So, I did another writing exercise to loosen the bonds of writer's block. Luckily for you (or unluckily, depending on your perspective), I decided to share it here! I did this one using the same title generator as last time.
"The Parlor Alexander the Great"
© A.L.S. Vossler 2015
Rae sat down in the luxurious armchair in Mrs. Mulway’s house. She always loved coming here; Mrs. Mulway had a constant supply of delicious cookies. Currently, Mrs. Mulway was in the kitchen boiling water for Rae’s tea.
“Are your parents still fighting, dear?” Mrs. Mulway’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Rae said. Mrs. Mulway didn’t know the half of it, but Rae didn’t want to talk about it. She hadn’t come over here to talk about her parents; she’d come here to get away from them. For just a little while, she could look over the nifty things in her elderly neighbor’s parlor. For just a little while, she could forget her parents’ screaming. For just a little while, she could forget the sound of her step-dad beating up her mom. She could forget how much she hated him.
The room was filled with all kinds of curios, some of which were under a considerable layer of dust. As Rae’s eyes traveled across the mantelpiece, she saw something new: a glass dome display case containing an 11-inch figurine, a little man who was dressed like he was from ancient Greece. Rae got up and stood on her tiptoes so that she could peer at the inscription that was on the base plate: Alexander the Great.
Rae tilted her head from side to side. He would have made a good friend for one of her Barbie dolls. Barbie probably would like his fancy armor. Rae glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Mulway was busy in kitchen still, but the kettle was beginning to whistle. It would be less than a minute before she would come back into the room.
No. Stealing was bad, and Mrs. Mulway was nice. It wouldn’t be right.
Rae turned back to look at the figurine again. She almost screamed when she saw that the little man was pressed up against the side of the dome. “Help me.” His voice was muffled through the glass. “You have to help me.”
“What will you do if I help you?”
“There is nothing I cannot do, young mistress. I conquered all of Asia Minor ere my eighteenth birthday!” He put his hands on his hips and struck a confident pose.
A sense of power swept over Rae. She wasn’t sure what Asia Minor was, but she knew what Asia was: it was the biggest continent in the world. A man who could conquer Asia was the most powerful thing there was, especially if he was so tiny. Forget not stealing. Forget right and wrong. “You’ll do anything I ask you to?”
“By the gods, I swear I will.”
Rae gritted her teeth. “I want you to kill my step-dad.”
Criticism (constructive or otherwise) is welcome in the comments.
Did you enjoy this piece of flash fiction? Take a moment to share it on your favorite social network.
Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flash fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Monday, January 26, 2015
Flash Fiction: A Steam-Powered Rat out of Treasures
If you ever frequent my other blog, The Lonely Young Writer, you may have seen my post on generating ideas. In that post, I recommend using a random title generator such as this one, and then write for ten minutes using that title as the prompt for your story.
The result is, more or less, flash fiction.
I was feeling stuck yesterday, so I decided to loosen up the writing muscles a bit by doing this exercise. The title generator spit out this monstrosity of a story title: "A Steam-Powered Rat out of Treasures." I was a bit flummoxed at first, but highly intrigued. I ended up spending 25 minutes or so writing it, rather than just ten, but I think it was well worth it.
As the story is speculative in nature (it has steam-powered rats; of course it's speculative), and as I haven't posted anything here since November, I thought I would share it. Constructive criticism is encouraged and welcome.
"A Steam-Powered Rat out of Treasures"
© A.L.S. Vossler 2015
Pain is all it knows. It sits in its glass prison, waiting, watching, hoping that the water dish and food will be returned soon. Instead, the people pour water into the reservoir on its back and shut the lid.
It hates the thing on its back. The thing on its back makes it hot, makes steam, and makes the metal legs move. It misses its old legs, the legs it could feel with, the legs it could move by itself. But the metal legs whirr and click: whirr like the tiny rotary saw tied to its metal tail, click like the buttons on the controller that moves them. They reach in with big forceps and lift it out, checking to make sure the limbs work.
