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FLASH FICTION WEEKLY PROMPT:

Writer's picture: Neil GordonNeil Gordon

A person survives a near-death experience that defies explanation, earning him a reputation as a figure of destiny. As his influence grows, unseen forces emerge, demanding a price for survival.

President Victor Renard stood at the podium, the weight of his survival pressing down on him like a crown made of lead. Cameras flashed, and the crowd roared, a sea of believers swayed by the tale he told with calculated conviction. Twice, he had faced death—once from a sniper’s bullet and once from a car bomb—and twice, he had emerged unscathed. He called it a miracle, a divine intervention. But deep inside, Victor Renard did not believe in miracles.


He had never believed in anything but power.


“God spared me,” he preached, his voice rich with emotion. “Not for myself, but for you. To lead this country through its darkest hour and into the light.”


The crowd erupted, tears streaming down the faces of men and women who clung to his words as though they were divine scripture. He was more than a leader—he was a savior. But Victor’s thoughts were elsewhere.


He remembered the sniper’s bullet, how it should have pierced his skull but miraculously missed. He remembered the car bomb, the fiery explosion that should have reduced him to ash but left him untouched, standing amidst the wreckage as if shielded by an invisible force.


Victor had replayed those moments endlessly, searching for explanations. Was it luck? Coincidence? No. Luck didn’t divert a bullet in mid-flight. Coincidence didn’t wrap him in a cocoon while flames devoured everything around him. Something—or someone—had intervened.


But God? No. Victor couldn’t stomach the idea of some benevolent deity suddenly taking interest in his life. He had never prayed, never bowed, never sought redemption. Why would God, whom he didn’t believe in, save him? The idea was absurd, insulting even.


The answer came to him in the dead of night when the shadows in his room seemed to writhe with their own life. It began with a dream. In the stillness of midnight, his sleep was ruptured by a vision—a scene so vivid it felt real. Rising from his bed, Victor drifted toward the hallway, his fingers brushing the light switch. The soft glow illuminated the corridor, yet the air felt thick, charged with a presence that did not belong. Suddenly, the door at the end of the hallway swung shut with deliberate menace, and when Victor pressed against it, the resistance grew with an unnatural force.


Shadows gathered at the periphery, writhing and coalescing into grotesque forms with faces that grinned in distorted mockery. They whispered, not in any language known to man, but in a cadence clawed at his soul, leaving a chill in its wake. He was powerless before them, his heartbeat pounding as dread crawled into the marrow of his bones.


Driven by instinct, Victor resisted the darkness with a defiant word: “No.” The sound reverberated through the air, piercing the oppressive stillness. The shadows recoiled, dissolving into the void from which they had emerged. But as they retreated, they left him with a final, chilling message: “You owe us.”


Victor woke with a start, his breath heaving and his heart racing. The room was still, but the clarity of the dream lingered like the fading scent of smoke after a fire. He convinced himself it was stress, an echo of his fears. But the shadows did not let him forget.


The next night, the shadows returned, no longer content to haunt his dreams. The air grew thick, the temperature dropped, and they gathered in the corner of his room, coalescing into a tall, humanoid shape that was wrong in every conceivable way.


“You owe us,” the thing rasped, its voice scraping against his ears like broken glass. “We saved you, Victor Renard. Twice.”


Victor tried to speak, but his throat tightened with fear, the words refusing to come.


“You will lead them,” it continued, its tone commanding. “You will drive them to chaos, to the brink. And when the time comes, you will open the door for us.”


“What… what door?” he finally managed to whisper.


The shadows laughed, a sound that made his skin crawl. “You’ll know when the time comes.”


Victor was left trembling when the shadows receded, the weight of their command pressing against his chest like a stone. He spent the next day convincing himself it was a hallucination, the product of stress and exhaustion. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t.


Now, as he addressed the masses, their cheers washing over him like a tide of blind adoration, Victor felt the weight of that encounter pressing against his chest. He had chosen to play along with the divine narrative, using it to solidify his power and rally the nation. It was easy. People wanted to believe in miracles, saviors, and something greater than themselves. And Victor Renard was happy to oblige as long as it served his ambitions.


