Micro-fiction Contest – Crypt

by Staff on October 6, 2014

in MICRO-FICTION

During the month of October we’ll be having a new Halloween themed micro-fiction contest every Monday. We provide the image, you provide the story – 100 (one hundred) WORDS OR LESS (longer entries will be automatically disqualified). This week’s image is entitled “Crypt.” Add your story to the comments section below and we’ll choose a winner!

Here’s ours:

crypt

Frank Weathersby worked as a file clerk in the Cleveland Municpal Hall of Land Tax Records, filing duplicate copies of payments relating to tax payouts (principally on land but also other things that might be considered taxable property). Frank laughed to himself when he thought about how the nine hundred dead bodies he kept in a custom made industrial-sized freezer on his mother’s farm might be taxed—-that is, if anyone from the tax office ever came around again to have a look.

**WINNER Eleanor Jones

October 7, 2014 at 4:35 pm

Endless names and endless dates, they don’t mean anything now. Curling petals and wilting stems, once green and fresh now represent what they mourn. Still. Cold. Dead. Can she hear talking? Impossible, she’s the last one left now. With her echoing steps, she can almost imagine somebody walking with her. Anybody will do. The smell of them lingers in her nose, the warm of them, a memory. Running her fingers along the marble doors, the hundreds of them, the thousands of them. She can hardly believe, she put them there.

**Thanks to all the folks that submitted. We’ll have another contest up next Monday, and every Monday in the month of October.**

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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Eleanor Jones October 7, 2014 at 4:35 pm

Endless names and endless dates, they don’t mean anything now. Curling petals and wilting stems, once green and fresh now represent what they mourn. Still. Cold. Dead. Can she hear talking? Impossible, she’s the last one left now. With her echoing steps, she can almost imagine somebody walking with her. Anybody will do. The smell of them lingers in her nose, the warm of them, a memory. Running her fingers along the marble doors, the hundreds of them, the thousands of them. She can hardly believe, she put them there.

Steve Harris October 7, 2014 at 2:34 pm

Gabriel opened his eyes. Nothing. Absolute darkness. His last recollection cheap beer while moving from one drinking hole to another.

Not again.

He feels threadbare cloth before him. Yet his last memories are of vinyl. He is sure of it. And a tired looking dancer perched on a red vinyl stool. Her lipstick a similar shade, her lips just as cracked.

This time feels different.

A scream bounces back from the wood panel he feels beneath the cloth. The sound reverberates around him.

It does not penetrate the marble to reach the ears of the lone mourner reapplying her lipstick.

Jackie Batey October 7, 2014 at 11:17 am

It wasn’t that Monday was particularly dull but the incessant rain did tend to put a dampener on things. Maybe killing and skinning advertising executives was loosing its appeal – thought Henry looking sadly at the pile of torn stripy shirts and lanyards in the cardboard box in the garage. “What I need is a change of pace” he said out loud to the group of tourists that he had coaxed into following him. It would have been fine if the damn tourists had understood him rather than mugging him and trapping his head in the black & Decker workmate.

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