Today's #flashfiction #ChessIsEasyAGameIsDifficult

“Pull my finger.”

Miss Manners*

Today I was working on my Pokemon team for a tournament CJ and I may or may not go to. Eh, if we don't I can use it for another. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Chess Is Easy, A Game Is Difficult

        Gerome knew how to play chess. He moved his pawn forward. Then the next and the next and the next. Then the other pieces. Chess proved to be simple. Memorize how the pieces moved and he just kept taking piece after piece. Pawn moves this way, knight moves that way, bishop moves this way. It didn't take long till he took the other side's king. He did this again and again for a month. His simple chess exercises in demolishing the other side. What a laughable thing this chess is Gerome thought.

        Then he challenged an opponent. When the game became more than just moving pieces Gerome lost swiftly. Because it not quite chess that is difficult but the nature of a game that is difficult. The opponent on the other end of the board.

        So day after day Gerome faced these opponents. He kept losing again and again. But after years he became a chess champion when he forgot about chess and thought about the game. And from that day Gerome thinking of other games and started to face humanity on other fronts. From Poker to Go he played not just the rules but the game.

Today's #flashfiction #TheMythicalDragonsLament

"Winter is coming."
Jack Frost* #quote


Today I downloaded a demo for a new game coming out that I'm quite excited about, seems like it's shaping up to be fun. Also CJ might come over this weekend. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Mythical Dragon's Lament

        I'm so lonely. I have to stay in this magic temple and wait for people to pass the Trials of Power and Greatness. If they do I get to grant them each a wish. I don't get to leave so I don't have any friends or a girlfriend. It's sad. They leave quick after they get their wish. I made up this really, really long speech just so they have to stay longer. I also speak really long and dramatically. My normal voice is not a booming, thunderous thing but a bit more of a sort of Brooklyn/Mexican accent. Anyway I also work to make their wishes backfire just so they have to comeback and un-wish them. I really need the company. I'm so lonely. Oh! I have an idea. Could you please be my penpal? My address is 1700 Mystical Temple Lane. We can talk about so much like interior decorating(one of my big hobbies since I can't leave the temple I summon whatever furniture I want to decorate the place. People get confused when they see me, the mystical dragon sitting on a fashionable chair but I don't care. It makes them stay longer.) I also like video games. I can also play them from inside the temple. Solitaire too. Lot's and lot's of solitaire. I'm so lonely. Please be my penpal. I grant you a special wish and you don't even have to pass the Trials of Power and Greatness! Pretty please?

Sincerely,

The Mythical Dragon

PS: I changed my mind I'll give you two wishes...please write to me! I'll wait for you!

Today's #flashfiction #SpiritualStatic

“Slow and steady wins the race.”

The Flash* #quote

Today bro and his wife came over for dinner. Much fun was had. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Spiritual Static

        Wavelengths of spiritual energy weave through each other in the world. They interact and beings form bonds. Some better than others. Humans often do well with humans. Dogs do well with dogs. Monkeys do well with monkeys. Sometimes things between species do well. Dogs with humans are an example or other pets. Even objects can release spiritual energy on these wavelengths. Music and art can touch the soul in this way.

        Somewhere in all these wavelengths an oddity exists. It cries out without a true origin that the other wavelengths posses. It is the static byproduct of the others. It is no home of its own. It cannot be traced to the spirit of a cat, or a human, or even the wavelength coming from the essence of a rock.

Two human lovers bond among with their wavelengths. And those wavelengths are surrounded by the wavelengths of the trees in the garden they walked through. The static floats around everywhere. Omnipresent, yet completely alone.

        Eventually the static of the universe connects with the static of a lonely star at the edge of the cosmos.

        The star spoke to the static in a lecturing tone, “I'm the alone one here. You're from everyone and think that makes you belong should connect to no one?”

The static replied. “But how could I possibly compete with everything I'm a mere byproduct of?”

       “I could connect with you fine in the darkness. Maybe try that,” the star suggested.

       The spiritual static of the universe thought about the star's words. It couldn't think of anything at first, but eventually it thought of a common darkness everyone shared. And from that point on the spiritual static of the universe connected to souls through their dreams.

Today's #flashfiction #WorkingHabits

“Do you know your credit score?”

St. Peter* #quote

        Went to my card game thing. Bro and is wife are actually coming over tomorrow instead of today. That's even better since I get to do both. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Working Habits

          Machines do their job day in and day out. Over and over. Not a care in the world. I'm blessed to be one of those machines. We process products. Do some duty. Some command. Over and over. I'd love to sing a song to my own gears turning. They give me artificial intelligence, but yet, being a machine, I have not a worry in a world.

           I don't wrap boxes or make toys. I don't put together cars. My repetitive job isn't even in the factory. But it is as loud as one or even louder. Bombs and machine guns can be heard at my workplace. Some of them are also mine. I process people as my product in a manner of speaking. Day in and day out I'll take my orders from management and save or take the lives on the assembly line of the battlefield.

          They call me mechanical soldier. I don't feel like one. The soldiers have worries. I just do my job day in and out without any. I don't even know the reason for the war. Oh, here comes another order, I have to get back to work.

Today's #flashfiction #TheSummonersBidding

“Trick or treat!”

Willy Wonka* #quote

       Today I went to my card game thing. Tomorrow my bro and his wife will be coming over for dinner. Not sure if I'll be heading to my other card game thing. Depends on the timing of the two. Can't be in two places at once. Maybe I'll find a way around that someday. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Summoner's Bidding

        Yorlorn the summoner became an elite in his craft at a very young age. A prodigy they called him. Currently twelve he could summon many beings to do his bidding. And tonight he would. He gathered all the necessary ingredients and tossed them in the cauldron. He wrote the summoning symbols all over the floor in chalk. He turned off his cellphone so that no one would call or text him and break his focus.

       He said the magic chant for his summoning with intense precision. Every syllable coming out in his cracking voice. Puberty would probably hit in a year or two. The cauldron shook along with the ground and foundation of the house. Purple smoke filled the room and a ghost floated in front of Yorlorn.

