Today's #flashfiction #WhoReallyHidesTheEggs

“With a small handling fee.”

Robin Hood* #quote

      Today I had an Easter dinner with my family, it was scrumptious. Plus seizures were down so that was nice too.

      Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Who Really Hides The Eggs

      Hey guess what kids? The Easter Bunny doesn't hide the eggs! He can't possibly do that, there are way to many yards and way too many bushes. The sad truth is...he's management. He just pays and orders around the people who really hide the eggs. Yup, the lazy guy doesn't do it himself. We do. Who's we?

     Well the gophers. Like me, Greg the Gopher. I work as an Easter Egg hider. The actual day is the worst, harshest day of the job but training all year round is also a nightmare too. We have to learn the lighting-fast reflexes and train for the lighting speed needed to dash around and hide the eggs perfectly then hide the eggs without being discovered. Even perfectly covering up our own burrows, tunneling in upon ourselves while managing not to accidentally collapse the burrow on our head. All while wearing a bunny costume to maintain the Easter Bunny image if a single glimpse is caught of our covert op.

      So remember kids, it isn't the Easter Bunny that hides the eggs, he outsources his labor to the gophers. The gopher elite. Be proud when you discover one.

Today's #flashfiction #TheSamuraisWeights

“You're not the boss of me!”

Spartacus* #quote

       Today Grandmother came over and also I made progress on my book etc. Also did you hear the one about the chicken crossing the road?

       Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Samurai's Weights

       As a Samurai I've found out some of the heaviest things a person carry. First a weary, injured friend from battle. They put all their weight on you and you must carry them along. Yet also them asking you not to save them so that they could have a chance at an honorable death.

       But I felt one of the next heaviest things for someone, greed. I wanted my friend to live more than I wanted to fulfill his wishes. And he both hated and thanked me when he miraculously recovered. My sword felt heavy because of how many I had to kill to save him. Though they were the enemy so maybe I should just consider it merely something of war resolved by abiding to the honor of the Samurai code of fighting. But really what authority did I have on that? A code of honor I considered one of the heaviest things and discarded pieces battle after battle, forgetting so much of it I hardly know much of it. Bushido may mean nothing to me.

      Though soon after discarding Bushido I still possessed all of the abilities of a Samurai and the position. And so I found one of the last heaviest things. A sack of gold, payment for a assassination. Heavy both for its tangible weight and the sins carried in the bag with the gold. But my blade certainly had better uses than for war and turning on nobles during night turned out to get much more money than following a code while screaming into the battlefield.

Today's #flashfiction #ASupervillainOutOfHisLeague

“I'm the life of the party.”

Dracula* #quote

Going over to the school club then brother's place for much fun. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Supervillain Out Of His League

        “Tehehahhahahha!” My evil plan, and laugh, is coming along wonderfully. Now who am I? Don't worry my exposition on my self is of the highest quality, it would be unbecoming of a rising supervillain star to not have practiced his introductory monologing skills.

        I, reader to which I am obnoxiously breaking the fourth wall to, am but a humble Rank T super villain. But a rising one at that! I see myself being among the strongest soon! People will fear the name Doctor Doomedfaced soon enough! (The Doomed is for my opponents, their faces are doomed, not mine, their terrified faces are doomed, that is. I get so many questions about my name for some reason. I think it's obvious though.)

       Some people fear my amazing costume, though all will fear it soon enough. (I aim for a Rank A in recognition in data base that heroes use to register themselves and enemies) of course. The amazing costume is a wonderfully fashionable black coat tailor made with mine name stitched in yellow letters on it. Though actually I often shed this costume when I ready myself for battle, throwing it off to reveal my amazing robotic suit. It's in a traditional 1920's car design and chromed.

       Oh, now for the best part about me. My nemesis. I don't even need to monologue this. We will be in an epic fight. Well, actually I plan this to be a one-sided battle. I have all his weaknesses in a fool-proof plan(I'm not even having an minions doing anything to make sure it gets done right). Just one push of a button and he'll be dead. And no gloating! I'm going to do this right! Then once my nemesis is dead I will take over the city! (baby steps!)

      Lair door destroyed, going to push button...oh, that's not right...

      “Captain Amazingly-Invincible!?” I yelled, switching out of my massive internal monologue.

The massively muscular superhero stepped through the debris he made with a confident gait. “Yes that is my name! And I've come here to dispense justice!” He gave a super heroic smile. He was a superhero made from the powers of the Earth, his eyes colored golden and his skin colored like coal.

     “Where's my nemesis? Why are you here? You're a Rank A hero, why aren't you fighting Rank A villains?” I didn't want to fight someone of his power level. I don't think I could.

      “Oh? Well you're nemesis is out with his wife and kids. The Rank A villains aren't doing anything today so I decided to help out the weaker heroes with their villains and give them a break. Say what Rank are you?”

      “Rank T...” I responded with a choked breath.

      “Well this should be easy, then I can move onto the next guy.”

Today's #flashfiction #RockinItOnMars

“Bah humbug!”

Santa Claus* #quote

      Today I rode a robot dinosaur into the sunset. I want to do that tomorrow, but I can't because it's a rental. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Rockin' it on Mars

         Martians hate rock music. I mean really, really hate it. That's a rule. Now, I could someone not caring for or disliking rock music. If it's just something that get's at your nerves then yeah, I could see some hate. But how could an entire species absolutely despise rock music? I read a Martian review that said rock music sounded like the slaughtering of baby animals. I wondered if all their brainpower was devoted to controlling those eight flailing tentacles of theirs on their torso. I thought it needed to be, the way they tugged their slug body along with them.

        Yet my friend Cassandra told me we should play on Mars.

        “Virgil, it'll work. Trust me.”

