Flash Frenzy Round 84

Posted: November 7, 2015 in Flash Frenzy Weekend Flash Challenge
Tags: , , ,

Welcome to Round 84. This weekend, Marie McKay is our esteemed judge.

Before we get started, here’s a brief reminder of the rules.

Deadline: Sunday at 6:00pm MST. You all have 36 hours to create your best work of up to 360 words (exclusive of title) and post it into the comments below. Please include your word count (required) and Twitter handle if applicable. For complete rules, click here. 

The winning author and their story will be featured as Wednesday’s Hump-Day Quickie, receive a winner’s page, and be crowned Flash Master of the Week.

Here is your prompt.

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao

photo courtesy Ashwin Rao


  1. stephellis2013 says:


    338 words

    Corroded eyes peered up through a cobwebbed shroud. Shrunk to steel pinpoints, they fixed on Patrick.

    “You came back.”

    He ran his hand over her decaying exterior. “I always do. I have no choice.”

    “Until death us do part?” she teased.

    “I guess some vows you just don’t break,” he said.

    She smiled, pleased at his answer. “Lie down with me,” she ordered.

    Obediently he took his place at her side, felt the stone, cold and hard through his thin shirt.

    “You keep coming back,” she murmured. “Don’t you think people will talk?”

    “I’ve been careful,” he said, proudly. Nobody ever noticed him. He was invisible. Even the police had looked straight through him, giving the area only the most cursory of searches, the women eventually filed under missing and forgotten.

    A twig snapped somewhere nearby.

    “You’d better check,” she said.

    Reluctantly Patrick eased the door open, saw nothing amongst the overgrown headstones, night-cloaked tombs. He moved away from his own mausoleum, could still see nothing. When he returned, he found she had gone, like she always did. It had become a game. The disappearance. The sighting. The hunt. The kill.

    His heart started to beat faster, his senses sharpened. Where had she chosen this time? He made his way across deserted streets, beneath dim lights, into empty alleyways. Through an opened gate. Here. She was waiting for him here.

    He walked up the path. The door was unlocked.

    He crept in.

    He could see her now. Pretending to watch the TV. She knew he was there, made no sound.

    “I’m taking you home,” he whispered as he wrapped her up in his winding cloth.

    She remained silent. She never spoke until they were safely alone.

    He liked that about her.

    The sky gradually began to lighten beneath the approaching dawn. Patrick moved quickly. Reached his mausoleum just as the sun started to creep up. He brushed old bones from the stone table, gently placed her on its surface and waited for her to come back to him.

  2. Richard Edenfield says:

    Star fossils

    By the time you read this,
    I will already be gone;
    Words are star fossils.

  3. Richard Edenfield says:


    It is like staring at the middle of a car crash with a map. How can I fall in love? All your directions. Why am I lost? Am I a bad man? Have I fallen in love with an idea?

  4. CR Smith says:

    Suppressed Memories

    I wake, sweating and gasping for air. It’s always the same nightmare, night after night, as if my mind is trying to reconstruct memories that are broken or blurred.

    There’s a box under my bed containing my past. I pull it out, re-examining its contents for the zillionth time: a key on a chain, a photograph, a map, half a train ticket. I don’t need to look at the photograph, I know it by heart, it’s the image of a girl sitting in a car. It must have been taken at least thirty years ago. She looks happy, but I don’t know who she is, not even hypnosis has been able to help me.

    Walkers Croft, the word flashes into my mind. This latest nightmare must have dislodged something hidden deep inside because the word seems both new and familiar. I open the map, letting my fingers walk over its surface towards the location. Fifteen minutes later I’m on my way there, driving all day, stopping only out of necessity. I follow the dilapidated signs, until I arrive at padlocked gates.

    From there I continue on foot, discovering a barn seemingly held together by ropes of ivy. It smells strangely comforting inside. The torch’s beam highlights a tarpaulin. When I pull it back, the car from my photograph appears, now draped in dust and cobwebs. Reaching for the key around my neck, I try the lock. As suspected it opens the door. My fingers run over the dashboard and I suddenly realise the girl in the photograph is me. Past memories fight their way back to life.

    A kitchen, a red quarry tiled floor, the fire we all congregated around, my father’s chair set off to one side, laughter, happy times … arguments, shouting, driving his car without permission … standing up to him, his rage, his hands tightening around my neck … blood spurting from his body as the knife sliced into his flesh, my mother’s screams when she got in the way … my screams, the sticky, sticky blood … running.

    Those suppressed memories all come rushing back.

    @carolrosalind WC 344

  5. Those Faces

    She sees faces everywhere. She laughs when she discovers them, takes pictures and posts them online. #happythermostat #cutechocchipcookie
    Each time she stops to take a photo the face in question stares, judging and taunting me.
    #cheekylittlelockerkey freaks me out. With its square eyes and inane grin, it seems to know things about me.
    The faces all hate me. They delight in making me squirm. #angrydoorknob makes my stomach leap into my throat. I decide it wants to kill me and begin a habit of kicking the door open then running through fast.
    I close my eyes in the kitchen to avoid #whistfulwhisk and #saucysaucepan . I know those two are plotting against me.
    The faces have started to invade my dreams. I wake yelling and sweating. She’s there beside me, on her phone talking faces with her online friends. She stares at me, puzzled.
    ‘What’s up, Col?’
    I’m shaking and can’t find my voice. She shrugs and glances back at her phone. Giggling, she shows me another face. I hide under the quilt, as if that can protect me from #ecstaticsamosa . I don’t want to look but feel compelled to. #sadnaanbread isn’t sad, it’s evil. That’s it. No more curries for me.
    She searches for faces everywhere. My clothes on the chair. My bag. Me.
    Or do they search her out to get to me?
    I can hear her taking more pictures. She’s using the flash.
    I hate those faces but I can’t ever tell her.
    They make her so happy.

