Tag: flash fiction

Over and out

a few random words

just waffly bits I’ve been scribbling…

Every day Cal would wake and think that today would be his last. Today, he was right.

With his engines offline he tumbled through space at 30000 miles an hour towards his inevitable destination. He stabbed at the lifeless console hoping to gain control of the ship but it remained unresponsive save for the blink of the life support system.

Peering out of the starboard portal the moon swung slowly and ominously into sight, and just beyond her horizon he saw the Earth he’d left behind and would now never return to.

He then smiled and sat back in his chair. waiting…

Shorts – Tea and Anxiety

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. This was inspired by a piece of art I bought which Ill post about next…

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back(September 2022) I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…What concerns me most about this one is that I have no recollection of writing it. How curious.

Tea and Anxiety

He sits and watches, patiently, the clink of cup on saucer breaking the silence. Hands fold in his lap as he sets aside the tea and a crooked smile creeps across his snarling lips. He wishes nothing but ill intent, that creeping gloom that overwhelms and petrifies as the Sunday clock marches on to bed time. And bed time, as we know, is the promise of tomorrow and all it holds.

“I don’t want to go,“ the little girl tells her mother, “I don’t like it one bit. They are all horrible to me, especially the boys. The one with the round face pulls my hair when the teacher isn’t looking.”

The mother caresses the girls blonde curls and pulls the blanket up tight around her chin.

“You must ignore them, Cassie,” she insists, “These things pass like all things eventually. When I was a little girl it was just the same and it will get better.”

“Nothing passes,” the creature whispered into the darkness, “nothing passes, no not ever, no never.” He takes up the tea once more and sips from the darkness of the corner of the room, his pale eyes never leaving her.

Cassie breathed deep and turned into the pillow.  It was cold and crisp.

“Nothing passes,” Cassie whispered as her mother stroked her face gently. “You know that, right?”

Cassies mother paused, feeling a cold breeze across her back, and she turned to check that the window had been properly closed.

“That’s not true Cassie,” she said, fiddling with the latch and checking that it was fastened tight. Looking out into the garden she could see flakes of snow starting to drift slowly downwards, caught in the pale light that hung over the back porch.

“It’s going to be…” Cassie’s mother’s voice trailed off as she became distracted by the night beyond the window, the inky black of winter hanging like a pall over the houses that stretched into the distance. Her mind drifted and she watched small plumes of white smoke snake into the windless sky.

“They don’t like you Cassie,” the creature whispered once more, a lyrical lilt in its voice, eyes wild as it climbed slowly up onto the small wooden dresser that sat against the far wall of the room.  It stared directly at her as she lay under her blanket.

“Tomorrow is waiting for you,” it continued, head tilting to one side as it watched the older one pull the curtains closed and walk back over to where the child lay in the bed.

“They don’t like me, mummy,” Cassie said meekly, “please can I stay home tomorrow? My tummy hurts”

“Sleep well,” said Cassie’s mother, placing a kiss on her head. “It will be better in the morning. I promise. And your tummy will be just fine”

“Promises, promises,” hissed the creature into the darkness, it took another sip of tea, eyes bright and ferocious.

“You always promise that,“ said Cassie as she turned into her pillow. “But it never changes.”

The door closed and darkness consumed all. Cassie lay quite still as the creature sat on the dresser and watched her, waiting for her to fall asleep as he whispered indistinguishably into the darkness. Morning would come soon enough, but until then, there was tea to be finished…

Shorts – Shuffle, loop, repeat

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back(September 2022) I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…What concerns me most about this one is that I have no recollection of writing it. How curious.

Headlights cut through the star specked darkness as Clarissa feathered the breaks of the old pick up nervously, steepling mountain sides to one side and a seemingly bottomless drop to the other. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the lights that flickered at the end of the valley  she could see the moon reflecting off of the ocean as it stretched beyond the small white houses, and out past the small boats that bobbed quietly in the bay. It was a road she felt she had driven so many times before she’d left, but it made her nervous still. Maybe it was the thought of returning home after all these years, or maybe it was just the road. She tried not to think about either.

Tyres squealed as she rounded the tight corners, the scent of the sea already thick in the air and memories of so many summers coming flooding back as she wound down the window to feel the cool night air on her skin. She reached for the battered Bakelite dial on the radio and watched it scroll right to left, the crackle and hiss giving way to a feint music that ebbed and flowed like the tides as she moved in and out of the shadow of the mountain side and wound her way down towards the town.

A battered road sign, pockmarked and faded, told her that it was just three miles to the place she had once called home, the place where she had grown up, and the place she had vowed never to return to. Those brash aspirations of youth now as distant as the life she had left behind.

The radio burst into life once more and it caused her to start, knuckles white as she gripped the old leather steering wheel tightly.

“Shit, “ she said to herself, letting out a nervous laugh. Despite the moon and stars, the sky was still an inky black and the quiet of night added to the anxiety she has sworn would not affect her when she’d decided to return to the old family home.

The woman on the radio was now singing about the troubles that comes from loving a boy with blue eyes and a pickup truck, and she couldn’t help but sympathise, but then smiled as she decided that it was probably the singers own stupid fault for getting in the pickup truck in the first place and that she should probably just stay well away from blue eyed boys if she knew what is good for her.

“Now, now, that’s all a bit cynical isn’t it,” she said aloud to herself as she decided that the quiet of night was a far better option that the woes of the singer and turned the knob on the radio until it made a ‘click’ and fell silent. The road widened and flattened as the roadside markers ticked down from three to two miles, and soon the mountain side was left behind, the ravines disappeared, and tall pines lined the road ahead.

Though she had not been home for twenty years nearly, everything had a familiar feel already. Imprinted memories from her youth resonating as the headlights lit up the last few miles and the trees soon paved the way to the sprawling lawns and large houses that were dotted around the outskirts of town. Speeding up along the long sweep that would bring her home, she smiled as the town church spire appeared over the treetops, still white and bright against the night.

 Reaching down she decided to turn the radio back on and she scanned the dial as she twisted the black know and the thin red marker moved left to right. Music surged and faded, and she continued to search until the signal strengthened and the sound quite suddenly blared from the speakers causing her to start.

“Shit,” she said, heart racing as she looked down, struggling to quicky adjust the volume. The pickup veered towards the middle of the road as the small black knob came off in her fingers.”Oh double shit!” she exclaimed as it fell away into the footwell. It was soon to make little difference, as before she could look up there was a deafening blare of a truck horn over the sound of the music…and then nothing. Quiet.

Headlights cut through the star specked darkness as Clarissa feathered the breaks of the old pick up nervously, steepling mountain sides to one side and a seemingly bottomless drop to the other…

Shorts – Alignment

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back(September 2022) I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…What concerns me most about this one is that I have no recollection of writing it. How curious.

Part 1 – Jennifer

Her thin, pale fingers still bloodied, Jennifer sat very still in the chair, hands cuffed to the desk in front of her. The room was uncomfortably warm, and the police office sat across from her was sweating more than she was.

“Are you quite okay?” she asked him, quite genuinely concerned as she watched rivulets of sweat run down the sides of his round, pink face. “I’d offer you a handkerchief,” she continued, holding up her hands until the chain clinked against bracket that held it in place, “but as you can see I am somewhat restricted in my movements.”

“Why did you do it?” the office asked, “we know you did it, we have witnesses to the whole thing. What we really want to know though is why would you stab a man through the heart in broad daylight?”

Jennifer said nothing, wishing he would wipe his face. He looked quite unwell and could certainly do to lose a few pounds. That might help. She didn’t mind the warmth particularly, it was actually nice to be warm for a change. This time of year the streets were so very cold, and no amount of blankets or cardboard boxes could stop the cold seeping into your bones.

“Did you know the man? Did he do something to you?” he asked, his eyes fixed firmly on her. “Did he want something from you, was that it?”

Jennifer looked down at the table and shook her head. She could still see his face, eyes wide in surprise, his red lunch pail dropping to the floor and sandwiches spilling at her feet.

From the very beginning she knew that she would have to go through this. There was never a thought that she would get away with it, that was never the point. In fact it was quite the opposite.

“So he was a complete stranger?”

Jennifer nodded again; head still bowed.

For a moment the tone of the officer softened, and he pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned in towards her.

“People don’t just kill complete strangers, do they Jennifer?” he said, “they just don’t do that. Now maybe you ought to tell me why you did what you did, and we can try and figure this whole thing out, eh. Did he hurt you? Is that why you did it?”

Jennifer looked into the face of the officer and sighed. His eyes were kind, despite all he must have seen in his time on the streets. They were very similar in that way she thought, only he was out there by choice.

“I did it, and I would very much like to go back to my cell if that’s okay,” she said calmly, a smile breaking out across her face. “I really do have nothing more to add. I’m guilty,  and its so very nice and warm in there and I believe lunch will be served soon.”

Part 2 – Donna

The door slammed violently, windows rattling, as Frank stomped down the hall. Heavy work boots clattered on the bare wooden floorboards and his voice boomed out.

“Donna, I’m home. Where are you?” His red lunch pail clattered as it was thrown on the small wooden table next to the door.

