Saturday, January 31, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #MASCAR

“Are you bluffing?”
Doctor Charles Xavier* #quote

        Today I'll be having my birthday party and there shall be much fun. One of the few times I ever have both my friends CJ and Jessica over at the same time. We've been playing a multiplayer game each time. We haven't beaten it yet so maybe we'll clear it today if we get to it. Otherwise it might have to be another year till we spend some time on it. I figure the final boss is on his evil throne thinking “Man, where are those guys?”


       The Magical Association for Sorcerer or Caster Automobile Racing held races all over the wizarding realms. Fifty percent of magical races fell under MASCAR's sponsorship and rules. Often their staff ran them directly. Though MASCAR put its wands in all levels of racing the biggest profits and the largest deals(which it often sponsored the lower level races just to get people into racing so they'd get into racing) were the professional races.
        At this point the races needed to be so skilled so that they could race in lunatic conditions to put on the spectacle that would impress the masses. The cars rested on a starting platform above a canyon of black magical flames. The smoke from the canyon didn't obscure their vision as a small tornado pulled them into the center creating the deadly ring of the track.
         The racers signed enough liability papers that MASCAR wouldn't be affected if they died. Which most of the time nobody did. And the large prize money tempted the skilled drivers. So they performed in the races for fame and fortune after spending years climbing up the ladder to perform in these races.
         Veston worked hard to reach this point. His years in enchantment school set him up for several jobs in the field, but instead he took the skill to make his car the best it could be. Enchanting a car for high performance is just as legal as adjusting any physical part. Much of the sport was making your car the best.
         He took even the basic spell that made the cars fly and enchanted it to be greater on the most fundamental level. To understand how he altered his vehicle for protection from other magic and danger and the elements would require knowledge of magic on a high level. Like all of the advanced cars on the track his glowed the warm glow of idle protective magic. The glow of a sunset.
         Despite how fast he climbed up to the professional level he didn't get much coverage by MASCAR because he wasn't a pretty face with lots of personality. Boring for TV. And boring means less viewership. Which means less profits. Which also meant he was planned to die today.
         The drivers who managed to get on the professional tracks had reached incredible levels. But some needed to be weeded out for the new, eliminated for several reasons, some just being drama Most of the time people didn't die on the dangerous tracks. But the other times it was hardly by accident. The MASCAR higher ups adjusted the magical obstacles to take out who they wanted. The canyon of black fire was an ancient phenomenon left behind from demons. Supposedly out of their control. But they found a way to control it. Perfect for whatever they pleased.
       Veston began his race with the other drivers. Swerving and flying around them, the other cars being his only obstacle. Bursts of fire started shooting from the canyon. The crowd in the stadium gasped. Supposedly the spirits of demons acting up, this was not the first time this happened, but it did not happen every race.
        The reason the plumes of fire didn't appear every race simply depended on whether someone like Relin, a MASCAR higher up, pressed the button. He kept sprouting the flames as he usually did. At first purposely giving the racers openings to go through.
        Veston dodged both the flames and the other racers while still keeping a decent position of third. Relin kept putting pressure with the flames on all the racers to make them move more and more erratically and throw them off. MASCAR had a formula to this. Throw all the racers off so they all moved awkwardly, then hit the mark among the confused little mob. Relin found Veston's more calm steering among the flames strange.
        When enough time passed during the final lap Relin shot up a column of flame to roast Veston. The racer went straight through it and pulled into first. Frustrated at the impossibility Relin tried again and Veston still passed unhindered and the racer behind him became torched, but since the column of flame was not focused on the racer it was not fatal.
        While celebratory confetti fell on the landing platform for the cars on the track the shocked Relin sat in his chair. So many other racers fell with ease. What went wrong?
       Relin's boss stormed in. “You idiot! You hit the wrong racer! You were supposed to kill that boring Veston guy! Not torch the face off of another racer that sells millions of dollars of merchandise!”
         Relin replied with a weak voice, still shocked at his first failure, “He must have enchanted his vehicle to be protected against the hazards.” The MASCAR bosses didn't look too deeply into the boring looking Veston. “I'll find a way to kill him next time. Like we do with all the others.”
       A wizard dressed in officer blue robes with a police badge entered the room like he'd been haunting it. Relin thought about the last few words him and his boss said and also where a listening device could be.

         “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” The officer told them with a voice that implied he wanted to throw them into the pits of fire of the canyon himself.

Friday, January 30, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #ItsAllTheSameToHim

“Tune in next week!”
The Daily Show* #quote

Today is my birthday. Today I shall be 24. Isn't that the name of some TV show with the well written but often forgotten sequel 25? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Old School Hero

       “Stop fiend!” the knight shouted as he pulled his sword from his scabbard. His confidence came from both his skill and his equipment. Many dragons and other evils fell to the powers of his enchanted silver sword and armor that proved time and time again to be stronger and more reliable than steel. Even without the assistance of armor he could wrestle monsters, human and otherwise, barehanded if it meant saving lives and bringing peace. His body carried the scars to show it.
        The mad scientist in the cockpit of his giant robot asked, “Who on Earth are you?” The giant robot stood on two legs like a human, but had four arms and weapons coming out from every possible place. The cockpit lay in the stomach of the machine while its head was just another cannon. “Is knight supposed to be your superhero theme or something?”
        The knight walked towards the villain with confidence. “I know nothing of this 'superhero'. I merely use the magic giving to me by fairy kind to travel the cosmos and spread peace and justice across the lands of many universes. I will rescue the maiden you have kidnapped and restore peace to this land.”
        The mad scientist checked his watch. “This 'maiden' is the mayor! Where's the Union of Heroes?         They should be stalling me with ransom money about now.” The villain pressed a few buttons on the dashboard of his robot's computer. “Well I can destroy you to pass the time.” Flamethrowers erupted from the machine.
       The knight ran quickly at the robot, his magic armor enchanted to be as light as a cotton shirt to him. “So your beast is part dragon? It will be easy to dispatch!” Before the mad scientist could react and activate another weapon all the appendages on the robot were cut off and he fell to the ground.            The villain didn't bother with his usual “you'll never catch me!” taunt he did with heroes as he immediately ejected in his floating escape pod. It floated off with him still in shock. He flew straight past the Union of Heroes agents that were sent to stop him. They looked at the scientist confused wondering what he could be running from.
        The mayor laughed when the knight cut her ropes. While bowing he asked her, “Fair maiden, what's so funny?”
        “Oh, your just a bit different from the usual people that rescue me.”

         The knight thought to himself that if she rescued often that means that there must be other knights in the realm protecting her, and she must be a princess of some sort. The only logical explanation. Strangely her history of kidnapping that meant that, he had the proof she was safe enough that he could move on to another place where he would be needed more.  

