Furious Fiction – February 2020

The brief of the AWC Furious Fiction—February 2020 short story competition was as follows:

  • Your story must include a character who’s a GUARD.
  • Your story must include the words NARROW, GOLDEN, LEATHERY and GLOSSY.
  • Your story’s first and last sentences must each contain just TWO WORDS.


Talking My Way In

I’m dead.

Not only am I dead, I’m standing outside the golden gates to Hell begging to be let in.

Why do I want to be let into Hell? Honestly, the alternative is just way too boring. Pearly Gates, fluffy clouds, harp, angels, and my relatives…snore!

I have to convince the guard, dressed in black leathery pants with a matching black t-shirt which is displaying his glossy looking, over-oiled, muscular biceps, (really no different to any of the club bouncers I’d encounter every weekend) to let me in. He apparently speaks for the Devil.

I tried to flirt with the guard to let me in, that didn’t work.

A bribe?


I told him that I was a crappy sister to my brothers growing up.


I told him how I cheated on tests in high school.


How about the fact that I stole both of my two best friends’ boyfriends?


How about the fact that I was involved in two hit-and-runs after I hit two parked cars with my own, and drove away?


How about the fact that I sold fake meds to sick people over the phone?


How about the fact that I successfully embezzled thousands of dollars from that same company and spent it on holidays and designer handbags?

The guard seemed tempted by this one, but still said no. I’m starting to wonder what it’ll take and why the criteria to be allowed into Hell is so narrow.

How about the fact that I’m dead because I fell from the Yankee Stadium stands, breaking my neck, after catching a foul ball that a child was trying to catch?

Yes? I’m bad enough to be allowed into Hell?

I’m in.


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