The prompt this time was to include a countdown of some kind, and use the following words: three, night, wire, sweat, run. Terrific prompt! Please enjoy.
MY DAY OFF
8:00 a.m.
I’ve decided to begin keeping a journal today since I’m truly not certain exactly how much time I have left. We all know our time will run out, but when you are literally provided with a countdown, priorities make a massive shift. My entire career has been spent taking notes, documenting procedures, and recording results. However, at this late stage of my life, I feel this need to share parts of myself. Who may find my journal, or whether it is found at all, is not relevant. That a record of what has, and will occur, is.
I have swallowed all three of my morning capsules and feel quite satisfied. I can only wonder what it was like in centuries past when people sat together around a table and ate their meals one bite at a time. As a child, learning about this barbaric practice of placing chunks of various items of food directly into one’s mouth filled me with revulsion. Ingesting capsules pre-filled with the ideal amounts of nutritional materials was so much more time-efficient, tidy, and resulted in maintaining excellent health. Remembering some of the photos in my history books however, brings to mind the social aspects of what had been referred to as ‘meal time’. Parents and children sitting together and sharing the events of the day: A ritual long since abandoned as a frivolous waste of valuable time. I can but only wonder how it felt--that sharing--that familial contact. Well, no point in dwelling on that which will never occur. None at all.
I shall dress now and take a stroll to get some air and a bit of sun. ‘A bit of sun’? That almost made me smile. Almost.
11:00 a.m.
Before today, I’ve never been able to appreciate how much pleasure can be found by simply taking a walk. Working day in and day out, morning to night for all those years has crippled my ability to enjoy life outside of my lab. Now that work is no longer an option, and I have the time to simply live, my clock is swiftly winding down.
Enough self pity. Nothing can change the course I’m on. But perhaps if I explain, no one will end up traveling this same dark road. ‘Dark road’. That almost made me smile. Almost.
The World Government was my employer. I worked in a classified unit of the Scientific Research and Development Department. My unit was all over the spectrum project-wise. Agriculture, water preservation, and other-worldly issues were only a few. It was the potential habitation of planets other than our own that was my specialty. My duties were strongly focused on finding alternate ‘earths’, if you will, just in case. ‘Just in case’ what was never made clear.
We are currently in the year 9,472, and space travel is quite common. It’s the problems associated with complete relocation that I was assigned to resolve. Not an easy task to be sure, but I did manage to make quite the breakthrough.
No need for concern. My entries will continue. First though, my scheduled three capsules for lunch and then a brief rest are in order. Definitely brief since time is of the essence. Today.
2:00 p.m.
I was covered in sweat when I awoke. I had a terrible dream while I rested. I didn’t take the pill that suppresses the dream state this time. No. I wanted a dream. Any dream. A last dream. It was terrifying. It was a delight.
Returning to the matters at hand, I found several habitable locations just outside our solar system. One could literally take their pick. All quite abundant with rich soil, drinkable water, and a bright and durable sun. The elaborate systems we currently have in place would not be required. Life on those planets could be likened to the days of old, so to speak. Kind of a way to begin again. Tempting to be sure.
One evening after working late while making my way through one of the administrative areas, I happened upon a frayed wire on one of the countertops. Quite the unusual find, since use of such materials had been obsolete for some time. I decided to ask one of the technicians about its significance when I heard what sounded like an argument coming from one of the conference rooms.
Yes, I live in an advanced society, but that old adage about curiosity still reigns supreme. Unfortunately though, I also now understand the reference to death in that saying. Government officials were arguing about which individuals would fill the few still empty seats on the craft that would be departing soon for one of the worlds I had identified. All the government and scientific personnel deemed necessary had their space assignment, but there was room for what was being referred to as ‘regulars’. How the regulars would be selected was the reason for the debate.
It was stated volunteers from the general public could not be obtained since knowledge of the voyage would incite a world-wide panic. I had to find out why, so I burst into the room and demanded to know what danger seemed so imminent and was so catastrophic so as to generate planet-wide fear. My questions were answered and I was dismissed as a child would be when the adults are discussing grown-up topics. I was insulted. I was angry. I was not totally surprised.
I believe I shall go for a last walk on my last afternoon. I will continue. You have my word.
