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Merry-Go-Round Blog Tour for February: What Would Be My Dream Writing Retreat?

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New York City, Dusk, Lights

The big city by Randy Cockrell

A dream writing retreat? I don’t know. I’m new to writing, as many of you know from reading these posts. I started writing in late 2011. I have a nice set-up in the third bedroom of our house with a main computer, a small TV as a monitor, and a glass-topped desk. But I have been known to hand-write stories in the back seat of our car when we’re on a road trip, in the local coffee shop and even in a tiny notebook in the waiting area of the local tire shop when my car’s tires were being changed out.

But where would I love to be when writing? I would say a busy city street. It could be a café in Paris, a bus stop in New York City, the park in San Francisco. Any of those places would let me see life passing by in front of me. Isn’t that what writing is about? It’s a microcosm of what we see every day but turned, twisted, even. It’s a chance for us to say, What if? What about? How would that turn out?

I love living in the country but with so much space between people it’s harder to see the interactions. In the city though, people rub up against each other like sandpaper. The veneer is rubbed off fast and what’s underneath is the real story. So yeah, I’d say the city, where life is compressed and the action is right at the surface.
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 Story: The Casino

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River, Casino, Laughlin

River View of Casino Laughlin Nevada by Randy Cockrell

The ringing bells and chimes of the slot machines nearly drowned out the rock music playing in the background. Rosa began to panic. The rent was due and if she didn’t pay it this month she and her kids, Tito and Maria, would be out on the streets. She punched the play button as if it were the enemy. A little old white lady had sat beside her this morning. Right next to her, the woman’s diamond rings flashed in the artificial light of the slot machine floor.

Her machine’s bells rang and rang. The woman’s tightly coiffed blue curls shone in the flashing lights. “Oh my, God! Oh my, God! I never win at these things,” she went on and on. And what did she need the money for anyway, all those diamonds and fancy clothes? Rosa watched the pictures on her machine spin around and stop with a match that repaid her fifteen credits. Bah, what good was fifteen credits? The woman this morning won $10,000! She punched the play button again, the electronic dials spun.

And where was her no good husband? Prison for selling a little pot. Bah, the police and the courts knew nothing. What else was a poor person to do to escape life’s miseries but smoke a little weed in the evening to relax? The counter deducted another 40 credits from her total. She didn’t have much left. She whispered a little prayer. “Mother Mary, please help me,” and punched the play button again.

Her abuela had told her last month that she wasn’t going to help her with money any longer. Grandmother promised to take in the kids but not her. If Rosa was going to waste her little bit of money on the gambling, abuela was done with her. What kind of mother would that make her, dropping her own babies off on her grandmother? “Please, Mother Mary. I don’t need ten thousand; five thousand will cover the late rent.” She pushed the button again, part of her prayer.

She was distracted by a slot machine’s winning alarm going off three machines away. A young man was fist pumping and jumping up and down. Gold chains on neck and wrist and a diamond pinkie ring flashed in the lights. She noticed her machine had deducted another forty credits. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling, condemning Mother Mary. “Again? He obviously doesn’t need the money. Please!”

There were a hundred and twenty credits left, three more plays. She won twenty credits, then fifteen. “Thank you, Mother Mary.” Rosa hit the play button again. “Just three thousand dollars, Mother Mary. Please?” she prayed as the pictures spun. She won fifty credits. This was good. Things were going her way now. Rosa had to use the bathroom but she’d been on this machine all afternoon. If she left someone else would get the jackpot she’d been working for all day. There was no way she was leaving in the middle of a winning streak. Her silent prayers continued at each press of PLAY.

A loss came up, forty credits deducted. “I’m on a winning streak,” she told herself as she punched the button again. Another forty credits disappeared.

“Come on,” she pleaded with the machine. “Give me a jackpot.” She played again, and again, and again, the credits steadily dwindling.

She ordered tequila when the drinks waitress came around despite the pressure in her bladder. The credits disappeared. She dropped a single dollar on the waitress’s tray when she brought Rosa’s tequila. A little good karma, she thought as the waitress moved on and she downed the drink in a gulp. See, Mother Mary? I’m a good person. A little help here? Rosa pushed the button again, forty more credits gone. Only two plays left. The children were coming home from school and she needed to be there. “Come on,” she urged the machine. The pictures spun, there was no match.

Her fist pounded the machine. A nearby casino security guard cautioned her about abusing the machine. Rosa’s bladder complained again. She crossed her legs and apologized to the guard. “Jesus, please, help me.” Once more she pushed the button, aware of the guard watching her. Her eyes were intent on the spinning pictures. “A match, please, Jesus. I’ll come to church and offer a candle every morning.”

She didn’t make the spinning stop. Let them roll until Jesus stopped them. The pictures fell into place, there was no match. Rosa screamed her frustration and pounded on the face of the machine, there were no credits left. The security guard hurried over. “Miss, you’ll have to leave now.”

