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 2018.
Dahu
can’t I be what I want to be, after all?
of course you can, you were born
who you are for a special purpose.
what are you talking about, mama?
you’re still too young, be patient, in time, you’ll understand.
I understand I don’t like being who I am, mama, so
what difference does it make?
you pose a lot of questions, Dahuot, don’t you?
because, mama, I want to stand on level ground,
this ground is falling away, and I only see half
of the sky, can we move to level ground, mama?
on level ground, darling, we become prey.
what’s prey, mama?
prey is when you are used for another creature’s purpose
is that like sharing, mama?
prey is shared, alright, but prey doesn’t choose or control
how it is shared.
mama, I want to control what I choose to be.
honey that is just why we stay on steep ground, to control
our destiny.
if there were only more good tidbits, mama, here, I
wouldn’t mind so much.
Dahuot, the best tidbits are found on the most precarious
ledges, why, look at you, already you are above your mama, do
you find good tidbits?
mama, the grass on the ledge of this big rock is delicious.
enjoy, dear, those special tidbits possess hidden powers.
what do you mean, mama?
ingested mountain ledge delicacies grant Dahu the cloak of invisibility
so trappers can’t even see us much less net us.
mama, I like being a Dahu
FOR EDITORS’ CHOICE ONLY
“Who is it, Sam?”
“I don’t know, Shirley! Looks one of them city folk, up here to get pictures of the kids and us.”
“Well, ask if we can have copies.”
“Okay.
“Pardon me, miss, might I take a look at some of the photos you’ve taken?”
“Sorry, friend. The only thing I can show is what I see in my viewfinder. I’m using a professional 35mm film camera.
“You don’t say. I haven’t seen one of those in a long time, not since those cell phone thingamabobs came along. What type of film are you using?”
“Fujifilm Superia X-TRA CH 400. It’s a great high-speed color negative film. Works well for available light and general use. Good sharpness, too.”
“Well, I hope it can reproduce the tonal range I see in the display. On the other hand—”
“On the other hand, what?!”
“On the other hand, I’ve seen some great work done using Kodak Porta 400. This film is wonderful for the outdoors. And, it also gives you spectacular skin tones plus exceptional color saturation over a wide range of lighting conditions. Still, if you want warmer tones, you might try Kodak Super gold 400, though it’s not as sharp as the Porta.”
“Wow. Now you’re a film connoisseur? How ’bout you just let me make the decisions regarding my film!”
“Well, you don’t have to get huffy about it.”
[Several seconds pass in silence.]
“So, what type of camera did you say you were using?”
The safari tram pulled up to the next habitat enclosure. Unlike the zoo, The Wild Animal Park had 40 acres of land that spread out well beyond the fence to either side of the tram. At this particular site, the landscape started off low, but then elevated dramatically as a naturally occurring granite outcropping jutted up from the earth.
“If you look up to the right, you can see Sam. He is our youngest ram in the big horned sheep enclosure”, said the safari park tour guide over the PA system speakers.
A myriad of smart phone cameras, binoculars and squinting faces followed the directions given by the driver. A few excited guests stood up to get a better vantage point, much to the chagrin of those seated next to them.
Finally, one eager observer pointed with an outstretched arm. “Ooh! I see him! There at the top!”
Everyone else readjusted there view and were rewarded by the sight of a small ram, proudly standing atop a butte of stacked granite. Suddenly, Sam the ram was brought down by a stealthy mountain lion. The carnage caused the crowd to gasp in horror.
” As you can see, here at The Wild Animal Park, we endeavor to create the same natural habitat for our animals as they would experience in the wild”.
Rama Lama Ding Donging
Its been some time now. The years have dissolved into a bald puddle of sludge. Oh, I think about him now and then. That curly mop of a head of hair, his helium laugh, a smile wider than the Grand Canyon.
But it was mostly his curiosity.
About everything.
