FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE: FROM SENTENCE TO STORY

Looks like Chuck Wendig has yet another challenge for us.

This time, we need to create a 1k word story out of a single starting sentence.

So of course, I had to get in on that.

It took a long time to decide, but I eventually picked Kirsten’s:

There was an awkward moment as my breath hitched, my mouth too dry to swallow and my knees just seconds away from sending the rest of me folding into a pile of sweaty flesh at his feet, when I saw him smile.

So, to continue the month of Halloween, I bring you:

Showbiz!

There was an awkward moment as my breath hitched, my mouth too dry to swallow and my knees just seconds away from sending the rest of me folding into a pile of sweaty flesh at his feet, when I saw him smile.

This was a feeling that only could accompany two things: meeting the love of one’s life, or someone was about to kill you.

I, sadly, was the latter.

My brain was attempting to process quite a few things in that moment. It seemed that I did not have my priorities straight, as the smile was all I could think about. I should have been more focused on the knife in my shoulder. Or, barring that, the knife that he held would have been a good choice. Even the state of my hair could have been a more worthwhile endeavor. During the struggle it had come undone, and was now spread over my face, so that only one of my eyes could look at the killer’s smile.

The grin grew wider as the knife came down, aimed right at my uncovered eye. My head only snapped back at the last second.  Another inch and the film of my cornea would have burst, and the contents would have spilled along my chin.

A morbid thought I admit, but in situations like these squeamishness goes quick. Pain often really is an excellent motivator.

He took a step forward, unwilling to strike again, instead going into a final lunge. His body is not made for it though. The bulging muscles on his arms may give him strength, but flexibility and bulk do not mix well.

The wires strung through his synapses were not helping his cause either.

Taking the chance, I kicked out, the heel of my shoe making a satisfying welt in his skin on contact. His body lurches forward, his forearm landing on my shoulder digging the embedded knife deeper in. His full weight is into it now, and chance has come. Just as his armpit makes contact, I push up. I give out a moan of pain, but the momentum carries. His body crashes over me, landing headfirst on the ground, disturbing one of the numerous piles of bones surrounding us.

The position of sitting may have granted me a temporary advantage, but standing to face one’s attacker will always be the best strategy. I rise slowly, the free hand clutching my shoulder. It does nothing to stop the pain, but the bleeding slows down.

I kick off my heels, making sure that they both hit him in the back. He gives the smallest groan at this, rising back up slowly. A finger bone remains stuck in his hair, swinging in the dreadlock. He’s angry; it’s hard to tell though, his mouth can’t frown. The stitches don’t let him. The corners of his mouth are pulled straight up to the ear, the wires embedded into the cartilage. The teeth are yellow and chipped. A dentist has never touched this man; neither has a drop of water, judging from the smell.

His hand never let go of the knife during the fight. It would be hard for him to; it’s sewn into his palm. But still the fingers grip it, ready to stab me again. Seeing no other choice, my hand goes to the hilt in my shoulder, and then yanks upward.

I scream.

My hand is sticky, and full of filth, and my shoulder has gone numb, save the throb of my heartbeat. But in my hand was a weapon, soaked with my own blood. I held it up, pointing the business end at him, giving it a few shakes, trying to goad him away. He continues to take shaky steps towards me. A white film is leaking from the corners of his mouth. The liquid is making its way past his clenched teeth, smearing the red makeup on his face.

He’s about halfway towards me, my back now literally up against the wall. I’m still pointing the knife at him when my stomach growls. Despite the situation, despite the pain, and the mind numbing terror, I start laughing.  Not just a soft chuckle. No, I am full on cackling, clutching my stomach and laughing. I have to spit out the buildup of blood occasionally, but it feels good to laugh. I hadn’t eaten in the last three days, yet I had forgotten about it until now.

Fighting to the death really does distract you from things.

The monster across from me does not seem to understand, and just stood looking at me. His bloodshot eyes blinking comically.

The crowd on the other hand, they love it. They’re laughing right along with me. This one overweight guy is guffawing so hard he spills his popcorn, the kernels raining down into the pit. A few kids join in, and peanuts rain down on the creature on front of me. He turns to snarl at them, the electrodes along his back spark in agreement.

Capitalizing on the moment, I move forward, the knife aimed at the small of his back. The wet slaps of my feet are suddenly the only sound in the entire room. I close the gap quickly, and in a matter of seconds I am right in front of him, mid knife swing.

He spins around at the last moment, snarling at me. The white spittle sprays my face. He tries to back up, his knife already swinging at my hip. But yet again, momentum has other plans. I bowl into him, and we both topple over with me on top of him.

If this were a romantic comedy, we would have done one of two things: stare at each other before awkwardly standing up, or kiss passionately.

Instead, I stabbed him in the heart.

The blood pooled between us, both of our shirts soaking up the liquid, the cloth doggedly attempting to stay connected to its male wearer. He squirmed underneath my weight.  His freakish strength dripped out of him at a steady rate.

A growl finally snapped the stitches in his mouth and they popped open. His face was finally allowed to morph into an angry sneer. It only lasted a moment though, his eyes and his facial expressions began to fade. A hand made a pass at my throat, squeezing it for a second before dropping back down. The electrical crackles from his back stopped, and even his head slumped back against the floor.

His mouth was bleeding, but through a gurgle I heard him utter two words.

“Thank you” he said, giving an honest smile this time. Then, his body went still and cold beneath me.

A rather large bell was wrung, and the crowd exploded into cheers. Peanuts, popcorn, and drink containers rained down on the pit. A container full of ice exploded against my back, the water soaking the only part of my shirt that had managed to remain dry.

The crackle of speaker started up, and a message was given to the crowd.

“Now, that was a show! A round of applause for Miss Katheryn Style…” The crowd obeyed, the room filled with the disjointed slapping of a hundred hands. As soon as it died down, he continued. “…She has already earned five thousand dollars for that last one. But her agent has informed me, that she is going for a double or nothing!”

My head snapped up, and I screamed my protest, but it was lost underneath the screaming of the masses. The din even covered up the sound of me vomiting bile on the floor. So, I suppose that was lucky for them.

Then, the sound died down, and I managed to spin around as a second chain-covered door swung open. Another smiling face behind it, happy to see me.      

Hope you enjoyed! See you on Saturday!

Did you like the article? Dislike? Tell me about it in the comments. I would love to hear your opinions. If interested in specific articles, or want to write as a guest; you can message me at scifibrandonscott@gmail.com. Thanks for reading!

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One thought on “FLASH FICTION CHALLENGE: FROM SENTENCE TO STORY

  1. Pingback: The Scariest Book I Have Ever Read | Coolerbs Reviews

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