Tag Archives: Challenges

Flash Fiction Friday: Royal Apples

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Gala Apple on Tree by Randy Cockrell

Gala Apple on Tree by Randy Cockrell

The prompt for this story came from a Chuck Wendig challenge. From a list of uncommon apple names, pick three and create a story using those names. I had fun with this and used more than three names.

King Solomon sat on his throne, Reverend Morgan standing on the floor of the throne room in front of him. All of the King’s advisors and courtiers had been sent from the room. He even dismissed the guards. They were alone.

“Tell me again?”

“Yes, Sire. Your son, Crown Prince Rudolph has come to me in private asking me to wed him and one of your maids, Malinda. I put him off, but it seemed to me that the young man was making an error in judgment. I’ve come to you, despite Prince Rudolph’s confidence in me, to let you know.” He spun his hat in his hands around and around the brim as he spoke.

The King drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne. It was just like his son to run off and try to secretly wed one of the servants. He scowled at the Reverend. “I find it disconcerting, sir, that you betray a confidence of one of your flock.”

Reverend Morgan had the grace to look ashamed.

“That being said, I appreciate the information. Have you met the girl?”

“No, Sire. Just the Crown Prince.” The man shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.

King Solomon glared at the far wall. “That will be all, Reverend. Thank you for telling me.”

The Reverend bowed, turned and hurried to the door of the throne room. By the time the echos of the door closing behind the man finished ricocheting around the room, the King decided what to do. “Guard!”

Two guards opened the door to the throne room and stood at attention. One of you find the Prince and bring him to my apartments. The other one, find the servant Malinda. Bring her to me after the Prince arrives in my apartment.”

The guards bowed and hurried off.

An hour later, Crown Prince Rudolph was shown into the King’s apartment. He was at his carved oaken desk in front of a window, reading dispatches.”

“Father,” the Prince bowed in front of the desk. “You sent for me?”

The King put down the dispatch he was reading and stared at his son. “You’re twenty-three this year, son, are you not?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And you think it’s time for you to marry?”

A blush crept up the young man’s face. He straightened his spine. “I do, Father. I take it Reverend Morgan spoke with you?”

The King stacked his papers neatly and set them to the side of the desk. He folded his hands in front of himself. “He did. You are aware that I am negotiating an alliance with the King of Russet for the hand of his daughter for you?”

“I’m aware, Father. But I’ve never met the girl. She could look like a horse and weigh as much.”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Enter,” the King called out.

The guards escorted the servant, Malinda, into the room. The King dismissed them with a wave of his hand. A comely girl, the King thought to himself, as he watched the two young people exchange worried glances. She stood next to the Prince after a curtsy to the King.

“You wish to wed my son?”

She glanced at the Prince and swallowed. “Yes, Sire.”

“I have plans for the Prince. Marrying a servant does the kingdom no favors, girl.”

Her head drooped. “I understand, Sire.”

A teardrop sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the window. He felt sorry for them but he had to think about the kingdom. “Where are you from, girl?”

“From the Kingdom of Apple, Sire. I came here as a child, my parents were killed there.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I remember an uprising there, oh, ten years ago. The royal family was all killed. The country still hasn’t recovered.” He looked closely at the girl.

“Yes, Sire.”

“The King and his Queen were friends of mine. We held a hunt every year.” He leaned forward. “Let me see your face.”

The Prince nodded for her to comply. She held up her head, tears still in her blue eyes.

The King’s brow furrowed. “Who were your parents?”

Malinda twisted her skirt in her hand and looked as though she wanted to bolt from the room. “My parents here are shop keepers, Sire. They sell dry goods and imported items from other lands.”

He shook his head. “Your birth parents. Who were they?”

Her mouth worked and she twisted the bit of skirt even harder. “I was told never to say, Sire. For my own protection.”

The King pushed away from the desk and walked to the girl taking her face in his hand. He peered into her face. “Tell me.”

He could see her throat work. “King Oliver and Queen Lacy.”

“I knew it,” he shouted and dropped his hand. “You look just like your mother.”

She shrank back as the Prince put his arm around her.

“What is it, Father?”

“I’d heard that the Princess’ body had never been found. I sent spies into the revolution to try and find out what happened but the girl was gone without a trace. The shop keepers, who were they?”

She took the Prince’s hand. “My guard and my nanny. They married when they got here and kept me safe.”

King Solomon clapped his son on the shoulder. “Perfect. I’ve wanted to do something about that revolution for years. This is excellent.”

Two months later, the Crown Prince Rudolph married Princess Malinda. In the spring, he led the army to the Kingdom of Apple to retake the throne. After the war, he and Queen Malinda reigned there happily ever after.

 

The End

936 Words

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Flash Friday: Challenge Follow-Up Two Fer Day

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So Containing by that-photo-guy via www.deviantart.com

So Containing by that-photo-guy via www.deviantart.com

This is a follow-up of the Chuck Wendig challenge to write the 1st third of a story then leave it for another writer to finish. Last week no one picked up the final third of the story, Brandon Scott’s Plumbing Issues, so I’ll finish it off.

No one picked up my first third from three weeks ago so I’m doing part 2 of it after Plumbing Issues. I was going to try and finish it in 500 words but it just didn’t work. Next week, you’ll get the end of it.

I pick up the Plumbing Issues at the dividing line.

Title: Plumbing Issues (Part 1 by Brandon Scott at Coolerbs Reviews. http://coolerbs.com/2014/09/10/flash-fiction-challenge-the-first-half-of-a-story-only/)

—

Darkness, their home. A thousand bodies pressed up to each other, communicating through nothing but a torrent of clicks. A swarm; chirping and scuttling. Carapaces pressed up to each other, rubbing. The sound was deafening. The smell, even worse.

They ate, constantly. It was all they knew. A screaming fire in each stomach. Everything was food; rot, blood, skin. Everything.  Every inch of the surface picked clean. Any other creature, anything that was not an ally, devoured. Cracked open and slurped up. A few brothers had died, they too were eaten.

Every feeler started to twitch at once. A new noise had appeared. Booming, alien. Something was talking, something massive. The ceaseless noise, ceased. All stood at attention, wanting to hear.

“Where is it?”

“I already told you on the phone”

“Well, could you tell me again, please?”

“The bathroom. It’s always the bathroom.”

“I said I’d fix it.”

“That was a year ago.”

“I will, I just haven’t gotten around to it. Okay?”

 “Okay.”

“No, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“

“Just fix it.”

“Look honey, I got a bonus coming up. The vacation can wait, we can-“

“Not now. I don’t want to argue. I just wanna sleep. Could you just handle it, please?”

“Yeah, of course, good night.”

“Night.”

A thumbing noise, more akin to thunder than anything else, sounded across the entire hive. A single twitch of alarm turning into a wave of feelers. The pyramid of bodies began to crumble as individuals tried to move, to escape.

It descended into mayhem, bodies pressed against bodies. Towers made, purely by accident; collapsing just as quickly as they formed. The Queen attempted to calm them. Pheromones screaming for order.

They went unheard.

Their spiny legs found purchase, and raced on the sides. A burst a fresh air gave them a destination. Upwards. A barrier prevented them from passing, and they hungrily tore at it. The porcelain proving itself just another food source. Acid spat, melting it, mandibles scooping it into thousands of wailing mouths. Progress was slow, but they were persisting. More and more climbing up to attack the obstruction. When one grew too full, it would drop down. Its six legs, flailing in the air, being eventually righted by a shift of the mass.

