Backdoor Coup

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: tea, cord and seal

Backdoor Coup

Sausage-like fingers grabbed an ornate cord and tugged.

A reed-thin servant appeared moments later; a tray of tea and frosted pastries held in its emancipated arms.

“Your tea, Sire.”

Baron Von Ennis smiled broadly at the tray of sugar-laced consumables. He greedily reached for a handful of the tasty treats before recalling he had company.

“Please, Colonel, help yourself.”

Colonel Lanier had been hired by Global Earth Corporation to deal with the locals. His job was to keep the natives writing computer code; something they were extremely good at.

“Baron, I have brought you a message that needs to be read immediately.” He handed over an envelope; its wax seal carried the imprint of the indigenous population’s highest office.

Both of the Baron’s hands were full with tea and treats. He crammed the fistful of treats into his mouth and took the letter. Without bothering to open it, he tossed it into an ornate trash basket nearby. Communications with the locals was well beneath his office.

Now that the diplomacy part of his day was done, he deserved another little snack. The Baron gave the nearby cord another tug.

The servant returned, but holding a communicator instead of a tray.

“Sire,” he said with a bit of sarcasm. “I must inform you that we may have taken a few liberties while writing code for your corporation; some of which is used to operate your fleet overhead. Your starships now answer to a different master.”

The Baron turned red with rage. “What is it you are trying to say?”

Far overhead, just outside of the planet’s gravity well, a starship captain pressed a button and made a small request from the ship’s onboard Artificial Intelligence.

Across the command deck screen came the response, “Get your own damn donuts.”

Word count 298

Priceless

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: amulet, ocean and giant

Priceless

Faraday couldn’t take his eyes off of near-dead camel lying next to him.

I have made a giant mistake, he thought.

Three days earlier, it had all been going so well. He had planned the perfect crime. The countess was there as planned; a picture of royalty amongst royals. He moved invisibly amongst the throng of elites. His only disguise was a white jacket and a tray full of champagne.

It had been a perfectly executed bump-and-snatch maneuver. One moment the amulet was around her neck and then it was gone. He was out on the street sixty seconds later, strolling casually as if on an evening walk. The tray of champagne lay covered with a white jacket at the bottom of a trash bin.

His getaway car had made it five blocks before the flat tire. He’d barely gotten the tire off when the approaching sirens sent him off in search of alternative means of transport. An hour later, he was on the back of a truck headed, east – or so he thought. He had been awoken by a screaming Bedouin female who disapproved of his unauthorized presence in the back of the truck. The nomadic tribe ignored his pleas for water and transportation until he offered up his watch and wallet. Soon, he was on his way atop a camel that was apparently well beyond its factory warranty.

Now, he lay back against his camel-turned-desert-recliner and tried to lick his dried and cracked lips. He chuckled to himself at the idea of being stranded in an ocean of sand, without a drop to drink.

Faraday leaned into his hoofed lumbar support and took out the amulet.

Was it worth it? he thought.

Absolutely!

Faraday laughed defiantly at the sun as it rose ever higher into the desert sky.


Word count 300

Don't Be Afraid. I Dare You.

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the line: "I can't believe we got away with it."

Don't be afraid. I dare you.

“Let’s be honest, Mr. Chairman. I can say anything I want and you still lose, just so long as my final statement instills fear. You see, people are idiots. If there are two or more possible outcomes to an event, people will always give a disproportionate weight to the most negative outcome.”

“Sure, healthcare costs are out of control and it’s time for the government to do something. We all agree that to do nothing represents a non-sustainable proposition.”

“Everyone that cares to check will find that the current bill we oppose represents many of the ideas we have proposed in the past. Even our newest member, Senator Brown from Massachusetts, voted in favor of a similar bill for his own state just a few months ago.”

“Let’s face it. The only reason we oppose this legislation is because it came from your party. A victory for you is the same as a loss for us. Sure, the American people will suffer, but that’s okay; just so long as we regain power.”

“Now, for my closing argument,” said the senator as he turned to face the camera.

“Americans this bill will cost your children and your children’s children. Don’t let this death-panel bill ruin our country. We are only trying to save you from a bill that would spell Armageddon for the United States. We have a free solution that we will unveil soon. It is kept in a file next to a map of Iraq’s WMD’s.”



“And how does the senator from Massachusetts vote?” Reid couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her own question.

After the vote, there were high fives all around.

“I can’t believe we got away with it,” one GOP member was heard saying.

Deep pockets were harvested. The post-vote party went on for days.

Word count 300

The Gig

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: trumpet, fan and feather

The Gig

They were late.

Lionel remained cool under pressure. He was, after all, a professional.

Sure he was up on the stage at a jazz club owned by the mob. Yes, it was his first night with the band. And yes, half of the people in the room were heavily armed.

None of that posed a problem. He had been in tighter situations before.

They were midway through the first bit, but Lionel left his trumpet on its stand. He wouldn’t be up for another two or three minutes.

Where the hell is Fat Tony? he thought to himself. Tony was his reason for being here. He had used all of his connections to get himself on that stage on that night.

“You guys need to give Lionel a chance. He’ll blow you away with his talents. It will be a real feather in your hat when Tony hears him play.”  

It had been a convincing argument. Lionel got the gig, sight unseen.

Ten feet away, just off of the stage, was a small table with a little ‘reserved’ sign on it. That was where Tony was supposed to be. That was where he needed Tony to be within the next minute and a half.

Sweat started to form on Lionel’s brow. It was hot in the smoke filled room; the fan overhead did little more than stir the air.

It was almost time. Lionel was aware of his heart beginning to race. He was not going to get a chance to make the hit. It would have been a simple thing to take out Fat Tony and then shoot his way through the crowd of expendables.

Now he was faced with a more daunting situation. His cue was coming up and he had no idea how to play a trumpet.

Word count 300

Wall Gnomes

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Climb, Mystery, and Cheer

Wall Gnomes

Chider the Young stood obediently at the door. He kept his head bowed; eyes fixed on the furry tops of his bare feet. At the sound of the gong, he walked to the center of the room.

The chanting began a moment later. It had a hypnotic cadence and Chider found himself involuntarily swaying to the beat.

Three gavel taps brought an abrupt silence.

“Chider the Young, remove your hood and face those you dare aspire to have as your brethren.”

He took a breath and willed himself to not shake. Slowly, conveying due respect, he brought up both hands and pealed back his hood. He raised his head, facing the council of elders. Tonight, they were not the fathers of his childhood friends. They were not scout leaders or school teachers.

Tonight they were his judges.

“Your progress has been impressive young one. It seems like only yesterday you were learning to tap on walls and leave lights on. As you grew, your accomplishments became more complex. Who knows how you were able to climb up the chimney and close the damper; all noteworthy achievements, but not really anything to cheer about.”

Chider looked from face to face. He knew this was a test. They wanted to see if he’d retreat. Undaunted, he pulled out a large satchel from under his robe.

“I tell you this…my brethren; I’ve been to the basement, the lair of the great cat.”

Gasps.

“Do you mean…?”

Chider opened up the satchel and pulled out a giant patterned cloth object. He tossed it on the floor.

Everyone looked at it in disbelief. Finally, one said, “It’s an argyle!”

The missing sock mystery had not been accomplished since the cat started sleeping on the dryer.The room of open mouths told him he was in.

Word count 300

Hitting Bottom

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Search, Giant and Money

Hitting Bottom

The crack in the glass kept the time.

John watched it grow, not seeing it as his mind’s eye went elsewhere.

There was no order to his thoughts; at least chronologically so. His subconscious mind had a script and John was content to let it play out.

The crack jerked to the left and then paused for a moment before beginning a slow extension.

There was a first kiss and a last argument. A marriage with children was chilled by an obsession that took over his life. The Search, as it had come to be known.

The crack forked, doubling its progress, and then doubling again.

She’d been supportive but when the money ran out, she’d left him. “You don’t lack of dreams. You just never dream of me,” she’d said, pushing the kids out the door ahead of her.

Ah, but there had been good times; times that made John smile.

The crack circled back onto itself and John noticed the first drip of water.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Funny, he thought. None of his “precious memories” covered any of the time he’d spent alone, pursuing his dream; conducting the Search.

Only now did it finally strike him that he’d become so obsessed with his goal, that he hadn’t noticed the ride along the way.

More water began to make its way in as the glass began to groan.

He’d finally achieved his life’s ambition. He’s found the giant squid of legend and followed it to the bottom of the ocean where it now held him like a snow globe.

The bathysphere was his deathbed. There was no fear. There was only the pain of knowing that he’d missed the point.

Next time, he’d do better.

John spread his arms and willed the crack to grow faster.

Word count 300

Story Telling

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: thunder, plastic and disease

Story Telling

Shanna walked out into the night that was not a night.

