Horror House Flash Fiction Contest #2 Winner.

Last week’s prompt for Horror House Wednesday was the following: “Where is your reality? Do you know where you are?”

And the responses did not disappoint. It’s always hard to choose, especially when they’re all such great stories. All of them utilized the prompt in such an innovative way, but alas, I only can choose one as the winner. I chose 37297 by Just Another Writer. It constitutes elements of science fiction and perhaps a tad dystopia. A great story that stays in your mind for a while.

“The Rainbow Room” by ikwords.

I turn and proceed to the next one, a small two-story house on the corner. The rich forest-green walls are caked with grimy mud at the bottom. I move forward dexterously, and soon I am through the door, my gun held up in front of me. “Team 294 present. By the New Law, you must show yourself,” I recite, scanning the room for signs of life.

Story Collaboration: Chapter 8.

I tossed the orange file toward her and the woman stumbled, reaching for it. My stiff body launched itself at her. Her soft skin entered my calloused hands. I pulled. Hard.

Will she taste tender?

Story Collaboration: Chapter 7.

He clears his throat, turning to leave. I grab my umbrella as the darkening clouds started to form. The shade covers me, and throughout the empty streets, I walk in the direction of the man.

My grip loosens on the umbrella, now angled downward; it slices easily into his thigh and he starts to bleed, the red now burdened, padding his brown layered pants. He slips a tad on the concrete, whirring slightly deeper into the dark dawn tip of the knife.

“The fart catcher” by a.d.matthias.

The man prepares a large umbrella and scurries to the rear passenger door. He opens the protesting hinges to their limit, and waits dutifully by its side. Several seconds pass and, with surprise, he bursts into apologies again. “Oh, ma’am, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he flusters, “…old habits, and all… I’m afraid I’ll not be able to use the rain napper, please pardon the inconvenience, ma’am.” He placed the umbrella on top of the jalopy and leaned with a grunt through the back door.

Inside, lying across the back seat, an attractive woman of 38 struggling with her bonds, attempts to squirm through the metal and glass at her back.

Story Collaboration: Chapter 3.

“That’s a houze of a different color,” Z observed.

“Horse too,” I replied lowly.

“What’s that?” he asked. “Never mind. We have other fish to filet. If it wasn’t you, we have off-grid competition. They’re playing the game old school. What could they have gotten before tossing him off the roof? The zame things we got last night? We must assume he told them about us. This is not good.”

Story Collaboration: Chapter 2.

“You know,” I said after a pause. “I think it’s really not good to speculate cases and things. In my experience, that’s what gets you into trouble.” Cracker had been at the organization half the amount of time I had been there. I thought it a benevolent deed to give them a few pointers.

“Whatever mate,” Cracker leaned against the elevator wall. “All I’m sayin’ is that’s a whole lot of stinking garbage for someone to clean up and I’m just glad it’s not me.” They pushed their large glasses further up their nose.

“Ophilia” By a.d.matthias.

Cecilia paused. She could never remember their names. Perhaps she is never told; perhaps she is made to forget. Briefly wondering how many have come and gone, she then decides that names are ultimately inconsequential, before lamenting sotto voce, “What’s in a name…”

Story Collaboration: Chapter 1.

“You see,” He pats me on the shoulder without washing his hands, “you see how far you can come to be like me… An empire of data, the co-owner of at least five industries with thirty percent say.”

“Sounds like shit, to be honest.”


“The thirty percent say. You don’t have much control, do you?”

Bridge (Flash Fiction).

His eyes flickered helplessly at the waters. It was no dream. On his right side, he positioned his arm back, catching the waves as they curled, and he felt his shoulders spasm—the push and pull through the cold. Elliot looked over at the sullen, beaten yellows of the bridge.

Free (Flash Fiction).

It was a bad heat wave in August that pushed away through the blue sweat, twisted and rolled on the nooks and crannies of us all. An extended rain came down, gradually coming and going, moving in a stutter—and as I watched, an eerily spume came forth from the clouds; they blackened.