#FlashMobWrites 1×37

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Welcome to #FlashMobWrites Week Thirty-Seven

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).

nano2015

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 (or both!) 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: “fade to black”

Ruth Long: “I’m gonna put you down”

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

69 thoughts on “#FlashMobWrites 1×37”

  1. Straight Shootin’

    Ace flashed a too easy, Hollywood smirk, a grizzled kid-with-his-hands-caught-in-the-cookie-jar-grin that said loads and yet said nothing.

    “Well,” Ace drawled, “I’m gonna put you down as some seriously hard working dicks. Nobody tells anybody everything, fellas. Hell, I’ve lived a lifetime. Bound to miss something in the telling…”

    “Look Ace,” John snapped into speechifying, “We don’t want to know all your secrets. Same way we want to keep a few things to ourselves. Natural enough. But, you’re the one who hired us to find out what happened to Hazel. Some things about your life, Hazel’s life, are essential. The people closest to her are clearly who we, who most cops, would suspect first. Make sense?”

    Ace looked John straight in the eye and said, “I got that.”

    “Fine. So the fact that the guy who hired us and the guy who was the only witness, the last human being on this earth to see her, were in some kind of land deal with the woman who vanished, well, that’s kind of a kick-in-the-head, big-assed clue, we figure.”

    Ace shook his head, booted the earth, shuffling some of the street dust around as he pondered his thoughts.

    “You’re right. I should’ve mentioned that deal. It never sat right with me but Hazel, she was hungry for it. Even if it meant locking arms with Hap Granger. Wasn’t easy for her to do. I’ve made a few good economic moves in my day but Hazel, she was a natural.”

    It seemed about time for me to contribute to Ace’s discomfort. “Ace, if you got the Internment Camp land, what were you going to build there? It’s a sorrowful, depressing, fade to black wasteland out there. A real soul killer.”

    “That’s where it became…financially dicey. We maybe could’ve swung buying the land, but even with Hap’s money, and his connections, we would’ve been snookered to develop it to the level we were imagining…”

    “Which was…?” I kept fishing.

    “Something to be equal to, maybe bigger and better than, what we know Vegas has, will, become. Gambling, hotels, shows…the whole enchilada…”

    “What was dicey?” John asked “I think I know but, what do you know?”

    “We needed investors. The wrong one showed up. Or at least, his agent. Lucky Luciano…”

    There it was. The “Lucky” in the equation. Quarry started to beam.

    He explained to Ace about “Seagull.”

    “Here we were thinking birds, but it’s Bugsy…big time mobster Bugsy Siegel.”

    “We don’t know how Luciano got involved. That frightened Hazel.”

    “Jumping into a business bed with the mob is a frightening thought…” I said, diving yet again into my shallow reservoir of the all too obvious.

    “It was more than that, “Ace clarified. “She was pretty sure that Luciano had something to do with her friend, with Toddy’s death.”

    “Who else was investing?” John asked.

    “Hollis was in for a penny…”

    “No one else?”

    Just the four of us and…Luciano.”

    “How did Luciano get involved?”

    “Like I said. We still don’t know.”

    500 investors in a scheme
    @billmelaterplea

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  2. Like a Bad Movie

    She stared up at me, a stinking cloud of ammonia surrounding her. She was bloody terrified. Of me. She should be. I was a nightmare stalking her world, and she knew on some primal level. I focused on the man next to her.

    “F-for you,” he stuttered. “And I brought the information, just like you asked.”

    The sickly-sweet scent of rotten apples overrode the ammonia. Asshole was lying.

    “Adam?” Little bitch found her voice. “Wh-what’s going on?”

    The prick shoved her my direction then scurried off like a rat. The cunt fell flat on her face as I stepped around her. Three strides later, I had the asshole. I’m a Wolf. I don’t lose prey, especially not this pissant. He thought he could screw the Nightriders. Not happenin’ on my watch.

    “Gonna put you down you lie to me again.”

    “N-not lyin’, man. Swear. Take her.”

