Today's #flashfiction The Bent Studio

“Eating right leads to a better life.”

The Cookie Monster* #quote

I'm still sick, though I am getting better I'd say. Perhaps in a few days I shall be better, but with these things you can't really know. This is unfortunate because that means I am weaker to psychic attacks for a little longer. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Bent Studio

The artist painted the walls of his studio himself. He used blacks and whites to make smooth curves and perfect lines into carefully crafted patterns. The way he united these patterns around the room made it impossible to figure out where the walls met the ceiling and where they met each other.

With his patterns he made the optical illusion that no matter where someone stood it looked like the walls in front of them went further away while the walls on sides closed in. The door was also painted so that it would blend in with them and become just another part of the sea of whites and blacks that made up the illusion.

The optical tricks made all of space visibly mutate and the ceiling closed in when the floor rose up. The illusion on the floor made anyone that walked on the floor sink into it. People have gotten lost in the small room because they couldn't find the door among the optical tricks.

To help the artist put his paintings on the walls to guide people. Because of the illusions of the rooms the paintings appeared to float freely as their frames blended in with the patterns of the walls and made the paintings jump free from the illusions. People could navigate around the room by using the paintings as landmarks.

The artist's self portrait served as the most important guide because it hung opposite of the door. In it the artist wore a dark blue collared shirt that fit snugly around his thin neck. The artist's skin was smooth as glass and gleamed like fine glass would. He had a delicate nose that looked regal in appearance. The expression on his face conveyed perfect calmness. Looking directly into the portrait's eyes for too long would rob someone of all their anger. His smile gave off a feeling of warmth and confidence. His short brown hair ran cleanly over his cheeks and forehead with a small curls at the ends. The artist's portrait seemed to act like a guardian over all the other art in the studio.

           The actual artist then entered the room. The true artist had scraggly hair and eyes with a tired look in them. Small hairs dotted his chin and his cheeks appeared beaten and rough. His large nose arced a little downward. He wore an old, tattered red t-shirt with mangled jeans. He had a large, nasty scar that crawled along his forehead that everyone could see no matter how much he tried to hide it with his hair. He carried a big green suitcase whose color clashed with the optical illusions in the room so much that it looked like it tore apart the walls.

           “So how are you?” the artist's portrait said to him in a strong, yet caring tone.

           “Fine, thanks for asking.” the artist responded in a nearly breathless voice.

           “I'm glad to hear that.” the self-portrait responded without moving his lips. The artist's portrait was the first painting that spoke to him, though now every piece of art he creates speaks to him with their own voices.

           “What's in the suitcase?” asked a painting to the left of the self-portrait. The high-pitch voice of the painting sounded like it bubbled up from the bottom of a pool. The voice belonged to a watercolor painting of a park that the artist went to as a child. Despite the massive size he gave to the park there was only one child in it sitting on a swing. It was a little girl that used to be his best friend before he moved all those years ago.

          “Is it a new brother or sister for us?” a whisper from a landscape of the woods asked. The artist painted the woods in a mellow autumn. Sometimes it seemed to him that the whisper from the woods came more from the fallen leaves than the trees.

          “It's a new painting.” he responded. He opened the suitcase to reveal an incomplete painting and some of his painting supplies. He sat cross-legged on the floor and knelt over the unfinished painting. There was only one source of light in the room, a bare bulb hanging from the exact center of the ceiling. This made him cast a thick shadow on his developing painting.

           A deep cave filled up the painting. And inside the darkness of that cave he had begun to paint a dragon. He hesitated when he grabbed his brush. Yesterday he finished the body, wings, claws, neck and tail of the beast. The last thing the dragon needed was its head. The artist looked at his brush and imagined putting the last strokes of color onto the painting and bringing the dragon's voice to life. He knew that if he never completed it, then it would never speak to him.

         “You shouldn't be hesitating.” his self-portrait told him. “You shouldn't keep the painting waiting, it needs to live.” the portrait spoke to him with a thick tone. “Bring it to life.”

           With that command the artist finished the last few brush strokes. He then heard the dragon moan and take a deep breath. “Thank you.” the dragon's voice sounded like someone tearing metal. Its words shook the insides of the artists ears. “While I waited for that last brush stroke I wondered if you would actually complete me. Was it okay for me to be afraid?” the dragon asked the artist.

         “You shouldn't have worried. We're always willing to accept more members into our family.” the self-portrait answered.

          The room filled with the chatter of the paintings while the artist hung the dragon on the wall and gave it a mellow smile. Despite its intimidating voice the dragon made plenty of friends in a short amount of time. The residents of a ballroom painting welcomed the dragon, as did the landscape of the woods.

         “Oh, we'll have a new family member tomorrow too.” the artist smiled as he looked around the room at all of his paintings.

         “So, are you finally bringing her into the studio?” the self-portrait spoke more like he was giving an order than asking a question.

          “Yes, she's coming here.” the artist responded with a glad and nervous tone. The artist grew a little smile and left his studio.

          The next day a woman entered the studio. She wore a black dress that managed to look cheery despite its color. The dress clung to her body like curtains to a window.

           When she walked into the room her brown eyes met the self-portrait's calming green ones. Despite the differences between the portrait and the genuine article she could still tell the portrait was supposed to be her love. She didn't care about all the physical flaws that the artist removed in his portrait, even the big, mangled scar that ran across his forehead.

            As she walked across the room her black dress flowed into the illusions of the room and it seemed as if everything in the room followed her. Her red hair managed to break some of the illusions apart so as the hair moved the room twisted around it. She almost fell over twice before she got used to all the illusions.

          The artist entered the room after her, carrying art supplies, including paints and a canvas. After he set them down he left and came back with two chairs, one for him and one for her. He set the canvas up while she posed in a delicate posture.

           “She's quite beautiful.” the self-portrait spoke with a tone that made his statement sound like undeniable fact. “I'm glad you listened to my advice and decided to bring her here.” The paintings began to chatter, commenting on her and agreeing with the self-portrait. While he began painting her they continued to talk. The artist managed to ignore them enough to focus.

          He painted his love's body nearly exactly as it truly was, though he softened the dress, smoothed the skin and made her expression a little more sly. In the background of the portrait he replaced the room's optical illusions with waves of ripe apple red.

        “It's finished.” the artist told her with a short breath. He expected the portrait of her to start speaking and interrupt him, but it didn't. He turned the canvas towards her.

         “It's wonderful. You're so talented.” she looked around the room. “Knowing now that all these wonderful paintings were in here I wonder why you didn't bring me in here before.” she said while the paintings began to chatter again. After he hung her portrait on the wall they left the studio. For years he entered and left his studio with all of the paintings still talking except the portrait of his love.

        “You saw it today didn't you?” the portrait of her said to him one gloomy day. “A sign of age in her.”

       “What do you mean?” he asked the portrait, still a little shocked at its sudden statement.

