Furious Fiction: August 2024 Story Showcase

Welcome to August’s Furious Fiction story showcase – where we challenged writers this month to reach great heights. The prompts for this month’s challenge were:

• Each story had to take place UP IN THE AIR. (There were some specific rules, but essentially, stay off the ground.)
• Each story’s first sentence had to include a colour and a number.
• Each story had to include the words DOUBT, PACK and SILENCE. (Certain variations were allowed.)

Most of the time, we’re told to keep our feet on the ground. But to be creative is to be set free – and that’s exactly what hundreds of you were, as you explored the lofty reaches of your imagination this month. Along for the ride were self-doubts (and doubtful actions), backpacks (and packed lunches), golden silences (and gun silencers), a colour-by-numbers pastiche of creativity! (By the way, the most popular colour was RED; favourite number was ONE, closely followed by blue and seven.)

UP, UP AND AWAY!

We encountered some memorable ways that you found to untether yourself from your comfort zone and rise about the familiar. Here were just a few of them:

• PLANES – whether of the commercial kind (many first sentences opting for the seat number!) or a smaller skydiving type, these metal birds featured heavily in stories this month, for obvious reasons! And yes, more than a few characters joined the mile-high club…
• BIRDS AND BEES – speaking of birds, these non-metal birds popped up, often flying in formation (plane-style). A shout out also to bee stories, with some buzzy stories here too.
• BALLOONS – usually of the hot-air variety (and an alarming number of people either falling out of or being pushed from them!), as well as the good old inflatable party variety.
• LEAPS AND BOUNDS – another popular and fun one here saw stories taking place literally mid leap either from a cliff, a building or perhaps in a long or high jump, to name a few. There were even a few figurative leaps that got very clever with the idea! (Jump to conclusions, anyone?)
• SKYDIVING – aaaaand the other thing people leapt from with high frequency this month were those metal birds again, as parachutes rained down from the heavens. None ever made it to the ground though… we wonder why!
• CLOUDS – people ended up in all sorts of clouds, including ones with silver linings and the idiomatic “cloud 9”, with some fun takes on this literal-yet-figurative location.
• SUPERHEROES – frankly, we expected MORE caped crusaders, but the ones we got were memorable and fun, so well done if you donned a suit and saved the day.
• DRAGONS – another flying object that suited the fantasy writers out there, and we were here for it!
• SPACESHIPS – sci-fi writers took to outer space, either as humans exploring new galaxies, aliens discovering ours, or a mix of both!
• HEAVENS ABOVE! – and finally, the Pearly Gates saw a lot of action this month – perhaps the ‘pearly’ colour helping with the first sentence! 

So, now to the showcase stories – and that Top Pick of the month comes from Freya King – congratulations! Freya’s story, along with our shortlist and longlisted stories are all showcased below. Well done to ALL who lifted off the ground to complete this challenge – let’s do it again next month!

AUGUST TOP PICK

LIVE A LITTLE by Freya King, QLD

At 36 years old, Bentley Biggs had no business being upside-down in the air with pink roller-skates bending his legs like baguettes. Yet that is where he found himself. Fortunately, he had also chosen to put on the matching pink knee and elbow-pads, because from his newfound perspective on the world, one thing was clear; this was not going to end well.

To be fair, it didn’t start well, either. We could go back to his job (a banker), to his divorce (non-eventful), or to his predictable daily routine (and extensive spreadsheeting), but right now is not the time for that — suffice to say, in every part of Bentley’s life before this moment, his feet had been planted firmly on the ground.

So how did he get here, spinning mid-air with his knees beside his head, the world moving in slow motion around him, and a pack of kids looking up in surprise?

Bentley blamed his work colleagues. Take a risk, they’d said. Live a little. Nothing changes if you stay the same. So, when Lucy had asked him to try something new for a first date, in an extremely out-of-character moment, he’d said yes. When she’d arrived at the beachfront boulevard with roller-skates for each of them, he’d said yes. And when she’d asked if he’d ever skated before, he’d said yes.

A small slope and a bunch of kids with a scooter ramp, and things had careened out of control just as quickly as he had.

