Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 2.15

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Year 2, Week 15.

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 MIDNIGHT Pacific Time on Friday. You read that right. Pacific Time.

This week’s song prompt is a Los Angeles punk classic… The band is X.

The tune is… “The Hungry Wolf”. Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/X-VUFNz5WRc

This week’s Judge is none other than our own Mortuary Mama… Ruth Long!

The challenge runs from the moment you read this post through MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Friday June 27th.

Now… Go write!!!



Posted on June 24, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. By The Light of the Silvery Moon

    Damn Grandma, calling for help tonight of all nights.
    Well, when I got there she didn’t need help; gobbets of flesh stuck wetly to every surface and blood spattered across the shiny oak floorboards – it was gross. And where the hell was Grandpa?
    I was thinking about calling the Feds, when I hear noises. Snuffling, shuffling – a growl that echoes deep in my gut, like a speaker with the bass set too high. The only good thing was that it was outside.
    I shoot the door bolts so hard the frame shakes.
    I look around the room for something useful. Old ladies’ trinkets fill every inch of the room. You couldn’t ever put a cup down without knocking something over.
    I grab the heavy brass candlestick Grandma always whined was so hard to clean and take a practice swing. I couldn’t hit a fading fastball worth shit, but I reckoned a head, being a bigger, slower target, would be easier. And I had way more incentive not to miss.
    The door shakes like it’s been rammed by a monster truck, then the scratching starts. Scratching? That’s like calling Katrina a thunderstorm. It sounded like someone was trying to cut through with an industrial band sander.
    My mouth’s so dry a six pack won’t wet it. My hands shake like… well like Grandma’s, I go to the window, flatten myself against the wall like in all the best cop shows and twitch the curtain. A dog is trying to scratch and bite through the door.
    Damn, calling that thing a dog was like calling King Kong a gorilla, accurate maybe, but way too lame and giving no clue to the sheer size of it.
    The full moon clears the clouds and moonbeams light me up. I get that dizzy, sick feeling like always. The pale light paints the dumpsters and wrecked cars with a shimmering silver frosting. Not a neighbourhood where screaming attracts much attention. Cops it is.
    Dropping the candlestick I pull out my cell phone. Three tries to get shaking fingers to locate 911 then, just as the ringtone starts, the phone buzzes and shuts down.
    No battery.
    The growl becomes a weird howl, pitch rising with the hairs on the back of my neck and arms. I let the drapes fall, shutting out the silver light.
    Get your shit together, girl.
    I scoot for the kitchen, slipping on the slick, pooled blood darkening the floor. I peer inside, checking, before making a dash for it.
    A hand grabs my wrist and yanks me back into the living room.
    I sprawl across the floor, coming face to face with a strange woman’s head, staring at me from under the couch. The neck has been sliced clean through.
    I sense movement behind me. I roll to one side as a blued steel blade chops into the floorboards where my head just was. I scramble away, scrabbling towards the window, stretching out for the candlestick. My ankle is grabbed, pulling me back towards the centre of the room. The hand releases me. I flop like a beached fish, rolling on my back.
    A wild eyed man looms over me, samurai sword raised for another strike.
    The window crashes in, covering me in shards of glass. The great grey wolf knocks the man to the ground. Yellow teeth lock around the man’s neck and, with a great shake and sickening rip, pulls clear, showering me with fresh, warm blood. The sword clatters to the floor.
    The wolf faces me. I feel his hot breath and see scarlet drool matting his fur.
    He growls, pale cloudy eyes fix on me. He sniffs the air, panting, long pink tongue flapping from his mouth.
    He steps back, rears up, and shakes and shakes, until Grandpa stands in front of me, still breathing heavily, mouth red.
    His warm, hairy hand pulls me upright.
    “Grandma shouldn’t’ call you tonight. I’ve told you before to beware the full moon. Our kind attract crazies. Now, if your mother had married someone of the old blood, you could’ve looked after yourself. Come on, Girl, help me clear up before your Grandma finishes hunting; I’m starving!”

