#FlashMobWrites 1×46

Welcome to #FlashMobWrites Week Forty-Six

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).

  • 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

This week, we turn up the crazy, with Panic! At the Disco’s latest, “Victorious.”

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: “punch-drunk kiss”

Ruth Long: “black and poisonous”

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

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58 thoughts on “#FlashMobWrites 1×46

  1. With apologies for not being around.

    For the love of it.

    There are a lot of collectible cards out there. Ones that are based on old TV shows, some that have shows made around them. Some have games attached to them and can be as simple as who’s got the biggest stat to ones that need a small library to understand. Yeah there are all kinds.

    Something a lot of people do, if there cards based on a live action show or on real people, is get them to sign the card. In one game based on some old sci-fi show if you get the actor to sign it then it gets new abilities. But mostly it’s for bragging rights.

    Ninety nine per cent of the time most are more than happy to sign pretty much anything put in front of them. Including, or should that be especially, body parts. I’ve seen many a young lady coming away from meeting a star with a boob signed. But I’m digressing.

    You see I’m into superhero cards. I’ve got a mint condition Rayne Cloud card, she never signs. A signed Mr Steel card. But to be honest almost everyone has one of them. The guys all ways happy to sign things, and he’s kind of in love with himself.

    No, the big name supers are easy to get. There forever turning up at big events. It’s the lesser known ones, that’s where the true connoisseur finds what he’s after. A lot of people throw them out when they open a pack and find one in it. They don’t understand that it’s because there not big names that their so hard to find.

    Last week I met a guy that was selling a Star Spangled and banner (the boy wonder) card. He only wanted five bucks for it. He almost ran from the shop like he’d just ripped me off. Thing is; only a week ago one went for almost six hundred.

    Get it signed and you can triple it.

    But I was after something much bigger. A card that was so rare I’d only seen battered up, used, ones. Which is why, wearing latex gloves, I slipped a just out of packet Orgasma card into an acid free protector sleeve. I glanced over at the seller, a thin smile crossing my face.

    I knew he would like the replica Raptorette claw. It was a good trade. The half dozen figurines of her he had of her in various poses on his shelf told me he liked her. Going over to him I gave him a punch-drunk kiss on his forehead.

    It was a shame the claw was on longer in mint condition. Being that it was covered in his blood and sticking out of his chest and all.

    Picking up a brush I dipped it in the red stuff and started to write on the wall.
    Orgasma, noon next Monday the corner of nineteenth and Wayne. Come alone.

    Well, I needed to get the card signed didn’t I?

    @laughingAndy

    495 words.

    Liked by 4 people

  2. Smoke Break

    Smoke swayed in the doorway. Rage, black and poisonous, slithered through his veins. She lay on her back, the motherfucker on top. He’d kill the asshole. Kill her. He curled his fingers into his palms to hide the claws erupting from their tips.

    His focus narrowed, his gaze arrowing in on Leigh’s face. Her expression. Those full lips were slack. A line of drool trailed from one corner, a dark spot staining the fancy sheets beneath her cheek. She slept damn ugly. His wolf whined, pawed to get out, to get to his mate. Fuck that shit. His mate had betrayed them. The wolf growled, strained to reach her.

    And that’s when he realized. The throb of Leigh’s carotid was sluggish. Too slow. What the hell? His boot connected with a bottle as he strode toward the bed. A faint odor drifted up to him. He bent, snatched the empty.

    Holding it under his nose, he inhaled deeply. Wine. Red. Tannins. Wood with spruce berry undernotes. Alcohol. And some chemical he couldn’t identify. He traced his tongue over the lip, tasted. Roofie.

    Smoke launched toward the bed with a roar. His wolf wanted to rip the motherfucker’s throat out. But the man couldn’t unleash the beast. Not yet. Information. He had to find out why. Find out who. He slammed the jerkwad up against the wall.

