Flash Fiction Short Story Contest: The Entries 2017

"My Twin" by Olena Prikhodko

“I'm fine,” Adam repeated to himself, taking a long deep breath, “I am fine, this is just her idea of a joke.”

But walking away from the mirror, he knew he was just lying to himself. He hadn’t been sleeping well. Telling himself he is fine, hadn’t and won’t help him. Alex, his sister, was acting strange, playing some sort of game with him, leaving notes for him to find. Little cryptic notes. Alex doesn’t talk much these days, actually not at all. No one noticed either. She’ll just stares, meeting his gaze with full intensity. Sometimes that stare will transition into a grin, an all knowing, mocking grin.

Adam and Alex Spelling were twins. They looked the same, always have. They were the sort of identical twins that matched each other’s clothes and finished each other's sentences. Sometimes they dreamt the same thing. Lately, the dreams have been darker. Not nightmares, but those restless dreams. It was only when Adam had those dreams, he’d find another note. The dreams, even though they are dark, they seem to have truth to them. Like the other night’s dream, it was more intense than usual. Adam can remember that there was a crescent moon above a field, the sound of an engine and some rock song coming over the stereo. I must have fallen asleep with the radio on, I don’t even like rock, Adam thought. His head was feeling foggy, not even sure how he made it to school this morning. He concentrates on the voice he heard in the dream, kind sounded like Bill. Why the hell is Alex’s ex in my dreams. God that’s weird, really need to get my… wait where is Bill? He must be skipping again.  The three of them were in the same English class. Adam was starting to get one of those headaches again, throbbing at his temple. Maybe should take some Tylenol, he thought. He retrieved the little bottle, opened the lid, and pulled out another note that was jammed into the bottle.

“IT WILL BE SLOW”

Come one Alex, this makes no sense! Why can’t she just talk to me, he continued to himself. He was getting angry now, her stupid notes never made sense, why can’t she just talk to me, actually TALK! He glanced at her, while thinking this. She was right there, in her seat. He could see her in the reflection of the window. She was watching him again, studying his expression, as he studied hers. That's when it came to him. The field in the dream, that's the old abandoned farm. And like that, he knew he was skipping last period, Alex will have to find her own ride home.

The old farm, was rumored to be an old Potter’s field. Where the unknown or indigent people were buried in the 1880s. But that was just a rumor. The place was quiet and secluded, making it the perfect place for teenagers to sneak away to.  Alex and Adam spend their summers wandering around the place, looking for buried treasures, and one day discovered the old cellar, which became their secret little club house.

Adam left school after 4th period. Started the car, and unexpectedly that rock song from the dream started screaming through the speakers. Some song about not recognizing your own reflection. He turned the stereo off wondering why do I have this song on my playlist, and noticed he was almost at empty. Should be enough, didn’t think it be this low already.

Adam had to walk a bit to the cellar. There was no road leading to it, which is what made it the perfect spot. It kind of felt like old times, like Alex was right behind him, he could almost hear her steps, her voice humming some tune. And just like that he was there, lowering himself into the underground cellar. The air smelled strange, metallic. It was dark, but enough light came through to shine on a figure leaning on the wall. That’s when he saw him. He recognized his varsity jacket. Adam always hated how Bill threw it on the furniture, when he came over. Now, there it was, dark red stains covering the logo.

“Bill, Bill!” Adam screamed at the unmoving form. He shook him, tried to see where the bleeding was coming from. The note did say it was going to be slow, maybe he is still alive, Adam thought while searching for a pulse, and there was one, barely, but there was one.

“Bill hold on, I’m going to get help, just hold on!”

Adam raced home, he didn’t notice he was covered in blood. He barged through the front door screaming, “MOM!”

“Oh my God honey, what happened to you?”

“MOM! Alex did,”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Alex hurt someone. We need to get Bill help.”

“What are you talking about Alex?”

“Bill is dying, Alex...Alex almost killed him.”

“Alex, honey what are you talking about? Did you hurt your head?”

“MOM, you're not listening, ALEX HURT SOMEONE! I’m Adam! ALEX HURT...”

“Alex, Adam who, is Adam hurt? This isn’t funny Alex, whose blood is all over your clothes? Alex! Alex answer me, ALEX! Whose blood is this? Who is Adam? Where is Bill?” But her words were fading as Adam looked up to see his reflection in the mirror. But it wasn’t really his reflection, it was her’s, it was theirs. They were matching again. Her clothes covered in blood, as his clothes were covered in blood. They found each other’s eyes in that moment. The same eyes. The same cold, sadistic, knowing smile crept up on their face. In this moment, it was just the two of them, and he finally understood the game, what she was to show him. And in that realization, holding her gaze in that mirror, his smile, her smile widened and he finally understood how close they really were.

