Where Readers & Writers Connect
March Flash Fiction Prompt – Video Inspiration
For more information about this month’s writing prompt and how to submit yours, see our sister site: http://readersrealmforms.blogspot.com/
This week’s 2 winners were chosen based on creativity:
Little Men by Bethany Jean
I settled back into the depths of the green chair and tried to forget the reason I was sitting there. The dog, who thought she was a lion, had made a mess, and I hadn’t cleaned it up.
Shutting my eyes, I thought of other things: a quiet pasture with lambs frolicking, or even of just packing up and leaving. It wasn’t an original idea, besides, my other brother would tattle and I’d be stuck with more time out. Then I’d be sitting here till March.
Strangely, I could almost feel someone watching me, but when I looked around, no one was in the room. I shook my head. I wasn’t used to being creeped out.
I stared in boredom at the top of the piano. The miniature machines my brothers and I had put together seemed to mock me now, for I was unable to get to them, touch them, or play with them.
One of the little men was standing on a ladder reaching up toward the ceiling. His passionless gaze seemed to rest on me, and I stared at him for a while, wishing I could be outside. Then something snapped me out of my daydream.
The little man seemed to have moved! My imagination ran wild. What if they were alive? What if they moved around and wreaked havoc at night? Maybe they were the “nobody” who did all the horrible things in the house.
Suddenly, a strange thing started to happen. The chair grew larger. At least, it must be the chair. Surely I couldn’t be getting smaller! But the rest of the room had grown with the chair. Even the top of the piano seemed a far distant land.
In proportion, I was only about three inches tall. Maybe no one would notice if I got out of the chair now. I immediately put my plan into action.
It was harder than I’d thought, but soon I was on the floor. I looked over at the piano and then up toward the top. I should climb up there and see how big I am next to those guys. I went to work. Soon, the sweat was pouring off me, and made a puddle on the floor.
When I got to the top, much time had passed. There I was, next to the coolest machines in the world: all different colors, and just my size. I quickly moved to the extension-laddered truck I had made, and climbed in. Trying out the steering, and playing around with the gears, I didn’t notice a black head peeking at me over the window sill.
“Who are you?”
I jumped, and found myself staring into the face of a little man. They were alive!
“I’m…um…James.” I said, staring at him.
Anger crossed his face momentarily. “You’re one of them.” he said. “You have to leave.” He opened the door, and grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the truck.
Several others joined him as he drug me toward the edge of the piano. “To the bottom!” they yelled in an ever increasing crescendo. And then, threw me over.
“James, Mom says you can get up.” My brother’s voice broke through my dream, and I jerked awake.
Looking around, I saw the room was the normal size, I was not falling to my death. Breathing a sigh of relief, I stood up, glancing again at the piano. I’d have to be very kind to those men in the future.
The Shooter by Sophie Dawson
Mitchell pressed the button again and the beam he loved so well shot from the device in his hand. ‘And another one bites the dust.’ The lyrics from the old song flittered through his mind. Smiling he focused on the next one.
‘This one needs to be shot, too.’ Imaging he was a lion on the Savannah stalking a lamb for supper Mitchell pressed the button. ‘Got it.’ It didn’t matter that lambs were scarce on the Savannah, here he was in control of the mission and set the parameters of what was acceptable to remain pictured on the large screen before them.
He glanced at Judy sitting beside him. The console between them held drinks and snacks, attesting to the length of time they spent in their positions. She was pressing keys inputting data into the computer. She didn’t like all the killing and told him so often. Oh well, at least it wasn’t something that needed cleaned up.
The image on the screen fairly screamed to be shot. He obliged. The next three came as if marching in lockstep. Zap. Zap. Zap.
‘Here comes a green one.’ He always shot those as soon as they appeared. Dangerous, that’s what they were. Threatening to the space-time continuum he was sure.
There was a pause in the action as the image on the screen was benign. Letting that one pass he pressed the button changing screens. Now here was some action coming from a different direction.
Mitchell shot one coming at them from the left, now right, back to the left, straight on. Shot after shot pulsed destroying one and after another. ‘I’m like Luke Skywalker from the old Star Wars.’
Clear sailing for a few moments. Judy got up and gathered the items off the console. “Do you want anything? I’m getting another soda.”
“Sure. Whatever you get is fine with me.”
Whatever she said next was only a blurred noise in his ear. More marched into view needing to be obliterated. They were dangerous. His mission, the reason they were here, was to protect and defend. He was doing both. In his corner of space, none would get by if he could help it.
If he paused too long before pressing the button sending them the beam that would wipe them from view, they might snag him and who knew what would happen then. All he was certain of was that the small device in his hand had the power to blow them off the screen.
He liked to imagine something collected in a pile on the floor below the screen. Evidence of his capabilities and victories, each shot leaving traces behind. As the day progressed the pile would grow larger. At the end of each day someone would come, and sweep them into a container, to be carried as war trophies in a ticker tape parade.
This didn’t happen of course, and Judy sure wouldn’t want to clean up the mess. What was taking her so long anyway?
Several more shots and he was again focused on the screen. Faster, they were coming faster, less time to totally identify before he pressed the button.
He heard her footsteps behind him, then his soda was placed along with hers on the console. In his peripheral vision, as he pressed, identified, and pressed again and again, he saw Judy standing, looking at the screen.
“Mitchell.” Her voice held a tinge of irritation. “Will you please decide on a show to watch and quit changing the channel? Besides, you’ll be asleep in that recliner within two minutes.”