This is Five Minute Fiction. I think you can figure that out.
BREAKING NEWS: We have a hashtag. Thank you @ShiananFae. We have staked a claim on #5MinuteFiction on Twitter. We’ve made it.
The Rules
* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose in any style or genre.
* You must directly reference today’s prompt: command
Note on the picture: Don’t ask, I don’t know.
* Post your entry as a comment to this post.
That’s it. I’ll close the contest at 1:45. I think we know how this works, but if you are confused or just want to whine, feel free to email me.
At the close of the contest, this week’s guest judge, JEFF PFALLER otherwise known as @pfallerj will nominate five finalists. I’ll put the nominees in the poll on the side of the page, and at 9:30 PM EST I’ll close the poll and declare the winner.
For updates, you can subscribe to my RSS Feed, or follow me on twitter.
What’s the prize? Well, nothing, obviously. But we’ll all agree to tweet and/or blog about the winner of today’s contest so their fame and fortune will be assured.
A Few Notes:
* In the interest of time and formatting, it’s best to type straight into the comment box. It’s also smart to do a quick highlight and copy before you hit “post” just in case the internets decide to eat your entry.
* I reserve the right to remove hate speech or similar but I’m not too picky about the other stuff.
* This is all for fun and self-promotion. So be sure to put your twitter handle at the end of your post and a link to your blog if you have one.
Best of luck to everybody!
“Your wish is my command,” he said.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I huffed in exasperation. That’s an interesting noise, by the way, a huff.
“Do I displease you, master?”
“You’re pissing me off, that’s what you’re doing. Cut it out, Carl.”
“Huh. As if you wouldn’t love to have someone to order around.”
“Yeah, but not you.”
You see, my baby brother is all kinds of annoying. Not that I don’t love him, I mean, he’s my brother. But he’s weird and I can’t be around him too long before I want to punch him.
“So when are we leaving for the show, boss?”
“WE’re not leaving at all. You’re not coming.”
He pouted. He’s a brat.
“OK, here’s what WE’re going to do. We’ll play your little game. So I command you to take your ass somewhere else and leave me alone.”
His lip started to tremble. God I HATE that.
“OK, look, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I just want some space today, OK?”
“Just because you’re embarrassed. You don’t look that bad.”
“Yeah. Whatever. Shut up.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault that the only part left in the show was a girl’s part. You know, you look kinda good in drag.”
“Don’t argue with me, soldier! That’s an order!”
“Yes, sir,” David said, and slammed his hand down hard on the button that ended transmission of the communiqué from Headquarters. He sighed. The captain wasn’t going to like this.
“Sir,” he said to the speaker, buzzing the captain’s quarters from here. “We have new orders from HQ.”
“New orders?” the voice on the other end of the speaker sounded tired. David was afraid of that. He woke up the captain. “We haven’t finished our current assignment. What are the orders, Corporal Rodgers?”
David smiled. It was just like the captain to remember who he was, and one of the reasons that the captain’s men would follow him into hell. And had, in fact, done so.
“You are ordered to pull out of the current engagement and return to base Alpha Tango One immediately,” David replied. “It sounds like the General is going to relieve you of duty, captain.”
It was out of line, and David knew it, but he just couldn’t resist.
“Like hell he is,” came the captain’s reply. “The general has been sitting behind a desk for far too long to understand what he’s asking. If we pull out now, we’ll lose far more men than we’ll save. This is my command, damnit, I know what I’m doing. My decision to march in where angels fear to tread was unpopular with the top brass, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave good men behind, and lose more doing so.”
“Shall I send a response back, sir?” David asked.
There was a pause.
“No,” the captian replied at last. “but put me through to the rest of the command. I need to let them know about the orders and let it be their decision on whether or not to follow me the rest of the way. I won’t force men to disobey a direct order from the general.”
David smiled. There wasn’t a man in this command that would turn and leave now. Not a one.
-Chris Blanchard (@blanchardauthor on twitter)
Thaddeus Crowe was restless tonight.
I was trying to catch up on my latest short story submission–a steampunk genre Civil War piece–when the moaning and clanking started again for the third time.
