“What the hell?” Sixty-two year old millionaire Warren Hollister stared down the long gully carved in his quarry terminating at an unconscious man being put on a wheeled gurney by ambulance attendants.
“It’s like I was saying. Thought he was dead, but when I checked, he was breathing,” gasped Jake Fischer, the Foreman.
“Not a scratch on him.” Hollister shook his head in wonder.
“No clothes either.”
“What are you suggesting?.”
“Who knows what happened? Last year the Russkies sent up Sputnik, and today, a man falls from the sky.”
“A superman, Jake, and right now, he’s mine.”
I authored this for the Rochelle Wisoff-Fields flash fiction writing challenge. The idea is to use the image above as the prompt for crafting a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. My word count is 98.
This is actually part of a story that’s been floating around my head for years, the idea that a mysterious man can fall from the sky and into the hands of what could be a ruthless millionaire. Since Jake mentions that Sputnik was put in orbit the previous year, that puts my story in 1958, just over 60 years ago.
To read other stories based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.