Flash Fiction #1 – Man in Ice an Cave
With the new year, we’re doing some new things. Wednesday Random posts will still be a regular feature as will Merlin Club until we run out of episodes – at which point, we’ll take a short break and move on to the next series. But we’re also including some new features – stretching our writing muscles, so to speak. One of the things we’re doing are flash fiction pieces based on a photo.
In the past, I’ve been invited to participate in blogging challenges like this – but I never had the guts. The idea of writing a short (or in this case) a super short and tossing it out on the internet was far too terrifying. But, last year, I did a pretty good job of moving beyond some of the stuff that scares the crap out of me. And this year, I’d like to do even more. So, without further ado, I give you this dude in an ice cave. Oh, and be sure to check out the other bloggers’ stories about this dude by clicking the names below.
Kyle Drummond stood at the mouth of the cave, mangled, iron spear clutched in his hand. He glanced at the weapon and grimaced. Not that it would be much good against the creatures that roamed the wilderness outside the questionable sanctuary of his makeshift shelter, but it was all he had.
When the storm hit, he’d had no other choice but to weather it in the barren, darkness of the ice cave. This was the last place he wanted to be. The cold sank into his bones, and the shadows silently clawed at him with nearly as much force as the creatures outside would if they could get to him.
Thus far, they hadn’t been able to reach him, but that would change if he were to cross the threshold. For the most part, they seemed to be attracted to movement, though he was sure some of them could probably smell fear, too. Unless he could scrape together his courage to leave, he’d be trapped in the cave forever, and he was quickly running out of provisions.
Crossing that invisible line from darkness to light took more strength than he was sure he had. He shifted his grip on his weapon and tried to step clear of the opening. At this point, he was holding it more for the illusion of strength than actual strength. As his foot hovered above the earth, one of the creatures in the distance moved. Its head snapped up, pinning him with its dead-eyed stare. Kyle slowly backed up, and closed the door.
Peering though the square, glass window set high up in the wood, he stared at the outside world. His neighborhood looked the same as it ever did—peacefully unassuming. Sprinklers whirred over lush, green lawns spitting out drops of rainbow hued water glistening in the sun. The neighbor kid rode his Big Wheel up and down the sidewalk in front of Kyle’s house, and the guy at the end of the street was polishing his midlife crisis-mobile for the third time that week.
Kyle looked down at the empty bottle of Xanax clutched in his hand, the tiny letters neatly spelling his name, the dosage, and the words “No Refills.”