Talent Show Finale

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

The prompts: This story must include the words: Listen, tomato and match

Talent Show Finale

“Hey, crater face! You look like the dark side of the moon.”

“Tomato face! I thought I saw you growing in my mom’s garden.”

Margaret kept her eyes forward as she made her way through the obstacle course of cliquish girls that stood between her and seventh grade English. She tried not to listen to the taunts. It wasn’t her fault that acne had taken a rather enthusiastic hold of her complexion.

Day after day, the giggles and whispers followed her through the hallways of middle school. They would echo in her mind throughout her lonely afternoons and nights. It had gotten to the point where she could hear them even when no one was there.

The voices would come through the radio. One minute, music would be playing and then it would morph into: “Tomato head! Crater face! Look at how ugly she is! No one likes you pimple head! Don’t play with her. She may be contagious!”

Her mom pretended not to hear them. She didn’t understand. Little Margaret was just being silly.

One day, Margaret realized that gallons of medicine and tears were not going to change things. She could either close up completely, shutting out everyone, or …

Tuesday afternoon, the school cafeteria was packed. It was time for the annual talent show and every student was either participating or in the audience. Everyone was there, except for Margaret. She had work to do.

Outside, trash cans were pushed in front of exits. Bicycle locks secured some of the doors. On the roof, five gallons of gasoline waited patiently for their turn at talent. The little combustible molecules could do something better than anyone else. They could burn.

“Our next contestant is Exxon Supreme,” Margaret said as she lit the match. 

Clever Girl

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

The prompts: This story must include the words: trouble, mind and candy

Clever Girl

Trouble was her middle name.

Six-year-old Kimberly surveyed the damage; her mind turning over a wide variety of possible options. She knew her mom was extraordinarily clever at getting to the bottom of such things. Mom would surely place the little girl square in the middle of the battle zone previously known as “the kitchen”.

Kimberly had to think fast. Mom’s afternoon nap would be over anytime now. In an effort to gain a stay-of-execution, she went into the living room and turned down the volume on the television. The judge, jury and executioner could possibly stay asleep on the couch indefinitely if the house were quiet enough.

Step two would normally involve Rags, the family dog. He was her most reliable patsy but even Kimberly knew that he could not take the blame for the mess that had boiled over on the stove top.

Like all of her calamities, and there were a lot of them, it had started off with only the best intentions. How hard could it be to make candy? One part chocolate, one part sugar, one part Rice Krispies and one part frying pan had all seemed like a good idea at the time. Cooking it all together on the stove had been a stroke of genius.

Letting it cook unattended for the better part of an hour was the problem.

Kimberly turned slowly in the center of the kitchen, marveling at how thoroughly the little black Krispie-dots covered the walls and ceiling.

She was either going to have to run away from home until this all blew over; or she was going to have to get busy cleaning up.

She was a big girl, too big to run away. With a proud feeling of responsibility, she went outside to get the hose.

The Rest of the Story

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300. (And a tip of the hat to Paul Harvey)

The prompts: This story must contain the line "Believe me, you don't want to know."

The Rest of the Story

Jumping Badger burst into his parent’s teepee and dove under a pile of animal skins they used for bedding. His mother, White Fawn, was quite use to the troublesome behavior of her youngest son. Still, she had to ask.

“What sort of mischief have you been into this morning my little brave?”

A small, muffled voice said, “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

Commotion could be heard coming from the direction of the village center. White Fawn lifted the teepee flap to take a peek. She had learned to gauge the level of trouble her son was in by the amount of wailing the local, gossipy squaws put forth. It was as if they thought a well behaved Indian boy was a good thing. Today he appeared to have really stuck a nerve. She couldn’t have been prouder of her little one.

White Fawn knew better than those old hags. It was the wild and daring nature of children that would help them evolve into the leadership skills of an adult in the Lakota tribe. 

Years later, she could not have foreseen how right she was. At the age of forty-one, some thirty years later, her once little boy woke up and reflected on what a gift his mom had been. He stood on the hillside today, a product of her upbringing. Were she still alive, she would be proud of her little brave. He would always be her little Jumping Badger, although he now went by his adult name

Today, June 25th, 1876, was to be a big day for him. Although he was Jumping Badger to his mom, by this time tomorrow, the world would know him by his adult name. Today was the day Sitting Bull would rock a nation to its very core.