    The girl wasn’t moving. One-handed, I picked up the prick, held him, feet dangling. “Who is she?”

    “Peace offering. For the Russian.”

    “From who?”

    “You know who.”

    We were at war with the Hell Dogs. They didn’t make peace offerings. They made death. So did we.

    “Enlighten me, boyo.”

    “Joe Tex.”

    Ah, and that would explain things. Joe Tex, the local drug dealer. He’d picked the Dogs, pissed on the Nightriders. Fatal error. We had a kill order out on him. “Who is she?”

    “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m just the messenger. Joe said she has the info you’re lookin’ for.”

    I tossed him in the Dumpster, strolled back to the girl. She’d managed to sit up. Her face was dirty. I smelled blood and scorched hair. She was panicking.

    “What’s yer name, girl?”

    “M-m-m…” A tear rolled down her cheek but she managed to spit out her name. “M-meredith.”

    “And why should I be keepin’ ya?” Her eyes got huge as she gawked at me. “I-I don’t know.”

    “I should just slit yer throat and walk away.” More tears fell. I ignored them, despite an ache growin’ in m’chest. “Just as soon kill ya both as stand here in the cold.”

    “P-please. This is like a bad movie. I keep waiting for it to fade to black.”

    “That happens, you’d be dead. Give me a reason t’take ya home and fuck ya.”

    She clutched her jacket closed. “You’re crude. I don’t understand any of this.”

    Her essential scent hit me. Well fuck me runnin’. A virgin. What the hell was goin’ on? I squatted in front of her, tilted her chin so she had to look at me. “Who are you, little girl? What makes you important to the Nightriders?”

    “N-Nightriders? Oh, god.”

    Her eyes rolled back as she passed out. I caught her head before it bounced on the pavement, pulled her into my arms.

    “Fuck me. That’s Meredith Conroy, Dancer.”

    I stared at Tinker, my backup. Bug-eyed, the MC’s enforcer, stared back. Fuckin’ hell. She was the enemy’s daughter. And my mate.
    ****
    496 words (because stuttering equals 1 word, despite what Scrivener says! 😉 )
    @SilverJames_

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  3. I sat in my chair at the table just staring furtively, contemplating slaughter. I hate Brad. I hate everything about him, but especially his constant bitching about what I had to do. I didn’t need something else telling me what to do.

    “What are you doing?” asked my daughter entering the room.
    “I’m thinking of committing murder,” I answered frankly.
    “Say what? What’s got you in such a mood?””
    “A lot of things. Could be that it’s a Friday the 13th and the moon is in Scorpio a water sign and the new moon leads me to destructive behaviour. After all I may want to get rid of some spiritual and material crap,” I quipped.
    “Mom, since when have you embraced new age views?”
    “Since about two hours ago,” I exclaimed tapping my phone, “After all I may want to dig into the deeper mysteries of life and embrace “quality over quantity. “
    “Did Dad do something to piss in your cornflakes?”
    “No!”
    “My sister?”
    “No, again, I’m just desiring a little better communication with the cosmos,” I responded.
    “Oh, but, murder… are you sure mom?”
    “It shouldn’t have to come to this. Like I said I just wanted a little cooperation a little communication, maybe some easy advice…not a contract killing homicide.”
    “Mom, you’re making things harder than they are. As usual!”
    “No, I’m not. Nothing is ever so simple as it seems to others.”
    “But mom, manslaughter? Such a drastic step and so expensive; don’t you want to think a little more about this?”
    I’m still debating, or I would have already committed the act,” I insisted.
    “So you’re thinking before you act like you always told me to do. Okay see you later,” my daughter said leaving through the backdoor.
    “I’ll think about it, see you later,” I answered, but, really I thought of how much I hated Brad. How much that voice of his grated on my nerves. How I could keep my own notes and information up to date. I’d could communicate face to face I didn’t need him doing my talking. I glanced at my phone and in that moment I reached the end of my tether.
    “Fade to black, I’m going to put you down,” I yelled.
    I threw Brad against the wall smashing him to pieces. Cooling down I realized that the updates for Brad had been that outrageous and now I’d need a new I-phone again. My fifth in the last two years…what would I call this one? Moneypit?
    418 words
    @SweetSheil

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  4. His eyes were begging her for mercy.
    Her eyes were celebrating her victory.