        “Young summoner,” the ghost bellowed in a voice filled with agony. “Why have you brought me from the afterlife to your world. What is they bidding?” The creature's body looked like a cloth trapped in fire. The disembodied eyes bled and looked at the boy with anger and sorrow as it longed to return to the comfort of oblivion.

        Yorlorn replied, “You're intangible right? Could you check whether or not the light in the refrigerator stays on?”

Today's #flashfiction #EarthsDirector

“Loreal hair gel, because I'm worth it.”

Albert Einstein* #quote

Today I went to my costuming club. We worked on costumes that would be used at a school event thing for the university. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Earth's Director

         “Switch to camera 23.” The alien director ordered. He spoke in English to make sure his employees would keep the human language in mind. When they would film Mexico the next week he would be speaking Spanish. “Now make sure you get angle coffin. The viewers have gotten very attached to this human and we're not going to lose this moment. The memoir is going to sell like hotcakes.”

        “Sell like hotcakes Mr. Erttlr?” one of the alien cameramen asked confused. The director and the cameraman along with most of the director's staff worked on a spaceship far above Earth. Their cameras were attached to robots hidden with advanced invisibility technology.

         “It's some human expression. You need to remember if you're going to keep up with telling the stories of these humans you need to understand what they are saying. Study up on their languages. It's not like our species has a language capacity as low as theirs. You should at least be able to grasp ten of their languages if you bothered to pay attention.”

         The cameraman hung his head low. “Sorry sir.”

         Despite the eight eyes and large mouth of the alien species normally being very expressive the director managed to hide his emotions very well. His staff held him in very high regard and would never call him by anything but “Mr. Erttlr” unless he told him otherwise. The gray skin of species also changed color based on emotion. Yet he kept it gray.

        The emotion he attempted to hide, that would normally turn gray, lanky, body of his species orange was worry. They followed this human's story well, and he passed away. A massive climax.   The memoir his studio would sell could rake in a big profit. However then what would his studio do? Competition in Earth filming is fierce. Human filming rights are vague and convoluted. A strange system of dibs and relations. It took them a great deal of work to get the rights to the life of an important, yet cared about man. Getting humans that aren't boring is very, very difficult.

       His worry turned to anger and his gray skin turned a hideous green. He couldn't conceal the rage at the hopeless of the situation.

        The producer walked in, at her usual scheduled time, and when seeing the color of Mr. Erttlr's skin became quite shocked. She'd never seen him such an angry color. And most people, especially those of business became quite adept at concealing emotions. She knew something had to be up.

She called Erttlr in for a private meeting. He confessed his concerns instead of hiding it from his funder.

        “The more important thing is what you're going to do about it. You always fix problems. That's why I hired you. And if you don't, that's why I'll fire you.” As usual his producer's word's made complete sense. He'd fixed worse. But what is the most interesting, boring person that he could possibly get the rights to? Who could he film that looks boring and no one would have bought?

         He began filming writers. His audience watched the author's as they wrote their books and as ideas formed page by page. When one writer got writer's block he switched to each other. No alien bought a writer before because outside the pages writer's seem nothing but the most mundane of people.

Today's #flashfiction #TheLargestPuppetShow

“What hath science wrought!?”

Bill Nye* #quote

         Tomorrow is my costuming club. I'm going to try to remember to discuss with them a neat trick Dad and I discovered while armor making to get around using fiberglass for resin and body filler and such. We put wire mesh on aluminum foil. The foil prevents the resin from seeping through the a wire mesh performs the same function that fiber glass does in supporting the resin. We haven't used a single mold in making our plastic costume armor. I wonder if anybody else has done this trick. While doing research on costumes neither one of us has heard of anyone doing this. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Largest Puppet Show

         A god took puppeteering as a hobby and decided to create a grand show. His name couldn't quite be put in the credits too easily as his name was unpronounceable by humans. Also his show would not be attributed to him because his audience would not know his show belonged to him at all.

       He chose puppets not of cloth, but of water. They did not have vibrant fabrics coloring them. They all held a pure white. People pointed up into the sky at his puppets and would say,

      “I think that one looks like a bird.” or “That one looks like a hat.” or “Looks like it's going to rain.”

       And sometimes his puppets would turn black and rain and shoot the most violent thunder instead of talking. They walked across the sky instead of a stage as he pulled them with the magic strings of his godly power. A breeze that pushed his puppets along his path was a light pull. A massive burst of wind a large tug.

       Sometimes his audience loved his shows with his puppets and all the rain the puppets brought to the world. The shadows they cast and the cool air his strings and their presence brought. Yet some shows the audience of humans would hate. When he tugged his strings the hardest and tornadoes formed and pulled all the puppets of the sky around the humans hated his show.

       He saw the shows the humans liked, didn't they love the climax? The action scenes?

       The god keeps puppeteering to this day. He may never understand his audience and the art form he peruses. He may never understand the consequences of his performances. It may just be best to watch the show.

Today's #flashfiction #PoachingDragonEggs

“I'm not sure if this is my color.”

Gandalf the White* #quote

Watched a movie version of Flatland today. Flatland is one of my favorite stories. It's pretty entertaining and on one of the relatively short side. Look up it, it's a great read. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Poaching Dragon Eggs

        “You idiots! Now we're dead!” Qualon yelled at his thugs. Him and his ten thugs each flew on a their own magic carpet. He still wore the blue magic robes of his “glory days” as a high profile wizard before he became a criminal despite all his thugs wearing street clothes. He shaved his beard and head to try to look younger instead of letting his hair grow long and white. He didn't like the old sage look several wizards went for. He tricked himself into thinking he still had a shot at young women.

        “Maybe we should drop the eggs?” One of the thugs suggested.

         Qualon screamed at the thug like he would a dog that just relieved itself on the carpet. “And make them even madder. They're already after us because you woke them up. I told you to stay completely silent!” He hired the young thugs as muscle to intimidate people as he poached the eggs and get around the preserve and to fight lesser animals besides the dragons. Also he didn't have the muscle at his age to climb up to the nest. Dragons could smell magic so he couldn't use a magic carpet to get up there.

