#MenageMonday Challenge – Week Two

Three prompts living under one challenge roof?

Welcome to #MenageMonday!

Week Two




Above (as in that big ol’ RULES) is the permanent link for the #MenageMonday rules. We’ll recap this week then after this, if anyone asks–you don’t know anything. No, I’m joking of course. Besides, I think the Corleones are on vacation this week, and I hate to hire just anyone to take someone out.

So… for those of you who did this last week: Are you happy or disappointed that Luca here isn’t your photo prompt? 😉

Rules Recap

  • This is a Flash Fiction challenge. Your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 200 words.
  • Incorporate each of the three prompts into your story.
  • Post your story into the comments of this post.
  • Include your word count (or be excluded from judging).
  • Please include your Twitter handle or email.
  • The contest opens at 7 A.M. and closes at 8 P.M. Eastern Time.
  • The winner will be revealed Tuesday morning, huzzah!

So what do you get for all your time and effort, you ask? Badges, of course. (What, you thought this was a funded operation?) #MenageMonday awards THREE (squeeee!) badges each week:

  • There is the undisputed CHAMP. Rather self explanatory.
  • There is the JUDGE’S PET, for best use of the Judge’s prompt.
  • Last but not least, the JUDGE gets a badge, because Judges need love, too.


Our Judge for Week Two:

This week’s uber-spectacular judge comes from my favorite Twitter hangout, #pubwrite…


Jeff Davis Writes (blog) 

Jeff Davis is the author of the newly released Preying Angels, “a thriller that exposes the dark side of Internet predators and timeless revenge.” His book is available on Amazon and Smashwords.


Challenge Time!

Your mission, should you choose to accept it:

The Photo:

The Phrase:follow the scent” (this can appear anywhere in the story)

The Judge’s Prompt: Use David Gilmour as a character or reference


And we’re off. The clock is ticking. Good writing and good luck!


26 thoughts on “#MenageMonday Challenge – Week Two

  1. Arriving late for speed dating David Gilmour found it had been moved from 224a to 224e. Turning around to leave he heard Nina his late wife’s saying…
    “Follow the scent.”
    David wondered if he was going crazy hearing a dead woman’s voice but decide to heed it. David could smell the faint smell of roses and followed it to the room reluctantly sitting down. Woman after woman circulated sitting down across from him until the buzzer rang and they switched seats again, but none of them mattered to him they weren’t Nina. David had just about decided to leave when a Rubenesque red head sat down across from him her head bowed. She looked up and he was shocked to see his childhood sweetheart Angela and smell her rose perfume. Angela was just as excited to see him. They talked and when the buzzer rang neither was eager to move despite the looks from the others and the organizer. Soon the two of them began to laugh and chat more earnestly remembering old times. They left soon after and nine months later they were the parents of Speed Date.Gilmour.

  2. He’d learned from her roommate that she was attending a speed dating event at the community center. He wished she had been more forthcoming with the information, he really kind of liked her and hated to have had to been so…insistent.
    Checking the list of scheduled meetings in the foyer, he bounded up the stairs to the second floor. The pistol, tucked in his waistband under the t-shirt of a long-haired David Gilmour concentrating on a guitar solo, jabbed his belly.
    Making his way down the hallway he imagined he could smell her vanilla scented perfume. Follow the scent, he thought.
    224D, 224C, 224B…next room on the left. He burst through the door and unloaded the 9mm into a group of octogenarian quilters before realizing something was wrong. Returning to the hall, amid the screaming, running AA members and the terrified overeaters group, he spotted Jenny at the far end. Their eyes met briefly before she was swept along with the panicked throng.
    He noticed the sign, taped to the wall, informing those who paid attention that the speed dating had been moved. He dropped the gun to the floor and waited for the police, feeling oddly but comfortably numb.

    200 Words @MAKozlowski

  3. Jack’s nose took him to the hallway filled with numbered doors. A sign changing the speed dating event location from 224A to 224E hung above the number plaque.
    He pushed on with a low growl, following the scent of the woman he’d been tracking since the Live 8 concert in July of 2005. The concert where he’d lost his humanity and his best friends.
    The image of the buxom redhead who’d offered a ménage a quat to Jack and his two best buddies solidified into reality as he rounded a corner to find meeting room 224E. She stood at the door, chatting and flirting with a new victim; a slender athletic male who resembled David Gilmour in his younger years. Just like Brad had.
    Jack’s fury at the memory of their mangled bodies covered in her scent roared through his body, causing the change. He couldn’t protect Brad and Carl, but he’d save this young man.
    Her scent intensified, spiced with fear, as he launched his wolf’s body at her. His jaws closed around her throat and he took savage pleasure in tearing the meat of her muscles away. He savored his victory as she bled out between his paws.

