Tag Archives: forward motion

Unexpected Guests Part II: Flash Fiction Friday Post

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campfire_by_kiaraz

campfire_by_kiaraz

Part I of this story was published last week. You can read it here. http://wp.me/p6LAko-IJ

Part II

While the three men walked their horses over to the spot Zeke had pointed out, he stirred the fire, pulling the now black potato out of the fire. Did they see it? He picked up the harness and carefully used it to pick up the potato, doing his best to look normal.

He walked to his tent, one eye on his guests, and slipped inside. He dropped the harness and potato on the ground. The wire holding the potato together hadn’t been covered and a spot on the heel of his hand was burned. He poured a little water from his canteen onto his neckerchief and wrapped it around the burn. Hand dealt with he examined the harness for damage. Some scorching but nothing serious. That was good. All he needed was for the harness to be irreparable. Zeke kicked the potato in a corner of the tent where other provisions were stored and pulled stuff around it to hide it from view then stepped out of the tent, harness in hand.

Nate was walking by on the way to the creek, canteens hung around him and in hand. Zeke nodded and went to the horses. Hanging the harness in its usual spot, Zeke decided to keep watch on the men. He needed to look busy though. This is where he’d go up to the mine but not now. Now he wanted to keep watch. Butter nuzzled him, bumping his arm. He reached an arm around her neck and gave her a scratch. “No treats today, greedy girl. How about a curry, though.

Butter nickered. Zeke picked up the brush and began to work on the horse.

Daniel and Earl were laying out bedrolls. Nate was out of sight down the creek bank. They’re gonna want to eat their supper at my fire. If I tell them no, they’ll make their move soon. If I invite them, it’ll look like I’m not suspicious. Zeke could feel Butter stretching her back with the brush. He was just grabbing the comb to do Butter’s mane and tail when Nate came back through the camp. Zeke nodded again. Nate spit.

That didn’t make Zeke feel any better. He didn’t like the way Nate was looking at him. He finished with Butter as the three strangers sat on their rolls. They were all looking his way and talking. He could hear the murmur but they were keeping it quiet. Were they making plans about him?

“How about you, Jenny. Ready for your curry?” He picked up both brushes and his rifle and walked to where the donkey was staked. The little gray donkey shook, clouds of dust rising in the air. “I guess so.”

Zeke curried the donkey, again keeping the men in view. He found a cut on the animal’s back left leg. He went to the tent for some ointment and applied it to the cut. The whole time the men watched him. Grooming finished, he led the horse and donkey to a new spot and staked them where there was some fresh grazing. Not having anything else to do after he put the ointment away he took the buckets to the creek and filled them then emptied them into the barrel he kept near the fire.

Daniel, Earl and Nate came back to the fire with arms full of wood. “We saw the pile was low, Zeke.” First Daniel, then the others, dropped the wood in Zeke’s pile.

“Appreciate it. Since you’re stayin’ the night, you’re welcome to cook your dinner here. You brought the wood, after all.”

“Kind of you, friend.” Daniel was all smiles.

Zeke didn’t like the look of the brother or Nate, though. They were studying him. Looking for weaknesses. If he had any sense he’d shoot these three right now and be done with it. “I don’t have much to share. I’m gettin’ ready to pack up. Thought I’d get supplies before I move on.”

“We have food, no worry there.” Daniel hunkered down next to the fire. “Spent a lot of time on those animals.”

Zeke shrugged. “Yeah, well, I don’t groom them often enough. Today seemed like the day.”

“Where you gonna go?” Earl pulled a dry stem of grass and began to pick his teeth with it.

“I don’t know. Thought I’d check in town for news.”

Nate pulled his gun out of the holster and began checking the works. Zeke’s heart sped up. “Maybe California. I heard the gold country there is a lot prettier than here. Greener.”

Earl pulled his gun and began to wipe it down. Zeke’s hand hovered over his rifle but left it alone. They were just cleaning their weapons, right? He stood up. “I’ve got some bacon, that’ll help stretch your beans.”

“Mighty nice of you, Zeke.”

Zeke went and got the bacon and the cast iron pan, then some flour, lard and salt and in his makeshift kitchen, a stump he’d cut tall, he mixed biscuit dough while the pan sat over the campfire cooking the bacon. None of his guests offered to help though they did go get their food and began heating it, still in the cans, in the fire.

“Not Mother’s cookin’ but it’ll do,” Zeke said as he passed around bacon and biscuits.

The men nodded as they crumbled bacon into their beans. Zeke spooned bacon grease onto a split biscuit and put bacon slices between the halves. He ate. The others ate. No one spoke though they watched each other intently.

While Zeke cleaned the pan and bowl, Daniel told tales of Chicago, where they were from. After dark, Zeke announced he was going to bed and thanked them for the company. He dropped the tent flap, something he didn’t usually do, then sat cross-legged in front of the flap and watched, rifle in his lap.

 

End of Part II, next week, Part III.

 

Thank You!

975 Words

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Unexpected Guests Part 1: Flash Fiction Friday

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The Arrastra by Jay Richmond

The Arrastra by Jay Richmond

http://www.panoramio.com/photo_explorer#view=photo&position=195&with_photo_id=27388762&order=date_desc&user=321523 by Jay

A while back I posted a story, Ambush (http://wp.me/p6LAko-GA), about Zeke and his gold mining adventure. This story takes place shortly after Ambush.

Part I

Zeke was hardly any better than the horse. Jumping at every sound, distracted by any leaf blown across his path, he hardly blamed the horse. The Apache had left, as far as he could tell. That left him with the worry about the Indians coming back, but more so about the gold he was finally getting out of the ground. For such an out in the middle of nowhere spot, there seemed to be a lot of people around.

