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.
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS CHOICE ONLY
Kiel thought he was a latter day James Bond driving fast cars, living a surreal life reminiscent of movies like “Rebel Without a Cause.” He was a middle class delinquent living in snow covered Alaska. Christmas Day, his iconic white sports car was found abandoned on a lonely stretch of road. No crash, no blood, no witnesses and no Kiel. The fact there was no note mystified locals. Kiel loved the dramatic and to be the centre of any scene. So why disappear without a trace?
Let us step back to that momentous day. Kiel was driving with his usual wild abandon. He lived for the adrenaline of speed. He was thinking that he should leave his signature on this world. Nature had not been generous in giving him the handsome looks of a movie star. He was too short, his features were too bland and far too forgettable. Nature had given him a dare devil streak; it was his compensation for having humdrum features. Driving at wreckless speeds was becoming monotonous; it no longer lit his fire. The adrenaline was fading gradually in disappointing sputtering sparks. It was then that Elton John’s lyrics blared at him, “Your candle burned out long before, your legend ever did.”
Kiel skidded to a halt. He got out of his luxurious car and walked away. Mystique would surround him. As the man of mystery he would become a legend
Title: Rebel with a Cause
He had a four-letter name. His friends didn’t call him Pish, but respectfully, MR. Pish.
He was quietly working on becoming famous. People around the world were reading about his exploits.
Unlike James Bond, he didn’t seek to save the world and conquer every female he set his eyes on. He had Kat, his trusted companion.
He didn’t need to drive an Aston Martin; he had a built-in chauffeur. They would travel the world together. She, taking pictures of his adventures and writing marvelous accounts of his escapades.
Then, like all good things – where did Bond go? More importantly, where did Mr. Pish go?
There is a saying – ‘Rebel without a cause,’ but Mr. Pish did have a cause. His, was to bring enjoyment to children around the world. It wasn’t so much about him, but to learn about many places.
There was that final drive. The one they still talk about. That glorious sparkling white convertible was found on a snow-covered hillside in Arizona. Stories were written about what the so-called rebel was up to, but some of us know the real story.
The legend of Mr. Pish will be passed down, and maybe a wonderful documentary will be made.
Let’s not mourn his loss, let’s just give thanks that his exploits can be enjoyed by families around the globe.
Kat knows the real story, but tears come to her eyes when she talks about her final day with her best friend.
End of Days
Del Walkins couldn’t remember when he started having thoughts of his own mortality. Certainly, others around him probably mentioned it occasionally. He remembered one after-work Christmas drinkathon at the Pink Rooster up on 45th Street back in 2001, when Hobart, the International Sales VP went on a “we’re all gonna die so shoot the works now,” tear.
Paramedics sedated Hobart. The following year he was transferred to Auckland, New Zealand. Everyone agreed that he’d been angling for the transfer all along and going nutters was an efficient negotiating strategy…used in moderation.
Hobart’s bogus meltdown reinforced for Del that worrying about your own expiration date was foolish and he successfully ignored the inevitability of death for years.
Then Covid-19 reared its relentless head.
The virus started slowly, then revved up.
Soon, the whole world was infected.
Initially, Del was happy to work at home. At his corporate level, an hour of solid work a day got most things done.
Mid-summer, he sensed that Milly, his wife, was frustrated with having Del underfoot.
By Christmas, they were barely talking.
Del was missing his real life.
His office.
The water cooler.
The rotating harem of eager young interns.
Buried in dark wintry flushes of unfamiliar imminent impermanence, Del went out into his backyard and looked into his soul.
Actually, he looked over the fence at his neighbour Mortenson’s new sports car.
“Yeah!“ he screamed, “Yeah!”
The next day, a resolute Del Watkins headed for the hills in his new wheels.
Guilt pushed her forward, while her parents’ responses to her news fought to restrain her. The jerricans on the backseat had no agenda, each jostling the others for space, with the empties ringing hollowly, overpowering the voices of the ones still full. They were waiting their turn; they would be the ones that would decide the outcome of her flight.
The asphalt was slick this morning, the snowmelt glaze contemptuous of her need for haste. The road passing the rapids was treacherous at the best of times but today it was wilful, collaborating with the snap of the oversteer to make her normally precise Miata sleepy and vague. The hairpins seemed more aggressive and numerous too. She’d been in a hurry to leave the place she’d once called home, but she might not reach her new-found sanctuary if she didn’t try to relax a little more.