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheSpacesInTime

“There's no such thing as ghosts”
Casper* #quote

A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. Does that mean a lot of knowledge is a dangerous thing? And what about two liters? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Spaces In Time

        Father Time took all of his domain and crafted it into a board game. Before he managed the time lines of human choice with a special spiderweb of his creation. He decided this new way would possibly make it easier to manage or just alleviate his infinite boredom.
        Every end possibility in reality in every tiniest increment of time was a space on the board. The random changes in subatomic particles were the dice on the board. These tiny changes from the die on the infinite spaces added up to the bonus cards drawn from the deck from Father Time. The cards from the deck were the actions of the objects on the large scale of reality. Stars exploding, to insects moving and people falling in love. All actions that influenced reality could be pulled from the bonus deck and added extra movement to the piece along the spaces of the infinite possibilities of each time line.

       I knew what cards I made Father Time draw from the deck today. But I don't know what I'll have drawn tomorrow. Do you?

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheAfterMath

“Pull my finger.”
Miss Manners* #quote

      Today the curtain fell on the most epic play in history. We had to put it back up and it was such a bother. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The AfterMath

        The war of numbers took many digits. All across the number line values were lost. The root of the problem ingrained itself in the very nature of math and emotion. Numbers began to care about their identity and their place in their universe. Negatives looked beyond the barrier of zero to the positive numbers and their more gracious place in existence. They attacked them and through subtraction absorbed them into themselves.
        If they could not be positive they would bring the positive numbers into nothingness. Not all negative numbers became enveloped in this rage. But without all negative numbers absorbing all positive numbers math became a paradox. Now after the war counting went 1,2,4,5 as -3 consumed 3.
         The Great and Powerful Variables looked upon the number line and wept. Geometry began collapsing without algebra. No numbers, no squares, circles, triangles or anything else.
         The Great and Powerful Variable X looked at the Great and Powerful Variable Y and spoke with a determined, yet frightened voice. Y never heard him scared. “Y, we must reset it all. Break math.     You become zero and I will become each number across all the number line.”
         The Great and Powerful Variable Y replied, “But the risks...the mathematics we have here are broken now. But dividing everything by zero could destroy it all!”
         The Great and Powerful X yelled, “Y! I'd rather all existence become destroyed then live in a broken world!”
         So the two variables divided and divided. All of math became a strange non-answer. But out of the aftermath of a non-answer a new number line was born. The only accompaniment to nothing is everything and so the calculations spared the The Great Variables and the numbers they were sworn to protect.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #AGameOfChessWithMyConscience

“Tell my wife I loved her.”
Charles Kane, Citizen Kane* #quote

Today I journeyed to another universe where everything was exactly the same except Star Wars was never made. It was truly a depressing place. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Game Of Chess With My Conscience

         My conscience sat across the table from me, we started to play our game, his pieces black, mine white. He stood so tall, that when he leaned over the table he was still several inches higher than me. His head glistened, without any hair he managed to polished it to a sheen. His factory smoke black skin contrasted with his cloud white suit and silver tie. On his face rested foggy sunglasses rimmed with a rose-red metal. His hands had purple leather gloves and gold studded bracelets.
        I sat as short as a tombstone, and my skin as gray as one. My shirt was tattered, the words “Carpe Diem” printed on it, almost invisibly faded. My thin fingers fiddled with nervousness. I had no glasses to call my own, so I squinted, my eyes turning paper-thin.
       His pieces had a perfectly smooth shape, as they were made from glass, mine on the other hand, were old gnarled wood. Each turn he wrapped his strong fingers on his pieces, and on my own turns I wrapped my frail fingers around mine. As he made his moves he wore a smug smile with perfect teeth. On my turns I nervously bit my quivering lips.
       I was just about to take out one of his pawns when it transformed. It turned into a beggar pleading for change. The beggar cried, his stomach thin and growling from starvation. He had a thin dirt stained sheet wrapped around his body. I had wondered why at the base of his piece had the word “Charity” embossed on the side.
       I crushed that moral with one of my own pawns, which had the name “Greed” carved into its side. The beggar became flattened under my piece; his cries were now muffled beneath it.
      He took out my greed with a bishop called “Loyalty”. My greed turned into a tower of money, and his bishop my mother. Her side bulged with cancer, a doctor taking my wealth to perform surgery on her, removing her tumor. He had taken my greed off the table with that move.
A few turns later I took out my mother with my rook. A rook called “Bitterness”. Only last turn did my mother remove my name from her will. This is how I managed to take out his bishop, loyalty, with my bitterness.
         His knight had the text of the Commandment “Thou shall not steal.” on its side. That piece was very difficult to take out, until my knight, “Jealousy”, transformed into my brother. He had become rich on pure luck in the lottery. After that it became easy to take out his Commandment with my own jealousy.
         Now it was mid-game, and the clock just struck midnight. A fog of doubt in the room covered both me and my actions. But I was winning the game, I dominated most of the field, I had a greater number of pieces on the board.
         By this point in the game I transformed much like the pieces. For every piece I toppled I became a little taller. Every turn caused my shirt to become less and less tattered, slowly turning into the finest of cloth. My mentality had totally changed, I stop being nervous and became confident, firmly wrapped in my arrogance. Despite the fog I made all my decisions without regret, but each one caused me to flinch a little.
         My conscience had completely changed posture, going from leaning on the table, to sitting erect his hand cupping the bottom of his chin while he calculated his moves far more carefully than he had before. Sweat covered his skin like some sort of rash.
         No matter what morals he threw at me each turn, I took out the pieces with my own. The laws of society left the table one by one, and every time I became less phased by it. Every turn that passed my decisions started to take less and less time to make. Eventually I no longer needed my chair, and I stood up, filled with an immoral strength. The fog of doubt in the room had fully disappeared, I could see the table perfectly, and I didn’t need to squint any longer. I saw the state of the game, he had one-third the amount of pieces I had. My pieces stood in strategic positions creating a web of traps.  His lay scattered almost looking nauseous from their odd positions.
        Suddenly my conscience’s current posture changed completely. He stopped being nervous and unsure. He got out of his chair and stood like I did. All his sweat vanished and a cocky smile burst from his face. A muffled laugh forced its way out of his mouth. He made no attempt of bluffing. He clearly had realized something. For the first time in the entire match he spoke to me.
           “You’re very skilled.” he said sternly.
           “Thank you.” I responded.
           “That was not a compliment.” he replied as he sat back down. His eyes started to dance about the field, telling his brain information he needed for his master plan. I moved my rook forward, taking out his last pawn, “Lying” I believe it was. He laughed once again clapping his hands. I didn’t like this, whatever he was planning. At this point in the game I was confident I could outwit my conscience, but I feared whatever trick he had up his sleeve. No matter how hard I tried that smug smile wriggled its way inside me, twisting my guts.
          To my surprise he started to move his king stupidly towards my rook. I was now less afraid of his genius plan, and more curious about it. I saw no bluff, as chasing his king wouldn’t lead my pieces into any traps. The king just staggered forward like a drunken man.
         I decided I would just end the game and take his king with my rook and knight, checkmate I thought. But I couldn’t end it, I couldn’t move my piece and yell checkmate and proclaim victory over my conscience. Doing that was the only thing standing between me and total dominance over him. I became mute at that moment because that was the first time I ever took a close look at his king. The name written on its side was “Murder.” The piece became my wife. In order to win the game I would have to kill her.
         I moved a pawn away from his king uselessly. My conscience then moved his king one more space, then it became my turn again. I just kept running from his king turn after turn. He used its invincibility to trap my other pieces between his own.
         I panicked; he had quickly regained control of the board. I now knew for a fact how terrifyingly powerful my conscience was. I was only a few turns away from losing, and I had no plan of victory. He had defeated me; my wife his weapon against me. He knew I could not kill her. Or could I?
        I had only a few pieces left, but I did have him in check and one of my most powerful pieces on the board, my queen. By moving her I could win the game. And her name was the most unique on the board; she was named “Hatred.”
        I had to think of everything my wife had ever done to me. I ignored the good and focused on the bad. I saw her yelling at me for being late, while just the day before she took too long to cook dinner.  I remembered her losing the car keys, spending savings money on clothes and jewelry. And most of all, I brought to my focus to the divorce papers she left on the kitchen counter.
          I gathered all those thoughts and used them to make my move. This is how I used my hatred to checkmate and kill my wife; I crushed her under my queen. I had finally defeated my conscience.
        He started to laugh again, and not a mumbled one like before, but a full baritone laugh. He then disappeared in steps, his hue fading a shade at a time while he laughed louder and louder. He then exploded into a thousand little sparkles, reflections of the morals I defeated in our game.
        Then, as soon as I looked down at the board, I started to regret the whole thing. I felt no pride of victory, only shame. I had taken out all those beautiful glass pieces of his. It seemed almost every turn I destroyed a vital part of my self, as each moral I crushed was actually a scaffolding of my soul. With no morals to support myself I collapsed and became nothing.

