Just Go With It

“So you think you can do it?”

I stare at the giant gray mass in front of me. It stomps around, turning anything unlucky enough to be caught in its path into a pile of mush. With the sound of a trumpet, its jaws widen and I cringe at the sight of its rough, yellow teeth.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to give this… this giant, mud-crusted creature a dental checkup?”

“That’s right.”

I sigh, trying not to flinch as the elephant’s leathery trunk wraps around my midsection.

“Alright, fine. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

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*Note: I know, this is so random. Don’t question it. The prompt was to write something based on the idiom “fish out of water,” which basically means to write about something or someone that’s out of its element.

And this ended up being what I wrote.

Yeah… Enjoy!

My writing belongs to me. All writing under the category “Fiction by Me” is mine. Use of my writing without my permission is prohibited. If you wish to use any my work for any reason, ask me for permission first

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Phobia

 

Everything is calm, peaceful, serene. Words are swimming through the space and creating images, the images morphing into various thoughts and imaginings. Emotions are flowing free, but one emotion lies at the center of the expanse: serenity.

Then the sound shatters the calm. It’s an instant trigger, the noise distinct and recognizable. It’s a signal for danger, trouble, and possible death. The reaction must be immediate to prepare for the highly possible worst-case scenario.

A warning must be sent out to the others. The lungs must know so they can breathe faster. The heart must know so it can beat quicker. The muscles must know so the body can take shelter. All nonessential systems must know so they can shut down and let the rest focus.

The warning is sent and they’re ready in seconds. Something is trying to process options, but it soon shuts down with the dying cry of one word: fear. Everything is in place to respond accordingly.

New words tear through the space in a cyclone of emotions. Warning. Danger. Hide. Fear. Death. Desperation. Trouble. Fear.

Agony.

Panic.

Run.

Twister.

Fear.

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*Note: This was based on a prompt about fear, and I decided to write it for my phobia of tornadoes. It’s written as the brain’s response. I did double check my understanding of fear for this, so it is factually correct according to my understanding.

It’s also factually correct according to real life experience.

My writing belongs to me. All writing under the category “Fiction by Me” is mine. Use of my writing without my permission is prohibited. If you wish to use any my work for any reason, ask me for permission first.

Secrets

 

I stare at the letter on the counter a moment more before rushing outside and looking up. My hands fly to my mouth and tears fill my eyes. I whip out my phone and dial the number I know so well as quickly as I can.

It only takes two rings before he picks up. “Oh my gosh, Charlie! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! I will marry you! Oh, I must be the luckiest woman in the world! You are just so romantic!”

There’s a pause. Then, “Hello, this is Natalie Hopkins, Charlie Marke’s girlfiend. I think we need to talk.”

For a moment, I’m frozen, my wide eyes staring unseeing at the words written in the sky, my mouth gaping without my consent. But then my jaw snaps shut and my eyes narrow.

“Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

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*Note: Yet another flash fiction I’ve written, this one based on a skywriting prompt. Skywriting is basically just when people fly a plane in a pattern while trailing smoke-cloud-stuff behind them to write words. It’s usually used for bigger events and occasions.

For example, skywriting might be used for a marriage proposal.

That’s partially where the inspiration for this comes from. The other part comes from the song that was stuck in my head when I wrote this: “Two Black Cadillacs” by Carrie Underwood.

I admit it could have been better, but I don’t think it’s too bad.

My writing belongs to me. All writing under the category “Fiction by Me” is mine. Use of my writing without my permission is prohibited. If you wish to use any my work for any reason, ask me for permission first.

Feverish Thoughts

There’s a piano sitting on my chest, and someone won’t stop playing it.

It hurts. It hurts a lot. The pressure alone is bad enough, but whoever is playing the piano keeps playing the same note again and again in an incessant rhythm. With each note, my chest flares up in a deeper pain, a burning pain. At first, I prayed that I wouldn’t burn alive. Now, I wish I would with all my heart. At least it would end my suffering.

Distantly, I feel something cool press against my lips and pour into my mouth. I swallow greedily, hoping that it might at least quench the terrible flames. But the liquid is rough as it rushes down my throat and it only serves to fuel the fire.

I try to cough it out, but I must be underwater because there’s no air. Yet how can I be underwater? Water kills flames, and surely no sane person would be playing a piano underwater.

But the piano player’s rhythm is slowing. The flaring pain that rises with each beat is growing distant, as if moving through water. Perhaps I am underwater, then.

As the flames slowly disappear and the piano rises from my chest, I confirm that this must be the case. And as the rhythm slows down to a complete stop, I let myself drift away in silent gratitude.

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*Note: Here’s my second attempt at Flash Fiction, based on the following prompt from HubPages:

Use the following words in a story: water, rough, distant.

I’m not really sure how this happened. It kind of just… Did. It’s a bit dark if you understand the imagery, so be warned.

The inspiration came from pneumonia.

My writing belongs to me. All writing under the category “Fiction by Me” is mine. Use of my writing without my permission is prohibited. If you wish to use any my work for any reason, ask me for permission first.

 

Two Evils

My brother used to tell me that I was being over-dramatic, that my hurting wasn’t legitimate, that I was faking it all for attention. He repeated it like a mantra. I tried to convince myself that what he said was true, but a part of me always knew it wasn’t.

Now, as I sit on the hard, unforgiving bed in the middle of that awful white room, my brother remains silent where he sits next to me. At this point, we already know that it isn’t asthma. It can’t be. Asthma doesn’t wake you up in the middle of the night screaming. Asthma doesn’t feel like an elephant sitting on your chest.

The door creaks open with a hollow sound, and I watch as the doctor enters my room, followed by my weeping mother and emotionless father.

I wish it was just asthma.

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*Note: First off, Flash Fiction is basically a really short story that can vary in length, but never goes more than 1000 words. You may better know it by the names Micro Fiction or Short Short Fiction. This is my first attempt at Flash Fiction, and it’s based on this prompt from HubPages:

Write down the first word (or name) that comes to mind when you think each of the following letters: P L M E A. Write a scene or story that uses all five of the words/names you chose.

The first words I thought of were: Plasma, Legitimate, Mantra, Elephant, and Asthma.

My writing belongs to me. All writing under the category “Fiction by Me” is mine. Use of my writing without my permission is prohibited. If you wish to use any my work for any reason, ask me for permission first.