        “It's suicide.” I told her. Yet I went along anyway. The entire band went along. Cassandra worked in strange and mysterious ways with her ideas. She would come up with an idea, a decision that sounds like it would never work, and somehow, someway it all worked out in the end. A casual observer would say by stupid chance that everything worked out the way she thought it would. But she did it so many times that it defied statistics so I thought her logic existed on a sort of plane of above ours like magic, and that's why she wouldn't explain to us, we couldn't hope to understand.

       Her strange plans is how our underfunded band managed to succeed. “Let's perform here” she would say, it would be some tiny town way out of our way. Then a rock convention is suddenly hosted near that area and the hotels are used there and a bored rock celebrity shows up at our show. We sold tickets, but didn't get famous unfortunately, but that show got us by for awhile. That's why Cassandra is our manager. Kind of. We don't enough money to pay each anyone in the band employable salaries. I'm both guitarist and publicist but I'm not paid that way.

     We all prayed that Cassandra's suicide mission of playing our rock music for the Martians would pay off. It took a lot of money to go there. We knew it would pay off big if they didn't end up attacking us on stage like anyone else that tried. Maybe our band could get on the news for being mauled.

      “I hope you know what you're doing Cassandra,” Kathy, our drummer, said. She looked at all the Martians in the audience. “We put a lot of faith in you, this better work like everything else.” The band didn't ask how she planned for us to successfully play rock music for Martians out of fear. Would we jinx it? Would we just not understand the plan? Besides halfway to Mars we already blew our money on getting her so knowing the plan and not having faith in it would make it very difficult to play.

     “How did you even get such a large crowd to a rock show?” I asked her.

She gave us all a mischievous smile, “Oh, I lied in the advertisements and told everyone we were going to be playing disco.”

     I yelled at her, “Are you insane!?” I then lowered my voice to make sure the audience wouldn't overhear. “If they get mad we couldn't possibly deliver. I don't care if they love disco and that got them in the door. We didn't set up all those cameras to record the first successful performance of rock music to Martians. We set up those cameras to set up those up to record a bloodbath!”

      She giggled. “C'mon, where's all that faith you put in me before? Now please take your places on stage and let me handle this.”

       Cassandra then walked up to the mic and spoke into it. “Attention ladies and gentlemen. I'm sorry but we have deceived you. Today we will not be playing disco, but rather a form of rock music designed for the martian audience, specifically the martian king. We wish he could be here, but of course we're only a small band, so we hope you can be a humble test audience for this new form of music meant to evolve rock into something worthy for your king.”

       She then said to us to the players in the band, “Okay play the song I wrote.”

       “But it's not really all that different!”

       “Trust me, go.”

        We then played our music. And the martians loved it. I wouldn't call that song much of an evolution of anything. We played the other songs she wrote, and the martians loved it. The entire thing was caught on film. As soon as we posted the concert on our website it went viral. The best rock bands couldn't appease the martians yet we did. Of course we asked Cassandra why it worked.

       “Oh, the Martians always loved rock music. I stalked some Martian music critics into a meeting and they were discussing rock music, and in private they loved it. Consistently I found this pattern to be true.  However I wondered why they would say the opposite in public. So I tried to find motive. I found out that the Martian King apparently hated rock music. But also nearly the first of anything he was shown by the humans of type of thing he hated then loved the next. Probably to show off ego. 'I hate this, but I love this, what an amazing thing you Earthlings have shown me!'. Make a show of it. So really the only reason they said they hated rock music was because the king said he hated rock music. Which upon further examination and stalking of the king I found out he actually likes rock music so I decided I would appeal to the king's ego. So once he says yes to this 'evolution' to appease him we'll be golden.”

      After a moment of shock that I shared with the rest of the band I replied, “Wait, you stalked music critics, and the martian king...wait that's why we worked to perform in that town around the royal city and that's where you popped off to? How did you not get caught?”

       She laughed. “Oh, all my plans come from research. A lot of it being illegal and stalking. That time I said I had a dead Aunt I had to go to a funeral for? That was me stalking a celebrity to find out his habits and activities so we could get that gig way back, you know the rock con he went to and the bored celebrity showed up at our show. I sabotaged the event he meant to go to that evening so he had to go ours.”

      “You should stop talking now. I don't want know anymore,” I told her.

Today's #flashfiction #WhatTheStoryCouldSay

“Sometimes you're the hammer, sometimes you're the nail.”

Bob the Builder* #quote

       Today I worked on my book. Seems bro invited us to dinner at his place Friday so no school club, but a grilled meal sounds quite appealing. Yay! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

What The Story Could Say

A story decided it could say:

The character is happy.

The character is sad.

The character is a person you'd like.

The character is a person you'd hate.

The character is pure.

The character is sinful.

The character is hypothetical.

The character is represents you.

But afterward the reader decided what the story would say.

Today's #flashfiction #LovedInWakeFearedInDreams

“I'd like to thank all the little people.”

Snow White* #quote

      Today I went to my writers club and it was fun. Also possibly CJ may come over. In addition I almost created a device to make the world into a living musical but I put the batteries in backwards and it short circuited and blew up.

Loved In Wake, Feared In Dreams

      Waldon loved birds in the day. He loved them more than anything. He photographed them for hours and fed them in the park. He researched them. He kept them as pets. He knew everything he could about them, enough to fill his brain to the brim. Just seeing one, even a ratty pigeon on the street, would bring a smile to his face.

      But every night he would have horrible nightmares about birds. They would attack and hunt him down. The dream would always be the same. He would be in a gray city. A city made of clay. And the birds would fly through it chasing and attacking him. He would keep running and they would keep pecking away and clawing at him. He never was more scared than during those dreams.

      Yet he still loved them during them the day and he didn't know why. Psychiatrists couldn't figure it out. They wondered. They tried and nothing would get rid of the nightmares. He would love birds and they would chase him all the same. It hated that none of their methods would get rid of the fear in the night. But in the end Waldon felt content with it all if the birds were his loved friends in the day.

