Saturday, August 8, 2015

Cracked Flash: Year 1, Week 7

We've had a #crackedflashfail this Saturday. We apologize for everyone who was up at midnight, waiting for the prompt to come through (if there were any, that is. Heh). 

Take a looksy through the full rules if you haven't already!

Judges This Week: Rin and Mars (Sie is packing)

Word count: 300 max

How: Submit your stories as a comment to this post, along with your name, word count, and title (and Twitter handle or blog if you've got 'em!). Only one entry per person.

Deadline: Due to our scatterbrains, we forgot to put up the prompt promptly. (*murdered for bad pun*) Therefore, the deadline has been extended to Sunday, 3 PM, PDT. Note that this is abnormal and will be for this week only. Still 24 hours to write, however!

Results announced: Next Wednesday!

Remember: The prompt can be mutilated, but not beyond recognition.


"Why do you have a pound of superglue--you know what? Never mind. I don't want to know."


  1. @OpheliaLeong
    Word Count: 297

    Neighborly Duties

    “Why do you have a pound of superglue--You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
    “Oh yes, you do,” she purred.
    “No, really, I’m fine. Let’s just finish up here, okay?”
    Elena took a good look at Matthew as he started to put together the bookshelves, watching his muscles stretch as he lifted the shelves and the vein in his neck pulse. Her tight dress shimmied over her curvy hips and cherry-red lips perfected her look. She knew she was devastating. No man should be able to refuse her charms. However, Matthew was proving harder to ensnare.
    The superglue sat in a large tupperware on the kitchen counter, innocuous and innocent. Elena glanced at it and prepared her paintbrush.
    “Is that wood bending under your will?” she asked, dragging out her words like caramel.
    Matthew didn’t even look up. “It’s just a bookshelf, Elena. Not too difficult. I should be done here pretty quickly.”
    “That’s too bad. I was going to make steak for dinner--tender and bloody.”
    Matthew turned around this time and looked at her. She grinned, unveiling her fangs.
    “Um, well, I’ve got dinner at home, so thanks anyway.”
    I wasn’t talking about dinner for you, Elena thought. The paintbrush was in her hands and as Matthew kneeled in front of the bookshelf, she dipped it into the superglue. Walking very quietly, like a bat stalking its prey, she surreptitiously wiped the paintbrush on the back of his shoes. Superglue dripped onto the floor like sap and Elena hid the paintbrush in the trashcan.
    About five minutes later, he started to stand up, but once his shoes hit the floor, the glue instantly took hold. Matthew was going nowhere and he knew it.
    “Now, be nice, dumpling, and show me that juicy neck.”

  2. Hypothetically Speaking
    298 words

    “Why would you… why would anyone… have a pound of superglue?” Gina demanded as she looked at a file than tossed it on the counter. “Never mind… I really don’t want to know…”

    “I do… Hell, I want to know why you’re asking.”

    Gina looked at her husband and shook her head, “Sorry…”

    “Ongoing case?”

    “Yeah,” Gina admitted with a nod. “Hypothetically speaking: if you had a suspect with a pound of superglue… what would you think?”

    “I’d think they were trying to get fingerprints… fumigation technique?”

    Gina thought about it for a minute, then admitted, “not what I’d expect but… plausible.”

    “Stocking a medical kit?”

    That suggestion made Gina frown. “Really? I thought the whole medical research accident was an urban legend.”

    “Urban legend yes, but it’s hellava effective on sealing wounds in an emergency…”

    “But a pound of it?”

    “They’re accident prone?”

    “Yeah… no,” Gina answered.

    “Kinky fun time?”

    Gina laughed at that one outright. “Somehow I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

    “Could be using it to apply fake nails.”

    When Gina gave him a speculative look, he added, “A lot of fake nails…”


    Gina tilted her head. “Come again?”

    “You gave me a ‘Hypothetical’ suspect. What is he suspected of?”

    “Drug smuggling…”

    “You could glue a lot of stuff to something with a pound of superglue… plastics to metal? Metal to metal with a space in between?”

    Gina smiled.

    “You have to go back to work now don’t you?”

    “Yeah,” she said kissing him deeply. “But you’re helleva helpful… except for the kinky fun time.”


    She smiled. “I’ll think of something.”

    Her husband gave her a look that told her he was definitely interested as she headed out the door.

    “You owe me!” he reminded her.

    "Put it on my tab."

    1. Very fun story! I like how you had the characters try to think of why someone would need a pound of superglue! Great job! :)

  3. Josh Bertetta
    "A Sticky Situation"
    299 Words

    “Why do you have a pound of superglue—you know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know…I’ll just trump it up to another one of your idiosyncrasies.” She smiled, and tucked her hair behind her good ear, leaving her thick auburn locks covering the other.

    He asked her if she’d like a drink; she accepted.

    They sat across from one another, the tub of superglue on the mahogany coffee table, and sipped the brandy in silence. He stared into her large round eyes, then let his own admire the perfect symmetry of her face. A paragon of beauty.

    “Can I use your restroom?”

    “Of course. Shall I help you?”

    “Thank you, but I think I can manage.” She propped herself up on her cane, and hobbled toward the hallway. “Third door on the left, right?”

    “That’s right.”

    He refilled her drink, and waited, musing over the work to be done—his greatest work, his magnum opus .

    Upon her return, she thanked him for refilling her drink, sat, and together they shared hopes and dreams and thoughts on life. She liked him, and she knew he knew it; he loved her and he knew she knew it.

    He didn’t care about her deformed ear, her abnormal arm, or club foot. He loved her for who she was. But she neither loved herself nor believed her worthy of love.

    She took a big sip of brandy, set the tumbler down, and yawned big and heavy. Her perfect cheeks flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I—I—”

    Her eyelids grew heavy; she eked out an embarrassed smile, and passed out.

    He cradled her in his arms, brushed back her hair, and kissed her forehead; he bent at the knee and picked up the bottle of “Dr. Frankenstein’s Medical Grade Biotic Super Glue.”