    She had won. She had finally won. For the first time in her life, Joanna had finally won something. She had been thrown in the deep ocean and had to prove she was the best swimmer ever.

    Or at least pretend so. Practice makes perfect right?

    At gunpoint, she forced Ben to follow her in her car. She brought him to that old, abandoned basement, tied him in a chair, and watch him beg for water, beg for food, beg for a bath, beg for dignity, beg for mercy.

    Couldn’t get enough of it.

    ”What do you think you will accomplish with this? It won’t make me want to be with you!” Ben screamed, a mix of sweat and tears rolling down his dirty cheeks.

    Joanna slowly moved towards him, gently touched his chin then suddenly put the gun to his head.

    ” But it will make you stay away from where you want to be….” she softly whispered in his ear, her eyes twinkling.

    ” You think life is some kind of game you have to win?”

    ” I think life is a kind of game I need to stop losing.” Joanna said slowly wiping her gun with a piece of cloth.

    ” See, ever since I was born, I keep losing. My parents in a plane crash. My sister in a car crash. My friends, they all left me for someone better. And boyfriends, they all left me just because they could.It all stops here, right here with you. I give you no permission to leave me.” she pulled up his chin and pressed her lips tp his.

    The look Ben gave her broke her heart into a million pieces.

    ” Joanna, I am so sorry…I didn’t know…you never talked about your past. Never wanted to hurt you. But can’t be with you just because you can’t handle another loss…my heart is elsewhere.” Ben whispered.

    ”They say the strong ones survive…right?. So let’s do it. Let the strong one live…and let the weak one die.” Joanna yelled pointing at his head with the gun.

    Ben closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. He heard a gunshot but felt not pain.

    He opened his eyes and saw Joanna lying on the floor.

    Fade to black.

    twitter @ssffs_project

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  5. The little mole on the back of my hand grew overnight. I notice the change right away. It is gradual, but a fast gradual. I run my thumb over my skin. It looks like a tiny ink blot. I grab my coffee and meld into the crowded sidewalk, unperturbed by the itchy little mark.

    I sit up in bed when my alarms goes off. My hand. The black mark is the size of a quarter, and just as shiny. I scratch it with my nail, hard, until the edges turn red. Ten minutes go by as I stare at it, unsure of what to feel. I look around my studio apartment, for anyone to tell me what to do, where to go. At that point, I feel a little nauseous. It feels like a cruel joke. I do not sleep. I get ready for work.

    I look around, across the busy street. There might be a camera crew, pointing and laughing at me. I only see my reflection in the mirrored glass staring back. My worried face a still portrait in the blur of the uncaring people.I begin to worry as I hurry to work, my eyes on the back of my hand as I rush through the ebb and flow of warm bodies.

    I reach my office, my hand nearly covered in the black stain. I watched it grow. My mind reels when I rush into the elevator, thankful that it was empty. I do not want to scare anyone. I do not want to return home. My cubicle is my hiding place. I’m tucked away in the corner of the building, my view is an ugly highway. My black hand shakes as I pull open my drawers. Aspirin. Hand cream. Anything. I pull out a roll of gauze from my little first aid kit and I wrap and wrap and wrap, until my whole forearm is covered.

    I sit back in my chair, my ears fill with chirping phones, the click-clack of keyboards, murmurs of weekend plans and muffled laughter.

    The black stains my upper arm. I peel back my sleeve and watch as it spreads over my shoulder. The itch on my skin turns to burning. I feel hot. I cannot be there. I have to go.

    I tear down the hallway, worried faces follow me down the hall, past a group of suits, and I slam into the elevator panel. I hear concerned questions, but it is only a slew of garbled noise. I rush in, and wait for the door to close.

