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.
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.
A Young Moose in a Forbidden Love
I was feeling kind of loose,
And not to sound too obtuse,
nothing like a long-necked goose,
to pay Big Bopper his dues,
Though I would prefer his “deuce”
But like I said, it’s the truth,
I was camping with old friend Bruce-
our tent was beneath a spruce
or a cedar, I later deduced-
as I drank my morning juice,
though Bruce had tried to adduce
that point with verbal dukes
whilst we played our duo flutes,
recorders, eh, (don’t mean to confuse
the two), as we played a sweet tattoo
the night before, a jug of booze
to grease our flautist’s tunes
under the dazzling forest moon,
and you know the way events accrue,
a small thing becomes a big to-do,
we drank too much potent brew,
a flaw of my friend, I knew.
We bickered: nothing new,
and as we gave old stuff a chew,
I suggested an evening truce
When up walked a bold young moose.
Well, this was breaking news
Though it tended to confuse
we couple of urban youths,
to have a critter introduced
to our woodland roost.
He haunched back on his hoofs
And said his name was Proust.
Alas, I felt the urge to snooze
And left Proust alone with Bruce.
In the morning, I deduced
I was alone, a plain recluse,
No sign of Bruce or Proust,
No notes, no helpful clues.
Just a sense that did amuse;
they had flouted a new taboo.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” the voice said, with an odd inflection. “I’m a little indisposed. If you’d just pass by, we’ll say no more.”
The hunter shook his head. “What? What was that?” He lowered his rifle. The moose was staring right at him, its eyes soulful but still calm. It might have been a fine specimen at one time, but its fur was hanging loose, and he’d thought he’d almost be doing it a favour. At least it would be quick, and it could die with some dignity. It would be what he’d ask for himself, if it were him.
The moose sighed. It rolled its eyes as though it had a bovine disorder and kicked out at the mud-patch it was standing in. The puddle had almost dried, but its legs were slathered almost all the way to their tops. It had been here more than few days, it seemed.
“I’m sorry.” The moose seemed disappointed. Its voice had a timbre like that of a mature man, its presence seemingly experienced and learned. When the hunter closed his eyes, he could have been in a gentlemen’s club, a thick cigar in one hand and a claret in the other. The moose’s head would have been on the wall and things would have been normal. There would have been no talking animals and no doubts for his sanity. He opened his eyes and raised the gun again.
The moose stiffened. “Father, forgive him,” it said, before it died.
“All you need to do is give the right answer,” the young girl moose said to her suitor, “and that will tell me everything I need to know about you. That’s all. Just one little answer to one little question,”
“But I…” her suitor stammered.
“I know, I know,” she replied. “You want to come closer, and you will. Maybe. But first you must give me the correct answer to my question. Come on now. What’s your answer. Is it yes or is it no?”
“Well, I, I think, after carefully considering all the facts, that the conclusion should be obvious. That is, not all that obvious. I mean, it’s not like I can just dash off an answer. This means a great deal to you, and as such it means a great deal to me too. It deserves my careful….um…. I’m sorry. I seem to have lost track of my thoughts there for a minute.”
The girl moose batted her eyes at her suitor. “No you didn’t,” she giggled. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Her suitor was so flustered he couldn’t say anything.
“I’ll repeat the question,” she said. “Now listen carefully.” She shifted her weight seductively on her long slim legs and cleared her throat.
“Do you, or do you not,” she said, “think this pose makes me look fat?”
“Morning, Claire. Hey, I saw a moose this morning in the parking lot on the way to work.”
“Really? How did you know it was going to work?”
“Ha, Real funny, Claire. Monday morning humor. Or another diversion from your real problem. How was your weekend with you-know-who?”
“I’d rather not talk about it now. Maybe over lunch.”
“No time like the present. There isn’t anyone here yet. Grab some coffee and meet me in the lounge.”
The small brokerage office was cozy and well equipped. Claire made her cappuccino and met Larry in the wood-paneled, leather-bound lounge his grandad appointed decades ago. Claire was his best producer and her well-being augured well for his own.
