Flash Fiction Friday Story: Copper Dance

Quarry by Alex Malyon via www.DeviantArt.com

Quarry by Alex Malyon via www.DeviantArt.com

Salvatore Petrovici wiped the sweat from his brow, the dust and stone grit like sandpaper. The sun beat down on him fiercely as he worked the rock face, hotter than he ever remembered the sun in his native Italy to shine. A stonemason, he and many others had been hired by the Heartstone Mining Company to come to the Arizona Territory and cut rock.

The task for the last week was to large pieces to use at mine entrances. It was always a danger with these. A stone half the size he just finished cutting would crush a man to death if it wasn’t removed from the quarry wall with care. He finished attaching the cables to the stone and waved to the crane operator. The rock channeler, now blessedly silent, sat behind him. The crane sitting on the quarry floor made enough noise all by itself. Sal, as the American’s called him, stood back ten feet, out of the way, but close enough to see the rock as it was lifted from the track.

The crane operator waved back. Sal watched the tension increase on the cables while the rock groaned, cracked and popped, clearly heard over the whine of the crane engines. The cut stone rose one inch, then two. Higher the crane took it, then swung slowly to the right, away from Sal. Wait! The operator hadn’t raised the stone far enough, it was going to hit the quarry face.

Sal waved wildly, but the operator wasn’t looking at him. Shouting was useless—he was too far away to be heard over the roar of the crane engine. CRACK! The stone hit the rock face. It bounced back toward Sal, swinging now, out of control. He had little room to run—the channeler took up the whole width of the ledge behind him. The cables groaned as the crane operator tried to control the stone, now a pendulum, heading straight for Sal. He dived for the ledge floor, hoping the groaning cables would continue to hold the stone the three feet off of the ledge. He flattened himself and whispered prayers to Jesus and the Mother Mary as the stone passed six inches over his head.

The crane operator jerked the stone both up and back and just missed crushing the channeler. The stone swung back, higher than the first pass though Sal felt the breeze of it passing on his cheek. This time it cleared the rock face and the crane operator got the swinging stone back under control. Lying on the ledge, Sal watched as the stone was lowered to the waiting wagon and waited for his heart to slow its panicked beating.

He rose from the ledge, covered in rock dust, and crossed himself as he offered a second prayer of thanks. The quitting whistle sounded and Sal was glad. He was too shaken to work after that close call.

In the bar that night, the crane operator apologized. “I’m so sorry, Sal. The gears jammed. I had all I could do to get that damned rock under control.”

Sal clapped the man on the shoulder, a fellow immigrant from the north of Italy. “You did fine. I’m still here, you’re still here. It’s good.”

The man bought Sal a glass of wine shipped it in from the mother country by the mining company just for the Italian workers. Both men were toasting when the mining supervisor burst through the door. “Drinks on us, boys. We found another vein of copper!”

Cheers went up all around the room. Several of the miners broke into dance at the news. A new mine meant more work for all of them. Sal sighed as he sipped his dark red wine and watched the copper dance. He missed his wife and children. It was time to bring them over from the old country. It looked as though there would be work here for a long time.

 

The End

658 Words

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

Merry-Go-Round Blog Tour: What Genres do I like to Read and Write?

A New Start: A Gulliver Station Story

A New Start: A Gulliver Station Story

My very favorite genre is Science Fiction. When I was a young teen my friend received a whole box of SciFi books from someone who gave them away for a paper drive. I spent the whole summer with my nose in those books. I found the worlds fantastic and the ability of Science Fiction to explore an alternate way of life has not lost its charm for me yet.

I also like mystery stories. I discovered Miss Marple, by Agatha Christie when I was 19. I thought it was wonderful that an old lady was going around solving murders. This might have been the first time I was exposed to the idea that the elderly could do more than sit around in a rocking chair, knitting.

Then there are the westerns. I live in Zane Grey country and so many of his stories have been made into movies that I’ve lost count. Really, who doesn’t love Sam Elliott in a Zane Grey western? What I like about western stories is the thought of taking off from settled towns and cities and travelling thousands of miles in horse-drawn wagons and making a new life for yourself. Actually, westerns and scifi have a lot in common. The same themes seem to run through both genres.

Other genres I read? Thrillers, Spy Novels, Women’s fiction, Young Adult, I read it all. If the story sounds promising on the back of the book, I’ll look at the first chapter. After that I’m sold.

As to what I write? I’ve written SciFi: My Gulliver Station and Brown Rain series. I’ve written Fantasy: Lost Rainbows, and I’ve written Mystery: Mystery at the Fair, the first of my Jean Hays series. I’ve written westerns too, though only as short stories so far, and posted them on my blog. I haven’t tried my hand at a spy novel or a thriller yet. I have drafted a Young Adult, It’s All About College. It’s waiting to be edited.

What are your favorite genres to read?