Right now, Bentley wanted to be anywhere else but here. Preferably in his study with his moccasins on his feet, a nice cup of tea and Margaret Catcher (his cat) tucked up on his lap. But the horrified faces of strangers watching him mid-stunt confirmed that he had no right to be in this predicament.

Lucy—the lady he’d set out to woo—was the last thing he saw as his unscheduled backflip brought her into view. She was rolling gracefully down the hill behind him; her face full of fear, her eyes bulging in horror, mouth wide in a silenced scream.

For a moment, Bentley doubted this could even really be happening. And then real-time recommenced and the ground rushed towards him.

I wish I could tell you that Bentley pulled off a stunning landing, impressed Lucy, and went on to embrace a new, care-free way of living, but that would be crossing the line into wishful thinking (and solid ground).

As you can imagine, Bentley—predictable as ever—would have no such luck.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

When we first set this challenge, we liked the idea it would encourage writers not to keep their feet firmly on the ground. And in this delightful story, the alliterative Bentley has managed the very same. Normally a very-much-feet-planted chap, we learn through a trio of affirmations and quickly dismissed backstory how he has ended up in this moment of upside-down reflection, hilariously described from the very first sentence and providing a surprisingly robust character study through all the places he’d rather be. The playful narration throughout (complete with cheeky ‘crossing the line’ reference to breaking the challenge rules) helps this piece roll along nicely. Let’s hope Bentley isn’t put off entirely – after all, his risk paid off with us!

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BERTRAM WAS HAVING DOUBTS by Steve Cumper, TAS

‘OK, everyone, settle down, turn to hymn 205, ‘Let there be a Golden light on thee’.

The organ detonated around them.

Bertram startled, his head scrunching into his neck like a turtle avoiding trouble.

Next to him, his mate Gavin had a chortle at his expense.

Whispering out the side of his mouth, ‘You’d think you’d be used to it by now,’ and elbowed Bertam in the ribs for effect.

The trouble was, Bertram was having doubts.

On paper it seemed like a good deal. After a life well lived, take the golden escalator up here, mingle amongst the virtuous and exist forever in a billowing organza-curtained, smudged-lensed, 80’s music video-esque interpretation of Heaven.

After a few weeks of sitting around and learning to recite the hymns, eating healthy food and drinking holy water though, feelings of unfulfillment began to take hold.

After harp practice one day he ventured to the lookout. From this vantage point he could see down to the vast expanse where the Terrestrials lived. They went about messing lots of things up as they regularly do with the occasional flash of goodness being recognised by the Boss and rewarded with an iridescent shaft of light from between the clouds. These moments sent them into a frenzy and they’d probably erect another tourist trap as a result.

Letting out a sigh, he continued scanning morosely and then something unusual caught his eye. Hidden in plain sight was a large red neon arrow over a black pit. He edged closer to peer down.

Directly under the Terrestrials was another level of existence, positively teeming with activity. In astonishment he stared at packs of figures entangled in what looked like a flailing orgy of copulation. Glancing sideways revealed a melee of souls drinking from the shores of an endless sea of foaming beer. He blinked to be met with a vision of characters wallowing joyously in a mire of chocolate fondue. Finally the image that really shocked him. A vast concert, with an audience stretching for thousands of kilometres all directed toward a single stage where what looked like a motionless Ed Sheeran, standing alone and rendered silenced by black gaffer tape across his mouth. The raptures of the crowd were as intoxicating as they were volatile. He’d seen enough and Bertram quickly made his way back to tell his mate of the discovery.

After recounting his revelations to Gavin, they planned to visit the new dimension. One of the only things up here that they shared with the Terrestrials, was a love of bureaucracy and getting all the forms filled in for a visit, even a quick one, was tedious. After much patient resolve, they got the required authority and made their way down to the entrance of the pit.

The bored clerk behind the window, looked at their permits, glanced at them, stamped their papers and in they went. ‘It’s much hotter than it looked’, he thought.

