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This blog contains short stories and novel excerpts intended for adult audiences.
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Most of the images on this blog are PG13, but occasionally there is a picture on a specific post that might be more sensual in nature.
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The stories are primarily science fiction and/or romance and may have sexual themes and scenes.
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I’ve been posting less on the fiction blog (Under Loch and Key) because I’m trying to concentrate on writing stories, polishing them, and submitting to market instead of just posting them to the blog. Today’s Flash Friday… and I thought I’d go ahead and write my story here before I copy it over there!
This story makes a lot more sense if you’re a fan of Doctor Who…
“It looks like a potato…” Sally commented. Iain could tell she was trying not to sound mean, but his feelings were still hurt.
“It’s not a potato. It’s a dog.”
Actually, it wasn’t a dog. It was his brother.
At four years old, Iain had only a vague idea where babies came from. The blobish thing had popped out from under his Mummy’s skirt. She screamed, fainted, and nearly hit her head on the kitchen table. The blob had toddled over to Iain, then smiled and waved in a very friendly manner.
Iain hadn’t realized his mother was even pregnant. But like a good big brother he took the baby to the bathtub, cleaned it up, found one of his old baby snuggies and dressed the infant warmly. When it tried to leave the house, Iain kept it safely inside.
The men in white coats carted their mother away s short time later when she ran screaming out the front door.
Iain had heard that all babies were adorable, but something about his baby brother made other mothers recoil in horror. The poor baby was deformed or something. Iain named him Addison after their father, with the middle name Potato because he looked like one. For short, Iain called him Adipotato, or Adipo for short.
“It’s a weird looking dog,” Sally continued, sounding less nice. Iain knew she suspected something, but people seemed to be more accepting of Adipo if they thought he was a dog. Everyone was nice to the dog. Dogs could be ugly and still be adorable.
“There you are!” a strange man stepped out of a blue box, and Adipotato leapt out of Iain’s arms and ran to the man.
“That’s Iain’s dog,” Sally proclaimed, her hands on her hips.
“Let go of my brother!” Iain yelled at the same time. Soon, Mummy and Daddy would be home. It simply would not do for them to return only to find that Iain had lost his little brother.
Sally gasped.
“Oh, dear…ummm…” the man stammered. “What’s your name?”
“Iain,” he answered dutifully. There was no call to be rude, and Adipo seemed to be happy in the man’s arms.
“Well, Iain, your mum was only babysitting him for his parents, you see. He needs to go home to them now.”
“Mmmm Hmmm!” Adipo nodded happily, and waved goodbye.
“Oh!” Iain felt very confused.
The man held up a badge. “I’m from Misplaced Child Services, and I’ve been looking for him all day. Thank you so very much for taking care of him!”
“Oh…all right then.” Iain gave Adipo a hug. “Goodbye, Addison Potato Hartford. Be good!”
The strange man walked away, chattering happily with the newborn the whole way.
Iain and Sally looked at each other.
“Want to come to my house? I have a real little brother,” Sally said.
“Sure,” Iain answered. “What’s for dinner?”
“Potatoes.”
Flash fiction is a fun way to loosen up for the real writing. Sometimes what comes out is just awful, in which case one should be grateful it is out, where it can be disposed of instead of leaking into something else. Sometimes what comes out is gold, which can be polished and sent out into the world.
This week I thought I’d share all three of my attempts for Flash Friday. The picture was the prompt, along with the idea that this is Mother’s Day weekend. The word limit was 200, which is really tight! I wrote three versions. Besides being too long, I didn’t particularly like the way the first two came out. The third one is what I went with.
“Gimmie!” Veronica shrieked and grabbed the stereoscope out of her grubby brother’s hands. “You’re such a hog.”
Vinnie was unperturbed, as always, both about being called a hog and about having the toy ripped from his hands. He’s long ago learned that the best way to deal with his big sister’s bullying was to ignore it.
“I’ll bet we could do that,” Veronica said.
Vinnie hesitated. Veronica was going to have her way, there was no doubt about it. And unless he figured out some way to tweak the situation, he was going to end up being the one hurt and the one blamed.
“Of course we could do it the easy way, like they did…” he said, without really looking at his sister.
“What do you mean, ‘the easy way’?”
“Well, with the bigger kid on the bottom. I mean, of course that’s the way they’d do it while they were apprentice acrobats…” he let his voice trail off.
Vinnie stood still while his sister climbed onto the fence, then leaned over and touched her forehead to his. “Give me your hands,” she ordered.
Vinnie did exactly what he was told, and no more. When Veronica landed flat on her back in the mud, he said nothing at all.