    “Oh yeah, asshole. Awake now aren’t you.”

    “Wha—?” The guy blinked, his expression tinged with stupid.

    Bleu cheese edging toward scorched hair. Smoke crinkled his nose to keep from sneezing. The dickless wonder was cognizant now, nervous as shit and starting to panic. Smoke grinned, his canines slightly elongated and he was pretty damn sure red lights flickered in his eyes.

    “Why the girl?” He couldn’t keep the snarl out of his voice as his fingers squeezed the guy’s throat.

    “Orders.” Loser shithead choked out the word.

    “From who?”

    “Can’t.”

    “You’re gonna die either way, asshole. You cooperate, you die quick. Fuck around?” He smiled and scented ammonia. His prisoner had tipped right over into terror. “I know a man who will take days, killing you in inches.”

    “Don’t know,” he rasped. “Got an envelope. Her picture. Address. Was told to have fun.” Bravado washed across the man’s expression. “And I did. Bitch is full of fun.”

    Smoke slammed the tool’s head against the wall, watched his eyes roll up in their sockets. He tied the jackass, took out his cell. “I have a package. Special delivery for the Russian.” He reeled off the address.

    Wrapping Leigh in a blanket he found in the closet, Smoke cradled her to his chest. He couldn’t think about another man’s scent on her—in her. He’d go crazy. His driving need now was to get her home. Keep her safe. She was his, even if she denied their connection.

    “Smoke?”

    “Shh, baby. Sleep.”

    “I’m punch-drunk.”

    “Kiss me anyway.” His heart lurched.

    “Okay.” Wonky smile, pursed lips, she kissed him.

    Smoke’s world settled back on its axis.
    ****
    500 Smoke Gets In Your Eyes words
    @SilverJames_

    Liked by 4 people

  3. Wake My Heart

    In the darkness of the night, the wind swishes her skirt around as she walks down the deserted road. The sound of the wind makes her think of the howling of some untamed beast … black and poisonous … feral is its pursuit.

    A shiver runs down her spine as the chill of the night permeates through the thin material of her clothes and threatens to freeze her bones.

    She looks up at the sky, hoping to be guided through the lonely night by the light of the moon. But alas! All she sees are dark clouds circling overhead, hiding the moon behind them. A sigh leaves her, making a small wisp of smoke come out of her mouth. Will this infinite cold never end? she wonders. She yearns for warmth as she walks alone.

    “Ashley!”

    The sound of her name makes her stop. Slowly, she turns around, only to feel the air leave her lungs. There, standing behind her is the only boy she has wanted for some time now. “Daniel?” she asks softly.

    “Hey,” he says, and with a smile on his face, he walks toward her. “Why did you leave the party?”

    “It’s not my scene,” she answers, her voice sounding hoarse with the lack of use.

    He nods. “It’s not mine either. But you really shouldn’t walk down the roads alone,” he tells her, a slight note of disapproval in his voice. “Let me walk you to your apartment.”

    Her heart stutters at the sweetness of his offer, but then, the cynic in her rears its head. “Why?” she asks.

    “Why what?” he asks back with a frown.

    “Why do you care?” she elaborates. “I don’t mind being alone. So go back to the party, Daniel.”

    The harshness in her voice doesn’t deter him though. With a step toward her, he shrugs. “I care because it’s you, Ashley. I care about you.”

    Suddenly, she finds her overused violet Chucks very interesting. Keeping her eyes on them, she mutters, “You shouldn’t. I’m nothing special.”

    “You’re right,” she hears him say in a light voice. “You’re nothing special.”

    Tears she didn’t know she had to shed sting her eyes at his words. She takes a step back from him … then another and just as she’s getting ready to run away from him, he reaches out to wrap a hand around her wrist.

    “Stop running away from me,” he says with a desperation in his voice that makes her heart wrench in her chest.

    She turns her head away from him, not wanting to let him see the tears falling from her eyes. “You said I’m nothing special. So let me go.”

