PROMPTuesday #138: In a Flash

Way back in April 2008, I introduced PROMPTuesday. Looking back, I see that I never ever not ever issued the prompt included in that introduction. So now I am:

 

It’s a doozy. You ready?

 

Write some flash fiction (write for three minutes, then stop.) These are your prompts:

 

Egg” and “Horror genre.”

 

Good luck.

 

I know I’m gonna need it.

 

If you would, post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.

 

First time to PROMPTuesday? Read a bit about it here. Want to see what’s been written in the past? Catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.

 

5 thoughts on “PROMPTuesday #138: In a Flash”

  1. It was a dark and stormy night, the wind was blowing, tree branches were hitting the windows of the dark ramshackle house. The girl rushed from her old Chevy into the house, not even realizing that she hadn’t had to unlock the front door. She slammed it shut, locking it behind her and was halfway to the kitchen with her bag of groceries when she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t had to unlock the front door. She knew she hadn’t left it unlocked herself. Had she been robbed? Everything appeared to be in its right place. She walked into the kitchen and pulled the eggs out of the grocery bag, as she turned to put them in the fridge she had an eery sense of being watched. A hand quickly covered her mouth. Too late she realized he had found her.

    Ummm, wow that was hard. I did go back and check my spelling, but left the rest of it alone, and I’m talling you now I didn’t want too. I have no idea if I kept it within the word count though… I did make sure to mention eggs! I’m not even going to get started on puctualization!

  2. I picked it up with care even though it’d just dropped on the floor and refused to crack. The innards of the remaining dozen still lay splattered on the floor, yellow ooze settling in grout joints and baseboard cracks.

    I thought it curious this one egg didn’t break with the rest, instead rolling to my feet with what seemed to be purpose and intention.

    I ran my fingers over its smooth exterior, was the shell somehow different? Harder maybe? But no. A tiny crack began to show, splitting like a fault line and growing wider as I looked.

    Blood began to spill from the split, and I caught it in my hands, where it pooled in a viscous mess.

    That’s when I the face.

    (Time’s up!)

  3. The knife cut fast. The bloody hen lay dead. But nobody saw what happened. The fox denied it. The dog denied it. All that was left was the offspring of the dead hen. An egg that popped out. Clinging to the hope for life. To tell the world who killed his mother.

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