#5MinuteFiction Week 68

What is 5MinuteFiction, you say? It’s an adrenaline-fueled, instant-gratification sort of writing contest. Sound fun? Great! Get in there and get dirty!

The Rules

* You get five minutes to write a piece of prose or poetry in any style or genre

* You must BEGIN your entry with the sentence: Finally, the digging was over.

(Note: The prompt is the word. The picture is for decoration/inspiration.)

* Post your entry as a comment to this post.

I’ll close the contest at 1:45. That gives you 5 minutes to write and ten to accommodate the vagaries of relative time, technology, and the fickle internets. 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, Brian Cortijo, @briancortijo, yet another author of one of my favorite stories in When the Hero Comes Home, the new anthology from Dragon Moon Press, will nominate five finalists.

I’ll put the nominees in a poll, and at 9:00 EDT tomorrow I’ll close the poll and declare the winner.

For updates, you can subscribe to my RSS Feed, “like” my Facebook Page, or follow me on twitter. Or follow us on twitter with the #5MinuteFiction hashtag.

What’s the prize? Well, usually, nothing. But we all tweet and/or blog about the winner of today’s contest so their fame and fortune will be assured. BUT: Brian has graciously offered a copy of When the Hero Comes Home to the winner and as part of my effort to get everyone in the world to read it, I’m giving away a Kindle version of When the Hero Comes Home, to one participant chosen at random!

A Few Notes:

* In the interest of time and formatting, it’s best to type straight into the comment box or notepad. 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. If your entry doesn’t appear right away, email me sometimes comments go into the suspected spam folder and I have to dig them out.

* 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.

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18 thoughts on “#5MinuteFiction Week 68”

  1. Finally, the digging was over.

    I breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was scared out of my mind, but there’s a definite relief in finding out you’ve been caught, that there’s no more hiding and uncertainty. That you’re not digging yourself in any deeper. Shit’s hit the fan, but at least you don’t have to wonder anymore.

    The cop glared at me, beefy arms crossed, and one supercilious eyebrow cocked up.

    Trust me to get busted by the hottest, and really scariest looking cop out there. My body didn’t know whether to rise to the occasion or shrivel up in fear.

    “Can I help you officer?” That sounded far too much like a squeak.

    “Yes, you can explain to me why I had to put out an APB and come all the way out here to find MY OWN CAR.”

    I tried for the impish grin. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to leave the keys in the ignition?”

    His face darkened and he made a grab. Oops, there he was, and here I was all pressed up against him. Oomph, he was as hard and unyielding as he looked.

    Oh, and hard.

    I grinned up at him. He still looked very scary. But that could be fun too.
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  2. Finally the digging was over. She stood in the grave, her body sleek with sweat, and wiped her forearm across her brow. The sky was growing lighter. She hadn’t much time.

    She climbed out of the grave and walked over to the old oak tree. There she bent down, picked up the shoe box and opened it. Inside, the diminished body was a sickly gray, its stomach distended. The foul odor caused her nose to wrinkle in disgust. She replaced the lid and walked back to the open grave. She threw the shoe box into the hole and began filling it back up with the dirt mounded to either side. After about forty five minutes, she was done, tamping the dirt down with the shovel.

    As she stood next to the mound, a light rain began to fall, all the better to hide her tears.


  3. If you Can’t Go Around It…
    Finally, the digging was over. Hank shut down the engine of the drill and marveled at his work. It had taken him a lifetime to make the tunnel from Sarasota, Flordia to Jinx-Chieng, China. Along the way he had discovered deeply buried civilizations, archaeological and paleontology finds never before seen. He found rock formations that nearly destroyed his bit and molten rock that nearly destroyed him.
    He no longer knew what sunlight, fresh water or sex was like. He had known nothing but the shroud of carbon-fiber and the sound of chomping diamond tips, now, all he needed was a hot bath, a friendly face and a cup of coffee.
    As he closed the door to his rig he realized something, sitting on the front seat were two items of great importance, the keys to the door and his English/Chinese dictionary.
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  4. Finally the digging was over.

    Two weeks ago, the dreaded knock at the door had come.