    695 words


  2. Lust loved the beach. It didn’t matter if it was midday, or midnight, the beach was always filled with entertainment. From the hotels to the sand, to the ocean, humans and their self-denial of their animal nature always brought him entertainment. As he slinked along the shaded concrete of the boardwalk, Lust pondered his best course of action for the day.

    “Should I play with lots of humans, wrecking random havoc? Should I find a group of humans, and torture them continuously? Perhaps I should attach myself to a single human, and give them a Las Vegas style adventure?”

    For a time, he watched the humans on the sand setting up their towels, chairs, and coolers. He particularly enjoyed watching the curvy female humans, in their barely there clothing. “Ah, the wonders of the female mind. Only a human female would scream, ‘Don’t look at me!’ and wear a tiny bikini which leaves nothing to imagine, and screams the opposite, ‘I’ve got it, and I’m gonna flaunt it!’. Perfect.”

    He picked out a redhead, in a little pink number. The only things the fabric hid were her nipples, and between her legs, and it barely hid them. Lust watched her spread her towel on the white sand. He knew she was a regular on the beach when she staked her towel to the ground, so it wouldn’t blow around. Then she sat down, leaned back, and pulled out a book to read.

    He knew she’d be perfect for his needs that day. He’d stay close to her for a while, and cause havoc of all kinds.

    He started with a group of teenage boys as they walked by. The boys were there for one reason, though no one would ever admit it. They wanted to see curvy women, barely dressed, and fantasize about the many things they could do with them.

    Lust whispered in the ear of the boy starring the hardest, “this is a good place to enjoy the water, isn’t it?”

    “Hey, guys! This looks like a good place!” Sean proclaimed, “Last one in!” and he ran through the shallow waves near the shore, splashing up a storm. The other boys made like the pack they were, and followed suit. Lust had a blast as he listened in.

    “Did you see her?”

    “Oh, God, how could I not?”

    “I wanna eat her boobies.”

    “Spread those legs, momma, I’m coming in!”

    “I keep hearing ZZTop.”

    “Yeah, she’s got legs!”

    “And she knows how to use them!”

    “I’d let her wrap ‘em around me anytime.”

    Of course, they would behave. None of them would do anything, except stare at her, which was OK by Lust. The more they drooled, the better. “Yes,” he thought, “she’ll do for today.”

    Another female walked the sand, looking for a place to park. Lust knew exactly what to do. He whispered in her ear, “There’s a place next to her that’s perfect for you.”

    “Um. Hi.” Sally shyly spoke to the person on the sand. “Is this spot free?”

    “Sure is. Pull up a towel.”

    Sally did, and Lust grinned, then he licked his lips, and slipped between them, like a hungry wolf, “I think I’ll try to talk them into a party of their own tonight.” He whispered in Sally’s ear, “Why don’t you comment about those teenage boys.”

    Sally sighed, “Figures.”


    “We’re being stared at.”

    “So we are.”

    “Don’t you wish they would grow up?”

    Her new friend only nodded. “It’s so obvious, What they’re thinking.”

    Lust licked his lips and smiled, evil in his eyes, as he whispered to his chosen one, “Why not offer to help with her suntan oil?” Which she promptly did. As she ran her fingers across Sally’s shoulders, and down her back, Lust whispered, “Damn, that feels good doesn’t it?”

    Yes, it did. And she let her fingers linger just a bit as Lust pipped in, “Perhaps she can help you with yours?”

    She placed the bottle beside Sally’s head, “Would you mind?”

    Lust always loved the beach in the summer time. He loved to play his games. They were so very fun.