The ore he was having the donkey and horse crush generally came out of the quartz in fair sized nuggets that could be easily handled. Once he had the arrastra cleaned out, the quartz tossed to the side, he swept the hard floor for the gold dust. Tinning, the man told him the process was called. This was new for him and he only had an old miner’s word that it would work.

On his last trip into town, he acquired two items, potatoes and mercury. Mr. Burell, the grocery owner, cautioned him on the shining silver in the three bottles he bought. “It’s dangerous stuff, mercury, son. They used to use this in making hats. It’s poisonous, and the old saw, mad as a hatter, came from the worker’s exposure to it. Don’t get it on your hands or skin, if you can help it.”

He pulled one of the vials he’d purchased out of his pocket and poured a few drops of the silver toxin into the pan, rubbing it all around the inside. Then he panned the dust, separating the dirt from the gold. The gold stuck to the mercury, leaving little nuggets and put the pan to dry while he prepared the next step.

Now, next to the campfire, Zeke cut one of his potatoes in half. He scraped the amalgam of gold and mercury into the hollowed out potato and wired it back together. He tossed the potato into the fire. “Wait until that tater is black as sin,” the old-timer told him. Zeke took a deep breath. This was going to take a while. He got up and fetched Butter’s harness. If he wasn’t digging, he could at least fix her harness while he waited.

He was just finishing his repair when he heard horses. Laying the harness to the side, he picked up his rifle. After the Apache attack, always at hand. Butter and the donkey’s head rose and the animals looked toward the noise.

Three men rode into camp, dusty and bearded. Zeke’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want any trouble. “Hello, the camp!” The center man called out. “You mind if we rest a bit, get some water from the stream?”

Zeke wanted to tell them to move along but that was just rude. “Water ain’t mine. Take what you need.”

The men tied their horses to Zeke’s picket line and walked over to the fire. Zeke could see them eyeing the little arrastra he’d built. They know what I’m doing. Will they move along?

“I’m Dan’l Thomas. Appreciate the kindness.” He pointed at the man to his left. “My brother Earl, and this here’s, Nate.” The three men squatted down around the fire. They eyed the rifle still in Zeke’s hands.

“Had much trouble?” Daniel asked.

“Some Apache not long ago.” Zeke nodded. “I ran them off.”

Earl spat to the side. “Kill any?”

“No bodies left behind, so probably not. I know I hit at least one. There was blood.”

Nate rubbed his beard. “I don’t know why the Army doesn’t kill them all.”

Zeke nodded out of politeness. He didn’t care as long as the Indians didn’t bother him. It was their home first, after all. “Travelin’ far?” He hoped they’d get the hint to move along.

Daniel chuckled. “We’re takin’ it slow. Heard there was gold around here. Looks like you found some.”

“Not much,” Zeke said. “I’m about to move on. Last haul was barely enough for supplies and a beer.” His hands were sweaty on the rifle.

“That’s too bad.” Daniel looked around Zeke’s camp. “Nice little set up.”

“Yeah. But like I said, not much return. I heard there was big gold in California.”

Daniel nodded as he pulled a wrapper of tobacco from his inner coat pocket. He offered the packet to Zeke. “Chaw?”

“No, thank you. Never picked up the habit.”

Daniel pulled some tobacco from the packet and passed it to his brother. “Probably best. Nasty habit.” He stood up. “So you won’t mind if we set up camp for the night.”

Zeke’s heart sank. “Suit yourself. There’s a flat spot over there,” he pointed a hundred feet away. “Mind the rocks. The whole country is nothin’ but sharp rock.”

The others stood. Daniel tipped his hat. “Much obliged.”

They walked to their horses and led them to the spot Zeke had pointed out. Not good. I’ll have to watch all night.

End of Part 1, next week, Part II.

 

Thank You!

856 Words

Find more of the Forward Motion Flash Friday Group here: http://www.fmwriters.com/flash.html

Interrupted: A Flash Friday Story

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Dragon by BloodyBarbarian - d3jp97t

Dragon by BloodyBarbarian – d3jp97t via DeviantArt.com

“What can I get for ya this morning?” The woman behind the grocery store bakery counter smiled at the father and his pre-teen daughter.

I went back to my book, sipping the remains of my iced tea. Lunch was nearly over and I wanted to finish the chapter before I had to go back to the office.

With a mighty flap, Tasha lifted from the mountaintop, her flight of dragons taking off behind her. It’s long past time for the encroaching humans to understand whose world this is. If they’d been smart, they would have gotten back on their ships when they realized Tork was inhabited.With a mighty flap, Tasha lifted from the mountaintop, her flight of dragons taking off behind her.

Colony leader China Buck stood in the command center where Colonel Mark Starr glared at the screens.

“Dragon flight at coordinates 15.16.12W, 102.14.65S, Colonel.”

China watched a blip on the central screen. The dragons were headed straight for the colony. Her efforts at peace now waste.

“Prepare drones.” Mark snapped the order.

The tension in the command center felt as though China was standing next to a blazing fire. Her skin felt drawn and crinkled.

“Drones ready…”

“Hey! Whatcha readin’?”

Jerked from the middle of a battle scene I looked up. Blinking. “A sci-fi story.” I looked back at the book trying to find my place. Maybe he’d take the hint.

“I didn’t know girls read Sci-Fi. I’m not much of a reader myself.”

He sat down across the table from me. Really? I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes left before I had to leave. “Women do, too.” I narrowed my eyes at him. My lunch time spoiled again.

“You come here often?” He popped the little drinking tab on his coffee and slurped.

“This is my lunch hour. I like the deli sandwiches here.” I resolved never to come back here for lunch. At least twice a week some guy feels free to interrupt while I’m trying to read.

