Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 42

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 42!



This is a flash fiction challenge.  The prompt is a song.  You are not required to write about or even mention the song.  It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan.  If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.

The rules;

500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.

Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.


The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at 9:00PM Pacific Time on Friday.  You read that right.  Pacific Time.

This week’s song prompt comes to us courtesy of the great Tom Waits.

The tune is… “Make It Rain”. Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/qZS-B1Afc1c

This week’s Judge is none other than the Book Hipster herself… Stephanie Fuller!

The challenge starts the moment you read this post and runs through 9PM Pacific Time on Friday January 3rd.

Now…. Go write!!!


Posted on December 31, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. Storm
    by Danielle Young

    “Tori you have to control it.” Jake said as he put his hand on my shoulder and took a seat on the muddy ground next to me.

    “I don’t want to.” I sobbed. “I want the world to feel my pain and anger.” I seethed.

    Jake chuckled. “I think the world is definitely feeling your pain Tori, but if you’re not careful you are going to drown them.”

    I sniffled and picked my head up. I took a look at the area around me. I was now sitting in what was probably five inches of water and the water in the bay was raging like it was going to leap up and swallow the city surrounding it.

    “Let them drown.” I spit through clenched teeth. I didn’t really mean it though. I didn’t really want all the people of San Francisco to drown, nope, just one; Kirk.

    “You don’t mean that. Look we all know that my brother Kirk is a major jerk, but don’t let all of San Francisco suffer because of it.” Jake said rubbing circles on my back.

    I stopped my sniffling and looked at Jake. His vibrant blue eyes glowed back at me despite the gloom surrounding us, reminding me of the clearest ocean. I laughed despite the situation.

    “What’s so funny?” He asked with his crooked grin.

    “You that’s what. You look like a drowned rat.” I chuckled. But the truth was he looked perfect. His drenched sun kissed hair fell just right, accentuating his chiseled face while water droplets hung to his day old scruff like a drowning victim hangs to a life preserver. I had the sudden urge to catch one of those water droplets. I looked away before Jake could see my blush. Why couldn’t I have fallen for the good brother? I thought to myself.

    Jake laughed loud, the sound resonating from deep in his chest. It was like music to my ears. “Oh, I’m the drowned rat am I? You’re one to talk, missy!” He joked splashing water at me.

    He was probably right. No. He was right. I looked terrible. I hadn’t combed my hair in days, my face was probably all puffy from crying and who knows when the last time I showered. But at this exact moment I didn’t really care. I was tired of caring.

    I scooped water up with my hand and threw it back at him, hitting him square in the face. He stopped laughing and looked at me.

    “Oh it’s on now.” He warned with a mischievous smile. I was in trouble now and I knew it. I turned to crawl away from Jake before he could reap his revenge. When a wave of water crashed over me. I turned to look at Jake and almost ran into him he was so close. I leaned back on my elbows and laughed.

    “Guess I deserved that.”

    “Yea you kind of did, but you also deserve this.” Jake said with a wicked gleam in his eye.

    I watched Jake intently afraid and nervous. His blues eyes raked over my body and lit me on fire. He crawled closer to me and melded his perfect lips to mine. He kissed me like I was the last girl on earth. Like I was his lost treasure. Like he always wanted to kiss me and like he would never stop.

    Not to sound cliché, but he totally took my breath away.

    Jake pulled away slightly out of breath and rested his forehead against mine.

    “That is what you deserve Tori. Love and tenderness.” He whispered.

    And like that the storm raging within me died as did the storm hammering San Francisco. I let my feelings of hate and anger go and looked to a brighter future. One where I did what was good for me. Where I was loved as much as I loved.

    647 words @y311er


  2. ***** 5 stars ..what a romantic you are Danielle.


  3. There was no silver iodide to be found, not in any of the jars I had in the cellar, not in the markets of Kalai, and not in the wagons of the Great Caravan. But they hadn’t come to me for something as simple as a compound of elements. Tren was the first to speak, as was his place as Primary on the Council.

    “It’s time.”

    I didn’t look up from my desk, but I could see him anyway, wearing the chain of office not because he displayed any great skills as a thaumaturge, but because I’d said no and he was the least controversial choice left. He was weaker than me, and always had been, but it took some serious guts to come into my chambers – he knew why I was here, and not out where they wanted me.

    Where they needed me.

    “King Roneld’s forces are just outside the gate. We can’t wait any longer.”
    I knew Tren was baiting me, but I took it anyway. “That fool’s no king. Just because he married Queen Malis doesn’t give him the divine right of blowing his nose, much less running the country.”

    “And yet there he sits, wearing the crown, with a hundred thousand armed lunatics at his back.”


    “She’s there too.”

