Tag Archives: flash fiction

Free to Park, Free to Die – Friday Fictioneers

copyright Roger Bultot

copyright Roger Bultot

Free to Park, Free to Die

“No parking? What does that even mean? It’s space, your Honor. Space. You can’t own or regulate that. You can’t own anything. Matter was free out in outer space for billions of years and suddenly we put a fence around it? Mine! Don’t touch! Bullshit.

“Of course I entered the yard. I took the vegetables—I made the fire. I’m free, you know. That’s my right. I’m sorry it spread but they didn’t own that house. It’s part of the universe.

“I’m sorry they died. Really. I’m not a monster. But they were free too. They were free to die.”


Big Dumb Snakes – Friday Fictioneers

copyright Jennifer Pendergast

copyright Jennifer Pendergast

Big Dumb Snakes

Thirty years ago we released the trains—flipped the switch (God speed!) and forgot about them. They trundled mutely across the country, delivering freight with perfect timing. Cheap too—computers don’t want to get rich.

Then the mistakes started. The book Tammy ordered arrives—along with chemo meds she desperately needs but can’t afford. The company shrugs: “Shipping error; we can’t take them back.”

An engine comes in the mail, unordered. A week later Andrew’s dies. It would’ve cost his monthly salary.

“To err is human but to really screw up . . .” people say, laughing. “Big dumb snakes.”

 


Car Hunting

copyright Joe Owens

copyright Joe Owens

My dad loved to show people around his trophy room, so when my college roommate came over for Thanksgiving, of course Dad gave him the tour.

“You’ve done a lot of hunting!” Kiefer said. I rolled my eyes. Don’t encourage him.

“Yep, I sure have,” my dad said, making a sweeping gesture to encompass all the license plates on the walls. “This here was from my first one. It was a ’68 Chevy Chevelle. I got it going down Route 46, not far from here. Single shot—bam!—right to the engine block. Damaged the body a bit but stopped it dead.”

“So you mostly go for sedans then?”

I tried giving Kiefer a warning look. My dad was going to talk for hours at this rate.

“I have tried all kinds.” Dad was beaming now. “When Bobby was little, we’d go out for hatchbacks. We tagged two in one day over in Breathitt County. We could only bring the fenders home, although of course Bobby liked to keep the spark plugs as souvenirs.” I blushed.

“Do you think I could give it a try?” Kiefer asked. My dad’s face lit up.

“Why sure! We’ll go grab you and Bobby some licenses and head out tomorrow. You haven’t tried car hunting until you’ve done it on Black Friday. You can use my SUV rifle.”

“Aren’t you a member of Greenpeace?” I whispered to Kiefer.

“This isn’t nature,” he said. “This is cars!” He and my dad high-fived and I knew that I’d lost him.


High Street Lows – Friday Fictioneers

Thank you all for your great comments on my story and picture last week. As you might know, I was out of town at an English teaching convention from Wednesday to Sunday (learning about IEP organizational culture and L2 writing assessment techniques, etc.) so I didn’t get a chance to read many stories. However, I still intend to.

As for this picture, my first instinct was to write an April Fool’s story (either one based on a joke or an actual joke on you) and my second was that this looked like a mouthless face with the right eye winking. I resisted both of these for something much sillier.

copyright Lauren Moscato

copyright Lauren Moscato

High Street Lows

I stepped outside, fell five feet, and sprained my ankle.

I checked the road report.

“High Street is feeling very low today. It’s tired of getting stepped on, like people feel it’s beneath them. Please compliment the road when you get the chance.”

I limped to work, muttering “Good road” through clenched teeth. A storm drain gave off a little sigh of contented steam.

The next day I opened the door to solid earth.

Road report: “High Street is quite high today. Please refrain from complimenting it until further notice. Also, please do not discard drug paraphernalia on the road.”


Sword Music – Friday Fictioneers

First of all, I was very happy to see my picture appear here.  I’m curious to see what others make of it. Secondly, I won’t be able to do that much this week, since I’m out of town on a business trip until Sunday. I’ll have Internet and will try to find time to read some.

Copyright David Stewart

Copyright David Stewart

Sword Music

The first note hovered in the air like an orb-weaver hanging from the horn of the moon.

More instruments joined, the energy rising like a waking predator. It ascended, a frenetic dervish, around the musicians, touching the forest of upraised swords. The edges kindled, maddened to fury by the throbbing cacophony of raw power.

The music ceased, except the first lingering, arachnid note. The hungry light of a thousand blades was quenched in their sheaths.

“We desire peace,” the king said, “but you see our weapons. Go tell your people.”

The ambassador wiped his brow. “There will be peace,” he said.


Death Don’t Us Part

Death Don't Us Part

Death Don’t Us Part

Life and death never end up like you think. I went to sleep one night, dreamed about being back at college with a lobster for a roommate, then woke up in a coffin. It was comfortable, at least.

I lay there for a bit, wondering why I had had a lobster for a roommate when I heard a tap, tap, tap.

“Who’s there?” I said. What else do you say?

“Is that you, Jamal?” It was my wife Olivia.

“Yeah, I’m in a coffin. Where are you?”

“In one too. I’m next to you.”