“Oh yeah? I’ll have to give it a try. Pretty early for lunch, though. It’s only twenty to twelve.”

If I hadn’t been so annoyed by his interruption I might consider talking to him. He had nice eyes. But doesn’t read? Uh, no. “Yeah, well, I come in early.”

“Where you work?” He sipped his coffee again.

Didn’t he have to be at work? “Nearby.” I looked at his coffee cup. “You’re taking a late coffee break.” I put my bookmark at my page and closed the book. It was obvious I wasn’t going to get any more reading done.

“I’m in sales. I take a break whenever I can.”

I made a show of looking at my watch. “Time for me to go.” I dropped the book in my tote and gathered the paper cup and sandwich wrappings.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Not likely if I can help it. “Uh, yeah. Maybe.”

I dumped the trash in the nearby can and left. Maybe I can sneak a few minutes at my desk and finish the chapter before clocking in.

 

Thank You!

498 Words

Find more of the Forward Motion Flash Friday Group here: http://www.fmwriters.com/flash.html

The Map: Friday Flash Fiction Post

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Stream

Stream

Ten-year-old Evette sat on the steps of her grandparent’s farmhouse front porch. Her brother, twelve-year-old Sam, and her twin cousins, Brian and Barry, same age as Sam, were playing in the tree-house nestled in the branches of the maple at the left side of the house. Its mate stood sentinel on the other side of the house, shading the walk from the driveway to the porch.

She’d been told in no uncertain terms that as a girl, she was not allowed in their club. Evette sighed. Their parents and grandparents were out back on the deck, having beers and talking non-stop about boring stuff. There had been nothing to do all day, all alone.

Last night she’d heard her Grandmother say that she wanted to start cleaning out the attic while she was still spry enough to do it. Grandfather Bob shushed her. “It’s a hundred eleven in the attic this time of year, Claudette. Leave it till fall when it’s cooler.”

Grandma had agreed and the after dinner conversation turned to other things. This morning while the boys had run out to the barn to dare each other to jump from the hay loft into the pile below, she had crept up to the attic to see what treasures might be up there. It was creepy and even at nine in the morning, already so hot the sweat began to trickle down her temples as soon as she managed to get in the stuck attic door.

Evette sneezed. A thick layer of dust covered everything. The only light came from a small, dust-clogged window at the end of the house. The wood was raw, unpainted and she got a sliver when she’d put her hand on a rafter to balance herself as she’d climbed over a pile of plastic bins in front of the door. She stood in an empty spot and looked around. A dresser with its mirror in front of it sat halfway down the right wall. The roof line came to just three feet from the floor there. No wonder the mirror was standing on the floor. Cardboard boxes lined the walls while taller stuff, a dressmaker’s dummy, for example, stood in the middle.

On the left wall, more boxes and bins but just a few feet from the window she’d spotted a large, old-fashioned trunk. Evette fingered the hasp, there was no lock, so she pulled it from the ring-thing and lifted the top. It was heavy and a cascade of decades’ worth of dust poured off of the lid and swirled around the trunk, making her sneeze again. She pushed the lid to the wall and let it rest there.

In the trunk, on top, were uniforms. She remembered Grandpa saying how he’d been in the Army. Someplace called Korea, far, far away. Under that was a metal box, about 4 inches square and about a foot and a half long. Army printing was on it and she tried to open it but it was locked. Placing it on the floor she rifled through other things, a shoebox of photos of soldiers, a packet of letters tied with a shoestring, the addresses faded.

Under all of that was an envelope, nothing written on it. She picked it up. It was unsealed so she looked inside. Once read, she stuffed it in her pocket and put everything back in the trunk and closed it.

This afternoon, she pulled it from her pocket. Checking to make sure her brother and cousins were busy, she opened it and studied it. Out here, where there was more light, she realized it was a map of Grandpa’s farm. Her little finger traced along a line that was labeled stream. She knew where that was. Two days ago all four kids had spent the day wading, the boys trying to build a dam or catch minnows in their hands. Away from that was a drawing of a circle of trees. An X was in the middle.

She looked at the tree-house. The boys were yelling through some make-believe game of Tarzan and attackers. Evette stuck the map in her pocket and drifted off of the porch and around the back. The adults were involved in telling stories about their childhoods and usually she’d stick around to hear that but not now. Now she walked to the barn, out of sight, and after stopping for a shovel, headed to the stream.

She thought she remembered that circle of trees from last year’s visit. Grandpa had told them that the fairies had caused the trees to grow in a circle. She’s spent the whole rest of the day searching the daisies and black-eyed susans looking for fairies. Now she wanted to see what might really be where the X was on Grandpa’s map. She found the stream and walking along it, spotted the trees. They were bigger than she remembered. Evette skipped across the flower-filled pasture, Grandpa had stopped keeping cows long ago, straight to the trees. In the middle it was cool and quiet, almost as though there were fairies here, keeping the world away. Studying the map again, she looked around. Right in the middle, she stuck her shovel into the ground and began to dig.

The next day the police were there searching the entire house. Grandpa had been lead off in handcuffs. Everyone else had been herded into the living room. Grandma was crying on the sofa with Mama beside her, arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Uncle Bill whispered to papa. “He stole it. Before he joined the army? How the hell did Evette find it?”

Papa shook his head. “She told the police she found the map in the attic and went to see what was at the X.”

Uncle Bill ran his hand through his hair. “Half a million dollars. I can’t believe it.”

Evette cried to herself in the arm chair. She didn’t know what she’d done wrong.

