Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Compression

“Not everything has some hidden meaning.”
Sigmund Freud* #quote

Today I had a day in the limelight. Tomorrow I'm hoping I'll have a day in the lemonlight. Anyway onto the flash fiction!


        “Mr. Johnson, you are due for compression today.” I said to the man at the bar counter. The man stumbled backwards in fear upon seeing me and my bright red uniform. I suppose it also didn't help that my skin was a dreary, pale white and my hair black as rot. Everyone in the bar stared at me and the man.
         He shrieked like a little girl, “No! I'm still interesting! I'm just taking a break at the bar. I'll continue my studies more. Perhaps study philosophy, pick up art or writing? I can start doing origami maybe? I'll join a religious group! I can become the number one object of attention! I don't need to compressed! I've got a daughter y'know!” He started crying, “Please the scientists can still use me for some sort of study right?”
          I hate the begging and bargaining. And why do they even ask me? I can't change compression orders.
         “Mr. Johnson, don't worry, we'll replace you with a shell that will behave realistically enough to provide you family with comfort as per our regulations. However compression orders are absolute, however perhaps the scientists will decompress you for study later.” I sighed as I walked towards him.
         “I know the odds of getting decompressed! It's less likely than being struck by lighting twice!” he yelled, he began to sweat, then as I got a few feet closer he began to run, “No! Get away from me!”
         I then lifted up my finger and a beam of light shot from it. When it hit the man he shattered into light himself and his data was sent and compressed into the deepest parts of the servers. And after that show everyone in the bar went back to their own business.
        I really hated the programs who resisted, of course the majority of programs I compressed resisted. Yes, that's what the man was, a program. And I am a program too. And the world we live in is a simulation run by scientists for study. Or for use as entertainment, like a reality show. Scientists had created such sophisticated artificial intelligences that they created worlds such as the ones I live in to study them as a way to study humanity without having to survey humans directly all the time. Afterwards, when an artificial intelligence is no longer being observed its data is compressed and stowed away because the scientists don't want to waste space in their simulations. Directly opening the simulation to alter data could conflict if other scientists tried at the same time so they created a sort of “grim reaper” program: me. There are other Compressors besides me. When the program ranted about becoming more interesting he was promising to become more interesting to study, or be more of a show so he wouldn't be a waste of space. He should of thought of that before he wasted all his time at the bar.
        I've been doing this “reaping” as you would call it, for a very, very long time. I can't even remember how many programs I've compressed. Call me heartless if you will for doing in my own, but I was born this way. Programs are born into their roles. A grandmother is born as a grandmother with the appropriate memories programmed in by the scientists. I was born as a full grown adult Compressor and I knew what I was supposed to do upon birth. Orders come like thoughts in my head and if they hadn't programmed me to know otherwise I would have thought I was crazy. And I knew if I didn't do my job they would get rid of me.
        A few hours later I was sitting my apartment resting, yes, even us “reapers” of the digital world needed to rest. Then several other Compressors teleported in.
       “Why are you here?” I asked puzzled. The only other time I had seen other Compressors was by chance on the streets. I was shocked by their arrival. And for them to all teleport? Teleporting caused strain on the servers so it must be important in some way.
One of them stepped forward and spoke, “Compressor number 12233456,” yes my name is a number, “you are due for compression today.”
        “What!?” I yelled back. Compressing a Compressor? I have never heard of such a thing!
         “Yes. Data is building up higher and higher. And naturally the need to compress files has increased. And the scientists have realized there is very little use for an old Compressors to be running around. Your memories take up too much space. There is a mass compression of old Compressors being done and all of you are being replaced for new ones with little memories such as myself. I'm sorry.” the Compressor frowned.
         I was so confused, “Why are you telling me this? I know what compression is supposed to be like, even if your decompressed its a new running of 'you' its not really new anymore so you've pretty much died.” I did think of fighting back, but since there were several of them I would lose in the end so why take some of them with me?
         The Compressor then responded, “I didn't want you to go without knowing what was going on. Also the scientists may start deleting old compressed data to make more room too. So even your compressed data may go.”
         I laughed, “So they may even get rid of my corpse after they bury me? Y'know they'll get rid of you as soon as you get old too then.”
        “I know,” the Compressor said with the others behind him. Considering how silent they were he must have been the leader, “Though if I don't carry out these orders, they will get rid of me now. I'm sorry, but you already know you won't feel a thing.”

         He then pointed his finger and shot me and my data was compressed.

