Saturday, August 30, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #OtherUniverses

“You put your right leg in and you shake it all about!”
Dirty Dancing* #quote

CJ won't be coming over today, but the plan is him possibly coming over tomorrow because of this being labor day weekend.

Other Universes

         A lone scientist invented a device to peer into other universes and he found out that things are a different in them. Scrambled, switched...however you'd prefer to say it based on how much or where the variant is.
         One universe he saw that coins still had heads and tails but what was called heads they called tails and what was called tails was called heads.
         Another universe dinosaurs still roamed yet mankind still rose alongside them. Rodeos looked to be quite different with a lizard than a horse.
         The third the scientist peered into there had never been a World War II or a World War I because the industrial revolution never happened and most nations still fought and killed each other with spears, swords, bows, arrows, and stones.
          In the fourth he saw that the human ate the homework
          Eventually the scientist decided to invent device to travel between universes. When he started making the machine to travel between the worlds he wanted to make it so that people would believe him...simply peering would be left to scrutiny. And if it was accepted he'd rather not be the one to see universes than be one upped by the guy who would then invent traveling to them based on his technology to see them.
         By the time he finished the device to travel between worlds he looked at so many he grew fond of his own. He knew that people would bring things from the other worlds to his and it would be irreversible. And he'd seen thousands of worlds. Many, many things he didn't want coming to be with him, his family, friends and where he'd grew up. He traveled while working on the machine and that made him more attached to something he didn't want to be tainted or harmed by strange, dangerous things from worlds afar.
         So the scientist destroyed his machines and notes, also hoping no one else would discover it. When he destroyed them he thought of the monsters in other world's he'd seen, but also the cures for diseases and ailments in the worlds that had advanced. To keep the world pure he shut everything out, good and bad.

Friday, August 29, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #TheChillGhost

“Smile and the whole world smiles with you.”
The Cheshire Cat* #quote

Today I went to one of my card game things. CJ could also be coming over tomorrow, but it's less than certain. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Chill Ghost

       Sup's you? Hope ya be chill. Ya should be chill. Live life chill ya know? Well I gotta I'm dead so I chill in the afterlife. Calm and chill yo. Don't get hot and bothered and be chill like me.
         I see other ghosts not being chill and being going “Boo!” That's not the way to live the afterlife man...I think they being vengeful or reason to be all crazy or spookin'.
Booing is a requirement of ghosts but I be chill, they go “Boo!” I just go “Boo.”
          “” to the beat of whatever song comes to my head. That's how I haunt. Is it hauntin'? I it's so chill ya'know? Can't be stressing in the afterlife and be spending my time stressing and scaring? was to stressed in life to be stressed here now.
          The songs that pop into my head...don't remember where they came from...I feel like I don't want to remember. I make them? Why does that make me angry? Nah, shouldn't think about it. I need to be chill. Live chill yo. do I think lots of people knew me or something when I livin' and less chill? I dunno yo. Now I'm remembering taking something in needles over and over while I listened to the songs.
        Ah, that was life, I need to forget about that be chill yo. Boo, ba'm gonna keep haunting, boo, be chill...can't think of the blurs or what rushed through my veins...just,

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #AGameLovedAndLost

“I'm alone, stranded on a desert island, please send help!”
Wilson, Castaway* #quote

       Today I pet one of our dogs. With a dog it's usually you who has to walk away since many dogs are fine with being pet all day and night. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Game Loved And Lost

       Little Bradley loved tic-tac-toe. It hooked the little boy in an instant because of the analytical nature of the boy. He kept losing to the adults though. He wanted to master his favorite game that sort of became a craze of his. Like those usual phases of interests kids go through that parents have to pay attention to so they buy them the right action figures at Christmas.
       Bradley looked up the game on the Internet and learned a fact he didn't expect. You could master tic-tac-toe. Make it so that you could never, ever lose. Only win or draw. A strange diagram illustrated how it worked with all the combinations of the game. He observed the diagram closely with his little eyes and studied it. If children weren’t so adept at collecting information they cared about it probably would have went over his head. (If only children could care about school and absorb it just as easily. Even the ones that try can't make it stick as much as a hobby. The human brain does seem to hate itself.)
        After many weeks of figuring out tic-tac-toe and the diagram he mastered the game. He beat every adult or came to a tie. He became quite the master of the game he loved. Though then nobody wanted to play with him. Bradley asked people to play, new people, but it soon became common knowledge that he learned the game. It became at most a bragging right as people said, “Hey, it's the kid that learned all the combinations of tic-tac-toe!” It wasn't exactly the best bragging right to have, even at that age. He enjoyed his mastery shortly but hated the loss of his favorite game.
       In a few short years though, the bright, analytic kid would discover chess.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #MusicAndChairs

“My eyes are up here.”
Medusa* #quote

       Today I met No One Important. Mr. Important has quite strong religious beliefs and loves the color blue. Maybe I'll see No again soon. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Music And Chairs