    Two weeks ago, I watched my mother, with trembling hands reach for the door knob and pull open the front door. It stuck during the hot summer months and today was no exception. With a scrape and a thud, it flew open, letting in the humid August air.

    Two weeks ago, I watched as the woman that gave birth to me crumpled in a pile of wailing and gnashing teeth in front of two men, clad in their finest, presented her with a letter.

    We regret to inform you…

    Two weeks ago, I had a mother and a father. Until the men came. Until the men left with only a flicker of caring in their eyes as they spied my 14 year old self peering down from the upstairs landing.

    Finally the digging was over.

    Two graves. Side by side on a parched hill in a quiet corner of the cemetery. One a hero, one a widow who couldn’t bear to be apart from her love.

    Whispering hits my ears as faceless voices provide their own conjectures as to what happened. To how she did it. To why she did it.

    But it doesn’t matter.

    Finally, the digging was over.


  5. Finally, the digging was over, there are only so many lies you can tell before your face starts telling the truth. How many lies did I need to puke from my throat before the lieing was over? Too many to count I believe that if anyone dug deeper they would see my inconsistancies… or my lack there of. Too planned, too reheased, too scared of the consequences of being found out.
    It’s not every day that you try to suprise your wife with rose pedals and wine on ice.
    But I was too good.
    Too good at lieing that as I stand here staring over my unconscious body I know I shouldn’t have crept up behind her with my man at attention.
    “George! How could you? You know I hate suprises!” She drags my body down the hall and notices the rose pedals on the ground, “Don’t you remember when you gave me the stun gun last anniversary?”
    I’ll never try to suprise her again.

  6. Finally, the digging was over.

    Ash threw his shovel down as he collapsed to the ground. Sweat rolled down his neck. His gray eyes stared out at the hole engulfing him. Would it be big enough?

    The wind seemed to answer him as it picked up its pace, throwing clumps of dirt onto his face. It would have to be.

    Pulling his lanky figure over the edge, he emerge from his dusty prison. He took one last look at the circular hole now covering half of the yard. He didn’t know why Mrs. Johnson needed a hole that big, but he didn’t care. He reached down to grab the worn handle before heading up to the house to collect his money. His job was job was done.

    Finally, the digging was over.

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  7. Finally, the digging was over.

    And then it turned to shit. The whole thing started to unravel. Here out in the freaking woods where no one was supposed to know about it.

    All I could do was run back to the cabin and warn Melanie. She had to know. I ran. I ran in these woods all the time, but not like today. Every branch and bush seemed to jump out and tangle my legs in pure frustration. Five kilometers seemed to stretch on forever and my chest grew soar from the panting breaths I had to take.

    “What’s wrong.” came her voice from the other room as I burst through the door.

    I couldn’t answer. My chest was so tight the words were caught in my throat. II went from pure sprint to dead stop and the blood rush rammed my head like a sledge hammer. I bent over to try and ease the constriction and almost fell over.

    “What the hell?” she said as she entered the room. There was accusation in her voice. Disbelief. “You didn’t fuck it up did you? This was our only chance. Please, tell me you didn’t fuck it up?”

    My lungs grabbed at the stale air in the room and I felt enough relief to mutter a “No” to her. “I did it,” I whispered.

    “Then it’s all OK, right?”

    “No.” I couldn’t stop panting.

    “Tell me!!”

    “I…I was…I am being followed!”

    The floorboard on the ancient front porch creaked. We both turned just as the door splintered.


  8. Finally, the digging was over.

    I wiped my brow and looked up at the man I used to love. He was fidgeting with something in the pocket of his jacket and looking everywhere but toward me. I understood. There’s nothing sexy about a woman covered in mud from digging a shallow grave.

    “Let’s get him in,” I said.

    He jumped, but then nodded. We were in this together, right up until the time we laid the last of the dirt on the grave. Then I was going to forget him faster than he could say “goodbye.” There’d be no looking back or plaintive sighs. This little pickle he’d gotten me into had pretty much sealed our fate.

    I was appalled at how weak he was. He groaned and strained as we moved the body. “Oh, come on, Dusty. He’s just not that heavy. Put some oomph into it.”

