Pink is the New Green

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by Andreas Flögel

 

Although the flamingos were only plastic lawn ornaments, they were Mary’s pride and joy.

During winter, they were kept in storage, not to take damage in the cold.

In spring, they got polished until they glistened in the sun, then carefully planted on the lawn.

Then Mary had a baby. The flamingos were forgotten, and they lost their shine.

Mary left the cradle with the child in the garden, but only for a minute. Returning, she did not see the red spots on the plastic birds.

When she looked into the cradle, her cries were heard all over the street.

Andreas Flögel

Andreas Flögel writes short stories in different genres. You can find his fiction in German magazines and several anthologies.

More about him and his work: www.dr-dings.de

 

Pink Devils

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by Tracy Davidson

 

Later, they said it was toxins in the salt water that sent the flamingos psychotic.

They went from docile to deadly in seconds. Half the missionary camp wiped out.

We fought with everything we could. Sister Mary strangled one with her rosary… then got shredded by two more. Beaks, sharp as scalpels, slashed, sliced and slurped through habits, hassocks and holy water.

Help came in the morning, with guns and dogs. Half-dead myself, still I lashed out with my crop, helping finish off the last pink devils. For my dead sisters.

Maybe some of that salt got to me too

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

 

On Scarlet Wings

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by Evan Baughfman

 

Three boys climbed into a zoo enclosure, stoning colourful birds with baseball-sized rocks, killing a sixteen-year-old flamingo in their attack.

The children, facing criminal charges, were ultimately exonerated due to their ages. Each boy: younger than ten.

On his sixteenth birthday, the eldest delinquent was found dead in a park, eyes gouged, corpse bruised and disembowelled.

When the next oldest turned sixteen, he was discovered, broken, at the bottom of a canyon.

The last boy also perished at sixteen. Drowned in his pool, fingers bitten free.

In the sky above each crime scene: a flamboyant flock, circling on scarlet wings.

 

Author’s note: This story is inspired by a real-life 2017 attack on flamingos at a Czech Republic zoo

Evan Baughfman

Evan Baughfman is a middle school teacher and author. Much of his writing success has been as a playwright. A number of his scripts can be found at online resources, Drama Notebook and New Play Exchange. Evan also writes horror fiction and screenplays. More information is available at amazon.com/author/evanbaughfman

 

Not Again

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by Karen Thrower

 

The door to my cabana crashed open, I screamed as a man ran inside backwards, dragging a body through the sand. “What the hell!”

“We need to hide!” He whispered harshly and slammed the cabana door shut. The smell of blood hit my nose, and I realised the body in the sand was bleeding. My eyes focused, and I realised his entire foot was missing!

“Oh my god, he needs a doctor!” The man took his belt and made a tourniquet for his bleeding friend. “What happened?” I asked.

He looked up, fear in his eyes, “The flamingos are back.”

Karen Thrower

Karen Thrower is a native Oklahoman, wife, and mother to a rambunctious eight-year old. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Deaf Education from The University of Tulsa. She is also a member of Oklahoma Science Fiction Writers and serves as the Facebook ‘Wizard’.

 

In Waves

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by David D. West

 

Wave after wave of the pink-feathered birds fell as the group held out, but the onslaught continued.

“How many more of these damned birds am I going to have to kill?” the nun shouted, voice wavering. Beside her, Toto bared his teeth and lashed out at a flamingo. The bird died with a severed throat, Toto turned his attention to the next.

Hux and Aldo collapsed as the flamingos overran them. Their screams were cut short by the sound of honking.

The circle closed tighter.

They made a brave stand that day, but in the end, the world turned pink.

David D. West

David D. West lives and teaches in the Pacific Northwest, which offers the perfect gloomy atmosphere for his writing. Find him on Twitter/Instagram @DavidWestWrites

 

Gone Fishing

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by Pauline Yates

 

Oblivious to my predicament, Bob casts his fishing line into the marsh.