Mystery at the Fair released July 15th! I’m pretty excited about it. You can buy it and my other books at: Apple, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, or Smashwords today! You can also see all of my books on www.ConniesRandomThoughts.com, Books tab. 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, travelling 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. If you want to get to know the nearly twenty other writers check out the rest of the tour at http://merrygoroundtour.blogspot.com!  Up next: Jean Schara

Flash Fiction Friday: Protector – A Zoe Ohale Story

The Bar by loveSanti via www.DeviantArt.com

The Bar by loveSanti via www.DeviantArt.com

Zoe sat on the sofa in the abandoned warehouse the ragged group of orphans she hung with called their clubhouse. She thought about the offer Officer Gren had made last winter. She’d done some work for him over the months. Now, a new class of recruits was opening up in both the Universal Law Enforcement and in the Planetary Military. He wanted to get her into one of those classes. It was time to make up her mind.

The quiet was broken by the shrieks of six young children running through the opening where huge double doors used to hang. The children swarmed over Zoe.

“Hey, Zoe! Where have you been?” “Hi, Zoe. Whatcha doin’?” “Look, Zoe. Books!”

She hugged each one and patted the sofa. “Come sit with me. Tell me how your new families are working out.”

Rayly Valenti, Zoe’s favorite, claimed the favored spot next to Zoe. “My new family is fun. The dad makes jokes. The mom cooks good.”

Zoe smiled. One of the first things she’d insisted on was that Officer Gren get the littlest kids off of the street. “Glad to hear it.” Zoe looked at the group. “You’re all in school?”

The kids nodded. “Except sometimes I wish we lived here again. My new mom makes me take a bath every day,” complained seven-year-old, Dabin Scotch. “And now we have homework.”

The kids nodded.

“But it’s nice, right?” Zoe had been afraid the kids would end up with bad families.

“It’s cool, Zoe.” Dabin nodded and stood up. “Gotta go. My new mom gives me cookies after school.”

The little ones ran off, whooping and swinging their books around. Rayly remained. “I can stay. You can help me with my homework.”

“Sorry, kiddo.” Zoe rose from the sofa. “I’ve got errands to run.”

Rayly’s face brightened. “I can come, too!”

I can’t have a nine-year-old following me around on Officer Gren’s job. “Sorry, Rayly. I’m going where little kids shouldn’t be.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

Zoe’s heart broke at the eager face in front of her. “I think you should go to your new place and get that homework done.” She walked Rayly to the door of the warehouse. “Talk to you later, okay?”

Rayly’s book bag dragged on the ground, her head down. “I guess.”

Zoe watched Rayly go around the corner of the building in the direction of her new home. Zoe had checked the place out when Rayly went there. It wasn’t fancy but it was safe.

She hurried to a bar at the edge of the posh zone of town. Officer Gren had assigned her to eavesdrop on a suspected pedophile, Fante Cree, a wealthy businessman with a penchant for eight-year-old girls. Zoe thought of Rayly and how much safer she was now that she had a real home. That guy wouldn’t get to her.

At the bar, Zoe tied her hair up into a bun. It made her seem a little older than her eighteen years. Gren had given her credits to buy a drink and look inconspicuous. She found Cree in a booth with another guy. He resembled a weasel with a tattoo of a wolf on his left forearm and fingers that never held still. She walked by them and slid into the empty booth right behind Cree.

“Look, I can’t find little kids so fast.”

That must be weasel-man, Zoe thought. He had a high-pitched, whiney voice.

“I pay you to find me children. One a week you said.”

Zoe’s skin crawled at the thought. What does the man do with them?

“Sure, but there ain’t so many kids on the streets no more. The government is cleaning up.”

“Not my problem. You need to deliver.”

“Hi, what can I get ya, honey.”

Zoe reined in her frustration at the waitress. “Um, a fizzy, please.”

The waitress nodded. “Waitin’ for somebody?”

Zoe smiled. She wanted this woman to go away so she could hear. “My boyfriend.”

“Okay. Fizzy coming up.” She left.

Zoe tried to hear the two men. The booth seat shifted as Cree moved on his side.

“Look. I can’t generate kids out of thin air.”

Whew, Zoe thought. He’s picking up the conversation from where the waitress came up.

“I’m not paying you another credit until you deliver.”

“You should make them last longer.”

Cree’s voice dropped. “You watch your tone or I’ll do to you what I do to them.”

Zoe’s stomach rolled as the bench shifted again. She turned her face to the wall as Cree stood up and left.

The waitress brought the fizzy. “Here you go. Two credits. Ya gonna run a bill or pay now?”

Zoe dug the credits out of her pants pocket. “Thanks. I’ll pay now.”

The waitress took the credits, including a tip, and went back to the bar. Zoe took a quick swallow of the sweet, non-alcoholic drink and got up. Through the windows at the front, she could see Cree talking to Rayly. Oh no. She raced to the door and out onto the sidewalk. Cree had his hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Hey! Get your hand off that kid.”

Rayly’s face lit up. “Zoe!”

Cree turned around. “Excuse me?”

Zoe slipped around the man and took Rayly’s hand. “We’re going home now.”

Cree shrugged and walked away. Zoe’s heart raced. That was too close.

“I don’t want to go home. I want to hang out with you.”

Zoe squatted down to the girl’s eye level. “Do you trust me?”