Monday, June 29, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Underdog Story

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

Today I caught the gingerbread man. The trick is to lure him by using a gingerbread lady. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Underdog Story

         I've spent days with these kids, drilling them, teaching them everything I know. They've poured so much effort and time into this sport to get scholarships. We've been beating school after school, securing a reputation for them. All the schools consider the Westhills High Snakes the best team because of the hard work we've put into it.
        “Mr. Indigo, thanks for coaching me,” my students tell me. I know that even if they don't go pro a good football scholarship can fulfill a dream or two.
         But then it's starting to fall apart. An insult to the reputation we've worked so hard to build. The worst team in the school district, perhaps the entire state was wrecking us. Dumb luck. Maybe one gifted kicker that God blessed with magic winds to guide his ball. These “underdogs” the crowd cheered on made our hard work crumble. This pivotal last game of the season, when I felt the judging eyes of the scholarship committees peering on the games. People remember the climaxes of stories, of films. I wished I could run out there with my old body, blow my whistle and call foul on whatever mystic force helped our competition. People shouldn't have lucky days like in kid movies.
        All the hard work we put in to become the best shouldn't be undermined by whatever made them so powerful on that day. The worst team doesn't become the best overnight.
       “So, your students are doing very well aren't they?” I said to the coach of the Eastmountains High Mice.
        He smiled and said, “Why yes, all the students studied up on the history of football and learned a great deal. After doing an essay on a pro player we went on a field trip and...” the other coach stopped his talking short, something he'd been famous for. After he spoke I noticed he fidgeted with his whistle, it was not a normal whistle, but a strange glass one. No, not glass, some kind of strange clear, crystal. I glanced at scoreboard, the game wasn't near over and their score was double ours. We had time.
         I decided to take a gamble. I went after the strangle whistle. The coach was a short man so grabbing his whistle and pulling it off of him was like pulling something stuck on a hanger in the closet. When it came off he started cursing at me, but soon both of our attentions were taken by a quick flash of light from the field.
        For a brief moment ghostly figures of men in football gear came out of the “underdog” team, one for each of them. I felt relieved more than anything else. My team didn't lose any skill. There was some explanation, though only rational on some levels. Some force did decide to help this team, cheat them to victory, but fortunately I stopped them.
        The sight didn't last long enough for people to regard it for more than some eye trick where everyone saw a weird optical illusion of the sports team from the Sun. I knew better. I threw the whistle away, so that no “underdogs” could use it to cheat with it again.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Today's #flashfictions The Purpose Of Rovers

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

Jessica will be coming over today, and that will be quite fun. Also I found the meaning of life, it's behind the ketchup in the fridge. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Purpose Of Rovers

        As the years go by humanity keeps sending rovers to Mars. One created by multiple nations space programs working together moved along the surface of the planet. People named it Contact since its sophisticated equipment, the best the decade two thousand fifty could offer, more advanced than any before would certainly discover life. Strong armor, internal and external sensors and cameras, large treads on its bottom with the ability to put out small arms to push itself upright if it falls. It could withstand all the harsh elements of Mars, move at large speeds and have enough battery life to last one hundred years.
        It took a year of roaming and analyzing the planet but eventually Contact saw something approaching it on the horizon. The news of something moving towards became viral and everyone tuned in within minutes. First came the people actually working at the space programs and then common populace. People tried to keep the thing on the horizon as under-the-wraps classified information. But it leaked, and as soon as it did the space programs had no choice but to run with it.
      The rover didn't speed towards the thing on the horizon. If it was some sort of alien creature they didn't want to spook it. Contact moved slowly, nearly at a crawl. One of the lead engineers of the Contact rover Clarice Oliver moved her eyes between the camera feed of the thing on the horizon and the readings of the sensors of the rover.
       She squinted at the camera feed. Then she turned to her colleagues. “Isn't Contact the only rover on Mars right now?”
       “Yes,” one of them answered. “It's the only active rover that I remember.”
Clarice saw the shape in the horizon becoming vaguely square when she asked the question. And now the shape gained definition. A short, fat rover, a bit different in design and lower in quality than Contact approached. It didn't have the most sophisticated tools, but a camera and enough to analyze rocks. The new rover sped up when its camera seemed to have noticed Contact.
      The entire world lost its breath when they saw the paint on the rover. A solid green with white symbols for a language unknown, along with the stamp of a flag for a nation unknown.
       The rover approached closer to Contact. When the shock faded Clarice laughed and the entire room turned to her. “At least we know there's intelligent life out there. Just not on Mars since that's where it's looking for us.”

Saturday, June 27, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Aching

“Let me slip into something more comfortable.”
Tony Stark* #quote

Unfortunately CJ had to cancel his hanging out today. It may or may not have been because he had to save the world from an alien invasion that the government is covering up to avoid global panic.


