Use the photograph above as the inspiration for your flash fiction story. Write whatever comes to mind (no sexual, political, or religious stories, jokes, or commentary, please) and after you PROOFREAD it, submit it as your entry in the comments section below. There will be no written prompt.
Welcome to the Indies Unlimited Flash Fiction Challenge. In 250 words or less, write a story incorporating the elements in the picture at left. The 250 word limit will be strictly enforced.
Please keep language and subject matter to a PG-13 level.
Use the comment section below to submit your entry. Entries will be accepted until Tuesday at 5:00 PM Pacific Time. No political or religious entries, please. Need help getting started? Read this article on how to write flash fiction.
On Wednesday, we will open voting to the public with an online poll so they may choose the winner. Voting will be open until 5:00 PM Thursday. On Saturday morning, the winner will be recognized as we post the winning entry along with the picture as a feature.
Once a month, the admins will announce the Editors’ Choice winners. Those stories will be featured in an anthology like this one. Best of luck to you all in your writing!
Entries only in the comment section. Other comments will be deleted. See HERE for additional information and terms. Please note the rule changes for 2016.
Big Jake
By Annette Rey
The Downtown Jokers were getting tired of their leader, which called for desperate measures.
“Ah, Jake’s slicker than you are, Bugs. You’ll never get past him.”
“That’s what you know, Puke. I’m smart and I know some things.”
“Like what d’ya mean?”
“I mean, I will prove who is slicker!”
Days went by. They kowtowed to Jake, as usual. When the time felt right, Bugs made a move.
“Watch out, Bugs! That beam is loose!”
“So it is, Pukey. That can mix into the plan.”
“What plan? I don’t know how you talked me into this. What are we doing?”
“Well, my brain-minus friend, it is obvious to the rats. But I will explain it to you.”
“Thanks a load.”
“See that loose beam? It gave me an idea. We’ll string up Jake from that beam. After he has choked to death, we’ll pull on the rope and the beam will crush him. We’ll remove the rope and his death will look like an accident.”
“What then?”
“We play innocent, Puke. Now climb up there and sling that rope over that beam.”
“I do all the work.”
After they got the drop on Jake, they strung him up. Bugs was never good at math and didn’t account for Jake’s rotund mass. Before Jake could choke, the beam gave way and conked both Bugs and Puke, killing them outright.
Jake freed himself and wobbled from the abandoned warehouse. The rats watched him leave and decided it was time for lunch.
“Good morning, Johnny, I see you have your slicker on today.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Carson, I do.”
“Any particular reason for that you’d care to share with me, son?
“Well, sir, you know we’ve been studying the weather in Miss Kelly’s 8th grade class and—”
“Fine woman, Miss Kelly. You can learn a lot from her, son. You keep your eyes and ears open, ya hear?!”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Carson. Anyway, we’ve been studying the weather, and I took an interest in clouds. You know, the higher the clouds, the finer the weather, and the lower the ceiling, the better the chance of rain.”
“Well, if that isn’t interesting, Johnny. So, what is the sky tellin’ you this fine, hot summer mornin’?”
“Well, sir, it’s hard to say. I saw a large halo around the Moon last night and was hoping to see a good formation of cirrocumulus clouds—”
“Now, Johnny, don’t you go using all those big scientific terms jus’ to impress me, son. You know I’ve been around the block a time or two in my life.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Carson. I’m sure sorry ’bout that. I just meant to say, I was hoping to see some puffy white clouds today and with them, a change in a weather, maybe even some rain. So, for sure, I wanted to be prepared.”
The old man laughed. “Well, Johnny, I think you’ll be disappointed. We haven’t had rain hereabouts for more than 200 days. It’s a drought, son!”
Elijah was just a boy. He didn’t care if it rained or not, and he didn’t care what some old Indian had told his mother.
“Your son is the only one young enough,” the old Indian said. “He must wear rain clothing for a full day. Legend says then the drought will end.”
“But our clothing for rain is no clothing at all!” his mother protested. “My boy can’t run around naked. Can’t he wear a raincoat?”
“I see no harm in that,” the Indian replied. “He can wear it over his Indian rainwear.”
Elijah protested loudly, to no avail. He was new at the school in the little town, and the other kids already made fun of him, but he had no choice. He had to do it.
His mother bought a yellow slicker. He stripped naked and put it on. He felt like an idiot.
He had to walk five blocks to school, in bright sunshine, wearing a stupid yellow slicker and nothing else.
Roy and some of the older boys began to taunt him before he even reached the school. Elijah didn’t for a moment believe the old legends, but neither would he tolerate the other boys’ disrespect.
“Expecting rain?” Roy called.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Elijah replied. He straightened his shoulders and tried to walk tall. The other boys laughed. But they weren’t laughing when torrential rains started just before school let out. And Elijah was the only one with a raincoat.
Mikey sat on the window seat, watching the neighborhood kids toss a football.
Claire, his foster mom, startled him when she walked in. “Would you like to go play with them?”
