Flash Fiction Challenge

So another of these flash fiction challenges and this weeks theme is a damn cool one. Basically you start a story this week next week someone else will pick it up and this’ll carry on to the end of February. Again thanks a million Mister Wendig for these challenges. I hope this is enjoyable and be as cruel as possible about criticism.

Writing, Murdering And Other Questionable Careers

I often wondered what I was doing with my life. Whether a career writing about morally questionable teens was the best career choice then I reminded myself there was better times be discussing philosophy, the revolver in my face was the priority now. Behind the gun was a man, lanky and standing over six feet tall, with a balaclava disguising his probably weird face (I wasn’t spiteful I swear).

“You are Martin James, Right?”. His voice was croaky, most likely a heavy smoker. I knew who he was already.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was not?”. This was my time to stall and attempt to escape. The room was almost pitch black, the only light was the moon illuminating a small section of the living room. The front door was slightly hanging from the hinges, probably from when my intruder kicked it down. If he was even slightly distracted I might be able to make a break for it but where would I go?. I’m wearing a pair of godamn pj’s and my knife were still on my bedside locker alongside my phone.

Balaclava looked agitated now now, I could make out the gun trembling in his arm. If I could talk my way out if this……

“So are you at least gonna tell me why your here?” I was already 90% sure. Over two months ago I may have attempted murder him with the sharp bit of a fork in a van. He looked at me and I could tell through the mask he had a quizzical look on his face. He pulled back the hammer on the revolver and I heard the faint click and then everything happened.

The bullet buried itself in the wall behind me. I gave a sharp kick his leg and he buckled and fell to his knee. The next bullet scraped across the shoulder of my pj’s, leaving a visible tear. I winced and kneed the man in the jaw, sending him spiraling to his back. Wasting no more time I hopped over the groaning man and picked up the revolver.

Only two bullets left, the man didn’t even bring a fully loaded gun!. I couldn’t stifle the laugh and giggled, it was at this moment I realized there was a screeching ringing noise in my ear, most likely caused by the two bullets fired like a minute ago. This for some reason made me laugh more, I could sense Balaclava staring at me in shock.

I turned around and sure there he was, sweat running down his neck trembling in his boots. This is when I composed my giggling.

“You are really terrible at murder you know that?”. I said, wiping the barrel of the gun with a white cloth.


Was his simple yet effective reply

“Excuse me but if I have the decency to not shoot you where you stand you should at least the respect to answer me”.

“S…s…s sorry” he squeaked.

Ten minutes later and I was sorted. A nice heavy rope held his arms at his waist, he looked almost comfortable sat on the couch. The balaclava was on the floor and I was pleasantly surprised. He was almost handsome except for the three small hole shaped scars on his cheek but otherwise his matted hair was cute in a way. I liked this man, quite a shame things went the way they did.

“So were gonna have a talk” I proclaimed as I hopped onto the chair opposing to him, this was going to be a lovely time I thought.
“Okay…..” His mind trailed off as the sentence faded away, he must’ve noticed the gun lying on my lap.
“So why did you come here tonight?” I asked with my finger tightening on the trigger
He noticed then and his face and pants darkened alongside each other. I wasn’t suprised, just disappointed.

“Look mate, I’m not gonna kill you (wasn’t really sure about that yet). We had a mishap a while ago but I thought that was sorted.” He looked sort of hopeful which made me happy. I did like to make people happy it gives a nice fuzzy feeling in the stomach.

“If you give me a good reason for calling here tonight and quite rudely” I gestured at the door with the gun “I think we could be good friends”.

“Why do you do it?”

And with that I felt a small tiny ounce of anxiety. People aren’t meant to question me. Its something different, its something dangerous, its something good?.

I smiled and answered.

” If my life was a book it would be written by a shitty author who would’ve just finished the first quarter and then asked someone else to do it but then again whats the chance of that?”.

