Tag Archives: flash fiction

July 22, 2015

Arctic Abaddon

Arctic Abaddon

The moment I was created in that frozen cloud crucible, I knew I was a killer. I spun my six blades and my war cry joined that of my tens of millions of brethren. I fell like an arctic Abaddon, ready to destroy everything in my path. A fleshy digit was thrust out below me and I prepared to slice it to pieces.

“Look, a snowflake!”

A killing warmth surrounded me. My six daggers melted away as I puddled.

* * *

The moment I was created as a tiny water droplet on a little girl’s finger, I knew I was a life-giver . . .

29 Comments | tags: Abaddon, arctic, death, fantasy, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, snow, transformation, winter | posted in Friday Fictioneers

July 15, 2015

Pattern Recognition

By David Stewart

Pattern Recognition

I turn the corner and let out a primal scream. Then I take off my shoe and hurl it in rage. People look at me but then realize I’m a tourist and ignore me.

My girlfriend walks up. “What the— oh, it’s that pattern again.”

“It’s stalking me!” I wail. “It’s not argyle, it’s not plaid but I keep seeing it. The socks, the wallpaper, the hipster’s vest, that one Pinterest page, and now . . . this!”

“Just go ask,” she says.

I finally find an English speaker. “I don’t know its name,” the woman says. “We just found it on Pinterest.”

34 Comments | tags: fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, mystery, pattern, Pinterest, quirky, tourist | posted in Friday Fictioneers

July 13, 2015

The First Time

By David Stewart

The First Time

The Tower Bridge had always had good connotations for Robert before that night. He was waiting nervously by the north tower, as they had agreed, when the woman emerged out of the evening fog and walked towards him, high heels clicking confidently on the pavement. She was prettier than he had imagined from her voice on the phone. She walked past him a step, then paused and waited for him to fall into step.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“A café near here I use for this sort of thing.”

“In public? What if someone notices?”

She gave him a mocking smile. “This your first time? Trust me, no one cares.”

She led the way to a small café and took a corner booth. She held up two fingers to the waiter and two espressos appeared as if by magic.

“Now,” she said, leaning forward. “What have you got for me? Come on; the first time’s the hardest, but it gets easier.”

“I saw my neighbor, Gavin Henry, reading an anarchist newsletter,” he mumbled. “He holds meetings at his house sometimes. Here, I have photographs.”

She held up a hand. “No need for evidence. We’ll find our own. You’ve done a great service to your country. You should be proud.” She took out a thick envelope.

Robert pushed it away. “Actually, I was hoping that you could give me information on my daughter instead. She was arrested five months ago. I can’t find anything about her.”

The woman grimaced. “Next time. For now, take the money.”

11 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, arrest, betrayal, dystopian, fiction, flash fiction, London, Tower Bridge | posted in Dusk

July 8, 2015

Reality Bestiarius

By David Stewart

Reality Bestiarius

I crouch, trembling, in the storm drain. I can hear the hunter slavering outside—almost feel his hot, stinking breath. He’s been pursuing me for days. I am terrified and bone-tired.

I sniff weakly around the storm drain entrance, my desperation for food bordering on panic. I have not eaten meat in days. I wonder if my little ones have already died of starvation.

“Welcome back to Day 6 of the Predator/Prey Showdown! We’ve seen some surprises but it’s all going to end soon for one contestant. Remember to text 684833 to place your bets on the winner. Call now!

Note: the title is actually a misnomer, since a bestiarius refers to a person who is forced into a combat with an animal. I could not find the Roman term for two animals who are forced to fight each other, as this story intends.

39 Comments | tags: animal fighting, bestiarius, combat, death, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, gambling, reality show | posted in Friday Fictioneers

July 1, 2015

Sacrifices to the Monster

By David Stewart

Happy Canada Day everyone! I’m sorry I’ve been away so much in the last few weeks and this week isn’t any better. I’ll be gone for most of the remainder of the week, totally beyond the range of Internet access. However, I’ll try to read as many as I can when I get back.

Sacrifices to the Monster

A few feeble cries still came from the sweltering trunks of the half-buried wrecks. As the sun set, the cars descended on a platform into the earth, moving silently on well-oiled gears.

When it stopped, an old man approached and unlocked the trunks. He pulled out the sacrifice victims, all young men and women as he had demanded.

He gave them food and water.

“They said you were a monster,” one croaked. “That you would eat us.”

“They are barbarians,” the man said. “Live down here with me until we have enough. Then we will ascend and retake our land.”

41 Comments | tags: fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, post apocalyptic, revenge, sacrifice | posted in Friday Fictioneers

June 28, 2015

Misnomer

By David Stewart

To say this installment of Friday Fictioneers is late is somewhat of an understatement. It’s so late, it’s almost early for next week. I will apologize for being busy, but next week is not much better, since I leave for a 4-day trip on Wednesday afternoon. Thanks to those who continue to read my work when I post it. I appreciate you all.

