by Michael Seese
No doubt still heady following a recent, highly alliterative, winning entry by Rebekah Postupak, Janet cooked up the F-it Flash Fiction Writing Contest.
Cobble a 100-word story out of:
fort
forte
forty
forti
fiend
I wanted to write something that incorporated word play, but sometimes the muse has other ideas. And he/she/it decided on "Victory."
She awoke to war drums, her temples on fire. The last bastion, the sanctified fortress that the doctors called her skull had been breached. Their drugs, the ones she'd used for temporary relief, had lost their magic. Their ability to fortify her soul. The forty-year siege finally had taken its toll, and Faith watched, helpless, as the demons, goblins, and fiends poured in unchecked.
"Time to execute the plan," she whispered.
Outside the window, victory beckoned.
Twenty floors down.
"What's that expression about losing the battle, but winning the war?" Faith said to the night air, at last tasting triumph.
The winner allegedly will be announced tomorrow. Fingers and eyes crossed.
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