    688 Words


  3. Hunting At Sunset and Alvarado

    I leaned against the dirty wall, smoking. Little Lily moved closer to me, seeking warmth. People said it didn’t get cold here but they probably never spent a January night on Sunset Blvd. True you probably wouldn’t die of exposure but you sure as hell weren’t comfortable. This was east Sunset, the edge of Silver Lake just as it became Downtown. Not fashionable or safe. But there was still a steady stream of tourists from the West side who wanted to see the rough side of town. Most of them were smart enough to stay a little bit west of here where there was still plenty of working street lights and an art galleries mixed in with faux punk clothing shops and a legit antique store or two. But there were always a few that wandered a little too far into the real city. Where we lived…and sometimes hunted. Gotta stay focused on the street, no easy living here with endless temptations. Temptations that made you weak, made you prey. Little Lily and I knew how to survive here. We roamed these streets together, careful to only take what was needed and never, ever take it all. We understood our hunger. It was easy to lose sight of your real purpose on these shadowy streets. But this was home to us so the glitter and the trash didn’t blind us, it was just part of the landscape.

    Little Lily hissed quietly then nodded towards a young couple holding hands as they wandered towards us. The woman had bright green dreads that hung down to her shoulder blades and dark eyes in a fox like face. The man was all lanky lines and fluidity, tight van dyke beard, light blue eyes and pork pie hat on top of his short bright red hair. I cut my eyes towards Little Lily and she nodded almost imperceptibly. Then she started singing.

    Ya gotta understand, Little Lily isn’t like anyone else when she sings. I’m pretty sure she’s a river sprite…or first cousin to La Llorona. No one can resist her voice. It’s haunting and seductive and sad with a quiet promise of redemption hiding just underneath it. I’m the only one who isn’t either captured or repelled by it. I simply know it as the sound of my love.

    The couple walks straight to us, eyes locked on Little Lily as she bounces to her internal beat. When they get close enough she smiles and holds out her hand to the man and I smile and hold mine out to the woman. The moment the circle is complete their dreams start to flood into us. I lean my head back against the wall and sink into the joys and nightmares and lust and fears of both of them. Like a swirling hit of dope, everything else falls away…except Little Lily’s voice. Floating over the top of it all, keeping me grounded.

    We break the circle at the same moment, like always. We know our limits, and we know the limits of our victims. The couple stagger a bit, looking confused. But Little Lily is still humming and smiling and now I’m smiling too. They feel a little weak but no real damage has been done.

    “The Coffee Pot is back that way a few blocks on the other side of the street. That’s probably why you missed it.” I smile at the guy as though I’m answering a question he has asked.

    He’s confused but says, “Thanks man. We don’t know this side of town all that well.”

    The woman continued to look at Little Lily as she hummed softly. This was the tricky part, sometimes the women sensed something, “Your voice is, so…hypnotic.”

    Little Lily smiled and squealed, “OMG THANK YOU THAT IS SO SWEET!” throwing her arms around the woman. She gently pushed Little Lily away and they smiled nervously and headed up the street.

    I chuckled and put my arm around the tiny woman next to me as the couple retreated, “LL you crack me up.”

    She smiled at me, eyes sleepy, “They were so yummy.”

    I sighed in agreement and hugged her close, “To the river?”

    She grinned, “Yeah”.

    Words: 700 not including Title


  4. On the Run
    by Stephanie Fuller

    The full moon’s glow shone down on Heather as she hid in the tall grass. Her heart raced and beat out of her chest. Her breath, heavy. She had run for hours trying to find a safe, secluded spot where she couldn’t be found. She swore she could still hear the sirens. There was no way they could have followed her all the way out here. It had to be her imagination. Or at least she hoped.

    She needed some time to figure out what the hell had happened back there. It had all happened so fast, there was no way she could have reacted any differently. Heather thought back to growing up and how her teachers told her all sorts of ways to respond to many of life’s situations: fire, tornado, stranger danger, and other things she thought silly now. Nothing quite prepared her for what she saw when she got home from work.

    Gabe, her fiancé, or at least what remained of him, strapped to a dining room chair. Dead. Blood splatters on the walls. Chunks of what could only be brain matter littering their brand new, aerial rug. Whole fingers snipped from both hands, still duct taped down. It looked like a bomb of blood and body parts had gone off in the small studio apartment. It reminded her of one of the tacky mob movies Gabe was so fond of watching. Except it was in their apartment and her fiancé. She knew, based on the obscene number of CSI episodes she had viewed in her lifetime, that if the police walked in on her right now, she’d be their prime suspect. Running wasn’t entirely smart, but it was all she could think to do. When the sirens came rushing down the street toward her building, she was already headed out the alleyway in a dash.

