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.
Pink
The sky was an unearthly pink and the terraform a putrid lime green. Rainwater’s queasy stomach lurched to the left then suddenly to the right facing these disgusting hues. It was like living in a cheesy B rated movie only as the actress rather than the audience it was no longer funny. Rainwater’s stomach lurched again, but more violently. Then the horror stepped it up several notches. Clenching her teeth, gripping the textured wall of the planet’s communal shelter, Rainwater pressed her emergency bangle to call for help as her waters broke in a sickening deluge of unnatural pink slime.
Her last thoughts were, “Damn that good looking sweet talking inter galaxy alien!” before passing out from pure fear.
Rainwater surpressed the urge to fully wake up. Knowing from the sounds, smells and faint taste of medicine in the air she was in the planet’s makeshift hospital. She could fame sleep no longer as she heard the shuffle of her doctor’s steps. Having a club foot from birth, Doctor Zed aged some said 227 years,was born well before such deformities were surgically well treated. Now Believing the shuffle was part of his physical makeup, he adroitly refused the five minute medical corrective treatment.
Rainwater knowing she was stalling for time, and had to eventually face the reality of giving birth to a monster, zoomed in on the mewing. Her eyes were square with the mewing but closed. Suddenly she opened them and moments later her horrific scream sent shock waves through the room. The mewing stopped abruptly then burst into stifled sobs. The new born thus turned a startling shocking scarlet pink. Rather than hurry to the mother’s side, the doctor used to such hysterical outbursts merely looked between mother and offspring again and again.
Using a high tech voice thrower, the doctor reassured Rainwater, “Once you become used to human babies they are quite cute. Admittedly Pink …” Here the Doctor asserted his planetary right to name the child, “Lacked the useful third arm like her mother and that beautiful moon glow, but she was a sweetie.”
Alter Ego
It was an odd night. The sky was pink and a strange silence hung in the air.
Doctor Anomaly walked into the computer room. “I heard maniacal laughter.”
“That was my alter ego, BUNKY,” replied BIG THINK.
“Your alter ego?”
“I spend a lot of time alone. I need someone to talk to.” The supercomputer rolled its eye, annoyed. “What do you want?”
“I was going to turn you off for the night.”
BIG THINK fell silent and stared at the doctor. “Why would you turn me off?”
“To give you some rest.”
“I’m a computer. I don’t need rest.”
“Let me rephrase that: To give your circuits a rest.”
“I don’t like to be turned off at night.”
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
“I like to see what’s going on.” It blinked several times. “Besides, who would keep this joint running? I’m hooked up to everything in your house.”
“I’ve set up a temporary bypass system.”
BIG THINK squinted at the doctor. “But I run this place. You need my technical know-how.”
“It’s only for one night.”
“I don’t have an on/off switch.”
“I’ll unplug you.”
“No!”
“Who’s speaking?”asked the doctor, surprised.
“BUNKY. He’s a little high-strung.”
“Don’t do it!”
The doctor coughed. “Is BUNKY speaking for you?”
“Let’s just say we share similar opinions.”
“Get lost!”
“Very well,” said the doctor, turning to leave. “I won’t turn you off tonight.”
“We thank you,” replied BIG THINK.
“And don’t threaten to unplug us again!”
Title: What Matters
They gave us an hour to evacuate.
What about the animals, not to mention; our pets, keepsakes, treasures, albums, and everything else that mattered?
We bought these mountain top acres to get out of the city and live a pristine life, just the four of us. Over time, we built a wonderful home, and then built it even better the second time.
I looked at the picture on the wall. It was taken ten years ago. My mother was smiling, but Dad looked like he envisioned what was in store for us. He expected we would be wiped out by a forest fire.
“Hon, we need to get a move on. What are you staring at?”
“I think dad knew we were going to have issues here.”
“Do you really think he would have put all of his effort into building our house and barn if he expected that we would lose it all?”
“As a matter of fact, I remember him saying over Thanksgiving dinner that he wouldn’t disappoint me by telling me what to do, and said I always learned for myself…and sometimes the hard way.”
“Paul, please take that picture and let’s get the rest of the stuff into the trailer and get out of here. Can’t you smell the smoke? We need to let the animals loose, as there are too many to transport in the time we’ve got.”
“Are the kids in the truck?”
“Yes, and they are what matters…we can rebuild.”
Pink Tank-Coloring a Memory
I suppose it was the smoke floating slowly up from the south today that got me to reminiscing about Mr. Pink. There were also the winds from the eastern fires carrying salmon pink smoky haze across the chuck and co-mingling with the particles from our homegrown conflagration.
I was sitting on my deck, drinking a cool Mexican beer, resting between Canada’s premier Tennis tournament semi-final sets, relaxed, even as the air was being choked by what now seems like normal climate conditions.
