Holy frickin’… Do you know I’d already written out a post proclaiming Splinker’s victory? Sheesh this was close. AGAIN! I don’t know if I can take this!
And the winner of Five Minute Fiction Week Three is…
Robert James Russell, @robhollywood
By one vote! ONE VOTE I say. WOW! And Rob nearly won last week’s contest, it was so close!
CONGRATULATIONS ROBERT JAMES RUSSELL!
Special thanks to Splinker! or @asifre otherwise known as Adam Sifre for losing to Rob by one stinking vote. (If you’re confused, this week he had login issues and posted as “anonymous.”)
Posted below is Rob’s winning entry.
If you don’t come ’round next week to show him how Five Minute Fiction is really done, you’ll regret it all your days.
We had been searching for the source of the buzzing for nearly an hour, hot and sweaty and stripped down to the bare essentials: me, a pair of red plaid boxers, and her, a blue and white striped two-piece.
“It’s got to be some sort of mosquito,” she said on her hands and knees in the kitchen looking through the crack between the fridge and the counter.
“No way. I’m guessing a wasp, or a hornet. Why are you looking behind the fridge, anyway?” I said standing in the center of the living room, looking around slowly like I may be able to catch up with whatever it was haunting our afternoon.
“I think I heard it over here, like maybe it got stuck behind the fridge. Hornets don’t buzz, by the way.”
“Uh, sure they do.”
“No, they don’t.”
“What do they do then?” I said looking out toward the big windows on the far wall, the white hot July sun beaming in its purpose in life was to illuminate our small apartment.
“They hum. Everyone knows that,” Jenny said standing and brushing off her legs. “Or, at least I thought everyone knew that.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t,” I said still tilting my head mechanically from side to side. “I was always under the impression that—”
“Do not move,” she said suddenly, her arms outstretched, pacing toward me like she was walking on ice. “It’s right on your forehead.”
I tensed as she approached and she smiled at me, looking right at my forehead. “I’m going to have to smack it. I’m sorry.”
“I understand. Just do it fast.”
“Right,” she said and I closed my eyes and could feel her extend her arm back and come down hard, her palm and fingers landing on the bridge of my nose with enough force to propel me back and onto the floor.
“God,” I said opening my eyes and touching my nose, pulling my fingers away and revealing blood on the tips. “That freaking hurt.”
“Sorry, babe!” she said helping me up.
“Did you at least get it?” I said looking around, dazed.
“No,” she said massaging my shoulder. “But at least we know what it is now.”
“What’s that?”
“The meatiest house fly I’ve ever seen.”
“Told you it wasn’t a mosquito,” I said, covering my nose and looking back out into the room.
