Guest Judge Silver James says: All the entries were evocative and well-done with creative uses of the prompts–some writers using all of them. It really was hard to narrow down my picks but while all “spoke” to me as a reader, these five yelled the loudest. Congrats to all of you who entered because I’m serious when I say I’m glad I was judging and not participating. I wouldn’t have stood a chance this week!
>>> Winners (Boss and Underbosses): please send your email addresses to Ruth at email@example.com and put #FlashMobWrites in the subject line so we can connect you to Silver and settle up on those fantastic prizes!
SOLDIERS | Honorable Mention | Nomar and Lizzie Koch
Nomar “Blood Sport” – Wow! Fantastic world set-up and lots of introspection by the MC. A dark piece, it doesn’t bode well for future sports. LOL Nice rift on Rollerball.
Lizzie Koch “Unfortunately” – I’m just blood-thirsty enough to like the idea of a “Prison of Last Resort” – where all the bad ones go to be snuffed out, their souls taken out of the reincarnation lottery forever.
UNDERBOSSES | Second Place | Bill Engelson and AV Laidlaw
Bill Engleson “Hazel Twigg” – this continuation of his story just leaves me wanting more. This “world” is part “Cowboys and Aliens” and part “Philip Marlowe,” especially since I hear Humphrey Bogart in Woody’s narration.
AV Laidlaw “Life” – creative use of the prompt and again, a lot of world-building in a few words that makes me want to know more about the Life and the tech.
BOSS | First Place | Bokerah
Bokerah “Fallen” – a wonderful noir piece with shades of the supernatural, a cigarette-smoking fallen angel, and a priest. If this was an excerpt from a book, I’d go buy it immediately. And start reading.
THE WINNING STORY: Fallen by @msbbrumley
“I found her on the pavement.” Jason’s hands were clasped on the table in front of him. One light illuminated the metal surface. Uncomfortable, he glanced at the darkened corners of the room.
“Just lying on the pavement?”
“Hard to believe.” The officer scrubbed a hand across his stubble.
“I don’t make this stuff up.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I told you I don’t know. Did you find the last one?” Silence met his question. Jason bowed his head, expressing a sigh before murmuring quietly to himself.
When Jason looked up, the officer had raised eyebrows. “Finished?” The word held no irritation.
Jason nodded. “Yes, I need to get back.” The chair scraped loudly across the floor.
“You sure you have nothing to add?”
Jason’s hand was already on the door knob, his black cassock belted in the middle, his clerical collar digging into the neck thickening with middle age. He looked over his shoulder. “I have a long history of cooperation. I want to find her as much as you do.” He pulled the door open, his robes swirling about his booted feet.
The officer nodded. “Alright. Well, let us know if you find another one.”
Jason did not answer, already striding down the corridor, his right boot squeaked with each stride.
Must’ve stepped in something.
His pace did not slow, and he burst into the night, nearly knocking into a rough looking man.
“Hey, watch it!”
Jason tilted his head to the side, knowing the street lamp would catch the thin line of white circling his neck.
“Oh, sorry, padre, have a nice night.”
Still means something… sometimes. He turned toward the parish, the gothic cross just visible over the roof lines. A train whistle sounded from far away.
His heart tripped in his chest when he heard an unexpected voice close behind, low, almost purring. “Hello, Father, I have sinned.”
He whirled, an image of a spinning dervish flashed in his mind. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Woe leaned against the building, a cigarette hanging from her mouth, the cherry glowing as she inhaled. When she stepped forward, Jason’s eyes tripped down her body. A leather jacket over a mini dress, black leather boots laced up to her thighs. Bare legs, no makeup. Something stirred in him. “You look like a teenager.”
“I’m twice as old as Westminster.” She coughed.
“Angels shouldn’t smoke.”
“Fallen angel, Father.” She took another drag. “I’ll leave this life behind. At least, I can die now.”
“After our talk, I had hoped you wanted to be the last one standing. We need you.”
She flicked the cigarette across the sidewalk. “Maybe. Maybe not. I hear the last one didn’t fare so well, isn’t he locked up somewhere?”
Jason sighed, his shoulders drooping. She waited, and he let the silence stretch. Finally, he nodded. “The last time I saw him, he was screaming, ‘These iron bars can’t hold my soul.’”
“I’m not sure I even have a soul, Jason.”
He gave no answer.