The night air was whisking away the sounds of an ambulance as I stood inside of Detective Denny Samson’s brick ranch. Getting inside the living room where Denny was sitting on the couch was made easier by the front door being torn from the hinges.

Broken furniture, memories and blood littered the pale blue carpet and off white walls.

Denny’s hands were covered with blood and shards of flesh.

“Did you see it?”

“Detective?”

“The Hound. Blazing eyes, heart shaped patch of deep red hair on its chest.”

Crazy, just like the Bentley chick. “Nora’s fine, but you killed the attacker.”

Denny replied with fear, “No. Not me. The beast,” and then he looked up shakily at me, “There’s more. I don’t think the hound was alone.”

Knowing that fear and adrenalin can combine for powerful hallucinations during moments of intense stress, and also knowing that my brother in arms and one of my best friends over the last decade needed some calming, I asked him,” Do you think you can recount what happened? Or would you rather wait until you’ve calmed down?”

“I don’t think I can,” cradling a now blood smeared face in his hands.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his rights would most likely be read to him before he told the whole story.

It turned out he knew; knew how things looked and knew I was only doing my job. But I could still see the treachery in his eyes.

I couldn’t blame him for that. I could feel the strength of my convictions bubbling up inside me and it weren’t pretty.

Sitting there in front of me, with the blood on his hands beginning to dry and flake off, he didn’t look like the Denny I knew any more. There was something else…Something more than the betrayal he’d shown me earlier. Only this wasn’t a look or a sense, this was a knowing.

Denny had changed.

Thinking back to when he was sitting in his living room, I’d taken his arm to guide him gently towards my issue car. I’d needed to take him down to the station for questioning but I already knew that he was going to describe a thing;  something I could never hope to bring to trial. He’d stumbled then, on the way to the car, but his reaction to his impending fall had been quick. Too quick.

It was afterwards as I was driving, that I had felt that sensation of  ‘knowing’ for the first time. It had frightened me then.

Now, with a look that would haunt me for the rest of my life, he began…

I took the reins this weekend and added front end to the story. We now have a look into essence of our, as of yet, unnamed central character. Unlike the only other nameless person in this tale, our central character is alive and tortured.

I feel that names are one of the least important things we need to ask about our characters. We need to empathize with them first and foremost, so we need to jump past preconceived notions about name tags and right into their souls.

As writers and readers alike, we can accomplish that by asking these four questions about our fictional characters.

Remember kids, if you are playing along at home, send us those links and we’ll feature them at the bottom of these posts.

Until next time!
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© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Years ago I started writing Flash Fiction for just the sheer enjoyment of writing, and now it has turned into a full blown addiction. I can't quit the horse, man! Another dirty little secret about me is my ability to write all kinds of web content. SEO content, articles, blog posts, manifests; you name it, I'll write it. Looking for some help? My gun hangs at r.alex.crabtree@gmail.com

Alex Crabtree

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Tags: 55 word fiction, Building A Short Story, creative writing, Flash Fiction, Series

This entry was posted on June 18, 2010 at 12:00 pm and is filed under Building A Short Story, Featured, Series, Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.