Upstairs, small feet scuttled and darted and then fell quiet as a sense of apprehension filled the air. A small, soft voice came from the ramshackle kitchen that sat at the back of the house.

“I’m sorry, I’m coming,” it said, a mix of fear and faked enthusiasm. ”it…it’s good to have you home,” she continued.  There was a clink of glass on glass and the sound of a bottle being put back down before she appeared through the kitchen doorway.

She was a small woman, a well-worn dress hung from her, shoulders to ankles, and her hair was pulled in a tight knot. She mustered a smile and it crept awkwardly across her face, a face with too many lines for her still young years. The remains of a bruise around her left eye were still vaguely visible in the dim light and she hurried to meet Frank, holding out a small glass of pale liquor in a thick bottomed cut glass tumbler. It had been part of a set once, not theirs of course, they couldn’t afford such things. Sometimes the family for whom she did washing would give her things they were otherwise going to throw away. As long as Frank didn’t think they were receiving charity, he was happy to not care where the things came from.

“Dinner?” he said taking the glass from her. “I don’t go to work all…”

He stopped his train of conversation as a thump and a crash from upstairs, and there was a small scream before it fell silent, stifled.

Frank roared, instantly enraged, and Donna reached for his arm to try to calm him. She knew it was pointless but she had to try.

“Here, she said,” desperately, “why don’t you come sit down and I will put the television on and I will go sort the twins out.”

Frank waited for a moment, nostrils flared and jaw clenched tight. All day he had worked, he told himself, all day just to come home to this.

“What they need is a dose of discipline,” he shouted, knowing they could hear him.

“I know, I know, please, let me deal with it,” Donna continued, her heart was racing and she knew how this would end.

Frank finished his drink in a single gulp and handed her the glass.

“Let me get you another while you sit, dinner will be ready in just a minute,” Donna said gently leading him into the living room. A large, battered leather chair sat in front of the television, a smaller couch to one side of the room and then very little else bar a few photos on a small side table. Frank dropped into it, and it seemed to groan as he settled in.

“Get me that drink,” he said, fierce eyes darting up to the ceiling and then back to Donna. He reached up and put a hand on her waist, and it took every effort in her not to flinch. He smiled and licked his lips, “good girl.”

Part 3 – Room 101

>>> Transmitting >>>

Cypher: We all set? You sure about this one?

Charon: Good to go. You worry too much. You need to learn to trust me. We’ve done this enough times.

Cypher: Transfers received?

Charon: This one’s gratis. Friend of a friend of a friend, and I was feeling charitable. Your finders fee remains the same though. It’s nearly Christmas, I am feeling charitable.

Cypher: Are you fucking serious?

Charon: Deadly

Cypher: LOL. Such a big heart.

Charon:  And she knows no lawyer right? She knows to just take it on the chin.

Cypher: Now who’s doubting who? She knows the drill. Do not pass go, do not collect 200.

Charon: Matched and dispatched brother, plausible deniability guaranteed. Ive set the server scrub. Tick tick tick…

Cypher: The things people will do for 3 meals a day and guaranteed warmth eh.

Charon: We didn’t start the fire, but we gotta pay the ferryman.

Cypher: You talk a lot of shit.

Charon: Service with a smile my friend.

>>>Transmission end…server reset initiated….>>>

Shorts – The Great Magico

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back(September 2022) I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…What concerns me most about this one is that I have no recollection of writing it. How curious.

I have always been of the opinion, and remain strident in my certainty to this day, that clowns can just fuck off. And not a little. No, they can fuck well and truly off. They can fuck wholly and utterly and most completely OFF!

And it is with that steadfast clarity of conviction that I found myself sat at an until now run of the mill birthday party for 6-year-olds, beer in hand, when I was confronted by The Great Magico.

Wild eyes and white gloved, fingers torturing balloons and teasing them into twisted animal forms to ear piercing shrieks, he cavorts and darts from child to child. My mouth is dry and my heart races as his wide red lips peel back in a primal snarl revealing teeth with which to rip and tear, or perhaps to eat cake, though I do not wish to prejudge his intent – despite knowing in my heart this is truly a monster in our midst.

I recoil as the garish colours of his clothes flash before my eyes, my white-knuckled hands gripping the paper plate in my lap, an assortment of warm fruits and half eaten chocolate biscuits falling to the floor.

“Do you want a giraffe?” he asks a particularly excited ginger haired boy, and the boy nods and claps his hands, a fiendish contract of desire signed with a mere gesture. He will surely wake in the night when the painted fool returns for payment, mouth wide in at attempted scream that fades to nothing in the darkness.

I try to stand but my legs will not work. He has a hold on me, I can feel it, and I want to scream as bright-eyed girl, the birthday girl, her blood red dress trailing in the grass, runs over to him. Outstretched arms envelop her, pulling her close and she disappears beneath his foul garb. Can no one else see, are they blind to this madness. Surely, they are not blind to the funeral shroud around her lifeless body.

Though what is this? Moments later she is brought back from the precipice, the ferryman perhaps unpaid. The price too steep maybe?

I feel my legs stir, his hold loosened surely through the revival of such innocence in the face of darkness, and stumble to my feet. One in front of the other I attempt to escape his grip as his gaze turns to me, eyes as red as lucifers throbbing cod piece and nostrils flared like a dragon ready to consume me in the fire of his fury.

I fall to the ground, fingers clawing into the clod earth and fallen fruits, like those from the tree of knowledge, soaking through my clothes. The smell of beer catches in my nose, surely it is the breath of the dark jester prince as he prepares to consume my soul. The shrieks and screams of children fill the air. Surely this is it, my end, my moment of judgement.

And then, when things seem at their darkest, she is there once more, a voice as clear as a bell in the night. Sweet and gentle, like rays of light piercing the darkness of the clouds after a storm. She is my refuge, my port, my lighthouse of hope.

“Help daddy up, “she says, and a tiny hand takes mine where I lie.

“Why does daddy smell like toilet?” the small voice asks.

Shorts – Red dirt

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…

Benz waved his arms and screamed to be heard above the thunder of tank fire as a kamikaze drone tore through the air above the squads’ heads. It screamed through a broken window on the first floor of the admin building behind them, shards of glass hanging from the frame like broken teeth, and exploded with a ‘whizz-thump’ that seemed to pull the very air from your lungs before pulling in the walls and then suddenly hurling them outwards.

“Corporal Hill, get your arse out of that crater and over to sat-com,” he shouted, throwing himself to the ground behind the rubble of a small fallen wall to avoid the falling debris of the admin building. Just as quickly he then regained his feet and sprinted across the open ground towards what had once been a wide car park that had welcomed visitors as they approached the long-abandoned robotics factory.

More drones whizzed overhead, cutting through the billowing smoke that swirled around the tanks as they navigated slowly between the falling buildings. Hill pulled his battle jacket tight around his waist as he lay in the high sided crater, still warm from impact with smoke rising up slowly to join the fog of war that lay thick in the air. God only knew why command had sent them this way, he thought to himself. The bots had been waiting for them – as if they knew exactly where and when they would be there, and if they didn’t get out of here soon those drones were going to finish every last one of them off.

“let’s not make this another San Francisco,” Benz barked as he dived into the crater alongside Hill. Three other wide eyed grunts lay across from him with their weapons clenched close to their chests, probably only 16 years old if they were a day. Cannon fodder. There to serve the war effort.

“Evening boys,” Benz said smiling, eyes wild and steely blue. “Enjoying the war are we?”

All three shook their heads and Benz roared with laughter.

“No shit, they never told you it would be like this down in the caves did they”.

Again, all three shook their heads and seemed to shrink even further down into the crater.

For the briefest of moments compassion flickered across Benz’ face before he turned to Hill.

“I need you to get to forward command and let them know just how royally fucked we are. We’ve lost 80 percent of the battalion and it’s turning into a tank graveyard. Visibility is near zero and we can’t stop those kill drones.”

He turned back to the three grunts that were staring intently and listening to the two senior men.

“Oh, don’t worry lads,” said Benz, flashing them a thumbs up. “I’m pretty sure it will be just fine.”

The recruits nodded once more as Benz turned back to hill.

“It probably isn’t going to be fine,” he said as quietly as he could through the din of explosions and gun fire that rang all around.

Hill knew full well fine was the very last thing things were going to be.

“Can you do that for me?” Benz asked, not focussed solely on Hill. “Can you get that message to forward command? All other channels are down. We need air cover and exit or we are toast.”

Hill said nothing. What choice did he have he wondered? What would happen if he said no, if he admitted just how terrified he was and how he really did not want to be a corporal and that he did not even know why they were fighting.

“Hill,” snapped Benz, placing a hand on the man’s shaking shoulder. “So, can you do it for me? While I try help protect those tanks. Can you get that message to them.”

Hill stuttered that he could and scrambled to his knees, ready to leap from the crater. Benz was up in a flash and grabbed a handful of the webbing on the back of Hill’s battle jacket and helped heave him to his feet.

“Go,” he shouted and pushed hill up and over the lip of the crater.

