I didn’t get a chance to submit an entry for the December and January editions of Furious Fiction but here is my effort for February 2020. Furious Fiction is a fun competition with a terrific prize and you can read about it on their website.
Basically it’s 500 words in 55 hours for a $500 prize.
The criteria for February were:
- One of the characters had to be a GUARD
- It must include the words NARROW, GLOSSY, GOLDEN and LEATHERY
- The first and last sentences can have only two words.
Let me know what you think!
The guard’s exasperated look said it all. This was the third time Charlie had tumbled through the narrow shute from the prison van into the processing room.
“Lord, it’s only two months since the last time you were here! Will you never learn?”
“‘Fraid not, Frankie,” Charlie said as he held out his leathery hand for a defiant high-five. “I will always express myself as the creative individual I am. They will never wear me down!”
When there was no return slap Charlie withdrew his raised hand, seamlessly morphing the gesture into a head scratch. Frankie wasn’t risking being seen on camera fraternising with the inmates. Secretly, he hoped that one day, Charlie might learn how to keep himself out of trouble. At the very least, learn to keep his felonies private and behind closed doors.
The first time they met, four years ago, Charlie was in for three months. He arrived in golden hot pants and silver knee-high boots. A clear Code 7 Violation: Mixed Metallics.
The rigorous and brutal re-education sessions had had little impact because a year later, Charlie was back. This time in a glossy vinyl jumpsuit adorned with sequins AND fur. Code 8 slapped down right there! Texture Abuse. The Judge was less inclined to be lenient for a second offence and Charlie was in for a full year.
And here he was a third time. Granted, Charlie was a little more subdued in a blue shirt and green trousers, but Frankie wouldn’t help him this time. There’d been a crackdown on contraband and it was too hazardous to smuggle the ‘Zines in. Last time, he had pushed pages torn from Vogue under Charlie’s cell door but despite the hints, he just didn’t get it! It was too much for Frankie, he had compassion fatigue.
Frankie read Charlie’s charge sheet and shook his head. The Judge had really thrown the book at him.
“Crikey Charlie?” He swore under his breath. “Everybody knows its law!” The mandatory five-year sentence was excessive but without a doubt, this was a serious offence. There it was in black and white:
“Blue and green should never be seen unless there’s something in between. Code 10 Violation: Catastrophic Colour Error. Maximum penalty!”
As the other guards dragged Charlie away, Frankie felt for him, he was obviously trying. He had made a rookie error, he had forgotten the belt.
Frankie sighed, it was definitely time to forget this fella. He had done what he could. Who knew what sort of family Charlie grew up in? No doubt his mum wore black bras under white t-shirts. His dad probably had a mullet. There was little hope of redemption.
Frankie squared his shoulders in a Scarlett O’Hara-esque way and strode down the hall to unload yet another van-load of sorry souls in their offensive glad rags. The decal on the cop car outside at least reminding his jaded psyche of his raison d’être.
Federal Fashion Police.
NEWS FLASH!!! I didn’t win but this story did get long-listed! woot woo!!!!