       “You know her beauty isn't going to last forever.” the portrait responded. “Whatever imperfection you saw in her today, as she ages they will be more. Her beauty will fade until she's nothing but an ugly old hag.”

           “That's not true, she'll always be perfect.” the artist responded with a sullen tone.

            “My beauty will stay, I'll be youthful forever, I won't die like she will.” the portrait's soft voice patted his ears.

            “Quiet you wretch.” the self-portrait snarled at her. “I should have never let him make you. I'm the only one he needs to listen to.”

            “Forget what he said. You should get rid of her. Keep only me, I'll stay perfect while she'll rot away. Forget both of them. I'm the only one you will ever need.” her voice got both softer and stronger as she spoke.

            “Shut up, both of you! You're not even real!” he yelled at the paintings. All the paintings began to talk at once, telling him to never say such things.

            “Not real?” the self-portrait's tone became loud and angry, his voice boomed over all the other paintings. “There are only two options here. Either we're real, or you're crazy. Which would you rather believe?”

             The artist felt at the large scar on his forehead. The more he thought about all of it, the more depressed he became. Though once he thought about her, the real her, he gained a new conviction.

             “It doesn't matter if I'm crazy or not. Today is the last day any of you will talk to me.” he picked up a paintbrush and dipped it sloppily into black paint. He walked up to the portrait of his love. The paint that dripped from the brush broke apart the optical illusions of the room as it fell onto the floor. He moved his brush in wide strokes across the canvas.

              “No! Stop!” the portrait screamed as she was immersed in black. He didn't leave any piece of the portrait uncovered.

              “You killed her. You really killed her.” the self-portrait's voice shivered and shuddered. The artist turned to his self-portrait. “Are you going to kill me too? You wouldn't, not after all this time, all the time I guided you and help you make decisions.” The artist began to swipe his blackened brush along the picture. As the artist was about to finished the self-portrait said “I suppose the only thing I can do now is forgive you.” After that none of the paintings ever spoke again.

Today's #flashfiction A Buisness Conflict

“Animals are people too.”

Captain Ahab* #quote

Since I am still sick I had to use psychological warfare to battle my evil twin when he attacked me today. It was a narrow victory but I still live. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Business Conflict

           Employer and employee conflicts will always happen from time to time. They are a universal truth. They will even happen in the business of those that reside in the sky.

           “When I checked up on you during the eclipse I noticed something quite disturbing,” the Sun bellowed to the Moon across space in the cosmic tongue.

           “Ma'am, whatever could that be?” he almost shook in fear, though he feared the tides would be affected, and influencing those properly fell under his job description as a moon.

            The Sun yelled, “I believe you've been embezzling rays. Your dark side is not a place to try and hide small slices of sunlight. Just because the humans don't notice doesn't mean I won't. Reflect all of my light properly.”

            “That's, no, I've been doing no such thing boss!” The Moon's core churned fast. One activity it could do without affecting it's duties to influence worlds.

            The Sun's celestial voice grew more commanding as she spoke to the Moon, “We stars create you rocks. You carry out your duties. You have a vastly important duty to regulate a planet of life. I could however pull in a new rock to knock you away and replace you. Perhaps my fire would consume you. The life on the planet would be affected, but perhaps the new Moon would be far less irresponsible with the light and reflect back to the planet as directed.”

          The Moon gave in as he saw no point in denying it, “I will never make the mistake again. I will not horde your warmth.”

          The Sun replied, “Good, now follow your phases properly and you can expect good reviews and a long orbit.”

Today's #flashfiction In Space No One Can Hear You Laugh

“Live each day like it's your last.”

Groundhog Day* #quote

      I am still suffering from illness, fortunately seizures haven't gone up from being sick, probably because I've been making sure to take it extra easy as sickness protocol mandates. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

In Space No One Can Hear You Laugh

       The captain of the S. S. Toyoan cried as he laughed. Tied down the aliens kept tickling his feet with their tentacles and glaring him down with their massive, red eyes.

        “Tell us where you're keeping your extra food. We want all your cake and completely unnecessary supplies!”

The crew considered captain Hawk a very strong man. But at after thirty minutes of tickling he caved. “They're behind...the fridge...hidden compartment.”

        The Yourtlu released the captain and stole all the unnecessary supplies and left the S. S. Toyoan to make a completely safe journey back home. As usual nobody would bother going after the Yourtlu. How could they justify the costs with far more dangerous bandits? Which was the plan all along.  Only taking unnecessary supplies, low level torture like tickling. The Yourtlu made themselves a constant problem across the galaxy by only being a nuisance instead of a threat to nations and businesses. Who to go after, the one who pokes you or punches you?

      While the Yourtlu dine on stolen cake the extremely dangerous, heavily armed Tangers are being hunted by the armies of multiple planets.

Today's #flashfiction Zaiixi Day

“Slow and steady wins the race.”

Speedy Gonzales* #quote

Seems I'm coming under the weather, not above it unfortunately. Illness is quite unpleasant. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Zaiixi Day

          Zaiixi Day was the most important holiday in all the magical lands. It celebrates the day that the sorceress Zaiixi came from her world to theirs and brought magic with her by opening up a hole in her world to allow magic to leak in like water. All magical creatures in their world were ancestors of ones she brought when she came to their world. At least that's what the Ancient Texts said.

         The celebration of this event actually spreads over the entire month before it and even more extending into its own 'holiday season'. In some part because of the absurd amount of decorations the wizards and witches have to set up. And the requirement on decorations. Being on the same level technologically with the more mundane lands in the other dimensions such as Earth gives them access to lights or plastic figures or trains and such. They can use these for the more mundane holidays of the year but for the holiday of Zaiixi Day everything must be magic because it is a holiday about magic. It is a requirement that every decoration must be magical in some way, usually enchanted. Pretty much every lawn has something levitating. A trick that some wizards and witches often use to make their houses really light up at night is to have decorations that have been enchanted to be perpetually on fire without being damaged.

       As for what the decorations usually are a cliché decoration type is animated figurines of magical creatures. Somebody usually has at least has one enchanted plastic dragon flying around in circles on their roof. (Apartment complexes or other residential buildings can be quite spectacular compared to houses as usually every resident inside bands together to decorate the entire building.) Other decorations can including things like “standing spells” which are spells that last quite awhile, or until deactivated and usually involve drawing some symbols in the ground or floor or other surface. They stop when the symbol is removed. An example would be a miniature thunderstorm one or two feet in size. Wizards try to make ones like those turn themselves temporarily off at night so they don't bother the neighbors when they're asleep. Sometimes people make animated sculptures dancing or performing in some other way. Sometimes people spend much more than the usual month setting up decorations, some spend the entire year.

