Hello, fellow travelers!
Today, I’m going to share some flash fiction stories that I wrote a few months ago during a couple Twitch streams I was hosting.
Each of these five pieces of flash fiction are inspired from the /r/WritingPrompts subreddit. For each flash fiction piece, I chose a writing prompt at random from those most recently posted, and gave myself only 5-7 minutes to write up a story.
Many of these are snippets of a scene. Fragments of a larger story.
None of which I’ve written beyond what you are about to read.
In many cases, flash fiction is written as a full story consolidated into smaller space. I prefer to show you a glimpse into each world, and use your imagination to build upon the rest.
They Called It Beautiful
by Matthew A Olson (Chaotcian Writer)
[PROMPT #1] “What did they call it, dad?” He replied, “Well honey, they called that pale blue dot, floating alone in the fabric of space. Beautiful.”
Ki’shara wriggled her tendrils happily at the answer. It was such a brilliantly blue world sitting before them, unlike anything she had seen in this system.“The museum is now closing.” Said the voice overhead.
“Sweetie.” Her father said. “Its time to pull the ship out of the system. The patrols wont want us around after close.”
“Aww dad! Can we stay here for longer? I really wanted to see what the primitives did to the rust-colored one!”
“No darling. Theres only so much history from this civilization. It died out young.”
Ki’shara bobbed her head in sadness. She pointed the orbs of her antennae to the ground, and then back up to her father.
“Can we visit again tomorrow?” she asked, clicking expectantly. “I want to know more about the Terrans and their lives. They seem like such fascinating creatures!”
“Well.” Her father said. “If it will help you with you with your studies, then I say its alright by me!”
A sweet story atop a sad future for humanity. One reader commented they thought it was ‘depressing, but cute’.
A Doctors Master Plan
by Matthew A Olson (Chaotican Writer)
[PROMPT #2] Every one of your “sinister” plots have been your attempts at using your genius to actually improve the state of the nation, but those government paid “superheroes” keep ruining them.
Professor Halsworth watched in the darkened lab as the machine performed its tasks, taking the genetic specimen and pouring concentrated radioactive matter into the dish. His thumbs twiddles as he stared from his tainted goggles, wily hair standing on end from the static discharge which nearly consumed the testing room.
Finally, as the process ended, the machine died down, the final specimen moving to the output chamber.
“For millenna, mankind has suffered moral blows from the ravage of disease and pathogens. Today, I stand proud to have utilized this destructive power of nature for a new purpose.”
As the council of shadowy figures look on from behind screen, the professor pulls open the hatch, a cloud of acrid smoke pouring from the chamber. Reaching in with a black rubber glove, he pulls out a large petri dish, its contents now an eerie blue color from its original ugly brown.
“Imagine a world with a viral pandemic which, in fact, improves the health of the public, and makes them resistant to all contagious diseases!” He says. “Science fiction become science fa…!”
A large explosion rocks the room, the screens blinking out, and the lab equipment falling across the room.
A bright light pours in, a large muscular man stepping in, his cape waving behind him.
“No…” The professor said. “Science damnit! How did you find me!?”
As the flames poured into the room, the light flickered upon a suit emblazoned with the symbol of a golden dollar.
“Communist scum!” said the large man, his voice deep and gravely. “I can smell your stench all the way from the bank! … Your schemes of putting the pharmaceutical industry under are over!”
A charicature juxtaposition of the superhero versus evil genius trope. Satire on the tradition of heroes and villains in the superhero genre. I got a laugh or two out of it.
The Night Ones
by Matthew A Olson (Chaotican Writer)
[PROMPT #3] The time when you have felt most at peace and felt content has always been from midnight to 4 am. The Day people do not understand this and brand you as an abomination. You are kicked out and a Night Brother finds you and tells the story of the War that split Day and Night. The reason was you.
The corridor shifted with the silhouettes of the Night Ones.
Pulsing throbs of music coming from deep inside the Darklighters club vibrate beneath your feet, and through your mind. You turn the corner, staffs of light beaming across a sea of pale bodies, writhing in ecstatic dance in the voluminous chamber. The throb becomes a heavy pounding, drawing you closer to the cacophony of shouts and revelry.
You walk past a woman with a black mohawk, and red-colored eyes. She grins, the glow of her fangs showing in the blacklight.
“Patient zero.” You hear a whisper from the left of the doorway. You do not turn and gaze upon the one who spoke. You know very well who you are.
Your eyes, like those of a savage hunter, peer across the sea of bodies in search for your kin. It is dangerous without them, as even amongst the Night breed, a lurker from the Day might target you for swift termination.
“Seen any steel-walkers lately, love?” a voice spoke, the soft melody of melancholy playing upon her lips.
You turn, your red-colored eyes peering into the kind of one of your clan.
“They did not notice me in the city.” You say. “I stayed away from their patrols. It has become… easy.”
She grinned.
“Better to be a vampire than a cybernetic augment. What is humanity worth when without a life of pleasure?” she said. “Leave fear for the cattle.”
When sprinting this one, I immediately got the vibe of edgy vampire novels and movies of the 90’s and 2000’s, mixed in with day walking cyborgs. Far left field, but satisfying to re-read.
Inquisitor at the Gates
by Matthew A Olson (Chaotican Writer)
[PROMPT #4] “Why am I going to Hell? I persecuted those who did not worship you and sacrificed them in your name!” “Yeah, and that’s why you’re going to Hell!”
“Look.” The angel said, pushing up its glasses to the bridge of its nose. “I see here that you’ve persecuted countless infidels in the name of the sovereign, and you’ve shown an almost fanatical devotion to your religious studies. While this would gain you favor in the eyes of our most high, I’m afraid that your approach has lacked some… technical… requirements.”