Rayly’s blue eyes grew serious. “Yes, Zoe.”

“That was a very bad man. A dangerous man. What did I tell you about talking to strange men when we lived on the street?”

Rayly blinked. “Never go with a strange man. Don’t let a strange man touch me.”

“Right. Those rules still apply.” Zoe swallowed, rewetting her fear-dried mouth. She stood up and took the girl’s hand. “I’ll walk you home. You need to stay there.”

“Yes, Zoe.”

 

The End

995 Words

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

Flash Fiction Friday Story: Invisible Wheel

The Nun by Angelhand via www.DeviantArt.com

The Nun by Angelhand via www.DeviantArt.com

Kostya watched the interplay between the Father Superior and Mother Superior in the Holy Day service. As Fourth Daughter to the Mother Superior, she’d been watching her superiors closely since her first promotion from Acolyte to Sister then Messenger. Today the Daughters and the Sons of both Mother and Father Superior were shooting glares at each other.

Hmm, something going on. She’d been given to the church as a baby, her parents too poor to keep her. In return, the church gave her parents a year’s worth of food. At least her oldest brother would be fed. Now, she was fifth in line for leadership of the women’s church. Her promotion to Fourth Daughter was new and she was still learning the in’s and out’s of the position.

She learned as a child that there were wheels within wheels in the church. Kostya figured out early that she must behave with decorum and study her lessons. A bright girl, she found favor with the teachers and made friends with the smartest girls and boys in class.  On her thirteenth birthday, they offered her an acolyte position. She’d snapped at the chance. What did she know about the outside world? She’d had enough of farming and crops as a child working on the Church farms. Kostya knew she could do better.

As an acolyte she learned the higher maths, studied the church’s history along with the history of the kingdom. It was found that she had excellent management skills and as she grew she was given more and more responsibility for planning larger and larger events. Promotions came almost yearly.

She was sixteen when the First Daughter took her under her wing as a mentor. Kostya served as her secretary, sitting in on high-level meetings of the Superiors and their Sons and Daughters. Once, she was in a council with the King, though he never noticed her. There she learned the King’s court worked much as the Church’s. Something she kept tucked in the back of her mind.

Later that Holy Day she was called before Father and Mother Superiors and the Sons and Daughters.

“Kostya, Fourth Daughter of the Church, rise,” Father Superior called out in his beautiful baritone from the head of the table. He sat on the right while Mother Superior sat on the left. Down each side of the table, the Sons and Daughters faced each other. Kostya rose from her place at the end.

She bowed to the Superiors. “Father, Mother, I respond.” She folded her hands in the long, wide sleeves of her habit waited.

“We have an opportunity, child.” Father Superior intoned.

Kostya noticed frowns on the faces of Third and Second Daughters. The Sons looked bored.

Father Superior nodded to Mother Superior.

“On rare occasions, the King decides to create closer ties to the church.” Mother Superior tucked her hands into her sleeves.

Kostya knew why. The Mother had tremors and tucking her hands out of sight made her less vulnerable to suggestions that she retire due to infirmity. There was nothing wrong with Mother’s brain, Kostya knew. She’d been on the receiving end of dressings down for poor judgment.

Kostya nodded.

Mother Superior continued. “It seems the King has a second son and no suitable princess of the proper age with whom the King wants or needs to make alliances. Therefore, he has indicated we should choose one of you.”

Ah, that was it. No wonder she’d been kept out of recent meetings. “I hear, Mother.”

Mother Superior looked to Father. “We have decided that you will be our offering to the King.”

The Sons all looked thoughtful. Daughters Two and Three shot her glances fit to kill. They wanted that marriage, Kostya realized. Ridiculous. The King’s second son is just three years older than me, ten younger than Daughter Three and fifteen less than Daughter Two. She kept her face serene and bowed. “I serve at the pleasure of our most holy Father and Mother Superiors.”

This was a coup! Freed from the confines of the Church, she would have more power than all of the Sons and Daughters combined. She’d be the personal representative of the Father and Mother to the Court.

“The wedding will be in six months. There are things you must learn before the marriage.” Father Superior tapped the gavel on the table. The meeting adjourned and the men left the room. Mother Superior and the Daughters rose.

“You must learn to dance, suitable clothing must be made, gifts obtained for the King and Queen, the first son and his wife, and for your intended. There is much of statecraft we must teach you, as well.” Mother Superior said from her position at the front of the table. “You will meet with me daily.”

Kostya nodded. “I hear, Mother.”

Second Daughter sneered when Mother Superior left the room. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, girl. You will answer to us, even as the wife of the prince.”

Kostya donned her most humble posture. “You give me great honor, Second Daughter. I thank you for your teachings.”

Second Daughter sniffed and left the room. Third Daughter grabbed her by the elbow, a significant breach of etiquette. “You’re to go to the seamstresses immediately to be measured.” She gave Kostya’s elbow a hidden pinch then hurried away. Kostya knew the Third Daughter was vain and wanted those pretty gowns for herself.

First Daughter remained. “Forgive them, Sister. This opportunity comes along so seldom, it was too much temptation for them.

