Everyone loves a good zombie.

I've done it again, achieved proof of my writing prowess by winning another weekly flash fiction contest.  This tells me two things, #1 I really need to update my twitter profile pic, and #2 I should start entering contests that award cash prizes.

Three prompts for this one, the above photo, the phrase "survive this" which must be included somewhere in the piece, and the following scenario provided by judge Karen DeLabar:

"You woke up… ten days later. What do you do? What do you remember? Where are you? How do you piece everything together?"

 No rhyming couplets for this one, just your average zombie tale.  Le voici:

My Last Meal
By J M Filipowicz

I wake in a rainbow glow, the aurora borealis casting its light over the parking lot. If I believe the date on my wristwatch, ten days have passed. My suit and stockings are caked in black mud, my new black pumps missing. My head throbs. Touching my hair, I find it sticky with blood. A pool of it stains the pavement, footprints running through. They left me for dead, took my shoes and kept running.

Hunger gnaws. I think of the last thing I ate, yogurt from the break room fridge. No time for proper breakfast. If I survive this, I’ll have a steak, juicy and rare. I can taste the salty sweet blood.

I limp across the parking lot. A shadow darts under a flickering street light.

“Wait!” My voice groans. I don’t recognize it.

A man steps into the light, wearing the olive green of a security guard. He approaches cautiously, holding his broken flashlight like a weapon. He reeks of sweat and fear. An animal inside me takes over. I know how to satisfy my hunger.

As the man swings his flashlight I grab his arm, pull it towards me, and take a bite. Salty and sweet.

THE END

200 words on the nose. Woot! Woot!  Here's what judge Karen had to say about it:

"As much as I love romance, I love dark and mysterious even more. I loved how it started out with what was a seemingly ordinary girl, other than the fact she can’t remember the last ten days, she’s caked in mud and her hair is sticky with blood. My favorite part of this story was the connection between the steak she was going to treat herself with when she found her way again and what her actual meal ended up being. It’s little twists like those that make me want to read more."

Thanks Karen!  Also thank you to Cara Michaels for hosting the contest.   And congratulations to honourable mentions Daniel Swenson, Quil Shiv, and H. L. Pauff and to the "judge's pet" Mark Ethridge.

Hybrid

Shadows crept across the wall. A crack in the ceiling let in the only light. Odrin knew he had only minutes before the guards found him. His orange eyes widened as they adjusted to the darkness.  The alien’s dust-covered bones were laid out on a table. Though its flesh had long since disappeared, Odrin saw echoes of the being that his mother had described, the immense height, five-fingered hands.   His hearts swelled with wonder as he gazed upon the creature that had always been a part of him. Odrin pictured the skeleton encased in the same pinkish skin that appeared in patches over his own body. He’d always hated how they marred his violet scales but, in that moment, treasured their one connection. How stupid he’d been to wait so long to find his father. His mind burst with questions that couldn’t be answered. Who are you? Why did you come to this world? Now all he’d ever know was this collection of bones. He stood mesmerized, not hearing the guard’s approach until she was right behind him.  Her stunner seared into his back. His skin tingled from the weapon’s heat. His last breath reeked of burning flesh. Then everything faded.

I wrote the above snippet for Rachael Harrie's Campaign Challenge.  (This post is #101 on that page. Like it!). The criteria:

• 200 words or less (check)
• Begin the story with the words "shadows crept across the wall" (check)

Bonus challenges:

• End the story with "everything faded" (check)
• Use the word "orange" (check)
• Write in the genre you normally write (check)
• Use exactly 200 words (check)

I used a character from my work in progress.  This might end up being a scene in the book, depending on how the story plays out.

Something a little different.

Here's a story I wrote for Rach's third campaign challenge (I'm #112). Excuse the profanity, this character is hardened by the horrors he's seen.

Invasive Species

The first breath of sunlight shines over the water. Already I’m sweating like a gorilla in a polyester suit. The sand permeates my socks and shoes, makes a gritty paste between my toes. What a waste of time. This fucker drowned, I guarantee it, knew it before I saw the body. Those CSI-type shows make like it’s a big mystery, but when a body washes up on shore, ninety-nine percent of the time it’s drowning. People just don’t respect the ocean the way they should.

