Entry for Flash Friday!

Wow! If you haven't visited Rebekah Postupak's Flash! Friday this week, you're missing out! She's celebrating the year two FLASHVERSARY! (I can't believe it's been TWO YEARS!!! CONGRATS, Rebekah!!!) The first round is open until midnight tonight, so there's still time to get in on the AMAZING prizes! I've already told Rebekah that she's not allowed to read my blog until noon tomorrow when she and her team are finished judging the first round of stories. (That's right, there are TWO rounds this year! The top 25 are semifinalists!) Join the fun! (But hurry!)

The rule today is 150 words exactly. Here's the prompt:




Thanks for reading. Here's my story:

Escalation

They set the fire on purpose.

To contain.

To protect.

A few, upset, protested peacefully. When that fateful spark jumped, no one could’ve predicted the damage. Destruction. Devastation. Smoldering embers of rubble that once held people’s lives and livelihoods.

Vitriolic hate spurted from both sides. Blame surged hot, spreading faster than fire. Virulent voices spewed condemnation, pointing fingers and vilifying everyone.

The next fire may have been an accident.

But not the next.

Or the next.

Soon the world was burning. Retaliation. Revenge. Retribution.

Ash and smoke choked our throats and our bodies smeared with soot as we scrabbled through the blackened wreckage. Searching. Seeking. Scouring. Scrutinizing. Sifting. To find the grain of truth. The right. The side.

But there was nothing.

Nothing left.

Nothing gained.

Listless among the ruins, the ravages of what remain, we dream of refreshment.

Water.

A deluge to quench the fires raging out of control.

The Deepening

Here is my entry into this week's Christian Flash Weekly competition. I had up to 200 words to play with, and I used them all. The prompt was Psalm 46:5. Enjoy!

Psalm 46[a]

For the director of music. Of the Sons of Korah. According to alamoth.[b] A song.

1 God is our refuge and strength,

    an ever-present help in trouble.

2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way

    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

3 though its waters roar and foam

    and the mountains quake with their surging.[c]

4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,

    the holy place where the Most High dwells.

5 God is within her, she will not fall;

    God will help her at break of day.

6 Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;

    he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

7 The Lord Almighty is with us;

    the God of Jacob is our fortress.

8 Come and see what the Lord has done,

    the desolations he has brought on the earth.

9 He makes wars cease

    to the ends of the earth.

He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;

    he burns the shields[d] with fire.

10 He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;

    I will be exalted among the nations,

    I will be exalted in the earth.”

11 The Lord Almighty is with us;

    the God of Jacob is our fortress.

And here is my story:

The Deepening

The earth shakes. Rumbles. Thunders. Roars. Reverberates in the core of my being.

Darkness falls. It begins.

So little time.

Cracks in the cliff. My feet slip on jumping gravel. Over the edge, waters writhe as though boiling.

Roots. I need roots.

I pull the seeds out of my satchel. I grab one, bouncing atop the others, and plant it in the ground. I raise my hand over it and will it to grow. To thrive. Soon the tree towers above me, and unseen below.

I pick out the next one. Plant it. Place my hand over it. It grows tall and strong.

A third doesn’t take. Heartbreak.

Another.

Yet another.

A crack shatters my focus. The edge of the cliff falls into the sea.

I need more. More time.

So many seeds left.

Faster.

Faster now.

Plant them. Grow them. Next.

Tears sting my eyes as I look at the satchel full of seeds. And the lightening of the sky.

I upend the satchel, scattering the seeds, pressing them into the ground. Grow!

The cliff shears off beside me.

No time!

The sun peeks over the horizon. Hundreds of saplings glow at its touch. My grove.

It is finished.

Dog Days Contest Entry

Hey all! I wrote this piece too quickly last week for the Dog Days of Summer Contest over at Rebekah Postupak's Flash!Friday blog. This is a special contest with a cash prize! I made it through the first round of judging and into the final ten! Now the rest is up to you, the readers. The winner will be chosen by popular vote. ...I've never been one of the popular kids, but if you like the story, I'd appreciate your vote. It's extremely easy and fast: just follow this LINK TO VOTE, click on my name in the poll (Alissa Leonard - third from the bottom), and click vote. (And the counters will show you how pathetically far behind I am, so spread the word!) Or you can go here to read all ten entries, and vote for your favorite.

