FLASH FACTORY FRIDAY #4 - WINNER!

WOW! Such wonderful entries this week!  Good job everyone!  

THE WINNER IS: 

SARAH!!! 

@sarah_nicolas

From Ray: 

After reading all of the entries several times, I still couldn’t decide which to proclaim as victor and champion over all the Earth. So, in the end, a factor of creepiness and the resonating sounds of guns being fired pushed me over the edge. I landed on @sarah_nicolas. She may have sustained some broken bones, but I’d like to thank her for breaking my fall, and acknowledge a great tale. Congratulations! 

Her story: 

We're different. That's why mama says they're afraid of us.

But I know the truth. They're afraid of us because we're dangerous. We hid for thousands of years, but a secret like ours couldn't stay buried forever.

Mama and I shuffle around the double-fenced exercise yard. I count time with my steps. We pass by the red lamp post. It provides the only color in this tiny, gray world. They call it a "camp," tell us it's for our own protection. I know this truth, too: it's a prison. Our crime was being born.

I know this because I was born here. Twelve years ago, today. And I got my very special twelfth birthday present this morning. It's a surprise, because there's no way of telling which one we'll get. And mine is rare; the kind of gift they won't let us have here.

Huge guns cradled by huger men watch us from the perimeter. 

The guns don't scare me. The fear on the men's faces always has. Until today. Soon, they will have a reason to be afraid. 

"Two minutes!" calls the only guard who ever speaks to us. I don't know his name. We're not permitted to know their names. 

It's time. 

Mama and I move toward the talking guard, like we're ready to go back in.

"Sir, please," I say. "I have a question." 

The sound of forty guns being re-trained on me makes me want to smile, but I swallow it.

"So sorry," mama says, her eyes on the dirt. "She's just a little girl. She doesn't know any better." She doesn't make a move to pull me away, though. She knows her part.

"Sir, please," I plead. "It's my birthday; won't you sing me a song?"

His eyes grow wide. The barrel of his gun points straight at the spot between my eyes. "Which birthday?"

I grin. "I'm twelve, sir." 

I tell his mind to turn the gun on himself before his own mind can tell his finger to pull the trigger. 

A bang. A thud.

Then thirty-nine echoes of the same sweet melody.

Congratulations, and thank you for entering!  

You'll get to pick the three word prompt for next week's challenge (or switch it up with a picture), AND be the judge!  Please send me an email so I can send you the "get to know the judges" questions.  

Email: emailjessarusso [at] gmail [dot] com   

BIG thanks to this week's judge, Ray!!!