Saturday, February 11, 2017

Cracked Flash: Year 2, Week 26

Judge This Week: Mars (or Ronel? Probably 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: 1 AM SUNDAY (2/12) PDT (hour late posting again oops)

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 lied to me?"


  1. I'll be judging this week :-) Chillax, Mars!

  2. Word count:299

    Adopting false assumptions.

    “You lied to me?”

    “Yes. I had to tell you he was dead.”


    “You wouldn’t have understood.”

    “You should have trusted me.”

    “I know. But I didn’t know how you’d react.”

    “Is it true?”

    “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

    “Explain to me what you think happened.”

    “On that day, he had a cold. Everyone in the unit told him to rest up, but he wouldn’t have any of that. He was our leader and he wouldn’t let us go into battle without him. Or so we thought. We moved towards the village in formation, snipers moving ahead towards higher ground. We thought he was with us then suddenly, he wasn’t. We called for him on the comms system and we could hear him breathing but he wouldn’t answer us. At this point we were being driven back by gunfire and through the smoke I saw a glimpse of him. He was running away with a young girl towards the trees. I’m sorry Angela, but I have no choice but to believe that he was taking her to be his mistress. It happens more often than you think. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

    “Are you sure that’s what happened?”

    “I only saw a glimpse of them, but yes, I’m sure.”

    A young Vietnamese girl walks into the room. Her dark hair frames her face gently and she glows with happiness. He looks at her curiously. She bows before Angela and cups her face lovingly as she utters the word Mẹ. Mother. A shadow moves from behind the kitchen door and suddenly he is standing there, larger than life. He looks at him and then at the girl and understanding dawns on him. He stands up.

    “I think I should leave.”

    “Yes. I think that’s best.”

  3. Truth or Alternative Facts

    “You lied to me.”

    “The truth is highly overrated.”

    “Really. You believe that?”

    “When it’s convenient.”

    “Is it convenient now?”

    “Well, that appears to be the case.”

    “So, now it’s convenient to tell a pack of lies to me? How long have you been lying?”

    “Fair question except maybe your pack of lies hyperbole. That’s a bit of a semantic stretch. Regardless, to your pointed question, lying to you or…to anyone?”

    “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should tell me all about your years of lying. Like when it began.”

    “Ha! We don’t have enough time. And, as the old Jackmeister so famously said, “You can’t handle the truth.”

    “Seriously, you’re referencing some stupid film. This is me, Buster. I think I deserve something a little less glib.”

    “You’re right. Besides, maybe you can handle the truth.”

    “I’ve always thought so. Of course, I have no idea if you actually know what the truth is…especially if you have been lying forever.”

    “I wouldn’t say forever. That’s a long time.”

    “Well, you would know. You do know how long you’ve been lying, right?”

    “Hmmm. That’s a toughie.”

    “You’re amazing. Are you trying to tell me that you can’t distinguish between truth and lying?”

    “What would be the purpose?”

    “Hah, oh, I don’t know. Transparency. Honesty. Facts.”

    “You know what Nietzsche about that?”

    “Enlighten me.”

    “He said, “There are no facts. Only interpretations.”

    “I suppose we are briskly going into the quicksand of Alternative Facts? Is that where your lying is leading?”

    “Now you’re cooking. Yes, Kellyanne Conmeister has made my point so much better than I seem to have.”

    “Look, Mister, you use Meister far too much.”

    “Now, you are just being silly.”

    “That ain’t no lie. About the only one out of your lying lips.Leave. You’re exhausting.”

    “Ciao, baby.”

    300 prevarications

  4. Words: 299

    Title: A change of heart

    “You lied to me”

    “You said you wanted peace but I want revenge”

    “What did I ever..” Cora did not get to finish her sentence as a wave of magic forced her backwards. As she flew she used her powers to land safely, inches away from the razor sharp branches that were meant to kill her.

    Valerie sighed in relief as her shock wave did nothing. Remy had pushed her, his plan had been simple. Promise peace and then kill her. Instead it looked like a battle was about to begin. Valerie had never wanted any of this. Her powers were starting to drain the little energy she had left.

    Her father had taught her everything she knew about her powers. Cora however had been her best friend. They were destined to do great things or at least that is what her father believed. Cora had taught her the regular teenage spells. Change your hair colour, create fabulous dresses and Valerie had believed it was all innocent. That was until the ‘sleep’ spell. Cora had sworn it would put him in a deep sleep so they could attend the spring ball. Instead he had not woken up.

    Valerie was snapped from her memories as a fireball flew at her. Cora was fighting to stay alive and Valerie to avenge her father.

    “You killed him!“ Valerie hurled a lightning bolt.

