He needed water. The cougar swung, clawing Aaron’s shoulder, spinning him. Aaron dived down an incline, gaining his feet only to face a bison that charged. Dodging to avoid the beast, he ran. Climbing a fence, he dropped to the other side. A pair of goats attacked, kicking. Battered, he forced his way into a barn. Feeling safe, he rested. Above, an owl screeched and launched itself from an ancient beam, talons raised. He ran again and was nearly trampled by a horse, but he rolled, righted himself and finally made it to the well. Now, where was that canteen?
Archive for the ‘Adam Francis Smith’ Category
Tags: 100 word story, Adam Francis Smith, animals, Apocalypse, attack, Battle, creative writing, flash fiction, microfiction, scrawl brawl, short story
Tags: 100 word story, Apocalypse, attack, children, creative writing, dead, death, flash fiction, killers, microfiction, murder, scrawl brawl, short story
Klip ran as fast as he could, chased by the Huffing Man. The man was the leader, so Klip decided he should be first.
The boy slid beneath the porch and scrambled under the house and out the other side. The Huffing Man tried to follow but was too big and was soon stuck.
Several children bashed in his head and watched as his body quivered before becoming still. They cheered, but the celebration was short-lived.
Klip came around from the rear of the house. “Drag the body to the barn,” he ordered, “while I go get another grown-up.”
Tags: 100 word story, Adam Francis Smith, Apocalypse, attack, blood, creative writing, dead, death, flash fiction, last man on earth, microfiction, murder, scrawl brawl, scythe, short story
Three of us remain: he and she and I. I want him, so I lie in wait, crouched in shadow near the only fresh-water source for miles.
The sky is as gray as the land, with a wide ellipse of turbulent crimson, dotted with darker gray — always churning.
She comes, bucket in hand, and I leap from the darkness, slashing with my scythe. Gouts of blood float in seeming slow-motion as she falls to the ground — gray on red on gray again.
I’ve won, securing for myself the second-to-last man on earth by elimination of the last woman.
Tags: 100 word story, Adam Francis Smith, attack, creative writing, dead, death, drowning, Feudal Japan, flash fiction, microfiction, murder, scrawl brawl, short story
Gin felt the lake close over her as she bathed. Recent attacks came to mind as a hand covered her mouth. She let herself drop, and planted a solid punch into a groin. Exhaling loudly her uncle bent and she chopped his throat, her hand hard as steel. He fell forward. Gin stomped his neck and forced him under water. She kept the pressure on until he ceased flailing, then hurriedly dressed and ran home. This might be the death of her and her family, her uncle having been a powerful lord, but what was done was done.
Tags: 100 word story, Adam Francis Smith, attack, Battle, blade, blood, creative writing, dead, death, Duel, Feudal Japan, flash fiction, microfiction, patience, Samurai, scrawl brawl, short story, Vincent Crampton, warrior
“I am bigger,” laughed Takamasa.
“True, but answer,” Masasada slashed, nicking Takamasa’s forearm, “how does one bring down Fuji-san?”
Takamasa winced and squinted as he considered the question. He thrust his sword forward, but it was knocked aside by Masasada’s thinner blade.
Masasada struck and drew blood. Before Takamasa could react, Masasada opened up another slit on Takamasa’s arm.
Masasada smiled. “One chop at a time. You see?” He slashed again and opened Takamasa’s shoulder. Blood sprayed and Takamasa dropped to his knees.
“Patience is a virtue,” whispered Takamasa, respectfully.
Masasada thrust down and inward. “Patience is a weapon.”
Tags: 100 word story, attack, Battle, blood, creative writing, dead, death, Feudal Japan, flash fiction, microfiction, Samurai, scrawl brawl, short story, sword
Taneshige turned, avoiding a slash. He brought his sword around, clipping Amano’s neck, causing a fan of blood to issue forth. Taneshige ducked, but could not avoid the spray. Dripping blood, wide-eyed, showing teeth, he raised his weapon and ran through the yard. Fearless Samurai turned and fled this Hellspawn. Taneshige turned a corner and slashed at a low, black shadow. His sword slipped from his blood-slick grip and he missed his mark. It was a good thing. His master’s daughter stood before him, quaking in her sandals, her robe split by the keen, crimson blade, but her flesh unmarred.
Tags: 100 word story, attack, blood, dead, death, Feudal Japan, flash fiction, master, microfiction, Ronin, Samurai, scrawl brawl, short story
“If you do not do,” says Master, “still you have done.”
I grow tired of this. He sees me frown.
I am a warrior. A Samurai.
“If you do not teach,” I smirk, “still you have taught.”
His brows come together, questioning. His head is cocked. His hand clasps my wrist and squeezes.
He holds my gaze. His thumb presses.
My blade drops and lands softly on the rushes.
“Were you a true Samurai,” he lectures, “you would have faced me fairly.”
I taste steel, then blood.
“You would be Rōnin?” he hisses.
Tags: 100 word story, Adam Francis Smith, attack, blood, creative writing, daimyo, death, Death in Space, Feudal Japan, flash fiction, microfiction, pirate, scrawl brawl, short story, soldiers, sword, warrior
Ashikaga was tasked with eradication of the pirate threat. The Daimyo looked upon his men, weak and afraid, wide-eyed in the face of pirate-rage. He knew he must set an example. He rushed into the melee, and slashed the flesh of a burly pirate, even before his Katana had fully cleared its scabbard. The ugly brute fell to the sand as Ashikaga’s second in command stomped on his throat. The men rallied. Hands, an arm, ears and bits of flesh littered the sand, and Ashikaga was filled with pride as his Elite proved themselves and showed honor to their Daimyo.
Tags: 100 word story, Adam Francis Smith, attack, Battle, blood, creative writing, dead, death, Death in Space, femme fatale, flash fiction, microfiction, murder, scrawl brawl, short story
“One way out,” she said. I know now that she meant death. I thought she had meant this gauntlet.
I leap into an alcove. Flashes and bullets. I dive, sliding to the next door. I stand, decide not to wait, push off the wall, run.
Finally, I’m huddled beneath the window. Ten feet more and then freedom.
I take a breath, hold it, skitter across the floor and a bullet slams into my thigh. A laser burns my neck. I drop and exhale. Another bullet hits my knee. A laser blast burns the truth into my gut; she was right.
Tags: 100 word story, argue, attack, creative writing, dead, death, Death in Space, flash fiction, microfiction, politics, scrawl brawl, short story
Gorak swings his helmet and connects with my head. I’m stunned and he kicks me in the stomach. I crumple and he pounds an elbow into the base of my neck. Laid out, I finally realize he means to kill me. “You tight-assed, xenophobic, piece of shit!” he screams as he stomps on my back. I aim my blaster and take two of his legs off at the first knee. He falls and I fire again. There’s a sizzle and his furry face is gone. I had been warned about arguing politics with a Jankhali. I wish I had listened.