Category Archives: Fiction Writing

Mid-Week Blues-Buster #MWBB – “Waiting” #flashfiction

Mid-Week Blues-Buster is a “music prompted flash fiction challenge.”

Here is my entry this week, if you don’t want to see the original submission:

Title: “Waiting”
[358 words]

“I CAN see,” the old man said, suddenly answering my unasked question. “Well… enough to get by anyway.” he chuckled quietly to himself.

“Is that right, Granddad?” I spat out the last bit, annoyed the old codger had heard me approaching the bench. I had hoped for an easy mark. Danny was waiting. And it did not pay to keep Danny waiting.

“Got any cash, Granddad? I’m in a hurry.”

“Yes, a little… No, I’m not.”

“Huh?”

“And I wouldn’t be if I were you. In a hurry. I know where that road is heading.”

“Wha…? Look, just give me your money Gra…”

“I’m not your Granddad, boy. But sure, you can have the money. It’s yours anyway.”
He took out his wallet efficiently, like he had expected to be mugged, and handed it over.
“See you pay it back now… When the time comes…”

I took it. Given how easily he had rolled over, I gave myself the luxury of checking his wad. Result! There must have been a few thousand quid, along with a slip of paper marked ‘I O Me. Watch out for the shit.’, which I screwed up and dropped to the floor. I handed him back the purse. No need to be rude, as he was being so cooperative.

“Thanks Gra…”

“It’s Stephen… Steve.”

“Hey, same as me!” I thought to myself. Not really smart introducing yourself aloud to your victim. At least the old man wouldn’t be able to pick me out of a line up. His glasses were as thick as milk bottles.

I turned to leave. Danny was waiting. And that is when I trod on the dog shit. “How the hell…” I started to wipe my boot on the grass. The old guy on the park bench wheezed a laugh behind me.

“I never was good with warnings.” he sniggered. “Danny… is waiting. You should have enough. If you’re as stupid as I was, I’ll still be here when you get back. If I’m not… well… then we’ll both be in the…” He pointed uncannily at my foot, then waved me away.

I ran. Danny was waiting, after all.

#FiveSentenceFiction – Fabric “Coming Undone”

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Lillie McFerrin hosts a Five Sentence Fiction competition on her blog. This week’s theme is Fabric. This is great. My brother works in the Fashion Industry, mostly with models – not as glamorous as you may think, he tells me. They’re all mad! – so this one is for him.

Here is my entry, which is a bit “far out” for the theme, but trust me:

The needle entered the skin with no accompanying hesitation; she’d clearly done this before. Several previously hidden needle marks would be exposed until she pulled it together and covered them up.

The needle’s precious cargo was the only thing she could rely on now to keep up appearances. Her reputation was hanging by a trembling thread, and she’d nearly lost it.

How embarrasing would it have been to pop a button on a new leather jacket during a photo shoot!

#55wordchallenge – “Spirit of the Forest” #flashfiction (UPDATE Honourable Mention)

UPDATE
I got an Honourable Mention for this!
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In Lisa’s own words “the 55 Word Challenge is a contest to write a story in 55 words or less.” Each week writers pick one of three images as inspiration.

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Here’s my entry if you would rather not see the original version:

“Spirit of the Forest”
by Dr. Mike Reddy (@doctormikereddy) [55 words]

Naomi was bloody mad. Furious in fact. And wet. Very very wet.

“It’ll be good for you!” her agent had promised. “Get your name and face in the public eye again.”

Naomi had grudgingly agreed. Perfume adverts were certainly memorable. “Spirit of the Forest” they called the stuff. More creosote and dog pee, she thought.

#FinishThatThought – “For Better and Worse” (UPDATE Special Challenge Champion)

FTTWinnerLogo

UPDATE
I got the Special Challenge Champion Award for this. Official Announcement here

Alissa Leonard has created the “Finish That Thought” Flash Fiction compo, which usually provides an opening line and some ‘special challenge’ words to include, and must be less than 500 words. This week’s compo opening line was “Her mind was seized with a sense of terror so intense she wept.” and the special challenge words were: stiletto, umbrella and gravy.