THE END(sort of)



This is my first flash fiction challenge of the year and I’m I don’t know how I feel about it yet to be honest. The challenge was proposed by the wonderful Chuck Wendig and was pretty simple. Using a random character generator (D&D based of course) we had to write a story either completely based, half based or use elements of the character we got. I ended up with a Gnome fighter in a maximum security prison who’s just trying to get by. With elements of attempted comedy I present The Gnome and The Small Woman

She sat down on the rotten matress, her hands interlocked and her eyes focused on the gnome standing across from her. “I don’t want to kick your face in you know that” she whispered. “I’m sorry sweetie I couldn’t here you from down there” the gnome chuckled, his name was Ardine and he reveled in mocking someone shorter then him. Wasn’t very often he got the chance with him being two feet tall and weighing 10 stone. He was more used to giving then taking abuse.

The woman smiled and sat up. “My name is Meredith and I must confess something, I was once a human but one of your kind cursed me….. A terrible terrible curse indeed”. She flicked dirt down from her cloth shirt and continued. “Look around Ardine, we are both in one of the biggest maximum security prisons in the kingdom. Your here because of indecent exposure”.

The gnome started to protest but was shushed by the six centimeter tall woman instantley. “No No Ardine, its my time to talk now, anyway as I was saying, you are here for flipping your stuff and ill give you one chance to guess why I’m here”.

“Indecent exp-”

“Ill stop you there before you embarrass yourself further, I’m here for murder.”

The silence in the room was suddenly enveloped by a quieter sensation.

“Yeah I know, who would’ve thought that I Meredith Sarrih murdered a living being, and yes it was a gnome. Quick death of course, dropped a hammer on his head from a high shelf.”

The quieter sensation was enveloped by an even quieter sensation.

The gnome could almost feel the the blood rush from his head and for once not to his nether regions. “Are you gonna kill me”

Meredith bit her lip and looked up at the sweaty, overweight lump of a man. “Probably, I might just rough you up a bit but I don’t really know yet”.

And within the second Meredith ha leapt from the floor and was sat on Ardine shoulder. “Do you think I should kill you?” She whispered his ear before hopping back down to the floor. “How….. How did you……”. Meredith looked up once again with her big brown eyes and smiled “theres advanteges and disadvantages to everything”.

And with that quick remark the gnome attacked. His face mal forming into a caricature of living tomato. His first move was the one to decide the outcome of the battle. His knee raised high and with malicious intent he brought the heavy boot onto Meredith who was already out of reach. His boot landed where Meredith once stood and echoed across the empty cell.

Meredith grinned shyly from the other side of the room, in her left arm she held a silver pin in a fencing position. The gnome bit his lip, letting a trickle of blood run down his chin(s). He curled his hands up in fists and waited for Meredith to retaliate.

She did.

Running towards Ardine with the needle in her hand her feet pattered lightly on the stone floor , hell bent on finishing this. She Glided through his legs and gave a swipe to his ankle, the small needle somehow cutting through the fabric and the gnomes skin. He let out a scream of pain and fell to his knee’s, through his half closed eyes he could see Meredith mid jump with the needle directed right at his eye.

The guard chuckled slightly as he watched Ardine scream and crash to to floor through the cell gate. “How do they even get drugs into here anymore?” He
asked dryly to his fellow guard. “I know this may sound like Im being a shoddy worker but if them having drugs means we get to see them flip out like this I think its worth a few deaths here and there” answered the other guard, with his eyes trained on gnome.

Somehow they didn’t notice out the woman who was wiping blood from a needle.

The first guard stared at the one who just confessed that letting prisoners overdose was okay as long as it was funny. “You are a piece of shit Ted, you know that”.


Mad Sounds

The door creaked as Aaron Brown nudged it open with the tip of his boot. He walked slowly, hammer in hand, his fingers white. The house was not in the most pristine of states. Pale green wallpaper was peeling from the wall, carpet was covered by layers of dust and grime. The ceiling had a hole around a foot long, exposing the rotting floorboards and wires sparking and sizzling. It didn’t look as if it housed any inhabitants but survivors were remarkable well at concealing themselves.