210 words, 200 limit with a 10 word leeway…
I can do better.
“But I didn’t get her anything for Mother’s Day!” Victoria wailed despondently. Vinnie set his stereoscope down, being as noisy as clumsy as possible so his sister wouldn’t notice him sliding his carefully hand-made Mother’s Day card under the pile of magazines.
“We could give her this…” Victoria said, snatching up the stereoscope and looking through it. “Hey…what are they doing?”
“They’re acrobats,” Vinnie answered. “I know, why don’t you make Mom a construction paper basket? You still have more than a day to work on it…”
“I know what we can do!” Victoria declared, dropping Vinnie’s toy, not on the table, but on the floor. “Let’s make a video.”
That’s how Vinnie found himself dangling upside-down by his belt loops from a coat hook in the guest bedroom. “Don’t worry…it’s like a green screen. I can edit it later…” explained Veronica, setting up the camera while all the blood rushed to Vinnie’s head and his legs went numb.
“Wait there,” Veronica ordered, and ran off down the hall.
Vinnie fumbled with the button on his jeans until he finally fell out of them and onto the floor. Veronica would just have to make a video or whatever for their Mom by herself. He’d endured enough.
Vinne went to retrieve the card he’d made, but it was no longer under the stack of magazines.
“Oh, sweetheart, thank you so much for the card!” his mother cooed from the kitchen. Vinnie walked in, still pantsless, to see his artwork in his mother’s hands, and his big sister standing beside her, taking credit. “You too, Vinnie. Veronica told me you helped her make it!”
OK, still way too long. Gotta get tighter.
Umm… one more…
Vinnie allowed himself just the briefest flash of a smile as his sister fell face-first in the muck. She darn well deserved it, but if she or their mother saw him taking pleasure at the sight of his sister’s distress, he’d be scrubbing toilets all weekend. Again.
“This time, I’ll be on the bottom,” Veronica directed. Vinnie had been able to connive a way into being the support-acrobat in spite of his smaller size for their first attempt. If he didn’t come up with something to convince her otherwise, he’d be the one face-down in the muck next time.
“Just a minute. I’ll go get you a washcloth,” Vinnie said, thinking fast.
Their mother was in the kitchen.
“Mama, do you know where’s that cup-thing Dad made me wear in my pants when we played hockey?”
“It’s in the mudroom, sweetie. Why?”
Vinnie drew on every acting lesson he’d ever had at the feet of his sister and replied in complete innocence with the exact words he knew would get their mother up and out the door. “Veronica said I shouldn’t tell you.”
It was magic, like a genie granting a wish. And it was the end of his acrobatic career.
201 words @USNessie
OK. That one I like. 201 words is right in there!
“Maa-om…Jeremy’s chasing me with a giant worm!” Olivia whined from the bedroom door.
Jenny sighed. She couldn’t even have two uninterrupted minutes to use the bathroom without the kids shrieking at her. Their dad wouldn’t be home for two more days. It had been the longest six weeks of Jenny’s life, or at least it felt like it. These extended trips were part of the package deal. They were usually only one or two weeks, three at the most, but this latest had been necessarily longer. He could have come home half way through, but as much as he missed them and they missed him, it didn’t make sense to fly over the Pacific twice.
Jenny finished in the bathroom and meandered slowly towards the sounds of howling laughter. They were getting rambunctious, but it probably wasn’t anything she needed to interfere with. She was just glad they were playing in the rest of the house instead of in the master suite. The parents’ bedroom was usually off limits to the kids, but the day before had been extra rainy and thundery and Jenny had played with them in the big closet, having fun pushing buttons and making the giant clothes rack revolve.
She was really looking forward to her husband coming home. Not just for the kids’ sake, but for her own. She’d indulged in a new toy for herself…a very realistic-looking phallus instead of the plain vibrating cylinder she usually used. It was…different. It did the job, but then she stored it back in its box in the closet. Her trusty standard model vibrator was much more efficient. When she told her husband she’d put it away, he’d teased her. “What, did Maud’Dib scare you?” he said, referring to the giant worm god from Dune, one of her favorite movies.
“Why do you have to name everything?” she asked, laughing. He’d gone on to remind her of the many names she’d come up with for various parts of his anatomy, and she broke into fits of giggles that caused both kids, watching Netflix in the other room, to turn and ask her what was so funny.
She hadn’t explained.
Olivia shrieked in that high pitch that only four-year-old girls can hit, running past her mother and slamming her way out the back door.
Jeremy followed after her, wielding something that did indeed resemble a giant worm.
Maud’Dib.
