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.
It had never happened before, I had never seen such a beast but there it was standing just feet away from me. I couldn’t remember does one stand still or does one try to run faster than they ever have in their entire life? Well far be it from me to just stand still and do nothing – So I decided since I couldn’t remember what had been discussed in elementary school about bears and their attacking strategy I would just run for it. Or, stand there…or run for it…or…then it happened! I crapped my pants. That’s right the thing that happened that had never happened before was that I lost all control of my bowels and I crapped my pants! Before you judge if you were put in my situation I think you would do the same, sure you would like to think you would act like Rambo or the Terminator, but the reality is like me you would probably just drop a good ole number 2 while losing your ever loving mind! Thankful the food we ate on the trail up was so gross, and the natural aroma from my bowel movement actually scared the bear, and to this day I believe it saved my life!
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS’ CHOICE ONLY
“Hold up!”
I was about to step over a fallen tree trunk when Liam, my Canadian guide, thrust his left arm in front of me and abruptly stopped my forward movement. “Quiet now,” he whispered. “Are you ready to take your shot?”
“I just did,” I replied.
“Say what?”
“Here, take a look. I just got a great photo of a cinnamon bear.” I showed him the LCD screenshot. “This will make a wonderful addition to my Canadian wildlife portfolio.”
“It’s a beauty, all right,” he exclaimed. “But I thought you asked me to bring you out here this May to hunt brown bear. Where’s your rifle? You didn’t leave it home again, did you?”
I threw both hands into the air. “What can I say? Call me forgetful.”
“John, you did this last year, too,” said Liam, laughing. “I don’t think you’ve ever had any intention of doing any real hunting.”
“What makes you say that,” I asked, feigning indignancy.
“For one thing, you don’t even have a species license for brown bear. Explain that, will you!”
Somehow, I knew Liam had been on to me all along. Otherwise, he would have asked to see my license before we left the cabin that morning. As well, he could see I wasn’t carrying a rifle.
“Ah, yes, Liam. A species license. Well, sir, I never bought one. Never intended to.”
“Really,” said Liam, laughing. “And why is that, may I ask?”
“Don’t need a license to use this here Leica.”
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS’ CHOICE ONLY
The Bear
My dark turmoiled thoughts contrasted with the peaceful countryside. Passing a majestic tree, I trudged up hill. Eyes downward, unfortunately tramping the innocent flora. Looking up, I saw a Spirit Bear. Although on all fours, he was over six feet tall weighing about 300 pounds. Standing quietly amongst buttercups and lacey flowers, I realized his full potential. Immensely powerful, omnivorous mammalia and I stupidly had no protection. No rifle to frighten him away. British Columbia’s official animal. No bear spray. Cultural significance. I was defenceless. Noble head, liquid chocolate eyes, shaggy whitish hair on body. No pepper spray. I honestly thought the Spirit Bear meant no harm. He was eating berries after a salmon starter. I admired his wild beauty.
My torso twirled and twisted in a primitive rainforest. Tendrils of mist swirled around my bare feet. Bare feet? I was a cavewoman, but far from the sexy alluring image of Raquel Welch in a doe skin bikini in “One Million Years B.C.” Up ahead a Spirit Bear. Supper? No. An overwhelming desire to touch him. I wanted tactile contact with his primal spirit. The bear symbolized strength, danger, beauty.
Crack. I was zooming through space onto artificial terra. Earth an insignificant blue, white and green bead. My spacesuit crinkled. Before me a mutated Spirit Bear. Large and regal but a cyborg bear. So very relieved that despite all of man’s wreckless polluting, damage to the environment and taking over natural habitats, the Spirit Bear existed. He existed!
No, I’m Not Davy Crockett
“You’re not that fellow, are you?”
“What fellow?”
“That Davy Crockett fellow.”
“Ah, no. No, I’m not.”
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you asking? What if I was? Would that make any difference to this?”
“This?”
“You know. This bear/man interface.”
“What’s an interface?”
“Okay, an encounter.”
“Now you’re speaking my language. You humans are always talking over our head.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Just as long as you aren’t that Crockett fellow. I’ve heard things.”
“What have you heard?”
“Well, it’s pretty common knowledge. That song.”
“The Ballad of Davy Crockett?”
“Yeah. That’s the one. Not very bear friendly.”
“Ah, its just a song. They wrote it for television.”
“Television?”
