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.
“Who’s this?” her neighbor asked, turning the page in the album and wiping her fingers across the clear plastic sheet that covered the photograph of a man atop a mountain who appeared to be waiting for someone to catch up with him. The neatly typed note pasted beneath the photo read: Organ Mountains, February, 2017.
Her host looked wistfully at the photograph and, for a moment, said nothing.
“Oh, that’s Peter . . . he was my fiancée.”
On hearing that, the large German Shepherd at her feet, his eyes wide open, raised his head.
“Peter was temporarily stationed at Ft. Bliss prior to shipping out for Afghanistan on his third deployment.”
The dog put his head down between his paws and seemingly went to sleep. Every now and then, though, something his mistress said caused him to open his eyes and whimper softly.
“Jethro, here, worked with Peter as an explosive detector dog,” the woman said at one point. “They were working a village search and security operation in the Dand area of Kandahar Province of southern Afghanistan when Jethro ‘alerted’ to an IED. Peter attempted to disarm it so the rest of the task force could pass, but the device exploded, killing him and severely injuring Jethro. Peter’s comrades in arms made sure Jethro was airlifted to a field hospital for surgery, and following his recovery, they sent him home to me.
“He—and this photograph—are all I have now to remind me of Peter.”
He woke to an unnatural quiet. A city boy, Ben was used to the teeming backdrop of noise a city produced. The constant thrum of its heartbeat. This disquietude was unsettling. No rumble of motors, no horns honked in impatience, not a single plane filled the painfully bright sky. He rose, muscles cramped from lying on dirt and rock for who knew how long. A glance at his watch was no help. The crystal had shattered, hands stopped at 10:47. His cellphone lay broken on the ground close by.
His last memory was of meeting his new employer the night before. Two beers only, wishing to be amiable and make a good impression. He couldn’t remember leaving the restaurant, but frowning, turned his thoughts to more immediate matters.
Climbing to higher ground, he surveyed the surroundings. Not a single animal stirred, no birds sailed the skies. Just to prove he hadn’t lost his hearing, he clapped his hands, relieved to hear something, anything besides the fast thudding of his heart, a sharp staccato pain in his head in keeping with that tempo.
He refused to panic…yet. His days as a boy scout long behind him but some rudimentary survival skills remained. Shielding his eyes, he looked for landmarks. He’d need water, shelter before the day was out.
Ben checked his pockets, hope rising that he’d left a candy bar, even an old stick of gum would be a god-send. He drew out a neatly folded, typewritten note…
I’M WAITING.
Last night, they laughed and drank at BaseCamp, a rustic little bar at the start of the climb up Alamo Ridge. The two men shared a passion for the same beer—sturdy, dark Shiner. And they shared memories–a lifetime of love for each other, a love almost lost. Over breakfast next morning, the talk morphed into something more serious– today’s climb. “Temps in the high 90’s. Very little breeze. We’ll need to hydrate carefully. I’ll lead.” One man smiled. The other gave a thumbs-up.
Three months ago, an accident made this day virtually impossible. A month in intensive care weaving in and out of consciousness, debilitating meds and finally, the amputation of his right leg at the knee. “It couldn’t be saved. The bones were too crushed to heal. Sorry.”
The man sneered. “Sorry? Yeah, I’m sorry, too. What happened to medical advancements? Not up to this?” The little time he took away from a successful business was devoted to skiing, dancing, running…everything that demanded two good legs. In his bitterness, he refused the love of friends and family. Instead, he surrounded himself with an impenetrable shell of self-pity that turned everyone away.
It took him two months to get used to an amazing prosthesis that promised great mobility. Today, skeptical but hopeful, he would see.
The young man at the top of Alamo Ridge looked down smiling and above the smile, tears of joy.
“You’re more than halfway and doing great! Take your time, dad! I’ll wait.”
Ryan knew exactly how to get under my skin. For several months he promised he would let me take his picture. However, he kept putting it off. When I finally had had enough of his dodging way and told him he could take a flying leap off a cliff as far as I was concerned, he called.
“Hey Kat, I’m up on Noah’s Peak and I’m ready to have you take my picture. Can you drop what you’re doing and come take my picture for that magazine you work for?”
His call took me totally by surprise. My first thought was to hang up on him, my second thought was to do something to get even with him. My mind was not working that quickly without my morning coffee. “You will have to give me a few minutes to get my mind in gear.”
