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.
Maiden in the Mist
Legend says,
‘If a young man were to see the Maiden in the Mist, he would be carried away by a beautiful lady and married before his second upcoming birthday.’
On a dare, the four of us decided to prove the legend a fallacy. We stayed overnight in a BNB not far from the Sweet Creek falls. Poker and beer, or was it beer and poker, that occupied our time? Regardless, the next morning we were even more driven to prove our point.
We climbed in the jeep and headed out to the trail. Soon we were standing like pawns, side by side, staring at the Sweet Creek falls. Jeremy was the first to draw our attention to the right-side falls and said he saw the nude maiden offering her outstretched hand.
That’s when we all screamed in chorus that we saw her too. Others standing close by were getting upset by our antics, and took their final pictures and left.
*.*.*
The week after, we shared our similar dreams. In all of them, the common occurrence is that the maiden comes to life and floats over to us. She wants us to kiss her hand, and when we do, her face changes into someone each of us met recently.
*.*.*
We now get together only sparingly to play poker. Most weekends we are happily spending time with our beautiful wives. So much for proving the legend a fallacy.
Falling
It was a five-hour drive to Kate’s place. We hadn’t been there in three years. Covid lockdown. Covid inertia.
And distance.
A five-hour drive to the boonies…it can be wearying.
Now it didn’t matter. Time had moved life and death along.
Kate was gone. That was also wearying.
Kate had been Louise’s favorite cousin. More like an aunt than a cousin. Twelve years older. And though they hadn’t always lived close together growing up, their lives had intersected. At one point, Louise had lived with Kate for a summer.
“Refresh my memory,” I asked as we zoomed along the rolling hills on the flat highway, “She was with Henry, then?”
Louise nodded. “Yes. She was still with him. Cows, geese, Henry’s older brother. Part of the package. It was crowded. That’s why we got away as often as possible. Up to the falls.”
“Where she chose to…exit?”
“You’re a delicate man,” Louise smiled. “She made her choice. One we should all have the courage…and the right to make.”
“But alone? No one should die alone.”
I hated the self-righteousness in my voice.
“No, she wouldn’t have felt alone. She would have felt…more than felt…been embraced by nature, the sky, the rumbling water. She loved that spot. Might have even had a final swim. She was ready and in full control.”
We went silent for much of the balance of the trip.
Kate was at rest.
We would say goodbye.
Maybe go for a swim at the falls.
For Editors’ Choice Award only
“Are you sure it was here?” she asked, as she and her boyfriend, barefooted and hand-in-hand, stepped carefully over the well-worn stones in the plunge pool below the falls.
“That’s the legend. You can even see the remnants of the guardrail alongside the abandoned road leading to where a bridge once traversed the river before a flood back in 1927 washed everything in its path downstream.”
She stopped, almost causing him to lose his balance. “As I recall, you said the same thing happened back during the Civil War, right?”
“That’s what they say. Following heavy rains in September of 1864, the river became a torrent and washed everything in its path into a tributary of the Mississippi River. According to people hereabouts, the raging waters took down the covered bridge across the falls just as members of a Union artillery company crossed with their heavy weapons.”
“But wouldn’t the troops have known the bridge was unsafe, given the amount of rain that had fallen and how swollen the river was?”
“You’d think, but legend has it, just before they crossed, the officer in charge was said to have witnessed what appeared to be a heavily laden horse-drawn wagon crossing the bridge. It gave him the confidence to proceed. People ’round here say the old woman holding the reins was a Confederate spy, and the wagon was made to look heavy using a load of empty wooden crates.
“At least that’s the legend of Union Falls.”
The Legend of the Falls
In my youth, I often went to the enchanting and tranquil Falls on our family land. The rugged ascent to these well hidden Falls ensured I was always alone. The water pounded obliterating all other sounds. The twittering of birds, squirrels chattering along branches, winds rushing through leaves and other sounds of nature no longer existed. The crash of water filled my ear drums. Just me and the hammering, buffeting, pulsing Falls. I never contaminated the falls by swimming, believing this would be sacrilegious.
Watching the Falls, I always remembered my Grandpa recounting the legend, “The water was freezing yet clear because of HER. She hid in the Falls; you could sense rather than see her. A mysterious goddess-like creature of shimmering nothingness. When the sun was high and there was the faintest of rainbows melting into the sky, there was almost a blink of movement in the Falls. She was no more than a play of light. Many an ancestor must have been disillusioned thinking that he or she could touch this mysterious figure, the Guardian of the Falls. The Guardian, too of our family.”