Aaron closed the door behind him with the heel of his foot and it slammed into place with a loud bang noise. Aaron cursed softly to himself as he listened for any signs of life. After a minute or so of waiting Aaron raised his foot to move on but he then heard a weak groan. Aaron raises his hammer, his fingerless glove felt almost at home with the frayed leather handle of the hammer. Aaron exhales loudly, his breath sending dust particles sprawling.


Aaron stopped for a second and he was almost positive his heart did as well. A scraping noise could be heard, as if someone was racking their nails across a chalkboard. The noise seemed to be coming from upstairs. The stairs were on the far right of the room, no carpet covered them and they had some sort of black liquid pooling at the end up the stairs.

Aaron didn’t know what willed him on, maybe it was the fact he’s been eating rice for the past week or the insomnia that kept him from sleeping was messing with his head. Aaron raised the hammer one again as he walked towards the stairs. The brown substance ran down the stairs, leaking through the crack under the door at the top of the stairs. The door was shut and it was obvious the groaning and scraping noise was coming from there.

Aaron lay a foot gently on the on the first step, a loud creak echoed across the house and sent shudders down his spine. The rest of the steps didn’t make a sound. Aaron stood in front of the door and lay a shaking hand on the handle.


The groaning thing was right at the door, either right next to it or laying against it. Aaron lets go of the handle and reaches for the revolver stuck behind his jeans waistband. He grips onto the gun and pulls it out and puts the hammer in it place. The gun was in a bad state, the barrel was scratched to pieces and had a few shots left in it before it blew up which was lucky because he only had three bullets.

Aaron took a deep breath and opened the door and it was as if million things happened at once while in reality it was only one. A shotgun lay hanging in front of the door, the barrel pointing directly at his unprotected face, a wire snapped and Aaron heard the bullet firing. He dropped to the floor, a stray bullet caught the top of his peaked cap and sent it spiraling down the stairs.

The hat landed upside down, Aaron with his ears ringing turned his head meekly and saw a large brown boot come down on the, hat crushing it. The boot belonged to a man, tall , maybe 6’2. The man wore a worn out trenchcoat and looked at Aaron through the reflective visors of a gas mask. The man lifted his hand revealing a pistol, Aaron scurried into the room as a bullet tore past his head, smashing a fist size hole through the window in the room.

This room was not so much different from the one downstairs except for for the window. Aaron lifted his head and saw the man slipping on the brown liquid, falling to his face. Aaron took his chance and rose to his knees, with his right hand outstretched Aaron took aim and fired. The recoil sent the gun flying out of his hand and onto the stairs, two steps above the mans head. The bullet on the other hand found its mark and caught itself in the mans shoulder.

The man rose to his knees holding his shoulder, attempting to stop the flow of blood spurting out. He reached out with his other hand and picked up Aaron’s revolver and fired blindly. Aaron had grabbed the door by this time and slammed it shut, the door wasnt enough to take the bullet. It tore a hole through the door, sending wood spiraling into the room. The bullet caught itself in Aaron shoulder. Aaron let off a weak shout before putting his wait against the door as he ripped the sleeve off his shirt and wrapped it around the wound. Sweat obscured Aaron’s vision as he looked for something to get him out of this situation, then he saw it.

The shotgun was spiraling around in circles when Aaron limped towards it, with his left arm now dead weight. Aaron grabbed the gun with his good arm and gives it a strong tug, the wire gives away after the second pull. The gun was heavy, Aaron guessed he would have even struggled with it even if he still had another arm.

Aaron lugged the gun over to the door, with the barrel scraping across the rough ground. Aaron got to one knee and rested the gun on it, with the barrel pointing to middle of the door. On the other side of the door, stood the man, breathing silently with Aaron’s revolver pointing at the top of the door, each of the held their breath, now it boiled down to who shot first.

