No, no, the title isn’t the prompt! 🙂
Stories for the first Flash Fiction Challenge Love Gone Wrong ranged from putting the love-blame squarely on Jane Austen’s shoulders, to Lola’s suspicious mind and where it got her (besides an expensive plumbing bill, and that’s looking on the bright side), to a steam-punk romance where giving your heart takes on a new meaning, to love in the trenches of domesticity – despite wearing sexy pants, to Curt’s doozy of a limerick.
‘Ma shut the cellar door that led to the bakery. They were always noisy at first,’ can be continued here, as can another tale about love not taking a straight path, even afterwards…
Flash Fiction Challenge #2 is –
‘A lone street-light, a person and strange noises coming from the boot (trunk) of a car.’
Please feel welcome to have a go if you’re remotely tempted. Simple guidelines can be found here
I’m going to kick off Challenge #2
The knocking from the boot hit me hard in the chest.
Losing concentration, I hit a dead kangaroo on the road. My car bounced, the headlight beams going berserk in the stark, low-lying scrub.
I took a corner faster than usual at a railway crossing, rattling over the long abandoned tracks. No sound from the back.
Back on straight, level bitumen, then—clunk.
Fear pricked at my temples—this sound was unpredictable, made with intent. It wasn’t just my hockey stick rattling around back there. I should have tossed the potential weapon in the back seat after training.
The next thud vibrated through to the steering wheel. My hands gripped it tighter, remembering I had no phone reception out here.
The nearest police station was fifteen kilometres behind me. I was on my way to a party at Emma’s property, out of town. My best friend was playing matchmaker, and she’d invited an acquaintance who brewed beer using wild yeast collected from his beard. I warned Emma I wasn’t into microbiology, but she insisted I branch out from my usual type. She was probably right, magnetic but needy guys like Richard, my ex, were no longer on my radar.
Another heart-pounding bang and I spotted a lone street-light at a crossroad in the distance. A minute later my tyres crunched to a stop on the roadside gravel. The warm blanket of the night lay thick and still, and the sweet, childhood smell of dry grass through the open window should have been reassuring. I decided to keep my headlights on and the engine running. As I opened my door, a shooting star joined the dots in a diamond crusted sky.
Snatching a medium-sized rock from the ground, I approached the rear of the car, my hands trembling.
Not a thud now, but a shifting, scraping sound. There was definitely something in there—alive. I crept closer, fear knotting my stomach, panic clawing at my bowels.
Just then plastic cracked, shards of it splintering from a rear brake light after a vicious kick from inside. Leaping back, I knew I would not unlock that boot—not alone, not out here in the middle of nowhere. I was safer driving with this god-awful, terrible thing in my boot, and dealing with it at Emma’s.
Another hard blow sent blood pounding straight from my chest to my head. Turning to make a run for the driver’s door, I froze, detecting movement from my peripheral vision. To my horror the toe of a canvas shoe emerged from the damaged brake light, the lit bulb dangling below like a dislodged eye.
Red-hot-poker anger replaced my visceral fear. I knew that shoe.
I yanked the boot open so damn hard it almost slammed shut again.
Inside—trussed up by the wrists and ankles with nothing on but his shoes and Batman jocks was my ex-husband, grinning despite the gag—as if he’d just jumped out of a cake.
What will it take for him to move on?