Benz scrambled after him to make sure he had got away and as he raised his head over the lip of the crater he saw Hill ripped clean in half as a low flying drone tore clean through him. He didn’t even get to scream, his middle third was a bloodied mist before he even realised and his top and bottom thirds fell to the floor as his blood seeped into the dust and dirt.

Benz slipped back inside the crater cursing, fists crashing into the steaming earth. For a moment he closed his eyes to compose himself, taking in a deep breath and then exhaling, his breath mixing with the smoke and steam.

He looked across at the three boys across from him, huddled close together, terrified and unable to move.

“Is…is he okay?” one of them asked, a pale faced boy with a shock of red hair peeking out from under his helmet.

Benz smiled. “Oh yes, ran like a whippet after a hare,” he said, obviously lying. He’s probably  half way there already.

The three boys eyed him up warily. They were young and naïve, but not completely stupid.

“Anyway, “ said Benz. “Which one of you is the fastest…?”

Shorts – Dead Accountant walking

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back(September 2022) I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…What concerns me most about this one is that I have no recollection of writing it. How curious.

When the dead rose, yawning graves willingly vomiting up their rancid, worm riddled treasures, there were those that cried that this was surely hell. They thumped their chests and proclaimed – often waving leather bound books – that these were the end of days, and that it was time for judgement and oh boy were we going to be sorry. They insisted that we weren’t to complain because the truth had been there all along, mostly tucked away in the bed side tables in hotel rooms they conceded – but none the less it was our own fault for not believing and not paying attention and we should just get on with what was surely coming our way.

Now obviously I should point out that other faiths and theologies were available for commentary on the matter, and in the main those professing them were also found with leather bound books, different ones, but most generally concurred that we had this coming and there was nothing that could be done now.

That is probably one of the positives of the whole end of the world thing. They were all right to a degree and were able to find common ground at last with a shared message. The smug satisfaction did not last long though as they – like most people – were soon trying – and failing – to avoid the dead because they weren’t at all interested in whether you or any of your newfound friends had a leather-bound book at all. They would quite happily feast on you regardless of denomination or size of your leather-bound book collection.

A few months later those of us that remained were rather convinced that in fact almost everybody – regardless of persuasion – had been so very far from the mark.

The dead it turns out just wanted everything else to be dead too you see. They weren’t at all fussy. Cat? Sure, thing they would happily make that dead. Dogs? Easy pickings. One dead dog coming up. Cow found wandering unsuspectingly. You got it. Deaded. And people? There were plenty of those to make dead so absolutely they were all in on people too. It seemed a straightforward and simple lifestyle, and given they seemingly had none of the complexities and strains of modern life to contend with they could focus all of their energies on making things dead, and they were making a bloody good fist of it.

No, this was not hell, because hell would have been preferable in some regards. At least hell was warm. This was something on a whole new level, well beyond the gnashing of teeth and the wailing of the childless mothers the Old Testament had promised in repayment for our iniquities. There was no horned chap sat on a throne with a pitchfork insisting that we calm down, stop complaining, and bend over for our daily anal probing.

This was worse than hell.

This was London 2042.

Oh, and did I mention I’m dead too? Oh yeah. Pretty unfortunate turn of event but that’s how it goes these days. I had wanted to be an accountant but turns out the universe had other plans.

Guess there are things worse than death eh. Accountant. What the hell was I thinking…

Shorts – Burrito Meltdown

A while back i sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads

Having slowed somewhat in my writing, a while back I sat down to force myself to write 500 words a night. These are some of those word-salads. Unedited, raw, and just done for the hell of it…

In the endless possibilities of eternity there are things of such horror that they have yet to be imagined. Truly, truly terrible things that defy all description and would drive you mad if you were to know just how awful they might be. But on that list of things that have been both imagined and endured, there is the endless torture of being trapped inside a space suit, thousands of miles above the Earth, with your own fart.

Evolutionists would have us believe that homo sapiens, as well as lower and higher functioning mammals, have a natural proclivity to the stench of their own internal brewing as it is an affirmation of ones effective inner workings. Or something like that.

And here, in the darkness of space, on the edge of Earth’s atmosphere, Buster Wilde found himself wholly convinced that once that list of universal horrors was finalised there ought to be space made on it for the intestinal effects of government ration 158, beef chilli burrito.

It was not exactly a burrito in a way that a potato is not exactly a bottle of Russian standard vodka, though the chemical constituents would undoubtedly argue to the contrary and persist in their assumption that the dark paste he had endured, if coupled with the particularly large and lumpy potato, were in fact the basis for a rather good start to a night out on the town. They would further assert that they were technically correct in their belief in being a great dinner on the basis of being technically correct. And that is of course the purest form of correct and therefore the most compelling.

This was no night out on the town though. This was an attempt to unjam the launch arm of the satellite docking bay, whilst being suffocated by his own bodily functions.

“Screw it,” he thought to himself as he pulled down on the crowbar that he had jammed under the bent plating that had come loose when the bay doors had opened. He took a number of deep breaths and coughed. A couple more followed and for a moment sprite of light danced before his eyes. A warning light beeped on his wrist panel indicating a drop in oxygen levels, and then it blinked green once more and then went off.

“Everything ok out there?” came a voice over his com. “Swallowed a fly?” they continued, laughing.

Buster watched as the jammed plate came loose and drifted past his visor, spinning slowly. He reached out a gloved hand and managed to grab hold of it, clamping it to the magnetic belt hung around his waist.

“I’m fine,” he replied, “nothing to worry about. Arm is freed and I’m heading back to the lock now.”

Buster pushed himself away from the rail that ran the length of the cargo bay doors and drifted slowly back towards the entry hatch. He watched the Earth thousands of miles below, silent in the inky blackness. The smell had mostly gone now, and only a feint remnant lingered on his pallet. 

“Entering hatch one now,” he said as he swung the heavy handle and pulled the large square hatch cover open.

“That’s good,” came the reply across the com, “now get yourself inside, it’s curry for dinner tonight and you have another scheduled walk out there later – one of the access panels needs bolting down.”

Until Tomorrow #FFC

Another flash fiction quickie.

In response to Fandango’s flash fiction challenge.

Will try keep these to no more than 200 words. Today the photo below was posted by Fandango as a prompt. Head over to see him, hes a thoroughtly decent chap.

After all of these years, she is still the beautiful girl I fell in love with. Though time has taken its inevitable toll, on both head and heart, there is still that same sparkle in her eyes which so ensnared me what is now a lifetime ago.

Lines paint a picture of a life well lived across her face, and even if now frail, everyone assembled in the room knows she remains a force of such joy and ferocious endeavour, and that she carries still more fervently a love quite fierce and unquenchable for those she calls friends or family, of which assembled now are as many as the days she has lived.

Tears hide that glint now though, and as I stretch out my hand to comfort her she turns slowly to where we spent those many nights, sat quietly, listening to the crackle and hiss of the ‘soundies’ she loved so dearly, and which she taught me to adore nearly as much as I adored her.

I hear my name across the hubbub of the busy room, and somewhere there is an open door as I feel the cold air of December blow through me. It will be Christmas soon. One more reason to celebrate, one more year to look back on. One more year with her.

Children’s voices drift in and out of earshot as I watch her, still light on her feet as she embraces old friends, her silver hair pulled in a tight bun on top of her head. I prefer it when she lets it hang loose, the way it cascades around her face and onto her shoulders, and oh the hours I have spent watching her in front of the mirror brushing it. She would laugh and tell me not to stare so much, but these were some of my happiest moments. Just us. Together.

I feel a tug, pulling me away. Probably one of the grand children I suspect. Cheeks red from the cold and hair tousled, eyes bright and filled with mischief. I allow myself to be led away, and the room becomes quiet. And then, in that moment, a sadness and an understanding descends up on me I look down and I am alone, there is no small hand in mine. I smile as I finger the ring that has sat on my finger these fifty years.

In the distant now I see her turn towards me, my favourite dress of pale blue contrasted against the dark backdrop of the room. She brushes the hair from her face and smiles as I mouth my last goodbye.

Flash Fiction – A toast to no more tomorrows

A bit more flash fiction…variation on a theme really…

In response to The Bag Lady’s Tuesday photo prompt, pic below.

I sought another pic from Pixabay to go with it as further inspiration..

And I made this. Mostly a stream of consciousness, no real editing, just some fun with an idea…:

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The ‘click-fizz’ of the opening can caused Brian to stir from his nap. Excited neurons darting across the primary auditory pathways of his temporal lobe, back and forth in frenzied stimulation, a primal response triggered as he slept. His brain processed the inputs, considering past and potential future behaviour in relation to the ‘click-fizz’, the likelihood of a positive outcome to that input, the propensity for one ‘click-fizz’ to result in many more  ‘click fizzes’ and subsequently having a jolly good time being had by all. It then determined that an appropriate response to the stimulation would be to wake up and cause Brian to lick his lips.

“Yes please,” Brian said, reaching out an empty hand and sighing. His eyes opened slowly as his fingers clasped around the can he found placed into them.

“You seen that?” came a response.

Brian opened the can and straightened himself on the bench where he had been resting his eyes.

