Here's my crack at Chuck Wendig's writing prompt for a flash fiction story 1000 words or less. I had to use 4 words from a list of eight. The list of words and other writers' entries can be seen here.
Enjoy.
The crowd of the coliseum thundered and roared as Simon stumbled out of the shadowed entrance of the gate. Chants and calls from a hundred-thousand throats boomed out over the blue-black sand, reverberating off of the rough stone walls and out into the orange sky.
Simon shaded his eyes with his hand and blinked to adjust them to the glare of the open arena. He looked up at the rising tiers of seats and, even though he had no idea where he was, wished that he were someplace else. His shirt was gone, as were his shoes, his socks, his wallet, his watch, and pretty much everything else that resembled normal; but at least he still had his pants. Simon hated being the center of attention and being under the scrutiny of several hundred thousand aliens was already making him uncomfortable; doing it in his underwear would have been unbearable.
An immense screen far above him flickered to life and the crowd noise quieted.
“WELCOME, SIMON,” a voice boomed, his name echoing out across the arena. “YOUR DEATH IS IMMINENT, WHAT HAVE YOU TO SAY?”
“That's rather odd syntax, isn't it?”
“INDEED. NOW YOU MUST CHOOSE YOUR OPPONENTS," the voice bellowed. "SAY THE WORDS."
“What words?” Simon asked.
“THOSE THAT SHALL BE UNTO YOUR ENEMIES.”
Whatever that means, he thought. He shifted his weight, shrugged his thin shoulders and tried to ignore his surroundings. Maybe that would help.
“SIMON.”
He winced.“What?”
“CHOOSE.”
“Choose what?”
“CHOOSE YOUR ENEMIES. YOUR WORDS WILL BREED THEIR EXISTENCE.”
Simon grimaced. “That sounds rather ghastly. Can't you just pick them for me?”
“NO.”
“Really?”
“REALLY.”
“Oh.”
“YES.”
“Well...” Simon hesitated.“Can't I just-”
“CHOOSE.”
“But I'm really not sure what-”
“CHOOSE.”
“That's really not poli-”
“CHOOSE. CHOOSE. CHOOSE,” it said again. The crowd crooned and chanted along with the voice.
Well if that's how they want it, he thought. Then I better try to make something harmless.
“Fine,” he said, and raised his head. “Milkshake, wheelchair, flowerpot, and...”
A gong sounded and a great sigh escaped the crowd above.
“THE CHOICES HAVE BEEN MADE.”
“But I've still another word to say!”
One of the gates across from Simon rumbled open. From the shadows within came a low gurgle followed by heavy breathing. The crowd roared.
“THE MILKSHAKE COMES.”
Out of the gate loomed a monster. It was easily ten feet tall, humanoid, and immensely overweight. It reminded Simon of the Michelin Man, only a lot sweatier. Clutched in one meaty fist was a huge metal pipe with a maze of alien characters stamped onto it. Two moist, red eyes leered at him.
The creature grinned, gurgled, then began shuffling across the sand toward Simon, dragging its truncheon behind it.
“I have to fight that?” Simon shrieked. There was no response from the booming voice. His eyes flickered from the monstrosity coming at him to the screen overhead. “Don't I get a weapon? A hint or something?”
Only the roar of the crowd answered him.
Simon back pedaled away from the white giant, moaning in terror. It was incredibly fat, but its height granted it a lumbering speed and it quickly closed the distance between them. It snarled and raised its arm, bringing its club down in a whistling arc. Simon yelped and tripped more than jumped to one side. Sand burst into the air like the impact from a mortar shell.
Simon shook the sand from his hair and coughed. This is awful, he thought. Then he heard the club rasp against the sandy floor as it rose again and he scrambled to his feet. The Milkshake grinned lopsidedly at him and swung once more. This time the club came around on a horizontal path.
Simon felt a hot wave of terror claw its way up his spine as he stumbled backwards. His death passed by his face in a whoosh of air followed by squeals from the audience. The milkshake grunted with dismay at missing its target again and swayed to one side, taken off-balance by the momentum of its swing.
I have to have something to fight with, Simon thought. He patted his pockets frantically.
Something thin but flexible to the touch brushed against his hand.
“What the...” he said, and pulled the object from his pocket and held it up.
It was a purple novelty straw.
“What the...” he said again before the roar of the crowd broke into his thoughts. His gaze snapped up and he saw The Milkshake grinning down at him, its club at the ready.
Simon dove between its legs as it swung. Sand showered down on him as the club came down and his eyes teared. He coughed again and leaped to his feet with the straw in one hand and stabbed the monster in the back. It groaned and swung a meaty arm at Simon, who dodged it, then clamped his teeth down on the straw. He felt his gorge rise and he shuddered.
This had better work, he thought, and began to drink.
Milky white fluid shot through the straw and into Simon's mouth. He swallowed convulsively, gulping as much of the chalky liquid as fast as he could.The Milkshake emitted a high-pitched shriek and swatted at Simon with its hands. He dug his fingers into the pale flesh and held on.
Weird moans and gurgles escaped the prodigious beast as it shriveled up like some herculean raisin and slumped to the ground.
Simon got to his feet, panting, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Ew.” He looked up at the screen far above him. “Now what?”
The gong sounded once again and another gate rumbled its way open.
Maniacal laughter and the whine of an electric saw drifted out across the sand.
Simon gripped his crazy straw and waited. One down, two to go.