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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 #5- "An Irresistible Impulse"

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Flash Fiction Contest Archives' started by Lewdog, May 5, 2014.

    The newest and greatest Flash Fiction Contest #5 is "An Irresistible Impulse" as picked by contest winner Peahcalulu. 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 18th. 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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    "Flames"
    (447 Words)


    “All her books should be burned.”
    --Overheard at a book seller’s display​


    I heard what you said. May I say . . . I share your sentiments?

    Who am I, you ask? You know me well, my friend. I’m with you wherever you go. You may call me . . . the Voice of Truth.

    You are so, so correct. Books like hers should not be sold. They should not even be written. The thoughts in them should never enter the human mind. They’re too conservative. Or is it, too liberal?

    It doesn’t matter, does it? The point is . . . they offend you. You, my friend, must not be offended. You have a basic right not to be offended.

    What will you do about it?

    You know what to do. You have said it yourself.

    Burn her books. Burn them all.

    You hunger for their burning. Your passions flare up– am I not good at turns of phrase?– as you long for that cover marred with her smirking face to be peeled back, a dead, brown husk. How satisfying to your soul when the pages with their loathsome words blossom like black roses with flaming red tips; blossom, and then decay into ash! If only the author– that self-satisfied, offensive author– could burn with them!

    Do you shrink back? Surely not you! No, embrace the urge. Take it to you like a lover on a steaming summer day. The heat rises in you, give it its will.

    You’re alone. Darkness surrounds you. Here are her books, her loathsome, noisome books. Here is the gasoline . . .

    What?

    You always had it with you, surely you recall? Go ahead. Pour it over them. Now, the match. Your very lust strikes it. Set it to the pile, yes, like that!

    The beautiful, blessed, purging fire! Ah, the consuming joy of it! See the flames take hold, watch them race and frolic through the pile. The light rises, the light of truth you have kindled in a world where her books, her hateful, offensive books, will be no more! The incense of your righteous passion obscures everything in view! Exult in your triumph, your victory is won!

    Did you cry out? The other books by the other authors? Oh, no, they’re polluted by the nearness of the works you hate. Let the flames take them, let them all be consumed!

    But look to yourself, friend. Is it not time for you to be gone?

    What’s that you say? (You can scarcely be understood, you persist in screaming so.) Ah, the door is locked-- but you’re sure you left yourself a way out?

    Oh, no, my friend. Remember? You locked it yourself– with your mind.

    I’ll be going now. Happy burning!
     
  3. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Dragonflight"
    (449 words)

    Ma said I can’t play by the river because I could “slip and crack my head open like an egg”. I don’t think she realizes my head isn’t filled with yellow stuff—anyway, I’ve fallen on my head lots of times but it’s never cracked open. It’s really hard, like the bread Pa tries to make. Don’t tell him I said that though.

    Ma was preoccupied making supper so I snuck out the back door, across the rock path and towards the river where the dragonflies were. Did you know dragonflies can fly backwards? It’s because they have four wings—you don’t see birds with four wings do you? That’s what makes dragonflies the coolest things. They’re shiny and have a cool name but anyone can be impressed by that. If you watch them closely, it’s like they’re dancing—they don’t fly in circles like stupid flies, they zip and they zag, up, down; sometimes they hover and you never know which direction they will go next—are they ever fast!

    There’s a little bridge that goes over the river, and I saw a dragonfly land on the railing. It was black and green, and its eyes were big like berries. “I wish I could fly like you,” I told it. The dragonfly walked this way and that; then it flew into the air and hovered in front of my nose. It was a bit scary, but I didn’t want to show that I was afraid. “You want me to follow you?” I asked. I think it smiled, and suddenly, it flew away. “Wait!” I called. I climbed onto the railing and looked down at the river. It wasn’t all that dangerous. I’ve jumped from rocks twice as high, you know.