“Seen what, Carl?” Brian asked, opening the can, and taking a drink. It was not as cold as he would have liked but given the circumstances it would most certainly do. That is to say that given that when he went to sleep, he did not have any beer, and, now that he was awake he did, those were circumstances that now seemed decidedly in his favour.

“That,” said Carl, pointing into the sky.

It was hardly necessary for Carl to point given that directly in front of them, looming over the horizon, was something that was quite obviously the moon, but it stretched from one periphery of his vision to the other. Streams of reflected sunlight danced and swirled from the surface, and it had all of the appearance of a golden ball of flame.

“Well, that’s not mean to be there or look like that, is it.” Brian responded quite matter of fact, taking another drink. He paused for a moment, allowing himself to take in the full scene unfolding before him. Ten years on the streets and you think you’ve seen everything, but here he was, surprised once more. “Probably explains why everyone is running around rather panicked,” he added.

“You think?” said Carl, finishing his beer in one long slow gulp, and dropping the can on the grass beneath the park bench where they sat. He then opened a second.

“I’m no astrologist, but I’m pretty sure, yes. I imagine we ought to be panicking too.”

“You mean Astronomer.” Said Carl. “And yes, we could panic, I guess. But what would be the point.”

“Do I?” Brian asked.

“Yes. You mean astronomer. Not astrologist, that’s something completely different.”

Brian looked up into the sky again, then down to his beer, and then back into the sky.

“I expect you’re right on both points then,” Brian continued, “

He sat for a while and watched as a bride ran past them heading somewhere other than the direction that she was running from. She seemed quite determined, and she let her shoes and bouquet fall to the floor before disappearing behind two cars that had managed to have a quite inconvenient head on collision, smoke billowing from one as passengers staggered from both, pointing wildly at the sky.

“That’s a bit of a waste of good shoes,” said Brian, nodding to where they lay in the street.

“You think?” Carl replied taking another drink and opening a third can before he had finished his second. He motioned to the sky with a can in his hand, been spilling down his arm. “That thing’s getting bigger and bigger, so I doubt very much we will need very much of anything in a while.”

“Really?” said Brian as the wail of sirens echoed out across the city. “How much beer do you have?” he asked.

“Oh more than enough my friend,“ said Carl, offering his can to Brian as a toast, “more than enough.”

Photon – FOWC Prompt response

Just some random waffly bits in response to a prompt

In response to Fandango’s FOWC prompt “Quandary“

If you had a telescope, a particularly powerful telescope, and you knew exactly where to look, and you were somewhat lucky and wholly tenacious, and you pointed it in the direction of the Horse Head nebula at just the right time on just the right day then, without doubt, you would still have absolutely no chance of seeing the SS Quandary.

And if you could not see the Quandary, you could most certainly not see her Captain as he stood proudly on her deck, legs akimbo and hands on his narrow hips. The Quandary shuddered and lurched, the auto-grav screaming against the deafening cacophony of sirens. Yet, resolute, he stared out from the bridge, watching as enemy fighters ripped gold and crimson slashes in the vast blackness of space.

He followed a photon torpedo as it tracked through the darkness in front of him, fast in pursuit of one of his combat drones.

“Funny old word ‘Photon,’ he said to himself, tightening the thick black belt around his waist and straightening his crisp white uniform trousers before pulling his jacket tight by the lapels.

“Photon, pho…ton, photon, photon, phooooo ton,” he said to no one in particular, the word bubbling around inside his mouth. He beckoned to a young ensign who was sat at a console to his right, punching away at something that was almost certainly futile and would not make one jot of difference when it came to their impending doom.

“Yes Captain Myers?” said the ensign, looking up from his screen, the pale light of the monitor splashed across his pallid skin.

“Photon, ” said the Captain, “funny old word isn’t it.”

The ensign shifted uncomfortably. It was obviously not a rhetorical question, and given the captain’s tone he assumed the answer was in the affirmative.

“Er, yes, yes it is,” the ensign replied, one eye on the captain, the other on his screen. It was mostly a sea of red and red was never a colour you wanted to see on anything when you were being attacked by an armada of ships that seemed intent on your destruction.

The captain chuckled to himself, silently mouthing the word over and over as he walked slowly forwards towards the vast window that stretched one side of the deck to the other.

The ensign settled back into his seat and returned to his screen. What little colour there was in his face drained as he watched a rather large something beep slowly as it tracked across his screen.

“Sir, ” he said nervously, “Sir, there is something you need to see.”

“Really?” replied Myers slowly as he watched fighter after fighter evaporate into a million glistening shards before his eyes. “Are you sure? It’s just that…”

“Yes sir,” interrupted the ensign. “you need to see it now sir, it is….”

“Oh, no need,” said Myers as he stiffened to attention, his eyes fixed on the thing that was winding it’s way through the drifting mass of debris towards them.

He half turned towards where the ensign sat, the ship shuddering once more and huge geysers of steam bursting from the floor as the lights flickered and dimmed.

“See, look there he said,” pointing out towards where the thing screamed towards them. “Photon…”

Exodus 0.4 – Dust

Just a thing I have been playing with…

I’ll carry on with this a bit. Not sure if anyone will read it but I like waffling on when I am in the mood…I’m still just trying to mostly find time and just keep writing something each day

Other parts are here, here and here…

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At about the same moment that Fisher changed her mind from wishing she had never been born to instead wishing that fate on the base Commander, an unfathomable distance away at the far side of the universe – and quite a bit beyond that – a Crenorian fleet dropped out of hyperspace. It then proceeded, methodically and without too much of a fuss, to demolish a quiet and unassuming small planet where just moments before the magical myriad of molecules and circumstance had collided in a ‘just so’ manner to create what would eventually have evolved into intelligent life.

It didn’t. Instead, along with everything else on the planet, it was turned to a collection of space dust and debris in the name of military preparedness.

“Now how about we collect the debris and hurl it into the nearest sun?” Pondered Fleet Marshall Jolt, a broad grin spread across his face from gill to gill. His scales flashed iridescent in the dim light of the bridge and a sharp red tongue flicked from his mouth licking his thin dark lips.

A junior officer shuffled uncomfortably and informed Jolt that it was a practical impossibility though they could spend a few hours firing ion torpedoes at the larger remaining pieces of planet if that took his fancy.

“And are there any living things out there?” Jolt asked, staring out into the inky darkness of space as he stood legs akimbo and hands on hips looking, in his opinion – and this being the only opinion that actually mattered – quite impressive indeed.

“D-d-doubtful sir” the junior officer replied. “Pretty certain the exercise put pay to anything that might have been alone though early scans indicated that the planet was quite lifeless.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. Would have been nice to do a little hunting.”

The junior officer continued to shuffle his feet uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure that he would class a planet killer class Crenorian warship’s vaporisation of an entire planet as ‘hunting’. He was certain however that he was not going to correct the Fleet Marshall.

“Unfortunate indeed sir. Shall I stand down the armoury for the time being.”

Joltz signed and turned slowly. “Yes I suppose you better if there isn’t anything else worth blowing up. Are you absolutely certain?”

“Afraid so. I’ll stand them down sir shall I.”

“You should probably stand the armoury down then…what was your name again?”

“Drax Sir. Fenorious Drax”

“Oh there is absolutely no way I intend to remember that.” Joltz turned back towards the darkness outside of the ship. “I don’t even know why I asked. Anyway, stand down the armoury for me will you. Looks like there’s nothing else to blow up.”

“Yes sir straight away” said Drax saluting with his clenched fist across his chest and spinning on his heels as he hurried from the bridge.

And it was at this precise moment an unfathomable distance away and then some at the far side of the universe that Cole received, by an apparent incalculable chance, instructions to set his faster than light drives to coordinates that just moments before was the home to a planet that was suddenly no longer there thanks to Fleet Marshall Joltz.

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That will probably be the end of that …for now. 🙂

Fluctuating Follies – Exodus 0.3

A continuation of a start of something perhaps…Just trying to get my juices flowing again

Michelle does a load of great prompts each month. I used to do a lot but less so now. Ill try get back into them I think. Theyre often just snippets of things and seldom more. This one is the glimmer of an idea I needed to get down on paper, using the prompts as ca bit of an idea spark – and like everything else I pretty much just share it whether done or not.

Part 1 of this is here

Part 2 is here

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Admiral Kent stood legs akimbo, hands on hips as he cast his gaze over the bank of screens laid out before him.

“How do I look Fisher?” he asked turning slowly, his once chiselled physique now like too much sausage meat squashed into too little skin.

“Regal Sir” Fisher lied.

“Really? Are you sure?” He placed one hand on a nearby desk and leaned nonchalantly, turned his head as if to look wistfully into the distance. Perhaps at a herd of reindeer on a hill side. He did rather like reindeer. “You don’t think it would look better if I were a little more… relaxed?”

“No not at all sir” Fisher insisted clasping her clipboard tight. “I think you look very imposing sir.”

“Imposing you say?” Kent liked that. He smiled and assumed his previous pose, sucking in his stomach. “And what time will the artist be here?” He asked turning his head so that what he regarded as his good side got what little light there was from the copper wall sconces scattered around the room.

