Flash fiction is a short short story that you post in a thread for other writers to enjoy. Here is my effort:
While I was preparing my manuscript for ABNA a few short weeks ago, I decided to remove one controversial scene. In that chapter, my 12 year old heroine is given a hallucinogenic drug in her coffee. Even though it was important to my plot, (don't ask) I snipped out the scene and threw it in the virtual trash, forgetting all about it.
Yesterday, I was reading the news from Libya on the Huffington Post, and I heard a section of Ghadaffi's speech. I opened the trash file on my computer, and - sure enough - my edited scene had slipped through an alt.bot straight into the General's hard drive.
As I listened to him rant, I took a sip of my bottled green tea. It tasted funny, and I couldn't help it - I spat out the tea onto the wall.
The liquid instantly vaporized and opened a vortex that began to suck everything into it - napkins, tablecloth, and me. I grabbed onto the table, but the suction was too strong, and I was forced into the howling void. A plate smashed into my face, and I passed out.
Minutes, or hours, later, I found that my head was in someone's lap. I looked up, and I saw a female dressed in green robes - one of General Ghaddafi's all-female, all-virgin bodyguards. "اليوم القرضا
Turns out she and the other bodyguards spoke English. They had learned it from watching Jersey Shore, so I had to remember to throw in a lot of epithets as we conversed, or else they were unable to understand me. They also liked it when I did a Vivian Davenport and burped - apparently it's a compliment over there or something.
I decided to join the guards in an effort to overthrow the regime by harming Ghadaffi in an act of Dahij. First, though, I had to suffer as the General himself came in and insisted on performing his own version of "Like a Virgin," complete with a Gaultier cone bra.
Suddenly there was a kerfuffle in the all-female troops. The first guard that I had met began to whisper frantically to me, and I realized that the entire staff was going to be given a virginity check. I knew I wouldn't pass that, so I retrieved my bottle of green tea from my robes, waved goodbye to the other female guards, and spat some of the liquid on the walls of the Tripoli Palace.
Saddened by the realization that I failed in my attempt to single-handedly liberate the people of Libya, I put the tea bottle into a spare radioactive waste container where it still sits, downstairs in my basement. And I fear that I shall never be able to scrub my mental image of Moammar singing, "Gonna give you all my love, boy, my fear is fading fast...."