The man fired first, Aaron heard the click and fired as well. The shotguns bullets tore a rough hole through the door, sending a mix of bullets and splinters into the mans gut. Aaron heard the scream, and checked the door. The mans bullet didn’t make it through, the mans bullet didn’t make it out of the gun. It got caught in the barrel and exploded the firearm.

Aaron eased the door open, alongside the man whimpering in the middle of the stairs, the door made an eerie creaking sound. The revolver was at the top of the stairs, half of it missing and the other have charred into a black crisp. The man was in worst state, his hand lay twitching on the step above his head, not connected to his body. The hand was gone crispy from the explosion, splashes of blood gave the hand a scarlet tint. Aaron exhaled and continued down
To finish what he started.

Aaron stepped over the whimpering man and picked his pistol up from the bottom of the stairs, Aaron grabbed the man by the collar of his coat and pulled him down the remainder of the stairs. Aaron rested the man on the bottom step. “Will I take off the mask?” Aaron asked, his voice remarkably still for someone who planned on killing a cripple with his own gun. The man shook his head while groaning.

It was better off that way, the mask itself was in bits, one of the visors was cracked and both of the respirators had fallen out in the fight. Aaron doubted he could kill the man if he wasn’t wearing the mask. Aaron took a deep breath. “On three”




The man even in a hopeless battle had lifted a small gun that must’ve been hidden on him and tried to at least kill his killer. Aaron took the mans second gun, a small pistol. Even if the man shot Aaron it would have taken at least four shots to kill him. Aaron searched the man and found nothing of worth. He placed the small gun inside his leather bag then he heard the voices.

“I hope to god Seamus ain’t fucking dead” one said in a rough harsh voice.
” Same, He’s a good a man and I doubt his sister could take another of her family dying” answered another in a quiter, younger sounding voice.

The voices came from outside. Aaron had at least two minutes before they came inside. He couldn’t run away and he was in no state of fighting them with his arm the way it was. Aaron looked at the gun in his hand and it came to him, the oldest trick in the book, playing dead. If it worked for possums it had to work for him.

Aaron quickly ripped off the bandage and bit his tongue as the cold air got at the wound. He aimed the gun at the wall behind them and fired twice. The gun made a sharp bang that sent Aaron’s ear’s ringing again. Quickly he placed the gun into Seamus’s hands before laying next to the door with the small pistol in his hand in case the worst comes. To anyone else it would look as if a small fight took place which ended in a standoff of sorts, two of them fired at them same time and each killing eachother.

“Awhh fuck” exclaims one of the them as the door creaks open. They walked in cautiosly, not yet noticing their friends killer. The older one looked to be in charge, in his hands he held a small shotgun which was wrapped around his neck with a long strip of leather. The other one was a lot younger, with only a few small hairs starting to grow on his chin. He held a rusty machete in his hand and had a knife tucked into a sheath at his waist.

The door slowly went back into place as the duo walked towards Seamus. “He was fucking ruined” said the older man, pointing his barrel at Seamus’s chest, “That right there is the work of a shotgun, no other gun could rip apart a man like that”. “At least he died with that helmet he loved so much” said the younger man as he ran his hand through his dark, messy hair. “Your already using the past tense” the old man noticed

The older man saw him first. “Holy God, Seamus was shot down by a monkey”. Aaron held his breath and fought to keep his eyes from peaking, “looks like he took the him down though”. The younger one replied. Aaron could almost sense the older man nodding as they stepped closer. “Still though, we should refrain from telling the rest of the group that one of his kind killed our Seamus”.

“Do you want me to check upstairs” asks the other one as he picks the gun up from Aaron’s side. “No, you stay here and watch the door and take whatever you can get off of the nig-. The man stopped himself when he glanced up that stairs.

“What the fuck happened up here?” Asked the old man when he reached the shotgun room. The other man was after patting Seamus and was in the process of rooting through Aaron’s bag and had a little pile set up of what was useful and what was going to left with the supposed dead. Then he heard it again, the scraping and the audible cough. How could he have forgotten, it was the reason he was going up the stairs in the first place. The cause of the liquid at the bottom of the stairs that saved his life and the maker of the trap that instead of killing him prolonged the process that was his life.