    Heat travels over my chest. I pull open my shirt, buttons bounce on the elevator floor. My body is covered. In the stainless steel siding I see a warped image of me, my blackened face, darker than midnight. I tear off my remaining clothes. I fall against the wall. I fade. I fade to black, until I am a shadow, huddled in the dark corner for hours, days, months.

    497 words
    @jasonlefthand

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  6. Perchance to Dream
    @drmagoo
    335 words

    We’ll watch the sky fade to black, together here in your bed. The curtains billow in the breeze and you smile up at me, still talking about the day you had and the stories you told. It’s warm out tonight, but it won’t be for long – the days have started to grow shorter. You haven’t noticed yet, because time to you is ever-elastic. A minute an hour, a day a second.

    I’m twice your height, but you take up more room in the bed than I do, you and the cars and the animals and the trains and the creations only you understand. They are filled with your love, and you cannot imagine a world without them, or a life that is not borne of magic and amazing things. I pick you up and scoot you over, holding your giggles to my chest, hoping they ring in my ears long after they have turned to gentle snores.

    The day will come when I’ll no longer think ‘I’m gonna put you down,’ because you’ll grow beyond the need for such things. You’ll stay awake later than me, talking on devices that haven’t even been invented yet to your friends around the world, and I will not begrudge you that joy. As long as your world keeps growing and your heart with it, how can I deny you?

    Moonlight shines through the curtains, creating patterns that twist left and right in the wind. I watch them create roadways into a dreamworld, and finally exhausted, you take one and make the transition from perpetual motion machine to your angelic peace. Downstairs, there are bills to pay and lessons to write, dishes to clean and conversations about the future to be had. I can feel their pull, and because I have promised many things to many people, I disengage from you, gently kissing your forehead and promising to be there in the morning. One day I’ll fail to keep that promise, but that is a worry beyond my control.

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  7. She feels his hot breath against her skin. He smells of sweat and smoke. Her stomach lurches at the smell, and she struggles to get free.

    A calloused hand closes around her throat, and a raspy voice whispers, “Don’t fight me, little one. I’m gonna put you down for a long nap soon.”

    She tries to cry out for help, but no sounds come out of her. She struggles to breathe as the hand tightens and the lights in front of her eyes slowly start to fade to black. Dread fills her when she realizes that the last thing she’ll ever hear is this monster’s voice … that his will be the last face she’ll ever see.

    The thought snaps something inside her. She refuses to succumb to death at the hands of this man.

    She pushes against his chest, trying to make him let her go. Her sudden movement comes as a shock to him, and a moment’s shock is all she needs.

    Years of training pays off as her right knee moves forward in a practiced move and hits him directly in the groin.

    With a groan like a wounded animal, he falls down at her feet. She swings her other leg to hit him squarely on the jaw and once he’s unconscious, she runs.

    She manages to go a few steps when two strong arms wrap around her from behind. She cries out as panic grips her. “No! Let me go, you asshole!”

    “Shh …” a soft voice whispers in her ear, filling her heart with something she needs terribly—hope. “I’ve got you, baby,” the voice whispers again.

    “You’re here,” she whimpers softly as she turns around and throws herself in the awaiting arms of her partner in the bureau. She clutches the lapels of his jacket and hides her face in his neck. “He’s here,” she says.

    “I know, baby. I’m here for you,” he tells her as he runs his hand through her hair, knowing the perfect way to calm her down.

    As they stand there, locked in their embrace, the sound of a gun being cocked reaches them.

    “And just who might you be?” the raspy voice of their target asks from behind them.

    They whirl around and find her would-be attacker standing there with a gun pointed at the two of them. “Who are you?” he asks again, this time his eyes are trained on her partner.

    He steps forward, his hand holding hers tightly. “I’m the man who’s in love with the woman you tried to kill tonight,” he says softly as he moved forward slowly. “I’m also the man who’s about to put you behind bars.”

    “What the fuck are you talking about?”

    The assailant can barely get the words out of his mouth when sirens start ringing and the next thing they know, they’re surrounded by uniformed cops.

    She watches as the cars drive away with another serial killer behind the bars before turning her eyes on her partner. “You said you love me,” she says.