Anyway, whether you vote or not, you can read my story. I like to think outside the box a bit. The theme was Childhood Summer Mischief (Tom Sawyer-esque), and I didn't want to do the same thing as everyone else. It took me nearly the full two weeks to come up with my idea. There are things I would change if I had more time, but this is the entry as I submitted it. I hope you enjoy! :)

Untitled

by Alissa Leonard

The vibrations from Mrs. Cockle’s scream sends a school of snapper scattering and makes my teeth throb, but I keep swimming. Her scream has nothing on Momma’s. Besides, I only put a tiny shark among her clambeds…

I glance to make sure she isn’t following, then speed ahead to catch the current that will take me to my secret cave. She certainly got a good look at me; I’m hard to miss. My algae, skin, scales, and gills are red, orange, yellow, and gold respectively instead of normal greens and blues or at least browns. But I read the rules carefully, and being seen isn’t grounds for disqualification.

Being caught is.

I curse my parents and ancestors for their ‘artistic sensibilities’ and the breeding plan that culminated in me: a freak. However, those same sensibilities will cause them to completely forget Mrs. Cockle’s complaint by the time I get home, so it could be worse.

I dive out of the current and approach my favorite patch of coral. The colors and variation attracted me at first – bright yellows next to deep pinks and pale purples in all shapes and sizes. I noticed my cave only after hours spent inspecting the diversity. The coral grew up and around it, blocking it from view, but I followed a clownfish down into the reef, under the green shelf next to the blue spikes.

I dart there now, thankful I haven’t grown too big yet. Several twists and turns later, I enter the cave and swim straight to the two shells on the shelf. I lift the clamshell out of the first one and move it to the second, already filled with symbols of my initiation tasks. I have only a single sun-cycle to complete all eight tasks, which gives me until shortly after sunset to do this last one.

I lift the stone from the shell, wishing its form was something other than human.

Humans should be avoided.

I have to take a human thing and replace it with something I made.

I place the stone back in the shell, and slip the shell bracelet I made onto my wrist. I need to breathe before I start this. I swim to a tunnel at the back of the cave and follow it up to a secluded pool.

I lay on my back and just float, my gills swaying in the water beneath me, my lungs breathing in long and deep, and my skin absorbing all it can. I need every bit of energy to pull this off. My coloring will make stealth practically impossible, but I have to try. Going at sunset is my only chance. Hopefully it’s colorful tonight.

I take a deep breath and return through the cave and out into the open water toward shore. My nerves make me hyper-sensitive to the movement of the water and the tastes and vibrations and songs. I approach the cove I’ve chosen, and the crashing of the waves drowns out a lot of the other sounds.

There’s a long pier jutting into the water; which is my reason for choosing this cove. I need cover. A group of humans have a fire on the beach. Three. Too many. I consider leaving to find another, but then I see the sea turtle.

It’s tied down, pinned to the beach with rope and staked into the sand. A pile of things lie close to the surf. I could easily grab one and go… But the turtle starts grunting and pulling at the restraints. I have to do 

something.

Slowly, I glide under the pier, navigating around the logs until I’m close enough to shore to place my hands on the sand. The turtle is several body-lengths from the edge of the water. I see no way to get there fast enough to avoid being seen.

The humans are on the opposite side of the fire. Behind me, the setting sun sprays reds and golds across the water. It may be enough cover. They’re not looking this way.

Now’s my chance.

I follow a wave as far as I can, then fold my gills flat along my back and roll to the turtle. I hide myself behind her, and reach up to her neck to comfort her and tell her to stay still.

I pull up the spikes imbedded in the sand one by one, and lay them with my bracelet on top. As I do, a plan forms. The turtle will need time to make its way to the water. I can do that.

