A little different Flash Fiction today folks. Remember that Flash Fiction by definition is less than 1000 words. I’m at 850 the way it sits and I want YOU to write the ending.
Show us your twist prowess and just write the ending in the comments. After a week or so I think I’ll set up a vote.
The Story of Charlie Z
Logan, he’s just your average 8 year old kid. His summer is filled with bike rides, Indian baseball until it’s too dark to see the ball and an ever present ear for the ice cream truck. He hears the other kids talk about Charlie Z. He shrugs. Charlie Z always has a smile and a wave for him whenever Logan cycles past his house on the way to the gulley. Logan has yet to form an opinion about Charlie Z. Grown ups live in another world, and that’s just fine with Logan.
This August is hotter than it has a right to be. It’s barely 10 in the morning and the few blocks Logan has ridden on his bike have already caused a sheen of sweat to appear on his forehead. The heat means the creek will be very low and the chances of getting some big ol’ frogs goes way up. He’s thinking that Barton weighs-a-ton and Ricky might already be down there and just when he’s getting ready to put things into overdrive he passes the 50′s bungalo style house that passes for Charlie Z’s home. A glint from something metal catches his eye and as he passes the front hedge he can see a foot with a rake lying next to it.
Logan steps hard on the brake, leaving a long black streak and a little cloud of dirt.
“Mr. Z? Are you okay?”
He walks his bike through the hedge opening and drops it to the ground. Mr. Z is laying on his back, sweating profusely, eyes blinking rapidly, wire frame glasses askew on his face. A rivulet of spittle dries on his chin.
Logan kneels by his head, peering down into the old man’s ruddy face. Suddenly, a knarled fist has a solid grip on the boy’s arm.
“Who are you?! What happened?!”
Logan steps back, wrenching his arm free. “It’s me, Mr. Z. Logan!”
Charlie Z blinks, raises his head and has a tentative look around.
“Logan?”
“Yes! I was riding by and saw you on the grass…”
Mr. Z sighs and plops his head back into the cool grass. “Aww. Hell. I have seizures, Logan. Must have had another. Dammit.”
Standing back , Logan drops his jaw a bit. He’s never known anyone who had seizures before.
“Help me sit up, son.” Mr Z extends his arm and raises his head back up.
“Uh, sure. Are you gonna be okay?”
“I always am, sometimes it just takes a minute or two. Gotta get out of this sun though. Help me get indoors, will you? I’m unsteady on my feet after one of these fits.”
Children hate Charlie Z because inside, they know people. They know the inside of people. They may not say it in front of grown ups, but things are said. They’re said down by the creek while looking for frogs or building a dam. They’re said while kneeling in the dirt, drawing pictures with sticks. They’re whispered by flashlight, under the covers that make bedroom tents.
You’d never know it by looking at him, Charlie Z. In other parts of the animal world, predators look a certain way. The prey know what to look for and are keen to spot anything that looks amiss. Well, most of the time anyway. It could be said that the Venus fly trap and other hide-in-plain-sight predators are the exception.
For humans, predators come in many disguises and for children many more still. Charlie Z wears a disguise. He wears it all day long. The only time the disguise goes away is when it’s too late for his prey to escape. Children are torn, because he looks okay, but there is a danger vibration that tickles just under the surface. Innocence battles instinct. Often, it is the last second of life that brings recognition and a knowing. A knowing of the end. It is this moment that Charlie Z savors. This moment that brings the hardness not seen since his youth. In fact his only way of achieving it.
Logan doesn’t notice the odd shape forming in the front of Charlie Z’s trousers as he lets Mr. Z steady himself on his shoulder.
“Got to go though the kitchen door in the back. Front door’s locked.”
“Sure, Mr. Z.” Logan takes a look back towards the hedge where is bike is laying. He figures no one will see it from the street so the bike won’t get stolen.
The ancient screen door lets out a little screech of protest as Logan opens it wide to let Mr. Z in. Charlie Z hobbles to the kitchen table and plops down in one of the chrome and plastic padded kitchen chairs.
“Son, this is different from the other seizures I’ve had. I better get to the hospital. There’s a phone on the wall over by the door – I can’t feel my legs too well, could you call Salty’s Ambulance? The number’s on the wall right there.”
Logan reaches for the handle of the once tan but now grimy phone mounted on the wall.
Charlie Z’s movements are rapid and feline. His hands wrap the throat of Logan before he had even punched the first number. Logan is amazed by the strength of the hands squeezing the life from him.
Great idea George, you pulled me right in with this one. Here’s my ending, looking forward to what others come up with.
=================
As the last breath of life escapes from the boy Charlie feels that familiar rush of adrenaline. Moving quickly he scoops Logan up and caries him downstairs with the others, to be dealt with later at his leisure.
From the basement Charlie makes his way back to the front yard, happy to see the day is bright and dazzling just as left it no more than 5 minutes before.
A quick look around insures no one is watching, and Charlie lies back down by the hedge, next to the rake, fixing his glasses askew on his now perspiring head…and not a moment too soon either.
Charlie’s heart starts to be faster as he hears, “Logan, hey Logan, wait for me!…You better not ditch me again so you can catch all the best frogs first!”
Biking down the street as fast as he could Miles was hoping he could catch up with his older brother. He’d only left five minutes ahead of him, no way was he getting to the creek first today.
