Then came the hackers, or so she thought.
In truth, the numbers were off. She spent some time looking the numbers over before finally deciding that it was a waste of time. The truth was that it was almost always ghosts. Revenants of centuries past, mucking about in the systems. She sighed, finger hovering over the Delete key. She hated removing them. They seemed so lonely and desperate for contact.
flash fiction
DEFCON Dark
Cara was draped over the back of the couch, doodling in the decades-old grime on the windowsill when the light faltered. There was a susurration of noise, more felt than heard, and the closet and bedside light dimmed. She held her breath, waiting to see if it would come back up to normal. This time though, the lights stayed, three levels darker than before. Her heart skipped a couple of beats, fear pulsing in the thin skin of her temples. The shadows under the furniture yawed and reached scabrous-dark fingers a bit closer to where she sat. Any time now.
———
Last December, a writer friend invited folks to write dark Christmas stories. The catch? They had to be 100 words exactly, no more or less. I participated and had a lovely time with it. Here’s my entry.
Today, whilst running amok and doing my tasks, I had a bit of a scene replaying over and over in my head. It wouldn’t stop, it wouldn’t budge. Just this person, drawing in the grubby dust of a neglected windowsill.
But that was *all* there was; no story, no linking, no way to move it past. This is, I am convinced, a bit of a writer’s earworm. And like earworms, it wouldn’t go away until I said/sang/wrote it aloud.
But again, no real story. No real anything except this very vivid image. And then I recalled Loren’s 100 word story challenge.
Ooooh. Yeah. That might work.
And so here you have it. My mental word-worm. I hope you enjoy it.
Flash Fiction: Julia Child, Zombie Hunter
Today, I wanted to do a tiny bit of fiction. And again, I am taking my idea for it from Chuck Wendig’s site. This particular challenge has long since passed its expiration date. Further, I am not following the rules precisely – the below is only 350 words.
I do hope you enjoy this snippet. I may come back to this story later. I do like the idea of it. 🙂 Happy reading!
The rules, as outlined by Chuck:
Let that image be your narrative guide.
Then drop a comment below and point us to your story.
One week to write it. By Friday, September 16th, noon EST.
Julia held the sputtering torch over her head, trying to get an accurate count of the student chefs. The light failed after about ten feet but the room was mostly illuminated. She tried not to think about the dark corners.
“One … Two … Would you people hold still?” Nerves made her already warbly voice crack. The torch dribbled sparks across the back of Julia’s hand and she bit back an imprecation. No need to frighten the poor kids any more than the situation called for. “Simone, hold this for me.” The older woman took the torch and stepped up behind Julia. “Alright now, line up everyone. We need to check to make sure no one is hurt.”
There was a shuffling noise as they all moved to do as she instructed. Even though they were all in class together, at 36 years old, Julia was one of the eldest students, along with Louisette and Simone. She certainly was the tallest of the entire group, including many of the males. All of them respected her for her efforts in the war.
Julia walked down the ragged line, checking each person for injuries. Most of them were still their whites, so if they had been bitten there would be no way to disguise it. Blood – really any stain – showed so easily on those darn uniforms! It was a wonder that they weren’t continually doing laundry. Speaking of which…
Julia snapped her mind back to the matter at hand. Really! Letting her mind wander like that. “Now, we all know what we saw. Gaspard – and God knows why he did so! Gaspard used the forbidden snails. That is to say the escargots interdite.” Julia turned to look back at Simone. “And I’m not sure why we ever trusted that mad-scientist in the first place. We all knew it was just a matter of time…” She trailed off as she reached the last student in line. Poor little Louisette was staring at the ground, drooling slightly. A reddish stain was spreading up the arm of her tunic, elbow to shoulder.
Oh, dear.
The Process 