I coil the rope around my arm, and glance to make sure they’re not looking. I tell the turtle to wait for my signal, and roll back into the water. I swim just past the pier and across the cove from the turtle and splash my tail wildly on the surface.

The humans run into the surf at the same time as the turtle pulls itself toward the water. Now to get the humans far enough out that I can teach them a lesson…

I unwind the rope as I splash about. Once the humans pass the breakers, I dive to the bottom and dart to the first, slipping the rope around his leg, tying a knot. I move to the next, making sure not to pull the first, and tie a knot around the second. Then hurry to the last and tie his leg as well. Let them feel what it’s like to be tied up.

I tie the end to the pier and pull hard on the rope. All three get a dunking.

The human screams as they reach the surface and pull against each other are music to my ears.

I catch up to the turtle and ask her to accompany me. How else will I prove that she totally counts as a human thing?

Again, if you liked it, I'd appreciate your vote. Thanks so much! (Here's the VOTING LINK again.)

Memento

I wrote a flash over the weekend (or on Monday, actually) for Christian Flash Weekly #10. The prompt goes live on Friday and closes Monday evening. This week we had between 400 and 600 words (I used 599), and the verse:

Proverbs 3:3 (WEB)

Don’t let kindness and truth forsake you.

Bind them around your neck.

Write them on the tablet of your heart.

Without further ado, here's my story:

Memento

“No! No! Don’t go away!” Claire cried in dismay as the charms on her necklace toddled off across her bed. “I didn’t mean it. And really, I just wanted to get a better look at you.”

“You insulted us.” Kindness said as she climbed over a particularly large wrinkle in the pink and white striped sheet.

“Well, I didn’t mean to…” Claire bit her lip in consternation.

“Yes you did!” Truth folded his tiny arms across his body, shuffled a few more steps away, and started to climb a different large fold in the bedsheet.

“I thought when my mother said not to let you leave me, she was speaking symbolically. Not that you’d actually try to run off if I didn’t keep you fastened around my neck!” Claire sat down hard on her bed, sending them bouncing and screaming.

“Please watch what you’re doing!” Kindness said, out of breath.

Claire continued, oblivious, “I mean, I just wasn’t expecting you to be so…cute,” she said with a grimace, “with your childish little shape bodies and your dangly arms and legs… I have no idea why mom would’ve thought I’d wear you, you know, out anywhere…”

“Well, at least that’s the truth,” Truth muttered and stopped walking away.

Kindness huffed, “Truth or not, that’s no way to speak to someone – telling them you’d rather not be seen with them! It’s just…” She flung her arms wide and toppled off the top of the fold head-over-heels, screeching as she fell. She landed deep in a fold and disappeared for a few moments before climbing out and brushing herself off. She took a deep breath and continued, “It’s just unkind, is what it is, and I’ll not stand for it.” She turned and continued her trek across my bed.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake! I’m not going to sit here and get a lecture from my jewelry.” Claire reached down and tried to grab Kindness, but she dashed out of the way. “How did you do that?”

“You can’t just snatch kindness when it’s convenient for you.” She continued walking away.

Claire reached for Truth instead, but he darted away so quickly that Claire flinched in surprise. “Not you too?”

“Truth isn’t something you grab, it’s something you embrace,” he said cryptically.

Claire rolled her eyes and sighed. “Then I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I was kind to my mom by telling her I loved her present, but you got mad at me for not being truthful.” She said, exasperated, to Truth. She turned to Kindness, “But you got mad when I told you my honest feelings because they’re unkind. How can I do both?”

Kindness and Truth stopped and turned toward her. “Do you really want to know?” Kindness asked.

“Yes!” Claire shouted.

“No need to yell,” Kindness said as she made her way back toward Claire. “Kindness is all about relationship. Do you want to know why my body is round?”

Claire raised her eyebrows, skeptical. Kindness stopped. “The kind answer is yes.”

Claire considered. “Then yes,” she sighed.

“I’m round because kindness is like a hug to another person – it is always personal and always beneficial.” She replied and started walking toward Claire again.

