Tracey Alley's Blog - Posts Tagged "flash-fiction"
Flash Fiction - An Experiment
Hi all,
Pinched this idea from Karen but I thought I'd try my hand at flash fiction - something I've never done before - so would appreciate all comments and opinions on both content and idea.
Here Tis
Sins of the Father
Becky’s heart pounded heavily in her chest as she watched the neat suburban house across the street from her car. Was it from fear or excitement, she wondered. For ten years she had thought about and planned for this moment; it had taken her that long to find him. He had moved around so much, hiding the monster within behind a mask of normality. Only Becky it seemed knew him for what he truly was, human filth.
He lay beyond the so-called justice system of the courts. The woman he had so brutally raped, Becky’s mother, had chosen to end her own life rather than live with what he had done to her. Then Becky’s sister, her twin, had made the same choice; unable to live with the knowledge of what they were, products of incest. For those sins alone Becky had felt that her father, her uncle, the sperm donor whose lusts had given her life, should die as a fitting punishment. Yet that had not been the trigger for her actions today.
Becky had tried to live a normal life, tried to overcome the feelings of guilt over sins that were not her burden to carry. It had not been easy. She had married, he was probably a good man, yet she had always found it difficult to fully trust him or fully commit to their marriage. Her now ex-husband had been, for many years, surprisingly tolerant and understanding. Until her son Tim's suicide. A stupid class project tracing their family tree had been given to Tim's class; eventually the truth had come out. Tim had been thirteen, he had not been able to cope, could not even begin to see past the sins of his beginnings.
That had destroyed Becky’s marriage and formed the seed of her plan. It was then she had begun looking for the man that fate had decreed would be her father. Strangely she had given no thought in all those years to the consequences of her actions, she still did not care about the consequences. This man, this monster, had caused three deaths and he would pay for them. Beyond that Becky really did not care about what might happen to her; she had already lost everyone of value to her because of his actions. She was only forty-five but she could no longer see any future for her, there was no point.
Taking a deep breath Becky exited the car and carefully crossed the street. She knew he was home, his near new car stood proudly in the driveway. She also knew he was married but that knowledge did not cause her to falter in her intentions; her only hope was that it would be he who answered her knock and not his wife. Becky was not prepared to deal with anyone but him. Fortunately it was he who answered the door, his face changing subtly from one of gentle welcoming to one of a flickering of fear. Not fear of Becky, they had not seen each other in so long she doubted he would even recognize her, but fear of the gun she held steadily in her hand.
When planning this Becky had imagined the speech she would give before she pulled the trigger and exacted the justice that had been denied. At the sight of him, however, her prepared speech flew out of her mind. In his late fifties he looked strong, healthy, at the peak of his life. He even looked handsome, was obviously successful; life had not punished his sins, now it was only Becky who could make him pay once and for all.
Not a trace of guilt, not a hint of remorse; perhaps he did not and never had even thought of those things that had haunted Becky’s existence. Mere seconds passed as these thoughts flashed through her mind. Without a word she pulled the trigger, again and again, emptying the gun until she was certain he was dead. Calmly, ignoring the screams she could hear coming from within the house, Becky walked back to her car and drove away. The police would almost certainly catch up with her but in the meantime she intended to put the flowers she had already purchased on her son’s grave.
The End
Pinched this idea from Karen but I thought I'd try my hand at flash fiction - something I've never done before - so would appreciate all comments and opinions on both content and idea.
Here Tis
Sins of the Father
Becky’s heart pounded heavily in her chest as she watched the neat suburban house across the street from her car. Was it from fear or excitement, she wondered. For ten years she had thought about and planned for this moment; it had taken her that long to find him. He had moved around so much, hiding the monster within behind a mask of normality. Only Becky it seemed knew him for what he truly was, human filth.