“Okay, take the time you need. However, I’ve thought about us for a few weeks and I have a surprise for you. If you don’t meet me up here in the next hour, we can just keep going our separate ways.”
Thirty minutes later, after a short climb up the trail, I spotted him. That bum knew he was standing with the Sun at his back. I took his damn picture and left cursing him.
It wasn’t until later when I zoomed in that I saw what he was holding in his hand.
My hand was shaking punching his number. “Yes, but you are one coward!”
Daybreak on a distant planet, Farnsworth, the astronaut, stood on the crest of a crater. As far as his eyes could see there were only flowering shrubs and his landing craft. Perplexed, he contacted the mothership early, Captain Nelson asked, “Is everything alright?”
Farnsworth broke the news to him, “Ah, this planet seems to be inhabited.”
Excitedly, Captain Nelson inquired, “Finally, intelligent life! Do they look like us?”
Farnsworth doubtingly replied, “Unknown. We haven’t seen them yet, but last night they stuck a written message on our lander. We translated it, and they definitely think like us.”
Farnsworth cringed as Captain Nelson excitedly asked, “What does the message say?”
Hesitatingly, Farnsworth replied, “We translated it, and it’s bad news. It’s a five thousand dollar fine for landing in a nature preserve. We have ten of their hours to leave the gold on the crater edge, or they’ll tow our lander to an impound lot and triple the fine.”
The captain analyzed the situation. “Are you telling me, you got a parking ticket last night? Get back up here! Now!”
Farnsworth sighed, “We can’t! They booted our lander, and we’re stuck here. We have to pay the fine, or they are going to tow it to an impound lot.”
The captain replied in a controlled tone, “In that case, pry that solid gold record off the side of the lander and leave it up there for them.”
A few hours later, Farnsworth sheepishly arrived back at the mothership, mission accomplished.
Waiting
For a late autumn afternoon, the light streaming through the window was unusually bright. Not just blindingly bursting forth and touching everything in Lara’s bedroom; it was coming in from a direction that cast unfamiliar shadows given the season.
“Mom? Is it dinnertime yet?” Lara suddenly sat up from a brief power nap, bereft of the surrounding familiarity she expected upon arising. She dashed out towards the kitchen.
“Lara, meet Rafe. He is here for you.” The brief introduction of the stranger elicited a comforting sense of warmth in Lara.
“This is not normal,” Lara thought. “Me of the cautious disposition and suspicious nature. Who the heck is Rafe? How could he have come to our secluded spot of earth?”
“Kumusta, Lara,” said Rafe. “Apologies for barging into what should have been your private retreat. But it is time and you have a few hours to decide.” Rafe came into clearer focus now: dressed like a hiking guide, he stood a tad over six feet, an easy smile gracing a strong square jawline. The expansive landscape windows wrapping the kitchen and great room created a backdrop where the ethereal light washed more distinctly over the meadow. Hues of green, gold, and a pink blush outlined Rafe’s towering physique and a pleasant sensation swept over Lara. Then her eyes settled on the hill in the northwest towards the source of the glow that awoke her.
“That can’t be the sun!”
“It’s how I came, Lara. You’re coming, right? I’ll wait.”
Now that the blazing sun was beginning to settle behind the distant hills, I knew they would be coming after me. I wished I could nestle into the warm desert earth and sleep, if only for a moment. But, no. That would be my instant death. The telescopic eyes they transplanted into my head gave me a pretty clear view of the twisted forms gathering into a frenzied hunting mob. I’ll just crouch behind these rocks and give them a hell of a fight when they start. The fools knew I was pretty well armed. After all, the rocket guns they inserted into my arms with a limitless supply of earth shattering hydrogen pellets will hold off a small army. I just aim and fire through the barrels in my ten twitching fingers. And, if need be, I can swiftly hover over them with a thrust of the aerodynamic helicopter rotary blades they replaced my lower legs with. Oh. Here they come, hundreds of them, swarming down the hills, their screeching gasps and sighs urging them on. They’re getting too close. That monster with the three wild eyes waving one of his four arms must be their leader. I’ve got him in my crosshairs. He’s reaching out to me. What? My finger rockets won’t fire! Now, my legs won’t spin. That grotesque fiend is leaping at me. He’s got a fierce grip on my shoulders, shaking, shouting, shaking…..
“Come on, Daddy. Please wake up. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“I don’t see what Chad has to do with it? That picture could have been taken anywhere, this whole crappy area is nothing but Basalt and Bunch Grass.”
“Where’s his dog, then?”
“Jasper? I guess he left him home?”