6:00 p.m.
The light is beginning to fade as evening approaches. I am enjoying my three evening meal capsules and I will again forego the dream suppressor. I must dream tonight. This night. My last.
They knew I wouldn’t share their secret. What could be gained by spreading terror. That, of course, is assuming anyone believed me, which I knew was highly unlikely.
Our world was on a course for destruction. Not at the hand of some God or because of some signs and symbols long since disproved to be accurate. It would end at the ends of its own government.
Frustrated by society’s failure to rise above the level of depravity that has always been allowed to flourish, the ‘powers that be’ decided to ‘erase’ this mistake called Earth and build a civilization elsewhere. Over time, special charges had been strategically placed in, and around, the core of our heart and soul which bears the name ‘sun’. Once their craft is at a safe distance, buttons will be pushed and our brightest star will be no more. No one has ever been able to state with any degree of accuracy what would happen to the sun if it burned out, or was destroyed by some outside force, but one thing is for certain. Without it’s light and warmth, this world called Earth cannot continue to exist. I doubt that anyone could say exactly how long Earth would be able to survive or what events would occur as it were dying, but die it would, and I have the feeling it would not go quietly into that dark night.
A drastic fix surely, but the only one possible? That is a question for those wiser than I. There was no space for me to join these self-appointed judge and jury pioneers. Frankly, if I had been invited though, I would like to believe I would have gracefully declined. At least, I hope I would have.
I’m going to sit outside for awhile and enjoy the night sky while I can. While it is there for me to enjoy.
10:00 p.m.
I am going to close now. It is time for sleep. The end should be coming soon and perhaps that is best. Perhaps that’s been the plan all along…
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Monday, November 21, 2011
THE LOST CHILDREN CHARITY ANTHOLOGY
Clicking on the cover at the top right of my blog will take you exactly where you need to go so you can get more information on this project, as well as provide links to where you can purchase this amazing anthology, to which I am very proud to have been a contributor. For your convenience, I will place another link here. Let me give you a bit of background here too.
This began as a prompt on the terrific flash fiction site, Flash Fiction Friday. The photo (also used as the anthology's cover) was to be the inspiration and the challenge was to write a story about those children who are lost, neglected, abused, and existing in despair. The response was magnificent, as writers from everywhere contributed moving and tragic tales of childhoods filled with violence, emptiness and uncertainty.
Thomas Pluck and Fiona Johnson each pledged to donate $5.00 for each story contributed to two organizations dedicated to the protection of our children (PROTECT and Children 1st). Following the incredible response to this flash challenge, Thomas, Fiona and Ron Earl Phillips compiled 30 of these stories and The Lost Children Charity Anthology was born.
When you click on the link, you will find this collection is available at Amazon, Amazon UK, Amazon Germany, Amazon France, Smashwords, Apple iBookstore, and Barnes & Noble. You will also find out the special benefits that will result from your purchase. Not only will you be obtaining an anthology full of stories crafted by incredibly talented and dedicated writers, but you will also be assisting those lost children that the stories have been written about. Half of the proceeds from anthology sales will be going to PROTECT and half will be going to Children 1st.
This anthology would make a fantastic gift, not only for friends and family, but for yourself as well. And remember, all proceeds from sales are going directly to the organizations listed. Children really are our future and a testament to our past. Let us do everything we can to make sure they are able to have a future that is productive and successful, but above all, one that is happy and free from fear.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 57: PARANOID PETEY
This week’s prompt was to use a bottle of ketchup in your story. The genre was open, and the word max was 1,000. This one was nothing but tons of fun!
PARANOID PETEY
“I’m telling you, Joey, my new landlady’s CIA or something. She’s always at her front window, peeking through the curtain, writing down when we all come and go in a little black notebook. I seen it, Joey. She’s a fuckin’ spy. You gotta help me find another place right away.”
Oh crap.
Here we go again. No use telling him the woman’s just some nosey old cow who’s got nothing better to do with her life than monitor her renter’s comings and goings. Really. No point.