They say it cannot lose the fight this time. It is better than last time. They will surely win.
The fights are the worst. Others similar to it, some with extra legs and big, sharp metal ears, or their jaws replaced with powerful vises, are put into the circle. It is made to fight with the others – fight with the others, or it is hurt by the others: scratched, cut, bitten, stabbed. Fight or die.
They say that it is time for the fight. They put it in the smaller cage and carry it away.
All it wants is to hide in the soft nest it once had; a soft nest lined with tufts of polyester and old gum wrappers. A warm and comfortable nest, surrounded by abandoned tops and jacks, a shiny tab from a pop can, balls of paper, a doll’s head, an old plastic ring: a beautiful nest filled with beautiful treasures.
A big voice echoes as they bring it into the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the battle of your life: incumbent champion, The Big Cheese, faces the challenger, The Packrat! Will The Big Cheese’s reign of terror end, or will The Packrat be nothing but a smear of blood and fur on the floor?”
It hates the fights.
As always, constructive criticism is welcome in the comments.
If you enjoyed this piece of flash fiction, please take a moment to share it on your favorite social network.
Image credits: The image is a compound of "Silhouette Mouse Sitting," courtesy of Piotr Siedlecki at PublicDomainPictures.net, and "Steampunking It," courtesy of Randi Klugiewicz at PublicDomainPictures.net.
The result is, more or less, flash fiction.
I was feeling stuck yesterday, so I decided to loosen up the writing muscles a bit by doing this exercise. The title generator spit out this monstrosity of a story title: "A Steam-Powered Rat out of Treasures." I was a bit flummoxed at first, but highly intrigued. I ended up spending 25 minutes or so writing it, rather than just ten, but I think it was well worth it.
As the story is speculative in nature (it has steam-powered rats; of course it's speculative), and as I haven't posted anything here since November, I thought I would share it. Constructive criticism is encouraged and welcome.
© A.L.S. Vossler 2015
Pain is all it knows. It sits in its glass prison, waiting, watching, hoping that the water dish and food will be returned soon. Instead, the people pour water into the reservoir on its back and shut the lid.
It hates the thing on its back. The thing on its back makes it hot, makes steam, and makes the metal legs move. It misses its old legs, the legs it could feel with, the legs it could move by itself. But the metal legs whirr and click: whirr like the tiny rotary saw tied to its metal tail, click like the buttons on the controller that moves them. They reach in with big forceps and lift it out, checking to make sure the limbs work.
They say it cannot lose the fight this time. It is better than last time. They will surely win.
The fights are the worst. Others similar to it, some with extra legs and big, sharp metal ears, or their jaws replaced with powerful vises, are put into the circle. It is made to fight with the others – fight with the others, or it is hurt by the others: scratched, cut, bitten, stabbed. Fight or die.
They say that it is time for the fight. They put it in the smaller cage and carry it away.
All it wants is to hide in the soft nest it once had; a soft nest lined with tufts of polyester and old gum wrappers. A warm and comfortable nest, surrounded by abandoned tops and jacks, a shiny tab from a pop can, balls of paper, a doll’s head, an old plastic ring: a beautiful nest filled with beautiful treasures.
A big voice echoes as they bring it into the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the battle of your life: incumbent champion, The Big Cheese, faces the challenger, The Packrat! Will The Big Cheese’s reign of terror end, or will The Packrat be nothing but a smear of blood and fur on the floor?”
It hates the fights.
As always, constructive criticism is welcome in the comments.
If you enjoyed this piece of flash fiction, please take a moment to share it on your favorite social network.
Image credits: The image is a compound of "Silhouette Mouse Sitting," courtesy of Piotr Siedlecki at PublicDomainPictures.net, and "Steampunking It," courtesy of Randi Klugiewicz at PublicDomainPictures.net.
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