Kostya had always liked First Daughter. She had a keen mind but a gentle manner. “Thank you, Sister. I rely on your support.

The training was intense; social graces, inter-kingdom policy, memorization of all of the notable families and their social and political status. At the end was the wedding. Father and Mother Superiors performed the rites.

Kostya sipped the wine at the wedding dinner and smiled. She was going to make a wonderful spy.

 

The End

997 Words

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

Friday Flash Fiction Story: Desperate Quiet

Tears, Rain, BlackJack 0919, DeviantArt.com

Tears and Rain by BlackJack 0919 via DeviantArt.com

Eleanor Marks drove home from her job as a mid-level secretary in a mid-level accounting firm. Her ten year old car was a sedan, as plain as she was. Once home she made grilled pork chops, mashed potatoes and green beans for supper. It was the same thing they had every Wednesday night. Her husband, Arnold, arrived home promptly at six and wanted dinner on the table by six-fifteen.

“Good supper, El.” He wiped his mouth on his napkin and went into the living room to watch the seven o’clock game show.

El. Eleanor sighed and began clearing the table. Her family called her El, too. All of the people in college and now at work called her El. Why couldn’t she be Ellie? Ellie was bright, happy, and popular. El was plain, ugly even. She hated her short name. Once, in high school she’d tried to get people to call her Ellie. It was a waste of time. No one noticed the plain girl nor cared enough to follow her request. She stopped trying years ago.

After she did the dishes she came into the living room. Arnold was turning the channel to catch his favorite eight o’clock TV show. She picked up her embroidery hoop and began where she left off last night. Tonight’s program was another shoot ’em up cop show. She wondered why her husband liked them. No one on the series was happy. It was depressing.

At a commercial break she turned to Albert. “I think there’s a leak in the roof. There’s a water spot on the upstairs bathroom ceiling.

“Always something.” Albert got up and went to the kitchen. He came back, beer in hand, just in time for the show to restart.

Eleanor took a deep breath. She’d remind him on Friday and he would take care of it over the weekend. The show droned on and she occupied herself with the tiny stitches. The thread colors pleased her, reds and oranges, violets and blues, greens of grass and moss and new shoots. She loved them all.

At nine o’clock Albert turned off the TV and began his nightly routine of checking that the doors and windows were all locked. Eleanor followed along behind him, turning off lights. She wondered how this routine began. They never even spoke. They just started the house rounds, every night the same.

He readied for bed and vacated the bathroom. After her hand washing and face creaming, she stood in the adjoining bathroom door and looked at her husband, already asleep in their queen sized bed. She rubbed the lotion into her hands.

She’d never dated in high school. No boy wanted to date such a plain girl. So it was in college that she dated. Not the cool popular boys. College was just high school on steroids. But George worked in the student cafeteria when he wasn’t in class studying programming. Certainly not handsome, they had begun talking as he bussed nearby tables. One date, then two, and before she knew it they were going together. He graduated the year before her and at their quiet graduation ceremony, just the two of them at the local pizza place, he proposed.

Eleanor wondered at her immediate acceptance. Did she think there were no other men out there who would be interested in her? She drew a deep breath, a lump forming in her throat. That must have been it. She was so pleased to be asked that she just took the first offer. Finished rubbing in the hand lotion she went back into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She studied her face in the mirror. There was nothing to see. Eyes were gray, not blue, her hair was graying, and she didn’t have the energy to even consider dying it. What was the point? It was a mousey brown to start with, hardly worth trying to keep. Wrinkles were forming at the corners of her eyes and mouth, as were jowls at her jaw line. The lump in her throat grew and she sat down on the toilet lid.

How did she get here to a boring marriage in a boring life in a boring house? Perhaps children would have made the difference but Albert wasn’t able.  She considered how children might have changed their lives. PTA meetings, taking the children to sporting events and talking with the other parents as the kids played on the fields or courts. They might have become more social. Instead they became insulated. Neither of them made friends at work so there were no get-togethers for drinks or dinner after work. It was just the two of them, moving silently though a quiet house every evening and weekend.

Tears flowed down her face and she unrolled three squares of toilet paper to wipe her eyes. She was only forty-five. She was smart. She liked good food and music and plays. Eleanor felt trapped by a life she’d built one small decision at a time. Crying herself out, she blew her nose and rewashed her face. In the mirror she could see that her eyes were red and puffy. It didn’t matter. Albert was sound asleep. He’d never know that she had been crying.

She turned out the light and crawled into bed. Eleanor stared at the ceiling. He never knew that she cried every night.

 

 

The End

897 Words

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

Flash Fiction Friday Post: Extra Baggage

Farmer's Market by Alaniz25 via DeviantArt.com

Farmer’s Market by Alaniz25 via DeviantArt.com

Zoe Ohale squatted in the shade, her back against the brick wall of the pawn shop. In front of her was the market in the parking lot on Antares Road between the pawn shop and discount clothing store. She could feel the sweat running down her temple but it was too much bother to wipe it away.