See, Petey’s my wife’s brother. He’s nuttier than a Christmas fruitcake, but he’s got a special talent that more than makes up for his daily delusions. The kid’s got the stickiest fingers in town. I mean, he can steal the chair you’re sitting on right out from under you and it will be an hour before you even know it’s gone. He really is THAT good, so helping him move 16 times over the past couple of months is no biggie. When I send him out for anything, he always comes through. Doesn’t ask for much either--just enough to get by on; that is, until today.
“Joey, I need to find a better place, so after I do this one, you think maybe you and I could have a long talk about me getting a raise?”
“Petey, you get that clerk to pull out that tray of diamond rings and then swap out the biggest one for this piece of glass and we’ll see. All I need is one more score and then your sister and I can get a nicer place too and rest easy for awhile.”
Petey was real anxious to apply his sleight of hand skill, but wanted me to help him move out of the ‘CIA agent’s’ building first. ‘Paranoid Petey’, my wife’s always called him. Considering the magic in those quick hands of his, “Petey, The Magnificent’ is the moniker I prefer. I got the dolly out of our storage locker and the Bengay out of our bathroom cabinet.
* * * * *
“Where have you been, Petey?” I was in the throes of a major panic attack. “You were supposed to be here two hours ago. I thought you got pinched.”
“Oh no, Joey. I got the ring okay, but then there were these plainclothes dicks everywhere--I seen them--so I stopped in over to the Royale Hotel’s dining room and got a burger. That’s so I could throw them off. See?”
“Okay, Petey. No problem. So, where’s the ring?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well just up and leave with it on me, now could I? So I stashed it in a safe place.”
Uh-oh. Petey may have been quick with his hands, but his mind was something else altogether. Not the sharpest tool in the box, as some say.
“You stashed…, I mean, you don’t have…, where is it, Petey?”
“Oh, it’s where nobody would ever think to look for a ring. You can go over to the hotel to get it because I can’t, see? They’d remember my face. I heard clicking the whole time I was eating my burger. I just know somebody was taking my picture over and over the whole time I was there. All you gotta do is walk in the dining room and go to the first table on the right side up against the wall. That’s where I left the ring.”
Oh crap.
“You left the ring right there on the table? A big fat expensive diamond ring?”
“Joey, Joey, Joey. What kind of a stoop do you think I am? You think I’d leave a ring like that right there on the table? No. I dropped it inside the ketchup bottle that was on there. It was brand new and I’m sure it’s down on the bottom by now. Just go over there and sit at that table and order something. Then when nobody’s looking, put the bottle of ketchup in your pocket and bring it back here and we can get the ring out. Smart move, huh?”
I began to wonder how my wife would feel about becoming an only child.
Okay. How hard could this be? Just stroll in, ask to be seated at the first table on the right, order coffee and pie, slide the ketchup bottle in my pocket, and stroll out. Piece of cake.
* * * * *
Some big group was making their way into the hotel, heading for the dining room. I figured I’d just blend right in, but the hostess was checking names off a list. Not to worry. I just told her that all I wanted was some coffee-and, but I needed to sit at the first table on the right by the door since I was meeting a friend and didn’t want to miss her arrival. I gave the girl my most seductive wink and she blushed crimson. Tonight, I was going to score a home run.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” she composed herself and smiled that fake smile hostesses always wear. “As you can see, we’re expecting a large group this evening. We’ve moved all 30 of our tables together to accommodate them. I would be happy to get you a seat outside on the patio, if you’d like.”
When she stepped back to point to my Plan B seating arrangement, I saw that they had set up the tables in two rows of 15, each one covered with a white tablecloth, each one’s center containing a salt and pepper shaker and a brand new bottle of ketchup.
Oh crap.
On my way home, I decided that Petey and I were most definitely going to have a long talk about getting him that raise…
PARANOID PETEY
“I’m telling you, Joey, my new landlady’s CIA or something. She’s always at her front window, peeking through the curtain, writing down when we all come and go in a little black notebook. I seen it, Joey. She’s a fuckin’ spy. You gotta help me find another place right away.”
Oh crap.
Here we go again. No use telling him the woman’s just some nosey old cow who’s got nothing better to do with her life than monitor her renter’s comings and goings. Really. No point.
