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Welcome to the latest installment of Friday Flash Fiction. Enter your short work of fiction (generally between 100 and 1,000 words) based on this prompt by midnight Saturday to be eligible to win! The best entry will be published on the site, along with a short author bio; bringing you fame, fortune and bragging rights. Winners also receive a small prize. Entries may be posted in the comments or emailed to theoneminutewriter@gmail.com. If you post in the comments, please be sure to leave us a way to contact you in case you are our winner. Good Luck!
You relax into your seat, book in hand, as your plane takes off. The stranger sitting next to you fidgets - he has seemed unusually nervous. A few moments later, you feel his hand on your arm. You turn to see his eyes pleading with you.
"I'm not supposed to speak to anyone," he begins, "But I have to clear my conscience."
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Friday, January 4, 2013
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"I'm not supposed to speak to anyone," he begins, "But I have to clear my conscience."
"Damn!" I thought. "Too late to pretend I'm asleep."
"Clear your conscience?" I said cautiously, trying to move my arm discreetly to rid his hand from my arm. The stranger only deepened his hold as his eyes pleaded with me to listen.
"Please, I need to tell someone!" The stranger begged pitifully and I looked around myself to make sure no one was watching. I turned back to face him. His expression was full of sadness and his legs fidgeted with his nervous disposition.
“Well, what’s wrong?” The stranger gave relieved sigh and put his face closer to mine, ridding me of my personal space. I tried not to move away and stayed rooted to the spot.
“My name is Adam and my family was taken from my home three days ago. These men forced me to do things for them.” He whispered hurriedly as if he was about to be taken any moment. “They forced me onto this plane. I shouldn’t be here!”
“So, you and your family were kidnapped and forced to obey their orders?” I whispered back. I couldn’t believe that this man’s family was kidnapped from his home and he was forced onto a plane. It just seemed too surreal and unbelievable. The man named Adam nodded agitatedly, his eyes darting around the plane. I decided to go along with it.
“Why did they put you on this plane? What did they ask you to do?” I stared at Adam, wondering if he was faking this charade or if he was really genuine. He let out an exasperated sigh.
“I’m not supposed to tell you. I shouldn’t even be telling you all this.” Adam stared at me and moved his hand from my arm and onto his lap. He knew he had my attention. I sighed impatiently.
“Look, you wanted to tell me. So just spill it or stop playing games.” Adam’s eyes poured into mine and I diverted my eyes away as he was starting to make me uncomfortable. What he whispered next made my heart sink.
“There’s an explosive device somewhere on this plane.” My eyes snapped back to Adam’s face, his expression was petrified and my heart was smashing inside my chest. Shit. This couldn’t be happening. Why does this have to happen to me?
“You have a bloody bomb on this plane?” I whispered with an alarmed tone to my voice. Adam’s eyes started to tear up as he nodded. I let out a frustrating sigh. I couldn’t believe it. This had to be a dream or maybe I was stuck inside a movie and I didn’t know it? What the hell was I going to do now? I’m no bomb expert!
I grabbed Adam by his shirt and pulled his face closer to mine. Adam grabbed onto the seat to steady himself.
“When is it going off?” I whispered furiously, letting go of his shirt. Adam sat with his back to the window and stared at me.
The nervous stare that Adam wore previously had now vanished. Instead, his face contorted into a malice smile that sent shivers down my body. His pleading eyes had disappeared and turned mischievous. My breathing quickened and I stared at Adam in astonishment.
“Now.”
Name: Mindy Saini
Contact: sat_minder@hotmail.com
www.sksainitheauthor.blogspot.com
"...It's Just Hair For Men."
"Sears. I got the outfit at Sears."
"My name is Inigo Montoya..."