“He’s already here sir. You asked to see Cole first though.”

“I did, I did yes of course. And is my dress uniform ready? I do want to look my best for my portrait.”

“Yes sir, it’s in your quarters.” Said Fisher, her knuckles white as she gripped her clipboard even harder. The lengths she had gone to for her stripes and here she was baby sitting this deluded fool of a man on a pointless mining outpost.

“And the hat too? You haven’t forgotten that right?”

“Hat too sir. Yes.”

“Jolly good. Please send Cole in…”

Cole entered the room and brushed past Fisher. She bristled as he came near and glared at him, nostrils flared. Cole really had no idea why she hated him so much. That is not to say that he did not know why she hated him, he did. But how much she seemed to despise him did seem excessive. He did sometimes wonder if it was displaced passion or maybe an unrequited love kind of thing and all that pining for a lovers touch shenanigans. It could also have been the way he treated her back in flight school. Who knew really, it was one or the other. He never could tell with women, they were a curious thing to him.

Cole continued past Fisher, stopped in front of the Commander and saluted. “You asked to see me Commander Kent?”

The Com turned slowly from where he had been staring at nothing in particular at the other side of the room. It was something he liked to practice as he felt it gave off quite the impressive dramatic effect as he turned back slowly.

“Ah yes, Cole, thank you for coming” he said.

Cole waited. Kent said nothing.

Cole shuffled and looked around as Kent continued to say nothing, again practising his dramatic delivery. He was getting very good at it he thought to himself.

Cole continued to wait uncomfortably, wondering whether the Com had perhaps suffered a stroke. Or perhaps some sort of neural embolism. A newb pilot in his squadron during the Martian wars had suffered some sort of mental schism at the onset of a sortie to scout a Martian moon base, and when his autopilot brought him home the lights had been well and truly turned off and he was most definitely not home anymore.

“Good to see you Cole” Kent said, the dramatic pause apparently concluded. “How have you been?” Cole opened his mouth to speak but Kent didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re going to be heading a mission out beyond the mining belt.” He continued quite matter of fact.

“I see” said Cole surprised. “To where exactly Sir? There’s a whole lot of nothing out there. And some pretty ‘awful somethings’.”

Fisher’s customary scowl broke into something close to a smile. Just getting beyond the belt was dangerous enough given your proximity to Mars, and beyond that very few Earth ships went since the war.

“Well, that’s just the thing Cole, I don’t really know. Orders came through from High Command and that’s really all I know. They asked for you specifically, seems you have something of a reputation and they felt you were the right man for the job. Whatever the job is.”

“And what is the Job Sir?” Cole pressed.

“Absolutely no idea” Kent said, his voice trailing away as he turned slowly away to stare once more into the distance. “That’ll be all Cole, Fisher will give you more details. Departure set for tomorrow at zero eight hundred.”

Fisher grinned as Cole turned without saluting and heading slowly towards where she stood. Her small dark eyes seemed to dance in a way that Cole was certain her body certainly could not.

“Oh and Fisher” Said Kent as Cole reached the door.

“Yes Sir?” Said Fisher tucking her clipboard under her arm and drawing herself to attention.

“You will make sure you make that I have my hat before you go right?

“Go sir?” Fisher said quizzically.

“Yes, really do need it for the picture you know and they asked for you for the mission too so really don’t want you to forget it. I did mention that didn’t I?”

“No Sir, you didn’t” Fisher answered, the smile now disappeared from her face.

“Oh I am Sorry” Kent said. “Really should have mentioned it before now, my memory can be quite terrible at time. Anyway, good luck to both of you, and don’t forget the hat before you go.”

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Here are a few others from way back

https://afterwards.blog/2019/03/11/harvest-room-101/

https://afterwards.blog/2019/03/11/harvest-room-101/

https://afterwards.blog/2019/10/07/the-fizzled-enchantment-and-other-stories-of-ruin-room-101/

Soup sandwiches – Exodus 0.2

A continuation of a start of something perhaps…Just trying to get my juices flowing again

Michelle does a load of great prompts each month. I used to do a lot but less so now. Ill try get back into them I think. Theyre often just snippets of things and seldom more. This one is the glimmer of an idea I needed to get down on paper, using the prompts as ca bit of an idea spark – and like everything else I pretty much just share it whether done or not.

Part 1 of this is here

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“Would you like refreshments sir?” Offered the Nutri-Bot as it hurried alongside Cole as he strode from the deck. It clicked and whirred in hopeful anticipation of a sale, the outline of a small serving hatch in the front of its white cylindrical body pulsing with an inviting blue light. “I am fully equipped to provide all the daily sustenance you require in a single…”

“No thank you” Said Cole, almost apologetically. Re-entry always left his stomach feeling rather uneasy and the nondescript beige the bots served up was the last thing he wanted. They were only machines but they did tend to take it personally when you declined.

“Are you sure Sir?” It asked again, a hint of desperation in it’s voice. “I have a quite delicious lobster bisque available today. Freshly prepared.”

“Is it beige?” Cole asked, knowing full well that it was. It was all beige. Always. This however was all the encouragement the machine required and it leapt into a detailed expose of both the nutritional and existential benefits of lobster bisque. As the bot continued to click-whir Cole quickly packed his flight suit into his rack and put on his orange service overalls. He pulled the belt tight about his waist and his black cap onto his head.

“No, really, I am fine. Thank you” he insisted as he headed for the exit to the hanger while the Nutri-Bot lurched into an explanation of the historical importance of lobster bisque in the pre-Martian war western culinary movement.

And then Cole stopped in his tracks abruptly . The Nutri-Bot ceased click-whirring and then fell silent also. Cole reconsidered his previous position and relegated the Nutri-Bot’s offer to second on his list of things he did not at all want. The last thing he wanted was stood directly in front of him, arms folded, and a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp.

“Hello Cole” snapped Fisher, a sneer creeping across her thin lips. Cole’s eyes were drawn to the stripes on her shoulder.

“Promoted I see” Said Cole.

“Cream rises to the top” said Fisher. She held out clip board in such a threateningly efficient way that it made Cole take a step backwards. “Com wants to see you now on the deck. Double time.”

Cole patted the Nutri-Bot on what was most likely it’s head as he passed through the hanger doors. “She looks hungry” he said smiling.

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Here are a few others from way back

https://afterwards.blog/2019/03/11/harvest-room-101/

https://afterwards.blog/2019/03/11/harvest-room-101/

https://afterwards.blog/2019/10/07/the-fizzled-enchantment-and-other-stories-of-ruin-room-101/

Only Resolve – Exodus 0.1

A start of something perhaps…Just trying to get my juices flowign again

Michelle does a load of great prompts each month. I used to do a lot but less so now. Ill try get back into them I think. Theyre often just snippets of things and seldom more. This one is the glimmer of an idea I needed to get down on paper an like everything else I pretty much just share it whether done or not.

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Cole sat and stared into the blackness of space, his scout craft threading slowly between the twisted debris of the countless burnt out ships that orbited what remained of the Earth. The massive empty shells, once home to the last of the Earth’s forces, drifted silently, destroyed long ago in the endless wars now forgotten by all but those who clung to the stories of the past.

As a child, he remembered looking to the skies on warm summer evenings and recalled how, from the surface, there seemed to be so many stars, a vast swathe of pinpricks across the curtain of night, but up here, all he saw was the darkness.

The radio crakled into life. It was M. Unmistakably M.

“Hey Cole” she shouted, “you up there feeling all pensive and thinking abnout the darkness?”

Cole smiled and shook his head. She knew him too well. Not that he minded.

“I’ve picked up a deposit of Trilatium in a cruiser in quadrant six. I’m heading over there now.”

“So that’s a yes then” M replied, Cole could hear the smile in her voice.

“Affirmative” said Cole. He never quite knew what to say to her.

“Well you’ll be please to know Fisher wants all ships back Earth side asap so you can get your sweet arse back down here sharpish and stop contemplating the mysteries of the great abyss.”

“Copy that M, I’ll rendezvous with…”

“Sharpish Cole” M scolded, “no rendezvousing, no checking in, no gathering, assembling or fly-bying. Get yourself home now, there’s something going down and brass seem pretty shaken up. “

“Copy that” answered Cole adjusting his nav and tightening his harness. He wasn’t a big fan of re-entry, and these old scout ships has an unnerving ability to come to pieces if you pushed them too hard.

“Oh and Cole, pop by the canteen when you get back will you, you owe me a drink.”

“And why exactly is that?” Cole asked. He was pretty certain that he didn’t owe her anything at all.

M laughed. “God you’re a dense one aren’t you. You’re lucky you’re so damn pretty. Just do as I tell you Cole, I know what’s best for you. You trust me? Right?”

He steered the scout ship through the massive hull of a burnt out Martian destroyer, the blackened levels towering above him on both sides. Once home to thousands of Federation soldiers, now long dead, the place gave him the chills.

“See you Earth side M” Cole answered smiling. “Over and out.”

