Back to blogging. Back to submitting flash fictions. I really enjoy flash fiction challenges. Well….enjoy might be to strong a word. I find them difficult. Difficult but enlightening. Staying within a word limit, sticking to a vague topic. Crafting a functional group of words that gets some kind of point across is challenging. I often go through a few different stories before settling on one I like.
This week was no different. This is the fourth flash I wrote for this single challenge. All four completely different. Yet, this is the one I liked the most……or hated the least. Whichever.
Anyway, this is what I am submitting to Write on Wendy’s weekly flash fiction challenge. I really enjoy her blog and have found useful tips, as well as interesting stories. I highly suggest everyone that stumbles across my meager page, take an internet stroll over to her blog and be amazed.This week her challenge was to write a 500 word or less, action scene in which someone is undeniably beaten. My tale is a little dark. I like dark. Dark is fun. It came in at 497 words with almost nothing cut out. Which is fantastic because I usually over-write by 150 words or so. I hope you enjoy.
Blood erupts from my mouth as another kick lands on my ribs. This kick finally sends me falling to the sidewalk. My head bounces off the unforgiving concrete. Everything starts to grow dark.
Above my prone form they curse at me. I can’t make out their words. The earlier hit I took to my head, garbles their voices. They sound like hellish demons out to claim my soul. They are demons, human demons however, who only want my life. Not eternal torment, only physical torment here and now.
I feel the pavement scratch against my face as I crawl forward, trying to stay conscious. The demons are howling now. I need to get away.
Bright lights replace the encroaching darkness in my vision as something hard strikes my spine. Feels like a baseball bat and one of the demons is playing Babe Ruth on my back. The grand slam shot causes my lungs to forfeit the game. I can’t breathe but I can’t stop trying to. It would be easier to just stay here, curl in a ball and let Babe and his demons finish their work. Instead the air decides to return. The oxygen burns as it fills my chest. I try to cough some of it out again. All I spew out is blood and a tooth.
My vision is slowly returning and the human demons want more destruction. Right eye is useless. Full of blood and swollen tight. I spy, with my blurry left eye salvation. Salvation in the form of curious spectator. A hazy form standing a few feet away, yelling something incoherent, waving something in front of them.
Maybe it’s a gun.
A black gloved fist strikes my swollen right eye again. My head pinballs off the pavement. I spit more blood and roll onto my back. If this is the end, it will be on my terms. The hurt is momentarily overpowered by my pride. I am the strongest. I am the powerful. Four on one odds, one eye, and broken ribs can’t steal my power. It spit upwards at the demons in their crisp blue uniforms, as a final act of defiance.
“Fuck you,” is all I manage before I cough blood again, more onto myself than them.
One of them grabs a small black box on his shoulder and yells demonic curses into it. Babe looms over me, wielding the small black home run stick. He is waving it at me, yelling at me but I don’t speak demon, or asshole. He is fluent in both.
I hear my spectator savior yelling, “Police brutality! It’s all going on the internet you pigs!”
Police demons makes sense. I have been more powerful than them for months. More powerful than everyone. Especially the girls.
Office Ruth swings his bat at my shoulder. The pain steals my defiance.
I hear crying. I’m used to crying. I hear it all the time. All the girls. All their pretty faces. They all cry.