#LastLineFirst – A #FlashFiction Challenge: Week 14

last line firstAnd so, another Monday rolls around, bringing us to the start of another week of Last Line First. I hope you all had a chance to read through last week’s stories. Maybe you’ve already been playing with some of the submitted last lines?

Your last line prompt this week comes from Charlotte‘s story. I picked it because it because it’s another one of those lines that can be interpreted in many ways … we scream for all sorts of reasons, don’t we?

Remember, you have until midnight (BST) on Sunday 26 April to comment on this post with your ≤200 word flash-fictions, and you can change the prompt however you see fit. For a full run-down of the rules and easy access to previous challenges and their stories please visit this page.

So, here’s your new first line:

Their screams are music to my ears.

Happy flashing!

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12 thoughts on “#LastLineFirst – A #FlashFiction Challenge: Week 14

  1. To Rest
    200 words

    Their screams are music to my ears.

    And then I hear the hushing, and the sound of tiptoes, sweeping in immediately to gather up the sound. They think I want to rest. And I do- God knows I do. But not in peace. Not yet.

    In the bedroom carpet silence, I think back to the noise of the past. Screams and paddling pool splashes. Screams, and one tiny bathroom spider. Screams and sofa cushions and Doctor Who. The music of the past. Their giggles and laughter were grace-notes in the air, but those screams were loud organ chords, confirming my motherhood and blasting banality from my life forever.

    I hear the trickle of fresh water into glass beside my ear, and the rattle of pills against plastic. “Mum,” whispers a voice, “time for your pills again.”

    I open my eyes. She is gentle and beautiful, and the sunlight smiles quietly across the room. I beckon to my daughter; get her to lean in and listen to what I will just about manage to say.

    “Tell the children,” I rasp, “that their Grandma wants them to play in her room.”

    It’s nearly the grand finale. Time to turn up the volume.

  2. One Man’s Job Is Another Man’s End (200 words)

    Their screams are music to my ears. They fill me with joy, knowing that I have control over their fate; how long the screams go on. Knowing that my victims fear me. Knowing that they fear the outcome that I now control…

    The life of a serial killer is definitely not easy! You need to cover your tracks, while also being consistent in your approach, ensuring that you don’t slip up… after all, that’s what will get you caught!

    And as for your prey, you don’t want them to be disappointed. You want to make sure they know who you are, why you chose them, and what is coming to them. You want to make sure that their fear is maximized for your pleasure.

    It’s a very methodical process, but one that I find I am really good at. Just ask one of my victims… Oh, wait… you can’t! But if the dead could talk, I’m sure they would inform you how scared they were, how much they feared for their life, then, once I started, yearned for their death.

    We all enjoy different jobs in life. I know my choice is wrong, but it feels so right to me.

  3. First Wife
    144 words

    Their screams are music to my ears.

    They call me Night Hag, Screech Owl, Lilith, first wife to Adam. Created from soil and earth, moulded from the roots of nature, I was proud to stand beside him.

    He squeezed my hand, tested his newly formed muscles, looked down upon me; yes, I was smaller, but shapely, something he longed to possess.

    I gave up the garden to escape his charge. Rumour spread like airborne infection; my defiance translated as sin. He sculpted a second, this time from pliable flesh and bone, and fate looked on, tempted. Samael, my love, was cast as the blackest fiend, because she was weak.

    I’m not sorry they’ve suffered. Suck up that snake bite of guilt and shame.

    We are the coded helix in the blood of Eve’s offspring.

    We are demons of their night terrors, hear them sing.

  4. Among Them
    200 words

    Their screams are music to my ears. How I love the screams, the blood, the mayhem, the warriors awakened from their dreams of glory by the dying fire. In the midst of killing, I feel alive.

    I surprise them in the silent halls of peaceful slumbering. They have been telling each other stories. Not surprising, monsters figure in many of them. They love the tales of monsters, the chills, the thrill in the shadows.

    If they only knew, that I, too, am a monster.

    By day, I walk among them. In the woods, I am their trusted companion, crouching beside them as we hunt for deer. Some day, I will know what it is to be hunted.

    In the evening, I join their company around the table, singing songs, telling wild stories. I smile at the women, their eyes wide like deer.

    By night, I sleep beside them.

    But when the sun turns red and the moon grows fat and full, the blood runs wild in me. I am powerless to stop it. I don’t want to. I become the monsters in their stories. I become a creature they cannot even name, yet.

    Some day, they’ll tell stories about me.

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