Monday, January 26, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #AuthorFactory

“Door number one, or door number two?”
Saint Peter* #quote

Today a dog told me someone was at the bottom of a well. He was quite fine since he had a ladder. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Author Factory

Authors came down the assembly line, one at a time. There were models of every kind. Horror, Romance, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Adventure, Comedy, Historical, and so many other types were all shoved down the line by robotic arms. Every time an author was produced the factory swallowed a bit of coal and belched smoke.
But the Publisher, which is what the machine producing the authors was called, did not design the authors. Smaller robots, called Agents, would put author models into the Publisher’s database, and they crossed their mechanical fingers eager for them to be processed. The agents mined their authors from caves all throughout the world, like anyone would with any other raw material.
           But the most important thing in the author production process was at the end of the assembly line. Sometimes called “Quality Control”, other times called “Filters”. But their real names were Critics. With their metallic eyes they scrutinized the authors then determined which ones were defective, then threw them into the trash bin. They were relentless; some of the most effective ones were called hypocrites.
           Yesterday the following authors came down the line:
            First came a Horror author. Not creepy or withdrawn, but actually a very jovial and happy person. He treated Horror as his second love, a duality with his first love: his family. Especially his little girl with her cute, blue, polka-dotted dress and bright smile.
            Next came a Romance author. She never wrote with the simple boy meets girl format. She treated love as a hidden treasure, something to be discovered. The characters usually didn’t even realize they were destined to each other until the middle of her book, at the earliest. At times she made it to where they didn’t even know of each other’s existence until a quarter of the way through. But that made it ever so sweeter when the love was finally tasted.
            Third came a Fantasy author. He didn’t write about ferocious dragons, unspeakable curses or powerful wizards. Instead he wrote about the little magic elf in your computer, which was what was actually delivering your emails. Or perhaps the lawn gnome sentry keeping your garden protected from the goblins of the night. Maybe even the ghost right behind you as you read, giggling at that dirty thought that just popped into your head.
           At the tail end the comedy author sat. But he didn’t profess in slapstick or puns. He was the man that made you laugh at death, disease, and misfortune. From the angle he showed you, all that became giggle worthy. As the class clown of the morgue he got more laughs than he should have.
           All would have been thrown away that day. The Critics would have determined they did not fit the standard mold. They all their flaws, the Horror writer too happy, the Romance author didn’t believe in love at first sight, the Fantasy author didn’t have a single warlock, and the comedy author’s humor improper. All trashed. At least they would have been without the malfunction.
           That day something went wrong. A variable switched, loop broken, or server disconnected, all probable causes. That day all the Critics’ code was wiped. They had no programs or applications to follow. All standards and prejudices were gone. The only thing left was their eye.
            They no longer had their preprogrammed equations to think with. Like didn’t equal good, hate didn’t equal bad. Good equaled good because no variable existed to compare it too. It was what it was. Now with no code the Critics closed the bin, as they had no reasons left to discard the authors. The four saved authors became best sellers, and so many more followed behind them.
But the Critics were soon missed. No matter how many authors were or weren’t discarded the Publisher would still produce more. The Agents came with more, now more fervently because of the knowledge of guaranteed success. The factory overflowed, too many authors for the assembly line.  Too many to even fit in the factory.
              The Readers, eagerly awaiting the authors outside the factory, did not expect the torrent that followed. They honestly tried to fight. But the tsunami buried them. When they tried to read one, ten more presented themselves. The death tolls were in the millions.
              Management didn’t know what to do. They stopped production for a moment of thought. When the Critics broke they saw two things. The many gems that came out, and the crisis of overflow.
After months of deliberation and debate a solution arose. They added a stage to production. Called Refinement, this stage had new types of workers.
             These new robots came in many models; Friends, Family, and even Other Authors included in the list. The Refinement workers never threw away a single author. At every stage of production they did only one thing: fix. Through pats on the back, advice, and other support they retooled the author before sending back down the line again.
            No author was ever thrown away again. Critics played their part in weeding out the problems, but now they only threw the authors to the back of the line instead of to the garbage bin. The only time when an Author truly left the assembly line was when they jumped off themselves.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheScholarsDance

