Aubrey misunderstood.

    They spoke kindly in the churchyard where frangipani’s lay in the grass. And while those she loved, and who loved her, will never stop searching for some kind of reason that will never be found, somewhere, out there, a hand will knock on another door… a boy this time, of seventeen, alone in his very first car. And then another, somewhere else…

    and then another…

    and another…

    ‘There’s been an incident.’
     
  3. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Encore"
    (449 words)​


    He didn’t want to be there.

    When Charlene had come home gleefully waving two free tickets to hear the sensational new virtuosa, Malcolm told her he wasn’t interested. When she’d said, nonsense, he loved concerts, he’d shrugged and said, “Not necessarily.” When she’d insisted he wear his tux, he looked so handsome in it, he’d said handsome was overrated.

    But there he was, sitting Row Five, Center Front, in his tuxedo, next to his girlfriend, watching this woman fiddle the heart out of a bunch of helpless dead composers.

    Charlene tried to hand him the opera glasses. “No,” he said. He could see the performer well enough without them.

    She was gorgeous, Malcolm gave her that. She was like all these female soloists, thinking a low-cut dress and ample cleavage were a fine stand-in for talent. Though talent she had– if you liked an overdone, pseudo-passionate display that manipulated the emotions and bypassed the brain. She wasn’t moving him.

    It was all for show. She was French. She must despise the whole audience as ignorant Americans, himself included.

    Let her.

    Charlene would not stop jostling him. “Oh! It’s too beautiful!” she whispered, grinning like a jack-o’-lantern. Malcolm folded his arms and stolidly ignored her.

    God! How many curtain calls will the woman take?

    “All right, Charlene, it’s over,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

    “You’re crazy. There’s a reception for Mlle. Duchesne in the Schubert Room and I’m not leaving until I’ve met her. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t meet her, too.”

    In the Schubert Room, he raked his eyes over the crowd. “She’s not here,” he announced. “We can leave.”

    “Silly, she’s still in her dressing room. Why don’t you go to the Men’s? She’ll be here by the time you’re finished.”

    Or she wouldn’t be. Fine with him.

    Head down, he escaped into a side passage marked Restrooms. A woman, hurrying out of the Ladies’, cannoned into him.

    “Hey! Watch where– ” he began. And stopped.

    “Malcolm!”

    “Amelie!”

    “It is you truly?”

    Her look, her voice, her scent: his whole being reeled, remembering. She offered her hand. In a dream, he took it. “That night. Why did you– ?”

    “Hush. We will not speak of that. You are still composing?”

    “Yes. Amelie, your performance . . . were you trying to kill me? Do you realize how hard it was to keep from– ”

    She laid a finger on his lips. Her other hand remained in his.

    “I could not forget you. I am yet alone,” she said. “And you: that girl you sat with. Is she anything special to you?”

    Even through the door Charlene’s laugh vibrated down the hallway.

    Yes, let me introduce her to you.

    He opened his mouth.

    “No.”
     
    Last edited: Apr 26, 2014
  4. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "In the Bag"
    (450 words)

    Not again will I be unprepared when the moment comes, that moment when I bump 'uglies' and I don't have a condom. I'm not going to let that happen tonight! I've never had the nerve to walk into the drug store and just buy condoms for myself, but today I have the perfect opportunity. Mom has asked me to get some foot cream, so I won't feel so stupid buying condoms if I'm there for something else, too. Mom said she already called ahead to make sure I buy the right stuff. Thank goodness.​


    *****

    I begrudgingly walked into the drug store with my head hanging low, then straight over to where the condoms were. There were so many different sizes and types I wasn't sure what to get. I had to be quick though; I didn't want anyone seeing me. I grabbed some lubricated kind that was "ribbed for her pleasure." I wasn't sure what that meant, but if it was going to make the experience better for Jenny, they had to be good.


    "How you doing, Joseph? I've got the foot cream your mother wanted. Is there anything else you needed to get?" asked Mr. Barton, with a huge smile.


    I slowly slid the condoms on the counter. "I need to get these also, sir."


    "Well...okay, is that all? So do you think this will help your mom's problem?"


    "Yeah, I guess. It should make things smoother so her bottoms don't hurt anymore."


    Mr. Barton suddenly looked a little unnerved and quickly grabbed the box of condoms. "Have a nice night, Joseph. This is going on your mom's account.


    "Sir, can you put the condoms in a separate bag, please?"​


    *****

    I stopped by the house and dropped off Mom's foot cream and quickly headed over to Jenny's house. Thankfully she was ready. There have been times I waited two hours or more for her to "put her face on." Jenny got in the car and we headed over to the finest Italian restaurant in town, called Cicero's. It was expensive, but it must have been the best chicken Parmesan I've ever had. I knew Jenny was having a good time when she snuggled up next to me in the booth and asked to go to the old gravel pit. Tonight was going to be the night!


    I parked the car on one of the cliffs at the pit and turned off the lights. We started with some light kissing when Jenny whispered to me.


    "Are you prepared this time?"


    "Oh yeah,baby."


    I reached into the glove box and pulled out the drug store bag to get the condoms...only to find my mother's foot cream!


    I'm screwed.
     
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  5. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Winter II"
    (356 words)

    I'm glad I didn't run away in the Winter, when the pavements would have been stone cold. I'm glad that when Summer came, when I did run away, I had had enough of this game before I was assaulted or beaten or left for dead by every passer by. No. Instead, a few days, and being given 3, 2 pence pieces and shaken long enough to say , “I'm fine, I'm fine” and wander off, one late evening.


    Because no, the winter before I was sectioned I wet my jacket under the tap and walked at night freezing, or took myself out to the garden and tried not to shake. In winter, I was locked up for the first time and told to change into something dry. Saying: “No– it’s ok - I did it in occupational therapy,” the water in my trousers, heavy… “it’s tie-dyed;” to the staff,: “I wanted a two-color effect.”


    The winter before that nearly naked few days, cold enough even with a bed and food. In the overheated ward, wrapping myself in a blanket that I'd soaked. Making some kind of hypothermic art of singing to myself like Bjork in the Icelandic winter. Or, Kate Winslet in Titanic? Floating on a bit of wood. Singing softly to herself, while her hair turned to icicles. My voice, dreamy, far away.


    And the shower cubicle door opening, where as-torture close to the feeling of the water crashing down: lowering the fever I believed for months I was dying of. Warmth only warning me that I would still need an ice bath. Heat in prickles, and praying in the stream of water, drinking through my nose to stop the little ball bearings from appearing and ruining my face.


    I remember the New Year, and screaming in my head: "not until its hurting all the time" as I was walked into the ward, believing I was dying of cancer. And Christmas, only weeks away when I came out of that Ward? Late September... Carols in the supermarket and stamps saved for a whole year, for the massive December food shop. Christmas. Not again.
     
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