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

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    Current Contest Flash Fiction Contest #8 - "What in the hell was that?"

    Discussion in 'Bi-Weekly Flash Fiction Contest Archives' started by Lewdog, Jun 16, 2014.

    The newest and greatest Flash Fiction Contest #8 is "What in the hell was that?" as chosen by previous contest winner Garball. Please keep in mind the word limit of 150-450 words. Send all your entries to me via private message by midnight EST June 29th and 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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    "Carnivorous Plants"
    (447 words)

    “Venus, my Goddess, you look ravishing today!”

    “I look like all the other leaves on this plant.”

    “No, Love, your lobes are redder than all the other leaves combined! You're like a rose. A deadly, deadly rose.”

    “Why thank you, Fly. You're not so bad yourself. I saw how quickly you shut your trap on that spider last week. And look at you now, back open for more. You're a quick, quick boy.”

    “Aw, what can I say? I pride myself on my speed.”

    “Damn, more ants. Lately the insects around here are so tiny. I won't waste energy on them.”

    “Would you rather eat a bug that's too big? That's worse. The insect will die and stick out and bacteria will breed inside it, and before you know it you're turning black and dying yourself. That's what happened to Trigger. He got cocky and ate that giant bumblebee. I'll take a bug that's too small over one that's too big any day.”

    “Trigger was underdeveloped. His lobes were too small. That wouldn't happen to me. You know better than anyone, Fly, I've been around forever. Look at my lobes. They're fantastic! I could eat anything with these.”

    “I will always be the first one to compliment you on your magnificent lobes, Venus. However, I must caution you against eating bugs that are unusually large. Don't let your beauty overcome your intelligence. It's just not smart to eat large insects.”

    “I don't like being told what I can and can't do! I am capable of eating anything! Look, here comes something now.”

    “What the hell is that?”

    “I don't know, but it's big. And I'm starved. I hope it comes my way. I'll prove to you once and for all that I'm not only beautiful and smart, but I can trap and digest anything. You'll see.”

    “I don't know what kind of bug that is. Don't eat that, Venus! It's coming right toward you! Do not eat that!”

    SNAP!

    “Oh, Fly, what was that? I closed on it, and it pulled itself right out again. How did it- it's coming back!”

    “No, don't! Stop wasting your energy. Stop closing on it. It's tricking you. I don't think it's a bug at all! Venus! Finally! It's leaving. Venus?”

    “Fly, I'm exhausted. You were right. I let my ego get the better of me.”

    “No worries, Darling. Hold your head high. You're still beautiful, and now you're even smarter than you were ten seconds ago.”

    “Oh, you! You know you're the reason my ego is this big in the first place.”

    “I can't help it. From where I stand, you are positively predacious. An absolute carnivorous Goddess.”
     
  3. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Painful Celebration"
    (402 words)

    Despite the excited chatter and powerful smell of liniment pervading the dressing room, nothing could rouse me from my stupor. The importance of today’s occasion finally hit home. I would be playing my first football World Cup match.

    The coach tapped me on the shoulder which snapped me out of my meditative state and told me it was time to take the field. The flickering fluorescent lights dimly lit the long concrete corridor and as I got closer to the end of the tunnel the sunlight briefly blinded me. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I was able to see the crowd proudly waving their flags with deafening chants of support. The meticulously manicured grounds released their freshly cut scent which I breathed in deeply, calming my screaming nerves. I had waited for this moment my entire life.

    After the formalities of meeting the officials, shaking nervous sweaty hands of opposition players and singing my national anthem proudly, I jogged to the substitute bench to take my seat. I was not the best player in my team but that did not concern me. I was good enough to be here on the world stage and if given the opportunity I would make my country proud.