    “What?” Cora seemed confused as she deftly dodged the attack.

    “HE WAS ALL I HAD!” The recognition hit Cora like a knife to the stomach.

    “Valarie I …”Valerie cut her off with another wave spell

    “Don’t say it”

    “I never meant to hurt him. You know I loved him too.” Cora stopped attacking and sat on the forest floor.

    “NO!” Valerie cried as the fireball landed right where Cora sat.

  5. This comment has been removed by the author.

  6. Word count: 221
    Title: No difference

    “You lied to me?” Harriet asked in disbelief.

    “I’m sorry, Harriet,” Timothy said weakly. “I thought I did… manage…” he stammered. “I tried to…” His voice trailed off as he noticed Harriet’s watery eyes.

    “You lied to me!” She screamed. She swallowed hard. She was not going to cry. She may be devastated but she was also livid. “Do you have any idea of the consequences of your actions?” she demanded. “I could have fixed it! You didn’t have to be so proud.” Her anger reflected on her eyes. “It’s not about you being a man and me a woman. I would have released the flap. You should have let me go.” She paused, deep in thought. “I should have gone.”

    Timothy looked defeated. “I know. I am so sorry.” His eyes pleaded with her. “Please forgive me.”

    “And then what?” she challenged. “Do you think your apology makes a difference? Will our course change if I forgive you?” She sighed. “No,” she said softly.

    She realized that even her fury was pointless.

    Timothy remained silent.

    The whole space shuttle seemed too quiet, like the calm before the storm.

    In the control room, Ryan stared ahead blankly. He felt paralyzed. He didn’t anticipate a heartbreak at work. “It makes no difference,” he heard Harriet’s voice before radio contact was completely lost.

  7. A Fragile Innocence
    298 words

    “You lied to me?” He looks up at you at such an angle that his eyes are enormous. The whites have a milky whiteness, a purity that he didn’t inherit from you, a whiteness which appears brighter due to the surrounding pale and yellowing skin; his pupils shrink to pinpricks due to the light radiating behind you, light radiating from a window that he’d never seen open before, a window that you hoped he’d never have to think about.

    “You said there was nothing out there!” he says, louder this time, so loud that you worry that if there is anyone out there, they might hear you. You cup one hand over his mouth, and reach for the curtain with the other, trying to pull it back across the window, but he’s older now, bigger, stronger. He leans back, touching the back wall, out of reach and you’re still pulling on the curtain.

    “Why did you lie?” he shouts.

    The curtain’s in place, so you dive across the room and smother him with your body. The screams are muffled now, quieter, and you can feel the wetness of his tears starting to seep through your clothes.

    It's quieter now; you listen. Are there footsteps? You pray that it’s just your worst fear, your everyday living nightmare, playing out to mess with your fragile mind, but then there’s a scratch at the foot of the door and your whole world collapses.

    You look down at your boy, and a smile spreads across his face because that scratch tells him that you’re not alone anymore.

    As the scratching becomes more frantic, you think about the pain that waits outside this room and, while his face still bears a smile, you ponder sparing him my snapping his fragile, beautiful, innocent neck.

  8. Lying in the Dirt (294)
    By Sara Codair

    "You lied to me?" Carrots hung from Donn’s hands like the flop over ears of a pathetic puppy. “Why lie about that?”

    Susie shrugged, watching the way Donn’s fingers curled around the carrots. His nails dug through the dirt and pierced the bright orange beneath. His eyes get really wide and his lips get really small.

    “I just couldn’t disappoint you.”

    “Well, you did.”Jack looked at the red boxes brimming with carrot tops, the cucumbers climbing a white trellis and tomatoes bursting out of their cages. “If you told me, I could’ve helped.”

    “How?” Susie looked down the driveway, where the bank men were coming to take the keys, the house, and its contents.

    “I have a few secrets of my own.”

    He placed the carrots on the potting table, picked up a shovel, and zigzagged through the labyrinth-like garden to a spot where nothing was growing. He dug. The bank man came with his suit and guns.

    “Sir and madam, you must vacate the property.”

    Donn laughed and kept digging.

    The man crossed his arms. “Unless you can produce 200,000 Cred in the next 60 seconds, you are leaving.”

    “Give me five minutes and I’ll give you 250,000.”

    He watched as Donn dug until he hit a wooden box, brushed it off, opened it, and pulled out stacks of green bills. “Now, what is the conversion rate for old USD these days?”

    The man gulped. “This morning, a single was fetching a 1,000 on the market.”

    Donn handed a banded stack to the to man. “Here are 20 for your bank, and 5 to keep. Get off my property. I’ll expect the deed tomorrow.”

    The man scurried off. Donn glared at Susie. “Next time you have problems, tell me.”