#FlashMobWrites 1×05

Welcome to #FlashMobWrites Week Five

Come one, come all! This is an open flash fiction challenge with a musical inspiration, hosted by authors Cara Michaels (formerly of #MenageMonday, #WIPflash, and#RaceTheDate) and Ruth Long (of the wicked fun #LoveBites and #DirtyGoggles challenges).

Mob Rules

  • The challenge begins: Fridays @ Noon EDT (Eastern USA)
  • And ends: Saturday @ Midnight PST (Pacific USA)
  • Word count: 300-500 (no less, no more)
  • We love you and wish to heap praises (and random prizes) on you, so be sure to include your name (no, it doesn’t have to be your real name) and a way for us to get in touch (Twitter handles are encouraged)
  • A prompt choice is offered by each judge. Choose one and include it in your story as given.
    • The prompt may be split between sentences, but no order change or dropping words.
    • Words may be added before or after, not in the middle.

The Inspiration

For your musical enjoyment only. You do not need to reference the video or song themes in any way for your story.

The Prompts

Cara Michaels: “undo what’s been done”

Ruth Long: “crawl out of my shell”

Now pick your prompt and post your story in the comments below!


30 thoughts on “#FlashMobWrites 1×05

  1. Sleeping with Dragons

    “Come with me, sa kierna.

    “What does that mean?” Drake followed Aliandra through her living room and down a short hallway decorated with dried flowers in frames with handwritten notes beside them.

    “It’s an endearment in my people’s language. It means ‘my soul’.” She gave him a sultry smile.

    Heat burned throughout his chest and the blood shot straight to his cock. “You think of me as your soul?”

    “Definitely a large piece of it.”

    She pulled him into a bedroom filled with jewel-tones. A patchwork quilt made from velvets and silks covered the bed. More framed dried flowers hung on the walls, some exotic varieties not seen in North America. The room had an overall hexagonal shape and smelled of mesquite wood, much like Aliandra herself.

    “Clothes off. Now.” She tugged at his sport coat and he grinned as he shrugged out of it.

    “Yes, doc.”

    Her eyes glowed a feral peacock green and she stood back as he reached for his fly. His cock flexed with arousal as he took in her intense expression. She watched his every move, an anticipatory smile curling her lips.

    “Is this what you wanted, Aliandra?”

    “Oh, yes, Drake.” She sauntered up to him as he freed his cock and it brushed against her belly. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you.” She wrapped one small, hot palm around his shaft and squeezed gently. “This is your chance to undo what’s been done, and make love with me.”

    “Undo what’s been done?” He had trouble thinking around the grip she had on his cock.

    “Yes, all the running and avoiding and apologizing.” She tugged in time with each word and he groaned. “Make love with me, feed from me, and all your past actions will be forgiven.”

    A small logical voice tried to insert a warning about dishonoring the Order of the Dragon with a real dragon, but he was done listening to his conscience tonight. He’d wanted and yearned for Aliandra, and she offered salvation in her arms. By the Goddess, I’m taking this tonight.

    345 #WIP500 words

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Imprisoned

    If you are reading this message then I am surely gone. This record shall serve as the diary of my last days enduring this captivity. I’m unsure when my captivity began for the days are irregular. The sun never rises or sets. One moment it is there, and the next it simply is not. However, I recall the warm beaches of home where I used to frolic, but only because this strange prison is a twisted mockery of the land of my youth.

    Food and water are provided for me in generous supply, in gigantic tubs wider across than I am tall. And though they are filled to the brim I feel no satisfaction in what I eat. The food is dry and tasteless and the water is stale. And always, as I eat, they watch me. And though I have tried I have found escape to be impossible. The imitation of home’s beaches is contained within some sort of strange invisible force field, keeping me from escape. Now I stay inside my shelter recording these last moments.

    My captors are strange titans; pale, fleshy, and devoid of covering. I once bit the hands of one as they lifted me from my prison and into the air. Somehow, perhaps God’s mercy, I managed to survive the fall to the sand and now I pray these alien creatures will not seek retribution against me.