Today's #flashfiction #SupervillianInsured

“The number you have reached is out of service.”

Ghostbusters* #quote

       Today I worked on my book. Getting close to clockin' in 20k words. Mom read the first three chapters. She liked it. But she pointed out something that I may have work on adjusting. Glad there aren't any big plot holes or nothing, but soon I hope I'll be throwing it at my writer's club and CJ will be looking at it. The more opinions the better, the bigger the control group the better eh? They may notice some problems she didn't, I hope to fix everything I can and any recommendations they give will help.

Supervillain Insured

       The crime show ends and a gila monster standing on two legs with red lipstick and a black wig appears on the television screen. He speaks at the viewers in a deep, confident voice, “Are you in proper hands in case of a supervillain attack? Are you insured or is your insurance the best it can be?” A house behind the gila monster was lit on fire by a giant CGI robot and a cackling supervillain actor. “What you may not realize that in these modern times 20% of property damage is caused by supervillains. Remember supervillains often escape and hardly ever pay for damages, don't ever let the myths of caught villains paying the bills for the damage of their evil plans mislead you. They can't afford because of what they pay to construct their evil lairs in the first place. But we're here for you. With better coverage than the other peoples.”

       The gila monster took a bow.

       “Who are we? We are Industrialists do-be-boop-de-beep-do!”

And after that the commercial closed with the logo, contact information, a large paragraph of disclaimers.

Today's #flashfiction #TheSplitSouls

“I hear voices.”

Alexander Granham Bell* #quote

Today I'm heading to the movies with brother for his birthday and then out to lunch thereafter. There will be much fun to be had. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Split Souls

A special girl named Alice wasn't born like all the others. Instead of having her soul spread between the multiple universes it was broken down to its evil and good parts evenly. An evil soul sent to one universe and a good soul sent to another instead of balanced ones. What follows is a time line of a fateful day in both their lives that intersected on the same date.

                              Good Soul                                          Evil Soul

7 AM                     Wakes up and gets dressed                Wakes up and gets dressed

                               for high school.                                   for high school.

8 AM                     Feeds dog.                                          Bullies neighbor's cat.

9 AM                     Goes to schoolbus talks with friends.   Decides to skip school.

10 AM                   Diligently attended school.                   Does mass graffiti all over the city block.

11 AM                   Continues working hard in school.       Doesn't get caught doing graffiti but gets

                                                                                       caught out of school and forced back in.

Noon                     Chat's pleasantly with friends              Bullies other kids during lunch hour.

                              during lunch hour.

1 PM                    Helps fallen handicapped person get up.   Pushes wheelchair bound person down a flight 

                                                                                            of stairs.

2 PM                     Gets 110% on test(got all extra credit)     Falls asleep in class.

3 PM                    Saves trapped student from classroom fire.   Starts a fire.

4 PM                    Takes praise humbly.                                     Shifts blame for fire to teacher.

5 PM                    Goes home to study like nothing                    Goes home, bullying kids on bus.

                            happened.

6 PM                    Works hard on biology homework.               Blows off all homework.

7 PM                    Realizes cure to all disease and                      Commits premeditated murder on a girl she

                             world hunger while studying and                    doesn't like in school. Kicks stray puppy on

                           is smart enough to write it down.                     way to girl's house.

8 PM                   Decides if she gets a Nobel Peace                  Her work is sloppy and she is caught by the

                           Price or anything else she will give                   police, she violently resists arrest.

                           the money to charity.

9 PM                  Tells her parents and they celebrate                 They bring her to the police station.

                           with some chocolate ice cream.

10 PM                It's a school night so she goes to bed               Under interrogation her cocky side is

                           early.                                                             revealed and she brags it's her ninth murder.

Today's #flashfiction #TheKittenBloodbath

“Find me somebody to love.”

Henry VIII* #quote

Heading to the Salmon Dinner (Lion's Club charity event) with family today, which is why I'm posting this a bit early. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Kitten Bloodbath

       Kitten Khan sat on his war chihuahua and gazed over the horizon to see the enemy lands. His tough, carpet armor covered his lush white fur. His eyes were a beautiful blue that held an ugly cold feeling in them. He turned his head to kitten armies behind him. “My foes have wronged me and not sent their yearly tribute. Kill all of the enemy kittens except for three from each village so they may live to tell the tale and teach others not to cross me.”

     And so Kitten Khan's armies descended, drawing their blades. Their weapons plunged into and through the flesh of other kittens throwing blood into the air. Green grass turned red and the houses and the armies among the screams not a single life was valued besides the solider's own. They didn't care about the pain of their victims, but they were happy that they got to keep all the kitten toys they found in the homes of their victims; even if they would have to clean the blood off first. They left witnesses alive just as they were ordered, and those witnesses were left with nightmares.

     Kitten Khan participated in the combat, and his white fur was covered with the blood of his enemies. He rode his war chihuahua away and sheathed his dirtied sword. Next he needed to pay the kittens of the northern lands a visit, he intended to conquer them awhile ago but never got the chance.

Today's #flashfiction #TheVirtualParty

“You can't handle the truth!”

Pinocchio*#quote

Went to the fun school club today ergo had the funs. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Virtual Party

       “Now see, this is why I became your friend. You know how to throw a party!” I couldn't tell if Frank was giving me a compliment or not. It was my parent's money that let us buy the virtual reality chamber that we held the party in. “Honestly I'm not sure if I can ever stop indulging on these drinks. That's the beauty of this virtual reality huh?”

       “Wait, who's that?” Someone I didn't know just entered the chamber.

       “Oh, don't worry about it Steve. It's just the cousin of Darrin's friend. And she's just bringing over a few of her friends.”