Such a distinction was important, once upon a time. Day and night meant different things. The sun came out in the day and the stars at night. At least that’s the way the story went.

Such a thing was hard to imagine for someone that lived in the perpetual twilight of artificial lighting generated by a technology long forgotten.

There were lots of Once Upon a Time stories. Children learned them by heart while still young. The elders thought it was important that the lore of the past be retained. With no understanding of how their automated world worked, they resorted to the history keeping of their ancestors – story telling.

Tonight the story was about storms. Shannon hurried to the town hall; she was already late. Hopefully she would get there before they talked about Thunder. That was her favorite part. What a world it must have been to have water fall from the sky and booming sounds shake the walls.

Just before she entered the large meeting hall, Shanna paused to look past the buildings that housed the automated food producers; past the end of the street and the small grove of trees beyond. She looked at the boundary that both protected them from the disease of the world outside and, protected that same world from them.

That was one story she didn’t like to hear. The one that began with Once Upon a Time and ended with the remnants of mankind under a giant plastic dome designed to protect them from the world they had nearly killed.

She dreamed of the day, her children’s children would tell new stories. They would sit outside, under the sun and say, Once Upon a Time, we lived in a bubble.

Word count 300

Space Marine

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Trophy, Catalog and March

Space Marine

Rocco applied another layer of sealant to the bite-mark sized holes in his suit. His helmet readout indicated there was still some bleeding but probably not enough to be life threatening. His opponent hadn’t been so lucky; although for a while, it could have gone either way.

It had been a close call but he’d somehow managed to avoid becoming a trophy on a Sloth Giant’s cave wall.

Alone, he slogged through the swampy muck; not for the first time thinking, This was not mentioned in the recruiting catalog.

“See the galaxy!” That had been in there. “The blue women of Nartinthium love anything in a pressure suit.” That had been in there as well.

Nowhere, had there been a hint of the boiling mud-storms of Charosh or the blade-snakes of Sargon.

And there had certainly never been any mention of Sloth Giants!

He signed up thinking he might have to occasionally march and maybe salute every now and then. The rest of his expectations had to do with blasting aliens and seducing women. There had been no mention of aliens that fought back or women that ate their mates for breakfast.

Nope, that recruiting propaganda was nothing more than a pack of lies; all of it.

There was some good news; should he survive the hike to the hospital ship. Word was that they were going to invade a water planet after the next jump. Better still, the women there were rumored to be … welcoming. The mere thought brought a smile to Rocco’s face. He knew this wasn’t more propaganda. He knew it was true because its time-test source never lied.

If it was written on the bathroom wall, it was true. And just yesterday, there it was on the inside of the door, “Earth Girls Are Easy.”

Word Count 300

Hard Drive Veto

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Tower, star and bones

Hard Drive Veto

Clayton had just entered the Klaxon Star Cluster when the check-engine light began to flash in the lower left corner of his view screen. This was one of the last things anyone would want to see while traveling at near relativistic speeds.

Although, admittedly, it wasn’t totally unexpected.

More than one ship had fallen prey to the parsec known as The Galaxy’s Hotel California. You could never leave. The bones of lifeless other starships littered the area.

This planet rich environment had an abundance of nearly every element known to man. One of the gas giants had a core of solid gold. Several others were littered with diamonds and helium 3. Like a well baited hook, hopes of fortune lured in the reckless and wary alike.

The problem was the absence of Dark Matter. The fuel, abundant everywhere in the universe, had taken a pass on this particular location. No fuel, no escape velocity.

Clayton didn’t start to sweat; not yet anyway.

“Robot!” he yelled.

“Here sir.”

Clayton, caught off guard by the giant machine’s close proximity, nearly jumped out of his skin. He hated the way the giant android would tower over him all smug and metallic and stuff. He hated nearly everything about his first officer.

But it had its uses.

“Robot, I intend to swoop down and scoop up some precious gold dust. I will need the dark matter stored in your positronic brain to refuel the ship. Sure, you will crash hard but hey, that’s the way it goes. Prepare for the transfer.”

The robot appeared to freeze; its hard drive light blinking furiously.

Clayton asked “Robot, do you understand?”

“One moment sir, I am busy loading my insubordination software.”

Things had just taken a nasty turn for the worse. Clayton finally started to sweat.

Word count 299

Nocturnal Sampling

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the line: "Wake up. I heard a noise."

Nocturnal Sampling

Susan sat up abruptly and said, “Wake up. I heard a noise.”

Nothing.

She reached over to prod Hank awake and instantly knew something was wrong. There was no Hank. In fact, there was no bed.

Not again , she thought.

Experience had taught her to stay calm and let her eyes adjust. In time, all would be revealed.

Shadows became trees and vast expanses of emptiness turned to fields. That was good news. It meant she was probably somewhere near home.

Susan performed a mental survey and found that she seemed to be okay; another good sign. It didn’t always end up that way. Sometimes she would wake up miles from home. It wasn’t unusual for her to be sick to her stomach during such an event. From time to time, her injuries would be significant. Puncture wounds and sprains were not unusual. And of course, there was the time her arm had been broken or at least the doctor said it had been broken. By the time he first saw her the next morning, it was already healed.

Susan felt around for it. She knew it was there somewhere. It always was.

Soon, she found what she was looking for. It was a small bump on the back of her knee. That noted, she got up and started walking. The house wouldn’t be hard to find one she got her bearings.

Hank walked into the kitchen just after three in the morning. As expected, there was Susan at work with the small knife and tweezers. She ignored him for a moment before triumphantly lifting up a small metallic object, apparently just removed from the back of her leg. She took it to the sink and let the garbage disposal do its thing.

“Abducted?” he asked.

“Abducted,” she said.

Word count 300

Unreliable Resource

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Flowerbed, Peacock and Predator

Unreliable Resource

“It says to check the flowerbed,” said junior detective Shamrock.

In his hand, he held the detectives “bible” on tracking serial killers. Right there, in the very first chapter, it said that most serial killers liked to bury the dead in flowerbeds. It said most people were remiss to dig up flowers, even if they were looking for a body.

Not for the first time, Shamrock shook his head in admiration. That Professor Kindling, the man that wrote the book, was a genius.

“Nothing here sir,” reported the officer. The flowerbed had been a bust.

Shamrock wasn’t about to be put off by a lack of immediate gratification. Mrs. Template had been missing for more than a week. The note from the serial killer, while cryptic, had suggested foul play.

He opened the Detective’s Guide to Serial Killers looking for something that could be helpful.

Your typical predator will tend towards eccentric behavior. They are often attracted to Christmas caroling. Again, Shamrock was impressed with the author’s insights.

Minutes later, Shamrock and his officers were doing their best to get through the Twelve Days of Christmas. They made it halfway when an argument broke out. Johnson said there was no such thing as a French Hen and Mulligan said there was. According to him, they were like tiny peacocks with berets.

Shamrock, frustrated, dug back into the book for more brilliant answers.

Across the street, a curtain was allowed to fall back into place. He’d done enough peeking at the Keystoners across the street to know he was in no danger of being caught. He figured he’d take another look in a few minutes. By then they should be on the chapter about juggling.

Serial killer Kindling smiled. It was easy to escape capture when one wrote the book.

Word count 299

Mind Control

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Hamster, Apple and Purple

Mind Control

Leonard stared intently at the hamster; willing it to not be hungry.

You are the fullest hamster ever, he sent over and over.

The rodent looked over at the man tied to the chair. Then, in an act of defiance, it turned and took another big bite of the apple wedged between the bars of its cage. It shifted to face Leonard again, its jaws working hard on the morsel.

“Come now, Leonard, you can do better than that.”

Leonard looked at the man on the other side of the window. He could see Dr. Maltase leaning over the microphone; a sinister expression on his face. It was hard to tell if he wanted Leonard to succeed or fail. Either outcome would probably be perversely satisfying.

He tried, for the millionth time, to see if he could get his hands free. It was no use. They were tied so tightly to the chair’s arms that his fingers were purple. This was definitely the last time he’d answer an ad for anything that mentioned the words “test” and “subject.”

“Leonard, it’s just a dumb animal. Use your brain my boy. There’s not much time left.”

He didn’t need to be told. That had to be the hungriest hamster ever. It took a bite about every ten seconds. After it ate enough of the apple, the fruit would fall from the cage. It would land on a pad that would cause a gun’s trigger to be pulled and that would be the end of that.

Small mind or not, the hamster’s will was too strong.

Desperate, Leonard shifted his focus.

The doctor’s sneer changed to surprise when the gun began to elevate and turn towards him. His expression changed to fear when the door to the room he was in locked itself.

