Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 53

The first photo prompt of year two is a photo taken by Johannes Plenio, a photographer from Munich, Germany. He has a lovely collection over at a free photo site called Unsplash.

A picture that can represent dark or light. But you know me, I can't resist dark at the best of times. Since spotting this photo I've been dying to write for it. Here's where my head went.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

Survival

Cold. So cold. So cold it hurts. But I must keep walking. I must. I’m free.

You’re not yet.

I am.

No, not until you’re home.

Shut-up, you’re just the voice in my head, you don’t know.

I do know. It’s not over yet.

It will be now I’ve got the handcuffs off.

That was impressive.

It was, in this cold.

Frozen locks.

To my benefit.

Indeed.

You’re sure you haven’t been spotted?

He glances back.

There’s no one behind me.

You don’t know that.

There’s no footprints in the snow.

It means nothing. You know how good she is at leaving no marks.

He rubs his wrists remembering.

You were foolish.

Was not.

You should never have believed her story about why she wanted to go to the cabin.

She loves me.

Does not.

She felt badly about how she’s been.

You still believe that?

I want to.

Still?

He glances behind him again.

If you go home she’ll be there.

She won’t. She won’t believe I got free, she’ll think I’ve died on the run.

Don’t you think she’ll check?

I have nowhere else to go.

And she knows that. You need to go to someone else.

Who would believe me?

They only have to look at you to believe you.

They won’t believe it’s her.

You think they don’t know?

How could they?

Remember how Wayne looked at you?

He believed my story.

No he didn’t. He was just saving you embarrassment.

He knows I box.

Those bruises weren’t from boxing and he knows it.

He won’t want anything to do with me. He’ll think I’m weak and pathetic.

You don’t know that.

He’ll laugh at me.

He won’t.

How do you tell someone you’ve been held prisoner, for what days?

Weeks.

You think it’s weeks?

I do. Although it’s hard to tell. I passed out so many times.

He stumbles.

I can’t feel my feet.

Keep walking.

They’re numb.

Keep going. It’s not far now. See there’s a house over there.

He makes out a building ahead. A farmhouse. There’s lights on in the windows.

What will I say?

The truth.

I don’t know if I can.

You have to.

Get them to call the police.

Maybe I should just see if there’s an outhouse or barn or something to hide in.

You need to speak to someone, Steve. You need to tell someone.

He lets out a sob.

You can do it. You have to.

What will they think of me?

They will help you.

I’m bleeding.

It will have stopped by now.

But they will see.

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you survive.

I need to survive.

You do.

I need to stop her.

You do.

He stands at the door, jittering. When the door opens he falls through the entrance onto the floor sobbing.

He hears gasps, ‘He’s naked. So much blood.’

Someone calls to someone else. Hands on him. Blankets round him. Warmth. Water on his lips.

Voices around him, three or four: ‘What shall we do?’ ‘I’ve called an ambulance.’ ‘Where did he come from?’ ‘Out of the field on the right, there’s a blood trail.’

Sirens. He’s lifted up onto a gurney. More gasps.

“Who did this to you, son?” A soft, gentle voice.

“She did.”

“Who?”

“My wife.”

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 52

This week completes a whole year of #MidWeekFlash! I can't believe it's been that long already!

"Happy Birthday to MidWeekFlash, Happy Birthday to MidWeekFlash! Hip Hip Hooray!"

This week's prompt is by Even Liu, a Hong Kong artist who has some incredible art. Take a look at their website here.

I considered something dystopian for this story, but then I noticed the lamp and a couple of voices turned up, and here's what happened. Enjoy.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

Snatchers

“He went in there–”

“Ssshhhh!”

“I’m telling you he did!”

“I know. Ssshhhh! They’ll hear us!”

Robson whispered, “But he’s gone in and not come back!”

“None of them come back!” Jinxy hissed back.

“But it’s not right.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“We need to go in after him.”

“In there? You’ve got to be having a laugh.”

“No, really. Look he’s left his lantern, let’s go in and find him.”

Jinxy crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re more stupid than I thought.”

“What?” Robson was confused.

“You think he went in there willingly?”

“What do you mean?”

“His lamps on the ground, right there.”

“Yeah? So? He had to leave it there to climb up.”

Jinxy snorted. “Don’t be daft.”

“What then?”

“Something took him!” Jinxy hissed again.

“No! No way!” Robson looked over his shoulder but the flat desert was empty around him.

“It’s why they grow here.”

 “What?”

“The flowers dumbo! They come to snatch us up.”