Tears ran down her face as the nearby players turned to see what the commotion was about. “I can’t leave now. I can get credit!” The guard murmured into his shoulder radio as she beat on the control face of the slot machine. “I need to win. My rent is due.”

The back-up officer arrived. They each took hold of one of her arms and began to drag her away. “Nooooo,” she yelled as she tried to dig her flip-flops into the multicolored carpeting. Her bladder gave up and urine gushed onto the floor. The guard’s faces showed their disgust. Rosa stopped yelling and blushed scarlet, her shorts and legs wet. She submitted meekly as one of the guards used his radio to call for clean-up in area twenty-three.

They took her to an office where they made her sit on a plastic trash bag in a standard office visitor chair. Her picture was taken despite her disheveled hair and running mascara and she was given an official letter that told her she was banned from the casino for life. On the sidewalk outside the casino she stood and stared at the entrance. It was so beautiful, all light and glitter, lovely people laughing as they freely walked through the welcoming doorway. It was all gone. All of it.

 

 

The End

994 Words

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

Flash Fiction Friday: Chapter from The Downtrodden

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Book, The Downtrodden, Brown Rain Series, Connie Cockrell

Front Cover for The Downtrodden

I thought, for something different, I’d share a partial chapter from The Downtrodden, the second book of the Brown Rain series. Links to purchase are at the end.

MOVING ON

As for food, the damaged gas station was a bust. They spent the first night in a house, cheering when they found a mylar packet of rice dinner in a cupboard, untouched by mice. The next day they began their hunt for food. On Main Street they found a hiking store where they acquired two sleeping bags in the back room, still in plastic-wrapped boxes. Kyra actually whooped.

The other bags in the store were full of mouse nests. They also managed to replace their knives which had been stolen by the Children of God. Kyra was happy about that. Since they’d escaped she’d been afraid of running into more wild dogs or even wolves. Memories of the fight with the last feral dogs they’d run into haunted her dreams. She wanted a knife for close fighting.

The shop didn’t have any bows or arrows. She felt that lack most of all. A knife was good but better to have some distance between her and any enemy. It was her best weapon and she felt naked without it. The store also had two cases of dehydrated food, one of chili and one of chicken stew. The mice had demolished the chicken but there were several packets of chili that were still in good shape. Those went into the packs. The grocery store in the center of town had been thoroughly looted. “Looks like the Children did get over here,” Kyra said as they left the empty store.

“Maybe there’s one on the outskirts,” Alyssa said as she bent over the sidewalk, clearing a way. They stopped by any store that looked as though it would have gear or supplies, but it was the same as the grocery. By noon they were resting in the park in the center of Fern Springs where the town had erected a pavilion, similar to the one at their school over their spring. Kyra had found packets of honey at the hiking store and shared them out, two for her and two for Alyssa.

“I wonder what happened to the bees.” Kyra had her back to a pavilion support as she squeezed crystallized honey into her mouth.

Alyssa licked her fingers. “They may be all gone. The brown rain covered everything. Without flowers the hives, even the biggest ones, wouldn’t have been able to survive more than a year or two. The rain lasted four years.”

Kyra gazed at the little park. She tried to imagine what it looked like all green grass and leafy trees, the little stream from the spring meandering through the park, flowers growing on its banks. It wasn’t possible. She was so used to seeing everything covered with the gray-brown oily sludge from a toxic rain that ended over a decade ago that she couldn’t imagine anything else. The color of the path that Alyssa had healed so they could get to this pavilion was a startling green against the depressing oily sludge. “How big do you think this park is?”

Alyssa looked around. “A quarter acre, maybe.” She turned to Kyra. “Why?”

“Just thinking how nice this park would be if it was green, the way it should be. Maybe animals could come and eat the grass, drink the clean water.” She waved her hand. “Never mind, it’s a silly thought.”

“No it’s not. This is exactly what I came out here to do.” She stood up. “You can watch from here.” Alyssa danced down the spongy wooden steps and began to work. She started close to the pavilion, around and around in bigger and bigger squares. Grass mostly, but there were a few oak and maple trees in the park that she healed too. She stopped at the sidewalks that surrounded the park and washed her hands in the stream as it dropped into a culvert and flowed out of the park.

“There,” she said, her face full of smiles as she reached the pavilion. “An oasis in a toxic desert.”

Kyra handed her a bottle of water. “I like it. Do you think your paths and these patches will help?”

“I know they will.” She wiped her mouth and handed the bottle back to Kyra. “The toxins are breaking down, I can feel it.”

Kyra’s face lit up. “They are?”

“Yeah, but it’s going to be a long time yet. In the meantime, my little paths are a break. A spot for wildlife to get a toe-hold. Bugs, then birds, then bigger prey and predators.” She looked thoughtful. “To be honest I was completely surprised that dogs had survived. They must be finding something to eat. Maybe something we can eat too. ”

Kyra refilled the bottle. “If it’s going to be a long time we’d better get going. You up for more paths? I want to check more stores and if that fails, houses.”