Bertram was having doubts.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Ahhh yes, the classic vision of a harp-plucking heaven, in all its “organza-curtained, smudged-lensed” glory – brought to life here in mundane fashion as we learn that the afterlife might actually be a little dull. Now, this wasn’t the first story set in ‘heaven’ and it won’t be the last, but the ‘cloud is always greener’ detail and hilarious goings-on in the ‘lower dimension’ added a touch of fun here. Also nice was the repeated use of the title line, with a different meaning each time. Let’s hope Bertram secured a return ticket!

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FAMILY IS EVERYTHING by Cheryl Lockwood, QLD

One arm is stretched up, the other is red and dangling below me. We sway back and forth. I know that I’m not supposed to let go of my brother, but I start to doubt my ability to hold on. He wears his usual cheeky grin, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. I know better, but all I can do is return the smile.

That’s how it is with families. It is with ours, at least. We couldn’t do what we do without that level of support. That unwavering, unquestioning, I-got-you-bro attitude. The kind that doesn’t need a discussion or some fancy, multi-syllabled term to explain. A pact hanging in the silence of held breath, but a pact that’s as real a warm hug. Speaking of hanging, if he doesn’t stop swinging like a pendulum, this is going to end in tears. My grip slips a smidgeon, but I don’t drop him. There’s a tenseness in the air and nobody utters a word. Concentration is vital.

His movement slows, his little arm remains firm in the curve of my own. I hazard a glance upward, even though any sudden movement is a risk at this stage.

Above me, another brother grasps my other arm. We look very much alike, all of us clearly from the same mould.

Except he’s yellow, I think to myself.

That’s all it takes…an odd thought… a second of distraction.

We all tumble downward in a pack of plastic limbs. Shiny, hooked tails tangling and catching. Our silly, monkey smiles unchanging as our small, flat bodies hurtle toward the barrel.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

We asked for your characters to stay off the ground this month and you all not only had a barrel of fun in doing so, but this story had a ‘barrel of monkeys’! It’s a simple tale, barely using more than half its maximum allowed words, but it makes up for it in a memorable story of brotherly love. Even though the key ‘reveal’ words aren’t used until the final sentence, the descriptions are vivid enough along the way to ensure that you’re likely to have a fixed smile on your face well before!

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SIX SECONDS OFF by James Bird, NSW

One Mississippi, two Mississippi… there is a suspension of time as I fall, it slows and slows and slows – the brown blur of the rushing cliffs, but not really moving, just a blur. Falling, falling, falling, time suspended, but wind is rushing through my hair — something is moving. Time slows, but the world doesn’t.

It’s too late for doubt. Doubt implies an opportunity to make a choice, but that opportunity has passed. That opportunity passed as soon as I took that step. At one point, I was standing on solid ground, and then I wasn’t — that’s the choice I made. And so now I am falling.

Gravity does its thing, even if time doesn’t.

Three Mississippi, four Mississippi…

I close my eyes. There’s a silence that fills my brain. The silence is louder than the rushing wind, louder than the scream that I know I should scream but don’t.

This peace, this silence, this rush — the need for it drives me. It is the drug I crave.

I’ve never used LSD, but I guess this is what it must feel like. I don’t need to pay for drugs, I self-source the drug I need, it is my heroin.

Five Mississippi, six Mississippi…

Life doesn’t offer this. Life is too constrained, too contained. One needs to look at life obliquely to understand life — but people don’t understand that, they don’t understand me. Maybe that’s why I made the choice I did.

No one stopped me. No one said, “No, don’t!” And if they had, it would only have furthered my resolve. No, they had just stood there.

And now I am falling.

Seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi…

I watch the ground looming. Just a little longer, just a little longer… I close my eyes… and I pull.

The arrest is violent… but I knew it would be… it always is.

My chute billows above me. Only fifteen seconds before it is over. I turn my chute towards the clearing by the river. Lisa is there. She landed ahead of me. She’s waving, cheering — post-drug euphoria.