A Dog Tail

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

The prompts: This story must start with "Once upon a time"

A Dog Tail (true story)

Once upon a time, my dog walked into the middle of the living room and threw up an entire block of cheddar cheese. It was still intact, retaining most of its brick-like shape, although it was a little rounded on the edges.

I was very impressed. He was such a good boy.

He seemed to be a little embarrassed by the whole ordeal. I am not sure if it was because he threw up or because he had just been caught. Actually, I’m not even sure if he was embarrassed since it was hard to tell if he was blushing or not. 

I also had a pig once. You could tell when she was blushing. Her tummy would turn bright pink and she would avoid eye contact. But, that is another story.

Bear, my dog, was probably trying to pretend to be embarrassed. That would be his best defense. He could claim, “I don’t understand. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I have no idea how that cheese got in there. By the way, can I have it back since you probably don’t want it now?”

My wife threw him outside with a scolding. Later I would go out and tell him secretly how proud I was that he could eat so much in one bite. We were pals.

That is life when your dog is the size of a small pony and clever as a fox. He would behave right up to the point where he figured the odds of him not getting caught were in his favor. Like the time he ate an entire dinner for five in under ten seconds. He casually wandered into the kitchen and then wandered right back out. 

Without any evidence or witnesses, we couldn’t pin that one on him. 

Life Cyles

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

The prompts: This story must contain the words: doubt, rain, purple

Life Cycles

Distant red streaks could be seen cutting across the deep purple sky. 

Churl sat on the hillside watching as his mate Privda snuggled deeper into his arms. She sent him soothing vibrations that conveyed her love and great satisfaction with their union. He smiled down at the small bundle. She was small and beautiful, only about a third his size which was the norm for their species.

They had not left each other’s side since the closing ceremony at the Festival of the Arks. It had been a gala event, culminating in the spectacular Launching of the Arks. The festival marked the end of the cycle; or the beginning, depending on one’s perspective. Within the next solar loop, the planet would be bombarded down to bedrock. 

Nothing would survive. Of this there was no doubt. History had proven that when the asteroid showers came, the planet died. The clock of the cosmos completed the deadly collision course every fifty-thousand years.

Time and time again, the inhabitants would use that same clockwork to make sure that as soon as the planet cooled, the Arks would land and spread the seeds of life once again.

The streaks were closer now. The rain of space rock was awesome to behold. Churl and Privda sent comfort to each other as the static charge in the air began to make their fur stand on end. They could feel the hot wind in their face as the planet’s rotation brought the onslaught closer and closer.

At the last moment, they jumped, leaving their biologicals behind. 

Their place on the Ark was waiting for them. They would vibrate as one for during the century-long elliptical trip. The Ark landings would mark the beginning, or the end, depending on one’s perspective.

Newton's Apple

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

The prompts: This story must take place during a power outage

Newton's Apple

Gravity waited patiently. In time, the elevator would succumb. Meanwhile, automatic brakes held the small, glass-walled box in place, sixty floors above the lobby. Inside, Paul waited for the power to be restored. 

He had worked in this building for years. While power outages were rare, he understood that things like this happened from time to time. Paul waited with a confidence based on optimistic expectations. The brakes would hold him safely until power was restored.

Before too long he found himself resetting his expectations. This was something different. He couldn’t put his finger on it but this was somehow not a typical power outage. Through the glass walls, everything was uniformly black. He tried to peer down into the lobby far below but could see only darkness. It was too complete. He should have been able to see back-up lighting or exit signs. 

In a panic, he fumbled around until he found the emergency telephone. Nothing, not even a dial tone came through to his suddenly hungry ear. It was completely quiet and Paul was starting to feel singularly alone.

Hours passed, taking with them the darkness of night. Diffused light entered the high-rise. Dark shapes hinted at what the light would bring. Paul couldn’t quite make out what he was seeing but he knew he’d had enough of the elevator. 

Forcing the doors open as the first direct light entered the seventy-story high lobby, Paul stepped out of the glass elevator into a strange world that appeared ravaged by time. He stepped passed crumbled walls and mammoth vine-like plants. 

There was no sign that people had been here for decades, maybe centuries.

A shriek from behind caused Paul to turn as the elevator’s brakes gave up the fight causing the glass pocket of time to become Newton’s Apple.