    I guard my shelter jealously. I know that they always watch, and I often retreat into it just to escape their strange sunken eyes. Though now I have lived in this curious prison long enough that I have outgrown the shelter I used when I arrived. My captors have provided new ones at each stage of my growth.

    Today death almost came for me. I am a coward, though, as I could not embrace my demise at the last moment. I weep knowing what I’ve given up. They came to me today with a new shelter as my old one grew too small for me. When I thought they were not looking I tried to crawl out of my shell to the new one.

    As I scuttled, the titan whom I bit reached out for me and plucked me from the sand. Oh, that it had dropped me to my death! I stared into its strange flat face, devoid of eye stalks. I do not know how these monsters eat, for its mouth (I presume it to be a mouth) is devoid of flagellum to feed the food into its gaping maw.

    For a brief moment we considered each other – I, my heart stopping, and it with an inscrutable expression. Finally, gently even, the titan left me on the sand. I scuttled to the new shell and have hidden there since. This is where you will find my message, though if you are reading this you are surely captive even as I am.

    May God have mercy and deliver the escape of death.

    J Patrick Allen – @genreaspired
    WC: 496

    Liked by 4 people

  3. Broken

    The Russian lifted my mutilated hands, examining them closely before glancing at the rough concrete wall covered in blood. Hardy peered over his shoulder.

    “Christ, Easy. What the fuck did you do?” Grabbing his medic’s kit, Hardy pulled out a bottle of disinfectant.

    I didn’t flinch when he poured that crap over the mangled skin. My eyes stayed glued to the Russian’s face.

    His gaze held mine when he spoke. “I cannot turn back time, Easy. To undo what’s been done is impossible.”

    “Yeah, no shit.” I didn’t care if I was showing disrespect to the Nightriders’ president. The Russian would just have to get over it. Rage—raw and primal—churned inside me looking for an outlet. He knew that, knew why I had destroyed my hands. I was a Wolf. I would heal, good as new. But not Sam. Sam was human and those fuckers had broken her.

    “We will exact our revenge. The Hell Dogs who took Samantha and Sunny will die.”

    “Damn straight they will.” We’d killed the Dog left on guard when we rescued them. Gravedigger strung the asshole’s guts like party streamers in that room where Sam had been tortured. But, there was still the inner cadre of Dogs. The Bastard. His second. Others. I would hunt each one and rip out their throats.

    The Russian watched me and I straightened, coming to attention. Yeah, I’d lost it and beat the crap out that wall but I was back in control. And until Sam healed, I’d stick close. The Hell Dogs would never get another chance to hurt her.

    I forced air into my lungs, forced my fists—formed while I was unaware—to spread to work at the soreness radiating all the way up to my shoulders. Sam hadn’t been the only one hurt. “How’s Sunny?”

    “Are you ready to hear this?”

    The Russian stood deceptively loose. The man was fucking fast and he’d take me down in heartbeat if I lost my shit. He didn’t need Hardy standing there or Gravedigger, who’d moved into the shadows to watch and listen. I nodded, one short, quick dip of my chin, not trusting any words that might come out.

    “They beat her, touched her, but did not rape her.”

    I swallowed. Hard. Radar would have gone ape-shit crazy if they had. She was his mate.

    “They leave for the Gulf in the morning.”

    “Good.” The brothers in Galveston would protect them.

    Hardy cleared his throat. I cut him off before he could say the words. “I already know.”

    I finally went to Sam. Awake, she stared at me from behind swollen eyes.

    “What do you want from me?” she whispered through bruised lips. “Don’t make me crawl out of my shell.”

    “You don’t have to, baby. Can I crawl in there with you?” I could give her this, if nothing else.

    Understanding lit her eyes. She nodded. We’d hide here until she was ready to face the world again. We’d survive, together.
    499 words

    Liked by 4 people


    The hallway outside the courtroom is crowded with busybodies, cameramen, and advocates looking to make a profit out of someone else’s misery. Kathryn pushes through the throng as politely as possible.