“A whole other subject. Anyways, what I meant was it was written to entertain humans.”
“ENTERTAIN? You think ‘killed him a bear when he was only three’ is entertaining? Not if you’re a bear, I can tell you.”
“I can see your point. Like I said. Strictly for entertainment. Human consumption.”
“Really! This idea it promotes that three-year-old human children should be killing bears is something humans just love to feast on? Crazy! Seems a little sick to me.”
“It was just a song. Nobody really knows if he was just three when…”
“I know. Killed one of my kind. Stupid song.”
“Actually, the music for the song was written by a George Bruns.”
“George Bruins? Like…he was a bear?”
“Bruns. Close but no cigar.”
“That’s okay. I don’t smoke.”
My mother couldn’t bear the thoughts of one of her daughters living out in the wilderness, let alone next to a clothing optional preserve.
After my boyfriend discovered my photos of cavorting neighbors, I’ve had to bear the pain of my kicking him out.
I have to admit, I love being ‘up country’ without any care of who might be looking through my windows.
Movement outside caught my attention, and that’s when I spotted HIM.
He had his sights on shooting the wild bear right in my back yard. I couldn’t bear the sound of the gunshot and the thought of the bear being shot. I turned on the inside lights.
I hadn’t felt the cold air until the lights came on, but it didn’t make any sense to cover up now. I wasn’t just barefoot.
I could see the hunter had altered his sights. I gave some thought to waving, but decided to just show my best side.
He must be one of the residents next door, as the only thing he was wearing was his beard. It was a cinnamon beard. I decided to take a picture.
By the time I found my camera, the only thing in sight was the bear.
We’ve become good friends since that day, and he visits often for the treats I leave. Tony has become a regular visitor too, and he does a great job of heating up the room. He calls it his bare cave.
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS’ CHOICE ONLY
Boom! Boom! Boom!
“Run!” yelled Boris as he thundered towards the river, his thick, black fur shaking, his muscles rippling.
Meesha yelled after her big brother, “Wait Boris, Mama said to hide when they come to the mountain.”
Boris stopped and turned, “That didn’t do mama any good, did it? They tracked her down and took her right out of the cave!”
With a huge huff and thump of his thick paws on the grass, Boris took off again.
Meesha huffed too. Boris was going to get himself in trouble. She followed him.
Boris waited for Meesha at the river. The water raged with the tears of the winter thaw.
“Boris, this is not a good idea. It’s too fast.”
“We’ll be safe on the other side, the people can’t cross it. Let’s go!” Boris jumped into the river. White arms of bubbly water enveloped him. Four hundred pounds of bear bobbed like a fishing float.
“Boris!” Meesha yelled as she watched him struggle to cross the wide river.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A tree splintered behind Meesha.
Fear filled her as she ran the bank of the river. She tried to keep up with Boris but couldn’t bring herself to jump in after him.
The river turned. Meesha had to make a decision. She turned towards the meadow and kept running. Deep within the tall wildflowers, grasping for breath, she stopped. She could barely make out the river.
Frozen, afraid to move, Meesha cried, “Goodbye Boris.”
“Betsy! I haven’t seen you for the longest time. Where have you been hiding? And what have you done to your hair?”
“Well, I just…. That is … Oh, I might as well tell you what happened to me and my hair. Nobody knows, especially not Barry. Are you ready for this? And don’t you dare laugh.”
“I won’t laugh, Betsy dear. Tell me everything.”
“No laughing?”
“I promise. Truly. Tell me!”
“Well, it all started one day when I was strolling through the woods. I smelled something that smelled like salmon. I followed the smell to a cabin where I found a girl with wet stuff in her hair and a towel around her shoulders. The yummy smell was coming from her hair, but it wasn’t salmon. Well, I let out a disgusted growl. The girl saw me and screamed. Then she grabbed a bottle and threw it at me and screamed some more. By then I was running, and the stuff from that bottle had spilled all over my back. It sucked the color right out of my fur.”
“How horrible! What was it?”
“Near as I can figure – don’t laugh – it’s hair dye. Human women use it to change the color of their hair. To make themselves more beautiful.”
“It is an attractive color. Barry will love it!”
“You think so?”
“Definitely. Let’s go show him.”
To the surprise of Betsy, and the disappointment of her friend, Barry did love it.
Where was I?
Tiny white and yellow flowers blanketed the meadow which spread out as far as I could see in every direction. I was alone, lying on the ground.
