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.
Gone
“You finally made it!”
“Freeway scramble. Lost a couple of hours.”
“You should anticipate better.”
“I tell myself that every day. What needs doing?”
“Nice machine. Been at it lo0ng?”
“Since I was a baby.”
“A baby? Really?”
“On my daddy’s knee. Right up there in the cab. Grinding old communities into rubble. A lesson learned early. Nothing ever lasts.”
“Kind of a sad way to grow up, wasn’t it?”
“It was normal for me. And I was always with my old man. Not a lot of kids could say that. I was there and I was learning.”
“So you had little choice it seems. Always in a CAT. Always busting stuff up.”
“That’s the game. So what do you have here?”
“A sweet little bungalow. Circa 1948. Build for a returning soldier. Same family for over seventy years.”
“And now gone?”
“You’d think. No, there is a stuck boomer hidden inside. Won’t leave. City won’t kibosh him, says he ‘s the son of a Vet. That means something to them.”
“But you own the house?”
“I don’t think of it as a house. It’s an acquisition. It’s mine. He’s a trespasser. I hate trespassers. They’ve no respect for property rights.”
“That’s clear enough. What do you want me to do?
“Knock it down. I’ve got a schedule and this hunk of junk has to go.”
“And the Vet inside? What about him?”
“You rumble up and start demolishing…he’ll get the message.”
“Right! You’re the boss.”
“That I am!”
Edited version…
Gone
“You finally made it!”
“Freeway scramble. Lost a couple of hours.”
“You should anticipate better.”
“I tell myself that every day. What needs doing?”
“Nice machine. Been at it long?”
“Since I was a baby.”
“A baby? Really?”
“On my daddy’s knee. Right up there in the cab. Grinding old communities into rubble. A lesson learned early. Nothing ever lasts.”
“Kind of a sad way to grow up, wasn’t it?”
“It was normal for me. And I was always with my old man. Not a lot of kids could say that. I was there and I was learning.”
“So, you had little choice it seems. Always in a CAT. Always busting stuff up.”
“That’s the game. So, what do you have here?”
“A sweet little bungalow. Circa 1948. Built for a returning soldier. Same family for over seventy years.”
“And now gone?”
“You’d think. No, there is a stuck boomer hidden inside. Won’t leave. City won’t kibosh him, says he ‘s the son of a Vet. That means something to them.”
“But you own the house?”
“I don’t think of it as a house. It’s an acquisition. It’s mine. He’s a trespasser. I hate trespassers. They’ve no respect for property rights.”
“That’s clear enough. What do you want me to do?
“Knock it down. I’ve got a schedule and this hunk of junk has to go.”
“And the Vet inside? What about him?”
“You rumble up and start demolishing…he’ll get the message.”
“Right! You’re the boss.”
“That I am!”
Demolition Time
Two manic, clumsy androids, BEEP and BOOP, were given the task of demolishing a building.
“Okay, BOOP, we need to finish by the end of the day.”
“Okay, BEEP.”
Faced with a strict timeline, BOOP became so focused on getting the job done quickly that it accidentally knocked down a nearby tree with the tractor.
BOOP slapped the side of its head. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Focus, BOOP. We have to pay for any mistakes we make.”
“Focus. Right.”
Overwhelmed by the responsibility, and panicking because of its mistakes, BOOP then accidentally drove into a nearby parked car, causing it to explode. The android threw up its hands. “That wasn’t me.”
BEEP, excited from all the chaos, ran along the street, shouting, “Yes, it was! I saw it! I saw it!”
BOOP, unable to think straight because of the stress, lost control of the tractor and chased BEEP around the demolition site for several minutes.
“BOOP, stop!”
“I can’t!”
Eventually, the tractor crashed into a nearby pile of debris, causing the android to be ejected from the tractor seat. Laying on top of some rubble, and covered in dirt, it mumbled, “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”
Eventually, the two hopeless androids succeeded in tearing down the building.
Satisfied with their work, BEEP and BOOP, arms around each other’s shoulders, surveyed the site: it was a smouldering rubble, surrounded by downed trees, two wrecked cars, and frightened neighbours.
Unfortunately, they tore down the wrong building.
Link of Death
He wielded the machine one more time to ensure the opening was clear. Michael took off his hard hat, put in his gloves and stepped down into the ground. His phone rang. On the screen was the picture they took while walking on the Golden bridge.
“Hello Beautiful. How are you?” He peered ahead at the path. “Hi. I just wanted to call and say I love you. I am feeling a bit sad this morning.”