Word count 300

Inevitably

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Painting, Bag and Gate

Inevitably

As he hung, suspended from the ceiling, Conroy watched events unfold below him – inevitably.

The movement of the guards, the timing of the remote camera, even the bustling crowd of school children was right on schedule. It couldn’t help itself. After it happened once, the past could not be changed. History was carved in stone; it was inevitable.

Inevitable unless you were like Conroy and happened to own a time-gate.

At the appropriate time, he lowered himself to the floor. Unseen by a room of eyes momentarily pointed elsewhere, Conroy was able to walk up and pluck the priceless painting right off of the wall. He slipped it into a casual shoulder bag and walked, unchallenged, out the front door of the museum.

It happened as he strode past an alley-way, on his way to his hotel. The hair on his arm stood up and the crack of a huge static charge drew his attention towards the darkness.

Busted!

He watched as the suit with a blaster stepped through the time-gate. There was no place to run. Even if he did, they would know. This was now all part of history. It was all known and thus inevitable.

“Citizen Conroy, you are under arrest.”

“How’d you catch me?” he asked, stunned.

“You fool, once you made your move, you became history. All we had to do was look back in time. Our catching you was…”

“Inevitable?” asked the voice from behind.

A stunning blast dropped the suit to the ground.

Conroy stood looking at himself then both broke out in laughter. Of course, they knew he’d be caught. History had said as much.

Their celebration was interrupted by a static crackle from the alley.

“Conroys,” said the suit, “You’re both under arrest.”

“Inevitably,” said a familiar voice from behind.

Word count 300

Beyond Soap

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.


The prompts: This story must contain the line, “You’re going to regret this.”

Beyond Soap

“I’m breaking up with you.”

That’s what Suzie had said.

Not, “I’m unhappy,” or “I am thinking about breaking up with you.”

Nope. This had had that sound of finality that left no room for negotiating the next step -kind of like dropping a large stone into some deep mud; no sense standing around waiting for it to bounce because it wasn’t going to happen.

David just turned and walked away. It didn’t even occur to him to look back. His mind had gone elsewhere. It was as if it were looking for a loophole that could undo that which couldn’t be undone. Maybe he was dreaming or in a parallel universe. If only he could turn back time.

“You’re going to regret this,” popped unfairly into his head. It was as if he felt a need to kick himself while he was down. Never mind that those were the very words he’d used to caution himself only two days earlier.

He slogged along, eventually making his way back to his apartment. At least he didn’t need to clean it up anymore. He tried a hot shower, but scrubbing with soap only made things worse, highlighting the hopelessness of his situation.

He just knew this was his fault, in a male hormonal rampage kind of way. That Suzie was a babe was beyond question. He said he loved her and she’d smiled in return; that had to mean something. So what if they’d only known each other for a few days.

He’d felt a need to prove his love, before she changed her mind.

Now, as he wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror, the words of warning came back, “You’re going to regret this.”

Staring back from the mirror was the full-chest tattoo that exclaimed, “David and Suzie Forever!”

Word count 300

Amour Courtois

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Diamond, Escape and Trust

Amour Courtois

They were fat.

The fingers were fat; so much so that a ring’s band was lost in a fat-fold, leaving only a large diamond exposed.

He kissed the back of the Queen’s hand in spite of his revulsion.

“You look marvelous tonight,” he whispered low enough so that none but the queen could hear.

She nodded to him, apparently bored by the gesture. Still, the note changed hands from her to him. He continued down the reception line, dreading what she may have written.

Meet me in my chambers later. I trust you will bring the rubbing oil, he later read.

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if it had all been worth it. She’d kept up her side of the bargain. He wanted for naught. His clothes were made by the finest seamstresses and his home was well furnished with a view overlooking a lake. There were horses in his stable and every meal was a banquet.

But it had come at a price.

The queen got his oils. She also got him as well.

Tonight, that was all going to change. He reached into a small pouch and pulled out a vial of strong poison. One drop would kill an elephant. He looked up from the vile to her, hoping he had enough.

As the Royal Ball stretched into the night, the queen became more and more drunk and thus daring. She went from shy peeks to openly ogling him.

If only he could get up the nerve to use the poison.

Her slapping his butt was the last straw.

Carefully, he took a glass of ale and added the poison. Then, before he could back down, he drank the entire contents in a single gulp. Death would come swiftly. It was his only escape.

Word count 300

The Pursued

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: cloud, waterfall and crystal

The Pursued

Gothard watched her bathe in the pool far below. Her light-green fur shimmered in the mist at the base of the waterfall. The way she moved about the shallows was, for him, like a ballet. Every step and turn was just as it should be. Her thin, perfectly proportioned frame made him wonder if the Gods had surpassed their own limitless talents to create her.

Gothard loved her with all his heart.

For the moment, they were safe.

He knew it wouldn’t last.

He stood and shook off the vision of the princess. It was his job to keep her safe, not admire her beauty. He took up the far-seers in his big hairy paws and began to scan the horizon.

At first, it looked like they had caught a break. The sky was clear. Then he saw the cloud, alone and nonthreatening. The gateways always started that way. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the cloud whiled into a dark cyclone more than a parsec across.

They had been found.

“My Princess!” he shouted, his roaring voice easily heard over the falls. “They have found us. The Astral-Gate will be open within minutes. We must flee.”

Princess Saliana was out of the water and dressed in a moment. She grabbed up her pack and looked inside. The Tachyon Crystal was safe. They needed to keep it that way.

Gothard, the last surviving member of her father’s guard was soon at her side as usual. She was his last charge.

Saliana worked quickly to open the micro wormhole they would need to escape. In a moment, it was big enough for her to fit through. Gothard was another story. They needed more time.

As the Carthigan warriors crested the top of the falls, Gothard turned and drew his sword.

Work count 300

The Birth of Chaos

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: straw, echo and charcoal

The Birth of Chaos

Ovid toggled his holo-view to the pasture deck where the horses were being fed their midday snack of straw and oats. There were millions of species on the Ark, but only the horses were allowed to germinate. The rest, well they would have to wait. Sooner or later a suitable home world would be found.

Ovid loved watching the horses. They were smart and affectionate. Their physical structure was as near perfection as any creature ever discovered.

Ovid was allowed one living pair of animals.

The thought was that a completely automated spacecraft, over the course of a million years, would suffer some unforeseen problem. A failure loop, they had called it. It was the result of what Newtonians referred to as super predetermination. “A” would cause “B” which would cause “C” etc. until a failure was caused. When that happened, the best any automated system could do was start over; thus, the loop.

A living creature could think. It introduced a degree of chaos to an otherwise orderly system. Things would still fail and be corrected, but the next time it would be different.

An alarm went off indicating a fire in the forest sector.

Ovid initiated fire suppression systems and then headed down to check things out. The echo of his metallic clomping was his only companion. Everything was automated – even him. Aside from the horses, there were no others.

Ten minutes later, he was pushing bits of charcoal around with his toe. This fire had been deliberately set.

This was not part of the plan. This was something new.

Chaos had introduced a change.

Ovid, without emotion, headed back to his monitoring station. He didn’t know what he was looking for other than confirmation.

But he already knew what he would find.

He was no longer alone.

Word count 300

The Cortollian Affair

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: smoke, surprise and furry

The Cortollian Affair

“We will die before surrendering to the likes of you!”

Big surprise there, thought the captain as the view screen blinked off.

He turned to his guest/captive. “Well ambassador, it doesn’t look like you and your fellow Cortollians are on the same page. Do you suppose they are bluffing?”

The ambassador’s furry tongue flashed in and out rapidly. He was either panicking or calmly thinking of an appropriate response. The captain guessed it was the former, but he was never sure when it came to Cortollian body language. The damn creatures were each as different from each other as they were from alien species. No two looked or acted the same.

The captain started to wonder how they chose a mate and then realized there were more important tasks at hand.

“Perhaps, Captain, you underestimate our offensive abilities. At this very moment, they are preparing to board your ship. In case you are interested, we will not be taking prisoners.”

Okay, so flickering tongue does not mean “I give up.” The captain made a mental note.

He pressed a button on the command console and announced, “General Quarters. Prepare to repel boarders.”

Moments later, several Cortollian-sized smoke balls appeared on the Command Bridge. They hovered momentarily and then with a flatulent-like sound, disappeared; leaving behind a small puddle of electronics and biological matter.

The captain turned to his guest. “Very impressive Ambassador. What do you do for an encore? Self destruct?”

“Perhaps we were a bit rash, Captain. Maybe further negotiations are in order.”

The captain admired the potato-shaped alien ambassador. He had guts.

“Perhaps Ambassador, we should have your fellow Cortollians transport you back to their ship.”

A small fur ball popped out the backside of the ambassador. The Captain was fairly certain he was interpreting that gesture correctly.