       People don't put up any sculptures or representations of the sorceress Zaiixi herself. That is an entire other division of the holiday culture itself. The Ancient Texts actually don't specify anything about how she looks except that she had obtained eternal youth and extraordinary beauty. It did specify that she wore golden robes and a red witch's hat. But instead of people taking liberty with her appearances it became tradition for young women to dress as her for the holiday season. The definition of age for 'young woman' was eventually settled to be from sixteen to twenty six. Though after twenty four and after it was pushing it. Some older women would dress up to fake being young but this was frowned down upon and if the woman was caught, which they usually were, they would be looked at as, desperate, old crones and would probably have no shot at dating for quite some time. Married women didn't dress up as Zaiixi lore never told of a husband.

     The women's fashion industry made a huge amount of its money off of makeup, robes and hats as women dressed up to be Zaiixi for the season. The texts only specified colors so the industry made thousands of different kinds of robes and hats to sell. Each year they'd try to come out with something new to outdate old costumes. One way a boy could get a girlfriend is to offer whoever he wants a Zaiixi costume, the more expensive the better, at the start of the season and tell her how wonderful she would look in it. And if she accepts it they're pretty much 'officially dating'. The majority of the couples started out like this in the magical lands. The season of this magical holiday was also nicknamed “the couples season”.

      There are various parties in the season. They come in a few variates. First off there are spell parties. Normal, mundane parties are considered against the holiday spirit. Spell parties are where everyone eats dinner(or maybe some other meal but that's pretty rare as these are usually held later in the day) in a circle on the floor or ground around some object. This can be a stone, hunk of wood or doll or something else. Throughout the night the partygoers cast spells on the object. A few people try to use it to show off, but most people use it just to try to be funny or to do something neat and entertaining.

       The most famous spell party of all time involved an incredibly powerful wizard who was also incredibly grumpy. He had decided to pass on casting a spell but every one bugged him so much that he eventually snapped. He said fine. The object they had at the party was an old-timey doll owned by the granddaughter of the host of the party. The grumpy, powerful wizard in his rage decided to summon an elder demon god from another dimension to devour the doll. It did. But instead of being traumatized the little granddaughter thought the elder demon god was much more adorable and asked if she could keep him instead. The grumpy wizard thought it was hilarious and cheered up. He said yes, especially since he couldn't send the elder god back. The elder demon god is now named Snookie and is enslaved to the granddaughter who is currently in her thirties and having it work for charity picking up litter.

        Other parties include illusion parties where participates try to dazzle or scare each other with illusion spells and then there are shape shifting parties where it is like a mundane world's costume party but the people come shape shifted with magic into creatures or animals for the night.

        Various towns and cities and such have their own unique events but there are two seasonal event types that everyone has. First there are the creature shows. This is where magical creature tamers show of their creatures that they have been breeding and taming to the world on television. Since Zaiixi brought these creatures into the world it thought only fitting they are showcased to the world in shows throughout the season. Next are the spell shows. Here wizards show off their spells in various shows. National leagues exist and the winners from those all come together to perform in one big show towards the end of the season. One famous show had a witch going to prison afterward because she caused a miniature earthquake endangering everyone. No one was injured because the stadium was so well enforced for powerful spells like that. She said that she planned for the safety measures but the police didn't care. She replied. “Well doesn't matter, I still gave you the best show you'll ever get!”

        Zaiixi Day itself is actually very calm and reserved in contrast to the spectacular shows. One thing that Zaiixi also brought to this world was many magical artifacts, wands and items plus the knowledge and how to make more of them. So on this day families gather and give each other gifts of magical items, no mundane items are ever given. Large feasts are also held if the families can manage it. On this day the young women always wear their Zaiixi costumes and although the families are all giving the gifts to each other the young women wearing the costumes are the ones to hand them out.  If there's no one in the right age to be costumed then whoever is giving their gift hands it out. The presents are usually in boxes wrapped in paper with pictures of magical creatures on it.

        And at the end of the day a special spell is cast. This spell unites the minds of everyone in the family for a few short moments in a blissful trance, not by any mind control technique, but by reminding them of all their best memories together all while linking their minds. So after that unity everyone departs and the next day the season closes and everyone puts away the decorations and continues on with the rest of the mundane year until the next holiday rolls around.

Today's #flashfiction A Duel Of The Pen And The Sword

“Marco! Polo! Marco! Polo!”

The Blair Witch Project* #quote

          Today I practiced playing my ocarina, a gift my parents got me for Christmas. The reason they got it for me is there's this video game where a magic ocarina is a big part of it, so the company created one you could buy. It's really fancy looking, but also it still is an actual instrument and not just decorative so I'm actually going to try to learn it. Yeah, it probably seems I'm doing a lot of random things with me talking about practicing drawing, working on writing and learn and instrument, but after being forced into medical leave from my disability I still want to make sure I never devolve into a couch potato. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Duel Of The Pen And The Sword

          I stood in his castle of paper. Magical symbols written in a rainbow of different ink colors covered the miles of paper that created the place. The wizards I spoke to before entering the place told me they protected the castle from the elements such as rain and other magic. A home of paper made more sense when someone considered it a home of spells. Whatever enchanted symbols the Pen Knight wrote allowed paper furniture to take form and behave like normal furniture. All with the same ability to support despite an origami form. I pushed down on one of the tables without it folding in. I saw the Pen Knight sitting on a paper throne smiling. His entire body covered in paper armor while he held a long, golden feather pen in one hand and a small ink bottle in the other.

       “Company! And who might you be?”

        I replied, “I am Sir Bern. I am the one to duel you.”

        The Pen Knight nodded. “Ah yes, when I asked your kingdom to submit to me and offer tribute like the others or face my magic they challenged me. I told them I would defend my title as a knight by dueling you. And I figured that your king knew that my magic won't work unless I am knight. Probably stalling by sending you to duel me. May keep sending knights to duel me to killed and stall until he runs out!” The Pen Knight laughed.

       I stepped towards him, my full suit of steel armor clanking loudly while I scraped my sword along the impossibly strong paper floor. “If your done musing about your own strength we could begin.”

       The Pen Knight leaped from his throne dipped his pen in his ink and quickly squished some ink into the air. “Cocky fool!” The surprise attack covered several parts of me with the liquid which began to eat away at my armor like acid. I filled with rage at this deception. This clouded my judgement. My first swing was imprecise and didn't even strike the Pen Knight and he covered my armor with more ink. I hit his paper armor with the next strike. The magic pen must have written some powerful magic on that armor. My sword merely rattled off. My next strike didn't do any better.  The Pen Knight then managed to write something on my back. I began to feel tired. I needed to figure something out. Soon the ink would work its way fully through my armor and whatever spell he wrote on me would also drain me of all energy.

       My final strike went for his ink bottle and smacked it out of his hand. It covered his paper armor in the ink. The Pen Knight screamed while the magic ink did something strange. I don't know magic well, but the large blotch of ink that ran through the Pen Knights paper armor and all the symbols already on it started to create some sort of reaction that twisted his body in ways too sickening to describe. I turned away and pieces of the man's flesh fell to my feet. My land will no longer fear the  Pen Knight and his magic, nor will any other.

Today's #flashfiction Every Man Has His Price

“I'm just singing in the rain.”