Michael repositioned his glasses.
“I know its hard darling, but it will get better each day. When I see you tonight I’ll be sure to bring your favorite wine, MoneSherry.”
“Oh, great. Thanks for being so great, Donny.”
Michael looked at this phone. “Who the hell is Donny?”
The phone disconnected.
“Tyanna. Ty?”
“Help me..”
Michael shivered at the sound of the voice. He threw his phone and began walking towards the opening. The path lit up as he stepped on rocks. It ushered him to a small opening.
Michael looked at the etching on the walls. He took off his gloves and ran his finger over the carvings that were displayed. One particular design caught his eye. He noticed the lever that was hidden within the carvings. Michael pulled the lever.
A small hole opened to reveal a beautiful woman laid on a small bed. She began to stir.
“Help..”
She whispered. Her small frame shook as she tried to stand. “Don’t move! I’m going to get you out of there!”
DEMOLITION
There was one room that no one wanted to go in, not even our tabby cat. We never understood until a final yard sale. An elderly man approached and said his grandparents had owned the home once and as children, they used to sleep out on the wraparound porch in the summer. “Never in that front room though!”
“Us either!” I placed my hand on the gentleman’s sleeve begging for more details.
“That room is haunted by the first owner! Someone should have told your parents before they bought the house!” He shook his head in disbelief. “A crazy drunk murdered his wife in that room!”
“What?! I’ve never heard, but I surely believe it! I remember my mother was determined to use that room because it was the biggest one in the house. After my parents divorced, she went in with white paint and painted everything in it, including the floors. She smudged the room with sage. She prayed. We lit candles! As kids, it scared us!” We both laughed aloud. “She made it one week. Came out screaming in the middle of the night. Said she woke with a big black demon sitting on her chest. She shut the door and that was that. It was the junk room from then on, and we only went in two-by-two to retrieve things.”
“Be here for the demolition?” I nodded. “I’ll come back. We’ll toast the clearing of demons!”
BOBCAT
Saw him for the first time on the corner of Centennial Avenue. My heart pounded – an adrenaline rush! Approachable and kind, I thought, as he lent his elbow to a woman leaning heavily on a cane. I followed the pair across the street, eyes towards the ground, counting the newly painted crosswalk lines. A pebble in my sandal ended my fantasy. By the time I emptied my shoe, he had disappeared.
Saw him again the next day. He was walking a dog – with an imposing frame. Athletic, like his owner, I mused, but friendly. Suddenly, the mixed breed lunged towards me, teeth barred. Adrenaline rush!
“He’s just playing with you,” said the owner. “I’m sorry.”
It was an opening, I thought. “No prob,” I answered. What kind of dog is it?”
“A pitbull and bulldog mix. A bully,” he added, “like me.” He winked.
Claimed his name was Bobcat. I bought into it, just like I consented to exchange numbers … and, later, a drink at a local bar. And shortly after that … we were an item.
Bobcat said he was a demolition worker. “I tear down structures – efficiently,” he added. “There are hazards, you know –unknown factors that make demolition work dangerous.”
That’s when he gave me a friendly push. Threw me off-balance and I fell to the sidewalk. Bobcat extended his hand and yanked me off the pavement. “Clumsy,” he admonished. And then, “Just playing with you.”
Adrenaline rush!
I never saw the bully again.
This mini digger almost drives itself. He’s only recently bought it, but it’s become a part of him, its front blade and backhoe an extra pair of arms. Five hours ago, there was a cluster of small sheet metal dwellings here, their angular outlines an insult to the eye. But now, there’s only the Bunker, an indestructible cold-war construction: impervious to even the Cat’s efforts.
“You can’t bring that in here.” One of the Mud Men climbed onto the cab, his tongue a sleek grey slug. There was a glimmering within his single usable eye socket, the other plugged with an encrustation of compacted topsoil.
“I can do what I like,” said Jones. “I’ve got this machine and the authority to use it. You and your people should take your leave and go before I set about you with the flame thrower.”
The Mud Man glowered, slime greasing his lips. He hissed like a boiling kettle and cursed, using his shovel-like hands to trace the runes they used. Jones felt the earth shudder suddenly beneath the digger’s tracks, its engine stuttering as its carburettor choked.
And then it was fine again. The Mud Man collapsed into the slack mound they assumed most of the time, draining back into a fissure below the ground. The Cat surged forward, and the Bunker closed around Jones, the temperature dropping as the daylight died.
“You’d better beware,” said the Mud Man chorus, their voices massing in the gloom. “Leave now while you still can.”