She was here because there was food here, especially if she was quick. It had been four years since her mother had died and had to learn to live on the streets. Now sixteen, Zoe knew all too well what it was like to be hungry. Today she hoped a distracted stall-keeper would be her opportunity to pick up a loaf of bread or a piece of fruit. Both, if she had any luck at all.

Standing up, Zoe wandered along the stall fronts, casually looking over the goods in each stall. Her goal was the baker, halfway down the row. There was always a big crowd at his counter and the odds of him being distracted were high. She edged up to the counter behind a large bodied woman with a baby on her hip. With the baker at the other end of the counter and using the woman and baby as a shield, Zoe slipped her hand between the plastic tent wall and the counter to a table with a wicker basket of rolls. She’d slipped two out and into her pockets before the baker came to help the woman with the baby. It was easy to fade back and move on before the baker got to her.

Across from the baker, a woman had her produce stacked in bins. Zoe was reaching for a tomato when a girl, not much younger than her, came screaming past the stand, four teen boys in pursuit. She crashed into Zoe, nearly knocking her off her feet. The boys grabbed the girl and began shoving her between them.

Zoe yelled as she rubbed her arm where the girl had hit her. “Stop that.”

“Mind your own business,” the biggest boy said as he held the girl by the arm. “She ratted on us. Now she has to pay.”

The other shoppers melted away. “Not four on one.” Zoe stepped toward the group. “She’s half your size.”

“I didn’t rat on them.” The girl’s face was dirt streaked. Her brown hair was a tangled mess and her clothing hardly more than rags. “The owner caught them breaking into his store and they saw me hiding in the alley. So they blame me.” She tried to jerk her arm out of the biggest boy’s hand. “Not my fault they were noisy.”

Zoe stared at the biggest boy, apparently the leader. “That true?”

“She must have ratted. Why else was the owner there after hours?” The other boys were nodding. A couple reached out and smacked the girl in the back and the arms.

“Quit that,” Zoe took another step forward. “Ever hear of vid?” She asked the leader and pointed at the roof of the discount store across the parking lot. “Look up at the corner.”

All four boys turned to look. “Most places have vid installed. That’s how the owner knew. He must live near the store.”

The leader scowled and shook the girl again. His cohorts stared at him. “Maybe. But she ran. Why’d she run if she didn’t snitch?”

“Because four of you were chasing her.” Zoe rolled her eyes. “Turn her loose.”

The leader glared at Zoe then at the girl. He shoved her away from him. “Don’t hang in our turf again or you’ll get what’s comin’ to ya.” He motioned to the other boys and they hurried off.

“Oh, thank you.” The girl grabbed Zoe’s hand and shook it. “You saved my life. I’m Lindy.”

“I’m Zoe.” She shook Lindy’s hand. “No problem. Take care.” Zoe turned to leave. She wanted to try and snag some more food.

Lindy looked around. “Uh, you don’t mind if I hang with you for a minute, do you? In case those guys are waiting around the corner?”

Zoe shrugged. “Just stay out of my way.”

The crowd in front of the vegetables had returned. Zoe edged between an elderly woman with a string bag and big guy that looked like a workman on his lunch break. She snagged an apple and a tomato and slipped out of the crowd. Lindy caught up to her as Zoe walked along the stall fronts.

“That was pretty slick. I’m always too scared to try that.”

Zoe eyed the girl. It was obvious that Lindy wasn’t doing well. “How come you’re on the street?”

“Parents overdosed a year ago. I wasn’t eligible for foster care or the orphanage,” she said in a low voice. “They kicked me out of our apartment with whatever I could shove into my backpack.” Her voice quavered.

“Same here.” Zoe was still angry about it. “You have a gang?”

“No,” Lindy shook her head. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“That’s how to survive. Get in with a group.”

“Are you in a group?”

“Yeah. It’s not much but we look out for each other.”

Lindy sighed.

Zoe knew what was going through the girl’s head. Could she join the group? Lindy didn’t bring much to the table. She couldn’t shoplift, it looked as though she didn’t scavenge, and was skin and bone. She did run fast, though. That was something. “Look. You can come hang with my group. See if you fit in.”

A wide smile brightened Lindy’s face. “Thank you,” she grabbed Zoe’s hand and shook it until Zoe had to forcibly remove it.

“You’re welcome.” She already regretted making the offer. “It’s not up to me, but hang around the edges. Don’t be a problem. They’ll probably let you stay.”

Lindy danced up and down. “Great, thank you.”

Zoe introduced Lindy to the gang. She stayed a year, learned how to survive and left for another group where her boyfriend belonged.

 

 

The End

1000 Words

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

 

Merry-Go-Round Blog Tour: What have I learned from other story-telling genres?

Fair Ride

Fair Ride

I’m an eclectic writer. While I love SciFi and write in that genre often, I don’t limit myself to just that form. What that means is, I need to be consciously aware of the tropes, the expectations, if you will, of every genre I write in.

A good example is my latest book, Mystery at the Fair. I’ve been reading mysteries and thrillers since I was a teen, right along with my SciFi and Fantasy. But I was never conscious of what it was about those stories that made them a mystery, rather than a SciFi or a Fantasy.

