Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 1

For some time now I have wanted to get back to writing some Flash Fiction, but there aren't the amount of weekly flash fiction competitions there used to be online. I only know of Thursday Threads, hosted by Siobhan Muir running at the moment. (if you know of more, let me know in the comments).

I contemplated starting my own competition, but really I wanted to write for them, not judge them, so I decided to begin a challenge where I write a piece inspired by a photo each week and post it up, and if others want to join in too that would be great. So here goes for the first one.

General Guidelines:
Story length: Anything up to 750 Words (no minimum).
How to enter: Either provide a link in the comments, or post the entire story in the comments.
Deadline: I will post a new one every Wednesday, but if you're inspired by a previous weeks, go ahead & write for it.
Genre/Theme: All/Any - completely open. It doesn't even have to refer to the picture.

And spread the word. If you are on Twitter, I am @PurpleQueenNL the hashtag is #MidWeekFlash.

Now to the first week's challenge:

This picture was brought to my attention by@noveliciouss on twitter, and interestingly (because I live in Holland) it was taking by a Dutch photographer Hans Wilschut.

Little Boxes

Lying on his back, Jack viewed the rectangle of sky he could see. It was dusky and moody tonight. The glow of the apartment blocks surrounding it lent it a blue hue.

As he ran his eyes over all the lit windows climbing up to the sky, he wondered about the people living in their little boxes, one on top of the other. Did they know each other? Or did they live in their secluded worlds, divided by concrete floors and ceilings, oblivious to those around them?

Jack thought about his own little box and its defining square rooms, identical in layout to all those around it. It might even share the same décor. But it wouldn’t share its current state. He didn’t think there were many that would have fresh blood spattered walls, and limbs in chest freezers in the utility corner. Although he couldn’t be sure: who knew what went on in other homes? The stories you head about abuses of wives, husbands, and children were rife in the media. Maybe it was more likely than he thought.

He took another deep inhale of the night air and thought about what was ahead of him. He knew he had to go and clean up, but he hated this part. It took so much time. And he had to make sure he got every little bit, every last drop, every micro of blood that splashed; otherwise the next victim he brought back might get suspicious. He didn’t want that, oh no.

Sometimes he liked to spend a bit of time teasing them out of their shell first, getting them worked up, thinking they might get to see the inside of his bedroom. But that rarely happened; it had to be someone special for him to mess up his bedroom for – there had only been one this last year. He remembered it keenly. He’d had to touch that skin all over before separating it. The smell it had given off had been divine.

Jack shifted on the grass, the thoughts inspiring him. Maybe he could find another one like that; maybe one even lived here in one of these little boxes. He smiled. Yes, that would be good. But he knew better than to find one so close to home.

He turned over and pushed himself up to his feet, stretching, the tips of his fingers wiggling as though trying to touch the sky. He was ready to take on the cleaning job now; he was motivated. It was always easier to do when the mind had planning to get lost in.