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Here are a few others from way back

https://afterwards.blog/2019/03/11/harvest-room-101/

https://afterwards.blog/2019/03/11/harvest-room-101/

https://afterwards.blog/2019/10/07/the-fizzled-enchantment-and-other-stories-of-ruin-room-101/

Room 101 – Out of Reach

It’s been far too long, and sometimes anything will do…

I used to do these – 101 words only. This might be a bit longer. This is also using one of M’s prompts.

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Rosa clasped the stem of the rose tight in her palm, its sharp barbs digging into her skin. The pain made her feel alive and she squeezed tighter, not wanting to let go.

“Why are you so upset?” Carlo asked, the cold wind blowing through him as he watched the tears roll down her cheeks. “You know it will be okay. It always is.”

Rosa shook her head and sighed deeply, pulling her dark coat tight about her as the rain began to fall.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me.” she whispered to herself.

“But I came back” Carlo replied trying to catch her eye as she stared at the ground. “I said I would and I did right? I promised. I kept my promise Rosa.”

Rosa shook her head and began to turn, the wind catching her hair as it did and blowing it across the soft pale features of her face.

Carlo reached for her, desperate to touch her, to wipe her tears and make everything better, but she slipped through his fingers and before he could stop her she walked slowly away.

“Rosa wait” he shouted, he tried to move but felt paralysed. “I’m back now Rosa.” His words trailed off as they were strangled by the wind. And then, for the briefest moment Rosa stopped and began to turn, but shaking her head once more she walked slowly away into the rain. He looked down at his feet and there was the rose, its dark red petals in sharp contrast with the fresh, rich dirt.

Carlo opened his mouth to scream but it was too late, soil began to rain down and cover him as the grey skies opened and the service drew to an end…

Along The Weathered Winding Trail – Room 101

A start of somethign perhaps…

In response to M’s writing prompts which you can find at the link below.  These are often just quick pieces, ideas or glimpses of what might be…Fun to do though.  I used to try do them in 101 owrds but meh, it’s close enough…See the prompts here

The lights of the night beyond splashed across the hotel bedroom walls and painted his body in neon pinks and blues as he walked towards the window. Breathing deep he slid open the heavy glass panes and the noise of the city spilled in with the cold winter air. Shivering he lit a cigarette and watched below, the smell of her cheap perfume still on his skin and that god awful noise she made ringing in his ears.

Fighting against the wind Dennis folded the map and forced it angrily in to the side pocket of his pack.

“So, where now?” Cath asked taking a drink from her canteen and motioning towards the valley below them.  “Down there?  Seems the best route I think.”

Dennis took a deep breath and counted to five in his head as he watched the water glisten on her lips.  She licked them noisily and it made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.   

“No, we need to head up.” He pointed westwards to where the sun was beginning to arc towards the snow covered peaks.  “The pass is another couple of hundred feet up and a few hours beyond that we should be not too far from the cabin.”

“A couple of hours?  Jesus Dennis how are we so far off track?  I thought you said you knew how to read a map” 

Dennis snatched the canteen and took a drink. 

“Careful” Cath snapped back, “that’s got to last us until we can find water again and you know I get thirsty.”

He stared at her as he felt the water slip down his throat and down through his chest like a knife slicing slowly into him.  His heart was racing and he wondered if anyone would believe him if he said she’d slipped and fell into a ravine.

“Sorry, you’re right” he replied.  “I don’t know where we went wrong.  We need to get moving though as we need to be there before dark.”  He knew exactly where they had gone wrong, they had gone wrong when Cath had insisted on taking charge because he always got these things wrong apparently. 

Dennis hauled his pack onto his back and pulled the straps tight.  There was snow in the air and the temperature was dropping.  Probably too cold for her to die from hyperthermia if caught out he thought, far too early in the season.   Pity.

“This way then” he said setting off along the narrow track along the cliff top.  To their left tall pines climbed into the sky and far below he could hear the babble of water. 

“Maybe you should go down and get some water before we set off” Cath suggested shaking the bottle. 

“Maybe you should get mauled by a bear in the night because your sleeping bag has been filled with bacon” Dennis thought to himself before insisting that there was a waterfall on the map not far away and that they could hold out until then. 

“I’m really thirsty “ Cath replied taking another drink.  “Are you okay waiting until we get there?”

“Yes dear of course” Dennis replied, his fists curled into a ball wondering whether there were wolves in the area.

They walked quietly for a while, the beauty of their surroundings lost on Dennis as he stared at the ground counting the steps as he went.  This was supposed to be a trip to help fix things but just a day in and things were resuming their usual patterns of accusation and recrimination. 

“Gorgeous isn’t it” he said looking up and motioning to the white tipped mountains in the distance.  “The brochures really don’t do it justice.”

Cath didn’t respond and when Dennis turned around he saw that she had her ear buds in and was humming along to whatever she had playing.  It was probably Bach.  She liked Bach.  Bach made him feel stupid because he simply could not appreciate it like his wife and her university friends did. 

“Fuckin Bitch” he said aloud. 

God that felt good. 

She looked up, removing one of the buds from here ear.  “Did you say something?” She asked.

“No Dear” Dennis responded.  “Not long to go now though and we should be at the waterfall.”

“Ok” Cath said and went back to her music.

“I want to screw your sister” Dennis muttered under his breath smiling.    

Cath removed her earbuds again.  “Are you sure you didn’t say something?  You do have a habit of mumbling as you know.”

“Bears” thought Dennis.  Bear would probably eat all of her, even her fat arse.

“Up there look” Dennis said “the waterfall.”

The last hundred metres seemed to take forever as the path grew steeper and underfoot large rocks made the going difficult.  By the time they reached the summit they were both breathing heavily. 

“God look at that, isn’t it amazing” Dennis said.  Before him a river cut through the rocks and plunged downwards to the valley below.

“Yeah its lovely” Cath said handing him the canteen.  “Fill that up will you I want to take a photo.”

Dennis watched as she walked up to the edge of the bank where the river fell over the cliff edge.  Unfortunately it wasn’t particularly fast flowing so there was little chance that she would be washed away.

“Hey Dennis, come and take a photo with me” Cath called out.   

Dennis walked over reluctantly, his usual smile plastered across his face. 

“One for the scrap book” He said standing next to Cath, the heavily wooded valley stretching far into the distance. 

“Indeed it will be” Cath said as quite suddenly she pushed Dennis hard in the back and he stumbled forward twisting slowly as he plunged over the cliff top.

Looking up he saw her smiling down at him as he fell towards his death.

“Fucking bitch…”

The fizzled enchantment and other stories of ruin – Room 101

A start of somethign perhaps…

In response to M’s writing prompts which you can find at the link below.  These are often just quick pieces, ideas or glimpses of what might be…Fun to do though.  I used to try do them in 101 owrds but meh, it’s close enough…See the prompts here

The lights of the night beyond splashed across the hotel bedroom walls and painted his body in neon pinks and blues as he walked towards the window. Breathing deep he slid open the heavy glass panes and the noise of the city spilled in with the cold winter air. Shivering he lit a cigarette and watched below, the smell of her cheap perfume still on his skin and that god awful noise she made ringing in his ears.

Snow began to fall slowly as she emerged below and stepped out onto the street, already he could sense the life beating inside her, feeding hungrily. He hated himself almost as much as he hated them, but their soft pink bodies made great hosts…

Slingers – Part 1

I might give this a second part…

Part 0 can be found here

Dee sipped her tea from a mug and stared out of the window towards the old Victoria station.  The rain was falling, as was it’s tendency most days these days, and though it was the middle of the day the skies were dark and neon bathed the streets.

Once one of the destinations at the heart of London’s transport network, Victoria was now little more than a dirigible mooring station, the once endless stream of trains now a thing of the past and long replaced by the overland maglev’s than sprawled across the city and onwards to all corners of the country.

“You going to eat that?” Drax said motioning to Dee’s bacon sandwich.  It had been a long night bringing in Carlo and he was still rather peckish.

Dee shook her head as she watched the swarms of delivery drones buzz high above street level and disappear into the mists that covered the tops of the hab zones.

“I don’t like this Drax, not one bit.  It’s going to get us killed.”  She said watching the rain run down the window of the small café.

“Or” he said taking a large bite of the sandwich  “or it could make us rather rich Dee.”  

“It could make us rather dead more likely.”

“I will have you know that no one kills Drax the destroyer Dee, no one.”  Said Drax with a mouth full.

Dee rounded on him.  He was damn good at his job, and unnervingly lucky, but he was also incredibly annoying when it came to anything other that killing.

“Bloody hell must you persist with that ‘destroyer’ nonsense.  As if Drax isn’t stupid enough a name already, you really don’t need a nick name to compound it.  And stop talking with your mouth full.”

“Do you think I should buy a cape” Drax asked,ignoring everything Dee had said and finish off the sandwich.  “maybe something in crushed purple velvet?”

Dee sighed and looked back out of the window as a black taxi cab dropped down out of the mist and hovered just above the ground picking up a fare.  A think man in a dark coat scurried through the rain and jumped inside before it shot skywards again.  Turning back to Drax she took another sip of her tea.

“For one” and she raised a finger, “This is a recovery job.  Hardly our thing given that we are not required to kill anybody.”

Drax nodded and shrugged.

“I’m adaptable.”

