1. Lilly James Haro

    Lilly James Haro The Grey Warden

    Apr 26, 2014
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    Kirkwall, Free Marches, Thedas

    Current Contest Flash Fiction Contest #16 - "The One That Got Away" *CLOSED*

    Discussion in 'Monthly Flash Fiction Contest Archives' started by Lilly James Haro, Dec 8, 2014.

    The theme for the latest Flash Fiction contest #16 is “The One That Got Away" as chosen by previous winner @J. Faceless. Remember the word limit is 150-450 words and all entries must be posted anonymously in this thread by 6:00 pm EST December 28th.

    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. GingerCoffee

    GingerCoffee Web Surfer Girl Contributor

    Mar 3, 2013
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    Ralph's side of the island.
    Just testing anonymous entry for you. Looks good.:agreed:
  3. Lancie

    Lancie Senior Member

    Oct 20, 2014
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    The Great Hunter (354 words)

    The doctor tumbled through the bush, the dry twigs and scorched grass pricking his thin legs. He swung his net.
    “Aha!” he called, triumphant and pulled the net towards him. His face crumpled. The net was empty. Frantically he looked around but the hot, hazy air was empty. “No!” he wailed. “It's gone!”

    From the tall grass behind, his assistant carefully stepped from the shade. The awkward, overfilled backpack caused him to go off balance but he managed to right himself.

    “What's up, Doc?” Peter asked, looking at his employer with a bewildered brow raise. The doctor, with his handle bar moustache and socks paired with sandals, always looked like a cartoon character. Now he looked especially ridiculous, slumped over his net and bottom lip trembling like a fractious child. Normally, when Peter called him 'Doc' he was reprimanded, but not today.

    “It's gone!” he bleated. “Gone, gone, gone!”

    Peter scanned the horizon. It was, indeed, gone. “Come on, Doc, up you get,” Peter offered his hand and pulled the doctor to his feet.

    “I suppose we should go back to camp, can't do anything in this blasted heat!” the doctor mumbled. “I was so close! So close! Those things are so elusive. I just need the one and I'll have a complete set!”

    Peter frowned. He'd seen the doctors vast collection of beetles and butterflies. Uniformed battalions of dead creatures pinned in place behind glass. He shuddered to think of it. He couldn't see the point in hunting a butterfly only to gas it and splay it. The doctor stormed off through the dusty thicket, muttering under his breath. A flash of colour against the beige caught Peter's eye.

    An effervescent wisp of blue and silver fluttered across his vision. Peter smiled.

    “Shoo,” he whispered. “Shoo, go on.”

    The butterfly hovered a moment around Peter's face. Then, in a delicate arc it went on it's way.

    “What did you say?” the doctor turned, swatting at insects around his sunburnt cheeks.

    Shooo! It's hot!” Peter fanned himself. The doctor huffed and continued to stomp through the grass. Peter quickly looked behind but the butterfly was gone.
  4. SwampDog

    SwampDog Senior Member

    Mar 5, 2013
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    Back in Blighty
    THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY 441 words (some language)

    The DCI glowered at Stan Pilmore across the interview table. 'We've got you, Stan. Burglary, arson and murder. Not to mention breaking the backs of two little dogs. Thought you'd got away with it, eh?'

    'You've got bugger all.'

    'Your ever-so-friendly neighbourhood accomplice dropped you right in it. Coughed the lot.'

    'You can't use him. It's hearsay. You can't use evidence of an accomplice. My brief told me that. You've no evidence, so get real and either charge me or let me go.'

    The DCI turned to his sergeant. 'He may be right,' winking, 'but I think we'll bring in Dax to speak to Mr. Pilmore. Officer! Bring Dax in.'

    A large brindle boxer jumped up on the interview table, teeth bared, and fixed its stare on Pilmore.

    'This is Dax. He'd like to talk to you,' said the DCI.

    Pilmore looked quizzically at the dog. 'What the fuck is this? More budget cuts? Can't afford Alsations any more? Can't scare me, fucking coppers.'

    The handler slackened the lead a fraction, giving the snarling and slavering dog licence to lunge forward at Pilmore.

    Pilmore threw his chair back in panic. 'You can't do that! Dogs don't scare me. Scraping the barrel, now, for a confession? I'm saying nowt. Charge me or let me go.'

    'I'll tell you what happened, Stan,' said the DCI, 'then we'll charge you.' He paused a moment for effect. 'You came up the stream and legged it the same way to foil any police dogs. When you broke in, you killed two little dogs to stop them yapping. The house-keeper came to investigate. You bludgeoned her. By then your mate had scarpered – out of his league, you ransacked the place, then torched it to cover your tracks.'

    'Bollocks. Prove it.'

    The dog strained against the handler, claws flailing on the table top, desperate to get at a sweating Pilmore.

    'What's with the bastard dog? Proves you've got nowt.'

    The DCI patiently explained. 'What you probably don't know, Stan, is that dogs have a sense of smell about four hundred times better than us.'