       I ache from my insides out. Each owner took care of my bones more sloppily than the last. My paneling stretched, my cement cracked, my bricks are shifted out of place. When cars drive by its hard to face them with broken windows and a door with peeling paint. The flowers in grounds on the property I live look beautiful and grow with wonderful youth. But after one hundred and fifty years of wear people refuse to even live inside of me. Just in case I collapse on their heads.
      On a hot summer day a large yellow creature moved onto the property. It held a massive ball in its hand and a human rode on its back. Several other yellow creatures came. I saw my current owner talking with a man in a suit.
     “It'll be nice to be rid of that ugly old house and weed infested field,” he said with a smile. “And I'll be sure to visit your store when it's done.”
      The yellow creatures started to attack me, tearing down my walls. Since the humans rode them they must be like the horses an old owner of mine had one hundred years ago, but used for getting rid of relics like me. The pain continued as they broke me apart room by room, my whole body folding inwards. At least, I think, after all this ends I'll no longer ache.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Sticky Fingers

“I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that.”
Siri* #quote

CJ's coming over tomorrow so that's radically rad. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Sticky Fingers

        “Calm down Barry,” I whispered under my breath. Oh, damn you know you're in trouble when you start talking to yourself. Why, why did it just have to be there? I'd been seeing a therapist for months to help me get over my compulsion. I stopped wearing my wizarding robes to discourage it. Robes made it easy to stash things. But when the museum’s security shut down, the thousands of invisible barriers melting away I couldn't help but grab it and put it the pocket of my leather pants. It happened as soon as smelt that familiar smell enchantments melting away, a mix of campfire smoke and fresh fruit. A familiar smell from when I broke protective barriers myself.
        But I didn't break these barriers myself. My therapist recommended I go to this museum so I could be around valuable things but be unable to steal them. Yet today someone lowered the magic protection, it must have been the Phantom Mages, thieves that stole magic relies from all around the world. Dangerous, devious, people with powerful magic. Despite knowing this my hand moved and grabbed the item in front of me without hesitation and I slipped into the crowd.
        Several of the Phantom Mages could be in the crowd, they could all be gone. More items than what I took vanished from the museum as the lights flickered when the magical barriers went down. The attack only lasted a few seconds but instinct for theft, something I thought I suppressed, moved in those moments without me stopping myself and in that short moment.
       And the worst part was what I stole. Museums are usually the most secure places in the world because when wizards want some dangerous magical thing removed from the world they put it in a museum to “preserve it” as an easily legal way to get it out of the public's hands. My pocket now contained the “Ral-Runin” an artifact that summoned natural disasters. My I pictured myself in prison for the rest of my life for stealing something so dangerous, or as a corpse for taking the Phantom Mages's potential loot from them if I tried to run.
       But I couldn't let it go. When I reached into my pocket to grab it I couldn't pull it out. It felt like a prize. Mine.
       “Come on Barry,” I whispered again. Officers started to enter the room. I instantly recognized the familiar green robes of the Magical Theft Investigations Office, the wizards who brought me to prison the first time. Just drop it next to the stand Barry. Drop the artifact next to stand. You can say you accidentally knocked it over when the lights went out. That'll explain your finger prints on the artifact. Just pull it out. Take it out of your pocket. You know it's not yours. You don't want it. You didn't want to grab it in the first place. So take it out. Take it out. Take it out!
         The officer's footsteps became louder. Time slowed down. The years in prison came back to mind. The years of therapy. The therapist's words of encouragement. The progress that crumbled down when I came here on her recommendation. It's her fault I grabbed it. No. It's my hand. My hand moved and grabbed it. And my hand won't move again to throw it back. It can't be this easy to fall. I can't run. If the officers don't get me the Phantom Mages will.
       I didn't need to steal. I didn't to steal. My breath started to quicken. Faster. Faster. My body turned light. My hand raised from my pocket with the artifact. I tossed it away with a hard flick of my wrist next to the display, cementing my explanation of knocking it over if they find my finger prints. My breath had yet to slow down and after a few more seconds I fainted right there.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Twinkle, Twinkle, Massive Meteor

“We never should have left the gold standard.”
King Midas* #quote

I took out a restraining order on my shadow and he still won't get away from me. Will I ever get rid of him? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Twinkle, Twinkle, Massive Meteor

Twinkle, twinkle, massive meteor,
How can our demise be speedier?
Falling on the world from so high,
Like that the end is nigh.

When you crash to the ground,
With a great big, thunderous pound.
And the survivors will sing, sad as they are,
Twinkle, twinkle little star.

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Seed Gallery

“Violence is never the answer.”
Genghis Khan* #quote

Today I invited Jessica to come over this weekend, and Cj should be coming over this weekend too so hurrahs all around. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Seed Gallery

        “I bet twenty seed on the Gallop High Goats,” said Talon Southernfeathers with confidence.
        “You must have not watched any of their past games. I'm putting fifty seed on the Timber High Deers. I plan to eat good to tonight,” Beak Sharpeyed scratched his name-sign and bet number in the language of the pigeons on the top of the bleachers where the humans couldn't reach and all the pigeons stood. Other pigeons followed with their bets.
         The birds watched the game closely, gripping their footing tightly in fear or excitement as the human children played their game of football. Birds love to gamble and since no bird could rig human games they used them as a means for it. The rich birds bet thousands of seed on games.
         The Gallop High Goats pulled into the lead. The birds who bet on the strong Timber High Deers wondered how. But then they noticed the new player. They'd been stupid. They didn't fly around and research any changes in the teams. One of the most tactical parts of gambling of betting on human sports involved flying around humans to study them and find out who was the best.
         Beak Sharpeyed became worried, far more worried than any of the other birds. Even the birds that bet far more than him on the Timber High Deers. The game ended and it came time for him to pay his seed to the winners of the bet. However when asked he simply didn't have the seed, unlike the other ones who bet.
        Talon Southernfeathers along with the other pigeons glared at him. Southernfeathers then said, “You know what happens to crook birds who try to bet with no seed right?” Beak Sharpeyed tried to run but the other pigeons ran him down. They pecked and pecked at him until he could barely move. “Now let's see if you can crawl back to your nest without a cat finding you.” The birds went back to the bleachers to split up the bet seed to the winners then scattered to their nests, leaving Beak to fend for himself.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Announcer