       “But the virtual reality can only handle so many people and download so many things. Oh, I can see where this is going...”

        Frank laughed. “You think we're going to all crazy party on your place? Wreck it all up? C'mon. It's a virtual reality chamber. It's not like we're in you're living room pounding loud music or something.”

       “But...”

       “It'll be fine.”

       “But...”

       “It'll be fine.”

       “But...”

       “It-will-be-fine.”

       “But...”

       Frank then turned to everyone else in the room, “Hey, everybody Steve's gonna download everyone some snacks and drinks and good virtual band.” He then whispered to me, “Trust me. I skimmed the manual of this chamber. Now go do it.”

      I then complied, I may have not listened to Frank, but everyone in the room stared at me, which somehow grew to thirty people while I wasn't looking. Everything popped up just as ordered.

      “Okay that was fine Frank. Alright, we just can't do much more.”

      “Well I have the perfect idea then, how about a celebrity guest?”

      “We really shouldn't do that it, it'll probably overload and bug the system.”

      “It'll work. Do it.”

      “Y'know what? No. Everyone can party, but I'm not doing it.”

      “Then I will, I'll put the data into the computer.”

      “No! Don't!” I tried to stop Frank, but he was much larger than and quickly put it into the computer on the side wall of the chamber.

       When he put in the data the celebrity famous for appearing in all those cowboy movies appeared for a fraction of a second. If we hadn't put in other things he would have functioned fine, but instead the cowboy actor quickly mutated into something quite different. He turned into a snake with revolvers coming out of its back. The bugs from the cowboy spread to the snacks and drinks everyone held turning them into fire. In virtual reality you can truly get hurt or die but you feel sensation so it became a place where everyone was on fire but they didn't get the pleasure of having their nerves burnt numb. The snake shuffled around the room shooting everyone in the room with its revolvers and biting several with its fangs.

      Fortunately people managed to run out of the room quickly enough and overheard my conversation with Frank and knew who to blame. In the aftermath I got half in trouble. I couldn't use the virtual chamber for awhile or hang out with Frank ever again. Though I wouldn't want to. I couldn't have parties for awhile either. Frank, well, he used to be one of the most popular kids in school and now he's the exact opposite. Nothing quite like lighting people on fire to make you unpopular.

Today's #flashfiction #RobotNurseryRhymes

“Rise to the occasion.”

Icarus* #quote

Today I mostly worked on not only today's story but extra stories for this weekend because it's my brother's birthday this weekend and I want to make sure I have some for you even though I'm spending time hanging with bro(if I didn't do them ahead of time I might not have time to write some). Anyway onto today's flash fiction!

Robot Nursery Rhymes

Humpty Robot

Humpty Robot sat on a wall.
Humpty Robot had a great fall.
All the king's scientists and all the king's mechanics
Couldn't put Humpty together again!

Robo-Jack and Robo-Jill

Robo-Jack and Robo-Jill
Went up the hill
To fetch a pail of oil.
Robo-Jack fell down
And broke his crown
And Robo-Jill came tumbling after.

Up Jack got
And home did trot
As fast as he could caper
Went to bed
And welded his head
With steel and brown paper.

Mary, Mary, Mechanically Contrary

Mary, Mary, mechanically contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockleshells,
And robot slaves all in a row.

Today's #flashfiction #TheAftermathOfTheCase

“Respect people's privacy.”

Big Brother* #quote

Today I worked on my book, also it's Grandma's birthday tomorrow so happy birthday Grandma!

The Aftermath Of The Case

       “You failed. You failed me, and the country, and all those people.” The master detective said to the prosecutor. Detective Samuel Terrance was the best there ever was and solved cases with a one hundred percent rate and solved the greatest mysteries and caught the most elusive of killers.

       “It's not my fault! The defense was too good. The jury was a bunch of idiots or they were bribed somehow.” The prosecutor looked at the detective. The detective had angry, yet disturbingly calm face.

       “You know how many that psychopath killed? I was the only one who could catch him he was so elusive. People had difficulty just looking at the evidence. We could never bring a whole body to the morgue. And you let him go after all the years and lives it took me to find him.”

       “I didn't let him go...I just couldn't win in court. You think it's easy for me to live with this!? I have nightmares because of this! I fear every day he's going to kill someone else. Even me!”

       The detective pulled out his gun and pointed it at the prosecutor's head. “You don't need to worry about him anymore, you need to worry about me.”

      The prosecutor began to sweat. “I don't understand.”

       “He's dead. I cleaned up your mess. But I don't like cleaning messes. You aren't going to let another one get away understood. Do you know how I always 'get the bad guy'? I don't play by the rules, I get confessions the hard way. So my threat isn't empty and also that means I am never wrong.”

      “Of course!” The prosecutor yelped.

      “Now if you'll excuse me I have the mess of another prosecutor to clean up.”

Author Comment: This story has to do with detectives and such because Grandma likes mysteries.

Today's #flashfiction #TheWizardsMostDangerousSummoning

“Down the hall, first door on the left.”

M.C. Escher* #quote

      Today I went to my writer's meeting and did some good ol' fashioned workshoppin'. It was good fun. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Wizard's Most Dangerous Summoning

       The Great Wizard Edwards had summoned many creatures to deal with. Dragons. Zombies. Angels. Demons. So many different things, some benign, some dangerous and crooked. He struck bargains and deals with these beings for most of all of his life...many times to extend it by many more years through magic.

Edwards stroked his thick, wizardly beard, a symbol of many years of surviving spell craft as he waited for the most recent creature he summoned. He got his best looking blue robes for this occasion well as pointed hat. He felt like proper looks would defend himself better while dealing with this creature he summoned. Unlike other creatures he summoned he didn't use a summoning circles. It actually took a sequence of well placed phone calls.