        A billionaire bought an old mansion that no one in the little town that no one would touch or buy because they all believed ghosts inhabited it. He chose it to be his vacation home. After housekeeping cleaned it all up he took his first winter there like a bird migrating. He ignored his workers mentioning that they heard strange noises. He told them it was an old home and it wasn't close enough to Halloween to mess with him.
       “But Mr. Russel, we're serious. There's something going on there.” He dismissed what they said even when he heard the creaks in the house the first night he slept there. The jet lag from flying bothered him enough.
       The first morning of his vacation he decided he would play his guitar in the living room. The windows of the place let in wonderful light and the temperature felt warm. He could imagine an audience in the chairs and couches around him. Maybe when he invited the family over the vacation home they would see him play the guitar there. After plenty more practice of course.
        He began playing and after awhile he began to hear tapping. Thunk, thunk, thunk. The light tapping of wood against wood to the exact beat of the song he played. The next song he played it matched that one. He kept playing and he heard the tapping in stereo around him. Multiple sources of the tapping surrounding him. Thunk, thunk, thunk to the rhythm. He assumed he'd must have been imagining something.
       With a glance at the floor he noticed the source of the tapping: the chairs in the room. Each one in the room tapped against the floor to the beat of his music. A loud series of bangs began to happen to the beat as the couches joined in.
        Mr. Russel thought to himself “James, whatever is going on, don't panic.” He kept playing as if the chairs would get up and attack him if he stopped. Whacking could be heard as the cabinet doors from the kitchen kept opening and closing to the beat. The lamps in the room spun to the tune of the song. The billionaire heard noise from all over the house of objects moving to the music.
        The television in the family room turned on. On the screen a skeleton in a suit appeared with static behind him. Though without flesh the skeleton couldn't smile the way he clapped to the beat and leaned eagerly forward expressed happiness.
        After what seemed like forever the billionaire lost the ability to play. His arms became too tired. The sun already declined far down from the morning and towards twilight. He thought when he stopped playing the furniture would attack him like angry monsters and he merely kept it at bay.
        “Bravo! Encore!” yelled voices from all over the home. The skeleton emerged from the television.
        The creature's mouth clattered as it opened and shut to speak. Must have been some sort of formality for whatever supernatural power allowed it to produce speech without a tongue or vocal chords. “I'd like to thank you on behalf on all the spirits trapped in the mansion for that wonderful performance. I hope you stay awhile and gift us with more music. In return maybe we can give you a few puppet shows?”

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #AMatterOfImportance

“And you can quote me on that one.”
The Raven* #quote

Today I looked important. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Matter Of Importance

        “Yip! Yip! Bark, bark! Woof, woof!” The familiar sounds of dog barks accompanied the familiar sounds of thunder and rain as the storm formed over the city. The citizens found it odd as no weather forecast mentioned a storm and the day showed nothing but clear skies. While domesticated animals freaked out, even things like the normally complacent cats hissing and making a ruckus, the wild animals that made their home in the nooks of buildings and alleyways started to run from the city.
        Pigeons and other birds flew far away and even cockroaches emerged from the sewers and flooded the streets to leave the city. Traffic came to a standstill as people watched in a scared standstill as bugs poured from the underground and ran like people from a fire. The bugs did take it to bursts of flying when they could but it seemed like they were conserving energy for a long migration far from the storm.
        Lighting from the storm became frequent and stretched out in the shape of hands with long fingers. Hail came from the black clouds of the storm along with piles of hot ash. When these far more damaging elements became thicker and thicker the citizens themselves began to panic and either try to flee themselves or hide away in their homes. Heavy dust storms emerging from the clouds and surrounding the edge of the storm and the city prevented travel. Too close to the edge and it became a wind violent enough to tear anything to pieces.
        In the middle of the storm a red light appeared. A creature with a strange, ghostly body and many arms, legs and other appendages difficult for a humanity to understand emerged. After it several others followed. They were all massive, each around thirty foot and as they moved through the air it boomed with the force of their movements.
        “Inter-dimensional travel is such a pain isn't it?” One of them said in their language.
         Another responded, “Quite. Now lets check out the sights of this world. Oh my, looks like we damaged an animal colony of some sort when landing. Told you to watch where you set our destination point.”
         “Whatever,” the first one replied dismissively.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #VillainBlock

“A fool and his money are soon parted.”
Mr. T* #quote

Today I read comics online and had a good laugh. Not a bad laugh. Those can leave a bad taste in your mouth. Like old fruit. Ew. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Villain Block

        “Hahahhahahahhahahhahahahahahahahhahahaha!” My evil laughs echoed throughout my evil, evil lair. I then sighed. “I got nothing.” I admitted to myself. Though I've never written a book I think  I can now relate to all those writers in the world. I can't come up with any ideas for an evil plan. I thought the laugh might help, but I still couldn't come up with anything original. No new evil plans.   And no super villain worth a hoot would recycle a plan. Just like an author I must be having that “writer's block”. Hmmm...but this is the version for evil villains. I must name it. I must use all my intelligence as evil genius Dr. Mindblown. I shall call it... “villain block”! Now how shall I conquer this obstacle to world domination? After all, I cannot conquer the world without an evil plan...and this “villain block” is preventing me from doing so.
         Though I do not normally use the technology of the common man I will use it in this case. I will use the commoner's Internet. Look up how the common writer deals with “writer's block”. Whatever techniques work against it might work against “villain's block”.
       After looking at several websites it seems that several methods are purposed. Though these seem purposed for novels and stories I may be able to adapt them to evil plans. All revolve around thought processes though. They suggest mapping out characters and plot points on paper. The characters I adapt into my enemies and myself. The plot points I may adapt into possible elements in the flow of events. The characters in a story will the pawns in my schemes and the plot will be my evil plan.
       Before I looked down on all literature as a simple waste of time. Inflated entertainment. But it looks now that their techniques may help me hatch my final schemes to defeat all my enemies and take over the world. I realized that this is not the first time I have had “villain's block” and these techniques to fight “writer's block” may even enhance my schemes. Mwahahahhahaha. I may defeat the superheroes of the world yet and conquer it. All of the world bowing before me thanks to these common fools giving me the secrets of “writer's block”!

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #ThePurposeOfLoyalty

Build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door.”
Harry Houdini* #quote

Well today I played video games with CJ then he headed home. No strange phenomenon happened. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Purpose Of Loyalty

         The enemy army already set a foothold in the city. The king holed up in castle to plan an escape to the other largest city of the nation to mount his counterattack. His escape had to break through a massive siege that eventually led to the enemy catapulting boulders at the castle.
          The message of the enemy general after the king ignored his warnings of a direct attack to the castle, “We do not need you to make your people part of our nation.” Part of the nation had particularly interesting implications. The enemy army belonged to a massive empire that believed that it should rule all and create one united utopia under one benevolent ruling class. The fine print of this however is that the tiers would make all conquered nations still under this ruling class. Peasants and other lower classes would remain in their place but the conquered royalty would lose their supreme power.
        The attack of the castle made the air hot enough to bake bread. People ran all about in a panic, including the king. He never thought they would actually destroy a castle they wanted to take and assumed their threats idle. Along with him servants ran throughout the castle.
         A piece of debris fell on the king and trapped his leg. He called desperately out a servant in front of him.
         The servant kept running.
         “Help your king!”
         The servant turned around for a brief moment.
          “Don't just stand there, save me!”
           The servant looked at the debris and saw that it would take him at least ten minutes to lift, if not longer. He thought of his children and family. And while he left the screaming man behind he thought of coming home to them and providing for livelihood. He figured there isn't enough of a difference between the king he could save and the conquering king to risk his family.
          That night the conquering army treated the people they conquered with a feast to gain favor as they replaced the old king. They burned all records of his existence and removed him from history. The servant lived safely with family ever afterward.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #GoingNutsvsGoingBananas

