Wasn’t that fun?? I love it when the adrenaline rush of 5MinuteFiction spills over into the voting as well. This one was close! I think every time I looked, someone different was in the lead. How cool was that?
And I love it when people find us, or work up the nerve to join, and get rewarded with a nomination or even a win. And thus it is today. BOTH of our winners–that’s right, there are two–are relatively new to the fun. Both first time finalists. And now, they’ve WON!
Congratulations are due to Bronwynk, @Bronwynk and Jay, @JayBreak, this week’s champions. Check out their entries below and I think you’ll see why the voters couldn’t decide. Excellent entries. And in only five minutes.
You two rock this little writing blog. Make sure you’re both here next week so we can put you head-to-head again. And the rest of you come around too. I might arrange for some mud. Or jello. 😉
Peterson, situated high on the rooftop, spied his target through the scope: a hypercephalic Tinnard, ensconced prominently in the middle of a lounge a few blocks away. The Tinnard’s arrogant bombast from its recent entrance was an effuse blanket, spreading onto the faces of the patrons. This would be too easy. Peterson felt a pang a guilt for agreeing to the sizable hit payment.
The Tinnard’s drink was served, and the miniature jointed appendages lining the sides of its grossly oversized head jittered with delight. Peterson saw the telltale condensed frost on the sides of the cup and the bluish glow on the rim, and its familiarity made him turn away from the scope. The last time he saw that drink was when he was with Kathryn, nearly a year ago, when she had found out about his work. In the midst of rage she tossed it right at his face. The scars left by the supercooled liquid hurt when it rained.
Judging by the rapturous attention of his barmates, the Tinnard kept to its species’ idiosyncrasy and launched into a joke. Peterson waited for the exact quarter-second when it would pause its speech and raise the cup to its opened pincers. Peterson shifted away from the meat of the Tinnard’s head, exhaled slowly, and pulled the trigger in between heartbeats — then quickly re-scoped his handiwork. The cup had shattered completely and sprayed the now half-handed Tinnard and the lifeforms close by with the blue liquid. They howled silently and scattered in confusion and pain.
Peterson ducked undercover and managed a smile with his slightly deformed mouth. The pay would have been nice, but the thought of someone else quite literally knowing his pain was much better.
The familiarity of the situation was eerie. The scene was different but everything else was the same. A bloodless corpse, no blood any where, a frying pan with a word etched on the bottom, and a knife with a deer antler handle. But instead of being left in a trashy alley, this one was left on the steps of a fancy night club.
After surveying the scene, I shook my head and turned to my partner.
“Do you think it is a copy cat or the same person?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Nick said, kneeling next to the frying pan. “The word on the pan is the same. And we never released that to the press. So my guess is that it is the same person.” I took a deep breath.
“Just what we need. A serial killer with a vampire MO.”
“Hey, Vicki?” I turned to look at the CSI standing by the corpse. I walked over to him.
“What did you find?” The CSI pointed to the crumpled paper in the corpse’s hand. I bent down and gently removed it from the hand.
“What does it say, Vicki?” Nick asked as he joined me. I opened the paper. In a broad handwriting the note held a warning.
This is not the end.