“Sure.” Alyssa turned and walked to Main Street and made a path to the store side of the street.

That night they stayed in a house near the edge of town. As expected, pickings had been slim in the stores but for some reason the Children had left most houses alone. The two raided closets for suitable hiking clothes, dry goods, or anything else they thought would be useful. Just outside of town they explored a farm house with a large but mouse-eaten pantry. Fortunately a bag of beans was found and cooked, mashed into a paste and dried into patties as road food. They had enough to eat for nine days so they moved on.

End of Chapter Section

You can buy The Downtrodden and my other books at: Apple, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, or Smashwords today!

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

Flash Fiction Friday Story: Explorer Evan and the Bloody Wall

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Knight-by-jorsch-d65hbwt, Knight

Knight by Jorsch via www.DeviantArt.com

Evan’s horse pranced in front of his hundred soldiers. He reined the nervous horse into line. On the hillside opposite his tiny force, at least five companies of enemy soldiers faced him across the valley. His goal, the Wall of Truth, was on the other side of the hill where his enemy massed. What was left of his legion had fought their way across mountain, desert and multiple armies to the goal just beyond this battle. They had to win through.

“Sir Evan.” Jason, his second-in-command brought his racing steed to a hard stop, the horse rearing, battle-shod hooves cleaving the air. “The enemy has left a gap, Sir. It’s to the left, half a mile distant. The man used a rag, the remains of the once bright tunic that covered his armor, to wipe his face of the sweat brought on by the noon-day sun. “It is within your grasp. We need only flank these barbarians and the prize is ours.”

Evan reined his horse in again. It was his last battle steed, brought all the way from his own grass-covered estates. It had survived all this time but Evan was ready to walk the whole way home if he could only reach the bloody wall. That’s what he’d begun to call it, to himself only, after the first six months of the trek. His original reason for seeking the Wall of Truth was long burned to ashes in his mouth. Now it was just the quest. It mattered not that he had anything left after reaching the damn thing.

He nodded to his second. Steadfast, honest, loyal, the man didn’t deserve a leader such as Evan. “Well done, Sir Boyne.” The noise of the opposing force, yelling insults, banging spear and sword against their shields, made it difficult to speak. “We’ll send ten of our men to feint to the right, ahead of the rest of us. We’ll ride for your gap. With luck the barbarians will be confused.”

Sir Boyne smashed his mailed fist against his chest-plate. “You will win through, Sir.”

Evan slapped his visor down with a creak, shutting out the bright, sunny day. On the run for the last three years, he’d lost his yeoman and many supplies. No matter. It was now or never. Sir Boyne raised his javelin, the ribbons long tattered. Their lone horn sounded. The javelin was lowered, pointing forward. Every tenth man raced forward, three of them, archers, shot arrows across the flower-studded valley.

It took a moment but when the enemy realized the attack was on they charged down the hill. Three companies of horsemen, horse-hair tails streaming from their helmets, screamed their defiance.

When the ten reached the bottom of their hill, another twenty raced after them, then another thirty. In the confusion, Evan and his manservant slipped away to the left, heading for the gap Sir Boyne had indicated.

The horses plowed through the stinking mud. Evan raised his visor to get at least a breath of air. Carried on the wind the sound of the battle drifted over them. It seemed so far away. The two men located the passage between the hills and found themselves behind enemy lines. It was a mile ride to the wall.

The wall dwarfed anything Evan had ever seen. It rose above him the height of seven men and in both directions as far as the eye could see. Crenellated at the top, defensive towers were placed every hundred feet. The two men hesitated, afraid of the towers, but no arrows flew.  At the wall rust red stains ran from between the courses of rough-hewn blocks. It was the sight of a finger bone that made Evan understand that the walls were slaked with the blood of the builders.

“Sir,” his manservant whispered. “It’s time. Ask the question. There may still be time to save the others.”

Evan knew better. The remains of his once mighty army were being slaughtered as they sat there. For what? So that his king might know the answer to a question that no one cared about any longer?

He pulled his gauntlet off of his right hand and laid it against the stone of the wall. “Great wall,” he chanted. “Will King Geoffrey win against our enemies from Detralia?”

Evan’s mind burst with light. Sound and fury washed over him. When he woke, he was on the ground, his manservant trying desperately to pull him to his feet. “We must go, my lord. The battle is coming.”

Evan groaned. His head felt as though it was split in half. He pulled himself onto the horse and his manservant led them west, Evan hardly aware of their escape.

It took two years to sneak back through the countries they’d challenged as they had come through. He arrived at the palace alone, his manservant dead six months earlier of dysentery. A party was in progress. Ladies swirled in bright colored dresses as knights and lords escorted them around the dance floor. The gathering fell silent as he marched, head high, armor rusted and squeaking across the hall to the king’s dias.

He knelt in front of the king’s table. The king held a sop of gravy-covered bread, dripping, between his fingers.

“Sir Evan.” The king said, finally recognizing the man.

“Sire. I have the truth from the bloody wall.”

