1.) In no more than 1000 words, produce an original work of fiction or poetry that combines two genres that are not normally written together. You may include characters or a scene from a WIP, but make sure it fits within the theme of the blogfest. (*rubs hands and chuckles with glee*)
2.) It is due October 1st by 11:59 PM. You are welcome to participate later, but your entry will not count toward the prizes. (scheduling it early, so there!)
3.) Sign up on Mr. Linky to participate. (Done this! Yay me! If you want to join or see the linky list, go HERE)
4.) You can specify the genres you're mashing, or leave it up to the readers to decide. Up to you. (wait and see!)
So here you go, my Mashed Up Story, all 852 words of it:
#EDIT: apparently my first version was a little cryptic so I edited a line or two...hope you don't mind!#
“So, you’re absolutely sure about this, are you, boy?”
Surf cocked his head to the side and whined at me, then padded over to tug at the leash hanging off the doorknob. There was tail-wagging involved, too, thump thump thump against the wall as he passed. I sighed and went to look out of the window. Yep, still raining.
Thump thump thump.
“Fine, whatever!” I rolled my eyes at him (a singularly useless exercise), grabbed my raincoat and opened the door.
It really was pissing it down tonight, the water so dense in the air that I could hardly see the sidewalk three meters in front of me. I looked down at Surf and smiled. He was right, we needed this.
I stepped outside and waited for the click of the electronic lock before wading down the waterlogged wooden stairs to the street. My trainers were soaked through in a matter of seconds, and the accompanying sqush, sqush, sqush sounds got louder and louder. The water felt kind of nice but it was rather cold.
But then, nothing could really compare to the Carribean Sea I'd grown up in.
At least it wasn’t snowing. Snow was bad. Last winter had been a nightmare of epic proportions. I really should have known better than to move up north from my little island. But really, frozen water? It had sounded so cool I couldn’t resist. What nobody mentioned was the fact that people actually use salt to melt the ice from the roads and sidewalks.
Surf and I had to fake a rampant cold for weeks, and I used up all my vacation days, too. Salt water and human form just didn’t mix well with the two of us, and how on earth would I explain fins to my boss? Or my partner? Let me tell you, being a mermaid in the city was hard work. At least here in the north.
I was watching Surf prod random bits of dirt with his nose when my phone rang. I flicked open the old-fashioned Nokia (I kept dropping them in the nearest body of water so no fancy phone for me).
“Jones. Where are you? We need you here, like an hour ago,” Finn (yep I got the irony there) barked into my ear.
“What’s up?” I frowned down at Surf doing his business. “Do we have another one?”
“34th Street and Grand, same MO as last time, same vic type, too. Hurry up, will you? The vultures with their first amendment bumper stickers and are starting to get here,” Finn growled and hung up on me.
“Surf, we gotta go,” I said and turned back, tugging the leash.
That was the fifth murder in as many weeks, each one as improbable as the last. A burning with no fire in evidence, as if it had come from inside the vic. A body as flat as a pancake, right up on the roof of a skyscraper. Two drownings, one on the underground with lungs full of wine and one in a downtown cinema done in by two liters of diesel. And then there was the one completely devoid of blood with no sign of how they got it out of her. With each victim, the killer had left a single perfect rose and no other evidence whatsoever.
With Surf safely stowed away in my house, I jumped into my car and headed towards the scene.
The press was already there full-force when I arrived. I should have brought Surf - he was good at dealing with rowdy ambulance-chasers - but Finn wouldn’t have been happy. He started sneezing whenever Surf was close (he thought he was allergic to dogs as well as shellfish and I chose not to enlighten him). I elbowed my way through to the police line and flashed my badge at the resident rookie. It cost me a raised eyebrow to stop his wandering eyes before he lifted the barrier and let me pass with a murmured "detective".
The crime scene techs had already done their thing. A circle of silence had formed around the body. It was a young woman, just like the others, lying right there on the filthy ground in a pristine white dress, arms crossed and holding a single red rose to her chest. Her long blond locks formed a halo around her head, and if it wasn’t for all the people, if Finn hadn’t been there, his cowboy boots almost touching that golden hair, I’d have thought her asleep.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Finn told the corpse, “Jones will get her ass in gear soon and then we can take you away from this place.”
I snorted and walked towards my comedian partner. My feet started tingling about two feet from the body. My breath caught and I stopped and stared at them.
“Salt,” I said, earning a puzzled glance from Finn. Then I ran as fast as I could to dunk my feet in a salt-free puddle.
“Salt,” I repeated when my feet finally calmed down and stopped blurring. “There’s a circle of salt around the vic, about two feet out.”
Finn stared at the ground, then back at me. “That’s great, Jones, thanks. And what? You thought it might ruin your trainers?”
There, I hope you liked it! What do you think? Good mash-up? Okay concept? Do you like Detective Jones (who's first name is Mia, btw)? Tell me what you think and then off with you to check the other entries HERE!