This frantic pace continued for a while, the edge of the barrier weakening. Holes dug, but not yet wide enough to go through.

Then the noise sounded again, and all was still.

“No….no you know what, it’s that mother of her’s. Made one comment about the toilet being dirty….and what does she do? She wants me to replace the whole God-damn thing.”

A noise of metal against plastic, followed by compressed air let free. A large weight dropped down parallel to the entirety of the hive.

Something, large, hit against the surface of the barrier.

The obstruction disappeared and the swarm, now uninhibited, rose forth in-mass. Spilling across the floor; thousands of them. Rushing forward. Manic with hunger.

—

The random hair, skin cells, a dead spider, found by the leading edge of the swarm disappeared into desperate mandibles leaving nothing for the horde behind. They roiled in the small room until an exit was found. There, they found fibers, soft and giving more traction than the smooth floor of the first room. It was dark but that was what they loved. It was dry, not their favorite but all the fiber made it worthwhile.

Again, spiny legs found purchase on wood, on more fibers touching the floor and leading upward. The swarm followed each link upward, racing each other to eat what was in front of them. Antenna quivered as they tasted the air. Protein, and a lot of it was ahead. They raced, each hungry belly wanting to be the first to find the prize.

Clicking, chirping, scuttling, the swarm raced upward. It grew warmer as they ate their way along the fibers. The lead creatures of the swarm gave off their pheromones, FOOD! They bit into the soft, warm meat.

A noise greater than any they had ever heard vibrated their timpani. They stopped, trying to recover from the noise. They heard a click and light filled the room, brighter than any they had ever been exposed to. They cowered. Again, a high pitched shriek, made the swarm retreat a foot or two, confusion reigned in the swarm. Hunger gnawed, but fear held them back. The fibers they were on moved, hard carapaces flew through the air as the shrieking grew in volume. The protein moved, brothers were trampled and eaten.

The queen, left behind, couldn’t help them. Her pheromones were too far away to help calm and organize. As the shrieking drifted away, the creatures returned to eating the fibers, tiny treats of mites and dead skin cells leading the swarm on. Booming noise gave them pause. They stopped to listen.

“You have to come right now! My whole bedroom is infested.”

“There are millions! Millions and millions! You have to come right now. My wife is going to have a stroke. You have to come.”

“Hurry!”

The noise stopped, the swarm ate. A hissing noise came from one wall where a crack allowed some of the brothers to leave the room. As more and more tried to go in that direction, more and more of their dead bodies filled the crack. They tasted bad but food was food. Soon those who ate the dead were dead also.

Again, the booming noise filled the air.

“What’s taking so long? They’re trying to get out of the bedroom. I’m out of bug killer. Hurry up!”

“Yes, that’s the address.”

The swarm barely paused now at the noise. The room was hot and dry. The food was dry. The swarm fed but the environment was hostile. They began to miss the wet, dark place they came from. Some of the brothers stood still, the lack of the queen’s direction rendering them useless.

_________

A thundering sounded from where dead brothers were piled in heaps. Cool air flushed into the room. The swarm paused. A humongous, bright yellow giant moved into the room as a mist drifted down from the end of an appendage. The mist was cooling, soothing even, after the hot dry air of their current location. The moisture felt good.

Not good were the hundreds of brother killed as the creature moved among them. They were crushed at each step the giant took. Many brothers tried to swarm the monster but the yellow skin of it was too slick for their claws to gain purchase. Many more slipped to their doom under the mammoth feet.

Vibrations filled the air.

“Oh my God, look at them. Where did they come from?”

The yellow giant rumbled. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Soon the bellies of the swarm began to ache. Images in their eyes, quavered, shimmered and confused the mass of insects. They began to move randomly, crashing into each other in piles the formed and dissolved in moments, only to reform in new spots immediately thereafter.

Brothers began to stop in their tracks, antenna quivering. They couldn’t make sense of the sights or sounds or smells of their own swarm. Movement, which had earlier seemed like a living, shifting carpet, stilled. The giant crunched across the room to the source.

“Spray it again!” was heard from outside the killing field.

“You ain’t gonna believe this,” the yellow giant yelled. “The whole toilet has fallen into your subfloor. There’s a nest down there.”

The man choked on the fear and the stench of the dead. “My wife is gonna kill me. She asked me to fix the damn toilet a year ago. I kept puttin’ it off.”

The yellow figure sprayed into the hole the toilet fell into. “I’m gonna need back-up.” He came back to the door where the owner stood. He pulled off the cover over his head. “I gotta call the Department of Health. This is an invasion.”

The owner slumped against the hall wall. “My wife is gonna kill me.”

The End

496/495/352 Words

Mystery at the Fair (Part One included so you don’t have to go to another link.) Part 2 begins at the line.

Mystery at the Fair

Sweat rolled down the side of Jean Hays’ face, her short graying brown hair stuck to her forehead. The sun beat down out of a cornflower blue sky while end of the monsoon season thunderheads built up into towering blinding white and ominous portents of future rain. Rain every year for the fair, she thought as she trudged to the storage container where the plastic tubs of left over ribbons, banners and other fair paraphernalia resided the rest of the year.  She wiped her face and hoped the units were unlocked. The Fair Board President, Arris Van Horn wasn’t answering his phone. He should have them open by now.

She wiped the sweat from her face and lightly touched the metal handles of the shipping container. The front of the unit had been in the sun all day but while it was hot to the touch, she could grab the lever and pull it up. Must be ninety degrees out here. She swung the door open with relief that she wouldn’t have to trudge all over the fairgrounds looking for Arris and stepped inside. It was dark just a few feet inside the metal box and at least a hundred and twenty degrees. Sweat began dripping in earnest. Smells like mice in here, hope they haven’t gotten into the tubs, she thought.

Winding her way past safety cones, stacked tables, buckets of rope, steel cable and broken metal chairs, she stepped over a pile of rebar to reach her stack of tubs. One, two, three, four, she counted, where’s the fifth tub? The heat was giving her a headache. Maybe it’s farther to the back. A pile of cardboard boxes labeled, Mud Run, blocked her way. The storage container held material for several events that occurred on the fairgrounds during the year. Jean moved the three boxes behind her and stepped over a pile of rusting chain. Wish I’d brought a flashlight, she thought. It’s dark back here.

Squinting, she saw the medium blue tub four feet away on top of another stack of bins. There you are. She wiped her face again and held her breath. The smell of dead things was over whelming. I hope nothing crawled into my bin. The ribbons will be ruined. She picked her way past boxes, rusting metal things she couldn’t identify and a broken ladder. She pulled the tilted bin toward her and the pile of bins it was on fell over. Her bin slid to the floor, taking part of her thumbnail with it. “Owww,” she cried as she jerked her hand away. In front of her, the two doors of a metal cabinet creaked open and a desiccated human body fell out on top of her bin. She shrieked and scrambled outside.

She stared, panting, at the open door of the container then dialed 911. “This is Jean Hays. I’m the VP of Exhibits for the fair. I just found a dead body in the storage container on the fairgrounds.”

___________

Standing inside the yellow crime scene tape, Jean watched what looked like complete chaos as an EMT bandaged her thumb.

