Writers' Platform Building Campaign: Challenge One: The Candy Man

 

Hello again, old friends and new! What an exciting and busy weekend it turned out to be! Nothing quite like taking advantage of a holiday weekend by exploring the natural world. In this case, the deserts of Southern Utah. We climbed through canyons, discovered dinosaur footprints, and checked out some ancient cliff paintings.

And this is why I did not post my First Writers' Platform Building Campaign Challenge yesterday. Good thing I still have time. Better late than never!

The Rules:

Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open” These four words will be included in the word count.

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." (also included in the word count)

For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!

So here it is! Exactly 200 words!

The Candy Man 

The door swung open. I dare not open my eyes.

A sweet and sticky smell comes to me like the breath of a dragon, along with the sound of a crying old lady. The Candy Man yanks me in, laughing a mischievous laugh. He said I would see my worst nightmare come to life— what does this have to do with an abominable snowman hurling sulfuric acid-laced chocolate cream pies?

“Come, come, be not shy,” giggles the sadistic little man. “Look, look, else someone will die!”

I pry my eyelids apart and see an elderly woman with gray hair. She's tied to a chair, and dangling from a thick licorice rope above a swimming pool-sized vat of boiling butterscotch.

The Candy Man holds up his thick taffy suspenders, supported by peppermint buttons. “Your Aunt Crystal was bad,” he chimes. “Like you, she stole candy . . . makes me sad. Return what is mine! Gimme give, and I might let you live!”

“That’s not my aunt . . .”

Scrunching his brow at the woman, the fellow pulls a tiny memo from his pocket. “Your name is Dennis Pivot?”

“My name is Marcus . . . you idiot.”

Growling, the man tosses me from the room.

The door swung shut.

I thought I'd take the challenge further by writing in first person, present tense, because I'm a third person, past tense kind of guy. Did it work? Let me know down below.

I'm David, and boiling butterscotch--what a way to go!