Passing the rows of 50’s style bungalows Miles thought he saw something up ahead, lying next to the hedge at Mr. Z’s house. Getting closer he could see it was Mr. Z laying on his back, unmoving in the hot afternoon sun. Something is wrong, thought Miles.
What a delima. He knew if he got to the creek after his brother he’d be left with the scrawny frogs, but could he just ride on past Mr. Z like he hadn’t seen anything?
Like his brother Logan, Miles knows right from wrong, and with that makes his decision.
“Mr. Z, are you okay?”
.-= Matt | Small Biz Bee´s last blog ..5 Ways to Save Money on Your Small Business Website =-.
Matt,
oooo, you’ve got an evil streak more profound than mine! I figured folks would kill Logan off or figure a way to rescue the lad.
Outstanding and unexpected ending.
George
With your great lead in the possibilities were endless. The hard part was trying to wrap it up in ~250 words, although I like Wayne’s ending and he managed in only 30. Sometimes it’s fun to stretch the less often used side of the brain…I’m not a very “dark” person, so it was a nice switch.
Matt
.-= Matt | Small Biz Bee´s last blog ..5 Ways to Save Money on Your Small Business Website =-.
Matt,
Yup, Mr. Long is the King of short. I liked your twists a lot – never saw that one coming…
George
And then, off-frame, someone yells:
“Cut! That’s a wrap!”
Within 24 hours, a Web site based in the San Fernando Valley offers its discerning clientele yet another Pay-Per-View.
Wayne,
I was hoping to see something from you.
I certainly didn’t see that one coming. Thanks for allowing me a way out and a way to cleanse my hands…
George
…
Charlie Z’s movements are rapid and feline. His hands wrap the throat of Logan before he had even punched the first number. Logan is amazed by the strength of the hands squeezing the life from him.
Logan twisted and elbowed Mr. Z on the right cheek – his glasses flew off – but he was able to grasp Logan’s shorts tightly. With one swift jerk he had the boy on the floor. Mr. Z straddled Logan and squeezed his neck from behind.
“Don’t fight it, boy!”, Mr. Z hissed.
The room swirled and became dark. “I’m gonna die..”, was Logan’s last thought before he blacked out.
****
Logan woke up with a start. It was already dark outside and the moon had cast an eerie glow inside Mr. Z’s kitchen. He saw his shirt on the floor… drenched in blood. He panicked and checked himself but saw he was fine save for some bruises on his neck.
“Ow.”, Logan touched his neck. “I better get out of here.” he said to himself.
He stood up slowly, feeling queasy and heavy, steadying himself on the kitchen counter. He tried to remember what had happened and couldn’t. The last thing he remembered was being attacked by that crazy old man Mr. Z.
As he went out the kitchen door, he let out a huge burp then tasted something nasty on his tongue. He couldn’t hold it back. He vomited all over Mr. Z’s patio. He lunged and fell down on his knees, screaming as he saw he had just vomited a Mr. Z’s toe.
-end-
_____________________________
George! AHahhaha! Look what you made me do. Darn it.
.-= reyjr´s last blog ..Google Trends on 2010 Philippine Presidentiables – interesting! =-.
Rey, Ya big ol’ writing stud-muffin. Who’d have thought you had it in you.
You sicko.
Marvelous! Very very very cool endings.
Color me impressed!
George
Gah. I need a vacation. Can you tell? Lol!
I’ve been seeing a lot of Hannibal Lecter signs all around. Wah!
.-= reyjr´s last blog ..Google Trends on 2010 Philippine Presidentiables – interesting! =-.
Wow. You people are heartless! lol
I couldn’t do anything mean to the little boy, especially since I have one of my own. Here’s my ending (999 words total according to Open Office):
*
Logan, having caught Charlies movement reflected in the picture framed on the wall, frantically grabs the chained pen hanging from the notepad by the phone. When the fingers close around his throat, he stabs backward, driving the instrument deep into Charlie’s leg. The old man, surprised, instinctively reaches for the pen. Logan, turns, knees him in the groin, and runs for his bike and safety- leaving Charlie writhing on the floor.
The police find Charlie shortly afterward. Logan’s friends, as well as the entire community, hail Logan a hero. It’s not every little boy that defeats a monster.
Dude! An irresistible beginning! I haven’t written anything in years but I couldn’t help myself! Of course I’m over-budget on the word count but what else is new?
Logan’s arms flail in response to the unrelenting pressure on his neck. He manages to crash the receiver harmlessly into Charlie’s face. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s enough to make Charlie drop the kid.
Fuck.
He wants this one to suffer. Mercy may be God’s forte, but Charlie’s is suffering, doled out by the teaspoonful.
He grabs Logan by the hair, forcing his blonde head toward him, while his old, gnarled fingers expertly manage the details of his fly.
Logan’s new reality is inches from his face and he knows there’s no future in it. He wonders what angels look like and if dying will hurt. He can hear his old reality outside the locked door: the buzz of lawn mowers, Ricky and Blubber yelling for him in the neighborhood, “C’mon Man!”, the mix of worry and frustration as his mother calls for him longer than she wants.
When the paramedics kick open the door, to help a heat stroked neighbor seen laying near a rake, they don’t want to know why there’s a dazed kid sitting on the floor next to a mangled old man.
Conan you LEGEND! More twists than a Chubby Checkers reunion!
I so totally did not see that one coming.
I wanna see more, so git on wi you bad self.
George