“That should do it,” he said as he smoothed the tape. “You should get a tetanus shot, too. The Emergency Care place over on the corner of the Highway and Longview Street can take care of you. If you go to the hospital emergency room it’ll cost more.”

“Thanks.” Jean examined her thumb. “I’ll do that.” She nodded toward the crowd of milling police and coroner and EMT’s. “Crime scenes always look like this?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. There hasn’t been a murder in town since I started working, eleven years ago.”

They were interrupted by a uniformed officer. “Who said it was a murder?”

“It looked like a murder to me.” Jean nodded her thanks to the EMT who left. The officer’s tone annoyed her. She held out her right hand. “I’m Jean Hayes.”

He shook her hand, after a look of suspicion. “I’m Chief of Police Nick White. You found the body?”

“Scared the crap out of me. Fell out of the double door cabinet. Stuff was piled in front of it that held the doors closed. If it was a suicide, how’d stuff get piled in front of the door?” She jerked her chin at the small crowd gathering outside the tape. “The press is here.”

Chief White turned to see a photographer taking pictures with a long lens. “That’s Scott Duley, works for the town newspaper. The editor will be calling me soon for the story.” He turned back to her. “Did you recognize the body?”

“No.” Jean was hot and wanted a drink of water. A whole bottle of icy cold water sounded really good, what with the sun beating down on her head. “It was too dark in there and I was busy getting out. I’ve only lived here a year, anyway. Most people are still strangers.”

His left eyebrow cocked up. “You’re on the Fair Board.”

Jean shrugged. “Not hard. They needed volunteers and I’m a good organizer.”

Nick eyed her then said, “The body had ID, Ida Grange.” He studied her reaction.

She shook her head. “Sorry, Chief, It doesn’t ring a bell.”

“She and Arris Van Horn were an item last year.” He adjusted his equipment belt.

It was Jean’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Why would he share that information? she thought. “You think Arris did this? A poor place to hide a body since he’s in charge of the container.”

The Chief sniffed. “Maybe.” He looked around and waved an officer over. “Take Ms. Hays statement and let her get back to her business.”

“What about my bins?”

He looked directly at the officer. “Check the bins and if they’re clean, let her have them.” He never looked at her, just turned and walked back over to the gurney where the body lay covered.

The End

500/485 Words

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Chuck Wendig Challenge Part 3: Finish the Story

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Into the fiery pits of Hell by The Darkened Light via www.deviantart.com

Into the fiery pits of Hell by The Darkened Light via www.deviantart.com

This is part three of the Chuck Wendig, http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/09/19/flash-fiction-challenge-conclude-the-tale-part-iii/, challenge to write the 1st third of a story then leave it for another writer to finish the next part. This week, we do the end of the story. I chose a story titled Shrine with Part 1 by DarkVirtue1974, http://darkvirtue1974.wordpress.com/2014/09/11/my-return-to-blogging-and-a-flash-fiction-challenge/, and Part 2 by Anthony Armstrong http://almosthuman1blog.wordpress.com/2014/09/12/flash-fiction-challenge-week-2-the-shrine/. The second part of the story turned it paranormal. Let’s see what I can do to end it as well as these two guys started it.

No one has picked up my first half from the first yet. I’ll let it go this week to see if anyone decides to do a middle or an end. But I promise I’ll finish it if no one else does.

I pick up the story at the second dividing line.

—

Shrine

I don’t know why I have come back to this place.  The old two-story building before me has never been a home in any sense of the word.  It was more of a monument of suffering; a temple of affliction with my father as the high priest.  There isn’t a room in this place that hasn’t been decorated with my blood at one point or another.

Now, he’s gone and this house stands as the last testament to his brutality. So, why am I here?  To find any shred of decency and happiness within and rescue it?  Not likely.  That all died with my mother when I was still an infant.  What, then?  Maybe to get one last look around before I sell it off?  Or maybe, just maybe…to destroy this place.

I push the thoughts of setting the house ablaze aside and make my way up the steps to the porch. My hand grows ice cold with dread as I reach for the doorknob. It turns with a metallic grind and I push the door open.  The smell of age and dust and stale cigarette smoke hits me in the face. My stomach lurches a bit with childhood panic.  My skin prickles in rememberance of each and every cigarette burn mark given to me.

I slowly walk in and look around.  Other than a thin layer of dust, nothing has changed in this place in 15 years.  Every piece of furniture, every picture, every memento is exactly where it was when I was a child. Even the bloodstain on the rug in front of the fireplace is still where I last left it; black with age.  I couldn’t say what I supposedly did or didn’t do to ‘earn’ that particular beating. They all ran together like a flipbook of pain.  Each beating was partnered with the threat of much, much worse if I ever told anyone.

No, I still don’t know why I have come back to this place.  It’s serving as nothing but a bruising reminder of my past.  This place was filled with nothing but rage and fear and, in all the years, I never knew why.

Perhaps it’s best that this place and the past it harbors should be brought to the ground and removed from the world.  Just blow out the pilot lights on the stove and let the place fill with gas.  One spark and this place is consigned to Hell.

My footsteps carry me through the rest of the living room and into the dining room. Like the living room, nothing has changed here.  The familiar setting brings forth the past in my mind once more.  I shove aside the fresh wave of memories and continue to the door that leads to the kitchen.

Pushing it open, I stop short.  Within the center of an otherwise unchanged kitchen is a large, round hole. Cautiously, I approach the edge and look down into the void.
———————————————————————–

The rhythm of ragged breath stutters as the sides of the hole undulate before me.  Heat oozes over the jagged edges and pool around my feet, grasp at my knees.  The kitchen swims around me and I begin to lose my balance.  A hand grips my shoulder, pulls me from the edge.  I am too frightened to turn.  I slide to my knees, hands grasping the edge of the pit.  I almost allow myself to topple forward into the gaping hole, but I pause.  Anger grows inside me and I stand, the hand still pulling at my shoulder, and I allow myself to turn.

“Jacob.”  It was him.  My father, long and thankfully dead, stands before me, hand on my shoulder, smiling in my face as though nothing but love had ever passed between the two of us.  “It’s been a long time, my son.  Too long.”

“Father.”  My tone is curt, cut short intentionally for fear if I allow myself to speak freely, I would unleash years of anguish, terror and pain in a single gasp and our conversation would end.  Despite this man’s horrific actions toward me in the past, I want to hear what he has to say.  I need it.  I crave it.

“I was wondering when you would come back here, Jacob.”  I allow myself to be led to the dining room where my father pulls out a chair for me.  “Please,” he says.  “Sit.”  I, as always, do as I am told.  Now the old man places both his hands upon my shoulders, squeezing, patting as if he were making sure I am real.  He exhales and mumbles something about how good it is to see me here.  The room begins to smell of death and the heat from that hole in the kitchen roils its way into the dining room.  “I suppose you have some things you would like to discuss.  About the past?”

“Yes,” I say forcefully, surprising myself.  “I do.”  I feel the floor rumble.  Hear floor boards crack.  I turn to face the old man, but he turns away too quickly for me to catch his eyes.  It seems his flesh leaves a smear in the air as he steps away from me.

“Your mother and I missed you.  You realize that, don’t you?  She was always so fond of you.  She got so angry when you left.”

