Welcome, gentle reader to the first annual “Can You?” Flash Fiction challenge!
You must login to vote
If you have no idea what this is I encourage you to check out "Musings by: David Moore" in this month’s edition of "Majestic" and all will be explained to you. :)
The rules of “Can You?” are simple:
1. Below I have given a scenario from which you must extract our hero.
2. You must do so fairly. Realism is not a requirement but fairness is a must. (i.e. “Luckily, our hero sprouted wings and was able to fly away” is not fair. “Our hero turned and ran. As he was passing by a bush he saw underneath a sawed-off shot gun and a case of shells next to the decaying body of a hunter that looked like it was mauled by a bear…” is not realistic, but it is fair.)
3. Write your piece of Flash Fiction in 500 words or less.
4. Post it with the title “Can You?” in the Flash Fiction category and I will post a comment aimed at the Lit.org membership at large asking the question, “Did He/She?” along with my opinion. If the general opinion is that you did it fairly, you will be immortalized in prose by yours truly in the next installment of Musings. If the general opinion is that you did not get our hero out of the jam that I wrote him or her into fairly, then we will offer our critiques in good spirits to help with revisions.
The rules are set and the game is on! (Of course the Fantasy nerd started us with a Fantasy type exercise. What did you expect?) ;)
Here’s the scenario:
The masks were what struck me first. Why were they wearing masks? Of all the strange things that had happened to me today, this was the strangest. It was just so damn…cliché! Frustration welled up in me.
"If I’m going to die, it’s not going to be by a character out of a bad Justice League cartoon damnit!" I said under my breath.It sounded good, but with no weapons and zero fighting ability, I wondered if I was being a touch optimistic.
The masks were tied on with pieces of black ribbon, alternately smiling and frowning. Stereotypical comedy and tragedy depictions that you see on the walls of any third rate tattoo parlor.
The two figures were moving with a seductive grace that was decisively feminine; the curves of their bodies accenting each movement. They were wearing one piece body suits that hung baggy and loose like pajamas but were drawn up tight at the wrists and ankles. There was a design stitched into them of a peach tree branch starting with the bottom of the branch on the ass end and the leaves and blossoms blooming across the breast. Jet black slippers completed the ensemble. They were carrying ebony staffs that ended in three foot blades. They began to spin the staffs with what I assume must be more than passable skill and started forward.
"You’ve got to be kidding me…"
Alright gentle reader I’ve written our hero into a pickle (not my best prose but there it is) and it’s your job to write him (or her) out. The question is:
'But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice. 'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat. 'We're all mad here.'