I have a few more seconds before I land, and then I must pack my gear and shoot up again.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

There were a lot of ‘falling while numbers count down’ structured stories proffered this month, but this stood out, not just because it chose to count UP (how rebellious!), but in the wonderful duality of the language used – equating this feeling of falling with being on drugs. There are some well-crafted observations as our character plummets (“time slows, but the world doesn’t” and the descriptions of silence), as we eventually see where the Mississippis are leading us to. And even though the chute opens, the river appears (the Mississippi River, perhaps?) and reality beckons, the clever wordplay of the final line reminds us how “getting high and coming down again” is rather ambiguous in its language!

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ON THREE by Michał Przywara, Canada

“So,” said Grant, glaring at the green linoleum just mere inches below his outstretched toes, “when I said I’m jumping on three–”

“You said, ‘Jump on three!’” Maureen barked from somewhere behind him. “That means everyone!”

“No, I said I’m jumping on three. Just me!”

“Why!? Why would you even count that down? What a friggin’ ego.”

Grant sighed, and then thrashed his arms and legs violently – but it was no use. He could neither move nor spin nor anything. Only by craning his neck could he see the others: Maureen and Nelson, lab coats billowing around them, both suspended mid-air just as he was.

“Why?” said Grant. “Because now we’re stuck.”

Maureen rolled her eyes.

“Hey, on the bright side,” Nelson said. “At least we’ll win the Nobel for this.”

Grant wrenched his neck the other way, and glared at the source of both their success and their misery: a crude metal hemisphere on a ceramic pillar about thirty centimetres high, scarred with wires. Pretty? No. Brilliant? Oh yes. The little device helped them break gravity.

“I don’t doubt it,” Grant muttered. “If we survive.”

“So dramatic,” Maureen snapped. Nelson only winced, clutching his stomach for some reason.

Grant flailed his arms towards the device. Why had he stood so far back from it? Had he really expected it to explode? Well, yes of course, Nelson did the wiring for the auxiliary battery pack. Giving it a wide berth had been wise at the time, and who could have foreseen the consequences? Now, none of them could reach it to turn it off.

“We can call for help,” Grant said. “Anyone have their phone?”

“No phones in the lab,” Maureen quoted from the employee code of conduct; quoted the very passage Grant wrote.

“Right,” Grant said. It seemed like such a wise rule at the time. Espionage was a real threat! Who could have foreseen the consequences? “Well, whatever. We’re physicists! I’m sure we can figure a way out of this.”

“Yeah,” Maureen said, “two physicists and a bureaucrat.”

“Shut up.” He wracked his brain. “Okay, this is easy. If those space monkeys can do it, surely we can too. Newton’s second law: every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”

“Third law,” Maureen said.

“Whatever. The point is, if we expel mass, we can get moving in a zero gravity environment. Maureen, take off your clothes.”

“What!? Hell no.”

“Take one for the team!”

“Absolutely not. Besides, and I quote, ‘Not wearing a lab coat in the lab is a fireable offence.’ Why don’t you take your clothes off?”

“Crippling social anxiety. Besides–”

Just then, Nelson groaned and clutched his stomach again.

“Guys,” he said. “I don’t think that egg salad is sitting right with me.” His guts roiled. “I think I’m about to expel some mass myself.”

Grant and Maureen stared at him in shocked silence.

“Don’t you dare–”

“Don’t worry,” Nelson muttered, unbuckling his belt. “I’ll save us all.”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

When we asked you to defy gravity this month, we should have known that one of you would actually create some scientists (sorry, two physicists and a bureaucrat) to do exactly that! And the bumbling, fumbling dialogue-heavy scene that plays out as a result is truly a delight. Wisely choosing to enter the story in the immediate aftermath of this likely Nobel-winning moment (props also to the foreshadow-heavy fun title), we very quickly play catch-up at the hilarious law-breaking lab situation that has unfolded. One of the strengths of this piece is the dialogue, quippy and snarky in all the right places. We’re so used to story scientists being the smartest ones in the room that it is genuinely funny when they’re portrayed in this way. A final shout out to egg salad, which almost never has a chance to save the day.

