(Author’s note: Been having some trouble getting to this earlier than I should. A lot of it is due to the fact that I have a trainer that I go to after work, so I don’t get home until about 5. So you’ll just have to read me last…if you can find me under all the other good folk out there. At least you have today’s fictioneers…)
© Ronda Del Boccio
Classical Gas
by Miles H. Rost
Rotten cheese, mixed with overcooked fish, and spoiled raw meat.
That was the description of the smell coming from the Racine residence, “Frankenstein’s house” to the rest of the neighborhood.
“Frankenstein” took great care of the plants in the boxes around the windows. A hybrid of wheat and onion, he called it.
The plants started to smell terrible, getting worse as the plant grew or as the humidity got worse.
A great sound, like a balloon letting go of it’s air occurred in the middle of the night.
The next morning, the plants were gone.
The neighborhood never woke up.
Music and Fiction 
I like where this went. Fun.
And sad at the same time…so many people…all that stench…
Well, that was a surprise 🙂 Novel take on the prompt. And by the way, I always try to read every single post. Your’s is somewhere near the middle, not the end.
Thank you! ^_^
Devastating, but my mind goes to that noise when the balloon let its air go – I imagine that sounded kind of comical.
What’s bad is that no one was up to hear it…or so it seems…
This reminded me of a death dealing volcanic eruption, perhaps Frankenstein was from the netherworld.
I could have said that he was originally born at Clark Air Base…Google it and find out more! XD
Fun piece.
It was! It was also a way to spin the song into it…just because of the name.