    He muttered under his breath and groaned a little louder. At this rate, the whole town would hear us. I nearly broke my back getting the stiff’s torso into the grave. The rest of him sort of flopped in and I heaved a sigh of relief. Until I saw that he was sideways. There was no way the dirt would lay flat like that.

    “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Really?” I slapped the side of my thigh in aggravation. This night would never be over.

    I hopped into the grave and started trying to maneuver the body into a flat position. All I could manage was twisting him from one side to the other, never getting him fully flat.

    “You could help,” I said through gritted teeth.

    He shook his head silently, backing up. “I’m not getting in there. With him. And you.”

    I put my hands on my hips, my finger brushing the butt of my concealed gun, and smiled up at my partner in crime.

    “What’s a matter, Dusty? You frightened of little old me?”

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  9. Finally, the digging was over. Hank tossed the shovel out of the hole so he’d have both hands free for the ascent.

    “I told you he said they buried something down here,” he called out. His fingers dug into the soft turf as he pulled himself to the surface, the rich dirt leaving dark smears down his chambray shirt and jeans.

    “Sonuvabitch,” his wife wondered, looking down at what looked for all the world like a buried fuel tank complete with a bolted-down hatch. “That guy from the city wasn’t kidding… Is it a bunker or something?”

    Hank stood next to his wife and patted himself down, panting. A few loose bits of dirt dusted off into the breeze, but he ground more of it into his clothes than he lost. “Dunno,” he said. “Looks a hunnert years old. Reckon we should call the news or somethin’? We might be famous for this!”

    Mary’s reply was interrupted by a long low moan and a lazy scraping. They both looked down at the hatch.

    “I never take a good picture anyway,” Mary said. “Get that shovel.”

  10. Finally, the digging was over. I wiped the sweat from my brow and chugged from my water bottle, spilling it down my chin and onto my my thin, white tight tank top, which — without a bra — exposed the shape of my breasts. My nipples were visible, thanks to all the water.

    “They’ll never find the aliens in here,” I turned to my hunky counterpart. “You bring the corpses while I radio to mission command.” I tottered in my high-heeled space boots to the truck.

    “Cut!” The director shouted. “Okay, Sandra, that was great, but I’d like to go again. I need you to spill more water on your top.”

    He paused, looking around.

    “Makeup! And she needs a dry top. Someone towel her off — she’s a mess!”

    I sighed and sat down on the truck’s tailgate while the minions hurried over to make me more presentable again. Julliard, NYU, the Actor’s Studio, and I was reduced to this. Well, I had made this choice. Nobody was forcing me to take these parts.

    “Sandra, we’re ready for you.”

    I teetered over to the pit and grabbed my shovel, trying not to dislodge any of my long, red press-on nails.

    “Tarantula Alien Sexpots from Outer Space, take seven! Action!”

    I thrust the shovel into the dirt. “They’ll never find the aliens in here,” I turned to Brett. “You–”

    Clunk! My spade had struck something. I hit it again. It clunked again. I jumped into the pit.

    “Cut! Cut!” the director shrieked. “What are you doing? Get out of there!”

    Was that a giant, hairy leg I saw, waving from within the metal box we’d just unearthed? Oh. My. God.

    “Do you like it?” The FX guide sauntered over and asked.

    “We made it look really realistic, don’t you think?”

    I sighed. I wished everyone would stop staring at my nipples.
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  11. Finally, the digging was over. But now came the hard part.

    Ronald chucked the shovel aside and pulled himself out of the ground. He looked around and saw Harold by the truck.

    “Is it ready?” he asked.

    Harold only nodded. It was all he could do, really, being without a tongue.

    Ronald made his way to the truck, marveling at the strangeness of being in this cemetery, at nearly 2am. He had heard stories of people stealing bodies from cemeteries before, but he wondered if anyone had ever broken into one to bury a body before?

    He got to the truck and Harold sighed. Ronald nodded and looked at the sack that lay on the bed of the truck. He unzipped it to get one last look, and saw that the bloody spike of wood still poked out the chest. It was a ghastly wound, and blood still pumped out of it, albeit slowly.

    His gaze worked up the body towards the face. It was frozen in a snarl.

    Then, it turned to face him.

    “You bastards!” it said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to get out of this eventually, and when I do, I’m going to find and kill you!”

