Flash Fiction: Child’s Play

Following My Muse

Hey. I just wanted to mention that I got an honorable mention in my first Flash Fiction contest over at Christian Yorke’s site. I’m new to his site, but so far, I’m enjoying the reading.  The winning story in the contest was a bit risqué, but great use of pause/thought effect.

Flash Fiction is a new genre for me. It’s a very short story, compressed into 300 words or less. Very tricky, especially for someone like me who  likes to ramble and weave.  However, learning to write in new genres is always good, helps to espand creativity, keep the mind working, which is the whole point. Right?

I thought that I’d share my entry with you below. It’s based on one of my recurring nightmares (what a shock):

Child’s Play

“No. Not this time. It’s not going to be me,” Jules said to herself. The darkness made it hard to find her way through the building, but she was fairly certain that the doors to the auditorium were down this hallway.

If she could only get inside, she knew where she could hide. Only a few people knew about the trapdoor that Jules had found when she was working on the set for “Streetcar.” She prayed the auditorium doors would be unlocked.

Just a few more steps. There were the doors, and they were unlocked. Jules knew she had to be very quiet because the doors squeaked.  Don’t let them slam shut. Now down the aisle to the stage and the stairs that led to the wings.

Jules tried to calm herself, deep breaths. In. Out. Her breathing sounded too loud in her ears. She moved to the right, behind the stack of folding chairs. There it was—the spiral staircase. Its black metal risers blended in with the dark curtains. Jules climbed the stairs carefully.

Jules remembered how surprised she had been when she bumped her head on the ceiling and a panel moved. She had been at the top of the stairs working on a backlight. She was certain no one had noticed the moving panel, but Jules knew that it was there. She just had to reach it in time and she would be home free.

She paused. Was that movement in the aisle? She couldn’t tell. She just needed a few seconds.  It was movement, an indistinct shape, coming towards the stage. Jules pushed up on the panel slowly and felt it move; there it was—safety.  Jules prepared to pull herself up through the opening just as something grabbed her ankle.

“Tag. You’re it, Jules.”

And so ends one of my shortest entries ever. More later. Peace.

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