Musa moved his bulldozer carefully back into position. It broke his heart to think that not so long ago this pile of rubble had housed 30 families. He wondered again if everyone had perished when the building collapsed after the earthquake five days earlier. But how could anyone have survived?
Wiping the sweat off his brow, Musa moved forward again. He needed to focus on his job. Until the debris had been cleared away, there could be no rebuilding. And people needed new places to live. After another hour of digging passed his legs were stiff and his back was starting to protest. He reminded himself that even demolition experts had to stretch once in a while.
As he finished the remainder of his thermos of coffee, Musa heard a noise. At first, he thought it was a kitten. He hoped a mother cat hadn’t chosen this awful spot to bring her kittens into the world.
He couldn’t go on digging until he checked. He would have to move them first. In the one little corner of the building that hadn’t collapsed completely, Musa knelt down, hoping to find the kittens quickly, so he could get back to work.
Musa couldn’t believe his eyes. It wasn’t kittens. It was a baby. Somehow Musa managed to reach in and carefully draw out the crying child. Swaddling the little one within his jacket, he rushed back to the others. They had to get this poor baby to the hospital right away.
Demolition
They say there is at least one in every group. However, we seemed to have a monopoly of strange people who probably would not fit in anywhere else! We had the oddest types. Cuckoos. Zany characters. Goofs. Kinglets. Those who walked between sanity and insanity. One of our strange ones began reeling off an odd list.
In a monotonous voice, “Excavator, skid steer loader, track loader. Articulated truck, bulldozer, wheel loader. Crane.” Then she repeated the list all over again. And again.
A kindly voice asked, “What are you talking about, dear?”
Miss Monotone answered, “Isn’t it obvious? I am listing demolition equipment. Why? Because humans made such a hash up of the Earth, we should demolish everything and start again. Our world is a mess, jumble, muddle, mishmash, cramble, hodgepodge, mingle-mangle, tangle, rummage, disarray. Yes, the whole world is in such disarray, that the only thing we can do is demolish the whole blooming mess. Now, if I sat in some sort of demolition vehicle, I would put it into super power extra speed mode. Bang. Blast. Bonk. And bash. Then call in the clean up machinery and start Earth all over again. Doesn’t a brand new Earth sound wonderful? Having once made stupid mistakes and knowing what they were, we could avoid repeating them.”
The kind voice again, “Why that does sound wonderful! Now dear, you look awfully tired, come and rest.”
Of course demolishing the world and starting again did sound attractive and wonderful. If only….
A Creation Of Light
The mute darkness pushed his madness deeper into an internal world of locked doors and lightless windows where he lived chained to his certainty that life crept from one insurmountable moment to another. His cavern was ageless and unopened for it wasn’t physicality that bound him but rather an existent and persistent set of spiritual falsifications that rendered his transcendent prison impenetrable.
When a mechanical roar interrupted his long held silence he reached into the furthest alcove of his memory for a word that would release its secret syllable and assist his understanding but none crawled forward on the branches of his thoughts. A machine, but his ability to identify beyond basics had suffocated beneath the thick blankets of his years.
With painful light in his eyes he gazed at the intruder with its circular limbs and its perforated black head that leaked blue illumination from a backdrop he once knew as sky. But sky had long decayed into an abstraction and not a form to behold. For ages, quiet darkness had been his companion. Cherished, magical. It would take a supreme act of resolve, something he was now forced to dredge, to climb from his captivity and touch the heavens again.
When I heard they were tearing down the Red Branch Hotel and Convention Center, I was torn. Part of me wanted to make one last visit, but part of me wanted to remember it as it had been.
I have so many fond memories of the rambling old building, the site of my very first science fiction convention. I’d been hesitant when a friend invited me – twenty dollars for my membership had been A Lot Of Money – but was I ever glad to go. I still have vivid memories of hanging out in the con suite, chatting about all my favorite books without worrying whether anyone’s eyes were glazing over.
I don’t remember when our hometown convention left the Red Branch. By that time, I was going to a dozen cons a year, all over the country. The Red Branch was a fun place, with its mishmash of at least eight different architectural styles – but it was also a maintenance nightmare. I don’t remember a con without at least one elevator breaking down. Once I got into the business side of conventions, I discovered just how the layout hindered logistics of loading in and out.
These days, the old-school fan-run science fiction conventions are a dying breed. A lot of them have closed because they just can’t get enough volunteers. The new generation goes to the commercially-run comic cons and anime cons, where you buy a ticket, not a membership.