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.
LOCH
“Och, I’m tellin’ ya, lassie. That’s Nessie out there. Just look at the bloody wake churnin’ up over yon.”
“Come on, Uncle Angus, you’re pulling my leg. People come here every day looking for the Loch Ness monster and don’t see a thing. You’re saying the creature showed up on my first day of vacation?”
“Aye, girlie, I am. Folks ‘round here say ya don’t see Nessie when yer a lookin’ for her. Ya catch sight o’ the beastie when she’s a lookin’ fer you.”
“Mom says you lived on the lake shore for over thirty years. How many times have you seen her so far?”
“If’n ya count that wake, and I do, that’s eight times.”
“And let me guess, no pictures?”
“Aw, yeah, mock me now, why don’t ya? A million tourists wit’ a million cellies an’ ya never see anythin’. She’s not photogenic, and ain’t no super model. That one’s too long in the tooth to be a’ posin’, stlyin’, and profilin’ fer the public. Let’s go, she gone.”
“I’ll catch up. I want to take a selfie with the loch and that castle in the background.”
Katy fiddled with her positioning as her uncle trudged to the car, muttering under his breath. She snapped the perfect image, ran after him, and caught him at the car.
“Look at my shot. Hey, no, what’s that ruining my picture?”
Her uncle looked at the photo and touched the black object in the water.
“Nessie!” they both exclaimed.
Picture Perfect-In Memoriam
I’ve been asked to say a few words about Jimmy as we send him on his way. What can a fellow really say about such a great guy? He was the iconic brother-in-law. You could always count on him to show up, be there for all those precious moments.
If not for him, none of us would have seen his three kids being born, having it all captured in color.
The miracle of birth.
Hard to get it out of your mind after movie night at Blanche and Jimmy’s.
No two ways about it, he was the family historian.
Aside from all those crazy moments of birth, and I must admit, many of the funerals we have attended down through the years, the passing of our loved ones, Jimmy captured pretty much each and every Easter dinner and errant Christmas mistletoe smooch, even the ones we were not all happy about having been seen.
Easter and Christmas feedbags aside, not to mention the tendency of certain family members to imbibe maybe a tad too much, Jimmy caught it all, whether it was in the early days with the polaroid or that little VCR camera he had, whatever was going on, Jimmy was johnny on the spot.
Came by it honestly. Jimmy Senior, his daddy was also inclined to record pretty much every minute of every day
God bless Super 8.
Don’t know what we’re going to do now.
Maybe enjoy a little privacy?
Time will tell.
“Look at them.” Watson lowered the window and let the breeze roll in. He motioned toward the group at the lakeside, handing me a pair of binoculars.
There were four there now, but there would be hundreds soon. The birding groups on Twitter were abuzz with excitement, and enthusiasts were flocking here from all over the country. A hitherto unknown variety of duck had been sighted, and everyone was clamouring to be the first to get photographic proof.
“It seems innocent enough,” I said. I added, “I’ve arranged for the local response team to move them on. I’ve instructed them to say there’s been an unprecedented leakage of marsh gas, and they’ll be at risk unless they leave. And then tomorrow, I’ve the army coming in to establish an exclusion zone. Erecting electrified fences and installing sensor arrays to stop anyone coming back.”
Watson nodded. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and raised the window again, shutting the world outside. He reached to restart the car but then stopped, concern pulling at his brow.
“Tell me,” he said. “Is this just a one-off, or is it the start of the end? Can we expect this to happen again?”
I shrugged, wishing I knew the answers. “The scientists say it should collapse of its own accord. The interdimensional rupture’s a quantum entanglement event. Another exchange of matter caused by their experiment.”
We were lucky it had only been a duck this time. I’d seen pterosaurs in the ‘other’ place.
Lake Bliss
It would be the perfect place for the… the… the talk. I had proposed to her at Lake Bliss all those years ago, and I was truly surprised when she accepted. We honeymooned at the lodge there as well, spending our days at the beach or wandering the wooded trails that threaded through the surrounding wilderness.
But as has been said, “That was then and this is now.” The “now” being our malicious and bitter divorce.
As a final effort, I had suggested we meet at Lake Bliss to investigate any path to save our marriage… to have “the talk”. Initially she refused, but eventually agreed… although not a little reluctantly.
