Your November Furious Fiction story criteria are as follows:
- LOCATION: Your story must take place at a HOTEL.
- OBJECT/PROP: Your story must include a PHOTOGRAPH. (In the story itself – do not send us a photo!)
- WORDS: We had a set of ‘red’ words and ‘blue’ words ready and have chosen the blue-themed set. So, your story must include the following words: COLLAR, GLOOMY, POLICE, RHYTHM, SAPPHIRE.
Larry rubbed his whiskers with long sweeping arcs before scrabbling
down the corridor until he reached room 701. The door was open. Police sirens
blared outside the window, and lights flashed across the wall. The air smelled
like rot.
He crept
into the room, stopping in front of the orange cat lying prone on the carpet.
He sniffed the air and watched for movement. He squeaked.
Dead as a door latch. Larry
thought.
Memories. Larry’s whiskers
twitched in rhythm with ghostly circus music, the refrain repeating over and
over inside his head. In his mind’s eye, he watched the cat complete his well-worn
routine: jumping through hoops, scaling walls, climbing rope, disappearing,
reappearing. Larry pulled fur from the dead cat’s belly, stuffing it into his
cheeks for safekeeping. He filled his mouth and left.
The
bells around his collar jingled as he scurried down the gloomy hall. But there
was no one around to hear him—no one alive anyway. He entered room 724 and
jumped onto the chair, then the table. He hurried into his dollhouse, running
up the stairs to his bedroom. He pulled the fur from his mouth and arranged it
over the tiny plastic bed, making four more trips to room 701 before lying down
to nap. He slept for several hours.
Larry
rubbed his whiskers with long sweeping arcs and opened his eyes. He was alone
now. No cat. No one. Nothing. He exited the bedroom, running down the tiny
stairs to the living room. He sat on his tail, looking at the miniature
photograph framed with sapphire blue as thin as pencil lead. He saw Giggles the
clown, Randy the muscle man, Sara and Bobby the Ariel performers, Dumpy the
elephant and the scary old tiger, Ralph. There was the ringleader, Mr. Windmire,
and his assistant, Gale. There was the orange cat at the bottom. And lastly,
himself. Except, he wasn’t in the photograph; he was hiding inside Giggle’s
pocket. Larry looked beyond his dollhouse into Giggle’s room, bed. The humans
were gone. The circus was gone. The hotel was empty and deserted. The streets
outside teamed with monsters: inhuman droolers that shuffled around after dark.
Larry wondered if Giggles was one of them now. He hoped Giggles was dead
instead.
The
monsters didn’t pay any attention to Larry or others like him. He raided
dumpsters, scurried from store to store, car to a truck, house to house,
looking for food. Usually, he found it. Then he came home, back to room 724. It
was his room now. He remembered a painted face and a warm palm to hold him, a
finger stroking his bristly coat, and pieces of fresh, orange cheese offered
with a bright, red smile. There was always motion, commotion. Life. Before.
Larry knew he was a mouse, and mice didn’t love anyone or anything. Still, he felt like something was missing, and it wasn’t an orange cat. It was a clown.
