Which merits your vote?

7 (58.3%)
3 (25%)
The Match
2 (16.7%)

Total Members Voted: 10

Voting closed: December 15, 2013, 09:03:59 AM

Author Topic: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74  (Read 1855 times)

Offline 510bhan

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Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« on: December 08, 2013, 09:03:59 AM »
Enjoy the following three entries -- all based on the prompt of including a game or sport in the story.

You only have one vote, so choose wisely. After a week the winner will be announced.
;) ;) ;)


David hunkered behind the stump, making himself as small as possible. The sound of approaching troops was getting closer. All his team were down and he was near the end of his run. Waiting for them was eating at him.

He heard shouts from the other side of his stump.

“I know he’s in this field somewhere. I saw him go to ground.”

“Advance on line, keep alert. We don’t want to lose anyone this late in the game.”

David waited, thinking of the past few hours. His Team had been decimated from the first. The enemy seemed to know where they would appear and were waiting with a deadly accurate fire. First Johnny, always the joker. Then James and Leon, almost together. Hal had done well, wounding one of them before he went down. The others he only knew were gone: the dark LED’s marking their location on the HUD in his helmet showed that.

They had lost. That was clear. His nerves were jumping, his mind leaping from one fragmented thought to the next. His time was up; he just had not made up his mind to end it yet. To stand and fire, knowing what it meant. One against maybe six.

The footsteps were drawing closer. He knew he had to move or he would lose even the last gesture of heroism, being on his feet firing when he went down. He dragged in a last precious breath and stood.

He aimed at the nearest target and fired. He knew he had scored a killing hit but even as he did he felt the impact of four projectiles.

He looked down at his chest and saw the orange spatters of paint. A grinning ten-year old girl was still pointing her paintgun at him.

“Gotcha, Dave. You lose.”


     I couldn't believe it. I was so sure! Everything I’d learned, all I had believed, where did I go wrong? No, it couldn't have been her! I’d been duped by her innocent face, softened by age, her fluffy white hair just like my grandmother's, perched loosely above those warm, friendly eyes. I felt so betrayed.
     I'd gone on for so long, believing, knowing it was him: so pretentious, so fake, I had known men like him before. A man of "God", a supposedly moral man who hid behind his beloved and respected position, like a bloodthirsty Trojan concealed in the wooden horse. if I was certain of nothing else, it was his guilt. He’d done it. I didn't know where, I didn't know how, but I knew it was him.
     In hindsight, I look back fondly on my work, however misguided it had been. I had put the pieces together, I had solved this thing while everyone else around me just sat there, thinking they were getting somewhere. I recall dreaming of my glory, the respect they would give me, and that "how did he do it" look written all over their faces. And so I became arrogant, puffed up with my own knowledge, a fat King on his throne in the dawn of his overthrowing. That was my downfall. I was so certain, so confident that everything I believed was the truth, that I ignored all the other clues, anything that conflicted with my opinion. And so I built my case, I came to my conclusions and made my decisions based around a false centre. That was when fact became fiction, when I lost my hold on what was real, blinded by my hatred for... Him.
     It all seems so long ago. As I sit here facing the evidence, the proof, the hard facts, I know I was wrong. If it's taught me anything it's never to allow prejudice to make my decisions for me. We compare new thoughts and ideas against our own viewpoints and "knowledge". But really, if it doesn't match with what we think we know, and what we believe, we just dismiss it as wrong. If it does match up, then we agree with it. Either way, we learn nothing. Reverend Green and Mrs White really brought these words alive tonight. In the conservatory with a lead pipe – who’d have suspected a little old lady?

The Match

The fading smell of disinfectant filled Chris’s nose as he made his away along the aisle to take his seat. He didn’t mind though because the atmosphere was amazing; the people shouting, the colourful bill boards and most of all the pitch - the place where the magic supposedly happened. It gave him butterflies in his stomach. The guy he had been sitting beside on the bus stank of smoke and body odour, so he was glad of the change and nothing was going to ruin his first football match.