Of course, there’s the mystery. That much is obvious. But what makes it a mystery? Readers expect one thing from a mystery and something else from a SciFi. In my case I’ve written a cozy mystery, so the person doing the sleuthing is not a police officer or detective. I had to work to tease those expectations from my memory. There needs to be danger for my main character, she needs to have a self-interest in finding out who committed the murder. The mystery has to hold all the way through the book and there has to be a twist. The murderer cannot be the first person the reader expects, or even the second or third. Who are the other suspects? Why are they suspects, what are they hiding?

I had a lot of help from my editor. He kept making me go back and ramp up the tension, the mystery, and make sure everything tied together at the end.

So my major take-away from this last book is to be more aware of the reader’s expectations for the genre I’m writing.

Mystery at the Fair released July 15th! I’m pretty excited about it. You can buy it and my other books at: Apple, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, or Smashwords today! You can also see all of my books on www.ConniesRandomThoughts.com, Books tab. 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, travelling 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. If you want to get to know the nearly twenty other writers check out the rest of the tour at http://merrygoroundtour.blogspot.com!  Up next: Jean Schara

Friday Flash Fiction Post: Images of a Black Flame

Images of a Black Flame

I dredged up this prompt from long ago and for some reason, it spoke to me now. I have written a chapter of what seems like a longer work. Do you like it? Do you want to read more? Let me know. If there’s no interest, I’ll let the story drop, never to be seen again.

Chapter 1

Anrak woke with a gasp and sat straight up in her bed. She pulled her russet hair, come loose in her sleep, back from her face and flipped her braid to her back. Deep calming breaths, just breathe. She looked around her tiny room, the embers of the fire close to gone, and tried to reorient herself while her heart beat slowed. The dream had seemed so real.

In the morning, she rose from her pallet and began the day’s work. Breakfast for Master Eddan and herself was first before they began the task of taking down the dried herbs and putting them into jars and boxes.

Eddan came into the main room as Anrak scooped oatmeal into bowls. “I put dried cherries in it this morning.”

Eddan sat at the table and nodded. “I’m pleased.” He eyed her, his face, wrinkled with time, showed concern. “I heard you call out last night. The dream again?”

Anrak swallowed. “Yes.” She sighed. “I wish I knew what it means.”

“Just the image of a black flame? Was it on a table, an altar, in a building, the woods?”

The apprentice rubbed an eye. “There might have been a candle, or that’s just wishful thinking on my part. I don’t understand why it terrifies me.” She scooped oatmeal into her bowl and sat across the table from her master. “It’s as though the flame is alive, can see me.” She stirred the mush around the bowl. “Or that there’s someone near, in the same space with the flame.” Anrak shook her head. “It makes no sense.” She ate a spoonful of the oatmeal.

Eddan stroked his beard, gone white in the twelve years she’d been his apprentice. “I’ve been thinking about your flame. I’ve read through all of my books looking for a reference. It might be time to go to the Mage Council to collaborate.”

“Is that wise?”

Eddan snorted. “They’ll have to get over themselves. They know I was right, it just galls them that I saw the dragon coming before the rest of them did.” He scooped up a spoonful and ate it.

“Good thing you did. Otherwise the land would have been seared from one end to the other. The King was happy.”

“Yes, but I’m concerned that you keep seeing this image and are fearful of it. It could be a portent. That’s why I took you as an apprentice. Your dreams are strong and even as an untrained child, could foresee events. We’ll go today. After breakfast, pack us some travel food, prepare our bags. We’ll go to the council and get some help.”

#

After four days walk, Eddan and Anrak reached the castle where many of their brother and sister mages lived and studied. It was located in the capital city, making it easy for the King to summon them should he need counsel or assistance. They were ushered to the rooms of the head of the council.

“Gar’dyne!” Eddan strode across the carpets strewn across the stone floor like pools of color. “So good to see you.” The two men clasped each other’s arms and hugged in greeting.

“It’s been too long, Eddan.” The mage held his friend at arm’s length and studied his appearance. “You’ve gotten grayer.”

“And you’ve gotten thinner. Doesn’t your apprentice feed you?” Eddan laughed.

“He does, but I don’t always remember to eat what he brings me.” He looked past Eddan. “And this is Anrak?” Gar’dyne walked to her and gave her a gentle embrace. “You have grown into a fine young woman.” He studied her face. “But you have dark circles under your eyes. Are you well?”

She smiled at the kind old man. “I am well.” Anrak looked to her master.

Eddan spoke up. “She is dreaming. We want the council to help us.”

“Come, sit.” He led them to a table and chairs. “Tell me everything.”

#

After the tale, Gar’dyne called for tea, bread and cheese. “It seems to me, this black flame is a symbol, a warning perhaps.”

While they ate, Eddan said, “That’s my thought also. The library here is large, there may be some reference to a black flame and one or more of the council may have knowledge of this image.”

“We’ll meet after supper in the council chamber and tell the rest of the mages. He stood up. “I’ll have Yawo escort you to your chambers. Rest, have a quiet supper and meet us after.”