This was written for the Write on Edge prompt that was 1) a picture of a fancy closet with movable racks and 2) the SNL musical skit “dick in a box.”
I have a direct question: Should I have left the story where I did? I still had more than 100 words before reaching the 500 limit. Should I have given a little more wrap-up of how Jenny handled the situation?
Finding the wine cellar door was the greatest stroke of serendipity. Frank’s uncle Jack had disappeared for eighteen months during the prohibition years, and when he returned to Toronto he was wealthy enough to ignore the family he so reviled. He built the rambling house on his piece of family property on the Lost Channel, but only lived there for eight months before he disappeared permanently.
Or so they said. That was eighty years ago, about ten years before Frank was born. Eighty years of legal stagnation before Frank found out he’d inherited the place.
“Well Dad, what are you going to do with it?” asked his son Bruce, feet propped up on the heavy wooden table, a glass of fine wine in hand.
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t the foggiest idea. It might have been fun to raise the four of you here, but you all have families of your own now. Calli’s off to Cape Breton and loves it there. Ted’s in Ottowa with Jackie and the twins. Cora and her husband are almost empty-nesters themselves. And you, after building that monstrosity of a log mansion, I don’t think you’ll be uprooting and moving here.”
Bruce shook this head and chuckled. “I don’t suppose you want to ramble around here alone? Maintain the place long enough to get all four of us to get our schedules organized enough to all come for Christmas?
“I used to spend Christmas up here on the channel. But that meant hiking or sledging in, and staying warm by the wood stove and heavy blankets. I suppose selling it is the only thing that makes sense. Maybe we’ll have one family get-together, one week where we turn everything on and you guys and your cousins can all explore the place. Maybe find some clue as to where Jack disappeared to.”
Frank watched Bruce poke around the shelves, heavily laden with dusty bottles.
“I can’t believe that door went undiscovered all these years,” said Bruce, selecting a bottle, reading the label, then putting it back on the shelf.
“Well, it’s not like many people tried. Jack hated everybody. He didn’t build this place to have a family, he built it so he wouldn’t need anyone ever again.”
Bruce paused in his search, looking closely between two of the shelves. “What is it Bruce?”
“Speaking of hidden doors…” Bruce pulled at the wall. A section moved, obviously a door of some kind, but it was stuck. “Huh… it’s like the latch broke…or fell off on the inside.”
Frank watched as Bruce worked the mechanism with his Leatherman. After a few minutes he managed to pull it open.
A putrid stench filled the room.
Bruce coughed and pulled his shirt over his mouth. He shone his flashlight around the tiny chamber.
“Well…” said Bruce through his shirt. “We solved one mystery at least.” He coughed and backed away. “We found Uncle Jack.”
Yeah…I don’t usually get that gory! This was written for a prompt from Write on Edge. The words “cellar door” and there was a photo of a propeller I loved the photo, and yet it didn’t quite make it into the story.
I do have a great uncle named Jack who disappeared for a while during prohibition, but he had a big family who loved him. I just found his grand daughter on facebook a few weeks ago… I should ask her if she knows anything about his prohibition-era activities…
John reminded Lorelei of her first husband. That was not a good thing. Still, the resemblance was mostly physical, and she could always close her eyes.
Where her ex-husband had been loud and domineering, John was quiet and passive.
Unlike her ex-husband, John treated her with respect.
With her lover’s baby growing inside her and her current husband conspicuously absent, Lorelei was growing ever more desperate. She’d been a wife twice and a mistress once. Neither position seemed to have a great advantage over the other. As a mistress, she’d known she was wanted. As a wife, she’d known she was not.
If John would take her as either, she’d do her best to make him happy. She was good on her knees… or flat on her back, or bent over a three legged barstool while his friends jeered…
No. John wouldn’t be like that. He’d probably use her as his end-of-the-day relief each night and then fall asleep on top of her. She could live with that. At least he was well-off enough to have a cook and a maid; if her husband had indeed abandoned her as she suspected he had, John would make a good safety net. He wasn’t wealthy, but he was safe. Maybe this time she could keep her baby.
“John…” she said, taking the opportunity now that he’d finished tightening the huge…something or other on whatever the invention was.
He nearly dropped his wrench, and blushed ten shades of crimson. “My lady… Your Grace… I… hello. What can I do for you?”
Lorelei wasn’t sure how to flirt. She was used to being pursued and claimed. And she was the wife of John’s employer… he might not be so eager to endanger his position.
“I was just wondering if you’d heard anything from His Grace…” It was a stupid thing to say and she regretted it. She didn’t want to think about him, or who he might be with, or what he might do to her when he came home. If he came home.