Tommy smiled as he handed Chris a pie and a soft drink. “This is it son, do you like it? The home of the gods eh?”

Chris sputtered as a rogue piece of pie came out his mouth. “Yeah, Dad. It’s brilliant.”

“You’ll love it son, you will.” Tommy cuddled his arm around him and opened the beer can in his other hand.

The match had just started and Chris followed the cluster of the colours on the pitch; the green and white hoops of one side and the royal blue of the other, the players were moving so fast it was making him dizzy trying to keep track. He listened intently to the chants and songs of the crowd, one side leading the abuse followed by a reply from the other.

“What are they singing about, Dad?”

Tommy opened another can. “I’ll tell you when you’re older. It’s nothing to worry about.”

 “YEEEEAAAASSSSSSSS!” The explosion of noise made Chris jump out of his skin and he was almost knocked to the floor as the people around him sprung up as one, like a giant Jack in a box.

Picking Chris up and holding him until they were face to face, Tommy, almost in tears kissed him on the forehead. Chris could smell the beer on his breath and pulled his head back a little. “You’ll be playing for them one day son, people will come and watch you I know they will.”

Chris beamed back at Tommy. “Can’t wait Dad, can’t wait.”


“What is it son?”

“I love you.”

Tommy held back the tears but wiped his face just to be sure. “I love you too, son.”

The nearest supporters shot Tommy angry looks and “Tutted” disapprovingly as he drank the rest of his carryout. Tommy ignored them and carried on, joining in with the cheers and gasps of the rest. “I’m just going to the toilet son. I’ll be back in a minute, be good and don’t go anywhere.”

“Ok, I will and won’t Dad.”

Tommy dodged the suspicious puddles on the floor criss- crossing over to the sink. He felt a fire start inside his head. He tried to soothe the pain with his hand but it wouldn’t move. The mirror showed his face slowly sagging as he tried to call for help. His legs gave way as he landed in the puddle.

He stammered “Mmmmyyyy bbbbbboy”

“Leave him he’s pissed,” said the man walking away.

« Last Edit: December 15, 2013, 02:21:45 PM by 510bhan »

Offline 510bhan

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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #1 on: December 15, 2013, 02:23:12 PM »
And the winner is . . .  Combat, by TheDude ;)

Congratulations, over to you for the next challenge. ;D

Offline DistantSun

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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #2 on: December 15, 2013, 02:37:43 PM »
Congrats Dude :D
It's good to laugh at yourself once in a while - why let everyone else have all the fun!
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Offline Gyppo

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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #3 on: December 15, 2013, 04:19:29 PM »
"Yo, Dude."  (I've always wanted to say that without it sounding daft.)
My website is currently having a holiday, but will return like the $6,000,000 man.  Bigger, stronger, etc.

In the meantime, why not take pity on a starving author and visit my book sales page at http://stores.lulu.com/gyppo1

Offline bri h

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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #4 on: December 15, 2013, 04:21:28 PM »
Well done Dude. B
Fare thee well Skip. We're all 'Keening' now. xbx

Offline The Dude Abides

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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #5 on: December 15, 2013, 04:55:56 PM »
Thanks, thanks. Thanks to all. I'll try to come up with something memorable for the next challenge.
"Little red wagon
Little red bike
I ain’t no monkey but I know what I like"
                 Buckets of Rain, Bob Dylan

Offline Neghe

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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #6 on: December 15, 2013, 06:28:10 PM »

Way to go Dude!

“Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.”― Charles Bukowski

Offline 2par

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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #7 on: December 16, 2013, 02:06:54 AM »
Congrats, Dude. Maybe I'll enter the next one.

Offline Laura H

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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #8 on: December 16, 2013, 07:03:20 AM »
Congratulations, Dude  :D
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Re: Winner of Voting Flash Fiction #74
« Reply #9 on: December 16, 2013, 03:01:26 PM »
Congrats Dude.