fiction

Fire

It started and ended with a candle. If foresight had told me you’d burn down the house on my thirty-first birthday, would I have fallen for you that fateful night at Stella’s Steakhouse and Grill?

Just the fact that we ever got together was a miracle. My date–Lester? Leonard? I can never remember his name–and I were sitting by the window and you and whats-her-name were across the aisle. All through dinner I admired your profile in the candlelight. When you weren’t turning to gawk at me, that is. I recall feeling so sorry for her. She noticed the attraction between us. Lestard was oblivious.

It wasn’t until later that night as we walked along the boardwalk in the moonlight, hand-in-hand, that you told me you’d been on a blind date. I lied. The fact that I was engaged to a guy whose name escapes me tells me even now that you and I were meant to be. For whatever reason.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Original

“There are no original stories under the sun,” said the alien, as she sat upon a sea-sprayed rock.

“That’s a rather narrow view,” said the sea serpent.

The alien shrugged. “It’s true.”

“Well then,” said the sea serpent, “why don’t you go talk to the accountant in my belly?” And the sea serpent ate the alien.

“Hello,” said the alien, once adequately digested. “You must be the accountant.”

“What was your first clue?” asked the man, looking up from his adding machine.

“I assumed you were the only one in here.”

“I probably am,” said the accountant as he went back to his work.

“The sea serpent and I were discussing stories, and how there is nothing new. Do you agree?”

“No. I think there is everything new, just as there are always new calculations to be made.”

“Would you two shut up already?” came the booming voice of the sea serpent.

“But you told me to discuss it with my new friend here, Mr…”

“Mr. Blankenship,” replied the accountant.

“How unoriginal,” said the alien.

The accountant only smiled.

***
This post is prompted by the Daily Post, and Tuesday Use It In A Sentence, where this week the word is “narrow.” Click on the word above to check it out!

Flattery

In a world where having a high number of followers was the ultimate form of flattery, the irony didn’t escape William that being followed down a deserted city street was scaring him shitless. It was more than a feeling; he’d determined that, three blocks back when he circled an intersection all of 360 degrees. That’s when he got a good look at the clown who was following him.

Only one block from home, William was beginning to feel safer. He’d resisted the impulse to turn and look back for a while, but he had his hearing on full alert. There was nothing behind him. With only four doors between him and his apartment, a clown stepped out of an alleyway and stood stiffly before him. It couldn’t be the same clown, was William’s first thought. But of course it could. Damn me for taking the long way home to get away from this guy.

William was surprised when the clown spoke – in a woman’s voice.

“I need your help,” said the clown. She handed him a piece of paper and pushed past him, running awkwardly in her clown shoes back the way William had come.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Zombieland

Jack reined his horse to a stop at the border and looked past the barbed-wire fence at the grassy plain beyond. The zombies were miles back. Though they staggered haltingly at the best of times, Jack knew they could cover a lot of ground in little time. He’d seen the movies. Didn’t matter how fast the hero ran…

But thinking negatively like that was heading down a dead-end road. Much like the dead-end road he was on now. There was no way the horse would make it through the yards of prickly metal he faced. Jack looked right and left – there wasn’t a border crossing guard to be seen.

He walked a few feet to his left and looked down. Just as he thought. Zombie poo. They’ve been here already, Jack mumbled to himself.

“DAMN YOU, ZOMBIES!” he yelled. “DAMN YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON!”

Jack’s horse snorted.

“Not you, Trigger,” he assured his mighty steed.

He was loathe to leave the beast to its own devices and make a break for it himself. Especially when he knew the zombies didn’t enjoy horse brains very much. The ungrateful monsters.

Jack took one more look left and right and mounted his horse.

“Let’s keep going, Trigger. Surely we’ll find a house somewhere with wire cutters. Even if we have to double back a bit.”

Trigger neighed.

“I know, old buddy. I know,” said Jack.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

A Clue

Frank was sick. His nose was running, his throat hurt, and he felt generally lethargic. An early night would probably cure him of the worst of it, he thought. Just a cold.

It wasn’t until he got up in the morning and looked in the bathroom mirror that he realized there was something more serious going on. He wondered what kind of a doctor he’d need to see for the three toes growing out of his forehead. Perhaps a podiatrist.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Tree

I shrug on my fall jacket and step outside the door only to remember why I dread the idea of going out today. My allergies hit my sinuses full force and I struggle to separate the wad of tissues I extract from my pocket to catch my sneeze.

I promised my best friend, Amanda, that I’d go with her to meet an uncle she never knew she had. Amanda has been on a kick lately, looking up her family tree. Her dad died when she was very young and he wasn’t close to his relatives. Since her mom passed away, she’s been giving her all to one last ditch attempt to connect with someone.

On the way over to pick her up, I think about what I’m going to say. How cheerful I’m going to pretend to be. Shit like this is something a person only does for a best friend.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Shadow

How is a shadow any less real than that which casts it? Of course it’s real, I would have said six months ago. But it has no life of its own. Now I know different.

It was a warm evening last March. My girlfriend, Amanda, and I were sitting in her basement apartment trying to get a breeze to blow through. We gave up eventually and sat down to watch TV. She rolled a joint and we sparked it up. I thought I was that – that I was too stoned and I was seeing things, but she saw it too.

Our shadows, cast by the bluish light of the TV screen, got up and left without us. Life ever since has been like something out of a horror story.

Author’s note: From October 4th to the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Wings

I feel them as they approach, long before I see them. The dust from the road beneath the lone streetlight swirls around me. Will the angel that comes for me tonight be dark, or of the light?

I look up even though I know it’s useless. When I squint, a halo appears around the bulb above me, in all the colours of the rainbow.

Before long, I pick up the scent. Sulfur. The angel is dark.

He lands some distance away. Finally he steps into the ring of light on the pavement; he saunters toward me. His black wings folded loosely behind him, he wears all white, as though that will absolve him. We both know his clothes will soon be drenched in my blood.

“Hello,” he says with a smile.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I reply.

I hand him the sword and he studies it for a moment. “Your weapons are getting bigger,” he muses, speaking to me as he looks at the blade.

“The stakes are getting higher. I suppose your rival will be here tomorrow to clean up the mess.”

“You prefer it that way?”

“I think so.”

“He believes he’s mastered the art of protection.”

I nod. “Now he needs to work on his healing.”

“Let’s give him something to work on then.”

I’m aroused at his first slice down my cheek. Tonight will prove to be orgasmic. A little death, indeed.

Power outage

I’m riting this as fast as I can. I can hear him outside the door there’s a storm outside and i’ afraid the power will go out This is my last chance. I know he has a knife. I’m scared please come help me. I can’t .. the door. he’s rattleing the knob what can I do? my phoen won’t work if the power goes ou

…says a character to her author

you see me. i know you do. you feel my pain, you know my joy so intensely that you can express it. you understand what i’m going through – you see past the facade.

so why won’t you get me out of this fucking situation? just do it, damn it!