It's also been cross-posted to the actual nano_WriMo community, which is where I'll be posting the rest.
Oidhche Shamhna by Danny Oz
Alan shifted his weight, readjusted his weapon for the hundredth time that night, and waited in the shadows as another group of children walked by. This was his first night on the hunt, but he wasn’t hunting children. Oh no. He was many things, but not a hunter of children.
He was a Warrior, reclaiming his Birthright.
And tonight he would strike a blow for all Mankind.
Alan knew his prey. Not personally, just what they were. Alien, distant, oh so sure of themselves, and their superiority - they would not be expecting an attack, not here, not now. But he’d fix that, show them fear, show them there were no safe places for them any more. Once he unsheathed his sword, they would scream, panic, try to run. Or maybe they wouldn’t. The idea amused him. Let them stand there transfixed with terror, unable to think, speak, or move. Let them be the ones who were scared for a change!
That’s all he wanted, what he was preying on – their fear. It would send a message to all of them. You are no longer the ones in control!
More voices. More children. More waiting.
The night air was cool, and he shifted slightly, loving the feel of the coat. Alan had chosen it for the hang, the look. It needed to be long. Long enough to hide his sword and offer protection. He-
Voices. These were the voices of his prey.
Getting closer. Two of them.
He ran his hand lovingly over his weapon, feeling its power, feeling his own power, and readied himself. Yes, this would be it! Footsteps, voices, getting closer… closer…
In a well practiced movement he leapt from the bushes. Opening the coat as he did so, he was already exposing his massive cock and wiggling his hips at the approaching figures even as his eyes drank them in.
And he went cold.
Daggers of fear and abject horror plunged through his chest. Alan did the only thing he could do - turned and ran. He fled, broken, from what should have been his first and greatest victory against every woman who had ever mocked him, ever ignored his advances. As he turned the corner, the giggling that started behind him drove further icicles of fear and shame through his heart, as years of ground-in Catholic shame came flooding back.
“And you said dressing as nuns for Halloween would be lame…” said one of the girls to her companion.
Tears in his eyes, all he could remember was his upbringing, his lost faith. Alan ran harder, faster, trying to escape the dreadful laughter, knowing he would hear it for the rest of his life. But his speed still wasn’t enough...
“Did you see his willy? I didn’t know they came that small!” said the receding voice that would haunt him the rest of his days.
I wanted my first to be a literal flash fiction. It's dedicated to guttermonkey, my special hairy muse :)