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"Fear of Anxiety" by William Rodebaugh

It was a very dark and stormy day. On this day, Martin Beecher went through probably the most horrifying day of his life. On this day, he would come face to face with one of the biggest fears he would ever encounter. That fear had a name...anxiety.

Beecher was a very lazy college student. He would never study for classes, and he wouldn't complete his homework. As a result, Beecher failed every single test he received. This didn't just happen to him in college, but in high school and in elementary school as well.

One day all his feelings would change. It all started when he was getting ready to leave school. He didn't have any time to do his geography homework. This was because he was too "busy" catching up on his television binge watching last night. He decided to leave it, but suddenly something peculiar happened. His homework assignment started to follow him. He suddenly felt worried…was he hallucinating?

It followed him all the way, but when he told himself to just keep walking, the homework assignment turned dark. He had to do something. Luckily, he had 45 minutes until class, and he stumbled upon the study hall building. He went inside and quickly got to work.

He realized what the scary homework meant. It symbolized his anxiety; something he never remembered feeling before. He knew he needed to take things more seriously. Just then he heard a door open. It was all his missed homework assignments from college roaming around. He knew that if he took his schoolwork seriously he probably wouldn't see his anxiety papers ever again.

Just then, he woke up from his terrible nightmare. He could not believe it was all a dream. He found out this was a weekend. On that weekend, he got all his homework completed. He never missed an assignment again. He learned his lesson. At the end of the school year he became top student in his class. He was taught by his horrifying anxiety nightmare to always stay on top of things.

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"The Voices" by Jasmine Harry

It had been such a long and boring day. Rory was so ready to crash on her bed and just chill in her room. But her grandmother flew all the way from Toronto to see her and the rest of the family.  She loved her nana and hadn’t seen her for over two years. So she decided to suck it up and pretend to be interested in the boring talk going around.

Nana was a talker. She could talk for hours. Rory often wondered how her poor quiet and gentle pop pop survived all of her nana’s talk. She had heard the phrase “opposites attract” but nana and pop pop were extreme polar opposites. Not only did nana love to talk, but she also is stylish and makes sure she has on the best clothes and her makeup and hair done before leaving the house. Meanwhile, pop pop basically wears the same three outfits year round and doesn’t mind eating steak and peas for dinner year round.

Rory noticed that her pop pop was missing from the family gathered around listening to nana talk about their flight from Toronto to Boston. She figured pop pop was out walking the dogs. He loved being outdoors and going on walks. She hoped she wasn’t too late and could catch up with him. She loved spending time alone with her pop pop. Although he wasn’t much of a talker, when prompted enough just like nana he could tell some amazing stories.

Rory saw someone from their backside enter the back woods near her house. The person had a full head of silver hair like pop pop and a red plaid shirt which looked like one of her pop pop’s shirts. She was fairly certain that it was her pop pop and decided to follow the person.

When she got to the woods she lost sight of the individual, but noticed fresh foot prints on the dirt path and decided to follow them. Her gut told her to turn back but her curiosity got the better part of her. Her parents always instructed her and her two siblings to avoid the woods and for the past three years that they had lived here she had always listened. But she had overheard neighborhood kids last week talking about weird noises they heard coming from the woods at all times during the day and night. Sometimes when she was in her room studying or having a hard time sleeping, she also would hear loud and weird noises. Noises she had never heard before and did not know how to describe. Whenever, she mentioned it to her parents or two brothers they would ask her what noises and just brush it off as her imagination. And when she tried looking online for answers she would always come out empty handed.

She had felt such relief when she heard the neighborhood kids talking about it. It confirmed that she was not crazy after all. This is why even though something told her to turn back she refused to listen and instead kept following the footsteps.

After walking close to ten minutes Rory noticed that she had stopped following the footsteps. Instead those unfamiliar weird noises were what had been directing her the last few minutes. At first, they were hard to hear but now they were getting louder and louder. All around her was darkness. She was so focused on following the noises that she had lost track of time. Her heart was thumping so fast, a part of her wanted to turn around and run straight back home but the other half told her to be brave and to figure out what was causing those extremely weird noises.

She couldn’t help herself she turned the flashlight app on her iPhone and kept on going. There was a clearing up ahead. She was only a few minutes away. She could see a body of water up ahead and what appeared to be a wood cabin nearby. Suddenly her phone started ringing and Pink’s “So what” song was blaring. Before she knew it someone from behind knocked her out from behind.

She woke up from the sunlight hitting her face. She rubbed her eyes and realized that she was in a queen sized bed in a fancy hotel room. When she got up to look outside the window she realized she was in a foreign country.

A big white muscular man with a mustache and a mean look walked in and said, “how did you sleep Elizabeth last night?” Rory replied, “what do you mean my name is Rory and where am I”?