    256 words

  6. Kate’s Twittering Goes Off Road

    9.00 am November 8th from Kate_T

    Travel time. Still can’t believe they’re making me do this. Sanity here – and soon also miles away.

    9.01 am November 8th from Kate_T

    Miss me when I’m gone, world? Xx

    9.02 am November 8th from Kate_T

    Commentating through the trip to distract from what’s at the end.

    9.03 am November 8th from Kate_T

    We haven’t even set off yet.

    9.04 am November 8th from Kate_T

    So clearly not nearly there.

    9.05 am November 8th from Kate_T

    Sorry. Couldn’t resist.

    10.15 am November 8th from Kate_T

    Bored now. Entertain me?

    11.12 am November 8th from Kate_T

    @CazD @Flash_Ah Thanks, you guys! Laughed so loud, think half the county heard me. Still can’t believe this move – even whilst actually in motion. X

    11.13 am November 8th from Kate_T

    @CazD @Flash_Ah We’re miles from anywhere, at the minute, by the way. Scenery is sort of pretty though.

    13.05 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Just nothingness for a while. Still en route. Still not there. Not even nearly.

    13.06 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Yes, I know I’ve said that already, Twitter.

    13.06 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    So, thanks.

    13.27 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    @Ally_LB Comedic. Cheers, muchly!

    15.01 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Survived a stop off. Wheels are rolling again. And again – and again…

    16.03 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Woken by sudden seatbelt syndrome. Not sure who or what – but blame’s the name of the game, right? 😉

    16.04 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Kidding. I guess.

    16.05 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Was random. Bit weirded.

    16.06 November 8th from Kate_T

    Feeling it too.

    16.06 November 8th from Kate_T

    Sudden car silence.

    16.07 November 8th from Kate_T

    Time out. Resuming later.

    16.08 November 8th from Kate_T

    Look after the world without me. X

    19.01 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Just nothingness for a while.

    19.10 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Just nothingness for a while.

    20.00 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Just nothingness while

    21.22 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Just nothingness

    22.15 pm November 8th from Kate_T

    Just nothing

    23.57 pm November 8th from Kate_T


    00.07 November 8th from Kate_T


    (360 words)

  7. Lee DeAmali says:

    Relics of Another Era
    359 words

    Just 24 hours before writing this, I was drowning my sorrows at a gin joint where a fine scotch would be my last extravagance. Last month’s stock market crash ruined me, and while the $8,000 sitting in the car trunk appears a handsome sum, I owe plenty more to creditors expecting immediate payment.

    At some point an old geezer entered, slipped onto the stool beside me, began yapping about the riches he had at his fingertips, laid up in a mining claim at the edge of the desert. He came to the city looking for investors to get his venture up and running, but arriving in November 1929 proved poor timing for such things. He showed me the deed and a glistening gold nugget, treated me to a second round.

    After a night of restless sleep, I woke with the idea that the old buzzard could be my salvation. I found him slouched in a nearby stoop and said “Listen here, we may be able to work something out you and me. I’ll drive us out to your mine and have a look. If it’s the real deal, I’ll buy your claim for cash on the spot.”

    I showed off a roll of bills, evidence I was on the up and up, before we set out. And where does he lead me after six hours drive, but to this barren ravine between two rocky hills in the middle of nowhere. We spent hours walking in circles looking for an entrance I came to realize doesn’t exist.

    He limped toward the car for a swig of warm whiskey. With exasperation, desperation and the beginnings of sunstroke, I said “Find it quick old man! Or I’ll leave you here to rot.”

    He responded by drawing a knife, lunging at me wide-eyed. We went at it, rolling in the dirt until I wrestled the weapon away. But in throwing my arm up and out of his reach, the blade caught rubber, stabbed the tire clear through. The flattening wheel hissed air like evaporating dreams.

    We’re still here for now, me and the old fool, though who will remain tomorrow I cannot say.

  8. zevonesque says:

    A.J. Walker

    What is the half life of plastic? This has lain in this forest for decades. Since before there was a forest here most likely.

    There is no evidence of the constructor or owner. No bodies. It’s been left here to rot. To be enveloped by nature. But what use was this contraption?

    Nature must remember something. It seems intent on ignoring it. Building its greenscapes around the pitch ugliness. Trees bend over it with a disdainful pity.

    These tiny monuments litter the entire world like garish headstones.

    Inside this one cobwebs have thickened to uselessness. The little eight leg creatures leave it alone now. The plastic will one day decay to a memory, if there is anything on the planet to remember it.

    Did they have a use? Perhaps they were a home, or armor for beings we have no trace of? Perhaps they are primitive pieces of art.

    I suspect though they must have had some use. There are dials with regular markings on – perhaps for measuring time or heat.

    The visitors look at each other, briefly amused by the possibilities of the past. These ubiquitous lumps of metal and plastic cover the continents, seeming to indicate that once there was primitive sentient life all over the planet – something had built them. But for what purpose? And what became of the constructor species? Or were these carapaces for a life now aborted?

    We should leave this green and blue planet. It is empty but for sad forests and plains. These pockets of archaeology are but snippets of an uninteresting past, we should waste no more time here. We must leave; go on to the next system. One day I am sure we will find intelligent life in this universe.

    I had such hope for this planet. We can’t be the only ones.



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