John perked up. “Oh, yes Your Grace. He’ll be arriving on Sunday.
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday… it echoed in her mind. She had until Sunday to manipulate John into feeling something for her. Pity might work in such a short time frame. And pity she could live with whether or not her husband threw her out.
I’m off on a new WIP. Well, it’s a story I put on the shelf a few months ago. But it’s where my brain is right now and I’m going to try and take advantage of the fact and whip out a rough draft as quickly as I can before my brain moves on to something else. I’ve used the last several flash fiction prompts for warm-ups to the story. This one was for Flash Friday, and the prompt was the picture. The previous post Emeralds and Sapphires is another. While I’m at it, I might as well include the third flash I used as a warm-up to the story. It’s called Squirm and I used it for #FiveMinuteFiction this week. The prompt was, again, the photo. This one would come first chronologically out of the three.
His bride looked at the cup with obvious disgust. “No thank you,” she said with what seemed to be polite sincerity. Then again, he’d noticed her perk up with an obvious appetite as soon as the smell of tea wafted in to them.
Lorelei turned a delicate shade of purple when he picked up his own mug and took a deep drink. It scalded his throat, but it was worth it to see his prodigal wife attempt to control the urge to squirm and run.
Her hand actually reached for a biscuit, but she withdrew it when she couldn’t figure out a way to take one that was not touching the encrusted edge.
Now that she was home, he wasn’t quite sure what to with her.
But one thing was certain. She would squirm. She would squirm and he would enjoy every minute of it.
“Is he angry yet?” Lorelei asked, popping up onto the balls of her feet in anticipation.
“Angry? Why?” asked Tink, the Duke’s jeweler.
“Hasn’t he remarked on my outrageous spending? The diamonds… the jewelry I’ve commissioned…” her eyes sparkled like the emeralds that graced her ears.
“Oh. Outrageous? No no no. Not nearly, Your Grace. I wouldn’t call your spending extravagant. There’s plenty more where these came from.” He casually jingled the sapphire bangles he was working on.
Lorelei was flabbergasted. She had gone out of her way for weeks, abusing her allowance and privileges as the Duke’s wife by commissioning an extravagant supply of jewelry. And he hadn’t noticed?
“What…would His Grace consider extravagant?
Tink paused.
Five long weeks later, she examined her naked body in the dressing room mirror. It had been sorely beaten by one man and overtaxed by another before she was returned to the stranger who was her husband, but it had stood the passage of time well. She was not used to dressing without the foundation garments that were de rigueur, but the occasion called for it.
His explicit instructions had been “dress to impress.” It was a small dinner party, just six guests, but they were people he didn’t like and wanted to rub their noses in his wealth and success.
He couldn’t fault her for what she did.
It took her maids three hours to get her into the dress, and it was terribly heavy. She didn’t care. It was not an evening to dance, it was an evening to be ogled.
The shattering of the glass he dropped in the sudden silence of the room made up for the months of being ignored. From throat to ankle, she was draped in only two things.
Emeralds and Sapphires.
I broke my own rule. I wrote a “story” that is actually an excerpt from a longer work. But it’s a work I haven’t written yet, and this is an exercise to help me get to know my new characters a little better. Steampunk… she was the old King’s mistress until he died. In order to make her presence at court legitimate, he married her off to a nobleman who lived far away. The story To Whom She Was Married begins with the King’s death and her being sent to the strange man who is legally her husband.
This week’s prompt for Write on Edge is sexy… and that was all the impetus I needed to do this.
Normally I would put a post like this on the Inverness Press, but I was specifically tagged for Under Loch and Key and so here it lies.♥
I’m very relieved to have decided to take a hiatus in April. I really need this time to step back, recoup my energy, and decide how to set out towards my long term goals as a writer. This past week I’ve done plenty of shorts but nothing longer. I’m keeping up my writer-skills, but not finishing what needs to be finished. I have serious Ooh! Shiny! issues with new ideas as well as old ideas that resurface.
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I was nominated for the Liebster Award by The Imaginator (go check out his blog!). The award is given to up and coming blogs with less than 200 followers; the person nominated needs to answer eleven questions and nominate eleven other bloggers, ask them eleven questions in turn and then comment on their blogs to let them know they’ve been nominated.
Here are my answers to The Imaginator’s questions, and then my answers to Eleanor’s questions since I really really liked them (and today is Douglas Adams’ birthday)
In honour of being nom’d by a Brit, I’m including the letter “u” in all kinds of places “u” wouldn’t normally be seen stateside.
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1) What is your favourite food?
Pineapple chicken. Although I also have a love of York Peppermint Patties and Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, but I’m not sure candy should equate to food…
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2) What scares you the most?
