In Fiction on August 23, 2012 at 6:21 AM
(19th in this challenge)
IT WAS A STARK AND DORMY NIGHT*.
Eleka thought she was alone. Bruce Hall had closed for the slushy Winter/Xmas hiatus. No vehicles existed in the ashy lot but hers. The hallway had traded in its Mary Jane abrasive sass for a mellow, generic, aired-out hallway smell. But if she was alone, who was manhandling her knocker?
And how did they have knowledge of her?
Her Santa nightlight wasn’t that bright. And it wasn’t that big.
“Let me in!” a male who was probably nerdy and skinny fat by the crack in his shrill. To my peep hole, she declared internally, so that I might investigate. When she put her eye to the hole, his pound felt like a pound in her face and she thought he was such a jerk she almost wanted the awful thing that was surely about to happen happen to him. Would serve him—
“Please!” Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 22, 2012 at 6:36 AM
(18th in this challenge)
(inspired by the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest and my scriptophobia)
It was a dark and stormy night. I retrieved a defrosting fish stick from its box, used it to snoop the richness of the black pit of cocoa I’d made to submissify my nerves as dry wall sections of rain slammed into the windows. The glass trembled like an innocent girl being slapped around by her tyrannical, widowed farmer father who didn’t have a cow or horse or sheep to ride into town on (or sleigh, which is more suitable for winter in the geography of this story) so that he could buy himself some more Coca-Cola Zero (though he owned a viciously purple bicycle that was like a brother to him even though he’d been paraplegic since birth so it was more like a taunting brother, as useful as three strips of thin-ply toilet paper in a roofless outhouse in the middle of a high, naked meadow on this dark and stormy night at the penultimate instance of flood). Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 21, 2012 at 6:50 AM
(17th in this challenge)
Alanna woke to Panda having finally ripped his sock monkey in half. She hadn’t heard the ripping but as she leaned up from her bunk, she discovered all of the evidence: cotton yanks strewn across the RV kitchenette floor, torso drool-coated, gleaming in her Lhasa Apso’s under-bite. Was it triumph or warning in Panda’s eyes? She didn’t care; she was just disappointed that she hadn’t witnessed the action. She could watch him kill a doll for hours. Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 19, 2012 at 11:29 PM
(16th in this challenge)
I needed a story idea for this drabble so at breakfast I asked my mom, “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen?”
We were in a local diner named Something Something Pigs. There were portraits of pigs and life-like figurines on shelves decorating the place. Our server’s name tag was a pig with an expression on its face as if to say it couldn’t care less that almost everything on the menu had pork in it.
Couldn’t care less.
Eat that pork.
“There was this person at the gas station who couldn’t park,” she said. “He tried five different times. I thought he was going to hit someone.”
“And then what?” I asked. Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 19, 2012 at 12:53 AM
(15th in this challenge)
Janet, late as always, was driving through the deepest night on her way to Gwynn’s new home in a tiny middle-of-nowhere town near the gulf. She’d left Austin at sunset shouting, “Free. Free.”.
In the year since graduation, Janet had gone back to live with her parents and begun working in a library uncertain of her future while Gwynn had moved to Nowhere into a home of her own, hired by Child Protective Services to begin a career that would at some point hopefully catapult her into the FBI . Every day, Janet pushed the same squeaky book cart and hushed the same teenagers full of attitude, envious of Gwynn. Every moment, she anticipated her friend’s weekly call. Though Gwynn only wanted to hear about Janet’s day and Janet’s quirky musings and Janet’s delightful memories of their times as roommates in college (“It helps me unwind,” she would say, exhaustion in her tone), Janet only wanted to hear about Nowhere. Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 16, 2012 at 10:02 PM
(14th in this challenge)
I just broke up a dog fight today. The dogs have to know that you’re present and that you’re coming. If you surprise them or stick a hand in unexpectedly, they might not realize it’s yours. It can also help to approach them in a commanding manner without fear or shrieking.
Usually (and hopefully) only one is the aggressor. That’s the one who needs to be pushed (on the front shoulder blades and with the back of the hand, that way if it bites, it’s less likely to puncture the arteries in your forearm) back. The other one can just be blocked from advancing.