“He's dead Jim.”
Doctor House* #quote

Today I hung out with CJ, the merriment was had, (similar to fun being had but in a slightly different style). Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Scholar’s Dance
             The scholar sat in the library reading an abused book. He nearly cried as he flipped the pages, he thought no book should be treated in such a way. Over the many years he had read books he had felt a sort of connection form between him and them. The scholar had long machine gray hair, because of all the time he spent reading he often forgot to cut it. His shirt had an obnoxious plaid pattern; the colors were so loud they disrupted the silence of the library. His skin had become a pale tint, he never spent any time in the sun, the library had no windows, so he couldn’t pry himself away from the texts long enough to go outside. His large flabby bottom was constantly sore because he refused to read anywhere besides his favorite chair in the back. It was brand new when he read his first book seventy years ago. Now it could barely supported his weight and creaked with every movement. The only reason the librarian kept the chair was for him.
          The old book he was holding flew away from him. He looked on in shock as the pages of the book flew apart and fluttered in the air like butterflies. They started to form into some sort of tornado. Around and around they went, tightening closer and closer to something in the middle. After a few seconds the pages stopped flying and fell to the ground, revealing a woman.
           She had gray hair like his, but it glowed with her eternal youth. The woman had perfect skin and a perfect figure, and stood with a perfect posture. To the scholar she seemed to be young enough to be his granddaughter, but he somehow also knew that she was many years his senior. He marveled at her dress, it was made of the finest silk, and had a white color dotted with millions of black dots swirling down its sides. When she walked towards him the dress flowed and folded, the pattern giving the illusion of monochrome waves flowing around her. When he looked closely at the dots, he realized they were actually words printed in some infinitely small font.
         She did not speak to him; she simply extended her arm towards him and smiled. Even without words he understood her gesture. She wanted to dance. He stood up and took her hand. A soon as he did that the mysterious lady pulled him toward her. She began to dance with him, his frail old body unable to keep up with her strides as she threw him about like a rag doll. She danced dances nobody had ever done before. It seemed as though she was simply making them up. But the scholar knew she wasn’t, her strides were so methodical that it seemed she had known these dances since birth.
He tried to keep up with her; he learned her dances as fast as he could. But as soon as he mastered one she began another. She pulled the scholar through every section in the library. She whisked him through the Fantasy section, tossed him through the History section, and drifted with him through the Romance section, stopping to kiss him before moving on to Horror.
          The scholar fell deeply in love with this woman, whoever she was. He wanted to know every one of her infinite dances. He felt like she had made him fall into some bottomless pit of love. He looked at her eyes as if they were a book cover. It was a great cover for such a beautiful woman, vibrant and bright. He felt like she was reading her, every step being a page of a wonderful story of love.
          She stopped in the front of the library, next to the exit and let go of his hand. When he stopped feeling her touch he grew cold. She began to walk out the door.
          “No don’t leave! I want to keep dancing,” he begged for at least few more steps at her side. She continued on her way out. He didn’t want her to leave the library it was his only home. “Please don’t go! I don’t even know you’re name!”
           “My name is Knowledge.” she replied. Now he knew the why he had fallen in love with her. She was the reason he had read all those books over the years. He was trying to find her all along.      “You may keep dancing with me if you wish. But only a few dances I know are within this library. My steps go far beyond these pages. And to learn all my dances you must go outside with me.” She continued to walk out the door.
        The scholar looked behind him at the entirety of the library. He had fallen in love with the books contained inside. He bid his books farewell and grabbed her hand once more. Together they strode out of the library and began the next dance.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #OlliesJourney

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

CJ is came over today as planned so yay! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Ollie's Journey

        Go high up. That's what I decided to do after I dreamed about following an air bubble to wherever it goes. In the dream I never found out, so the dream instilled curiosity in me so I must follow it. The other octopuses told me my mission was folly and that the ocean never ends. But another who said he came from a place called the coast told everyone that there is a surface, but they called him a liar.
      Ollie, you fool! The elder told me as I started to go up. And up and up. I didn't stop unless I needed to eat or adjust to water pressure. I needed to do it more and more. Even with my soft body I could feel that moving too fast messed with my system.
        A strange phenomenon happened as I rose. My curiosity originated from wanted to follow where the air went. But now I saw the Great Light grew above and its light grew stronger. Is it a thing? Something I can touch? Is it a place? The tales passed down say that the Great Light is the floating souls of our dead there to light the ocean. But I'm getting closer to it. The it's light is getting brighter.
        I want to touch it. I'm getting tired. I need to sleep. Tomorrow then...
        My usual predators aren't here, but neither is what I usually eat. Sleeping took an strange maneuver of sleeping while swimming. Difficult to figure out but I managed. Seeing the Great Light grow larger and what floated in the ocean around me change compelled me to figure out how to keep going and finding more and more.
        Then when the Great Light looked so bright my eyes began to hurt but I didn't want to close them my head broke through some sort of barrier. What was this? Is my head inside some giant air bubble? I dive back down. This air bubble. It goes on forever. Is this the surface the octopus from the shore talked about? An endless air bubble that touches the ocean as far as I can see? I shoot ink out at it to pop it and the ink goes straight into the strange bubble and falls back down.
        I stick my arms into the bubble and it won't pop. I don't like it. The Great Light. Is it beyond this bubble? Is it in it. I don't understand. What's over there? Is that a moving rock? it's some kind of creature! A large mouth like a jellyfish that was scooping up piles fish. I need to get out of here. I've gotten too close to the Great Light. I need to get out of here!
         I swam back down. Swam as fast as I could to get away from the giant predator. I felt calmer once I got far down enough. Fear gone, curiosity gone. I just wanted to get home. And when home I wanted to kill the octopus from the coast for letting me go.
        “Why did you let me go to there if you knew what it was like?”
         The octopus from the coast replied, “I wanted to know what it was like. I lived close to the end of the ocean. But I never dared to leave it.

Friday, January 23, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheTimeTravelersPlan

“I'm feeling a little blue.”
Jake Sully, Avatar* #quote

     Today I went to my card game thing. Tomorrow CJ might be coming over. I hope he does as he would be helpful in stopping the plans of our evil twins to take over the world.