    'Struggling, are we, copper? I'm supposed to have come in up the stream, remember, and killed the dogs in the house, or have you lost your way in your own interview? Anyway, how can there be smells if the place was torched?'

    'It's OK, Stan. You thought you'd got away with it. Anyone would.'


    'You don't know Dax, but he knows your scent intimately. There were three dogs in the house. He's the one that got away.'

    Pilmore's bowels evacuated as the dog leapt forward.
  5. theoriginalmonsterman

    theoriginalmonsterman Pickle Contest Administrator Contributor

    Dec 3, 2014
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    Reserved for Story
  6. theoriginalmonsterman

    theoriginalmonsterman Pickle Contest Administrator Contributor

    Dec 3, 2014
    Likes Received:
    Awaiting Death (450 words)

    The great oak ship bobbed slowly in the harbor. Silence greeted the captain as he approached the ship. Death was also nearby hidden within the shadows of the alleyway. Brick buildings stood tall in the moon’s shimmering light. The ticking clock tower echoed throughout the streets of the rural town. The captain brought his worn sailor’s cap down to his heart. His heart ticked in rhythm with the clock. It was now nearing midnight. The captain collapsed on his knees as tears flowed down his wrinkly face. He knew Death had been waiting. He knew Death hid within the shadow’s of the alleyway. He knew what Death wanted. He knew all too well what was to come next. He forced himself to stand. Death made his move. Slithering like a snake through the nighttime fog; Death crept all the way over until he was bobbing over the captain’s head. Just like the great old ship Death bobbed slowly up and down. Death was waiting, the captain was waiting, and even time itself waited.

    Now they all stood waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for when? The clock’s ticks and tocks almost began to sound like a song. The captain wiping his tears began to hum a tune. No one could save him now. There was nothing anyone could. The captain thought back to a happier time when his drunken shipmates would sing songs of the grand adventures they shared in their younger years. The captain smiled knowing that he lived a long and prosperous life. He knew that he himself was now a legend of the seas that generations to come would tell stories of, and sing songs about. With that he lifted his weary arms into the air, and awaited Death to sweep him away.

    Death watched from above. The time was nearing now. The captain felt like only a day ago he had been a young sailor drunken with love. Where had that time gone? Why had it gone by so fast? Tears filled the eyes of the sailor, but this time not of sadness but happiness. The clock from a distance then struck midnight. The deal was done. The captain now knew his grandchildren could now live on happily without the burden of Death bearing down on them. It was all worth it the captain thought. The captain opened his eyes, but only to find he was still in the harbor. Confused the captain looked around for Death, but he was nowhere to be found. A soft wind blew across the landscape. The captain realizing he was alive laughed with joy, skipping merrily home. Death watched as the man skipped home; then just like that he was gone.
  7. Charisma

    Charisma Transposon Contributor

    Jul 23, 2007
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    Lahore, Pakistan
    Never Letting You Go (475 words)

    It wasn’t often that I’d wake up on a cold winter morning, the sun out high up in the sky. So much, I’d open the window and vow to never take life for granted. Not too often I’d find myself fumbling around the kitchen for coffee, just when I’d hear, a soft, metallic click. And then, from the corner of my eye, I’d see my husband pointing a gun to my head.

    I put the coffee mug down and sighed—what had taken him so long?

    “You…you used me. For fifteen years, you just used me.” He started, his voice drenched with tears.

    I turned slowly, taking in his teary, bloodshot eyes, looking like a complete wreck. After what I told him last night, he probably didn’t sleep at all.

    “How could you do it?!” he growled at me. “Why did you do it?”

    His belligerence didn’t frighten me. Probably because, I had seen him at his weakest, begging and crying. I had seen him strung up, beaten, maimed and sodomized; I was privy to his every weakness. And he wasn’t the only one. Just the last one.

    “I thought…I thought I was the lucky one. One of the few men, whom the serial killer spared…who got to have a life of his own. I spent my entire life fighting the memories of the torture…and I didn’t realize…” his hold on the gun tightened, and he gasped for air. “My entire life, is a lie. I-I hate you, so much…but I love you, and I’ve always loved you…you hurt me, you burned and beat and raped me for three weeks and then you made love to me! You had my children! You…you made me love you! You!”

    What could I say? It had been so long ago, the euphoric pleasure of maiming him, it didn’t matter anymore. I had begun to act seamlessly, my domestication and normalcy, and those lucid, vivacious days of torturing men seemed like a hallucinogenic dream, a trip far, far away. Why did I tell him, now, after all these years? I don’t know. I guess, I was bored. And I wanted to die.

    “My entire life…a lie. I thought, I thought I got away, but…I never did.”

    His voice was almost a whisper at the end—it was time. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, ready to take the bullet. For a moment, I wondered if there was a God waiting for me at the gates of hell. I suppose not. After all, He made me the devil I was.

    A resounding, marvelous boom shook the kitchen, and I blinked my eyes open. I expected searing pain, instead I felt absolutely nothing. Like always. I looked down at the kitchen floor. Not often I found it perfused with blood, my husband’s limp body down at my feet.

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