The FFC week eight submissions are in! Eight weeks in and still going strong! This challenge is a lot fun and there is talk about publishing a flash fiction book (bathroom or otherwise) at the end! It’s not too late to join!

Share your Flash Fiction stories on Twitter with #FFC52.

Week Eight
Prompt: Three people walk into a bar after an earthquake.

Thanks for the great submissions everyone! Be sure to read and comment on everyone’s work as we are all here to read, be read,  give, and get feedback!

“Shaken not Stirred”
Chris Musgrave – Writing in Training

“Moved”
The Excessive Gardener

“A Death of Relief”
Swirls of Truth

“After the Earthquake”
Trifectumblog

“Meet Your Maker”
Thain in Vain

Marty opened the door to the only building left standing on the street. He didn’t recognize the place, but then again the old neighbourhood had taken a beating in the last couple of minutes. He blinked into the darkness. It was a bar. A nice bar, he thought. His eyes wandered over the long, mahogany just in front of him. Shelves of bottles framed the bar, reflecting the modern pots lights above. He noticed there was two people, a man and women, sitting at the bar. Behind the bar stood an enormous man, polishing glasses.

“Good evening, Marty,” said the large man. Marty was surprised to hear his name tumble from the man’s mouth. “We’ve been waiting for you. Join us, won’t you.” Marty walked slowly toward the hulk of a man, noticing that everything was in order in the bar. Not a chair turned over, not a shard of broken glass on the floor. Windows, TVs, mirrors all in tact. There was no water spewing from broken pipes; no sunlight poking through a crumbled ceiling. It was just another typical Tuesday afternoon in a quiet bar in L.A. It comforted him.

When he got to the bar, there was a beer waiting for him; a Bud with a side of tomato juice; his usual first drink of the day.  He wondered how this stranger would have known that, but the desire for the drink pushed the thought from his mind.  He mixed the two together and drank with a thirst that surprised him. The earthquake had been a blessing. It struck right when things had gotten out of the control. It was her wailing that set him off; begging through her choked sobs to let her go home. He didn’t understand why she wanted to go home. He loved her. Loved her the first moment he saw her walking across the parking lot.

“Marty, glad to see you survived the end of the world. I’d like to introduce John and Rhonda Willamont.” Marty tipped his glass to the couple, but didn’t really look at them. He thought about her again although he couldn’t remember her name. Did he know her name? He couldn’t recall.

“Marty, you don’t know us, but we know you. We wouldn’t though if not for this man,” said John. Marty looked at the man behind the bar. He had changed. His eyes looked like liquid black orbs. Marty couldn’t look away. An image of the girl reflected in those eyes. Marty saw her, struggling under his weight in the backseat of his car. She was screaming. Marty looked at the couple. They were watching the eyes as well. Marty watched himself rear up. He grabbed her head and bashed it again and again against the door. The screaming had to stop. Then the girl was silent, eyes wide open. He saw himself running from the car, just before the man was back in his eyes.

“Marty, Lydia was their daughter. She was 14 years old and she died in horror at your hand. And for this, you will now pay.” The man behind the bar let out a harrowing scream. The couple slapped their hands over their ears. Marty heard a low growl from behind him. He slowly turned to see an enormous three-headed creature emerging from a fiery, glowing hole in the floor. He let out a terrified scream just as the creature lunged at him.

Related articles

Top Tip Tuesday – Chris Musgrave – Writer in Training

• Flash Fiction Challenge – Week Seven Submissions