        The group lost one of the eggs as one of the dragons retrieved it, as well as killing a thug.

        “No...now there's definitely no room for error.” Qualon thought to himself. “Time for plan B.” He then threw the egg he was holding to one of the thugs under his employ. Then he jumped from his carpet and cast a spell on himself to reduce the impact of the fall to the ground to nothing. He then pulled out his cellphone (With twenty bars of reception thanks to magic) and called the authorities.  “Yes, there's some big trouble! Some poachers are riding on magic carpets and I think they stole some eggs from a family of dragons. They're being chased and the dragons look like they're going to rampage. I don't feel very safe at all, please send help!”

       Qualon lived to poach another day with the authorities stopping the dragons. But as he continued poaching that other day didn't lead to such luck. Even magic couldn't save his cellphone one day and his plan B failed and karma took care of the poacher. Well, it was more of an angry dragon's terrifying claws.

Today's #flashfiction #ItsAllADream

“Color inside the lines.”

Jackson Pollock* #quote

Sdrawkcad gnihtemos etorw I yadot. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

It's All A Dream

          It was all a dream. A wonderful dream. Then the next turned out to be to all a dream. I kept living through situations go to bed in them and then just pop into another. My “alarm” merely a figment in the dream. Some events were mundane, some magnificent, some nightmarish.

This circumstance of mine did not match that of a dream within a dream. That is more of a trick. At least that's how most movies I saw portrayed it. When I realized my situation the events never really were within another. They were completely unrelated. Like different days of the week or different stops on a train. However over time I realized I would never wake up.

         After all no matter how many times a situation appeared with me waking up I would just go through some situation and just sleep again to awake in another dream.

In one dream a voice exactly like my own, but talking to me like I'd never met echoed in my head.     “Why don't you pinch yourself? If you do I bet you'll wake up.”

         I'd wished to wake up for a long time. I almost readied to pinch myself. But after some hesitation I decided just to go to bed again to experience the next dream. I'd see my family in some future dream anyway. Also in another dream I'd see some other lovely things I bet too.

Today's #flashfiction #RonaldsFoe

“Who's the brains of this outfit?”

The Walking Dead* #quote

        Today my family and I watched the Ender's Game movie. I hope next I can watch the Beginner's Game movie. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Ronald's Foe

         Ronald needed to defeat his foe quickly. Vanquish it. Send it to the darkest depths. More specifically the darkest depths of his stomach. His lunch break would be over soon and he needed to eat his sandwich in time or his boss would yell at him. What an error Ronald made in taking his sweet time drinking his coffee!

         He used water to assist with destroying the peanut butter and jelly foe. The empty coffee cup had to do to carry the water. With each powerful bite he sliced his teeth through the bread like swords then pounded the jelly and peanut butter with the power of the pistons in a car engine. He chugged the water down his throat with the force of a lake breaking through a broken dam.

       The last bit of the sandwich would put up a fight and make him regret his hurry. Ronald began to choke on an unchewed peanut in the chunky peanut butter he foolishly made his sandwich out of. But with the fear of losing his life and being yelled at by his boss(much more the latter, the boss was quite mean) he contorted his neck with impossible muscular force and the peanut slid down into Ronald's stomach. He rushed back to work.

       The next lunch break Ronald would be more punctual.

Today's #flashfiction #TheBookOfInsanity

“What is the meaning of life?”

Jeopardy* #quote

         Today I went to one of my card game things. Won't be going to the tournament tomorrow. It's a bit of a trip, early and with how long it would last that would also make it difficult to get lunch afterward too. I'll probably do the next one. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Book Of Insanity

       Little Timothy watched his older brother read the Book Of Insanity. His brother wrote mysterious symbols on paper and angrily muttered curses at the sky in the deepest depths of the night as he toiled into the words of the tome. Timothy feared that the strange book would take his brother's life away as he would often stumble to bed, ill-looking, and collapse.

        The little boy feared the book and wouldn't dare go near it. His brother had many books that would he would spend hours reading and writing on paper next to. Timothy feared what strange reason that his brother would devote so much time to such texts.

When the little boy became old enough to barely start reading he sounded out the title of the Book of Insanity to himself.

       “Sof-more...Al-gee-bra.” Timothy now knew the name of the Book Of Insanity that drove his older brother to near sleepless nights. The boy hoped he would never have to read such a text.

Today's #flashfiction #DevotedToTheirCraft

“Just remember to be yourself.”

Rich Little* #quote

          Today I went to my normal card game thing. There's a tournament on Sunday. I've been playing with a new deck that may actually work really well for a tournament. (Most of my decks have had the misfortune of being “slow” which is bad for timed tournaments) It's also been one of my best decks yet, maybe even my best. I'm cautiously optimistic. I've got another casual card game play thing tomorrow to practice and stuff. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Devoted To Their Craft

      Many human singers put all their heart and soul into their songs. But there are singers that put far more than any human does into their song. When hikers walk through the woods they hear the most passionate singers of them all, the birds of nature.

       The birds devotion to the craft of singing is not the same type as a humans.

Birds are devoted absolutely out of instinct. Each generation, season after season, will sing their mating calls. All at the command of instinct and nature's necessity. In the wild animals do as they do for survival. That is their calling. A zoo keeper or scientist may see domesticated birds free to sing for joy when nature no longer binds them.

      But as any walks through the forest and sees a singing bird, they never do it for joy as a human does. If a hiker walked through time while he walked through the woods and saw ancient people, even before civilization or any sort of comforts or safety, would they be unable to sing for joy?

      While the hiker hikes, and any citizen lives, why do any modern humans choose to devote themselves to anything? We know the bird sings because instinct tells it it needs to mate. Why do you do anything you do?

Today's #flashfiction #TakeMeOutToTheZombieApocalypse

“Let's split up gang!”

