Our gracious host, Rochelle, at Friday Fictioneers
asks us to use the photo below as inspiration
to write creatively in 100 words or less while
making every word count. This is my flash.
Tag: Terror
Unnoticed
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
The claustrophobia started gradually for four-year-old Phoebe.
She had climbed into the back of her father’s flatbed truck to investigate the crates of chickens ready for market. Phoebe went unnoticed as her father threw a tarp over the back and locked the tailgate. When her dad found her, she was curled up in a ball, crying pitifully.
Over time, Phoebe seemed to forget about the incident in the truck.
Years later Phoebe was accidentally locked in her bedroom closet when a gust of wind blew through the window and slammed the closet door closed. Her parents were out and her older siblings were watching television; her frantic cries for help went unnoticed. Exhausted, Phoebe fell asleep in the closet, her family unaware. Her mother found her the next morning, traumatized.
Incidents like that kept happening. Phoebe became obsessed with her surroundings and her parents sought professional help. After eight years in the hospital, Phoebe was declared “cured”.
She met Evan, a great guy, and they began dating. Life was good again for Phoebe. For her birthday, Evan and Phoebe planned to see her favorite band. She felt safe with Evan and was unafraid to ride public transportation.
The train was packed. During one stop, Evan was pushed out with a crowd of passengers; the doors closed before he could get back in. Phoebe panicked when the train started up. She lost it.
At the last stop, Phoebe was found in the corner – disheveled, mumbling, eyes wild in terror. She was finally noticed.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Berry Picking
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge has once again
challenged us to write a Six Sentence Story
using the prompt word “nail”. This is my story.
When I first saw him I thought I was hallucinating (was this a real person or a fear-induced illusion?) and I knew I had to remain perfectly still and quiet – my very life depended on it.
I had no idea how long I’d been there – certainly long enough for my skin to have turned red, my mouth parched, my lips cracked and I remember being stung and bitten by insects and digging my nails into the palms of my hands to keep from crying out, but I recall now … we were picking flowers and berries in a sun-filled field … we had been following a stream and unknowingly wandered far from home when I caught sight of a bush hidden deep in a shady area; the plant was heavy with ripe blackberries and I couldn’t resist running to the bush, happily filling my bucket with the deep purple fruit.
I was busy plucking berries when I heard screams – not the usual giddy, playful squeals of young girls but awful shrieks of terror and I started to run back only to see my three sisters encircled by a group of Indians, hulking and menacing men, blocking the girl’s attempts to flee; they wore breechcloths across their midsection, moccasins and no shirts, their faces painted and their heads shaved except for a center strip of upright long hair and I knew immediately they were the dreaded Mohawk.
They tugged the girl’s long blonde hair, poked them with sticks and tore at their starched white dresses.
I wanted to shout out but was too afraid and I hid while my sweet little sisters were raped and raped and raped.
At 15, I was the eldest and I was supposed to protect them; how could I be such a coward?
NAR©2024
This is Albinoni’s ‘Adagio In G Minor”
A LIVING NIGHTMARE
Covered by what felt like a plastic tarp, Stanley Collins tried desperately to figure out where he was and what had happened. All he knew at this moment in time was that he felt colder than ever before. It was claustrophobic and there was something dangling from his toe. But, perhaps the most terrifying realization of all was the fact that he was completely paralyzed. Even his eyes and mouth refused to open but his mind raced on.
“Gotta think, gotta think! Why am I here and how did I get here?”
Suddenly he heard a voice. Was it real or in his head? Stanley’s brain strained to hear – “Ok, let’s see who we have here. A John Doe and Stanley Collins, both for tonight. Damn! Two autopsies. Looks like I’ll be getting home late again. Let’s start with our John Doe.”
Stanley’s brain screamed frantically “Autopsy?? Wait, I’m alive, I’m alive!!”
“Think, you fucking jerk!” Stanley’s brain admonished him. “Just calm down, count to ten and think.” Some thoughts starting wriggling around his brain. He remembered working for a used car dealership. What a laugh that was! The entire time he worked there, he never sold a single car and jokingly called himself “the non-commissioned salesman”. Of course, he was fired.
After that he applied for a job at a casino. He had no experience so the only job he could get was sitting in a back room sorting poker chips by denomination. That turned into a fiasco, too, when he was caught pocketing a couple of $100 chips. “You asshole!” his brained screamed. Fired again AND he had to return the chips!
Two jobs down the toilet. His wife Betty called him a loser and she was right.
“But what happened after that? How did I end up in a refrigerated morgue drawer awaiting an autopsy … and I’m not even dead?! Think, Stanley, think! “ Stanley’s brain raced inside his unmoving, unfeeling head.
“Wait a second. I remember! Betty kicked me out. I couldn’t get a job. I had no money. I had nothing … nothing but my house key. So while Betty was out I went to the house. All the furniture gone, my clothes weren’t there and all Betty’s things were boxed up. There wasn’t even anything I could pawn! I walked into the kitchen, turned on the gas stove and knelt down, resting my head in the oven. And that’s how Betty found me … dead from gas inhalation. Only I wasn’t dead! The mother of all fuck ups, I couldn’t even do a good job killing myself!”
Just then Stanley’s drawer was pulled open. He was wheeled to an ice cold metal table, all the while his brain screaming “Wait! Stop! I’m not dead! Can’t you hear me?? “
Suddenly the screeching sound of an electric saw jolted Stanley’s brain. He screamed in agony as the saw tore through his chest. Was it his brain screaming? Was he screaming? Could anyone hear him?
The only sound was the piercing squeal of the saw.
NAR © 2022
*Originally published in 2018
The Elephant's Trunk 