    She gets outside and heads for a town car waiting at the curb, lets it whisk her away, out of the chaos that has eaten away three months of her life.

    Thirty minutes later, she exits the car and enters The Ridgeback Grill. A hostess leads her out to the balcony, where a dinner party occupies a large table.

    Before she can issue greetings, three children rush her, hugging her around the waist and legs according to height, and shouting the word she loves most in all the world, “Grandma!”

    She hugs and kisses them, each one in turn, follows them to the table, and settles into a chair beside her daughter, Becca, and son-in-law, Howard.

    A silver-haired man wearing a white button-down shirt and khaki slacks eyes her across the table. “Kathryn.”

    She smiles in acknowledgment. “Gordon.”

    Gordon takes a drink of his long-island ice tea. “Is that all you have? I half expected one of those gentle barbs you’re so good at delivering. You know, one of those ‘Kathryn Nicolson Quotable Quotes’ they replay a dozen times a day on the nightly news.”

    She turns and eyes her daughter’s lawyer, a gorgeous fifty-something version of Steve McQueen, and winks before responding to her ex-husband’s goad. “I’m here to eat dinner not quibble.”

    Gordon sets his glass down hard enough the ice clinks and heads turn in their direction. “Damn it, Kath. I just wanted to spend some time with my grandchildren. I don’t know why you two had to turn it into a media circus.”

    “You took our grandchildren out of school,” she says, pausing to squash the anger, “and went on a vacation. Without Becca’s consent. Without notifying -”

    He pushes his chair away from the table and rises to his feet like an erupting volcano. “I have a right to spend time with my grandchildren.”

    “Careful, Gordon,” Howard says, putting a reassuring arm around Becca.

    Becca stands and says, “You don’t get it, do you, Daddy? You just lost any rights you might have had. I invited you here to spend time with the kids before we move away tomorrow. Instead, you’re still bitching about your rights. This was a mistake. We’re going home now.”

    “Don’t do this to me, Becca,” he says, gripping the back of his chair, knuckles white.

    She laces fingers with Howard. “You can’t undo what’s been done, Dad. Not this time.”

    Howard, Becca, and the children file through the door and out of the restaurant. The lawyer bars the door to prevent Gordon from going after them. As Kathryn follows her daughter, she catches the lawyer by the hand and brings him with her. It’d be a shame to lose such a good counselor and a downright crime to give up such a good kisser.

    = = = = =
    495 ineligible words

    Liked by 3 people

  5. Ozone

    498 words
    by Alicia VanNoy Call

    “My washer broke the week before and I had a job interview the next day. It was really important that I look nice, you know? Professional.”

    “Alright, what happened next?”

    “I was there, pulling my laundry out of the washer. You know, sort of leaning into the tub to get the socks stuck to the bottom. He came up behind me and just grabbed me.”

    “What did you do?”

    “What do you think? I screamed bloody murder.”

    “Then what?”

    “He put a knife to my throat and he told me that if I didn’t stop screaming he would cut my head off.”


    “So I stopped.”

    “What happened next?”

    “He said, ‘I’m going to take you somewhere and if you fight me, I’ll kill you. But if you don’t fight me, everything’s going to be fine,’ and I said, ‘Please don’t kill me,’ and he said, ‘Then don’t fight me,’ and I said, ‘Okay.’”

    “What did he smell like?”

    “Well, now that you ask, he did smell weird. He smelled like ozone.”


    “Yeah, you know, like, the way a thunderstorm smells. I read somewhere that it’s because of ozone. From the lightning. He smelled like that.”

    “Okay. Where did he take you?”

    “Well, he walked me outside. There was this door partly open in the next building and it went down into the basement. He shoved me down into a corner. It was so dark. He stood over me and I was sure he was gonna rape me, but he just stood there.”

    “What happened next?”

    “I asked him why we were in there, in the dark. So he pulled the string on this one exposed lightbulb and I finally saw his face.”

    “Had you ever seen him before?”

    “No. He was crazy looking. Like his eyes were totally wide and his head was shaved and he had this long scar running from all the way down to his chin, on one side of his face. And it was all puckered, like someone had sewn it shut with a fish hook.”