    200 words

  4. Livin’ The Dream
    No one had to tell me the room had changed. I could follow the scent of over perfumed woman down the hall and to the right; the air was thick with perfume, hairspray and desperation. Seriously, speed dating, what the hell was my sister getting me into?
    I was quite content living out my life in bachelorhood, it’s living the dream really; I can get laid whenever I (can manage to find somebody willing, which is very rare and they’re often of poor quality and questionable moral standing) want, I can spend my Saturdays puttering around the house in a tattered Pink Floyd T-shirt playing guitar like David Gilmour and singing like Roger Waters (perhaps my neighbours would be happier if I sang like I played guitar, silently). Living single means you never have to leave the lid down, you can let dishes pile up and sniff your laundry to see if it’s clean enough to wear again. Yeap, livin’ the dream, so why was I here again?
    Somewhere between room 224A and 224E I got lost and found myself at a nearby pub, my sister Stella will be pissed but my pint of Stella doesn’t seem to care.

    WORDCOUNT: 199

  5. Speed dating had become all the rage, but David Gilmour must have missed that one. What was the attraction of spending a few measly minutes trying to woo a potential partner? No, that would never do. He needed longer than that to get a victim to trust his motives, his integrity. Still, what was the harm in trying?

    Approaching the venue doors, a small notice indicated the change from suite 224A to room 224E. It didn‘t matter, the last minute alteration wouldn’t hamper the outcome of this experiment.

    If all went well, a very special lady was going to be in attendance. That was Linda Carmichael; the owner of a name that rolled off his tongue effortlessly. She personified the perfect woman and over the past few days, he had decided to follow her scent. This way, the prey could easily be found when the hunt began.

    David Gilmour felt relieved when he saw her. She was as beautiful as he remembered, but wasn’t the only one to notice her arrival. He couldn’t believe his luck when she approached, this was going to be a piece of cake.

    “Hello, David” she said, before pulling the trigger.

    199 words


    No dark sarcasm, he reminded himself, lumbering toward the portal of his 13th speed-dating session, head lowered, hopes lower. His lifestyle coach had drilled it into his head: Check your us-and-them mentality at the door; women are just like us, only with curves and class. Tonight, he’d riff not on classic rock but classic poets: Wordsworth, Byron, Keats.

    His thoughts were ambushed by the bustle of clacking high heels and jangly jewelry. He pivoted, surprised to see only one woman.

    “Hey, you!” she called. “Can you help me?”

    “Don’t tell me there’s no hope at all,” he muttered.


    “David Gilmour,” he explained.

    “Hello, David.”

    “No, the lyric, it’s off ‘The Wall’ — never mind.”

    “I am Solange. I look for … eh … how you say … hooking it up?” She brushed past him into room 224-A. He could only follow the scent of orchid and coconut, love potion No. 9, neither one noticing a sign announcing a change of venue.

    Alone together in the room, he ventured to breathe.

    “I don’t know the English too much,” she prospected.

    In her eagerness, he heard only two words: green card. Speed dating — she wasn’t kidding! He brightened.

    200 words
    Terry Byrne

  7. Going to a bar is hard these days ladies, it’s only a matter of time before some drunk person waddles over like a one winged bat to suck the life out of your party. So follow these rules and you should be alright on your next outing. First bring a friend with you this way you eliminate the chance that a lone soldier will come over to distract from your Peach Schnapps combo. Then only the guys with wingmen will be potential animals determining which meat they want to eat like you’re on a speed dating service with a ringer to scope out the baddies from the goodies. Follow the scent of beer to determine if your man’s head is even in the building; don’t need to get involved with the next David Gilmour with eight kids in the wagon aiming for number nine. Remember keep the consumption down enough that he can still say his name without slurring. Those Italian shoes you bought last month won’t hold against the onslaught of a purging beast. Happy hunting ladies.

    178 words
    The Glitter Lady

  8. Smiling, Betty settled back in her chair to wait for the others to show up. This last year had been crazy busy, and even she had to admit that she may have settled for a partner or two somewhat below reasonable standards. But speed dating could be brilliant! One night, over a dozen candidates, and she could just take the best one home with her! Adjusting the top of her blue summer dress Betty briefly wondered if she should have enhanced her bust a little. But no, her true form would do. An open and honest relationship to start with. Plus she was in the mood for a bit of role-play, father-daughter?