Claire turned to Truth, “What about you? Why are you a square?”

Truth smiled, “Because I’m right and perfect.”

Claire half-chuckled and placed her hand, palm up, on the bed. Truth and Kindness climbed on.

“You need both of us to speak love – speak life – to people.” Kindness added.

Claire placed them both back on the chain and clasped it around her neck. 

Clinging to the Shallows, Yearning for the Deep

If finally wrote another flash fiction piece! It's been a while. I've been working on the edits of my third draft of my first novel and writing my second novel and reading a bunch...not to mention being a wife and mother. One thing I've learned: Editing all the time is hard, stifling. I needed a break. SO...I'm back writing creative stuff for the moment! :)

I jumped back in to Flash! Friday (I'm currently a judge for this rotation, so I can't win) over at Rebekah Postupak's blog. The prompt word: Freedom. The picture prompt:


Earth goddess. Imaginary Worlds exhibit, Atlanta Botanical Garden. Photo by C. Joey Ivansco.

How could I pass this up??? What intrigued me most about the picture was that it looked like she was looking into her hand. What was in there? That's where my mind started....I hope you like where it ended up!

Clinging to the Shallows, Yearning for the Deep

The large hand dipped into the pool. I darted away. That was close!

I huddled by the waterfall; maybe she wouldn’t see me among the bubbles.

Her hand dipped in again, dangerously close, the tip of her grass-covered finger brushed over my scales like algae.

I swam to the bottom of the pool, staying as still as possible. That was my big mistake; I couldn’t see her surrounding me.

She lifted me out of my pool; precious water fell over the edge. No! I’ll suffocate! I tried to jump over with it, but she had me trapped.

“Let me go! I’ll die!”

“Death brings forth new life. Trust me.”

I flopped on her now damp hand, gasping for breath. “Please! I want to be free!” I begged, yearning for the safety and comfort of my pool.

“And so you shall be.” Her breath blew over me like hot coals. I hopped once, opened my wings, and soared on her wind.

Illusion

This is my entry to Rebekah Postupak's Flash Friday! The challenge is a 140-160 word story created from a word prompt (today's was Space Travel) and this picture:




I also had a secret challenge to put in unicorns (for reasons I'm not going to disclose at this time because it would take too long to explain). It was tricky (unicorns, space, and bicycles???), and probably not my best story (I needed a little more time and a lot more words to make it kick), but I had fun writing it. Hopefully you'll have fun reading it!


Illusion

We waited with bated breath as Gwyllian approached, willing his power to hold the illusion for a little longer. He’d come the farthest and must be low on reserves.

The humans would build a road above our heartstone. How could they not feel the magic pulsing beneath their feet? Gwyllian wobbled – or the human riding a bike he was pretending to be did – and I shivered in fear. If he fell… No. He could make it another twenty feet.

Gwyllian made it under cover and dropped his illusion. His sides heaved. His mouth frothed. His withers twitched uncontrollably. His horn gleamed bright in the shade of the tunnel.

He drank from our bucket of water then spoke, “We haven’t much time. We mustn’t wait,” he said. We joined our horns together and connected to the heartstone.

Dematerialization. Rematerialization.

Our ship – in geosynchronous orbit over the dark side of the moon – stood ready. The counsel needed to hear our report.

 

 

 

The Watcher

I finally managed to write a story for Flash Friday! It's been a while. We get 150 words (give or take 10) and two prompts. The first is to include a detective in the story. The second is this picture:



My story ended up at 155 words. I hope you enjoy! :)

The Watcher

 

She would get on the bus shortly. I stretched my legs out and waited.

Vinnie drove me all the way to Stratford so I could be on before her.

I put my feet up and leaned back into my seat, feigning nonchalance as the bus pulled to a stop.

She entered amidst a large group – business people, young mothers, students – and glanced around the bus before sitting a couple rows ahead of me on the opposite side. She pulled out a book and put her back to the window, seemingly unaware of anything else.

Her bodyguard sat in the seat across from her.

