Saturday, May 7, 2016

Cracked Flash: Year 1, Week 40!


I was going to put a picture from Google Deep Dream there but got freaked out so you get pretty space! Be glad.

WELCOME! To Week 40 (!) of the esteemed Cracked Flash Fiction Contest! I should warn y'all I had roughly 4 hours sleep and therefore am dancing on the line between insanity and sanity. A perfect state of mind to cut the ribbons to CFFC #40!

You have but one task here, agents: To write 300 words before the deadline. Well, and follow the rules we've helpfully linked below but DETAILS. Are you up to it? Can YOU rise to this week's challenge?

This week you find the prompt within a black cloak. It smells faintly coppery, like old blood. It's written in a code only you can decipher. You get the sense that a lot of money changed hands to get this prompt where it needed to be.

There's only you, and the prompt. Can you assassinate THIS challenge?

(Yes, everyone knows Si's jumping up and down because ASSASSIN PROMPT hushhhhh)

Beware the Rules that Lurk

Judge This Week: Si

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!). One entry per person.

Deadline: Midnight tonight, PDT!

Results announced: Next Wednesday afternoon.

Remember: Your entry must begin with the prompt! The prompt can be mutilated, but not beyond recognition. (Pictures do not need to be incorporated into your stories, they're for inspiration (and sometimes our amusement)).

That was the dumbest assassin she'd ever seen.




  1. Unauthorised Assassination
    By Daisy Warwick
    300 Words

    “That was the dumbest assassin she’d ever seen. What else could Officer Anabub have done? It’s one thing to disguise yourself to get near to the president, but it’s stupid to disguise yourself as something that doesn’t even exist on that planet. Captain, I believe Officer Anabub acted accordingly by assassinating the other assassin,” explained Lieutenant Fribble.

    Captain Buskle turned all of his eight magenta-coloured eyestalks to peer down on the Lieutenant.

    “Lieutenant, that dumb assassin you refer to was the granddaughter of one of our Elders. I believe that she accidentally navigated to Earth during a wayward bachelorette party and that her intention was not to assassinate anybody.”


    “Why couldn’t Officer Anabub think of something less ridiculous to shape-shift into?”

    “It was a tactical ploy, Captain,” replied Fribble. A nervous musky odour began to dribble out of his face gills.

    Captain Buskle’s eyestalks grew upwards another few inches and he glared at the Lieutenant.


    “Humans all know that elephants are afraid of mice, so it seemed logical that an elephant would react and sit on the creature,” said Fribble.

    “I thought you said she hadn’t changed into an Earth creature?”

    “Yes and no. Maybe the alcohol interfered with her knowledge of Earth creatures. She resembled a mouse with the tail and the ears, but according to Officer Anabub, she had four heads and was the size of a badger,” explained Fribble.

    “So, you believe the sudden appearance of a frantic elephant at a presidential speech was preferable to a mutated mouse?” asked the Captain, his eyes turning a darker shade of red.


    “And how exactly did the officer imagine a marginally over-sized and disfigured rodent would assassinate anybody?”


    Suddenly shape-shifting into a giant mouse, Captain Buskle towered over Fribble and hissed,

    “Send in Officer Anabub.”

  2. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

  3. Juice by Jeff Rowlands
    298 words

    That was the dumbest assassin she’d ever seen. An irritating day to start with, not accomplishing half of what she had hoped. Gave up, headed home early.
    Her ears reacted with alarm as she headed up the stairs to her apartment. Her refuge. Music blasted out, she would not have left it on, never listened in the mornings.

    She opened the door to the sound of sizzling fat, a familiar back in her kitchen area, recognition confirmed when he turned towards her.

    -He sent me to get what he is owed.

    She said nothing, felt for the reassurance of steel.

    He had a full glass of her chilled juice in his hand, the cheek irked her but she stayed calm.

    -He said if I did not get what was owed, you knew the consequences

    - I haven’t got it

    -So what do you propose?

    She started to feel in her jacket, gripping metal but he raised his hand.