And then that day. End of August it was. 1973. We went to see American Graffiti. We were pumped, man. Toes tapping to that great Edsel’s song.
Of course, we were a little older then the kids were supposed to be in the film. More set in our ways. But the message in the film was clear. it was all about…what are you going to do with your life?
Me? I was staying put. But Sammy. He wanted to save the world.
He’d heard that the Rockies were becoming a garbage dump. Hikers! Hunter! Travellers of all types had left decades of crap there. “I gotta do something about it, Brent. Somebody has to.”
So, we spent the night knocking back some Portuguese Muscatel and planning his great journey.
“You’ll be alone, man. Up near the snowline. Picking up other people’s trash. Sounds awful lonely.”
“Yeah,” he said, kind of wistfully. Well, he was pretty toasted. “Maybe I‘ll find an obliging Mountain Rama Lama Ding Dong to keep me company?”
“Right,” I slurred in. “Rams. Always looking for human companionship.”
We laughed and passed out.
In the morning he was gone.
Last I ever heard of him.
I am Sam, Sam I am.
I am Sam the Ram.
I run up hill and I run down,
Even running over ground.
I will run to and fro,
And even run around.
I love to play and play all day,
But never will I stray.
As jumping on a rocky slope,
Is a lovely place to play.
I will eat and eat all day,
Any greens that I might see.
I am never greedy,
Just eating everything I see.
I have horns and horns that grow,
They grow longer every day.
They establish dominance,
Among those with whom I play.
I like to grunt and grunt all day,
Even grunting at other sheep.
But never, ever do I grunt,
When I lay down to sleep.
I am Sam, Sam I am.
I am Sam the Ram.
Afraid of Man the Hunters, Sam the Ram led his little band into hiding in a cave only be knew about. The ground shook and the entrance became too hot to approach, it finally cooled.
Sam came out from hiding with the rest of his band into an apocalyptic land. Being sheep, they did not know what had happened. So, they searched the scorched hillsides and cliffs of this ashen mountain terrain for anything with green leaves to eat. Finding nothing to eat the small band moved on.
Day and night they moved on in search of food, but found nothing to eat or drink. Until they came upon a trickle of water from the base of a cliff where they happily quenched their thirst and drank deeply before moving on. Not knowing where they were going they continued to search for greens to eat, after all they were only hungry sheep.
On the fifth day Sam found a mountain valley untouched by the flaming apocalypse. The green grasses and mountain hedges were good to eat and the mountain runoff waters flowed through this valley of life. They settled in the valley devouring all that was green and drinking their fill.
After many years there the grasses became sparse because of their overgrazing. Sam’s ancestors left the valley to discover that once again the earth had turned green. So, the sheep spread out across a world now theirs to live in peace unafraid of the hands of man.
Holy smoke! What the heck are they doing over there? She just dropped a beer can, jumped from the car and started running up the hill. Look at that! Why, that’s a gun in his hand and he’s chasing her. I better stay here behind this little hill. Don’t want him to see me. Not with that gun in his hand. Gee, she reached the top of the hill. Wonder if she knows that she’s at the head of a cliff with a huge drop into the ocean beating the rocks below. Poor thing. Must be scared poop-less. He’s waving the gun. I think he’s calling out to her.
“You gonna give me a divorce or do I have to make it look like an accident and get rid of you once and for all.”
“No divorce, you horny old goat. Gave you the best years of my life. Do what you have to do.”
Good grief. Look! He’s charging up that hill, cursing at her. Oh, he’s lunging at her. He’s gonna shove her over the cliff. This whole thing is making my horns curl. Well, I’ll be. That smart cookie just jumped aside and let him fly onto the rocks below. She must have had it all planned that way. She’s looking down and yelling something.
“And, thanks for the million dollar insurance policy.”
Think this billy will munch on that beer can then get on home to my nanny. Glad we ain’t got insurance.
Sam was out for an amble near Boise, Idaho. He had pretty good hearing, like many goats do. You can tell because their ears are big and floppy.
