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.
The Fortune Teller
Biff stood at the table of the fortune teller. “I’ve had dreams of being chased by a fox,” he said.
“A fox? It’s a sly animal,” she replied. “Your dreams may be a warning that your life is in danger.”
Biff thought for a minute. My life in danger? Maybe I was being followed. State Agents were everywhere.
“How much for a reading?” he asked.
“Fifty dollars.”
It sounded kinda steep, but he needed to know about his dream. As he reached into his pocket to get the money, he accidently knocked over the chair behind him.
As it fell, the chair struck a lamp, knocking it over.
The lamp fell against a set of encyclopedias, which were stacked upright on a shelf.
Each volume of the encyclopedia set fell over domino style, with the last book falling against a vase, knocking it off the shelf.
The vase fell against a bird cage, knocking it over, and freeing the budgies inside.
The budgies, amazed they were out of the cage, chirped and flapped all over the room, sending feathers everywhere.
The cat, now awake because of the noise, and seeing his next meal fly around the room, began stalking the budgies. It tried to jump into the air to catch its prey. But it was so overweight it only succeeded in landing in its own water dish, soaking the floor.
The fortune teller sat speechless.
Finally, she said, “Please, I pay you fifty dollars to leave.”
First Date
Silver Bib got separated from his family in a huge snowstorm. The more he searched, the farther he wandered, and he grew more lonely with each day.
He saw more foxes who were red, like his family! He trotted up to their leader, asking, “Could you use some help? I’m a great hunter!”
One of the vixens looked him over, and shook her head. “No, you’re too cute. You’ll probably get our little ones to give you their food.”
“But– but–” protested Silver Bib.
“Butt your way out, before we kick your cute butt!” called the vixen.
He hung his head and walked away. He soon found more foxes, busily coming in and out of a hole in the ground. “Hey, ladies! I can help you hunt!”
Three vixens came out, baring their teeth. “Who are you, old fox? You’ll slow us down. We already have enough males to keep us busy.”
Silver Bib turned away, dejected and feeling old, though he wasn’t much more than a kit, himself. He thought he saw his reflection in the snow, but it was yet another fox, and this one was spry and limber.
“What’s wrong, sport?” asked the vixen, “Are you alone? Do you want to pair up? My name is First Snow.”
Silver Bib recovered his energy, and they immediately began to frolic in the snowy hills, settling down after awhile into a snuggle. They would soon be needing a foxhole of their own.
“Sabrina the Beautiful Vixen”
Sabrina, the beautiful vixen flipped through the air writhing in intense pain. She gekkered loudly after landing hard in the virgin snow some of which was turning an intense crimson from her!
They had terrified Sabrina as the dogs had pursued her scent. She had run up to thirty miles an hour trying to lose the dogs, but her scent trail kept the dogs coming. The hounds finally ran her into their awaiting masters.
Sabrina remembered fondly play-fighting and rolling around gekkering for hours at a time with the other kits in her litter when she first realized her existence. Sabrina had wanted to have kits. She realized that now she never would.
Sabrina thought trying to understand what this is all about and why, “We fox sometimes live with our families or alone. So do, men. Men call attractive ladies ‘foxy.’ Fox live in all parts of this world. Humans live all over the world too. Fox and man are alike.
“Why have these humans trained horses to carry them and trained our cousins, the dogs, to chase us, before they shoot to kill us? They do not eat us.
“We fox are carnivores. We fox hunt our prey and then play with them as a cat will do before we kill them. that is it! Men are just the same as us,” was Sabrina’s final thought. She understood as she looked up into the smiling faces of the men with the guns!
In the woods in search of mushrooms Lili had wandered out toward where the old dead-fall had been rigged. She spotted several small stone cairns. These were markers of some significant spiritual event, or a warning to other Paugussett travelers that the spot was enchanted.
As she came over the shallow dip in the trail, Lili could see that the trap’s great log had fallen. What she saw beneath it horrified her; the tail end of a black fox; one of the truly sacred animals of the forest. Such animals, exceedingly rare, were called Manitou, and were believed to have divine powers. The Paugussett were forbidden by their cosmology to take any black fox in the hunt. Through these Manitou, it was believed the Creator was present in everything, leading the People to observe both the beautiful and fearful nature of creation. A dead Manitou, especially a black fox would upset the balance Cautantowuit authored in this creation; a desecration.
Lili knew that no Paugussett would accuse her; they would leave it to their Holy Men, the Pauwaus to decipher what this sign may mean to the tribe.
The Paugussett saw women as creatures of strength and magic in their unique ability to conceive and give birth. Lili, they knew had made the trap. She was a native but not of their tribe. When creations die, others are born. It was thought among the Pauwaus that Lili was perhaps a new Manitou of the Great Creator, his spiritual messenger.
Maybe.
Mr. Fox lived in a rough neighborhood. The competition was intense.