He shook his head no and returned to the drawing he was working on while she finished the laundry.
Mikey arrived a week ago. He was a quiet eight-year-old, which was not unexpected under the circumstances. His father was in jail, and his mother had taken off; no other family could be located. Mikey had been left alone in an apartment where he took care of himself for four days until he had to go over to a neighbor’s house to ask for food.
Andrew, one of the children from next door, rang the doorbell. Although he was close to Mikey’s age, he was about a foot taller.
Mikey heard him inquire, “Can the new kid come outside?”
Claire reminded Andrew of Mikey’s name and sent him in to ask.
“Do you want to play ball, Mikey?”
“I can’t. My mom said I can’t ever play outside without a coat, and I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” He shrugged off his rain slicker. “You can wear this. I don’t need it because it isn’t raining. I just like it because it’s yellow.”
Claire helped Mikey fold up the raincoat’s sleeves. He gave her a quick hug, then ran after Andrew. She peeked out the door, smiling as one of the older boys showed him how to correctly throw the ball.
Everybody recognized the little yellow slicker walking down the sidewalk and the twelve-year-old boy inside it. It was little Randy, and Randy is special.
Three years ago a mule kicked Randy, giving him the ability to read minds.
At first Randy did simple honest things like always tattling on people who lied, which usually caused them public embarrassment. Then came the day when Randy discovered some very powerful people trying to steal from the town. He told his parents, he told his teachers, he told everyone who would listen, and that’s when the investigation into the Mayor and his associates began.
Not wanting to give up power the Mayor and his unscrupulous partners planned to silence little Randy. Unfortunately for them Randy’s powers had grown with age. His ability could now encompass the entire town, as if Randy dropped a mind reading net on Gardenerville and all inside were subject to his powers.
Learning of their plans Randy informed the right people who quickly rounded up all those involved and placed them on trial. With Randy in the courtroom no one was able to lie. The trial ended that very same day. Sentence was passed: Life in prison.
And Gardenerville? It’s been rather peaceful. Randy is an ever watchful parent always protecting his children with truth and honesty. But I often wonder is it really honesty that creates this peaceful life, or is it fear. . . Fear of a little boy named Randy.
SPOONFUL OF SUGAR
.
The nurses changed shifts at 6:45 am each morning. I had a window of about ten minutes before another well-meaning twenty-something Florence Nightingale appeared.
.
“You better be quick if you’re going to make it.” The voice came from Jeff Stengal, a ten year old boy on the other side of the curtain dividing our semi-private room. Jeff had cancer and it was getting the best of him. Soon it would get all of him, but today his eyes sparkled.
.
I threw my legs over the side of my bed and scanned the room. My clothes and valuables (jewelry, wallet, and phone) had been securely locked in the closet. The key to the closet was kept at the nurses’ station at the end of the hall. At the advice of Jeff, I had stashed a credit card in the Gideon Bible on my bedside table when I first arrived. “For the vending machines,” Jeff had explained. “Most of the nurses are cool.” Wise beyond his years, I remember thinking.
.
My roommate giggled as I contorted my arms attempting to undo the strings holding my hospital gown together. It fell to the floor like a paper napkin and, naked, I crossed the cold tiles to retrieve the raincoat that hung on the back of the door.
.
Outside, I made a bee line to the store on the corner. I had forgotten if Jeff said Banana Split or Chocolate Sundae, so I got them both.
Shelby folded her arms on herself. A noticeable slump accompanied her slow gait as her lazy feet scraped the sidewalk with each step.
She smelled the dry and warm air but it came back cold and humid to her brain. The sun cooked her, yet she shivered as though freezing rain poured. She could not perceive the clear blue sky for in her mind she saw gray clouds pelting cool drops on her.
She tucked her yellow slicker.
Heads turned as she passed pedestrians. She wondered how they come walk like that without an umbrella to protect them. Wouldn’t the rain ruin that man’s nice suit? And that nice, pink dress, how could that lady not care for it?
In a way, she preferred the weather to be like this. That way her awful stepmother wouldn’t tell her to cut the grass again and wash the windows with a sponge disintegrating in crumbs. Only in the rain could she ever be free.
She jumped over a murky puddle that seemed pretty deep. An old lady stepped in it carelessly. No one cares, she thought. No cares about the puddle, no one cares about me, everyone’s is in his own bubble.
She arrived to the home she dreaded so much. The door creaked and her father stepped out, a tall built man with rugged hands.
“What are you doing with a slicker? The day’s so nice!”
He removed her coat and wrapped his arms around her, and the sun came back.
