Thursday, 3 April 2014

Flash Fiction 2: Missed Connection

Hi, I entered a flash fiction contest on the Indies Unlimited website. It's time to vote today and you can read all of the entries here - 
http://www.indiesunlimited.com/2014/04/02/flash-fiction-vote-7/
The contest takes place every week. :) Good luck if you enter next week.



Flash Fiction Challenge: Missed Connection


new orleans 1999 pomegranateI saw the pomegranate on the windowsill, but the shutters were closed. The contact was not there. Something had gone wrong.
It happens more often that you’d think, and way more often than I like. A missed connection doesn’t necessarily mean the mission has been blown, but it is never a good sign.
The only thing to do in situations like this is to stay calm and remain vigilant. I took the pomegranate and proceeded down the alleyway to the secondary rendezvous point. That’s when I noticed I was being followed…
In 250 words or less, tell us a story incorporating the elements in the picture. 
My entry: 
Crouching still, I swung my head to the left and right, pricking my keen ears in a bid to detect the movement I could only sense. I cursed my lack of supersonic anything; if only. The gloom revealed not a soul behind me, so perhaps I only imagined it. I crept on, taking one careful step at a time…
A crunch! I turned swiftly, in time to spy a fleeting picture of him. Feeling the pomegranate give a little under the pressure I inflicted, I willed myself to remain calm.
Not far to go, I urged myself too late for he would never give up; as restless in death as in life. If only his appetite had been satisfied, but I could not help him now. I knew I would forever be doomed to echo this same farce night in, night out, hunted.
Listless, I padded away, listening to the beat of my feet on the gravel-strewn concrete. The alleyway eeled and I turned with it, only to come face to face with him: my foe, my opponent in every existence. My alter ego, Crow.
He would always crave my delicious pomegranate. With a meow, I let it fall to the ground in front of him. A squawk escaped his beak before the man with the spade clobbered him over the head, in the same way he always did, night in, night out. Then I, too, vanished into the night, flying on the back of the wind.
Until tomorrow.

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