Food was scarce. The snow had arrived months ago. Spring and the
prospect of lots of food were still weeks away. His mother had named
him Flash. As a pup he was quick, but now he was older and slower.
The other animals called him Mister, Mister Fox, out of respect for his
survival skills.
He had trouble hearing, so it was now difficult to pin point the mice and
voles moving under the snow. There was the occasional rabbit caught in
the open as it searched for food. The deer where too big for him to bring
down but their search for grasses and leaves revealed the dirt and bugs
below. In the hard times he ate bugs and weeds. These were hard times.
Tiny bits of food to get through another winter.
In his burrow, Mr. Fox decided he would move south to the warmer climate
like his siblings had done. But he knew when spring arrived with warm weather
and tasty baby creatures that he would remain in the neighborhood of his youth.
The red fox stood outside their sliding glass door with a quizzical look on its face. A foot of snow covered the deck but it had been trampled down by the other foxes on the deck. They were all looking in the glass door at the middle-aged couple, Jim and Terry Macintosh.
The Macintoshes looked beyond the foxes to the racoons and coyotes, hundreds of them milling around. The racoons were pacing along the top of the fence.
“We should’ve left when the emergency folks told us to,” said Terry, dressed in her flowered apron and poring pancake mix on the griddle.
“A little late for that,” said Jim as he opened and shut the bolt of his ancient .22 rifle.
“You think that squirrel gun’s going to do any good? How long since you’ve fired it?”
“Too long,” said Jim. “We don’t even have ammunition. I’ll use it like a baseball bat.”
“That’s comforting,” said Terry as she flipped the pancakes.
The animals in the backyard were hungry. That was obvious. Now that all the pets—the Macintoshes lost their two cats last week—were gone, there was only one thing left for them to eat. Even the rats were gone, a small consolation to the impending disaster.
“The thing is,” said Jim, “these critters don’t work together. They eat each other. We can wait them out. Look at the racoons. Nervous. The coyotes? They’re eyeing the foxes.
“Speaking of food,” said Terry. “Here, eat your breakfast.”
He was hungry, so very hungry. It has been a long time since any unsuspecting hiker ventured anywhere near his pond. He waited patiently, but he can wait no more.
The fox stood on the shore as the dragonflies flitted across the lily pads. The water began to ripple as the demon rose up from its murky depths. The fox looked up and the demon gazed into her eyes.
This was the first time he has tried to make contact. No words were spoken and yet the fox knew what she had to do. With a nod, she turned away from the pond and bounded down the path.
Time seemed to stand still. For a moment the demon thought that perhaps the fox misunderstood. Then the rustling of leaves could be heard off in the distance. She had returned and behind her, a hiker followed her attempting to get the perfect selfie.
The fox led the hiker to the pond where the demon lay in wait. He closed his eyes as he smelled the soul, it was unmistakably delicious.
The demon locked eyes with the human. The human was helpless to resist the pull of the demon as she walked into the dark water.
It tasted better than he remembered. Innocent souls were always the sweetest.
The fox appeared in George’s yard just six days after Emma’s death. Its fur reminded him of his wife’s beautiful auburn hair.
Daily he sipped his coffee and watched the small hunter. She would creep, tilt her head and listen, then pounce. Usually, she would scamper away with a rodent in her mouth.
By early spring, George saw a second fox in the nearby woods. Watching the two hunt and cavort across his property, he often described their antics to Emma. They were bringing joy back into his life.
However, he fretted when he discovered their den. His foxes had chosen his driveway culvert, next to the busy road. They could hardly have found a more dangerous location.
Glumly, George watched careless drivers rush by. Then he spotted a dark object lying in the middle of the road. Tears blurred his vision as he scrambled toward the street. He nearly ran in front of a speeding truck.
When he stepped onto the road, he breathed heavily. It was only a crushed hiking boot. His kits all frolicked safely in the drainage ditch.
Immediately, he reached a decision. Honesty be damned. He purchased a green, flag-wielding, plastic child statue. Its “Go Slow” warning soon decorated the edge of his driveway. He knew Emma would approve.
“Excuse me? Did you just call me a wolf?”
My eyes widened. I live in a suburb and this … this …. creature was in my yard after a recent snowfall. I shook my head. “I didn’t call you anything. I was wondering.”
The little critter was indignant. “Wondering what?”
I swallowed. “Wondering what kind of animal you are. You’re obviously not a dog.”
“Points for that.”
“I’ve seen coyotes in the area—you’re not that big. I’m just not used to seeing wildlife in my back yard.”
“But you humans are the trespassers on my land.”
My mind is racing. I am having an argument with a wild animal in plain English in my suburban back yard and it’s cold out. I need to put on a coat, but this moment is just too magical as well as surreal.
“OK, what exactly are you? You’re not a dog, you’re too small for a coyote, I don’t think you’re a wolf.”
“So, what does that leave, Einstein?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe a fox?”