See, Thaddeus was my very own ghost in the attic.
I shut down the project as well as the laptop; giving writing up as a bad job for the night.
“I guess I’d better see what’s bothering the old coot,” I muttered to myself.
Climbing the creaky stairs, I was surprised when my black and white cat, Max, hissed at me and ran off.
“Max!” I called after him. “It’s just the ol’ man! C’mon back!”
Be he was gone. I loved cats, specifically because– like me–they never obeyed any commands. But the fur ball liked any opportunity to harass Thaddeus. Something was definitely up. I shook my head as I climbed the rest of the stairs to the attic.
I opened the door to the large, unfinished space to find the shimmering, pale form of Thaddeus, dressed as always in what looked like an 18th century military uniform, staring mournfully out of the half-moon window overlooking the grounds.
“Sir!” I said smartly. “Permission to enter?” He usually liked it when I asked to come into “his” attic.
Thaddeus turned his gaze from the window and looked me over. I couldn’t actually see him do it, as the apparitions’ eyes were nothing more then hollowed-out sockets. It was just a feeling I got whenever I arrived in his attic space and ‘looked’ toward me.
“Oh, why not. Enter” the ghost said in a melancholy voice.
I furrowed my brow at the lack his usual barked command of either “Come Hither, mortal!” or “Granted Soldier!” Something was definitely troubling the ghost.
I climbed into the attic, ducking a little to avoid whacking my head on one of the rafters, and let the door close behind me. I joined Thaddeus at the window, ignoring the chill that always caused my skin to crawl when I got too close to him.
After a moment of awkward silence, I cleared my throat.
“Sir, permission to speak candidly?”
“Go on then,” said the ghost in the same bored voice.
“What seems to be the trouble, Sir?” I asked hesitantly. I’d seen the ghost get upset only once in my four years in the house. It wasn’t pleasant and I didn’t want to experience it again.
“Mmph,” Thaddeus said. “It’s a bad night, soldier. A bad night.”
“And why is that sir?” I asked relieved. Looks like I’d be spared a ‘poltergeist incident.’
“Time for new recruits. I hate training new recruits.” Said the old ghost dejectedly.
The thought of another ghost in the house quite frankly annoyed me. I was already behind on my deadline. But I was also curious.
“New recruits?” I asked. “Wouldn’t you like company, sir?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Thaddeus. “But there is always the denial and the whining before acceptance. I hate that part. That, and the speech. I hate that blasted speech.”
Ok, I thought. I’ll bite. “What speech?”
The ghost sighed. “Welcome to the spectral plane, newly departed. You are here because the afterlife wouldn’t have you. You are condemned to haunt this world in ghostly fashion until the end of time.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I said.
“Yes,” said the ghost seemingly more depressed. “It is. See, I can only say those words to a new ghost. Now I’ll have to deal with the shock and the denial…” his voice faded away and he went back to staring out the window.
“But it can’t be….wait.” I said.
“Here it comes.” Thaddeus mumbled.
“No! I’m not dead…!” I screamed.
“Shouldn’t have shoved all that white powder up your nose to write tonight, kid.”
She told me what to do. I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t have done it myself. But you know, she commanded me to do it. You haven’t met her have you? I’m sorry, but then you just don’t understand. Well, let me explain it for you then. She just, well, makes you do it. Well, I just told you I did it, didn’t I? But it wasn’t really me you see. It was her! I suppose it could have been anyone off the street, I just happened to be the first person she saw. I wouldn’t necessarily call it magic, but yeah, that’s kinda what it felt like. I just had to go ahead and do it. I knew what I was doing, yes, but I could no more control my movement than you when you sleep. That was uncalled for. I may be a prisoner and all, but violence won’t get you anywhere. As am I, beyond belief. You think I want to be here? Like I was saying before being interrupted. Will you let me finish? Thank you. Right, so as I cut his heart out, I could no more stop, no matter how I fought. Yes, the vomit at the scene was mine. The blood all his. He never knew I was there. Right, like that. Thick as all get out too. I can’t stand the sight of blood, almost passed out, but the command wouldn’t let me. It’s like I was a computer that’s all. Yeah. And now he’s dead and I killed him. But you’ll see, it wasn’t me. It was her.