Noah* #quote

Today I pondered on story ideas and worked on my art. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Every Man Has His Price

         A twenty foot by twenty foot contraption whirred and buzzed. A stainless steel exterior hid whatever laid inside. To an outside observer only a massive cube creating the most elaborate of noises could be heard. Between the mechanical noises the clucking of chickens and plucking of guitar strings reverberated inside. Or at least some inner motors, gears or pistons that produced such sounds.

         Two men stood beside the device.

         “Tom, where did you get such a thing?” One man asked the other.

         “Oh, I won it in a contest. It was free.”

         A massive ding filled the air for miles and a small door opened. A mechanical arm revealed itself with a cup of coffee.

         The first man spoke again, “Just coffee? All that for coffee? Why would you keep such a thing?”

         Tom replied, “I won it in a contest. It was free.”

Today's #flashfiction How Many Doors?

“Shotgun!”

Neil Armstrong* #quote

Today I fended off a clan of mysterious ninjas. Pesky fellows. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

How Many Doors?

         “Exactly fifteen doors my queen. Fifteen doors and we'll be dead.” The servant told his master.

         “We have guards at each one. They're all shut tight. We'll be safe right?” The queen said to her servant.

          “No my queen. We won't be safe. The entire country has revolted. Eventually they will get through. The fifteen doors between the front of the castle and your throne room will fall. The castle is only so big, and eventually the revolutionaries will flood it.” The servant went to his knees. He wanted to give her the comfort that at least one man in the country still wanted to follow her whim.

          “I shouldn't have asked how many doors there were. Even if they don't break through we would just starve in here.” The queen began to cry. “They're going to kill us. Torture me. I-I have tortured them. There has to be some way out.”

           “There is no way to escape the throne room my queen,” The servant responded.

            “There is!” She yelled, “The open window!”

             The servant shook his head. “It's a fifty foot drop. You would die.”

            “I'll commit suicide then. I won't let them torture me and give them the satisfaction.” The queen began to tremble in fear. “But I'm not brave enough to make the jump.”

            “My queen...” The servant frowned as he thought of the pitiful state of the once powerful ruler.

            The queen clenched her fist. “Push me!”

            “W-what?” The servant stuttered with disbelief.

            “Push me through the window. Save me from their wrath. But tell them I was attempting to escape and plan a counterattack. That's what I want the history books to say. You must do this.” She saw fear and hesitation in her servant's eyes. “I cannot face them.”

           “Yes my queen.”

Today's #flashfiction Daypire

“Stop, Hammertime!”

Hephaestus* #quote

        Tomorrow I'm going to a of Japanese cultural festival doohicky thingie with my friend Jessica. Admission is free so I assume that there will be many doo-dads for sale for the festival runners to support themselves with, and hopefully interesting and good food. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Daypire

          I reversed my curse with great ambition. To be a creature of the night able to roam the daylight and wreak terror as he sees fit. I planned to make every soul fear the name Count Hound by breaking my binds to the shadows. Now though, no one fears me. And I lost the shadows entirely, instead of their just their binds.

           Or maybe they still bound me? I reversed my curse so that moonlight burned me instead of sunlight. I realized soon how much more even a sliver of the moon appeared, sometimes even still as the Sun hung in the sky. And even by moving to places with long days, how much more night there was than day.

        And also how much more power people had in the day. Before long I found myself not as a terror, but on the table in the lab with some military scientists standing over me. Whatever bound my body withstood my vampire strength. All of my attempts to incite terror silenced by their propaganda they worked away at me.

         As I laid on the table listening to the scientists, I thought of how I should have just accepted my life as a terrifying rumor in the night. Safe as superstition. Also to read the fine print of spells. If immortality taught me anything I will get out of this.

        Eventually.

Today's #flashfiction The Elegant Ogre

“Can you hear me now?”

Harvey the Rabbit*

Today I went to my collectible card game thingie and much fun was had. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Elegant Ogre

         Ogres are normally the most beastly of beasts. A common fact that could hardly count as trivia but people feel like mentioning it so often just because people just don't understand how beastly the beasts are. And the people who underestimate the beastlyness of these beasts are the ones that end up with their heads on a pike. But sometimes there are those that know of the ogres terrible nature that have terrible fates anyway by some unfortunate turn of circumstance.

         But there was one of the beasts who wasn't so beastly. Well, he started out just as beastly as the others. However by circumstance he found a book about manners left behind by human merchant ambushed in woods by his fellow ogres. It fascinated the ogre. The beasts knew how to read because it helped keep records for war and their history, human books of many kinds hardly ever interested them. However this one just clicked with this ogre for some reason.

         The book on manners was massive and covered even dancing. It was a book for nobles to do pretty much every single thing a noble was meant to do at those social occasions that nobles did to butter up their backstabbing politics. The ogre practiced the manners in the night and when caught shifted positions and claimed he was experimenting to invent a new battle style.

         Eventually the ogre mastered the manners and a few years after his deviant hobby met an incoming storm. Humanity had tired of the armies of ogres and countered with their own. A massive nation had decided to exterminate them. Ogres had pillaged their villages and attacked their tradesmen mid-route for far too long.

         Several ogre villages fell but before the army fell upon the full populace the ogre that discovered the book of manners managed to find their camp and enter it unarmed except for a elegant suit he had secretly crafted. A suit he crafted to match the most noble in the book of manners. The soldiers brought the ogre to the captain. They were confused at the suit but still expected an execution.

        The ogre used the manners in the book to command a human charisma like no other and befriended the captain in a single night. The next morning he swayed the soldiers as he appeared as one of the nobles that they served with both pride and fear. The soldiers held back for a few days at first for the ogre to meet with the nobles. The next few weeks had the ogre swaying the nobles with his manners and elegance. Soon the war was over as the elegant ogre managed to turn the ogres into mercenaries for the large nation. The beastly beasts started adopting manners in order to negotiate, though they kept their beastly nature so they kept the ability to become employed. Beastly at work and noble at home the ogres found happy lives in the end.  

Today's #flashfiction Only You Can Start Magic Fires

“Art is timeless.”

Dorian Gray* #quote

      Today I went to my cosplay club. The work we're doing on the upcoming convention of ours is coming along great. We've got about fifty panelists coming and so much more. One thing I'm going to try and do is make some art for the pamphlet. Since my brother and his wife got me a tablet I think I might be able to make something neat. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Only You Can Start Magic Fires

         During the commercial break of Dancing with the Trolls some ads aired for wands and cauldrons. But between those ads a little public service announcement wedged itself in. A large blob creature with massive arms and two large eyes appeared among large trees. The deepwood slime served as a symbol of the magical wilderness and fed off the corpses of the already fallen. Like a vulture but far more quiet. They lived everywhere that campers went and often nestled to close to camps with fires to sleep.

        Unlike a real deepwood slime this one spoke and wore a wizard's hat. Most children knew this slime. Smolder Slime, the lookout for the magical fires. Supposedly he spoke by shaking his magical body.