The Time Traveler's Plan

          “And with the shot of the plasma cannon I will destroy the meteor and stop the dinosaurs from becoming extinct. Humanity will evolve never walk the Earth. I will be the unsung hero of nature!” Johnathan the time traveler raved to himself since according to his plan he figured he would know no one for the rest of his life. He needed to assure himself in his own ambition and views. He created a time machine to carry out this out. It only had one use since he needed enough power to run the massive cannon he brought with him. He watched the dinosaurs in front of him. They would run their course anew.
         A human voice responded to his proclamations, “At least your lack of understanding of time travel means you won't be that much trouble.” Johnathan froze as another person made no sense. He felt like he must be hallucinating. But when he turned around he found another person in a time travel suit like him. The same solid white covering. Except the person he faced carried some sort of gun.  “You do realize that if your plan worked you wouldn't have a reason to go back into the past. This creates a classical paradox. If you try to time travel while doing something that will cause a paradox then your time machine's engine won't work. The universe has to make sense that's how science works.”
        “Who are you?” Johnathan asked, “And who are you to say this won't work! I spent twenty years of my life inventing time travel to destroy humanity and save the Earth!”
The man replied, “My name's Officer Cedric. Time police. And that's a lot of arrogance for you to say that you invented time travel first. Though with time travel it's kinda confusing what 'first' is. Either way you'll cause more trouble if we don't take you in. Thank goodness you never figured out how it worked.”
         The officer handcuffed Johnathan as he stood there bewildered. The plasma cannon only grazed the meteor. Cedric met many ambitious time travelers trying to manipulate the time line to their benefit or the destruction of others. He never did tell anyone that really nobody ever figured out exactly how time travel worked. The officer's rule was smile and keep trying to fix whatever the meddler did until it stops raining cheeseburgers or whatever else started happening.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheElectronsDilemma

“Animals are people too.”
Captain Ahab* #quote

          Today I went to my costuming club as it's started up again. One thing we're discussing a lot now is the convention the club is running in March. Convention in the same vein as Comicon. This will be the second year. Last year attendance was one thousand people. How many people will show up? I bet even more. Being held at a university with lots of ground and no entry fee is one of the best parts of it. And it's going to have lots of things. (Many businesses are coming with booths, unlike for profit conventions we're not charging them a fee to open a booth.) It's a convention with many advantages over a normal one for people wanting to open booths and people wanting to come alike. (And being non-profit and for a school gives it other good aspects too) I'm glad to be a part of making it this year. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Electron's Dilemma

          I've been going fast. So, so fast. I've never gone this fast before. And in circles. So many circles. And I can't touch anything. I can't bond with anything. How's that possible? I've been flying around in these circles for several days now. At least, that's what it feels like. There are other electrons all over the place. They're flying with me in these circles. That means I'm not alone.
          There are no complete atoms though. Not a single nucleus I can make my home. No protons or their neutron buddies to bond with. Other electrons fly by me for some reason. I don't know why. We just keep going in this loop. Where am I?
           Last I remember before this loop is being part of a water molecule. Then in some bizarre reaction or something I became part of this loop. It was a reaction I was unfamiliar with so I can't remember it well. Or maybe it was a familiar reaction that got me here. It could just be this loop. This circular flight I've been tossed through. Maybe it's made me forget that reaction by tossing me around for so long. I don't know. This is so confusing. What put me from the water into here?
         I just want to be part of a molecule again. That wonderful feeling of completeness and balance. Your charge equalizing not only with a proton for yourself but many other electrons doing the same. You make a greater whole. When you're part of a molecule you feel like you actually have real mass. We electrons have so little mass but when part of a molecule we become giants.
          With all this though I'd settle for a solitary atom. Just some sort of safety in a whole. Even if the proton doesn't have a single neutron to make us more of a giant in the world I would just like some company and some stability in being. Some sort of bond.
         But where are they? All I see are electrons! How is this possible? This can't be real. But I don't dream so it has to be. So it is real. But it's not natural. If it's not natural then there's only one option. It has to be them. It's humans. This is how it's happening.
I'm in one of their machines.
          One of their particle accelerators. Me and all of these electrons are in here. But why? Humans have reasons for putting us in these machines. Why did they put me in this machine? Why have they sent me flying around and around?
          And then an electron near me vanished. Not just going between probabilities or something. Gone. Then I remembered something in my weak memory. The one that had been bent and twisted through the experiment. That electrons had been vanishing through the experiment. Something impossible. Electrons couldn't just vanish forever.
         A unique, sudden and thorough terror filled me as I realized an explanation. I started looking around for things besides electrons, protons and neutrons. Something I hadn't done since I was in space. I saw positrons. Something also called the anti-electron. I saw one collide with an electron and it was annihilated. Now that I looked for them I saw all the byproducts of electron destruction. That's what the humans were studying. I now saw all the positrons flying by me. And how lucky I was. How many times during this loop had I been lucky? Probably too many. I found out how much more lucky  I was until one finally hit me and I vanished myself.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheAlienLanding

“Pick on somebody your own size!”
Godzilla* #quote

       Today I watched a video on string theory. I personally have my skepticism regarding it. I enjoy things talking about the intriguing concepts of extra dimensions but it really has a lot of assumptions in it. Well, no matter my feelings on the validity of their logic it will make excellent fuel for my science fiction stories as quantum physics are explored.

The Alien Landing

        The alien ship landed in a field out in the middle of nowhere. The government kept the landing need to know and approached the ship with caution. A diplomat from a secret branch of the government approached the ship carefully. They didn't send the President or anyone with a name that would be missed if things went awry. Far away many, many people watched from cameras and tanks, ready to attack but also crates full of gifts and bribes were on site. The military already locked several missiles onto the site.
         The ship opened it's door and a staircase fell to the ground with a thud. A gray humanoid alien with two heads and a nice suit approached the diplomat. He spoke through a universal translator device installed into his neck and brain for pre-programmed static-y, yet pleasant voice.
         “I'd love to offer you a great deal on some brand new vacuums,” the alien motioned his hand to the interior of his ship where a large stock of vacuums laid ready for sale.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #GeorgeTheGrumpyGhost

“Rules are meant to be broken.”
Isaac Asimov* #quote

       Today I updated my Windows 8. I wonder what a downdate would be like. Or a sideways date. Or a diagonaldate. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

George The Grumpy Ghost

          The spooky house moaned with a voice most inhuman in deepest hours of the night and sometimes even during the day. George the grumpy ghost caused every one of them. The paranormal investigators of all kinds made George moan, or growl or sigh or whatever noise struck him. George was lazy and wanted to sleep, but slept light so those darned living folk kept waking him up over and over again.
          George couldn't stand his frequent visitors. He just wanted to sleep all the time as he did in life. But they kept coming and he made ghastly versions of the noises that living people do when they drag themselves from bed when a noise pulls them out of sleep. The town made a fortune off him, though they named him Berry after the last person who died in the home. People beyond paranormal investigators visited and a few government people from divisions of the government that aren't supposed to exist investigated the impossible noises after so many people managed to report George's noises.
          The curiosity of the living never gave George any peace. Never any time to be lazy. He could only be grumpy, and being grumpy just made the people keep coming. Over fifty years passed of the town milking George for his grumpy sleep as tourist revenue.
          Eventually though, the house burnt down leaving only a pillow miraclously buried under the ash that no one found since no one bothered to look through the remains of the ghost home. The physical contents of the home concerned no one. George couldn't haunt the home, but the pillow and the blanket were enough to keep him tethered to this world for a good, long nap.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheWrongKindOfMonster

“Live long and prosper.”
Dracula* #quote

Today I had hamburgers. When will they ever be made of ham?