       “Come in,” he said when the creature came to his house at last.

       “I expected a fancier house from a Great Wizard. You prefer to live humbly, or do you save up all your money on spell components?” Into his house walked a human. The creature wasn't a goblin or demon. The human wasn't a wizard. He wore a brown business suit and had skin as black as oil but the purest whitest teeth the wizard ever saw.

       “Well, welcome Mr. Glass.” The wizard noticed that the man wore incredibly expensive protective magic charms and artifacts on his suit collar. “Sir, what's with all the protection?”

        Mr. Glass responded, “You should know by my reputation Edwards that I don't do business as...clean as my competitors do in any of the thousands of different products I deal in. I've gotten plenty of enemies. This is why I've bought so many magical protective items.”

       “Of course,” Edwards replied.

       “Now I'm very curious why you called me here. There are very few times I ever meet with someone when they won't tell me why. But you're a very powerful wizard asking a businessman of the non-magical lands for help. What could you want that you wouldn't be willing to discuss over the phone?” Mr. Glass had dealt with many dealings like Edwards did. But he always maintained a strong arm. Little to Edwards knowledge just outside the house twenty hired wizards waited to protect Mr. Glass and kill Edwards should the slightest thing go awry.

      “My Wizard's Guild is having trouble and we need your help,” he explained with a frown.

      “Oh? A guild rivalry. I've heard how intense those can get. How could I influence something like that? Isn't that just squabbling over spell rights or something? I hear its pretty much a kind of copyright law.”

      “It's much more complicated than that. Those are some of the daily issues. The Amber Dragon Guild, the biggest competing guild with us, is trying to crush my guild. And they're succeeding. They're starting to crush us in courts and getting more than just spells under their control, they're buying more and more dragon lands, they're starting to control the artifact shops. I could go on. What they're doing is instead of competing directly with us in normal wizard negotiations they're controlling the business side of magic to get rid of us and they've already struck deals with so many businesses that I couldn't go to magic businesses for help.”

      “So since they control the magical world, at least in your area, you need me. Especially since I can play dirty enough to fight them and all their dealings.” Mr. Glass smiled.

      “Why are you smiling?”

       Mr. Glass pulled out cellphone. “I do believe I found a wonderful business opportunity. Excuse me for a moment. I may be able to help you, but I need to consult with my magic attorney on this. One moment.” Edwards didn't like the fact that Mr. Glass was bringing what he thought he would be anonymous to someone else's ear so soon. The businessman left the building for a few minutes then came back.

       “I can help you. I'll take care of the other guild for you.” Mr. Glass walked over to a crystal ball Edwards on a nearby table.

       “What are going to do?” Edwards asked. “What did you talk to your attorney about?”

       “Your enemies are trying to destroy you with money, controlling the business side of everything as you said. I know business. I have enough money and skill to crush them no matter who's backing them. It's that simple.”

       Edwards grew suspicious immediately, “What's the catch?” The wizard did deals with demons with demons before.

       “You give me your guild,” Mr. Glass replied.

       “What!? That's insane! I spent 100 years building that guild from the ground up! Do you know how magical bargains I've extended my life with to maintain that control to ensure a legacy?”

The businessman replied, “Normally a non-wizard has very limited business power in the magical world. But my attorney told me the way a guild doctrine is worded 'Any human can be appointed guild head.' and a guild head has business capabilities. It's my way into the magic world you see. And I found out from expanding my business into Mars that expanding your business into other worlds can very profitable.”

       “But you're going to turn my guild into some business agency, not a place of magical practices! My century of work will be turned inside-out!” The Great Wizards Edwards yelled.

       “You will either partner with me or you will have no guild at all. Understood? Besides, I'll expand it so large that I can make a section just as big as what you had originally for you to play around in. That'll keep you happy, right?” Mr. Glass smiled.

      “Understood.” Edwards nodded.

      “Oh, and will be doing more than just throwing money at it to solve the problem. I may do things you won't be comfortable with. Opponents of yours may...disappear, for example. I will do many things for your guild you may not like. And if you try to reveal me I will have to make you disappear as well. Is that understood?”

     “Understood.” Edwards nodded.

     “Good doing business with you Great Wizard Edwards.”

Today's #flashfiction #TheLastThoughtsOfDamonDrew

“Save the trees!”

Paul Bunyan* #quote

Today I did things. Tomorrow I will do more things.

Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Last Thoughts of Damon Drew

(Okay I need to finish the laundry when I get home.)

(Oh, hey a cat. That's one cute cat.)

(This doesn't have to be hard Damon.)

(I should get a cat.)

(You don't need to resist Damon.)

(Wow, that girl over there is pretty hot. Maybe I should hit on her.)

(Damon, how long will your subconscious block me out?)

(Did I hear something? No. That's impossible.)

(So I have broken through your subconscious barrier.)

(W-what? Is there a voice in my head. Did I hit my head or something?)

(No, no Damon. You didn't hit your head. But you are going to lose it.)

(What are you talking about?)

(Most ghosts lie about it but I'm going to be blunt dear boy. I'm going to take your body.)

(I'm either dreaming or somebody slipped something into my drink.)

(I assure you that isn't the case.)

(I'm not driving home until you go away so I don't get in an accident and get a DUI.)

(It's better for me if you're not distracted by driving and are forced to focus on me.)

(I swear I'm going to kill whoever spiked my drink and made whatever you are.)

(And who are those people dear Damon. What's the name of your mother? Or father?)

(Well my mother's name is...why can't I remember either of their names!?)

(Because I took them from your memory dear Damon. All of your friends and family.)

(No, how, why?)

(I said I was taking your body. And to do that I must take your mind.)

(So you're taking my memories? I'm just tripping or whatever aren't I?)

(The fact that you believe your drugged means you won't be resisting much.)

