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Vote For Your Favorite

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot
8 (57.1%)
Wipe
6 (42.9%)

Total Members Voted: 12

Voting closed: January 08, 2013, 01:53:46 PM

Author Topic: Voting for Flash Fiction #58  (Read 1276 times)

Offline herron

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Voting for Flash Fiction #58
« on: January 01, 2013, 01:53:46 PM »
Only two submissions for Flash Fiction #58. Thanks to our two intrepid authors for finding time between shopping, wrapping gifts, cleaning house, preparing (or attending) parties, drinking and entertaining to actually scribble a few words for us. With so few to read, voting shouldn't take long at all (remind me next year not to expect more during a holiday).  ;)


1. Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot

Drake looked out of the civilian aircraft. Bare trees on the rolling Malvern Hills reached above the snow. A smile struggled at the corners of his mouth. Home. Ghan an old memory.

Judy, slimmer than he remembered, waved and jumped up and down. He dropped his kitbag and hugged her, not wanting to let go. “Wait till you see what they’ve organised for you in the village hall. You’ll love it.” She hailed a cab and while the meter ticked up the fare they caught up with family news. “. . . and when Grandma died it was so weird following her coffin to the church. Coloured lights for Diwali festooned house fronts, lamp posts and telegraph poles. But it was a lovely service – multi cultural. They’re really trying to bring the different communities together.”

Drake shook his head. “You wonder why you bother fighting wars. People are just people.”

“I know. But even the funerals with strong secular rituals they’re trying to involve everyone. There’s been a few mistakes. Mandy turned up with a menorah – you know the way people light a single candle, well, she thought she’d show even more respect. Raised a few eyebrows but the Jewish community were really good about it.”

“Yeah, death sure brings families together. Tears them apart too, but it’s something we all have to face, no matter what god you worship or how much butter you’ve got on the right side of your bread. Everyone dies.”

Judy snuggled into his shoulder. “Well, no death for you. We’ve kept Christmas for you.”

“What?”

“Yep, Alex is Black Santa, yo-ho-ho, and the twins are his elves but you mustn’t recognise them – stay the surprised uncle.”

Drake chuckled. “Don’t tell me Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer will be there too.”

Judy shrugged. “Might be. I know Frosty the Snowman’s waiting for you. Here, I’ll shut up now, let you see for yourself.”

Mulled wine and mince pies filled the table at the far end of the hall, a tinsel garlanded tree sheltered piles of brightly wrapped presents. Drake cried. It might not be December 25th but the sentiment overwhelmed him. His fellow members of the special-ops team, his family at war, wouldn’t see this. Roadside attack. Dirty bomb. Only he survived. Merry Christmas and good will to all men – if only. How would he cope when it came to New Year and Auld Lang Syne?



2. Wipe

This time of year is the worst. This year, we’re staring down the barrel of Ramadan, Chanukah, and Christmas, not to mention Kwanzaa, and I’m over it.

The house next to us has a giant inflatable Santa Claus, all thirteen of his mangy deer-creatures, and colored lights around the perimeter of the house, flashing like Vegas. The baby Jesus would be proud, I’m sure, to know his legacy has morphed into this, a Black Friday fueled, capitalist money grab, replete with blinking lights all over everything, lit from the power of coal fires, clouding the skies with hydrocarbons. Real religious stuff, that.

I, being over it, will be changing things up this year. I plan to drive my car around with a giant, hideous Menorah stuck to the front. Really show it off, get everyone honking and noticing me.

Last week, I needed some toilet paper in the worst way, so I made my way down to the Piggly Wiggly. I parked next to a large oak tree and jumped out of my car. I made a beeline for the entrance, walked purposefully, eyed other converging patrons as I made my way to the front doors. I lined up behind a woman wearing giant pink sweat pants, and silently cursed my decision to procrastinate the procurement of the poopie paper. Never again.

Inside, I elbowed my way through the crowd, not prepared to move along at the slow perusal-speed of the throngs of rednecks and rubes. I found aisle 12, where the overhead sign promised bath tissue. What a nice, benign way to talk about the paper I scrape the business off my… well, business. I grabbed a 24 pack of the thickest paper they had, then marched toward the registers. A special-ops soldier happened to be next to me in line.

“Do you hear that ticking?” He asked, looking at the pack of toilet paper I held.

“Now that you mention it…. no,” I said.

“Sshhhh, listen.”

I heard a ticking noise, growing louder. Out of sheer terror, I threw the package to the ground and stepped back. He scooped it up, ripping at the plastic wrap holding the rolls together. From the center of the package he produced a flat, round object.

It was a clock. A free gift for buying Dookie brand toilet paper.

He felt like a real turd.



« Last Edit: January 01, 2013, 02:17:56 PM by herron »
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Offline herron

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Re: Voting for Flash Fiction #58
« Reply #1 on: January 08, 2013, 07:56:59 PM »
Congratulations to Flash Fiction #58 winner ... Sio!
web: Broken Glass
blog: Painting With Light
media: RLH Media
The Book of Face: R. Herron, Author
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Offline Laura H

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Re: Voting for Flash Fiction #58
« Reply #2 on: January 08, 2013, 07:57:53 PM »
Congrats to Siobhan! Does the other entrant want to step up and claim their story? 

Good job all around, and we know Sio will come up with a zinger of a challenge  :D
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ― Maya Angelou

“Don't be like the rest of them, darling.” ― Eudora Welty

Offline 510bhan

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Re: Voting for Flash Fiction #58
« Reply #3 on: January 08, 2013, 08:02:00 PM »
Thanks everyone -- yay! ;D ;D ;D

That was hard to do, Ron -- all those words to be included . . .  :D