Kayaks. Seriously… you tip over, you drown.
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3) What is your pet hate?
Random acts of hatred. As in the opposite of random acts of kindness… when people randomly spout hateful things against a person (like Justin Bieber) or group (like churches) even though the person/group never did anything to hurt them.
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4) If you could have any superhero power that you wanted, what would it be?
Telekinesis
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5) Who is your favourite cartoon character?
The Schmoo!
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6) do you like better, dogs or cats?
This is a toughie. Cats, because they are better at quiet cuddles. But dogs are better at demonstrating unconditional love.
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7) If you could travel back in time for a day, when would you go to?
Let’s assume I can’t affect or change anything, since that would lead to a plethora of possibilities. Hmmm… if I could understand Hebrew, I’d go to hear Jesus deliver the Sermon on the Mount.
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8) Sex or chocolate?
Both
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9) Beer or wine?
Neither
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10) Which famous singer can you best imitate?
Tina Turner. Proud Mary. Like a boss.
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11) If you could be an animal, which animal would you be?
A guinea pig. They lead such pampered lives…
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1. What is the answer to the great question of Life, the Universe, and Everything?
42 (Happy Birthday Douglas Adams!)
2. In your opinion, is the climbing hydrangea or the bougainvillea more evil?
Le Gasp! The Bougainvillea is one of the most beautiful flowers ever! So I guess I’ll say climbing hydrangea.
3. Can you hula-hoop?
I used to have mad hula-hooping skillz. Like, I used to win contests in my teenage years. Can I now? Not well… unless it’s the weighted version designed for exercise.
4. Even if you could hula-hoop, why the heck would you want to?
Of all the weight-loss exercises I can think of, rollerskating and hula-hooping top the list. Maybe at the same time…
5. What’s the magic word?
Abracadabra.
6. Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, or Spock?
Lizard. Because newts weren’t a choice.
7. What sort of punishment should a blogger be subjected to, who recycles his or her old ideas and just hopes against hope that no one will notice?
I’m seriously considering recycling some old SciFi Questions of the Day. But I only had a handful of followers back when I began, and I have a lot more now. Please don’t hurt me!
8. If I gave you a bucket of water balloons and let you loose, who would you splosh first, and why?
I would be sorely tempted to lob it at any student who gave me a lame excuse for not doing their homework (My dayjob is teaching Excel and Access to college freshmen) but that would be unprofessional. Still, tempting…
9. What is the first thing that pops into your head when you cross your eyes, stick out your tongue, and hop up and down on one foot?
OMG I jiggle far too much to keep doing this… wait… why am I doing this?
10. What is your superpower?
Not smacking people upside the head even though they desperately deserve it.
11. Do you have a secret identity?
I have a couple of pseudonyms. “Inverness” and “Drumnadrochit” are cities in Scotland. My real last name is Fredricksen. But I keep AmyBeth as my first name no matter which last name I use.
But seriously… if someone else wants to answer these questions in the comments or their own blog, do eet!
My fellow Felt Tips author, Jenny Lyn
My fellow ROWer Eden Mabee
I was tagged for The Next Big Thing by Jenny Lyn. I’m tagging Eden Mabee.
What is a blog hop? Basically, it’s a way for readers to discover authors new to them. I hope you’ll find new-to-you authors whose works you enjoy. On this stop on the blog hop, you’ll find a bit of information on me and one of my books and links to two other authors you can explore!
In this blog hop, I and my fellow authors, in their respective blogs, have answered ten questions about our book or work-in–progress (giving you a sneak peek). We’ve also included some behind-the-scenes information about how and why we write what we write–the characters, inspirations, plotting and other choices we make. I hope you enjoy it!
My definition of Work in Progess has recently been traumatized by my sad, sad tendency to say “Ooh! Shiny!” and chase new opportunities before I’ve finished the old. I’m taking April off, and attending a writers’ conference. Meanwhile, I’m calling the newest and shiniest story my WIP.
Please feel free to comment and share your thoughts and questions. Here is my Next Big Thing!
1: WHAT IS THE WORKING TITLE OF YOUR BOOK?
To Whom She Was Married
2: WHERE DID THE IDEA COME FROM FOR THE BOOK?
I’ve always loved stories about couples who were married for some non-romantic reason, then find love with each other. A year ago I was reading about Marie Antoinette and how the old King had his mistress marry some random nobleman just so she’d have a legitimate reason to be at Versailles. My story began with what might happen to the mistress when the king died. And then there were these pictures, which made me take the story off the shelf and start working on it again.