Here is my story, if you don’t want to see it posted in its original place:

“For Better and Worse”
by Dr. Mike Reddy (@doctormikereddy) [500 words, special challenge accepted]

Her mind was seized with a sense of terror so intense she wept. “I can’t…” she sobbed, “I can’t marry him. Not like this!” As if to emphasise the point she gestured to her fine white gown.

“It’s just nerves,” I soothed, “Ok, it’s a bit tight. You’ve put on a few pounds. That’s all. I was a ‘little’ plump when I got married.”

“More than a lit…” her Father started then decided not to finish the thought. “Sally, you look lovely. And before you ask, no the stiletto heels do not make you look taller than Geoff.”

“I’m TALLER than Geoff! Oh God, it gets worse!” the bride to be burst into tears.

“We’ll done, Bill. Here, take this…” I thrust an umbrella into his unexpecting hands. “…and find somewhere for it!” I shoved him out of the changing room, grabbed some tissues from her handbag and turned to face a despondent daughter.

“What is it?” I asked, mopping tear filled mascara from the girl’s cheeks. A waste of money that make over was. The uncharitable thought only consoled by the fact Sally had insisted she paid for everything herself. Geoff not being ‘financially’ able to contribute. No gravy train of a rich husband for my little girl. Not yet anyway. It was all tied up in trust funds until he had produced an heir.

Sally was too soft, like her father. Sadly, it also meant my ‘mother’s duty’ of meddling had been neatly side-stepped. Not paying for the thing had removed the ‘gratitude’, the one bit of leverage a woman could have used to justify interference. It was deeply frustrating.

Sally took the tissue, folded it, then wiped her face with the fresh side. “It’s because I’m in white, Mother. It’s a sacrilege. I’m not a virgin. I’m carrying Geoff’s baby… That’s why the dress is tight.” She looked up into my eyes with a pathetic search for disapproval. “You must hate me now.”

Now? Why just now? I had only become pregnant to keep her father from leaving me. There were times when I wasn’t sure the bargain had been worth it. Stupid brat wasn’t even his! And he hadn’t been that great a catch after all, since I had inherited far more money from a relative than his entire family had. Thank God for the Pre-Nup! Now it was all about appearances. We both had impeccable reputations to maintain. Pillars of the community, and all that.

“Let me tell you something. You weren’t premature, like your Father believes. I paid a doctor off. I was three months pregnant when I walked down the aisle. And you have an heir. Geoff will be pleased!”

“Three? I thought you had a ‘whirlwind romance?”

“Oh… three… yes. Anyway…”

“Dad… are you hearing this?”

Why was she speaking into the bouquet?

“We got her! Proof of infidelity prior to marriage. The Pre-Nup’s invalid. You can take the bitch to the cleaners. And YOU’RE paying for the wedding.”

#TicckleTuesday – Life Drawing “Three Sisters”

Ticckle Tuesday’s theme is “Life Drawing”, which is where an instant (possibly a photo or a memory) is captured in text; the writer’s equivalent of a pencil sketch in a sketchbook.

Here is my offering in video and text form:

Title:
“Three Sisters”

The slides were the highlight of the family trip. Caution followed Fear down the first, while Care looked on. When Caution reached the bottom, Fear had been whisked away by Adventure.

Caution tried to direct Adventure out of the path of Care as she threw herself to the wind. With Fear and Caution banished by Adventure, Care too departed. All that was left was Happiness.

The images I took the story from:

#TicckleTuesday – Theme: Life Drawing #flashfiction

Theme will be Life Drawing, but don’t start until Midnight. A textual life drawing is a short story that paints a picture, describes a scene, and doesn’t need to include a narrative. Think of it as the writer’s equivalent of a sketch. Go to the FaceBook Group (will need membership) or http://ticckle.com/ and reply to the video entitled #TicckleTuesday #3 here

You can either record 30s for extra credit (about 50-60 words on average) or 60s (which would be two Ticckle videos, so please label them part 1 and part 2 when you respond. A minute is probably 120 words from my experience. Alternatively, record a FaceBook video or an audio file (AudioBoo or SoundCloud are both good). If the sound of your own voice horrifies you, please do push your comfort zone, but I’d rather have a text entry that I will record than no entry at all.

And we have all week but extra extra credit for submitting tomorrow, Tuesday!