“Two, we have no idea where she is and we need to somehow recover her from the Zentras.  Now the last time I checked they still controlled most of the north bank and are not to be messed with.  Why would you want to do this.”

Drax grinned and Dee knew this was not going to end well.

“Did I mention that we would will make a ton of money?  The sort of money that you need Dee.  Now what’s the worse that could happen?”

Dee knew that the worse that could happen was likely considerably worse that she could imagine.   The Zentras controlled everything from Battersea to the Black wall tunnel and were not to be taken lightly.  They ran every racquet imaginable and then some and they loved their bio-augmentations which made them particularly problematic when coupled with their maniacal obsession with such ridiculous notions as honour and family.

“I don’t like messing with the aug’s any more than you do Dee but there’s a kid out there that needs to be found and I might actually have a way to get us a bit of intel.  What do you say?”

For the briefest of moments Dee almost believed Drax’s sincerity.

“Exactly what intel might this be then?”

“My sister, she’s well in with…”  Drax never got to continue.

“Are you kidding me?” Dee exploded.  “After last time?  Drax why is she any less likely to try and kill you now than she was before?”

Drax smiled broadly and winked.  “She’s Zen now Dee,  Zen don’t kill family…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finish the story – #11

Been meaning to get to this forever. Sorry for my tardiness…

Welcome to Finish the Story

The Haunted Wordsmith started a story, tags someone to pick up the story and add to it, then hand it off to another person, etc., until the story is complete. This has proven to be quite fun in a blogging situation since we all have different approaches.

Rules–

1 Copy the story below as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)

2 Add somehow to the story in which ever style and length you choose

3 Tag only 1 person

4 If you choose to not participate or finish the story, please comment/tag this post so that The Haunted Wordsmith knows.

The Private Detective

One of the first lessons Eric learned the hard way after leaving the force and going into business for himself was to never ask the client why they wanted his services. The less he knew, the better it was for everyone. Something about this case, and the creepy man who hired him last week, just didn’t sit right though.

As he sat in the old blue Buick flipping through his notes, he saw her coming down the step of the opera house. He snuffed out his fifth camel and started the car. She was all dolled up in a victorian get up. Looked like something out of an H.G. Wells movie. Eric watched as she crossed the street, entered the park, and hailed a carriage.

“Shit!” He couldn’t follow her in the car through the park.

The carriage turned the corner and …

A Guy Called Bloke

… and disappeared from his view!

“Buggerations!” Eric snorted as he quickly got out of the car and hop, skipped and jumped his way across the street into the park. He could just see the end of the carriage as it made its way merrily across the lawn tracks!

As Eric chuffed along behind the carriage, he was becoming more and more startled as he saw smoke billowing from the top of the carriages’ roof, “What on earth?” Eric thought.

After only a few minutes, the carriage came to a standstill beside the fountain of Silver Waters, and she stepped out. Eric quickly hid behind a man selling balloons! He saw her talk to the driver, who doffed his hat and moved the carriage forwards by fifty or so feet before coming to a standstill again.

He watched Vicky [he had called her this because of the garb she had been wearing when he first caught sight of her. He didn’t know her name, Mr Creepy hadn’t passed on that nugget of information, so Vicky would have to do for the time being] walk up to the fountain, and as she approached from within her bulky skirts she withdrew a large bottle of something. The contents he could see were bright green almost luminous!?

“What on earth??” Eric gasped!

Vicky stopped in front of the fountain of Silver Waters and seemed to be speaking to the statue on the top, a funny looking gargoyle [l know, who would have thunk it?] and as she did so, the statue moved and so spake back in a kind of sing song accent and turned  and looked at the balloon seller – who was already becoming quite twitchy as he didn’t usually have another man quite this close to him when hiding!

Suddenly the balloon seller disappeared in a plume of green smoke with silvery tinges and Eric saw the balloons take flight to the skies!

“Blimey! That’s burst my bubble of disguise!” Eric thought, “Now what?”

Meanwhile Vicky and the gargoyle were looking directly at Eric and seemed to be speaking in the language of the elephant shrew [Eric knew this as his Son was studying the very same language in the elephant shrew school – l know how freaky as a coincidence is that?] As Eric tried to look as inconspicuous as possible which was somewhat difficult in his bright yellow zoot suit, Vicky and the gargoyle were speaking rather fast now and as they were doing so, the air around them cracked, and groaned, and creaked – yes creaked! The more Eric looked the more he could see wrinkles appearing before his eyes, the air seemed to be visible, the atmosphere was heavy, was that a portal opening, and was that another Vicky stepping out, was that another Vicky stepping out, was that another Vicky stepping out?

Eric closed his eyes for a moment thinking alternative reality and feeling somewhat faint and when he opened them again …

… he sat on his old Harley flipping through his ipad, he saw her coming down the step of the museum. He snuffed out his twenty second Marlboro and started the Harley. She was all dolled up in a Gothic get up. Looked like something out of an old, well Gothic movie. Eric watched as she crossed the street, entered the zoo, and hailed a camel.

“Chocolate Smarty Cake!” He couldn’t follow her on the bike through the zoo.

The camel turned the corner and Eric thought, Thunder Pants and then he ….

The Britchy One

…..started to feel very giddy. What was going on? He was uncoordinated, disorientated and sank slowly to his knees as he lost consciousness.

He woke with an IV in his arm Ina hospital bed. A nurse was busy with a chart and it took her a minute to realise he was awake.

“Welcome back! You had us all worried for a bit there!” She chirruped. “What happened?” asked Eric “I’ll see if the doctors here to see you” she replied, neatly avoiding his question as she sashayed out of the room. Eric noticed wryly that her scrubs fit in all the right places – obviously he wasn’t too out of it!

He looked around, bored. The room was a bland, beige, instantly forgettable room with a stunning view of a solid brick wall six feet away. If you weren’t sick before you would be after a couple of hours here he thought.

There was a peremptory knock on the door. Before Eric could respond and officious looking man in a bespoke suit walked in. His shoes looked expensive. Handmade burnished Italian leather glowing as only shoes polished by a valet could. His apparel and demeanour screamed upper class like the foghorn on a cross channel ferry.

“So you’re awake” he barked in a short staccato burst of verbal gunfire. “Do you know who you are?” “Yes of course I do”said Eric giving his full name “Why am I here and where are my clothes?”.

“All in good time my man, you were brought in without any identification two days ago. You were dehydrated and had concussion. Let’s get some details shall we? He proceeded to ask Eric’s full address, profession and if he knew what day of the week it was, what year it was and other questions Eric presumed were to assess his cognition. “What happened do you remember?” the man concluded.

Eric’s Mind was a blur. Full of bizarre dreams – or were they?

“I don’t really know” he admitted. “Do you know why you were in the park?” I was following someone on orders from a client.”

The man leaned forward quivering “Ahh and what do you know of this client? he purred.

Just as Eric was about to answer there was a knock at the door. A short tired looking Indian man shuffled in. “Hello I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Doctor Raina”

Wait! exclaimed Eric turning to look at the first man “If this is the doctor then who are you?”….

Mel Gutiér

Just at that moment, everything froze around Eric except for the elegant stranger who seemed familiar to him now. Eric’s mouth opened wide.

“I’m the Time Keeper. You have something of mine. Do you remember what it is? You’ve been jumping from time to time, wandering. It will take you some time, but you’ll remember.”

“What are you talking about? How are you doing all this?”

“Damn! You’ve gone in too deep. I tried explaining it to you. You didn’t give me enough time. You just had to run after her, didn’t you? They’re going to kill you if they find you, you know that?”

“Time Keeper?”

“Eric… you don’t remember the vault? You don’t remember the lock breaking and Lydia disappearing? You don’t remember taking the compass from my office? Eric… you’re in danger and I need the compass back to find Lydia.”

“Stop! You’re a mad man! You’re the devil!”

“You don’t even remember my name, do you?”

“Fuck you!”

Lost and confused, Eric got out of the bed, pushed the stranger aside running out of the room. He became dizzy as he tried walking passed the still figures in the hallway. Indeed, time had stopped somehow. Everyone in the hospital had stopped in their place, their space. The elegant stranger ran after Eric hopeful that he would wake up to full memory. He needed that compass.

“Eric!”

“Leave me alone! I don’t know anything about a compass!”

“I can help you! Just stop for a moment! Let me help you!”

Eric ran outside and stopped in his tracks. He was stupefied. The air seemed to be missing and nothing was moving. Birds locked in midair, sound in a vacuum, a single leaf traveling to the ground was floating still before him. All living things stood motionless before him, as if wax figures stood in their place. Even the motionless buildings looked different, shifted somehow and he noticed a curtain in one of the houses stopped outside its window as if held out by an invisible string, the dead wind. How was this possible? Somewhere in his head a familiar connection began to emerge. He knew something about this magic, but it was still a blur.

“I’m Logan. I’m your Time Keeper. You’re a time traveler. We try to set things right in the world.”

The elegant stranger, a stranger no more, put his hand on Eric’s shoulder. Eric’s breath was heavy, and his mind was racing in the still of time. Something began to stir in him as he turned to look at Logan. His breath grew stronger and he broke down in tears.