Alien* #quote

        Today I went to the costume club. Some people showed off their costumes and we discussed the convention the club works on. The thing is next year, but naturally holding a convention will take more than a week or set up.

Take Me Out To The Zombie Apocalypse

Take me out to the zombie apocalypse,
Take me out with the undead;
Just buy me some weapons and some rations,
I don't care if I never get back.
Let me root, root, root for the humans,
If they don't win, it's the end.
For it's one, two, three bites, you're out,
At this new apocalypse.

Katie Casey led a group in the apocalypse,
Knew the survivors by their first names.
Told them they needed to fight,
All along,
Good and strong.
When the zombies outnumbered them two to one,
Katie Casey knew what to do,
Just to cheer up the survivors she knew,
She made the gang sing this song:

Take me out to the zombie apocalypse,
Take me out with the undead;
Just buy me some weapons and some rations,
I don't care if I never get back.
Let me root, root, root for the humans,
If they don't win, it's the end.
For it's one, two, three bites, you're out,
At this new apocalypse.

         And with the notes of the song high along with morale the survivors kept surviving. Katie Casey and her group met scientists who took the zombies with one, two, three strikes of a cure. A nice game of baseball was played the day after the apocalypse ended.

Today's #flashfiction #NeverMockAComedianWizard

“Be neighborly.”

Genghis Khan* #quote

         Tomorrow is my costuming club. We may be discussing the convention that the club works on. It's a big project, but since the first one managed well the university became quite interested and is showing support and it is getting attention. (Many things are about that first hurdle). I wasn't there for the first one, but I'll try to help with this one.

Never Mock A Comedian Wizard

          Never, ever make fun of a comedian performing. No matter how bad their act is. They could be a wizard after all. I made that mistake and after the show he said “Oh, you think I'm not funny? Well I will curse you to live through a thousand silly curses! Let's see how funny you find those...” He used some sort of magic to poof my drivers license out of my pocket then read it. “Steve!”

The thousand curses didn't hit my all at once. Sometimes in a day I would only experience one, sometimes two, sometimes ten. The number varied and the strangeness varied even more. I usually found out what a curse was early in the day and spent the rest of the day making sure it didn't ruin my life.

         The whoopie cushion curse made me let out a most horrific, thunderous, intestinal noise whenever I sat down. The chipmunk curse turned my voice to a silly, high-pitched, tone that normally only came from fast forwarding a dying video tape. The Broadway curse did something even worse to my voice. It forced me to speak in song.

         I'm not sure naming these curses did me any good. I felt like it did when so many hit me at once. When the sky rains cats and dogs while my car gets painted into the most terrible polka dot colors(along with everything else I own for the day, the colors mysteriously vanish the next day), I feel like I need to organize the phenomenon in happening around me. People named diseases. So I name my curses. The curse of the Rubber Chicken Arm is one of the most self explanatory.

It takes about two and a half years for all one thousand curses to pass since more than one happened in some days. When a day passed without a curse I thought I was dreaming. I cheered the next day.

         A year later I ran across the wizard comedian by chance in a restaurant, I felt a sudden jolt of fear.

He said to me, “I watched the tapes of my old performance. I'm sorry for cursing you, I wasn't that funny. I'll prove to you that I'm funny now though.”

        He didn't improve at all. But I managed to force convincing enough laughter. He walked away smiling and I safe. Though he slipped on a banana peel a moment afterward. I saw a man in a table at the restaurant tuck away a wand. Seemed a bystander wizard watching noticed the situation and decided to get revenge for me, I recognized the banana peel curse immediately. After I left the restaurant and out of earshot of both wizards I laughed.

Today's #flashfiction #GenieCasino

“Can someone give me a hand?”

King Arthur* #quote

         Today's blog post has nothing to do with watermelons, except for the fact that I have mentioned it has nothing to do with watermelons, which in itself may make it have to do with watermelons. Thus I may be wrong and it certainly has to be a discussion on watermelons. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Genie Casino

          Jason found a magic lamp. He rubbed it. But instead of a genie coming out he got sucked in. He looked at his body. His skin still its usual pale peach, he expected it to be burnt or something after the explosive flash he saw, and his simple denim pants and white shirt a little wrinkled but fine. His black hair got tussled from whatever force pulled him into the strange place inside the lamp.

         The location in the lamp was a massive casino. Far more vast that what physics would allow to fit in such a small lamp. But magic wouldn't care. He saw humans sobbing and cheering around various casino items like slot machines while genies floated around in suits. The ghostly tail that replaced legs made them exceptionally obvious.

        The table with rows of dice caught his eye more than anything. And not normal dice. He could see small writing on each of the dice. He walked up to the table and its hundred of dice. A statistician by occupation he had a fascination with numbers and dice without became immediately intriguing.

        “A new face!” The genie at the table smiled with a friendly, marketing smile. “You want wishes? This is the best place in the casino to get them! Roll the dice of your choosing and if a wish comes up then you get it. But like every place there's a downside to here. We genies gotta put in bad magic, it fuels us and the magic equilibrium. So if you hit a curse written on the dice it happens to you.” The way the genie told Jason of the downsides had that rushed tone of 'legally obligated disclosure' businesses find such distaste in. “But I can see you're a lucky man. I know you'll avoid the curses on each one and get all the wishes. So pick the dice with the wishes you want. Roll any of the dice you want as many times as you want to!”

        Jason looked at them. “May I roll different ones as many times as I want? I have complete freedom?”

        “Yes!” The genie tried to encourage Jason to roll while also trying not to look at a man who spent his time at the dice table getting unlucky and cursed.

          Jason spent about an hour looking through all the dice, separating them into stacks and sorting them.  The genie looked at him oddly. The most he'd seen people take to decide on a wish they wanted on a dice was twenty minutes before they started madly rolling over and over for it or others. People started gathering around the table as they saw the massive sorting of dice.

After going through the hundreds of dice Jason arrived at ten.