Death in the Desert: Friday Flash Fiction Post

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Desert

Desert

I shook my water bladder, empty. How could it be empty? It had three liters of water in it. I felt my pack. Wet. The bladder leaked, obviously. With no water to put in it I couldn’t tell where it was leaking from. A pinhole of some sort probably. That didn’t help me now. I was about eight miles out from the nearest trailhead and the sun was beating down. The tiny thermometer on the back of my pack read ninety-six degrees. Just looking at that empty bladder made me thirsty.

I put the bladder back in my pack and pulled out my map. Maybe there was a water source nearby. After careful scrutiny the answer was no. I was going to have to hike out to that nearest trailhead and hope for help. The trailhead was twenty-six miles from nowhere. I sighed, folded the map and put it back in the map pocket. I hoped people were there.

Pack back on my back, I trudge off along the trail. Thinking about all the survival shows I’ve seen I wonder if there is something I can do to increase my chances. First, people do know where I am. That’s the first positive thing. Second, I’m an experience backpacker. Another point in my favor. A point against, I’m hiking alone. If I had another person, odds would be likely that their water supply was just fine and we could share. Too bad for me. No one was free to backpack with me this week so I came alone.

I stumble on the rocky path and nearly skewer myself on an agave. Pay attention, klutz. Anyway, I get around that and continue my inventory of possible tactics. No drinking cactus water, that will kill a person. All of those old movies just made that up. This is a popular trail—someone or someones may happen along and give me a hand. Unfortunately, it’s a weekday, so less likely of any traffic.

Crossing a dry wash I remember a popular TV survival show and the host digging in a curve for water. I look around. The wash runs straight across the landscape like someone dug it on purpose. No curves for water to pool in or sink down. I climb back out and keep going.

At noon I find a lone mesquite tree and settle in its meager shade. Two miles down, six to go to the trailhead. I dig out a food bar and stare at it. Do I want to eat this dry? Isn’t there some sort of requirement that the stomach needs water to process anything I eat? I don’t know. Food is fuel but if my body needs water to process the food, am I just hurting myself? I put the bar back in the pack. I’ll die of dehydration long before I die of hunger. I could stand to lose a little weight anyway.

While I rest I try and remember other tips. Maybe I shouldn’t be walking in the sun in the daytime. Don’t the border jumpers travel at night? Stupid. I should hang out here and wait till sundown to travel. Encouraged by this thought I dig my space blanket out of my emergency bag and rig it to the tree for shade. I unroll my sleeping pad and lie down. I could use a nap anyway.

Hours later I wake. The sun is going to set soon. The thermometer reads one-hundred and three degrees. I pack everything up and start hiking, headlamp handy in a side pocket of my pack. This should work, right? Just hike on out to the trailhead. Simple.

Even with the headlamp, three hours after sunset, I stumble over the rocks. Twice I’ve run into cactus spines overhanging the trail. My pants are torn and both legs now have long, bloody scratches. Slow down, missy. Don’t make mistakes. I stop to rest, my knees sore from jolting along the trail. I find a small pebble and wipe as much dirt off of it as I can and pop it in my mouth to suck. It’ll keep the saliva flowing at any rate. I check my scratches. They’ve stopped bleeding.

Break over, I get going again. I find it hard to estimate my mileage. Still, it’s been five hours since sunset. Estimating a mile an hour in the dark, I should be close to the trailhead. At least the night is cooler, about eighty degrees. I thank my lucky stars and keep going.

After another hour, I stop to assess. Where’s the trailhead? I’m on the trail, I’ve seen the markers and cairns. A butterfly of panic begins to move in my stomach. Stop it. Take a breath. Maybe you’re going slower than you think. Keep going. The map says it’s on this trail.

Trudging on, stomach growling, I keep alert. I don’t want to miss any directional sign. I tuck the pebble into my cheek. I’m thirsty, the pebble isn’t fooling my body. It wants water. Now. The panic butterfly, I imagine it black with scarlet markings, is still stirring. I resist the urge to cry. Don’t be a baby. Keep walking.

When the sun comes up, I reassess. I’m on the trail, but there’s no sign of the trailhead. I pull out my phone. If I’m close, maybe there’s a cell signal. No bars. I swallow and put the phone away. The landscape is flat but I can see what has to be the Superstitions in the distance. Desert birds are singing the sun up but I don’t see anything to be happy about. I’m lost while on the trail. Not good.

Should I back track? Maybe I missed the sign? Go on? The map says the next trailhead is sixteen miles away. I’ll never make it.

#

The recovery team covered the body on the stretcher. “Too bad, really. She was just a mile from the trailhead.”

 

 

 

Thank You!

987 Words

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Empress of Lost Forests

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Warrior Empress by shirogane90 via www.deviantart.com

Warrior Empress by shirogane90 via www.deviantart.com

http://orig12.deviantart.net/d168/f/2009/196/b/a/warrior_empress_by_shirogane90.jpg

Empress Adelaide stared down from her ivy draped rowan-wood throne. “What do you mean the southern forest is lost?”

The elf bowed low. “There’s a glamour, Majesty. I could feel it as I rode through it. The trail that should lead to the wood now comes out the other side into the Southern Lands of Elven King Gebelin. While it’s convenient to avoid the four-day ride to King Gebelin’s lands, still, all of the Southern Wood is gone.”

Adelaide stood up. “Bring the Wizard to my chambers.” She stepped down to the hall’s flagstone floor and everyone bowed.

Twenty minutes later at a knock, she called “Enter”.

“Empress, you summoned me?” The wizard stepped into the center of the Empress’s.

“The Southern Wood is missing, Emil. Find it.” Adelaide poured wine into a goblet and handed it to the Wizard. “Warrior Tara said she felt a glamour so it’s not really gone, just hidden, at least from her.”

