Category Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Home, Sweet Home – Friday Fictioneers

Today I have a double feature for you. I only wrote one though: the other story is by a guest blogger, author Sheila Stewart, who is also my sister. She wrote a Friday Fictioneer story but doesn’t have a blog so I said I would post it for her. Our two stories go together but could also be taken separately.

copyright Bjorn Rudberg

copyright Bjorn Rudberg

Home, Sweet Home (Part 1)

by Sheila Stewart

I found a body on my back deck today. It wasn’t the oddest thing I’d found back there, but it was a bit annoying. Bodies stink and leak. At least I could use the old clothes and blankets people tossed down. I could mend the broken furniture and decorate with sculptures made from various odds and ends I couldn’t figure out what else to do with.

I’m not sure how people got the idea that my house was a garbage dump, but I’m not complaining.

Not usually anyway.

Except now I need to go bury the body with the others.

Home, Sweet Home (Part 2)

by David Stewart

“I just love this to death,” Alice gushed at the hot real estate agent. “The view, the veranda: it’s perfect.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “It’s a bit pricey and this slope looks prone to avalanches. Plus, what’s this MCMG at the bottom of the paperwork?”

“Legal mumbo-jumbo,” the agent said quickly, flashing a grin. “You wanna see the jacuzzi?”

Alice was slightly concerned three months later when she dug up a tibia in the garden, but after she found two skulls, Chris studied the title. On the last page, in 4-point font was the note:

MCMG: May Contain Mass Grave.

 

 


The Physics of Angels – Friday Fictioneer

copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 

The Physics of Angels

“Mommy, how does the plane fly?”

“Sweetie, remember that word ‘migraine’ I taught you—”

“But how?”

“Angels. Angels keep it up.”

“But how does it go down?”

“Well, when they want to go down, the pilots start swearing a lot and it makes the angels drop us . . . slowly.”

“But you said a bad word before when you spilled your coffee and it didn’t go down then.”

“Oh that? That kind of word isn’t going to do anything. The pilots have to say really terrible, sinful words.”

“Like what?”

“Are you kidding? If I told you, you’d crash the plane.”


포크 주세요 (Fork Please) – Friday Fictioneers

Today I must beg your indulgence. I wrote today’s Friday Fictioneers story in Korean. Yes, it is pertinent, and yes, there is a translation. However, only the Korean version is 100 words long.

I wrote it with non-Korean speakers in mind, but still I’d like you to read the Korean first (there’s English in it). Try to make guesses about what’s going on before you read the translation. Consider it a metaphor for living abroad, when you can catch part of what is going on, but not the whole thing, and many times, not the most important nuances.

 

포크 주세요

외국사람 커플 들어갈때 식당이 조용했다. 다른 손님이 없었다. 3시: 점심과 저녁의 바쁜 시간 딱 사이 있었다.

직원이 와서 남자가 메뉴판을 얼른 보고 손가락으로 가리켰다. “Also, fork please. Fork?” 포크로 먹는 손짓했다.

“You should try using chopsticks, Mark.” 여자친구가 말했다.

그때 한국인 할아버지 들어왔다. 외국사람 커플 밖에 손님이 없는지 확인한 후에 자리에 앉아서 떡볶이를 주문했다. “그리고 포크주세요” 라고 말했다.

마크가 들어서 웃었다. “You see? Even Koreans are using forks these days. Chopsticks are history.”

할아버지가 코트를 벗었다. 왼손이 없고 오른손에 엄지 손가락만 남았다. 떡볶이를 받아서 포크를 느리고 아프게 들고 먹기 시작했다.

이제 마크가 웃지 않았다. “Maybe I’ll try chopsticks after all.”

 

_______________________________________________________________________

And now, the translation:

_______________________________________________________________________

 Fork, Please.

The restaurant was quiet and empty when the non-Korean couple entered. It was 3:00: right between the lunch and dinner rush.

The waitress came over and the man scanned the menu and pointed to something. “Also, fork please. Fork?” He mimed using a fork.

“You should try using chopsticks, Mark,” his girlfriend said.

Just then, an old Korean man came in. After making sure there was no one in the restaurant besides the foreign couple, he sat down and ordered. “Fork, please,” he said.

Mark heard him and laughed. “You see? Even Koreans are using forks these days. Chopsticks are history.”

The old man took off his coat. His left hand was gone and on the right, only the thumb remained. He got his food and slowly, painfully picked up the fork and began to eat.

Mark wasn’t laughing anymore. “Maybe I’ll try chopsticks after all.”

 


Ramning Evidence – Friday Fictioneers

The title is a terrible pun, I know. I just hope I’m the first one to make it this week.

copyright Adam Ickes

copyright Adam Ickes

Ramning Evidence

My grandfather said it was a relic, that hideous taxidermist’s ram that sat in the corner and stared with unblinking eyes. He said he got it in Africa. He told the tale in great detail and I listened, worried, since it hadn’t been in his nursing home room the week before.