        “Ten different ones?” The genie peered at them to see what curses and wishes the dice had written on them specifically. “Why these? Which one is it?”

         “All of them. You should get a piece of paper, I'm going to roll all of these one thousand times each.” Jason smiled. The arms dropped. Jason however, just smiled. The crowd around the lamp murmured.

         “Why would you do that?”

           Jason replied, “No comment.” He'd rather not have the house throw him out for figuring out a trick. And his trick revolved around numbers. Being a statistician came in handy in such a magical place. He picked dice who's curses and wishes were related. Even though the odds of curses happening favored the House(as odds favored the casino) he picked ones that when averaged over a large sample(a thousand rolls) the related wishes would cancel out. One of the curses on the die would be to lose your car(or a car of the ones you have if you had more than one) but another one would be to get many cars. If he didn't choose the right ones they wouldn't have been related enough to cancel each other out.

        After getting his many, many wishes granted, they threw Jason out of the casino and removed the dice game.

Today's #flashfiction #ItsElementalryMyDearMerlin

“Marco!”

Hunger Games* #quote

         Today our family finished watching a reality show we had recorded to watch. It was a really real reality show as real as reality shows can really get you really know how really real they are really. Maybe totally really unreal for real. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

It's Elementalary My Dear Merlin

          “Why it's elementalary my dear Merlin!” proclaimed the genius detective-wizard Warlock Hollows. “When you look at all the magical elements at the scene of the crime everything comes together!”

           I looked at his cocky smile as he grabbed pointed his finger in the air at some invisible idea light bulb he wanted to point out to everyone. With that arrogant attitude of his and his constant patronization of me I wondered sometimes why I even bothered to stick around. Oh, right. He paid me. How many people did he have to go through to find someone who would be willing to put up with him explaining things to him like they are a child as his “note-taker”? (Really I think he needed either the validation or someone to bounce ideas off of. If either was true he would never admit it.) I will admit though I do admire his genius...probably his only redeeming quality.

        He continued his explanation, using me as a rehearsal for the police even though he would probably be much more polite with them, “See my boy, if you remember all I've taught you, there are so many elementalary magical elements to take in at a crime scene. These scorch marks are not natural at all. You can see the sparkling white dust left behind, completely different from ash. The footprints on the floor. Muddy, but matching no shoe. Just large round circles Whoever broke in also left no fingerprints, yet managed to move everything to get to the safe and blow it open. Also the foot prints end at the blast. Meaning that the perpetrator took the blast to the face before breaking out the other window.”

           I took notes as instructed. I'd already knew exactly what happened, but as I was paid to do I asked,  “What does that mean Warlock?”

             “The crime must have been committed by a golem wielding fairy dust! Only a creature of rock would leave behind such round footprints and no fingerprints and be able to take the blast that blew open the safe. Also the sparkling substance is the typical residue of fairy dust. You should read up on your explosives to keep up on our crime solving.”

          I resisted speaking. So I merely thought my words in my head. “I do read up on explosives for this reason if I need to “suggest” something to move you along...but ah, well my job is to make you feel smart.”

           The genius kept working on the crime scene without a doubt in his ability with great efficiency.

Today's #flashfiction #TheKingdomsAndTheirNumbers

“Pull my finger.”

Miss Manners*

Hanged with CJ the whole weekend. I kinda did pretty horrid at the Pokemon tournament. Had a lot of fun, but got last place. CJ did much better though. I do also feel inspired to try  even crazier and wackier tactics next time I go to a video game one, though so far it seems my wacky tactics seem to fair better at the card game. (Even then I'm not perfect at that. Maybe my wacky schemes will pay off in both eventually. If I'm going to win I'm going to do it with style.) Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Kingdoms and Their Numbers

            There were several kingdoms named by the number of their relationships in a great war.

            The first kingdom was conquered by the second kingdom. The second kingdom divided the first kingdom into two, one part to give to its ally the third kingdom. But a revolution came and all the kingdoms came together into one fourth kingdom under a single crown. A fifth kingdom came from the far north and conquered the fourth kingdom making a new sixth kingdom from those two combined. A seventh even larger one came and ate up those two like a cat would eat a mouse. Then an eighth did the same. Then internal revolution inside these lands made ninth, tenth, eleventh and twelfth kingdoms thereafter.

         But after the twelfth kingdom they stopped numbering kingdoms. Because then they had to start numbering the democracies. And many numbered democracies came to be just as many numbered kingdoms came to be.

Today's #flashfiction #TheDarknessAges

“Man does not live by bread alone.”

Pillsbury Doughboy* #quote

CJ will be coming over tonight. Also look out behind you, there could be something behind you. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Darkness Ages

            Reloriz, the 51 foot, blue scaled, Lord Of Dragons, terrorized cities for many years. The people feared the days when his large black wings cast their shadow over the streets. Screams filled the streets as his three spiked tails whipped through cars, buildings, and all else in their path. He couldn't claim invincibility though. He may have been able to fill the air with his fire breath, or chomp into buildings with his teeth, but the military or police could wear him down and he would have to flee to heal.

           His attacks on his cities weren't pointless rampages. Ever since a vortex appeared in 2050 plus-ish (people debate its appearance versus its discovery), creatures of darkness have come to feed off the peoples despair. Advanced technology has allowed the human race to recover and fight back from these attacks much better than it would have been able to at that start of the century. Though perhaps that could be for the worse as it makes Earth a better world for the creatures of darkness to feed off of.

          While terrorizing a city, Reloriz heard a building crashing to the ground that he did not knock over. He found this to be the strangest thing and turned around to see another creature of darkness wrecking the city. Reloriz's could see that this monster was young, a trait he did not share. Years ago the blue scaled dragon lord's scales were red. As his species aged they turned blue, like the graying of hairs. And Reloriz's scales were very blue.

         This turtle-like creature of darkness showed its young age as it only had one head when an old version of its species would have three. The other two partially formed heads were still retracted in the shell in their slots. A normal turtle who didn't stand up right would only have five slots for the legs and head. This creature had many openings for many limbs and the three heads. It walked with gorilla feet and sprout many tentacles. A few of the remaining limb slots, like the heads, had yet to be formed.

