Write a story about "It Worked For Me" and Win this Watercolor Study

Write a story about It Worked For Me and Win this watercolor Study
Contest Ends Friday July 13th

It Worked For Me, oil on masonite, 8"x10"

It Worked for Me, watercolor on paper 10"x8"

The story you write should be a "Flash Fiction" which is a complete story in one thousand or fewer words.

The story you write should be a "Flash Fiction" which is a complete story in one thousand or fewer words. Please post the story in the comment section, you will have to provide your name and an email address in order to be qualified to win or you can e-mail me at with your info.

There is a problem with how many characters can post (only about 4,000) so if you cannot post it.

E-mail it to me at

Stephen D. Rogers

"You said no one would get hurt.  You said he'd buy the land if I assured him the deal was aboveboard, and that
would be that."

"I said a lot of things."  She stood naked at the window of the rented room, staring out at the horizon, raking
her fingers through her long, dark hair.

"Why did you have to shoot him?"  He couldn't bear to look at her, knowing what she'd done, knowing what he
might do.

"He was talking about selling the land, turning over the property to make a quick profit.  He wouldn't hold
onto the deed long enough for me to leave town."

"Leave town?  You never said you were leaving town."  And then he turned to face her, only she still looked

"I never said a lot of things."

"I can't go with you."  His job at the bank.  His wife and children.  The house with the mortgage he couldn't
afford, although she might have taken care of that problem, assuming she hadn't changed her mind about
splitting the money.

Assuming she'd ever meant to.

"I got what I wanted, and you got what you wanted, the thrill of a conquest, the thrill of taking a mark.  Now
when you sit behind your desk at the bank, watching the hands of the clock go around, you'll have memories to
help you through the long hours."

"You can't just leave."  This had been her plan all along, to use him, ruin him.

"You'll never see me again."  She stretched.  "It's better this way."

He came up behind her.  Reached for her throat.  Squeezed with what little strength he had left.
This came in by Patrick Nelson
(it's a little intense!):

Free One

          "You know you're just a fucking cunt, right?" he said as coldly as he could muster. In his mind it was supposed to come out all Daniel Craig, with the elegant, crisp, British downward curve at the end of the statement. Like the abrupt, but graceful rounding down of a Rolls Royce hood.
          It really came out more like Howdy Doody on Red Bull: high pitched, nasally and as spasmodic as a pimply teenager's first orgasm; Jagged, jiggly and full of nothing but petulant poison. He had mostly hoped for the word "cunt" to be like a barrage of tiny blades slicing mercilessly through the nearly opaque shower curtain, flaying away her hide and leaving her heart beating at the bottom of the soapy tub. Instead the use of the word just slapped limply and impotently and finally dribbled down the side to the tile.
          The word and the bile that had been loaded down the barrel behind it just made her smile--which she knew he couldn't see, but he could surely feel. She let her silence stretch out a little longer than was kind, but she wasn't done teaching him his lesson. She hoped he wasn't into the torture because that would take the fun out of it on her end. She lathered herself with the expensive body wash. She used much more than was necessary knowing he would simmer at the cost and waste. He paid a high price for the stuff and now for the little skank she caught him with last week. She could see him outlined through the milky veil of the thin curtain. He was leaning with his butt on the sink. She could make out his thin, stylish tie and his snarled lips. She slowly rinsed the foam from her belly and then cupped the water and sloughed it into her pubic area. She stood even closer now so as to give him a hint to the puzzle he would never again get to try and solve.
          He watched and imagined her cleaning away that other man's semen from her curly hairs. He bristled knowing she was working him, "I know you were with him! I saw you together at the hotel..."
          Another smile and fat slap of silence.
          "You had to fuck that douchebag Pembroke just to get back at me, didn't you?" He spat, though he still traced her exquisite form through the plastic. "You knew out of all my friends, he would be the incompetent suck-up that would bother me the most."
          She finally deigned to reply, "If you saw us, why didn't you stop us?" She turned off the shower and pulled back the curtain sharply, but elegantly. "If you're such a badass and sexy king of men--if you've got such big balls--why didn't you walk up and kick his sniveling little ass?"
          She didn't bother to cover herself. She had no shame to hide. If anything, she wanted to remember her this way in all her glistening glory as the last time he ever saw her.
          "Why didn't you take me away from him right there in the lobby?" She said. The rapid movement of her lips flicked water into his face. He winced and took it.
          "You're the fucking cunt." When she said this, it had the elegant but forceful impact his attempt lacked.
          She saw him almost cower and pout at having been called out. She had pushed and he had caved. He hunched slightly and began to tear up. He knew he had gone too far this time. He knew when she took another man to bed, that he never stood a chance of getting her back.
          She stepped out of the shower and came close to him. He mistook the movement for some kind of intimacy, a tender embrace for making him almost weep. Almost.
          He reached out to her and she stepped back as if supremely insulted and disgusted. She looked at him like he must have just lost his mind. She chuckled mockingly, rolled her eyes dramatically and pulled a large, perfect white towel from the rack beyond him and began drying herself off.
          He gave her room by backing into the doorway and then the narrow hall.
She didn't even look up at him as she wrapped herself from his gaze forever.
          "Listen, honey," he began to grasp at his life as it tumbled to the sides, "I know how I hurt you--"
          "Yeah, you do now," she shot back quickly but with less venom than before. "Since we got this out of the way, why the fuck don't you get out now? You can come get the rest of your shit when I'm not here. Ill tell the doorman to let you in, but for now, leave your keys by the door and don't forget to take your tiny little balls with you--they're in my purse by the door..."
          With that, she slammed the heavy bathroom door in his face. He heard the lock click.

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