(Like anything is actually happening. This stuff wears off.)

(Dear Damon do please tell yourself that. Once I take your memories then I supplant my thoughts into yours like shuffling cards together. You're not the first, this is how a ghost like me lives in the mortal world forever.)

(What a beautiful day.)

(What pretty flowers.)

(I should head home now.)

Today's #flashfiction #BootBootCamp

“42”

Confucius* #Quote

       Today I'm still hanging out with CJ. Had way more seizures yesterday, I'd say around 30 at least. Probably because of the fact the day before that I went to the garage sale. Doing things tends to spike them up. Didn't whack anything so I'm fine. Today went well though without nearly that many. Today I played LA Noire, a detective game, with CJ, and in the video game the people in the city didn't take kindly to my driving. I don't know why driving off a cliff to save some time wouldn't be a problem.

       What happened is that there was this sort of mountain/hill/plateau thing in LA and the place I needed to go to was way around it. I would have to have driven through like a whole freeway to go there normally. So I drove up the mountain and drove off the cliff on the side to skip a few streets. (I sorta had to break through a billboard set up on the cliff too). My car landed nice and flat, skidding through traffic. People shouted “Maniac!”. Game developers plan for people like me it seems. In each case they calculate how much damage you do while you go about doing your police work and it goes against you or whatever. They do it in 1950's money since that's LA Noire's setting. I did the inflation rate and it looks like in modern dollars I do about $30,000 dollars in property damage driving around town for each case. I suppose that kinda adds up with all the poles I knock down and the fact when I get jammed in the corner of a parking lot somehow against two fences the only thing I can think of is tapping reverse over and over to slowly push all the cars  I'm stuck behind out of the way.

        It's a video game so its okay.

        Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Boot Boot Camp

       In the Land of Living Shoes the Aglet War reached its fifth year. Much lace and lining had been spilled, but neither side lost its resolve. No matter how much they kicked each other around, each Shoe Nation stepped right back up. It looked like each nation would stop at nothing to control the largest natural sock deposits.

       Every solider in each war has to start somewhere. And for the boots in the Boot Nation all started in Boot Boot Camp, a rough place perhaps not fit for a boot the size of Barry the Boot.

      “Privates. You think leather is tough right?” The Drill Sergeant said to rows of private boots in the Boot Boot Camp. Barry felt uncomfortable as by chance he had been lined up next to two large right shoes and he was a left.

      “Yes, of course.” Barry was happy that he was one of the boots made of leather. That was one of his more prideful traits.

       “Well your leather doesn't matter on the battlefield. The Sneakers will rip through it like paper with their weapons. The High Heels are even worse and will skin you as trophies if they get the chance. Soldiers all you are is fodder for our great Nation. But when I'm done with you you'll be the best fodder there is.”

Barry didn't care about being fodder or whatever else the Drill Sergeant called them. He already lost his family and most of what he owned to the Sneakers and their bombings. All he wanted to do with his life is get revenge and hopefully rip out one of their soles himself.

Today's #flashfiction #TheDetachedArtist

“Don't lose your head.”

Maximilien de Robespierre* #quote

Hanging out with CJ today. We're thinking about going door to door making people offers they can't refuse.

The Detached Artist

     “So what inspired you to make this piece?” an art critic asked.

       “People like houses. So I made a landscape with a house on it. Thought it would sell,” Walden hated that question. He hated the interviews with people, though he knew he should be grateful for his success. The statement he just made was taken in different ways by the art community. Most thought it was sarcasm. Some thought he was trying to be secretly deep and was hinting at a deep metaphor in the art or something. He always gave these kinds of answers and that's what the art community looked for in a man with talent like Walden, meaning and power in the art.

     But the statement was a literal as could be. So much of art embodied self-expression, yet Walden's had none. Many normal people put their souls in their art. He put none of it. He pieces were soulless. He created them like a robot following a program, with instinct instead of thought. People working on pieces on commission who put honest work into their pieces put emotion into them. While he did art he didn't think a thought beyond the brush and he didn't care for the thoughts at the brush.

      One painting Walden did was of a man smiling. People saw the joy of the smile in Walden's craft and skill, but what wowed the art community was an emotion they felt but couldn't place while looking at the piece. The reason they couldn't figure out the emotion that fascinated them was that it was a lack of emotion. They felt the void of feeling of Walden. The fact he didn't care at all about his painting meant the only thing he could express in his art was nothing.

Today's #shortstory #SomeoneActuallyBoughtIt

“I'm tired of your games.”

The Riddler* #quote

Today's story is a special tale about a book. A book of mine at the garage sale today. I hope you enjoy!

Somebody Actually Bought It

       Two boxes of books laid waited to be sold at the garage sale. People expect some items at garage sales to have tales behind them. Like, “Oh, this is Auntie May's old braclet, she was a kind old woman blah blah blah etc.”. These books didn't have a tale worth a novel, novelette, short story, flash fiction or pamphlet. I bought them, I read them. I buy a lot of books. My room gets full of books. Well, somebody's got to go. So that's they're tale. They're all losers. Loser books. They got voted off the island. Exiled from my closet and into that garage sale box.

       I classified my books in three ways: Big books(50 cents), little books(25 cents), magazines(10 cents). Little books were things like those tiny joke books or fact books that I got some Birthday's or Christmases. Now they did give me some good memories, but you can only read them so many times before they must be exiled into the garage sale box. Even the mighty “100 Greatest Jokes Ever” you are still worth 25 cents after it's been read enough times. Most of my books on larger end were video game guides that I used up that were on the larger end.

       And video game guides is where we find the true protagonist of our tale. The one who managed to succeed despite all odds against him. Despite the fact he looked like one of the worst books I'd ever seen. So for his accomplishment we're going to name him Trooper.

