Saturday, March 4, 2017

Cracked Flash: Year 2, Week 29!

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: 1 AM SUNDAY (3/5) PDT (hour late posting again--been at ECCC all day! 10/10 would recommend) 

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).)


They unfurled their wings.


  1. Migratory Blues
    By Sara Codair (299 words)

    They unfurled their wings, shifted their weight and lifted off the rotting branch. Fuz smiled as the north wind hit their face. It was damp and mild, a sure sign spring had arrived in mid-regions. Circling high above the mud-sodden earth, they searched for one last southern meal.

    They dove when they spotted slow movement - a tiny rodent whose legs were getting sucked in with every step. Within in seconds, the little critter was in Fuz’s claws, being carried back to the their nest.

    After a hearty, albeit muddy meal, Fuz sprayed the nest with their scent and flew north.


    Three days later, Fuz arrived to the mid realms, only to find the ground there had already turned to claw sucking mud. Their stomach grumbled as they circled over mud and water. They plucked an eel out of a pond and perched on a damp rock to eat it, but it wriggled all the way down.

    Each year, it seemed the mid-realms spring got closer to that of the southern realms.

    Fuz signed, flapped their tired wings and was airborne once again, hoping the north was having an early spring too, or else he would freeze to death.


    Touching down in the north, Fuz was glad to have solid ground beneath their claw’s. The sun was shining, and prey animals were scurrying about - a living buffet. They feasted on rodents, lizards and insects until their belly felt like it would burst. Then they found a solid tree branch - one they noted was still devoid of leaves, and sprawled out for a nap in the sun.

    Later, the howling wind woke them. The sun was gone, and frost coated the edges of their feathers and beak. They stood, struggling to take off, but the wind was too strong and cold.

  2. Sheepish in the Round-The Flying Flock of Freedonia
    Bill Engleson 300 smatterings of sheepdip

    They unfurled their wings. There were twenty of them, bulky, muddled, wary, but alive.

    Against winters frozen tableau, a strange sensation overtook the drove.

    “Angus,” Esmeralda, who often was the member of the flock who couldn’t resist asking “why,” spoke from the outer loop, “What in the name of all things woolly is going on? What are these?”

    Angus was not a natural leader. He’d spent most of his time in the field contemplating the past. More an historian, a teller of ancient tales, than a visionary, he understood that he was the best they had.

    His mother, before she took her final journey, had clarified for Angus what his role must be. “Darling, we are not a species who traditionally need to know where we are going. You are right to look back and wonder. However, however, my dear one, every so often, one of us must step up and point us in a new direction, or interpret events, or just say something comforting. I believe, in your lifetime, you are the chosen one.”

    At the time, his mother’s words skimmed over his head like a heavy wind. Perhaps in time, he thought, her meaning would be clear.

    As Esmeralda asked her question, he realized that that day had arrived.

    He surveyed the drove. The growths had afflicted them all, sprouting from their shoulder blades, rising like trees, like flowers out of their bodies.

    Angus could feel the weight on his back. He scrunched his shoulders and his two new appendages fluttered ever so briefly. His feet, rooted in tradition, briefly lifted him above the ground.

    “Angus, what are you doing?” Esmeralda screamed. “You are flying.”

    “Is that what this experience is?” he asked.

    “My goodness, yes. Flying!”

    “Then,” said Angus, “Let us all soar away.”

    And they did.

  3. Word count: 235

    Fairy Spirit

    They unfurled their wings softly and carefully, glitter falling like stars around them. They gleamed with the colors of nature. The fairies danced, spreading their wings like rivers. They were princesses of the leaves and flowers they inhabited.

    She stared at them lovingly remembering her youth and how she had known about them when she was a little girl. She had seen the fairies because she had believed in them. Now they had come back for her. She had always known this day would come. She was happy to be in this moment, but she was sad too. She realized that she had to leave her old life behind.

    “She’s smiling again Doctor. Do you think she knows we are here?”

    “It’s possible. We don’t know enough about the brain to cancel that possibility out.”

    “Will she recover from this last episode?”

    “I don’t think so, no. Her dementia is severe. And at her age it’s understandable. You should perhaps say your goodbyes now.”

    They are calling out to her. She must go to them. She feels herself being released from this sick, old body and she longs to dance again. She runs faster and faster until she feels herself flying on a kaleidoscope of color. She is free.

    Dances with fairies,
    On tip toes she stands proudly,
    Her hands at her side.

    Kisses in the sky,
    Flies high like a butterfly,
    A fairy princess.

  4. Written by
    297 words (excluding the title)

    A Mouthful More
    They unfurled their wings using their fingers. Mah'moud tried not to chide them for ignoring the cutlery placed by the waiter before them. If this was a treat, then let them enjoy it to the fullness. There was no telling when last these two kids had eaten a decent meal. He looked from one face with sunken cheeks to the other, now stuffed with yam chips and chicken wings; he still couldn't tell them apart. Both had brownish bushy dreadlocks, the colour of which he was still uncertain if it was their natural hair colour or if it stemmed from accumulated dirt.
    "Tanks so much Muster" one said lifting up his head. He seemed to have mastered the commendable art of being able to talk and swallow food at the same time. His twin sister didn't bother to lift her head but just nodded her head in agreement. Only when they spoke could he tell them apart.

    They both wore baggy pants with oversized thick shirts designed to ward off the cold, the kind of cold only destitutes who lived in abandoned buildings, or the open outdoors encountered. They probably been given by some shelter home or the Salvation Army.
    He stared at them for the longest time. He had wanted to do something special for his 35th birthday when he happened upon them. They had asked for some coins. He offered a meal instead.
    "Don't worry about it. This is good enough" the girl said to him, pulling him out of his thoughts.


    "You're wondering what to do with us afterwards" she said, her intelligent eyes piercing into him.
    "We expect nothing. This is good enough"
    Her focus went back to her plate.
    Her words were the final push Mah'moud needed in making his decision.