Emil stroked his white beard. “A mystery, Majesty.” Emile sipped. “Let me scry in the silver bowl to see what has transpired. Do you have any suspicions?”

“Same as you.” Adelaide went to the south-facing window and stared. “Gebelin has coveted the forest for hundreds of years. He may have found a way to take it.”

Emil nodded. “True. I’ll search there first. I’ll send a note when I’ve finished.”

“Come yourself.”

Emil bowed. “As you wish.” He turned and left.

Not without her own magic, Empress Adelaide strode to the far end of her chambers and pulled the purple silk drape from a tall finely carved wooden frame holding a mirror. She dropped the silk and stood in front of the mirror. She chanted. The mirror clouded, a swirling mist that grew light then dark again. The mist coalesced, showing a series of scenes—the woods, growing darker and darker. Animals racing, fear radiating from them as though they were being chased by fire. The village, people racing along the cobble streets, snatching children up and into their cottages, bars sliding into place behind the doors and windows.

Adelaide frowned. That was the result, what was the cause? She waved her hand and the scene shifted. The mountains bordering the forest on the east came into view. Atop the highest peak, was a dragon! The dragon, Adelaide realized. Lissoth who was supposed to have been slain a thousand years ago. Nails bit into palms as she watched Lissoth rise from the peak with huge down strokes. Behind her, a battalion of dragons rose into the sky. Smaller, but just as deadly, Adelaide assumed. Lissoth had been absent building a dragon army. She waved the mirror quiet and re-draped it then hurried to the Wizard’s tower.

Emil looked up from his scrying bowl. “You saw.”

“I did. We must move now.” Adelaide watched the waves in the bowl settle. “Summon the General.”

In two hours all of the warriors assembled. Adelaide was in armor as was the Wizard. “We fight Lissoth and her dragon army.”

The warriors blanched. “Lissothe has been beaten before,” Adelaide used just a little magic to project her voice. “We will kill her this time.”

The General waved and the magical horses carried the warriors through the castle gates. They met Lissoth at the northern edge of the forest. Lissoth screamed from the sky then landed in front of the Empress.

“Empress Adelaide. You did not kill me those centuries ago.” The dragon, three times the size she was before, hissed with malice.

“A pity,” Adelaide said, her silver armor glinting in the sun. “I’ll have to rectify my error.”

“Not this time, elf.” With that, Lissoth brought her wings down and rose fifty feet on the first wingbeat.

The general signaled the army to advance. The battle began. Things looked bad for Empress Adelaide when the Army of Gebelin rode through the glamor and joined the fight. At the end it was Adelaide against Lissoth, just as it was a thousand years before. Adelaide positioned herself on top of a hill, trees burnt to cinders. She stood alone, her horse dead an hour past, sword in hand, helmetless, her white-blond hair streamed in the light breeze.

Lissoth, green blood dripping from wounds on chest and legs made pass after pass, flaming at first, then striking as a hawk would a mouse. Adelaide, through magic, sword and shield, held the dragon off. She tired. Both sword and shield arms shook. Lissoth’s last strike drove her to one knee. Fear and despair washed through her. Would Lissoth win this time?

As the dragon circled high overhead, readying for a final attack, Adelaide could feel a tickle, like a cool drop of rain on a hot day. First one, then another. The trickle became a stream and she recovered, standing, sword and shield ready. Lissoth came screaming out of the sky, talons outstretched. The Empress readied—she’d spied a spot at the base of the dragon’s neck where the scales had been cut off. She kept her eyes on the patch as the dragon arrowed straight for her. Adelaide transformed her sword into a mighty spear and placed the butt into the ground at her right foot.

The dragon struck. Adelaide dropped to one knee, crouched nearly flat to the ground and the dragon drove the spear into its own neck. The dragon’s speed caused it to tumble across the hilltop and down the hill. The remainder of the army attacked, chopping Lissoth to pieces.

The Wizard hurried up the hill. He lifted the prone Empress to his lap and poured a few drops of elixir between her lips. She opened her eyes. “I could feel you sending me more magic.”

“All that the rest of us could send, Majesty.”

“Lissoth?”

“Dead, Majesty.”

From the hill top they could see south. They watched a glimmer, then a flash, and the whole of the Southern Wood appeared.

Adelaide sighed. “I’ll have to thank Gebelin.”

“In due time, Empress.”

 

Thank You!

998 Words

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Kitten Magic: Flash Fiction Friday Post

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http://www.deviantart.com/art/A-kitten-68838991 titled A Kitten by Ultrakitten via DeviantArt.com

http://www.deviantart.com/art/A-kitten-68838991 titled A Kitten by Ultrakitten via DeviantArt.com

http://www.deviantart.com/art/A-kitten-68838991 titled A Kitten by Ultrakitten

Kitten Magic

Eight-year-old Breanne huddled in the back corner of her closet, kitten, Smoke, cuddled in her arms. The sound of her father screaming at her mother drifted up the stairs from the kitchen. Breanne flinched at the crash of dishes.

“I wish daddy would stop yelling,” the girl whispered into the kitten’s neck. The kitten growled, then the last dish crashed and the back door slammed. Breanne wiped away tears. She crept from the closet and down the stairs. Peeking around the kitchen door jamb, she could see her mother, Mary, sweeping up the broken crockery.

“Mama?”

Mary set the broom against the counter and dashed her hands across her eyes. She turned. “Hey, baby.”

Breanne ran to her mother. “Where’s Daddy?”

They hugged. “He went out. Sweetheart. Did you hide in the closet like I told you?”

Breanne nodded, blue eyes solemn. “Smoke hid with me.” The kitten rubbed up against Mary’s ankle. Mary picked up the kitten and included her in the hug. “Good girls.”