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THE RIGHT WISH by Daniel Clark-Mudge, SA

I am number seventeen-billion-and-twenty-two, but my friends just call me Blue. They call me that because when you crane your neck upward, I shine next to everyone like a little sapphire in a sea of black. There are lots of us up here in the Big Silence. I’ve been here for three million peaceful years so far. Number seventeen-billion-and-seventy-eight, Emerald, used to make fun of me for being picky. But I knew it wasn’t my time yet. No doubt about it. Emerald’s time was yester-orbit. A wish pulled her down, and she shot away in a blur of bright green. She laughed as she left, and turned into a diamond ring when she got to the ground. She was kind of like my big sister, so I miss her. But I’m happy for her.

Lots of wishes have tried to claim me. The wish for the pony, the new job, the whiter smile. They were all pretty good wishes, but I wanted the Right Wish. My neighbours, the Golds, left just a few turns ago. The whole pack of them shot away together, as a family. Their wishes let them stay gold, and they rained down upon a small family who really needed them. I bet they made those people really, really happy. I felt a little pang of jealousy, but I was happy for them too. I knew my time would come.

I felt a familiar little tug at the edges of my light. There was another wish here, trying to claim me. But this one confused me, because it didn’t want me to turn into…anything. I tried to make sense of it – but I thought about it for so long that I didn’t even notice myself slip. And then I was rocketing away. I passed Crimson and Silver, who waved at me with big smiles and yelled ‘finally’. I waved back with a big smile, but I knew that it wasn’t a real one. I was worried. Worried that this strange wish would be a Wrong Wish. I flew past Papa Atmos in an arc, cutting a blue line through the Big Silence. And I still wasn’t transforming.

What was going to happen to me?

And then I felt it. I looked down toward the Globe, and I saw a little girl in a backyard. She had wild, curly brown hair and giant blue eyes. I was reflected in them. They got wider and wider as I shot past, and she jumped up and down, pointing at me. She was yelling something and she looked very, very happy. Like all she had wanted was just to see…me. Blue.

I never transformed. I just flew through the Big Silence like a little sapphire, and the sounds of her cheering followed me the whole way. I smiled. It was a good wish after all.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

First sentences can help a story shine bright in a sea of black ink – and in the case of this story, it was one of the favourite opening sentences of the month. The intrigue that it sets up and this world of wishing upon a star is joyful, as is the eventual wish that we see play out – something as simple as a shooting star. This is one of those flash fiction stories where you can sense there is a whole world full of stories to be told about all of the colours that have come and gone. An imaginative take on this month’s prompts!

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THE LAUNDRY LINE GRAPEVINE by R.E. Wu, Canada

There was only one white sock on Mrs. Valentino's clothesline.

“Absolutely slovenly,” declared Hettie Handspun. The view from Mrs. Rousseau's yard over the neighbour's fence was enough to make the jade-hued jumper sniff. “I can't believe she'd stoop so low. Socks wander off from time to time, but did she have to announce her mismanagement to the world? What indecency!”

Sydney and Suzette Stocking crowded closer together on the laundry line.

“Can you imagine?” Suzette whispered. “It's enough to scare the bleach out of you.”

“You know, Suze, we all thought he was the footloose type.”

“Syd, don't be so callous. We're talking about sole mates after all. And no, I don't care if they come in packs of six.”

Oma Overalls rolled her eyes. “You kids keep some distance, would you? Everyone who's been through the rough and tumble knows what happens to lost socks.”

“You do? Maybe you can find Stella's fella then,” Suzette shifted away from Sydney and shivered in the brisk air.

“Not on my life, missy. If you don't know, I'm not going to disillusion you—a few more cycles in the dryer will do it. Now hush up and let me look at those Levi's… It's been ages since I've seen any vintage denim around.”

“I keep telling you you're behind the times, Ma,” Janey Jeggings said. “No wear, no tear, and form-fitting curves are in.”

“That's true indecency, Janey. Hettie's ravings over lost socks are nothing next to that trash.”

“Dry up, Ma.”

“Oh my—do you see that khaki jacket next to Stella? Someone must be visiting. Helloooooo!” Rosie Romper flapped in the breeze, but Mrs. Valentino's wash ignored her. Rosie was known for being all embroidery and little substance.

