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.
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS CHOICE ONLY
What treasure do you seek, my liege?
Good Ser Vaughtalaucht. My charge to you is to scour the land, hill and dale. Wrangle with the nobles thereabouts and return to me with a shrubbery. And votes.
Votes, my lord? And a shrubbery? Such a merry message.
Mock me not, churlish knave and rascal. And voice not your dangerous treason. Should I relieve you of your armor and pedigree and spank you over my knee?
Wreak not your vengeance upon mine buttocks, my sovereign, and grant me your pardon.
Just don’t let it happen again. Now draw up and slake your thirst upon my grape. Consider the entreaties of my plan to draw upon the votes of yon dukes and barons and even, yea, of the Dauphin himself. For with these votes, I shall maintain this monarchy as it has been since times ancient.
The Dauphin, sire? That’s going to cost you. He is your spawn but will not sell his allegiance on the cheap. And what of the other earls and viscounts and assorted gentry? What baubles and trinkets shall I offer to secure their fealty?
Tell them, in return for their loyalty, I shall rain my praise upon their own poesy, their juggling and minstreling. And sweetmeats! I shall give them of the sweetmeats from my larder, should they align with my cause. They would have my approbation for their own aspirations, their acrobatics and conjuring and troubadouring.
I’m on it, my liege.
And don’t forget my shrubbery.
Josh’s new high school diploma didn’t open any doors of opportunity. So, that first summer after graduation, he joined a medieval festival troupe. They toured the Midwest raising money for local charitable causes. The pay was low, but he was outside in the sunshine and got to wear some really cool costumes.
His favorite role was as Lord Gilead; Thane of Wexford and Defender of the Crown. He relished the feel of invincibility that came with his polished tin armor and faux chain mail. And of course, the long broadsword delighted the local kids. In that suit of armor, he enjoyed a solitary sense of power and security. He was invincible.
Yet, despite his crowd-pleasing heroics in saving damsels and slaying dragons, he slowly developed a contempt for the role. Even as he reveled in the moment of audience reaction as they feasted on mutton and sipped their mead, he felt a deepening disdain. In time, he reasoned that the true source of his contempt was the man playing the King to whom he would perforce pledge his liege at each production. This was a loathsome, narcissistic man, given to indecencies and cruelties to the other players. Yet, the script called for all players to do the King’s bidding when they were in-role.
Josh found himself longing for a costume that would be faithful to values and mission and not the petty whims of a mortal man. In September, he joined the Marines.
Robert felt silly playacting in the costume of a knight. He was too old for this stuff. He was almost six feet tall and thirteen years old. As big as any grown man. But he agreed to the battle with Edgar to entertain their little brothers and the neighborhood kids.
Their wooden swords clashed. Robert fell backwards, then leapt to his feet and swung at Edgar. Their swords met in a terrible metallic clang that shivered all the way up Robert’s arms and down his body. He stood stunned. Their swords were only wood. How had they clashed with such power?
The crowd cheered.
Crowd? Where had the crowd come from? They were entertaining a little group of five or six boys. That was all.
The sun glinted off the blade coming his way. Robert dodged it. He saw to his horror that his opponent was not Edgar, but a man clad in armor. Real armor, so heavy the man could hardly move. Robert dodged the sword again, and the crowd cheered.
“Rob! Rob!”
He charged at the man’s ankles and toppled him over. He put one foot on the man’s heavily clad chest and his sword at the man’s neck.
“Give up?” he said.
“Arrr,” the man mumbled, raising his hands in defeat.
Men rushed forward and lifted Robert onto their shoulders.
“Robin Hood, you have won. Maid Marion is yours,” they cried.
“But I’m just a kid,” said Robert/Robin. “I’m only thirteen!”
Sir Thomas and Sir Gilbert rode together into battle. They sat proudly on their steeds, among a shining army clad in scarlet over silver armor, wielding gold plated swords.
They regarded the approaching enemy with disdain. “For King and Country!” they cried, as they joined the fight.
Sir Thomas lopped off the head of an enemy soldier with a single swing of his blade, which startled Sir Gilbert.
“Aye, Sir Gilbert!” cried Sir Thomas, when there was a lull in the fighting, “The walls have ears! I knew of the plot to have me killed in battle.”
“There was no treachery,” answered Sir Gilbert, “You are giddy from battle! You imagine strange things!”
Another warrior charged forward. Sir Thomas sliced off his sword arm, while Sir Gilbert pierced through the warrior’s side.
“Not so!” said Sir Thomas, “Lady Agnes had you grind my sword to a dull edge, but being warned, I sharpened it like the teeth of a lion.”