    He makes an impatient sound with his tongue and tugs on her hand, making her fall into his arms. “Will you listen to me, please?” he says in frustration. Taking her hand, he places it over his heart and says, “Listen to my heart, baby. You’re nothing special because you’re everything to me. Everything.”

    Without another word, he presses his lips to hers in an all consuming punch-drunk kiss.

    Word Count: 500

    @TwiAddictAnne

    Liked by 3 people

  4. End of Days

    498 words

    @el_Stevie
    #FlashDog

    Black and poisonous clouds were already scudding across the horizon, closing down the day long before night’s arrival. Vinnie scanned his surroundings. Nothing but bombed-out craters and skeletal buildings. There was little shelter to be had anywhere anymore, whatever remained was teetering on the brink of collapse. The End of Days people called it, those few who had survived. But not Vinnie. He had no faith – except in his own capacity for survival – had learned long ago to look for the opportunity in everything. He hitched his bag over his shoulder and headed towards the hills, towards the clouds.

    He had heard of a small community there, customers for the goods he now carried. His price was whatever they had. He always made a killing.

    The sky continued to glower but Vinnie strode swiftly on over the pitted and rutted ground, eventually finding himself on a path that lead him up and away from withered grass onto granite crag, from the last of light into ominous darkness. It was getting hard to see now but still he walked until finally he came to an opening in the side of the mountain. He could sense someone watching him as he entered without invitation.

    “Who are you?” asked a voice in the darkness, a voice that sounded strangely familiar.

    “A trader,” said Vinnie. “I have medicines, drugs …”

    “Are you a doctor?” asked the voice, interrupting him.

    “No, but I have what you need,” said Vinnie.

    “And how do you know what I need?”

    “It’s the same everywhere,” said Vinnie. “Everyone needs, wants what I have, even you.”

    “Perhaps,” said the voice. “Although possibly not in the way you imagine it.”

    Echoes of laughter rang round the cave. Others were watching and listening, all hidden from Vinnie’s sight. He began to feel slightly uncomfortable, noticed how cold it was. Outside the tempest raged.

    “You are lucky to find shelter on such a night.”

    “No,” said Vinnie. “It was not luck. I had been told of this place.”

    “Oh,” said the voice, amused. “Who told you?”

    It had been the dying men, remembered Vinnie. When he had given them his cure, they always spoke to him of the cave in the mountains; their voices, he realised, sounding exactly like that which now spoke.

    “Aah,” said the voice, as if hearing Vinnie’s thoughts. “So you thought to bring your business here, expected to make a killing I dare say.”

    His words made Vinnie’s skin crawl and suddenly the storm outside seemed preferable to the cave.

    “I have travelled with you,” said the voice. “Watched as you preyed on the weak, allowed greed to guide your feet. Watched as you proved yourself a true disciple of mine.”

    Vinnie took a step back.

    “And you were wrong, Vinnie,” whispered the voice. “For you, it is the End of Days.”

    A crack of lightning lit up the world behind him, the horror in front.

    “You are home,” said the voice. “And my fires are waiting.”

    Liked by 4 people

  5. Long Shot

    We arrived at Ace Longworth’s ranch before noon. I was dog-tired from the dusty drive and a sense that the entire trip through the wearisome wasteland to and from the remote home of Senator Tyrell had been a waste of time.

    Quarry argued that we had now a much fuller picture of the key players.

    “The more you know…” I sagely lamented.

    “The less. You’re right, Woody. Hence the Hail Mary.”

    We cleaned up and sat down to palaver with Ace.

    Quarry got right to the point. “Unless someone rolls over and confesses, Ace, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell we’ll ever find Hazel.”

    I was impressed with John’s apocalyptic turn of phrase even if it didn’t smack of the arid landscape.

    I decided to soft pedal our frustration.

