Friday, February 5, 2016

Flash Fiction Contest #9

Hi everyone, and welcome to this week's #OAFlash Fiction Contest. If this is your first time joining us, check out more about the contest here. Remember: my preferences are speculative fiction and stuff that gives me the feels; however, this is your story and you do what you want with it.

When you're ready for it, here's the prompt:

Flash Fiction Prompt For Friday, February 5, 2016

Please use the prompt ("The last thing I need is another child. I already have twelve to look after.") within your entry somewhere. You can replace the word "child" with anything that fits. Robots, baby cheetahs, male concubines, whatever. Make it interesting (but PG-13 rated, if you indeed decide to create yourself a harem).

When posting, remember to include the name you want on your badge should you win and your Twitter handle. And... make me cry. (Not that you actually have to. It's just what we've started saying as a writer's equivalent of "Break a leg." You can help make it a thing, if you want.)


Unknown said...

The last thing I need is another child. I already have twelve to look after.
Serena’s bite was worse than her bark. One thousand and ten years old, her loneliness caused her to create descendents again this decade. The ones from the past few decades, felt obligated to remain with Serena, and refused to leave her with an empty nest.
They were not really children, varying from their twenties and thirties in human years, but to Serena, they needed to be taught how to hunt, how to feed, how to love, how to live this new immortal life, and how to utilize the powers bestowed upon them.
The dozen was now a baker’s dozen – a half-baked idea, in retrospect. But, the thirteenth ‘child’ was the most special one. He was similar to the others as they all needed to be rescued from impending death. They were too valuable to all species and races to disappear – incredible minds, indescribably talented in every way – no, they must remain in existence. The Thirteenth Child was given the Royal Powers as well – telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, empathy, geokinesis, pyrokinesis, hydrokinesis, mind manipulation and control. Together, The Thirteen Children will save the planet.

Unknown said...

Sorry - forgot my Twitter handle: @rita_c_jordan

Unknown said...

We received this entry on the #OAFlash general page (8:55 a.m. this morning), so I'm allowing it into the contest. I've also disabled comments now on that other page, so as to cut down on confusion.

All In Good Time

By Gretchen Mayer

The pod was sitting on the step when I opened the door this morning. The last thing I need is another child. I already have twelve to look after.
I looked up and saw nothing but dirty gray smoke rolling across the sky. A drone must have dropped it off last night. Perhaps it was a mistake and they would return for it. I lifted it up. It was heavy and would hatch within a month’s time. I placed it in the incubator, closed the lid and turned back to the clones. They were ready. All my hatchlings were ready in time. They were five years old now and would soon be taken away to be trained as warriors. I had done my job perfectly as always – except for one thing.
For sixty years I had been attending hatchlings – 144 total clones – teaching them the state-approved curriculum and nothing more; feeding them the special diet that would cause them to grow quickly and nothing more. But commandment four, “Show no affection,” was one I could not follow. Indoors, where there were no drones to monitor me, I would kiss their identical cheeks and hug their identical bodies.
And for sixty years the war had raged on.
As they slept or studied I would walk the barren hills outside my hut. Being a preceptor is an honorable but lonely calling.
A week passed, then two. No one had come for my hatchlings. This had never happened before and I feared the reason. The war was over. There was no more need for me or my hatchling warriors.
But now I paced the hills for another reason – what was I to do with twelve grown clones? I worried and fretted this for many days.
Finally the new pod opened. It was a slow birth – not the ripping and tearing I had witnessed a hundred times and more. And I could see right away that she was different. This last pod that had been so unceremoniously dropped on my doorstep was a consolation prize – a child I could love and raise t0 adulthood to care for me in my aging. I fed her milk from my cow and food from my garden. I cuddled her and played with her and taught her silly rhymes.
And I sheltered her from the sight of the clones as they rapidly aged and died one by one like stars blinking out at sunrise.