Her being disowned was going to be the hardest thing, she knew. She’d always known her Dad would be there, that her Mom would be behind him, his fire and her comforting hugs perpetual constants she could rely on. It was unthinkable that they could both have been lost so easily, so quickly, without any hope of appeal.
And so, this was it, her future. She still had hope, but little else, the thought of a fireplace in the west drawing her from all she’d lost. There would be a family there, in time. They would just have to build it, create it together.
Dark Winter
Claec desired above all else to be with another human being.
But that was fanciful thinking; he wasn’t allowed to be with anyone. No one was. Social separation was mandated by law.
Still, he had a rebellious streak. He was a lawless gang of one. A rebel.
But how did one rebel in a sterile world where The City Brain watched your every move?
As a thermal drone passed by his window he struck upon an idea. He would don his Virtual Reality helmet Model #221220, and enter into his own world, where fast cars, thrilling scenery, and close friends awaited him.
He grabbed some food from the machine, picked up his VR helmet, and made himself comfortable on the sofa in his tiny cubicle apartment.
In no time, he found himself immersed in another world, in another time and place, in the company of friends and fun…
After several hours of entertainment his Virtual Reality session came to an end.
Claec took off his helmet and sat still on the sofa. For some reason he felt sad and didn’t know why. Even his little mechanical dog licking his hand didn’t help much. Something was gnawing at his insides.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. All the experts said so.
He was a rebel after all…
Still…
As the snow fell outside he absently touched the window pane with his hand. It felt cold, like the coming of a dark winter.
Shifting into fourth gear — RPMs drop — Speed increases — Sirens blare — Rearview mirror shows colored flashing lights.
“Was it worth it?” Jimi thinks.
Glancing at the large bag filled with bundles of hundred dollar bills sitting on the passenger seat.
“Hell yeah.”
The city streets are busy — exactly how he wants them. Cutting in front of an oncoming bus — he makes a sharp turn down an alley — the bus swerves — blocking the alley entrance. Cops have to go around.
Quietly pulling into traffic, Jimi remains unnoticed. Police cars race around searching as he obeys the speed limit and stop lights, blending in with ordinary traffic.
Entering a parking garage — driving up to the fourth floor — Jimi parks the car. Grabbing the loot, he takes the elevator down to the second floor and climbs into a beige Hyundai.
The Hyundai exits the garage and heads straight to the freeway.
“If it wasn’t for the thrill of the chase, this job would hardly be worth the effort,” Jimi thinks as the Hyundai disappears amongst the thousands of cars traveling out of the city.
I have always been a rebel at heart and taking a job in the city was a big decision for me. It didn’t take long to become repulsed by the noisy, constant, bustle of people and the bumper to bumper traffic. In fact I would be saving money changing from city living to quiet country. So selling my apartment in the city and buying a cabin in the country was easy.
Winter! How could it creep up on me so quickly! This country living is just not what I expected at all. I have only been out of the city for three months. I know I was going to trade in this convertible for a four wheel drive vehicle that could get around in the winter weather but I didn’t think winter would hit so fast.
When I woke up this morning to the snow on the ground and ice on the driveway, I thought I could coax the convertible in to town for a trade in on a more durable car, but here I am. Stuck! With the wheels spinning and no traction. I can’t even get the top to go down to stay warm. I have no bars on my cell phone. I am finding that a cell phone out here is useless. Guess the only thing to do is hike back to the cabin and call for a tow.
Evan wished he’d worn his ski jacket instead of packing it. What kind of crazy does it take to drive with the top down at these temperatures?
In the driver’s seat, Murray Clarendon was having the time of his life. The crisp air had reddened his cheeks, and he grinned from ear to ear. “Nothing like a nice brisk drive to wake you up and get you ready to start the day.”
Evan bit his tongue. He was traveling as Murray’s guest, and obligated to put a good face on the situation. He still wished he could devise a pretext to get into his bag and retrieve his ski jacket.
Ahead a rusty tower rose toward the sky like the trunk of a dead tree. Once it had supported the cables for a ski lift.
During the Energy Wars, a lot of the ski resorts up here had gone bankrupt. Murray had picked up one of them cheap as the campus of his telepath school. Given how mundanes were turning against people with genetic modifications, there was something to be said about the isolation.
As Murray pulled up in front of the lodge and waited for the garage door to open, he looked over at Evan. “Hate to break it to you, but just pasting a smile on your face and trying hard to look positive doesn’t cut it. Remember, I’m a CIA-trained projective, so I’m not just limited to whatever surface thoughts are floating around.”