Midnight barked, thus tearing me away from my memories of the Falls and cruelly depositing me into a post-apocalyptic world. Legend now seeped into the present. A shimmer of iridescent oiliness on a muddy puddle was a reminder that the Guardian of the Falls was still guarding me.
“No, you can’t go visit Trillium Falls.”
Elaine looked at her younger son, now screwing up his face in an expression of incipient temper tantrum. How to explain to a bright seven-year-old who had no real appreciation of just how precarious his life was?
Basil had found the postcard by accident, probably left over from the days when Sparta Point was still a working ranger station for the Redwoods National and State Parks. He knew enough to realize the falls weren’t that far away — but not enough to understand the significance of their being on a public trail.
It was so tempting to tell him “later.” But she had far too many memories of “later” being Adult Authority’s way of saying “never” without triggering a tantrum. Write the check now and hope it would be forgotten before it needed to be cashed. Or worse, conveniently forget and insist the child had imagined the whole thing.
She’d sworn she’d never do that to a child of hers. Which meant she needed to find a way to convey a difficult political situation without overwhelming Basil. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. “Sweetheart, I know it’s frustrating to be told you can’t have something because of adult reasons that you don’t understand. But it’s very important that we don’t draw attention to ourselves here at Sparta Point. And there’s no way to take you to see Trillium Falls without people seeing.”
A Fable
The aged chief hobbled his way to the deep pool at the end of the angry waters to check his trap. He once walked tall and strong… but now he was weak and bent… but still he fished.
At the pool he was overjoyed to see an immense fish bound in his trap. After a great and exhausting effort and as the great fish battled frantically to return to the water, the chief managed to drag it far up the shore. After a long rest, the old man raised his hunting club to still the struggling fish before dragging it to his village.
To his surprise the fish spoke, “Please let me live, for I am a magic being and can give you great riches of gold and jewels.”
The old chief shook his head, “”And what would I do with yellow metal and colored stones. I have no need of such things.”
The fish then said, “I can make you ruler of all. You will be a great king over the land.”
“Why would I wish to rule people who do not desire to be ruled?” Once again, the club was raised.
“Wait… I can give you youth… make you young once more!”
“That is not the way of life… I do not wish to be young when all I love are gone.”
Again the club waved in the air…
“I know what you can do, though.”
“What?”, said the fish.
The club struck.
“Feed my people.”
Drake was very young when his granddad told him about the falls – about a time before the Corporation owned all the water. His granddad mentioned a place where water still flowed freely. Before he could take Drake there, Granddad had died. Finding those falls became Drake’s lifelong obsession.
Now a grandfather himself, Drake takes his teenage grandson along on many treks. The boy doesn’t believe the legend, but he loves his grandpa. As they struggle up the steep hill and scramble over large rocks, Drake stumbles several times. He is growing too old for this quest. The boy helps Drake to his feet and shoulders both packs.
Suddenly, the hikers stop and listen to a sound, like wind through the trees, but not quite. As they step around a huge boulder, they both gasp. Water tumbles over a small cliff into a shallow pool. It flows downhill for about fifty yards before disappearing into the ground. Drake stands speechless. He had almost given up hope.
His grandson asks “What do we do with it?”
Dropping to his knees beside the stream, Drake scoops water into his hands and drinks the clean, fresh liquid. Never in his long life has he tasted anything so delicious. His grandson follows suit. Then, laughing, they splash each other.
Drake says, “You must protect this treasure. Keep it secret, yet free, for those we love.” He receives a nod and a hug. Then they both sit on a log and stare at the beautiful waterfall.
LATE ENTRY
Mariska gazed at the waterfall and wondered how Ian had crossed the river. His tracks led to the bank, but they didn’t come out the other side.
He had hidden when their village was attacked. She had come home from hunting to find everyone dead or missing. She searched for hours and finally found his tracks. He was wearing the moccasins she had made for him and there was no doubt in her mind that it was him. He was following the raiders who had taken all the children.
She sat down on a rock below the waterfall and waited. Ian joined her there shortly. She threw her arms around him and then proceeded to scold him for all the days she had worried.
“Come Mari, they are just over the next ridge. They have split up and there are only two guards with the little ones. We can overpower them and get our friends back.”
“Oh, Ian, even if we rescue them what will we do? We can’t care for 12 children all on our own.”
“We won’t be on our own. Several other grown ups survived. They played dead. Now they are hiding while their wounds heal.“
Ian was right, rescuing the children proved easy. Traveling back to the clean open desert with them was more trouble. The grown ups were waiting to take over responsibility for the 12 young ones. Soon their tribe would grow again until the raiders came back. Next time, they would be ready.