UPDATE
If you use a picture as your prompt, please upload it if you are willing.

#FlashFridayFic – “Ninety Nine Lives” (was “Blood Libel”)

The latest Friday Fiction #36 asked for a 99 word story, based upon the following image:


Nurse with babies. Photo from Bundesarchiv, Bild 102-13429 / CC-BY-SA.

This week’s judge, Beth Peterson, wanted us to:

“[push] past the ordinary… putting aside the first thing that springs to mind (it’s almost always a cliche) or giving it such a twist as to realign ‘the usual’ completely…”

My first instinct, the thing that sprung to my mind when looking at the image, was “Child for Sale!” Certainly not a cliched response or ‘ordinary’, one would hope. However, this started me on a strange journey.

My second thought was: “Aren’t they lovely, but I couldn’t eat a whole one.” Again, rather disturbing, but I do have a dark sense of humour. However, something set alarm bells ringing about such a plot idea. I did some googling on eating babies and pretty soon hit on “Blood Libel”. What a great title, I thought for a few seconds. Then I did some background reading (see References), as I realised to use such a phrase would require me to know the issues. What surprised me wasn’t the Anti-Semitic propaganda, but how it is still happening as much as Holocaust denial. Could I do this topic? Should I do this topic?

Here is my answer, in 99 words:

“Ninety Nine Lives”
by Dr. Mike Reddy (@doctormikereddy) [99 words]

“That’s her!”

“Yes, Father…”

“…selling babies. See! They ate babies, you know.”

“No they didn’t, Father. We’ve discussed this. That’s ‘Blood libel’.”

“…ground them into flour for bread. Drank their blood like wine…!”

“No, Father, they didn’t. It was lies. You were told these lies to… help you cope with what you were ordered to do. Your pillow comfortable?”

“They pleaded at the end. Denied everything, of course, but orders were orders. ‘Nein! Nein!’ they would scream. It was all about the ‘Nein’s. I still hear them…”

“You’ve said, Father. Ninety Eight lives you’re responsible for destroying.”

“Ninety nine…”

References
Gallery to display anti-semitic art including (2003) award winning cartoon representing Ariel Sharon eating babies (2005)

Daily Kos modifies a Jaws poster with an ‘e’ and declares “Jews eat Babies” (2007)

Yahoo Answers asked “Why do Jews eat Christian babies?” (2011) told “Because they’re so delicious.” and “They need the protein.”

2013 Holocaust Memorial Day cartoon questioned for being Anti-Semitic: those agreeing and disagreeing

Uncyclopedia, the “content-free” parody of Wikipedia, entry on Yet another Jewish Trick, including Jewish eating babies, last modified May 31st 2013

#ThursThreads – “A Fate Worse than Death is Better than Dying” (Update WINNER!)

UPDATE:

I won! Here is the official announcement.

And here’s my badge:

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#ThursThreads is an odd flash fiction compo, because a line chosen from the previous winner is chosen as the prompt for the next competition. This week, the phrase “That wasn’t really the worst of it.” is it.

Here is my entry, if you don’t want to see the original piece:

“A Fate Worse than Death is Better than Dying”
by Dr. Mike Reddy (@doctormikereddy) [250 words]

Whoever she was, she had been medically trained. I’d given blood many times – civic duty and all that – but her handling of the hypodermic was exquisite. In and out with a quick swipe of alcohol. No venous bruising.

My silent captor slipped the rubber tube tourniquet through the arm restraint, taped some cotton wool over the puncture wound, then inspected her watch and made some notes on an Android tablet. A geek then. No iPad. Something to use to connect to her.

“Not an Apple fan then?” I smiled as empathically as I could, tied to a gurney.

“Please don’t attempt to engage my sympathetic side, because I had it surgically removed. Now, I’m going to ask you for some observations as the injection takes effect.” She picked up her tablet expectantly.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I tested the restraints again. Still just loose enough to allow circulation, but little more. “What is it you’ve dosed me with anyway? Vampire blood? Werewolf spit? Radioactive spider venom? Super Soldier Serum?”

“Very amusing, Mr… ah… Carter,” she scrolled through the data on her screen, “and uncannily accurate, if perhaps lucky in your deductions.”

“You were right with one of your guesses, but…” she paused for effect, “that wasn’t really the worst of it.”