He lay beyond the so-called justice system of the courts. The woman he had so brutally raped, Becky’s mother, had chosen to end her own life rather than live with what he had done to her. Then Becky’s sister, her twin, had made the same choice; unable to live with the knowledge of what they were, products of incest. For those sins alone Becky had felt that her father, her uncle, the sperm donor whose lusts had given her life, should die as a fitting punishment. Yet that had not been the trigger for her actions today.
Becky had tried to live a normal life, tried to overcome the feelings of guilt over sins that were not her burden to carry. It had not been easy. She had married, he was probably a good man, yet she had always found it difficult to fully trust him or fully commit to their marriage. Her now ex-husband had been, for many years, surprisingly tolerant and understanding. Until her son Tim's suicide. A stupid class project tracing their family tree had been given to Tim's class; eventually the truth had come out. Tim had been thirteen, he had not been able to cope, could not even begin to see past the sins of his beginnings.
That had destroyed Becky’s marriage and formed the seed of her plan. It was then she had begun looking for the man that fate had decreed would be her father. Strangely she had given no thought in all those years to the consequences of her actions, she still did not care about the consequences. This man, this monster, had caused three deaths and he would pay for them. Beyond that Becky really did not care about what might happen to her; she had already lost everyone of value to her because of his actions. She was only forty-five but she could no longer see any future for her, there was no point.
Taking a deep breath Becky exited the car and carefully crossed the street. She knew he was home, his near new car stood proudly in the driveway. She also knew he was married but that knowledge did not cause her to falter in her intentions; her only hope was that it would be he who answered her knock and not his wife. Becky was not prepared to deal with anyone but him. Fortunately it was he who answered the door, his face changing subtly from one of gentle welcoming to one of a flickering of fear. Not fear of Becky, they had not seen each other in so long she doubted he would even recognize her, but fear of the gun she held steadily in her hand.
When planning this Becky had imagined the speech she would give before she pulled the trigger and exacted the justice that had been denied. At the sight of him, however, her prepared speech flew out of her mind. In his late fifties he looked strong, healthy, at the peak of his life. He even looked handsome, was obviously successful; life had not punished his sins, now it was only Becky who could make him pay once and for all.
Not a trace of guilt, not a hint of remorse; perhaps he did not and never had even thought of those things that had haunted Becky’s existence. Mere seconds passed as these thoughts flashed through her mind. Without a word she pulled the trigger, again and again, emptying the gun until she was certain he was dead. Calmly, ignoring the screams she could hear coming from within the house, Becky walked back to her car and drove away. The police would almost certainly catch up with her but in the meantime she intended to put the flowers she had already purchased on her son’s grave.
The End
New Attempt at Flash Fiction
I'm trying to switch genres for a while at least and want to write a thriller/mystery/crime kind of thing - the stories in my head so I figured I may as well write it but... being such a different style I thought I'd play around with some flash fiction to see if I can develop the necessary tension. So here's my latest attempt:
PAYBACK
For almost a year he had stalked her. Terrorized her with phone calls, notes, threats of incredible, extreme violence all interspersed with his declarations of undying love. She didn’t know who he was but it seemed he knew everything about her. She’d changed her phone number countless times, he always somehow found out the new one. She had even moved apartments but nothing, nothing she had done had stopped his continual harassment.
She had called the police only to be told that without a suspect there was nothing she or they could do; it was maddening, terrifying and driving her to the brink of insanity.
Now, in spite of all her precautions, in spite of everything she had done to try and keep herself safe, now he had her in his clutches. Under the cover of a violent thunderstorm on her very own doorstep he had taken her from behind; she’d been gagged, blindfolded and shoved into the back of a van and driven somewhere. Now he could do what he liked with her. From what little she could tell from her own body she seemed to be in a cabin, somewhere, tied to a bed that smelt filthy with body odour and other nameless smells. She could hear him moving around but he hadn’t spoken a word since he had captured her and she was utterly sightless from the blindfold.
