Written for Chuck Wendig’s Pick a Sentence and Go flash fiction challenge.
Many thanks to kirajessup for the opening line.
The emerald ring was pretty enough, but the man offering it wasn’t. Helen stared at his crooked teeth, a piece of a dark green plant stuck between the front two of his pearly yellows. The sun glinted off the golden crowns that replaced his fangs. A sudden gust of the wind that hit the man’s back and tousled the wisps of his thin gray hair carried a sickly sweet smell of rot, and Helen suppressed a shudder.
“How much do you want for this?” She nodded at the ring lying on a greasy black cloth. Around them, the crowded market bustled with activity, but the man and his old wooden cart seemed to exist in a bubble of empty space. Nobody was in a hurry to approach him, not even a young fishmonger encroaching on the baker’s stall.
“Fifty Dragons, madam.”
“Fifty?” she scoffed, disbelief coloring her voice. “That’s a hefty price for such a simple trinket.”
“Fifty Dragons and not a coin less.” He picked up the ring and twirled it between his fingers, his dirty, too long nails clicking. Unlike the rest of the sellers, he didn’t look like a person inclined to haggle, the mulish set of his jaw attested to that. Still, she had to try. Continue reading
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?”
[My response to Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge]
I walked into my closet and saw a corpse. Swollen tongue lolling out of its mouth, it was hanging right next to my favorite suit (the color of wine, with black trimming). I screamed. Soon, all the household gathered there.
“What is this” — I pointed at the corpse, hand trembling — “thing doing here?” I asked, voice shaking, unable to contain the revulsion I felt.
“Sorry, mom,” said my youngest. “It’s just that” — he inhaled — “your closet is the best place to hang out.”
“Darling,” I said. “You should know better. It clashes horribly with my suit!”