Imagine a world where sex is illegal.
I don’t know about you, but for me, THIS is the first image that comes to mind:
Now, go back to watching dirty sluts on Spankwire and thank your lucky stars that this is not the case.
It is, however, the central premise for my newest flash fiction challenge piece! This week, Wendig‘s assignment was to come up with our own sub genre of the something-punk category (cyberpunk, steampunk, or in Chuck’s case – cornpunk) and write a short story ~ 1,000 words or less in that new style.
Like the typical horny man that I am, I came up with the idea for a SEXPUNK story. Here’s my tweet-friendly synopsis: In a time when overpopulation threatens to destroy civilization as we know it, the government bans sex in an effort to slow the birth rate.
So, here goes:
The Crime of Passion
The moment our eyes met for the first time, I knew.
I was in trouble.
Writing a good horror story is really hard.
But it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m not sure I can check it off the bucket list, either. Not just yet. But I gave it my best shot, and I’ve got to give another big shout out to penmonkey extraordinaire Chuck Wendig for the inspiration. I wrote this piece for his weekly Flash Fiction challenge; I didn’t end up submitting it, however –– mostly because I went over the 1,000 word limit (pretty much doubled it) and I missed the deadline by an hour (damn you, time zones… Daaamn you!). But that’s not going to stop me from putting it out there to add to my growing collection.
Last week’s challenge was to write a story containing four random items from a list of ten total; we got to choose which items we wanted to use.
My four random items:
1. a rocking chair
2. a road sign
3. a child’s toy
4. a policeman’s badge
And here’s my story! Leave me a comment and let me know what you think.
The House on Hollow Hill
“Riley County 911, what’s your emergency?”
“It’s my granddaughter. She’s… She’s been hit by a car.”
“Okay ma’am. I see you’re calling from two-two-three Hollow Hill Road. Is that correct?”
“Oh god… There’s so much blood… it’s – everywhere.”
“Ma’am, I need you to stay calm for me. Is there anyone else there with you?”
“No. My husband is – he’s gone. Oh god… She’s not breathing!”
“Ma’am, just hold on. I’m sending an ambulance to your location now. There’s a patrol car nearby – the officer will be there in a few minutes. Just sit tight. Help is on the way.”
“Okay… Okay. Please, my grandbaby’s not breathing. Please… hurry.”
This is a brand new piece I wrote over the night – a bit of Flash Fiction for Chuck Wendig’s weekly challenge. Never heard of him? You’re in for quite a treat. Click that link on his name right back there, and familiarize yourself with one of the greatest writers of the day. Chuck’s TerribleMinds blog is updated – sometimes twice – daily, filled with wonderful stories and interesting articles about the day-to-day life of a full-time writer. His work is incredible, both fiction and non-fiction… and it would do you well to check it out. Plus, he says “fuck” a lot. So, you know. There’s that.
You can find all of his work on his website (click the link, dammit!)
Anyway, on with the story. I may have gone a little over the 1,000 word limit. (Oops.) Here’s to you, Mr. Wendig. Cheers. Thanks for the inspiration! Can we be friends, please?
Random-Generated Prompt (courtesy of Archetype Writing):
The story starts when your protagonist is forced into a car at gunpoint.
Another character is an alchemist who is developing a deadly new poison.
Teaser of the first chapter from my upcoming mystery novella, The Mysterious Mr. Crowley. Enjoy!
It’s a curious and frightening affair, to wake up not knowing yourself; to open your eyes and look around to see four unfamiliar walls… You blink, to make sure you’re not dreaming. Then, you close your eyes again – this time, you keep them closed.
You count to three and take a deep breath, hoping that when you open your eyes, you’ll be in your room, laying in your bed, right where you were when you fell asleep… Right there at home.
You open your eyes.
Then, reality comes crashing down upon you with all of the horrifying and dismal sobering-power of a pit viper sitting on your chest.
You spring up – your heart skips a beat, you scramble out of the bed, unsure of which way to run… You stumble over to the dresser, and when meeting oneself in the mirror, you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that everything is wrong. That your mind and body are not in accord; that you do not belong. In that place. In those clothes. In that skin…
Curious and frightening, indeed.