My skin begins to flush.  Sweat pops up in beads on the backs of my hands.  Whether it was anger or the rapidly increasing temperature in the room, I couldn’t tell.  “My mother died,” I shake my head, sweat dribbling into my eyes.  “I had to leave.  I had to make your abuse stop.  I had to protect myself.  I had to leave.”  I begin to feel sick.  Father whips around and slams his open palms down on the table before me.  His eyes burn red and his flesh drips from his face.

“What if I told you your mother never died?”

——————–

It felt as though my heart stopped. Sweat ran down the side of my face. “What?”

“You heard me.” He stuck his face into mine, those red eyes locked with me. “You’re just as stupid now as you were then.”

I thought he was going to crack me across the head just like the old days but he turned and stomped away from the table, muttering. “What do you mean she never died?”

“She was always here, Jacob. I made a special place for her, under the kitchen floor.”

His face had somehow crawled back into place. I tried to swallow, to wet my dry mouth enough to spit the words out. “You kept her under the floor? In a room?”

He jammed hands into pants pockets. Those same saggy-assed work pants he always wore. “You could say it was a room.”

I stood so fast the chair fell over behind me with a crash on the worn oriental carpet. I ran to the kitchen. The hole in the floor gaped in front of me, the heat still rising, edges still undulating. “Mom!” I yelled into the hole, God help me I don’t know why. Tears of fear and frustration ran down my cheeks. “MOM!” I screamed.

The heavy hand grabbed my shoulder. I dug deep and flung it away from me. “What did you do, you bastard!” He backed up a step. For the first time in my life my fear was gone. I went after him, hands outstretched for his throat. “Where is she?”

The smug look fell from his face. It occurred to me, in the tiny part of my mind that was still lucid, that I was bigger than he was. I grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him over to the pit. He danced on the edge, his hands gripping my wrists. “You’ll tell me right now, you sonofabitch.”

A grin spread across the red-eyed demon’s features. “Do it, just do it. You know you want to.” He let go of my hands, balanced precariously on the edge of the hole.

“What did you do?” I spit between gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” His teeth flashed at me, they were pointed. Father spread his arms wide. “Go ahead, do it.”

I let go. Just opened my hands and watched as he slowly fell soundlessly backward into the pit. Heat washed up around me as he fell, the grin never leaving his face. I took a step back. A mix of fear, relief, loss, and grief crashed over me like the waves of the ocean against the shore. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe.

When I opened them, the floor was simple cracked linoleum. The heat and stench was gone. Blinking, I tried to get my emotions under control. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed 911. I wasn’t sure how I was going to ask but I needed the floor under the kitchen dug up.

 

The End

491/500/498 Words

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Flash Fiction Friday: Plumbing Issues Part 2

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Swarm by Nycterisa via www.deviantart.com

Swarm by Nycterisa via www.deviantart.com

This is part two of the Chuck Wendig challenge to write the 1st half of a story then leave it for another writer to finish. This week, we do the middle of the story. I chose Brandon Scott’s Plumbing Issues. This feels like a horror story to me and that’s not my usual thing but what the heck, let’s see if I can write a middle.
No one has picked up my first half from last week yet. I’ll let it go another week to see if anyone decides to do a middle. But I promise, I’ll finish it if no one else does.
I pick up the story at the dividing line.
Title: Plumbing Issues (Part 1 by Brandon Scott at Coolerbs Reviews. http://coolerbs.com/2014/09/10/flash-fiction-challenge-the-first-half-of-a-story-only/)
—
Darkness, their home. A thousand bodies pressed up to each other, communicating through nothing but a torrent of clicks. A swarm; chirping and scuttling. Carapaces pressed up to each other, rubbing. The sound was deafening. The smell, even worse.
They ate, constantly. It was all they knew. A screaming fire in each stomach. Everything was food; rot, blood, skin. Everything. Every inch of the surface picked clean. Any other creature, anything that was not an ally, devoured. Cracked open and slurped up. A few brothers had died, they too were eaten.
Every feeler started to twitch at once. A new noise had appeared. Booming, alien. Something was talking, something massive. The ceaseless noise, ceased. All stood at attention, wanting to hear.
“Where is it?”
“I already told you on the phone”
“Well, could you tell me again, please?”
“The bathroom. It’s always the bathroom.”
“I said I’d fix it.”
“That was a year ago.”
“I will, I just haven’t gotten around to it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“No, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“
“Just fix it.”
“Look honey, I got a bonus coming up. The vacation can wait, we can-“
“Not now. I don’t want to argue. I just wanna sleep. Could you just handle it, please?”
“Yeah, of course, good night.”
“Night.”
A thumbing noise, more akin to thunder than anything else, sounded across the entire hive. A single twitch of alarm turning into a wave of feelers. The pyramid of bodies began to crumble as individuals tried to move, to escape.
It descended into mayhem, bodies pressed against bodies. Towers made, purely by accident; collapsing just as quickly as they formed. The Queen attempted to calm them. Pheromones screaming for order.
They went unheard.
Their spiny legs found purchase, and raced on the sides. A burst a fresh air gave them a destination. Upwards. A barrier prevented them from passing, and they hungrily tore at it. The porcelain proving itself just another food source. Acid spat, melting it, mandibles scooping it into thousands of wailing mouths. Progress was slow, but they were persisting. More and more climbing up to attack the obstruction. When one grew too full, it would drop down. Its six legs, flailing in the air, being eventually righted by a shift of the mass.
This frantic pace continued for a while, the edge of the barrier weakening. Holes dug, but not yet wide enough to go through.
Then the noise sounded again, and all was still.
“No….no you know what, it’s that mother of her’s. Made one comment about the toilet being dirty….and what does she do? She wants me to replace the whole God-damn thing.”
A noise of metal against plastic, followed by compressed air let free. A large weight dropped down parallel to the entirety of the hive.
Something, large, hit against the surface of the barrier.
The obstruction disappeared and the swarm, now uninhibited, rose forth in-mass. Spilling across the floor; thousands of them. Rushing forward. Manic with hunger.
—
The random hair, skin cells, a dead spider, found by the leading edge of the swarm disappeared into desperate mandibles leaving nothing for the horde behind. They roiled in the small room until an exit was found. There, they found fibers, soft and giving more traction than the smooth floor of the first room. It was dark but that was what they loved. It was dry, not their favorite but all the fiber made it worthwhile.
Again, spiny legs found purchase on wood, on more fibers touching the floor and leading upward. The swarm followed each link upward, racing each other to eat what was in front of them. Antenna quivered as they tasted the air. Protein, and a lot of it was ahead. They raced, each hungry belly wanting to be the first to find the prize.
Clicking, chirping, scuttling, the swarm raced upward. It grew warmer as they ate their way along the fibers. The lead creatures of the swarm gave off their pheromones, FOOD! They bit into the soft, warm meat.
A noise greater than any they had ever heard vibrated their timpani. They stopped, trying to recover from the noise. They heard a click and light filled the room, brighter than any they had ever been exposed to. They cowered. Again, a high pitched shriek, made the swarm retreat a foot or two, confusion reigned in the swarm. Hunger gnawed, but fear held them back. The fibers they were on moved, hard carapaces flew through the air as the shrieking grew in volume. The protein moved, brothers were trampled and eaten.
The queen, left behind, couldn’t help them. Her pheromones were too far away to help calm and organize. As the shrieking drifted away, the creatures returned to eating the fibers, tiny treats of mites and dead skin cells leading the swarm on. Booming noise gave them pause. They stopped to listen.
“You have to come right now! My whole bedroom is infested.”
“There are millions! Millions and millions! You have to come right now. My wife is going to have a stroke. You have to come.”
“Hurry!”
The noise stopped, the swarm ate. A hissing noise came from one wall where a crack allowed some of the brothers to leave the room. As more and more tried to go in that direction, more and more of their dead bodies filled the crack. They tasted bad but food was food. Soon those who ate the dead were dead also.
Again, the booming noise filled the air.
“What’s taking so long? They’re trying to get out of the bedroom. I’m out of bug killer. Hurry up!”
“Yes, that’s the address.”
The swarm barely paused now at the noise. The room was hot and dry. The food was dry. The swarm fed but the environment was hostile. They began to miss the wet, dark place they came from. Some of the brothers stood still, the lack of the queen’s direction rendering them useless.