Every night Daddy screamed at Mommy. Breanne trembled in the closet. Sometimes Daddy hit Mommy, and Breanne cried into Smoke’s soft gray fur. “Please, Daddy, stop,” Breanne whispered into the kitten’s back each time. Each time, Daddy would storm out of the door.

One night after she turned nine, she gathered up her courage and inched down the stairs to hide under the dining room table, Smoke clutched in her arms. She watched her father storm around the kitchen, Mary huddled in the corner of the counter and the sink, arms around herself, head bowed. He yelled things at Mary that Breanne had been told never to say. Breanne began to sob and just as he raised his hand to strike his wife, Breanne whispered, “Stop, Daddy. Go out the door.”

Smoke looked into the kitchen like she’d spotted a bird a few feet away. Halfway through her father’s strike, his arm dropped and he slammed out of the back door. Breanne ran out to the kitchen where her mother stood sobbing and shaking.

“Breanne, you shouldn’t be here, baby.” She pulled a paper towel from the roll and wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

Breanne hugged her mother around the hips. “Smoke sent Daddy away.”

Mary dropped to one knee and hugged her daughter. “I don’t think so, honey.”

Breanne looked her mother in the eyes. “Oh, yes, Mama. I saw.”

Mary half-laughed and hugged Breanne again. “If you say so, sweetie.”

After that Breanne tested Smoke. She held the kitten close and crept downstairs to watch through the kitchen door. At first she waited until her father started to strike, then she’d wish her daddy would stop. Each time he’d stop and leave.

She grew bolder, stopping him earlier and earlier. One day before her father came home from work she asked, “Mama, doesn’t Daddy love us?”

Mary, her back to Breanne, stopped stirring the spaghetti sauce. It took a moment for her to set the spoon in the rest and turn to Breanne. “He loves you very much.”

“He said you trapped him. That I was a bastard.”

Mary hurried to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. She took Breanne’s hand. “He’s upset, that’s all.”

“Why doesn’t he just go away? When my friend Jimmy’s being mean, I just go away.”

Smoke jumped up into Breanne’s lap. Now a year old, the kitten looked at Mary with wide green eyes. Mary’s hands twisted on the table top. She couldn’t hold the kitten’s gaze and stared at the far wall. “It’s a kind of pride. He doesn’t want to look weak.”

“He hits you, Mama. Hard.”

Mary nodded, her hand creeping up to her cheek where her make-up was wearing thin. The nearly permanent bruise was beginning to show. “Not like that. Different.” She whispered, “I wish he would leave forever.”

Breanne’d never heard her mother say anything like that before. “Smoke can make that happen. She’s been stopping Daddy every night.”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“So why does he stop like that. Right in the middle.” Breanne glared with defiance.

“What?” Mary’s gaze lifted.

“Every night I wish Daddy would stop and Smoke makes it happen.” She stroked the kitten who began to purr, staring at Mary with half closed eyes. “I’ll just wish he goes away forever.”

Mary’s eyes went wide. “You’d make him disappear?”

Smoke head-butted Breanne’s hand when she stopped petting. The girl stroked her cat’s head. “Just send him away, forget us.”

Mary rose and went to the stove where she stirred the sauce. She stirred and stirred then turned back to the table. “Not dead?”

Breanne and the cat stared into each other’s eyes. Smoke purred.

“Not dead, Mama. Just not here.”

Mary turned back to the stove, shoulder’s slumped. “Only if he gets angry again.”

Breanna nodded.

After supper it began again. Breanne sat on the top stair and cried. If only Daddy wouldn’t be so mad!

Smoke drifted from Breanne’s bedroom and eased into the girl’s lap. She stroked the cat. “He’s doing it again, Smoke.”

Smoke flowed from her lap and down the stairs. She stopped in the kitchen door and sat, front feet together and stared into the kitchen. Breanne followed and stood beside the cat.

On a rampage around the kitchen her father jerked Mary from her chair by the hair. He caught sight of them. “Watta you starin’ at?” He slurred his words, empty beer bottles evident on the counter.

“I wish you would go away, Daddy. Go away forever.”

Mary’s hands flew to her mouth as her husband shouted curses at Breanne. He took a step.

Smoke hissed.

Breanne watched as her daddy began to fade.

Mary screamed.

By the time her daddy would have reached her, he was gone.

The police came when Mary reported her husband missing.

When Breanne was seventeen, she stood as maid of honor at her mother’s wedding. Smoke never did do any more magic.

 

Thank You!

999 Words

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We All Have to Start Somewhere: May Merry-Go-Round Blog Post

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The_Bad_Seed_Cover_for_Kindle

Whoa! Interesting topic. I published my first book, The Bad Seed, in 2012 and I haven’t gone back to look at it since. I’m a little nervous. Here’s the first page.

The front and back doors burst open in an explosion of sound.  Willa turned to look, her eyes wide and mouth open, knife still in hand, as men in black burst into the kitchen from the back hallway and from the living room. 

In shock and hardly breathing, she stood in front of the stove with the knife in the air.  They were all shouting, “Drop the knife! Drop the knife! Drop it!”  She finally regained enough presence of mind to drop the knife.  One of the men came rushing at her from the morning room, around the kitchen island and pushed her to the floor.  Before she knew it, he had a knee in her back and both hands pulled painfully behind her.  The handcuffs were tight and cold. 

She tried to relax even with all of the boots milling around her head.  Two of the SWAT team lifted her by her arms to stand.

Willa looked frantically around the room at all the men, “What’s going on?”

“Are you Wilhemina Hayes?” the one in charge asked as he stepped in front of her.

“Yes,” Willa tried to get her fear under control.