    I looked up then, though not at Tren. My sight traveled through the walls and out onto the plains to the west. There she was, next to her husband, riding in the royal carriage. He was as forgettable as ever, but she had changed, and not for the better. Oh, Malis was still gorgeous, and I felt a pang at the memory of a hundred nights we’d spent tangled in her feather bed. But she’d only wanted me for my power, and when she had what she wanted, I was cast aside in favor of a political alliance with a sop. That betrayal had left her hard, and I could see the hate in her eyes.

    Mirrored by my own.

    Finally, I nodded and turned my attention to my visitors. “I’m assuming the usual things have failed, or you wouldn’t be here. I will help, but there will be a price.”

    “We know, Raina. And you will have our support as Queen once this is finished.”

    The preparations took all night, but by sunrise I was on the roof of the castle, ready to release my retribution. Tren and his cohort had failed not because of lack of talent, but lack of will. Chemicals weren’t the answer, nor was supplication of the gods. As the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, I brought forth the darkness from below. Soon the sky was roiling with blackly luminous clouds, and I could feel the fear rising from Roneld and Malis. She knew where I’d hoped to seek more power, and she was right to be afraid.

    The thaumaturges who had pledged their support would know me as their Queen, but they didn’t know until now who would rule at my side. I’d had to promise many things to the Lord of the Underworld to grant me his only daughter, but when she took form next to me, I knew that my offer had been accepted. She took my hand, her cold flesh a welcome balm against the heat in my heart. Together, we raised my wand to the sky and released the restraints.

    And it began to rain. Rain the land hadn’t seen in years. In decades. Fat heavy drops blasting out of the sky, hitting with the force of hail. The parched land tried to absorb it all, but there was too much, and the army outside the gate rapidly found itself unable to see in a pool of rising water. The elephant carrying the royal carriage got spooked, trampling dozens of soldiers as it tried to find its way out of the rain. But there was no out. Not for Malis. For her the rain would never stop.

    665 words


  4. John was soaked to the skin and all he could hear in his head were the lyrics ‘make it rain’. It had rained and rained heavily in his life, he’d been blessed with so much. But despite the present torrential downpour in the real world, the drought in his personal life had just begun and he was getting ready to enter the desert.

    He could feel himself burning already, with all the emotions, but there was one he could put a stop to; one he could clear up, and he looked forward to it. Under the light of a passing car his grin lit up.

    He checked his pocket again to reassure himself as he arrived at the apartment block. The night lights surrounding the building reflected the rain and gave it a sinister feel, one he hadn’t seen on his previous visits. But then he knew what he was about to do, and he smiled at the prospect.

    He pressed all the security buzzers to the apartments, except the one he intended to call on; he knew someone would open the door without questioning it. Seconds later he was taking the stairs two at a time, the adrenaline giving his legs more strength than they usually had, and in moments he was at the front door.

    John stood there breathing, letting his heart rate reduce as he thought about his next move. He brought the key out of his pocket, but knew the occupant better than that; he simply turned the handle and found the door unlocked.

    It was dark inside and he stood in the lounge listening. It wasn’t long before their moans reached him. He knew they’d be busy, and it seemed they’d been busy for years longer than their lies had declared.

    He took the knife out of his pocket and enjoyed the weight of it in his gloved hand. It was one from her favourite set; a Christmas gift he’d spoiled her with all those years ago, when giving knives to your wife was a perfectly normal thing to do and no doubt would creep into your head about how they could be used against you one day. He rubbed at the freshly healed wound on his ribcage. He tried to stem the pain it sparked, but it was internal now, and twisted itself up, wanting to scream its betrayal. He would quell it in a moment.

    John stepped towards the bedroom door, the thick carpet soaking up the sound. Mark had always insisted on having the best of everything, never caring about the cost, maybe that was why he’d been able to do this so easily to his friend, with no remorse as the sounds coming through the door demonstrated. He stopped to listen again, and like coals to the fire, it helped his rage swell, and enabled him to believe his plans were rational.

    He turned the doorknob fraction by fraction, using their moans to cover each movement. Then he opened the door a crack at a time, their writhing bodies coming into view, silhouetted by the light from the window. They hadn’t even had the decency to close the curtains.

    His movement became fluid as he rushed to the bedside and thrust the knife into the back of whoever was on top. It took a couple of seconds for the body underneath to register what was happening, enough for John to pull the knife out and douse their screams in a flood of blood with a swift stroke to the neck.

    As soon as he was done he dropped the knife, knowing the rest of the set was already here, along with the rest of her things she had moved over after their fight the week before. He left as quietly as he had entered, shutting all the doors, leaving it as he found it – well, almost, then using the stairs again, before letting the rain wash him clean of any residue.

    Only once on the plane the following day, did he allow himself a thought about it, and acknowledge the tremble in his hands. But he could work that out in time, something he had plenty of now.

    697 Words


  5. Dark Spinstress
    Alex Brightsmith

    Their stares accused her. She could feel in every heart the words that came to only the boldest lips:

    “Make it rain.”

