This is the 126th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.
Cruel Hands, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 5th April 2013
Word count: 328
The story:
“You shouldn’t be surprised,” I told him, rather bravely at this point.
“What’s that meant to mean?” it asked, impatiently.
“You’re a god, maybe I believe just a little that you are the God, nothing I can do can surprise you,” I said, you know really baiting him. I’d been through as literal an interpretation of hell as you could ever get close to in your worst nightmares, and I felt owed this.
“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in,” it said, it’s words dripping with ire, “I don’t know who or what you think I am, and I do not care. What I do care about is that you didn’t finish the job.”
“You can’t expect me to do what you asked, you can’t expect anyone to do that. It was a baby,” I said, painfully aware it’d moved me past any answers. “Why don’t you do it?”
The next thing I know I was flying through the air at high speed with no way to control myself. I could see the Earth far below, and getting rapidly closer. Then abruptly I stopped.
“Will you do my bidding,” a voice boomed from the sky, as loud and menacing as thunder.
I was scared, “No!” I shouted despite my fear. I was stuck, just hovering there, hundreds of feet above the ground, no way to move, and no where to go if I did. It just left me there.
Finally after what seemed like hours I was lowered to the ground, I looked around to find myself surrounded by nothing but sand.
“This my punishment?” I shouted at the sky, but it never answered. It was done with me.
Fortunately as I was waiting for the response I caught faint sounds of civilisation somewhere to the West. I set off across the desert, altering my clothing to protect myself the best I could. It didn’t take long to find Las Vegas. It was somewhere at least.
Aspiring 