    Or maybe she’d get a wholesome guy tonight; she hadn’t had one of those since she was a teenager! Maybe a sensitive guitar genius like David Gilmour! She was getting hot already, she so adored experienced men! Slipping a hand between her thighs to rub herself impatiently she smiled. Follow the scent, handsome! Seriously, where was everyone?

    169 words
    David A. Ludwig

  9. “Moved?” Roxanne said to Wende.

    “I didn’t need a sign to tell me that, did I?” The lovely 34 year old barista sneered. “Just follow the scent of desperation and poor life choices and we’d find the right place.”

    “Please be good Wende,” Roxanne pouted quietly to her snarky friend. “I really need your support. I can’t do this alone.”

    Wende was still skeptical about agreeing to be Roxanne’s wingman on this pathetic effort. But Roxanne still believed in love, despite the heart breaking loss of her husband. And that had to count for something…even to a bitter cynic like Wende.

    “Fine…” Wende sighed. “But if any of those twats tells me they’ve built their life around the lyrics of that bloody hippy David Gilmour, I swear to God I’m stabbing someone in the neck with a shrimp fork.”

    “Deal. I’ll even help you hide the body,” Roxanne smiled and held onto Wende’s arm.
    “Come on you silly slut, I need three or four vodka cranberry’s before this travesty starts,” Wende smiled. “I want to be comfortably numb.”

    179 words
    J. Whitworth Hazzard

  10. There was something off about that note. I used to know someone who wrote “thanks” with an “x” like that…

    Oh God. It was Katie. That was her handwriting. “No, wait,” I thought, “that can’t be true. Katie got expelled; she’s gone.

    My phone vibrated. I whipped it out of my pocket and read the text. “Follow the smell.” I looked at the caller ID. Katie had sent it.

    Smell? I took a whiff. At first I didn’t smell anything. Then I heard an explosion. I took off for Room 224E.

    I could smell something now. A few things, actually. First I smelled smoke, then gas, and I think human flesh after that. At that point I threw up.

    The door must have been locked, because I saw the handle jiggle, followed by screams of agony. In a bit of dark humor, their screams reminded me of David Gilmour’s first band, Joker’s Wild.

    All I could do was sit in front of the door and watch. My phone rang.


    “Happy Anniversary.”

    Danny Ryer

  11. Specialized Dating
    by Lisa McCourt Hollar

    Sheila stared at the sign in disbelief. 224E was on the other side of the building…far away from 224A and the full bar.

    “There you are Sheila.”

    Dammit, why did he have to sneak up like that? “Are you the one responsible for the room change?”

    Saul, who’d been told he looked like David Gilmour nodded his head. “I’m assuming you rented the room without looking at it.”

    “One room is as good as another and this one has a bar.”

    “And windows.”

    Sheila’s mouth dropped. “Oh no.”

    “You started so well. Underground garage. Too bad the thought of a drink pushed out other concerns.” Saul opened the door. “Just follow the scent.”

    Sheila didn’t need to go far. A pile of charred flesh lay in the middle of the room. She had arranged specialized dating events for years with no problems. One day Saul had shown up with a unique proposition. Arrange speed dates between humans and vampires.

    “I should have said no,” Sheila thought, stepping back into the hall.

    “It’s not really your fault. Twilight has people believing vampires sparkle in the sun. Unfortunately I cannot risk this happening again…and nearly burning makes me thirsty.”

    Word Count: 199

  12. “David Gilmour’s guitar picks!” The words flew from my mouth. Daddy—rest his soul—would’ve had my head for taking David Gilmour’s name in vain, but the change of rooms for speed dating called for a good curse. I’d crossed nine counties to find this place, and now they’d changed rooms?

    Well, the delay only bought that rat bastard another thirty seconds or so.

    I hurried along the hall, only having to follow the scent of Old Spice mixed with—I sniffed the air, my nose wrinkling. Brut. Had to be.

    I stalked into the room with enough obvious fury to have the overly made up greeter shrink away. Or maybe it was the shine of the Bowie knife in my hand.

    I held up a picture. “Seen him?”

    She pointed a manicured fingernail tipped in vamp red.

    I crossed the room and towed the blonde Barbie making time with my husband out of her chair and took her place. “Hey, Sweetheart,” I sneered.

    “Uh—hey, Sherry baby,” the two-timing bastard managed. “What’re you doing here?”

    “Oh, well, in your hurry to leave, you took something of mine.” I held up the knife. “Time to return what belongs to me.”