    It had begun as a plea, and become an accusation, and it flared on every side. Saran only sneered; it had no power to hurt her. She was their Spinstress, and they knew it in the bone once more. For too long they had not needed her, but their glib words and scientific methods could not help them now. They were children again, as helpless as the children they allowed her to amuse with what they called her trickery and her hypnotism.

    She had not needed their belief to spin daydreams for their children. She did not need it, now, to send her spirit dancing in the upper airs. She needed only what she had: that she was born of the land and acknowledged by it. Yet she had hungered for it, the half-forgotten, all-unconscious tribute of pure belief, hungered for it and mourned its passing, and now her grief had flared to anger, and she had indeed withheld the rains, as they began to suspect. How easily a little discomfort, a season’s thirst, broke through the fragile shell of modern, scientific thought, rekindling a belief that only slept. It flamed now, as her anger had flamed, and if it had not quite the flavour she remembered, if there was a bitter tang to this late flowering, what did that matter? It was heady still.

    She could not hold the rains forever. In a few days they would come despite her, in a form beyond her choosing, but she had power yet to hold them, and power yet to choose the manner of their coming. She pondered, as her spirit danced, exultant, amidst the pregnant clouds, what would she give them? A few teasing spots? The gentle haze that the land craved? Too easy, and too soon forgotten. She would give them real rain, rain they would never forget, rain in sheets, rain in torrents, rain that smashed whatever frail growth had survived the drought, rain to make them run in terror from the very thing that they had begged for.

    In her wild delight she had strayed from her own place, and her dance faltered as she came upon another presence.

    “What fear you, sister? We have danced often and often afore.”

    Her spirit quailed a little in wonder; she said

    “You never spoke in the old times.”

    “What need had we of it? We were bound in our love of the land, and the love and the dance were beyond words.”

    Recovering herself, she answered defiantly

    “I love the land yet.”

    Silence, only silence, but the silence was an answer.

    “I punish men, and not the land, but the land may suffer a little scar for my sake.”

    “Sister, oh our sister …”

    She found herself caught up, despite herself, in the dance she had forsworn, and the first drops had fallen, like hot tears, on the anguished land before she could prevent them.

    “This is my land, my choice, and my men have forgotten me.”

    “Men forget, everywhere. It is the order of things, and better thus.”

    “My men will remember. I will make them remember.”

    “Better they forget the good, than that they remember an evil. What tale would you have them tell of the Spinstresses, a hundred years hence?”

    “Any tale, be it more than that we amused their children!”

    Her words rang out as thunder as she gathered the storm around her. For many hours that storm raged and her townsmen lay sleepless, mouthing wordless prayers. But the night waned, and the storm with it, and they came, shamefaced, into a soft dawn, forgetting the nameless dread of the night, to walk in the gentle rain that they and the land together craved. They savoured the soft scent that the land put up in its gratitude, and spoke of science again, even as their souls put up a silent prayer to whatever spirit had blessed them.

    Later they buried an old maid who had been good with the children, and the land took back its Spinstress with relief and with regret.

    699 words


  6. Dancing in the Dust

    “Would you come over here and do…something…with him?” the incredulous voice called into the farmhouse from my mother. Since my brother and I were inside, there was only one other she could be referring to. With our Grandfather, it could be anything, but was certain to be unusual. We ran to the window to see what it was this time.

    Peering through the dusty panes into the yard, it didn’t take us long to see what the fuss was about. To this day, I almost wish we hadn’t looked.

    The dust flying in the air from the parched sandy soil was the first indication of where he was. Round and round it went, like a zephyr was picking up the sand. Only this time, the zephyr had a name. Spinning around in circles, we could see him kicking and leaping and twirling like he had ants in his pants. Only one problem, though: he wasn’t wearing any pants.

    Out in the afternoon heat, there was our Grandfather, all of him. Gray beard flying like it was embarrassed to be there and wanted to be as far away as possible. Below that was skin as white as the pages in the school books we had to read. Clearly, this was the first sun that most of him had seen since he’d come to the farm, and he was born here! Through a break in the dust, we could see that the only thing he was wearing was a cowbell tied onto each ankle, making a faint clink every time his feet touched the ground. His fists were raised to the sky, and the rest of his aged body was sagging toward the ground in newfound freedom, swinging in time like a pasty gelatin.

    Boots stomped on the front porch as his generally patient wife marched toward him, complaining and cajoling him in language that we’d never heard her use before. As she reached him and grabbed him by the ear like a wayward boy, she yelled “Don’t you have any pride?”

    “Pride? I’ve got no pride. I’ve got to make it rain!” he sputtered, his dance interrupted.

    As she dragged him back into the house to find some decency, and some clothing, the entire household collapsed in shocked laughter.

    I tell you what, though, nobody was laughing that evening when the first drops that we’d seen in months fell out of the sky.

    402 words


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