        “Remember kids, only you can start magical fires. So be sure to put them out because it's your responsibility if they go out of control!”

Today's #flashfiction Vending Witchery

“I'm a people person.”

The Phantom Of The Opera* #quote

       Seems the trick I discovered in the Smash Bros game had been discovered before, but in order to find it I had to specifically search for it, which explains why I hadn't found it before. I'm thinking that maybe I should learn some more hidden ninja arts of the game and become the ultimate, super-mega, dragon, fighter, knight king of Smash Bros. Or at least become a bit more skilled that kinda-average-ish.

Vending Witchery

        In the world of magic a witch named Felmu took the vending machine business by storm. Soda managed to grasped onto some life along with the classic bottled water and a few other traditional drinks. However Felmu's potions took eighty percent of the market.

        Her recipes, protected from replication by the dark powers of demons and lawyers, created amazing magical effects that people and other species desired. Effects that included normally impossible flavors, amazing rushes of energy without the intense crashes of other drinks like coffee, physical strength boosts, and so many more.

       The wealth Femlu obtained changed her. She cheated on her husband and stopped caring for him and more only for her business, money and fame. It led to divorce and as the proceedings went on the husband became more and more bitter and Femlu caring less for him, now only viewing him as an inconvenience.

       “Your Honor, please, just give me the potion recipes,” the husband pleaded. The judge nodded her head. Femlu didn't pay much attention to what either of them said and just let her lawyer deal with it all, but when she found out that the only thing the husband got was the recipes, not only her mind, but her whole body filled with fear.

       Scandal erupted as the recipes were revealed to the public. Illusion magic. The effects were fake.        The husband didn't want to, and couldn't build a business from scratch to compete with his ex-wife. So he chose to ruin her. Femlu's company became worthless overnight and she had to sell all her assets to deal with all the debt since she still had to compensate for all the product already being produced and needing to be recalled and the fraud lawsuits.

      Her husband drank some nice, refreshing soda as he watched the news about the company collapse.

Today's #flashfiction Decaying Memory

“Speed camera traps are everywhere now.”

Ms. Frizzle* #quote

         Today I learned how to do a new trick in a popular game called Super Smash Bros. I called it Dodge Jumping. I had to name it since I've never seen anyone else use it before against me online and on any of the things I read online or any of the videos I've seen online of tips for how to play the game(or special trick videos) have never covered what I did. It'd be neat if I found something new because it's really cool. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Decaying Memory

         A nearly century old roll of film wedged itself in the floorboards of an attic. A family left it there many years ago. All the family members moved from the house and died ages ago, with a small bloodline now far removed and on the other side of the country.

         Despite the fact a canister covered the film the elements reached the film. The canister lacked a perfect seal and a creeping decay from the attic air worked its way at the film. The contents worn, but not lost.

       Since the relic belonged to the early ages of film it only possessed a small number of frames. The family who originally lost the film paid someone to record themselves waving for a few seconds. Most of the frames lost, the family barely shook their hands and in many of the frames their faces vanished from existence.

       A new tenant worked his way in the attic to pack-rat away some things. After putting down the last of his various doo-dads he saw the film canister on the ground. He'd seen a few of the canisters on TV and decided maybe he'd have it looked at by someone. Fortunately the tenant even had the wisdom to not open the canister. Thanks to him seeing the film in the nook the last memory of the family won't be lost forever.

Today's #flashfiction Ancient Age Before Beauty

“Use your indoor voice.”

Gordon Ramsey* #quote

Today the I ate food. I suppose I'm conformist like that. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Ancient Age Comes Before Beauty

         “We look the same, the jewelry that is our home is the same. Why are the price tags beneath us different?” The young diamond, only a few months old asked the million year old diamond in the other piece of jewelry in the same case.

         The old diamond replied in the tongue of stone, “It is true our bodies are the same. We share the same shining beauty that humans admire. But I have learned something over the many, many years I have lived. Before I became placed in this jewelery the humans traded me. They have strange wants that are very difficult to understand. We are the same yet you were manufactured. I am a creation of nature. So I have an impossible age that cannot be replicated. They desire that.”

         “Age? Why does that matter to them?” The young stone asked, annoyed at his apparent inferiority. Created by humans in a lab, yet viewed as a lesser thing for being the exact same thing?

         “I can only guess young one. I have a few guesses, but maybe in another few million years I will know if I'm right and why.”

Today's #flashfction The Supervillain's Most Vile Of Schemes

“I respect your privacy.”

Big Brother, 1984* #quote

Today I hung out with CJ and the alien penguins didn't cause too much trouble. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Supervillain's Most Vile Of Schemes

       Doctor Feared loathed his nemesis Captain Heroic. So many of his schemes failed. Heroic's powers let him move so fast, figure out the most elaborate of traps and security systems, and his brute strength could power through anything as well. The Captain also had a massive amount of other powers that would take a documentary to explain in any sort of detail. Scientists considered his Spaghetti Vision a thing of wonder.

      It took Doctor Feared a whole month of thought and hours at the planning station in his lab, where walls of chalkboards and blueprints covered the walls. But he finally came up with a plan that Captain Heroic couldn't beat with his powers or use trap solving skills to evade.

A letter containing a threat arrived at the police station. A challenge to Captain Heroic to find ten bombs scattered across the city before they detonate in ten days. The message told him that they would be hidden with special substances that simple detection by conventional machines or his power's couldn't simply pick up.

      But the elegance of the plan lie in the fact that no bombs existed. Captain Heroic couldn't find bombs that didn't exist. Even if Captain Heroic figured out no bombs existed no other threat existed. The plan was that there was no plan. Doctor Feared knew he couldn't defeat his nemesis this time. But with the usual villanous challenge and threat he could make the hero go mad for days trying to stop absolutely nothing from happening.

      Doctor Feared watched the news happily as it covered the crazed endeavors of Captain Heroic to stop his plan.

Today's #flashfiction One Twist Too Many

“Just say no.”

Ozzy Osbourne* #quote

        CJ will be coming over today, which means I'll have to double check that all the rubber chickens are knotted together properly. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

One Twist Too Many

          Sarah aimed to be great writer. Famous even. Perhaps her dreams would come true, with her writing books that rained money in her wallet and praise in her ears. But for now she lived as a beginner. Her mind realistically thought of herself that way. The first book she wrote never got published and everyone told her its largest flaw was intense predictably. Her parents rose her as a good listener to take in all input so she followed through. Chapter five was when the rising action of the tale ended and she started adding in the twists people advised her to add.

           “No it cannot be, my lifelong friend and roommate is actually a robot?” her hero asks.

The roommate begins to the battle the hero using martial arts techniques used by the hero's kung-fu mentor. This reveals that the ex-lifelong friend(and probably ex-roommate) must have trained with the hero's mentor at a time unbeknownst to him. The hero fears he may lose as they evenly matched but the hero's love interest bursts in.