But the shadows lingered.


In the months that followed, Victor’s rhetoric grew darker. He spoke of threats to the nation—external enemies, internal traitors, forces of evil conspiring to destroy the American way of life. His fiery speeches roused the masses into a frenzy of patriotism and paranoia. The people rallied behind him, their faith in his divine purpose unwavering.


But behind closed doors, Victor’s mind unraveled. He began to see the shadows everywhere—lurking in the corners of rooms, flickering in the periphery of his vision. They whispered to him silently, their voices a cacophony of promises and demands.


“You must prepare them,” they said. “The chaos must come. Only then can we rise.”


Victor’s policies became more extreme. He enacted sweeping measures to consolidate his power, silencing dissent and dismantling institutions that stood in his way. The country descended into turmoil: protests erupted, violence spread, and the fabric of society began to fray.


Through it all, Victor maintained his façade of divine purpose. He prayed publicly, invoked God’s name in every speech, and framed his actions as part of a holy mission. The faithful clung to his every word, blind to the cracks in his mask.


But Victor knew the truth. He wasn’t God’s chosen savior. He was a pawn in a game he didn’t understand, a puppet dancing to the tune of unseen masters. These ancient beings of shadow and chaos had saved him, not out of benevolence, but to use him as a tool for their own ends.


As they whispered their final command, Victor realized there was no crossroads, no choice to be made. The man who once might have stood against them no longer existed. His humanity had withered away, consumed by ambition, fear, and the darkness he had embraced to wield power.


The shadows were not merely around him—they were within him. He opened the door.


The world didn’t hold its breath. It screamed.


1. Hook (5 points)

Score: 5/5

The opening sentence effectively draws the reader in, establishing intrigue and tension. Victor’s survival from assassination attempts and the weight of leadership immediately create a compelling scenario, making the hook one of the strongest elements of the story.


2. Characters (5 points)

Score: 4/5

Victor is a well-developed character whose internal struggle and calculated manipulation of the masses provide depth. However, the shadows remain more abstract than vivid, making them feel less threatening or significant than they could be. While intriguing, their presence lacks enough detail to solidify them as compelling antagonists.


3. Conflict (5 points)

Score: 4/5


The conflict is sharp and layered, with Victor’s internal turmoil clashing with his external performance as a leader. However, the escalation of stakes—his manipulation of the masses and the consequences of his choices—feels underexplored. The story hints at chaos but doesn’t delve deeply into how Victor’s decisions directly lead to it, leaving the tension slightly diluted.


4. Resolution (5 points)

Score: 3/5


The resolution is impactful, with Victor succumbing to the shadows and opening the metaphorical door. However, the ending could be stronger by clearly connecting his final act to the consequences for the world. The lack of detail about the chaos unleashed undermines the weight of the resolution, making it feel rushed and incomplete.


5. Theme (5 points)

Score: 4/5


The story explores compelling themes of power, morality, and the corruption of leadership, but it treads familiar ground without offering fresh insight. The idea of unseen forces controlling a leader is intriguing, but the narrative doesn’t fully develop the implications or complexities of this dynamic. The theme resonates but lacks originality and nuance.


6. Word Count (5 points)

Score: 3/5


At 125 words over the typical flash fiction limit, the story exceeds the constraints of the form. While the prose is compelling, some sections could be streamlined to tighten the narrative and eliminate redundancies. The excess word count detracts from the precision expected in flash fiction.


Total Score: 23/30

Grading: Strong

The Chosen One is a well-crafted story with a strong hook, an engaging protagonist, and an eerie atmosphere. However, its impact is undermined by its lack of precision and overextended word count. The shadows, while intriguing, need more detail to become fully realized antagonists, and the resolution could better connect Victor’s actions to the larger consequences. With tighter editing and greater thematic depth, the story has the potential to reach its full impact. As it stands, it’s an engaging but imperfect flash fiction piece.


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