    I jumped and flapped my arms as fast as I could, but no one in the world can flap as fast as a dragonfly—not yet anyway. I fell bum first into the water and got my clothes all wet and muddy. Ma spanked me when I got home but I didn’t mind. I told her I wanted to build wings so I could fly like a dragonfly. Her nose did something funny and she said, “No. And I’m not going to feed you if you go near that river again.” I told her she was stilting my imagination. Mrs. Yuen always said that when she talked about the other kids’ parents and by the look on Ma’s face, it had to be true.

    “Fine, but stay away from my curtains,” she said. Ma’s so silly. Why would I use curtains? Everyone knows you have to use feathers. It’s a good thing we have chickens on our farm.
     
  4. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Unknown"
    (392 words) Adult Theme

    I’m staring at my gun, a Smith and Wesson Model 929. It’s chrome, with black grips. Single action, nine millimeter, eight round capacity. Big and strong.

    I can’t stop thinking about picking it up, putting it to my head and pulling the trigger. I don’t know why.

    I have no desire to die. I’m a successful engineer in my mid-thirties with a great wife and two beautiful kids. Laurie and I both make good money, giving us the means to drive nice cars, own a modern four-bedroom house in an upscale neighborhood and travel as we desire. I golf twice a week at the country club where I’m a member, and our children – Lexie, nine, and Gabe, seven – attend an exclusive private school. In addition to what we already have, we’ve been saving enough to put us both on track for early retirement.

    Even without considering finances, my life is blessed. Laurie is my best friend, you couldn’t ask for a better relationship. Though the same age as me, she looks ten years younger and has a personality that has often been described as glowing. I’m well established and respected at my job, leading to a stress-free work environment. Our children behave as if ten years older, and both have shown signs of above average intelligence; in Lexie’s case, significantly so. Life is good.

    On top of all that, I feel wonderful. I’m happy and healthy and have never had any sort of depression or suicidal thoughts. In fact, quite the opposite; as I’ve grown older I’ve found myself taking less chances, doing things I consider safer.

    But despite all of that, the urge to press the barrel to my temple while squeezing the trigger is overwhelming. Though there are only three bullets in the gun, I didn’t put them in randomly and spin the cylinder Russian-roulette style but rather loaded it as I normally would, with rounds in the first three locations. If I pull the trigger, a bullet will fire.

    The gun is now in my hand. The black plastic is warm, in contrast to the cold steel pressed against my head. The hammer is already cocked and my finger rests against the trigger, gently pulling back. It only takes eight to twelve pounds of pressure to get the gun to fire, if I don’t stop now I’ll –
     
    Last edited: May 17, 2014
  5. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Monster"
    (384 words) Adult Theme

    It was two o’clock on a pleasant Saturday afternoon when Charlie left his house. He had to make a stop at the drug store and another at the hardware store before parking across the street from the playground at Heritage Park. On the seat next to him were two bags, one from each of his stops. The first had some nylon zip ties and a blue tarp, the other a bottle of baby oil and an old school Polaroid camera. He could use the camera on his phone, but there was something about the click and the whir that he loved as the Polaroid spit out the photos of his children.

    Charlie knew he shouldn’t be there. This is exactly what got him arrested last time, but he couldn’t help himself. He had been out of jail for eight months after doing a five year stint up in Hoskins. It was supposed to be twenty, but good behavior and all that. Ask people from his hometown and they’d tell you it should have been for life.

    These past eight months have not been any reward for Charlie, but I side with the others. No amount of good behavior is enough to erase what he did. It took the first month of freedom for Charlie to convince his P.O. to let him move to a different city. That man might have saved the monster’s life. Can’t say his new neighbors would be excited to have him in their neighborhood, but Charlie never did get around to handing out those fliers.

    It didn’t take long for the laughter of the children to arouse Charlie. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking one last precautionary look around to make sure nobody was watching. By the time I reached his car, Charlie was already masturbating. I stood in his blind spot watching him for a moment and then I looked at the playground. Is this what he was doing before he took my son?

    I tapped on the car window with my pistol. He turned, startled, and looked past the barrel into my eyes. Charlie told the court he was sick; he had an irresistible desire for children. I wonder what the jury will think when I tell them I had an irresistible urge to kill the monster.
     
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