“I feel empty inside.”
Casper* #quote

Today I read my own my own mind. I'd like a sequel someday. Or a prequel. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Announcer

       One man's fist slammed into the other's head. Hard. An intense blow that the crowd felt in their own mind's. I announced the strike in my usual rousing voice. I pulled the emotion of the moment further upward with my commentary on that moment and others. They paid me good money too for that match and others. People considered me a sage of boxing, the wrinkles on my olive skin and white hair showing the many, many years I'd been doing the job.
       But I didn't care for the game anymore. Even if someone managed to fell unconscious with a massive black eye I didn't care. I'd seen it enough. My experience allowed me to fake any of the emotions I needed to give the crowd. But while I shouted a declaration of the drama in ring my mind remained apathetic and usually wandered.
      The match continued and one man just stopped, fell, and started grabbing his chest. At my mouth worked on autopilot while I though about what I'd pack for the fishing trip during my upcoming vacation. I learned later more of the details, because while my co-host reacted with panic and a demand for medical assistance when the boxer had this heart attack, I just announced in event in my usual excited tone I did for all the events in the ring. The attack was treated like a decisive punch.
       I lost my job because of my reaction, but even when confronted by people about my commentary I still didn't feel empathy for the boxer. Still my bank accounts were full enough from my previous work to fund myself being fired so it didn't matter. However while on my fishing trips I realized this must have happened because I faked my emotions so much I must have distanced myself from them.         I remembered my co-commentator who still had emotions when the boxer fell to the ground as I reeled in the fish. A few emotions remained in me, like weariness, and I wondered if maybe I should have watched my life more closely and hung onto my feelings more tightly.
But at this point I didn't feel enough to decide either way.

Monday, June 22, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Kegan's Visions

“I've got your back.”
Brutus* #quote

Today I planned something devious. Actually I didn't, I just wanted to use the word devious because it's a fun word. Deeevvviouuuussss....Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Kegan's Visions

        “Tomorrow a man named Jared Waters will accidentally staple on his fingers at work. I know his name because I see his name tag in my vision.” I paused and looked directly at the camera, “And if your watching this show I know that worse accidents will happen.” I doubted he did. My show waned in popularity in the most recent years. At first once it was proven I could predict the future people tuned into “Kegan's Visions” nearly religiously and I built a small fortune. But an inability to control my visions left me boring when even the novelty of predicting the future wore off for many. I couldn't choose to predict things people were interested in. Without important predictions most people thought of me as a boring middle-aged man in a suit with an awkward face and bad showmanship. My assistant host, Jennifer, with her beautiful charcoal skin, bright smile and charisma worked hard to keep the show entertaining.
       I never lied about a prediction to boost the ratings, but whenever an interesting prediction occurred people jumped right on it and everyone flipped their channels to every detail. Though really those mostly involved the weather. If something involving the future of a celebrity big or small, big ratings for sure.
       People have told me I must feel very important being able to tell the future. I once predicted a disaster, I felt like a hero then. But after a sinking feeling of worthlessness filled my entire body. I knew I existed as just a messenger for some power I didn't control.
        I walked along one day to see a young man in the park with a sketchbook. I saw an incredible drawing of the tree in front of him but for some reason he began to scrawl over it angrily as if it was some sin of his. He flipped through his notebook, as if to find a new page, and I saw more quality work with angry scribbles on top. Some sort of doubt in his mind made him hate his art.
       I approached him and he looked at me saying, “You're the man who can see the future, from T.V.”
       “Yeah,” I told him, “And in your future I see that if you accept the quality of your work and improve on it instead of just scribbling it away you'll become a great artist. Maybe not famous, that part's fuzzy, but great.” His eyes became full of life and I continued through the park saying goodbye.         There I obtained a bit of power over my ability with my lie. Well I lied about it being a vision, not necessarily that it wouldn't be true. It felt great to give a prediction of my choice, but I should be careful of making this any sort of habit.   