The morning of the garage sale I looked at Trooper in the box and I thought to myself. “I'm never going to sell this thing am I?”

       Trooper may have been a perfectly fine book when I first got him. But now he was a mangled wreck. Mangled not being exaggerated. A corner of the cover was completely missing. Time long ago removed the color on another portion of the cover to show the white part underneath(this leaves about 40% of the cover wrecked). The rest of Trooper's face was wrinkled and bent all the way to his backside. From the missing part of the cover bent of pages came out from Trooper. The part of the spine that held the pages together was intact but the actual label was falling off in little flakes. Trooper was from a time before I took care of my books well, and boy did I not take care of him. All of the other books much better, even to the point of looking brand new.

      The time was around 10:00. The ratty book waited in the shade for customers. We(me and other family  members) put most of our products under the shade-giving out-cropping usually reserved the cars. The outcropping was a garage and not a garage at the same time: yet the sale was one all the same.

I spent most of my time in the shade. The one disadvantage is that my hair wouldn't turn that much more blonder. When I expose my hair to sun it turns more blonde...to me one of the few advantages to the outside during a sunny day in the desert.

       An old man in early grandfather age walked up and asked “Have any old Nintendo games?” to everyone. If I could comment on his clothes I would but they existed in a sort of limbo of boringness so astounding that I can't remember a single thing about them.

      “Well, I don't have any old Nintendo games,” I told him. “Does anyone else have any?” I didn't know the stock of everyone else and a friend of a family member brought some kids toys so for all I knew something was tucked away. “But I do have some video game guides that go with games.”

I brought him over to my book box and showed him Trooper. He actually asked me about it and I thought to myself “How could he actually want that?”. Mom suggested to the man that his “grandson” would like them. After a few minutes of conversation with me about that book and others he bought Trooper.

Though maybe Trooper should get a different name. Trooper implies that our little mangled, torn up, hurt, bashed, ruined book had some sort of special working property that made him sellable. But a better name may be Lucky.

      Other books were sold besides Lucky. I showed all the video game guides I had to the man. He didn't buy several of the books I had for newer books. (He asked for “old Nintendo” games after all.) When Mom suggested a grandson he didn't respond, and I think he would get specific game guides for games he knew his grandson had.

      I noticed the man had the voice and mannerisms of a salesman. He wanted to see everything I had pretty quickly. By chance I believe a special man visited Lucky that day. A salesman for old game items and picked up the damaged book and all my others because of it. (He picked up my Super Mario 64 one immediately, another old one).

      And if Lucky hadn't been lucky a few more pieces he may never have been purchased, a few more pieces may have fallen off and then he would have a new name, Garbage.

Today's #flashfiction #DesiringHorrorAgain

“Everything is half off!”

King Solomon* #quote

      Tomorrow I'm helping with a garage sale at my Grandma's. (My life is exceptionally exciting.) I finished submitting a story of mine to my university magazine thing. While looking for stuff to garage sale we found an old, tiny child-sized wooden shield. (Seriously). This old shield was purchased for me at the Renaissance festival years ago, I was like 7. This shield is actually unique from others though, Dad actually without my knowledge borrowed one of my Pokemon books and surprised me with it painted with a Pokemon on it. (One of the cool dragon ones) When I found the shield I was like “Holy crap, we still have this?” I could only hold the shield straps with my hands since it's a kid's shield and won't fit around my arm it's that tiny. The thing is scratched all over. What the heck did I do to it as a kid?

      Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Desiring Horror Again

      Spider's swarmed Darrin's apartment. Thousands of them coming in tossing waves like the sea. Theirs legs jumped up and down off the floor like fingers on piano keys. They crawled over each other as more poured out of the vents and through the windows. Darrin's fear forced him to a shivering stumble instead of a fast run. He managed to avoid them by scrambling from room to room in his apartment as each of them.

      Once he escaped his apartment into the halls of the main building more spiders were pounding out of the other rooms. He soon discovered they were fleeing massive fires flooding from all the other rooms. Rats came out of the rooms too along with a few heavily burnt people. Darrin ran out of the building screaming.

     Then the spiders, rats and fire vanished as Darrin grew sober and the hallucinations ended. His LSD wore off. His heart still raced in fear, but he wanted some more. He was out, but he knew he would have the money soon buy some more from the dealer. Ninety nine percent of his brain didn't want the LSD but one percent of his brain absolutely needed and that was enough, though it would have to wait for his next paycheck.

     Author Comment: Remember kids don't do drugs!

Today's #flashfiction #SuperheroicSadism

“Stripes are very slimming.”

Betsy Ross* #quote

       Tomorrow I'm actually thinking of working on submitting one of my stories to the university thing after polishing it up. Today I just worked on my book and went to the doctor's office.

       Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Superheroic Sadism

     “Do you know why villains like you fear me Doctor Indestructible?” Captain Supermight grabbed the supervillain by the throat. “Because before I fight them I find out their breaking point.” He threw the villain against the wall of his lair. The superhero then rammed into the villain and buried him into the wall only to pull him out by the throat again. The Captain grabbed him tight enough to gag him and stop him from talking, but enough to let him breath, but with difficulty.

      He smiled. “Heroes fight villain's then capture them right? I do the same. But I know how much each villain can take before they finally kick the bucket.” He then took Doctor Indestructible's head and slammed it against the metal floor of the lair repeatedly. “But I don't let them die. I know their breaking point and I never let them hit it.” Captain Supermight let go of the villain's throat and let him catch a strong breath before punching him straight in the gut. “I just beat them over and over to the point right before they would break. And that's when I finish the job, tying them up like any good hero would.”

     “You're insane!” The supervillain yelled, holding his gut. Doctor Indestructible held his gut. He never felt pain that often because of the durability given to him by his superpower.

