Today we launch our new Flash Fiction Challenge! Twice a month we will present our readers a prompt with instructions on creating a new piece of short fiction. We ask for readers to join in the fun and share their best ideas with our community.
For our inaugural prompt use the following prompt in a piece with no longer than 250. Place your submissions in the comment section below:
She yelled and yelled and screamed into the night’s void. She shouted his name at the top of her lungs. It was all futile: Charlie wasn’t answering. The moonlight reflected off of the deep black waves of the lake as her tiny boat with its inoperable outboard motor rocked from side to side. Why had she agreed to any of it, she questioned. Why was she out here all alone?
flateyemichael mccarthy says
She knew why she was here, she would have done anything for him and she knew why he wasn´t answering. He´d persuaded her it was his only chance and that he´d come back .
That silver tongue of his, she´d warned him, one day he´d go too far, but he´d always laughed and tweaked her nose.
Well, there wouldn´t be any more tweaking now.
One more scream, just for appearances sake.
She smiled and whispered ʼGoodbye Charlie.҅
And then she woke, Charlie snoring softly next to her. It was more than a premonition. It was a vision of things to come. The beating Charlie had given her last night which left her right eye swollen, her ankle twisted, and her arm broken was testamony to that. It was only a matter of time before he ended her. So she did the only thing she could. Took her pillow and mashed it over his face. Clutching tightly as the life drew out of him. There was no guilt.
It must have been the way Charlie had looked at her, daring her, with eyes as velvety and irresistible as the Florida night, his strong, gold-ringed hand leading hers, down to the dock. And now, not only had Charlie dived, laughing and naked into the lake and not emerged, but when she had been frightened into sobriety enough to act, the motor refused to start and she was adrift.
The rippling water glinted malevolently, like the teeth of carnivores. Panic rose, gathering its black wings for flight, and she fought to subdue it.
The motor! She had to get it working. She did not know much about boats, but could it be that the propeller was jammed? The Everglades were notoriously full of trailing mangroves. Trembling, she leaned over and reached into the water, feeling her way blindly. Yes, there it was: a slimy lump, clammy as a mangled starfish. She dislodged it and brought it up to the surface. She felt, rather than saw, the gold rings strangling its dead fingers. And then the rocking of the boat increased.