The End
496/495 Words
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Challenge: First Half of a Story

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This week’s Chuck Wendig challenge http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/09/05/flash-fiction-challenge-the-first-half-of-a-story-only/ is to write the first 500 words of a 1000 word story and post it on our page. Hopefully someone else will read the 1st half, be prompted and write the 2nd half of the story. So this week, I’ll post my 1st half and see if anyone gets an idea of how to finish it. I called it Mystery at the Fair.

I read some of the posts from people who had already answered the challenge and found one that someone else created and finished it for him. You can see it below my story start. I’m calling it Close Call.

If no one picks up on my story, I’ll finish it for next week. If someone does finish it, I’ll post it here with a link to their blog.

Mystery at the Fair

Sweat rolled down the side of Jean Hays’ face, her short graying brown hair stuck to her forehead. The sun beat down out of a cornflower blue sky while end of the monsoon season thunderheads built up into towering blinding white and ominous portents of future rain. Rain every year for the fair, she thought as she trudged to the storage container where the plastic tubs of left over ribbons, banners and other fair paraphernalia resided the rest of the year. She wiped her face and hoped the units were unlocked. The Fair Board President, Arris Van Horn wasn’t answering his phone. He should have them open by now.

She wiped the sweat from her face and lightly touched the metal handles of the shipping container. The front of the unit had been in the sun all day but while it was hot to the touch, she could grab the lever and pull it up. Must be ninety degrees out here. She swung the door open with relief that she wouldn’t have to trudge all over the fairgrounds looking for Arris and stepped inside. It was dark just a few feet inside the metal box and at least a hundred and twenty degrees. Sweat began dripping in earnest. Smells like mice in here, hope they haven’t gotten into the tubs, she thought.

Winding her way past safety cones, stacked tables, buckets of rope, steel cable and broken metal chairs, she stepped over a pile of rebar to reach her stack of tubs. One, two, three, four, she counted, where’s the fifth tub? The heat was giving her a headache. Maybe it’s farther to the back. A pile of cardboard boxes labeled, Mud Run, blocked her way. The storage container held material for several events that occurred on the fairgrounds during the year. Jean moved the three boxes behind her and stepped over a pile of rusting chain. Wish I’d brought a flashlight, she thought. It’s dark back here.

Squinting, she saw the medium blue tub four feet away on top of another stack of bins. There you are. She wiped her face again and held her breath. The smell of dead things was over whelming. I hope nothing crawled into my bin. The ribbons will be ruined. She picked her way past boxes, rusting metal things she couldn’t identify and a broken ladder. She pulled the tilted bin toward her and the pile of bins it was on fell over. Her bin slid to the floor, taking part of her thumbnail with it. “Owww,” she cried as she jerked her hand away. In front of her, the two doors of a metal cabinet creaked open and a desiccated human body fell out on top of her bin. She shrieked and scrambled outside.

She stared, panting, at the open door of the container then dialed 911. “This is Jean Hays. I’m the VP of Exhibits for the fair. I just found a dead body in the storage container on the fairgrounds.”

The End

500 Words

 

Close Call

(Note: 1st half of the story is separated from my final half by a line.)

First half is by Caitlin McColl, Under A Star Lit Sky, http://underastarlitsky.wordpress.com/2014/09/08/the-first-500/ No Title: Part of Chuck Wendig 500 Word Story Start Challenge

Do you know what it feels like when you are about to die? Everything slows down and then stops. All the life, all the colours drain out of everything. It’s like you’re trying to conserve every last bit of energy into just keeping yourself alive, to keep your heart pumping and your mind thinking. You go into survival mode: sounds disappear until all you hear is your heart and your breath as loud as a hurricane in your ears.

Trust me, I know. I’ve been almost dead more times than I have fingers and toes.  And I don’t recommend it. It’s not as if I try to get into situations that get me almost dead, it’s just… I guess you could say it’s my hobb-.

I hear a familiar click right next to my left ear; the small sound that has such a huge meaning – the sound of a gun’s safety being pulled back. Slowly, calmly, I put down my pen. Without turning my head, I begin to stand from the Adirondack chair where I’d been enjoying a rare peaceful morning on my deck devoid of any life – I do not have a green thumb – above the Pacific.

“Don’t move,” the voice says quiet but firm. At first I’m surprised. It’s not any voice I was expecting, going through my mental Rolodex of the long list of people who want me dead.

I try not to sound like I’m on the verge of a laugh. I swallow once, hoping to quash the offending sound, and try to sound serious and even as I stop in a squat, half sitting, half standing.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, plainly, removing all traces of amusement from my voice.

The voice behind me makes an exasperated noise. “Okay, you can move, but only do what I say.”

I try to suppress a smile, grateful my face is turned away from my captor. She sounds unsure, nervous. I don’t recognize her voice – I’m usually good with recognizing who it is that wants to hurt me.

“Okay,” I say agreeably. “Can I at least stand up?”

There is a pause. I can almost sense eyes being rolled. “Yes.”

I straighten slowly. “Now what?”

Another pause, longer this time. “Take us to the library.”

Us? A shiver races down my spine. I mentally shake my head. I hadn’t been on alert. I’d been too busy writing.

“The library?” I repeat, confused.

“Your library,” the woman says, irritation and impatience tingeing her words.

“Why?”

“That’s not important. All you need to know is you have a gun to your head.”

I laugh, short and sharp. “That’s nothing new to me.”

I hear the another small click that causes the hair on my arms to rise involuntarily and I raise my hands defensively. “Okay, okay,” I say, leading the way into the kitchen and down the hall.

The double doors to the library already stand open. I stop and gesture inside. “Ladies first.”

________

“Don’t be stupid,” she snarled.

I shrugged and stepped through the door to the middle of the room.

“Turn around.”

Hands still in the air, I did. She was about five foot six, green-eyed and I didn’t recognize her. I certainly would have remembered that shoulder-length auburn hair and creamy complexion. “I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Al Teiness.” I started to lower my hands.

“Keep them in the air.” She waved the revolver at me.

“Of course.” I raised them again.

“I know who you are. You’re the one that killed my sister.”