    “What was he wearing?”

    “Just all black. And a black leather jacket.”

    “Did he say anything else?”

    “Yeah. He said, ‘We must undo what’s been done,’ and then he just stood there. For hours. I fell asleep for a while. And when I woke up, his scar was gone.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “I mean he had a scar. A nasty, long, puckered scar. And then it was gone.”


    “And then he just turned and walked up the stairs and left the door open and I never saw him again.”

    “Did he drop anything?”

    “Yeah, a quarter. I thought I could use it in the dryer.”

    “Do you still have it?”


    “Did you see the date on this coin?”


    “Alright, that’s all. You’re free to go.”

    Liked by 3 people

  6. Marking Time
    346 words

    It’s a rough gig. I’m effectively a security guard, but it’s not as if anyone ever get back in. I’ve no idea why He felt the need to assign me as a bouncer, but you can’t question the ineffable can you?

    I’m going out of my tree with boredom though. The snake didn’t even hang around, so there’s no-one to yarn to. I’m a right shut in. Even if I could go out, how do you accessorise a flaming flaming sword?

    I used to be the life of the party. Everyone made time for Uriel. Only JC hisself had more mad props, and that was solely based on his water into wine trick. Nowadays, it’s like I’m hiding my light under a bushel. I’m wasted out here I am. If I could only turn back time, I’d probably head south with Lucifer. At least Down There there’d be people to mix with. Tree’s aren’t known as great conversationalists.

    No point whingeing I guess, He’s famous for refusing to undo what’s been done. No second chances, you just have to look at what happened to Lot’s wife. Sometimes I think that’d be preferable to pulling this sentry duty, but I guess He had His reasons. Some clue, such as a quiet word in my ear like “It’ll be quiet until the fifth millennium when you’ll have to watch out for hover-tanks” wouldn’t have gone astray though.

    For all I know I’m just waving my nether appendage in the air till the last trump sounds. Gabe would have been a better choice really, he’s a bookish shut-in after all. Or the Third of The Big Three. The Spirit always phones it in, not that that there’s anyone you can take your complaints to.

    Still, it’s better to always look on the bright side of life. I’m getting plenty of harp practice in. When we’re victorious and it’s all done and dusted, Hendrix will look like a newb compared to the way I can shred. They’ll all be throwing the horns when I cut loose at the victory celebration.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. Helping a seventeen-year-old recover from rape is a challenge for which I am ill prepared. I want to help Jimmy; I want him to become stable. I want him to stop being afraid. But it’s hard when he sometimes forgets who I am. It’s hard when I try to give him a hug and he tries to punch me in the face. The physical injuries have long since healed but the psychological injuries are going to take time.

    It doesn’t help that the staff in the rehab program treat him like shit. Jimmy has lived in three different pods and nothing changes. His doctor won’t let him transfer to any other program. I fear that his abuse here won’t undo what’s been done by the rape and beating he suffered.

    I sit in the lobby outside his pod, hoping I can see him today.

    “Come on in. He’s waiting for you,” Shelly, his caseworker, says.

    I follow her toward the visitor’s area. When I walk in, he’s wearing a path in the carpet from pacing. His face is stained with tears, his black hair shaved military-close. He looks up from his route on the beige carpet and fresh tears track down his cheeks.

    “Hey,” I start. “Can I hug you?”

    He nods. I walk forward and he darts into my arms. His hands tremble as he wraps his arms around me.

    “It’s bad, Jack.”

    “What happened, Slim?”

    I frown at how wheezy he is, his asthma no doubt triggered by a crying episode.

    “They hit me again.”

    I keep myself calm, because being angry upsets him more. “Okay. Who hit you?”

    “Sam and Nila. I-I asked for my inhaler. It’s a bad breathing day. They said I fought back. I didn’t, I swear!”

    I rub his back as he gulps in air, sobs wracking his body. I believe him, but until there are security cameras installed, it’s the word of a teenage addict versus the staff. I have to tread on careful ground with my answer.