The David Tennant picture is a publicity shot on the “Doctor Who and the TARDIS by Craig Hurle” fan page on facebook. It was turned into a meme saying “Just stand there, Cause I’m gonna hug you.”
The Peacock dress is from the Stella de libero Collection SAD 00421-12
3. WHAT GENRE DOES YOUR BOOK COME UNDER?
Steampunk. And unfortunately I’m not sure I can do the genre justice. I stress too much over historical because there are too many rules I can’t keep straight, but if I create a Steampunk world then I can make up my own rules.
4: WHICH ACTORS WOULD YOU CHOOSE TO PLAY YOUR CHARACTERS IN A MOVIE RENDITION?
David Tennant and Winona Ryder
5: WHAT IS THE ONE-SENTENCE SYNOPSIS OF YOUR BOOK?
With the King’s death, Lorelei’s tenure as pampered mistress is over, and her only recourse is to beg shelter from the husband she hardly knows.
6: IS YOUR BOOK SELF-PUBLISHED, PUBLISHED BY AN INDEPENDENT PUBLISHER, OR REPRESENTED BY AN AGENCY?
None of the above.
7: HOW LONG DID IT TAKE YOU TO WRITE THE FIRST DRAFT OF YOUR MANUSCRIPT?
I’ve learned that I am capable of writing 50k in a month when I’m pushing myself, but I’ve been submitting several shorts lately and haven’t finished the longer works. Hopefully after April I’ll have a new focus.
8: WHAT OTHER BOOKS WOULD YOU COMPARE THIS STORY TO WITHIN YOUR GENRE?
I hope to have the humor of Kieran Kramer, who writes historical and writes it extraordinarily well. As for Steampunk, there are many great examples and I hope I can both stand out for my unique vision and fit right in with a story to the heart of the genre.
9: WHO OR WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO WRITE THIS BOOK?
Marie Antionette and the photos above.
10: WHAT ELSE ABOUT YOUR BOOK MIGHT PIQUE THE READER’S INTEREST?
I have another Steampunk romance on the shelf called Give Me Your Answer Do. It’s about a mermaid, also inspired by a gorgeous image. Well, she has legs…anyway, I made it more SciFi than fantasy. (This took some real-science juggling.) Both stories will be in the same world. I also have a very popular short that I published here on this blog called Keeping Up With the Joneses which could probably also fit in. The story was inspired partly by a writing prompt, and partly by an astounding Steampunk image of model Ophelia Overdose.
Stanzi had no idea why he had to open every fridge he found. Hunger, perhaps, even though he knew all he’d find would be rotting and putrid.
Thirteen months since any electricity had flowed through the grid.
Thirteen months since the plague—or whatever someone wanted to label it—had devastated civilization.
“Stanzi!’ Elway yelled, “Walkers.”
Sure enough, eight… no… ten at least… walkers were stumbling towards them, thrashing their way through the inadequate defenses the home’s previous occupants had erected. Elway took his new-found spring-loaded nail gun and fired it at the monsters. The nails stuck into the flesh, but failed to penetrate the cranium.
“Well, there goes that bright idea…” Elway took out his old trusty—the baseball bat he’d sharpened into a giant spike—and started swinging away.
Stanzi took a moment to size up the current batch. All women, which was rare.
Live women were even rarer.
Still, after all he’d been through, that was a good thing. Elway was only a half decent side-kick, and that was when there were no females around. Well…live ones. Add a bitch to the mix and Elway would be no more use than a nail gun against a walker.
Stanzi wielded the pruning shears like an expert, and soon the threat was vanquished. They moved through the house, not finding much that was helpful.
The back yard was huge. There was a sound coming from the garage.
Something mechanical.
The garage was built against a retaining wall about six feet high. At the top of the retaining wall were spikes protruding out and downwards, likely good enough to keep walkers down. The doors to the garage were steel. They were banged up, but still in good condition.
The garage roof was lined with solar panels.
“You think anyone’s—”
Elway’s sentence was cut off by a voice coming over an intercom. “I’d stay away from the door if I were you.”
Of course, the first thing Elway did was to tap the door with his bat. “Yee owach!” he yelled, followed by a string of profanity that wasn’t impressing anybody. “They’ve electrified the damn door!”
Stanzi backed up until he could see up the hillside. Now that he was looking for it, he could see what he’d missed before. An elaborate tree fort, high in the huge evergreens on the steep slope. The perfect defensible position.
“You got something to trade?” the voice asked.
Stanzi did a mental inventory of everything they’d found that was worth anything. Jewelry might be valuable again someday, but not yet. But they had found an untouched vending machine just two days before.