I could smell the deep earthy scent of the dirt under me just barely beginning to warm under the timid sun.
I closed my eyes. Birds flapped lazily above me and a gentle breeze kept the flowers bobbing and swaying in a sleepy dance.
My head throbbed. Where were May and Joe?I tried to call out for my friends but my voice was lost in the vast expanse of sky and my cries were answered by neither voice nor echo.
My sword! I reached for my side, but a sharp pain stopped my hand and I caught my breath. The smell of blood filled my nostrils.
My stomach lurched as I looked down and realized that everything I wore was not only ripped to rags, but soaked with fresh blood as well. I stumbled to my feet, biting my lip and cradling my useless hand.
The meadow remained coolly unconcerned as I half-hopped, half-ran in pointless circles, screaming May and Joe’s names. The birds overhead watched and several fur-covered heads poked out above the flowers, turning to each other and cocking their heads curiously in my direction.
Finally, my legs buckled under me and I fell to the ground, panting.
A deep growl rose from the silence and a massive furry brown head blocked the sky. The bear snarled.
Walking through the woods, I stop for a breather. The water in my canteen has a slight chill from the cool early morning. I hear a rustling through the foliage.
It bursts into the clearing right in front of me: huge, brown, well over four hundred pounds, pointy ears, long sharp claws, the tips of fangs protruding from beneath its lips. An impressive creature to be sure. I froze instantly, more so out of fear than instinct.
It stops. It notices me. Curiosity compels it to stare. I’m not a threat, at least not yet. So it only stares.
I gaze upon it with both awe and terror. Awe of its grace and beauty, terror from its raw power and capabilities. The thought of how easily it could tear me limb from limb makes me want to shudder, but I dare not move.
It’s curious. Will it come over to investigate? I hope not. Perhaps it will ignore me and move on.
It sniffs the air in my direction.
Am I sweating? Does it smell me?
It begins to move.
My heart is racing.
It’s coming my way.
What do I do? It’s almost upon me.
A roar erupts in the distance.
The beast takes notice.
Another roar follows. This time the creature runs off to answer the call, leaving me behind in need of a new pair of underwear.
Cooper lowered his binoculars, letting them hang from their lanyard. He took a sip from his glass. He sighed and seemed to deflate to half his size, his attention still fixed on the back of the Andersson house.
“You’re wilfully disingenuous, you know,” he said, sucking at his teeth. “You knew I’d have to come to see for myself. And he ain’t even running, so that’s another strike against you, dragging me out here with misinformation.”
I said nothing. Cooper wasn’t the best of company, but he was better than none, and he always brought a bottle when he called.
“How are the twins,” he said, looking at the house beyond the bear, hoping one or the other of them would come out.
I laughed and settled back in my chair, setting it rocking. “Ingrid and Annika are both fine,” I said. “Just as perky as ever. You know how it is, they’re both young carefree women with little in the way of commitments.”
Cooper nodded. He seemed wistful, the same way I felt. He was a widower, living on his own, his only son in Wisconsin. I sometimes heard him playing records at night, the music carrying over into my yard.
“It’s a damn shame,” he said, putting down his glass. “When you phoned to say they were running bare out at the Andersson property I just couldn’t not come. And you knew that.”
I shrugged. “I’ve an apple pie cooking. You can have a slice if you wait.”
How excited were we! First time in a log cabin. I have always been fascinated by pinewood log cabins in the wilderness. After a long drive on the snow covered roads, the perfect place to rest and relax.
“Kids hurry up! Finish your dinner and sleep. We need to get up early tomorrow for skiing.”
“But why so early Mom?” Children cried in unison.
“So we don’t have to spend hours looking for parking spots.”
We finished our dinner and checked everything.
Faucets turned off.
Lights off.
Doors closed—both; front door and patio door.
Clothes laid out for the morning.
I sat on the couch sipping hot milk to wash away my whole days’ tiredness. It was snowing outside. Snowflakes were visible in the bright street light. Every single snowflake with it’s unique pattern—coming down, dancing, and finally landing on the ground.
I had put on my snow gloves and started walking towards the patio’s glass door.
Is this why the owner has installed a glass door, so people can watch snowing—so beautiful?
With my both palms I touched the glass door. They felt cold; a good kind of cold. I stood there, stunned, watching snowflakes falling one-by-one. I even traced each one with my eyes, until they fell. Oblivious to the fact that on the other side there was a huge bear—also touching the glass door from outside. My palms and his paws were together—only separated by the glass door.