One stop.

Two stops.

Three stops.

The drop needed to be made today.

I stood, heels clicking on the metal floor. I picked up my bag and hurried down the steps and out the door.

I didn’t have to turn around to know she was following me.

Stupid detective. I’m the decoy.

 

 

 

Heat-Bringer

Here's my entry into Christian Flash Weekly #3 over at Charles W. Short's blog. This week we had up to 500 words (499 for me, oh yeah!) and the following verse to start us:


I Kings 19:14 (NIV).

He replied, “I have been very zealous for the LORD God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, broken down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”

For those of you who aren't familiar with the story, go read the entire chapter; I pulled heavily from the whole thing. Also, just a note, this story (of Elijah) is very near and dear to me because my Daddy wrote a song about it. It's been playing in my head all weekend - and that's a blessing because I miss him dearly. I wish I could share it with you all, but I have no idea how to put a song on my blog. :) Anyway, you came here to read my story (probably), so I should let you get to it!

Heat-Bringer

 

Xavier ran, boots slipping precariously on the ice before he reached down to extend the spikes. Sure, he could just melt the ice, like he had back on the mountain, but that would leave an obvious trail to follow.

And he didn’t want to be followed, not when they were out to kill him.

The squeak and crunch of the spikes hitting the ice sent shivers down his spine. The sound reminded him just how much control they had over everything. Ice fields spread as far as the eye could see, forcing the population under their control. They killed every heat-bringer they’d ever found – and he just made a target of himself.

It felt so good to do it though, melting the bodylength thickness of ice covering Mt Maximus right in their own backyard – showing them, and everyone, that the cold is not forever. His feet slipped in the slush that appeared around him – radiating heat unexpectedly. He fell.

Normally, he’d be covered head to toe when walking the ice sheets, but he’d taken off his gloves to touch the soft grass and delicate flowers uncovered on the mountainside. In his race to get ahead of the assassins, he’d forgotten them.

Now his hand was sitting in quickly re-freezing slush. He aimed a heat blast so he didn’t get frostbite and found himself sitting in a circle of summer. His fingers brushed the tips of the grasses longingly. This is how the world should look, he thought.

He sighed and stood, lamenting the signpost this hole would be to those chasing him.

He climbed out of the hole, slipping and squeaking as the spikes sought purchase on the now softer surface. He had to get as far from here as possible. He ran all day and into the night, stumbling into a cave sometime after first moonset.

He crawled deeper into the cave and risked another heat blast. He stopped shivering immediately. He lay sprawled on the floor, breathing erratically and wishing for death – lost in despairing thoughts of ‘it’s no use’ and ‘I can’t make a difference’ and ‘they’re going to kill me anyway.’

His heart stirred with an odd warmth.

“What am I doing here?” he said out loud, words echoing into the earth. This cave system must run deep, he thought. Perhaps he could hide better further on. He peeled himself off the rock and started into the dark.

Deeper.

Warmer.

He shucked his protective outerwear, rounded a bend, and saw a thick, glowing red, bubbling liquid giving off unimaginable heat. A bubble rose up and grew tall then formed itself into the shape of a person and spoke, “We have waited for you, Xavier. The heat has been trapped inside for too long. You must release it into the world safely before it destroys everything.”

“How? I am the last.”

“You are enough. Go, warm the earth.”

Xavier took two deep breaths, nodded, and strode back up to the surface. He had work to do.

 

 

 

How Champions Are Made

Here's my entry for Rebekah Postupak's Flash Friday! competition vol. 2-9! (By the way, I got Second Runner Up - third place - for this one! :) ) The prompt this week was the word 'envy' and this picture:





I had 150 words (give or take 10) to write something amazing... This is what I came up with:

How Champions Are Made

 

“You cheated!” Kira huffed as she palmed open the hatch to their dormitory.

“I did not!” Arianna stood taller and crossed her arms, indignant. “I am a member of the 57^th Intergalactic Olympic Games.”

“So you’re good at covering your tracks.” Kira interrupted and entered.

