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.
Zombies on a Plane
Clare was seated on a plane next to a male passenger.
He noticed she was shaking.
“Are you afraid of flying?” he asked.
“No.”
“Well…?”
“You’ll laugh if I tell you.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yes, you will…”
“I promise.”
She looked at him. “I think there are Zombies on the plane. I always shiver when they’re near.”
He laughed, breaking his promise. “Zombies? My dear lady, I am a scientist, and I can assure you there is no such thing as Zombies. They’re just a product of the entertainment industry. You will never find Zombies on a plane. Furthermore, blah, blah, blah…”
As the scientist droned on, Clare thought it over in her mind. She had watched all the TV shows and movies about Zombies. She had studied them and even had notebooks filled with her observations. She knew she was right. So she cautiously eyed her fellow passengers, some of whom were dozing, reading, or stuffing their mouths with peanuts. She knew Zombies were lurking somewhere on the plane… hiding behind their masks… waiting…
She could feel it…
She turned and saw a child stare intently down the isle.
Then she heard the sound of scuffling coming from the back of the plane.
Then a moan…
Then a low growl…
She looked at the scientist. He was still blathering on, oblivious to his surroundings.
She turned her head again and heard the words, “Me like munchie, munchie…”
Someone screamed…
Then a deep, gravelly voice shouted: “Braaains…”
Yeah, So I See
The meek and the leaky will inherit the earth. The old saw goes something like that, anyway. But you may well ask, what do I really know about old saws?
Nada.
Seesaws, maybe but not old sayings.
How could I?.
I’m still in diapers.
Sorry, that might be kind of misleading.
Nappies belong to the ages.
The aged.
Life. I’m only two years old and its already confusing.
To say the least.
And I can barely talk.
But I’ve got a brain.
And at least once a year, I’ve listened to Wizard of Oz.
My folks are suckers for Judy Garland.
Me, I like Toto.
Anyway, you can see that I’m not the only one with a brain.
And here’s the thing…and yeah, I’ve listened the President. He says that a lot. I like that. My thing is…though I am a bundle of cuteness, I soak up everything.
News.
All the sad tales that are told.
It all soaks in.
I soak it in. The Wars. The politics. The Global Warming. The Covid. You should know, they will call people like me the Covid Generation. My first two years…lockdown. Pandemic. It just ain’t fair…and yeah, I know you ain’t suppose to say ain’t.
So, sue me.
I am two years old, and I am depressed. I should be seeing a shrink. Yeah, a shrink. Point is, there aren’t enough of them to help us.
There you have. The Baby Blues.
I’ve got my share.
Thanks, eh!
INTENSE
“That was a photo of Jordan as we approached Eden Two,” the advisers told the new arrivals. “We called it our first sunrise even though we hadn’t landed yet.”
“The child was one of the lucky colonists,” another of the walking wounded said. “They all grew up fast after the crash. We knew what to do, but they did it because the botched landing or system failure reduced us to armchair quarterbacks. Our spirits were willing, but our bodies suffered devastating injuries.”
“Yeah, it was quite a struggle, even on a lush, temperate garden world.”
“No one ever determined what cause your crash?” the guard asked, and the elders shook their heads. “Command kicked the second mission into high gear when we lost contact. That’s why we’re here in three years instead of five.”
“Give me a headcount,” his superior demanded. “We’re trying to round everyone up to assess their physical condition.”
The disabled group told them two hundred and ninety made it, but forty succumbed to injuries within weeks. Survivors scratched out an existence without going all Lord of the Flies on each other. A thriving settlement continued now three years later, with twelve toddlers adding to their numbers.
“We believe an intense electrostatic corona around the planet fried both ships’ circuits,” the new commander announced. “Our vessel came through our water crash and skipped right up to the shore. You’re no longer alone.”
“We were never alone,” a survivor said. “Wait until you meet the native inhabitants.”
Editors’ Choice Only
“Intense!”
“I’ll say.”
“And he sat in front of you all the way from San Diego? Didn’t he ever sleep? After all, you were on the red eye, right?”