I’ve been known to tie one on but I don’t remember ever blacking out. Certainly don’t remember killing anyone. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“Two years ago,” she spat out, tears forming in those lovely green eyes. “At the MyCon for mystery writers, in Phoenix. She was so excited, finally getting to meet her favorite author.” She studied my face. “You don’t remember, do you?” She pointed the gun at me in sharp jabs. “Unbelievable.”

“Miss, really, I didn’t kill your sister. I’m so sorry for your loss. What was her name?” I had to convince this woman not to kill me.

She dashed away the tears in her eyes. “Amanda, my height, blonde, blue-eyes. She had met you at the book-signing and you invited her for drinks afterward. She texted me. You were going to meet at the hotel bar.”

I thought furiously. So many people come to the book-signing sessions. I was sick that day, head-ache and fever but the fans come a long way and spend a lot of money so I sat through the whole signing session, smiling and greeting my readers. “Miss, I invite a lot of my fans for drinks at the bar. Usually I go and spend some time with them but I was sick that day. I didn’t go to the bar; I was in my room, puking my guts out with the flu.”

The gun wavered as she stared at me. Her face twisted in anger. “You’re a liar. You’re just trying to get away with it.”

“No, Miss,” I stepped toward her to explain.

She took two steps back, “Stop!”

I stuck my hands back in the air. “I had to call the hotel to send a doctor. I’m not sure how you’d check that but it’s the truth. I missed the rest of the conference.” I could see the look of doubt cross her face. She swallowed.

“It’s taken me two years to track you down. You didn’t go to the bar?”

I shook my head.

The gun wavered. “You were really sick?”

I nodded.

The gun sank toward the floor. “I’m so sorry.” She whirled around and fled out through the kitchen to the deck and was gone.

I dropped my hands and staggered to the ottoman where I collapsed, heart pounding. I resolved never to invite fans for drinks again.

The End

991 Words

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Flash Fiction Friday: Copertino Crisis

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Spaceship Concepts 3 by peterprime-d53ysxe

Spaceship Concepts 3 by peterprime-d53ysxe via www.deviantart.com

Clarissa Monroe left the hospital where her friend, Bectie Weiss, was recovering from a gunshot wound received when they, and their old high school friend, Ariel Holbrook, were meeting for drinks. She followed Ariel at a trot.
Ariel tapped her temple where an implanted communication device was located. “Boss, where’s my ride?” She listened and stopped at the curb.
Clarissa was panting when she stopped beside her friend. “What now?”
“They’re bringing me a car.” She scanned the sky. “What do you see concerning the aliens?”
A vision of massive machines on the Pacific sea bottom flashed through her mind. Light from each machine made the bottom light as day. She blinked at the headache. “The machines have lit up the sea bottom. I don’t see anything about Copertino now.” She looked up as an air car descended in front of them in a whirl of dirt and street debris.
When it landed, a guy in black jumped out of the driver’s seat. Ariel ran around the front of the vehicle. “Get in,” she called to Clarissa. She spoke briefly to the driver as Clarissa climbed into the passenger seat. Ariel jumped in and fastened her harness. She tapped dash buttons and grabbed the yoke. “Hang on.”
The engines screamed as they shot into the air. Clarissa’s stomach felt as though it were still on the street, certain every traffic law in the city had been broken as Ariel banked hard left. The Pacific filled the front windshield. “How did you become an operator for, what was it? The International Protectorate of Earth?
Ariel tapped her temple. “Status?” She listened. “How many? I’m on my way.” She sighed. “This car is armed with the best weapons on Earth. Every country on the planet contributes. I was recruited my senior year of college.” She tapped a button and Clarissa heard a whine from under the floor of the car.
Outside Clarissa’s window she could see small doors on the upper surface of the wing retract and some sort of gun popped up. Her eyebrows rose. “What’s that?”
“Photon ray guns.”
“There’s such a thing?”
“Sure.” Ariel grinned. “They’ve been operational for the last five years.” She pointed. “Look.”
The seaside village of Copertino was in flames. Surface roads were clogged with cars. Overhead, black, crab-shaped aircraft blasted short bursts of rays at the town.
Ariel banked right. “Let’s see what they’re doing offshore.”
Clarissa’s head slammed into the headrest. “How fast does this thing go?” she forced through her teeth.
“Faster,” Ariel replied. She circled a spot three miles off shore.
Clarissa winced as a new vision shot through her brain. Supports were being driven into the sea floor as huge square platforms were maneuvered into place over them. “They’re building something. There’s a line of underwater ships heading for this location.”
“I’ve got to see.” More whining came from under the floor. Ariel tapped her communicator. “Going into aqua mode. Be advised massive underwater construction underway. Request backup.” She frowned. “I know I don’t usually call for help.” She disconnected. “Prepare for dive.”
Clarissa braced her feet against the sloping floor and gripped the arm rests. The ocean’s surface sped up at them, waves twinkling. She held her breath as the car approached the surface, then they were underwater, bubbles flowing over the canopy. She exhaled.
“I know,” Ariel grinned. “It’s some sort of anti-grav. Cracks me up.”
Clarissa didn’t think it was funny but she was glad there was no hard impact. “Where’s the construction?”
“Straight ahead.” Soon they could see light through currents of stirred up mud and sea plants. “I’m going in,” she said to her communicator. “There are hundreds of ships down here. Hurry the backup.” She punched a button. The plain, flat dash in front of Clarissa opened and a second yoke rose up.
“What’s this?”
“You’re going to help. That yoke controls a second set of guns, under the car.” As she spoke a heads-up display appeared on the windshield in front of Clarissa. “Use the yoke to center the crosshairs over a target. The red button on the right side of the yoke is the firing button.”
“Me?” Clarissa was embarrassed that it came out as a squeak.
“You can do it. Practice now.”
Clarissa wiped sweaty hands on her skirt and gripped the yoke. She moved it up and down, left and right watching the crosshairs in front of her. “I think I have it.”
“Good. Here we go.” Ariel accelerated past the slow moving column of crab ships. “Shoot big ships first, then smaller ships unless they look like attack ships — then shoot them first.”
Clarissa gulped. “Got it.”
Ariel swung the car around and began firing beams of light from the wing guns. “Shoot, Clarissa.”
Swallowing, Clarissa focused on the crosshairs. A large ship with a load hanging from it crept into the circle. She re-gripped the yoke, put her thumb on the red button and when the ship was centered, pushed the button. A thump came from under the car and a missile or torpedo; she wasn’t sure what to call it, streaked toward her target. She held her breath. It hit the ship. “Yes!” she screamed as it exploded and the cargo slid sideways through the water to the bottom. “I hit it.”
Ariel gave her a high five. “Good. Now hit some more.”
Soon other ships and cars swarmed the site and shot down the aliens. They surveyed the wreckage.
“They didn’t fight back,” Clarissa said. “Not a single defensive move.”
“I know. Weird. I’m sure that little detail is being discussed at higher levels.”
“Why’d they blast Copertino then?”
“Also don’t know.” Ariel turned to Clarissa. “You did good today.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” Surprise was in her voice.
Ariel tapped two dash buttons. “Let’s go see Bectie.”

 

The End
974 Words
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Flash Fiction Friday: Shotgun Curse

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Winchester Shotgun by Dionicio via www.DeviantArt.com

Winchester Shotgun by Dionicio via www.DeviantArt.com

This is a Chuck Wendig challenge from May 30th for June 6th. The challenge is to randomly choose one word each from 2 lists of 20. I rolled #6 and #14 which came out to be Shotgun Curse. Here is the story I’ve written to fit that title.