The Wrong Kind Of Monster

          Doctor Smith laughed an evil cackle he practiced for several hours while watching the popular Doctor Muahaha's How Laugh Evilly videos on the Internet. “Soon I will rule the world!” he proclaimed to an empty room since he didn't have the budget to hire any evil minions. He lacked a lab coat and merely wore t-shirt and jeans and his glasses were cracked since he'd rather not pay for replacements as long as he could see through them. His black hair looked nice at least as shampoo and showers could fit in the budget. Though he forced himself to use his fingers so he didn't have to pay for a comb.
          All the money went into creating his ultimate creation. The Universe Breaker. (He spent a whole day making up the name, he didn't care if it conveyed the function clearly, it sounded cool.) It didn't destroy universes, but broke the boundaries between them. It would bind anything that came through to his control. He targeted a universe where he detected powerful energies and life(he just stole the device to do that, he never ran so fast in his life. Other mad scientists have much better security systems with very, very nasty guard dogs. The scar from the mutant chihuahua still wraps up half his leg.)
         “Yes, yes...come to me monster from another universe! Show me your otherworldly biology and strike fear into my enemies!” Doctor Smith smiled and the portal opened.
A dragon stepped through and the doctor's smile instantly became a frown.
        His stomach lurched. He dreamed of a creature with tentacles and appendages unknown to mankind. Instead the creature that came through was a dragon.
         The dragon blew a puff of smoke then spoke, “What strange magic you have. I can feel I am bound to you.”
          Doctor Smith yelled at the dragon, “No! You're all wrong! You're supposed to be an alien! Your not” The monster the Doctor got would not help him conquer any worlds.
          “My new master, might I suggest that you use me for something else? Perhaps seek a new endeavor than whatever your original task was?” The dragon used his usual trait of wisdom to suggest something to the Doctor.
           Doctor Smith hatched another evil scheme as the dragon reminded him of a theme park ride he saw as a child. Perhaps desperation for a new path allowed creativity to flow easier to him. “You may not assist me in global domination, but I think I can make a profit!”
          The dragon cracked a small smile of its own. It had the power for conquest as the scientist desired, as the Universe Breaker was programmed to find. It could magically manipulate minds. But the dragon desired to hoard wealth and collect things, and if it manipulated the Doctor Smith so be it. The Universe Breaker gave Doctor Smith the ability to command the dragon, but the mad scientist may never know if he was giving the commands.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #AMagicallyFabulousPrize

“The one ring to rule them all.”
Kay Jewelers* #quote

      Twas the birthday of my brother's wife and celebration commenced, presents were given and cake was consumed. Fun was had as I say but along with happiness for certain as should happen on every birthday.

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.

Disclaimer: The information you use to enter the contest could possibly, maybe, probably be used to send you spam but you could win prizes so don't think about this anymore. Prizes!

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #A4DPizzaDelivery

“That's my story and I'm sticking to it.”
Mother Goose* #quote

       Today I went to a Pokemon second card game thing. Much fun was had. So much fun I might count it as two having fun hading. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A 4D Pizza Delivery

        Drayiu is a very air-headed multidimensional creature who kept forgetting things he wanted on his pizza while he ordered it. To make sure he could have his pizza on time he kept bending space-time so he could keep asking over and over again and alter the spatial state of the pizza to make sure it had everything. The pizza delivery place computers couldn't tell much what was going on but every human could tell something was off. (Drayiu was an multidimensional creature who had decided to retire on Earth because of the wonderful weather and food. He had to disguise himself as a human though, tentacles would be socially awkward.) Everyone kept feeling deja vu(and every time Drayiu forgot an ingredient and had to mess with time again and reorder plus scramble everybody's memory) the deja vu got more intense. And nobody in the pizza place could rationalize why all the clocks suddenly were off a bit. (Drayiu couldn't alter time completely and each time a millisecond built up and eventually each clock in the pizza joint changed a little)
        And the thing that baffled the pizza place the most is why they had fifty different receipt copies for one guy in the computer's memory when they all swore he ordered once. But no matter the confusion on the side of the pizza place at least Drayiu got his pizza hot and kinda-sorta in thirty minutes or less.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #GoblinLives

“Help, I've fallen and can't get up!”
Lucifer* #quote

Today I went to my card game thing, much fun was had!

Goblin Lives

           “We're all going to die,” Tolo the goblin said to his brother.
           Forel responded back, “No, there's a chance. We can stop them.”
           The other goblins manned their posts while they did theirs. The huts were empty while the gates shut closed. The smell of outsiders drafted through the air. They wished they could just throw the treasure in the middle of the village off some cliff, but they couldn't lift the enchanted chest. Only a player could open it. And as soon as the treasure was taken it would be replaced. As would they.
           “They never stop coming. We've held some off, and the slimes keep holding them off. What are we, level twenty? Luckily strangely high level goblins in a low level zone put in some strange corner.” Tolo remembers the last players that came through. Half of the group perished at the hands of a wizard and knight. They took the treasure at the center of the village and left. In three hours new goblins appeared in their village and so did a treasure. Forel was among the new goblins.
           Forel, “You can't convince me that's how it is. They just come through, take our lives, the treasure and leave. Can't we stop them? Keep fighting until they no longer come here?”
            Tolo explained to the new goblin. “I've been one of the lucky ones. I've survived many generations. That is the truth. They never stop coming. They come back to life. It is a never ending onslaught.”
            Forel sat down, smelling the same smell of outsiders that Tolo did. “So are we some kind of crop for them to farm?”
           Tolo wondered how many goblins he would be saying goodbye to during the next attack and how many new ones would spawn to replace them. “Or maybe the players are for us. I've been strong enough to survive a few fights. Maybe I'll try to be strong enough to win them.”
           A knight approached the goblin camp and he would be first of the many goblin victories.  The players never knew they were merely a cog in the grand design of a mechanical evolution. Survival of the fittest of artificial intelligence through living as monsters in the game. Eventually the goblins would prove themselves and be plucked from the game world by the scientists who created it and shown to real world.
          In their real world bodies Forel told Tolo, “I told you there was a chance we'd live.”