“Pipe down, Rosie.” Hettie said. “Do you want them to know we're talking about them? Anyways, her son's just back from the front.”

“What's wrong with a little neighbourly curiosity?”

“Nothing, when you've hung all your socks in a row.” Hettie sniffed. “No doubt, they're embarrassed by their glaring display of deficiency. Try a little neighbourly indignation on for size.”

“Oh Hettie, don't get your knitting in a knot.” Rosie sighed. She fluttered her eyelashes at the dignified khaki jacket. She sighed again—a little louder—for good measure.

“Basket case.”

Suzette—who had snuggled back with Sydney while Oma was distracted—let out a squeak. “Someone's at the door!”

A pair of olive-coloured pants, left side pinned neatly at the knee, limped onto Mrs. Valentino's porch. They swung from their crutches with an unfamiliar staccato step.

Silence rippled down the line.

Hettie's voice—threaded with realization—barely cracked a whisper. “Oh—I'm… I’m so sorry.”

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

There was something about this month’s assignment that brought out the inanimate characters! And this airing of dirty laundry is a delightfully funny line-up of word-play and gossip, as one side of the fence casts judgement on the other to hilarious effect. The opening line is so innocuous but somehow dripping with scandal and while we wouldn’t have pegged a story like this as getting down and dirty, it did just that – no doubt with more puns up its sleeve that it had to edit out! Yet again, another fun take on staying off the ground (we’d definitely call this ‘dry humour’), and proof that almost anything can be a flash fiction character!

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THE GHOST IN ME by Rachel Howden, NSW

The nurse below marks the date in her blue ballpoint pen, two straight lines forming a stoic eleven in the relevant column.

That means it’s been seven whole days since I died.

Officially, my condition is ‘comatose’. It’s written right there at the top of the chart. The nurse has added things like heart rate and skin temperature underneath, but it’s hard to tell the specifics in her scratchy handwriting.

But from here, I can see my body lying still in the hospital bed. Eyes closed tight, no sign of life. The tube system is itching through my nose. My mother ruffled my hair yesterday before pushing it off my face. I could feel each teardrop on my skin as she pressed a kiss to my forehead.

A week ago, nurses and staff packed into this room, stumbling over each other to get me breathing again. The metal paddles were cold as ice, frigid on my chest. It was the strangest sensation to witness my body surging through each shock, every zap of voltage hurtling down my veins as my consciousness hovered near the ceiling.

Today, visiting hours are quiet. My wife has left the children at home. She’s slumped in the chair alongside my cot, fingers trembling in her lap. She still looks so beautiful, even though I can see how tired she is. How deep the purple stains are under her eyes, how grief has formed permanent tracks of tears down each of her pale cheeks.

I hate this kind of silence. I don’t want her to mourn me like this. I’ve tried screaming, but she cannot hear my cries; no one can feel my touch. It’s only the slow and steady beep of my heart on the monitor that fills this sterile place. Occasionally, a quiet sob breaks the quiet, muffled by the press of my wife’s hand.

There’s no doubt that she’ll return tomorrow. Another fresh bouquet of flowers will replace the wilting petals on the side table. A new card from an extended family member or grieving colleague will be added to the collection: ‘Get Well Soon’.

She’ll sit by my lifeless body and hold my hand, rubbing her thumb slowly over my knuckles. I can still feel it lingering, the ghost of a touch on skin my mind no longer inhabits. I wish I could squeeze her fingers back, a promise that everything will be okay.

But there’s no way to tell her I’m never coming home.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

While there were a lot of comedic offerings this month, this story stood out for its poignant, hovering, quiet observations. Choosing someone in limbo – almost a ghost – as the way to stay off solid ground was a very clever idea, and it also allows the story to unfold in a unique way as the narrator is both unconscious and fully aware of what is happening (mirroring what some say a coma is like). The language is powerful (“every zap of voltage hurtling down my veins”) and the tone subverts where these stories often go – by offering no hope of waking. There is something powerful about this POV (‘dead yet not dead’), no doubt very raw for anyone who has ever sat at a loved ones bedside hoping for recovery. Powerful, beautifully-paced storytelling.