Drew
@snowppl
snowppl.wordpress.com
Ha! I did it! I finally remembered to participate! It probably took 5-1/2 minutes to draft, then another two to rearrange and edit a bit, but here goes:
I’d never been very good at following commands. Like the time Sarge told us to stay in formation but Walters broke ranks after the Selorians opened fire and I had to track him down and toss him behind the nearest temp-barricade to keep him from getting shredded by blade-gun fire. Walters got away with only an arm lost. I got away with a chewing out from Sarge and a few rounds of beers when Walters got out of med-stasis.
Then the time the Lieutenant sent the whole gang of us in a flanking maneuver that we all could see was instant suicide. What’s a grunt do do in a situation like that? Ignore orders, that’s what. Turn the flanking maneuver into a head-on charge and knock-down, drag-out bloodbath. Screw it. We lost less men my way. The Lieutenant screamed, but not so much after I knocked a few of his teeth out.
I really should have followed that last set of orders, though. Peacetime’s all well and good, now, but apparently Sarge was right about not hooking up with a Selorian female, no matter how attractive she might be. All those rumors about them killing their partners after mating are true. I wish I’d thought to bring my comm. unit. This bleeding to death thing is for the friggin’ birds.
* * * * *
Simon, aka @WritingAgain
@noellepierce
I looked over at him with disgust. How could my sister marry someone so vile, so horrid, so…ugh?
He sat at the head of the table, leaned back in a relaxed pose, chewing with his mouth open and just a little spit dribbled down his chin while he ate. She looked miserable, and yet she stayed with him.
Five years ago, she had come home with this example of filth and told us she was getting married. None of us understood it. And now she was stuck with him. They’d performed the ancient rite that bound them together forever. Or until one of them died. My guess is it would be her, considering she looked paler and thinner than ever. She was wasting away.
Meanwhile, disgusting habits aside, he seemed to be thriving. His wish was her command. She did everything for him and she was now pregnant. He shouldn’t be allowed to procreate.
I fought to keep the bile from entering my mouth. Witches should have more freedom than she had. I certainly wouldn’t marry a warlock who ordered me around. If it wasn’t forbidden to murder, I might do her a favor.
Gah… looking at that, I’ve realized I used the word “command” too many times. It’s one of those things I do, and it’s why writers edit, right? Still… ugh.
“I command you,” he says looking right through you, and you look around and realize that he is, in fact, talking to you.
“You command me to…what?” you say sighing and folding your hands along the wooden table.
“I command you to love me. To, you know, be my…love.”
You smile a bit and he doesn’t seem to find this amusing, your reaction, so you add: “Uh, no thanks.”
“Well…too bad. You have to.”
“I said no thanks,” you say standing now and walking away, parting through a small group of patrons with their hands glued to their drinks, the music loud and nearly-deafening.
“Wait, wait,” he says catching up to you, out of breath, his hand suddenly on your shoulder which causes you to stop and look back at him, to study him. He’s small, wispy, even, his hair all moppish and in desperate need of a cut. “How can you just walk away?”
“Apparently pretty easily.”
“No, I mean…I commanded you…to love me. And you just…ignored me. I mean, not to, like, brag, but I happen to be one of the most promising young wizards in all of Los Angeles.”
“Oh, really?” you say shooting him a look, those looks that boys get when you know they’re full of shit.
“Well, according to Newsweek.”
“Oh, that’s how I know you,” you say sarcastically. “What number were you?”
“Uh, twenty-five.”
“Out of…what?”
“Twenty-five,” he says rubbing his head, then, “Look, I just want to know how you did it, is all.”
“Was I supposed to just, what, instantly fall in love with you when you say that? Is that your game, or whatever?”
“I mean, kinda, yeah.”
“Sorry, that spell must not work on me, I guess.”
“But it always works.”
“Apparently not, huh?” you say smiling and patting him on the shoulder. You’ve had enough and, sick of being here, alone, you decide to leave, turning and walking toward the front entrance. You walk a few steps and feel his hand on you again. Annoyed, you stop and turn.