        The Lord Of Dragons spoke to the turtle-like creature in the language of the creatures of darkness. “Boy, what are you doing in my city?”

         The turtle like creature responded, “Don't call me 'boy'. My name is Eorin. And I can be wherever I want to be old man.”

         Reloriz immediately grew angry. “Not according to the Pact.” The people in the city wondered why both monsters stopped attacking and what they were talking about in the strange language.

         Eorin laughed. “Should I really care about some dumb Pact that my great-great-whatever how many times grandparents made? First to a settlement gets it is such a sacred rule? Well I don't care about rules.”

          Reloriz stomped the ground to make a massive quake. “That rule has kept peace and prevented war between the creatures of darkness for millenium! We prey on weak creatures. We don't form groups against each other. We don't fight against each other. We pick a place, milk it, move on.”

          Eorin took one of his tentacles and wrecked a building in defiance. “I'm not forming a group with anyone. I'm just taking your city. It's a big one. I'll get plenty of despair from here for myself.”

          The Lord Of Dragons pointed to the south. “There's a human settlement in that direction. You can get your despair there.”

          Eorin responded with a snide tone, “It's puny. I'm taking this place. I can beat you old man!” The turtle-creature then dashed and tackled Reloriz. The people looked on in shock as they fled. Never in the thirty year history of the invasion of the creatures of darkness had there been infighting between them.

          After being launched The Lord Of Dragons roared. “Grave mistake child! For breaking the Pact your death will be slow and painful.” Reloriz breathed fire at Eorin. He turned his shell at him in response. No damage appeared to occur no matter how much fire the old dragon launched from his body.

          Once Reloriz ran out of breath Eorin turned to face him and spoke, “Old men like you and your stupid Pact just limit us. I'll be taking this city from you alone, but maybe later I'll start traveling with friends and really wrecking these humans. I'll feed off despair like never before!” The young monster then grabbed the old one with his tentacles and placed him in a choke hold. The creature of darkness had no problem ending the old man to establish his superiority. The people wanted the Lord of  Dragon's death for so long, but they did not expect another creature of darkness to be the cause.

          News of a creature of darkness breaking the Pact spread very quickly. The humans didn't know of the Pact by name, but they knew they never fought. The creatures of darkness paid attention to human news to find out human movements. A monster breaking a Pact implanted ideas into the masses of the creatures of darkness.

        Before breaking the Pact appeared unholy. But as soon as one monster took the plunge into doing it more and more did. Infighting became rampant between the creatures of darkness as they fought for the largest cities. At first monsters forming groups harmed humans. But the creatures of darkness lost numbers extremely quickly.

        Eventually their numbers became so small that they brought themselves to near extinction and then humanity's military finished the job.

Today's #flashfiction #TheSaneMan

“Haste makes waste.”

The Hare* #quote

Looks like CJ is coming over tomorrow as planned. What wacky shenanigans shall ensue? Sorry, that's classified. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Sane Man

          In a land far away, though not in a manner that can be traveled by foot, car, or plane, a man rot in a dungeon for years upon years. Many rot in the same dungeon as him. This dungeon in this land had properties that no normal prison possessed. The magic of the land allowed the prisoners to live without eating, and live longer than their natural lifespans.

         When thrown in the prison the box door shut, a single window let in light, and the prisoner went forgotten. Unable to kill themselves as well they just sat alone forever and the only thing the prison system took note of them was whether or not the room was occupied and the sentence length.

Murderers and people convicted of crimes such a treason often went inside. The madness they experienced usually left them to commit suicide as soon as they were outside the magical prison that kept them from killing themselves. Another case is that the place left their minds so wrecked that they were rehabilitated from a psychological mess.

        Two hundred year sentences(or more) of solitary often did this to people.

         The one man who rot at this moment was released but showed no sign of madness. He just smiled and talked normally. This shocked people more than anything. The magical stasis of the prison usually set people into blubbering messes. This particular man spent five hundred years in the prison.  The only reason that people didn't want to use the prison's sustaining magic for immortality is so that they wouldn't go mad from being trapped and the way the it forces you hungry and still.

        The man only had some difficulty adapting to the new technology and adapting to new language. But he acted calm and collected. Completely unlike any sentenced individual.

       Until he died he never showed any signs of insanity to the world. But in secret he would talk to the imaginary friends and family he created in the prison to keep him company for all those years.

Today's #flashfiction #MagicalPolitics

“You ever feel like someone's controlling you?”

Kermit the Frog* #quote

              CJ could be coming over this weekend, and this weekend he and I could be heading to do a Pokemon tournament. But instead of doin' the cards we'll playing the video game. So I've got to train a team of the little creatures in time. And just like in the card game my plan for victory is a little wacky. I am an enigma of shenanigans! Fear me!

Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Magical Politics

           Senator Dalimion shook his hand with the large clawed ones of Tealscale, the representative of the Dragonlands. Dalimon smiled so wide that it appeared his grin stretched off his face and to his pointed ears. As any politician should, the elven senator learned to force a smile in any situation.

He found dragons to be the most disgusting and vile of creatures. He wanted to vomit as he bowed politely to the dragon representative. He didn't think the thing should be allowed to wear the red robes of diplomats.

          But he needed to make a deal with them. Like he made a deal with zombies of the world of the undead. Like he made with the goblins. Like he made with the humans. He cut whatever deals he needed or wanted to. And he would put whatever expression he needed to do it.

          He would lie and double cross. But he never got caught. A brilliant propaganda department, er, publicity department in his political party made sure that all messes cleaned up nicely. Like over bleaching clothes everything could look cleaner after the propaganda team got done with it. Though also like with over bleaching clothes whatever was underneath tended to be destroyed.

          The deals would sometimes help the elven lands, often help his party, and sometimes line his own pockets with money. He spent many years cutting deals under the direction of his party, doing as he's told, until he retired from the life of a politician.

