A little while ago I posted that I’d been long listed in a flash fiction writing contest. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, flash fiction refers to very short pieces of fiction. Anything from a handful of words to about a thousand. The Flashbang contest was for no more than 150 words, with a crime fiction theme. Here’s my effort:
Body Number Four
The call came in at six-thirty, but it was ten minutes later before the desk sergeant could get a location out of the caller, all sobs and squeals. Another body. With all the uniformed covering the local derby, he radioed straight out to D.I. Anderson, who sounded as put out as the sergeant had hoped.
At six-fifty, Anderson was ambling along the side of the canal. He spotted the body straight away, but kept his pace steady. Until he saw an arm twitch. He hesitated and stared. Another twitch.
Running with a pace that belied his size, he was kneeling beside the body in seconds. Male, early sixties, definitely alive. Anderson glanced over his shoulder – no sign of backup or the ambulance. He slipped black, leather gloves over his pudgy fingers and reached for the man’s throat, squeezing much harder than he had two hours earlier.