He Knew, She Knew

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

The prompts: This story must contain the words velvet, ocean and race

He Knew, She Knew

He ran his hand down her velvet-like pelt, starting at her shoulder and coming to rest on her shapely hip. She would be waking soon and that would mean coffee stirred with tearful goodbyes. Such was the life of a starship captain.

He got up quietly and walked over to the window. The view of the copper ocean shimmering beneath the double moons was always startling. It was as if he didn’t have the ability to truly grasp the tremendous beauty before him, much less that of the beauty on the bed behind him. Words could be so inadequate sometimes.

That’s why we don’t use them. Her telepathic message wrapped itself around his neck like a warm scarf. He loved the way she did that. 

“Good morning Thereon. Did you sleep well?” He asked, turning to let his gaze rest on her bare feminine back. She hadn’t needed to open her eyes to know where he was and what he was thinking. 

He knew that she knew everything about him; and yet she still loved him. Such was the way with a race of telepaths. They accepted rather than judged. To them, personality idiosyncrasies are uniformly different; part of the beauty that makes each person unique and worthy of treasuring.

She sat up, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. Her back was still to him. With a shy look over her shoulder, she wordlessly sent, I will miss you.

“I will miss you too.” He tried to hide the brimming sadness he felt but he knew … she knew.

She rose to meet him as he started past her towards the kitchen.

My ship is scheduled back in under a month. Will you wait for me?

“Maybe,” he lied with a smile. He knew, she knew.

Scribblers

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

The prompts: This story must contain the words raindrops, scribble and penny

Scribblers

Penny giggled as she watched her crayon filled hands move deliberately across the walls of the hallway outside of her first-grade classroom. It was a funny sensation, seeing the colored scribble as it spread across the once-white surface. 

She didn’t understand exactly what was happening. One minute she had been in Art class and the next, she was out in the halls watching as someone or something else controlled her limbs.

At first, her teacher hadn’t noticed her absence. When she finally went looking for Penny, she was shocked at what she found. The walls just outside the class were filled with nonsensical drawings. The images were dark and brutal without actually being recognizable as anything in particular.

The drawings themselves paled in comparison to the little girl. She giggled as her hands swayed back and forth, leaving a trail of color in their wake. She was having some sort of conversation with herself in a voice to low to make out. Her arms, face and dress were covered with apparently random scrawling. She seemed to be completely unaware of her teacher watching gapped-mouth only a few feet away.

As if she only then became aware of her adult observer, Penny turned her head to look up at the woman. With a smile, she simply said, “Raindrops”.

The storm arrived moments later.

Five years passed and it was still raining.

The world had changed a lot during that time. The food chain had a new top dog; Wisp-like beings that thrived in the high humidity. No one knew where they came from or how long they would stay. Their only communication was through the children. They claimed one in a hundred for the task.

Penny was the first of the new-age druids that came to be known as The Scribblers.

Light Riders

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

The prompts: This story must contain the phrase "nothing will ever be the same".

Light Riders

The Light-Riders came to town on the backs of photons that had been traveling flat out since moments after the Big Bang. They had been chasing us for eons. Long before the formation of our “third rock”, the laws of physics had decreed that they would catch up to us eventually. 

Some blamed the devil, other blamed God. I blame Einstein. He made the world curious. Without putting his finger directly into the soup, he stirred up mankind’s quest for knowledge of things once considered unknowable. 

Nano-technology is his fault, albeit indirectly. If we had just left well enough alone we never would have suspected that we had been invaded. Ignorance is indeed, bliss. I like the idea that “If I can’t see it, it’s not there.” This is especially true when it comes to aliens bent on human conquest.

Unfortunately, science has provided us with perfect information. Now that we know where to look, we find them everywhere. They are in out food, our yards; even in our bodies. These little microscopic invaders are tireless in their efforts. They need to be for they are small and they have much work ahead of them.

Their plan is to take over everything. They want to soften us up; make us more pliable to their demands. The intent is to change us so we will accept them as our rulers. We will become as sheep. 

I must admit that this idea use to scare me, but not so much anymore. I can see how their plan can benefit everyone. There will be no more wars; no more sickness or hunger. Nothing will ever be the same.

I think they got here just in time.

Twinkie Boy

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

The prompts: This story must contain the words face, hook and snack.

