Congratulations, flash entrants, you are all beautiful bloggers. There were only 8 entries, so… what the hay.

But, I’ve got a craft book for one of these entrants, so read them all and pick your favorite! Winner to receive a copy of Writing the Paranormal Novel by Steven Harper. Polldaddy poll at the bottom. Voting will remain open until next weekend.

1.) Mary Ann http://likeitiz.wordpress.com/

Title: Victor to Elizabeth

My dearest,

I wanted you to know how much you have long inspired me to move mountains and brave perilous seas to please you. My heart overflows with joy just imagining you smile at the sight of a beautiful moonlit evening. Oh, how you have tempered my terrible moods and tendency to brood over my love-lorn life. Now, it’s too late. You are gone forever.

I know you have warned me countless times about my Promethean obsessions. How one day, it would be my undoing. I did not foresee such punishment for my intellectual pursuits. Losing you and everyone I love has been the greatest retribution of all.

And so, my love, I will do the one deed to make this all right. I will destroy what I have created. Please, for one last time, come out of your zombie-esque reverie and tell me you forgive me.

Always yours, Victor

2.) Mariya Koleva http://phoenix-em.com/mariyakoleva

“By God, it’s so hot.” Sheila thought and tried to stretch her arms, yawning. Before she knew anything, she noticed the utter darkness. “Am I in a cellar?” she murmured. She couldn’t see her arms did not stretch. With a grunt, Sheila tried to stand up. Failed. The darkness was as thick as always. She wanted to rub the numbness off her feet. Failing again, Sheila suddenly realized she didn’t feel numb. She didn’t feel. “If only there was light,” she was getting annoyed. Was she even moving her limbs? Were there even limbs for her to move? What was that ineffective place?
Only last night, it seemed to her, Sheila was the new Beauty Queen. She remembered she drank champagne off the glass of that masked boy – mask way too scary, yet he was a charmer.
“So, how do zombie beauties live?” Sheila blinked in confusion and irritation.

3.) Jeannine Bergers Everett http://mobyjoecafe.wordpress.com/

It’s not easy to be beautiful, she thought, while she stretched and yawned. That’s why I sleep so much. She didn’t like the early morning, or even the late morning, or the afternoon. She loved the night, with its silver-blue light, when the world was silent but she could sense things moving, the small things drowned out by the din of day. But the morning was when he was still, when she didn’t have to fight for his attention, when he would lay quietly and hold her before his trek to the shower to begin his day, leaving her to sleep alone. So while she didn’t like it, she loved it best of all. She stretched again, and he stirred, smiling her name, “Zombie,” and gave her a gentle scratch behind the ear as she settled back into her circle, purring. No, it’s not easy to be beautiful.

4.) Sara Flower  http://saraflower.wordpress.com/

Violets filled the field below. I lifted my skirts and ran down the grassy hill, stopping only to pick a cluster of the beautiful wild flowers for my mother. How she loved receiving nature’s trinkets, being bed-ridden for the past three years.
I continued toward the forest, determined to enjoy my adventure away from housework for the afternoon. Snarling came from my right and I quickly turned in the direction of the noise. Just a few feet away, a coyote inched toward me.
I backed into a tree, wishing I had brought Daddy’s shotgun. The animal’s blank stare and frothing mouth reminded me of a zombie. Praying for protection from a fatal bite, I pulled the knife from my apron’s pocket with a trembling hand.

5.) Adam Martin http://livelikeagrownup.wordpress.com/

“They’re at the back door, too,” Dawn said.

“Great.” Paul hit the wall with his fist. In the corner, Jenna quietly began to cry. Dawn sat next to Jenna and put an arm around her.

“Don’t cry, sweetie. Paul will think of something.”

Through her tears, Jenna said, “I watched the sun come up this morning. First time in years. It was breath-taking. I used to watch the sunrise with Gram when I was little. I forgot. All these years, I forgot.”

Dawn hugged Jenna and gave Paul a meaningful look.

“Right,” Paul said. “It’s not over yet.”

Just then, the front door collapsed. Bodies flooded the room as the zombies rushed in. The last thing Jenna saw before they blocked her view completely was the sun, low in the afternoon sky. Its golden rays broke through the clouds, like hope penetrating the darkness.

It was beautiful.

6.) Craig Towsley http://cleveroldowl.wordpress.com/

The emptiness had always been inside Roslyn.

It started no bigger than a pinhole, then expanded to the size of a keyhole. Her father died when she was nine and it became as large as a fist. Over the years the edges crumbled and eroded until it grew so large she felt hollow and imagined herself as a throwaway piece of paper after the doll form had been cut out.

She learned to hide this absence of life behind layers of lipstick, rouge and eye shadow; that pristine beauty could be a fence, an effective method for keeping others at a distance.

Roslyn performed the ritual every morning; applying the painted and polished mask without, to hide the callous and detached void within.

7.) Mike Allegra  http://heylookawriterfellow.wordpress.com/ 

Carpet slippers are not very good at negotiating asphalt shingles. Not that Ethan had much time to consider his footwear – or much else for that matter – as he scrambled up his downspout in a groggy panic.

What was worse was that Ethan had no one to blame but himself. He heard the warnings that accompanied the weather forecast on the evening news but was too lazy to pull an all-nighter. “I’ll board up my windows first thing in the morning,” he thought. But he overslept, and now his house was full of loitering zombies who were leaving trails of blood and pus all over his hardwood floors.

The weather was beautiful, however. The sun calmed him, and Ethan soon discovered that, despite the dozens of undead squatters on the floors below, he could still find a little serenity on this most unusual spring day.

8.) Colin (no url with entry)

How could I resist? The dark straight hair hanging like wet string on her pale face. That sullen, brain-numbed look; those bloodshot sightless eyes; the lips stained with the blood of a dozen kills. She was perfect. And only $20.

“One ‘My Beautiful Zombie’ complete with brush and spiked club accessories,” said the store clerk, handing over my purchase. After all, even zombie children have birthdays.