    Ronald shook his head and zipped the body bag back up. He nodded to Harold, and they picked up the body and started carrying it to the hole.

    He marveled again. Who knew that all the stories about vampires bursting into flames in the sun were wrong? The only sure way to kill one was to bury it in consecrated ground. And this was the fourth one they had put in this particular burial ground.

    “I’m going to kill you!” the undead thing said as they tossed it into the ground. Then, they both picked up shovels and started putting the dirt back in the hole.

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  12. Finally, the digging was over. Thirty-three graves in one night. It was a new record.

    “What’s the haul for this evening, gentlemen?” Cigar embers gave Mason’s face a demonic red glow.

    “Twenty-seven wedding rings, thirty fillings, two gold teeth, five watches, twenty-two slightly used tuxedos in various sizes . . .” Geraldo monotonously rattled off the list.

    Mason grinned, chewing slightly on his almost nonexistent cigar. “Excellent.”

    “Sure doesn’t seem like it’s worth all the effort of digging up graves,” Malarkey, one of the new guys, grumbled as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

    A large meaty hand latched onto Malarkey’s throat. Mason’s eye’s twitched, “Do you know how much they get you on tuxedo rentals nowadays? It’s highway robbery!”

    “Okay, okay,” Malarkey gasped, “Sorry I said anything.”

    “I detest robbery,” Mason continued, “It’s disgusting what people will do nowadays for just a few more bucks.”

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  13. Finally, the digging was over. A last push of the orange, plastic shovel caused a shuddering in the earth. Dirt collapsed downward, and crumbled down — or up, perhaps — revealing the painful brightness of daylight. Darren willed open his eyes catching the last of the dirt flying into the air in a blur, and then — as the scene resolved — he gazed up at the cities, floating islands, strange ribbons of water falling upward, and strange moons floating in the air. Somehow, even though this wasn’t how he remembered his mother describing China to him, he wasn’t disappointed.

  14. Finally the digging was over. Six feet down exactly.Planting my feet firmly on the ground I dragged the tightly wound rug across the grass and plumped it into the open hole. I wanted to smile with glee that a petite five foot two woman had achieved all of this by herself but there was no time for crowing: the hole had to be filled in. I begin to throw shovel full of dirt on top of the rug; It was almost sun up and my daughter would be up soon she must see this.
    I began to sweat and groan under the weight of the dirt but I continued quickly. I finished just in time.

    “Mommy what are you doing?”asked my five year old daughter Gabby standing in bear feet directly beside me
    “Digging a flower bed.” I answered
    “Will we have lots of flowers.”Gabby asked
    “Yes sweetie lots of flowers.” I answered
    I was just happy that she hadn’t had to see that. Her mother had killed a man and buried him in the backyard. I decided to act normally hoping the police wouldn’t be alerted to my crime. I dropped Gabby at her babysitter and went to work like it was any other day.
    I worked late it was nearing nine o’clock as Gabby and I pulled into the driveway.I entered the house. took a sleeping Gabby to her room and had just settled down in my favorite chair to watch television when I heard the voice.
    “Really Darling did you think it would be so easy to get rid of me?”
    “Frank but you are dead I buried you in the yard.”I answered shocked
    “Really you did me a favour, as the sun was rising. We vampires need the soil we were born in.”He answered
    “You are a vampire?”I asked dismayed that it seemed my worst night mare was dead.
    “I am, my dear and I am never going to leave you again.”Frank threatened
    I don;t know where I found the strength but I grabbed the wooden table that always seem to wobble and pulled it out without him seeing or the table following over. I wait a few minutes for my chance then rammed it into his chest.
    He was dead again. Finally, the digging was over.


  15. **I tried posting this before but I kept on getting a script error. I hope I can still participate.**

    Finally, the digging was over. The damn dog just wouldn’t stop digging holes. My beautiful yard that I had spent so much time and money on could now pose as the surface of the moon.

    The dog was mental, he really was. I wish I understood why my husband wanted this particular dog when there were several others at the APL that needed homes. He thought this digging was cute.

    We’ll see how cute he thinks of it when he has to fill the holes in tonight.

    Damn dog.

    Miranda Gammella recently posted..Game TimeMy Profile

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