“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”
Ghostbusters* #quote

Today CJ is coming over. (Barring a disaster such as a Zombie Apocalypse) Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Going Nuts vs Going Bananas

        The two craziest animals in the animal kingdom could easily be narrowed down to Sally Squirrel and Monty Monkey. And according to the fellow animals in their species they really didn't have a screw loose in the traditional sense. They both could be called insane from intense greed.
        Animals, much like people(who are truly animals themselves), would go after what they want but still hide for safety when it gets a little too dangerous. Not Sally or Monty. Sally went nuts for all the nuts she could grab and Monty went bananas for all the bananas he could grab. Luck saved them from all the risks they would take as they leaped and reached for all the food in their respective habitats. The same kind of luck that saved a a greedy poker player who put all his money on the line no matter how bad a hand he had. Again and again luck saved the two animals. Whatever nature god decided to give their souls such wretched greed decided to bless them with luck. Sally kept going nuts and Monty kept going bananas.
       Sally's forest habitat and Monty's jungle habitat crossover at a peculiar spot on globe. The two animals ran through the wilderness at this point and nearly rammed right into each other.
        “Watch where you're going monkey!” Sally shouted as she flicked her gray furry tail.
The monkey whipped his brown tail in response, “Oh, don't talk tough you little rodent!”
        Both animals held little patience for each other as their greed had not been satisfied recently and they still felt a crazy.
        “Whatever.” Sally shrugged obnoxiously. “I'm going to climb up this tree.”
Monty howled in response and jumped around. “No, no, no! I saw this tree first. It's why I nearly ran into you!”
         Sally puffed up her cheeks as if she jammed them with a million nuts and used all that air for a massive yell. “NO! MY TREE!”
        “You nutty squirrel!”
        “Oh, shut up! You're nothing but a monkey going bananas!”
        Monty went after Sally but she outmaneuvered him. Both animals were crazy and quick. Neither could make contact. For about a good hour they tussled without ever landing a blow despite the fact that Monty tried to get the squirrel in a headlock and Sally tried to gut the monkey with her teeth.
Eventually they both collapsed from exhaustion against the tree next to each other.
       “Stupid monkey.”
       “Stupid squirrel.”
        They looked at each other for a good five minutes. Then finally nodded at each other.
        “So split the spoils of the tree fifty-fifty?” Monty put words to their nod.
         “Yeah, fifty-fifty.”
         An apple then fell from the tree.
        They both groaned and said, “I hate apples...”

Friday, August 22, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #Spareless

“For it is in giving that we receive.”
Hernán Cortés* #quote

 Today I went to one of my card game things. Also aliens attacked. Not sure which one is more important. Anyway onto the flash fiction!


        A young boy named James once broke his glasses. And by coincidence right soon after he broke his spares. His mother lectured along with his father on being clumsy. They both had their own styles of lecturing. The mother had a you could have done differently style while the father had a you should have done differently style. The mother's tone was harsher than the father's.
        James's vision was some of the worst on the scale from awful to horrible. He could walk across the room at least. Objects were objects and he could pick them up. But everything had an intense blur. At this time the things in his imagination had become more real than reality. In his imagination there was no blurriness.
       So that's what he did. It took them quite awhile to repair his glasses. But in the meantime as he walked through life he replaced everything with an imagined copy. He knew what his dog looked like. So when the panting blur approached him he imagined what it really looked like in its place. Same place with his parents, the car, the house, dinner, his friends and everything. His used his imagination to define everything back to reality as his glasses showed him.
      When his glasses were finally repaired though he was surprised. Things were not quite as perfectly aligned to as he had repaired the blurs to be when he didn't have his glasses. He now knew the little slip of distortion between imagination, memory and reality.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #EdwinNumber123ExistenceNumber124561000

“Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't watching you.”
Big Brother* #quote

“What are we going to do this weekend Langdon?”
“Why the same thing we do every weekend you come over CJ...TRY TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD!”
Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Edwin Number 132, Existence Number 124,561,000

          Edwin lived as a space soldier fighting the vile aliens of the Yoreln Empire to save Earth. His comrades didn't see his face as a thick, black visor on a large, cloud white helmet covered it. His armor shared the same color as his helmet and both thin and flexible but hard and strong as steel thanks to advanced technology. He carried a gun that could transform into various other weapons if he plugged it into the proper ports he could find on various things like ally tanks.
          He now stood with some comrades ready to attack an alien base. The aliens feared Edwin, but merely were acquainted with the 131 Edwins that came before him. Though Edwin supposedly experienced many battles, this would be his first. The other ones died in previous fights. Edwin knew the difficulty of this battle, the chance of him coming out alive ranged between ten and fifteen percent. Thankfully the one controlling him possessed at least some skill. He lived in Existence  Number 124,561,000. The next one over, 124,561,001, five hundred Edwins already died for the war.
        So many game overs, so many resets. Hopefully the Edwin's player would guide him through the level successfully. Reaching the endgame and the end of the story would allow Edwin to ascend the scenario and his soul would no longer be needed. But dying here led to a different afterlife. Reincarnation in some other Existence. Maybe in a parallel where he would no longer be an Edwin.  Maybe he would even be one of the aliens. That could wind up being very painful.
       The battle began. Edwin did have faith in his player despite the difficulty in the scenarios of his Existence. But something felt off. He moved differently than he did normally. Very sloppily.  Uncoordinated. Immediately he saw mistakes and his armor began taking damage from alien attacks.  Surely the player wouldn't make so many errors? A recovery must be eminent. Edwin survived so many levels with this player after he made all the mistakes with the previous ones and learned how to play. What went wrong?
     As the assault went on and Edwin's armor grew weaker and weaker and he noticed more and more how awkward his movements became he realized the truth: someone else had been given a turn playing. Eventually the aliens overtook him and Edwin number 133 came into this Existence.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #AYoungGirlAndHerTimeMachine