“Lady Agnes, my betrothed, was hoping to see me slaughtered,” continued Sir Thomas, “That you may both be wed together.”
They were clearly winning. Just at the battle’s end, an enemy fighter came and landed a deep, gushing wound in Sir Gilbert’s hip.
“Well, you may have her!” said Sir Thomas, “If you survive. I will gladly take her maid, the fair Isabella, to wife.”
“Isabella saved my life, and is twice the lady as Agnes,” he continued, “I go hence, to make my proposal to the beautiful Isabella!”
Oh, geez! It’s hot inside this stuff. Why did I ever tell Guinevere I would do battle for her? I’ve made a lot of stupid decisions in my life but that one—-look, sweetheart, this ain’t Camelot. Got it? You can have your scarf back. And while we’re on the subject, listen, Arthur, the evil little gnome Merlin warned you that your wife had a roving eye. So don’t blame me, okay? If it hadn’t been me, it would have been Modred. Sorry! SIR Modred—a total scum bag. You never had a clue? The other morning, having our oatmeal on the round table….and by the way, how about a table cloth sometime? The grease from last night’s roast pig was so thick my pewter bowl slid off onto my lap. Anyway, the other morning, Modred—SIR Modred—texted the entire Round Table with a really off-color message about your wife. Next time you see him, ask him what it said. I’m too pure to repeat it. Look, King, if you’re trying to find someone to lay this on, the only knight you can rule out is Gawain. Yes, Arthur, your nephew. Other than that, it’s open season. Oh, yeah. You can rule out Merlin, too. He’s mythical.
It was his first SCA event and Darren was nervous. He’d done his research, wasn’t too worried about any blatant inaccuracies. Besides, this local chapter had a solid reputation for helping each other, especially newcomers like himself. He’s heard tales about a few chapters that would embarrass a person if they were the least off in costuming. You’d wake to find you’d gone viral because of a mistake in one’s pauldrons or greaves from the wrong time period. No, he felt his armor met expectations, but he was anxious nonetheless, for the very reason he was standing in this clearing, banners flying around and about. He’d taken Barry’s advice and substituted a leather glove for one of his metal gauntlets, a better grip indeed as his arms shook ever so slightly, because…
Her name was Olivia but she preferred Milady during events. Red flowing tresses, glorious in her finery, she flashed him a quick smile as she approached, both remembering the night before when she’d invited him over to watch Danny Kaye in The Court Jester. Not accurate by any means but such fun to watch. If all went well, he’d ask if she wanted to stream Camelot Friday night.
He’d studied his Known World Handbook, ready to immerse himself in the activities, was about to ask her to the jousting field when she reached up and tucked a scented silk favor in his hauberk.
Eyes twinkling, lips curved, she whispered, “Get it?”
He replied, equally amused, “Got it.”
“Good.”
Sidney, the blacksmith’s squire was promised knighthood if he slew the dragon. With broadsword in hand, he arrived at the dragon’s lair only to discover a rather massive pile of trashed armor blocking the entrance.
While looking for a way around the vast pile, he heard a low moaning sound coming from behind the pile. Concerned that someone was injured, he inquired, “Excuse me, are you alright? Did the Dragon burn you?”
From behind the huge pile, the dragon raised its frightful head, “No I got this helmet stuck on my toe and cannot get it off, can you help me?
Hating to see any beast in pain, Sid climbed over the pile and used his broadsword to pry the helmet. Soon the helmet popped off landing on the pile, “Thank you, I’m indebted to you. I wish there were a way to get rid of this junk pile? I keep getting hurt wading through this trash .”
Sid blurted out, “I’m the blacksmith’s squire, I can get rid of it for you!”
“Why help me?” Inquired the dragon.
“Well, if you eat me then this pile keeps growing bigger eventually trapping you in your lair. But if you let me cart all this junk away, then I can resell it again and again to all the wanna-be-knights and send them out here for you to eat. You get fed, I get rich.”
Needless to say, Sid became the richest blacksmith in the kingdom by feeding his pet.
Fun and Games
“They’re only games, Jason. Make believe.”
“I don’t know, Lisa. I’m not comfortable with all of this.”
“Look Jason. It’s a Renaissance Fair, right? We all dress up and pretend to be somebody. I’ll be Lady Guinevere, you can be Sir Lancelot and Andy can pretend to be Sir Percival. It’ll all harmless fun. Listen, the swords are wooden, you’ve got armor so you won’t even get bruised. Your helmet protects your head, too.”