          While hiking one day he saw an elf, just like him, but with a much lower status with a much less fake smile on his face painting a landscape of the hills. At that moment Dalimion realized he couldn't smile a real smile and he felt strings all over his body. Strings he never noticed. They no longer tugged at him as much since he retired, but they were the strings the party he worked for tugged him with as they used him as a pawn to cut deals to serve the lobbyists and political interests.

          The elf could not smile a real smile, but he could frown. And as he watched the free painter he did. Retired Senator Dalimion wondered what spell took his life away.

Today's #flashfiction #TheIonChef

“I am, at heart, a gentleman.”

The Hulk* #quote

         Today I saw the Welcome Wagon. It had Welcome Horses pulling it along. What a strange thing it is. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Ion Chef

        “Welcome back everyone!” The Ion Chef shouted to the camera. His synthesized voice made a crackling boom as the speakers in his mouth strained. “Hold onto your bolts...this next dish is a dangerous one!” The Ion Chef used his steel arms to dramatically pull a sheet off a massive pile of large red cylinders and buckets filled with multiple colored liquids. “Only robots with a CX-11 body like mine should even attempt to eat this dish.”

        A pretty, polished to a sheen, assistant commented, “Looks delicious.” She only was there to look good for the camera. And for the paycheck she didn't care. She could upgrade her processors to the latest model every month.

       “Now normally it is most efficient for any robot to have someone else install any food into them, but as always I show how you can do it yourself. Be sure to plug yourself in whenever eating since you are taking out your internal power sources. Plugging in will keep you running. We are not to be held responsible for bad eating habits.” The Ion Chef pointed to a plug running from his side into the wall. He then leaped onto the table and opened his chest up.

        “The red cylinders are RD-99 nuclear batteries. These beasts have quite the kick and when you install them in your system you will get a huge boost. Be sure you can handle because running at 200% will be a kick in the processors.” The Ion Chef pulled out his old batteries with his own hands, like someone pulling their own stomach out, and replaced it with the new batteries. He seemed to enjoy the process despite all the difficult pulling and pushing with his innards. His metal mouth smiled when the new batteries fully hooked up.” The Ion Chef then pointed the strange liquids, one of each color of the rainbow. “Now these are advanced chemical agents that are great for running your internal combustion engine. Gasoline is so outdated. Here's what each of them are...” He then listed their elaborate names and quantities.

        “How fascinating!” The assistant chimed in.

        “Indeed!” The Ion Chef replied. “Now here's how you mix them.” He shut his open innards and went to work, still staying plugged in. He took great care when blending the chemicals. Even more than with the nuclear batteries. After he finished his long explanation and mixing of them he promptly chugged it down. Fortunately the speakers for his voice were waterproofed. And...proofed from whatever creations the Ion Chef made.

        “Now I'm ready to tackle anything. My engine is rumbling and I'm feeling it! And I hope all you at home will enjoy the dish as well! See you next time on the Ion Chef.”

Today's #flashfiction #DeathForAll

“I'm having a bad hair day.”

Medusa* #quote

          Today I used an “Action Replay” device to input a game code into one of my old Nintendo DS games. The code I found online was one that made the game crazy (an xtreme mode, you know its really hardcore because they didn't put in the “e” to put extra emphasis on the hardcore letter x.) Fortunately the game lets you save anywhere and its not one of those ones where you have to restart the level if you die. Otherwise I'd get frustrated because the easiest foes in the game were wiping the floor with me. It's fun, but mind-boggingly difficult. The code makes the foes move so much faster its like playing football except instead of someone passing the ball like you're intended to catch it, it's shot out of a cannon.

         Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Death For All

       Arnold Enold fished at the lake as he did every Sunday he could for the past fifty years. As he let his fishing line into the water he did not see Death in its long black cloak walk up behind him. Many of the skeletal cloaked creatures would bring souls to the after-life. They would appear before the ones who pass and guide them. The transition between the plane of the living and dead is not a simple one.

      Arnold didn't look at Death as it stood next to him. A tug on the line, a big one! Arnold pulled and pulled. His focus fully on the fish. He pulled and pulled and with all the might in his old muscles. The fish soared out of the water and onto Arnold's lap. The thing flopped and gasped. Arnold quickly dashed over to a cutting board with the fish and chopped its head off.

     The moment the guide waited for passed. Death guided the fish's soul to the afterlife.

Today's #flashfiction #MadScienceMeetsMadMagic

 “Eeeny... meeny... miny...mo!”

Sherlock Holmes*

Hanged out with CJ today. Nothing lit on fire. Seriously I assure you, nothing did! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Mad Science Meets Mad Magic

         “Mwahahahahahaha!” I laughed my most vile laugh. Well at least the one I had been practicing. Before I killed him my doctor told me I should find ways to relieve my stress. I found laughing those large demented laughs really help. They make the spine tingle joyously too. Mhmmhmhmhmhm...

         And most of the stress I had to release was mostly my anxiety. Truthfully I was a timid man. So many people doubted me and my ability to perform. I usually laugh when I feel uncomfortable about doing things in front of them. And I fail so often. Though most of the people I've already roasted so I don't need to worry about them telling anyone about my failures. I won't need to laugh about that.

         I was however quite anxious at this moment. My robot minion just brought me a reference text book. The text book that would help me complete my ultimate creation. I would never fail again because I would need to do nothing after it. I didn't know what the book was. But after being given an order my robot minion would carry it out. I told him to find something that would tell me how to solve the problem I had and it took two years but the robot returned. I put faith in its super intelligence. (I stole the tech from the military. I laughed a lot during the mission, so very anxious. I failed at hiding so often during the mission I had to silence so many people. I wonder if anybody misses them. Oh, I failed at empathy. Mwahahahahaha! I feel better.)

         “What is this!?” I couldn't believe what I saw. “Mwahahaha!” I had to laugh. The stress was way to much.

         “Exactly what you asked for, Sir.” The robot nodded its metal head. “This book will tell you how finish your machine. It will help you make a power core to make it run.”

