FlashFeeD 1.27


So, it seems many of you were reluctant to pick up the romance challenge I set last week. However, we had some brave pack leaders who rose to the event and did a sterling job (thank you).

Write a Crime story based on the prompt, below.

This should be much easier and there is a lot that can be done with this prompt.


Good luck!

It’s criminal not to take part 🙂


Full rules here:

Stories will be limited to 2000 characters* (about 300 words), including the title.

*(The field itself will allow for 2050 characters, but this extra 50 characters is only to be used as contingency and it won't be increased).

Use the comment field to post stories, include your story title. Use the reply button on a particular story to provide positive feedback. Press the ‘like’ icon if you like a story.



9 Replies to “FlashFeeD 1.27”

  1. Some teenagers cycling near the cliff called it in. They thought someone was trying to climb up, but got the scare of their lives when they went over to help.

    “They thought it strange the hands weren’t moving,” Sargent Goez told the detective. “You can see what scared them.”

    Detective Ricks followed the hands gripping the grassy verge, down the arms that hung over the edge, ending with a clean cut at each shoulder.

    “Did we retrieve a body?” He looked down to the small stretch of beach about 200 feet below.

    “No, sir,” said Goez.


    “Yes. We found blood scattered on the beach. And fresh footprints, too.”

    “I need to see this.” Ricks and Goez took a car and followed the road to the bottom of the cliff. Yellow police tape cordoned off where most of the blood and footprints seemed to be. Ricks looked at the print patterns and other marks in the sand. “Some persons definitely made off with the body. But why?”

    He looked up at the cliff. The forensic team were working on removing the arms. His gaze dropped down the side. Something caught his eye, reflecting the morning sun. He jogged toward the cliff until he was directly beneath where the body had hung.

    “Was the victim clothed, do you think?” he asked the Sargent.

    “The arms were bare,” Goez replied. “Could have been naked, I suppose.”

    Ricks pulled out a handkerchief and carefully retrieved a clear plastic sandwich bag that had become wedged between some rocks.

    “What do you suppose our victim was naked and afraid—so afraid, he prematurely unloaded his stash?”

    Goez took the bag from Ricks and coughed. “That would explain the smell, sir.” He held the bag gingerly and examined its contents. A fine white powder that filled a third of it.

    “I suspect our victim got greedy. Tried to make off with some of the goods. His partners stripped him, hoping to retrieve it somehow, but he escaped. Tried to climb down the cliff…”

    “… so they took his body,” said Goez.

    “Put out an APB for a team of dangerous men. Mostly armed.”


  2. Cycle Path
    It was one of those overcast days. Perfect for a nice jaunt along the local path. Shared use. Clearly marked with a thick white line. Them on one side. Me on the other.
    I ring my bell. No response. I slow down. It spoils my sense of freedom but I don’t want to hurt anyone.
    Finally, she moves. ‘Oh sorry, she says casually.’
    I pick up speed. The soft breeze against my cheeks. It almost feels like flying. Not that I know what real flying feels like.
    A dog walker. With one of those stretchy leads. The perfect trip wire. I stop.
    ‘Oh sorry,’ he says after he’s scooped up the dog crap.
    I’m starting to get a headache. Should have gone gym instead. At least I can get the miles in.
    Just picking up the pace, gliding. Then him and her. Ring my bell. Slow down.
    ‘Excuse me,’ I say politely.
    ‘Bloody cyclists, this is a footpath.’
    Before I reply my foot leaves the pedal, stretches out and kicks him in the guts.
    He stumbles, falls into the canal. She’s screaming. His foot is caught in a trolley.
    ‘Sorry,’ I shout behind me.
    Free as the wind I am. Just another bloody cyclist in lycra.


  3. I’ve always had suicidal tendencies. I’m rather good at it. I can plan a good end like you wouldn’t believe. So far including this current episode I’ve committed suicide twenty five times. Now come on you’ve got to be impressed.

    Thing is like I said I’m good at it, I love getting creative. I put a lot of effort in there. I mean anyone can hang themselves at home when the house is empty, but how boring is that?! If you’re gonna plan your own demise make it interesting.

    Still twenty five I’ve gone and done it, but I’ve never reached the terminus; kinda the point of it. It’s all well and good going in an interesting fashion. But if you ain’t gone at the end of it then it’s just a day out.

    Well, I’ve had enough now. It’s got to the point where it’s become a hobby. I mean other than some misguided individuals with explosive belts it really shouldn’t be seen as a pass time. Just a past time.

    Thing is I’ve seen a bit of this fair isle of ours whilst I’ve been doing this: Snowdon, Ben Nevis, the Old Man of Hoy, the London Underground, Tower Bridge, St Pauls, some lovely beaches, even Stonehenge; they’ve all been the venue for my almost suicide. Today I went old school and threw myself off Beachy Head. A damn boring way to go and not at all as interesting as my earlier efforts I was just sick of never actually getting to the finishing line, so I jumped. No complicated electronics or drug and alcohol interactions, not even out of date ice cream. Just jump and fall.

    But for fuck’s sake I stumbled at the top and ended up sliding half way down on my arse and snagging on some bushes before catching on a ledge. Just can’t catch a break.

    Then came the sunrise and it was stunning and you know what, I want to see another one. Once I’ve climbed up of this cliff I’m going home. Gonna rip up my “Suicide for Dummies” (self written, unpublished) and find myself a new hobby.


  4. What are the odds of surviving a bullet? Apparently they’re pretty high, I read once, supposing the shooter doesn’t hit your head or heart. And every time a good character gets shot in a movie, an arm ends up in a sling, and that’s all. No matter the fact that the bullet will rip muscle, bone and sinew.

    What if you’re shot twice? Well… supposing the shooter is really an incompetent one and misses your head and heart, it seems your chances are still relatively high. Funny that.

    You know what happens when people don’t know physics? That they make mistakes. Remember our bullets? You see, the problem with bullets is actually momentum. Momentum is mass times speed. Bullets don’t have much mass, but they do have speed. In spades. Also, momentum is preserved. Let’s say you’re standing on a boat, really close to a gunwale, and some asshole shoots you. Twice. That means that you have a relatively high amount of mass but a zero speed, ergo your momentum is null. Our friends the bullets have a large momentum. When they hit you, voilà, you become a you with your mass plus the mass of two bullets, which is not much, but you also gain all their momentum. Yes, your mass is much higher, but ah, that momentum… that’s a tall number, really.

    The result?

    You fall overboard. A mistake.

    Now comes the fun part. I have no idea how hard it is to survive through that and not drown. How you come to find yourself on the shore and everything hurts like hell.

    But this I can tell: hate is what propels you forward and up. What makes you climb the cliff before you. What makes you swear that the aforementioned asshole will pay for trying to kill you.

    And failing.


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