Shotgun Curse

Wilson was at the bar in the Oxbow Saloon. It was mid-afternoon and there were four guys at a scarred round wood table at the end of the bar playing five card stud. Two of the ladies that worked upstairs were standing around the table, hoping for a drink or a tip. The bartender wiped glasses as he watched the game.
It had been a bad week for Wilson. His mule had died four days ago leaving him to haul his winter’s catch of furs on a sledge behind his horse. The horse hadn’t appreciated pulling the sledge and had kicked him in the knee which was still swollen and painful to walk on. The mercantile had given him less than he expected for his furs so he couldn’t get the new shotgun he’d hoped to buy. The shotgun he inherited from his father when he died six years ago hadn’t been much but over the winter it had fallen in the half frozen East Verde River and was lost. Wilson had to go the rest of the winter without any protection or way to hunt for food. He needed a new shotgun and now there wasn’t enough money to buy one, not and buy his supplies and a new mule.
He sipped his beer and tried to think of a way to get the extra thirteen dollars he needed to buy the gun. The saloon doors swung open, letting in a blast of sunlight. Wilson turned to see who had come in.
An old man stood there, silhouetted by the light from the street. The bartender walked to Wilson’s end of the bar. “Howdy, Amos. Beer?”
The man walked to the bar and laid a shotgun on it. He looked like he’d been dragged down Main Street, filthy, torn clothes and a hat that had seen better days. “That’d be just the thing, Sam.”
Amos nodded to Wilson. “Afternoon.”
“Afternoon.” Wilson eyed the shotgun. It looked good. Stock was clean and oiled, as was the barrel. The trigger looked well-kept, there was no sign of rust or corrosion anywhere on it.
Amos drank half of his beer down. “The shotgun is for sale, young man.”
“You don’t say.”
“I don’t need it. I’m sellin’ it cheap. Twenty dollars.”
Wilson nodded. He had twenty dollars but he didn’t want to seem too eager. That would leave him with enough money to buy a new mule and his supplies for the summer, too.

The bartender wandered over after Amos stepped out back to the outhouse. “You don’t want that shotgun, son. It’s cursed.” He pulled Wilson another beer.
“How so?”
“Amos bought that gun off of a trapper last summer. The trapper said the gun was bad luck and wanted to get rid of it. Amos didn’t believe it but he’s had nothing but trouble since he got the gun. His woman ran off. His crops got infested with some sorta blight. The Apaches burnt his barn to the ground over the winter and stole all the chickens.” He shook his head. “You don’t want that gun.”
Wilson nodded but he didn’t believe in curses, he’d just had a run of bad luck all on his own. When Amos came back they made a deal and Wilson picked up the gun. Amos left the saloon with half a glass of beer still on the bar.
The next spring, on a fine clear day, Wilson came into the Oxbow. His clothes were in rags, rope was wrapped around his boots to hold them together. His hair was matted and dirty as was his beard. The bartender pulled him a beer. “Looks as though you’ve had a rough winter, son.”
Wilson gulped the beer down in one breath and signaled for another. “Worst year of my life. Wolverines got into my traps and took every animal I caught. The mule took off half way through the winter and not long after that, my horse just keeled over in the stable, dead as a doornail. Mice ate my supplies. I fell in the East Verde, nearly drowned and half froze when a band of Apache chased me half way to Fort Verde and back again.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow. “That does sound like a spell of bad luck. What happened to the shotgun?”
Wilson took another long drink of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and put the beer on the bar top. “I smashed that shotgun into pieces with a rock and threw it in the river.”

The End
760 Words
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Flash Fiction Friday: The Door

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Wood in the river by SethSnap at http://sethsnap.com/2014/05/01/your-story-submerged/

Wood in the river by SethSnap at http://sethsnap.com/2014/05/01/your-story-submerged/

I follow a blog, SethSnap. In May, he posted the above picture and gave us the following prompt. “Your Story is a SethSnap (http://sethsnap.com/2014/05/01/your-story-submerged/) series in which you get to decide the story behind the photos.  You can write a story, a poem or even just one word.  You decide.I spotted this just under the water the other day.  To most it looks like a simple submerged piece of wood.  To you and I it is much more.  Tell me what you see.”  I came up with the following story.

The Door

Haley pushed hard. “What’s wrong with this door?” She gave it another, harder shove and as it flew open, water began to pour in from all four sides. Gasping for air she found herself floating in a river, the water cold as ice. The door floated beside her, snagged on a sandbar next to the river bank.
“That’s what I get,” she mumbled through chattering teeth. Getting out of the water was tough, she was numb with the cold and the bank here was high. By the time she reached the top, she was covered with thick, black river mud and had a foot long scratch from a tree root along the outside of her right arm. Hands full of last year’s fallen leaves scraped most of the mud off but she was shivering so hard her hands trembled. This universe jumping is going to kill me yet but this is better than the fire I found myself in two trips ago, she thought. I need to get dry before I freeze to death.
Haley struggled to her feet and staggered off through the woods. She found a path just a few feet away from the bank. A park then, she thought, maybe I can get some help. With arms wrapped around her to keep warm, she trotted along the path, no idea where it went. The first people she saw were a couple, walking arm in arm along the path, the woman’s head on the man’s shoulder. “Help,” Haley called out. “Can you help me?”
The pair turned around. The door never failed, it took her right to the couple she was here for. “What happened?” the young woman asked.
“I slipped on the river bank and fell in,” Haley responded, teeth chattering.
The guy took off his coat. “Here, put this on.” He helped her pull it on.
“Sorry for the mud, the bank was pretty high.”
“That’s all right,” the woman said. “I’m Ann. This is my boyfriend, Carl.”
“I’m Haley, thanks for helping me out. Sorry about the mud.”
“Come on,” Ann put her arm around Haley. “Let’s get you to your car.”
Haley had to think fast. “Uh, I came with my boyfriend. We had a fight and he left. I don’t have a car.”
Ann made a face that made it clear what she thought of a boyfriend who did that. “Well, we can take you home then. Come on, Carl. Let’s get back to the car.”
That was exactly what Haley was here to stop. “Umm, look, I don’t want to interrupt your nice day. If you’d just walk me to the park ranger station, I’ll call my roommate and she can come and get me.”
Ann was herding Haley to the parking lot. “Nonsense. It won’t be a problem.”
It will if I let you get in the car and drive off, Haley thought. How am I going to keep these two here for another fifteen minutes.
“We were finished with our walk anyway,” Carl told her. “So really, it’s no problem at all to take you home.”
They were at the edge of the lot. She had to think fast. “Uh, you don’t mind if I try and get some more mud off before I get in your car, do you?”
“No, of course not,” Ann said. “The bathrooms are right over there. It must be very uncomfortable being covered with mud.”
Haley nodded. The mud was starting to dry. She didn’t want to think about what kind of bugs might be biting her right now. “Thanks. The dried mud is starting to itch.”
So Ann walked her to the bathroom and Carl went to the car. “I’ll just pull it up near the bathroom, take your time.”
At the bathroom door, Ann told Haley, “There’s a coffee machine inside. I’ll get you something hot to drink to help you warm up.”
“You’re a dear,” Haley smiled at her. “I’ll be right here.”
Haley closed the door and ran her hands and arms under the water. Ann appeared with the coffee. “I put cream and sugar in it, hope that’s OK.”
“Sure,” Haley said. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
“Not at all. We’ll be in the car. Take your time.”
“Thanks, Ann.”
Haley checked her watch, she needed ten more minutes. In five minutes she stuck her head out the door. “Sorry, Ann, Carl. Just another couple of minutes, OK?”
Carl waved and she went back to the bathroom. After three minutes she peeked out the door. Carl and Ann were snuggling in the front seat. Music floated out of the open car window. Haley took off the jacket and hung it on the door knob then slipped out of the door. She walked to the front of the ranger station and around the other side. From a vantage point in the woods, she watched the couple. Soon, Ann got out of the car and went to the bathroom. She called over to Carl. “She’s not here. She left your jacket.” They couple looked all around the station but after a few minutes, gave up and got in the car and drove away.
Haley trotted back to the river. Another couple saved. Their daughter would be born and grow up to be a great author one day. The door was where she left it. Time to go home.
The End
852 Words
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Flash Fiction Friday: The Enemy Rule