    “I do.”

    A smile appears on her lips as she whispers, “I do too.”

    @TwiAddictAnne
    Word count# 500

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  8. The couch at the recording studio was perfectly comfortable. The problem was that it sat so low after years of use that, with his broken leg, Jimmy Rickliefs had a hell of a time getting up again. Of course, he broke his good leg, so that meant his weak leg had to do all the work. Not for the first time, he cursed the stalker who’d tried to kill him. He had his daughter on his lap as they listened to the lead guitar player work out a solo. When Anthony stopped after a sour run of notes, Grace clapped and cheered.

    “Track it!” she shouted.

    Anthony turned around and laughed. “Track it? That sounded awful,” he said.

    “I liked it,” she said. She turned to Jimmy. “Daddy, I have to go potty.”

    “Okay, let me get off the couch.”

    He helped her down and she walked over to the side of the couch. He braced one hand on the arm of the couch and the other on his right crutch. Counting to three, he pushed himself up.

    “Fudge,” he muttered when his butt barely left the worn, dark green cushion.

    “I’ll help!” Grace said. She put her little hand under his elbow and pushed. She frowned. “You’re not moving much.”

    Jimmy laughed. “I know, sweetie. I appreciate the help, but I think your uncles are going to have to pitch in.”

    “Aldon!” Anthony hollered, strumming his guitar to tune it.

    “Yeah?” Aldon’s voice echoed from the kitchenette area of the studio.

    “Grace has to pee and Jimmy’s stuck again!”

    Grace started laughing. Aldon came in, face red with laughter.

    “All right, Anthony, you get the little one on her way and I’ll get Jimmy up.”

    Grace cheered when Anthony swept her off her feet and onto his shoulders. They left the live room, Grace giggling as they ducked through the doorway. Aldon stood to Jimmy’s left and grabbed the band of his jeans.

    “Ready?”

    Jimmy nodded. He braced himself again and pushed off, as Aldon lifted him. It took two tries, but he finally rose to his full height and stood a moment to get his bearings.

    “Ready for me to let go?”

    Jimmy shook his head. “My stomach’s doing flips.” He swallowed hard, wishing he could will the pending seizure away.

    “Shit. I’m gonna put you down.”

    The next thing Jimmy knew, Aldon was leaning over him. Something warm registered near his leg. He struggled to keep his eyes open.

    “Do you know what day it is?”

    “Monday,” he slurred. His head swam and Aldon split in half. “So tired.”

    “I know, dude, I know. Couple more. What year is it?”

    “2015.”

    “Good. Where are we?”

    “Eldorado Studios.”

    “Good. Get some sleep.”

    Jimmy closed his eyes and willed the couch to quit spinning. Right before he fell asleep, he heard Grace ask what had happened. He tuned out Aldon’s response as he concentrated on sleep.