    “I know, honey. I’ll talk to Doctor Mathais, okay? In the mean time, try to calm down and breathe.”
    It might be against the rules, but I brought a spare inhaler for him. I pull that out of my pocket and hand it to him. When he’s calm, I squeeze his hand.

    “I promise we’ll get to the bottom of things, okay? In the mean time, I have some exciting news.”


    “Remember the old farmhouse I’m trying to buy?” He nods, taking the second hit on his rescue inhaler. “I got the loan and the house is mine. I’m going to turn it into our dream home.”

    “Ours?” he asks.

    “Yeah. I love you, Jimmy. I know now isn’t the time to worry about that, but I wanted you to know. I have to get to work, but remember I love you.”

    For the first time since I peeled his half-dead body from a back alley, he smiles. “I love you, too.”

    499 words

    Liked by 2 people

  8. Here it is. Another fun piece with new #Flawed characters. Used both prompts this time. Thanks for the fun ride! 🙂

    Title: Undo Versus Nose
    Word count: 498
    Twitter handle: @beccajcampbell

    Finger holding his place, Renny set his book on the table and looked up at Kat.

    “Please?” she asked.



    “There’s no way I’m doing that again,” he said. “Not after what happened last time.”

    “It wasn’t that bad.” Kat tossed her sun-kissed, golden hair over her shoulder.

    “Says you. You weren’t the one spewing pho noodles all over your brand new Chucks.”

    “I know that part kinda sucked…”


    Kat bit her lip.

    “The least you could’ve done was hit your undo button.”

    “But then I wouldn’t have found what I needed.”

    “Big deal.” Renny slouched against the booth in the trailer’s small dinette. “You’re always undoing things. ‘I wish I hadn’t said that stupid thing—’ Blip, undo, it’s gone. ‘Oh, it’s raining; wearing flip flops was a bad idea—’ Blip, undo again. ‘I wish I hadn’t kissed Chris last night—’ Blip.”

    Kat’s cheeks went pink.

    “Undo puking.”

    “You know it doesn’t work that way,” she said. “I can’t undo what’s been done if it’s more than ten minutes in the past. Besides, it’s not as great as you make it sound, and whatever you think, I don’t use it that often.”

    “Whatever.” Renny lifted the tattered copy of Jurrasic Park, blocking his view of her.

    “Come on, it won’t be that bad this time.”

    He flipped back a page, searching for where he’d been when she’d interrupted him.

    Kat huffed a sigh at his lack of response. “Nose…” Her voice had a whiny edge to it.

    Renny lowered the paperback and scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

    “But you used to let me—”

    “That was before you made me upchuck.”

    “I didn’t make you—”

    “You know what I mean. I hate this thing.” He jabbed a thumb toward his cotton-stuffed nose. “Disgusting smells are everywhere.”

    “But all you do is stay in here and read.” Her bottom lip pushed out. Renny tried to ignore its pull on him.

    “That’s the way I like it,” he said.

    “You’re a hermit.”

    Renny drew up his book again.

    “You’re stuck in your shell. You have no idea what you’re missing.”

    Renny turned a page, pretending to read.

    Kat gave another exaggerated sigh, and he could feel the heat of her gaze through the pages. His hand lowered. “You’re always trying to get me to crawl out of my shell, but have you considered that I might like it in here?”

    “But I miss hanging out with you.” Kat’s gaze dropped away. She scratched at spot on the table.

    Renny blinked.

    “I just thought maybe you’d come too…”

    He stared at her for a moment. “Okay.”



    Her face lit up.

    Renny stood and exited the trailer. He pulled the cotton from his nostrils, wincing as sharp smells hit him and mentally sifting through scents: dust, tobacco, peanut oil. He pointed a finger. “One point two miles that way.”

    Kat bounced on her toes. “Thanks, Renny. I’ve been dying for some good Thai food!”

    Liked by 2 people

  9. The Girl Who Might Have Been

    She watched him cross the floor, trying hard to enjoy the moment and not to speculate on his intentions in bringing her here. He fitted neatly enough into the scene, a little hard, a little flash, a little too conscious of being seen himself to enjoy the attractions on display, but that in itself was curious.