He fixed me with that steely gaze. “Maybe a fox? Are there no end to your insults? Yes, I am a fox. Of the genus Vulpes. Of the family—“
“Hold it right there. No need to go all technical for me. If I didn’t recognize your from the cartoons I surely won’t know the Latin names.”
“You may refer to me as a fox. Smaller and cuter than the wolf.”
Smudge often wonders why his littermates delight in teasing him so. It’s not like he had any say in the dark patch of fur on his forehead. “Rickart, not Smudge!” he thinks as his sister Metterie chomps his tale and delights in his yelp. Soon, he will be an adult and on his own! At least Metterie won’t be around to chomp him.
Smudge finds a quiet corner of the den, stretches, yawns and settles in to rest, away from the others. He quickly drifts into the vast ocean of sleep.
From far away he hears a soft voice whisper his name and in this dark place of dream he turns towards it. The voice is louder, closer now… it sounds like a river racing, but he can understand words…
“Rickert… you were not made for the world of forests and foxes…. you were not made to chase rabbits and sniff the air…. and that is no smudge. It’s your inner eye, your inner self. It’s time to serve your true purpose and rise to greet your ancestors. They have been waiting for you….Your true name will make you your truest self. Say it. Open the eye and fulfill your purpose….”
“Rickert?” he asks the pressing dark.
“Vulpecula…. ” it whispers, “the fox among the stars.”
“Vulpecula” he says breathless… “Me? I’m the fox in the stars?”
“EEEEOOOOOccchhhhh!!!” Rickert screams as he’s brutally awakened to see Meterrie spit out his tale and slyly smile.
Stacy and Debbie were on a mission. Their forest hike at 1 a.m., was to fulfill the deathbed request of their neighbor Don.
Stacy remembered how pale and weak Don had been at the end. She shivered thinking about it.
“Are you cold?” Debbie asked.
“No, but creeped out,” Stacy said.
“We’re right behind a police station! What is there to be afraid of?” Debbie asked.
“A serial killer with a sense of humor! It’s weird how it all turned out,” Stacy remarked.
“You aren’t kidding…remember how we thought he was a burglar, sneaking out at night?” Debbie said.
***
Don a photographer, had let the two women in on the secret of his night hikes. He hated the heat, and had become fascinated with foxes.
When Don knew he was dying, he told them of the fox he was worried about ; because of the extreme weather.
***
They waited at the clearing. She came just as Don predicted. With a little limp, and her sides swollen with unborn young; she stopped and looked at them – questioning.
They tossed one of Don’s gloves towards her. She lifted her head to smell the air, then stepped closer.
“Unwrap the package,” Debbie hissed.
Stacy unwrapped the butcher paper; and laid the paper, and the fat rat on the ground. Debby laid Don’s other glove next to the rat.
The fox stepped closer.
“She knows we’re friends.”
“Of course- who else would bring a care package in the middle of the night,” Stacy whispered.
In the snail mail today came a birthday card and letter to me from my best friend in college. For the second year in a row she thinks my birthday is in August. Actually both of our birthdays are in October and she is four days older than I. She says she is forgetful. Love you Pat. We have so many good memories.
Pat could stay up all night, cram for a test and make a straight A the next day. (She wanted to be a doctor and would have been a great one.) A Marine fell in love with her and she was so deeply in debt, she married him and moved to Wisconsin with him. She was also dating a fellow in the Air Force who also loved her, but he was respectful and did not push. He said he would have finished putting her through medical school and then follow his own plans to teach high school.
Pat gave the Marine five children and when they all were in school, he left her for his best friend’s wife. For years her letters were bitter.
What would their lives have been like if they were smart like a fox and could foresee the future.
LATE ENTRY
I was going for the center of the back of the neck. But then the fox turned looking towards me, without actually seeing me. The barrel was now aimed between the eyes.
I let out a slow and soft breath, steadied my hands, as I aimed for the collarbone.
I could not bring myself to pull the trigger.
The radio receiver in my ear beeped,
“Rina, what are you waiting for? You have the animal right where you want it.”
“Can’t. The fox is staring right at me.”
“It can’t see you or hear you. Not possible at 10 yards away with the brush providing cover…”
Then a loud crack pierced the air about the same time the fox toppled backwards.
“Gotcha! Snooze and you lose,” another voice came in on the receiver. It was Ryan.
He raced over and retrieved the downed animal. He lay the tranquilized fox at my feet.
Sighing relief, I cradled it with the sheet of plaid I just used to picnic my lunch and headed back to the jeep with the rest of the party.
On the bumpy ride to base, my thoughts wandered while caressing the red orange fur.
If it were human eyes rather than fox eyes staring, would there still be any hesitation?
Instead of laying harmful traps or aerial drones, what if prior to pulling the trigger, we are confronted by a pair of eyes, pleading for life?
Maybe, the impersonality of current war encounters cease, eventually ending all conflict.