Why did I ever get involved with him, she thought, as she wandered down the street to drop her envelope into the mailbox. Such a brute. Well, this letter will tell him what I think. He tried so hard to control my life in every way. It’s only been three months since we met down at the college’s bowling alley, him and his showoff teammates trying to impress me and my girl friends. But, he was kind of cute, and when he asked me out for a cup of coffee, what did I have to lose? Before you know it, we’re a couple. Should’ve known better. Haste makes waste, Mom always warned. It was fun the first couple of weeks, but then he began showing his true colors, like a guy who thinks he’s such a catch. Well, I caught him and I’m ready to throw him back. I’ll never get involved with a guy like that again. Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll take at least a day or two to get to know him better before hitching up. Think I’ll wait a bit, though. Better stay away from all men before I grow to hate them. Gotta cool off a bit. No more guys for me right now. Oh! Gee! Look at that hunk coming my way. Hmmmm! Those yummy muscles and tattoos. Looks like we’ll reach the mailbox at the same time. I’ll just drop this envelope and see what he does.
The sturdy red and gray drop off box stood guard on the corner of Fifth and Trade street like a sentry. It only accepted standard legal size and business envelopes and packages no thicker than two inches.
It had an impressive frame composed of quarter inch steel and stood five feet high by three feet wide and three feet deep. Its belly had a girth of forty-five cubic feet of volume and could hold hundreds of letters and small packages. Who cares you say? Well this hot box keeps the economy and business world moving.
How could anything be so boring be so useful? Imagine some moron standing on the corner all day in all types of weather trying to accept packages. The big box was more important than any moron, and when placed in a strategic location, served our society in more ways than it was designed for.
Two nights ago, a ragged looking street dude with a mop of dirty black hair in a ripped green jacket scurried away from the box. Today he peered at the sentry from an alley just off Trade St more than block away. A puny man dressed in a yellow slicker casually walked passed the box without ever knowing what was inside.
The street dude twitched his arm inside his jacket and the bomb detonated inside the box. The blast blew the slicker into oblivion and left his yellow remains in places only a rat could find.
After my personal cloaking device failed, I looked innocent enough wandering the early morning streets wearing a bright yellow raincoat and old shoes, which were two sizes to big for my feet. To be truthful, I actually liberated the rain coat and shoes from a home when I realized I was visible to earth inhabitants, when I first materialized.
I didn’t realize I didn’t fit in, nor that humans thought there was something wrong and demented about me based on the yellow raincoat and my looks alone.
Ignoring them, I slowly made my way on foot across town. No one told me about the pain I would endure under the earth gravity, which was far heavier than zero gravity in space. No one told me of the bright light and smells bombarding me consistently making me dizzy as I continued my sojourn. I wish some one warned me, but my superiors thought I was ready for this.
Out of breath, I felt sick to my stomach and must have made the mistake of pausing in the middle of something called a street.
“Honest Officer, this creep stepped in front of my big rig and stopped walking. He didn’t even look at me, he just stood there. I was terrified as I blew my air horn and hit the brakes. The next thing I know he sprays green slime all over the hood of my truck and throws that yellow rain at me.I looked for him but he ran off.”
The Yellow Avenger strode down Harper Avenue towards the Public Library. Anyone looking would be forgiven for mistaking him for Jeremy Blevins of 1457 Oak Street.
He wore his bright yellow raincoat rain or shine. His parents worried about him, his kid sister was mortified. The local police thought him a nuisance, other kids thought him a dweeb. Jeremy didn’t care.
Super heroes walk a lonely path, Jeremy knew. A hero needs a symbol—like a yellow slicker. When he wore it he felt powerful. He dispensed justice in the form of carefully worded admonishments. “Don’t do that,” or “I’m going to tell,” or “You’ll be sorry.” For practical purposes it was ineffectual yet Jeremy felt he was making a difference.
He approached the intersection by the Library and noticed a man wearing suspenders crossing against traffic. This was the Yellow Avenger’s chance to make a difference. “Hey mister!” he shouted, “Don’t do that!” Distracted by the oddball in the yellow slicker waving his arms, the man failed to jump out of the way as the truck entered the roadway.
The letter the suspenders man had been carrying spiraled through the air and landed in front of the Yellow Avenger. “Don’t worry, citizen,” he shouted to the prone figure in the crosswalk, “I‘ll see your letter safely delivered to the postal authorities.” The Yellow Avenger dropped the letter into the red post box and set off in search of other opportunities to dispense his unique brand of justice.
I will never understand the British.
Here I am, on vacation in London, and they ask me if I’m on holiday. No, I’m on vacation. But they call it holiday.
I order food and they ask me if I want chips. I say no, I want fries. This must be what they meant by po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe.
I met some locals who drove me to a pub (Americans would call it a bar). We were sidetracked by a flat tire just before dark. I offered to help and they told me to get the “torch out of the boot.” None of us were wearing boots and there was no fire around us anywhere. The driver went to the trunk of the car and retrieved a flashlight.
You would think I was speaking a foreign language. I haven’t had this much trouble since I flew from Chicago to Boston and asked for a pop. They kept trying to sell me soda.
So it’s my last day in town before I fly back to the states (or, as they say, across the pond). I am walking to the neighborhood pub for a pint and see a young person heading toward me in a yellow slicker. I can’t tell if it’s a guy or a girl because the hair is very short and all I see are bare legs in sneakers below the slicker.
I wonder what would happen if I said “flashy.”