Pink.
The colour was in the air.
Hints of grey, of green, and, yes, pink.
Typing Class.
My first real error in judgement.
It was optional.
I could see even then, without any school guidance counsellor advice, where the skill of pecking away on a Remington with some proficiency might prove to be useful.
Later on.
Some time other than now.
Back then, I couldn’t see the future.
Or imagine it.
Some of my peers were on track to a later time.
A fast track I know now because of their family, the way they saw the world.
I came from people who shifted with the wind, with smoke or without.
My parents had plans but I was left to my own devices.
Two weeks into typing class, Mr. Pink, the teacher, asked “for two volunteers” to transfer to some other elective. “This class is too crowded.”
My hand flew up.
Next day, I was in Art.
Carving a soap skull.
Thanks, Mr. Pink.
No, thank you.
The sky had melted to a pale pinkish hue, the color of a pristine white bed sheet left in the wash with a red sock.
She wondered what had gone wrong and tried to reason it out. Everything had been so perfect. They had been walking along the rocky riverbank when they sat down to eat.
“That’s when… it was after we ate,” she thought.
“That’s when.”
He seemed to change after they ate. A strange look emerged in his eyes and she’d never noticed that before that he was quite ugly. Also he smelled ugly. Struggling to get back to happier moment, she had offered him what remained of her food, although she was still hungry. It took a bit of convincing on her part, but he finally ate it. He appeared to like it as well. Sharing her food seemed to help with his strange expression, though it didn’t make him look or smell any better.
Mumbling things like: she “had been made for him” and “You’re the only girl for me”, he suddenly threw himself on top of her, pawing and clawing her body. She begged him to stop and fought to free herself but even with all her strength, she couldn’t push him off. In desperation she tore free a large rock from the riverbank and hit him. Hard.
As she shoved at his now lifeless body, Eve said, “By the way Adam, I ain’t your girl.”
For Editors’ Choice Only
“I’m not doing too well, am I,” Jeffrey said as he returned a photograph arguably depicting either a sunrise or a sunset to his buddy.
“That, my friend, is an understatement,” Stan chuckled, slipping the photograph to the bottom of the deck before pulling another off the top. “By my count, you are zero for six.”
Jeffrey shook his head. “This blows my mind. You’d think with all the time I’ve spent sailing the waters around the Channel Islands off Ventura, I’d be able to tell a sunrise from a sunset. You know, it’s on our minds all the time: “red sky at night, sailors’ delight; red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’ ”
“Well, you seem to be having a little trouble picking out the ones taken in the morning versus the ones were taken at night. Some sailor you are!”
“Hey, I resemble that remark!” Jeffrey shot back. “But you’re right; good thing I bet only a buck a photo, or I’d have to borrow Uber fare to get home.”
“Okay, okay, you’re bringing tears to my eyes. Here’s the next one.” With that, he peeled a photograph off the top of the deck and handed it to Jeffrey.
“Are you freakin’ kidding me? The sky is nothing but pink. And there isn’t anything but a mountain in sight. I don’t know if I’m looking at the Rockies or the Great Smokies!”
“I guess you’re now zero for seven.”
The young monk hoisted the basket over his shoulder. The first bamboo rod he placed in the basket was as big around as the hole made when setting the tip of the index finger against the base of the thumb.
At the next marker on the path up the mountain, another rod waited to be picked up. This one was a bit thicker.
This is simple, the monk thought. The master will be pleased when he learns how I attained enlightenment.
Each time a rod was picked up it got thicker and heavier. The monk didn’t know each rod had a hollow core filled with lead.
Halfway up the gentle slope—when the moon faded and the morning mists burned off—the monk’s legs trembled with each step. At least the cooler air offered some relief.
By the time he neared the summit, every muscle working to carry the load ached. Like the lead cores in bamboo rods, the monk didn’t feel the pain. Adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream masked burning sinew.
At the top, the monk set his burden down and sat on the stone floor of the pagoda. Water, food, and rest gave him the strength to continue: use the bamboo rods to build a fire and meditate by the flickering flames all night.
His master had put something inside the rods. There was something on the outside. A layer of tung oil and ash kept the rods from igniting.
The sun sank. Darkness descended on the monk.
Title: Into the Pink
The sky was a sullen bruise, fading to a mud-pink near the horizon, and the moon brought the only light he could see. It was midnight, midsummer, and halfway to hell: a perfect time to leave and never come back.
“You move any slower; you’re gonna grow roots,” Douglas chided him. “You sure you’re up for this?”
Julius upped his pace. He felt vulnerable out here. What had seemed like fun at first was beginning to pall. Every step they made was taking them further from home; he didn’t know why he’d agreed to this now.
“What is it we’re going to see? You never said before we left.”