Word count 300

Runner Up

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: scroll, doubt and vase

Runner Up

Professor Jenkins knew he was dusting off a rewrite of history.

Up to this point, the Dark Side Expedition had turned up little more than fossilized bone fragments; proving only that the moon had once supported animal life. It was hard for people to get excited about ancient cockroach remains on the moon. That didn’t count as life, at least not in the biblical sense – in God’s image and such.

The vase changed everything. Bugs didn’t make cookware. This could only mean one thing. Intelligent life had once lived on the moon.

For years there had been speculation. Now there could be no doubt. This vase would change history. It would change the way man viewed his role in the universe.

And most importantly, it would change the way people viewed Professor Jenkins.

No more following in the footsteps of the “great” Doctor Frank Boas – direct descendant of the legendary Franz Boas, the founder of modern anthropology.

Yes, up until this moment, Jenkins was the career silver medalist of anthropologists. Now, as he made his way back to base camp, he imagined how it would all unfold. First, the teams would throw him a big party. Next, he would be whisked back to earth where there would be a parade. His name would be in every history book written from this point forward.

As he approached the camp, he could tell right away that something was up. He cleared the airlock and was immediately swept up into a wild celebration. At first, he thought that news of his discovery had somehow reached the camp ahead of him.

He stopped a reveler and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Haven’t you heard? Doctor Boas has found an ancient scroll with alien hieroglyphics on it! It’s the Rosetta Stone to the universe.”

Word count 298

Stressed

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: Write a story that contains the line: "Where were you last night?"

Stressed

There was a momentary mismatch between the man and his reflection in the mirror.

Damon almost caught it - a lag between him, at the bathroom sink; and him, on the inside looking out.

A perfectly matched wave of the hand demonstrated that it was nothing other than his mind playing tricks.

He tossed it off as stress. Lately, his mind just wouldn’t shut up. It was as if it had a bottomless bag of doom that it reached into; pulling out one bit of negativity after another.

He sloshed through the inch-deep water on the bathroom floor. He paid no mind to it; just like the way he ignored the blood-soaked towel that clogged the toilet.

High pressure meeting coming up this morning, he thought as he dragged the straight razor down the side of his jaw. Right away, his mind began a slideshow of all the things that could go wrong like his boss pushing for higher sales in a market that wasn’t interested in buying. He could lose his job.

God how he hated his boss; almost as much as he hated that money-grubbing ex-wife.

He dabbed the last bit shaving cream from his face.

There is was again! Did he actually see the image in the mirror smile a brief smile that wasn’t his?

No. It was just the stress…

In the closest he stepped over a pile of still-wet and muddy pants without a thought. Fiddling at his night stand, he pushed aside a gun that he didn’t know he owned. It was wrapped in a torn shirt, he didn’t know was his.

One last trip to the bathroom…

There it was again!

In the mirror, he saw himself holding the straight razor to his neck.

He saw himself ask, “Where were you last night?”

Word count 300

Nested Minds

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: dictionary, mind and circle

Nested Minds

They floated down the empty streets of New York, surveying the damage.

They had been too late. Not by much, but too late just the same. The damage had been done. The current condition was irreversible.

Originally, they were to be part of a Prevention Team. As such, they would have stepped in and taken action as needed to prevent the otherwise inevitable fall. Sometimes, a Prevention Team arrived too late. When that happened, they became a Rescue Team.

This time they were too late to rescue anything.

Meet here, appeared in the mind of each of the widely dispersed team members. It wasn’t the actual words. They had no need for those. It was the feeling that they were to be at a specific place designated by the team leader.

Immediately, each surveyor stopped whatever it was doing and headed towards the thought. Soon, hundreds of them hovered together in their social circle. The junior members made up the outer ring while other, more senior members made up the interior nested rings. At the very center were the team leader and the one survivor they had been able to find.

This was a very important moment. This one individual held, perhaps, the key to the planet’s demise. Given the backward nature of the creature, the team leader would not be able to use telepathy. Instead, he had his survey ship download the appropriate thought-to-verbal dictionary.

The entire nested group sent positive thoughts to its team leader. This had to go well or they may never know what happened here.

The team leader slowly morphed a mouth, lips and a collection of other parts needed to create sound.

He then chose a “greeting” phrase. Lowering himself down to the alien’s eye level, the team leader said a perfect - “Woof.”

Word count 299

An Inquiring Mind

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: Tornado, scrape and time

An Inquiring Mind

The sound of the back screen door banging open caused Judy to look past the sheet she was hanging out to dry. A dog wearing a Mousekateer hat and a backpack flew out the door and around towards the front of the house.

Not a good sign, she thought to herself.

Bobby had a lot of – creative energy; especially when left alone. She’d only been outside for a few minutes; not enough time for him to do too much damage.

The scene was beyond belief. There was spaghetti on the wall. The entire contents of a box of Cheerios had been distributed across the floor with impressive uniformity. Bobby sat motionless in the corner wearing nothing but a Batman cape, some flippers and his older brother’s football helmet. He’d seen something the day before on Animal Planet that made him think being still was a good defensive strategy against large and aggressive animals.

His hope of going unnoticed was quickly dashed.

“What’s going on in here? It looks like a tornado came through our living room!”

She walked right over to Bobby, ruining forever his trust in television programming.

“Mom, it was an experiment. I was going to clean it all up. I wanted to see how much of the floor I could cover with a box of cereal.”

Such was the curse of raising a six-year-old genius.

“What about the spaghetti?”

“I was trying to see if it would stick to the wall longer than jelly bread.”

She followed his eyes to a neat row of Wonderbread slices starfished to the wall.

She handed him a spatula. “Scrape that stuff off before it dries.”

Smiling inwardly, she left him to his task. As she did so, all she could think of was, Where’d he learn to cook spaghetti?

Word count 300

The Dog Button

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the line, "It's even worse than I thought."

The Dog Button

The President reached for the bottle of Excedrin. The threat of a nuclear war always gave him a headache.

It all started when Secret Service wouldn’t let the ambassador from North Korea use his Segway inside the White House. The small man stormed into the Oval Office and declared war on the spot.

The President was unimpressed. When attempts to calm the diminutive ambassador failed, the President pushed a button usually reserved for when the Minority Whip was visiting. The button, located just under the edge of the desk had an outline of a dog’s head on it.

The President felt better almost right away. There was nothing more uplifting than releasing the hounds on a dwarf in olive-colored pajamas.

With that done, he looked at his agenda and saw nothing but the typical hodgepodge of crises. The day would be filled with “terrorists this” and “bank corruption that.” There was no easy “release the hounds” solution to any of this. The American people had become so polarized in their opinions that the best the President could hope for was to piss everyone off equally.

The last meeting of the day was with the ambassador from Iran. He stood in front of the President, shaking slightly – the memory of last month’s “hound release” incident was still fresh in his mind.

“Mr. President, I am to inform you that we will rain nuclear death down upon you as soon as our peaceful research is complete.” He wasn’t sure if he had translated that correctly. However, he spun and fled at the sight of the President’s hand sliding under the edge of the desk.

Later that evening, the President’s wife greeted him and said, “We saw Clash of the Titans today.”

“Oh? How was it?”

“Awful. It’s even worse than I thought,” she replied.

Word count 300

Unwelcomed

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: shadow, bridge and flower

Unwelcomed

Destroying the bridge was their only defense.

It could be a long trip around your typical Martian crevasse. Hopefully help would arrive before It could either circumvent the mile-deep trench or find another way across. Commander Hillman estimated they had no more than five months. After that, he and the rest of the colonists would be gone – either rescued or dead.

It was going to be a close thing. Earth had been notified but help was not exactly around the corner. Evacuating the entire base had never been part of the blueprint. Ships had to be built. After that, it was a four-week journey.

“Hold on as best you can Commander. We will be on our way soon.”

No use arguing. The distance was what it was.

Hillman gathered the colonists to discuss the situation.

“The planet does not want us here.” He gestured to the huge cloud of dust in the distance; its eerie shadow covered most of the bio-dome. Everyone knew its source. “We are unarmed against an enemy of immense power. Rescue is coming but it will take months to get here.”

“Maybe we can negotiate a truce.” It was Sam Jackson, one of the botanists.

“How would we do that Sam? Should I just walk out of the dome and surrender to the first boulder I see?” He wanted to take that back as soon as he’d said it. They were all afraid. Sam was only trying to help.

The meeting ended and people zombied back to work. Hillman tried to be positive but had just too little hope to offer.

In his office, he looked at what started it all. Everything had been fine until this. In an enviro-case, was Sam Jackson’s biggest success – the first flower to grow out of Martian soil.