“Lydia!” He gasped.

“Yes! You’re remembering! It’s okay… it takes time. You’ve been through a lot. You’ve traveled for months looking for her, chasing the wrong woman. I had to get you to stop somehow. This was the only way.”

“What?”

“The institution, the visions. The client.”

“The client… he has your compass.”

“No! What did you do?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know. Oh God!”

“That was no client, Eric! Do you realize what they’re capable of doing with that compass! If they have Lydia, if they touch her… Eric! You have to remember where that client is. We have to get that compass back!”

Eric looked at Logan, took one last breath and disappeared. Logan fell to his knees as everything came back to normal. Movement… time resumed, but Eric was gone… again.

 

Michael @ Afterwards

Eric watched the tea lap against the edge of the mug as he dropped in another cube of sugar with a reassuring ‘plink’.  His mother had always said what when in doubt sit down and have some tea, preferably in a cup and saucer, and it will help to put things into perspective.

Unfortunately the diner didn’t have any saucers, or decent china cups for that matter, so he settled for a plain white mug of something approaching a loose description of tea and some silent introspection.

A large breasted, friendly faced waitress walked over and asked him if he was ready to order.  Eric shook his head.

“No thanks, just the tea will be fine thank you.”

“Suit yourself darlin, you let me know if you change your mind now'” she said with a wink and a smile and sauntered back over to the long counter that ran the length of the room.  He continued to watch as she took a pot of coffee and filled a cup for herself.

Returning to his thoughts Eric took a sip of his tea and considered recent events, not least how he had ended up in the diner, fully clothed and with a pocket full of cash.  As diners do it was a nice enough place, stereotypically so in fact with just the right amount of plaid shirted trucker looking types, chequer board flooring and a good selection of pies.

He searched his memories but could not remember how he had got here.  Staring out of the large window into the half full car park beyond he stirred the tea again, allowing fragments of memories to come back to him.  The spoon swirled through the hot dark liquid as mysterious strangers compelled him, gaping hospital gowns left him feeling rather exposed and the smoking of rather a lot of cigarettes left him feeling that perhaps some life changes might well be in order.

The memories were jumbled and overlapping, nothing seemed to be in the right place and everything seemed to contradict itself.  There was also a most uncomfortable feeling that he had lost something and really needed to find it.

He looked up as the waitress walked past again and smiled.  He smiled back and noticed her name badge.

‘Lydia’.  Nice name he thought…

Tagging: Dorinda @ Night Owl Poetry

 

 

 

The In-between – Part 33 of 31 – A possible beginning

The End

Just a little something,  I doubt I will take it further for now but I don’t like to keep things back…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part15 Part16 Part 17 Part18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part25 Part 26 Part27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32

Armitage smiled and sat back in the chair.  There was something quite homely about the place, with its high open fireplace and dark wooden bookshelves.  He fingered the leather of the tall wingback chair and finished his tea.

“He looks fun” he said motioning with his empty cup to a picture that hung above the fireplace.

An impressively moustached fellow stood defiantly legs akimbo in front of an erupting volcano.  Armitage placed the tea on the small low table in front of him.  There was something so familiar about the clink of the tea cup on the china saucer.

“So you say we’re part of ‘The Office of Entropy” he asked looking at the small grey haired woman sat next to him.  “And we’ve been here before?  If you ask me this all sounds a bit dangerous to be honest.  Are you sure about this because I am a renowned coward.”

The old lady laughed.  “Oh dear boy, we’re dead remember.  I think we can perhaps put to bed some of those worries.  All seems to make perfect sense if you think about it.”

Armitage threw her a most confused look.  “How the devil does any of this make sense?”

McCann offered more tea.  “Don’t let it worry you Armitage” she said as Armitage shook his head.  “Trust me, you’re a natural.  It will all come back to you.”

He let out an unconvinced “hmm” and sat back in the chair.

“So what happens now then?” he asked.  “Whilst I enjoy tea as much as the next man I would assume that there is more to this existence.”

McCann smiled.  “I have something to show you, come with me.”

Old Walter McDad

Really not sure where this came from…

You can listen instead of reading if you prefer.

 

 

Old Walter McDad finds such joy in the sad

The depressed and the rather quite tragic

He would dance with delight if your shoes were too tight

Spilled your tea on your crotch? Oh quite magic!

Caught your knob in your zip? Caused your foreskin to rip?

He would high five in great celebration

Birth defects?  He loves those.  Diabetic? Lost toes?

Well to him they’re such cause for elation

 

Enjoys watching the poor, mocks the sick and what’s more

Steals the cash from the tramps at the station.

Takes a dump on your lawn, tells your kids to watch porn

Big wide grin at your grandma’s cremation

Fingers crossed at the vets they declare that your pets

need to be put to sleep with much haste

Phone the docs and the answer is that you have cancer

He’d take joy, he knows its in poor taste

 

For Walt spends all his days in such terrible ways

Don’t ask why he just does ‘cos he can

At a hundred and one he’d still rodger your mum

He’s a rather quite nasty old man

So watch out and beware at the top of the stair

As he’d gladly push you in the back

You go head over tit and he’d chuckle and sit

Watch you bleed as he enjoys a snack

 

Beginnings – 5 – Unexpected Revelations

The tale of Darren and Julie

M does a marvellous set of prompts each month, today the prompt was Spontaneous Eruptions.  I am sure you aren’t surprised at what I came up with.  I recorded it too though so you can listen rather than actually reading it.  See how kind I am…I hope it works.

 

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2018/07/01/july-writing-prompts/

The tale of Darren and Julie

 

Once a chap said “I Do”, his wife said she’d be true

And in bliss they did spend all their days

In bed things were quite hot and they cared not a jot

For the flaws in their deeds and their ways

 

For they say love is blind but alas her behind

Grew quite plump and his ardour it waned

And he seemed now quite dull and there came then a lull

In the bedroom “Boring!” she complained

 

“Well your cooking is foul” he proclaimed with a scowl

She complained that his chores were undone

and with pinky quite crooked she complained how he looked

“You’re a cow” he did cry “like your mum”

 

There were slamming of doors, and so started the wars

And she went for a drink with his mate

So he signed up online had a jolly good time

Second base from an internet date

 

They fought over the cat she poked fun at his fat

Rotund tummy, he scoffed at her thighs

So she scratched up his car, he cut up her best bra

And on facebook he posted foul lies

 

So she slept with his dad and that made him quite mad

So she dry humped a tramp near some bins

Then he had a tattoo of her name and some poo

She jerked off a red head pair of twins

 

And at last it did end, for they just could not mend

The sweet love that was now oh so broke

And they went separate ways but that’s not how it stays

Even though its been weeks since they spoke

 

For one night on the booze he did text “I did lose

Something dear how I wish wed not split”

And she lonely and sad (and she quite missed his dad)

Said “I miss you come round in a bit”

 

Now they’re trying again and it might end the same

Or they could this time round find love true

Now he needs to just find a tattooist most kind

To remove what he inked near his bum…  

 

 

Beginnings – 4 – Spontaneous eruptions

The legend of Arty McFarty

M does a marvellous set of prompts each month, today the prompt was Spontaneous Eruptions.  I am sure you aren’t surprised at what I came up with.  I recorded it too though so you can listen rather than actually reading it.  See how kind I am…I hope it works.

https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2018/07/01/july-writing-prompts/

The Legend of Arty McFarty

 

Once a fellow of some girth, a man of little joy or mirth

Who sad spent all his days self loathing and most glum

Teased by all and not respected and each night upset reflected

On his life which was quite empty and no fun

 

He had no wife and children none and friends alas were all now gone

And so he pondered his existence and felt small

And he came to the conclusion he was under the illusion

That he really ought to not be here at all

 

Quite intent to bring an end and without life or love or friend

At the cliff top he now stood, but lo a vision

It was the ghost of his dead mum and she insisted with his bum

He’d seek revenge on those who point with such derision

 

She spoke kinds words and reassured and from the cliff top he was lured

And she reminded him that he was in her heart

and he indeed possessed a gift and it so gave his heart a lift

when she proclaimed he had the world’s most fearsome fart

 

And so with deadly fierce eruption he blazed a trail of fowl destruction

Wreaking vengeance on all who had made him sad

At work he let off in a lift, three people had to miss a shift

it made a lass have fits and nearly killed one lad

 

His bottom spewed such fearsome gases that his neighbour now wears glasses

When into her letter box he let one out

He could hear her scream and stumble and she dropped her apple crumble

And threw up when out into the street ran out

 

He blew off down at the store and the milk curdled and then more

Or less the whole place had to be evacuated

At the pub he was oft goaded so near the fire he exploded

Watched it burn with joy, oh how these folk he hated

 

Farted then into a pram and in the face of an old man

then on a beggar who would oft be rather rude

And to a church he made a visit, left his own unholy spirit

and to a shelter where he dropped one on the food

 

And so he found his true life calling with his anus most appaling

Havoc he did wreak and eyes did stream

And all his days he spent unleashing anal thunder most unpleasing

Vile bottom burps most nasty and oh so obscene