“Huh. Do you suppose we’re dead?”

“I suppose.”

There was a pause that could have been a few seconds or a few years.

“Do you think this is because we omitted ‘Til death do us part’ from our vows?” I asked.

“Could be. I never thought of this happening. So, you want to get out of here?”

“Can we?”

“After you, monsieur.”

I tried and a moment later, I found myself in a cemetery at night. A translucent version of Olivia appeared a moment later.

“Have you lost weight?” I asked. She rolled spectral eyes at me.

“You don’t have to be so grave about everything,” I said. That made her laugh.

“You kill me, you know?” she said.

“Not anymore. So, what now?”

She took my hand. “I don’t know, go visit our old haunts?”

“Now look who’s starting.”

We floated off. Together.


The Id of Life – Friday Fictioneers

Copyright Rachel Bjerke

Copyright Rachel Bjerke

The Id of Life

The Manners of Life


Acid Rain! Now in Different Colors!

Acid Rain!

I pulled back the shower curtain after my shower and saw a group of people in blue raincoats crowded in front of me, holding up cell phones and cameras. I was shocked for a moment, then nodded smugly, remembering my new LSD-laced shampoo: Acid Rain! I didn’t think the hallucinations would be so specific though. The ceiling wasn’t melting or anything.

“Can we ask you a few questions?” one of them asked.

“I can’t hear you,” I said, combing my hair. “You’re just a product of double lathering.”

“Actually,” one said, “we’re part of a focus group on the drug-related merchandise you’ve recently bought.”

“You’re not hallucinations?” I asked.

“No.”

“You’re real people?”

“Yes.”

“So, I should put a towel on?”

“Please!” they all said, in unison, like they’d been practicing.

“Now, you have questions?”

They all pulled out clipboards. “How’s the shampoo?”

I shrugged. “No dandruff. Pleasing smell. The morning is a magical time.”

“Have you been eating your Weedies?”

“Every morning!” I said brightly.

“And how is your new Honda Ecstasy?”

“Great gas mileage!” I said, “and I always get to work happy.”

“Excellent.” They all scribbled notes assiduously. “Now, we’d like your ideas for other things.”

“Well, maybe some sort of heroin bicycle?”

There was a shocked silence. “Heroin?” one said. “At OmniDrugCo, we’re trying to make the world a better place. We’re not monsters. Now take your free sample of meth and have a nice day!”


Frostymandias – Friday Fictioneers

Hi everyone,

the story is below the photo but to those who write Friday Fictioneers stories, do you hate having to log into the Inlinkz site every week to get the code for the “blue frog” button? There is an easier way.

The code is always the same. The only difference is the six-digit number in it. If you save the code in a word document, you can reuse it every week, only changing those six digits. You find them by clicking on the blue frog on Rochelle’s post. The Inlinkz URL looks this:

http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=497352

Those last six digits are the unique numbers for this week’s group.

Here is the code (at least if you have blog through WordPress; the others are slightly different). Replace those six digits with the new ones and it’s good for the new week.


 

<!– start InLinkz script –>

<a href=”http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=497352&#8243; rel=”nofollow”><img style=”border: 0;” src=”http://www.inlinkz.com/img/wp/wpImg.png&#8221; alt=”” />


 

Maybe you already do that, but it’s just a quick way to save a step when you’re trying to get your story up and start being read.

Frostymandias

I cut through Pine Park and came across a slushy stump, the remnant of our winter tyrant, Frostymandias.

After months of winter, people cried out for relief and with the perversity of frost-bitten minds, we made the thing we loathed: a god of ice so that we could beg him in person to leave.

Offerings of icicles were stuck anonymously in the snow, but Frostymandias only glared down, laughing at our puny supplication. He was cold, biting, eternal.

But then spring came.

*   *   *

A bird landed on the stump and dropped some grass: a toupee for a bald and melting god.

The inspiration for this story.


First Week at the Nexus

I realize this is two letters home from children in a week, but they’re very different and apparently this is how my mind is thinking at the moment.

copyright Joe Owens

copyright Joe Owens


Dear Mum and Dad,

Greetings from the land of inter-dimensional hospitality! Well, my first week at the Nexus Hotel is over. It didn’t drive me insane but there were several points where I wished I’d never been born. Sorry Mum, you did your best and all.

It’s pretty brutal out here. I had a party of Neanderthals stumble in from some primitive dimension and demand the first floor suites. No credit card, of course, but I got half a gazelle as payment. They trashed the rooms and set fire to two of the beds. They also massacred half a Venusian furry convention that was meeting on the third floor. I comped the survivors their rooms. Hope that’s okay.

On Wednesday, we had a couple dark specters arrive. Didn’t pay, of course, just loitered around haunting the place. I got them exorcised finally. It’s fine now.

Some sort of space princess came two days ago. That’s when things started looking up. She’s pretty. I let her have the top two floors indefinitely. I’m redecorating for her, turning it into a castle.

Don’t worry about the hotel, I’m handling everything.

Your son,

Winky.


Winky’s father put down the letter. “Maybe I should go help him out. Just for a few days.”

“You’re retired,” his wife said. “You promised.”

Her husband noticed the way she was fingering her knife. “Right, right. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

 


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