Flash Fiction Monster Story by Lisa Kramer & Josh Koehn

Marty tossed the bag of charred fingertips he fished out the dumpster over his shoulder. They weren’t worth dealing with the cops over. There was no reward for fingertips and with his luck he’s somehow get accused of snipping them off or worse. Marty suddenly heard a scuffle from the very bottom of the dumpster, he was used to dealing with rats but the fingers had put him on edge. He pushed further in, slowly, to find something not quite animal but not quite human. It was Tom Cruise, or at least it looked exactly like, him only he had circuits and wires poking out of his chest. Marty didn’t stick around to figure things out, he ran as fast as he could down the alley never even seeing the garbage truck turning the corner, he was struck from the front, feeling no pain.

He awoke in a dark room, as his eyes adjusted he saw the Tom Cruise machine lying next to him.

“You are finally awake,” he heard someone say in a deep gravely voice.

“I thought you’d never wake up.”

Marty tried to speak but he couldn’t. He felt like he was in some horrible dream, the kind where you scream but nothing comes out. He began to panic. He thrashed about only then realizing he was tied down. A bony set of hands went to work on his right arm pushing a needle into it. He began to feel his conscience sway and soon passed out.

When Marty opened his eyes next he was back in the alley where this crazy day all began. His head hurt and his eyes were having a hard time staying focused. Was it all just a dream or some bad dumpster meat? Marty worried he would soon wake up still strapped to that table. Then he felt a sharp pain shoot through his left arm. He pulled up his shirt sleeve and saw that he was more machine then man! He found he could easily bend an iron pipe, or crush anything in his path!

He was beginning to piece it all together, Tom Cruise’s fame, Scientology’s power, and how Sarah Jessica Parker became a sex symbol.

‘What do they want with me?’ he wondered, but wonder quickly gave way to panic. Why didn’t they just kill him when he discovered their dirty secret?

Marty hightailed it out of the dank alley and slipped into the nearest coffee shop. Once inside he fumbled through his pants pockets and to his surprise Marty managed to fish out $3.62 in various coins, enough to get a black coffee and oatmeal raisin cookie.

After he sated is newly chiseled stomach, Marty realized it didn’t matter why or when, they were going to come for him. He couldn’t bear the thought of playing the sitting duck; he had too much time on his mechanical hands. The paranoia would set in and he’d go mad. Marty had no choice; he had to run and hide, like a stalked hare in a hungry, cold, gluttonous, village, one that couldn’t afford beef or wool and liked to hunt.