“Don’t be daft!” Robson chuckled, but it was forced. He looked round again, his nerves starting to show as his foot tapped. “Flowers don’t eat people.”

“You sure about that? Remember last month when Jessie went missing.”

“Sweet girl.”

“Aye that she was, but there’d been a flower there.”

“Where?”

“By her house, stupid.”

“There’s not one now.”

“No, exactly!” Jinxy’s eyes grew big and round. “That’s what I mean. They come, they snatch someone and then they’re gone.”

“You don’t mean it?”

“I do!”

“Then how come this one’s still here then?”

“Maybe it’s only just taken him! Maybe it’s waiting for more. Who knows!” Jinxy was enjoying putting the chills up Robson.

Robson stepped back. “Best not stand so close.”

“Nah, you’re alright.”

Robson took another step back.

“I ain’t risking it.”

Jinxy laughed. “Don’t be stupid. We’re fine here for a while, it’s too soon.”

“I’m not sure I am the one being stupid this time, Jinxy.”

There was a sudden rushing sound, like a belch working its way up from a deep place, and Jinxy’s feet left the ground as he was sucked up into the open bowl of the flower.

Robson stood wide-eyed for a second then scuttled away, mumbling, “And he always called me the daft one.”

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 51

This week's prompt is a photo taken by Gen Harris. These are her dog and cat.

I thought it was time for something soft and fluffy! 

I had planned on something bigger and more dramatic, but ended up with this simple piece, an imagined conversation about what a cat and dog might discuss on such a day. Having had a headache for over a week now, it has been hard to get my mind to produce much. I hope you all find it more inspiring.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

Rainy Day

“Hey George, I’ve found a long one. You got one yet?”

“Yeah, over here. Trickling nicely.”

Cassie looked his way, where he was watching the line of rain water running down the French windows too. “Oh yeah.”

“Yours still going?”

“No, mines stopped. Here, how long do you think this is going to go on for?”

“What your trickle?”

“No the rain.”

“Dunno. But they’ll probably take me out in it in a bit.”

Cassie shuddered. “Glad I don’t have anyone forcing me out in it.”

“It’ll be great, still plenty to sniff.”

“Doesn’t it all wash away?”

“Sometimes, but just means I can put fresh down and take ownership.”

“I don’t get you dogs. Why bother? Such a waste.”

“You do it.”

“Do not! I’m a girl cat; we don’t make that kind of stink.”

“But you like sniffing it though.”

“Do not!”

“Do too. I’ve seen you out there when that big red tom from number 16 comes round.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Keep an eye on your trickle!”

“Never left it. Although it’s winding down now.”

“Found another yet?”

“I’m sure there’ll be one along shortly. What about you?”

“There’s something moving out there.”

“Where?”

“There!” Cassie pushes her nose up against the glass. “See it? I’ll catch it!”

“You can’t, it’s on the other side of the glass.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

Cassie tries to nibble at it. “Oh, maybe your right.”

“Why don’t you come with us when we go for a walk?”

“No way! I’ll get all wet.”

“But that’s the best part. Loads of puddles. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a chance to roll in one.”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Oh it’s great, all over your fur, nice and gritty. Then you get to shake it out.”

“Bleugh, fancy licking all that off.” Cassie licked a paw.

“I don’t have to lick it off; they’ll wash me when I get back.”

“Ugh, how awful. I couldn’t abide anyone doing that to me. It’s not natural.”

“You’ve been washed, I saw you. That time you fell into that boggy patch at the end of the garden.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. First in that stinking water, and then in that perfumed muck they said would get me nice and clean. My tongue wasn’t right for weeks coated in that soapy stuff. Yuck.”

“How’d you fall in the bog in the first place? I thought you cats had perfect balance?”

“No, nine lives is what we’ve got, and I lost one of them that day I can tell you. I was chasing a blue thing. It landed on the ground. Very pretty it was, would have been very tasty, but when I put my paw on it, it wasn’t ground it was that horrible wet sludgy stuff. That’s how I lost my balance, and almost my life!”

“You’re so dramatic. It’s not that deep.”

“How would you know?”

“Oh I’ve been in there loads of times. I love it.”

“Ugh, you’re revolting. Ooo, look at that another long trickle coming down.”

They both watched the one near Cassie as it made its way down in a stilted fashion. Their peace was broken by a call from the kitchen: “George! Here boy!”

“That’s me. I’ll be off then.”

“See you in a bit.”

“You going to stay and watch more?”

“Nah, I’m going to go curl up on the little boy’s bed.”

“Okay. Later.”

“Later.”