See, Petey’s my wife’s brother. He’s nuttier than a Christmas fruitcake, but he’s got a special talent that more than makes up for his daily delusions. The kid’s got the stickiest fingers in town. I mean, he can steal the chair you’re sitting on right out from under you and it will be an hour before you even know it’s gone. He really is THAT good, so helping him move 16 times over the past couple of months is no biggie. When I send him out for anything, he always comes through. Doesn’t ask for much either--just enough to get by on; that is, until today.
“Joey, I need to find a better place, so after I do this one, you think maybe you and I could have a long talk about me getting a raise?”
“Petey, you get that clerk to pull out that tray of diamond rings and then swap out the biggest one for this piece of glass and we’ll see. All I need is one more score and then your sister and I can get a nicer place too and rest easy for awhile.”
Petey was real anxious to apply his sleight of hand skill, but wanted me to help him move out of the ‘CIA agent’s’ building first. ‘Paranoid Petey’, my wife’s always called him. Considering the magic in those quick hands of his, “Petey, The Magnificent’ is the moniker I prefer. I got the dolly out of our storage locker and the Bengay out of our bathroom cabinet.
* * * * *
“Where have you been, Petey?” I was in the throes of a major panic attack. “You were supposed to be here two hours ago. I thought you got pinched.”
“Oh no, Joey. I got the ring okay, but then there were these plainclothes dicks everywhere--I seen them--so I stopped in over to the Royale Hotel’s dining room and got a burger. That’s so I could throw them off. See?”
“Okay, Petey. No problem. So, where’s the ring?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well just up and leave with it on me, now could I? So I stashed it in a safe place.”
Uh-oh. Petey may have been quick with his hands, but his mind was something else altogether. Not the sharpest tool in the box, as some say.
“You stashed…, I mean, you don’t have…, where is it, Petey?”
“Oh, it’s where nobody would ever think to look for a ring. You can go over to the hotel to get it because I can’t, see? They’d remember my face. I heard clicking the whole time I was eating my burger. I just know somebody was taking my picture over and over the whole time I was there. All you gotta do is walk in the dining room and go to the first table on the right side up against the wall. That’s where I left the ring.”
Oh crap.
“You left the ring right there on the table? A big fat expensive diamond ring?”
“Joey, Joey, Joey. What kind of a stoop do you think I am? You think I’d leave a ring like that right there on the table? No. I dropped it inside the ketchup bottle that was on there. It was brand new and I’m sure it’s down on the bottom by now. Just go over there and sit at that table and order something. Then when nobody’s looking, put the bottle of ketchup in your pocket and bring it back here and we can get the ring out. Smart move, huh?”
I began to wonder how my wife would feel about becoming an only child.
Okay. How hard could this be? Just stroll in, ask to be seated at the first table on the right, order coffee and pie, slide the ketchup bottle in my pocket, and stroll out. Piece of cake.
* * * * *
Some big group was making their way into the hotel, heading for the dining room. I figured I’d just blend right in, but the hostess was checking names off a list. Not to worry. I just told her that all I wanted was some coffee-and, but I needed to sit at the first table on the right by the door since I was meeting a friend and didn’t want to miss her arrival. I gave the girl my most seductive wink and she blushed crimson. Tonight, I was going to score a home run.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” she composed herself and smiled that fake smile hostesses always wear. “As you can see, we’re expecting a large group this evening. We’ve moved all 30 of our tables together to accommodate them. I would be happy to get you a seat outside on the patio, if you’d like.”
When she stepped back to point to my Plan B seating arrangement, I saw that they had set up the tables in two rows of 15, each one covered with a white tablecloth, each one’s center containing a salt and pepper shaker and a brand new bottle of ketchup.
Oh crap.
On my way home, I decided that Petey and I were most definitely going to have a long talk about getting him that raise…
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 56: DADDY'S BOY
The prompt this week was this photo. The story was supposed to be sci-fi, and 600 words max. I'm not really sure where Daddy's Boy came from, but with my NaNo project, I remain in a very dark place. I don't know if there's a point in this piece. Perhaps not. Maybe it's simply just another stop on this month's dark journey.
DADDY'S BOY
“Jeffery, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be settled in and getting ready for us to begin our orbit. We’ll be landing soon and you’re going to need to be well rested. You’re not supposed to be messing with those controls. We’re going too fast.”