          Yet she reveals herself to be secretly a spy for the enemy! She works with the robot to get the hero on the ropes. Then she turns the tables back to the hero's favor by revealing herself to be a double agent against the enemy. Before the hero can become fully relieved she reveals herself as a triple agent. The battle swings again. The battle progresses and in the finale of the duel between the hero and his ex-best friend and his love interest she reveals herself to be a quadruple agent and the battle is won in the hero's favor.

         However the hero cannot simply ride off into the sunset with his love. They must confront the main antagonist. Which it is revealed that the love interest has fallen in love with and married and whom was under the influence of the ex-best friend. The hero's old boss, the kindly old man who enlisted him to work for the secret government agency is the real villain as he is plotting to overthrow the system from the inside. They work together to defeat him and the hero finds a new love interest in the secretary at the villains office.

         In the end it is all revealed to be a dream in a virtual reality created by the butler.

         Sarah didn't quite understand why this book didn't get published as she followed the advice to add more plot twists. She took in more advice from others on her work. Her next book may have the proper number of twists the next time around but the chances run from very probable to very, very probable that her work won't be publishable. Thankfully Sarah has both patience and a listening ear.

Today's #flashfiction Ghostly Dreams

“I can't be in two places at once.”

Agent Smith, The Matrix* #quote

          Regarding hashtag placement I've decided to re-hash the hashtaggin' of the word flashfiction in the blog title but remove the hashtag from the title of my story. I originally put that there because I thought maybe someone might use it as a way to search for old stories by title...but I upon reflection I don't think people will use it. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Ghostly Dreams

         The ghost's moans through the old homes, castles or whatever place they haunt are not moans at all. The human ear doesn't quite know the sound of a ghost's snore. Human's also don't know what dreams the spirits have.

         Humans may have wondrous, strange images or circumstances in their dreams. Flying among the clouds. But a ghost like the Fredrick in the old manor atop the hill dream of something quite different. The afterlife is a place of such strangeness, so when the ghosts haunt they come back down to the living world to sleep and remember. Remember the simplest of the world. While dead, normal becomes strange, and they happy to revisit the mundane reality of the living.

          Fredrick sleeps in the manor and dreams all the memories he obtained in life both in the manor and out. The bright, sunny days and smiling faces of other people are old wonders he meets again with joy. The memory of walking to the store with his wife and children while the smells spring move through the air floods his ghostly dreams. He misses these dreams when he wakes up back to the world of the afterlife, even though in that world it is possible to fly in the clouds.

Today's flash fiction: The Other Archeologist

“Don't get smart with me.”

William Stern* #quote

         Today I went to my cosplay club thingie and launched by facebook page so huzzah! I'll be removing the twitter hashtags from the titles of my blog posts so they look right on facebook. I'll try to figure out a good spot for them if I can. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Other Archeologist

       The Temple of Danger. As soon as I recover the treasure within I will be known around the world. My days adventuring will have finally paid off. Doe will become a household name. And the girlfriend that I'll totally get after this will ask me again and again, “John could you tell me the story of how you got the treasure again?”

        I used my wits and trusty yo-yo to get past the previous rooms in The Temple of Danger. I stood in the last room with the treasure. No traps in sight, but all the dangerous dangers in the Temple of Danger I already met made me feel that I couldn't simply grab the Golden Chamberpot from the floor and leave. A flick of my wrist flung my yo-yo at the chamberpot and pulled it towards me. I refused to risk entering the room.

        The Temple of Danger shook from the ground up. I saw a mobster had entered the room from another door. I hated mobsters about as much as I hated scorpions. My various adventures brought me face-to-face with the villains of the mobs on several occasions.

       I saw the individual stones of the walls begin to shift out of place. But I still felt there was time. I didn't care about the mobster at this point. I tucked the the Golden Chamberpot under my arm and ran. The Temple of Danger kept collapsing, parts of the ceiling coming down and stones from the wall rolling out like the rotten teeth of diseased man.

       Near the entrance of the temple I ran into the mobster again. The way the temple fell apart must have opened up a path for him to meet me on my way out.

        “The Gold Chamberpot or your life.” He held his gun at me. I knew he'd shoot after I gave it too him, so I threw it at his head and ran. I assumed it either knocked him over or completely out. I didn't look back to check. He didn't come out of the temple with me and the whole building fell behind me.

         A deep sorrow filled my gut, I didn't have the Golden Chamberpot, after all this searching. People wouldn't know my name the world over. But at least I came out of another adventure alive.

Testing! Testing!

Today I've finally figured out to make it to where when I post on blogger it sends something to facebook, so I've created a facebook page for Langdon's Flash Fictions. This post is not today's story, but a test to see if this is working. The facebook page is: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009188790285 (At least I hope I linked the right url. I have not dealt with the book of the face before.)

Today's #flashfiction #TodaysForecast

“Piracy, it's a crime.”

Johnny Depp* #quote

      Tomorrow I'm heading to my costuming club. What shenanigans shall unfold? With the comicon style convention it holds and such coming up who knows! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Today's Forecast

         The meteorologist meditates before the morning news. She wears deep, black robes and rings of various metals. Miss Debra's mediation ends and she is ready to communicate with the spirits. She clacks her ring covered fingers across the floor as they dance through runes drawn with chalk. A circle of candles surround her in the back room. Their flames turn green and the voices of ethereal beings of nature tell her their will.

        After she finished she spoke with the people who would run what displayed on the during the news, “The spirits have told me they will make it partly cloudy with a chance of rain. But from their tone I fear that they will change their mind once again.”

Today's #flashfiction #AMostMundaneNightmare

“Speak plain English.”

Mary Poppins* #quote

I called CJ today, looks like he'll probably be coming over this weekend. Better prepare the potato outfits. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Most Mundane Nightmare

        A terrifying nightmare fell upon Thomas one day. In it he came home after a normal day at the office. He plopped on the couch and watched football for a few hours and relaxed. Later his wife kissed him and told him dinner was ready. A fine roast with cookies on the side with bickering children on who gets the last cookie if its an odd number. He couldn't have any of the cookies himself, doctor says he must watch his weight. This nightmare soaked Thomas in sweat.

       Thomas was only in third grade and this nightmare pulled his youth all away from him. At least in the morning the boy would regain his old life.

Today's #flashfiction #OtherworldlyKnight

 “What's up doc?”

Mr. Hyde* #quote

       Today I worked on my drawing skills on the tablet my brother and his wife got me for Christmas. Drawing is hard, especially moving from physical to digital means. But I'll get it down...eventually! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Otherwordly Knight

        Sir Eyut rode his tentacled yoc-yoc through the lands as it spout ink across fields, mountains and whatever terrain he passed. Whether stopping bandits or saving damsels from fire-breathing, slime covered horkoks his bravery never wavered. His armor clanged while hiding the wounds on purple skin. But he didn't care.

       While Sir Eyut went traveled another knight moved the lands on his world. Sir Thames rode his horse, stopped bandits, saved damsels from dragons and his bravery never wavered. His armor clanged as well, hiding just as brutal wounds on his skin.