A huge weirdo touched my arm as a way to feel safe i guess. We were on the airplane taking off, on our way to New York city. He was making weird noises and what seemed to me, sweating. Gosh that’s so much sweat. “I’m not supposed to speak to anyone,” he begins, “But I have to clear my conscience.” Conscience? What is he talking about? “What are you talking about?”, i said. “I don’t know. A little voice inside my head is telling me to talk to you… So hi.” He said, while smiling at me like a huge creep. A little voice? I have a little voice inside of my head too but it tells me to write not to talk to strangers and touch their arms. He seems a bit awkward. Which is fine cause i’m awkward too. “Oh cool.” What am i supposed to say? Oh cool i don’t give a shit. It’s been 5 seconds and its officially awkward. “My name is Marina and yours?”, i said. “Paul. Like Paul McCartney. The one who denied an collaboration with Justin Bieber.” Oh he has a sense of humor just like i do. I like it. “Oh yeah i heard about it on Twitter. Pretty hilarious.” “Yeah haha. I think he denied the collaboration because legends don’t collaborate with newbies who sing for teenage girls.” “Seems like your a Paul fan yourself.” “I’m not a fan it’s just obvious if you really think about it.” “Hmm true.”, i said. I look at his gloves that have a bolt on. It must be the Chargers football team. “Nice gloves. Though i prefer the New York Jets. Ha! Get it? Cause were going to New York city? Ha!” I’m so lame. Great joke Marina. ”Yes i get it. Your too funny. You should be on Comedy Central.” “Or write a book.” i say, and show him my notebook. “You’re writing a book? Oh how nice. What is it about? Is it a memoir?” “No it’s a teen fiction book. Just watch i’m going to be the new Stephanie Meyers. It’s about an tall teenager and refers himself as a Giraffe.” “Oh interesting.” he says as a the airplane hostess comes in. “Hello are you Paul?” A simple, sorry to interrupt, would be fine but seems like to me these hostess don’t get paid well. “Yes i’m Paul.” “Seems like your on the wrong seat.” Well shit. “Oh okay. Well i guess i have to go do you want to meet up when we arrive in New York city? That’s if you are single.” “Yes i’m single. That would be lovely.”, i said as i see him walk to his seat. He has an nice ass. I think i’m in love.
blog: Danielinwonderland.wordpress.com
"Who said you couldn't talk?" I asked. I didn't want to hear about his conscience. I'm a 'Just the facts, Ma'am" type.
"I'm going on a three month silent retreat and the literature said to stop talking when I got up this morning."
"So, learn back, close your eyes and think about whatever is on your mind."
"I don't want to."
"Yes, you do, that's why you signed up for the retreat."
"But I have a secret."
"Welcome to the human race."
"You're not very sympathetic."
"No, I'm not. I have a book I want to read."
"I want to tell someone."
"It'll keep for three months. Or at least until we get to Atlanta."
He got up and walked up the aisle toward the restrooms. I opened my book but I glanced up; he grabbed the arm of a woman who came out of the restroom. I knew exactly what he said to her. She slapped the hand on her arm and said loudly, "Don't touch me!" A man in the nearest row got up and grabbed the talker, shoved him into the restroom and closed the door. The guy did not return to the seat beside me. Phew!! I read my book.
1-5-13 Flash Friday Fiction prompt: The Confession
You relax into your seat, book in hand, as your plane takes off. The stranger sitting next to you fidgets - he has seemed unusually nervous. A few moments later, you feel his hand on your arm.
Somewhat alarmed and turning my head sharply toward the visibly shaking stranger, I query earnestly, "Are you OK?"
With perspiration rolling down his face and his left hand clutching his chest, he manages to stammer weakly, "P-p-please h-h-help m-..." And then the balding, middle-aged man in the black suit and universal collar of the clergy suddenly stiffens, arches his back, and begins banging his head rhythmically against the back of his seat. A seizure?
Grabbing my jacket, I push the soft material between the man's head and the back of his seat. Then quickly release the buckle on my seat belt and raise the armrest between us. I reach overhead and punch the steward call button. There's a loud snap of a seat buckle releasing in front of me, and a young blond leans over the seat and says, "My name is Erin and I'm a nurse."
The man's jerking movements seem to be lessening, but is his face really turning purple? I move quickly into the aisle out of Erin's way, and wave hurry-up hand signals to the stewards. Erin pulls the clerical collar off the man, and struggles to release his seat belt buckle. He has slumped down into his seat and the jerking movements have stopped, but his face is a pale gray and he seems barely breathing.
One steward turns and moves forward to the cockpit. Another steward, "Mac" on his name tag, hovering nearby is scanning the passenger list. "Seat A, Row 15, is Father O'Malley," Mac discloses. Erin looks up and shakes her head. "No pulse. He's gone. Get him into the aisle." Mac and Erin each grab one of Father O'Malley's arms and "on three" yank him over the armrest, into the aisle, and roll the priest onto his back. Erin begins CPR chest compressions. "One, one-thousand, Two, one-thousand..."
The intercom interrupts - "All passengers and flight attendants please return to your seats, fasten your seat belts, and prepare for landing. We are diverting to the nearest airport, Punta Gorda, for emergency medical assistance, and have begun our descent."
It takes six of us to lift, then push-pull Father O'Malley back into his seat. As I buckle up, I hear Erin's quiet confession, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned..."
Contact: adaniel245@yahoo.com
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