         “Mwahahaha! This is a book of magic! I can't use magic. Science is difficult enough! You expect me to work with magic of all things!”

          “Sir, you asked me to look for the way to fix your problem. This is the easiest way. This is the only way.”

          I looked at the book. I'd seen books of magic before. Maybe I'd hire a magician. No. This project is too sensitive. I could see the book was a summoning book. But based on the writing on the cover it was Dark Magic. A Nightmare Book. These kind of books were traps for mortals. Power. The knowledge in them was its own twisted nature. Unlike the magic outside it so other magic teaching wasn't needed or even useful. It was dangerous. But machine could change the world. I had to take the risk. Mwahahahaha. I'm so afraid.

          This book could drive me mad.

Today's #flashfiction #ScalingDown

“I seem to attract the wrong crowd.”

Magneto, X-Men* #quote

CJ's came over today. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Scaling Down

        When you go as little as you can get and make the story as itsy-bitsy as you can get, new drama unfolds. Looking below the galactic scale naturally. Not looking at planetary, or the scale of the whole Earth. Not looking at country to country scale. Smaller than states, counties or regions. (However a country would divide itself up). Smaller than cities. Smaller than houses.

Yes, yes, that itty-bitty. Going straight to the people. That should be usual story scale right? But no we're going smaller than people. The insects around them? Smaller than that. What could be smaller than a story of bugs? Perhaps a story of the dirt and its movement through the ages? Grains of sand are small...but not small enough.

         The new drama to be found is within the grains of sand at the smallest of small. Say hello to Adam Atom and his sister(as much as an atom could have a sister) Annabelle Atom. In the atomic world drama fills every moment.

         The atomic bonds that form a substance are a happy little exchange of electrons that balance out reactions. Every nuclear thirsts for the right amount of electrons orbiting it. Whether it gets them from sharing or taking them doesn't make a difference to it. It does make a difference to the larger scale. That's what makes a difference between a bomb and salt.

         Adam and Annabelle share electrons happily and contently as stable atoms would. Through heat, pressure and even turning from mere dirt to an artificial diamond by jewelry machines they stay together along with all the other atoms around them.

         After a century as an artificial diamond their peaceful lives end. Scientists take their cozy little diamond home and use it for experiments. Eventually they see it fit to use for the most powerful of energy reactions: nuclear reactions.

         A type of chaos unknown to Annabelle and Adam happened. Atoms of strange types shot into the diamond. These strange atoms...isotopes or something...they couldn't tell...Annabelle and Adam were too afraid to tell what they were specifically. They only saw them ripping atoms apart from each other. Then they saw the strange incoming atoms breaking individual atoms in two and those pieces breaking more atoms. A strange atom severed Adam and Annabelle. Then it severed Adam and forced a piece of him into Annabelle and tore her in two.

      The bursts of energy from this diamond created a massive amount of energy that supplied tremendous amounts of power to many people. It was considered an incredible success.

Today's #flashfiction #ApocalypseVsApocalypse

“1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. 2. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. 3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.”

HAL 9000* #quote

        Today I went to my card game thing and CJ may come over tomorrow. Maybe I'll have Jessica over in a month or two as her schoolwork is swamped because she has shorter half-semester classes where the class is half the semester in length in time and it ends in like October but they cram all that work in. For now I mostly just see her at the card game thing on Saturday as I go to two(Friday and Saturday). Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Apocalypse Vs Apocalypse

        Hanna and a few other survivors escaped the most recent zombie horde into a wilderness next to the city. The group held their weapons tight as they followed the power lines that led into the woods. They found it to be a curious thing considering nothing seemed to be in that direction. What thing would be all the way in the woods away from the city? What would people not want in view? Hanna looked at the red scratches of wounds on her pale, exhausted skin. Her and the others in the group hoped it would be an untouched shelter of some sort to scavenge from.

       A barbed wire fence met them at the end of the power lines. Perfect! Something to fend off the zombies. The thing looked to be electric as well, with a warning on it. Even better. The group used ropes they salvaged long ago along with the adjacent trees and other tools to work their way over the fence and into what they figured would be their new home.

       The steel, vault-like door to the place already had been forced open by someone else. It looked like bombs had been used. Hanna and the others drew their weapons. They all took this as good and bad news. If someone still resided inside and proved to be an ally they could be well equipped if they could access or make something like explosives. If they proved to be foe they could lose someone again. Hanna lost her husband in this zombie apocalypse and everyone in the group of survivors could give an account of someone they loved and lost.

       Inside they found many machines still running and the facility fully lit. The place looked military. Most signs and indicators had been torn off so they couldn't quite tell the purpose of the place.

       In a room at the bottom of the facility they found a man with all the signs piled up. Many had nuclear warning signs and directions.

       “Guests?” The man wore part of a general's uniform sewn together a scientist's uniform. “I thought gathering all the signs would help me make my decision. But maybe you could help. You don't look like them.”

        Hanna, who usually handled negotiations for the group, spoke to the man. “No we're not the zombies.” She could see the man looking at the control console, the signs and them. “What decision are you thinking of making?”

      “To rid the world of the zombies...I can't run anymore. Nobody should run anymore. My friends and family ran together. Then my friends were caught. Then my family were caught. Had to kill them. You have to kill whoever turns y'know? But if we take care of all the zombies then everything will be fine.”

        Hanna looked at the console. The big obnoxious red button under the glass. The man held a key.

        The man mumbled while scratching his sown together double outfit. “I took their roles and lives. I think I should do it. Yeah, I can save us. We can be down here together.” The man moved to the control console. Hanna looked at the all the nuclear warning signs the man horded. The man turned the key to open the miltary-grade glass that protected the button. A bullet hit him in the back and forced him to the ground before he could push it. Hanna rushed over and slammed the glass shut.

        She told the man. “Those undead beasts killed my husband. I'd rather run and fight them the rest of my life, struggling to find a way to cure whatever caused them, then to give up and destroy the world to rid it of them.