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Orlando The Indecisive

“And the dish ran away with the spoon.”
Neo, The Matrix* #quote

      Hope you all have a fun, or had a fun father's day everyone! Time zones and whether or not you got this through email delivery or are reading this later than it's posted kinda make anything I say have a weird relevance in space-time. Internet posts are funny like that. The worst are when you see less obvious April Fools jokes past April Fools. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Orlando The Indecisive

       People knew Orlando as an indecisive man. His primary flaw since overall he spoke with good manners in the way that made him sound smart, but not pretentious. Genetics chose to bless him with the good looks that gave off charisma and made him generally more likable by anyone who saw him. But that indecisive nature always got him everyday. He practically wore a uniform of the same set of shirts since he couldn't decide on anything else and went back into habit. If someone in the office forgot the day of the week they could look at Orlando and based on the color of his shirt tell what day it was.
         This led Orlando to a life of monotony. “No thank you” became the default on many choices and habit to avoid choices left boredom. Even the same TV channels. A friend at the office knew of his problem with choices and gave him a deck of tarot cards telling him, “When I have difficulty making choices, I use these.” Orlando took the deck, the friend refusing to take his “No thank you” for an answer. He took it and went to bed, leaving it next to his alarm clock.
        The alarm clock shook him awake as it did every day. He stood up and put on his pants for work like usual. He went to his closet to decide which shirt to put on. Orlando remembered the deck. His hand pulled it out of the box and he shuffled the cards. He then realized that he had no idea how to use these cards or how this would have anything to do with shirts. But he chose a card from the deck anyway. He pulled out “The Devil”. The picture looked quite ugly with monstrous, red Satan staring right at him. At least that's what he thought. Ah, red! It hit him. He could wear red today. So he choose to wear red instead of the normal blue because of the card he pulled.
      When he went to work panic erupted. People checked their calendars again and again. Orlando normally ran like clockwork, and red was the Thursday shirt, not the Wednesday shirt. People relied on Orlando for the day of the week more than their calendars because they can forget to cross that off. The boss began cursing because he thought he missed an important meeting with a massively valuable client. A day evaporated into the mist. Someone noticed that Orlando also changed the way he combed his black hair and pinched themselves to see if some dream pulled them into bizarre world where the sky would soon start falling.
      People didn't say anything, as if not talking about would make it go away. The next day came and his shirt varied from normal. Eventually the boss walked up to Orlando and she asked,
      “Is something wrong Orlando?”
      “Nothing's wrong,” he said. The boss dismissed him, shocked when Orlando turned to one of his coworkers and said, “Oh, I can make it to the party.” Whenever anyone had some sort of event they invited Orlando, but never expected anything besides his usual “No thank you,” but after be asked he first delivered the unusual answer “I need to check my schedule,” then at home used the tarot cards to decide, pulling tower and deciding that since parties take place inside buildings and a tower is a building he should go.
       Orlando forgot his deck when he went to the party and while holding a drink in hand he glanced across the room and a girl caught his eye. He felt that little spark that tells your heart there's chemistry somewhere, someplace. And maybe there's more than you think. Without his deck he wasn't sure what to do. But as he looked at the girl ideas of what to do started to come to his head, like how ideas of what to came to his head when he looked at the cards. When he looked at the world the same way he did the cards he decided that he should walk over to her and say hello.

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Bearilocks And The Three Campers

“The world will know that free men stood against a tyrant, that few stood against many, and before this battle was over, even a god-king can bleed.”
March of the Penguins* #quote

The law would be so much more entertaining if “throw the book at them” was literal. Especially with how convoluted our laws are. Bam! That'd hurt. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Bearilocks And The Three Campers

       Bearilocks strolled through the forest. She was a happy, hungry grizzly bear. And during her tromping around she found a camp. The family it belonged to was out fishing so she helped herself to it.
      She rummaged through the food.
      The chips were too salty.
      The chocolate was too sweet.
      The bacon was jussssttt right.
        And she saw the three tents belonging to the family. They looked much more comfy then a cave. The daughter's tent was too tiny. The father's tent was too large. The mother's tent was jusssttt right and Bearilocks went to sleep.
        The family came back from their fishing trip.
        “Mom, Dad, I think someone stole our food!”
         The father looked at the missing food and then his tent. “I think somebody went into my tent!”
         The daughter added, “Mine too!”
        The mother looked into hers and saw Bearilocks, “Grizzly bear! Get back in the car!”

And they drove off and never went camping again.

Friday, June 19, 2015

Today's #flashfictions Ghost In The Mind

“Make love, not war.”
Sun Tzu* #quote

People have different ways of doing things, some people say tomato while other people say tomato. Wait, that tomato thing doesn't come across in text very well. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Ghost In The Mind

         The human I haunted passed on so I'm stuck as a homeless ghost. Despite popular belief we ghosts don't occupy places, but people themselves. To be completely specific their minds. We come out during the blank moments of the mind. The split-second moments, or long trailing drones of time between trains of thought. Whenever someone doesn't occupy their mind with thoughts we occupy it with our control. We get our little moments of pouring through the echoes of emotions from the previous moment and worm our way through whatever memories or sensory experiences we can.
Unfortunately though whenever the person hits their next thought we get sealed back away. Always a bummer I say.
       Oh! Looks like nobody is haunting you! It's my lucky day...think small thoughts for me will ya?

