'The Deluge' by Lucienne Cummings

Pike rows until his boat becomes tangled. Heaving an oar in, he recognises the sodden obstacle as the remains of a tapestry. Moving again, he passes cushions, hats, paintings. The river is still rising, the rain pelting. The roof of Eldon Hall barely pokes above the water’s surface, and upon it he recognises a lonely silhouette.

‘Come aboard My Lord,’ shouts Pike rowing alongside.

‘No!’ says Lord Hawthorne. ‘I have nothing to fear.’

***

‘Your soul for a charmed life.’ Twenty years ago, sunlight had sparkled off Lucifer’s martini glass as it clunked against Edward Hawthorne’s tankard.

Hawthorne, an eighteen-year-old grocer’s apprentice, had signed the parchment on the pub table readily. ‘Deal,’ he’d smiled, gulping his watered-down ale. In a year he’d gathered enough money to buy the Hall, and a peerage. He’d used the wrong cutlery, fluffed the wine pronunciation, and worn a morning suit in the evening, but it’d all worked out eventually.

***

‘Please My Lord,’ says Pike.

Hawthorne backs away from his grounds-keeper, trips and falls. As he drowns, years of parties, jewels, silk pyjamas, and smooth-limbed mistresses explode in his head.

‘You promised!’ he gurgles, fighting back up to the surface. A hand grabs at his satin smoking jacket, but it’s too slippery, and he sinks again.

‘A charmed, but short life,’ is the last thing he thinks.

***

Pike examines his traitorous hand in horror. He cannot swim either.

‘Help!’ says another voice.

Pike looks up into the deep, dark eyes of Maggie, Hawthorne’s latest mistress. He helps her into the boat.

‘He used to call me his rock,’ says Pike, dazed. Maggie strokes his hair. Even in shock, he feels shabby and awkward next to Maggie’s finery.

Far below, in Hell, Lucifer draws up a contract with Pike’s name on it, and grins.

'Fish on Vacation' by Allison Renner

He packed up without a destination in mind, only knowing that he needed to get away for a spell. It was so dark down there, suffocating, honestly.

He swam to save money, flopping onto the shore most ungracefully, but too excited to care.

He was somewhere new and quickly found that he didn’t care for the gritty sand on his fins. Or his inability to glide over the beach. Or the way his gills collapsed without the water rushing through them.

I’ll just rest a minute, he told himself, feeling the sand rub the shimmer from his scales as he stared up at the bright blue sky. It was everything he’d expected.

'Out of Place and Time' by Laura Cooney

Belle, tired from her journey, cocked her head somewhat stiffly to one side and listened, the whirring of gears and creaking of cogs was getting louder the further she walked into the building. 

The building itself was an old careworn castle with tapestries from floor to ceiling. Her taffeta lined gown of silver brocade swished gently on the steps as she climbed to the great hall. With an angular wrist and a quick, forceful, though graceful, tap she opened the strong wooden door of the castle's hall and entered. Inside it was not at all what she expected. Downstairs was a medieval castle and in here was a room of the times. A grandfather clock stood in one corner of the room imposing its presence with its pendulum clicking to and fro. The echoing clunking of miniature horses which galloped round the base of the matching mantle clocks was resonant in her ears. Perhaps this was the sound she had heard, the noise travelling in the air. 

She began to feel a faintness again, this would be the third time today. She hoped she was not unwell. Seeking a chair by the fireplace she gratefully sat down and closed her ey... 

“Ey, m'lord, that's the most magnificent thing I 'as ever see.” Baxter broke the silence in the room, now the gears were still. Lawrence smoothed her skirts and stroked her pale face before replying. 

"She is a masterpiece Baxter, now I just need to find a way to make her move for longer. Ten minutes is most little time for the Exposition to really see her glory,” he turned the screwdriver thrice on the small panel on her back.

"Let's see now, does this give us longer?" 