The hall was silent. “Tell me, good knight.”

Evan stood. Slowly he pulled his sword, his only property still polished bright. “The wall told me,” he took two steps forward. Before the courtiers could respond, he ran the king through. “You were worthless.”

The crowd gasped. Soldiers rushed to contain Sir Evan. Too late. The king was dead. Later Evan was released from the tower. He was the King’s heir after all. The king sent him on a fool’s errand expecting him to be killed. Evan ruled forty years, the land prospered. He knew, after all, the cost of a life.

 

The End

968 Words

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

Flash Fiction Friday Story: Escape

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Fractals, Plasma,

SubAtomic Plasma by AsaLegault via www.deviantart.com

Captain Jan A’Mungo’s forehead glistened with sweat as her brown eyes shifted over the displays on her pilot console.

“Jan, your ‘fro is drooping. You’re not worried are you?”

“That’s ‘Captain’ to you while we’re on the bridge, Pete. Husband or not I’ll write you up.”

“Hey!” Jack Ender, weapons master and general illicit cargo mover intervened. “The damn Patrol is on our butts. Can we save the marital squabbles for another time?”

The comm system crackled with static then broadcast its message. “Cargo ship Epona. This is Captain Bartholomew Ho of the Galactic Patrol ship GUS Orion. We have you on our scanners. Surrender now and your sentence will be reduced to life in the Gehenna penal colony.”

Jan punched console icons and made sure she was on the opposite side of Nodens 5, ducking the cargo ship into the planet’s cloud cover.

From his seat at weapons, Jack Ender craned his head around to stare at his Captain. “Uhh, Captain, we’re in the atmo.”

“I know,” she snapped. “Would you prefer to be in the Orion’s tractor beams?”

“Jan, we have a hold full of weapons for the rebellion. Why are we on the planet?” Her husband, Pete Ostrander, had six screens of data showing both atmospheric conditions of Nodens 5 and the echos of the Orion’s scanner signals.

“Are you piloting this boat or am I?” Jan snapped. Her ship was too small to fight the battleship hovering outside the atmosphere of the fifth planet in the Nodens system. It’s engines were too weak to outrun the other ship. She didn’t have a lot of options. “Find me a way off of this rock and away from that battleship.”

“We could just stay on the opposite side of the planet.” Jack had all of his weapons on standby and it wasn’t much. The weapons system had two missles in the launch bay and two more on the rack. The laser beams were ready but the charging mechanism would take too long to recharge if he overused the lasers against a battleship. His blaster was on his belt, he never went anywhere without it, but it would be useless if the battleship held the Epona in a tractor beam.

“As long as the Orion doesn’t deploy a couple of shuttles to the Lagrange points.” Jan used her jumpsuit sleeve to wipe her forehead. “Any other ideas?”

“I heard Gehenna isn’t that bad. We could surrender. Live a life of bliss with farm animals and heavy labor,” Pete mused from his chair on the opposite side of the bridge from Jack.

Both Jan and Jack snorted. “You, milking cows?” Jan hiccupped as she laughed. “That’ll be the day. Any other ideas?”

Pete studied the three screens showing the planet. One screen had atmospheric data. “What’s the classification of this rock?”

Jan tapped a symbol on her touch screen. “Ummm. It’s dang close to Earth normal. Why?”

“Can you sneak us around to the sunset line?”

She studied the screen. The Orion was moving slowly to the planetary east. “Yeah, why?”

“Well,” Pete rubbed the three day old beard on his chin. “We may be able to use plasma bubbles to escape.”

Both Jan and Jack swiveled their chairs around to stare at him.

“It’s old school, I give you that.”

“What do you mean?” Jan loved her husband but his interest in old technology drove her crazy.

“Look, keep us at the equator. Around sunset naturally occurring plasma bubbles will form in the atmosphere. We can use that to escape.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack grew up on a space station and had spent all of his ten years since his eighteenth birthday on spaceships.

“It’s electrons. Plasma is just positively charged atmosphere. The ions form a cloud of sorts, lighter than the surrounding atmosphere then it rises, like a bubble in boiling water, to the top of the atmosphere.”

“What’s that got to do with us?” Jan wasn’t putting the picture together at all. She just needed to escape from the Orion and get the cargo to the waiting rebellion.

“A plasma bubble deflects signals.” Pete grinned at his partners.

Jan took a moment to process that information. “As in their scans can’t see us?”

Pete nodded.

“How do we find one of these bubbles?”

He shook his head. “We don’t. We make one. Big enough for us to hide in the middle and hold it until the Orion moves off.”

“How do you do that?”

“I can use the ship systems to generate a magnetic shield in a spherical grid around the ship. I’ll stream ions inside the grid. That forms the bubble. If we work it right, we can modulate the edges to make it look natural and drift the bubble along the planetary sunset line at the upper edge of the atmosphere until the Orion leaves or we can sneak off.” He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

“No way.” Jack snorted and turned back to his console.