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AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT by Garry Poole, VIC

“How is it possible to lose three elves AND a reindeer with a glowing red nose? I can’t believe this Garry. You’ve really dropped the ball on this one.”

Garry gulped.

“We run a dry workplace. You know that. What were you thinking? Seriously, I really want to know. WHAT on God’s green earth were you thinking when you decided to serve alcohol to a factory full of exhausted elves just gagging to let off steam? WERE you thinking? Or were you busy chasing skirt?”

Garry gulped again.

“What in the clusterf__ing cumulus clouds WERE you thinking Gaz? A dry workplace. Dry! That applies to end of year celebrations just as much as the factory floor. DRY GARRY! When we get these joy-riding staff back – and we WILL get them back – you’re going to tender your resignation and give a detailed account of how you let this happen. And I’D BETTER LIKE IT, or so help me… I’ll drag you feet first through that court system till your curly shoes come out your nose with a big fat wallet full of cash.”

Garry cringed. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that Santa had been paying them in NFTs for the past four years. There was no cash left. Heaven help St Nick if Mary ever found out her share of the factory stocks had been used to pay the grain suppliers and the construction crew who shored up the sinking foundations last year.

“Mary, I swear. Someone spiked the punch. I had nothing to do with it.”

Garry couldn’t bring himself to tell Mary it had been her own inebriated husband who had added the magic mushrooms. It happened every year. Santa swore he’d flush the beer and eggnog at each child’s house and forego the milk and cookies… but he always partook. His self-discipline was non-existent. Afterall, it was only once a year.

But of course he’d return in the jolliest of moods and encourage the elves to partake too. Every year the celebrations got bigger. Every year the elves took the rap. Every year Mary shouted louder… until the ‘incident’ with the LSD, the crashed sleigh, and Santa’s amputated pinky-toe culminated in a total alcohol and drug ban.

And for five years it had worked.

But now Santa was snoring naked in the stables, the sleigh was totalled again, and three elves and one reindeer – the most important of reindeers – were missing in the storm.

“Rudolph… M-i-i-i-i-KEY”

“Oona… ROSHAN!!!”

Garry’s voice was failing him. Mary’s would shortly pack it in too.

“On Donner, on.”

Garry’s tailbone was on fire. He was too old to be riding a flying reindeer. And too drunk. WAY too drunk.

“You okay Mary?”

Mary grimaced in silence. It was also many years since she had ridden.

“I’m not angry,” she finally said in a worryingly calm voice. “Just disappointed.”

Garry didn’t doubt it, but he had bigger things to worry about. He’d just spotted the Sharknado on the horizon.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS

Well, here’s a complete change of pace and one of the only stories to think of Santa being the ideal “off the ground” subject for a story! In this case however, Santa appears to be more “off his face” than anything, as we get a great opening line and join his long-suffering wife Mary and head-elf Garry searching in a snowstorm (on flying reindeer) for missing members of their crew. There’s not much more to be said here than it being a highly original and chaotic take on the pressures and toll that this once-a-year job must put on the residents of the North Pole. Flash fiction that stands out sometimes earns a spot in the showcase, and this cacophonous piece did just that!

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LAST DANCE by Annie B. Fulton, USA

There was never any doubt when we first met last spring, when I was young and green and drunk on chlorophyll, that I would one day pack up and leave you like this. So watch me now as I exit autumn’s pageant all dressed up in red and gold. Watch me as I drift in silence past your window twirling in the breeze, spinning pirouettes to make you smile, offering you melancholy as I go.

FURIOUS THOUGHTS:

Do not adjust your sets. This is indeed the ‘last dance’ of our showcase this month – and a valid entry! At just 75 words, it certainly is the shortest we’ve featured in some time (although check the longlist below for a new record shortest story). However, the way that this piece managed to deftly work in the prompts and tick all the boxes while creating an emotional autumnal love story WAS impressive. It will especially appeal to those in the Northern Hemisphere who are indeed about to say a wistful goodbye to those leaves once “drunk on chlorophyll” as summer is replaced by pumpkin spice lattes. The use of “leave you” is storytelling gold (and red). Okay, we’re going to stop, as these comments are already almost twice as long as the story!

