Welcome to Flashes of Sanity! Your daily dose of flash fiction on 500 words or less.
Today’s entry: Mad Hatter
A red cloth and white fluff flew into the air. An explosion broke two bodies into fragments. And left after the shockwave stood Carl Messinger with the abomination called a hat in his hands.
”Put it on!” Dale screamed.
”Take them!” Mart ordered from his oversized, ugly armor.
The soldiers raised their rifles. The people around Carl screamed. The elves stood like sacks of potatoes. Carl put the hat up to his head. He swallowed his pride and did what the time on the force had thought him, everything that was necessary to win the war.
Sparks ignited in the rifles. Carl felt the sweat of a corpse.
Probably the sweat of a now dead Santa too, he thought.
The thought echoed back to him in thousands of voices.
”For our country,” they all said.
Thousands of bodies woke up. They looked at the soldiers. The rifles fired. The flames burned against Carl’s skin. A bullet hit him in the chest. The pain spread. Carl pushed it away, just as he did back in the day.
The elves attacked. They tore the ugliness into pieces within seconds. They went for the soldiers inside. The sound of rifles firing died of. Soldiers screaming echoed on the square.
”The clothes are even worse,” an elf said. ”How can you even want to wear something like this?”
The man was pushed to the ground so hard his ribs crunched.
”You have the right to remain silent! In your case I recommend it!”
Mart got punched to the ground twice, for everyone’s safety.
”We made it,” Donald said.
”Yes,” Dale said. ”We have made it this far. We are not done yet.”
”What do you want me to do with them?” Carl focused his echoing thoughts into one voice.
”You make me want to throw up,” an elf said. It actually threw up.
”I want you to hold the elves were they are while we make sure everyone is no threat anymore.”
”Is that all?” Carl’s wrinkles got deeper. ”Shouldn’t elves be some kind of saint.”
”Yes, when a saint rules them. But when a sinner is in control that might be one challenge too much.”
One elf licked the eyes of a soldier. ”Just as I thought. You taste like you look. Like shit.”
It laughed. Carl felt it fight inside him too.
”You mean that I have to fight my true nature.” He sighed.
”True nature,” thousands of voices echoed back.
”Come on, your only good asset is your skin. Please let someone who understands it use it.”
”Okay,” Carl said. He focused his voices on one word. A word he believed in.
“Justice,” echoed back. Then the elves laughed as the word twisted and turned under the pressure.
”Make it quick Dale.”
Copyright © David B. Johansson 2021