Pete’s hands flew down from his head as he sat forward in his chair. “Yes, way. It can be done.”

Jan closed her eyes. If she lost the ship to the Orion, all of the weapons would be lost and her crew would end up on Gehenna. She took a deep breath. “Yeah, do it.”

She and Jack watched, nerves stretched tight as violin strings, as Pete tapped console keys. “It’s done. Just drift us westward.”

Jan set the controls to hover and depended on atmospheric winds to carry the ship along. She didn’t want to leave any engine trail. It took eighteen hours. The tiny crew cheered as Jan’s screen showed the Orion heading back out into space.

“Secure that magnetic field,” she ordered. “We have a cargo to deliver.”

The End

968 Words

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

Merry-Go-Round Blog Tour: January – New Beginnings

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Spring Flowers

Connie’ Flowers by Randy Cockrell

Hello and welcome back to the Merry-Go-Round Blog tour. I hope you’re as excited about the New Year as I am.

I have a number of new projects planned for 2015.

First, I’m finalizing my story, Lost Rainbows. I received the prompt for this last January and a few of my fellow Forward Motion authors took the prompt too. Every story is different though a few of us went with the obvious, a story about leprechauns. While I generally wanted the story to be short, it turned into a novelette, 16,000 + words! I’m in the final stages of editing then I’ll self publish by the end of this month. Oh, I’d better hurry. It’s halfway through January already!

I’m working on a class, How to Write a Series Extended, from Holly Lisle. The class started last June and I’ve written 2 novelettes so far in my series. I call it the Brown Rain series. I hit a real milestone in December as I was catching up on the lessons. I’ve got a loose plan for the third book and I’ve regained the excitement I had at the start of the class. That book will get written this year. It may get published this year, or may not. Depends on when I actually write it.

In November I stepped outside my comfort zone and wrote a cozy mystery. I’ve just started editing it this month. Since finishing those Series classes in December, I’ve gained more enthusiasm for this series, I call it the Jean Hays series, as well. I already have an initial idea for the next book here as well. I’ll use the methods I just learned to flesh out my idea. No idea, though, when I’ll be able to write it. It may end up being drafted in November for my NaNo novel. I’ll see how things work out.

I also want to gather 5-10 of my flashes, do an edit, and put them in a collection to publish. Probably a SciFi/Fantasy collection as I haven’t done one of those yet. What’s nice is that I can expand on the stories. I don’t limit myself to just 1000 words after I’ve posted them as flash fiction stories on my blog. I can flesh them out a little more.

I’ve put up as a goal to publish 6 books this year. So far I’ve talked about 3, so I’ll have to get writing if I’m going to put up half a dozen books.

Other plans, to participate in May’s Story a Day challenge. I seem to be able to write about 10 short stories in that month. Always a good thing as it gives me more fodder to send to contests, submit to e-zines, and add to my own collections.

So that’s it. Lots of work planned. Lots of stories to be written. Tons of fun to be had. Hope your year is as productive as you’d like it to be.
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 Story: Yawo and Zanque

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Lioness

Lioness by JoygasmPie via www.DeviantArt.com

Yawo and Zanque were born a day apart to first cousins. It was tradition was to name children in alphabetical order. Names at the end of the alphabet were always considered unlucky, being the end and not the beginning.  The women were shamed, having had the bad luck to bear children, sons at that, at the end of the community’s alphabet. Their aunt, always cunning, managed to bear a daughter next, a name beginning with an ‘A’, Anaria. The young women suspected witchcraft but as the wife of the chief, it was pointless to accuse.

The boys grew in beauty and strength. Shunned by the rest of the children, they depended upon each other and despite the Aunt’s efforts, little Anaria stayed close to Yawo and Zanque. When the boys were seven they were sent, as all boys their age, to watch the cattle. Yawo yawned in the mid-day heat. “They tease us, cousin. Set to watching in the heat of the day. They know the lions will not come when it is so hot.”

“They want to catch us, Yawo. Asleep or playing.” The boy stood up and stretched. They will not find us lax. We are the end but not lazy.”

Little six-year-old Anaria toddled up to her cousins. “Hi.”

She sat in the dust in the shade of the middling tree and with a few twists of grass made a doll. She offered it to Yawo. “You are the oldest, you get the first gift.”

Aware of the sacred ties of females and males, the boy bowed and accepted the gift. “You honor me, young Anaria.”

She made another and gave it to Zanque. “For you, fierce fighter.”

He bowed and accepted her gift. “You honor us, cousin.”

The girl stood. “It’s time, warriors. Look outward.”

The boys were confused but did as she bid. Zanque hissed. “To the north, my cousin. The lion prowls.”

The boys both spied a lioness creeping through the dry grass, nearing the cattle herd. “You go left, cousin,” Yawo whispered. “I’ll go right.”

He eyed his young female cousin. “Stay, honored female.”

She bowed and sat crosslegged under the tree. “I await your return.”

The boys crept out, spears in hand. The lifeblood of the tribe was at stake if the lioness should take even a single cow.