    He reached their booth and set two glasses in front of her. She gave him an absent, automatic smile of thanks, but did not try to fight the insistent throb of the music with conversation. Instead she toyed with her glass as he slid along the faded plush banquette, and once he was facing her spoke quite softly, knowing he could read her lips. That might make them conspicuous in a room of brayed conversation and ad hoc sign language, but he had not warned her against attracting attention. She was starting to wonder about that, and it made her phrase her question bluntly.

    “What are we doing here? It doesn’t seem quite your usual taste, and even if it were,” she paused, and let her glance sweep round a dozen underdressed young women, “I’d only be cramping your style.”

    She could usually make her cousin blush that way. She did now, but he must have expected her challenge, because he answered casually

    “I thought you might like a look on your own account.”

    She raised her eyebrows, took another look around the room, faced him squarely, and with icy deliberation asked


    That one did make him uncomfortable, but he persevered.

    “Sometimes … ”

    He took a gulp of his drink, but it didn’t seem to help him.

    “Sometimes you seem to wonder about the girl you might have been.”

    She understood, and wished she had not.

    “You think I want to undo what’s been done to me, unpick what I’ve become? You think finding a nice boy might put me on the right track?”

    Her gaze swept the room once more, this time with contempt.

    “I’m not sure we’ve chosen the right place for that.”

    She was grateful to see a shadow of relief cross his features, so slight that anyone who knew him less well might have missed it. She knew it was only for form’s sake that he protested

    “There’s plenty of nice boys here.”

    She grinned suddenly, wickedly. There were plenty of nice boys at that, so long as she defined ‘nice’ as ‘able to afford the membership fee’. Her mother might have done but she – the thought came with a familiar overtone of regret, but no desire to change – she did not.
    She finally took a mouthful of her drink, and the innocent flavour gave her a final confirmation of her suspicions. When she looked up again her eyes were sparkling with possibilities.

    “C’mon, give. What are we here for? What’s the job?”

    475 words

    Liked by 3 people

  10. Reagan was going to be sick. She had been asked to ‘watch’ someone at a club and she felt like she was going to puke the green drink back up. She didn’t do well in social situations and a club was definitely not the thing that she normally went do. But she was supposed to watch someone and it was worth a good amount of money off her huge debt.

    Wrench was there but he went off with twins with bright lavender hair. They seemed to know him pretty well but the way they had kissed him. He was the worst wing man ever. Of course, she didn’t need that kind of wing man but it would have been nice if she hadn’t had to sit in a noisy place with people who dressed in barely decent clothing. It was like a contest to see how little they could wear. Once upon a time, they wouldn’t wear anything higher than the ankle or knee. Now it was a ‘how short can you go before flashing people’ length.

    “You look like you need to crawl out of your shell.” The man in question that she had been sent to watch ponied up to the bar next to her and gave her a big grin. “Did the boyfriend leave you to dance with some silly bitch.”

    Reagan wanted to sink down into the seat. “Crawl out of my shell?”

    “Yeah, I just noticed that you’re sitting here by your lonesome drinking vodka. Pretty girl like you should have a dance partner and have fun. That’s why everyone comes here. To have fun.” He gave a gesture to the undulating mass. “You definitely don’t look like you are having fun.”

    “I don’t normally come to clubs. It’s not in my comfort zone.” And with no friends, it wasn’t something that she learned or cared about.

    “Well, come. Let me take care of that.” He grabbed her drink before she could do anything and hooked an arm through hers, pulling her off her seat.

    Reagan gave a small squawk as she was pulled off balance. “No, really. It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

    “No, no. I want to. Everyone needs to have a good time in my place. I feel insulted if there is one person who isn’t. Especially since Wrench left you alone.”

    Reagan stiffened up. They had come in separately. So how did she get made by working for him.

    The smile the guy wore became more biting. “Don’t worry, darlin’. As long as Wrench plays right, you won’t get hurt.”


    430 words

    Liked by 3 people

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