    She closed her eyes cautiously and took a deep breath. Even though her pulse didn’t want to slow, she could feel herself tire. She knew she needed to sleep. Her body was in shock. Sleep would help. She nodded off a few times, but was still too wired to sleep. Instead of sleep, her mind dreamily wandered.

    Heather’s thoughts played like a re-run of a television show. The Gabe and Heather Show. Almost everything that had happened over the last few months played in fast forward. Maybe she’d catch a glimpse of something or someone that seemed out of place that could have caused all of this insanity. Gabe had gotten a new job that he said would afford them to get a house soon. She never did get a straight answer as to what the job entailed, or the name of the company. Gabe seemed happy with it, so she never asked again. Things moved in her thoughts, but nothing was out of sorts…until the last two weeks. He had come home upset about something: mumbling to himself and constantly looking over his shoulder when they were out of the apartment. He was nervous. Very nervous. Like he was being watched.

    The sound of something moving in the grass startled Heather. She looked around, wildly, but didn’t see anyone in the dark. She cursed herself for forgetting a flashlight. It made her feel as though she was fourteen years old again, hiding quietly in her bed in hopes her drunken, abusive father wouldn’t catch her awake. The memory of Gabe’s paranoia had her scared. The person that did that to Gabe knew where he lived…where she lived…and might come after her, too.

    More rustling in the grass. This time from her left. Her heart started pounding again, and she tried to quiet her breath to listen for more movement.

    Suddenly from behind, she heard the grass move.

    A throat cleared…

    633 Words


  5. The Hungry Wolf

    The orange glow of streetlamps cast an amber aura over my body as I sprinted through the streets, but I hurried through the nightlife so lightly that barely anyone noticed me. I slipped unseen, like a ghost, amongst the Friday-night revellers, moving in time to the heartbeats that echoed about me.
    The crowds thinned as I moved west and chatter grew quieter as the hour grew later, but I continued running, my belly hungry.

    The aroma of meat, of fast food and the sour stench of sweat, and the strong odour of urine, filtered through my senses as I dodged a group of women on unwieldy heels that couldn’t walk in a straight line. I snorted and ducked low as they clattered past. The last woman, drenched in chemical pheromones, turned back catching my eye. She gazed at me and her pupils widened as longing wafted over the midnight chill. I jogged away, moving swiftly and surely, ignoring her need.

    I hurried on, my heart hammering and my eyes searching.

    Darkness spread as neon lights faded, and the fragrance of sweet honeysuckle filled the air. I inhaled, my senses heightened, and my craving deepened. I left the streets, turning down an alleyway filled with the perfume of white flowers and night’s jasmine. My belly rumbled and a growl rose within my throat, grumbling out into the dusk.

    I loped down the lane, my paws padding on the pavement, my nose close to the ground and innate desire rising in my stomach.

    Azaleas, purple and magenta, fluttered, and wisteria climbed across the walls, and rails, and up over the door at the top of the steps. Light flooded the courtyard from an open window above and soft music wafted across the piazza. I paused at the foot of the steps, panting, my tongue lolling between my teeth, and my fur ruffling in the late breeze. I stared up at the door and the shadow that danced across the lunette. The moon reflected in the crescent window and I resisted the urge to howl, but my blood boiled beneath my heavy coat.

    The door clicked open and there she was long and lean, and standing against the doorframe, one leg crossed over the other and her breast heaving as she gazed down the steps. Her hand hovered at her hip and her eyes glistened in the moonlight, and I rocked on my haunches. She smiled, showing white teeth and scarlet lips and my heart quickened. Her finger curled and she beckoned me.

    I howled, my call echoing far and wide, and she stroked her décolletage, and there was no holding me back.

    As the door closed behind me and the full moon bathed the house, she buried her face in my fur and my soul exploded. My body shivered and my fur rippled, and moments later I stood before my love, as naked and furless as the day I’d entered the world.

