Saturday, September 26, 2015

Cracked Flash: Year 1, Week 14

Yes, that is a squirrel and a mole on a Stetson on a swimming cap on a woman's head.
Squirrel: Yesss, everything is going according to plan . . . *maniacal wringing of the hands*
Just look at that squirrel.
@nationwrites put in a request for an odd prompt this week, so I tried really hard to find one. Your stories will reflect if I did a good job or not, I bet. XD 

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

Judges This Week: Si and Mars

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: Midnight tonight, PDT!

Results announced: Next Wednesday!

Remember: The prompt can be mutilated, but not beyond recognition. (You also do not have to include the photo prompt(s). They just amuse us.)


He put his hand back on the window, the yellow eyes wide open on his palm.

Are my pictures weird enough too? Anyways, we definitely look forward to your stories! :D


  1. Happy Ever After

    267 words

    He put his hand back on the window, the yellow eyes wide open on his palm. He spread his fingers, imagining how it would feel to clasp the small feline skull, twist it, crush it until it became nothing.

    “Daddy, Daddy.”

    He dropped his hand, brushed the top of his daughter’s head. So small, so fragile.

    “Let kitty in,” she demanded.

    “Sorry.” He smiled down at her. “Kitty has to stay out at night. You know the rules.”

    Annie pouted and folded her arms, annoyed at not getting her own way. Just like her mother.

    “Come on now, time for bed.” He scooped her up, felt the bird-like flutter of her heart against his chest.

    “Can’t I have a story?” she pleaded as he tucked her in.

    “Not tonight, kiddo,” he said. “Daddy’s got too much to do. But tomorrow night I’ll have a new story for you … I promise.”

    “A story with a wicked witch?”

    He laughed. “Yes, there’s a witch.”

    “And a beautiful princess?”

    “Yes, and a beautiful princess.”

    “And a king to kill the witch?”

    He bent down and kissed her forehead. “And a king to kill the witch.”

    He turned out the light and made his way down the stairs, his crown weightless, his bearing regal. He returned to the window, watched as yellow headlights swung into the drive.

    The witch was back.

    He pressed his hand against the glass; covered her approaching face, felt the cold fragility beneath his fingers.

    Write about what you know they said.

    Advice he intended to follow. He adjusted his crown and went to the door.

  2. @GeoffHolme
    Word Count: 28

    mama, we're all crazy now

    he put his hand back on the window pane
    the yellow eyes wide open on his palm
    this dada poem makes me sound insane
    a dictionary fragmentation bomb

  3. Sand Art
    He put his hand back on the window, the yellow eyes wide open on his palm. The glass felt cool and Hugo rested his aching forehead there too. It had been a great day but he was hot and tired from hours sculpting in the hot sun. He was proud of his spiders and thrilled to have collected so much money. It meant he could book this room for the night. Cool white sheets and plump pillows. Sausages and egg for breakfast.
    He wasn’t sure he’d sleep though. Those yellow eyes with flecks of red and gold were beginning to worry him. His arm was trembling and his skin felt as if it was crawling with sand spiders. Not again.
    Folk still asked Hugo why he stopped doing tigers. He wasn’t completely stupid. Life on the road and being an artist was much harder with only the one arm and it would be impossible with none. He hoped the spiders would leave him soon and scuttle off into the night. That had happened with the tortoises. They had plodded off. And the shoal of tiny fish. He’d had to get in the bath so they could escape down the plug hole. He lay down on the bed and waited. It was best to keep as still as possible.
    Creating his art was hard work and often extremely painful but he had to do it. And of course there was a woman at the centre of today’s piece. He should have thought of it years ago. Worth a go. What’s the worst that could happen? Hugo kicked his boots off. The yellow eyes blinked at him. He wondered what was keeping his sand woman. He was ready for her.

