Writing challenges kick ass.
I love the adrenalin rush of writing within specific limitations, and one of the places I seek it is Chuck Wendig at Terribleminds. His challenge for this week :
“I ask is that you write a piece of crime fiction that features — and c’mon, this is so easy — guns as a feature. That’s like a present to you, from me. Mmmm. Guns.
You have 1000 words. Short flash fiction. Not a vignette but a complete story.”
Here’s my attempt at crime fiction, one that I wrote with my writing mates this week:
When Susan called me, I had just finished with Rita, kissed her goodbye. You know, all that shit. Only it was a final kiss goodbye because I had a .38 kissing her throat at the same time. This one would be a bit hairy, but I never had a situation I could not talk myself out of, and wasn’t about to start now. I put Rita in the boot and set off to meet Susan. I could always figure out what to do with Rita after.
What I didn’t know of course, was that Susan had other plans for our date. After we had polished off the gooey sauce and the sticky mashed potatoes off our plastic plates at the diner, she smiled at me and did that thing she does with her boobs. It is a sort of shrugging she learnt in belly dance class. That slow rotation of two boobs in opposite directions drives me mad and she knows it. Uses it every time she wants something done, which is all the time.
So we ended up back in the car, only this time Susan had the wheel. I know all the roads in my hood and beyond, but she found the only alley that I had never seen. And it was right beside the highway too. When the car stopped, I coughed to cover my chuckle, because we had come to an old graveyard. No guards about, in fact no one about that I could see, unless couples like us were shagging away like nocturnal rabbits somewhere behind the graves.
Somewhere in all that land would be some freshly-dug earth, and I’ll provide one of the coffin dwellers a new roommate. I’m nice like that. It’s all good, and if you think it isn’t, well… it’s not me, it’s your perspective.
Susan dragged me along by the elbow, she wanted to get down to business. I had begun to tire of her having her way all the time. I checked on the .38. Maybe tonight she could join Rita after I’d finished with her—sisters in life, united in the grave.