“Did you hear about that dodgy cosmetics factory,” he says. “They trialled a new hair colour on flamingos, but the birds reacted to the red dye and killed everyone. Then the birds escaped, can you believe it?”

“Ah, Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“A little help?”

I’m not sure if Bob will reach me in time, or even if he should try. A bright red flamingo eyeballs me from less than ten yards away. It’s a clever distraction. I don’t see the rest of the flock until they attack from behind.

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates lives in Queensland, Australia. She writes dark stories and loves bright sunrises.

Website: https://linktr.ee/paulineyates

 

Desperate Times

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by Kimberly Rei

 

War between neighbouring nations had been raging for years. No one alive remembered why it started, they only knew their armies were demolished and they were desperate. They turned to their animals for salvation.

Technology would win the day, they prayed as they outfitted farm beasts for battle.

“Incoming! Take cover!” The alarm, so well-known, jarring, and feared, rang out with a clarion horn.

Great flocks of garish pink swept overhead, dropping bombs on bovine battalions. Lasers shot from cybernetic red eyes took out swaths of armed sheep.

The enemy was just as desperate. And they had an air force.

Kimberly Rei

Kimberly Rei does her best work in the places that can’t exist… the in-between places where imagination defies reality. With a penchant for dark corners and hooks that leave readers looking over their shoulder, she is always on the lookout for new ideas and new ways to make words dance.

Website: studio-rei.mailchimpsites.com

 

Ready-to-Wear

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by N.E. Rule

 

Elle stares in wonder at the profusion of bright clothing draped throughout the forest. “Jamie, who dresses trees?” Some trunks were wrapped in shreds, others were more freshly clad. “Check out this!” A sapling grew straight through a pale pink onesie. Twigs sprouted from the armhole in a cheerful wave.

But a patch of red berries has caught his attention. “Mmm,” his mouth already stained.

“Those smell amazing.” She swallows a handful.

Wind surrounds them and sighs in contentment. Then Elle’s throat itches and a green vine shoots from her mouth to wrap around her neck like a fashion accessory.

N.E. Rule 

N.E. Rule attended Toronto’s Ryerson University for both creative writing and business communications. Her writing portfolio includes software specs, marketing copy, and training materials, however, her passion is fiction. The characters in her head are getting louder and refuse to wait for her spare time to come out and play.

Facebook: @NERuleWriter

 

 

Dirty Boulevard

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by Steven Holding

 

Skid Row: rock bottom of the barrel and the bottle. A place where every kind of bad dream has been and gone. Here, the dregs dredge up their sins; beg to escape the pain of sadness, seeking absolution from a damned mad god that’s seen all a man is capable of.

The spirit of the street itself.

Under its sacred gaze the scared and scarred are cared for, tightly held within the deity’s embrace of hazy nights and crazier days. Who would willingly choose such confusion?

Perhaps those few who know that what we feel to be real is illusion.

Steven Holding

Steven Holding lives in the United Kingdom. Most recently, his work has appeared in CTRL ALT DEL from Black Ink Fiction. You can follow his work at www.stevenholding.co.uk

 

Sand Castle

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by Gully Novaro

 

The sand castle occupied a vast area. Twisted towers, ornate walls, a deep moat. Hard to believe this architectural wonder came from a non-verbal five-year-old.

Andy didn’t need words, the beach communicated through thoughts and feelings. Those had always been enough.

Anger approached them; the beach grew alert. Andy sent a soothing melody.

Anger walked through the castle, destroying it along the way. The beach reacted to Andy’s sadness with rage. There was no soothing melody this time.

The sand opened beneath the teenager’s feet and swallowed them. Andy and the beach recovered their peace and started fixing their castle.

Gully Novaro

Gully Novaro is a non-binary writer from Buenos Aires, Argentina, with a love for all things out of this world. Their work aims to explore feelings of dread and solitude, in the genres of horror, sci-fi and fantasy. You’ll be able to read some of their work in upcoming anthologies Wyrms, Planetside and the Dystopian Showcase edited by Shacklebound Books. 

Twitter: @GullyNovaro