The man replied, “I ask the questions and I am tired of being nice. Tell me what you know about the voices or soon you will know extreme pain.”

Rory just blinked at him and stayed silent. He then grabbed a knife and went at here. Before she could feel the pain and see the blood gushing out. She woke up breathing heavily in her bed back at Boston. She was extremely sweaty and still in shock but thankfully none of it was real.

The end

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"Holodomor" by Olena Prikhodko

Can you imagine, the coldest night of winter, where the wind went right through you, leaving you not even with enough to shiver. Now imagine having to stand out in the field, no food in your belly. You stood in this field as a sacrifice. A self-appointed sacrifice. Maybe He would choose you, maybe pass you by. Someone always got chosen. Why? Why would anyone volunteer to offer themselves up? Hunger.

It was the winter of the Harvest of Despair. The year was 1932, and I was only just about to turn 12. My mother had been chosen, and because of her sacrifice, we did not starve. But that was 3 weeks ago, and the food has run out once more. I am the oldest, so it was my duty to volunteer. I would not let my cowardness be the death of my sisters and baby brother. Our stomachs were swelling again. I had to make the choice. I would be like Mama, not like Papa who ran when the Russian came. I secretly hoped He got him.

“I will be like Mama, like Mama,” I repeated to myself as I approached the Russian general. Maybe I was hoping he would take pity on me, turn me away and give me some bread. But that was wishful thinking, to him I was Ukrainian scum. That night my family would eat, and maybe I’ll be a bit luckier than Mama.

The Russian Officer, Anatoly, gave me a slip and told me where I can pick up the food that I had just traded my life for. When the women behind the counter handed me the bag, it was a whole ⅓ smaller than what Mama had brought home.

“Forgive me Ma’am, but where is the rest?” I asked a bit in shock, forgetting my place in this world.

“You get what scraps the Great Stalin decides to waste on you.” Her words were final. I back away slowly, and then suddenly, I was running. I flew out the doors and ran to the little collage we called home. My siblings knew of my fate as soon as they seen me come through the door, with the bag. But there was nothing to say. No point in wasting time with condolences.

“Maria, you will now be in charge, follow the rules. Don’t let anyone out at night, close the door and make sure the shade is on the window. No one should know that we are alone, I mean that you are alone.” I stumbled with that last part. “Make the food last. Don’t eat it all at once. Make it last to spring. Spring will be better. You can start the garden like Mama taught us.”

We sat in silence, they ate, I just watched. No need to waste food on me, mostly if I will not make it through the night. I glanced out the window, it was getting dark too soon. It was almost time.

“Good night little angels,” I said to them, as Mama used to say to us, and walked out the door. I heard the latch fall behind me and I knew I had no choice. “Brave like Mama. Brave like Mama.” I gathered strength from those words and met up with the other self-appointed sacrifices at the village center.

“Everyone on the wagon!” Ordered Officer Anatoly. A women tried to run, changing their minds, but the officers took out their sticks, struck the women, and threw her on the wagon. 

As we rode, the snow began to fall. Small, gentle snowflakes. We were dropped of at different parts around the outskirts of our village, forming what seemed like a circle. The wagon, slowed, Anatoly nodded to me, and another soldier pushed me off. I was to stand in this place, until either I was chosen, or sparied. I would know my fate at the break of dawn. I stood. It was cold, the snow was starting to come up to my knees. The snowfall made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of me. At least, I wouldn't see Him coming. Strangely, I felt at peace, I felt like I could hear Mama’s voice singing me to sleep. I closed my eyes, I could almost feel her there with me, a bit of warmth on this snowy winter night. I felt a tickled at my neck. My eye flew open, and instead of the snow, I only saw black. Complete blackness. There was a stabbing feeling that my neck, where I first felt the tickle. My body was burning and stinging. I couldn’t see anything, just black. I heard a scream. It was so loud. It was peircing. It was my scream. But the pain, OH GOD MAKE IT STOP! My insides started burning. It was not a hot burn, but one of ice. I let out another scream. That scream was all that I had left, and everything went blank.

Maria and my other two siblings found me the next morning. They dragged my blue body back to the house, and huddled around me to warm me up. They told me that my body was twisted in unnatural directions. They thought I was dead, until they heard a muffled whisper escaped my lips: “Like Mama.”

We managed to spread out the food till spring. We were lucky. I was lucky. Many Ukrainian people died during the Holodomor and it seemed that the more Ukrainian people that died, the stronger the Stalin regime became. No one ever asked about what exactly happened that night. No one ever talked about Him. But it seemed that as soon as the sacrifices to Him stopped, Stalin's popularity and power stopped with it.

I am 97 years old now and I believe whatever touched my neck that night, is still out there, making deals with stupid, power hungry men.

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