Tom shook his head, “When’s the last time you remember that happening?”
Sheila glared at him, “Yeah, but still. He wouldn’t have killed her.”
He grabbed her by the arm, “Sheila, I know Chad’s your brother, but he did it.”
“No,” she whispered, pulling her arm away. “He…couldn’t…He wouldn’t have.”
Tom stepped to the sink, filled a glass with water and turned back to face her. “She sent that picture to my phone, Sheila. I have the date and time it was sent.” He took a sip. “It was the last day anyone saw her alive. Chad killed her…, we have to tell the police.”
Sheila’s face went white and she nodded. Chad stepped silently from the hallway, grabbed Tom around the neck and sliced his throat. He dropped him to the floor in a puddle of cold water, and warm blood.
“You were right, she did send the picture.”
“I know, I was there…, remember? Now go get more paper towels and bleach. We’ve got to get this mess cleaned up.”
Sheila dropped to the floor. “What they say is true,” she said, as she blotted the bloody puddle.
Chad stopped, “What who says?”
“Everyone I guess.”
“Says about what?”
Sheila looked up, “Blood really is thicker than water.”
Daoud Farquhar Woak-ananda wrapped his head in a bandana that he said was supposed to keep his brain from exploding. It was simple cotton, woven in a factory outside of Mumbai by skilled textile professionals. It was unlikely that the thin fabric would serve to maintain the structural integrity of his melon in the case of internal pressures exceeding maximum tolerance.
But Douad was not an engineer, and could not be bothered with such pedestrian concerns like calculating “maximum internal psi that could be withstood by a human skull.” He liked it because it made him look like a smart outlaw.
His buddy Haruki wore one, but called his a “hachimaki.” Haruki suffered no illusions that it would do anything to keep his gourd intact if things in there started to combust. Haruki just wanted to keep the sweat out of his eyes, was all.
Daoud tighted the laces on his Chuck Taylors and began his predawn climb up the trail to meet his friend Giovanni Fanucci, who had camped up top and was waiting for Daoud to join him for morning mountaintop tea. Giovanni didn’t typically favor headwear, as his hair was shiny and manageable, and didn’t hardly need any product.
The times they met for morning tea and maybe a fat number, Giovanni liked to wear a trucker’s hat and made Daoud call him “Tactical Jack.”
They sat down an hour after daybreak, and had conversation that was discursive, and not at all banal, cliché, or low-calorie.
Eric and I had a running joke that he was always waiting on me. Okay, it was mostly true. Dead leaves crunch under my feet as I walk towards the bench. The cold seeps straight into my bones, but I’m already numb. The edges of the photograph I’m holding are getting creased, and I try in vain to smooth them out.
We’d been on one of our spur-of-the-moment camping trips. Early morning hiking excursions were our thing. I’d told him I didn’t mind if he went ahead when I stopped to gaze at the orange hawkweed clustered along the trail.
I’m not sure how far behind I was when I heard a woman screaming. I found her kneeling by the edge of the cliff, holding Eric’s camera. She was babbling hysterically about how she’d lost her footing on the rocks, and that a man had come to her rescue. After helping her, the ledge suddenly crumbled beneath him, and he fell. A sheer two-hundred-foot drop.
A month after his funeral service, I sifted through the pictures from that last trip. My favorite photo was one I’d taken of him midway through the hike. I treasure that final glimpse of him standing underneath the vivid blue sky, doing something he loved; his image is radiant under the warm caress of the sun as he flashed his quirky smile.
I wish time could be rewound. Events foreseen and altered. I imagine myself rounding the trail bend, finding Eric patiently waiting for me.
Doug was finally content. He had unburdened himself of the mountain of possessions he and Petra had accumulated in their years together, sold the house, and said a final goodbye and good riddance to big city life with its traffic jams and crowds and noise and endless social obligations.
This remote area of Oregon was more beautiful than he had imagined, and he could not get enough of it. In the week since he had arrived, he had not seen a single car or heard anything louder than the crackling of a twig underfoot. No crowds to thread his way through. No telephone ringing, no television blaring. No one making demands on him.
This morning he had climbed to the top of the hill and basked in the spectacle of the rising sun. He planned to do this every day for the rest of his life.
That’s if he had the time.
He wouldn’t be able to climb tomorrow. Septic tank needed fixing. And the roof. He’d have to get to that before the next rain. Then he’d need to drive thirty long miles to the town to stock up on groceries, and maybe hang around awhile. He had noticed a sidewalk cafe that looked interesting. Good place for people watching, maybe striking up an acquaintance or two.
