Poll

Vote here

The Brainkin
5 (55.6%)
Don't Monkey With That
3 (33.3%)
Revenge
1 (11.1%)

Total Members Voted: 8

Voting closed: October 09, 2010, 01:54:27 AM

Author Topic: Flash Fiction Contest #21 - Voting  (Read 1130 times)

Offline Don

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Flash Fiction Contest #21 - Voting
« on: October 02, 2010, 01:52:49 AM »
Flash Fiction Contest #21 - Weird Tales is now officially closed.

We have some wonderfully weird tales to choose from. Read them below and then vote for your favorite. Voting will end next Friday, October 8th.
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1. The Brainkin

I unscrewed the top of my cranium, removed the circular hatch, and placed it on my desk beside my coffee cup. A draft from an open window wafted over my head causing a deep humming musical note. Some of the cool, night air swept down into my skull and swirled around tickling my brain.

"Shut that window!" a voice hollered from deep inside my head. I reached across, pushed the window closed.

"Don't just sit there like a gorm; help me out."

I picked up a short piece of cord with a knot in the end, reached up above my head and lowered the knot end of the cord down inside my skull. I felt the weight of the cord increase a fraction and then lifted it out.

The Brainkin sat on the knot, clinging to the cord. I lowered him down onto the desk. He leapt off the knot and sat down on my pencil sharpener. "You took your time," he said.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Too true it won't." He took a remote brain device from his pocket, pointed it at me and tapped the keypad with his claw.

I felt a terrible sadness and depression. I knew I had no reason to feel like that — I had money, good health, a loving family — but the depression crushed me and I began to weep. Then he pressed some more keys on the device and the sadness evaporated like mist on a sunny morning.

"I want nicotine," he shouted. "And I want it now!"

I took a nicotine patch from the packet, pulled off the protective backing and placed it on my desk, sticky side up. The Brainkin hopped of the pencil sharpener, stripped off all his clothes and dived onto the patch. He writhed around in the nicotine goo, moaning as if in ecstasy. After a while, he got on all fours and started licking the patch all over; drinking in the mix of nicotine, adhesive and excretions from his own disgusting body.

It made me feel sick, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Then I noticed the remote brain device; the Brainkin had left it by the pencil sharpener. I glanced at him; he was still gorging on goo and seemed totally unaware of my existence. I tried to pick up the device, but it was too small — I couldn’t grip it. I put the tip of my finger in my mouth and wet it with spit, then placed my fingertip on the device and lifted. Yes! I had it. I moved my finger to my coffee cup, gave a little flick and dropped the device down into the steaming coffee.

Everything went black. When I awoke I was here, in your World: a World without Brainkins.

Please don't send me back. I beg you.
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2. Don't Monkey With That

Jack looked up from under the hood of the ’57 Chevy, greasy to his elbows. He was adding a new intake manifold for twin 4-barrel carburetors. “Jimbo, go up to the bar and get me a bucket of beer and a pound of pate.”

Jimbo said, “Gotcha. After awhile, crocodile,” and scampered away. He was given to odd sayings like that.

The Churl and Oaf tavern on the corner had a new bartender. Jimbo entered and took a place at the bar. “Gimme a bucket and a pound of pate.”

“OK,” he said, and turned away. He said over his shoulder, “We don’t get many monkeys in here.”

“Why, you bigoted sonofabitch,” Jimbo snarled, pulling a .45 from his waist pouch, “If I wanted any shit out of you, I'd beat it out.” The pistol was in cocked-and-locked carry mode; he flipped off the safety and put two holes in the surly bartender. Jimbo waited until the second bartender came over, a man that knew him well.

“George, I’m sorry for the mess, but I’ve just having a bad day. Jack’s still got the engine apart, and I need to get to work. That weaselgeek making fun of me was the final louse pick. Can you get my stuff?”

“Sure, Jimbo. Don’t get mad, but you probably shouldn’t have killed him. The Man said next time he was comin’ for you. Some people are saying it was a mistake for Jack to buy you that gun.”

“Yeah, yeah. Cry me a river, I gotta go now.”

He took his bag and went out the rear door into the alley, scooted up the drainpipe and across the roofs of the village. He turned into the small front yard where Jack was working.

His head exploded when the round from Man’s sniper rifle punched through. Jack came out from under the hood and immediately sized up the situation.