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The day they came by steve2727 d3ddhcp via www.deviantart.com

The day they came by steve2727 d3ddhcp via www.deviantart.com

Today’s story is thanks to the Chuck Wendig Challenge of August 1st at http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/08/01/flash-fiction-challenge-random-title-challenge/ . He provided a list of story titles and it was my job to pick one and write a story to it. This type of writing exercise really stretches the brain. Here’s my take on the title I picked:

The Enemy Rule

I watched as a pair of soldiers stapled an eleven by fourteen inch sheet of paper to the telephone pole. Little knots of people stood around every other pole along Main Street, reading the sheets the enemy had just posted.
I had just come out of the Co-op. There was nothing inside except a few exotic canned goods. One of the first directives to come from the enemy was for farmers to take all of their produce to the industrial park where they had set up an efficient shipping line. Everything was sent back to their country.
When they marched on to the next pole I stepped up to read the notice. A notice! We were back to the seventeenth century. The enemy had dropped four electro-magnetic pulse bombs across the country. That’s all it took to fry every electronic device we depended on and send us back nearly to the stone age. An antique car sputtered down Main Street. Everyone on the street turned to watch. The old cars weren’t electronic so anyone with a rusting hulk in the back yard was doing their best to resurrect the beasts. It was hard to do when parts had to be scrounged locally.
I read the poster.

ATTENTION
1. Curfew is sundown. Anyone outside after sundown will be tried in the People’s Court of the New Republic and shot.
2. No groups shall form larger than three non-family people. Anyone found in a non-family group larger than three people will be tried in the People’s Court of the New Republic and shot.
3. No travel is permitted outside town limits. All travel across town limit borders must be approved by the People’s Superintendent of the town. Anyone found travelling without the proper permits will be tried in the People’s Court of the New Republic and shot.

It was clear they just wanted to shoot us all and make way for the immigrants. Half of my block had already been cleared. The Wilson family next door were all shot the first day of the invasion. John tried to keep the soldiers out of his house. They dragged the whole family out on the front lawn and shot them, including the dog. I was thankful that I lived alone. That was a month ago. Last week the soldiers helped a family from their country move in. They’ve already dug up the whole yard and started planting vegetables. They even ripped out Emily Wilson’s prize yellow roses. It happened all up and down the block. The new people move in and they begin planting vegetables immediately.

A squad of soldiers came around the corner in a column of two. I stepped into the street and bowed low keeping my eyes on the pavement. That was Rule One on Day One and it didn’t take us long to learn it. A lot of people were shot on Day One.

My stomach growled. My pantry was nearly bare and my tiny vegetable patch wasn’t keeping me fed and it was the height of summer. No food was reaching the markets. I stood up after the squad passed and finished reading the poster. It was more of the same. I turned away. Nothing posted since Day One told us what to do to get along, to survive.
On my block I noticed all the new families out in their yards, tending the new gardens. I bowed politely. They bowed back. There was no point in trying to talk to them. Not only did they not speak my language, they’d retreat into the house if I tried to approach. I could tell which houses the newcomers were in. They all had gardens. I stopped to count. Six houses left with original owners.

An cargo truck was parked outside a newcomer house at the other end of the block. Soldiers carried boxes and bags of food to the house. I slowed my pace and watched. The truck stopped at every newcomer house. At the Wilson’s old place I could see bags of rice, beans and boxes of canned goods and fresh vegetables, even some butcher paper wrapped meat. My stomach growled again.

When the Sergeant looked my way I bowed. He frowned. I went up my front walk and opened the door. His crew came back to the truck and delivered food to the house across the street. I shut the door and hung my shopping bag on the hook in the front hall. Are they getting food because they’re from the conquering country or because they’re cooperating by growing food?

I went out to the garden shed. Like any gardener, I had a lot of seed out there. I looked through the packets; some of it was pretty old. I dug out my seed starter trays, filled them with the last of my starter soil and wet it down. I planted one whole tray with cabbage. It was too late for pumpkin but the acorn squash might mature before the next hard frost. Those went into another tray. I held the Swiss Chard packet in my hand. This stuff could go directly in the ground and it over wintered. I put that one aside. It went that way until I ran out of trays. I pulled my tiller out of the shed and peeked into the gas reservoir. Half a tank. There was about three quarters of a can of gas. I filled the tiller tank and pulled the cord. It started right up.

It took three days to clear the sod. I noticed the new neighbors watching. The third day I even had a brief nod from the new missus over there. The Swiss Chard was the first thing I put in. Then my remaining summer lettuce seed, herbs, cucumbers, and anything that had a chance to mature before winter.

The next month the supply truck stopped at my house. I bowed to the Sergeant. He nodded back and made a check on his clipboard.

The End

998 Words

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End of Camp NaNo

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Picture by Randy Cockrell

Picture by Randy Cockrell

Picture by Randy Cockrell

Picture by Randy Cockrell

The last of the summer concert series was held on Saturday here in beautiful central Arizona. Attendance was spotty because we had a thunderstorm roll in. There wasn’t much rain but the sky was full of lightning flashing through the clouds. Exhilerating.
The hornworms have arrived. You can see a picture my husband shot of one medium sized guy eating my green tomato. He also took a picture of hot peppers and my butternut squash. I trained one of the squash vines up a trellis so the squashes are hanging down, away from the pill bugs which like to eat anything that’s in contact with the soil.
July’s Camp NaNo is complete for me. I told you already about the 7K short story and the first of two novelettes for my new Brown Rain series. The second novelette, I call The Downtrodden, finished at less than 20K. Not a problem. I wrote a +2K short story and I went over the 50K mark for NaNo. Toss the confetti, I completed the challenge. The 7K short story, Partners, was written for an anthology. I edited it over the course of July and sent it off to the anthology last week. I’m crossing my fingers that it gets accepted.
Hubby finished his edits of Revolution and gave them back to me. I’m working on those edits now. With luck I can get the book formatted and out at least on Amazon by the end of this week.
I went ahead and signed up for the Goodreads Ask the Author. Have a question? That’s a good place to ask it.
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Hard Choices: A Gulliver Station Story released May17th! I’m pretty excited about it. You can buy at: Apple, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, or Smashwords today!