Flash Fiction – Treatment

With the recent release of the Indies Unlimted Flash Fiction Anthology, I thought I should enter some more. If I’m lucky I can get into the 2017 anthology. There’s no monetary incentive, but that’s not what this is about. There are a couple of reasons to enter.

Firstly, getting a big pat on the back when your story gets selected cannot be played down. Confidence is as big a part of writing as it is anything else. Anything that builds your confidence is worth putting the time into.

Secondly, it is another publication with your name on it. Having someone else publish a book with your story in can give you a level of credibility.

Lastly, and certainly not least, they are fun to write. They’re also a great way to work on your craft. I’m an efficient writer in that I don’t like to over explain stuff. I try to give the reader just enough for them to build the picture themselves. In flash fiction, every single word counts.

Anyhow, here is my latest entry.

Treatment

Photo copyright K. S. Brooks. Do not use without attribution.

I followed the father up a narrow flight of stairs before stopping in front of a door. He pulled back a deadbolt and gripped the door handle.

“You lock your son in?”

The father dipped his head. “It’s for his own good. This isn’t the first time he’s gone missing.”

A bright, blue light filled the corridor as the door swung open. I shielded my eyes and stepped inside. Models of flying saucers hung from the ceiling on translucent string. A lamp stood above the bed emitting a brilliant, blue light.

“You said he’s been gone for forty-eight hours. Why didn’t you turn the light off?”

“We tried. It keeps turning back on.” The father flicked a switch and the light disappeared.

As soon as he stepped away, it turned back on. I held my hand up, blocking the light. A silver patchwork blanket covered the bed, shimmering with a blue glow.

“Who else has a key to the door?”

“No one.”

“Could he have gone out the window?”

“No. They‘re sealed.” The father pulled on the window frame to prove his point.

“What happened the first time your son went missing?”

“This.” The father held his arms out pointing to the flying saucers. “He became obsessed with these. He believes that aliens abducted him.”

I nodded. “Do you mind if I have a look around?”

“Of course not. I’ll wait downstairs.”

I waited for him to leave before tapping my earpiece. “It’s confirmed. They’ve taken another one.”

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