Arianna stalked in after her and grabbed a holo of an old photograph off her headboard. “My ancestor was a champion at the very first Olympic Games, 1896EME.”

“What’s your point? That was forever ago.” Kira glared before turning around and palming through the color options on the wall, wishing the designers of the Olympic Space Station had installed holographic capabilities.

“I’m merely stating that my athleticism is inherited. I don’t need to cheat.”

Kira snorted. “No one has ever completed a 3240 quad-corkscrew layout-rebound in variable-G before. It’s impossible.”

“You’re just jealous.” She pursed her lips. “Besides, if you’re looking for cheaters, the entire wrestling contingent from Ptaxil grew extra arms.”

The Looking Glass

Hiya! This is my entry for the FIRST EVER Christian flash fiction competition over at Charles W. Short's Christian Flash Weekly! The prompt each week is a single verse from the Bible and the judge and word count will change weekly. This week I was allowed 240-260 words (I came in at 255 this week!) with the verse: Job 42:5

Job 42:1-6 (NASB)
Then Job answered the Lord and said,

² “I know that You can do all things,
And that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.
³ ‘Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?’
Therefore I have declared that which I did not understand,
Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.”
⁴ ‘Hear, now, and I will speak;
I will ask You, and You instruct me.’⁵ “I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear;
But now my eye sees You;
⁶ Therefore I retract,
And I repent in dust and ashes.”

I did something completely different than my normal stories. I think it worked. Also, I'm glad we had almost four days - I only got the idea last night! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you have fun reading it! Thanks! :)

The Looking Glass

 

I received it when I was young and was admonished to take good care of it. I polished it daily until it shined. I’d check myself, smile, and blow a kiss.

Over time it didn’t shine as before. Dust obscured the view, but I regularly cleaned it once a week. I’d check myself, smile, and nod.

Soon I forgot about it for weeks at a time – not on purpose, but other things came up. It became smeared with the stuff of life and crusted with unidentifiable sludge. Every now and again I’d remember, spray it down, and scrub it clean. I’d check myself, smile, and sigh.

The first crack appeared when I volunteered to go build wells in Africa. I was so excited. And so scared. The preparation – spiritual, emotional, practical – took its toll.  I’d check myself, worry at the crack, and put on a brave face.

The crack crept across the surface as I landed in Africa. So much suffering. More cracks. The sick. The poor. The hungry. Why? I slammed my fist in anger. A spider web of cracks blossomed and filled the frame. I checked myself and frowned.

The glass shattered. Pieces littered the ground. I stared in shock at the shards twinkling in the sunlight. A weight lifted from my shoulders. I checked myself and froze. A little boy stood smiling, beaming back at me – deep black skin, bright white teeth centered perfectly in my now empty frame.

I knelt, and served.

And smiled.

And blew a kiss.

Family Ties

I finally wrote another flash fiction piece after having been gone for too long! I got it in just under the wire for Rebekah Postupak's Flash Friday! Her year-two rules call for 140-160 words - which is SO difficult for me! For instance, my story idea today started at 557 words. I got it in at 158. Oh. My. Goodness. The prompt was that it had to include a phone call and this picture:




For some reason, I went with the photographers perspective and none of the people in the picture (which is odd for me). Plus, it's only loosely based on the photo...I went more strongly with the phone call. :) I hope you enjoy! I had fun figuring out how to condense a huge story into a very small one... I think it worked. SO MUCH changed... I'm considering posting the longer piece, but it's unedited (but that isn't unprecedented). Anyway, here's the entry:

Family Ties

 

The screech of metal on the road outside makes me flinch. A baby wails as I open the door. A car lost its wheel – pothole probably.

The phone rings. Finally! I’m sure her mage is competent, but…

I run back in and pick up the handset. “Hello? John Davis speaking.”

“A call from Jane-“

“Yes, yes, put her through. Thank you.”

“John?”

“Niece or Nephew?”

“John! You have to help!” Jane’s voice is strained. My grip tightens. “It’s a boy, but he’s gone! The attending Mage felt a temporal shift - too fast to react.” her voice cracks.