“Yes, Father. I know, Father. Whatever you say, Father.”
“Jeffery, there’s no need for insubordination. I told you that I would allow you to participate in this mission if you remained respectful and remembered your place.”
“My place? Remember my place? What is my place, Father? What has my place ever been, besides under your feet? That stops now. I’m not messing with the controls. I just permanently disabled the auto-guide, so they won’t be bringing us home.”
“What in God’s name have you done? I’m getting the doctor. I may be too old to restrain you, but he can put you where you belong--locked in your quarters.”
“Don’t waste your time. I’ve already flooded his chamber with a toxic gas and he’s dead. I don’t need him, you see? I don’t need anybody--not anymore. You’ve told me all my life what a failure I was and how I could never manage anything on my own. You asked me over and over when I was going to start being a man. Well, how about now?
“Son, I just don’t understand.”
“Don’t ‘son’ me. I was never anything but a nuisance to you. Well, I’m in charge now. What in God’s name have I done? Dear Father, I AM God--NOW. We’re going on past your world to find another where I will be in charge. I’ve even brought friends along to help me. You remember those little crawly things we found on IK485? The ones that killed our navigator? They had him eaten down to the bone in less than 3 minutes. I believe they will be powerful persuaders to whatever life forms are already there. Don’t you agree?”
“Jeffery, you brought those monsters on board? You can’t control them. They’ll kill us both.”
“No, Father. Not ‘us’. You have two choices. One, get in your chamber and I’ll begin filling it with the toxins. It will be quick and relatively painless. Or, two, I can place you in the supply room where my buddies are stored. It will be quick, and not painless at all.”
“You are insane. I can’t believe you are doing this. Why, Jeffery, why?”
“I’m going to find another world that will be all mine to do with as I choose. Now is as good a time as any to grow up, I suppose. Haven’t you been telling me just that every day? Haven’t you? Father?”
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 48: LOVE BITES
This week’s prompt was to use music in a short fiction piece, any genre, with a limit of 750 words. I decided to use Def Leppard’s Love Bites. Sometimes it really can, you know…
LOVE BITES
“Love bites, love bleeds,
It’s bringing me to my knees…”
Rachel began to cry.
“That’s the one, Lionel. I hate the sound of it. That’s the song he always puts on when he…, when he brutalizes me. He calls it uniting our souls with love’s eternal flame or some such insane thing. His idea of foreplay is punching me with his fists, and then he rapes me. I just can’t take it anymore. I’d rather be dead than have him near me again.”
Lionel knew what he had to do. He’d only known Rachel for a couple of weeks, but she had stolen his heart the night they met. She’d stopped in at Gino’s for a nightcap and when he saw her tears, he had moved her to a corner table and begged her to unburden herself. She said she’d been to show her mom her latest bruises, courtesy of her husband, and said she desperately needed a friend. That was the beginning of forever for Lionel.
“Darling, Lionel began, “it is not you who needs to surrender your dreams. It is your bastard of a husband who needs to die, and I promise you, I will take care of everything.”
* * * * *
“Two birds with one stone, my pet. First, the sucker offs my old man after setting me up with the perfect alibi. Then, I worked my magic on him. I went on and on about how the police kept hounding me, tormenting me, accusing and driving me mad, pushing me right over the edge to who knows what. He couldn’t bear to see me suffer any more. He told me again that he would take care of everything.
The sap wrote a letter confessing to my husband’s murder, blaming it on a failed business deal the two of them supposedly had. After he had dropped it down the mail slot, he jumped off his 24th story balcony. To protect me. To save me. Can you believe our luck?
So, both my rich husband and my knight in a shabby three-piece are out of our way. The life insurance check has cleared and all the banks have released the accounts to me. Now, you and I can be together just like we planned. I‘m really glad this is over though. Running into walls and punching myself till I was black and blue got old really fast, you know? My moron of a husband was starting to get suspicious of my recent bout of clumsiness.”
“Live lives, love dies,
It’s no surprise…”
“Oh my sweet, don’t turn that song off”, Rachel smiled at her lover in the driver’s seat of her new Jag. “I just adore it. I always have.”