Yawo hefted his fire sharpened spear. It was one thing to creep up on the stuffed skin the hunt masters hung in the forest. It was quite another to sneak up on the best hunter in the savannah, who was ready to shred a boy too brave for his own good.

On his side Zanque moved as silently as he could through the dry grass. He stopped to rub his hand in the dust, the better to grip his spear. He worried that the lioness would attack before he was ready to defend his cousin.

What about the rest of the pride? Yawo thought. Where are they? He risked a peek above the grass heads. He didn’t see any lions but that meant nothing.

Both boys took deep, calming breaths as the hunt master had taught them. They could feel each other across the expanse of grass. They crept forward until they could each hear the soft huffing of the lioness. This time of year they knew she was hunting to feed her cubs. That made her even more dangerous.

On a hunch, Yawo gave a soft hiss. He stopped and listened. To his right he heard a gentle whuff. The lioness raised her head, he could see her ears. He did his best to quiet his rapid heartbeat.

On the other side of the lioness, Zanque heard both noises. He regripped his spear. The lioness was after the tribe’s cattle. Worse, his best friend and his female cousin were in danger.

Both boys crept closer, gripping and re-gripping their spears. The lioness prepared to spring. The boys saw the grass shiver. They readied their spears and when the lioness sprang both boys let loose their spears.

The giant cat screamed. The herd thundered away. The boys ran up on the lioness, paws twitching in the dust. Two spears arrowed from her body, one on each side. They were still standing there when their cousin, Anaria, appeared between them.

“Good kill,” she told them.

Elders, alerted by the big cat’s screams ran up. “What happened?”

“They killed the lioness,” young Anaria told them. Her eyes never strayed from the elders. “My cousins have saved the herd.”

The men bowed and the eldest waved others to pick up the cat and the boys. A procession into the village caught Anaria’s mother unaware. Chanting by the men overrode any objection she had. The girl stood behind the boys as the lioness was skinned and fangs and claws removed.

The boys gave Anaria both fang and claw to honor her. The hide was divided between the boys who gave the skins to their mothers. They kept a fang and a claw each which they made into necklaces.

After, the boys and Anaria grew to adulthood. Anaria became the high priestess and her cousins the leaders of the tribe. It became common for boys to have names from the end of the alphabet. Just in honor of their chieftains, of course.

 

The End

884Words

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Flash Fiction Friday Story: The Magician

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Magic, Magician

The Magician by BlowYourMindDesign: Robgrafix via www.deviantart.com

 

Warning: This story has elements of child abuse in it.

The Magician

The show started at eleven but ten minutes early the music started. It was the maniacally cheerful, chirpy music designed specifically to pull children in. The stage was in the dirt median between the highway and the strip mall parking lot. The music did its job. Kids and their parents gathered in front of the stage. Even before lunch, the kids were dancing with impatience already overloaded on the candy canes and hot chocolate offered free in every shop in the mall for the Christmas season kick-off.

At eleven on the dot the magician bounded up the steps at the back of the mobile stage. Taller than average, the thin, elderly man wore a porkpie hat, black dress shirt and pants, black plastic rimmed glasses and an eggplant colored jacket with matching tie that glittered in the sunlight.

He was jovial – greeting the audience with enthusiasm and a big grin. Under the clear blue sky he dazzled the people with sleight of hand and amazing tricks. The children stood slack-jawed, remains of candy canes forgotten in their sticky hands.

The Magician made birds appear and disappear, cut ropes reattach themselves, and pulled butterflies out of his hat. Silk flowers were pulled from behind the ear of a little girl who squealed with delight. For his last trick he brought a boy of about eight and his parents up on stage. He whispered the magic word in each of their ears. When he clapped his hands, bubbles fell from the stage ceiling. The family raised their faces to the falling bubbles with glee. The audience applauded and many dropped tips in the basket at the front of the stage.

At one in the morning the magician opened his hotel room door at a knock. There stood the parents with their son between them. “We came.” The father’s face was blank, eyes staring.

The mother guided her son through the door. “Here he is.” Her face was neutral.

The boy, in the same trance as his parents, stepped inside the room without turning around.

The magician waved, spoke the magic word and the parents turned and left. Their son never twitched. The man shut the door and moved around to face the child. “What’s your name?”

“Jimmy.” The child’s eyes looked into the Magician’s.

“A good name, Jimmy. We’re going to have a lot of fun, son. A lot of fun.”

The boy, still staring, nodded.

The Magician waved his hand in front of Jimmy’s face and said the magic word. “Let’s get some sleep, Jimmy. We have to leave early in the morning.”

The boy went to the queen sized bed without undressing, clambered up and put his head on the bedspread covered pillow and closed his eyes. He was asleep immediately. They were gone by six in the morning.

The parents called the police at eight to report their son missing from his bedroom. They described their son; the pajama’s he was wearing, provided a picture. They begged for his safe return on national television. The search went on for years.

