"Small" writing challenges for my small writing talent. Hotel note pads are the only space allowed. Let's see if I can strip it down and tighten it up to learn something. Improving my skill of weird fiction.
The following piece of flash is about the darkest thing I ever wrote. There’s more up there-anyone can tap it, they just have to I wanted to unhinge my mind and let it run. The result is not a pleasant experience, but let me know either way! I can’t tell at this point. If I lose a few followers and get negative comments, so be it. It’s an exercise and we get to discover what’s good and bad to put out there. What does and doesn’t work for a reader, I have to find out. I do hope you enjoy it, I had to cut it down from 650 words and compact everything.
The pudgy man sat down with the next plan, “I’m the Memory Man, and this is my tool kit,”
He pulled the belt from his pants and dropped it on the table next to a pistol. He eyed hard, looking for responses. He had skill with knowing not intimidation, but manipulation. Generating perceptions of his actions in that kid’s head would turn screws, generating reactions. The pudgy man smiled with cold calculations. That’s what the Memory Man gets for his price. A response. Answers.
Under the decaying roof of an abandoned warehouse sat a kid. Nineteen. Confused. His puffy face held small eyes floating down to items on a well beaten table. The kid had been taped around his limbs. He recognized the pudgy man’s voice as who stole him away. Looking up, he spoke across a swollen tongue.
“No.” said the kid, “No. Mistah.”
Inside, the pudgy man raged but he coolly snatched the belt and with the loose end, smacked the kid across the cheek. Eyes welled up and the kid listed to the side. His cheek obviously stung, but, without a whimper.
The pudgy man whispered, “Yes sir, are the words, and you will remember.”
The kid now gazed at the floor. In brief moments that passed he remembered right and wrong and kids at school who called him slow, but he also knew they were only teasing meanies– different from raw evil this pudgy man has. He tried to think, knowing he could get through this if he only had a path to follow.
The pudgy man lectured “My boss saw you with them before all of this. He knows . . . you know. Don’t make me hurt you. Tell me or I’ll hurt you.”
Nothing; listing; gazing; a tear.
“Your fault kid,” he said as the belt racked across the other cheek sitting the kid upright, “perhaps you need encouragement.”
The pudgy man put the belt down and picked the pistol. He likes this game. It gets answers. He prepared the front of the chambers with tape so nobody could see five empty and one loaded. The muzzle pressed, with someone else’s teeth marks, against the kid’s lips.
The pudgy man spoke softly, “If you die within six-pulls, I can still find them. It takes much-much more time. I just thought you might want to stay alive. Either way they’re ours. Let’s begin?”
The kid inhaled, blinking, flushing tears down his cheeks. He remained silent with the path building ahead with evil, to a door at the end. It only needs to open once, said the doctors.
The pudgy man’s finger bulged ever so slightly on the trigger, opening that door. The kid’s lifeless eyes became wild with clarity. In a micro-second, the pudgy man crunchingly reduced into a perfect small ball of solid mass leaking on the floor. Standing up, the kid’s hands and ankles were no longer bound. He looked at the ball, breathed, feeling no shame or sadness, and walked outside.
(Author’s notes) February 6th, 2016: Pittsburgh, PA (500 words exactly)
I’m dark. Jesus. For putting a poor kid with some sort of special needs through this I’ll be explaining myself in the next life. The picture shows a next of cables and chargers, something I need to have for work and use most ights to charge up the equipment I use personally and professionally. My thoughts were about people who have so much going on in their head, or in this case, too much in the way to work through. And then I thought about the evil man in the story and his gun. How awful, but in a crime sense, how good! And then the victim. I felt bad for a while writing this, putting that person in that position. I still made him victorious, for now.