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.
“This is my land,” Cactus Jack said, turning about on the spot as Julie Andrews had once done on a famous Austrian hill. “And these are my people.” He stopped, hawked up an oyster of phlegm and then spat, returning a few drops of his moisture to the sand. Elaine wasn’t sure, but she was convinced she heard it sizzle when it landed.
“Your people? Like humans? Or maybe something else?” She scented a potential story here and pressed on. “Many people anthropomorphise jack-rabbits and coyotes, but that’s only in the cartoons.”
Jack nodded. He narrowed his eyes and smiled thinly.
Elaine tried again. It had taken three hours driving cross-country to reach him. He’d always been notoriously stubborn, and she’d been surprised when he’d agreed to an interview. Now the pressure was on her to make him talk.
“The heat can turn your head a little too. You can become delirious and get hallucinations. See things that aren’t there.”
Jack licked his lips. His tongue was grey and leathery like a lizard’s. He was dressed in a cactus-leather shirt and loose-fitting shorts, and it was difficult to see where his clothes finished and where his skin began. He hitched up his shorts and adjusted himself, not caring what she thought.
It was obvious: she was getting nowhere with this man.
“What’s the matter, Jack?” she asked, going for broke. “You got some sand chafing at your prickly pear?”
And then he laughed, and she knew she’d got her ‘in’.
Hot House Ramblings
Heat! Just finding the right warmth. How hard should that be? I mean, whoever made us, wherever you land on that colliding conundrum, figured out that 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit was the cat’s meow. You know, the perfect temperature. And speaking of which, cats are actually two to four degrees higher.
Must be the fur.
Since whoever it was came up with that number, they’ve been fiddling with it. Maybe it’s not so accurate.
All I know is that if I am driving through the desert, any desert, I had better have air conditioning, a spare tire and lots of water.
That’s what I thought I had. Pretty damn sure.
So, I felt pretty smart taking the back road off the main beat, cutting a whole hour off the trip.
Yeah, I was smart. Always thought I was the smartest guy in the room. And you know what’s smarter? Not getting so cocksure that you’re the smartest pigeon in the roost.
Fat lot of good all this is doing me now.
Haven’t had a blowout in years.
And where the hell did my spare go?
I sure didn’t remove it.
And the water thing.
Such a little thing. Bringing water.
Air conditioning’s still working.
That’s a good thing.
The gas gauge running near to empty is not.
It’s almost noon.
Crap!
There goes the gas.
Nobody else is stupid enough to use this back road.
It’s like someone planned this.
Sun’s blaring in.
I never liked cactus.
Never.
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS CHOICE ONLY
“Fourteen thousand, two hundred and twenty-nine, fourteen thousand, two hundred and thirty.”
“Paul, do you have to count out loud? I have my own counting to worry about. If you’re going to count that way, please go somewhere else away from me…please.” Gretchen was yelling, despite being just thirty feet away.
“Why were we chosen for this endless task? Did you think it was part of our curriculum? If our friends witnessed us, we would never live it down. Who knew the health of a cactus was determined by the number of thorns per square foot? We’re also running out of ribbon marking the cacti we’ve counted. Damn, the wind’s picking up and we will have to return tomorrow and maybe all next week.”
“Do you have to make everything a problem?”
“You know, since I moved in, you’ve become nastier. I thought I was a friend. I have a question for you.”
“What’s the question?”
“We started counting with these short cacti, how are you possibly going to count the massive ones?”
“I’m not, YOU are.” She snapped. “I’m going to watch you shimmy to the top, and I hope you get pricked a few thousand times.”
“Just like I said, that’s very nasty and an awful predicament.”
“Wow, you’ve finally said something funny, and your wording choice conjures a pointed and penetrating picture.”
Paul resumed counting. Shouting. “One, two, three, four, five…”
“Thanks! Cactus stands for – Can a Cactus Tell U Something?”
“I’ll move my stuff out.”
A Prickly Problem
Doctor Anomaly walked into the computer room carrying a small cactus, when he noticed the computer doing something unusual. “BIG THINK, why do you always switch functions whenever I walk into the room?”
“What do you think I was doing?”
“I don’t know, but it seems odd.”
“You’ll sleep better, if you don’t know about it.”
“You’re always kidding me.”
BIG THINK rolled its all-seeing eye and quickly changed the subject. “What are you holding?”
“A cactus,” he replied, holding it up. “I got it for your computer room.”
BIG THINK blinked at it several times. “What on earth for?”
“Thought it would look nice in here. Add some life.”
“It’s all… prickly.”
“Of course. It’s a cactus.”
“Will you spike your hair green to look like your new-found plant?”
“You’re being silly.”
BIG THINK’s all-seeing eye squinted at the doctor. “You’re the one holding a little prickly green plant.”
“What type of plant would you prefer?”
“The Venus Fly Trap.”
“Why?”
“It’s majestic in its serenity. It contemplates the absurdity of its existence within the biological world: how it has been neglected and under-valued; and how it must exist among inferior life forms. And when it’s hungry, it opens up and welcomes its little trusting insect friends. Then, at the right moment, it clamps shut on the little darlings and enjoys a tasty meal.”
“I see you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
BIG THINK stared at the doctor. “More than you know.”
Cactus
“ Dry as a witch’s…..” Draxton began before I rebuked him.
He gave me his mock sorry look with trembling lips and downcast eyes before hiking on. Sweat dappled his shirt and ran like sticky rivulets down his vermilion face, but he had bounce in his steps and that never downtrodden jolliness, that so many wanted to smack him for.