“Goddam, Jimbo. You never could control that blazing simian hate. Now you’re dead and I have to find a replacement monkey.” The beer had spilled. He got the pate and went inside the house. The Man approached with a big plastic trash bag.
_ __

3. Revenge

Rosemary reached the top of the hill at ten fifteen. Blackness had descended over the trees and bushes that usually displayed all shades of luscious, vibrant green. The sky was dotted with small stars against what looked like a sheet of black satin. She could just see the house from there: a tiny speck below. Sometimes when sitting on the top of the hill and looking down on the village she could see everybody going about  their daily business.
Rosemary had never fitted in with any of the locals: always being the strange one. Taking a deep breath she started down the other side of the hill and walking towards the house she could see the familiar soft shimmer of orange surrounding the windows. The glow of the lights lit up the overgrown garden, strewn with rotting apples. A rocking chair swayed gently on the veranda in the evening breeze, sending long bending shadows up the wall.

Brian was definitely at home, she knew because she could see the silhouette of his 4x4 Parked nearby. It was time that the rumours he had been spreading about her were going to stop and she was going to make sure he never talked about her again.
Oh, she was not going to kill him, although she had thought about it on numerous occasions, but she couldn't face going back to prison, not now. Frightening Brian was her only option. Once he knew what she was capable of he would leave her alone and make sure everyone in the village did the same.

Was it her fault that her brother had died the way he did? It was self defence from his vicious torture and  she had told the court that all the way through the trial. He always got a kick out of tormenting her even when she was a child. Then when her mother and father had died he had got worse. Three years for manslaughter and still the locals pointed the finger at Rosemary when they saw her. She had been out for three months and nobody had bothered to speak to her or give her the time of day, not one. But she had heard them; they didn't know that did they?

It was misty and cold on the hill and she could feel a fog enveloping her, seeping into her skin to her bones.

She shivered.

A light went off in a downstairs window and a few moments later an upstairs light went on. So creeping up to the gate she opened it as quietly as she could, then walked along the gravel path carefully so as not to disturb shadow the large, white husky dog who always barked crazily at any visitors.

Within minutes Rosemary was wandering around the house feeling her way through the dark and listening. The darkness pressed against her and her chest felt tight. The slightest creak of a floorboard or a noise from outside seemed to be multiplied in the deathly silence, thudding through her ears. Brian had gone to bed rather earlier than she had expected but that didn't matter, it made it much easier for her.

Or did it?

A low growl behind stopped her in my tracks. She knew what it was and  moved her hand slowly to  her pocket. Soft padding footsteps crept up close behind as she opened the polythene bag.
It was real close.
She could feel its warm moist breath on the back of her legs. Turning around, she was almost gliding so as not to alarm the beast that stood before her bearing its teeth and its eyes wide open. She held out the contents of the bag, her hand shaking and the dog whined a low murmuring sort of whine. He edged closer, sniffing the air then licking the meat in her hand. His tail was wagging and she laid the offering on the wooden floor carefully where he ate it hungrily. Standing still watching Shadow devouring every morsel, she waited in anticipation, then Shadow stopped to look up at her then crawl to the edge of the hallway. The crushed sleeping pills, astonishingly, had taken effect immediately.

Thank God.

Upstairs, the sound of breathing drew Rosemary to an open doorway at the end of the landing. She pushed it and went in. His form was lying motionless under the duvet, apart from the rise and fall of his chest. There was a chair at the foot of the bed and Rosemary sat down and took three large stones from her coat pocket. The first one missed Brian completely and it tapped against the floor and rolled under the bed. He moved slightly but did not wake.

Yet.

The second one hit his mound and he flinched. The third one caught him hard on his face and he jumped.

He was awake now.
At Last.

He scrambled for the lamp at the side of his bed and turned it on. When he saw the figure of the woman he froze and the blood seemed to drain from his face, which was now bruising slightly. He was frightened. She knew, because who wouldn’t be with a mad woman staring at him from the bottom of his bed through dishevelled hair. That is what Rosemary must have looked like to him because he brought his knees up to his chest and clung tightly to the duvet. A cold terrified sweat brought him out in thousands of goose bumps all over his arms.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ He said, his voice trembling.
But Rosemary just put a finger to her lips. Shh.’ she said. ‘You talk too much.’ She turned the light off and grabbed Brian around the neck, pinning his head against his pillow.
‘That mouth of yours has been spreading some nasty things about me hasn't it Brian?’ She said.

It is funny really whenever Rosemary recalls that night she remembers specifically that he did not struggle or speak much. He had just laid there staring wide eyed and looking helpless.
‘What am I going to do about that mouth of yours?’
Rosemary squeezed at his neck harder  and harder and the last thing he saw before he passed out was the glint of steel swishing through the air. forcing his mouth open she then brought the knife down and with one slice; a gurgle of blood at the back of his throat and a shudder of pain through his body, his tongue fell lifeless in the palm of her hand.
I have a motto: when in doubt, go for the cheap laugh.