a dream in one act

shortstorys

 

a different style than i am used to.
an attempt to tell a complete story in, depending on
on your definition, 300 words or less.

 

Flash Fiction

 

Apocalypse

The chairs are in place. The table all set. The clocks are wound and are running fine, though I'd probably have to wind them again tomorrow. The windows have been cemented, reinforced by several sheets of plywood I decided to add for extra protection.

I turn around and walk through a door and into my bedroom. It's actually just a wall of books and paper (so I can read and write for a decade or two) and a bed. The shelves are on the wall next to and above my bed, which is just a cot. I had to conserve money.

I then walk through the only other door in my new house. It leads into the "warehouse," which is nothing more than a modified walk-in closet, holding enough hotdogs and beans and bread and water to last at least 25 years.

Now... if only they'd drop the bomb.

 

Catch

He walked over to the television and turned it on. It blared static for a moment as he stood and stared at the screen.

Slowly the image of a news reporter appeared. He was standing outside a house that was blocked off by long strips of yellow "CAUTION--POLICE LINE--DO NOT CROSS" tape that wrapped around several trees to fence in the whole yard.

He sat down in his chair, dangling his hands between his knees, watching the news report on the edge of his seat.

"Not more than 30 minutes ago," the reporter began, "Suzanne Walker was brutally murdered, her body found only moments ago by a housekeeper. Police have no suspects at this point." The screen quickly cut to a police officer, who began to speak: "As in any investigation, you do not have suspects imeediately. Thus, as of right now, we have no suspects."

Tears began to well up in his eyes as he watched the picture of Suzanne appear on the television screen. The drops rolled down his cheek as he stood up and turned the TV off.

"Why, why, why?!" he blurted, half-asking, half-complaining, as he washed the blood off his hands.

 

Midnight Climax

Rick had picked her up on the corner of State and Main. She told him her name was Rose, but he didn't believe her. He really didn't care what her name was, just her price.

She had taken him up to the tenth floor of a building by way of an elevator, all the while teasing him in any way she could. By the time they got to her apartment, the price didn't matter anymore, now it was a question of when.

He didn't mind that there was another girl with two snazzily dressed men with sunglasses in the room because, after all, isn't that what bedrooms were for?

Now she is offering Rick a drink, still teasing him. He quickly accepts, figures that it'll help then get down to business quicker. He downs the glass of beer and hands it back to her.

Rick had never been known to get drunk off one glass, but this time he feels quite tipsy. He turns to look at the suited men and scantily-clad woman. The world spins. Weird things appear before him. Patterns emerge and begin to dance. He suddenly feels very, very happy and a smile spreads across his face.

It is then that he notices that the two men have earpieces and that there is a small camera in the corner of the ceiling. He falls to his knees laughing and sees a manilla folder on the coffee table with two words written on it:

'midnight climax'

 

Oct 3, Oct 4, 2000

 

comments? questions? criticism?
please send it all to : nloding@hotmail.com