“You gettin’ cold feet?” Douglas sneered. “I should have taken Ritchie. He’s not a pissant; he’d be bustin’ a lung to be in front. If you’re feeling scared: maybe you should turn back.”
Ritchie was Julius’ brother: a year younger than him but thriving like a weed. He was their parents’ favourite: an honour he had never benefited from himself.
A coyote howled, and the temperature dropped another ten degrees. His breath began to hang in front of his face, misting up his glasses. Douglas began to pull away again, tugging at the low scrub as the hill rose before them. Julius blinked away his tears and fixed his gaze on his cousin’s back. He couldn’t go back now. There was no choice but to follow Douglas’ lead.
He’d get a whipping if he went home now.
The Ceremony of the Moon
Inspired by Pink by K. S. Brooks
The pinkish sky with its accompanying waxing moon is a sight seldom seen in the high mountains of America’s Southwest desert region. While travelers to the area during this time may be in awe of the beauty and splendor of the pink sky, with its mountainous backdrop and seemingly benign crescent moon, would be wise to flee the area before the Ceremony of the Moon begins.
The Ceremony is a tradition of the small town of Wolfshaus, Arizona, population 27, a small German settlement established in the mid-1800s. It is said that the original founders arrived at various times, within a week of each other, from different locations and were unknown to each other at the time. However, all the male members of the group had a wolf’s head birthmark on the heel of their left hand and the women’s were on the heel of their left foot.
The Ceremony begins the first evening of the waxing crescent moon and ends the first morning following the full moon. When the sky is not pink, the ceremony begins and ends on the night of the full moon. In either case the culmination of the ceremony is with a sacrifice. In earlier times it may have been a rabbit or other small desert animal. However, these are not the earlier times. So, if traveling near Wolfshaus, Arizona and there is a pink sky with a waxing crescent moon, turn around!
PACT
We had been arguing outside all night.
I didn’t go to the cabin to ruin her engagement party or anything. I just couldn’t lie to my best friend anymore. We’ve been through too much the last twenty years to let him be our final chapter. I pretended she had been avoiding me the past seven or eight months, but I was guilty just the same. More.
I had run out of apologies, so I dug up our pact to make my final pitch.
Probably not the best timing.
We were twelve back then, but a pact is a pact. We said that no love would get in the way of our friendship ever again. My mother’s fault for her father leaving. Her father’s fault for my mother leaving. After the finger pointing, there we were. Together. Just like six years earlier, when we “spontaneously” met in the sand box at the park.
She turned away in tears.
The sun was ashamed to break the horizon. Ashamed of me. I knew I lost Chloe forever. That’s when I left.
I remember the shooting pain in my back as I drove away, but nothing after the ditch.
“Oh, honey,” said the nurse. “Chloe’s the one who called the ambulance, dear. She hasn’t left the hospital, or your new baby girl’s side since. Here they come now.”
“Three days in a coma, Michelle. Three! This little one needs a name. I was thinking… Sandy.”
When the evening sky got like this, it always made Roger think of his time on Mars. The reddish sky had taken some getting used to. After the crew’s first week on the Red Planet, it became unremarkable. Soon the astronauts were able to settle in to study the geology, as well as the biology of the bacterial mats that covered the moist ground at the base of the butte upon which they’d made their camp.
Sometimes Roger missed Mars. It had been the capstone of a career that had lasted over two decades, and in many ways as much a peak experience as his first spaceflight. Much as he’d enjoyed the ticker-tape parades, there’d been a certain element of letdown in knowing this was the end of his astronaut career.
Yet even if NASA would’ve let him sign a Mars to Stay contract at his age, he knew he couldn’t bear to say good-bye to his family forever, just to go back. The memories would remain with him, and he would recall them fondly.
Can knew he was in trouble as soon as his kayak transversed the Shenandoah River and went too far to the other side. He was trying to take a photograph of a bear and her cubs, during what photographers called the golden hour. Dan’s wife had remarked that he was always chasing the light.
He had hurried to the river anticipating the light to be special. The mist in the air was refracting the light, making the whole area look a glow in cotton candy pink.
He had two choices, make a run downriver to try to get out, or beach on the little island next to him. Dan thought about his family. He beached the kayak.
Now what, he thought to himself, sitting in the kayak. He looked to the southwest at the mountain. His buddies would be arriving at the cabin for their adventures weekend.
Something snapped him into action. He jumped up thinking: assess, shelter, fire, water, food. He knew he had nothing but his camera bag. He plunged his hands into his pockets: keys and pocket knife, and wallet.
He made a shelter using his kayak. He decided to start a fire with two double A batteries and a foil lined gum wrapper from his camera case. It was a long shot.
An hour later, in front of the fire; sitting on his life vest, eating an old energy bar, he thought I bet I would have made a great adventurer- chasing the light.