Last week, I asked people on Twitter and Facebook for random writing prompts. From those, I wrote seven micro and flash fiction stories. I’ll be posting them here over the next week. (You can read #1 and #2 and #3 and #4 already.)
The fourth story is courtesy of Melissa Dominic, who gave me a bunch of prompts: forest stream, tall and short, violet, bunny, moons. Here is my 500-word interpretation…
It’s Lovely, Under the Stars
“Marty, we’re stuck,” the shorter man said. “That pisses me off.”
“Everything pisses you off, Big Jack,” the taller man replied.
Big Jack nodded slowly. “True. But we’re trapped out here because of those things and that’s worse of all.”
“It ain’t too bad. Look around.” Marty moved his arm in a wide, sweeping motion. “We got the forest, and this here stream, and our gear. It’s like a camp out.” He smiled, crinkling up his angular face and revealing a mouthful of perfectly white teeth.
Big Jack frowned, his face relaxing into familiar wrinkles. “You think it’ll ever be safe to go back?”
“With those big mouse-looking things? No, I do not.” Marty looked away then, and picked up a stick. He poked at the fire, stirring up embers, which floated away as tiny orange specks in the night. “You saw what they was doing to people. Breaking open houses and just lifting people out, popping ’em in their face holes, like so many wriggling snacks.” He sighed.
“It ain’t right,” he added, after a moment, and much quieter.
“I think they was bunnies,” Big Jack said. “They looked soft.”
“No, now, they ain’t bunnies,” Marty said. “You can’t think of ’em as anything you like. They were giant space mice, bigger than trees, come from the meteor that crashed last week.”
“I do, and they can’t be beat, so don’t go trying.”
Big Jack sat down near Marty and the fire. He looked up the sky. “Maybe the meteor came from that new moon?”
“That makes sense. The extra moon just appeared in the sky after that storm and the earthquake we had a few weeks back,” Marty replied. “That is smart thinking, Big Jack.” He smiled again. “I need you to keep thinking smart if we’re going to survive out here until those space mice get tired of being here and go home again.”
Big Jack’s face pulled to one side, the way it always did when he was thinking. “They might get homesick,” he said slowly.
“They might do,” Marty told him, patting Jack gently on the arm. “Now lets get in our bags and get some sleep. We walked a long way today, and yesterday, too. I’m beat.” He kicked some dirt onto the fire to put it out.
They took off their shoes and got into their sleeping bags – a red plaid one for Marty, marked XL but still not enough for his gangly body, placed next to a smaller blue bag that was longer than his friend would ever need. In the deep dark, the forest was quiet, and the stars were bright.
“That extra moon is pretty, though, isn’t it Marty?” Big Jack asked, his arm under his head for a pillow. “It’s like the color of my grandma Helen’s African Violets.”
“It is real pretty,” Marty admitted. “You go to sleep now.”
“Goodnight, Marty,” Big Jack said quietly. “I kind of like mice, too.”
“I know, Big Jack. Goodnight.”
Want to write like this? Take my online flash fiction workshop, beginning September 2! Registration is now open — read more and sign up here.