Twinkie Boy

Ten-year-old Ralph watched himself in the mirror with intent fascination. His eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. His face was visibly taut. Slowly, he pushed Twinkie number eight between his tightly stretched lips where his tongue had carved out a small niche. If he could fit two more in, he would have the record!

Maybe he wasn’t the smartest or fastest kid on the block but he was certainly the best at one thing…eating. While this may not be a category of notable achievement in most neighborhoods; Ralph had raised the bar to where he was getting some attention. 

In the mirror, he could see the entire gang. They had piled into the bathroom wanting to witness history. It was hard to breathe with so many yellow, preservative enriched delicacies chipmunked into his mouth. Ralph picked up number nine and jammed it in. 

The kids all gasped as one. Deep, way at the back of the reflection, he could see her; the girl of his preadolescent dreams. Alice pushed her thick glasses up on her nose and tried not to turn away as his reflection caught hers. That someone like Ralph would even notice her was almost enough to send the shy girl running out of the room. After all, a guy that could fit that many Twinkies in his mouth could get any girl he wanted.

Ralph picked up number ten. He loved the spongy feel and the dust-like aroma of the bus-shaped snack. Using his finger like a hook, he slowly pulled back the lip on the side of his mouth and shoved the Twinkie straight into the book of local legends.

History may have taken little notice of the event, but Alice…she had been there and that was all that mattered.

Alien Aphrodisiac

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

The prompts: This story must contain the words motel, map and billboard.

Alien Aphrodisiac

The bounty hunter pulled his jeep over to the side of the crumbling mountainous road just outside the village. He knew he was close. Two small buildings still smoldered against the Andean jungle backdrop; typical of the collateral damage he had seen elsewhere. Frightened eyes peeked out from behind thatched doors. Their fear was like a billboard that pleaded, “Please, don’t hurt us anymore.” 

This was a particularly nasty cluster he was after.

Inside the local watering hole, he ordered a shot of “something strong” before pulling out a ragged map and spreading it out on the bar. This was the end of the road. With no place left to go, they would have to stay and fight.

He smiled at the thought. 

The “something strong” burned its way down the back of his throat as he considered his next move. Across the street was the biggest building in town, a five room motel with a small lobby in the front. As he looked at it through the bar window, he knew that was the place. They would make their stand there.

It would be their last stand. 

He walked out of the bar, his stride giving no hint of the arsenal beneath the folds of his long coat. He kicked open the motel lobby door and shot the first thing that moved. All hell broke loose as modern lasers and old-fashioned shot guns bookended the spectrum of firepower unleashed by the hunter and the hunted. 

Essence of ozone and burnt sulfur clung to the hunter as he emerged less than two minutes later. 

There was blood, but most of it wasn’t his. In his hand was a bag of forehead horns retrieved from the recently deceased. They would bring a high price on the alien artifact black market.

The Puppeteer

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

The prompts: This story must contain the words picnic, poison ivy, campfire

The Puppeteer

“Pornographic web sites are the Poison Ivy of the Internet,” typed Josh before hitting the Enter button.

He waited patiently for the flood of forum responses his comment was sure to generate. He loved the attention that came from being an Evangelical Internet Bully. It didn’t matter one iota that his comments brought on the flaming barbs of the righteously resistant left. He could care less that people hated him for his anonymous stance of I-know-what-God-wants superiority. It was not even important that he didn’t believe most of his own posts.

All Josh wanted was the attention.

The predictable flood of posts was like manna from heaven.

“Who made you God?”

“Give me porn or give me death!”

Josh laughed so hard at the response stream that he coughed up a half-sleeve of Campfire Girl cookies. The congealed glob fell to the floor where the lower strata of life forms would picnic on it for the next few days.

After a few minutes, traffic started to let up so Josh considered his next gem. 

In spite of his hugely obese body, non-existent hygienic practices and total isolation from the rest of the world, Josh was living large. People were so easy to control. Their fear-generated anger left them no option but to respond to his assertions. He knew that they feared him; feared that he might be right. So they fought back. Pay close enough attention and they would tell you what they feared the most. The math was simple. More anger equaled more fear.

Pull the right strings and the world would dance. 

With a giggle he typed in, “Rush Limbaugh should run for public office. He is the voice of reason that America needs.”

The tsunami that followed nearly crashed his internet provider’s server.