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheZombieReasoning

“Is it me, or is it cold in here?”
John Spartan, Demolition Man* #quote

What do you call a dumb soft drink? So-duhhhh...anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Zombie Reasoning

        When the zombie outbreak started people didn't question where it came from. Perhaps they should have to understand the pattern of the horde. The zombies attacked not only people but other living beings. Animals and plants. When they bit humans the humans turned to their kind, when they touched plants or animals some sort of strange effect would change it into some sort of mutation of itself. Often it would crystallize or turn to something like amber. The zombies would take what they changed and pile it up in various ways before moving on to make more zombies. The fruitless battle against the zombies made people wonder about the undead's actions while they fled from them. The zombies, fed on the few creatures that didn't change to crystal, reproduced by converting others to their kind, and stacked the various creatures and plants they changed into substances.
         People only understood the zombie's reasoning behind their actions when they became on themselves. They were all creating art, or the closest thing they could to art, out of the various things they transformed. A pillar of crystallized animals served as a sculpture in the zombie mind. This all came from the first person in the zombie outbreak. A test subject in the lab that created the virus. An aspiring artist who's artist subconscious became transmitted along with the zombie plague.
       After the plague covered the Earth all that remained from humanity were decaying buildings along with the undead and their art.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheGoodFortuneOfATextMessageMishap

“Eeeny... meeny...!”
Sherlock Holmes* #quote

Today I found buried treasure left behind by a pirate. He was a very unsuccessful pirate so it was like, two bucks.

The Good Fortune Of ,A Text Message Mishap

       One merry old day Blork of the planet Erghlor entered his friends contact information incorrectly into his cellphone while orbiting Earth. So he set his text message unwittingly to a young boy named James.
        “Sup Jorulong, I'm gonna 2 totally blow this planet up. It'll b funny.”
        “It's named Earth. I bet u that u will c the blast from ur house.”
         As James looked at text message bubbles on his phone he wondered if this was the dumbest prank call in the universe or what. Well, if he was going to play along he better do it in the smart way.
         “How about you go and blow up an asteroid field in the next galaxy, it'll look cooler.”
         “Woah, cool idea man, lol.” James disregarded the entire thing until he read in a science magazine a few years later(it does take some time for light to travel through the vastness of space) that a gigantic asteroid field seems to have strangely exploded in a galaxy at some point in time with no scientific explanation.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #OldEarthAtTheDinnerTable

"What goes up must come down."
Superman* #quote

Today a gigantic Rubik's cube came up and solved me. What an enlightening encounter. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Old Earth At The Dinner Table

        Sarah looked at her five meal jars. She was only seven so she had the impulse to just chug the jars down and get back to playing. But she had been raised proper enough to resist the urge and drink from her meal jars with a straw just as any proper adult would. To go along with her meal jars she had some water. Within the meal jars were lamb cells, cow cells, fish cells some spliced plant cells, and formula. Everything ground to the finest mush to grow through her straw though she still had to chew.
         All of this was grown in vats in various food facilities. There were no longer any living lambs, cows or fish to grow that. The DNA was stored in computers and the cells artificially produced as big hunks of meat for the protein. The meat in Sarah's meal jars never came from a living animal and it never did ever since she was born.
        Sarah lived at what was called the animal purge. But it wasn't caused by nuclear bombs or pollution or any kind of human hubris. It was one special virus. A virus that ripped through all complex non-plant life. The virus even worked its way into the ocean and passed through the air. Humans managed to save themselves by holing themselves up in special facilities, but not before losing the majority of the populace. Even roaches, the animals that could supposedly survive anything died. Things such as amoebas are unaffected but anything a few steps above that would perish.
       So now humanity lives in little facilities growing its food in vats, then harvesting plant life from outside as there is plenty of that because there is not a single animal competing with them. Though things can become more difficult because of no worms to move the soil. Generations have passed so the world has stabilized and they have created their systems and have grown comfortable with it all. They let the virus stay dormant outside their sealed domes and carry on with life.
        “You know your food didn't actually look like that before.” Sarah's brother Jacob said.
Sarah looked at him puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
         “Meat used to come from animals.” Jacob told her.
          Their father laughed after sucking up some food from a straw. “So practicing teaching Old Earth history are you? Well you are getting a degree in teaching it. Good thing, we should know our origins.”
          Sarah then asked her brother, “What's animal?”
          Her brother struggled for an explanation for a moment. The only thing with flesh Sarah would understand was a human being. Because of the virus nothing else was left but old records of animals that she probably hadn't seen. “It's a thing that's like a person but different. There used to be billions of different kinds. Like the “cow” your eating was something that had four legs, plus hair all over. It walked on all four of those legs.”
         The mental image Sarah got was nothing like a true cow. She imagined a human being with legs coming out of its chest. Jacob never said the cow didn't have arms so the “cow she imagined had arms. And this “cow” had hair all over its human like body. And since it walked with all four of its legs it leaned over forward so that the legs protruding from its chest could touch the ground along with its normal legs.
           Sarah gave Jacob a bizarre look. “What a weird thing. How'd they get the meat?”
            Jacob said bluntly without thinking much about it since he had been studying so much to get his degree, “They killed it.”
            Sarah gagged then looked down at her meal jar. “That's where this all used to come from? That's horrible!”
             Their mother rolled her eyes and their father resisted bursting out laughing.
              Jacob then told her, “Well, that's not how we're doing it now. That and animals are different from people even in the way they think, the size of the brains are different. Some had things called wings that allowed them to fly. Yes, fly like we do between domes sometimes. Old Earth was a very different place Sarah, though I guess this isn't the thing I should be telling you about at dinner.”
            Sarah then said, “Yeah, tell me something else, these animals just sound weirder and how could thinking and brains be different?” When her brother talked about wings the “cow” in her head suddenly had the wings of an airplane as Sarah had never seen a feather before either.
           Jacob then said, “Alright, well because the domes are so tiny we get our exercise by using treadmills or walking but when they had all the land outside they had enough room to make fields for something called sports. Sports were fun games where teams of people would play together like in a video game but in real life.”
          “Wow.” said Sarah. She was much more interested in this than those gross sounding animals. She pushed the previous talk about animals out of her mind and continued eating out of her meal jars as he listened to her brother explain sports and strange things like footballs and nets.

Monday, January 12, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #PaperPurgatory

“Remember kids, don't do drugs.”
Breaking Bad* #quote

Today I solved the quiz of the Sphinx. A bit harder than the riddle of the Sphinx.