    The game was enthralling with every attack at goal made by either team countered effectively with stiff defence. The hypnotic to-and-fro of possession lasted until there was only three minutes left to play in the match when I saw a set move being initiated by our attack. Our striker received a perfectly placed pass and dribbled the ball deftly passed the last line of defence. A defender ran to intercept him and was just about to tackle our striker. My team mate kicked the ball with all the power he could muster. It seemed like everyone held their breath while watching the ball cut through the air and beyond the goalkeepers reach. GOAL! The crowd fell back into their seats with a groan while our triumphant goal scorer ran towards our bench in celebration. He almost reached me for a congratulatory hug when something unthinkable happened. A phone thrown by an angry spectator hit my team mate in the head which made him fall like a puppet with its strings cut.

    “What in the hell was that?” he asked when he came to.

    I told him and jogged slowly onto the field to take his place.
     
  4. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Powerless"
    (437 words)

    I wish this feeling could pertain only to this instant. I wish, when the guards are not walking me to my daily exercise with my hands cuffed, waist bent, and head down, I would feel at least an ounce of control in my life. Although, over the last ten years, it has become apparent to me that I’ll never gain back any freedom

    I didn’t deserve freedom, I know, but I’m still human. I’m not like the dog being held back by the handler, barking and whining, as if my flesh between its teeth would be the only thing that would fulfill its life. Each time they walked me out of my cell, I sincerely wished that the handler would lose control, and let the vicious mongrel—whose baritone barks would vibrate my whole body—end my suffering then and there. I was never this lucky.

    I was powerless. I couldn’t change anything. It’s a human right—to be a variable… to be able to make something different happen. They held my cuffs and continued to walk me along, stopping me once we got to the exit. To get to the exercise room, we must switch buildings. And, to switch buildings, I must be blindfolded. And so, it was done, stripping away yet another basic human ability.

    Walking down the cement stairs, and unto the wet, snow covered grass, I began to realize something. I did have power. Nothing tremendous… nothing life changing… but I still had power. It was also at this time when I realized, if I didn’t display this power now, I would simply have the need to do so tomorrow. With a sudden surge of bravery, I stopped in my tracks.

    “Narcotics!” I yelled, “Under my tongue!”

    The guards threw me down to the ground. My elbow hit a rock, and I heard the click back of guns—one of the few things I could let them kill me with. I felt fingers in my mouth, and guards pressing down on my legs. I still wore my blindfold.

    After the search, my mouth hurt more than my broken arm. My tongue was numb, but they didn’t find anything beneath it. There was never anything beneath it.

    “What in the hell was that?” I heard one of the guards roar, picking me off of the ground by my cuffs.

    “Something different,” I responded plainly.

    Assessing the situation today, I’ve come to notice the guards trust me now even less now. Although, even though my arm never healed correctly, I will always be grateful for that morning—the first time I’ve ever modified their routine.
     
  5. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "The Cookie Jar"
    (168 words) Mature Theme

    "What the hell was that?" Mary screamed as she scootched back, "Did you just give my cookie a raspberry?"

    Sam quickly raised his head, "Uhm... yeah?"

    "Why in the world would you do that?"

    "Well Joe told me that was what I was supposed to do."

    "You went to Joe for advice? I know that Joe's never been laid in his life!"

    "Well smartass tell me what I'm supposed to do!"

    "I wonder if sex is always like this."

    "What do you mean?"

    "That the girl is the only one that knows what to do."

    Under his breath Sam muttered, "...teenage girls, they think they know everything."

    "Look do you want to do this or not?" Mary was getting frustrated at this point.

    "Of course I do! Dad said that this is called making love, and I want to prove to you that I meant everything I told you at the lake when we first met."

    "You don't love me, you don't even know what love is... yet."
     
  6. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Much Mad. So Sorrow."
    (358 words) Mild Language Warning

    Nortavlag made his way to the nearest stone table, crunching popcorn kernels under his feet, somehow weaving in and out of the crowd without bumping into anyone during the climax of his soul-crushing stupor; Sumitpo followed him, no doubt feeling the same.