“Yup. We boarded late, and best I can tell, the kid went right to sleep, as did his mother. Pretty much everyone had pulled down their shades and propped pillows against them to get comfortable—which is what I did—so things settled down fast for the flight to D.C.
“At some point I woke up to use the john and thought it odd there was light coming from in front of me. I looked and saw it wasn’t coming from overhead. But, there was the kid, staring out the window. As you can see, he was transfixed by something out there.”
“Maybe you’d landed, and he was watching the action on the tarmac.”
“No, we clearly were moving along at God-knows what speed. And besides, I checked my watch; it was a little after 1 a.m. I quickly opened my shade, and wow! What a sight. The starboard engine appeared to be on-fire. It was shooting flames out the back like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“Well, to tell the truth, it did make my heart skip a beat. But then again, I thought, why worry? It isn’t my plane.”
Peter studied the world below. Beyond the wing, six miles away, people were beginning to wake up to another Monday. Buses and trains would already be moving, carrying commuters to their week, none of them knowing this would be the last time they would do this.
“What are you doing?” It was his mother. She was ignorant of what he was and knew nothing of his true potential. She told him he was special – every mother does that – but, in his case, he knew it was true.
“I’m watching the world, Mom. It’s so small from up here. I can cover the city with my hand.” He raised his right hand as if to illustrate, blotting London out of sight. He then closed it into a fist and squeezed it tightly.
The aeroplane dropped, losing height, the pilot struggling to maintain his heading. Klaxons were already sounding, alerting him to a loss of contact with Air Traffic Control. The directional beacons had gone too, his consciousness tunnelling abruptly into a heightened state.
Peter smiled, sensing his thoughts. He drew himself into the pilot’s head, watching the indicators flash and the gauges spin, relishing the burgeoning of fear taking hold. He could snuff this man out in a moment, leaving him a mindless husk, his hands free for him to control as he wished.
But the Destroyer of Men wanted a Happy Meal® and didn’t yet know how to fly the plane.
Maybe on his next flight… to America.
He was proudly wearing his favorite outfit. His father had given it to him after they finished a father-son mountain adventure. He was trying his best to be like his father and be open to all adventures.
His father was often away from home for the ‘Ninja Warrior’ competitions. He loved to watch the videos he sent him, but when it was on TV, he really studied how he moved through each obstacle.
When mom was out of the room, he would leap from one piece of furniture to the next. He was getting much better at it, but had fallen several times. The last thing he wanted was for her to stop his quest, and hid his pain when he had indeed hurt himself. He was going to be fearless, just like his dad. His dad always had a smile on his face…even when he fell off the backyard obstacle course, and quickly repeated it.
Today was a special day. His mom was taking him to watch his dad compete in the California qualifications. This was his first time on a plane and he was nervous about flying. He didn’t want to say anything, because that would burst his image.
He studied the plastic flaps hanging from the plane’s ceiling. This was going to be the first obstacle he was going to conquer on this trip. After an hour of planning, he undid his seatbelt and rushed through the obstacle…Success!
Intense reaction, but missing applause from the other side.
Tommy
“Tommy’s here!”
Greg was on that flight back from a sales meeting in Dallas when he texted all this. Tommy was our six year old boy… killed by a hit and run about five years ago. He was walking to his best friend’s birthday party.
“He’s a couple rows back… he’s staring out the window.”
We were devastated as you might imagine. I recovered but Greg… Greg never really escaped from the grief.
“Tommy’s dead, Greg.”
“No no… he’s here. I called to him and he looked me!! I’m gonna go back and try to talk to him.”
“ Greg, NO!” He’s not there. He’s gone Greg… Tommy’s dead.”
A year or so after Tommy’s death, Greg started seeing Tommy here and there. He said Tommy wasn’t doing anything unusual, but when he spoke to him, Tommy would never respond.
“He is here! I’m sitting next to him! He’s still not talking, but he’s smiling and holding the birthday present… y’know, for that damn party!”
As much as I tried to convince him otherwise, Greg always believed Tommy was still around. Our little boy’s death really twisted something in him.
“He talked!!! He said it didn’t hurt a bit.”