        They both didn't care as they both fought for the same reason, the glory of adventure.

Today's #flashfiction #TheRecycledApocalypse

 “I want to be an astronaut when I grow up.”

Tom Hanks* #quote

Today I watched some videos on artificial intelligence. I wonder if we combine it with artifical selection can we breed some really neat robot dogs? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Recycled Apocalypse

          We build everything out of the Byproduct. It's all around us. It's shiny and gray. We can change how solid it is by stirring it. We can preserve food with it. It protects us from heat and cold if we cover our skin with it. If we eat it it can not only fill our belly but cure diseases. There are so many uses for it I could hardly count them all. It's a vital resource of society, almost as vital as water. At least it is now in this year of 4024. Well, that's what the year is supposed to be. With most old records destroyed, scholars debate.

        Among the legends the tales go like this. Our ancestors built and built the most elaborate society with technological wonders beyond our comprehension. But these technologies came with garbage and waste and over the centuries it became too much for them. So they created something to consume it all. A “bacteria”. And when it consumed the waste it left behind the Byproduct. I don't know exactly what a bacteria is but apparently it can be many things, not only this great consumer.

       But the consumer didn't just consume the garbage, it consumed every city and all the technologies, just leaving behind the Byproduct. This was because all those cities were made of the same materials the garbage was. Our ancestors thought they could control the bacteria, but it escaped, despite their effort.

      So now we have our world. A world of the Byproduct and nature alongside it. We even write with it. The most we use of the only way is paper and we write on it by smearing the Byproduct. I wonder how much our ancestors built over the centuries to make so much Byproduct to last so many generations. We use some of the old knowledge and make wooden things and stone. But many metals are gone and the scholars claim that bacteria is still making Byproduct in the Earth, slowly eating the metals that are made that could have been used for their technologies.

     I want to live in that old world. No matter how great our Byproduct is...if it is merely something that came from the garbage of the technology...what I have missed? I've heard of the ability to fly, things you can ride to hundreds of miles an hours, the power to talk to people across oceans, the ability to control things in worlds that don't exist. So many things in the legends. I wonder about that world. It's such fantasy. I kept calling our history legends because I don't think that it's the history the scholars talk about exist. I think the Byproduct is just the same thing as dirt and such a technologies couldn't exist. But if they did I really wish I could leave the Byproduct behind and go to the world of the ancestors.  

Today's #flashfiction #AMansWorld

“To infinity and beyond!”

Count Count* #quote

Today I went to my card game thing. Tommorrow there are tournaments, but I may not go to them depending on my mood. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Man's World

       A lone man sat next to a tiny candle in the middle of a blank room. Behind him he could see the door, the only other feature besides himself and the candle in the room. Though really he hardly ever looked at it and its golden doorknob.

        His sunken-in unblinking eyes locked their gaze on the candle, the only light source in the room. The candle's strong, yet small, flame lit up his ghostly blue eyes. He had on long white pants and a white-sleeved shirt. He wore no shoes because he had never left the room in his life. He had a wide grin filled with happiness from his perfect world inside the room.

        He sculpted this world with his own hands. He crafted trees, mountains, clouds, animals and people all by wrapping his hands around the candle’s flame in different ways. He usually started his day by making house and walking into it to find his dog, barking silently on the room’s walls. He made a cell phone to call his nameless friend to his side. The most they could do is play rock-paper-scissors with him acting the parts of both hands. He never beat his friend.

        His most favorite thing in the world was his girlfriend. He crafted her with the perfect figure; she had been shaped with such sensual curves the man felt like he needed nothing else. He could never kiss or hold her in his hands, but he could make her dance. And how she danced was quite incredible, her steps had such a sexual yet artistic feeling that made the watchers feel both dirty and enlightened. And at the end of everyday he said goodbye to the magical world around him as he fell asleep next to the candle that never went out.

         One day someone destroyed his world. Right when his dog barked hello at him he saw the entire world vanish in an instant. Someone had opened the door to the room. He frantically tried to make his dog again to protect him, but he could not, he tried to make his house to hide in, but he could not, he couldn’t even make a tree anymore; the second source of light from beyond the door made his attempts to construct his world futile. He turned away from the light in denial of its existence.

       He half expected to burn in this strange light, but no matter how long he waited nothing terrible happened. The only thing the light did is make him much warmer than the candle ever had. He went into the fetal position, fearing the light that took away all his power of the world.

       Through the door came a woman that resembled his girlfriend from the old world. She walked towards him in strides similar to the ones his old girlfriend had in her dances. But these moved in such a way that made him feel much different than before. This woman was not crafted by his hands on the wall, she had dimensions beyond his old world. She existed. The mysterious woman of the light descended upon him and picked him off the ground while he still folded himself in a ball next to the candle. She exited the room with him in tow.

       She had pulled him out of a world completely in his control and brought him into a world where he had very little power. But this world was real, with color and volume, with actual people he could hear sing and shake hands with. He had fled this world into the solitary room because of the feelings of weakness it used to give him. He preferred the safety and power of isolation. So for a long time he had lived in his shadow world, and loved it. But when reality entered his mind it flooded him with warmth and possibility. Fate, and every one of its members controlled the world of the light. Despite the fact he could not control it, he felt the new world away from the shadows would bring him greater happiness..

Today's #flashfiction #BorrowingDadsKeys

“Ticket please.”

St. Peter* #quote

         Today I spent some time playing a video game where the game designers decided to put exceptionally strong monsters in even lower level areas so you could revisit them when your stronger and defeat them. I, however, decided to fight one early, when I certainly had no business doing so. Even though the game was one of those games like Dungeons and Dragons with all numbers you could still move around and dodge. I figured that since I used magic from long range if I spent long enough could very, very, very slowly wear down the monster I had no business fighting and get loot I had no business having.

        I kept zapping the dragon with spells while restoring my computer controlled meat-shields, I mean, “allies”. Each spell did hurt the dragon but on the meter that represented its hitpoints each shot wasn't even visible, so my cowardly long-ranged battle lasted quite awhile. Until the monster was about at one sixth of its life left, then it got a good enough hit in to defeat me. I really had no business fighting it.

Borrowing Dad's Keys

        “You grab them,” Sammy told her little brother, with only year separating them they both shared the same interest and fear of their father's Keys.

         David replied, “L-ladies first sis.” Both of them wore the deep, black robes that all wizards belonging to the discipline of Shadow Magic wore. The same kind of robes their father wore, but he was a master and rightfully could use his own Keys. David and Sammy owned no Keys because of being inexperienced children that only grasped the basics of Shadow magic.

        Sammy held her hand close to the Keys. “How about we both grab them together?” In her mind she figured this would make it easier to blame David if things went badly, especially if some sort of magical trap was put on the Keys. When David heard the suggestion he thought the same. The children's dear father didn't think to put a magical trap on the Keys since he figured being in his home stashed in the back of a kitchen cupboard would be enough of a defense from anything happening.             He, like many parents, underestimated the stupidity of their children.