    @Aightball
    487 words

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  9. THE DEPO
    MR KOCH You were previously sworn, Mr. Snow. Before the break.
    MR SNOW Correct.
    MR KOCH …and if you’ll bear with me a few. I have just a last couple of questions and we can wrap this deposition up.
    MR SNOW I’m gonna put you down for two.
    MR KOCH I was a little bit confused by the answer you gave to interrogatory number 15. Were you an officer of the corporation?
    MR SNOW No.
    MR KOCH No?
    MR SNOW What corporation?
    MR KOCH We’ve been talking about CMCI all day. Were you an officer of CMCI?
    MR SNOW No. When?
    MR KOCH At any time during 2014?
    MR SNOW No.
    MR KOCH Let me ask you to look again at Plaintiff’s exhibit 38. Would you look at the signature line? Is that your signature?
    MR SNOW It’s a copy.
    MR KOCH I can produce the orginal. Do you want me to do that?
    MR SNOW No.
    MR KOCH The jurat says you signed under the penalties of perjury, doesn’t it?
    MR SNOW What’s a jurat?
    MR KOCH The printing above your signature.
    MR SNOW Oh the boilerplate.
    MR KOCH If that’s what you like to call it, fine. Following your signature, someone has handwritten something that looks to me like “vice president.” And it looks like it’s dated October 13, 2014. Is that what it says?
    MR SNOW That’s what it looks like to me.
    MR KOCH Is that your handwriting?
    MR SNOW Where?
    MR KOCH Was “vice president” and “October 13, 2014” written by you on the piece of paper that you are holding in your hand that’s been marked as Plaintiff’s exhibit 38?
    MR SNOW Yes.
    MR KOCH Were you the vice president of CMCI on October 13, 2014?
    MR SNOW Yes.
    MR KOCH Were you an officer of CMCI on October 13, 2014?
    MR SNOW No.
    MR KOCH But you were vice president.
    MR SNOW Is that a question?
    MR KOCH Can you explain why you claim to be a vice president but deny ever being a company officer?
    MR SNOW Well I guess you’d say, I was an officer in title only.
    MR KOCH Have you ever been convicted of a felony?
    MR SNOW I don’t know.
    MR KOCH You don’t know whether or not you’ve ever been convicted of a felony?
    MR SNOW If you ask the court reporter to read back you will see that you already asked that question and I already answered it.
    MR KOCH You know, Mr. Snow, you might be right. We have so many things that are considered felonies under the law now days, I can see how someone could be confused. Is it a misdemeanor a felony? You’d have to be a lawyer to answer that question correctly. And I know you’re not a lawyer. So I’ll withdraw the question. But let me ask you this. Have you ever spent the night in prison?
    MR SNOW I don’t remember.
    MR KOCH Thank you for your time.

    @DennisMaley1

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  10. The first time was a mistake. A trick of peripheral vision. She moved like a shadow, a dark symphony that sent a signal and burned an image into my frontal lobe.

    From that second on, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. The passing weeks tore away at my sanity. I’d nearly convinced myself she was a hallucination.

    The second time was no mistake.

    “You’re the one, aren’t you?” Her breathy voice asked upon plopping down at my corner booth.
    “I’m the one what?” I feigned aloofness as the blood pounded in my ears. Somehow, I managed the act of summoning a waiter with a raised finger.

    Her brow dropped and a mischievous smile appeared. “Not the what, the who. The who with the signals sent…to me.”

    My mouth went dry and a chill ran down my spine. As obsessed as I was by the raven-haired beauty, a distant warning bell sounded in the back of my mind.

    “Can I get you something?” I croaked.

    “You have.” With a flick of her wrist she sent the approaching waiter away without so much as turning her head. Her dark eyes met mine. “You brought me here, like a summoning. I’ve been looking for someone like you for a very long time.”

    Terrific. The mystery woman of my dreams is a lunatic. I felt my heart drop until her fingertips grazed my hand. A light electric charge ran up my arm and if fought back a fade to black.
    “Who are you?” I asked after giving my head a shake.

    “Think if me as the completion of a circuit, the connection you’ve sought your entire life.”
    “What do you mean?” I started but she cut me off with a raised hand.

    “No one has ever sparked your desire. You think it’s you, but you’re mistaken. You sense there’s something more to life, something you can’t yet comprehend.” She leaned against my side, her voice a smooth purr. “Now you’re afraid of what you’ve longed for. You don’t need to be. The page has finally turned for us both.”

    I tried again. “Who are you?”

    “I am you. You are me.” She took my hand and rose from the table. It took considerable effort, but I remained seated despite her strong hot grip.

    “I think you have the wrong guy.” I said, hearing the doubt in my own voice.

    Her hand rose to stroke my cheek. “What’s important is what could be right, and I promise it’ll be more than you could have ever imagined.”

    I stood, transfixed. My legs moved and I followed as if in a dream.

    The eyes of the other diners didn’t follow us, no waiter noticed. It was if we’d stepped out of time and space.

    A black Corvette sat idling at the curb, waiting. She got behind the wheel. I slid into the passenger seat.

    My car, my coat, my life lay behind as we drove off into the night.

    And I didn’t care one bit.

    The Witch
    500 words
    @RevoBoulanger

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