Misnomer

Kent sat silently, surrounded by racks of string bikinis, more air than there. Outside, the snow lay slathered over the landscape like sunscreen applied liberally by an inexpert hand. It even mockingly covered the TRAK Beachware: Yellowknife Branch sign. The red “A” still glowed optimistically pink through the snow.

He was going to be a pioneer, but it was June 15 and he had taken a snowmobile to work. He morosely picked up the reply to his angry letter to Environment Canada.

“Actually, Mr. Bonham, we prefer the term climate change these days. Global warming is somewhat of a misnomer.”

25 Comments | tags: bikini, Canada, climate change, Environment Canada, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, global warming, Yellowknife | posted in Friday Fictioneers

June 18, 2015

Piety by Proximity – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Piety by Proximity

My dad believed in piety by proximity. His nightstand was a stack of Bibles. My desk lamp was holy, he told me.

“It’ll keep you safe from demons,” he said.

“What’s a demon?”

“It’s like a cross between a deer and a lemon, I think.”

One day, I went on a field trip to the cathedral and saw a row of lamps like mine, one missing.

“Did you steal my lamp?” I asked him later.

“They have five more,” he protested.

“What about the eighth commandment?”

“I didn’t covet it; I just took it.”

I suggested he read his nightstand.

37 Comments | tags: Bible, father, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, piety, quirky, stealing | posted in Friday Fictioneers

June 15, 2015

Clock Tower Jill

By David Stewart

I wrote this originally for Sunday Photo Fiction, which is a story challenge based on a picture. The stories are supposed to be around 200 words. I try to stay close to that but this week it’s a bit longer, just as forewarning.

Clock Tower Jill

I called her Clock Tower Jill, even back when I was still trying to eat her. I didn’t know her real name because we never talked, of course. She was a quirky one, Clock Tower Jill.

It was July and the hot, muzzy air was hanging like a lead blanket in the forest when I first saw those long legs stepping towards me through the undergrowth. I wasn’t starving but I roared and readied myself to pounce. She picked up a stick and swung it like a bat, right into my snout. That stunned me and before I could recover, she sprinted away. It was too hot for me to run far and by the time I found her, she had reached the ruined town. I saw her at the top of the clock tower, sticking her tongue out at me.

I kept her treed up there for days, out of spite for my hurt snout. Then I realized she would eventually starve to death and I would not get to eat her anyway. So I brought her some food. It was accepted imperiously, without even a thank you. I named her Jill. She was like my pet.

After a month of living up in the tower, she came down and called to me. “You, creature. I want to go down to the lake to swim.”

I had long given up trying to eat her and I stood by to let her go.

“I want to ride you,” she said. I bristled at that, but gave in eventually, since she was my pet.

She sat on my back and held my mane while I trotted down to the lake. I stood guard while she swam and then I brought her back. She was a good pet.

“Good boy,” she said, patting my head before she went back up into her tower. “Bring me something good tonight, okay?” That rankled but I did it for her anyway since I liked having her around. And after all, she was pretty quirky, my Clock Tower Jill.

13 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, clock tower, fantasy, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, monster, woman | posted in Dusk

June 13, 2015

Looking for a Deal-Breaker

By David Stewart

Looking for a Deal-Breaker

“Here’s the kitchen, where Mrs. Hernandez hacked up her husband,” I said.

The oohs and ahhs sounded disturbingly enthusiastic. The family crowded around the spot. I needed to change tactics.

“The toaster is possessed. If it catches you—”

“You’re toast?” the mother said. They all laughed. The father snapped a picture.

I started to panic. If they passed on this house, the boss said I could buy it.

“It’s part of a homeowner association!” I blurted out.

I expected horror but they just smiled creepily. “It’s okay, we like HOAs,” the father said.

I let them have the house.

My apologies to anyone who likes their homeowners association. Here are some reasons why I’ll never be part of one though.

36 Comments | tags: creepy, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, homeowners association, horror, kitchen, possessed | posted in Friday Fictioneers

June 7, 2015

Solitaire-y

By David Stewart

Solitaire-y

“And finally, here’s something to keep you sane,” the freight captain said, pointing to the complex 3D matrix of wires and spheres bolted to the table. He said “sane” as if he meant the opposite.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Solitaire.”

And then we shook hands and he sealed me into the echoing metal coffin that would deliver a hundred million tons of ore back to Earth, five years from now.

I spent a week doing basic maintenance and chores before I even looked at the game. It took me a week to read and understand the rules. The first game took a month, with constant references to the rulebook.

The second game took even longer.

The fifth game took four years.

I realized it wasn’t a game. Not really.

Each of the 72 spheres was like a planet.

I named each one.

I knew the inhabitants.

I agonized over every move. Every one affected everything else.

I cried when I eliminated one, thinking of its inhabitants, snuffed out suddenly and completely.

I heard some noises but I ignored them.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped. “Who are you?” I asked.

“Atmosphere Enforcement,” he said. “You weren’t responding to radio calls. We had to break in.”

“Where am I?”