It was an English Pointer and a Boxer today. The Boxer kept attacking after I brought my hands back after separating them. I had to push the Boxer back, but the Pointer just needed to be stopped from advancing. If you’re unlucky and both dogs are pushing toward each other, it can be almost impossible to stop them.
It happens but it hasn’t happened here recently, except with our volunteer couple (human, of course). Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 15, 2012 at 6:37 AM
(13th in this challenge)
Hank, Jeffers, Newman, and Westie stumbled into the diner with the coffee bar. Westie had passed out from the waist up. Newman shoved him over into the inside of their booth. It had been a great concert by whatever-their-names-were. Hank knew. He knew all of the local, national, Indie and everyone else bands. He was their obstetrician. As he slid into the booth next to Jeffers, he began to list his first hundred favorites onto the new OKCupid dating profile he’d begun a week ago.
“How should I start this?” he asked Jeffers.
“List it all: cubby bear, musicholic, etc. etc.”
“People like to write that they’re looking for a perfect snowflake, someone like no other.”
Jeffers and Newman cracked up across the table from one another. Hank couldn’t tell: laughing at him or laughing at each other? He thought they’d been flirting all night. They were always off-and-on.
“This is what you put,” Jeffers said, collar bone showing. Even drunk-faced, Hank thought, his best friend would receive a thousand messages on the site. “If you’re looking for a snowflake, I’m a ray of sunshine.” Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 14, 2012 at 6:44 AM
(12th in this challenge)
Many beings want a say about their final resting place, regardless of their religious affiliation (or lack thereof).
The purple bendy straw wanted to end up in the recycling.
“It speaks to my entire concern about this world and also to my belief in reincarnation,” Purple told his fellow straws in their box in the dark.
No one else really wanted to think about death, though, much less their final resting place; they wanted to distract themselves. Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 13, 2012 at 6:50 AM
(11th in this challenge)
The zebra mussels had a plan: clog up all of the pipes at the edge of the lake, cut the city’s water supply off, and bring the citizens TO THEIR KNEES!
But then the Army Corps of Engineers dove in, ready to stop the mussels’ plan before too many citizens were affected.
But the Army Corps of Engineers didn’t expect…
…harpoon-wielding zebras to dive in on top of them and keep them from stopping the mussels’ plan.
Oh well…out of order again. Happy Monday!
In Fiction on August 12, 2012 at 8:49 AM
(10th in this challenge)
(It’s actually flash fiction this time. Hooray!)
She’d promised him something amazing and dangerous.
“This isn’t the way we’re supposed to do it,” he whispered, fumbling with his belt, fixated on her belt loops.
“Come on. We’ll be fine,” she said. She was half-lost in the site over the edge of the hill of the spring forest, taking in the smells of blossoms.
“We have no protection,” he said, looking down.
“What are you worried about?”
“You want a list?” Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 11, 2012 at 10:00 AM
(Read the much shorter ‘Flame Part 1’ here.)
(9th in this challenge)
Before Colton could chase it into the dining room, the swan had already passed the entry way, soaring up the staircase. Through the railing he saw it circle the empty family room area then jet to one hallway of closed doors, then to the other until it soared down the back staircase leading to the kitchen. Colton ran to the bottom of that staircase, pausing in the swan’s line of path. The swan angled toward the ceiling to avoid him, shadows exposing the crinkled bends in all of the pieces and yet allowing him to believe those crinkles were the depths in feathers. It turned at the neck mid-air, unmistakably alive, eyes afire. The beak sprang open and it let out one insulting noise at him before colliding into the ceiling fan, scattering throughout the living room. Colton hurried, collected the pieces from the couches, from the book shelves, and from beneath the breakfast table, those eyes still fixed on him when he closed his own. A grin took over his face.
What could he set life to next? Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 9, 2012 at 1:15 PM
(8th in this challenge)
“Maybe this could be a new hobby?” Colton’s mother handed him a wrapped pack of fresh colored papers before hunching over the kitchen island onto her pile of purse, keys, and briefcase. He reached slowly from the stool, very conscious of his little flip book that he’d stuffed under himself moments ago. He’d carefully worked on the personal project it contained since walking home from school.
“Origami,” she said, voice muffled by her purse. Read the rest of this entry »