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#FlashFiction Finalist: "Security Guard" by John Hudspith


#FlashFiction contest judge Dan Holloway says:"This is so original and lyrical it would be hard not to shortlist it, which is a clever move by the author. But the insight into the rich, not to say alarming inner life of the guy we pass as we go about our lives without noticing he's there lifts the content to a level with the style. Part Vernon God Little part Taxi Driver yet all its own."

Secutity Guard
John Hudspith (UK)

Press R. Right gate rises. Wave. Smile.

Detritus knuckledust wrongdoings fall crumbs to the floor while billowclouds mustard orange blossom hide too soon and birds ribbon and twine a filigree lime on the scabs to pick and scratch hideous pop-crack stab and burn and joy and all those things wriggle at my feet pecking notoriously openly and grindingly badly as if to say you ain’t got it yet mister not ‘til you’re naked and free and the wolves laugh and the boars bore ‘til sides split gurgle tumble free sweating steaming innards and the losers in and the runners out spastically grin no more debauched defiled reminded yet still no lift no rise to the sky no burning sun to muster the bluster to bang open sloping spirals the maddening hatches of grubwitch ninimoths fluttering blind to the mind-stabbing grind falling hard from grasp-worthless rites and mites bite pins and needles slowing the walk to a backward step hokey and kokey and shaking it chokey shuffling heather bushels at the door telling no more than big eyes and voodoo dolls whispering sweet things and beat things and poking prodding and touching and stroking and breaking the rules and the race and shooting the gun raising the red and waving indignant to eyes all eyes but the few spying lying defying denying not really trying tying surprise helterskeltering scuttlemaps and skitterjigs busying buying and above all crying for the tallying marches through marshes on gloopstills and bangwops singing tuneless and moonless and flightless again upon gain without aim only maim to be slain sane inane unavoidable pain-plucked quill from the bone to the mill yet still.

Still.

Press L. Left gate rises. Wave. Smile.

Our finalists were forwarded to judge Dan Holloway without names or countries of origin and were copied here without edits or corrections. A panel of three members of the League of Extraordinary Authors, including LeagueXA founder Joni Rodgers will select the grand prize winner. We invite your comments. Let us know who you think should win the Kindle Fire! 

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