My brain works overtime. “Too fast to detect means too fast to direct. He’ll follow the bloodline – that means here. Was there a substitution?”

“A tire.”

“The wreck!” I drop the handset and dash outside, scanning for the thief.

There! I level a shock at the man’s head and catch the boy with a hover charm.

Nobody steals my nephew.

Okay, so I'll post the original (UNEDITED) version for optional reading. I usually have to write myself into a story, so I'm always longer than I need to be. Also, as a discovery writer, I don't know what's happening until I get there, so I have to look back and see what I wrote and where the story is. I loved the noir feeling I got from this one, but it takes a lot of words to build a setting like that - at least for me! So what did I do? I dropped several characters, some of them big ones. I changed from past tense to present. I removed a setting (he's only inside in the revised one). Anyway, this one definitely needs editing, but I thought it might be interesting to see what I started with. (Oh, and when I started this story, it was going to be about John and Betty, and not about Jane and her son at all! That's how stories go for me sometimes though.) So, yeah...Enjoy! :)

I snapped my fingers to lite my cigarette at the corner before crossing – I wasn’t in any hurry. I leaned against the lamppost to enjoy it for a moment. A car driving by lost its wheel – probably a pothole. A baby started crying.

Betty came hurrying out of the office, blonde curls bobbing with each click of her heel. A guy could watch her curves move all day without getting tired.

But no, she was engaged to that ruffian, Jack Nimble. Best get my thoughts in order before she got here.

Her deep blue eyes caught mine and her bright red smile showed relief. “John!” she called – even her yell was melodic. “John wait!” I wasn’t going anywhere.

I snuffed my cigarette and put it back in my tin. “Hey, Betty, miss me already?” A guy could flirt, even if she was engaged.

She giggled then cleared her throat, “I miss you before you’re gone, John, we’ve covered this. The operator is holding your sister on the line; I thought you’d want to know.”

“Jane’s on the line?” I was going to be an uncle! I ran back to the office and picked up the receiver Betty had left on her desk. “Yes? Hello? This is John. Jane?”

“Hold please.” The operator’s voice sounded nasal and bored.

“John?” Jane’s voice sounded upset.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” My grip tightened on the handle.

“A temporal shift. The mage on duty felt it, but not in time.”

“What?!” I exploded out of the chair. “How could he have missed…? So, it was fast. Too fast to aim properly. Which means it’ll follow the bloodline. Which means here. Was there a substitution?”

“A car tire.”

“Damn and blast! Betty, hold the line – I have to get to that accident!” I tore out of the office and into the street.  I approached the car with the missing tire, but didn’t hear the baby.

“Where’s the baby?” I pulled the first man toward me by the lapels.

“Relax, the baby was fine. Its father just claimed it.” The man looked around, “There. He’s over there.”

I dropped the man and took off after the thief. Why didn’t he turn to face me? Ah, he has a silence charm – probably to hide the baby from curious bystanders – the idiot and amateur.

I readied my shock, the man would disappear the moment he knew I was coming – or as soon as he was out of everyone’s vision, whichever came first.

I aimed for his head – I didn’t want to hit the baby.

He went limp and toppled over. I sent a hover charm to catch the baby.

I scooped up the little guy in my arms and smiled down at him. He stopped crying. “Hey Champ. I’m going to get you back to your Momma, then I’ll come see you.”

I walked back to the car and read the transfer line. I held the boy in my hands and shifted him back.

I handed the tire to the driver and collected the perpetrator. I hovered him over to my office and cuffed him in the back. Then I took the phone from Betty.

“Jane? Is he doing alright?”

“Yes, John, thank you.”

“Next time you let me be your mage on duty, got that?”

“Yes John.”

“Oh, and what’s his name?”

“John.”

I smiled.

Cold Comes

I actually wrote a flash fiction piece today! It's been too long! The 55 Word Challenge is back from its winter break, so I decided to take a stab at it. FIFTY FIVE?!?!?!? Only 55 words is SO HARD! Let me know what you think! :) Here is the prompt picture I chose:









Cold Comes

I woke with a start. I sniffed. My heart pounded. I threw off the sheet and winced as my feet hit the floorboards.

