Welcome to a piece of Wednesday Word’s flash fiction on Darkling Dreams!
A good friend of mine, P.T. Wyant, is doing a blog post every Wednesday called Wednesday Words with a new prompt for a bit of flash fiction writing, just to get in the habit of writing something, anything. (Even if said flash fiction is complete garbage at the time. Garbage is better than nothing though, right?) If you’re looking for some inspiration yourself or just something to aimlessly write, then go check out her blog for this week’s prompt!
With that being said, I am going to share what I came up with for this week’s flash fiction Shard based off a three word combination prompt. So here is my very rough around the edges minute of inspiration based off her prompt. I’d love to hear what you guys think of it!
(Please excuse any errors you may see, I said it was rough around the edges.)
For your own enjoyment, click here to get a song to go with my Shard.
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101 Spotted Coats
Anita brushed a strand of hair out of her face, smiling over her shoulder at Roger as she placed her fingers over the piano keys. “Is this right, dear?”
He chuckled and, standing behind her, placed his hands over her gloved ones and repositioned them to the right keys. “You’re learning, I will say that.” He kissed her cheek, letting one hand trail across her arm as he let go.
A pink blush crept across her cheeks as he sat beside her on the bench. She began to slowly play scales as a warm up, getting the feel for the way her fingers moved over the keys and the flow of the music. Her scales soon turned into a very basic tune to which Roger began to hum along to. She added her own words to the tune not long after, ending up missing a note or two in the process and giggling.
The laughing bark of a dog answered her own giggle when she stopped playing, covering her mouth. She turned around on the bench, peeling her gloves off and setting them in her lap before reaching for the Dalmatian sitting behind them.
“Are you laughing at me too, Pongo?” she asked, ruffling his ears.
His tongue rolled out the side of his mouth, tail thumping on the carpet. He practically wiggled around to try to get the best spot scratched, looking quite comical.
“Life is certainly good now,” Roger sighed, wrapping an arm around Anita.
She smiled to him. “Yes. It is. No more villains out for our dogs for spotted coats.” Pongo growled at the mention of it and she patted at his head.
“Indeed. No more villains.”
“No more Cruella.”
“No more Cruella.” Roger wagged his eyebrows and started to sing the piece he had put together years ago. “Cruella De Vil, Cruella De Vil. If she doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will. To see her is to take a sudden chill. Cruella, Cruella De Vil.”
Anita laughed. “Roger, now don’t go singing that song again.”
He didn’t listen though, taking her hands and pulling his wife to her feet as he began to hop dance around, grinning. “The curl of her lips, the ice in her stare. All innocent children had better beware, she’s like a spider waiting for the kill. Look out for Crue…”
A loud bang like a door slamming open interrupted their fun. The Dalmatians in the room snapped to attention, ears perking and turning their heads toward the doorway. The distinct click of heels on marble floor echoed down to their ears. Noses twitched and suddenly they all began to growl one by one, standing up with hackles raising.
“Roger…?”
He didn’t answer, just pulled his wife behind him and stared down the hallway. A familiar icy drawl of a voice suddenly wafted down the hall, singing, “She’s like a spider waiting for the kill.”
Anita gasped. “Cruella…”
The white and black haired villainess rounded the doorway and leaned against the frame, pulling her fur cloak tighter. “Why yes, dear.” She grinned. “Cruella, Cruella De Vil,” she finished singing with a low chuckle.
“Get out of our home,” Roger demanded. The dogs began to creep forward with teeth bared, hateful eyes locked on the wretched woman.
“How… How did she get out of jail?”
Cruella sniggered, pushing off the doorway and tilting her head. She fiddled with something behind her back. “Oh haven’t you heard, dear, prisons are so…” she pursed her lips, “overcrowded. I was one of the first on the dismiss list. Now…”
She unwound her hand from behind her back and the couple flinched back, eyes widening as they settled onto a gleaming revolver she twirled around. Her lips quirked wickedly, cocking the gun and aiming it toward them.
“Do be good dears this time and hand over the doggies for my coats, I wouldn’t wish to get blood on my outfit. Dreadfully hard to wash out, you know.” She pouted, then laughed.
A snarl and savage bark sounded from Pongo as he suddenly lunged forward at Cruella. “Pongo!” Anita yelled just as a gunshot rang out. The Dalmatian fell in a heap, a bullet hole trickling blood from his skull.
Cruella sneered. “I always did wish to skin you first.” Her lips pulled down as she noted the blood staining Pongo’s fur. “What’s a little spot of red victory to dot my best coat yet though.” She kicked at the dog’s lifeless body, then turned her eyes up to the rest of them. Raising her hand she pointed the barrel back to the couple. “What will it be? The hard way or the easy way?” She pouted, eyes gleaming with malice.
“You monster… You’ve gone mad,” Roger breathed, keeping Anita behind him while she quietly shook with grief and fear.
A laugh rang out around them as Cruella tilted her head back. It cut off almost as abruptly as it started, her face turning stern and menacing. “Perhaps I have. Don’t worry, your doggies won’t suffer. That much at least. I’m only going to shoot them in the legs from running off then bash their heads in. Maybe skin a few alive just because I can. Oh,” one finger flicked up, “but I forgot, you won’t be around to see to stopping it. Sleep tight, dears.”
There was a scream from Anita as the first gunshot rang out and Roger tried to shield her. He slipped from her fingers to the floor before the second gunshot sounded and she fell to lay against his chest, their blood mixing. The dogs were now beginning to whine and tuck tail, starting to scatter and make a break for it. De Vil laughed lowly, blowing off her revolver in a show before turning her gaze on the scattering dogs. She reached behind the doorway and picked up the baseball bat she had left leaning against the wall when she walked in.
“Now come to mommy, you spotted mutts,” Cruella hissed. “She wants her new fur coat.”
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