The young man didn’t take note of it, probably assumed it was his partner. The man paced across the room, staring at the gun and back at Seamus and then at Aaron. He fucking knows Aaron thought, just wait until he sees the bullet holes in the wall and puts two and two together. The man walked over to the wall and bent over to look at the wall and Aaron could practically see the light bulb flicking on inside his head. Gripping the machete he strided towards Aaron.

“Your not that fucking smart mate” and kicked Aaron’s in the face, his nose now a mess of blood and bone. Aaron couldn’t help but shout and due to natural instinct went to grab his nose. The mans attempted to slash Aaron’s throat but he rose an arm just in time and the blade only grazed across his skin. Aaron grabbed the mans machete arm and winced as he glimpsed the fist closing in. Aaron almost blacked out at the punch but stayed awake. Still gripping the mans arm with his two hand he kicked at the mans shin with his two feet sending him pummeling.

It wasn’t ten seconds and the man was after scurrying away from Aaron with the small gun in hands pointing dead on at Aaron’s face. The man was scared, even though he had the upper hand and no life threatening injuries had a look of pure fear on his face. Fear of what Aaron never found out, the fear of taking a life, the fear of missing the shot or just fear in general.

“G-g-g-get d-d-down here Pa” shouted the man weekly. It wasn’t until now that Aaron remembered that the other man even existed and almost instantly he remembered the groaning person existed as well. In some remarkable coincidence the two of them arrived at the same time. They crashed down the stairs as had Seamus in what seemed a lifetime ago. The old man was dead by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. A small blade jammed into his neck.

A large stained tank top covered the bald attacker and it was had the same black substance covering its baggy pants. It scampered over to the old man and pulled the blade out from its neck. It then stared at the young man with its completely white eyes, it stood up slightly and but kept crouching as it waved the blade around. The young man was looking at Aaron’s foot as a bead of sweat rolled down his face, the machete lay there. Aaron stared the young man and mouthed the word “cough”. Thankfully the young man understood him and coughed slightly.

The man raised his gun and fired at the thing as it charged towards him. The first bullet missed completely but the second found its mark in the things chest, the thing didn’t flinch at all, just kept running. Aaron picked up the machete and threw it at the monster. Another second and it would’ve been too late. It was mid jump when the machete slammed into its head. The blade sunk in with a sick “slick” noise and it tumbled onto to the ground. The same black substance seeped out of the creatures head and pooled across its lifeless bady.

The two men looked at eachother. The man kept his gun to his side when Aaron went over to his bag and filled it again. The two of them stared at each other coldly for around two minutes before holding out the gun. “Take it” whispered the man, “Too many died today, no point in risking your own life”. Aaron’s felt a faint smile coming on when he took the gun. “Thank you” he said as he turned and walked out the door with a broken nose and a useless arm.


Night Comet

I was never one for regrets but theres a first for everything. I could make out the comet clearly, illuminated by the moon on this dark winter night, probably my last one. It was big which was to be expected in the ice rock that was destined to destroy earth. It also had the trademark wisp of flame following behind it.

I chuckled slightly as I looked over the city. I was in a good place, sitting in a comfortable chair on a balcony, much better then the folks rioting in the streets below. The regrets I have span across my whole life. Well since the day I sold my first baggie of weed which was in or around July 7th 1985 and ends when this comet finally kills me.

I didn’t get into the life of crime because I needed money or anything sort of sensible. I was bored to put it bluntly. I took a long drag of my cigar and thought back to that day. It was my 15th birthday to be exact and me and my mate (Alex was his name and boy that man stayed in my life a long ass time) had an idea.

He stole the baggie from an older brother as we were in dire need of money for drink that night. We asked around our group of equally scummy friends and we eventually found someone who would buy some and they did. Oh by God we got shit faced that night. That night is not on my list of regrets.