The black-clad inquisitor blinked, his face paling further. One might believe that a person as gaunt and terrible to look at as the inquisitor would lack the ability to be any more pale, but the interview with the angel proved otherwise.
“What,…. Technical requirements!?” the inquisitor asked with his ever present lisp.
“Well. Allow me to show you.” The angel turned in his chair, and begun to fiddle with the knob of a safe labeled “Heavenly Admission Prerequisites”, and upon fulfilling the combination, opened the safe. Reaching in with his hand, he turns to the inquisitor with a tranquil smile.
“You might want to move your chair a bit to the left.”
The inquisitor stared, before blinking and inhaling with an incredulous expression. He grabbed his chair, and scooted himself to the side, the black wide-brimmed hat bobbing as he did so. He stopped once, looking at the angel for approval, the angel shaking its head lightly and gesturing with its hand. The inquisitor sighed, and scooted further, the angel nodding its head.
Almost immediately after the inquisitor was in the best position, the angel pulled out a drawer from the safe, and threw it open. With the speed of cannon fire, the drawer flew open, stretching a few, dozens, over a hundreds of meters away, the air shooting past the inquisitor and almost uncapping the hat from his head, if it wasn’t for the inquisitors quick grab.
Finally, the angel places its hand on the drawers edge, and it halted instantly. Adjusting its glasses, it clears its throat and begins to pull through the files in that innumerable collection.
“You see, Inquisitor Ralda. There are many requirements that allow admission into the realm of heaven. Sad to say… you’ve missed… quite a few of them.”
Gazing down the length of the drawer, the inquisitor blinked in astonishment.
“H-how many people do you have in that filing cabinet?” he asked.
The angel looked up, eyeing the inquisitor for a long moment, before smiling.
“Just you.”
This one got a bit inspired by my recent reading of the First Law Trilogy by Joe Abercrombie, and somewhere, a post-mortem sitcom somewhere between Bruce Almighty and Beetle Juice.
Which has got to be the most awkward string of words I’ve ever typed.
A Fistful of Burnt Popcorn
by Matthew A Olson (Chaotican Writer)
[PROMPT #5] Everyone has a superpower, but it only activates when in extreme danger. Today, while watching tv alone, your superpower goes on, and it won’t go off no matter what you do.
“The Life and Times of Love” the TV spoke into the near silence of the darkened room.
A progression of organ played through the speakers, images of handsome looking men and beautifully dressed women fading in and out of the screen, one glamour shot before the other. Just like the popcorn, I ate it all up. Late night soap operas were my new sensation, and if I wasn’t allowed to leave the house, I sure as hell was going to what whatever I pleased. No one was going to enter my house to stop me.
“Oh Charles!” said the damsel of the screen. “The man in the black coat is approaching.”
“Bethany. It’s a dead end. There’s no way out darling!”
“Oh Charles! Kiss me one last time before we perish.”
I leaned closer to the screen, bits of buttery popcorn falling from my mouth. The intensity of the mans silhouette against the brick wall was palpable, even on this side of the screen. Approaching slowly, the black form pulled a knife from its shadowy torso.
“Oh Charles!” the woman cried, as they kissed passionately despite the approach.
I gasped in slowly, and in the process, caught the scent of something burning.
I blinked, looking down and noticing the hand full of popcorn. It was now just a fist full of black, shriveled puffs.
“Crap.”
I stood up immediately, and tossed away the popcorn just before the bowl started melting. In the flash of a moment, my hands ignited.
“What in the…!”
I stuck out my hands away from me, the light of the flames glowing brighter by the moment. I frantically looked around, trying to pinpoint the source of the danger.
“F*ck!” I spat aloud, not noticing a single sign of intruders, not hearing any commotion, and not feeling any sense of danger outside of the plight of Charles and Bethany. It couldn’t be the soap opera, could it? But this has never happened the other nights.
I tried to steady my breath, keeping my blazing hands away from my body, and anything they could touch. The temperature in the room was rising quickly, and no doubt, the “new neighbors” would be at their windows wondering why his living room window was shining light into theirs. If only I could close the window without setting the house on fire or melting the glass.
Frantic, I ran from the living room, folding my hands together and keeping them away from the walls and ceiling. I had to find my water bucket; if only I hadn’t been an idiot and refilled it proper after cleaning everything today.
“Except the dishes” I muttered.
I blinked, the sight of the wallpaper curling catching the corner of my eye, and then hit me. “The dishwater!”
Stepping into the kitchen, I stood before the sink. The long left dishes were strewn in their abandonment, wading in murky, foul smelling wastewater. Fragments of food waste still floated in its depths.
“Crap!”
The flames grew hotter, and I swallowed. Plunging them into the sink, ranging bubbles, blasting steam, and a burst of water shot everywhere around me. Soaking in waste, I could feel the heat dying.
The door burst open.
“B.O.E.! Hands where I can see them!”
The agents pointed their disruptor cannons at me. I panicked.
“I can’t!”
“Hands up, now!”
The water broiled. I knew the moment I raised my hands, it would start up again. As the agent cocked his weapon, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. This was going to hurt.
“Stand down!” a voice came from outside the door. The agents lowered their weapons, and the woman stepped into the kitchen, wearing the uniform of an investigator with the Bureau of Enhanced Persons. I recognized her face, and immediately sighed in relief.
“New rule.” she said. “No soap operas.”
This one had to be fleshed out after the fact. Despite giving myself additional minutes on the clock, I hadn’t quite led up to a closure, pause, or punch line. I caught onto where I mentioned something about not being allowed to leave the house, and decided to expand on it.
More pieces of flash fiction to come. More Reddit writing prompts, and sprints. I’ll be sharing the best of the next wave soon.
STOCK IMAGE CREDIT: Rakicevic Nenad
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