O5:00 Awoke.
05:30 Arrived in control room to find Midshipman Fluffy missing in action.
05:45 It seems that Midshipman Fluffy has abandoned ship.
11:55 Broke to make lunch. Requested Admiral Papas’ assistance but was informed he was busy laying down. Brought lunch back to control room.
13:00 Have dire concern over Midshipman Fluffy’s absence without leave.
18:00 Midshipman Fluffy has returned, with seven kittens in tow. Plan to reassess Midshipman Fluffy’s standing as of tomorrow.
22:00 Hitting berth. Leaving ship on autopilot. God keep us safe.
writing
Captain’s Log – 05.07.16
O5:00 Awoke.
05:30 At controls.
08:30 Appointment with Admiral Papas. Forced to abandon ship temporarily. Left Midshipman Fluffy in charge.
13:00 Returned to ship. Found Midshipman Fluffy asleep on duty.
13:01 At controls. Midshipman Fluffy relegated to brig for 10 minute timeout.
13:11 Discovered Midshipman Fluffy sleeping in brig. Unsure what to do next. Will consult with Admiral Papas.
13:24 Have decided to leave Midshipman Fluffy be. Will attempt to awaken him when it’s time for him to take over.
18:00 Break for supper. Midshipman Fluffy assures me he is capable of maintaining control.
18:45 Returned to controls. While congratulating Midshipman Fluffy for staying awake, he scratched me. Am concerned for Midshipman Fluffy’s well-being.
22:00 Hitting berth. Leaving Midshipman Fluffy at controls overnight.
Autonomy – The Daily Post – 100 word fiction
Bright colours, morning to night. The lights are always on.
I’m alone here: I’ve been alone for as long as I can remember. I walk around freely but, with nothing new to see, I feel like I’m living in a fish bowl. But I’m not a fish. I look down at my red plaid pants, my shiny red shoes sticking out, and my neon pink shirt and I wonder, who the hell dressed me in this? Being alone, I am, by definition, autonomous in this land. Yet I have no control! I must inquire with the hand that draws me.
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The Daily Post prompt word of the day is Autonomy.
Island (Humorous Fiction) – Daily Post
They say no man is an island, yet here I stand, surrounded by the flood that has taken over my basement. My sump pump stopped working three days ago, and all the stuff my wife said we needed to keep has disappeared under the skunky water that’s now up to my waist. Oh wait! Is that a toaster I see floating over in the corner? If it is, it’s toast now. It ain’t no island like I am.
Yeah, my wife – sitting upstairs at the kitchen table, sobbing over all the junk she’s lost. I should never have encouraged her to go to all those garage sales in the first place. We’ll start fresh now though. No more bargains, no more…
“Yes, honey? No, I haven’t found the Royal Albert china yet!”
I’m sure it’ll be fine.
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The Daily Post today is Island. Check it out!
#SoCS – Vacuum
Technology is such that I have become lost in it, it seems. At times I see myself as a brain, floating above a chair, bodiless fingers upon a keyboard, in the vacuum of the Internet. My friends are other, bodiless brains and fingers and sometimes hands grasping appendages as they watch whatever excites them.
Do we become solid only when we get up out of our chairs? Away from our screens with images and words reduced to pixels and ones and zeros the moment they leave our floating minds? Do we ever long for smells, taste and the feel of anything but the nubs on the ‘f’ and the ‘j’?
Find Stream of Consciousness Saturday here and join in today!
Give and Take – 100 word fiction – Daily Post
It is my pleasure to take from you all you have to give. And you give it willingly, you do. But for a price, of course.
You know I shall enjoy my pleasure, and you indulge me each time I ask. We have that sort of relationship, you and I. Of mutual benefit, do you not think?
The pleasures you give are sweet, they are sumptuous. They linger on the lips like the taste of a kiss, they do. And what is it I give back to you?
About a hundred bucks a day. Chocolate is not cheap, is it?
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Find the Daily Post here, where today the prompt is Pleasure.
Time Bomb – 100 word story
Everyone loves him. Everyone feels safe in his presence. He is essential to our well-being. We flock to him as though he is our savior. Since the Armageddon, there are only a few hundred of us left. So how do I break it to the others?
I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. In the dark, beneath the ruins of a church I heard him pray to the deity in whom we cease to believe. He pleaded and begged for guidance. What’s worse, he asked for forgiveness. I thought he was our God now.
We are doomed. Our savior is a lie.
Denial
How dare you change on me?
I was so in love with you, once upon a time. When we met in the rain that day–remember?–I left home without my umbrella and you offered me yours at the bus stop. You were too shy to stand close to me, so half of you got wet.
A month and a half later we were living together already. My mom said it was too soon but I was hooked. I couldn’t get enough of you. And I thought you couldn’t get enough of me…
How dare you change on me?
You started working late. That was about a year into our relationship. I actually felt sorry for you – all those nights you stayed at the shop, stocking shelves because the student quit. And the boss, he wasn’t well. Or at least that’s what you told me. But then I found out.
How dare you change?
You did change, right? You made love to me three times that first night. And just about every night until you were “too tired” from working late.
How dare you?
I remember that night like it was yesterday. I came to the shop to bring you a sandwich, but the place was locked up. I thought, of course it was, the shop was closed. So I went around back – that door was open. I went inside, expecting to find you stocking shelves. What I found made me sick.
How?
You and your boss, locked in a passionate kiss. What would his wife say? Did you know you were gay when we got together? Or did you change on me?
Limp – Fiction in 50 words
Here I sit, limp from a day of ups and downs, ins and outs, and I wonder: if there are days of exhausted collapse for paper pushers like me, how must it be for those who labour with their backs all day? Or sex workers? Think about the sex workers!
fizzle
when we met
your fences stood tall,
proud and mighty
of a wood that near gleamed
pristine
at a week
i saw a splinter
maybe two
and perhaps some of the sheen
dimmed
at a month
i was sure i found
chinks, chunks
and a dozen knotholes
popped
at a year
your fences made a decrepit
clown’s mouth on
an abandoned funhouse wall look
new
and today
your fences are afire
as you try
to resurrect them in time:
surrender
for my dear
i pour water upon your ruins
forsaken
to the fizzle of my love
eternal
Linda G. Hill 