Outside the thunderstorm still raged; the thunder louder than any sound she had ever heard in her life and the brilliant flashes of lightning doing nothing more than leaving spots before her eyes. Her heart was pounding and her thoughts racing. In TV shows they always told you to remain calm but how could she possibly remain calm with this man, this monster in the very same room. She could hear his ragged breathing whenever he came close to her; usually to run the razor sharp knife along some part of her body. The same knife he had used to cut her clothes from her, leaving her naked and vulnerable.
Then his foul body was on top of her, violating her, his disgustingly bad breath so close to her face she thought she would vomit. Thankfully it was over quickly but she knew this was only the beginning of her torment. He would not stop; nothing would stop him from abusing her in every possible way until he eventually decided to kill her. She knew this to be true, knew it in her very soul. Somehow she would have to find the strength to break his hold on her but how? She could not talk, could not try to make him see her as a human being, she could barely even move.
The rape and abuse went on for seemed to be a lifetime and then he decided she needed a bath. The irony of it almost made her laugh aloud, even if she could have gagged as she was, he so disgusting yet deciding that she needed a bath. It was the first time she had heard his voice and something about it seemed frighteningly recognizable but in her terror she could not identify what it was that struck her as familiar. Then she heard the sounds of the running water. When the bath was full he came back, untied her and guided her into the warm water.
His hands were everywhere as he washed her body clean, gentle hands that felt almost like a lover’s touch instead of the violent rapist of the past few hours. As he washed her he talked to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her, how he only wanted to care for her. The abrupt change of persona was chilling but the more he talked the more convinced she became that she knew this man, knew him well. Fighting down her terror and the near overwhelming rage that was growing within her she tried to concentrate. Concentrate on his voice, tried to think of a way out of this nightmare.
Suddenly it came to her; it was her supervisor at work. He had been promoted to their department a little over a year ago and very quickly asked her on a date. She’d politely refused. This small man with the perpetually bad breath and glasses held absolutely no appeal to her; he had seemed to take her rejection with good grace but now she knew better. She also knew that she could overcome this man; he stood only a little taller than she was and was a skinny, ineffectual man. He had obviously relied on her not recognizing him and using her terror to prevent her fighting back.
She stood so abruptly she almost slipped in the soapy water but within seconds she had torn off the blindfold and removed the gag. Her actions had been so unexpected that he had simply sat there for a few seconds staring at her, his face a comic mixture of anger and dismay. Those few seconds though were more than enough. She ran to the bedroom and grabbed the long, sharp hunting knife. Now he was in her clutches. He came running to her to attempt to regain control. Her terror, her horrible feelings of violation, even her nakedness and shame drove her to a blinding rage. As he raced toward her she brought up the knife and thrust it deep into his chest; a feeling of almost intense satisfaction running through her as she felt his still warm blood from his dying heart flooding over her hand. As he lay dead at her feet she felt no guilt. It was payback for what he had done to her and he would now never be able to do it to anyone ever again.
Please let me know what you think - am I on the right track or should I just stick to what I know and do reasonably well at?
PAYBACK
For almost a year he had stalked her. Terrorized her with phone calls, notes, threats of incredible, extreme violence all interspersed with his declarations of undying love. She didn’t know who he was but it seemed he knew everything about her. She’d changed her phone number countless times, he always somehow found out the new one. She had even moved apartments but nothing, nothing she had done had stopped his continual harassment.
She had called the police only to be told that without a suspect there was nothing she or they could do; it was maddening, terrifying and driving her to the brink of insanity.
Now, in spite of all her precautions, in spite of everything she had done to try and keep herself safe, now he had her in his clutches. Under the cover of a violent thunderstorm on her very own doorstep he had taken her from behind; she’d been gagged, blindfolded and shoved into the back of a van and driven somewhere. Now he could do what he liked with her. From what little she could tell from her own body she seemed to be in a cabin, somewhere, tied to a bed that smelt filthy with body odour and other nameless smells. She could hear him moving around but he hadn’t spoken a word since he had captured her and she was utterly sightless from the blindfold.