      “Funny, that's what they usually say to guys like you. Didn't I just destroy you're evil weapons of mass destruction before we began fighting?” The superhero laughed. “I'm going to enjoy bringing you to justice.  You're name is Doctor Indestructible right? As soon as I heard that name I knew you'd be a good fight. That serum you injected into yourself gave you quite the powerful body. It's going to take some time for my super strength to beat you to your breaking point.”

       “You madman!” The villain then went to punch Captain Supermight. The hero grabbed the villain's fist then punched the villain straight in the jaw.

       The Captain grinned. “I'm going to make sure you never want to commit evil ever again. I wonder how long it will take until you start crying? Let's find out.”

       A loud, evil laugh echoed from the supervillain's lair.

Today's #flashfiction #AGenieFindsAGenie

“It was Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with the rope!”

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation* #Quote

      Resolved previously mentioned conundrum. Chit-chatted with my friend Jessica over the phone. She may or may not be one of the suppliers of parts of smooth jazz doomsday weapons that CJ and I may or may not be building.

A Genie Finds A Genie

     One day a genie named Tom found another genie. The genie got three wishes, as per genie company policy.

      First Wish: Tom wished for freedom from being a genie.

      Genie became a talking chicken.

       Second Wish: To stop being a talking chicken.

       He became a genie once again.

       “Why are you doing this to me?” He asked the other genie he found.

       “Sorry my genie brother. It's company policy to mess with anybody who wishes, even if they are another genie.” He frowned.

      “Well I know how this goes then. I'm not even using my last wish...I know what kind of things company policy makes you do.” Tom knew the kind of things genie company policy made genies do to wishers and what he'd done to them himself. “Thanks for taking it easy on me. I'm heading back to my lamp.”

       The lesson here? Not even a genies do well with genies. So don't take wishes from strangers kids!

Today's #flashfiction #TheSecretOrganizationsIntentions

“A penny saved is a penny earned.”

M. C. Hammer* #Quote

      Reached a small conundrum in my book. Nothing extremly massive, just a plot decision. Enough for me to sit down and have to go “hmmmm” as it could have a ripple effect. I should have it resolved by noon tomorrow though. Sleeping on it and an extra few hours eh? CJ may come over this weekend.

       Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Secret Organizations Intentions

     FBI agent Drake Turner hunted the secret organization for a whole year with some of the finest resources the agency had behind him. Which secret organization? The organization of people who had viral spies everywhere and programs scouring Internet for information. They hacked nearly every database and made normal scientists look like cavemen in front of gods. Drake Turner's ultimate question was for what end? Why would they gather so much information? They had so much blackmail information, so much military intelligence, they had viruses inside nearly every military computer...they could topple any government easily. What purpose could all the information on every military serve if not to destroy it?

     He would be able to ask them himself. He'd broken into their headquarters, a place disguised as an innocent suburban home. Oddly enough, it was easy to break in. It seemed they put too much faith on the stealth of their programs to hide them. He didn't bring in a swat team because he thought there would be more defenses.

     The house was so plain, and he heard laughing and chatter inside. All over the walls he saw drawings of maps of famous buildings with various Xs and Os on them with arrows. Were they all attack plans for them?

      “So yeah...good roll, your spy saved the world!” He heard one of the conspirators say from the other room. The voice sounded very young. About high school aged. Definitely male.

      “You think those are fair odds for a sniper shot to hit?” A girl's voice added, also high school age.

      “Your program hacked the database that gave the information for the hit-chart.”

Drake had them. He stepped in the room with his gun held high. “Freeze FBI!”

Six people stood up and placed their hands in the air. They had no weapons and the entire room was full of paper, dice and miniatures.

      “Crap! They found-” one of the guys started to talk.

      “Shhh!” One of the girls said. In total there teenagers, three boys and three girls.

       Drake looked at all the papers and among them found a spy toy, he picked it up, confused. “What exactly were you doing?”

       “Fifth Amendment man! Fifth Amendment!” One of them yelled. Drake knew he was in the right place. But it all felt so wrong. He started looking at the papers and noticed charts and figures derived from some of the data stolen from military facilities. He then picked up one piece of paper labeled “Character Sheet”. On it was the name “Agent Cheesecake” and below it a list of stats then an elaborate back story for Agent Cheesecake. He has been divorced three times and has a pet chihuahua named Lily.

      “God, no, this can't be real.” Drake kept his gun high but his gut sank. “You hacked the highest security military facilities all over the globe...to make a game?”

      “The most realistic spy game in the whole world!”

       “Shh! I told you to be quiet man!”

        Drake looked at the spy toy in his hand. “And you were using this because you haven't made anything of your own custom miniatures.” He looked at the table and realized from the from the way that everything that was set up the tipped over dragon on the table must have been the miniature they were using to represent the villain that the spy had sniped. “Do you have any, any idea what you've done?” He looked at the collection of high school kids. They couldn't have been older than fifteen tops. He couldn't believe he spent the last year chasing after the digital footprint of crazy genius kids.

       “Made the best game ever?”

        Okay not genius. Just really good with computers.

       “All of this needs to be destroyed. And you need to thank God you're minors and won't spend the rest of your life in prison!”

        The youngest girl, who just turned thirteen, went on her knees, put her hands together and thanked God.

        One of them said, “God, when I have to explain this all to Mom it will be so awkward...”

       Drake glared at the kid. “You think your going to have an awkward conversation!? I'm going to have to explain this to my boss!”

        Soon afterward the game was confiscated by the government and hidden away in Area 51. Mostly because the government realized the game was so realistic that it could actually be used for warfare to dangerous efficiency. They put it next to the aliens and the jar where they keep Abraham Lincoln’s ghost. In exchange for their skills and a better understanding of the game the kids got off with a warning and were sworn to secrecy. The children now work for the government making software to spy on your emails to find terrorists. Everyone lived happily ever after.