“I’ve got some Cheetos, life savers… the kind you get from a vending machine…”
There was a moment of silence that made Stanzi think the voice was consulting with someone else.
“You got any chocolate?”
Stanzi had eaten half the candy bars they found, but there were still at least a dozen in his pack.
“I got peanut butter cups, Hershey bars…”
There was a click and the electrical hum ceased. “Come on up. But keep your hands where we can see them.”
Elway prodded the door again. When he didn’t get shocked he opened it. He had to push hard, as there was a spring obviously designed to make sure the door was always closed. Straight in front of them was a staircase, and another door.
At the top, a dirt path led to the base of the tree with the fort. Stanzi scanned above. If whomever it was wanted to kill them, they could easily do so at any time. There was a knotted rope hanging down.
“Climb?” asked Elway. Stanzi nodded.
“At this point, we don’t have much to lose. Even if all they have is clean water, it’s worth all the junk food we found.”
Elway went first, much to his credit, and Stanzi followed him up to a platform about fifteen feet up, with no railing and no visible way of going any farther.
“Well, show us what you’ve got,” said the voice, this time without an intercom. A middle aged man was leaning over the railing of another platform above them.
Elway reached into his coat and the platform they were standing on jolted.
“Oh, and just in case you have any funny ideas, the platform is rigged to dump your assess right down the hill again.”
Stanzi glanced behind him. Sure enough, below them was nothing but a steep hillside and then the retaining wall. They might survive the fall, but it would be almost impossible to get up again, and they’d be sitting ducks if the fort-owner decided to fire on them.
After a lengthy discussion, a ladder was lowered and they were allowed to come up.
That’s when Stanzi knew they had found their own doom in the embrace of salvation.
The tree-house was sparse, but it had the necessities. There was a sink with a large jug of water next to it. If they could waste water on simple things like hand washing, they must have a source. Jerkey and other things Stanzi assumed were food were stored in Mason jars.
Two teenage boys stood at opposite windows, hunting rifles in hand. Stanzi talked with the Dad while the Mom just grinned, a chocolate bar in her hand.
And their doom, Stanzi was sure of it, sat next to her mother, eating her own chocolate bar. The boys had a big sister.
And the sister had eyes for Elway.
This post was written for a surprise prompt from Write on Edge. The video was the prompt, and we had no word limit but a time limit of 24 hours. I discovered the prompt halfway through that!
This isn’t related to any other story I’ve written. The video immediately made me think of the television show The Walking Dead, and the story is fanfic (These aren’t characters from the show.)
“Zork, you’re an idiot,” said Blanc, not for the first time.
“I swear, I was here just a few days ago and this field was flowing with tall, wavy grain!” Zork defended himself, kicking a clump of dirt. “It’s not my fault!”
“It’s a good thing for you there’s a fog rolling in. We’d be ducks in a barrel if it wasn’t for that cover, and I can tell you from experience that folks around here shoot first and ask questions later.”
The two of them stood there, peering through the light fog without finding anything of interest.
A soft lowing drifted on the air from somewhere behind them. “Hey! Cows!” Zork said, heading towards the sound.
“Cow tipping? Is that your idea of excitement?” asked Blanc.
“Hey, it’s better than nothing. Come on!”
The rail fence proved to be only a small impediment. It took a little clumsy grunting, but they both made it over eventually. “Hey, why’s there only one? I thought these things were herd beasts?” asked Blanc.
“I dunno. Maybe this farmer’s poor. Maybe the cows are down the hill somewhere,” perused Zork, heading for the creature. “Maybe they ate all the grain.”
“Why does it have horns? Is it a mutant?” asked Blanc, hanging back, grabbing the fence, ready to climb over if the situation warranted.
The bovine snorted, then stomped one hoof in the dirt. Zork slowed down, attempting to sneak up on the beast.
The bull grunted, pawed the dirt again, and charged.
Zork screamed, tentacles flailing as he tried to make it back to the fence. Blanc secreted his juice sac as he scrambled over the rails. He didn’t stop screaming until he heard a gunshot from the direction of the farmhouse.
Scared into silence, Blanc looked at the fence where Zork’s body was squished. His torso pod had exploded on impact, but two of his main tentacles were still writhing.
Blanc grabbed the body parts that were still moving and raced back to their saucer. He threw the bits of his crewmate into the copilot seat and revved up the magneto for takeoff.
“”Hey, let’s buzz Earth” you said. “We’ll make some crop circles, scare the locals,” you said. “It’ll be fun!” you said! Well, you’re not saying much now, are you?”