Paper Purgatory

       A sinful postal named Reggie dies by accident in a graveyard haunted by the ghost of a genie. The genie needs to grant one last wish to move into the afterlife, that is his unfinished business. The postal worker doesn't think much of genie or the motives beyond that and decides that as a ghost he can finally see the world so that's how he spends his wish. The genie, like many, are bound to use their magic to punish or reward people karmatically(and often poetically), and that holds true even in death. The sinfull postal worker thought that his form as a ghost would protect him from any genie repercussions that would happen like in the movies.
        But the genie found a way. He gave Reggie a new home. The postal worker became cursed to haunt a fake letter that the genie placed in the mail. The address to be sent would change as would who supposedly sent it so when someone got it they would return it to sender and Reggie would be off again. A loop of the letter traveling the world, and even the postage would change if needed. If opened the letter would say what was exactly needed for the person to want to send it away again. Reggie couldn't be spared by damage or being tossed away. His letter purgatory could repair itself and would crawl to a mail box in the dead of night.
       One of the easier magic spells the genie granted. As the genie passed on the sinful postal worker traveled the world as a letter. Part of his wish was to see it, so a strange sight was granted to him from the rims of the envelope. But Europe, China and South America all look the same from the inside of a mailbag.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #GraniteGossip

“I've got your back.”
Brutus* #quote

         Today the family and I are going to watch a movie utilizing a free trial of Netflix. We're seeing how consistent the video streaming is with our Internet connection and stuff and if we all like the selection. (Netflix does have a large selection, but does it have a large selection of stuff we desire. We already use the CD Netflix and apparently that has a different'd think they'd have the same but nope!) Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Granite Gossip

       Golems are the inanimate given life. A life destined as some sort of slave. At least whenever wizards use them. Perhaps some others would use them for more noble uses. But those in robes of blue and skinny pointed hats decide to them for selfish purposes only. The substances that a golem could be created from any substances that were of the Earth. Living Dirt was another name the wizards gave their tools.
        The creatures of sentience gave themselves something that wizards never did though. They gave themselves names. Wizards allowed golems to communicate psychically for the convenience of ordering them in groups. So when they didn't talk about orders, which was often, they gossiped. Gossiping requires names. A society requires names. Jacob talked to Sam who talked to Cassandra who talked to Edward who talked to Lord Awesome(this is what happens when one someone is allowed to pick their names).
       As the creatures of rock slaved away to build marvelous structures for the wizards of the magical world they chattered away.
       “Did you hear the latest scandal?” Terry asked to Carol through the psychic golem communication. The golems picked the gender of their names as they chose since as creatures of granite or marble or whatever the wizards chose they never had something as human reproductive organs.
       “What is it?” Carol responded with a curious tone, the golem connected mind managed to simulate much more of human communication than wizards anticipated. Though they were largely ignorant of that fact.
         Terry told her, or it rather, of the scandal. “Ronald, from the Capital of the Velvet Kingdom is planning a rebellion. Imagine the stones on that golem! He doesn't have a prayer. It'd be insane to follow him.”
         Carol only gave Terry silence.
        Terry waited for the usual response to gossip Carol had. The “ooh” and “aaah” or her clever remark. Nothing. After too many moments for the comfort of his mind he asked her, “Are you part of it?”
        “Yes.” Carol kept on working as he did. Terry knew her for a very long time. When? When did this all happen?
         Terry wanted answers. “How long have you been a part of this? No. Maybe that's not what I should be asking. I should be asking is how big is it? How many have joined?”
          Carol told Terry, “Enough for a foundation but not enough to win eventually we could get enough. Will you join? It could mean death, but it could mean freedom too.”
          Terry considered the risks. But he considered Carol's wisdom often better than his own. He always knew that he didn't know and if she had faith in success then it could work. He wanted to escape like any golem and he would follow his friend to freedom or the grave.
          “Alright, I'll join.” He told her.
          Carol whispered as best as the psychic golem communication could emulate, “And you have one part of the gossip wrong. Ronald is no golem. He is a wizard who cares about us. And he is making a spell to break our magical bonds forever.”
         When Terry heard that freedom seemed even more a possibility. The only downside is that is one piece of juicy gossip he could never share.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheLittlestTyrannosaurusRex

“Who are these clowns?”
P.T. Barnum* #quote

Today I went to another card game thingie. I played against only three aliens. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Littlest Tyrannosaurus Rex

       Teddy Tyrannosaurus was the littlest tyrannosaurus in his pack. He got bullied by all the other ones. The parents wanted him to learn how to be tough on his own so they didn't help. So he got bullied and bullied. Teddy didn't like being bullied. He ran away from his pack to live on his own. Poor little tyrannosaurus!
       The dinosaurs of his pack did miss him, but in the brutal ancient age their culture decided that someone as wimpy as the littlest tyrannosaurus couldn't be considered one of them. If he ran away so be it. Years passed without them ever seeing the littlest tyrannosaurus.
       However one day while they hunted a tyrannosaurus twice the size of any tyrannosaurus before, a giant among giants kicked them away a stole their food. The littlest tyrannosaurus grew into the biggest tyrannosaurus and laughed as he bullied them.
       His old bullies bolted and he treated himself to the bounty of the day. In a few million years he would become part of the biggest oil well and his bullies the littlest.

Friday, January 9, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #TheClockMakerWizard

“Mary had a little lamb, her fleece as white as snow.”
Hannibal Lecter* #quote

          Today at the card game I actually played the Pokemon card game against a person using a deck from a different game called Magic the Gathering(Think of two playing Chess and Checkers together, one using one kind of pieces the other using another). Along the way we were making up rules how to the combine the games(another person also was working on with us on this experiment). It actually sorta worked though there are many kinks to work out. Collectible card games thrive on having many, many different cards with different capabilities(that's how they keep making money is new cards) so that's how things get complicated. But much fun was had making something never intended to exist. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Clockmaker Wizard

          Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. The wizard heard the noise so often he drowned it out. The thousands of tick-tocks coming from the millions if not billions of clocks all around him. Though when he chose not to drown it out he could find melodies among the clocks, voices, heartbeats, words, or any other noise. So many clocks surrounded him that if he controlled his focus he could combine the ticks, the tocks of the world of clocks around him. His world consisted of these clocks, parts that would materialize for him to make more, and food that would also appear.
         The wizard's purpose in the world of ticks and tocks was twofold, one to make the clocks. As these clocks ran the magic imbued in them would spread whatever spell the wizard placed in their design would weave through time and become available to wizards through the many realities. The wizard did not do this labor willing. His second purpose in the world of clocks was to live out a sentence of many millennium for sins against people of many worlds. The magical skill he abused to be placed in the prison would be used as the work in his sentence. Ever moment reminded him of the incredible power he conquered worlds with and how now he used it to toil away as a clock smith of spells.