Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 3.13

Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Year 3, Week 13.

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 features the pagan folk stylings of Omnia.

The tune is, “Call Me Satan”.  Here’s a link; https://youtu.be/S3-Yh-nrTps

This week’s Judge is… Me. Again. We’re barely holding on here at the MWBB, getting fewer and fewer entries as the weeks go by. I’m going to keep on Judging until we begin to attract a respectable number of entrants.

The challenge opens the moment you read this post and runs through MIDNIGHT PACIFIC TIME on Friday August 28th.

Now… Go Write!!!  Please?!?


Posted on August 25, 2015, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 9 Comments.

  1. It felt like I was pulling myself up through the layers of sleep, but everything around me was black for a moment. I reached out, meaning to picked myself up and find that light switch that would be there, but discovered that, either I had no arms, or I simply could not move them. I was confused, and at that moment, very scared by my own situation. Was it simply some kind of dream? I attempted to calm myself down by concentrating on my own breathing rate so slow it down.
    In out.
    “Hello?” My own voice sounded strange, even to my own ears which was quite worrying. It did nothing to ease my worries about where I was, or even how much of me was there.
    In out.
    “Think about turning on a light and it will happen,” a calming voice spoke from somewhere next to me. It was familiar, but I genuinely could not place it. “Just think about it Julia, and you will find that everything will come into place. You will know where you are, you will know who I am, and you will know that you are safe.”
    Not knowing what else to do, I thought about turning on a light, and was surprised when that actually happened. The moment that I looked around myself though I began to panic again, because there was no me to speak of. I twisted than the mysterious stranger came into my view. I screamed when I looked at those horns that adorned his head.
    In out.
    There was no way that I was dead, because I was actually breathing. Or maybe that was part of the illusion, and I was just gone and at this strangers command.
    “Relax. You will be just fine, and I am sure that when you return you will have many stories to tell. We are actually inside of your head right now, and, for some reason, I am the God that you have willed to come and speak to you. There are many gods that exist inside of your head, Julia, and I am just one of them. The reason that you have called me is something that you should probably think about.”
    “What happened?”
    “You were in an accident, and now you are in a coma. Until you wake up you are spending time within your own mind where you have locked yourself. With me.”
    “Why are you here?”
    He smiled at me indulgently, and waved a red hand showing me those black clawlike fingernails. “I told you, Julia.”
    “But I would never ask for… What do I call you?”
    “You can call me whatever you want,” he told me as he began to stamp his hooves on the flames that suddenly appeared. “Temptation… You know, the home of your deepest desires. Most people though simply call me, Satan.”

    Word count: 477


  2. The Old Dominion University football game had not gone well for the home team. ODU lost by three touchdowns. If that wasn’t enough, their season became a lost cause when their quarterback got sacked, and wound up with a separated shoulder, and their best wide receiver went down with a torn ACL.

    I sighed, “Gonna be a rough night.” I had the heads up display run pictures of 31 girlfriends and wives across the screen. I could have had the system pick one by random number, or I could have picked by closest to the social security number of the dead person I supposedly was, or the one matching the day of the month.

    I looked at the eyes of each picture. One set caught my attention, “There’s my starting point.”

    The armor plotted the shortest path to her residence. I didn’t bother with her name. According to the Norfolk Police Department’s computer records she was a domestic violence victim. That’s all I needed to know.

    The car was waiting where I’d left it, in the parking lot, surrounded by countless others. It looked normal, like an old, cheap Toyota. The door would only open for me, and even then, only when my hand pulled the handle, and only if my hand still had a pulse. If someone borrowed my hand, the door wouldn’t open.

    The computers managed the car’s audio system so it sounded like an old, cheap Toyota. I drove the car to the home of the victim, parked on the street a block away, and waited until I saw his car. Once he’d driven past, I exited my car, and walked into the shadows beside one of the buildings which lined the street. “Activate.”

    I walked out of the shadows, knowing no one could see me, no one could hear me, my breathing, my footsteps, my pulse, were all silenced by the armor.

    She lived in a one bedroom apartment on the third floor. The lights in the stairway, and hall were eyeball searing bright. “Security by illumination.” I waved at the video cameras in the hallway as I walked toward the victim’s apartment, then giggled at my joke. The video cameras couldn’t detect the armor. I could have stood in front of the camera and danced a jig, and no one would have known.

    Of course, someone might wonder how an apartment door opened and closed by itself, but that wasn’t my problem. I stopped at the door, and used the sensors to see the apartments contents. The victim was prone on the apartment floor, the sensors recorded her physical condition. He’d struck her several times, according to the heat signature, her pulse, and blood flow. “Her condition?”

    “Recommend requesting medical assistance.”

    “Place the call.”

    The armor called 911, reported our address, and requested medical assistance for the victim.

    I didn’t bother opening the door. I went through it. No bruises for me, the armor took the beating. The male raced toward the door, then stopped when he realized no one was there. I kicked him in the groin, hard enough to lift him off the floor. He formed a little ball on the floor, so I rolled him into the nearest wall. By the time I finished, I’d added a concussion, three broken ribs, a separated shoulder, a broken arm, and four broken fingers on his right hand, to his list of injuries.

    The armor reported the male was in a great deal of pain, but not at risk of death.

    You can call me Satan. Call me evil. Call me violent, heartless, soulless, uncivilized. Call me whatever you want. I don’t care. I was there to fix things. Things the law, reason, the courts, the police, and society weren’t able to fix.

    Invisible, I whispered in the male’s ear, “I’m Armor 17. I am the violence. And I’m watching you.”

