Friday, April 11, 2014

The Smears of a Clown

Really dumb title, right? You betcha! And very appropriate, too.

So, my publisher held a contest for the authors to enter a flash fiction contest. The rules were simple. Write a short story under 100 words. Being the consummate idiot I am, I forgot to include a title. My publisher named it "Criminal Clown." But I much prefer my title.

I didn't win. I never win anything.

But here for your pleasure (torture) is "The Smears of a Clown."

Thumping woke me in the night. I slipped out of bed and tip-toed downstairs. A clown stood frozen at the back door, cradling my television.

Caught somewhere between fear and a dream-like state, I blinked, rubbed my eyes. Not the best response, I laughed.

He asked, "What's so funny? Do I look like a clown to you?"


His red, plastic nose squeaked when I planted a meat-cleaver into his face.

I pumped my fist like a rock-star to the resounding applause in my head. Always wanted to kill a clown.

Mimes are next. Then politicians and Kardashians.


  1. Weeelllllll....kind of a little gross, yet hilarious at the same time.

    1. Suzanne, you've just encapsulated me in one succinct sentence. Gold star!

  2. I love it! And I never win anything either. No, wait, I entered to win a trip to Disney and ended up with the, like, 367th place prize of a box full of baby lotion and tubes of first aid ointment. Go figure.

  3. Late to the party, but I'll rev my Harley (maybe it's a Vespa?) and applaud the killer clowns. I think we both should have won the flash contest. We're the two sickest in the bunch.

  4. Okay, my coulrophobia (fear of clowns) is reaching new heights. Don't make me laugh, Stuart, I'm liable to go postal.