Outside the thunderstorm still raged; the thunder louder than any sound she had ever heard in her life and the brilliant flashes of lightning doing nothing more than leaving spots before her eyes. Her heart was pounding and her thoughts racing. In TV shows they always told you to remain calm but how could she possibly remain calm with this man, this monster in the very same room. She could hear his ragged breathing whenever he came close to her; usually to run the razor sharp knife along some part of her body. The same knife he had used to cut her clothes from her, leaving her naked and vulnerable.
Then his foul body was on top of her, violating her, his disgustingly bad breath so close to her face she thought she would vomit. Thankfully it was over quickly but she knew this was only the beginning of her torment. He would not stop; nothing would stop him from abusing her in every possible way until he eventually decided to kill her. She knew this to be true, knew it in her very soul. Somehow she would have to find the strength to break his hold on her but how? She could not talk, could not try to make him see her as a human being, she could barely even move.
The rape and abuse went on for seemed to be a lifetime and then he decided she needed a bath. The irony of it almost made her laugh aloud, even if she could have gagged as she was, he so disgusting yet deciding that she needed a bath. It was the first time she had heard his voice and something about it seemed frighteningly recognizable but in her terror she could not identify what it was that struck her as familiar. Then she heard the sounds of the running water. When the bath was full he came back, untied her and guided her into the warm water.
His hands were everywhere as he washed her body clean, gentle hands that felt almost like a lover’s touch instead of the violent rapist of the past few hours. As he washed her he talked to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her, how he only wanted to care for her. The abrupt change of persona was chilling but the more he talked the more convinced she became that she knew this man, knew him well. Fighting down her terror and the near overwhelming rage that was growing within her she tried to concentrate. Concentrate on his voice, tried to think of a way out of this nightmare.
Suddenly it came to her; it was her supervisor at work. He had been promoted to their department a little over a year ago and very quickly asked her on a date. She’d politely refused. This small man with the perpetually bad breath and glasses held absolutely no appeal to her; he had seemed to take her rejection with good grace but now she knew better. She also knew that she could overcome this man; he stood only a little taller than she was and was a skinny, ineffectual man. He had obviously relied on her not recognizing him and using her terror to prevent her fighting back.
She stood so abruptly she almost slipped in the soapy water but within seconds she had torn off the blindfold and removed the gag. Her actions had been so unexpected that he had simply sat there for a few seconds staring at her, his face a comic mixture of anger and dismay. Those few seconds though were more than enough. She ran to the bedroom and grabbed the long, sharp hunting knife. Now he was in her clutches. He came running to her to attempt to regain control. Her terror, her horrible feelings of violation, even her nakedness and shame drove her to a blinding rage. As he raced toward her she brought up the knife and thrust it deep into his chest; a feeling of almost intense satisfaction running through her as she felt his still warm blood from his dying heart flooding over her hand. As he lay dead at her feet she felt no guilt. It was payback for what he had done to her and he would now never be able to do it to anyone ever again.
Please let me know what you think - am I on the right track or should I just stick to what I know and do reasonably well at?
Near Death Experience
I stood helplessly in the corner of the room; there was nothing else I could do. Everywhere around me was activity. Doctor’s, nurses, machines making their infernal racket and tubes, lots and lots of tubes. The woman in the bed was dying; I could almost see the life draining from her. They were pumping her full of blood, the bags draining slowly as the life fluid entered her veins. There were other bags filled with fluids attached to the woman at her arm, feeding her perhaps or perhaps just there for effect. There was no hope for the woman, how could there be?
I moved closer, staying out of the way of the medical personnel but I wanted to see the woman. Wanted to look at her face. She was so pale, deathly pale. There was not an ounce of color to be seen in her face. Her lips were bloodless, a sickly milk color and the dark circles under her eyes were so black against her white skin they looked like someone had painted them on. She had freckles and their dark color was a stark contrast to her so pale skin. She was breathing but it seemed to me to be very shallow, as though she were a shadow of her former self. Even her breath had no vitality.