That sadly led on to more drug deals as they always do but things weren’t so bad. Alex was drifting in and out of the country helping with overseas deals and starting a separate trade for himself. I met up with a girl as welI, was happy as could be. Then it happened.

Fast forward four years and I was in a dark alley with a revolver in my hand, heroin needle still stuck in my arm and my girlfriends brains splattered across the building. It honestly hurts me to think about it. The image of her on her knee’s for a rival dealer is one that still pops up in the occasional nightmare. The dealer ran away but she stayed. She was still on her knee’s staring at me with eyes full of hot tears and regret. Id like to say pulling that trigger was the beginning of my descent into madness but I’m almost positive I was brain fucked from the start.

That was not the greatest of times for my head, a twisted mix of drug abuse and depression really fucked me up but I got over it somehow. On a strange note I think the depression wasn’t an effect of me murdering my girlfriend but because of how at the time I believed I wouldn’t amount to anything more then a druggie. I always felt that she deserved that death up until a few years back.Them few years are on my list of regrets.

I was now stuck in an okay place. I was living in a van and had a part time job that paid enough for me to live. If only I stayed in that shitty van and maybe saved enough for an actual house and had a life things might have been okay but alas Alex walked back in my life.
He had left for Canada when he turned eighteen as a petty drug dealer and came back semi rich and looking for new employees.

I leapt on the chance for something greater and boy did I get it. Alex was sick of the drug trade and was looking for something more exciting .Armed robbery took our fancy. Me, him and a few others took the country by storm. We made over ten hits in that first year alone. Some more profitable the other, and if memory serves me right we only murdered six or seven people through that year. I was responsible for four of them.

Those four people creep up on my mind from time to time. A man who tried to play hero and wrestled Alex’s gun from him but wasn’t fast enough and got multiple bullets to the back. An old man who refused to hand over his wallet at one of the first jobs, he was murdered with a baseball bat. A woman and child who got hit with the getaway van from the eight job I think. I could’ve swerved out of the way, I knew they were there. I didn’t have to hit them. It wasn’t an accident.

Now at the tender age of twenty five I had a body count of five under my belt which grew slowly grew as years dragged on. We were eventually going to commence with our biggest hit yet. It was a reasonably sized bank and if the job went right we would all be a few hundred thousand richer. It failed to say the least.

I barely escaped while dragging Alex’s almost dead body behind me. We made it into the getaway car and made off. Alex was in a coma for over six months and I was shot three times in the back, complete paralyzation from waist down. Which in short is why I’m here where I am today, if not for the loss of my legs id probably be still out there as it is. Fighting till that godforsaken rock gets rid of us all. That is the one thing I thank Alex for. A peacful(ish) death.

If I didn’t have to worry about his sorry ass I wouldn’t have gotten shot to ribbons. Still doesn’t excuse the fact he’s the reason I became the murdering prick I am today which is one thing he cant be forgiven for. That is why he’s lying dead at my feet, missing a portion of his stomach. It was easy enough to get him to call over. I always had the feeling he felt sorry for me and was looking for a chance to make amends with me.

He said two words before I killed him. I had left the front door unlocked and he walked in slowly. He was wearing a long coat, small reading glasses and looked to be at least twice his age. He was a prime example of how not to handle guilt. “I’m sorr-” he spluttered before the slugs of my sawed off shotgun ripped him open. Thats when the thoughts of regrets slipped into my head, right as I murdered my last person.

The comet was practically there now. It was getting uncomfortable to even sit now. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead as my eyebrows were singed off. I had in or around second degree burns on all visible skin which wasn’t pleasant.

I couldn’t tune out the screaming no more. It was the constant background noise that followed me to my death. I bit down on my tongue and felt the blood run down my chin. So this was it then I remarked to myself. Drug dealer turned druggie turned lower class worker turned armed robber turned cripple turned murderer once again. Maybe this was a fitting end after all.

Then I died.