I dashed to the back door and danced. I watched as ice crystalized the berries growing by the door – releasing their healing properties.

It was time to begin preparations. But first: slippers.

To Laugh or Not to Laugh

I wrote this piece for Rebekah Postupak's Flash! Friday competition. (150 words, give or take ten. I took them and came in at 160 exactly) I have no idea why, when prompted with the word 'laughter' and this picture:




I thought of Hamlet... It is decidedly odd. And now I can't refrain from speaking in a (most likely horrid) British accent. Please read my following story in one, if you can. :)

To Laugh or Not to Laugh

It’s not a question of whether my situation is funny, really, but rather my perspective.

This undignified and truly humiliating ride in this miniscule dinghy, being pulled by the slowest little fishing boat in the entire world, is nothing compared with my other ills.

The stares of the man and his son – I’m assuming, since they only speak in incomprehensible grunts – are only mildly disturbing compared with the hateful eyes of my enemies.

Don’t even get me started on the fish – horrible, disgusting creature! It won’t stop staring, its beady eyes accusing and unrelenting.

And to be dragged unceremoniously from the water – Why had I chosen water? – and flopped onto their boat as though I were a fish myself.

And yet, as I look at the fish, I see only my certain death in his domain and his in mine. Whose position is more enviable? I am too much the coward to try again.

I laugh, for otherwise I’ll cry.

For those who are interested, here is Hamlet's soliloquy that inspired the whole thing (Read this out loud in a British accent too!):



HAMLET

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

Dragon Boat

I wrote a piece of flash fiction!!! ...It's been a while! I missed it. NaNoWriMo was great for focusing on one project, but I missed writing these little stories. Thanks Rebekah Postupak for having your FLASHVERSARY PARTY on the week I come back! I know it was all for me! Go check out all the amazing entries at Rebekah's blog here. The prompt was the picture below and a 350 word (exactly) limit. I had so much more to write... I hope I cut the right things. (Did I mention it's been a while?) Thanks for reading! :)

The Second Test

“The dragon-face is a bit stylized, don’t you think? You look nothing like that.” Amalia said, flipping her tail in the water and swimming around the simple wooden boat Erimentha had Changed into moments before.

Erimentha tilted that stylized head in thought and looked at her proctor. “I’m imitating human craftsmanship. I’ll be unnoticed.”

“Not because you blend in!” Amalia interrupted, laughing. “That head on a dinghy? It’s a good thing no one comes among The Gravestones anymore.” She completed her inspection. “Odd. Most dragons choose something a bit more ornate when they transform.”

Erimentha faced the treacherous spires that rose from the sea. She would’ve flapped her wings in nervousness if she’d been in her natural form. A dragon was made for action, not submission. “Can we get started?”

“Ha! That sounds like a dragon! On with it then! You know what is expected of you?”

“I must not Change, or I fail.” She must learn to release control if she wanted to be a Seer. She would endure. She’d made sure of that.

Amalia smiled in anticipation as she directed the water to carry Erimentha into The Gravestones, “Don’t worry, not a single dragon has passed this test the first time around. I take my job very seriously.”

Erimentha was whipped around the spires. The terror of smashing into splinters overwhelmed her. She reached for magic at her core, but pulled back, frustrated. No. She couldn’t.

“It’s no shame,” the mermaid taunted, “everyone quits the first time.”

After an eternity, Erimentha was slowed and brought back to the beach.

“Impressive,” Amalia said. “A dragon’s need for control is second only to her desire for Power. I’ve had dragons through this test the maximum seven times who were still unable to do what you just did. You pass. Do you mind if I ask how you prepared?”

“I didn’t give myself the option to fail.”

“What does that mean?”

“I want this more than anything. I couldn’t let myself stand in the way.” She paused and smiled. “I'm unable to Change. I drained myself of Power before we began.”