Friday, January 6, 2017

Cracked Flash: Year 2, Week 21

Welcome to the start of the new year, everybody! A lot of 2016 legit sucked for a lot of people, but hopefully we can make 2017 amazing. 

On that note, we are still looking for another once-a-month judge on the team, or a handful of guest judges. Other than participating in the competition a few times, there are no prerequisites to being a judge here -- if you're interested, email us at!

Also, check out this Twitter Poll--it'll be open for roughly seven days. We're considering moving to Wordpress, but want some more input!

Have some rules c:

Judge This Week: 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!). 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 amusement).)


"You're one of them now," she whispered.

Please enjoy this carefully-curated selection of gifs


  1. Snowbirding

    “You’re one of them now,” she whispered and then added, “Whatever they are, that’s your future.”

    I looked over at my new seatmate. Fiftyish, flaming red hair, fashionable sombrero, knockoff Lugano diamonds sunglasses, (and there I went again, making assumptions about how artificial, middle-aged cougars from Calgary could be about their accessories,) all at the ready even though the lights in the cabin were still blazing away in boarding excess.

    I’d given her an opening. As she’d plunked her hourglass presence down in the seat next to me, I’d indiscreetly muttered, “Say goodbye to intelligent life.”

    Finally, the latest hoard was settled, seatbelts locked in, posteriors fidgeting in full bloom, engines revved, Cancun waiting.

    As we taxied out on the runway, she planted her right hand on my left.I looked over. It wasn’t so much a grin she was flashing as a greenish smirk.

    “Fly much?”

    “Too much,” she said.

    “Most planes do get off the ground.” I offered.

    “I’m not usually this nervous. I fly a lot in my job. But this…this going on vacation, I rarely do it.”

    “And God is going to punish you for taking a flight for pleasure?”

    She pondered this. “Really, when you think about who are the most useless people in the world at any given moment, well, it's not a stretch to determine that its holidaymakers escaping the cold to drunkenly frolic in the third world. If we do make it to ground, there will be two solid weeks of stupidity. Sun, sand and stupidity.”

    I regretted my half-baked cynicism. She needed some serious lightening up. I freed my hand, placed it on top of hers, reworked an old standard. “We’ll be fine. All I want is little more smart conversation.”

    She visibly relaxed.

    Elvis had worked his magic once again.

    300 days of vacation

  2. 298 words


    "You're one of them now," she whispered and stepped back an arm's length-- in case it was contagious. "Father's going to kill you. No. He's going to kill me for letting you, as if it's my fault Renae can't keep her hands to herself."
    Renae felt like a plucked bowstring, but she determined to be brave. Awe dawned on her sister's face as Renae's skin took on the cerulean color, the same as the forbidden runes. Even if she wanted to, Renae couldn't let go. Once touched, the stones held you until they were finished with you.
    Ever since Father forbade touching the stones, Renae meant to disobey. A dream shadow assured her that Father was being arbitrary, trying as adults do, to suck the joy out of life.
    "Your eyes!" gasped her sister, "They're changing."
    "I know... I can barely see." Maybe this was a bad idea after all thought Renae.
    Carla screamed.
    "What's wrong?" Renae reached for her sister, but her arms found only empty air. And how heavy were her limbs!
    The sound of running footfalls died away. So did the light. Renae still held the burning rocks. Or they held her.
    Time passed. Carla did not return. By now Renae's back had bowed into the usual arch and her hands had entered the earth, the way a gardener plunges hers into the soil. But gardeners lift them out again.
    Only blackness. From far away came a man's heavy breathing and a child's whimper.
    "How could you let this happen, Carla?" cried Father.
    "What am I, my sister's keeper?"
    "Yes! How many times did I tell you, Carla? Yes!"
    Father lifted the scythe high above his head in the swiftest motion. Carla never knew what hit her.
    Out of the reddened soil Renae pulled free.

  3. You're One of Them Now

    "You're one of them now," she whispered.

    "I never wasn't," he whispered back.

    She slid back in her white wicker rocker, catching a splinter in the meaty part of her thigh just a few clicks south of the dark green four leaf clover tattoo on her left buttock. Lately, on the rare occasions they showered together, he made the same stupid joke about the tattoo looking more like a spot of errant poop than a lucky charm. "Forget to wipe again, hon?" Ugh.

    She remembered getting the tattoo. She'd been with another he that day. That he was fun. That he did the pub crawl on St. Patrick's Day with her. Twelve bars in six hours. She'd never been so drunk or happy.

    They'd spent the entire day together. Arm in arm on the sidewalks. Skipping, dancing, twirling, kissing. He made her laugh. He listened. He held her hair back while she puked long strands of green stomach bile laced with tequila shooters and half digested pretzel flakes into the gutter.

    This he, sitting at her side in a yellow and white striped polo shirt and khaki shorts making unfunny jokes and small talk about local politics with the other suburban neophytes, made her want to vomit. And if she did, she knew this time he wouldn't hold her hair back.

    221 words

  4. Grey Shades
    By Ronel Janse van Vuuren
    161 words

    ‘You’re one of them now,’ she whispered.

    Chills swept over me as I watched the trio grinning in our direction. I didn’t want to believe it. Yet… Closing my eyes, I could still see everything around me, albeit in shades of grey.

    ‘What are you going to do?’ Alyssa asked, worry shining from her eyes.

    Grinding my teeth, I looked at the terrified faces of the villagers. I didn’t want to leave my home. But seeing even the bully of the place quivering under my gaze…

    ‘I’m accepting my destiny.’ I hugged my sister and stepped over to the strangers that had come to our village at midnight.

    The trio of witches smiled and produced a cloak in various shades of purple – the same as theirs, yet very different.

    ‘Welcome, Sister,’ they said in unison as they draped it over me.

    Accepting the warmth it offered, I waved goodbye to my sister and walked into the mist with my new sisters.