    “Why?” Sumitpo said, sitting, voice full of anguish. “Why did it go so wrong?” he said, putting his face in his hands, sighing.

    “I don’t know,” Nortavlag said, sitting, slamming his Coke on the table, spraying cold condensation everywhere, ice cubes cracking inside the paper cup. Even the luscious, sweet smell of Cinnabon couldn’t calm him down--though he did glance over at it, noting the small line.

    Sumitpo lifted his head from his hands, looking more than a little manic. “I didn’t think it would happen again--they said the fourth one would change the series for the better!”

    Nortavlag stood, furious, throwing his Coke with blind rage. A lady in the distance yelped, but he ignored it, so bright his fury. “Screw this,” he said, lifting Sumitpo off the stone bench, “I need Cinnabon and whiskey in a bad way. Michael Bay and his shitty fourth Transformers movie can suck my ass.”

    Sumitpo sniffled as they walked over to Cinnabon. “At least we had Nicola to look at, I guess…”

    "That we did; she almost made it worth the price of entr--" Something slammed into back of Nortavlag's head, drenching him with a cold, sticky brown liquid. "What the hell!" he said, looking down at the monstrous-sized paper cup on the ground by his feet.

    "Asshole!"

    Nortavlag looked up just in time to see a woman flipping him off, waving the crushed paper cup he had thrown. He made an apologetic gesture and then turned back towards Cinnabon, just in time to see a makeshift sign put up saying they closed for an employee emergency.

    He wept.

    Sumitpo put his arm around Nortavlag’s shoulders. “At least we had Nicola, buddy, at least we had her.”

    “Yeah, she could light our darkest hour anytime,” Nortavlag said, wiping his eyes.

    “And so can the handle of whiskey I plan on buying us,” Sumitpo said, smiling.
     
    Last edited: Jun 29, 2014
  7. Lewdog
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    Lewdog Come ova here and give me kisses! Supporter Contributor

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    "Hook, Line & Sinker"
    (440 words)

    The morning rush from the subway had just begun when Bart sat on his old pickle bucket. There had been a good rain through the night, and the potholes were filled with muddy water.

    He picked up his little fishing rod, snapped a hook onto the brass swivel, and attached a bobber a bit up the line. Bart let a little line out of his old Zebco reel and the bobber fell to the water.

    Usually, Bart undertook his fishing adventures on Central, where the sand under the pavement tended to cause little sink holes beside the storm sewer grates after a good rain. At the moment, though, the city was in the middle of a big sewer project on that side of town. Fortunately, towards the end of winter, Bart had scouted out several back-up fishing holes.

    This one was a more visible location, being within sight of a subway terminal, but was also more exposed to traffic. Also unfortunate was the fact that the pedestrians here seemed largely oblivious to him. Bart supposed that they saw what they wanted to see. To them, he wasn’t a fisherman or a joker, or even a mental defect. To them, he assumed, he was just some wino or panhandler to be ignored.

    As the morning passed, Bart took in more of his surroundings. He noticed the rhythm of the traffic pulsing through the traffic lights, and the rush-pause-rush of people as the subway trains came and went. He also studied the store fronts, taking notice of which had dirty windows and signs that were well worn. It was also a good location to people watch - save for the fact that everybody in this part of the city seemed in rather of a hurry.

    Bart also began daydreaming about fishing with his grandfather, and only dimly noticed a slight dancing of his bobber. Reflexively, he gave the line a little tug and the bobber slipped under the muddy water.

    The line began slipping out of his reel, and Bart stood bolt upright, the bucket tumbling to the side. He pulled up, his rod arcing towards the pothole - the reel singing as it spun. Bart had the drag set too low, or rather, had not set it at all, and he was helpless as, yard by yard, the monofilament line slid into the water.

    After a minute or so, the fishing line gave a little tug and left the reel altogether. Bart stepped back from the curb and stared a moment at the water. He looked to one side, then the other - all the suits and skirts kept walking past.
     

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