“Well, he’s a bit like that moose you saw. Large, rarely around when you would like to see him. Stubborn and nasty when confronted or cornered. I caught him red-handed with her and all he does is deny, and brae like some trapped beast. All I want is a little honesty.”
“And the solution?” Larry supported his employees but knew it was best to let them noodle problems themselves.
“The neighbor boys hired a small U-Haul. They’ll pack all his stuff while he’s at work today. When and if he comes home drunk as usual, he’ll pass out on the floor. He’ll find the U-Haul keys and a note in his shoes.”
“Hope it works. You can’t just leave that rogue lyin’ there.”
“He’s not a rogue lion, Larry, he’s a stupid moose.”
“I know what you are thinking”, said Marvin the moose. You think I’m a disgrace to my species. You think I’ve been acting like some uncouth critter rolling around in the mud from the wash ridding myself of all those pesky mosquitoes tormenting me.
You see me covered in mud and immediately think the worst of me. Couldn’t you have some positive thoughts for a change?
Maybe some cute little ‘moosette’ was stuck in the mud and I, Marvin the Magnificent, came along to rescue her and got a little dirty in the process. Maybe I was the unfortunate victim of some joy-riding kids in an ATV who came tooling down the wash splattering mud in every direction. Maybe I tripped on an overgrown root, fell into the mud and almost broke my leg. Who are you to judge me?
If I saw you standing next to a mud hole, covered with mud, I wouldn’t think badly of you. I’d ask if you had an accident and needed my help or perhaps, if I should leave you in peace because you were just enjoying your mud bath massage.
“What did you say?” “Do I need your help?” No, I was just having fun rolling around in the mud from the wash ridding myself of all those pesky mosquitoes tormenting me.
I freeze, one foot half-raised, body low. Mud oozes between my toes, but I ignore the discomfort. I am a hunter like my parents. After two miles of careful tracking, my quarry stands only a few yards away. The hairs on my neck prickle with excitement. This will be my first solo kill. My first hunt. Mom and dad think I’m too young, but I’ll show them and bring home food all by myself.
“Did you really think you could sneak up on me alone?” The young moose swivels its head toward me. “I’ve watched you stumble around for hours. You’re pathetic.”
A half-formed growl catches in my throat. “How dare you talk to me like that!”
The moose flicks a hoof full of muck in my face and goes back to grazing. Fury overtakes reason and my lips curl back. I leap, intent on sinking my teeth deep into its self-righteous flank. One long, gangly leg flicks back. Pain shoots through my hip. Another hoof slams down inches from my nose. It’s enough to clear my head and set my heart pounding with fear.
“Go home, pup, before I lose my patience.”
I lick my wounded pride and limp back to the den. The pack shows no pity as I slink by, tail curled beneath me. Their disappointment hurts as much as Mother’s words. I roll on my back and whimper when she speaks.
“You forgot the most important rule. We are a pack. Many paws make us strong.
They trudged through the white snow blanketing the forest until after one particularly hard stare at the ground, Arawn stopped.
“What, is there a marking? Are we finally near him?” Excitement colored his companions voice.
“…”
“Say something, yeah?”
“…”
“Can you respond? You’ve been like this the entire trip, not talking or telling me anything! I really don’t know why James recommended you, it’s like –“
“Which one was it.” Arawn looked back, his expression frozen.
“W-What do you mean?”
“Family members, which one?”
The man’s angry look shifted into one of nervousness. “Is your brain damaged? My family is fine.”
“Ah,” Arawn’s cold aura lightened. “It’s for glory then. That’ll make this a lot easier.” His rifle lifted to aim at him.
“You’re insane! Why are –“
“Shift.”
“S-Shift? What –“
“Now.”
At this, the man’s fury seemed to completely dissipate, and his face turned resigned. He took a step back, and a crack rang out as his bones began to move like waves under his skin. Patches of dark brown fur started sprouting all over his body, and a great pair of antlers emerged, pointed towards the heavens. It tossed away its bipedalism as it bent over, and a final, audible pop signified the end of the grotesque transformation.
Arawn smiled, and sent a bullet flying through its head.
There was too much going on in the boy’s life: new high school, cliquish neighborhood, small apartment.