“Love begs, love pleads,
It’s what I need…”
LOVE BITES
“Love bites, love bleeds,
It’s bringing me to my knees…”
Rachel began to cry.
“That’s the one, Lionel. I hate the sound of it. That’s the song he always puts on when he…, when he brutalizes me. He calls it uniting our souls with love’s eternal flame or some such insane thing. His idea of foreplay is punching me with his fists, and then he rapes me. I just can’t take it anymore. I’d rather be dead than have him near me again.”
Lionel knew what he had to do. He’d only known Rachel for a couple of weeks, but she had stolen his heart the night they met. She’d stopped in at Gino’s for a nightcap and when he saw her tears, he had moved her to a corner table and begged her to unburden herself. She said she’d been to show her mom her latest bruises, courtesy of her husband, and said she desperately needed a friend. That was the beginning of forever for Lionel.
“Darling, Lionel began, “it is not you who needs to surrender your dreams. It is your bastard of a husband who needs to die, and I promise you, I will take care of everything.”
* * * * *
“Two birds with one stone, my pet. First, the sucker offs my old man after setting me up with the perfect alibi. Then, I worked my magic on him. I went on and on about how the police kept hounding me, tormenting me, accusing and driving me mad, pushing me right over the edge to who knows what. He couldn’t bear to see me suffer any more. He told me again that he would take care of everything.
The sap wrote a letter confessing to my husband’s murder, blaming it on a failed business deal the two of them supposedly had. After he had dropped it down the mail slot, he jumped off his 24th story balcony. To protect me. To save me. Can you believe our luck?
So, both my rich husband and my knight in a shabby three-piece are out of our way. The life insurance check has cleared and all the banks have released the accounts to me. Now, you and I can be together just like we planned. I‘m really glad this is over though. Running into walls and punching myself till I was black and blue got old really fast, you know? My moron of a husband was starting to get suspicious of my recent bout of clumsiness.”
“Live lives, love dies,
It’s no surprise…”
“Oh my sweet, don’t turn that song off”, Rachel smiled at her lover in the driver’s seat of her new Jag. “I just adore it. I always have.”
“Love begs, love pleads,
It’s what I need…”
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 47: ON AND ON...
This week's theme was the City of Lost Children. The topic was to look at the photo and to look into the child's eyes. The genre was open and the length 700 words. A heartbreaking prompt, but a lot of good will come from this week's challenge. Fiona and Tom will make donations to organizations dedicated to protecting our children for each story submitted. Fantastic idea, guys.
ON AND ON...
A woman and her kid just moved in across the street. With those needle marks up and down Mom’s arms, I doubt she’ll run the PTA’s bake sales. The girl looks 5-ish, skinny, wearing pj’s. What the fuck--it’s February. Mommy went inside and the kid’s on the stoop playing with dolls that have more clothes on than she does.
“Hi. My name is Katie, and I’m 6. You probably don’t want to play dollies with me, but could you sit and talk to me for a little while? We move around a lot and sometimes, I just get so scared being by myself”
I figured I’d clue this kid in on reality.
“Get used to it, kid. You’re gonna spend your life being scared of something. The ‘scared thing’ never goes away. Anyway, I’ve got to meet my boys downtown. We’ve got important stuff to do. And, put on a damn jacket or something, will ya? It’s starting to snow and you’re sitting there with your nose running and looking all nasty. Oh, and my name‘s Richie and I‘m 12, so don‘t bother me again.”
As I made my way to the corner to catch the #43 downtown, I heard the little gimp say she didn’t have a jacket. What kind of kid doesn’t have a jacket? I’ll bet her fucked-up junkie of a mommy has a jacket…
A week in Juvie wasn’t that bad. It’s snowing like a son-of-a-bitch outside and at least I was warm and got 2 meals a day. Used to serve all three, but the new Mayor made some cuts. You ever seen the size of him? He sure didn’t cut his third meal, that’s for sure. Crazy how stuff turns out. I don’t get grabbed for walking out of Danson’s with a $200 leather coat stuffed under my old denim one, but the 1 ounce bottle of $30 cologne in my jeans pocket puts me away. Glad I was able to stash the jacket in the alley before Detective Randall caught up with me. He’s not so bad really; he always cuffs me so I’ll look like a real bad-ass in the neighborhood on our way to the station. Have to keep my rep up, you know.