It might be awhile before he’d get back to his quiet solitary mornings.
At the top of the hill, I wait for my normal breath to return and gaze back on the trail I just sprinted up. The waves of Lake Michigan are crashing on the shore caressing the sand. Partners forever. I am glad I decided to run without headphones today. My thoughts are bombarding me with enough noise as it is. The same phrase is on repeat, How did you not see?
My life will not be the same when I return to the car. The papers will be signed. The friends and assets will be divided, and not to be confused. It is a moment of before and after.
I have beat myself up with an emotional bat and today I physically match. My thighs and calves are burning from running in the sand. The small of my back is wet with sweat and ache. A trickle of sweat is making the space between my breasts itch but I can’t get to it because of the layers. I do not know how long I have been out here but I have run the same loop three times. My heart still works. It is pounding trying to get out but I have to keep it caged at least four seasons. It needs to heal before it can be open to breaking again.
Every time we hike I ask Sam to wait for me. He always agrees. But when we’re on the trail, he rushes ahead, often without even looking back. If I plead, he will stop and wait. But his impatience shows through.
I suppose it’s partly my own fault. I’m the one who fell for such a young companion. But how could I have resisted those soulful eyes, that youthful exuberance? I guess trying to keep up with him is a small price to pay.
The last time we climbed Mt. Bierstadt, Sam didn’t even stick to the well-worn trail. He wandered off more than once and thrashed through the willows. Even with his side excursions, he reached the peak long before I arrived. Because of my slow pace, we barely had time to soak in the view before the thunderstorm rolled in. We scrambled down to our car just ahead of the lightning.
Today we are climbing another fourteener, Quandary Peak. And I’ve finally grown weary of his impatience. Since he won’t wait for me willingly, I have to take charge. After we don our daypacks, I reach into the car for one more item. As Sam grows more and more eager to start our trek, I pull out my ace in the hole – his leash.
He stood on the mountaintop, looked out over all around him, and decided it just wouldn’t do.
With a swipe of his right hand, he pushed the mountains up and over a few feet, wiggled his fingers in front of him to make previously buried water come up out of the barren ground, then pushed his hands down, making a crater and a new lake.
Making a flicking motion with his left hand, trees appeared on the mountains, then, just for giggles, he stomped his right foot and an island burst into being in the middle of his new lake.
He would’ve done more, but his boss finally got his attention and he had to give his report on just what budget cuts would have to be made this quarter.
[Read into the transcript]
I could do better…I should do better.
How many times did I hear that? In school, C+ should be B. B+should be A.
Be patient—try harder. Yeah, sure.
Didn’t do well in sports…try harder. Couldn’t play a musical instrument..didn’t try hard enough.
In time, left to join the navy. Didn’t work out too well. They let me leave early. Guess I just didn’t fit in.
Never went back home. Parents long dead now. Haven’t heard from my brothers in fifty years.
Guess I wasn’t much of a husband either. So my ex-wives told me. Didn’t try hard enough I guess. Wasn’t very patient.
Tried a few businesses along the way. Great ideas, but they didn’t work out.
Made a few friends along the way, but, over time, they drifted off.
Be patient I told myself. Just wait…something or someone will come along.
That never happened. So now I’m here—tired of waiting.
Goodbye.
[Evidence submitted at the coroner’s inquest]
Ed was an avid hiker. His friend Bob was not.
After Bob had a heart attack and began his new fitness regime, Ed would support Bob, going for walks around the neighborhood. After several months, Bob was building strength and he and Ed would begin hiking at a nearby park. Bob found he was enjoying it—the camaraderie with Ed most.
Ed was very supportive. When Bob began flagging, he would remind him: “One foot in front of the other. We’re not in a race.”
The friends were sent on business to Colorado where one of the “team building” activities was a group hike through the mountains.
Now, walking through a neighborhood on pavement is one thing. Walking through woods is another—paths aren’t paved, but they’re relatively flat. But mountains are an entirely different animal. Bob thought he was doing fairly well but found himself mentally repeating “One foot in front of the other … one foot in front of the other.”
Bob was not paying attention to the group, nor looking any farther ahead than where he would plant
his next foot. He was enjoying the peace and quiet when it suddenly dawned on him—he was alone.
He stopped and took note of his surroundings. He was near the top of a hill. The sun was shining and up ahead he could dimly make out the figure of a person. He heard a familiar voice.