Now his dad had reached out and asked him to go hunting. Despite the ever-present lectures that rubbed the boy the wrong way, his dad seemed to be doing well with a new wife and their two young kids, even being so much older than the new wife.
Hunting had never been high on the boy’s list of favorites, even when his parents were married. But when his dad asked him to the moose hunt, he could hardly say no. Even his mother, still bitter about the divorce, urged him to go.
This was a guided hunt. His dad was busy with work, though, his cell phone keeping him cabin-bound two mornings. The boy spent time with the guide, scouting the area, tracking moose, looking for a trophy. His dad was big on trophies.
On Wednesday, his dad joined the hunt, bossy as ever. With the guide leading, they jumped two moose, but the boy was too slow. His dad wasn’t happy at the missed shot.
They raced after the moose, the boy directed to a road while the guide and his dad took the ridges, hoping to drive a moose to the boy.
A moose spooked and dashed up a trail. Startled, the boy fired blindly and rapidly. They all tracked the gutshot animal, a skinny runt, and finished her off. The boy stood over it and cried while his dad swore.
HOLY GUACAMOLE, ROCK!
“Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat …”
“Again …?”
“Nothing up my slee … WHOA! HOLY GUACAMOLE, ROCK!”
Our hero was suddenly thunderstruck by a cow eyed over the shoulder ‘come hither, big boy’ glance. Little did he know a fiendish plot was afoot with this vision of loveliness.
“Where are ya going Bullwinkle? Jeepers creepers, we got a show to do. What about our fans?”
“Start without me little buddy, I got some oats to sew. Ya wouldn’t happen to have cheerios and a threaded needle, would ya?” replied a bewitched Bullwinkle as he pranced away absently pausing to pick daisies for his new amore.
“Hooky smoke, Bullwinkle, you look sick.”
“Psst, moose is coming. Lead him to trap. Make sure he fall in pit. I’ll take care of squirrel when he tries rescue.” hissed the notorious Boris Badenov, hiding in a succotash bush, near the ear of Mata Hari Moose, who little known to our heroes was none other than Natasha Fatale in disguise!
“But Dahlink, I not use to walk on hands and feets and I’m sweating like a … a … moose!”
“Shhhhh! Sharrup you mouth and wiggle those hips. We can’t disappoint Fearless Leader. ”
Will Rocky be able to snap his love sick pal out of it? Or will Bullwinkle be trapped in a sinking relationship?
Don’t miss our next exciting episode:
“MOOSE LIPS SINK DIPS” or “THE MOOSE O’ MY DREAMS WAS A RUSSIAN FLOOZY”
He knew he wasn’t the best looking moose in the forest, but maybe, just maybe, some day he’d find the love of his life.
It was on a Fourth of July weekend. The nerve-racking pops and toots drove him deeper into the forest. He’d just relax at his favorite spot under the thicket of strawberries he loved to munch on. While lying there waiting for the sky to become a canvas of exploding colors, he heard something pushing through the surrounding bushes. It crept into the strawberry patch and froze. What is this gorgeous creature, he wondered?
Startled by the presence of another in her favorite resting place, the warthog gaped at the figure before her. She snorted her greetings and moved closer. It had been so long since she saw her reflection and realized how ugly she seemed to be. Look at this magnificent guy in front of me, she thought. I heard it said there’s such a thing as love at first sight. Could it be?
Fireworks lit up the sky.
“Hey! Get a load of those two,” the hunter called to his wife.. “Didja ever see such ugly things. Wanna get ’em?”
“No. Aren’t they something? They seem so happy together,” she sighed. “Let’s go home.” She leaned over, kissed her husband’s cheek, and whispered, “People like us may think they’re ugly, but when lovers look at each other, they see beauty. And, don’t forget, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
First Time Jitters
Among conifers, Grandpa knows the way. Unable to sleep I stare up at my ceiling with anticipation and soon I’m dressed warmly, brown leather hiking boots tied tight.
Frigid, a creamy, warm coffee would melt me, but Grandpa says I’m too young. From my seat in his truck I glanced back at my rifle in it’s soft camo case, my prize possession. A present that has been taunting me through the frosted glass of the cabinet, dying to be used.