Eddan shook Gar’dyne’s hand. “Thank you. I feel this is a threat. We should be prepared.”

#

At the meeting of the mages, they hashed over Anrak’s dream. By the time they finished, she was exhausted.

“I don’t know,” Tankal, a middle-aged man whose main talent as a mage was creating flame, whined. “None of us seem to know what this image she dreams of is about.”

“Belsing,” Gar’dyne called out. “You’re the one with the best knowledge of the library yet you’ve said nothing.”

Anrak turned to look at Belsing. At least ninety, he looked as fragile as the ancient manuscripts he studied.

“There might be something, a prophesy, very old. Something about a war with black flames. I’d have to research it.” He scratched his liver-spotted bald head. “I would suggest a dream reader stay with Anrak tonight and view the dream with her.”

“Excellent idea, Belsing.” Gar’dyne turned to a woman that was near his age. “Releh, you’re the best dream follower we have. Would you help us tonight?”

Relah looked at Anrak. “If the young woman gives me permission, I’d be happy to help.”

Anrak nodded. “I would appreciate that service. Thank you.”

“Then it is done.” Gar’dyne clapped his hands. “We’ll reconvene in at mid-morning to discuss what has happened over the night.”

 

End of Chapter 1

Flash Fiction Friday Story: Eternal Water

Water, Fall, Waterfall, Randy Cockrell

Water Fall by Randy Cockrell

It had been a hot and muggy July and Mom and Dad had taken us to the shore for the first week of August. Not just any shore, we were in Maine and the water was so cold you could only go into the ocean to your knees before you turned blue as the sky and had to come back out.

I was thirteen and feeling too old to play with the little kids but not old enough to just swim out like my teen-aged cousins. So there I was; wading in to my knees until my toes went numb then back out to the beach to sit on my blanket and dig those frozen toes into the hot sand.

After two days of that, Dad asked if we wanted to go for a hike. There was a nearby national park we could drive to and a waterfall to visit with a pool at the bottom, perfect for swimming. My older brother wanted to stay at the beach with our male cousins. The female cousins wanted to stay at the beach, too. I’d seen them flirting with some boys their age. It seemed they were much more interested in that than a change of view.

So Dad and I climbed into the car with our hiking boots, swim suits on underneath the hiking clothes, and drove to the woods. After we parked, we stopped to put on socks and boots. Even in the dirt lot I could feel myself relaxing. The ocean was noisy with the wind and the surf crashing and the screaming of little kids as the waves washed over tiny feet for the first time. The woods were quiet with bird song, the sound of crickets and frogs, and the soft sigh of the wind in the tree tops.

We started off, Dad carrying a day-pack full of our lunch and water bottles. The trail followed a stream. “Is this the stream with the waterfall?”

“Yep. It’s about two miles away.” He adjusted the pack on his shoulders. “I’m hoping no one else is at the pool and waterfall since it’s a weekday. We’ll have to see.”

I hoped so too. A whole pool and waterfall to ourselves! Along the way we stopped to look at the moss growing between the roots of massive oaks, red flowers my dad called Cardinal flowers, and fascinating yet horrifying, a snake that was eating a toad, only half-way into the snake’s mouth. We stopped to watch the drama going on just off of the trail.

“Can’t we do something?” I felt a little queasy.

“Would you like it if someone came along and took your dinner out of your mouth?”

He had a point but still. We left before the poor toad was totally eaten.

We rounded a bend in the trail and I could see what we’d heard for the last quarter mile, the waterfall. “Oh!” I ran to the edge of the pool. The falls were at least three times taller than my dad. A young couple was just packing up their things to leave.

“Pretty awesome, huh?” The young man picked up his pack and helped a young woman to her feet.

“It is.” I couldn’t take my eyes off of the wide ribbon of water falling over the lip of stone.

“Have fun.” The young woman waved as they left.

Dad and I kicked off boots, stripped off hiking clothes and dove in. The water was cold but nothing like the ocean. I came up for air, gasping and laughing. Dad splashed water at me.

“Race you to the falls!”

We raced across the pool, half the length of a swimming pool and stopped just outside the range of the waterfall. “Beat ya!” he laughed.

I eased onto my back and floated. The roar of the water falling could be heard through the water in the pool as I stared up into a clear blue sky framed by maple, oak and white pine trees. Dad climbed out onto the bank, spread out two towels then lay down and closed his eyes.

I continued to float, listening to the falling water, loud near the falls, mellower as I drifted away. A gray squirrel darted along the branches of an oak, stopping to rip a leaf from the tree and throw it at the pool, chattering in fury at my intrusion. It occurred to me that I liked the forest much more than the sea shore. I could hear my heart beat, slow and steady. The flow of the water across my skin was soothing, not the abrasive battering that the ocean gave. It seemed as though all of time trickled to a stop and it was restful as the sun dappled the leaves overhead.

Too soon Dad called to me. “Time to eat, Emma.”

It took a force of will for me to pull myself up and swim the few strokes to the shore where Dad had laid out lunch. There were two sandwiches, a couple of apples, two bags of potato chips. I sat cross-legged on my towel and wiped my hands on it.