    288 Words


  4. 282 reflections

    The Man Trapped Inside Himself

    He put his hand back on the window,
    the yellow eyes wide open on his palm.
    He stared straight out through the chilled glass
    So quiet, so still, so carefully calm.
    “Stare at me my yellow-eyed palm,”
    he said, “Stare at the blood red moon.
    Glimpse, if you can, the passing parade,
    The lonely, the lost and quite out of tune.”
    “It doesn’t help that I wear a hat,” he said
    that’s home to a neurotic squirrel,”
    “who cracks its nuts and yodels a lot
    not to mention the baton that it twirls.”

    He put his hand back on the window,
    the yellow eyes wide open on his palm.
    He stared straight out through the chilled glass
    So quiet, so still, so carefully calm.
    “So I moved to a giant coconut,
    A good location near a school and a park.
    But the streets were infested with spiders
    Giant arachnids that overwhelmed the dark.
    So I bundled up my worldly goods
    And moved much closer to the sea.
    Alas the waves were fierce and freezing,
    and they made a pneumonia monkey out of me.”

    He put his hand back on the window,
    the yellow eyes wide open on his palm.
    He stared straight through the chilled glass,
    so quiet, so still, so carefully calm.
    “I tried, I really tried, to belong,
    to be a part of the country of men.
    But something was twisted inside my heart,
    Was bent out of shape, and unable to mend.
    I was doomed to put my soul on the window,
    my yellow eyes wide open on my palm.
    I stare straight out the chilled glass
    With no cure, no comfort, and no balm.”

  5. @firdausp
    (290 words)

    The window

    He put his hand back on the windowpane, its coolness seeping into his palm, providing relief from the raging fever. He watched the yellow streaks of light as vehicles whizzed past the front door. Eyes wide open now, he felt the condensed water on his palm. Then he gripped the iron bars running across the window. They were solid and cold. Too strong for his little hands.
    It had been raining all night. He'd been up early and was at the window for hours it seemed. He hadn't moved an inch. Spiders could have woven their web between his feet for all he knew.
    He wanted to go to the washroom urgently but he didn't dare move fearing he'd miss her.
    How long had he been here, in this attic, he had no idea. Long enough to have succumbed to his fate of loneliness and abuse.
    He saw the front door of the house across the street open. She stepped out, looking up at the sky and then her watch. He quickly blew into the windowpane and wrote 'HELP'.
    "Look up, look up," he prayed silently.
    He'd been doing that for the past few days. Hoping—waiting.
    "You're in so much trouble," he heard his step father whisper menacingly from behind.
    Warm liquid ran down his legs as he was yanked from the window and thrown against the wall, before he blacked out.
    Someone was shaking him gently, calling his name. Opening his eyes he saw the lady and smiled. It felt strange to smile.
    "You have hair like my mother's," he touched her hair.
    "Where is she,sweety?"
    My stepfather was on his knees and a policeman was towering over him.
    "In the backyard, under the apple tree."

  6. SORRY I missed the deadline, birthday hangovers are deadly! I'm going to post anyway because I loved the prompt and had an idea for it. It's a bit rushed because I've been awake for about half an hour, but here it is anyway.

    Paul Nation @nationwrites

    Blue and Yellow

    He put his hand back on the window, the yellow eyes wide open on his palm.
    "Meat-life signals growing louder, distance two sun circles," his mouth-chest sang into the echoing cockpit.
    "Visually speaking they are beautiful, but crude, will they welcome us?" His wife was sitting next to him with both palms up, doubt fogging the air around her.
    "Of course they will, my love. They invited us to see them and to dance." He sang a heart-song to calm her, the rhythm of his blood soothing her until a smile split her torso into joyous continents. The blue pinpoint on the window grew larger with every passing second, and the song grew louder with it. She was calm enough to sleep, then. She snored through every hole in her body and the doubt washed away and left the air pink and sensual.
    The console blinked and gently squealed, a signal was being received through the scanners, a message sent by the meat-life of the blue planet. He turned to his wife, still sleeping. He read the dots and lines and saw love in them.
    Smiling, he replied with his own dispatch of seductive screams and whistles. He waited for a while, and when no reply came he closed his fists and began a meditating song through tightly pursed chest-lips.
    His wife woke up before he did, just in time to see the blue become yellow and black as fire gave birth to fire across its entire surface.