Word count 298

Death of a Hero

This story was written for the Writing.com Inspirational Quote Contest.  The quote that was to inspire the writers was "April comes in like a fool, spewing flowers everywhere."

Death of a Hero

My deathbed has been waiting for me since the day I was born, out there fixed in time and space.  My random meanderings through life have served to change none of this.  Every step and misstep, that I have taken faithfully brought me closer to that inevitable end.

When I finally get here, I find myself surprised. 

Somehow, I thought it would be different.

I had imagined a hospital room with tubes and pumps keeping me alive until all hope is lost and the plug pulled.  Me, a shriveled up old man eating my final meal of green Jell-O as family members stand around, some crying dutiful tears, others checking their watches wishing they were somewhere else.  All very touching and appropriate.

Not like this.  Not on the floor of a seven-eleven with my life's blood flowing towards the Cheetos display.  With a thirty year shelf life, they are marked down to move quickly.

And where did all of these flowers come from.  I can see them everywhere.  The air is filled with their scent as they whirl around me. 

There are other views from where I lay.  Moving my head slightly, I can see old wads of gum stuck under a shelf.  Years of effort.  Each wad presented to me as a unique dental signature.  They make a colorful montage of goo; every morsel a history untold; not so different from myself.  No bard would sing about my valorous episodes as I float off in my flaming Viking funeral boat.

Not this time around anyway.

Looking directly overhead, I could see the bug equivalent of me.  Little dots count the number that failed to heed the words "Don't go into the light!"  Do bugs think about death? 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see people.  There is the arm of the store clerk hanging over the counter.  We would meet each other soon enough...talk about old times.  "Remember the time in that store?" I would say.  "Stop it, man.  You're killing me," he says.  Then we would both have a big laugh.

Interesting thought, I think.

A woman is down the aisle next to the motor oil.  She seems to be crying hysterically.  I know how she feels. You should never buy auto supplies in a convenience store.

Suddenly, there is Leon.  He's leaning over me gently; giggling as he shakes my shoulders.

"Come on, Bobby.  April Fools.  That's right.  April Fools.  I get it.  Let's go back to the park."

But, the flowers...they want to take me elsewhere.

It all started about three hours ago.

Chub sent me a text saying the guys were heading out to River Road that evening and it's my turn to get the booze.  Not a problem.  The college dude across the street was twenty-one.  I give him the money and he buys the beer, less his cut of one six-pack.

A quick visit revealed the potential benefits of proper prior planning.  You see if I had bothered to check, I would have seen that my connection's summer break had ended last August.  It was now April.

Time for Plan B.  I borrowed my dad's truck and headed down to the town square.  I would try and hook up with one of those loser high school dropouts that seemed to hang around town waiting for their life to somehow take a turn for the better.  Typically less reliable but worth the risk.

I got lucky right away.  Steven Housman came by in his Camero.  The girls at school thought he was hot.  I could see through the car to the reality of his situation.  A beer gut was already being formed on what was once a quarterback's frame.  Those glory days were long gone.

Anyway, I gave Steve a twenty and he was off to get the beer.  An eternity later, he comes cruising by, drinking what looks to be my Budweiser.

"Steve!" I yell out.  "What's the deal?"

He comes back with "Don't you know what day it is, you idiot?"

"Tuesday?" I venture, not quite certain.

"It's April Fool's day.  Thanks for the beer Fool!" He speeds away, tires squealing for that extra cool loser effect.

So I am now down to my last twenty dollars.  No room for failure.  No more playing the April Fool.

Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. April Fool! 

I would get Leon to buy for me.  He had to be at least thirty.

Leon was a mentally handicapped guy that lived in a shelter by the church although he mostly hung out around the park.  I had known him for years.  I think I may be one of the few people in town that even knows his name.  Most just look right through him not wanting to acknowledge that he is even there.

He was sort of simple in the head.  Rumor had it that his dad hit him in the head with a board when he was three.  I think maybe he was just born that way.

I started by walking the park perimeter.  I finally spot him over in an open area behaving in his normal abnormal manner.  From the curb, it looked like he was picking things up off of the ground.

As I got closer, he looked up and saw me, a big grin crossing his face.

"Bobby!  Bobby! Boy, it's sure good to see you!  Gosh, this has been such a great day!"

"What's up Leon?"

"Gosh, yes, Bobby.  I have been picking flowers.  Lots and lots of flowers.  You know April showers bring flowers.  Gosh, yes."

I didn't have the heart to tell him he got the saying a little wrong.  But I had to ask about the flowers.

"Leon.  I don't see any flowers."

"Sure you do Bobby.  Here ya go!" and he handed me what appeared to be a big bouquet of air.

Before I could say a thing, he saw the confused look in my eyes and burst out laughing.  "I got you, Bobby.  Gosh, yes!  I got you.  April Fools!" He started to dance around clapping his hands.

I had to marvel at Leon.  He didn't have a thing in the world to be thankful for and yet...he is probably one of the happiest people I know.  It was as if his limited mental abilities didn't include an awareness of the realities that so many of us "normies" find to worry about.

At the tender age of seventeen, I felt that Leon was possibly the finest person I knew.

That made what I was about to do particularly distasteful.

"Leon.  How would you like to do me a favor?"

"Gosh, yes, Bobby. I can do you a favor that is for sure."

"If I give you some money, will you buy me some beer?" 

"If Bobby gives me some money, I will buy some beer.  Gosh, yes.  I can do that."

So we head off to the store.  Leon is overjoyed at the idea of helping me out.  He thinks I am the smartest person in town.  All the while, I'm thinking that I cannot possibly sink any lower.  I am committed to this path for now, but I silently vow to never to do this again.  This would be a one-time event. 

All the way to the store, Leon is pretending to pick flowers.  He somehow knows the names of what he is collecting.  This invisible one is a daffodil.  There are some invisible daisies.  He goes on and on all the way to the store.  How he knew so many flower names is beyond me.

We finally get there and Leon is bursting at the seams.  He has to pull his April Fool's joke on the first person he sees.  Just then, a group of gangbangers come be-bopping out of the store.  They were pushing and shoving each other as their pants hung down, well below their waists.

"April Showers bring flowers!" he says handing the nearest dude an invisible bunch of something. "April Fool's!" He yells out laughing and clapping his hands.

"Hey retard.  You da April Fool.  Now get outta my face."  The banger is un-amused and gives Leon a rough shove. 

Leon is temporarily confused.  A hurt look crosses his face.  He does not understand cruelty.  Like I said, it's outside of his mental envelope.

What do I do while this is going on?  I maintain your basic low profile.  For the moment, I was not with the retard.  Never saw him; didn't know him.  I just walked by on into the store.

What a coward.

The event lasted a moment but it stuck to me like glue.  My face was burning with shame.  Here, I was asking him to do something illegal and he agrees without question.  He trusts me.  And now, he is accosted in front of the store and I simply let him take it.

It's now official.  I hate myself.

Nowhere to go but up.  My head fills with things I should have done or should have said but it is too late now.  The bangers are gone.  It's just me and the tube-o-chips I was pretending to inspect as Leon wandered back down the aisle towards me smiling broadly.

He had resumed his game of picking flowers.  "This is a great store.  There are flowers everywhere."  He has forgotten all about the beer.  He probably forgot about that moments after I mentioned it to him.  He just came along because he wanted to be with me, his friend.

It would be so good to be the person Leon thinks I am, not the person I seem to have become.

Then it hits me.  No more of this crap!  Right there at that moment, I changed.  There would be no beer; no party on River Road.  No more taking advantage of my friend.  No more standing by while bad things happen to good people.  I simply did a moral about face.

It felt good.  I felt good about me.

A moment later, the world went into slow motion.

I both saw and heard the gangbangers reenter the store.  There were two of them.  The big one had a gun.

Without so much as a "Hand over the money" he put four slugs into the clerk who bounced back into the slushy machine and then staggered forward with a look of complete surprise on his face.  He finally fell forward across the counter.

"Sheeeet Bro!  What the hell are you doing?  We just wanted to rob the place and now you have gone and put us in jail for life.  I am out of here!"  the backup gangbanger had apparently elected to reevaluate his alliances and fled through the front door.

The heavy swung the gun around to take a shot at his fleeing ex-accomplice when his eyes fell on Leon.

"Well if it ain't the retard with the invisible flowers.  I ain't never shot no retard before" and with that, he swung his gun up and fired twice.

Like I said; the whole thing was in slow motion.  I could almost see the slugs as they ripped into the clerk.  I knew before he said a thing, the smaller one would flee.  I also knew in that instant, that the shooter was out for blood and Leon was a big target.

I moved before the gunman did.  I threw myself against Leon; shoving him aside just in time.

I never felt a thing.

I saw the shooter turn and flee as the candy display flew past my vision.  Peanut M&Ms; I love those things.