Those jerks at Danson’s just wanted their cologne back, so I get a week’s room and board and I still got the jacket. I was thinking about giving the one I‘m wearing to that pain-in-the-ass girl on my block. Stupid little idiot, sitting outside in the snow, playing with her dollies, with no jacket on. I know her mom’s inside shooting up, so maybe the kid’s better off outside. Don’t get the idea that I feel sorry for her or anything. She’s nothing but a headache, always wanting me to sit and talk and stuff. Like I’ve got nothing better to do. This jacket’s ready for the dumpster anyway. Giving it to her is no biggie.
It’s a good thing nobody found my stash. This jacket makes me look like I own this dump of a neighborhood; not that I’d want to though. Gotta find the kid. She’s probably out there sitting on her stoop in her pj’s again, nose running all over her…
Well, her mommy’s out there on the stoop, mumbling to herself. Junkie whore.
“Hey, bitch, where’s the kid?”
“What kid?” she could barely get the words out and it wasn’t even 8am.
“YOUR kid”, I shouted. I wanted to stomp her, but there were already people out.
“Oh her”, she came down the steps and started pacing back and forth in front of the building. “Hung herself in her room. Wound her jump rope on the closet door’s knob, swung it over, and looped it around her neck. Figures. Couldn’t ever do anything right, but THAT she does right. Now I’m going to have to move in to one those nasty shelters downtown cause with her gone, I won’t get my monthly assistance check. Selfish little slug…”
I tossed my old jacket in the dumpster on the corner. Going to catch the #43 downtown. The boys and I need to find someone to take down.
Hard.
Just because.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
FLASH FICTION FRIDAY, CYCLE 44: LAST LAUGH
I have been away for awhile, and have missed F3 terribly. Our move is complete though, and while there is always something left to tidy up or switch over, we're pretty much settled in. I have much catching up to do, going back to read all the stories I've missed. I had to get in on this one though. I mean, with a prompt like 'unrest' and it's relationship to fear? Right up there on my list of favorite topics. To me, unrest brings to mind the fear that all we know is coming undone.
The prompt was to write a story about unrest, with the genre being open and the word count being 1500 words or less. I do hope you enjoy.
LAST LAUGH
To Whom It May Concern,
I can only pray enough humanity remains within whoever finds this to invoke concern. If you are that rarity in these dark days, I write this for you.
My name is Steve Josephson, and today, I am 43 years old. I have always known this day would come, but I also had always hoped I would have more time. I wanted to grow old with my wife, Nancy, and for both of us to have been privileged to watch our 13 year old son, Ricky and our 6 year old daughter, Laurie, enjoy families of their own. However, none of it was to be.
When I retrieved the morning paper and read the headline, I became confused. Why wasn’t there panic in the streets? Why was there no military presence in the air and on the ground? Then, I knew. It was already too late. As I re-read the article, I could literally feel the bias. Of course, THEY had prepared and distributed this, the last edition. Not to warn. To inform. THEY were here, and wanted us to know our end was near.
I have been going to monthly meetings with fellow believers for about 8 years. When I would return home with valuable intel, Nancy and my children smiled and nodded, but never accepted the truth. Well, soon, the truth will be marching up our driveway.
The group and I were never able to determine exactly from which galaxy THEY originated, but the signs were all there defining THEIR objectives. Moving from world to world, turning the men and boys into slaves to build their cities, coupling with women and girls to propagate their kind, and consuming the elderly and infirm. I tried to warn my friends and neighbors that the indoctrination had begun using books and movies, but my words went unheeded. It was all being done to get us ready, so when the time came, there would be minimal resistance. I can only wonder what those closest to me are thinking now as they are being branded like cattle.
It matters not because I will not go quietly into that good night. And neither will my loved ones. THEY are outside even as I document these events, calling for me to step outside. THEY understand what I’ve done and want to help me. My home is surrounded and there is no other way out. Really?
