The song to inspire this flash fiction is Far Away by Nickelback.
You know I didn’t pick the song. It was Kris Norris. It’s always Kris Norris.
But the fans have spoken and they all had the same request. If you are a regular follower of my blog, you won’t be surprised. If you’re new, I am not going to apologize for what you’re about to read.
Here is my flash fiction, Near Anger.
He rolled his fingers into his palm and felt the nails dig into his flesh. One, two, three. He counted, trying to control the rate of the cool air he breathed in and the warmth of the breath he exhaled. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He concentrated, smelling the pine in the air, trying to relax his muscles. He has moved here to get away from the city, the noises, the stress, the politics. The Canadian country side welcomed him with rolling fields of evergreens, song birds, and legendary wildlife. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the majestic elk he had seen a few days ago while hiking a nature trail. The creature paid him no mind as it carefully moved through the trees, it’s form large and strong. Concentrating on the details and markings of the bull, he imagined he was on the trail once more, carefully watching in the distance.
A surge of screams passed through the crowd with the wave of noise coming through his window. He dug his nails deeper into his palms and the hair at the nape of his neck seemed to stand against his skin. This was his own mistake he realized, his self isolation made him ignorant to the yearly held festival at the grounds no far from his new, once quiet home. The sounds of cars, muttering of people, the clanging of set pieces and pop up vendors setting up their shops. He couldn’t handle it, he knew he was going to lose control.
He began to pace. His feet pounding the floor harder and harder with each turn back and forth.
People cheer once more and the sound of a drums being hit in no particular order make the walls of his mind vibrate wildly.
Stings of a guitar are plucked and the sound of the crowd crashes like a wave pushing the room into an out of control spin.
He can’t hold back any longer. The image of the bull standing with elegance in his mind charged away and all he can saw is darkness and anger take over, pulling at his skin so tightly the pain was agony. His tortured body grew, fed by anger, strengthen by pure rage. The scream that emerged from his lips was primal and wild as he took in his first real breath. His heart raced in his chest as he ran and burst his transformed body through the wall.
The outside air was cool against his exposed skin. He ran toward the festival following the sounds that had been eating away at his soul. Music was beginning to play and a deep voice came over the microphone.
Is the last time.
Is my place.
The crowd screamed with fear and then quieted to a deafening silence. He could feel his heart beating and his breath was quick and uncontrolled. It was a blur, jumping on the stage, pushing his giant fist through the air. But suddenly he was aware. Aware of the handful of bleach hair he now held in his hand and the man splayed lifeless on the stage floor next to a guitar shattered to pieces.
“Oh my god.” The voice of the drummer was panicked as he dropped his sticks on the ground. He looked over at the drum set but the drummer had ran away and abandoned his station. The custom made Nickelback emblazoned bass drum still shown brightly in the spot light.
“H…H….Hulk?” A man appeared in all black from the side of the stage, his hands were held out submissively. “Heh, Buddy. Ah…Mr. Hulk. You…ah…you okay?” Another man followed behind him and quickly grabbed the arms of the body laying on the ground to pull it off stage.
Hulk stood up to full height and let out a roar. The audience ran screaming toward the exits.
The image of the elk returned and a calmness came over his body. Hulk sprinted and with a few leaps, was off and back into the woods. He would run until he no longer heard the screams behind him. He would run until he felt he was part of nature. He would run until he was free of anger. He would run with long hair still held in his fist.
Thank you for reading. Here are the other participating authors.