Flash fiction contest results-FINAL

Sorry for the delay on posting this. The weekend was guzzled up with reading. It was good, but there wasn't time for much else.

Herewith the results:

Words I had to look up

Aphra Pell elecampane

Things I had to look up (otherwise known forevermore as the Neflix and chill category)

flashfriday: IKR

Steve Forti eats my lunch.

I don't know why I even try.

Marshal Marshall marshalled martial artists through the church, feeling déjà vu. Eight years had passed, but this time his martial artists were here for marital artistry. As they began their graceful accompaniment down the aisle, Marshall watched Marsha from the altar.

They’d worshipped here after taking out the chic sheik called Gucci Gafir. They’d tracked him to Sachs, to Fashion Curiosities, to Two Tutus, too. Finally caught him at Au Bon Pain, his blood splattering the glass-paned ceiling, sealing their love with a crimson kiss.

He smiled, vowing to always praise how she prays and preys. “Oh yes, I do.”

Not really a story but evocative as hell.

french sojourn

Kate Outhwaite

Not quite a story but as deft a bit of word play we've seen in a while

Marie McKay

Exhibit A: Seaman Luke Wright's Log:

When songstress Bec Hickory flu into HQ, she praised hour oversees gifts too her, liking how they wear both waterproof and sheik. Eye reported we'd loched away most mail crew members when we herd she was visiting. She said only sailors with cheating hearts wear in danger and knot too feel two much sympathy for her pray. She always preys for those she seduces, and they are entranced in the blink of an I.
How wood won know they'd been seduced?: "Most experience disruption to sounds." She winked.

Exhibit B: Harp.

Not really a story but holy moly, this is really funny

flashfriday

PROLOGUE
Darkeyes, the fierce warrior princess and sole surviving heir of murdered King Myzylyzylyz, after a terrible war which decimated the kingdom and left the patriarchal populace of simple but good-hearted sheepherders trembling, at last and at great cost defeated terrible Chanii the Chicaner, and behold, locked him away deep within the Crevasse of Credere, where he will languish praiseless and unremarked for a thousand years, until the day—while the monster Smoggish preys—her descendant, the fair-haired but prophetically doomed Elewyn, prays for the birth of the Chosen One.

CH1
He: Wow, math class today.
She: IKR?

Here are the entries that stood out for me

Timothy Lowe

“The family that prays together, stays together,” beamed the four Jehovah’s Witnesses on my stoop. I groaned and ushered them through the panel door.

“Do you know the way to God’s heart?” said the woman, pressing a bible into my callused hand.

“Through the chest?” I replied.

Blank stares.

“Never mind,” I assured. “I know the way to yours.”

“Praise Jesus!” howled the kids, two painful little chickadees with the manners of drunken sheiks.

“Indeed,” I said, drawing the shades. Faintly, I could hear Mom and Dad stirring in the cellar.

The family that preys together, stays together.

This made me laugh.
I haven't had too many religious folk calling at the door lately. I think there's some sort of mark on it now--some years back I thought my sweetheart had lost his keys so I jumped out of the shower, grabbed a hand towel for my hair and flipped the deadbolt and opened the door just a smidge.

Two nice Mormon boys had knocked.
I'm not sure who was more mortified.

Rio

Gonzales glanced under the tarp, raised his eyes and said, “¿Quién es?”

Nobody answered him.

He tried again. “Who is he?”

“I know him,” one boy whispered. It was Ray, age six. “I saw the monster get him. El chupacabra.”

“There are no monsters, son.”

That wasn’t true. That monster under the tarp had swindled the whole town. “I tried to get help,” Ray said. “But chupacabra rips apart its prey so fast.”

Gonzales looked around. Nobody else spoke.

“Killed our chickens last month,” Ray added.

“Dear heavens,” Gonzales said.

Ray’s mama squeezed his hand. Nicely done, mijito. Nicely done.

Love love love this twist.
It's clear from the comments that many of you do as well.

KDJames

"It preys on my patience," the old director ranted, "this dubious premature praise for a remake everyone prays won't be disastrous."

"They plan to shake it up, subbing a sheikh for the Dread Pirate. A romantic sheik with taut… cheeks. Nose like a blade. Très chic."

"How dare they write such drivel?"

"Someone sold the rights."

"Have I taught them nothing?"

"God knows, you tried," the nurse agreed, ever willing to humor his patients.

"I'll be raising a pint of ale…"

"Always good for what ails you."

"…'to the pain,' indeed."

"Best dialog ever delivered from a counterpane."

This was like applying paint to a canvas with a slingshot. Wildly entertaining.

Dena Pawling

October 31, NYC

Jaws crouches beneath the pier, peers out from behind her shark “mask”, prays for fresh prey.

Sammy, a regal sheik, and Abigail, a chic Princess Jasmine, prance down the boardwalk.

Jaws prepares to pounce and pare the population.

The cute pair knock on a door. Curtains twitch, door opens. “Trick or treat!”

Homeowner presents pears. Children mumble polite “thank you”. Jaws sighs. These two already have their pain. Where's the fun in that?

Jaws peers through windowpane. Homeowner types at computer.

“Praise all deities! Fresh prey!”

Jaws changes name and careers. Becomes Janet, literary agent.

This just cracked me up.

JustJan

I leave the house with nothing but my driver’s license and pick up a couple of chicks, fully loaded, with chic backpacks and a wary dog. They pray, shimmy into the back, and give me an address. For forty minutes, I feel like a sheikh. The dog, riding shotgun, watches my every move.

Mission accomplished. They praise my driving while their dog preys on a nearby chipmunk.

I head home before my wife takes notice. She says we didn’t move to Orlando so I could live in Fantasyland, but, hey, isn’t that what being an Uber driver is all about?

Nice twist!!!

Nliu

A muezzin calls the faithful to pray, soaring voice battling car horns.

"Praise be you were not inside!"

The driver's round eyes.

She opens her compact, hands trembling.

The Chichester Herald had screamed "Local Lass Marries Sheik". Not strictly true, though Saif had a Swiss bank account, a house with fountains, marble, flunkies. Real gold cufflinks. Crisp white shirts. Swoonworthy cologne.

Perks.

But the tins in the basement - though labelled osprey, tulip, anemone - weren't paint.

And he wasn't in oil.

The blooming dust cloud reflects in the compact.

"Praise be," she says.

MI6 better give her a pay rise.

"and he wasn't oil" is one of those perfect little phrases that makes the story turn a corner and smack you in the nose.

As has become the pattern, I'll post the final results later today.

In the meantime, look these over, and tell me who you think should take home a prize (there might be more than one this week!)

Who did I overlook?

UPDATE


I knew from the first read through that Rio would take home the prize.
Then I read through the second time and had to add JustJan.


There's just too much excellence to choose only one.


And honestly, all of them are really wonderful!




Rio and Jan, let me know what you like to read and I'll get your prize books in the mail.


Thanks to all of you who took the time to write and enter.
This was utterly delightful!