    -No need for that, I am kinder than him, twenty four hours to vanish or repay your debts. I am doing you a big favour here. Getting softer than I was in my younger days. He shook his head wearily, a tired smile on his lips.

    She jerked her head towards the door almost smirking at his weakness. She should have protected her reputation immediately but she could do without mess. Tomorrow was another story, she would be ready, waiting.

    He put the glass down untouched, left. He slammed the door, trod heavily down the stairs, she picked up the juice, took greedy swigs, relaxing as the cold liquid hit her throat.

    Suddenly overwhelmingly tired, she felt a migraine coming on. Lay on her sofa. Staying awake not so appealing. She closed her eyes, waited for sleep to overwhelm her.

  4. My brain is a little fried from grading finals...

    Flying mouse-squirrel-bird Thing
    by Sara Codair (298 words)

    “The princess claims it was the dumbest assassin she'd ever seen, but I find it quite brilliant.”

    I had no clue how Marcy had managed to keep a straight face. When I saw the flying mouse-squirrel-bird thing dive bomb the princess, I just double over laughing so hard I pissed my pants.

    “And you are the dumbest bodyguard,” she continued. “It may have looked ridiculous, but its claws were sharp enough to pierce through skin and puncture an artery. Thankfully, it was dumber than you.”

    I wanted to respond with something witty, but I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. Of course, Marcy hadn’t even cracked a smile. While I was laughing, she gallantly tacked the princess out of the assassin’s way and crushed the doomed creature under her black combat boot.

    “Gather your wits. We have an investigation to conduct!”

    When I failed to gather my wits, Marcy’s steel-toed boot slammed into my gut. Now I had a more serious reason to gasp for air. She watched, stone-faced, while I forced my oxygen deprived body into standing position.

    “Alright, I admit it, I screwed up.” I finally managed a few steady breaths. “It’s pretty obvious who is behind this. The Gene Guild was furious when the Princess refused to remove the ban on cloning.”

    “But we can’t prosecute a whole organization. It could have been one member acting alone.”

    I stared at the now flattened genetic mashup. “That really was the dumbest assassin. He left his name on the murder weapon.”

    “Indeed, it appears he did.” A true smile cracked across Marcy’s boulder-like face as she stared at the initials branded onto the creatures ruptured gut. “I guess we’ll be paying Dr. Horrible a visit.”

    Grimacing, I prayed I didn’t die laughing in the mad scientist’s lab.

  5. Petulant Days

    That was the dumbest assassin she'd ever seen. But then again, you need the right tools and all he has are his claws and his wits. And both are duller than a wheelbarrow of rocks.

    “Hey Schnooky,” I yell out, “If you’re gonna try and scratch the old bugger to death, you might want to go for the jugular. Not his bleedin’ ankuler.”

    Schnooks gives me that I-dunno feline shoulder shrug that does little to promote the notion that we are a superior species.

    But back to the matter at hand. Albert the Hammer Heimer gives a quick lazy boot to Schnooky the Puss who skedaddles under the dining room table.

    Al the Hammer keeps shaking his assaulted leg as if Schnooky was still hanging on.

    I barely recognize Al these days. And he, for sure, seems to have forgotten what cute, adorable cats Schnooky and I once were. It wasn’t that long ago that humans came over to Al’s, partied on, had a rare old time. Al was the greatest host even if we had to be on our toes from all the fondling and big fat feet that seemed to find our tails no matter where we were hiding. Well, where I was hiding. Old Schnooky never did have the wherewithal to stay out of their way.

    Anyway, that was then. It's new hard times now. Al just wanders around the house like a zombie these days. He’s run out of kibbles. All we have to drink is toilet water which is sometimes not flushed. Yuck! And don’t get me started on the litter box. It’s been out of commission, if you get my drift, for over a week.

    Our choices are limited. Aside from an occasional mouse, there is only one possible food source left.

    Sorry, Al.

    300 desperate food sources

  6. Cat-ssassin
    WC 228

    That was the dumbest assassin she’d ever seen.

