The Three Sentence Challenge - "Same Time, Same Place"

This week's explanation of the flash fiction challenge may very well end up being longer than the fiction itself. I missed last week's (which sucks), but am incredibly excited for this week's challenge. Chuck wants to make us jump through his little flaming whoop of death and perform like circus pen monkeys for him. We get three sentences for the whole story, and he does mean story. He wants a beginning, middle, and end. It's like a prose haiku. As always, let me know what you think!

Same Time, Same Place

The colossal unearthly warrior stomped out the hopes and dreams of this year's game. Our best champion yet, and she couldn't hold her own against the alien master for more than sixty seconds. The cruelest punishment they dished out was the dream we could ever win our freedom.

Snake in the Grass

It's that time again where I go in for another one of Chuck Wendig's Terrible Minds writing prompt. I'm a little late this week, but better hump day than never is what I always say (I never say this). This week's prompt is a bit different. Pick a cocktail name, write a story about it. This time, however, we only get 500 words, and the whole thing still has to be a complete story. I know next to nothing about mixed drinks outside of a good ole' brandy old fashion sweet, so I went looking for a name that sounds cool and rand with it. Behold, the Snake in the Grass. I'm pretty proud to say that I didn't waste a word and ended with exactly 500 on the dot. Anyway, on with the show!

He slouched against the grimy wall and waited for the search light to pass over his hiding spot. Two days ago he began running. Every moment he stopped to take a breath was another moment he gave them to find him. Jack wasn't wrongly accused. There was no crooked cop on the inside framing him for a crime he didn't commit. No, Jack was a very bad man who had done very bad things. Still, out of all the names you could have given him, Jack was no liar. He refused to lie to himself - he was completely guilty of the crimes fueling his pursuit. Worse yet, he couldn't deny the pleasure he experienced from his mindlessly-violent acts. Regardless of all that, he couldn't risk capture. Jail he might enjoy, but he knew this time they'd be forced to kill him for the things he'd done. He still had so many more things he wanted to try before what he assumed would be an inevitably early death.

Another Night Out

It's this weeks flash fiction entry into Chuck Wendig's Terrible Minds writing challenge! This week we have a 1,000 words and 60 unusable stock photos to choose from to inspire us. I chose the picture to the right here, number 20. I don't know what I just wrote, so you read it and tell me what you think! Thanks! 

The girls giggled together, not nearly as drunk as they might appear. They crossed arms over shoulders and formed a two-woman kick line as they danced to Baby Got Back by the great Sir Mix-A-Lot. They'd never seen this dive before tonight and would likely forget about the job two days from now. The three ugly bikers with long beards, the only other patrons in the Black Tomorrow, stared on in blissful oblivion at the unexpected show.

Ginger and Robin had heard about this grimey little pub and its regulars just a couple days before now and couldn't resist the temptation. They always pressed their luck and bit off a little more than they could chew. It didn't matter, somehow they always got out alive without too much damage done or bad memories sticking around. Things always did seem to get fuzzy near the end of their nights out.