Flash Fiction Challenge: It Starts With A Bang

So this weeks Flash Fiction Challenge from Chuck Wendig’s Blog was to start a 1000 word story with the phrase Its started with a bang. In whatever way your mind took that phrase to mean.

This is my take on it

detective

It Started With a Bang

“It started with a bang,” Detective Flanders surmised, speaking less to the room of police and CSI techs around him than to himself.

“Duh,” his partner said, mocking him. “No shit? You mean the brains spattered on the wall and the shotgun in his mouth gave it away, huh?” Henderson said in feigned surprised tone. Then he shook his head; he hated being partners with this guy. Admittedly his clearance rate was sky high but this guy just rubbed him wrong, always so superior hoity-toity with his attitude.

Flanders looked up from his ponderings when he realized the ox was talking. Seeing he was apparently done he returned to his own thoughts, sure the ox had said nothing of value. It had started before this scene, before the shotgun. Flanders looked at the computer screen on the desk in front of him and saw that a word processing program was open and yet the document was blank. Odd, he thought. He reached out and took the mouse with a gloved hand, clicked ‘undo’ and a rambling paragraph re-appeared.

“That his note?” the ox asked. Flanders ignored him and read through the ramblings. It was not insanity but free writing of some sort. There was a theme to it that was just out of reach for Flanders to grasp. It seemed to be focused on humanity, how people treated each other, interactions, emotions, and resulting counter actions and reactions. It was almost making sense…

“Shit, this guy was looney toons. You read that shit? No wonder he blew his own head off with a shotgun. Fuckin crazy shit.” the ox said. He plodded away from the desk to stand by the door and act self-important to impress the uniformed officers. Flanders fought down the urge to call him on his blunt stupidity and looked again at the man in the chair; the look on the face was not what you’d expect from a suicide. It was a look of victory. A look that said he had accomplished something. . .

. . .Something. . .

Flanders started to see it. Just the frayed edges but it was coming more and more into focus. He had found something in those random thoughts. Something. . .

“It started with a bang,” Flanders announced to the room. “But no, my dear partner Les Bœuf, it was not a bang of a shotgun although I do see why your limited mind goes there first. Shouldn’t you be out in a field grazing or something?” Flanders said shooting him an annoyed look.

“This started with a bang within him; a very different kind of bang,” Flanders continued, ignoring whatever the ox was saying as he plodded back towards him.

“This man came upon an idea that was . . . singular,” Flanders said in amazement and envy. “A thought so unique and so powerful it was a singularity, a single point of infinite possibilities. A thought so pure and perfect that it had so much energy, this man could not contain it. His mind was only human after all and it could not hold all that this thought was,” Flanders continued, ignoring the blank bovine stares of the CSI team.

“This man did not kill himself. Evidence of this is the look on his face; he is victorious, ecstatic even. Add to that the fact that still, even after death his hands clutch the shotgun fiercely. This was not a man giving up but a man . . . transcending. This man was not depressed or forlorn; this man had something he had to do.” Flanders strode purposefully back to the opposite side of the room and turned, looking at the crime scene from a new perspective and he finally saw it. He finally knew he was 100% right.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the ox said plodding towards him.

Flanders gave him a disdainful look of pity but pointed to the desk from their vantage point. “Look,” he said.

The ox turned and saw only what he had seen before. A man at a desk with a shotgun in his mouth, his brains splattered all over the wall behind him. He saw nothing else but what he expected to see. Flanders saw the lack of illumination in his partners eyes and in a rare moment of emotion, grabbed the partner’s chin, pointed his face at the wall again saying, “Look at what is there.”

Still the ox saw nothing and Flanders fought down the urge to pull out his gun and shoot him. Instead he explained, “Look at the spatter pattern.”

The look of discovery came over the ox’s face. He saw it. Right there before them the whole time but only now was it visible. “It looks like a fuckin…”

“…Raven.” Flanders finished for him. “A messenger to carry that thought from him to the world,” Flanders explained. “The singularity within the man’s head had caused a ‘big bang’ of thought so huge; he had to let it out. He had to share it. That is the bang that started it all. The shotgun was just the tool.”

The ox gritted his teeth, he hated when the prick was right.

“I dunno, it kind of looks like two elephants trunk wrestling,” one of the CSI techs said.

Both Flanders and the ox shot him a disgusted look at the same time.

“How exactly did you pass the psyche test to get into the academy?” the ox asked him in disgust.

“It’s not a damn Rorschach test!” Flanders snapped. No, it was a sign . . . A sign of something bigger that could not be contained within one person. He looked around and could almost feel it lingering still, the thought that had to be free. It would not be seen though. It would fly out across the world, finding places to nest and grow. One day, it would be ready and the world would be big enough to hear it.