    I crawled silently across the snowy terrain with my sniper rifle in tow. I heard my target and halted. There she was, looking almost innocent as she foraged for food. My presence unknown, she let her guard down and advanced into the clearing. Now was my chance. I aimed for her head. This villainous traitor would not escape punishment.

    Before entering the clearing, she was well aware of the would-be assassin’s location. He had been tracking her from upwind and neglected to take into account her allies.

    I wondered for a moment if I should make this execution swift, or if I would find it more satisfying to toy with her before ending this betrayer.

    In my hesitation, I left myself vulnerable. A barrage of acorns dropping like missiles followed loud squawking accompanied by frantic wing flaps to my head. I dropped my rifle and scrambled back into the cover of the forest.

    I calmed my breathing and peeked out from under a fallen tree to see the winged co-conspirators high-five her furry little mouse paw. I hissed, and my ears twitched uncontrollably. I growled and cursed them loudly.

    “I will get you yet, rodent! Your fowl friends won’t always be here to protect you.”

    “Arrogant feline!” She shouted. “When will you accept that you cannot win this cat-and-mouse game?”

    Leara Morris-Clark

  7. Chief Witness
    by Stephen Shirres (@The_Red_Fleece)
    Word Count = 298

    That was the dumbest assassin she'd ever seen and Samantha Bogert had seen a lot. The assassination was so bad she knew who the killer was right away. She took a cigarette from the crumpled packet in her trench coat to settle her nerves. The wind killed her lighter twice in as many seconds.
    "Got what you need?" Ray, a copper more doughnut than competence, asked.
    "Aye." Sam took a last look at her former client. Poor Philip, he liked women more than his wife but nothing more.
    "Well the Chief wants you gone."
    "I'll make sure he dismisses me himself." Sam left Ray to his next doughnut. The Chief sat in his posh sport car. Tonight it had her top on. The passenger seat empty though. She stamped out her fag on the rough concrete and got in.
    "I want you gone." The Chief snarled.
    “And I want money.” Sam said as if it was obvious.
    “And why should I give you it?” Still snarling.
    Sam held out a gloved hand. The ring finger held a silver signet ring in place on her palm. The Chief went the same colour as the metal. “You already know where I found it.”
    The Chief nodded. “How much?”
    “Two thousand should cover what I've had made out of Philip's dirty photos. A bit heartless to charge his wife now don't you think.”
    Another dumb nod. Sam was more interested in the cheque the Chief was writing out. With a tear, it was in her hands. “Why?”
    “He was sleeping with my wife.” There was nothing more to say. Out of the car Sam made her way back to Philip. She knelt down for a final goodbye and returned the ring to where she had found it.

  8. Customer Service
    By T. O. Davis
    Word Count: 274

    “That was the dumbest assassin I'd ever seen,” he said.

    “Sir, we can give you a credit?”

    “I wanted him dead, not a credit, and your man thinks he can do that with a little free bird seed and iron fillings? You tell Mr. Coyote,”

    “Dr. Coyote, sir.”

    “I give a damn. You tell your people to get the bird, or I’m going to sue you folks into the Stone Age.”

    “Sir, may I call you, Charles? I understand, and at ACME, Inc. we are all about red carpet service. How about we upgrade your membership for 30 days; it is wabbit season.”

    “I thought it was duck season?”

    “I apologize for that Charles, but it was a misprint in our fall catalog.”

    “Well, it still doesn’t get rid of that bird, and all that junk is piling up, which I can’t explain to the neighbors why there are used rockets and giant slingshots all over my backyard and characters coming to my door at all hours.”

    “That’s completely understandable, Charles, but at ACME, Inc, we have plenty of capable assassins who specialize in avian elimination methods, and if you act now we can get you started with a free trial of our Premier Package. After 30 days it ends up only being an extra fifty dollars a month.”

    “You aren’t going to send that cat, again, are you?”

    “He is one of our more successful agents.”

    “And the junk?”

    “We’ll send someone out, Charles. I’ll put in the call after I’m done plugging in your information. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

    “Just make sure you get that bird.”