    I caught up my wife in my arms and carried her upstairs determined to make the most of our night before daybreak tore us apart…

    (518 Words)


  6. Note: This takes place in an Omegaverse, but I kept it squeaky clean. I’ll be creating a longer/detailed version of this in the near future.

    “Nic & Tiste”
    Nicola hated backwater towns.
    The female alpha’s short and sturdy build weighed heavily with the loss of many irreplaceable members of her pack, her parents included. Pulling a deep swig from a half-drained bottle, her high-arching brows furrowed at the realization that in her mid-thirties she’d become pack Alpha prematurely.
    Her progressive parents taught to strategize with the cunning of an alpha, and to analyze with the intellect of a beta.
    She felt fortunate to be the product of a rare female alpha/male omega pairing which helped to shape her empathy toward all gender expressions and loathing for the alpha normative culture that Were society was shifting out of.
    Protecting her pack would be challenging enough under ideal circumstances, but the war between her Corona Pack and their rival Wallace Pack had devastated both sides and caused neighboring packs to take sides.
    Fighting the stinging tears scalding her cheeks, she wondered what would’ve happened had she not been thinking with her knot the day she meet Baptiste, if they hadn’t let their hormones and pheromones take over.
    She desperately wanted to blame it on their rare biological chemistry, but she knew that once she’d caught his sandalwood/amber scent and seen the omega’s emerald eyes, her heart was lost.
    Their bodies complement each other; where Nicola was small for an alpha, Baptiste was hearty for a typically feminine omega. Male omegas were rare, but a tall omega with broad shoulders and a strong jaw like an alpha were unheard.
    It was comical to see Baptiste, almost twice her size, nearly quake when she pulled away from her pack and crossed the bar to bury her red pompadoured head into his neck.
    The action nearly caused a brawl in the bar, and the owner didn’t take kindly to a visiting baby alpha sniffing the unmated omega and upsetting the neutrality of his establishment.
    Obediently, Baptiste followed her outside when she and her pack were asked to leave. Against her cousin Tommy’s warning, Nicola had driven with Baptiste to a secluded clearing a where the thirty-something omega would sneak off to as a child.
    Nicola’s anger and instinct to protect him rose when Baptiste sombered at the divulsion that his alpha father was disappointed when his only son had presented as an omega and not an alpha. He wasn’t even allowed to serve as foreman on his father’s farm lest a rutting alpha chase and mate him in the field like in the fables Were children read. Not only would Baptiste be mated off (if he wasn’t already) upon his father’s death, but his father’s assets would go to the pack since omegas couldn’t own property.
    “I hate gender norms,” Nicola spat as Baptiste hung his head.
    She should’ve known better than to try and comfort the omega as he reclined against the hood of his old truck. She should’ve heeded Tommy’s advice instead of inhaling Baptiste’s sweet scent before kissing him.
    Baptiste later confessed that he had futilely fought his wolf’s need to submit to the alpha’s cedar/sage scent.
    Like feral creatures, they tore at each other on the hood of his truck.
    There was nothing human about Baptiste bearing his neck for her and begging, “Nic, Mate. Claim.”
    Her wolfen instincts completely took over when she bit down on his exposed skin and growled in his ear, “Tiste, Mate. Mine.”
    Like drunken humans in Vegas, she was now mated to someone she had just met.
    He couldn’t go home after that; his father would kill him and track down the alpha who’d claimed Baptiste without his father’s consent.
    It didn’t take long for Alpha Wallace to learn that his rival Alpha Corona’s barbaric alpha daughter had kidnapped his only son.
    It quickly escalated to Helen of Troy proportions from there.
    Their pairing scarred both their packs with death and destruction, but Nic and Tiste couldn’t deny the bond their shared.
    Seeking peace to try and piece back her broken pack, Nicola and her omega now found themselves in a neutral town in the South. With her omega’s arm around her waist and his voice at her ear as prepared to fight his alpha uncle’s pack for a truce.

    700 Words


  1. Pingback: #MWBB Week 2.15 : The Hungry Wolf | My Soul's Tears

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