    “We’ve been digging around for three days, Ace,” I added, stating the ever present no-surprize-to-anyone palpable truth. “It’s possible we may have stirred up some muck. Certainly Hollis Shelby’s passing may have been externally triggered….I suppose it’s too soon to have a cause of death?”

    “Probably. I’ll call Jack Squires and ask. Doubt it they’re done, though. And they’re not gonna step lively up at the Capital City morgue because of some hick mayor.”

    “Well, he was the local coroner,” I take a flyer and make a suggestion. “Maybe they’ll provide some punch-drunk kiss-off smooch of professional courtesy?”

    “Ha,” Ace laughed, “Maybe. In case you hadn’t guessed, Holly was, at his best, a good time guy. At his worse, a bloody sad sack. A professional, he simply wasn’t. More Hap’s gofer most days. He was beholden to his master.”

    Ace looked like he’s tiring of running down Holly’s memory. “I’ll plant a bug in Hap’s ear. If he moves it along, that might mean he had nothing to do with Holly’s death, assuming it was…induced.”

    “Back to our plan, Ace,” Quarry jumps in, “There wasn’t a major search for Hazel when she vanished?”

    “Yeah. True. There was a bit of a look around but it was so modest, Hank Porter forgot to mention it in the file. Well, you read it. I had Clint and a few of the local wranglers do a reconnoitre, poke here and there but winter was sneaking up…Christ, I coulda done more…Maybe I bought into Hank’s lazy assessment?”

    “Okay, can we mount a comprehensive sweep now? One big search. Give it our all. It’s a long shot, I know, but it might rustle some bustles.”

    I watch Ace take in Quarry’s suggestion. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t done a full scale search at the time she disappeared. Hazel, by all accounts, wasn’t an undependable woman. It was clear to me that on that fateful evening three years back, Hazel Twigg had fallen into a deep pit, a pit sorrowful, black and poisonous. For a moment, my eyes closed, I could almost visualize that abyss, her bones cradled in the earth’s void, cold, white and lost.

    Ace jumpstarts into gear.

    “I’ll get her goin’”

    500 searchers about to get going
    @billmelaterplea

    Liked by 3 people

  6. I sat in the corner at the party watching him the object of my affections Morgan whom I’d loved since a child as I tagged along after him and my big brother, his best friend Haiden. Morgan was my hero having rescued me from trees and even bullies. I hadn’t really wanted to come to this rehearsal dinner, but if you truly love someone you want them to be happy even when you know they’re making a mistake…and Sherry-Lynn was a huge mistake.
    I wanted to scream at Morgan that she was like a Cottonmouth snake, black and poisonous always ready to pounce if threatened, but I didn’t for I had no proof and my continuing friendship with Morgan was too important to jeopardize. I made nice and then excused myself I really had to psyche myself up for tomorrow. The wine I’d drunk had other ideas and first I needed to use the facilities. The bathrooms were down a long narrow hall, before I got there though I heard loud noises coming from the closet. I thought I heard screaming so I opened the door only to find Sherry-Lynn with her panties around her ankles and some guy’s legs wrapped around her waist. Neither of them noticed me and I closed the door quickly wondering if I should inform Morgan. I decided to tell Haiden. Walking to Haiden I pretended I forgot to say goodbye; but whispered in his ear about Sheryl-Lynn and then left before the fireworks. Sometime later I heard pounding at my apartment door and Morgan wondered in planting a punch-drunk kiss on me he pulled me into my bedroom. Clothes fell abruptly to the floor and with legs entwined, fingers touching everywhere, lips everywhere, whispers, and sighs of pleasure; we made love for the first time. We fell asleep and when I awoke the next morning he was gone. I tried calling him and he didn’t answer months went by and still I hadn’t heard from him. My belly grew bigger and even Haiden said he hadn’t heard from Morgan and Haiden was angry with me. The time came for me to give birth and Haiden was there when I gave birth to a perfect six pound girl I called Morgana.
    “I forgive you for killing Morgan,” Haiden said.
    “I didn’t kill Morgan,” I protested.
    “We never had a father you and I and neither will your child. The truth is the women in our family devour their mates during sex and then don’t remember it.”
    For a moment I questioned my brother’s sanity but as I thought about it I saw flashes of what I had done and knew he was telling the truth.
    “Igraine it will be okay you’ll have your daughter, Morgana and me to comfort you,” Haiden replied.
    So Haiden helps me raise Morgana whom i know is very special. As for me I’ll never love again it’s just too dangerous for me and them.
    495 words
    @SweetSheil