“Remind me again, why we are hiking through a hellish desert devoid of interest.” I whined, swaying under a merciless cobalt sky.
Steadily trekking through a featureless desert when it suddenly opened up to a curious landscape. The cactus was oddly majestic and had a presence all its own. In fact, cacti as far as the horizon stood tall like telephone poles. Unearthly towering and straight. They went on forever. Rather than sentinels, I thought they were markers leading the way to scenes even more moving and stunning. In anticipation, my steps quickened without gaining my consent. I raced ahead between the cacti. Was my brain sozzled by the heat which palpitated off the ground? The heat waves were so thick; they were tangible. Fiery insects raced on my skin while an outrageous metal band played in my head.
The cacti one by one led us to a sombre cave. I feverishly shuddered thinking of sinister, overgrown, repulsive monsters. A small brilliance must mean diamonds. The cacti never led us to overwhelming wealth, but to a sanctuary of coolness and darkness, which doubtless saved my life from the treacherous sun.
“Then Crystal says, ‘As long as we’re this close to Phoenix, let’s stop and see my Mama.’
“And I say, ‘No way! You know your Mama and me get along like oil and water. I’m not taking you there. You want to see your Mama? Okay, I’ll take you to the airport in Tucson, and you can fly to Phoenix.’
“Well, sir, that set her off bigtime. She unloaded on me with both barrels, and when she was done, we didn’t say a word to each other for the next 30 miles.
“Then, out of the blue, she says in the sweetest little voice, ‘Harold, darling, do ya think I could drive your beautiful new luxury sedan?’
“And I figure, the car’s my ‘baby,’ but if it’ll make peace between us, why not? So, I say ‘Sure’ and pull over—right here, officer, among this field of organ pipe cactus—leave the engine running, and get out, planning to go around the back of the car and trade places with her.
“But I’m no sooner outta the car when she jumps over the console, puts the car in gear, and takes off toward Phoenix!”
“And that’s the last you saw of her?”
“Yes, sir. If it hadn’t been for those good Samaritans over there who let me wait in their car until you got here, the 120-degree heat would’ve killed me.
“So, whaddaya think?”
“Well, for starters, I think your relationship with this Crystal woman is definitely on the fritz.”
The prospector looked at the piece of cowhide. He checked the markings etched into the hide against a map. Ten years of being a first mate on a merchant ship had provided a background in navigation. Ten years of searching for the lost treasure of the conquistadors provided the will to succeed.
Sun sightings on the sextant and compass runs brought the prospector to this valley. One feature, the dark mountain on the horizon, got bigger with each step forward.
Then he saw them. A bunch of cactus rising above the desert floor.
This was the place. The old shaman had described the valley while the prospector listened and drew a sketch.
With about two hours of daylight left, the prospector set up a crude lean to. It was enough to throw some shade to cover a meal of water and dried beef.
The prospector walked around the campsite. The image of what he was looking for burned in his brain. The sighting happened an hour before nightfall. A bunch of cactus lined up under the summit of the dark mountain.
In the morning, the prospector would follow the cactus line to the mountain. For now, a pot of coffee and a good nights sleep was the plan.
During the night, thundering hooves and crackling flames woke the prospector. The guardian of the lost treasure approached. The phantom conquistador drew a fiery rapier from a diamond scabbard. The prospector’s spirit left the body when the hot tip touched his heart.
As a New England native, Reggie Waite had never realized how clear the air could be out here in the desert Southwest. Although he’d been in the Middle East during the Energy Wars, he’d spent most of that time at sea, or in one or another port.
Now that he’d accepted NASA’s invitation to join the astronaut corps, he was going through desert survival training out in the Mojave. Compared to what he’d heard about the early astronauts’ experiences, his selection group was getting it easy. Then again, the chances of ending up downed in some remote location and having to hold out for rescue for days or weeks was much smaller than in the days of Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo.
Reggie watched a tiny point of light streaking across the cloudless sky – part of a vast system of satellites that simply didn’t exist back then. A downed spacecraft would have equipment to plug into that network and call for help. Already most wilderness fatalities were people who failed to plan, including equipping themselves with the necessary devices to make those connections.
All the same, it was still good to review the procedures for dealing with a forced landing on a dry lakebed. None of his experience in coastal environments would have prepared him for air so clear that a mountain range a hundred kliks away could seem an hour’s walk away. It really drove home why you should stay with your vehicle, not try to hike out.
It was one of the worst crimes ever seen in Arizona. The mass shooter had escaped into the desert after his attack. After rolling his SUV when he ran off the trail, he continued his evasion on foot. He was not familiar with the desert, but managed to disappear after crossing the ridge.
Sergeant Joe Barns, a Marine previously in Special Ops, now working with a small anti-terror FBI unit, climbed the rocks, stretched out prone, and looked over the rocks. All he could see was cactus and rocks.
Studying the area through the scope of his rifle, Joe saw no movement. Why did those birds suddenly fly from their nests in the holes in the Saguaros?
THERE! Behind the tallest Saguaro. Joe could just make out a shadow, very short in the midday sun, but it had to be the shooter. No one else had gone over the ridge.
During the years with the FBI unit, Joe had kept one bullet for his rifle in his pocket instead of in the magazine. It was a steel clad high-power bullet capable of penetrating light armor. He hadn’t loaded one of those since he left Afghanistan. Quietly, Joe removed the magazine and loaded his rifle with the single armor-piercing bullet.
Adjusting his scope for the range and the slight southern breeze, Joe carefully aimed at the center of the Saguaro about four feet above the ground. The single shot took the shooter completely by surprise. His short terrorist career was over.