“What?” you say.
“I just…I want to talk to you. Please stay.”
“Leave me alone. I mean it.”
“Please?” he says pawing at you, touching you, his fingers crawling all around like they own you, and finally, after you begin getting the chills, those familiar chills, you’ve had enough.
“Leave me,” you say turning slowly and placing your right hand at the center of his chest, “alone!” and with those words you send him flying back through the crowds, knocking people down and out, drinks spilling and glasses breaking, profanities being handed out by seemingly the whole place at once, watching as he slams with a thud into the large black speakers near the now-empty stage. He seems frazzled, and you decide to talk to him, the remaining crowd parting as you move, scared of you. He’s beginning to come to when you reach him, and finally focuses his eyes and sees you standing over him.
“Who are you?” he says scared, nervous, and, probably more than anything else, embarrassed.
“You know that list you were talking about, the one in Newsweek?”
“Uh, yeah?” he says, still confused, and you just stand there, smiling big.
“I was number one.”
@robhollywood
( @lil_monmon)
“Give it back, you horrid moggy!” commanded Lucy as she sprang at Buford.
Buford Anton Sliwa Puddlnesque Pussington scowled as only a cat could.
“Make me,” he sneered.
Lucy brushed her golden fringe out of her hair and adjusted her pinafore.
“It fell through the sky, it’s probably from the moon, and you had no right to take it!”
“Trust me, you don’t need it. It wont’ work for you.” said Buford.
“I’ll tell Mamma!”
“You do that.” Buford yawned to show his concern.
“What’s up Luce?” asked Gene coming up the garden path. He swung his books strap carelessly. His kickerbockers were slumped around his ankles and his hair was damp from sticking it under the pump.
“Oh, Eugene, please help me!” Lucy begged her cousin. “I was walking home when the sky opened up in a flash of glorious purple! Then this…this…OBJECT soared down and landed before me!”
“Are you telling tales again?” sniffed Gene.
“No! Honestly! It was in the pine grove! An amazing gem fell to the ground! It was small and smooth and very shiny.”
“Probably a broken comb or a rhinestone,” retorted Gene.
“MUST you be so tiresome!” snapped Lucy. “I’d show it to you, but Buford stole it and won’t give it back! Make him give it back now!”
“Shan’t” said Buford, but to Gene it was simply “Miaowr.”
“Ooh! You beastly thing! I SHALL tell Mamma!”
Lucy ran into the house in tears Leaving Gene on the porch steps with Buford. When the cat walked away in boredom, Gene saw the object Lucy was upset about. It was small, rectangular and red. 3 letters were printed on the side.
“USB? What does that mean?” Asked Gene scratching his head.
Maybe it was from the moon.
Try as he might, Gabriel couldn’t seem to muster the energy necessary to lift his head from the cradle of his arms. He turned to one side, content to watch the raindrops skitter down the hazy windowpane, and then to the other to watch the dancing shadows on the opposite wall. Everything else seemed to require an impetus he simply lacked.
When the door slammed open he briefly noted his visitor before settling back into his fug.
“Don’t you dare do this,” his lover commanded. “You can’t just leave me to deal with this mess.”
Gabriel sighed, a brief puff of air to soft to even disturb the dust.
“You have to open your eyes and look at me,” the voice continued. “I refuse to let you just lie here and rot.”
‘But what choice do I have?’ Gabriel wondered. He wanted to respond, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but bleed . . . and wish that, perhaps, the door would have opened five minutes earlier.
@SesshasWorld
Time’s up, chickens! So was it tough this week? I’ll tell you, I had no ending to that at all until the last line. *wipes brow*
Looks like fun for Jeff, now!
We’ll have the nominees and the poll up for you at 3:00.
You people ROCK!
It was tough. I, too, had no ending. I’m still not sure I did, but it was the only thing I could come up with. :\
Still, it was fun, as always. Thanks for doing this, Leah!
It took me almost five minutes to come up with something! Oy vey.
Once again, extremely stiff competition. You guys rock!
Poll’s up, folks! Thanks Jeff!