That’s when I truly began to worry out Greg…
“He says that he’ll see me real soon. I’m going to fin…”
That’s the last message I got. They found Greg dead from a massive heart attack. They say he died instantly… painlessly. The weirdest thing, he was holding a birthday present.
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS’ CHOICE ONLY
Intense
Walking under a poisoned neon green sky with autistic clouds, one member fell down a hole. Brilliant life saving discovery after the apocalypse! A secret bunker teeming with state of the art equipment, food supplies, refrigerated medicine and miscellaneous to sustain life; we had found a home. Exploring deeper into the underground bunker, we discovered dark truths and nightmares. What horrid secrets had the government kept buried from us?
A gargantuan airplane lay fully equipped adjacent to one entrance. Our coyote guards circled the craft heckles up and growling with fear. My dog who always was daring refused to enter . Midnight circled me endeavouring to prevent me from plunging into the dark maw. Whispering words of encouragement while stroking his head, I pushed forward with a belly full of dishwasher bile.
The cockpit had a robotic pilot, whose communication skills were sadly lacking. Midnight growled in the back of his throat as a movement the speed of light ripped behind obstacles. Cornering the being, we discovered another manmade invention. The childlike being was a combination of innocence and million dollar robotics. A bionic being! Staring at us with neither malice or intelligence, provided him with the name Intense. Strangely enough, it was with Midnight that he bonded. They communicated through primitive throaty rumbles, grumbles and mumbles, but they became devoted companions. Fortunately, both were our absolute protectors when we discovered a vault of aliens.
My name is Basil Kartvelishvili. That’s an awful big name for a little kid, but Mommy and Daddy insisted I had to memorize it, syllable by syllable: Kart-ve-lish-ve-li. It’s important, they say.
I have red hair and blue eyes. Mommy says I look like a boy version of my Aunt Ruby. Mommy says I have Aunt Ruby’s temper too.
Daddy says I’m a hot-blooded Georgian, just like he is. He wishes he could send me somewhere called the Suvorov School, because it taught him the discipline he needed to be a soldier.
All I know is I’m back in trouble again. So here I am, standing in the corner until Mommy and Daddy say I can come back out.
I really try to stay out of trouble, but things just happen. The next thing I know, I’m being yelled at again.
The departure
Some cloud flew past. In the bright, clear sky it seemed to be smiling. Ah, the blue azure! The little child seemed affixed to the window, mesmerized.
Now they were announcing beverage service. Sit down Maksim, his mom said.
Reluctantly he climbed back up into his seat.
Hours later, night fell. His parents were snoring. A slight rain was misting the windows now. The dark sky seemed scary. He tightened his grip on his teddy bear.
Julia, his older sister had started coloring her coloring books.
Bucharest, the blaring of taxis. One quickly brought them to the apartment reserved through booking.com. His mother was cooking soup. She always made soup when she needed to calm her nerves.
What an exciting new adventure they were on!
Quickly they had packed two suitcases and snuck out the backstairs from their apartment in Moscow. The tickets had been waiting for them at the airport. Even, Oleg, their little dog had been allowed to come along.
Through the open windows a soft spring night air blew. In the morning they would have breakfast and explore the city.
The uncertainty of their situation played on their nerves.
Aw, Geez. There he is again. With that stupid camera and that dumb smile of his. If he thinks I’m going to smile back at him, he’s more of a crazy old coot than ever. Not going to happen, you crazy old coot. I will never let you get a happy cutesy baby picture of me. Never. Not gonna happen.
“Oh, look. He said ‘Love you, Grampa!'”.
Aw, Geez. I didn’t say anything of the kind. Boy, Mom can sure twist things around. She’s even got Grampa believing it. Crazy old coot. Is he crying? He’s not crying is he? He better not be crying. Oh, well, maybe that’s what people do when they get as old as him. Forty-eight years! Years! I’m not even 48 months yet.
Poor old guy. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to let him have one lousy picture. Yeah, what the heck. Okay, Grampa, here goes. My special Gramma-can-I-have-another-cookie look.
Got it? Good. Now quit bothering me.
Aw, Geez. Now he’s really tearing up. And no, I did NOT say “I love you”. I said “like you”. It’s not the same. Not at all.