I stand with my back to the cadaver. Being downwind doesn’t help, but I’m used to this shit. Some rookie talking through a handkerchief tries to give me a report.

I can’t hear a goddamn thing this kid is saying. I’d ask him to lower the hankie but he’d probably puke.

I yawn; a mistake. My saliva tastes of fish guts and rotted flesh.

The rook is done talking, so I crouch to get a better look at the bloated carcass. Orange and blue Bermuda shorts cling to its legs like a bad joke.  A ripple moves across the dead man’s gut, a pet for the medical examiner.

The corpse’s eyes snap open.

I’m losing it.  I’ve been around death too long and I’m losing my fucking mind.  This happens to other poor saps, but not to me, please God, not to me.  I stare into that dead face as a raspy murmur escapes its lips.  “Synbatec,” it says. “Tacise de mer wastopaneer.”

The rookie trips over himself in his hurry to back away. Thank God he heard it too.

“Wastopaneeeeer!” screams the corpse. The rook vomits into the water.

My gaze falls back on the dead man’s bloated abdomen and again I catch sight of that ripple.  This is way above my pay grade.

The First Campaign Challenge.

I assume you all have been following my blog intently and already know that I am signed up for Rachael Harrie's Writers' Platform-Building Campaign, well today Rach has presented us with our first challenge.
I have to write a 200 word story that begins with the sentence "The door swung open".  Bonus points if it ends with "The door swung shut." Extra special bonus points if the piece is 200 words exactly. Here goes:

The door swung open like a cross between a drawbridge and the cargo doors on a military plane.  Faster than Angie would have imagined, she found she didn’t have time to decide whether or not to run.  She had no doubt that the occupants of the cigar-shaped ship could already see her, standing in her pyjamas in the ankle-high grass.  As Angie waited, she looked back in the direction the ship had come.  It had knocked down the old oak tree with the tire swing before carving a black scar through her parents’ corn field, narrowly avoiding the farm house where Angie’s family had been sleeping. Looking back at the gaping mouth door of the space ship, Angie was shocked to see not a little green man with a bulbous head, but a blond girl of about three years old, her wide brown eyes framed by dark lashes.  The girl held out her arms as though waiting for a hug.  A sudden longing brought Angie to tears.  The child smiled an impish grin and Angie could no longer resist. She ran up the ramp and took the delicate creature in her arms.  “It’s okay,” Angie whispered. The door swung shut.

That's it.  Hopefully a mildly original take on the UFO-in-the-cornfield cliché.  Exactly 200 words so long as you count "ankle-high" as one word (Microsoft Word does).  I urge you to try out this fun little exercise, even though you can't win a prize unless you are signed up for the campaign.

Edit: If you like my story, be sure to go to this page and press the like button above my name (I'm number 27). Get me in the running for the people's choice awards.

William's first story.

Rather than entertain William with computer games and videos, I decided to open Word and write a story together. It ended up being less of a collaboration and more of him dictating to me while I prompted him with "and then what happened". So here's the story. I don't think it's publishable yet (the narrative thread needs work), but it's quite impressive for a first try.


William and Craig and Hunter

Once upon a time, there was a boy named William who wanted a hockey stick. Craig plays hockey with a hockey stick. William wanted to join in so he said to his uncle Craig “play hockey with hockey pucks!”


“Great idea!” said uncle Craig and they got some hockey sticks and hockey pucks and they played for a whole hour. Just then, Hunter came by.


Hunter got a hockey stick. Hunter got a hockey puck. Hunter went to play hockey with Uncle Craig and William. William got the puck in the net. “Score!!! I win!!!!” he yelled.


Then Hunter and William and Craig got guns. Hunter got a new gun, a ball gun that shoots paper. They shot at shooting guys. Craig and William and Hunter were mad. The shooting guys made them mad.


Then Hunter and William and uncle Craig went to watch some tv. It was Toopy and Binoo. They were happy.