“But I can’t even see whom I’m opposing. He’s got the same costume as I do.”
“That’s the point…a few bouts of swordsmanship…a challenge…and then a joust. Great fun. You know, if you win… I’ll be your fair maiden!”
“Well…”
“Go ahead. The horses are ready, Jason. Are you?”
“OK. I guess so.”
They charged at each other from opposite ends of the jousting rail, separated by mere feet as the horse’s hooves thundered amidst the roar of the spectators.
Jason didn’t know that his opponent was Ralph. A man twice his age. How could he know…the face and body were obscured by armor, a helmet and an enormous shield.
They charged each other, leveled their blunt wooden lances, and collided violently mid-field,
The coroner ruling: accidental death due to a fatal broken neck.
So much for “games”.
Alone in his tent, Jason wept.
Fickle Amber, Gwinevere’s handmaiden, stood beside her mistress as beads of perspiration trickled down her neck. Her fan whisked rapidly as she watched her gallant lover, Sir Lancealittle, tremble before the giant towering above him.
Gwinny moaned, “If Lancie loses, I’m to become the bride of Golayath as decreed by my wicked stepmother, Queen Izabella.”
Amber patted her shoulder. “Now, me lady, don’t worry. Everything always works out for the best,” she whispered, remembering the powders she stirred into Lancie’s chalice. He’ll soon swoon, she thought, and it will all be over. She leered. Gwin’ll get stuck with the ogre and I’ll get fancy with Lancie.
The trumpets blared the start of battle. A hush fell over the sadistic audience lusting for blood.
Golayath began to swing his massive club saluting the cheering crowd just as Lancie succumbed to the power of the drink. As he sank to his knees, his sword pierced the giant’s foot. He screeched in pain and let go of his twirling club. It flew to the stands cracking Gwinny’s skull.
Royal guards, her ex-lovers, rushed to the fallen brute and slashed him into pieces for killing their passionate Gwinny.
The crowds howled in exquisite pleasure. Blood they wanted, blood they got.
Amber slithered around the spectacle and raised her lover’s hinged visor. She gasped recognizing her forsaken husband who took Lancie’s place to display his undying love for her.
Realizing what he had sacrificed, she kissed his weeping eyes vowing to be his Amber Forever.
Sir Knight
Our knight in shining armor comes in all shapes and sizes. My friend Lela who was 23 was coming to see me for the weekend. She told me to get her a date to go to the beach party the church was having Saturday night. I thought and thought who did I know her age that would go with us. Then it came to me. A church lady complained to me that her son Gene was shy and probably had never had a date. Of course she wanted grandchildren.
I phoned and asked to speak to Gene. He agreed to go with us Saturday night. He was very quiet when we met him at the beach. But Lela is a talker so that didn’t matter. When my husband and I went home, Lela went with Gene in his car. They didn’t come home. Finally I peeked out the window and I could see his car parked at the curb. I laughed and my husband told me to come back to bed.
The next morning she told me, “I don’t think he ever had a date and didn’t even know how to kiss. But he was a fast learner!” They both were 23 and had ups and downs in their relationship until they married at 28. They had three tall, strong sons and gave the grandmother the grandsons she was hoping for.
Dan opened the envelope from his wife Melissa, and kids.
“Happy Birthday, Dad!”
The invitation read: ‘You are invited to work on a prototype of a 4D game at LMNX!’
“You’re kidding…”
“No…! The sedans picking you up…” Melissa smiled.
“No… I can’t… work…!”
“Your boss knows… You only turn 40 once!”
At LMNX headquarters, Zack and Rick, young executives, were nervous. They had hatched their idea to become internet millionaires- over beers. They would ‘knock off’ the owner! But it would look like an accident…
It didn’t take much to convince the owner, ” Your image will appear in every scene of the game.”
Dan was wired with sensors. Then came the suit of armor and sword – which was very heavy.
“Okay, there’s going to be another Knight, and you’re going to have a duel- just sparring…” said Rick.
The owner came out, also in a suit of armor- with a plastic sword!
The duel began. Dan’s fencing and karate helped his moves. Then, with a quick thrust, he landed his sword in a vulnerable spot. The owner went down for the count.
“Good acting guys… It’s a wrap!”
“Let’s get him…” Zack nodded towards Dan, “… out of here!”
Dan was driven home, totally oblivious, to the owners injury.
“Did you have fun today?”
Melissa asked.
“It was unbelievable! It was so real… I won a medieval sword battle!”
“Well,” Melissa laughed, “we will just call you ‘Sir Knight’, this weekend!”