Flash Fiction Challenge: X Meets Y

For today’s post, what follows after the jump is entirely original fiction. Please refer to the Creative Commons licensing and do not share, repost, quote, or excerpt without obtaining permission and providing appropriate attribution. Thank you. 

This idea came from fiction powerhouse Chuck Wending over at TerribleMinds. Check out his Flash Fiction Challenge and toss your own hat in the ring. Leave me a link if you decide to participate!

(Bonus points if you can guess which two properties I had to work with for this. Bonus Bonus points if you know where I got the title.)

“Terror in The Bang”

You wake up at the same time you do every morning. 7:34. Such a stupid time, it’s not even a round number. 7:35. Eh. You decide to roll out of bed, but not before grabbing your phone and scrolling through your feed. Glance at the date. May 23. Scroll, scroll, scroll, wait. May 23?

You look back at the date on your phone. May 23. Can’t be right. May 23, it was May 23 yesterday, you realize. You look back at your feed. These stories all look familiar. Swipe, swipe, swipe. These, too. You restart your phone and toss it on the bed. Might as well get breakfast, nothing to see here.

Head downstairs, feet chilly from the tile in the kitchen. You click the TV on as you pour some cereal. Ah, Saturdays. The news is on. Wait, why is the —

“Breaking news coming to us now from–”

A reporter is shouting at you. Your stomach sinks a little as you slowly think you might know what she’s about to say.

“–family of four were brutally murdered in their home last night. Police say–”

You’ve seen this. They can’t find the guy. Girl? No motives, no suspects. In so many words they say the scene is like someone dropped four hacked up bodies in the middle of an otherwise peaceful scene.

You’re not hungry anymore. Who would be? Raspberry shredded wheat was a bad choice, in retrospect.

But how could you have known, anyway? That poor family.

You decide to skip breakfast and head to the bathroom. You start the water for a shower, take your clothes off and look at yourself in the mirror for a bit while the water warms. Not bad. Some people might criticize, but you like it okay.

Push back the curtains and slide in and that’s when you realize there’s someone pressed behind the door. You don’t remember much after that except the light glinting off the blade and the sound of someone — oh that’s you — screaming.

#

You wake up at the same time you do every morning. 7:34. Such a stupid time, it’s not even a round number. 7:35. Eh. You decide to roll out of bed, but not before grabbing your phone and scrolling through your feed. Glance at the date. May 23. Scroll, scroll, scroll, wait. May 23?

You look back at the date on your phone. May 23. Your blood runs cold. You’re starting to remember. That’s good. That’s very good.

You close the app and slide your phone into your pajama pockets. Might as well get breakfast, nothing to see here.

Head downstairs, feet chilly from the tile in the kitchen. You click the TV on as you pour some cereal. Ah, Saturdays. The news is on. Of course it is.

“Breaking news coming to us now from–”

A reporter is shouting at you. Your stomach sinks a little as you slowly realize what’s happening. You’re on your own already. It’s all up to you now, good night, and good luck.

“–family of four were brutally murdered in their home last night. Police say–”

You’ve seen this. They can’t find the guy. Girl? No motives, no suspects. In so many words they say the scene is like someone dropped four hacked up bodies in the middle of an otherwise peaceful scene.

You’re not hungry anymore. Who would be? Raspberry shredded wheat was a bad choice, in retrospect.

Retrospect. How could you have forgotten this already?

Wait. Why should you have remembered?

You frown into your bowl and pour the dregs into the sink disposal. Last night’s dreams must have been a bitch. A hot shower might just do the trick, so you head for your bathroom. You start the water for a shower, take your clothes off and look at yourself in the mirror for a bit while the water warms. Not bad. Some people might criticize, but you like it okay.

Push back the curtains and slide in and that’s when you realize there’s someone pressed behind the door. You don’t remember much after that except the light glinting off the blade and the sound of someone — oh that’s you — screaming. Funny last words you chose: “No, please, not again.”

#

You wake up at the same time you do every morning. 7:34. Such a stupid time, it’s not even a round number. 7:35. Eh. You decide to roll out of bed, but not before grabbing your phone and scrolling through your feed. Glance at the date. May 23. Scroll, scroll, scroll, wait. May 23?

Your blood runs cold. Oh, it only took you twice this time.

You close the app and slide your phone into your pajama pockets. You debate on calling the cops now, but realize you aren’t supposed to know about the murders yet. You look for something to hint at another presence in the house, but there’s nothing. Might as well get breakfast, then.

Head downstairs, feet chilly from the tile in the kitchen. You click the TV on as you heat up some oatmeal. Ah, Saturdays. The news is on. Of course it is.

“Breaking news coming to us now from–”

A reporter is shouting at you. Your stomach sinks a little as you slowly realize what you have to do. You’re on your own already. It’s all up to you now, good night, and good luck.

“–family of four were brutally murdered in their home last night. Police say–”

You’ve seen this. They can’t find the guy. It’s definitely a guy. No motives, no suspects. Not yet. Because they don’t know about the guy behind your bathroom door.

You’re not hungry anymore. Who would be? You’ve got a life-or-death battle right around the corner.

You push the oatmeal into the sink. You wonder if he knows what you’re doing right now; if he remembers yesterday that was also today, if he knows that you’re supposed to be walking down the hall right now.

You chance it.

With a quick glance up the hall to make sure no shadows shift, you slink across the kitchen — careful, that spot squeaks — and find your dad’s old flashlight. It’s almost two feet long, solid metal, probably weighs five pounds. It would settle nicely into the softest parts of a person’s head, you think.

You head for your bathroom. Start the water for a shower, take your clothes off, but this time you pile them on the vanity, cover the flashlight with your pants and make sure you can find your phone. You’ve even got 4G. You look at yourself in the mirror for a bit while the water warms. In the mirror you see movement — not much, not even enough to convince yourself it happened — and you know you’re not alone. You’re right. This has happened before. You don’t know why this is happening to you, but you know for damn sure it’s going to stop. Take a deep breath.

Instead of pushing back the shower curtain, you slam your body against the bathroom door and you meet resistance. You hear the flood of breath from a body and you know you have the upper hand. Grab the flashlight, throw the door open and before the sun has time to glint off the blade, you’ve brought the light down across the forehead of the blood-covered man standing there, cursing with what little breath he has left. Bring it down again and it meets his skull with a sound you won’t admit is a little satisfying.

You reach behind you — don’t turn around, keep your eyes on the body — and fumble for your cell phone. Still got a signal. You dial 911 and when you hear the sirens, you’re standing over his body like a protective mother bear and you’re scrolling through your feed, reading stories you’ve never seen before.

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “Flash Fiction Challenge: X Meets Y

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s