“One foot in front of the other! I’m waiting.”
Why did I agree to this? I’m too old for this. He’s been waiting on me almost every step of this ‘outing’. My body can’t take this, I swear I can’t feel my body below my scalp!
The brilliance of the sun god at this elevation occasions its own special crusade. The blinding light flagellates all, none are spared its omnipresence… heat and sweat are the penance for the sin of participation. Every breath sacrifices precious moisture to the desiccated wind god. One foot in front of the other, each step immolates nourishing energy upon the altar of the mountain god.
This can’t be fun. I’m not having fun. There’s no way he’s having fun. Who likes waiting for someone every fifteen minutes. This is a waste of time. I’m so tired. Why do people do this? Breathe, remember to breathe. In and out, in and out, one more step…one more step.
“I’m so glad you’re here Dad, I love getting to share my world with you!”
I can do this all day.
WAITING
My dad was sent to Manila, a city in the Philippine Islands, by the American government for six years as a high school teacher. He even had a winning basketball team while he was there. When he returned home to Kansas, he met Lucie Latimer 18 and they were married. He was 28. While teaching at the University she came down with typhoid fever and died only two years after their wedding. Orville was devastated as only a young man in love could be. I found love poems among his things.
He waited 12 long years before he found another bride. She was my mother who was 31 and only wanted a Christian who was educated, did not smoke or drink among other things. She had not yet found him. He knew her oldest brother Erskin in Santa Rosa, California. My dad wrote to her. She found all that she wanted in my dad, but she did not meet him face to face until their wedding day in Canton, China. They then honeymooned on a ship to Mindanao, one of the Philippine Islands. They lived there as missionaries for five years but returned to the States in 1938 because I had had polio and my dad had recurring malaria. And war was expected between Japan and China.
If my mother thought they had it rough in the Philippines, it was going to be harder. The depression was in full swing.
Cat and Mouse
Valerie had been running from him for 2 hours… She needed an escape route… She saw a truck approaching on the road below.
Valerie saw her pursuer on the hill -she took off running.
The truck slowed, a big hand grabbed her shoulder, “Darling, you weren’t going to leave without me…?” Jack asked.
Valerie couldn’t believe an MI6 agent was after her. But he thought she was an Israeli mossad agent. So, to see her meeting with a Pakistani diplomat, while on assignment in India… he had to intercept.
Jack whispered, “I should kill you… Now!”
“I’m thinking the same about you,” Valerie spat, feeling the point of Jack’s knife.”
“Okay, who are you really working for..?”
An inch from death, she thinks, he’s supposed to be an ally – “FBI… undercover, investigating the mole,” she admits.
“Smells like CIA…”
“You stink like CIA… not efficient MI6.”
“Who trained you…?” Jack asked.
“Wilcox…”
“I think we were set up…” Jack states.
“To kill each other?”
“Bastards…!” he sneers.
“The bad guys love to play these games…”Valerie mused. “Let’s go to a posh hotel and figure this out.”
“Yes…. Jack agreed, “…and let’s tell them we got married!”
“You didn’t even ask me.”
“Do you want me to put you under the hot lights, until you say yes…?”
“Yes…I mean no!” she laughed. “It’ll be fun – playing your game.”
“Fringe benefits..? he asks.
“We’ll see… 5 minutes ago you were going to kill me!”
Jack smiled with a boyish grin.
Clyde Winchell went out and surveyed his vast property. He and his wife Verna had everything. Missouri was a great place to raise the girl they had taken when she was seven years old, and cared for during the last three years.
Leeann still remembered her original name, Belinda McClellan. She waited for her real family in New York to come and find her, but the Winchells always said they McClellans didn’t want her and had forgotten her. She cried.
Leeann missed her parents and brothers. She came to feel affection for her second family, except when they were too strict and hit her hard when she disobeyed. She cried a lot.
That day, while Clyde was out, and Verna was tending her flower garden, Leeann was playing with her Barbie dolls. The TV was on, and she saw her Mommy’s face! Mommy was crying.
Then she saw her Daddy. He said. “Please, if you have seen Belinda, let us know. We’ve never stopped looking for her, we will always love her! Here is a website, help us find our little girl!”
Leeann hurried to the kitchen and wrote it down on a pad, stuffing the page into her pocket. She went back to her dolls before Mama came in.
Could she do it? Could she get on the internet and find the website? Mama and Papa let her play computer games. There was hope, but she had to be very careful not to get caught.