Flash Fiction Challenge
Sven and the Fireball Djinni
A four-part story
I had so much fun with Microcosm’s August Rings of Conflict Challenge!
Each of the 4 weeks in August my story Sven and The Fireball Djinni has followed the suggested themes:
- Character vs Character: Good deeds don’t always bring reward, but when they do…
- Character vs Society: Considering the possibilities
- Character vs Environment: Hope Springs Eternal
- Character vs Fate/Self: Is it the End or Just the Beginning?
I followed the suggested word count guidelines of 300 the first week, 200 the second, 100 the third and 50 in the final week.
I hope you enjoy my story Sven and the Fireball Djinni
1. Good deeds don’t always bring reward, but when they do…
Swimming along the surface of Thompson’s Pond on his day off, Sven is getting used to breathing normally with his new one-piece face mask and snorkel. The compact fins fit his extra-wide feet better than the old frogman flippers he used to squeeze into. He feels sleek and graceful in spite of the ten pounds he gained during the pandemic, but more like a manatee than a dolphin.
Already this year he has picked up so many cans and bottles. The worst are the rubber worms. Fat worms fall off fishermen’s lines and are left on the lake bottom. They bloat and eventually explode into poison microplastic. His hobby is recovering them.
Spotting a glint of color, he dives down and retrieves a tiny bottle.
“Fireball. Always Fireball,” Sven thinks as he tosses the nip bottle into the hull of his wooden boat anchored beside him. He can’t understand people who want their whisky to taste like candy. But then he can’t wrap his mind around people who use the lake as a trash can either. “Asshole,” he thinks with every piece of trash he collects.
Later, feeling refreshed and energized, he looks up at the big sky as he steers his quiet electric motorboat to shore. He hears a rustle coming from the pile of junk. Sometimes a small fish is stuck inside a can. He looks. Nothing.
He hears the words “help me.” The voice seems to come from inside the Fireball bottle. He shakes the water out of his ears. He wonders if it’s a touch of sunstroke. He unscrews the cap.
Out pours a golden liquid. And before his very eyes, there appears a perfect, living woman.
“I am the Djinni of the Fireball bottle. I am in your debt. I will grant you three wishes.”
2. Considering the possibilities
Sitting in his little boat on Thompson lake, Sven is staring with disbelief at the beautiful woman who appeared before him and told him she will grant him three wishes.
His mind is full of wonder, confusion, and possibilities. Three wishes. Where to even begin? He thinks of his mother slowly dying of bone cancer. He thinks of the idiots who drink Fireball whisky and toss the bottles out the window of their cars, child-raping priests, human trafficking, global pandemic, war, famine. How can he put three wishes to the most good?
Sven doesn’t think of himself as a hero, just a guy who brings a plastic bag with him to pick up garbage wherever he goes. A man who loves his mother and tries to be a decent human being. Sven worries about the state of the world and wishes he could do more to make it better. That’s it!
“I wish I could do more to make the world a better place,” he says confidently to the Djinni.
Her long-lashed, dark eyes open wide, eyebrows raised. “You are the human I have searched for through the centuries. You are the one who will answer the call.”
3. Hope Springs Eternal
“Hope,” says the Djinni, “will light the way out of the darkness.”
Sven has no idea if this is real or just a dream. Has he gone crazy?
“Imagine a world where humans live in harmony, take care of each other, and of their planet. Imagine clean air, blue skies, peace and love. Believe it and you can make it real.”
She takes his hand, and he feels a power surge from the soles of his feet up to his heart. His body tingles, eyes fixed on hers. Enchanted.
And he believes in the impossible. He will change the world.
4. Is it the end or just the beginning? Fate will decide.
Sven wakes to his mother’s hand, now cool in his.
He brushes the Doritos crumbs off his lap and reaches for the nip of Fireball whisky in his pocket. He stops himself, remembering the Djinni.
The Sven that was born while his mother died is a man with a purpose.
Thanks for reading!
A recent graduate of the Newport MFA and natural-born troublemaker, I’m a top writer in Reading on Medium. My poetry and prose have appeared in Brevity, Multiplicity and Voices of the Valley Anthology.