Finally, I stole it while he was sleeping. That night, I picked it apart. I found the hidden cameras inside, the listening devices. Armed with damning evidence, I threatened to sue the nursing home.

Turns out, my grandfather bought it online. He thought the nurses were stealing his books.


Approaching Storms – Friday Fictioneers

Copyright Kelly Sands

Copyright Kelly Sands

Approaching Storms

A storm was coming.

Rebecca stood, tied to a stake, on the uncannily silent beach, watching coal-black clouds gather and build. She had deserted. Tomorrow she would be shot.

Lightning blazed through the approaching tempest. In its fitful glow, a warship appeared, then many more. They were not friendly, Rebecca knew. The invasion had finally come.

Darkness thickened but still no alarm sounded. The sentries must be asleep.

She imagined herself raising the alarm, being pardoned—a hero. She pictured the invasion force rescuing her. The calculating wheels of  self-preservation spun. She opened her mouth to scream, but still hesitated.

 


He’s a Natural Man… – Friday Fictioneers

This is probably the latest I’ve ever posted a Friday Fictioneers story, since I usually do it on Wednesday. But we just got back to North America and this whole week has been up in the air (partially literally). I’ve been the first on the list before. Maybe this time I’ll be the last on the list.

copyright Claire Fuller

copyright Claire Fuller

He’s a Natural Man…

“It’s for our landlord,” I told Joe, pointing to the festivities. “He’s never bathed, ever. After a few years, lichen started to accumulate. We tried to get rid of him but by then, he had Greenpeace on his side, seeing that he was so much a part of the environment.”

“Sounds disgusting,” Joe said.

“Well, yeah, but he’s kind of a local treasure now. After the town accepted him, they fought hard to get him recognition. Let’s go: the party’s starting.”

We walked over to where a huge banner proudly proclaimed:

CONGRATULATIONS KARL ZIMEKIS ON MAKING THE NEW SPECIES LIST.


Bruised Heartwood – Friday Fictioneers

I’m currently on the road and writing this in a hotel. As always, I wish I could read more of the other stories but I should be able to pretty soon in the future.

copyright Madison Woods

copyright Madison Woods

Bruised Heartwood

The gnarled old oak tree on the hill loved Jenny. He loved watching her spread her picnic blanket in his shade.

“I’ll dress up for Halloween,” he said, and propped a goat’s skull in the crook of his branches.

But no one saw or cared, even Jenny who was at a party.

His heartwood was wounded deeply, and tearing up roots long planted, he rampaged through the town.

They caught him, cut him down, chopped him up. “Trees go bad,” they said.

But Jenny didn’t dance around the fire they made and her heart ached, although she didn’t know why.

 


Mommy’s Little Miracle – Friday Fictioneers

I’m quite late this week, but I’ve been pretty busy. Still, the end is in sight: two more days until we move. Things will still be hectic, but at least I won’t have all the packing and cleaning I have now.

copyright Mary Shipman

copyright Mary Shipman

Mommy’s Little Miracle

Swish, swish.

Pastel colors brushed onto old, warped walls. The pungent smell of new paint mingled with the lusty cries of new life in the next room. The last few days had been a whirlwind of activity, a maelstrom of emotions: anticipation at the hospital, a few moments of fear and now, pure elation.

She had long given up on having a family, but now here he was, her little miracle.

Well, almost hers. Her eyes flicked to the TV news. A few more months. When she had outlasted the searches and the Amber alerts, he would be hers forever.

 


The Procedure was Painless – Friday Fictioneers

Hi everyone. I’m still completely swamped with moving and packing but only for a few more weeks. I feel really bad I haven’t been able to read more of the other Friday Fictioneer stories, but be patient with me, if possible. In other news, my two-year blogging anniversary just passed. In some ways, it seems way longer than that.

copyright Ted Strutz

copyright Ted Strutz

The Procedure was Painless

Saja’s tongue ran over the foreign terrain of his now-vacant gums. He looked down at his weaponless paws.

Guards escorted him to the ship, alert for predators.

“Welcome aboard,” the captain said. “When we reach Languenpax, everything will be provided: food, mates, anything you want. Still, you’ll need to be caged for the journey.”

“Why?” Saja asked. “I’m not dangerous anymore.”

“You’re still extremely strong. We do have a weakening procedure . . .”

Saja just nodded. It would be worth it, he hoped. Nevertheless, as they led him away, he cast a last glance back at the wild savannah of his birth.


Day 219 – Friday Fictioneers

copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

Day 219

My iPad is a telescope, turned backwards: the world tiny, but terrifyingly clear. 

It’s a biology experiment, they say. But of course they wouldn’t tell me if it were psychological.

Most websites are blocked except CNN and BBC. Suspicious.

Horror constantly splashes across my screen. The sudden economic collapse and ensuing conflicts. The European epidemic killing millions. Famine, War, Pestilence.

Death.

I can leave this cave anytime. The blinking green button winks at me seductively.

I want to end this madness and go outside and see it was all just a test. But I’m afraid it’s not, so I stay.

 


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