    When the medical assistance for the victim arrived, I walked away, back into the shadows of the building I’d started my walk from. “Off.” I walked out of the shadows, got into my car, and drove off, knowing there would be more violence in the days ahead.

    Much more violence.

    693 Words


  3. Take Me When You Go,( But Don’t Call)

    ‘To the Stars,’ they said, and of course I was bound to follow.

    The first murder in space occurred in 2053. It took mankind that long because there were so few crimes of opportunity and let’s face it, by 2050 they were getting a lot less particular about who was allowed into space.

    With the privation of space exploration, rivalries and piracy were bound to follow.

    I think it was in 2057 that the words “he seemed like such a nice young man,” were first spoken in space when Alfred Xedox was found guilty of second degree murder, and first degree and manslaughter… and was declared the first serial killer in space.

    The location changed, the methodology changed… but the primal urges where in everyone who came to space. As soon as mankind was there, so was I.

    I am the part of them that supports every justification… evil isn’t a spirit, just as good isn’t just a thought— we are part of the human psyche and we aren’t going anywhere.

    They say good and evil are polar opposites, but I don’t think its that simple… its even in our language, and in how we use it. Phrases like: ‘lesser evil,’ ‘greater good, and ’necessary evil’ exist for a reason.

    Man kind has a love/hate relationship with evil… they act like its some outside influence— something they cannot control, but that’s just it. Evil, and good for that matter, and an inside force.

    Yet you’ve never heard someone say, ‘the justification made me do it,’ as a defense. “For goodness sakes’ someone’s going to say it.

    You control the impulses. You’re the one who decides.

    Hell with it. Don’t call me. It’s my century off. You want to blame someone, blame that nice lady who says you seem like such a nice young man, and leave me out it.

    310 Words


  4. Pattyann McCarthy

    The Wilderness of Chaos

    I’m lost, deep inside where no one can find me. I keep myself shrouded in darkness, hiding myself in a corner inside my mind as hatred pervades. I’m incensed, locked away here with these walls of violet and sea foam green, as if that’s supposed to be calming! I hate them. They remind me of something I once knew, something I feared as a child but have no memory of now; how can they keep me here against my will? Who put me here?

    The doctor says it’s for my own good, but what’s good about it, if I hate it? He feeds me pills like Pop-Rocks spilling from an opened package that makes my head fuzzy and spinning. It’s like looking through a jar of Vaseline and I can’t stand the constant itching. I scratch, digging my skin open, until my blood runs. Trickles of scarlet drip from my scalp as I claw my flesh open, digging deeper for the worms crawling inside my skull.

    The doctor tells me the pills help, but how can they if they cause me madness? He tells me it’s ‘because’ of my madness that he gives me the medication. I think he’s the crazy one! I call him satan; he’s evil to the core, sneaking into my bedroom in the midnight hours when no one’s watching, telling me to focus on those sickening walls while he examines parts of me that aren’t ill. He’s a horny one while he tortures me. One day, the true satan will come for HIS soul!

    I pretend, as I lay so still shackled in leather cuffs that I’m an angel covered in white feathers, rising like vapor through the dirty nicotine-stained ceiling. I meld into the atmosphere becoming one with the clouds as I float higher. I spy the lands far below as I rise above the mesosphere heading for outer space so I’m not down there with satan hurting me, while my body is pinned to a bed. I feel his weight upon me, hyena laughter filling my ears, though my mind is absent – drifting somewhere off in space.

    I live inside a wilderness of chaos and confusion. I don’t know what I did to find myself here in this place, and I’ve no one to trust. I think this started long ago, when an intruder wearing horns, dancing on hooves broke into my home and raped me. He looked like Anubis from ancient mythology and I feared for my life, for my soul. I remember THAT like it was yesterday, but I don’t recall what happened afterwards. The doctor keeps saying, “You killed that man, Deloris.” Man? No, monster, a demon, not a man, and I don’t remember doing that. I think that’s something I ‘would’ remember! He feeds me more pills and my head swims in and out of indigo inkiness. I hear his words as I drift, “You think you’re different, but to me, you’re all the same,” and then the hyena laughs once more.

    When I wake, I’m sitting in the sterile dining room, a plastic spoon in my fist, food on a plate in front of me, and a television droning up on a corner shelf. How did I get here? I don’t remember. The spoon feels heavy in my palm. It speaks words to me, “use me, break me, use me.” Its little curved mouth sputters words I understand. I don’t eat, I feel sick to my stomach and lumber back to my room, spoon inside my housecoat sleeve.

    I break the spoon and hide it under my pillow as I close my eyes to nap.

    I open my eyes to the feel of weight lying on top of me. It’s satan back in my room. “Stare at the walls little one,” I hear him croon in my ear, his breath like fire on my cheek. He’s already doing his nasty business, but he forgot to strap my arms and legs; I’m guessing because I was asleep. Reaching my hand under my pillow, I find my plastic companion. I jam it into his neck, hoping I hit the jugular. I think my story’s just beginning.

    WC: 695


  5. Pattyann McCarthy

    Congratulations to ALL of us! 😀


  6. Pattyann McCarthy

    Thanks so much, David!! 🙂


  7. Pattyann McCarthy

    I meant . . . JEFF! Lol! Been doing too much talking lately! My apologies with virtual chocolate on top! 😀


  1. Pingback: Call me Satan | AngieTrafford

  2. Pingback: #MWBB 3.13 : Call Me Satan | My Soul's Tears

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