    200 words

  13. On the new Cambridge campus, she located the Science building. Three floors up was the chemistry wing. Three floors up was her mission.

    He would be wearing a t-shirt with a prism and rainbow. He would be in the lab, room 324A at 2:35pm. He would be alone.

    Her tools, her instructions: that was all she knew. That was all she ever knew.

    She glanced at the door, silently turning the handle. It was open. The lights were on. She slid in.

    A young prof in the Pink Floyd t-shirt stood studiously measuring compounds into beakers. His long brown hair made her think of a youthful David Gilmour. The dark side of this job – he was kind of cute.

    She was instructed to follow the scent of rotten eggs – the scent of hydrogen sulfide.

    Minutes later, the job was done. The David Gilmour look-alike was out cold on the linoleum floor. The dirty deed made her want to take a bath.

    Why did all the good looking ones have to be so seduced by money? To turn into animals like that.

    Exiting the building, she walked by a sign about speed dating.


    195 words @kbunskoek

  14. Looking for room 229A along the hallway, I happened upon a sign advertising speed dating. Maybe I would have more luck there than the real reason I was here. I was desperate – not for a woman (well maybe just a little) – but for a job.

    Right now I’d take anything that had a paycheck at the end of the day! Ergo, the clown outfit. Yes, a clown. I’d never been to a rodeo but really, how hard could it be to run around avoiding cow – or is it bullshit? – while trying not to get killed?

    A job or blowjob? Was I really contemplating the merits of the two? So, instead of following the smell of manure, I decided to follow the scent of sex.

    My nose led me to 224E and as I entered the door all conversation stopped. I felt like Englebert Humperdink on stage at a David Gilmore concert. I guess the clown outfit was a turn-off.

    “Alrighty, no blowjob here” I mumbled, exiting the room.

    Two steps out the door, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and wouldn’t you just know it? What a COW!! Ironically, I was getting practice for my interview…RUN!!!

    Phyllis Carmichael
    200 words

  15. Mildred, Millie to her friends, pulled open the door to Room 224A. It was filled with gray-suited twenty-somethings huddled around laptops. On a smartboard on the wall at the front was the title page of a presentation titled: Follow the Scent of Money to Happiness. Starbucks coffee cups and small plates of brie, fruit and water crackers littered the floor. From the babble of conversations she made out words like bubble, light crude and options. She backed into the hall and pulled her glasses form her purse. A sign on the wall announced that Speed Dating had moved to Room 224E. She headed down the corridor and rounded the corner. She heard the familiar strains of David Gilmour’s Stratocaster and the group’s anthem Comfortably Numb. She smiled as she opened the door to the psychedelic-clad Flower Seniors. Forty-three years after Woodstock, speed meant how fast you could get out of the chair, numb was arthritis meds and you could trust someone over 60. She wondered about those under thirty.

    169 words

  16. “All in all you’re just another brick in the wall!!” David Gilmour’s riff came pounding out the ear buds he just pulled from his ears. “Do any of you know where the speed dating class is?”

    Michelle was thinking, what a nimrod as she pointed to the sign that read, “speed dating has been moved from 224A to room 224E—thanx.” The t-shirt and jeans looked straight out of 1980 and you could follow the scent that was wafting from him. Was that Polo?

    “Oh, okay, are you going?” He stated with a wry smile.

    Not if you are, she thought. Reluctantly, she nodded her head. How she let Lisa talk her into this was beyond her. So what if she was 28 and never had a serious relationship, she had many great years ahead of her. These tight jeans made her butt look good, even if she could hardly walk. Maybe, I should just go home… “Come right in!” encouraged a gentleman with greased up hair and thick glasses. There was nowhere to hide now. I’ll just tell everyone that I own 20 cats that should scare them off.

    190 words

  17. Relax and breathe easy, girls. Speed dating is not as daunting a task as your peers may have led you to believe.

    First, there is the matter of mien. You want to appear firm and assertive, yet malleable enough as to not alienate your subject. A wise application of coyness will add tremendous value to your performance.

    Next up, colloquy. Earthlings are too fond of glib talk and adulation: use these to your advantage. Compliment a man on his David Gilmoure or Heath Ledger looks, and reference, at least tangentially, the latest trends and happenings. You will go places, believe me. Suitable examples can be found in your welcome package.

    Finally, selection. Simply follow the scents provided in your aroma kit to locate appropriate candidates. Avoid smells like hay and almonds; these are more likely than not signs of a diseased specimen.

    So gird your loins, tuck your feelers in, and head to room 224E. Happy mating season, ladies.

    159 words

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