With all my might, I ran inside screaming.
“How do you like it?” Deb turned her laptop so Jack could see it.
The picture showed a bear with brown fur on its face and shaggy gray fur on its back, with the words Sometimes you just have to grin and bear it. “The joke’s old, but it’s better than the last one.”
Deb stiffened. She had not appreciated his reaction to her meme of a polar bear holding a mitten and standing beside a folding chair. “You didn’t need to be such a spoilsport.”
“Humor still has its limits. I don’t like the man’s politics any more than you do, but he’s still a human being, not a cartoon character who can get swallowed whole and it’s funny.”
“You’re just being a party pooper.”
Jack decided not to make the obvious pun on that one.
“There’s your shot,” said Larry’s dad as the two stood stock still on the far side of the draw. The bear, rather small, stopped on the hillside among the wildflowers and looked over at the two hunters.
“Bears can be so dumb,” whispered Larry’s dad. “He doesn’t even see us yet. Raise your rifle very slowly, spot him through the scope, just behind the shoulder, squeeze the trigger.”
Larry, fifteen years old, stood next to his dad but had a hard time spotting the bear. “Now I see him,” he said, keeping his rifle low. “Look at his fur. Almost blond.”
“Camouflage,” said his dad. “Helps him when he’s feeding in the open meadows. Still just a black bear. No big deal. Your first kill.”
The bear resumed its wandering, stopping every once in a while and looking over at the two hunters across the way who hadn’t moved since arriving at the hillside.
“It’s time, Larry,” said his dad, urgent but trying to keep calm and quiet. “Don’t let him get away.”
“He’s not that big,” said Larry, “He’s probably not full grown. And his fur is so, I don’t know, unique. Beautiful.”
“For heaven’s sake,” said Larry’s dad, watching the bear proceed slowly across the meadow towards the trees. “The bear’s getting away. It’s time you shot something. Get it over with. Sometimes, you just have to shoot.”
“And sometimes you don’t,” said Larry, his rifle cradled in his arms.
My best friend Carl and I were on a short hike, about four and a half miles from our campsite. It was a gorgeous day and everything was simply marvelous until the bear. Stumbling upon a bear, any bear, but especially one that is substantially larger than a Gummi Bear, say somewhere in the neighborhood of four hundred pounds larger, will tend to make your day somewhat less enjoyable than it was before said bear.
It was sitting there, right in the middle of the trail, about 20 yards from where we had turned from the switchback. When it saw us, it raised up on all fours, its fur standing up on its back, and bared its teeth.
“Oh crap,” I said, “You know about this stuff, right? I mean you know what’re we supposed to do… right?”
Carl said, “Well, umm, like umm… some people say yer s’posed to act like yer dead. Some say you walk away backwards real slow like, and some say you yell and scream at it and wave yer arms and try and look bigger.”
The bear started moving towards us. It’s tongue was lolling out of it mouth and it was drooling. I didn’t take either one of the things to be a positive omen.
“Well, the heck with that stuff, I’m gonna run like hell.”
“You’ll never run faster than a bear.
“I don’t need to run faster than I bear. I only need to run faster than you.”
Jewel the bear and her cub, Elroy, lived in a cozy cave in South Dakota. She began teaching him to hunt, fish and forage.
Jewel was very attractive. She had a beautiful coat of many shades, but more importantly, her scent made her almost irresistible. Many potential mates wanted to make more baby cubs, but mama Jewel wasn’t ready, because she was still caring for her son Elroy.
His mama had to fight off some very determined suitors. Elroy witnessed how fierce a bear she could be. She would come back bloody and bruised.
One day, Jewel fought the fight of her life. Elroy even tried to step in, to help her. When he did, she grew even more terrifying and almost tore the other bear apart — who finally left, defeated.
But she could hardly walk back to the cave. Elroy offered his back, and she leaned on him, limping and bleeding all the way to the mouth of the cave. He knew his mama was dying. So he cried a bear cub cry.
He brought her some berries and small game, but she couldn’t eat them. She did eat a few dandelions he brought in, and she licked him in gratitude. He knew when she breathed her last breath.
He cleared away from the mouth of the cave, while scavengers consumed his mama’s body. But when they were finished, he snuggled up to his mama’s beautiful coat. He considered the gift she left him — the gift of survival.