“Having fun?”

“Yes.” I picked up a sandwich and unwrapped it, taking a big bite. My stomach was growling. He did the same. We watched the water ripple out from the falls, sun sparkling off of the tiny waves. “I like it here. What’s it called?”

“Eternal Falls.”

It was fitting. “I think I’m going to call it Eternal Water.”

The End

918 Words

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

Flash Fiction Friday Story: After the Falling Stones

Camp, Fire, Randy Cockrell

Camp Fire by Randy Cockrell

Erig inched closer to the campfire.

“Get back.” Ma poked at him with the stick she used to stir the fire. “You don’t take mor’n yurs.”

He scrambled back but he was cold, so after a moment he inched back in. “Tell a story, Ma. Bout the old days.”

She eyed him, graying eyebrow raised.

Erig knew she saw what he was doing but forms were satisfied, so she let him stay.

“Yeah, Ma.” Erig’s sister, Kony, pushed her brushy hair out of her dirty face. “Tell us a story.”

Ma looked at her current mate, Harld.

“Go ahead.” He scratched the long scratch on his rib cage. Erig was with him when another man tried to steal the whitetail deer they’d just brought down. Harld had squared off against the man and after the scratch, hit the man with a rock and brought him down, then smashed his head to mush. Erig felt bad about the man’s family but he shouldn’t have tried to steal their food.

“Tell us about the falling rocks, Ma.” That was Erig’s favorite story.

The woman nodded. “Kay.” She poked the fire again and added another stick. “It was back in my mother’s, mother’s, mother’s day. The world was different then. People lived in big buildings and never went hungry.”

That was Erig’s favorite part. What kind of world had it been where people weren’t hungry all of the time?

“How big were the buildings?” Kony sat forward. The buildings were her favorite part. She hated being wet and cold.

“You’ve seen the ruins.” Ma spit in the fire. “Taller’n trees, they were. Taller’n ten trees, some of ’em. And people rode around in machines. And machines carried them up and down the tall buildings. People went to the moon and back, and to Mars.”

“Tell us about the clothes, Ma.” Erig was fascinated with the clothes part of the story.

“No one wore leathers. Everyone wore clothes that came from oil or chem – I –kals.”

“How’d they do that, Ma?”

She sniffed. “I think my Ma made that up. I don’t know no way to make clothes from oil. And who knows what them chem – I – kals were.” She waved her hand, shoo’ing away their questions. “Anyway. One day, in my great, great, Ma’s time, huge stones fell from the sky. They smashed the big buildings. They splashed into the lakes and oceans making the water boil. The rocks made big holes in the ground and animals and people were killed from the shock of it all. Dust rose in the air,” she raised her arms high above her head. “Water, too, that rose up from the oceans. The sky went black and the sun was hid for years.”

Erig nodded. “The cold time.”

“Yep, the cold time. The snow came and seemed like it would never leave. Anyone left alive,” she stopped, interrupted.

“Like the great, great!” Kony broke in, excited.

“Yep, like the great, great, anyone left alive didn’t know what to do or how to hunt. They’d never had to do it. But even if they did, the animals had been kilt, too.”

“How did she live?” Erig shuddered. He knew the answer.

“The way anyone lives.” She looked at her two living children, then her mate. “You eat what there is to eat and fight when you have to fight. Your great, great, was a hard woman, my ma told me. She ate the dead when she had to. She was twenty-three when the stones fell, never had wanted for a thing before that. She was lucky, she told my Ma and my great Ma. She had been outside of the city on a road trip. She said she cursed the day.”

“I’m named for her, ain’t I, Ma?” Kony sat up and tossed her hair back from her shoulders.

“You are. A girl needs to be tough. Mabey her name will bring you her toughness.”

“You’re lucky,” Harld spoke for the first time. “Most kids don’t know nothin’ bout the falling stones, or about their old family. Your Ma is tough too. Lookit her! Thirty-two winters she numbers and still strong.”

Erig studied his Ma. Her black hair was stringy and mostly white. Her arms were thin to the bone but stringy with muscle. Wrinkles covered her face and he knew that in the mornings, she stifled the groans that came when she rose from her pallet in the tent.

“What will we do now?” Erig was curious. “What about the rumors, people getting together and living together, planting food.”

Harld snorted. “What’s it been, seventy, eighty, winters since the stones fell? If gettin’ together in towns worked, I’d’a thought it would’a happened before now.” He picked up a flat stone and began to whet a piece of steel he’d found. He needed a new knife. “It’ll never work. It’s fine for family groups, like me and my uncles and brothers to band together to hunt and to overwinter, but strangers!” He spit into the fire.

His Ma poked the fire again and Kony wrapped her skinny arms around her knees. They all stared into the small fire. Erig wondered what it would be like to grow plants that didn’t run off or fight back. To have lots of food stored for the winter. To not kill other people for a deer.

Ma stood up. “I’m goin’ta bed.”

He watched as she staggered a bit while walking to the tent. This next winter was going to be hard on her. Erig sighed. He’d have to do more for his Ma. It was a tough life after the falling stones.

The End

941 Words

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