Flash fiction contest results

The prompt words were quite hairy this time, weren't they?


words I had to look up
Craig F: Thaumaturgy
Unknown: bothy
Efa Foy eucatastrophe

Outstanding use of the prompt word HEAT
Aphra Pell: Heart Ever Adoring and True
Craig F: (Health, Environment, and Thaumaturgy) Team
Colin Smith: Hell’s-fires at Extremely Amplified Temperatures

Why do I even try?

Thwarted AGAIN

Steve Forti!

“This is a serious accusation being leveled. You swear your innocence?

“Ha! I look’a gilty sort? I eats me own, no moor.”

“What about Maxwell? He’s always been a shifty, shady character.”

“D’ weezil? He n’ wood’a dun it a’lone.”

“But as you say, he’s weaselly enough. Makes for a good suspect.”

“Aye. He ate ‘em, n’ dowt. But he’n’t b reachin no hand n no jar less’un he b tolled.”

“Told by whom?”

“Hmm… ‘f I reson i’ out, I b gessin i’ were yu.”

“Me?”

“Thass’ rite. Yu stoled d’ cooky frum d’ cooky jar.”

Lennon Faris having some fun

“Next act will be from ‘Chicago!’”

“Is that their name, or hometown?”

“Wasn’t Chicago a band?”

“So it’s a person, place, or thing.”

Thing, we decided. Whatever it was, swung around the stage whipping wild hair and hailing demons with an electric guitar. At the end, it turned around, dropped its Firestone trousers, and mooned us all.

“Disqualified!” screamed Principle.

“Name?” asked the judges.

“Dweezil Henwood. Also, Sortie.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” said Principle.

Dweezil winked.

Judges whispered, then called, “Carry on.”

“What?!” cried Principle, heated.

“It didn’t breach any rules. It’s a noun, alright, but nowhere near proper.”

Special recognition

C. Dan Castro 

I am not a coward.

“Gentlemen, tomorrow’s sortie against Ploesti will cripple the Nazis.”

Some men...boys cheer.

I know I wouldn’t make it back.

“Heil Hitler? We’ll hail a firestorm down like God’s wrath.”

All the boys whoop.

It’s suicide. I’ll feign illness.

“What about air defenses?” God, he’s 18?

“Partisans with HEAT rounds’ll smash ‘em. Let us breach AA defenses.” If the partisans show.

“Gentlemen, tomorrow we end this war!”

The boys erupt, unleashing a cacophony that if the Ploesti Nazis could hear it, they’d quake.

I can’t...won’t abandon these boys.

These men.

I’m not a coward.

TS Rosenberg

Built my empire with sweat equity. Years of rice and beans. When I gazed up at the skyscraper bearing my name, I cried.

After the hostile takeover, I moved fast to the “acceptance” stage of grief. I hail from Chicago, where corruption's part of life.

Then they smacked me for breach of contract. My sortie with lawyers (Dewey, Cheatem & Howe) left me so broke I couldn't buy beans, never mind rice.

Slipped into the “disgruntled ex-employee” stage of grief.

Chicago knew something about fires, too.

I gazed up at the skyscraper. My name faded within the smoke. I cried.

John Davis Frain

The four-way is now a stoplight. I pass the theatre where my procrastination backfires. It’s a three-story condo. Lover’s Resort (i.e., Coal Mine Road) is grown over.

At Mom’s, the oak is gone. Tire swing, too.

I’m surprised when my key works. Guess it would have all this time, ten years and change.

Inside, memories hail from the walls. Mom asks if I’m here to fix the toilet. Every bone, every fibre, aches as I bend to hug her. She can’t remember my name.

I thought when you had no one, no one could hurt you. But I’m wrong, Mom.

JustJan

Unbeknownst to Pam, the new thermostat Jim installed in her mother’s apartment was a direct portal to Hell. Programming it sent her on a sortie to the land of fires, red-hot hail, and teeth gnashing.

“This is a breach of contract,” Satan wailed.

“You actually wanted my mother?”

“She’s post-menopausal and feisty--she can handle the heat.” His eyes twinkled. “Besides, most husbands don’t read the fine print when they ask me to take their mother-in-law.”

“You mean--?”

Satan giggled. “For all eternity.”

“That’s genius!”

“Pure evil! Wanna watch?”

And so Pam learned the true origin of reality TV.

Efa foy

It’s picture day and the boy breaks out in fish scales.

Peachy. Derek and his alpha-ilk will LOVE this.

He tugs at the plates breaching his flesh. They tug back.

Can we wait this out?

The bathroom door thumps—“Hon, bus’ll be here soon”—as gills blossom on his neck. Miss the bus, and he’ll have to face Dad’s switch-stiff ire.

So, that’s a no.

Even toothpaste smeared, they are stunning: Blue-green iridescent.

Maybe this’ll work?

Deep in the striations or tiers of himself, he changes, too.

This could be his eucatastrophe. At least, he’ll be visible.

I think I know who gets the nod this week, but I really like getting your opinions on who you think should win, and who your faves were, and most important, who I left out.

Results later in the day!