Blanc cursed as a ping sounded on the hull. “Great googlie mooglies, we’re under attack!” Ear buds were already forming on the growth-sacks of each tentacle. Blanc would need to toss the pieces of his friend into some juice soon, so they’d have the medium they needed to grow.
“And now I get to explain to your mother why I’m bringing you home in more pieces than you left in. Sheesh, Zork, your Dad’s never going to let you borrow the saucer again.”
This was written for the Friday Flash prompt that was the picture above.
I know you’ve heard me say this before, but…yeah…way over word count. The difference is that this time I didn’t even realize just HOW over I was until after I posted… it’s supposed to be 200 words, and this is almost 500. My other flash prompt has a 500 word limit.
Oopsies. Oh well, I’m disqualified, but it was fun playing lol!
“Fracking Yankees,” Merrick muttered under his breath. Jonsh had seen him mad before, but never like this. He was seething; Jonsh could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears.
“Yankees?” Jonsh asked, picking up the bins Merrik had scattered and placing them back on the desk. It would take him most of the afternoon to re-sort the contents.
“Yankees, Bolsheviks, Jacobins, Roundheads… they think because they’ve got stars on thars that they’re special.”
Jonsh pulled his lab coat closed. His own badge sported a star. The star that showed his support of the administration, the star that granted him access to certain rights and privileges available only to those who declared themselves aligned with certain ideals.
Jonsh had been chastised more than once for forgetting to wear his badge over his lab coat instead of under it, but today he was glad for the mistake. He’d never taken his boss for a Sneetch, but apparently he was. That surprised him, since the old man had been with the company since the early days.
“This may not be the United Fracking States of America, but I’m still an American citizen just like everybody else in the company, and I’ve got rights,” Merrick ranted.
Jonsh buttoned his lab coat up to his neck and started picking up the contents of the bins while Merrick gazed out at the hardscrabble lunar surface, stroking his beard and thinking. Or plotting…
“Well, we’ll just have to do it the hard way. Come on,” Merrick called to Jonsh and headed for the clean room where their surface suits were stored.
Jonsh set down the items he was sorting, and tiptoed into the clean room. Merrick had shed his lab coat, and was pulling on his surface suit. “Fracking corporate groupies, we should herd them all out the nearest airlock…” the old man was muttering.
Jonsh looked at the airlock. He could feel his badge under his lab coat, a tell-tale heart that glowed through the thin white fabric.
“Uh… I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”
Jonsh ran all the way to HR. A nice young woman, seeing his distress, beckoned him into her office. Jonsh glanced at her ID badge, proudly displaying not just one, but two stars.
He had no idea what that meant.
“I need a transfer,” he said, handing her his badge. His mind raced, deliberating how much of the truth he wanted to tell. Only last month, one of Merrick’s friends had received notice that he was being transferred, but after he was gone there was no word from him at all. It was like he ceased to exist.
“M…m…m….my mother needs me closer to home… she’s ill.”
At least that was partially true. His mother certainly did have some health issues, it just wasn’t anything major.
The woman furrowed her brow and cooed “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” She keyed something on her screen, and her eyebrows danced up, and then down again, in a series of emotions he could not interpret. “Mr. Clark, it says here that you haven’t reached your MSF yet…”
Jonsh craned his neck to see her screen. “MSF?”
“Minimum Service Fulfillment. It’s expensive to bring employees to the moon, and the company generously paid all your expenses to bring you here. Of course, you can pay your own way back…”
She opened a window on her screen that showed a monetary figure he’d never be able to save up even if he squirreled away every penny for a year. “Umm… I would still work for the company, Earth-side. Can’t they make an exception for a family emergency? Or just, maybe increase my MSF?”
“Oh, we certainly can increase your MSF if there’s a family emergency.” She handed him a slip of paper with a number on it. “Just fill out form 3728 and file it with my office. We’ll take care of you!”
She was beaming with helpfulness as Jonsh stood and thanked her. As soon as he was out of sight, he dropped his badge in the nearest garbage chute. Next, he went to security, reported his badge lost, and asked for a new one.
Without a star.
This was written for the Write on Edge prompt for Dr. Seuss. I’m glad they opened it up to anything Seussical, because the Sneetches have always been a favorite of my husband. If you haven’t read the story of Sneetches with stars on their bellies, I highly recommend it.
This is about 100 over the word limit of 500. This time, I’m simply crying Mea Culpa and leaving it at that.
I also apologize to those fans who have expressed that they are getting tired of my moon theme. Unfortunately, I am OCD (stress the O, not the C) and my brain is currently stranded on the moon.
Although this is not directly related to any of my other stories, it could fit as a prequel to my other moon stories.
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