He read from a sheet of paper, “You are under arrest for violations of the USA Patriot Improvement and Reauthorization Act of 2011, “otherwise known as the PIRA Extension Act of 2011.”

He read Willa her rights then looked around the room, pointing at one of the team members. 

“You, bag up this stuff on the stove.  Mrs. Hayes, do you understand your rights as I’ve read them to you?”

“Yes,” She didn’t think there was any point in dragging this out.

He turned to go to the front door.  “Come along with me Mrs. Hayes.”

 

To be honest, I’m pretty impressed! The opening is actually from later in the story, but I wanted to start the story with a bang and create the tension and reader concern for the main character right off of the bat.

I still want to do that but after my second book, I haven’t used that method of creating that first page hook again. Somehow I have the feeling it’s unfair to the reader to give them a scene out of sequence. I know it’s done in movies and on TV all the time but for some reason, I just don’t want to do that in my books.

The rest, the grammar, punctuation, point of view, and other technical stuff, are pretty good for a first book. I didn’t head hop or change from 1st to 3rd person, and with just one exception in the snippet, stayed in active voice. Yay!

There was some telling and not showing, but overall that first page looks pretty good. I guess I did a fair job after all, no need to be nervous.

What do you think? Were you hooked? Want to read more of the story? It’s up on many of the major ebook retailers. Available in paperback as well. You can use the links below to search for it.

Kindred Spirits released March 14th! I’m so excited about it. You can buy it and my other books at: Apple, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Smashwords, Gumroads  or Chatebooks today!  You can also see all of my books on https://conniesrandomthoughts.com/my-books-and-other-published-work/. If you’ve read any of my books, please drop a review on the site where you bought it. It’s a big help to me in the book rankings each vendor uses to promote the books on their sites. Thanks in advance.

 

The Merry-Go-Round Blog Tour is sponsored by the website Forward Motion (http://www.fmwriters.com). The tour is you, the reader, traveling the world from author’s blog to author’s blog. There are all sorts of writers at all stages in their writing career, so there’s always something new and different to enjoy. Check out the rest of the tour starting at http://margaretmcgaffeyfisk.com/favorite-conventions-2016-merry-go-round-blog-tour/.

Jealousy: Friday Flash Fiction Post

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Misty by Justchasingfireflies by d2ybmge.jpg via DeviantArt.com

Misty by Justchasingfireflies by d2ybmge.jpg via DeviantArt.com

Edmund hissed.

His slave worried over the device. Enough was enough. The sun inched its way across the sky while the slave fussed and bothered over the machine. Edmund was bored. The slave had forgotten him.

He muttered to the other lord and lady. What is wrong with the slave?

“We don’t keep it busy enough.” Peaches licked her claws as she eyed the others.

“Nonsense.” Edmund rolled over and stretched then lay on his side. His yellow eyes blinked. We must give the slave some time to herself.

“Bollox.” Zaphod’s fur stood up straight as he arched his back. “Too much time on their own projects and they start to forget who’s in charge.”

Peaches rose up from her platform on the scratching tree and sank her claws into the central support, stretching her back into an inverted arch. “I agree with Zaphod. Let them take an inch and they want the whole house. Remember when we were kittens? All that bother about us not sleeping on the bed.” She ripped the carpet from the pillar. “As though the bed belonged to her!”

Edmund shook his head. “The slave uses the device to document us. That’s a good thing.”

“Sometimes.” Zaphod licked his paw and washed behind an ear. “Not often enough. The slave leaves us locked in the house for hours and comes home all involved with the device. What do we get when we investigate?”

“You walk on her controller.” Peaches coughed up a hair ball. “I’ve seen the monitor. All of the pictures go crazy. Your meddling ruined a perfectly good picture of me draped across the chair seat.”

“You think too much of yourself.” Zaphod sneered.

Peaches launched from the cat tree and chased Zaphod around the house. Candlesticks were knocked from the fireplace mantle, the end table lamp fell over and they pulled the curtains from one of the living room windows before they hissed at each other face to face and the slave separated them with tiny treats.

Back on the cat tree, Edmond sneered. “And you criticize the slave.” He rolled his eyes as he sharpened his claws. “Kittens. That’s what you are.”

Zaphod licked his paw and cleaned behind an ear. “Just a little exercise.

“The matter still remains about the device.” Peaches leapt down from the cat tree and stretched on the floor. “Time to take matters into my own paws.”

Zaphod and Edmond watched as Peaches wandered, nonchalantly, into the office. They followed. When they arrived, Peaches had already claimed the slave’s lap. Zaphod leapt up onto the printer. This device shook at random intervals and paper spit out that was easily hooked and destroyed. Edmond was left with the pile of paper in a basket at the side of the desk. Not ideal but paper wasn’t the cold of the glass topped desk, either. Good enough.

The slave did her best to work around Peaches, reaching over and around to the controller. Peaches wouldn’t hear of it. She butted her head into the slave’s hands at every move. The slave tried to remove Peaches. That only ended with the slave’s hand bleeding from Peaches’ retaliatory strike.

The slave set the detested device on the desktop. Peaches left the slave’s lap and approached the device. She sniffed it, then ever so gently, pushed it over the edge of the desk.

The slave leapt up, chair flying backward across the room. Edmond hissed and sprang straight up, paper flying through the air. Zaphod yowled and leapt onto the slave, who shrieked as the device hit the floor.

Peaches yawned and paced deliberately out of the room. Edmund and Zaphod followed as the slave yammered, kneeling over the broken device.

“My work is done.” Peaches eased into her cat bed, curled her tail over her nose and closed her eyes.

Edmond and Zaphod looked at each other. “I didn’t do it.” Edmond swiped a paw across his face.

“Me either.” Zaphod leapt up the cat tree and snuggled into a corner of a carpeted room. “Coming?”