I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-am.”
The Iron Chef* #quote

Today I came in like a wrecking ball. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Young Girl And Her Time Machine

         Crap. This is the 50th time I used my time machine and I still can't come up with anything good to say. Every time I try to ask my crush out for a date I goof up and I use my time machine to make sure I avoid an embarrassing refusal to whatever stupid thing I said to him. Yeah all my “genius” to make a time machine and I can't even ask a boy out. Good job Amanda. Can make a time machine, but can't date. One time I traveled back a week to try and figure something out and I still couldn't come up with something good.
         You know what screw it! I'll just ask him straight. It doesn't matter if I'm not all the popular and he's the most popular. It doesn't matter if there's probably another popular girl around the corner with something better to say. I won't flinch. I'll take the refusal. I'll use time machine to save him the embarrassment of having been asked out by such a dorky girl as myself but I'll risk the embarrassment for just the slightest change of having a date with him!
       I tried...and he said yes! He likes me! Guess I don't need the time machine anymore! Can't think of much else to use it for anyway. I'm going to be the most popular girl in school. Aha to Diana and her little group who said I could never be popular! I got the most popular boy, so in their face!

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #FathersOblivion

“A real lady doesn't raise her voice.”
Real Housewives of New Jersey* #quote

A foul storm caused Internet troubles and prevented me from posting a story yesterday, but anyway onto todays!

Father's Oblivion

        Peek-a-boo could be considered a sadistic game that plays with the mind of the baby. Though scientists cannot talk to babies(yet, science tends to find ways to do the strangest things) it is theorized that they think when something is no long seen it is truly gone.
So when a father takes his hands over his face to play “Peek-a-boo!” to little Jimmy his father is gone forever.
         The child smiles and giggles when the man reveals himself because he relieved that his father is not gone forever. Again and again babies smile and giggle because their parents come back from oblivion. The familiar, kind faces fading in and out of existence being a mental trip for the young souls like baby Jimmy.
         Let us not get into the terror for little Jimmy that is “goochy-goochy-goo”.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #LackOfArt

“A spoonful of honey will catch more flies than a gallon of vinegar.”
The Iron Chef* #quote

Bro and his wife came over for dinner today and much fun was had. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Lack Of Art

        If someone looked at the drawing they would have assumed that Sarah made a doodle or abstract art. She covered the paper with a series of solid trailing lines of multiple colors that occasionally ended and picked up. The most apt title for the piece in an art gallery would be “Rainbow Spaghetti In Crayon”.
       Though Sarah's did not make a doodle or abstract art at all. The reason she played with the crayons in the first the first place was the complete lack of dolls and toys to make stories like she usually did with her mother, father or brother. The origin of the drawing came from her being forced to use these crayons as a substitute.
       When Sarah started her story she put a blank drawing on the table and the crayons on top of it.
       Red started the story at the top left corner of the page quite nervous for his date with Teal. People in Crayonland thought that Teal could be considered one of the prettiest colors(that was still single). Red's brother Pink really rooted for him on this date and hoped it would go as well as his first date with Yellow. When Red anxiously paced across the page it created lines across the paper. When Pink followed and comforted him more lines followed in a near parallel.
       Teal came in from the bottom and Red went to meet her. The conversation turned awkward. Red could be considered as smooth as sandpaper. But before it could snowball into a total disaster Teal asked Red to dance. She loved dance and heard Red knew how dance quite well. Since he completely failed in the conversation department of the date Red accepted the dance without hesitation and danced across the page with Teal. More lines came from the two crayons as they flipped and spun each other doing the waltz, salsa and every dance they could.
       They kept dancing absorbed with each other, not minding that their extravagance caught the attention of all the other crayons. They filled the page with such energy that the other crayons had no choice but to join in. Red's brother Pink and his girlfriend Yellow started dancing. Pink and Yellow couldn't match the skill of Red or Teal, but they sure tried. More crayon couples joined in. Black and White. Orange and Purple. Gray and Brown. More and more came, and solo crayons joined in as well. All feeding off the energy of Red and Teal and the growing crowd.
       Though Red drew lines happily with Teal. Their shared love of dance opened them up to each other much better than any initial pickups he had could have. He hoped that more interests could blossom between them. Red didn't notice the other crayons or the lines they left behind.

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #TheStoneAgeArtCritic

“I always wanted to be a rock star. That was my childhood dream. That's what I told everybody I was going to be when I grew up.”
-Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart * #quote

Today I went to the card game thing. Tomorrow I will be probably watch the Pokemon world championships as they are using the magic of technology to stream the matches live over the Internet. Those players are probably, maybe, definitely a lot better than me.

The Stone Age Art Critic

           Of all my touring of caves this has been my most disappointing art show. The disappointment was enhanced by the fact that so many people talked the artist Uug's rendition's of the bison hunt. But really it was nothing special. This “red paint” gimmick to show blood is just a fad. Red paint will never catch on. And so many people showing off hand tracings. How foolish. I enjoyed the the uses of blue and yellows in abstract patterns. Blue and yellow and browns for animal fur are really the colors that should be used in painting. After looking at the cave for what seemed like a year I started to feel dead. But then I saw a marvelous piece of art in the corner. And like with the other pieces the artist stood next to it. I walked up to the artist immediately.
           “Did you create this little girl?” I asked the artist.
           “Yes I did Mr. Ruk.” She responded. Because of my status as an art critic I was introduced as soon as I entered the cave. I doubt the little girl would have known who I was otherwise.
           “It is amazing little girl, you're parents should be proud. What do you call it?” I really couldn't say much more because of my amazement.
           “A stick figure,” she told me.
            A perfect name! A perfect name for a perfect creation! This piece of art captures the human form wonderfully and in such simplicity and beautiful form. It makes the hand tracing so outdated. It's the most elegant mix between the abstract and the real. It will also save paint so that so many more pictures may be made. And since she could make it so many other children may. More artists will be groomed and be able to make paintings. I predict that stick figures is what the common people will draw when they cannot create sophisticated art their own. But it will be some of the first pieces of the greats of the future. The stick figure will be the foundation of all future art.
          I have found the perfect painting.