The sterility of the pristine room of the Intensive Care Unit seemed a sad place for this woman’s life to end. She who had been so full of promise. I knew her well, knew her dreams, her fantasies, her dark secrets but most of all I knew her love of life. This would not be the way she would wish to go and yet there seemed to be nothing that could be done. The doctor’s spoke back and forth frantically. Her body was going into shut down, toxins were building up and her life blood was draining away. Their confusion was evident in the tones of their voices. The woman was not bleeding anywhere, at least, not obviously, yet the blood entered her veins and disappeared as though it had never been.
Buzzers were sounding, loud and insistent. The machines kept on with their constant barrage of noise. I felt a strange pulling sensation, as though I were being drawn to this dying woman. I did not want to go to her; she was an empty vessel, what good could I possibly do and yet I could not stop the desperate pull from the woman in the narrow bed.
“I think she’s coming round doctor,” a voice said from above me and I realized that I was the woman in the bed, I was the woman who had almost died. I opened my eyes slowly, everything was exactly as I had seen it from a distance but here now inside this body it felt so much more real. It felt more real than any moment of my life had ever felt.
I knew the truth then, I had almost died. I had experienced what they called a ‘near death experience’ and yet somehow I had lived. Suddenly all the noise of machines and doctor’s and nurses was grating on my consciousness as I struggled back to life. I would not die here on this narrow bed in this sterile room. I had far too many things left to do in my life. For now though I was tired, so very, very tired. I felt myself slipping away but into a normal sleep, not the unconscious existence I had endured.
** Thought I'd put my recent bad experiences in the hospital to some good use and write a little flash fiction piece
I moved closer, staying out of the way of the medical personnel but I wanted to see the woman. Wanted to look at her face. She was so pale, deathly pale. There was not an ounce of color to be seen in her face. Her lips were bloodless, a sickly milk color and the dark circles under her eyes were so black against her white skin they looked like someone had painted them on. She had freckles and their dark color was a stark contrast to her so pale skin. She was breathing but it seemed to me to be very shallow, as though she were a shadow of her former self. Even her breath had no vitality.
The sterility of the pristine room of the Intensive Care Unit seemed a sad place for this woman’s life to end. She who had been so full of promise. I knew her well, knew her dreams, her fantasies, her dark secrets but most of all I knew her love of life. This would not be the way she would wish to go and yet there seemed to be nothing that could be done. The doctor’s spoke back and forth frantically. Her body was going into shut down, toxins were building up and her life blood was draining away. Their confusion was evident in the tones of their voices. The woman was not bleeding anywhere, at least, not obviously, yet the blood entered her veins and disappeared as though it had never been.
Buzzers were sounding, loud and insistent. The machines kept on with their constant barrage of noise. I felt a strange pulling sensation, as though I were being drawn to this dying woman. I did not want to go to her; she was an empty vessel, what good could I possibly do and yet I could not stop the desperate pull from the woman in the narrow bed.
“I think she’s coming round doctor,” a voice said from above me and I realized that I was the woman in the bed, I was the woman who had almost died. I opened my eyes slowly, everything was exactly as I had seen it from a distance but here now inside this body it felt so much more real. It felt more real than any moment of my life had ever felt.
I knew the truth then, I had almost died. I had experienced what they called a ‘near death experience’ and yet somehow I had lived. Suddenly all the noise of machines and doctor’s and nurses was grating on my consciousness as I struggled back to life. I would not die here on this narrow bed in this sterile room. I had far too many things left to do in my life. For now though I was tired, so very, very tired. I felt myself slipping away but into a normal sleep, not the unconscious existence I had endured.
** Thought I'd put my recent bad experiences in the hospital to some good use and write a little flash fiction piece
