Deanna Hoak

I was playing the picture game with some chat buddies today, where someone puts up a neat image, sets a timer, and you all have exactly five minutes to write a story about the picture–a little piece of flash fiction. Now, five minutes is obviously not enough time to come up with anything earthshakingly great (though, damn, some people can write well fast), so the primary rule of the picture game is that you’re not allowed to make any comment on how your own entry sucks–otherwise you’d be spending all your time listening to people be embarrassed.

Anyway, I usually just delete my picture game stories, but one of the other players suggested posting them here. So here they are. :-)

In response to http://dragonneo.com/walksfar/Casa17.jpg I wrote:

He shoved his bowl at the passersby. “Foo.” His tusks made speech difficult, and people ignored him, thinking him a freak.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, felt the ivory surface there, protruding from his jaw. They caused spittle to drip from his chin, deepening his coarse appearance. He wouldn’t look in the mirror anymore.

Someone dropped an apple core into his bowl, probably as a joke, and he grabbed at it, forced it past his tusks and chewed it, seeds and all.

“Foo.” He held out his bowl again.

She’d left him like this, the woman he’d offended. Said he was a pig and he could live like one, grubbing in the mud of the street for what castoffs he could find. He remembered the touch of the witch beneath him and snorted.

And for this image (http://museum.oglethorpe.edu/SpanishRealistGallery/Valls-Labyrinth.jpg) I came up with:

Aubrey’s head spun as one of her “spells” came again, and she backed against the wall, panting. The room kaleidoscoped around her, melting and re-forming before her eyes. Paintings came to life and stared at her with unfocused eyes, and hills sprouted arms and reached for her.

She crouched, eyes darting, as the walls shrank around her and the door disappeared. “Tom?” Maybe he would hear her. “TOM?” She sank to her knees and covered her eyes, but the images still formed behind them. She felt the room grasping for her.

“Where are you?” It came from far away, and she couldn’t answer. She covered her ears and hummed to herself, then panicked as the notes took shape and tried to fly into her nostrils, eat at her brain.

A pounding on the door or wall, and the sound was a huge hammer, striking out at her. She screamed as it struck her head, and then fell unconscious….

Calm, then. Floating above. She looked down at herself, saw Tom’s fright as he picked her bloody from the floor.

She faded, relief flooding through her. Death was easy.

It’s a fun game, and always fascinating to see the very different images that other people conjure. :-)