Friday, August 15, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #AStrangeArtifact

“He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.”
General Custer* #quote

Today I went to a card game thing that now takes place on Friday. I may stop going to the one on Sunday as it's farther away and just go to the ones on Friday and Saturday.

A Strange Artifact

         Thousands upon thousands of years after the people of today croak and become corpses they become the subject of archeology. Eventually everything does. Today we have mummies and disco to catalog and study. In the future it will be us.
         “What is this strange artifact?” an archeologist says in a language that will be invented a few thousand years from now. (And has a word for telling someone that you're single but they're not your type, but the word has that sort of tone that will make them think that you're calling them ugly or giving them a lame excuse. It's a great word really. Makes dating less awkward.) He held up the artifact in his plastic gloves carefully and places it in a sterile containment unit.
        The other scientists gather around the artifact. They'd been digging for quite awhile. Something being discovered sent jolts of excitement down all their backs. Archeology is work that involves great reward after great tedium.
           The archeologist looked at it and instantly formed his hypothesis and spout it triumphantly.  “Obviously this artifact was a close-quarters combat weapon. Something this large and heavy must have only that function. The writing on the top of it must be some sort of army markings.”
         The archeologist observed a dictionary. As technology had been instituted for so many thousands of years the concept of a book was foreign to him and he didn't even think of opening it. The future became so far flung even the simplest elements of the past were buried. After thousands upon thousands of years the archeologists now dug through their own archives of the Internet and the very ground just to figure out who invented things as after all that time it became lost and needed to be rediscovered. Maybe this archeologist will deduce what a book is and help them further along the path.

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #AMagicallyFabulousPrize

“I love visiting new places”
Kilroy* #quote

Today I hung out with Jessica. Much fun was had. We even played a Japanese version of a video game. She's Japanese major in college so she shows me those games. (She plays them for practice, especially when she was first starting her degree, since games can have simpler language than say, a book.) There were a few things in English in the game. Just for kicks I guess. I've noticed it a trend across all societies that "foreign things are cool" so people will throw in bits of foreign stuff to make it look cooler(like how in the game some level names were written in big English letters and some Japanese ones). Play a fun game with your life and see how much random foreign stuff companies throw in things just because its foreign to make the product seem "exotic" and nothing else. You'll have some fun!

A Magically Fabulous Prize

To Witches And Wizards It May Concern,

         Do you love free stuff? Free magic stuff? Well in honor of the international spell caster holiday Wand Day the Wizard's Guild Union is holding a giveaway for all guild members! It's simple to enter and get one of our amazing magical prizes. All you have to do is mail in a scanned copy of your wizarding license to the address printed on the back of this letter. If you win we will call you at the number on your license. Here are some of the magically fabulous prizes you can win. (More are listed on the guild union website):

A dozen handcrafted zombies for all your necromancy needs.
A trained dragon that can do tricks like roll over.
A cook book that allows you to cook with magic...we are not legally liable for success.
An all expense paid trip to the demon realms. You will most likely come back alive.
A big, enchanted bucket of money.

Winners are chosen randomly so don't complain if you don't win. You give us full permission to send you useless spam using the information you give us by entering this contest.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #DestinysGame

“It's hammer time!”
Bob the Builder* #quote

        Tomorrow my friend Jessica should be coming over to hang out. Normally we just hang out at the card game thing, but we managed to schedule something during the week. I'm thinking we may be able to do that more often so yay!

Destiny's Game

         Destiny held her joystick in hand as her game booted and the screen flickered. Whatever strange, ethereal realm the goddess called home let her rest comfortably on a cloud-like floor. However the floor wiggled and bobbled under here like a slightly stuff waterbed. The floor matched the traditional white god robes that were a gift from Athena, a neighboring pantheon that sometimes held parties with Destiny's family.
        Destiny flicked back her black bangs so that it wouldn't be in her eyes as she played. A single missed move would be costly in her game. She grasped the joystick tightly yet relaxed. A natural state for gaming to allow tight control without getting sore.
        The game started and the magic of the machine caused rumbles like thunder. The game screen consisted of multi-colored spheres coming from all sides cluttering together into the middle like a planet taking form. When a sphere landed it stuck and Destiny could move the joystick to rotate the forming planetoid to control how the incoming spheres formed together.
        And spin the forming planet she did. The incoming multi-colored spheres would look like simple marbles to human eyes, but the eyes of a goddess like Destiny could see all the data contained within. Each forming planetoid was a level in the game. Each level a fated event. Each multi-colored sphere elements in that event. People, places, things, specific happenings within that event. As she spun the planetoid how the many, many spheres fell onto it would control how they interacted like how pouring paints onto each other could control the mixture but much more complicated.
        She wiggled the joystick and the sphere spun and spun and spun. The elements of the fated event came in. Cars. Fire. A family. Alcohol. Sirens. A road. The day, the time. The wreckage. The emotions. The hospital. The doctors. All the people who interacted that night and that happening.
         A fateful event where a single drunk driver nearly killed an entire family. Had she spun it the wrong way the doctors may have failed to save the injured family members, or the collision would have been harder. The traffic could have been thicker preventing the ambulances from getting there.  But Destiny completed the level and let the family live and the driver see the horribly injured family.  He quit drinking and talked to others hoping they would never make his fatal mistake.
The levels Destiny completes don't always result in survival and lessons learned. However we create the levels that Destiny must finish.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #TheKindaSortaInvisibleishMan