As we climbed out of our rental at the lodge, we were accosted not by the fragrance of pine needles and spring rain, but by a nauseating putrid odor. Gagging, we hurried into the lodge office, but before checking in we decided to walk down to the lake.
As we got closer to the lake, the malignant stench became overpowering. As we stood retching and covering our noses as best we could, we surveyed what had once been our favorite place. The water had receded, revealing acres of rotting vegetation, trash, deceased animals and fish, and other unrecognizable refuse. Eyes watering, we hurried back to our car.
We never had the talk. After Lake Bliss… we knew.
Look
When I walked onto the scene, there were cameras filming the heavenly beauty of the universe. They managed to capture the raw natural setting, the chilled wind, fresh air and pareidolia meaning of the lake.
“Look!” burst from my lips.
Warning words strangled in my throat as an ambiguous, amorphous alga argued its way across the lake hopscotching from one sand bank to another. On approaching, its blurry lines became more defined, but what shape it was acquiring, I could not say. It remained a monolithic grey although it gained depth and a warped yet disturbing familiarity. To be more precise in a cliched way, it was nightmarish.
Surely, I could not be the only one who saw this horrible phenomenon? Then I noticed something bizarre about the camera men- tattered and blood stained clothing. One turned around as though angered by my staring and I gasped. He was a zombie! What was the undead doing in a children’s documentary about natural surroundings? More camera men turned zombie faces towards me and it was like being in Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” with all the chills but devoid of great music.
Frigid chills trembled my body. Waking from the nightmare realising the warning; I was a children’s programme director only and had no right accepting work for a horror movie. Immediately, I terminated the contract, because I wanted my sanity earning peanuts filming about conservation rather than make riches directing a popular empty headed piece of trash for the hoi polloi.
Already half a dozen news teams had set up on the far side of the lake. Greg Horn wished he could just order them to disperse. But they were on public land, outside the crime scene, so the First Amendment protected them.
It still annoyed Greg to listen as they aired their speculations. Not just the stuff that was so off-base it was laughable. Some of those newsies were sounding more like a fan club than journalists.
What would they say if they knew who “Spartan” actually was? On the other hand, it was fast approaching thirty years since the Soviet Union came crashing down. For these kids it had always been the Russian Empire and Tsar Joseph the Lightning-Rod. “Leonid Gruzinsky” was just a name in history books.
Father Bob might’ve been a superannuated hippie, but he had the courage of his convictions. He’d condemned the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan like Vietnam. Greg still remembered the guest speakers who bore witness to atrocities.
Now the Sharp Resistance was using that old butcher as muscle. Journalistic objectivity be damned, these kids thought he was cool. So Gruzinsky fought in cosplay? All the better to conceal his distinctive facial scars. No, fighting for “freedom” against anti-Sharp legislation did not raise him to the status of antihero, unlike his go-to cosplay characters.
But how do I tell them without getting laughed out of the park by everyone who’s sure Gruzinsky died at the end of the Red Resurgence?
We were all tiring of photographing crows and pigeons. But ever since the Great Drought, many bird species, especially waterfowl, have gone extinct. As one of the oldest photo club members, I can remember ponds covered with geese, herons wading through shallows, and eagles diving for fish. However, younger members think my stories are mere fairy tales.
So when Devin, our group leader, announces her discovery of a small, hidden pond, we pack our gear and drive out of the city. In late afternoon, we assemble along the bank with cameras mounted on tripods.
When Devin hears the distant honking, she points skyward and calls, “Look!”
We finally spot the small group of about 20 Canadian geese, flying in their classic V formation. As they cruise toward the open water, we begin clicking photos. Some of us hold our breath at the beautiful sight. Others are sighing with joy.
Suddenly, we hear a dog barking from the opposite shore. Devin exclaims, “Oh no! No!”
Next comes the roar of several shotgun blasts. The flock swerves and ascends skyward again. But to our horror, three of the geese tumble toward the water. Broken and lifeless, they splash into the pond. We watch the dogs swim out to retrieve their bodies. As we stand silent and appalled, we hear shouts and whoops from the hunters.
Slowly, we pack our gear and head back to our cars. I can hardly drive, with my vision so blurred by tears.