The Magician and Jimmy traveled the country. No one recognized the boy. When he grew older the magician released the spell and abandoned Jimmy in a big city.

At the next show, last act, the magician called a young family up on stage and whispered the magic word in each of their ears.

 

 

The End

565 Words

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

Flash Fiction Friday Story: Unexpected Visitor

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Dresser, Art

Creepy Tree Dresser by ZaraMoro via www.DeviantArt.com

Maggie saw him get out of the two-door compact on the other side of the street as she made change for her customer’s yard sale purchase. “Thank you. Have a good weekend.” As the woman walked away, Maggie scanned the tree-lined street. A neighbor was mowing his lawn. Her kids were playing next door with the Skrowneck kids. A young woman hopped out of her minivan and began looking at the toddler clothes on a table at the end of the driveway.

The man wandered along the tables lining the driveway. He was six foot one and athletically built with short sandy brown hair. Maggie stood next to him at a table of men’s clothing. “It’s been awhile, Mike,” she said as he picked up a sweater.

He grinned. The familiar lop-sided smile she remembered. “I saw you scope out the street when I pulled up. Still sharp as ever.”

“Mother skills. Can’t be too careful.”

“Good looking kids.” He put the sweater back on the table, neatly folded.

“Thanks. But you didn’t show up to complement me on my children.” Her husband, Tom, was talking to an older man, looking at tools he was selling.

“You’re right. We think your parents hid a microfiche in a dresser they left you.”

Maggie knew the dresser he was talking about. “I sold that dresser five years ago. I checked it, Mike. It was the only thing I had left from them. I removed everything that could be removed. There was nothing.”

Mike moved to the next table where Maggie had a few small appliances and mismatched glassware and mugs. “Do you know who bought it?”

“A young couple. They were looking for a dresser they could refinish for a baby’s room.”

“Does your husband know you were in the Agency?”

“No. I told him the scars are from a car accident.” Maggie tried to forget that last mission. Mike had been her partner and it had gone wrong fast. She had been lucky to survive.

He sighed. “I need to look at the dresser. Do you know where they live?”

Maggie checked her husband. He was taking money from the old guy. “Yeah, we delivered it to their house.” Her stomach clenched in a way she remembered from her days as an agent. “I’ll write it down.” She pulled a small notepad from the breast pocket of her husband’s shirt she wore over her tee shirt and wrote down the address. “What do you think is on the fiche?”

“Your parents were working with a Russian scientist. We think they hid the fiche just before they were killed.” Mike glanced at her. “They were good operatives, Maggie. As good as you.”

“Thanks. That doesn’t make it any easier to lose your parents when you’re fifteen.” An unexpected pang of grief swept over her. She took a second to recover. “After the Agency recruited me, they told me the real story of their death. They looked at that dresser then and didn’t find anything, either.”

“Even so, I have to check.” His eyes twinkled. “Want to come along? Just for old-times sake?”

She snorted. “It’s been eleven years. It’s too late to go back to that life.”

That grin spread across his face. “Don’t say I didn’t try. I’ll let you know what I find.” Mike shook her hand as Tom walked up. “Thank you for the suggestions, Mrs. Duley. I’ll check them out.” He went back to his car.

“Who was that?”

“Guy looking for old dressers to refinish. I sent him to the thrift shop.” Maggie put her arm around his waist and smiled up at him. “Let’s go to lunch after we finish up here.” She only felt a little remorse about not accepting Mike’s offer.

Mike called two days later. “I found the fiche. It was in one of the drawer pulls.”

Maggie was surprised. She had really checked that dresser. “Anything interesting?”

“Yeah. Can we meet?”

Curiosity spiked. “Uh, sure. Today, 2pm? Coffee shop on Main Street. I pick up the kids from school at three.”

They sat at an outside table where the sound of traffic on the street gave them privacy. After the waitress brought their coffee Mike said, “I made a copy.” He slid a thumb-drive across the table. Maggie scooped it up neatly as she reached for the sugar. “It’s not classified?”

“I deleted that stuff. The rest of it is a message to you.” He studied her face.

Maggie stirred her coffee. “They knew they were going to die?”

“It seems so.” He sighed. “Watch it. Call me when ever. I’ve always got an ear for you.” He rose, kissed the top of her head and paid the bill on the way out.

She watched it the next day after Tom and the kids left for work and school. The pictures were grainy and jumped erratically but it was her parents, just the way she remembered them. Tears fell silently down her face as they wished her long life and happiness. She watched it over and over until she had no tears left. After lunch she called Mike. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry it took so long to get it to you. I know how much it means.”

“Not your fault. I had that dresser for years.” She wiped away new tears. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. Call me, Maggie. Anytime.”

“I will.” She hung up, opened her jewelry box and took out the top tray. Maggie buried the thumb-drive under the junk bracelets and necklaces and closed it all up. After washing her face she sat on the front porch with a glass of iced tea and watched the birds hop around the lawn. Now that she was a mother she finally understood how her parents had protected her. Tom parked in the driveway – the two kids piled out of the car. “Mom!” they shouted as they raced across the yard. Oh yes, she thought. I’d do exactly the same.