I hit the floor with a silent "whoosh" instead of the thud I had anticipated.

The flowers had cushioned my fall. 

They were everywhere.  All types of flowers.  I could see and smell them.

The last thing I saw was Leon.  He had the biggest bouquet I have ever seen.

"Come on, Bobby.  Gosh, yes. Let's go! "

My bed and I had finally met.  Gosh, Yes.

Teamwork

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: sharp, lake and crimson

Teamwork

“Keep a sharp eye on ya, Lad. It’s the buffalo fish that she be attracted to. But in a pinch, a young boy like yerself will do just as well. This is no place for a tiny sprout to be hanging around.”

Crazy old potato, Patrick thought. I’ll show him.

Everyone knew of the old wives tale. The Lake Monster was just one of many such stories that had sprung up since The Great Upheaval. The problem was, some of them were true; in fact, many were.

Ever since the Genetic Wars had swept across the planet, nothing was as it had once been. Up was still up and two plus two still equaled four. But other than those, and a few other examples, things were different.

Patrick stood at the end of the pier, staring out at the red float bobbing only a hundred yards from the shore. No one knew why it was there. It just was. One day, no float and the next, well …

For months, there had been speculation. The most interesting theories had to do with the Lake Monster. Some said it was marking its territory. Others said it was trolling for people. So far there had been no takers – none curious enough to risk the swim.

Until Patrick.

He made it ten feet before disappearing amidst a frantic boiling of the lake’s surface. A crimson spot showed up on the surface a few moments later; almost as an afterthought to the event.

The lake sent out its thanks.

The old man never blinked. He sucked on his pipe hiding the euphoria that was sweeping through him. She fed and he felt the pleasure as it raced up the nearly invisible umbilical leading from the lake to where it was attached to his ankle.

Word count 300

Hope

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: code, scream and tent

Hope

The town was empty as expected.

The drone floated down the street. Its sensors looking for sounds, heat or unnatural movement; any evidence that life had returned to normal.

It was looking for hope.

In the early days after the Great Upheaval, this is what we did.

The bio-habitats were filled with wanna-be prophets. They preached that breaking the genetic code had opened Pandora’s Box. Genetic engineering had become “The Devil’s Tool”.

“God is punishing us.” That’s what they said.

Looking back, I’d have to reluctantly agree with them. Sure, we found new cures and extended lives and all that good stuff. But in the end, we killed ourselves. We were like children with loaded weapons. We playfully pointed our genetic manipulations at each other and then pulled the trigger – so to speak.

The drone whipped quickly to the right. It had sensed a motion somewhere deep inside the giant warehouse store.

Hope…

The building had several large portions of its front torn down. The gene-ogres never used a door when tearing down a wall would do just as well. Their violent nature was mankind’s best hope. Maybe they would kill each other off.

Not much of a strategy; hoping the enemy would self destruct. But we could hope.

The drone floated into the building. It was dark but not perfectly so. Images were sent back to the controllers who saw isle after isle of destruction. No one was surprised.

The drone picked up a heat signature and tracked it to a tent in the sporting goods department. Maybe they would find someone here not infected.

Hope…

A scream, a flash of a horribly disfigured face and a view of a swinging hammer ended the mission abruptly.

They would try again tomorrow. They had to. It was their only hope.

Word count 300

The Choice

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: whistle, glass and cheap

The Choice

He walked into the Tavern like he owned the place.

Heads turned and then quickly looked away as everyone suddenly regained interest in something other than the muscle-bound eye patch that just sat at the bar.

Things would change as the night grew long. For now, the men needed some alone time. The place was crowded with isolation. Cheap whiskey served in dirty glasses was all the companionship they needed. It was a life worse than death. Some, a few really, chose death rather than face another shift in the mines. Most would drink, sleep and then shuffle back to work, starting the cycle anew. Such was life in the prison mines on the dark side of the moon.

He waited, drinking only water.

Eventually, a few thought they would have a go at the stranger.

He looked at them with contempt before finally saying, “Sit down.”

There was something about the way he said it that cleared their foggy minds. Two sat, while the third ran to notify the warden.

A few minutes later, a shotgun preceded the warden into the bar. He walked up to the stranger and placed the barrel under the big man’s chin, setting the stage for his interview.

“Who are you? You’re not one of my convicts. Are you a tourist?”

“Nope. Bounty Hunter.”

The warden let out a big laugh. “What’s a bounty hunter doing at a prison? Everyone here has already been caught.”

“I’m not here for them,” he said, nodding towards the now-rapt audience.

“Then who are you here for?” the sheriff said as he pulled back the trigger.

“I’m here for you. It’s time for you to choose.”

The next morning, the whistle sent men into the mines. The warden was not amongst them.  He chose the path less traveled.

Word count 300

The Do-Over

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: crossroads, flag and bright

The Do-over

Kevin didn’t exactly recognize it as a crossroads moment until his mind translated things into the easier-to-understand choice between door number one and door number two.

On the one hand, there was a life sculpted from an education that fell about four years shy of a high school diploma. On the other hand was a life of wealth, women and the occasional hot pursuit.

Done deal.

Sure, the guns, gambling and gratuitous violence had sent up a red flag or two. But on the whole, it beat pushing a mop around for eight hours a day.

That had been more than two weeks ago.

Now, leaning against the wall behind a rundown warehouse, Kevin wished for a do-over – a chance to make a different choice. Nothing had turned out quite as expected. The bleeding, for example, was a bit of a surprise. He had never seen so much blood.

His vision tunneled as he wondered how much blood he could afford to lose before…

“About four pints.”

Two thoughts crossed Kevin’s mind as he stood and brushed himself off. First of all, where was this Mr. Know-it-all and secondly, how much blood was in a pint.

“I’m right here Kevin.”

There was no attempt at a disguise. The horned creature had Kevin pegged as an easy mark.

“Not to worry boy. I can have you up and on your feet in no time.” The beast explained his point with a gesture to the right.

Kevin followed the pointing finger, only to find himself lying lifeless against the building. He had a bad feeling about this. The Beast would want something in return.

“Do I have a choice?”

As if on command, door number two opened up a few feet away. A do-over; a different choice! Kevin walked into the bright light.

Word count 300

Morning Quandry

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: ladder, hourglass and fog

Morning Quandry

Donald considered sneaking quietly out of the house. Fortunately, the fog in his head cleared briefly; allowing him to recognize where he was- home. Departing the scene would only prolong the situation.

Fighting off panic, he searched for Plan B.

For the moment, he lay perfectly still lest he wake the beast snoring happily next to him. Using only his peripheral vision, he tried to scan the room for a solution. What would MacGyver do? Maybe he could set fire to something. In the ensuing commotion, she could be coaxed out of the house and somehow fed into a waiting taxi; its driver bribed into amnesia with regards to the originating address.

He quickly nixed that idea. The last thing he needed was for the entire neighborhood to watch as a fireman carried what appeared to be a large manatee down the ladder. Donald had his reputation to think about.

How could this have happened? he thought. Sure he had been drinking heavily but he was certain that he would have remembered picking up a girl with her own gravity well. There was a vague memory of drinking with an hourglass figure earlier in the evening. Maybe they pulled the old bait-and-switch and he’d ended up with the wingman.

An intimidating burst of flatulence made the sheets billow like a mainsail in a typhoon. She would be waking soon and then there would be no escaping. He had to act now.

Donald rolled to his left only to have her follow suit. She drowsily threw a beefy arm across his body.

Just great, he thought. I’m being spooned by Mount Everest.

Just then, he spied salvation right in front of him. It was time to take the twelve ounce solution. He reached out for the half-full bottle of Jack Daniels.

Word count 300

A Mother's Wrath

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: forest, bowl and egg

A Mother's Wrath

She circled frantically

Tanager watched proudly as the baby dragon gently licked the bowl clean. He was like a proud papa; watching as his little one tries solid food for the first time.

“Won’t be long now, little one. You’ll be wanting something a little more – substantial.”

The dragon-pup, wagged its tail excitedly. Like all dragons, it was extremely intuitive. It could sense the anticipation of its adopted master. However, it had no point of reference to tell it that his master was up to no good.

After checking to make sure the chain was secure around the animal’s neck, Tanager wiped his filthy hands on his shirt and headed off into the forest. He’d need some small game to feed the dragon-pup. It was time to get it accustomed to eating red meat. If all went well, that particular taste would be satisfied to the extreme.

Swooping. Seeking.

As Tanager wondered through the trees, he imagined what it would be like to watch as the villagers fled before the beast. The Dragon would swoop down over and over again; carrying them off one bite at a time. They would regret that they had ever cast Tanager out into the wild.

It wasn’t his fault that the drink had taken him. The girl had been willing. What happened was an accident. He never meant to harm anyone.