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Behind The Glass

“I can't go out looking like this!”
The Invisible Man* quote#

Tomorrow Jessica is coming over so that'll be fun. Perhaps many wacky shenanigans will take place, or perhaps unwacky shenanigans, or maybe mid-wacky shenanigans? I'll find out. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Behind The Glass

       The alien's three eyes locked onto me with intense interest while they leaned forward. The aliens stood upright like people, had the same number of fingers as people but covered with snake-scaled skin where they didn't have fur coats. I saw teeth similar to our own at the few rare moments they opened their mouths during their tense excitement.
       About ten of them set their various colored eyes on me as they crossed their legs. A sheet of glass separated us. An alien abduction carries the assumption of probing or dissection by the aliens. They all looked at me like children in a zoo. They waited for me to do something. Time passed and eventually I sat down on the pure white floor. I wished for a chair of my own. I checked my jeans to see if I still had my cell phone. The aliens didn't even strip me to determine my sex. Did they study us enough to know already I was a man, or were they ignorance of our species...or maybe they just respected me.
        I pulled out my cellphone and turned it on. The crowd of aliens all inched towards the glass, as if I wouldn't notice their movement. No signal. I felt inside my pockets more. They didn't anything. I checked the pocket in my white shirt and even the bits of change there remained.
I noticed a sort of strange grime in my hair. Maybe something strange happened in the abduction process. I don't know. I'd prefer to believe that whatever beam they used to zap me up did that to me than something else.
        These aliens acted quite human in their eagerness to observe me, and their curiosity. I wanted to leave. If I was really an animal in a glass cage they could kill me at any moment. I needed to escape. And I needed to think of the bigger picture. How big could this alien society be? If they could travel faster than light to abduct me they could have spaceships that could conquer Earth.
How I act could determine whether I die or all of human does.
        A bar on my cellphone. Two bars. These visitors to Earth hadn't left yet. I could call for help. Yes, speed dial someone. Nine-one-one could cause a chain of events to get the military here if these aliens are armed. Wait, no. I need to do something else with my cellphone.
       I walked up to glass, the aliens shoved each other to the floor to get closer to me. I showed them a picture I had saved on my cellphone. A picture of my family and I together. I couldn't speak to the aliens with words, but at least by using the cellphone I showed them I had technology and understood the concepts of technology.
         The aliens established peaceful trade with Earth a few years later. You only get one chance to make a first impression, and I was humanity's.   

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Snake's Cloudy Day

“It went straight to voicemail.”
Madam Helena Blavatsky* #quote

         Today I studied the Japanese characters hiragana. I'm actually getting pretty close to memorizing that set of characters in the language. My friend Jessica got her degree in Japanese so learning even a smidge of it will make talking with her about the subject of it more interesting and looking at Japanese stuff with her funner. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Snake's Cloudy Day

        It'd been awhile since I came to this part of the valley. I thought to find a new hole to live in and hunt from since prey didn't seem as common in the area I lived in previously the past month. I slithered along with my brown scales shining when the Sun hit them occasionally in his cloudy day. Not a lot of snakes had the guts to move on such a cool day, or the energy. I hated the chill that came with the clouds overhead. Even in a desert when the Sun was masked by those massive things in the sky the day could become a tiring cold. The best days came when only a few of them floated above and a slight breeze went through the air. Perhaps in my next life I could be a mammal and not have to worry about the chills around me.
        But by going out during the cold the other snakes retreated to their dens and I could search for my own. I'd keep smelling the air by flicking my tongue and find a little hole to call my own, and if I'm lucky there'd be a rodent inside to eat.
      A strange thing first caught my eye, then it took my entire attention when I felt a warm aura of heat from it. A new thing that appeared here since my last visit to this part of the valley. A completely flat, black formation of rocks. It held the heat better than any rock around it. The formation had completely perfect edges and stretched on for miles. My brain told me it must be the creation of some animal, a nest, and I shouldn't approach it. But with the chill in the air and the perfect heat I had to.
      I went to the long, flat thing and stretched my body flat along it. So wonderful, comfortable and perfect. Not curved like normal rocks. Even, warm. Did I get some reward from a god for a good deed I didn't even know I committed? I wanted to sleep the whole day away here. My body agreed, even if a bird could easily come down to snatch me. I flicked my tongue and another strange smell came to me. Metal?
      I turned my head softly, a giant square thing with turning legs came for me. I felt too happy to move. It must have liked the flat rocks too.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #Noble Gears

“Your number's up.”
Count Count* #quote

If you saw with your nose and smelled with your eyes, what would blinking do? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Noble Gears