        After they picked up the Keys David then asked, “So how exactly do we use these again? Dad usually just shakes them a bunch and says a few magic words and a Shadow Gate opens to some place. Do you remember how he got us to Spellland? I want to go to Spellland!”

        Sammy then said, “I think I remember! I believe it was three times...” The children shook the Keys three times and Sammy then yelled at the top of her lungs, “Ooogla, boogla, toogla!”

Right in the center of the kitchen a small sparkle of light appeared followed by the appearance of a small wall of darkness that moved like a curtain and colored like a shadow on a bleak day. Out of it jumped a squirrel.

       “Guess we got it wrong,” David said.

        Sammy shrugged, “Let's try again, I think I know what I did wrong. Ooogila, teegla, tuurgla!”

        The Shadow Gate shivered and a loud popping noise occurred. Both of the children assumed this meant it changed locations. Out popped a goblin. A green, angry, lookin' goblin with a knife.

        The children's eyes grew wide and they both immediately cast the one spell they were both mastered in. A Shadow Magic defense spell their father and teacher's grinded into their brains. They both cast Shadow Bind.

        David smiled, “Y'know at least it's true that goblin's break into people's homes. We could pretend we never took the Keys and get like, a bigger allowance for stopping him.” The bound goblin froze as the magic used his shadow against him.

       Sammy smiled back. “Well, if we goof up no place can be worse than a goblin attacking us.”

       They tried once more, deciding to add another shake and changing up the magic words again. The Shadow Gate didn't merely shiver or pop. It twisted and contorted before settling back into shape again while making thundering noises.

        David's voice went quiet as he said to his sister, “I never saw it do something like that when Dad took us somewhere.”

        Fire shot out of the Shadow Gate and a six legged, red scaled, eight-horned demon came out with his spiked tail crashing into the floor while he stretched his arms forward and his claws ready to tear flesh.

        The demon spoke while fire and ice shot from his mouth, “Who is foolish enough to open a path to Hell so that I may meet them? Does someone wish to strike a deal with me, or challenge me for the title of King of Shadows?” The demon stepped forward, crushing the goblin with his feet. “I smell two wizards in the discipline of the shadows. What is your business with me?”

        Both children lost control of their bladders before the demon finished speaking. Their terror prevented them from speaking.

         The demon looked at the children and told them, “The only way this trip wouldn't have been a waste of my time is if I devour your souls.”

         The children, both trying to survive the best they can picked at least one of the options that could save them. “Wait, we want to offer you a deal!” They both shouted.

          “Oh?” The King of Shadows decided to listen as he hadn't had children attempt to bargain with him in centuries.

           David quickly pulled the first thing that came to mind, “We want, uh, good grades by learning Shadow magic without working hard. Yeah.”

           The King of Shadows replied, “A suitably childish demand. However I require an offering for my services. However I require life force in my deals. Do you intend to sacrifice each other?”

           Sammy's fear for survival allowed her to think quicker than any fear for punishment would have made her think in other situation. “We, uh, got you a squirrel and goblin? You stepped on him though...you took our sacrifice. Doesn't that mean that you break it, you bought it?”

           The demon laughed, though as his voice shook the body the same way a choir of screams would it made the children feel less comfortable than more. “In a way I suppose that means I have accepted your deal. It is a small enough demand I won't mind it. I won't be giving you much shadow magic anyway.”

           The children heard a door close and a voice familiar to them yelled, “You are both grounded!”

           The King of Shadows then remarked, “I recognized that voice, that's James, one of the thirty Arch-Wizards. Quite the powerful master of shadow magic. Struck quite a few deals with him.” The demon became more civil as a sort of nostalgic tone washed over him.

           The children said, “Could we please finish?” They hoped that if their father didn't speak to the demon then at least they wouldn't get in as much trouble.

            The King of Shadows then deepened his voice while some sort of magical language echoed in his speech alongside his normal words. “In exchange for the life-force of the squirrel and goblin I will grant you both minor knowledge in the craft of shadow magic to be obtained in the dreams of your mind's next deep slumber.” The demon then walked back into the Shadow Gate. The children dropped the Keys and it closed. Their father would ground them for a very long time for this, but they both knew that they both were very lucky to get out of it with their lives. Not every demon cares for deals. They never touched their father's keys again and when they were old enough to get theirs they both hesitated to use them and took great care when they did.

Today's #flashfiction #WishUponAPlanet

“Honor thy father and mother.”

Nero* #quote

My friend Jessica should be coming over tomorrow. Much fun will be had I say. Barrels of it possibly. Hopefully the shipping cost of the barrels isn't too high. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Wish Upon A Planet

         The blartians shared some similarities with humans. A love of exploration, two legs, two arms, skin, though there's carried a deep purple shade. They had ears, a nose, eyes too, but they had one more of each. Though their fingers numbered the same, yet stretched farther.

         Like humans they believed in quirky things. Good luck charms and other cultural quirks. Every blartian believed in something like wishing upon a star. However instead it applied to the love exploration they shared with humans. They wished upon planets they passed. You could only wish once per planet and what kind of wish you could make depended on the kind of planet, and the chances of it coming true also the depended. Planets also could only grant so many wishes before they were drained.The planets with the best wishing power held life.

        Blartains spread all over the galaxies rushed to fly when a new planet with life was discovered. Called Earth by the natives they passed by it to wish their wishes. Mobs of blartians in their spaceships passed by Earth in their spaceships wishing for things like money, love, a child, luck and so much more. Humans on the ground saw the spaceships in the sky and saw them as a shower of falling stars and wished as well as every soul in the universe has its own desires.

Today's #flashfiction #TheKnightsAndTheirBattle

“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 got a cool card and present from my Grandpa and Grandma Nolan in the mail. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Knights And Their Battle

       Elves. Long living beings of power and pride. Knights. Also beings of pride of power. An elvish knight was often the most prideful and powerful of them all. Place two against each other with blades enchanted to never wear and something both ugly and beautiful can take place.

        Violence always carries an ugliness to it, but a beauty formed as the two elvish knights clashed their blades in a skillful dance of devotion to their craft with rattles of steel making a song. They fought over a war long since ended a hundred years ago and thought of negotiation never crossed their mind. They drew from the magic in their elvish body to keep fighting and fighting without pause.

        Rain soaked their armor on some days and without magic to protect it like it did their blades it would have rusted off. But like moving monuments they stayed in the forest as seasons passed.

       The battle stopped on one occasion. Hesitation occurred during a single moment. A wandering little girl passed through the clearing that the elves battled in. She gave them both happy looks like they were any of the merchants or other people she saw in town and continued on her way. After the girl passed the elves went back to battle and continued until their bodies dropped from the lack of the magic in their bodies able to replace food and water. When their corpses decayed their equipment was united by a single tree growing and pulling it all together with its large, growing roots.