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.
“Wow, that was some fall you took. How’s the pain?”
“I’ll never be the same.”
“Is it your back or your shoulder?”
“It even hurts to answer you, it’s not either of those.”
“The paramedics will check you out when we get to their vehicle.”
“Did you get it?”
“Get what? Medic, he just passed out.”
“What did he do or say?”
“Did we get it? I have no idea what he was referring to.”
“Quick, let’s hurry and get him to the ambulance.”
*.*.*
“He’s out cold. Pressure is 90 over 52. Let’s start a drip line. Head to the hospital, STAT.”
*.*.*
“Finally, pressure is 110 over 70, and he’s coming to.”
“How do you feel, pardner?”
“I don’t feel too gud. Where am I?”
“You’re at the hospital. My understanding is you took quite a fall.”
“Did they get it?”
“I heard you were asking that question. You’re going to be okay, but you had the wind knocked out of you and your blood pressure dropped. You went into shock. Your pacemaker went crazy too, which I guess was from the fall.”
“Thanks, doc, for caring for an old codger.”
“No problem, that’s what we do here. How old are you anyway?”
“Eighty-two. Did they get it?”
“That my friend is too old to be riding bulls. Anyway, what are you asking?”
“I want to know where my cowboy hat is, I’ll never be the same without that Stetson.”
“Ridiculous, his hat’s more important than his life!”
The Rodeo to Ruin
He’d come home after the season was done. Barely walking, but still trying to look as ramrod straight as he had when he was a young man. He wasn’t gone all summer, but the circuit was demanding and over the years the purses were fewer and fewer. But each year, he’d return just a tad more beat up and a whole lot older.
It’d take him a couple of days of bedrest and mother’s love to get him into half decent shape. We’d know he was back to his old self when he’d get around to hauling out his 1947 Gibson’s and playing a few chords, getting his fingers working, then he plucks away, usually starting with that old Johnny Cash song, Rodeo Hand…
This time, he had his own song, and I cried for him.
He called it The Rodeo to Ruin.
Wandered the country byways,
worked the circuit best I could,
All the way to Amarillo,
till the highway turned to mud.
Never thought I’d get this old.
Always thought I’d stay a young one,
but I’ve reached the end of my rope
on the rodeo to ruin.
Autumn came and broke my belly,
left me broken in the dust.
Sorry old nags were all I could manage,
This whole damn year was pretty much a bust.
Never thought I’d get this old.
Always thought I’d be a young one,
But I reached the end of my trail
on the rodeo to ruin.
“I’m telling you,” I said. “He’s still toasted. If you strike a match near his face, you’ll lose your hand.”
Dwight shook his head. “He’s just tired. He’s got a problem with his inner ears. Vertigo. You know he’s got a predisposition to suffering from balance issues.”
“Balance issues, my ass. Besides, what about the smell of him? What’ll we say he’s been bathing in? Tennessee sour mash? Or is it a new kind of bath soap hipsters are using?”
Kenny continued to drag his feet. His brothers were half-carrying, half-dragging him, plumes of grit and dust trailing behind them. If they’d stopped and tried to make him stand, he’d have fallen on his face, full length in the dirt.
“He’ll be fine,” Dwight said. “He just needs to walk it off. Give him a couple of hours – he’ll be as good as new. Nobody needs to know how baked we let him get. Though, it’ll look as bad on us as it will him if we screw up. We were supposed to be the responsible adults – I said it was a mistake going out the night before the wedding.”
“Hey, don’t make it about me,” I said. “Besides, I said you shouldn’t have said nothing. You know it’s customary that a bar offers a stag party complimentary drinks.”
Dwight shrugged and kept on walking, scanning the ground. There was a wedding ring out here, somewhere. If we didn’t find it; it wouldn’t matter how sober Kenny was.
Basil had brought plenty of memories back with him from his time at his aunt and uncle’s ranch. Some of them were scary, like the time he and his cousin David got caught out on the open range by a sudden thunderstorm, and they’d had to take shelter under an overhang. Others were proud moments, like when he fixed a persistent problem with the loader using mechanical skills he’d brought with him from Sparta Point.
Most of all, there were the fun memories, like the community hog roast in the nearby town. There must’ve been a dozen whole hogs roasting, and everyone got plates piled high with roast pork, all for a free-will donation. You could get seconds, thirds, as much as you could eat – and given it was on a Saturday evening, after most of the people around there put in a full day’s work doing hard physical labor, they’d really worked up an appetite.
Having eaten their fill, more than a few of those guys would get up from the table to find themselves feeling like beached whales. So they’d go walk around the rodeo ring until their stomachs settled and they’d feel ready to drive back out to their ranches.
Walk it Off
So why was I stumbling around the restaurant grounds partly held up by friends?
“Walk it off!” Kay had said. She had spoken these wise words because the adolescent in me did not have the sense to know that the adult in me could not tolerate a rough game of soccer. After about twenty minutes my knees had seized up, my lungs were full of lava and my muscles were as tight as Robin Hood’s bow. My brain was resting, so I was blundering, bumbling and hobbling around.
“Seems like the old man had one too many!” The Twins’ jest made me growl, grump and grumble at them.
Naturally, The Twins had no idea when to quit teasing and continued with a long barrage of insults, “Coffee for you, Grandpa… A long cold shower… A snooze, ancient one…”
My legs were feeling better but I had the sensation that I was made of cheap rubber like some discontinued toy. At least my lungs had renewed themselves and were savouring the sweet air.
The Twins continued, “Let’s carry him to the dock and throw him in the river. It would be for his own good!”
This taunt came when the adolescent in me returned with a sweet vengeance. I chased The Twins with a horrible battle cry raging in my throat. So shocked were they that they heedlessly ran off the dock into frigid river water.
“Swim it off.. Swim off your cheekiness!” I shouted with glee.
ELIGIBLE FOR EDITORS’ CHOICE ONLY
Cowboy Coffee
The true recipe for Cowboy Coffee* is lost to the ages. At least it isn’t in my house… I looked. The actual recipe sprang from the idea that a pot of coffee wasn’t merely brewed, it was “built”. According to the exhaustive research, cowboy coffee contains water (well, duh…), coffee beans (well, duh… again), salt, eggshells, and whatever was in the pot from the last time you used it.
*Irrespective of what mommy and daddy have told you, “Cowboy Coffee” is not made from ground up cowboys.
Actually, Cowboy Coffee is some of the best coffee I have ever had. Ever the maverick, I used only water and ground beans… no filler… no accoutrement.*
*Foreign-like word meaning: “stuff”.
Amazing Bonus: Absolutely Free Recipe!!
Put the amount of water you want in sauce pan or cauldron… or something… whatever. You can’t just hold it in your hands though… due to the next part (No peaking).
Boil. (Aw, c’mon… you peaked.)
Add ground beans to taste. (This means the amount of ground beans you want to use in this brew… you don’t have to actually taste the beans. You’re welcome.)
Turn off heat and let coffee stand to allow the grounds to settle and you to go pee. Do not add cinnamon or other non-coffee crap to cowboy coffee. (I think there’s a federal law about this.)