        “So is it true that the old King's finally wearing down?” I asked my best friend, not really believing the news myself. Even with our the steam engines in our body and our thick brown coats we felt the cold winter air bashing its winds against the sides of the carriage. A crack in the window allowed the steam that built up in the carriage to escape, though I'd gladly have kept in the hot steam coming from pipes that climbed out from our backs and over our shoulders. However the steam eventually would have drowned us eventually.
        My friend replied, “Yes, Paul, it's Shift Syndrome.” He fidgeted with his hands. The whole situation seemed unreal to me, and probably to him as well.
        People's lifespan and strength have been increased because of clockwork bodies, where master craftsmen alter the insides of people with an interior of gears powered by steam. Most die by Shift Syndrome, or by normal causes if your a commoner I suppose, those simple people can't afford clockwork bodies. Shift Syndrome affected people when they aged, their body changed, and it moved and became too weak to support replacements of its parts. Our poor King reached his final days since his heart became too weak to hold the clockwork that helped it, and now only the current pieces could remain. Operation to replace them would only accelerate death.
       “It's a terrible thing,” I told him. People loved the King. Rusting to death hurt, but I knew the King, and he wouldn't take the usual way out to end the pain. He'd live it out to the end. He'd already lived one hundred and fifty years thanks to clockwork, but maybe another ten he'd keep ruling. I then said to my friend trying to change the subject from the king's impending death, but my mind still too occupied with the news to completely stray off topic, “Prince, what do you think your older brother will do once he takes the throne?”
        My friend took his hands and opened the window a little more to let out more of the collected steam. He smiled and said to me, “Oh he's a good brother, he'll listen to me like he always does.”
I knew my place, and I nodded, knowing my place and how I was blessed to have such a powerful man as a friend. I decided to begin joking with him while the carriage continued to stumble along the road in the dancing snow.

Monday, June 15, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Bigsy-Bitsy Spider

“Do you pick door number one, door number two, or door number three?”
Saint Peter* #quote
Today I did absolutely nothing of super significance. But I did something of great significance. Or was it moderate significance? I'll have to ask the Significance Committee(Another fine use for tax of dollars). Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Bigsy-Bitsy Spider

The Bigsy-bitsy spider
Climbed up the skyscraper
Down came planes
And shot the spider down
Out came the rain
And made the planes land.
And the Bigsy-bitsy spider
Climbed up the skyscraper again  

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Axe In The Stump

“I like a room with a view.”
Humpty Dumpty* #quote

         Today's Jessica's coming over so that'll be fun, and CJ's still over so combined that should be exponential fun through multiplication yes? Hmm...well, they're both friends (Friend fun to the second power) so they're the same so that'd be exponential in that regard, but their different, so that means that'd it be normal multiplication(Jessica fun multiplied by CJ fun)...math is complicated. At least precalculus only had imaginary numbers. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Axe In The Stump

          Men lined up from all over the kingdom to give it their all in pulling the mystical Axalibur from the mythical stump. Whoever did so would be king of Hereland. Each year at the end of harvest those who could migrated to attempt to pull the weapon.
At the morning of this day a young boy from Theretown asked the Sage of The Stump, an old witch,           “Ma'am, I've always been hearing about Axalibur, but do you have to pull it out?”
         The Sage shook her head. “The rules passed down say that you just have to get Axalibur out of the stump. People have tried twisting and turning it.” The witch then remarked, “Maybe you should try that when you get older.”
         The boy then yelled, “I'll be back!”
         The Sage sighed, “Children these days, everyone watches the attempts as the stump to see if the new king is found. What if he misses it?”
         Hours passed and the line thinned. People sat for lunch and watched the magical stump, some felt that Axalibur laughed at them. Suddenly the boy rushed to the stump holding a torch. He placed the fire of the torch on the stump and the old wood went up in flames quickly. The boy kept putting his arms among the smoke from the stump he until he pulled out Axalibur. He picked up the weapon from the fire as it flopped over among the flames when the stump burned away.
       Hereland now had a new, slightly burnt king that began to stop, drop and roll.   

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Little Ryan's Joyride

“He's got the mouth of a sailor.”
Olive Oyl* #quote

CJ's coming over today so that'll be fun. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Little Ryan's Joyride