But no -they needed someone to punish and the finger of the law pointed squarely at him.

Now they would pay.

By chance, he came upon the very nest where he’d found the eggs months earlier. He’d taken one without a second thought; certainly, one egg would not be missed.

There! Him!

She plucked him off the ground before he could even scream. The dragoness would take her time with this one.

Word count 300

The Centipedian Incident

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the line: "It was the worst experience of my life."

The Centipedian Incident

“It’s all in my report, Sir.

At the time, I remember thinking that it was the worst experience of my life. Who wouldn’t? The Centipedians invaded with such ferocity that all I could do was blow out the giant cargo door. Luckily, they are no more immune to space vacuum than us.

It was as if the entire thing took place in slow motion. We were cruising along on our way to deliver supplies to Outpost Theta-Four when they began to beam aboard. They looked like giant green worms with blasters. The slaughter began almost immediately.

I was on the command bridge at the time. The captain was there and was probably the very first one they shot. He never even had a chance to get out of his chair.

I got lucky. While they targeting the command crew, I sneaked over to the weapons locker. Staying low, I loaded myself down with enough weapons and armor to outfit an entire squad.

You should have seen their faces when I popped up from behind the navigation console. If you have never seen a surprised worm, you are missing something special. They hesitated for a nanosecond, giving me the time I needed.

Lucky for me, they’re easy to kill. My blaster was opening them up like a hot knife through butter. I began to think we had a chance. At the time, I still though there was a “we”. Turns out there was just me. After a few minutes, it got real quiet. I thought it was all over.

Then the second wave hit.

I did the only thing I could. I blew the blast door and threw myself into a life-pod.

Now that I look back on it – I’m certain that was the worst experience of my life.”

Word count 298

The End of Night

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: escape, dawn and gift

The End of Night

The moonlight had been a gift; enabling David to cover several miles since his escape. Soon, he would find out if it had been enough. Dawn was coming and with it would come the hunt. The Others owned the day. That was the law. Any human found out while the sun was above the horizon was fair game.

And so it had been for almost thirty years.

No one argued the wisdom of The Truce. After decades of war, it was clear that both species were on the eve of mutual destruction. They had to choose between living and dying. Whichever they chose, they would go through together.

Now man was a creature of the night. In the darkness, he was safe. It formed an impenetrable boundary to The Others. No one understood how a star faring species could not figure out a way to see through the darkness. Thank goodness that had been the case. Otherwise, genocide would have come quickly to Earth’s once dominant king of the food chain.

David stayed in the shadows as best he could. Still he had to take some chances. There was no time to worry about what they would do if they caught him. Failure was not an option. The secrets he had seen must be passed on, even if it cost him his life.

Mankind needed to be ready for the time was near. The Others would gather at dusk and wait for an unsuspecting enemy to emerge into the night.

David had seen their research facilities. Breakthroughs had resulted in the technology they needed to take the fight into the night. The production lines were producing tubes and filaments in vast quantities.

Man needed to know. The Others were coming and they would bring the end of night with them.

Word count 300

Bait

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: point, easy and gone

Bait

Scott walked out of the bar to find his car gone – no big surprise. After all, this wasn’t exactly the best neighborhood to leave your unlocked car outside with the keys in the ignition.

That was easy, he thought.

With no apparent concern, he headed off to his “other” car. It was only a few blocks away and besides, he had plenty of time. Even the best chop-shops needed a couple of hours to a-la-carte a vehicle.

He would meet them there; wherever that turned out to be. But first, he needed his car; the one that didn’t have a coke addict in the driver’s seat heading for a quick payday.

Night was coming and Scott soon found himself walking in shadows, still ten minutes from where his car was parked. He didn’t care. Just let someone try something funny. They would find out what it would mean to attack a man with nothing to lose.

In his suit, he was a tempting target. More than one scrum of corner dealers gave him a quick, appraising glance. There were no takers. There was something about the guy. Something only a seasoned “street eye” could see. He wasn’t a cop but he wasn’t afraid either. Best to let this one just walk on by.

Good call.

A geo-locator told him where his ex-car had landed. He wondered if this was the one where they had taken his car years ago; right after the carjacker killed his wife.

It didn’t really matter, so long as someone continued to pay.

Casually, he popped his car’s trunk and pulled out what he referred to as his point-and-shoot automatic door opener.

The RPG opened up the front of the strip shop like a can of sardines.

Heavily armed, Scott walked into the smoke.

Word count 299

Stranded

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: message, broken, drop

Stranded

Well that’s the end of that, Tangeron thought to himself.

In his hands were the fried remains of his backup de-randomizer chipset. Its broken predecessor was still warm from its own demise only hours earlier. Without at least one of these chips, his vessel’s probability drive would slowly begin to choose more and more unlikely outcomes. His ship’s Artificial Intelligence would become increasingly confused. It would only be a matter of time before he would find himself trying to re-assimilate inside of a star or some other equally uninviting location.

Quickly, he set about sending out a distress signal. Once his ship realized it was going insane, it would automatically drop out of Null-Space. Any message sent after that would be subject to light speed limitations. It would take forever for anyone to find him then.

The tingling sensation in his head told him he was too late. He’d phase-shifted into real time before he could call for help.

“Ship, where are we?” he thought.

“Assessing…” the ship thought back.

Tangeron could physically feel the numerous gravity wells. That was good news. It meant he was probably in a star system. If that were true, he may find locals able to lend him a hand.

Soon, the ship thought, “Location is determined to be a minor, unnamed spiral galaxy. The nearest likely source of assistance is located next to a yellow dwarf star approximately thirty light minutes distant from our present location.”

He sent a distress thought out to the local solar system. There was no answer.

“What’s the local sentience level?”

“Three”

That’s just great, Tangeron thought. Fossil fuel barbarians at best.

“Ship, what is the most likely means of successful communication?”

“Radio waves.”

“Send a message using radio waves; whatever those are. Let’s hope someone’s listening.”

Word count 300

Beckoned

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the line, "We're going to be late again."

Beckoned

Bobby focused on the ground and picked up the pace.

Don’t look up. Just keep going. Just keep going, he repeated over and over again to himself.

He didn’t hear his sister calling for him to slow down. He didn’t notice his breath start to quicken as The Fear began to grow in his chest. He didn’t notice the rain beginning to fall or the sudden blustery gusts blowing head on, as if trying to slow him down.

Don’t look up. Just keep going…

Bobby could only see the sidewalk in front of him. It was just him, the cement and the lines.

It wouldn’t be long now; less than a hundred yards to go.

The slabs of the sidewalk begin to age; each one more cracked than the one before. Weeds were starting to sprout through the cracks and in some places, the slabs had been lifted slightly.

Don’t look up…

The wind was blowing hard now. He could barely walk. He could hear the wooden gate banging against the fence. The wind – it was howling. It was too much.

Bobby stopped and looked up.

There was the old Henson place. It’d been abandoned for so long, that most people didn’t even notice it any more.

That was before something strange and unseen had moved in.

Now it called to Bobby. He could feel it; almost hear it. The house and whatever was in there wanted him. Every morning on the way to school, he had found himself stopped in front of the old place. He wanted to go in. He needed to go in. He couldn’t help himself.

“We’re going to be late again.”

His final words to his sister, “Run Susie. Run!”

The house called out to him again. Helpless, Bobby stumbled up towards the front door.

Word count 300

Trail Dust to Dust

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: diamond, trail, bone

Trail Dust to Dust

Sam let his finger trace the brand on the horse’s flank.

A double diamond.

This just got real interesting, he thought to himself. His horse, still wearing his saddle, was tied to the hitching post. There was no attempt to hide any of it. Sam guessed that was to be expected. He was dead, after all. At least that’s what they thought.

That had been a mistake for which they would pay with their lives.

He dusted off most the trail that he’d collected on his clothes over the last three weeks. He had a bone to pick with some would-be murdering thieves. First he would need to scout the situation. They’d have him outnumbered. Plus, he was unarmed.

He found them inside the saloon. They were sitting at a table; cheating at cards.

Sam leaned against the bar and considered his options. He would need a gun. He couldn’t take on three armed men without one. He would also have to confront them; get them to start it. Otherwise, the sheriff might see him as the instigator. There was also the…

A commotion broke out at the card table. One of his “targets” stood up and tossed the table aside. Another one, dove to his left and came up shooting. The one standing teetered for a moment before collapsing in a bloody heap.

It happened so fast; all Sam could do was watch.

One down, two more to go, he thought. Somehow he felt a little cheated. Left to their own devices, they would apparently just kill themselves off. What fun was that?

Just then, the bloody heap stood up and walked over to the bar. He glanced over at Sam and said, “Hey, ain’t you the guy we kilt out there on the trail a few weeks back?”