The End

998 Words

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Flash Fiction Friday Story: Room with a Knife

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Oil Painting, still life, wine bottle, glass, knife

je tuemais pour tu m’aimes mon amour by jackieducrostudio

I submitted this last spring in a response to a writing prompt. The originators of the contest challenge never got back to me. So, here it is for you to enjoy.

Room With A Knife

Detective June Weaver stepped into the hotel room. The blonde woman on the floor was in silk pajamas but with all the blood, it was hard to say what color they were. A knife was in her right hand, her arm stretched away from her. Her left arm was covered in cuts. Defensive wounds, June thought. She tried to fight whoever it was off. On the small table, in front of the hotel window, there was a half full bottle of chardonnay. Beside it, two plastic hotel glasses, one half full, the other tipped over. The bed was still made.

She turned to the uniformed officer who was standing at the door. “Any luggage?”

“Suitcase in the closet, Detective.”

June nodded, green eyes thoughtful, visualizing the room and running scenarios through her head. “The chairs were in place when you got here?”

“Yeah. Right next to the table.”

June scratched her head. “I don’t get it. Only one cup tipped over. Bed made, furniture in place, but there was a hell of a fight, she has defensive wounds all over her arm. Blood on the carpet indicates she was killed right here. I’m not getting it.”

Her partner, Lin Chow, entered the room. “We have video of the hallway. A guy, about six foot, dark hair, left the room about ten-seventeen last night. No reports from neighboring rooms about noise.” The petite detective paced around the room. “She looks like she was in a fight, but the room doesn’t. Any ideas?”

“Fresh out, you?”

Lin put a glove on and opened drawers in the dresser. “She didn’t unpack, drawers are empty.” She squatted next to the body. “Hotel says she was registered to stay three days. So why didn’t she unpack?”

June tucked a strand of her long red hair behind an ear. “Is there video of the guy leaving the hotel? Tell me there’s video in the parking lot.”

“Yeah, he left through the lobby. No video in the parking lot.”

“Too bad, plate numbers would have been nice.”

“We’ll have to hope for prints on the bottle or the glasses, June. M.E. is on the way.” She pulled evidence bags from her suit jacket pocket. “I’ll get them to the lab and see if we get lucky on the prints.”

Two days later, June and Lin were at the door of a tidy Craftsmen style cottage in the suburbs. A man answered, six feet tall, black hair, dressed in khaki Dockers and a dark blue polo shirt. “Can I help you?”

They showed him their badges. “We’re with the City Police, I’m Detective Walker, this is my partner Lin Chow. We’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Ross.”

He stared at them then recovered. “What’s this about?”

June noticed a sheen of sweat form on his temples. It was only sixty-six degrees on an overcast spring day. “We’re investigating a murder, Mr. Ross. Where were you two nights ago?”

“Uh, that was Monday. I have bowling on Monday.”

June could see his knuckles turn white as he gripped the door edge. “And when did you return home?”

“Um, ten-thirty, eleven. I’m not sure.”

Lin was jotting notes. “Anyone in the house that can corroborate that?”

“No, I’m divorced. It’s just me here now.”

June watched a drop of sweat run down the side of his face. “And your ex, she still live in town?”

Ross shook his head. “No, she went back to California, her home town.”

“Do you mind if we call her, Mr. Ross?” She smiled at him. “We just want to touch all of our bases.”

“No, not at all. I’ll get the number.” He left the door open and went inside. June nudged the door open with a toe, to get a look. The house was a mess, take out containers were piled all over the living room. There were blank spots on the wall facing the door where it looked like pictures used to hang.

They heard the sound of a door. “Crap,” June said as she drew her Smith and Wesson. He’s running.”

They leapt off of the porch, June turned right and Lin went left. They circled the house, June saw him leaping over a four foot picket fence two yards away. “Call it in,” she yelled to her partner.

She jumped the fence and sprinted across the yard. She saw Ross run around the third house, as she closed from behind. As she reached the street she saw him duck behind a white Victorian across the street. Behind her, June could hear Lin on the radio, giving responding police cars their location as she followed her partner.

Sprinting across the street, June ran into the house’s back yard. Ross was struggling over a six foot chain link fence separating the back yards. June charged forward and grabbed a leg just before he got it over the fence. After a short struggle, she pulled him back. Lin ran up and helped her subdue him and put him in cuffs.

“I didn’t mean to,” he sobbed into the lawn. “It was an accident. How did you find me?”

“Finger prints, Mr. Ross. The chardonnay tattled on you.” They hauled him to his feet just as two radio cars pulled up in front of the house. Lin read him his rights as they walked him to the police cars. The uniformed officers took him into custody.

“I guess he never watches police shows,” Lin commented as the cruiser drove away.

“I’m glad. We’d have never solved it if he had.”

 

The End

929 Words

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