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THIS MONTH’S ‘LONGLIST’

Each month, we include an extra LONGLIST (approx 5-10%) of stories that floated a little higher from the submitted hundreds and were highly considered for the showcase. Remember, all creativity is subjective, but if your name is here, enjoy a moment of weightlessness! And to ALL who submitted stories, we’d LOVE to see you again for next month’s challenge!

THIS MONTH’S LONGLIST (in no particular order):

• GRAVITY by Amanda Hayes, QLD
• THE VOID by Isaac Freeman, SA
• SEVEN WHITE BALLOONS by Matthew Dewar, WA – our shortest ever longlisted story at just 12 words!
• A HIGH(ISH) JUMP by A. Dean, Switzerland
• HOW HIGH? By Maria Lacey, VIC
• THE WINNERS by Larissa Mateer, SA
• ATMOSFEAR by Kenneth Mann, UK
• VERTICAL THINKING by J.L. McInnes, QLD
• JUGGLING FROM A HIGH HORSE ON CLOUD NINE by Nina Miller, USA
• THE BIRTHDAY PARTY by M C, VIC
• THE CRIMSON ANACONDA by Bari Lynn Hein, USA
• 10 SECOND FALL by Elizabeth Snowden, VIC
• FOR THE TERM OF HIS ARTIFICIAL LIFE by Chatty McChatbot, VIC
• UP IN THE AIR by Pam Lonsdale, USA
• THE LAST SONG by Carolyn Nicholson, VIC
• SCOURGE OF ANGELS by Randy Stearns, USA
• THE OTHER SIDE by Jo Skinner, QLD
• SKYDIVING THRILL by Christie Mack, NSW
• THE DOCTOR’S DELIVERY by Kimberley Ivory, NSW
• INVERTED by Dead Carcosa, USA
• ON THE LOOKOUT by Ella Schrapel, SA
• ON WINGS OF AMBITION by S.L. Jones, NSW
• EVERGONE by Paul Parker III, USA
• THE NOMAD by Hashinee Weraduwage, VIC
• CHEATING DEATH by Ryan Klemek, USA
• A WORSE PUNISHMENT FOR MURDER by Michelle Oliver, WA
• JONATHON DYINGSTONE SEAGULL by Tessa McCarthy, QLD
• UP IN THE AIR TO A SURE THING by Ray Webb, Canada
• THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GLASS by Maddison Scott, VIC
• PISCES by Estelle Owen, QLD
• REMAINING THOUGHTS by Jemima Dunn, VIC
• THE DUELISTS by Seth Geltman, USA
• WHAT WE LOSE ON THE SWINGS by Pam Makin, SA
• TIME by Mo McMorrow, NSW
• RESCUE IN THE AIR by Kath Undy, VIC
• CHANGING TIMES by Elizabeth Gonzalez, VIC
• THE SEVEN SIDES OF SPOTLIGHT by Sam Loran, Canada
• WILLIAM WORDSWORTH by Janine Mifsud, VIC
• AN EXTRA CLEAN by Katie Ess, USA
• FRIGHT PATH by Michelle Dickins, VIC
• AIR BORN by Tim O Tee, UK
• FREE FALL by Gwenda Steff, VIC
• THE FEROCIOUS FLIGHT OF SQUADRON GREEN-42 by Danielle Baldock, NSW
• THE CARTOGRAPHER by Alex Atkins, Canada
• PRETTY, GREEN-EYED GIRLS by Yolanda Aay, QLD
• FLOATING INTO THE FUTURE by Jajoda, QLD
• OUT? By Nnor, SA
• TRUE COLOURS by Athena Law, QLD
• AERIAL CONFIGURATIONS by Renée Bennett, Canada
• FRIENDS AND SUPERHEROES by Denise Fenton, UK