“Again safety is key,” he is saying, finger pointed in the air. Yes Grandpa I know, rolling my eyes to myself. But bulls are large, their racks outstretched like hands toward heaven, hard to miss. I am sure I will be able to protect myself even though I could taste fear in the air. Yet I couldn’t contain my excitement.
Under the breaking lavender and periwinkle sky we set out in pursuit. Snapped twigs grab my attention, a large shadow looms ahead in my path. My stomach sank and I’m solid. I guess I had not planned coming so close to one. Grandpa was too far from me to whisper but I could sense him.
I took a breath and knew I could do this. With my gun raised I had the moose in my scope, yet it fogged with early tears. I pulled away, the gun still raised as the day became a stronger blue. The calf bore through me, tearing apart my soul.
The Courtship
They had been going ‘Up Country’ to their small camp in New Hampshire for twenty years to just get away.
The round screened in patio was where she liked to sit and enjoy her coffee, usually catching the sunrise, along with the birds and small animals starting their day. That morning, she heard the bushes on the edge of the woods being disturbed. She put her glasses on and stared in the direction of the noise. There was something moving the bushes – a long brown fur covered leg appeared.
She had ducked her head so she could see under the framework of the screened patio and sat back in her folding chair when she saw the large moose. It was staring right at her. Neither she nor the moose moved. The moose finally strolled towards her screened area and when he was right beside it, it bent to look right at her. His snort made her jump.
The standoff lasted only a minute and he continued his stroll to the worn path leading to the road. He stopped and looked back at her. She could feel her heart beating, but felt like she needed to acknowledge him, so, she waved. He did a slight bow and resumed his stroll.
When she told her husband, he said she was either dreaming, or needed to stop spiking her coffee.
Most mornings now, they both enjoy their rendezvous. When he doesn’t appear, she enjoys looking at his photograph.
How is it that this man’s two decades older than me, but I’m still having trouble keeping up with him?
Lucius Belfontaine wiped the sweat from his forehead and forged onward. His idea of enjoying the great outdoors was a round or two of golf, not tramping through the woods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. But when you’re assigned to fly landers at the new moonbase under the command of an avid outdoorsman, you take the trip and put your best face on it.
At least Captain Chaffee was taking him fishing, not hunting. Although Lucius had learned the fundamentals of marksmanship in the course of becoming a Navy officer, he disliked the idea of shooting an animal that had done him no mischief.
Not to mention that sitting on a log by the side of a stream provided welcome respite from keeping up with a man who was pushing fifty and had some impressive scars. They watched the orange bobbers ride the ripples and waited for a bite.
A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He looked up to see a moose standing in the woods on the far side of the stream, browsing the understory. It raised its head to look right back at him, then went back to munching.
“Will you look at that?” Lucius kept his voice low, not wanting to scare off the moose. “The perfect shot, and no rifle.”
Throwing the piece of straw on the ground crushing under my breath, I drew scavenging again.
“Don’t make any noise this time and find something to eat.”
I rolled the last blackberry between my fingers, staining them with the sweet sticky juice, popping it into my mouth, savoring the last bit of my ration.
Jumping to my feet, “If you don’t like how I hunt, why don’t you go in my place.”
Titus laughed and waved me into the woods, rolling my eyes. I slung my bow over my shoulder. My stomach rumbled, hugging my abdomen to muffle the sound I crouched down creeping toward the clearing.
Peeking through the branches, I saw my next meal. I closed my eyes and focused on slowing my breath. The beast turned its head toward my position without trumpeting an alarm for the rest of the herd. Soundlessly aiming, with a slow exhale, I released my weapon, my mouth watered, finally a meal worthy of my hunting prowess.
Instead of sinking into meaty flesh, the arrow bounced off the metal target and set off an ear-splitting alarm. Rubbing my eyes in disbelief, scanning the field, I crept backward, retracing my steps until I felt the barrel of a gun against my back.
“What do we have here?”
Slowly raising my arms above my head, my knife slides into my hand, turning to lock eyes with my captor. The blade sails through the air, making a loud thud hitting its mark.
“Dinner is served.”