    Liked by 2 people

  7. Sizing Up the Competition

    Svanhild took a deep breath and gathered herself before stepping out the door of Kate’s house. Her heart thundered with joy and contentment like the world had shifted into alignment again, only more so. She’d been hit with a punch-drunk kiss of connection she hadn’t experienced since she’d first become a Valkyrie in the Goddess’s service. And she wanted more, more time with Kate Blackamber, serving her specifically.

    The door closed behind her while Bart finished with Kate — something about his cousin and the local hunters. She took a deep breath and damn near ran over the person who’d just stepped up onto the porch. The creeping hiss of awareness that someone stood too close coupled with the smell of rain-soaked wool brought her up short and she braced for evasive action.

    By the time her gaze had sharpened on the man in front of her, he’d shifted to the side and taken a defensive stance, his own expression tight with wariness. Her Valkyrie senses roared again, gearing up for battle with the black and poisonous taint surrounding him.

    Her fists clenched at her side and she missed the feeling of her sword and hatchet. She realized she’d stepped into his space and throttled back the urge to carry the fight to the enemy.

    “Excuse me.” The words came out more snarl than conversation. But she’d been more or less polite.

    He dipped his head in acknowledgement and took another step back. “It’s not a problem. I didn’t mean to get so close.”

    His own words were clipped and tense, and his hands clenched on his pant legs as if he needed something to hold on to. She raised her chin and stared him down, asserting her strengh and height over such an unclean apparition.

    He met her gaze, holding his ground without openly challenging her.

    “Why are you here?” The audacity of her question shocked her, but she’d learned to hide her surprise over her own unintentional actions.

    His chin jerked as if he wanted to meet her blow for blow, but he inhaled slowly and released his breath with measured effort.

    “I’m here for the Morukai.

    “In what capacity?” Something about the guy suggested his visit might be more ambush than social call.

    Again he took a long slow breath. “For…help.”

    The words were forced, thrust between clenched teeth and riddled with reluctance. He shook with some suppressed emotion, but she couldn’t decipher it. Then his whole body stiffened and his eyes rolled back in his head before he crumpled to the floor of the porch.

    424 #WIP500 words
    @SiobhanMuir

    Liked by 4 people

  8. He would not be consoled that night. The nurses and techs stayed with him through the night. No one liked to keep couples apart, but there was no way to get him to his wife, not with his injuries.

    “Take me to the hospital, please!” he begged for the hundredth time.

    “Jimmy, I wish we could. The OR only has room for one gurney. Her mother is there and her father. That’s the best we can do.”

    His left hand swung back and Heather only barely kept him from punching the wall. She unlocked the breaks on the bed and swung it out from the wall. Satisfied that he couldn’t reach anything, she sat grabbed a tissue and handed it to him.

    “Look, I really want to be with my wife. She’s bleeding to death and I’m stuck here?! How the fuck is that fair?!” He blinked and tears rolled down his face. “Why can’t I fucking see her?”

    His blood-shot blue eyes stared at the ceiling. He didn’t care that he was in a half-body cast. He didn’t care that he’d have to lie next to his wife in a separate bed. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to know she was alive, that the baby was okay. He and Heather had talked about the baby: would it ever have a punch-drunk kiss? Would it ever fall in love?

