Sarah Ann Hall

Reporting on writing in progress or, more probably, not; practising flash fiction.

Two for Tuesday #13 – Blood Soaked Regrets

with 2 comments

Each week Andy’s Two for Tuesday Challenges get more interesting, and harder to achieve. This week Andy demanded blood, of a sort:


‘Since this is Challenge #13, I felt two sinister prompts were in order. Here is this week’s two-fer:

Standard Prompt:
ghost image

You have lots of creative leeway. The limit is 200 words. The words can be used:

  • simply as a point of inspiration and do not have to be used directly
  • they can be included exactly as provided
  • or each word can be used independently of each other (for example if Death Row was the prompt instead of crafting a story about an inmate on the way to the gallows, you might write something like: Despite feeling like death from an excess of cheap vodka consumed the night before, Evelyn moved on to planting her next row of spinach).

Non-Standard Prompt:
This week’s alternative prompt is a senario:

Thumping and yelling is heard coming from next door through the paper thin apartment walls.  When Mark flushes after using the toilet, the bowl clogs and backs up with copious amounts of blood.

As per usual with the Non-Standard Prompt there is no word limit (to allow for more in depth explorations) but there is a minimum of 200 words.’



Blood Soaked Regrets (341 words)

Despite repeated flushing, the blood continued to rise. It had been a monster of a nosebleed, but that didn’t explain the ruby liquid heading towards him.

Mark shook his head, carefully, and sat down. That was the last time he made a joke about Judy’s bloating. Obviously it was all right for her to comment on how pregnant she looked, but not him. And he’d have been so happy if she had been pregnant instead of just a fat cow.

His bare legs hugged the porcelain. It was cool and soothing. His head throbbed while his body glowed with embarrassment or shock, he wasn’t sure which. He hadn’t seen the punch coming, and its force had gone right through him: into his nose, along his jaw, spreading across his shoulders. As he’d faltered and collapsed to his knees, pain had shot upwards into his hips. He was a wreck. He leant forward and rested his head on the edge of the bowl, relieved that he’d had the presence of mind to clean the toilet only that morning.

He relished the calm of the bathroom. Despite the blood pumping through his head, and the occasional bird singing, it was quiet. He could no longer hear Celia and Tom going hammer and tongs. They’d been at it during his bruised knee shuffle, while both hands cupped his nose and blood leaked between his fingertips, leaving a trail he had yet to wipe up. He thought his nose had stopped dripping now, but he was just going to sit there until the world stopped spinning and his brain settled back into its default position inside his skull.

A while later, he lifted his head and looked down. The water was lower and paler, his ghost image floated in rosewater. Celia was obviously up to her tricks again. But his face needed a half hour or so under an icepack before he went next door to make sure Tom had only been screaming that the toilet and the waste disposal were not the same thing.




Written by Sarah Ann

June 24, 2013 at 8:21 pm

2 Responses

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  1. Totally unexpected and such a shock for him. He had to pay the price for scorning a woman. Effectively written


    June 25, 2013 at 1:17 am

    • He definitely paid for speaking out of turn. Thanks for reading.

      Sarah Ann

      June 26, 2013 at 7:20 pm

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