Edmond followed. “Sure, twin. Don’t want to be around Peaches. She’s going to get it from the slave.”

They snuggled down together. “Not our problem.” Zaphod wrapped his tail around his nose. “Let her deal with it.”

 

 

Thank You!

712 Words

Find more of the Forward Motion Flash Friday Group here: http://www.fmwriters.com/flash.html

Malwhere: Friday Flash Fiction Post

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ancient_mainframe_computer_by_mistgod-d58t3st via DeviantArt.com http://www.deviantart.com/art/Ancient-Mainframe-Computer-317125757

ancient_mainframe_computer_by_mistgod-d58t3st via DeviantArt.com http://www.deviantart.com/art/Ancient-Mainframe-Computer-317125757

“What do you mean?” Bethany had been debugging the system for the last twelve hours. Management was calling down to the fourth level basement where she worked outside the data center every ten minutes. Billions of dollars were flying out of the corporation’s accounts.

“I mean, it’s an AI, it’s reprogrammed itself. I told you this might happen.” Jan flopped into the chair beside her best friend. “While you’ve been chasing bugs in the code, I’ve been tracking the malfunctions. I think the AI is doing it.”

Bethany scrubbed her hands through her pixie-cut blond hair. She’d warned her boss. Messing around with AI computer infrastructure was a bad idea, she’d told them. But they didn’t want to listen. It would be cheaper to let an AI run itself than to pay people to run the system. “Fewer errors,” the CFO had said in the meeting where they decided this course of action.

“But…” she’d opened her mouth.

The VP of IT shut her down. “I think that’s sufficient, Bethany. The matter is decided.”

“I know you told me. I told them. They decided they’d take the chance and save money on staff.” She sank back into the chair. “So what can we do?”

“You’re the boss. You tell me.”

Bethany shot Jan the evil eye. “We tossed a coin, Jan. don’t get all indignant with me.”

Jan waved her hand in submission. “Fine. I think we should pull the plug.”

The lights on the front of the outward facing server flickered. Bethany’s eyes grew wide. “Did you see that?”

Jan nodded. They both got up and went out into the hall and found a corner where the cameras couldn’t see them, or hear them. “What the hell! The damn thing is already aware.”

Bethany slumped against the wall. “I’m going in there and disconnect the power. You stand in the hall with the door open. If something goes wrong, run to maintenance, tell them to cut the power to this whole floor.”

“They won’t do that without permission from management.”

“We’ll see.” She pushed herself off of the wall. “Let’s go.”

Jan held the door open as Bethany marched down the long lines of server racks to the back of the room. Every server was connected but all she needed to do was disconnect the primary, the server that controlled all the rest. She reached for the plug with her bare hand but half an inch from the wall, she stepped back and looked around. There was a safety board hanging on the wall. She pulled the heavy-duty rubber gloves down and put them on then went back to the plug. The camera in the ceiling corner turned in her direction. “Here goes.”

She grabbed the plug and pulled. Lights began flashing and an alarm sounded but the servers all kept working. “Damn. The AI’s transferred itself. I’ve got to pull them all,” she shouted so Jan could hear. Bethany began pulling the power cords randomly so the AI couldn’t tell which one she’d pull next. Down to the last three plugs the power panel exploded in a shower of sparks that sent her flying down the server aisle.

Jan screamed. “Bethany! Are you all right?”

Scrambling to her feet, Bethany ran for the door. “Let’s get to maintenance.”

On sub-floor one, the ran into the power room. Two guys were responding to the alarms indicating a problem on sub-floor four. “Cut the power to that floor,” Bethany gasped. “The AI is out of control. Shut it all down.”

“We can’t do that.” The older of the two men stared at her. “There’s a couple of billion in computers on that floor.”

“They run the whole place,” the younger guy nodded. “We’ve been told.”

“And I’m telling you,” Bethany struggled to catch her breath from running up three flights of stairs, “the whole thing just tried to electrocute me. Shut. It. Down.”

“They aren’t listening, Beth,” Jan said.

“Keep talking to them. I’m calling management.” She stepped away from the men and dialed her phone. “Boss,” she said when he picked up. “We have to shut the AI down. It just tried to kill me.”

“What?”

“It tried to kill me. It’s out of control. I’m in maintenance. They have to shut sub-level four down. Right down.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not shutting it down.”

“You have to. If this gets outside the building the whole international computer network will be infected. We don’t know what will happen.”

“I’m sending security.”

“Thank you, sir. You’re doing the right thing.” She hurried back to the maintenance men. “My boss is sending security. You’ll have to shut it down.”

It was only a couple of minutes before five of the building security officers were at the door. “Thank goodness you’re here. You’ve got to…” Two of the officers grabbed her as two more pushed by and grabbed Jan. “No! Not us, the maintenance men. Stop!” She screamed as they dragged her and Jan out of the room.

A month later it was over. The two women huddled in a basement outside of the city. The AI had opened all of the prison and jail doors right after it had taken down the entire financial infrastructure.

They heard it called Malwhere, just before most everything had crashed. “Good name for it,” Bethany told Jan as they made their way to Bethany’s great-grandparent’s house in upstate New York. They helped great-granny get the house stocked as best they could. Granny told them to get guns and as much ammo as they could buy. Some of the neighbors Granny trusted were also there. It helped as they held off marauders.

The AI wasn’t dead—it was reconstructing, Bethany heard from people fleeing the cities. It was making the world into the image it thought best. She wondered if Malwhere was looking for her. She checked her rifle’s load. If it was, it was going to meet some resistance.

 

 

Thank You!

994 Words

Find more of the Forward Motion Flash Friday Group here: http://www.fmwriters.com/flash.html