    He reached his good hand over and she grasped it. Her hand disappeared into his. She hadn’t left his side since her shift ended four hours ago. His baby had been born an hour after his wife woke up bleeding. He’d seen a picture of the baby following an emergency c-section. His mother-in-law said it was a girl and she was going to be in the NICU on a ventilator for a long time.

    But his phone had been silent the last three hours. Despite Heather’s prodding, he’d refused his breakfast and tried to refuse morning meds. She insisted on his meds. Now, she dried his face with a tissue as his phone beeped.

    “Hand it here,” he said.

    She read the text as he held the phone in his trembling hand. His parents were on their way. They’d been out of town when everything had happened.

    “Can you call Sheryl? Please?”

    Heather nodded and started dialing the familiar number. Someone knocked on his door and Sheryl’s lined face peered through. Heather waved her in.

    “Allison?” he asked. Heather wiped his face again. “How is she?”

    “She’s resting. They stopped the bleeding. They were able to save everything. Your daughter is in the NICU but doing okay.”

    “I need to be there.”

    Sheryl walked in and shut the door. She took Jimmy’s hand. “I know, hon, I know. But you can’t right now. Dr. Petree is going to stop by and see you today.”

    He sighed and Heather put an arm around his head. She figured it was little comfort but it was the best anyone could do.

    @Aightball
    500 words

    Liked by 3 people

  9. Pingback: #FlashMobWrites 1 x 46 : Victorious | My Soul's Tears

  10. Bob and Charlie, that was their names. Bob was the nervous one, the one the blonde told Charlie to take out for drinks. I wasn’t worried about the blonde that night, she’d sleep well in her bed. Bob and Charlie, on the other hand, wouldn’t sleep that night. They wouldn’t sleep for a long time.

    Charlie picked the place, Boneshakers, a bar and grill, heavy on the bar. Country music boomed from the speakers of the entertainment system, and some country star cried his heart out to the music on a giant theater screen on one wall. I ignored it all, the crowd, the dancing, the drinking. I wasn’t interested in that. I watched Charlie and Bob.

    Charlie ordered the first round, “A couple of Buds!” He patted Bob’s shoulder, “You OK, buddy?”

    “I keep seeing her stuff everywhere.”

    “I know what you mean. I see it everywhere too.”

    Bob chugged half his beer, “Yeah, but you sleep at night.” His thumbs pressed against the sides of the can, almost bent it before he caught himself, and pulled them back. But his fingers couldn’t stop moving, and pressed against the can, making little “clack” sounds as the can popped back into shape each time his fingers shifted. “I haven’t slept in days.”

    “That’s why we’re here, buddy. We both need to relax.” Charlie waved at the bartender, “Another round over here.” Bob drained his first can, then let his fingers crush the sides in. The bartender walked over with two fresh cans, put them down. Bob nearly choked, Charlie stood up, “What the fuck?” Darla’s picture was on the side of each can, another picture was on the bar.

    “What’s wrong, guys?”

    They didn’t say anything.

    “Oh, the cans? Yeah. We got a whole shipment of them with different pictures stuck on them. Some special can. Saw them when we opened the case.” He sighed, “The guy that delivered them was surprised. Didn’t know what it was.” He picked up a can, turned it around, “See?” The can said, “In Memory Of The Unsolved Cases”.

    The bartender shrugged, “Pretty morbid thing to do, don’t you think?”

    Bob and Charlie sat there, staring at the cans. “She’s haunting us, right?”

    “Bob, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

    I stood behind them, invisible in my armor. It was time to sing, in Darla’s voice. I sang along with the song. Bob turned pale, almost white. Charlie spilled his drink, “Shit!”

    They got up, left the bar, I tagged along. Darla’s ghost wasn’t done with them that night. Not by a long shot. Their night was going to be long, black, and poisonous. A night they’d never forget.

    445 Words
    @LurchMunster

    Liked by 3 people

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