I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so here it is: a micro-fill for FFChallenge. The first sentence belongs to John Freeter.
I followed the nice man to his basement. From where I stood, I could tell it was dark and damp. The man turned to me when I stopped at the entrance.
“Well, girl? Come on, candies are right there!” he said with a strained smile on his handsome face.
Sticking my lower lip out, I said, “Am I your guest, mister?”
Written for Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge: Pick An Opening Sentence And Go
Many thanks to Matthew X. Gomez for inspiration.
I have to admit, being dead isn’t nearly as boring as I feared it would be. I died on Monday, on my way to work. Funny how it still didn’t excuse my not showing up that day. Next time I saw him, the boss man shouted at me until he was red in the face, his voice hoarse and raw. I think he might have disrupted his vocal cords. Good thing I was there for my last paycheck. But let’s backtrack a bit.
It was a day like any other, nothing extraordinary about it. The morning started with annoyingly persistent trilling of the alarm clock. I threw it at the wall — that’s the only way to switch it off — and went back to sleep. Forty minutes later an angry furball landed on my chest, effectively catapulting me out of dreamland. It was time to feed the devil masquerading as my cat.
Wrote a Sci-Fi story for Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge. The prompt was inspired by the Clean Reader debacle, so there’s profanity, some bigotry, mentions of drugs, rock-n-roll, and a murder.
One of those things is a lie. Care to guess which one?
And Landre pounced on him like a raehti on a fresh dewlen’s liver …
No. Just no. Do humans even know about raehtis? It being the species that inhabited only Wendella, his home planet, Gert sincerely doubted that. And anyway, do humans pounce? He scratched his mandible, thinking. Reina take it all, it was giving him a headache.
Finor’s hide changed its color to bright red, a clear sign of arousal …
At the next cubi-slot D’nol took a sip from a hold-bottle, his noisy slurping making the second pair of Gert’s eyelids twitch.
“Would you stop that?”