As Sam got closer to Boise, he could hear the bleating and braying of other goats. They had funny goat accents, like they weren’t from around here.
Sam clip-clopped into a neighborhood. He saw a bunch of other goats. He didn’t know how many. Sam wasn’t good at counting, but he made up for it by being handsome.
His father, the noted goat showboat, Otis Jefferson Creosote Gravy-Boat Petticoat Goat, his friends called him “Billy Bubba,” always said, “Sam, you’re a ewe-magnet. You keep your beard clean and the ridge line is the limit, son.”
Sam approached the herd. “Y’aaaaaall not from around here, aaaaaare you?” he said to a shapely ewe.
“No. We’re with ‘Goats Are Us.’ We eat the lawns of humans too lazy to cut their own grass. I’m Beulah.”
I knew it, Sam thought. Mercenaries!
“I’m Sam. How do I hire on, Beulah?” he said.
“Try-outs,” Beulah bleated. “They give you a lawn as a test and you get 250 mouthfuls only. That rule is strictly enforced. Then they take a vote on how tidy your lawn looks.”
“Sounds fun. Any tips?”
Beulah looked around secretively. “Well,” she said, “we usually call home to our flocks and get them to vote for us. That’s how we all got here.”
Sam lowered his head and started to chomp.
SAM THE RAM
Samuel Ramsey was an average boy in school, in every way except for his natural climbing ability. After school, many of the middle schoolers would go to Central Park. They would climb the natural rock formations in the park many New Yorkers know and love.
So “Sam the Ram,” as he came to be known, impressed all his fellow classmates, even those in grades above and below him. No one could match his prowess, or fleetness of foot, on the rocks and hills. Maribel Brooks, a girl in a younger grade, was especially impressed as she observed his ascent, often gasping with fear for his safety.
One afternoon, they stayed later than the other students. He helped her climb halfway up to the top, carefully and slowly, and showed her exactly how to do it safely. Then they held hands, as he walked her home.
“Where were you, today, young lady?” asked Maribel’s mother. “It’s almost time for dinner.”
Maribel’s head was still in the clouds. “I was in Central Park with Sam the Ram,” she answered dreamily, “He showed me his technique, and we had so much fun!”
“What kind of technique? And what do you mean by ‘fun?'” asked her concerned mother.
“Well, we didn’t go all the way,” said Maribel, “Because I’m only a beginner.”
“I should hope not!” exclaimed Mrs. Brooks. “I think we need to have a talk.”
“About what, Mom?” asked Maribel, “Rock climbing? I promise I’ll be careful.”
SAM THE RAM
My grandmother Nancy Catherine Hoskins was courted by Elihu, a twin. One day he brought his oldest brother age 24 to meet her. L.D. took one look at her brunette hair and brown eyes and loved her. They talked, they romanced. Her father was a traveling judge with 14 children and determined that Nancy was to go to college because she was the brains of his brood of children. He had already signed her up to go.
She explained to him she was supposed to go to school some more. She was 19.
He told her, “Let’s get married as soon as possible and then your dad will give in.”
So two weeks after they met, they married.
DINNER TIME
I relax when the ram comes into view. When I heard the large animal behind the rocks where I fell my feverish mind alternately saw a bear, a wolf, or a cougar, all hungry and licking their chops at the thought of exotic meat for dinner. By this time I am too weak to fight back or even shout out. Easy prey, that’s me.
The ram eyes me, clearly curious. His tail flicks and he steps closer. He sniffs at the blood still oozing slowly from my wounds and cautiously licks at the salt crusted on my face and the still moist blood. He likes the salt but seems unsure about the blood. The ram steps back and shakes his head. I am glad big horn sheep are herbivores.
He approaches me again. I don’t worry, he seems tame enough, and he isn’t a bear. He takes a small bite out of my shoulder, then another and another. I am too weak to fight back or call for help. I didn’t know he is an omnivore.