When Belle awoke she felt confused. It seemed hours had passed. The light above the mantle was lit and it had not been before. The sound of gears was as loud as before, but now slower and she felt relaxed. Perhaps she would get used to the sounds here. Wherever this was. She stood to explore further and was startled to see two men looking at her, one pocketing a small brass key.

"Hello dear Belle, my name is Dr Lawrence. So pleased to make your acquaintance. You must be tired after a long journey."

'In The Uncharted Territory of Haute Cuisine' by Sravanthi Challapalli

He had waited so much for this road trip. Two delicious weeks of sightseeing and eating some of the food he had only heard about so far. 

His daughter was playing spoilsport, refusing to eat anything but rice and curry, and barely any restaurant in the Europe they were driving through served any. Somewhere in Germany, they at last found a plate of rice, but it was cold, and the brat refused to eat it. He protested, she cried and his wife shushed him when he said they were on a budget. He had had to eat it. The little wretch, all of seven, had made him buy four skeins of wool at some store they had visited earlier. Why, he had no idea. She didn’t do anything but stick her head in a book all the time. Well, they were in France, and he was looking forward to its famous cuisine. 

All these years later in 2024, he was looking at that Seventies’ black-and-white picture. Her, her mother and him, sitting around a table gleaming with fine cutlery. Her eyes were wide, almost goggling. He had the same eyes — and the same expression. His wife was smiling into her plate.

He had ordered the fish. To his horror, it arrived staring at him. He had never had fish that way! It had always been served in unthreatening, faceless fillets or gravied chunks. The waiter had chosen this moment to very kindly take a family picture. He had done a good job of capturing father and daughter’s shock. Would they fuss if he returned it? He had risen to the challenge. He took a paper napkin and covered the fish’s face. Then he began to slice it off with his fork and knife.

'Numb' by Maria Sanger

SHE FLOATED IN PLASTIC. A CAPSULE AMONG THOUSANDS.

She tried to speak, but words wouldn't come out. The cotton had been so tightly woven

around her body. Only her head stuck out of the pupal stage.

All her hopes to get to the inter-terrestrial station had been scuppered. Not only was she

unaware of what had happened, but she no longer knew what she had become.

A paralysing sticky substance dropped onto her tongue. Images of green bodies, black eyes

and red antennae merged like kaleidoscope patterns. Incessant rubbing of gossamer wings over her face kept her awake.

The voice was monotone. ‘Humanoid, you will not feel a thing.’

In her third eye a light flickered. ‘Don't lose it,’ said her inner voice.

She floated up, determined to follow the light. Shadows. Wings whirring. Rasping.

Attached to a central pod were plastic tubes emanating from other capsules. Bubbles of scarlet 

rose up to a solitary creature. Humanoids in other capsules seemed to have liquified, their

capsule lights fading once the deed was done.

A silence.

Surely they weren't all dead. But was she dead too?

* * *

Bright lights flashed. An insectoid entered her capsule and untied the cotton binding. And then she saw it clearly. Above, a giant red weta insectoid gnashed its teeth and struck the walls of the pod. 

Replenished with blood from the human species it was ready to mate.

NFFD 2024 Prompt #18: Fish out of Water

 

Prompt #18: Fish out of Water
WATER prompt D

Welcome to The Write-In!  This year, we're celebrating the 2024 National Flash Fiction Day Anthology theme of The Classical Elements - Air, Earth, Water and Fire. Throughout National Flash Fiction Day, we'll be posting one time-related prompt on the hour every hour from 00:00 until midnight (BST), for a total of 25 prompts in all.  You have until midnight on Sunday (BST) to submit your responses for possible publication here at the Write-In.  We'll start posting responses on Sunday, 16 June 2024....

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Write a flash about someone who feels like a fish out of water...maybe they're stuck in an unfamiliar or uncomfortable situation...or maybe there's something else fishy going on....

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If you’re submitting this to us, make sure to note that this is a response to Prompt 18: Fish out of Water.

You can submit responses until 23:59 BST on Sunday, 16 June 2024 for a chance to be published here at The Write-In.

You can claim the badge for this prompt by visiting the badgifier here (hosted by the NFFD website).

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