“I wonder if I took a wrong turn in Albuquerque?”
Christopher Columbus* #quote

Today I rocked someone's world. They told me to pick up all that gravel I threw into their yard. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Kinda-Sorta Invisible-ish Man

           To succeed and yet completely fail at the same time. Doctor Isaac Oldton made himself invisible yet everyone would certainly see where he was at all times. A marvelous compound he called it. Something to change his form invisible. He developed it to sell to the military to allow perfect stealth soldiers. And he tested it on himself to prove his compound's power to the world.
         Oldton vanished, no one could see him, but the camouflage usually involved something like an elephant, or a ball of fire. Perhaps something less subtle like a giant hand or Elvis dancing with  Abraham Lincoln. He could claim invisibility, as no one could see Isaac himself, but some other sight would be where he was. Every person would see an unreal mirage and cameras would pick up strange images of their own.
        The Kinda-Sorta Invisible-ish Man took so many forms. Even multiple people looking at him at the same time would see something different. The accounts of the Oldton's shapes are varied and endless in variety. Bill Clinton wearing a suit made of pizza. Aliens. Giant books. A dust cloud. An angel. Ice cubes connected together in the shape of a human, waving and smiling.
         Isaac's clothes were hidden by the mirages. He tried painting himself. The compound's strange properties changed the air around him making him impossible to see. The illusions functioned almost like a bubble around him. If he held something close enough the illusion would hide it as the compound altered the air around him to create the illusion. The scientist trapped himself in a void of invisibility. Even though people saw photos of him once they forgot what he looked like as they now knew him as the walking oddity.
      He forgot what he looked like. Eventually he grew to accept it though. That, and at least now he never felt judged on how he dressed. He lost appearance and vanity in one fell swoop. He now smiled at his useless mirror as he saw a dragon wearing a top hat.

Monday, August 11, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #TheCatIsOutOfTheBag

“The Matrix is everywhere. It is all around us. Even now, in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window or when you turn on your television. You can feel it when you go to work... when you go to church... when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.”
Ms. Valerie Frizzle, The Magic Schoolbus* #quote

Today I fixed something that ain't broke. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Cat Is Out Of The Bag

        “We tried to contain him in the bag Sir,” Officer Dog said to Senator Elephant, “But it seems the Cat escaped the Bag.
         Senator Elephant leaned over to look Officer Dog in the eyes, the cloth of his suit straining on his massive form. “I won't forget this mistake Officer Dog. We will all suffer if you don't catch him.”
Officer Dog tried not to pant in stress. He needed to catch that Cat now that it was out of the bag.
         The Cat gleefully laughed as he ran through the city. Blackmail documents in hand, they may have bagged him once, but he'll certainly get his money's worth out of authority figures soon enough. His whiskers tended to twitch when money was in the air and a scheme would pay off...and boy did they twitch!
        His whiskers froze when the sirens blared. He cut inside an alley way. How many squad cars did he hear? Twenty? Did they deploy everyone on duty after him?
        The Cat dashed up a chain link fence when he heard the familiar barking of Officer Dog to freeze. Like he would listen to him. He'd been chased by that mutt enough. The cat dropped the blackmail photos in shock when he turned the corner and saw that Officer Dog served merely as a distraction.
       “You made some powerful people angry,” The Lion said with his bullet proof vest and weapons on full display. The bounty hunter of the jungles, both iron and wood, would never be stopped if a paycheck was involved. “How painful does this have to be?”
        The Cat went back into the bag.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #ADifferentKindOfCustomer

“I forgot.”
Data, Star Trek* #quote

       Today I solved the riddle of the Sphinx. It's a lot easier when you can look it up on the Internet. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Different Kind Of Customer

        As a mechanic my life usually involved hard, honest work and no real surprises. Sweaty work with long hours, but it kept food on the table and I knew what I was doing so nothing went wrong. One big surprise came my way. A gun held to my head as a super villain demanded I fix his car.
        A strange machine with parts I didn't recognize. The oddities of the thing along with the minions and thugs of the supervillain made it difficult to work. The villain stood tall in an elaborate costume and around twelve feet tall. The car was massive and meant to specifically fit him. I recognized him from the news. I'd rather not die. I knew I had to fix his car. Could I really call it a car? More like a strange tank thing. All the staff worked on it, though I was selected to lead on the fixing.
       Why was I stuck with this? Perhaps whoever he usually had doing this was unable to. Either way I rushed as fast as I could. Despite the strangeness of the thing a car is a car and my years of experience allowed me to figure it out.
        Over the time I worked on it I realized the reason he brought it into the shop. He could have been on the run and unable to get back to whatever hide out he needed to. I got brave, in other words stupid. I knew heroes or the police would be chasing him. I sabotaged the car so it would break down in around a week. Since the villain was so tall they couldn't simply steal another vehicle.
      I finished my work around a week later Captain Heroics captured the villain in his broken down car.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #TheSculptorsPinocchio

“Pull my finger.”
Miss Manners* #quote

Today I followed the yellow brick road. They didn't need to paint the bricks, they would have been fine red or brown.