Word count 300

Border Breached

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: nightmare, circle and unseen

Border Breached

Dr. Benjamin slid the viewing panel shut and turned to his group. “As you can see, Doctor Szokoly has lost all contact with the rational world. The renowned physicist claims that the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland has breached the quantum membrane; whatever that is. He says that we are under attack by unseen forces. ”

Dr. Adam Szokoly hunched in the corner of his padded cell. He could see them peeking in at him. When the panel on the door slid shut, he went to work. There wasn’t much time.

“Isn’t he the guy that tried to blow up the collider?”

The administrator turned to his audience of fat wallets in search of good causes. “The very same. At the time, he claimed he was trying to close the border between us and the nightmare world of magic and witchcraft.”

“So he actually believes in magic? Isn’t that odd for a man that dedicated most of his life to the pursuit of truth through scientific discovery?”

Adam didn’t have anything sharp to cut himself with so he used his teeth. Once he had a nice flow of blood, he stood in the center of his cell and turned slowly. As long as he stayed within the circle of blood, he would be safe.

“Yes, that’s what makes this case…”

A commotion down the hall caught everyone’s attention. People running towards the tour group were brought down from behind by large gorilla type creatures. Just beyond that, the building lost focus. Nothing made sense. The stunned group could only watch as the edge of reality charged towards them, consuming everything in its path.

As quickly as it happened, the world reset itself. Adam stepped out of his circle wondering if there was an Eve for him out there somewhere.

Word count 300

The Mechanic

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: inheritance, alarm and shake

The Mechanic

He didn’t look up when the alarm went off.

If it was an intruder, the dogs would handle it. Otherwise, let them wait. Balancing the nitrous circuitry on these rice rockets was a task best performed without interruption. His reputation counted on this car performing as advertised.

He had a reputation of never failing – at anything.

With the job done, he went to check on his dogs.

“Yeah?”

“Mister, will you call off your dogs?”

The mechanic continued wiping his hands with a rag. He looked at the man atop an oil barrel.

“Animals sense fear,” he said. “Don’t shake so much.”

Neither said a thing as the mechanic walked around the 'treed' customer.

“What are you doing here?”

“Someone told me you were the guy to see if I needed something done.”

“I’m just a mechanic. Tell me what you need and I might know someone that knows someone.”

“My name is Newman, Fredrick Newman. Does that name mean anything to you – Mechanic?”

With a snap of his fingers, the mechanic sent the dogs off to the far side of the yard.

“The inheritance.”

“That’s right. I knew you were more than a mechanic.”

He tucked his rag into his back pocket and looked up as the man still standing on the barrel.

“I read the newspapers. What’s the deal?”

“Let’s just say, I don’t like to share. Now, who do I make the check out to?”

The mechanic reached into his back pocket. Instead of a rag, he pulled out a check of his own and handed it up to his “customer.”

“Mr. Newman, we have an interesting situation here.”

Newman’s eyes grew wide as he read the signature on the check. It was his sister’s!

He never felt a thing. The mechanic was, after all, a professional.

Word count 300

Free Agency.

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: tile, shadow and blister

Free Agency

He was a dark hero of sorts, although some called him evil.

Shunned when not needed, he’d bide his time. When the call came, when they needed him, he wasn’t “evil.” He was Mr. Black.

He sat in the center of the room as several small items swirled around in the air. He measured his adversary by the strength of its telekinesis. Small appliances were the toys of shadow demons. Large furniture was a different story. It would mean he was up against a real player from the darkness beyond.

Whatever was haunting this house was apparently becoming frustrated with Black’s lack of concern over floating blenders. A coffee mug went flying by his head and crashed against the decorative tile surrounding the fireplace.

Mr. Black lit a cigar and turned on the television.

He knew they hated it when you disrespected them.

A commotion from the game room caught his attention. He casually strode in to find balls rolling around on the pool table. Mr. Black picked up a stick and began to line up a shot when the door slammed shut.

It had him now. Everything that wasn’t nailed down began to cyclone around the room. Mr. Black knew that nothing could strike him so long as he showed no fear. That was one of the rules he’d learned as a student of astral-physics.

There was only one thing that could harm him. Hopefully, they were unaware of this. Most shadow level demons were too new to the business to know all the tricks of their trade.

When he saw the paint on the walls begin to blister, he knew that they knew.

Fire!

Black smiled at his own imminent demise. Death brought no fear. He’d always known he’d play for the other team someday.

Word count 298

An Almost Good Plan

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: blink, chicken, cross

An Almost Good Plan

There is a thin line between being heroic and being stupid; between being reckless and being chicken.

Johnny was about to cross that line.

Across the room was the nearest threat – a man wearing a ski mask, carrying an assault rifle.

Another was near the front door of the bank. He appeared to be the lookout. His attention was on the outside of the building.

The third threat of deadly force was in the vault with the bank president.

Johnny’s mind’s eye played out a favorable scenario. He would slowly get to his feet and clear his throat. When the nearest gun turned his way, Johnny would execute a spinning back kick to the head. He would then quickly wrestle the gun from the stunned hoodlum and use it to drop the lookout where he stood. Vaulting over the counter, he would meet the leader as he emerged from the vault. A quick chop to the back of the head and it would all be over.

In the blink of an eye, Johnny would go from geek to international man of mystery – a hero to all.

There were a few flaws in his plan that he needed to consider. First of all, he had only been taking karate for three weeks. At one lesson a week, he was still a white belt; the lowest of the low. Secondly, he had never shot a gun in his life. Sure, it looked easy enough. Point and shoot; just like the video games.

Finally, there was Mom. The ultimate show-stopper was laying face down on the floor next to him. Her grip on his arm was like an iron vice. She was way stronger than most of girls he knew. Besides, she would probably ground him for a week just for trying.

word count 300

Escaping Grand Rapids

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: thread, grass, flew

Escaping Grand Rapids

Something is wrong with my pizza. I know I ordered pepperoni and this one has no – wait a minute. I now see that I have accidentally eaten part of the box. What does that say about the food here at the airport when the box tastes just like the pizza minus the toppings?

Grand Rapids International - home to crop-dusters, ultra-lights and the last of a dwindling fleet of turbo-prop aircraft. It’s bustling place where up to twenty passengers an hour pass through airport security in hopes of finding a flight that someone forgot to cancel.

I look around, ensuring I am not being observed as I toss a half eaten pizza box into the trash. A few minutes later, I am stretched out on the floor trying to find my “happy place.” I imagine myself lying in a field of tall grass. The wind blows lightly across my face. There is the peaceful cadence of meditation drums from somewhere off in the distance.

I’m at peace.

The drumming becomes louder; closer. The beat is irregular now. The wind becomes a gale as my “happy place” spins out of control.

I sit up abruptly; not sure where I am. I look around from where I am sitting on the floor and notice I’m the center of attention. Through a window, I see a thread of light appear against a background of dark clouds.

I consider being embarrassed but decide instead, to lie back on the floor. My hope of getting a flight flew out the window with the weather. In an airport where flights are canceled based on input from a Magic Eight-Ball, I have no hope.

I’m a hostage of the local TSA job site.

Let them watch me. I don’t care. I have a happy place to find.

word count 300

A Lapse in Memory

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.

The prompts: This story must contain the words: swimsuit, waterfall, lemonade

A Lapse in Memory

Next time I go with the lemonade, Todd thought as he fled down the jungle trail. He didn’t need to look back to know they were still after him. It was like being chased by a pep rally with automatic weapons. Apparently if you throw enough Tequila and a big enough bounty at a problem, everyone will want to play.


He remembered ordering the Bourbon and then – nothing more. At the moment, he would settle for just knowing who he was.


A bullet whistled past his head. Probably a lucky shot, he thought/hoped. Give enough monkeys an infinite number of bullets and one of them will eventually shoot Shakespeare – or something like that.


Todd smiled. At least I’m not panicking. Maybe this it something I do all of the time.


He looked down at his bare feet picking their way thought the underbrush. He was dressed in only his underwear, or maybe a swimsuit. He was armed with – nothing.


He ran and ran; amazed by his stamina. The posse was falling behind yet he could still hear them laughing as they confidently chased their prey.


What do they know that I don’t?


Five minutes later, he had his answer. Sure, the waterfall implied there would be a pool at the bottom of the cliff. Still, all he could see was mist. There had to be another way.


Todd looked around in a panic. They were getting close. In seconds, they would burst into the opening and see him. Then it would be over.


What would I do if I could remember who I am? he thought. Todd took a couple of deep breaths and tried to let his “real” self take over.


As the guns broke through the edge of the jungle, Todd remembered.


Without hesitation, he turned and jumped.


Word Count 300