I phoned my brother-in-law, David, to let him know what I had done so he could follow suit, but I was betrayed. I told him how I had shot Nancy and each of the children in the head as they slept. To keep them pure. To keep them safe. He hadn’t seen the paper, and there was still time to protect his family. But a good deed never goes unpunished, I believe the saying goes. As soon as I offered the solution, the lies began. There is no invasion, he said. It was all a joke. Nancy had that edition printed in a novelty shop especially for my birthday. My cake, to be delivered later, was in the shape of a flying saucer. What have you done, he cried. What have you done? Ha, ha, I responded. As if my wife would ridicule me, and joke about the future of our beloved Mother Earth…
Soon after I had hung up, THEY arrived, along with David, with THEIR vehicles and masks and weapons. It’s too late for David, but perhaps not for you. It’s a gradual take-over, you see--baby steps, and there is hope if you believe and do not hesitate. Understand the signs and heed my warnings. Don’t let THEM win. Nancy and our children are waiting for me on that other side. I saved the last bullet for me. As soon as I pull the trigger, I will be as free as they.
I believe entry will be attempted shortly, so my time for farewell has come. Be strong, and hold tight to your courage and faith. Remember too. One straight up under the chin. No pain. Only peace…
The prompt was to write a story about unrest, with the genre being open and the word count being 1500 words or less. I do hope you enjoy.
LAST LAUGH
To Whom It May Concern,
I can only pray enough humanity remains within whoever finds this to invoke concern. If you are that rarity in these dark days, I write this for you.
My name is Steve Josephson, and today, I am 43 years old. I have always known this day would come, but I also had always hoped I would have more time. I wanted to grow old with my wife, Nancy, and for both of us to have been privileged to watch our 13 year old son, Ricky and our 6 year old daughter, Laurie, enjoy families of their own. However, none of it was to be.
When I retrieved the morning paper and read the headline, I became confused. Why wasn’t there panic in the streets? Why was there no military presence in the air and on the ground? Then, I knew. It was already too late. As I re-read the article, I could literally feel the bias. Of course, THEY had prepared and distributed this, the last edition. Not to warn. To inform. THEY were here, and wanted us to know our end was near.
I have been going to monthly meetings with fellow believers for about 8 years. When I would return home with valuable intel, Nancy and my children smiled and nodded, but never accepted the truth. Well, soon, the truth will be marching up our driveway.
The group and I were never able to determine exactly from which galaxy THEY originated, but the signs were all there defining THEIR objectives. Moving from world to world, turning the men and boys into slaves to build their cities, coupling with women and girls to propagate their kind, and consuming the elderly and infirm. I tried to warn my friends and neighbors that the indoctrination had begun using books and movies, but my words went unheeded. It was all being done to get us ready, so when the time came, there would be minimal resistance. I can only wonder what those closest to me are thinking now as they are being branded like cattle.
It matters not because I will not go quietly into that good night. And neither will my loved ones. THEY are outside even as I document these events, calling for me to step outside. THEY understand what I’ve done and want to help me. My home is surrounded and there is no other way out. Really?
I phoned my brother-in-law, David, to let him know what I had done so he could follow suit, but I was betrayed. I told him how I had shot Nancy and each of the children in the head as they slept. To keep them pure. To keep them safe. He hadn’t seen the paper, and there was still time to protect his family. But a good deed never goes unpunished, I believe the saying goes. As soon as I offered the solution, the lies began. There is no invasion, he said. It was all a joke. Nancy had that edition printed in a novelty shop especially for my birthday. My cake, to be delivered later, was in the shape of a flying saucer. What have you done, he cried. What have you done? Ha, ha, I responded. As if my wife would ridicule me, and joke about the future of our beloved Mother Earth…
Soon after I had hung up, THEY arrived, along with David, with THEIR vehicles and masks and weapons. It’s too late for David, but perhaps not for you. It’s a gradual take-over, you see--baby steps, and there is hope if you believe and do not hesitate. Understand the signs and heed my warnings. Don’t let THEM win. Nancy and our children are waiting for me on that other side. I saved the last bullet for me. As soon as I pull the trigger, I will be as free as they.
I believe entry will be attempted shortly, so my time for farewell has come. Be strong, and hold tight to your courage and faith. Remember too. One straight up under the chin. No pain. Only peace…
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