The Sculptor's Pinocchio

       Geppetto got Pinocchio and Jennifer got Daniel. But Jennifer was a sculptor who made a living statue instead of a living puppet like Pinocchio. Daniel didn't want to be a real boy like the living puppet Pinocchio. He wanted a brother. A statue's instincts made it not want to be alone. The statues that are abandoned are the ones that are alone and out of galleries so Daniel out of his natural needs wanted a brother.
       So Jennifer made a brother and prayed to whatever force gave Daniel life to give the brother life too. Her wish is granted and a brother is had. But instincts are instincts and now both Daniel and brother want more siblings. When Jennifer made another body for a sister for the two boys the being that gave life to Daniel would have ignored just Jennifer but all three of them were praying for life for the sister. The mysterious force gave life to the sister too. The sister wanted a sibling too.
       The family expanded and expanded as the being always took pity on them when they begged for their family to grow. Though the fellow people in the village started to find it strange when Jennifer decided to make herself a bigger and bigger home so spontaneously. And she used to sell so many pieces! Now she hoarded them.
        One sculptor named John grew angry when he noticed some clay missing. He thought that Jennifer had grown so compulsive that she couldn't afford to buy supplies. He thought she stole his. He looked outside and even saw someone running off in the distance to her house, which looked more like a barn, with incredible speed. He barged into Jennifer's home.
        “My God.” He looked at the house to see it filled with the statue children. “This is what she's been making? And all the stolen clothes and toys around town...”
         “A guest!” They all shouted. “We've never had a guest!”
         “There are hundreds of them.” John tried to count them but the children practically stacked on top of each other and climbed on the cabinets and Jennifer had apparently added a basement that they were pouring out of.
         “Come here!” The children shouted. “You can stay for dinner!” The children started to climb on him and drag him into the house.
         “No! I just wanted my clay back!” John tried to fight them off. “Let me go!”
         One of the statue children smiled at them. It was one of the ones dragging his left leg. “You mean the clay Daniel stole to make our next brother? Maybe we can name him after you!”
         “That wouldn't work though,” Daniel said as he stood on the kitchen table and the other children dragged John into the room. “Unless we want the brother named John Jr. I just wanted John to be our new Dad. Then again he's a sculptor just like Mom so we can have more and maybe even better brother and sisters made!”
         The children lifted John high as they cheered. And at the end of the cheer the children all the froze in place. The being that gave them life couldn't let that happen to John and feared what would happen when both John and Jennifer died so the being pulled the life force from the statue children.
       When Jennifer returned home from getting food for herself to see the frozen children and John held up high she dropped to the ground crying.
       “You monster. You did this to them didn't you?” While Jennifer cried over her statue children faraway in another place Pinocchio had just become a real boy seconds before.

Friday, August 8, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #PatchingAPlotHole

“With great power comes great responsibility.”
Nero, 5th Emperor of Rome #quote

How come most cheesy jokes aren't about cheese? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Patching A Plot Hole

         The world of the author's book stretched far and covered many miles of the Fictionscape. Though the author created a much larger world than the few miles in her mind, it was vastly compressed. The locations the characters visited appeared in full, but summarized locations twisted and shrank into maps between each place. In the Fictionscape if the characters went from one city to another and the cities were known but the trip skipped, then the entire skipped place would be like a string with fuzzy details of the location spread on it. A stranger to the Fictionscape may have great difficulty navigating it when some places lay complete and rational, while other places were as incomplete or summarized as they were in the author's mind and story.
         But the author's Architect was no stranger. He knew the Fictionscape like any other Architect. Architects live in the Fictionscape to bring the author's work to being and then help them find and patch up any problems. Sometimes an Architect hitting the nail on the head in the Fictionscape can be felt as that lighting bolt of inspiration.
         This author's Architect needed to repair something quite dire. A large, deep hole opened in up in the middle of the wedding of the two main characters. The Architect entered the wedding as the story lay frozen in time. He would fit in a modern wedding with his black tuxedo and shoes, though perhaps not the wedding of this fantasy world. The Architect's top-hat stood as tall as the hats of the wizards among the wedding guests. He twirled a white cane made of bone. Bone taken from a dragon in some far off story he worked on before this one. This Architect worked helping other authors long before this woman. He couldn't remember off the top of his head what other author's story he got the bone from. Something with a ring?
        He stared into the deep, black hole with his equally black eyes. He knew this void as a plot hole. For some reason it formed in the author's story and he knew it as his duty to help in fixing it. The plot hole caused such tension on the Fictionscape that as he drew closer to it the Architect could see his veins slowly tensing up under his almond skin.
Red arms covered in blood emerged from the pit clamoring to take the characters from the Fictionscape into the plot hole. When logic falls apart in a story a plot hole rises to consume the world.
         “Nasty thing aren't you?” The Architect looked around him. “Now what is wrong here?” He stepped away from the plot hole to avoid being grabbed by the bloody arms but didn't fear it in particular. The first few plot holes that tried to drag him to logic oblivion scared him. But he'd dealt with enough of them to be comfortable with them. “I've checked the basic logic of this story over and over. The events flow smoothly enough. All the base assumptions of fantasy check out.” From plot hole emerged a creature made of animated brain stems rolling like a tumbleweed covered in teeth and legs. When it went after the Architect he launched it away like a golf ball with his bone cane.
        The Architect looked near where the plot hole appeared to see the bride and groom and the bloody hands working towards them.
        “Of course! The characters don't love each other!” The Architect smiled. “Well, at least believably.” Though the author said in her story that the characters loved each other their story they were not the type of characters that could be True Loves. A matrimony the way the author described would not be possible between the characters she created that went through the story she created. The Architect needed to inform her immediately that she needed to mend her romance to be True Love before the plot hole consumed all the land her world inhabited in Fictionscape.
       And soon out of seemingly nowhere the author had an ephiphany about the characters in her story. Later she finished her best seller.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #ASupervillainHasHadWorseDaysThanThis

“We can rebuild him, we have the technology.”
All The King's Horses And All The King's Men*

I plead the Eighteenth. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Supervillian Has Had Worse Days Than This