My grin dropped to the floor, and rolled away under the trolley somewhere. “Which… one?” I asked, totally sure she was not joking. I was not sure I wanted to know.

“Now, are you feeling any… er… ill effects?”

#FiveSentenceFiction – Learning: “A Flower for Algy”

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Lillie McFerrin hosts a Five Sentence Fiction competition on her blog. This week’s theme is Learning.

Here is my entry:

“A Flower for Algy”

Dei sei dat wen du oprashun is dun ai wul be abel to raez mi hand an get pikd to anseh keschons to.

Mi hed hurts todaey, but I got picked and gaev gave the riteght answer to Miss Kinnian s qukestion.

Alice is pleased with my progress, but the exponential rate of development frightens her, unless it is just an excuse for suppressing the feelings we have for each other.

Alice, being intelligent teaches you a lot, but lerning, I hav fownd, taks hart not hed, and aim sad dat it tuk so long to no how ai felt abowt yoo bekos ai no its to laet.

Dei sei de oprashun werkd fo a waeil but it dint stik, so Miss Kinnian is sad to and kries wen shi seez mi.

#FinishThatThought – “Get it? Got it. Good!”

Here is my (ineligible) submission if you don’t want to see the original piece:

[500 words, special challenge accepted]

Title: “Get it? Got it. Good!”

“His son watched as he was snatched away.”

“What? Wait… Who?”

Vague pronouns? Seriously? Not the best start to a school report.

“Ghandi.” the word came out half chewed. I glanced at the term paper in front of me. Yup the red ink surrounded the title.

Who’s gHandi?” I asked. The H forced out deliberately, like the scrape of a hastily opened curtain.

“Whatcha mean ‘Who’s Ghandi?’ You know. The Guy… the guy we had to write about!”

A general chuckle of approval from the other students seemed to bolster the young man’s resolve to dive into the water of education and yet remain completely dry. He smiled to his audience, especially those he thought were the hottest chicks. Idly I wondered if their lack of clothing was cause or effect. Either way, no one had their minds on one of the greatest political thinkers of the last century.

“By any chance, do you mean Gandhi?

“Huh?”

“G A N D H I” Each letter alliterated in chalk on the board. “There is no ‘Ghandi’.”

“There is no… Is this some Zen thing, Mr Coulter?”

“No, Mr. Carter. Although Gandhi was influenced by many religions, his practical philosophy of passive resistance was based on Hindu and Jain teachings”

“Who’s Jane, Mr Coulter? And what’s a hen d…”

“Zac. We aren’t doing the ‘What’s a hen do?’ joke again are we?”

From the back of the class “Lay eggs!” was heard from various quarters, accompanied by titters of intolerance. Clearly we were doing the ‘hen do’ joke again.

“Who can tell me what ‘passive resistance’ is?” I scanned the auditorium hopefully.

“Ask Sandy. She’s pretty passive in her resistance most Friday nights!”

Zac high fived his nearest conspirator, as most of the males in the room hooted their approval. I expected to be warmed by Sandy’s reddened cheeks, but she simply hooked arms with her neighbours in sisterly silence. Something, I wasn’t sure what, was brewing.

“That’s ok, Mr. C…” she silenced me before I had the chance to admonish the boys, “If we have to ‘put up’ we won’t ‘put out’ will we girls…”

A chorus of ‘uh uh’s, ‘na hah’s and ‘no way’s swept across the classroom. I shouldn’t have laughed, but the boys were slower on the uptake.

“What’s she saying?” Zac gazed round the room. His compadres were suddenly more interested in the floor or the window. They got it.

“Without wanting to put words in Miss Lawson’s mouth, but I think she’s wanting an apology, or none of you will have… er… dates this weekend. Is that correct, Sandy?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. C.” Sandy flicked round expectantly to Zac. “We’re waiting… Mr. Carter…” she smirked conspiratorially at the other young women. They got it.

“Ok. Sorry.” Zac slowly deflated.

“Sandy, a perfect example of ‘passive resistance’ if I ever saw one. You get ten out of ten.”

“Gee, Mr. C! That’s my first ever A!” she grinned up at me, “Awesomes!”

“Sandy, you deserved it.”