Life in Writing
Once each week I browse through the R-writing prompts on Reddit and write a quick flash fiction based off of the most interesting one I see. Then each Friday I post them here for each of you to enjoy. This week's prompt: During World War Two a British officer is rescued by a group of Yettis. His vision is so bad that he thinks they are Russian soldiers wearing fur coats.
Saved by the Yetti
I lay there on the snowy ground, bleeding out. That bloody kraut had shot me. At least I’d had the satisfaction of shooting the bugger in the back before he could kill any more of my mates. Most of them had gotten away, but in all the chaos following our encounter with the German patrol, I’d been left here to die among a group of the worst men Hitler had to offer. All over a bloody leg wound too, if our medic hadn’t been shot last week I’d probably be recovering just fine right about now, but instead I was stuck here in the snow, unable to walk.
A rough hand pulled me to my feet. I couldn’t make out the man’s face, as I’d lost my glasses in the fire-fight, but he was big, and seemed to be wearing an enormous white fur coat.
“I’ve been shot,” I said, “I need a medic right away.”
The man replied with a terse grunt as he hauled me up over his shoulder, carrying me away from the field of corpses.
I could make out the blurry figures of other large men, all wearing the same white fur coats, checking the bodies of the fallen Germans. Fur coats like these men wore weren’t standard issue from any troops I’d seen. Perhaps these were the Russian soldiers we’d been promised would come to back us up almost three weeks ago.
“Well you sure took your bloody sweet time getting here.” I said to the man who carried me over his shoulder. “Blimey you Russians are big though, you must be more than two meters tall.”
The man grunted again. I shouldn’t have expected much else. Of course the Ruski didn’t speak a bloody lick of English. That was just my luck.
I expected him to put me down in a nearby truck, or maybe stop for a second to bandage my leg, but he just carried me off into the woods. Didn’t say one bloody word.
I tried talking to him, telling him that my platoon had run the opposite direction from where he was taking me, but he just sort of growled at me. I’ll tell you this bloke was right articulate.
I ended up passing out before we reached our destination.
I woke up the next day in a Russian field hospital.
I wanted to thank the big fellow that carried me there, but none of the medics seemed to have seen him. Apparently the big bloke just dropped me in a field next to the camp and took off.
As soon as I got myself a pair of crutches I went out to the place where they found me. It hadn’t snowed so there were still tracks, but it looked like someone had gone to some effort to cover them up. It took me the better part of an hour to find one of my rescuer’s prints intact. My jaw dropped as I looked down at it.
It wasn’t human.
If you're an author and are interested in submitting flash fiction to this blog then please read through the submission guidelines and send in a few fun flash fictions that you'd like to see shared.
Daniel M. Quilter is the author of A Soul Divided. On this blog he'll interview other authors, review books, share nerd wisdom from popular sci-fi and fantasy, and occasionally share his insights on writing. See a list of his works or see what he's working on.
Are you an Author? Are you interested in doing an interview for this blog? Find out how by clicking here.
Interested in getting your sci-fi/fantasy book reviewed on this blog? Check out our submission guidelines
Do you write any flash fiction? Do you want to share it on this site? Click here to review our submission guidelines.