        Captain Amazingcape was going to throw me into my own vat of acid that I was going to use to kill him and many puppies because, well, I'm an evil super villain. And if you're thinking “Hah! You were going to kill puppies you're going to get what you deserved!” Jokes on you, I've been through much worse than this. My name is Dr. Cleverplan. And I assure you the villians are the ones that go through all the crap and danger. Not the heroes. Think about it. Who gets in trouble in the end? Yup.   Oh and here's an off camera secret. Many of our plans backfire before we're even finished. I had my face half eaten off by my own zombie horde before I learned how to control them to unleash them on the city. Fortunately I had my trusty healing serum around. That's what I always use. And that's what's going to make this trip into the vat of acid just another Monday.
         Here's some of the other garbage I've been in. I've been zapped by heat vision. Punched by super strength. Dropped from incredible heights. Hung from flagpoles of whatever nation the superhero lives in as “patriotic justice” for hours. Longest time I think was 16. That's where they put me to be picked up by the police instead of having the decency to drop me off at the station. I've been dragged along by super-speed. Then there's being frozen by ice breath into a human pop cicle to be shipped to prison because y'know rope couldn't work. Superheroes always have to use their powers. Psychic ones violate my secrets or stretch my limbs. I've been hypnotized to dance like a monkey. I've been hit by several missiles because apparently they think I'm as immortal as they are. Just because I have a protective robot suit doesn't mean I'm a flying brick like you morons. Y'know I'm starting to wonder if I'd be safer in my boxers.
          But then again that would make me an easier target for all the exploding arrows and all the rabid super animals they have prancing around. They never tell you but the animal's droppings are as radioactive as their attacks. I found that out when I found them around my old fortresses scavenging for parts. Oh yeah. And there's being stomped by one of the giant ones. Do the heroes ever think that I have bones too? They say they don't want to kill people but it sounds like they are violent monsters worse than me and they just say “It was necessary” or that “It was an accident”. You ever notice that villains have plans while the heroes just barge in through the front doors like crazed barbarians? I wanted to kill puppies for their puppy energy to power my laser beams to take over the world. The hero dangling me over the vat is doing out of petty spite.
        And the minions. Oh I'm not going to complain about minion behavior. Some villains are stupid enough to do that. I mourn at their loss. How many times I have posted guards and instead of the hero I dunno showing off their heat vision and threatening them have they just go and kill them right on the spot. Some of the minions the heroes kill are my janitors. And I just didn't keep them privy to my plans because I wanted to give them jobs when they were down on their luck and I needed people. I figure them having a job to feed their family while having ignorance is bliss is a good thing. But hey if they don't have names the heroes will murder them like insects. You'd think someone with super strength wouldn't have to kill someone to get through my lair. And I have to write the letters to home. “Oh yeah your mother/father is dead. Me, their employer, is actually super villain and even though they were actually out of the way to my control room the superheroes you used to trust decided to sweep my lair and kill them anyway and maybe assumed the janitorial equipment they were holding was some sort of disguise. That's the black/white morality of superheroes! Here's a little a bonus along with their last paycheck!”
             So even though this “hero” is going to drop me into my own vat of acid I can take a healing serum for that since out of his arrogance he'll leave me for dead. Like he did when he dropped off that cliff. Or when he dropped me in that volcano. Or when left me in the arctic. Or when he stranded me on that alien planet. So yeah. I have always had worse days than this.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #TheGravestInsult

“Marco! Polo! Marco! Polo!”
The Blair Witch Project* #quote

Today I reached for the stars. When I grabbed one it turned out to be really hot! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Gravest Insult

      The king of the magical lands of Garal oppressed his people for years because of his self-centered thinking. He cared for the luxury of himself and mostly ignored the plight of the people. He didn't actively torment them day to day. He just drained them to make sure he lived with a smile on his face and satisfied his greed.
       He normally didn't deal with criminals but one child stole from his garden. A skinny, dirty child. Even more dirty than the usual peasant. Even more of a hungry mess.
        “Do you know what a grave error it is to steal from your ruler?” the king asked as he wondered what he should do to punish the child. Should he make him an example?
        The child yelled with tears in his eyes, “I haven't eaten for two days! Your garden is full of food and you keep taking everything! I stopped caring about you or your guards. You're nothing but a Chicken!”
         The king was at a loss for words. He couldn't believe the child called him a Chicken. A mild insult in the non-magical world, but the most grave in the lands of Garal. Chicken was the name of a horrible tyrant, he belonged to a family of farmers famous for raising the best chickens before he gained power. He took pride in that heritage and took that name.
         The tyrant Chicken stained the history books with blood and people couldn't make up lies as terrible as the truth about him. He caused destruction and pain all across Garal. Every horrible thing that could be done he did over and over. The tyrant has since passed but the echoes of him remain.
          After a long silence and the guards staring at both the king and the boy the ruler spoke, “You compared me to a man more vile than even the demons summoned by the corrupt wizards of East Swamps. A man who wreaked havoc on the world like a natural disaster. Do you really think I deserve to be called a Chicken? To be put on that level? Choose your words wisely.” The king pulled out his own sword and held it to the child's neck. A child might spout stupid things from time to time. But they would break when real danger is shown to them.
          The child looked at the king. “You are a Chicken.”
         The king almost dropped the sword. Even facing death the child would call the king such a thing. The ruler didn't know what to think at first. He dismissed the boy and the thought of the meeting bothered him day after day, week after week.
          Eventually the influence of the terrible Chicken made the king look again at how he ruled and the lives of his people improved as he gave back to them and focused on serving them. He would never be even close to a Chicken again.

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Today's #flashfiction #TheMostChivalrousKnight

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”
Ferris Bueller* #quote

        Today I divided by zero. Things got...complicated. Especially when the gazelles showed up. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Most Chivalrous Knight

        The people of the land knew Sir Regil as the most chivalrous knight. Giving to charity, being a paragon of politeness, and serving the land as he fought for the weak. The shine of his armor appeared so bright it almost glowed. The powerful glow of it appeared almost fire-like and warm and gave off hope to those helped. No one knew his face, but they knew his massive height, deep voice, and the large magic sword he held with a large handle and engravings from the Northern Wizards Guild that he held deep ties to.
         Sir Regil bowed before a witch belonging to the Northern Wizards Guild and grumbled, “I did everything you asked.”
         “Everything?” the old, skeptical witch asked, draped in red uniform of the guild. “Every single thing?”
         Regil grunted like a boar. “Yeah, I killed that dragon, rescuing the ugly princess. I saved that hole-in-the-ground village from the bandits. And I also raided the old dungeons of that necromancer for treasure to sell for charity for the loud, annoying orphans. Can I go home for at least a little while? This took a months!”
         The witch thought for a moment then responded, “You have two days reprieve from your community service then you must return.”
        Regil took off his helmet and his curling demon horns flashed a deep black and a portal to the underworld opened. He scratched an itch on his scales before heading back home to join his fellow demons. He hated that a demon lord such as himself had been caught by humans and forced to do penance for his acts.