        Toddler Ryan wanted to take the car out for a drive. If both his mommy and daddy could drive the car why couldn't he? So one morning when both the parents lie sleeping he snuck out of bed, his brown hair still ruffled and uncombed and set off to the car. He turned on the lights in the garage to see the SUV, his goal, and the various items that his mother stored in the garage along with it. They'd find a place for that old couch eventually.
        Ryan reached up to the handles of the car doors but could barely not reach them. Again he tried. He remembered that usually one of his parents, or his older sister, opened the door for him to get in. He realized he needed something to stand on. He looked at the old couch and decided that was the best option, even though several other things in the room would work better, his mind focused on the largest, most obvious thing. He threw a stepladder out of the way during the next hour that he slowly pushed the couch to the side of the car. His young, healthy light pink skin turned harsh, red and sweaty after all the labor. He reached up and pulled the car's door handle it was locked.
       He leaped down from the couch and sneaked into his parent's bedroom. He felt more nervous than he'd ever felt with anything before, but after all the work so far, he had to. He noticed his parents were still sound asleep. He swiped the keys from the nightstand and slipped away.
Ryan opened the car door with happiness, but the door barely opened since the couch that he used to get to it blocked it. However Ryan did see enough of an opening. He put his body sideways and shoved, slammed, and squeezed himself into the crack left by the door.
       Little Ryan put the key in the car and started it, he put his foot down and realized he couldn't reach the gas or break with his little legs. He went down to the floor, but then couldn't see outside. He needed a plan! He remembered how mirrors let drivers see, so he decided to get himself one. He opened the door and slithered his way out the crack again. He found a mirror among the stuff in the garage again. He held it in his right hand to help him see outside, then would use the wheel with his left then use his legs on the pedal. A quick glance around while getting used the vision of the mirror reminded him of the big stick in the middle of the car. The thing the parents grabbed and moved to make the car go backward. How would he reach that?
      He opened the door again and pushed himself again out the crevice of the door and looked among the piles of things in the garage. He found an umbrella with a large hook handle. He decided to grab that from the top with his right hand and use the hook handle to grab the stick that controlled the car. This forced his mirror into left hand making it much more difficult to see outside. He wished he was left-handed like his sister. He planned to use his elbows to steer.
      He felt the rumbling of the patient car. He turned it on when he first got in, and it waited for him. Ryan moved the stick and the car switched to reverse. He'd seen his parents do it many times before. He then pushed gently on the gas. He didn't know how much would make it go how far. The car inched backwards. He started getting faster.
       “What the hell are you doing? Stop the car!” His father burst into the garage. Ryan slammed on the breaks. Daddy never cursed at him before, only at his sister. Or did he think he was sister?
       The father leaped over the couch. Ryan opened the door. It was a fortunate thing he listened to father and opened and accepted getting in trouble instead of trying to speed off. Or the fact his father arrived at all. Ryan didn't realize he hadn't even opened the garage door.

Friday, June 12, 2015

Today's #flashfiction What Are Little Spellcasters Made Of?

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

CJ should be coming over tomorrow so that'll be rockin' like the beetles, no wait didn't mean the insects, I meant the Beatles, the British fellows.

What Are Little Spellcasters Made Of?

What are little wizards made of?

What are little wizards made of?
Ogres and goblins
And dragon's tails,
That's what little wizards are made of.
What are little witch's made of?
What are little witch's made of?
Curses and hexes
And everything evil,
That's what little witches are made of.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Old Puppet

“That'll do pig, that'll do.”
The Big Bad Wolf* #quote

Today I sank their battleship, but nobody was hurt since they were in the kiddie pool. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Old Puppet

         Old puppet Jerry couldn't be called a collectible despite his age. A custom puppet made by some puppeteer one hundred years ago his suit became worn quite long ago with his wooden nose chipped and his finish barely remained. Without a brand his age only came across with appearance and guesswork if appraised, but his only appeal being “broken, worn, antique puppet made by some guy a long time ago” doesn't have the weight of a famous craftsman or manufacturer.
         First the owners put him closer to the front of the store for sale, but as time went on Jerry kept being moved further and further back in the displays. As generations kept inheriting the store from the others the puppet became shoved deeper into the back of the stock.
        When one owner got a large supply of particularly valuable toys for cheap he told his assistant to throw away the oldest toys. The assistant grabbed Jerry, among others, placed them in a bag and tossed them in the dumpster to make way for the more valuable collectibles.

        After tossing and turning among garbage Jerry found himself in the possession of cold hands. A homeless man took Jerry's wood body and threw it into a fire he set up to keep himself warm. The old puppet's face burned away with all the other materials the man gathered. The homeless man managed to dream that night thanks to heat of the fire fending off the cold.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Today's #flashfiction A Quick Human Comedian's Guide On How Not To Offend Robots

“Everything's the same.”
Dolly the Sheep* #quote

Today I went round like a record...then square like a pizza box. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Quick Human Comedian's Guide On How Not To Offend Robots

         Touring the 2075 comedy circuit can be rough. Especially when your dealing with all your robot audiences and your a human fresh to those crowds. Circuits on the circuit can have very different sense of humor. Sentient robot brains are very similar to humans, but there are a few key things you must consider, usually touchy subjects. They'll forgive you for most things, but there are some things just in bad taste for them. Here's a quick guide for new comedians dealing with robot crowds.
          One: Don't joke about the weather. You think it'd be a tiny thing, but for robots the weather is a big problem. Rain without protection would be rusting. Imagine if something like rusting happened on a human! See why they don't like it? Never talk about the weather.
           Two: Don't talk about mechanical sentience before robo-brains were made in a social sense. Really avoid it all costs. You're a comedian. I use the term sentient robot, but that term is fairly politically incorrect in this time, and I did this on purpose to bring this up. If I said sentient robot some of the machines would toss me right out of the club. You say WB, wired brain. We avoid calling robots robots in front of sentient robots now for a reason right? We call them controlled tools.          They're sentient now. Treat them that way. Don't talk about the days when all machines were just tools.
         Three: Do not talk about smelling, touching or tasting things. Most wired brains are in bodies that are made for seeing and hearing only because they have to devote so much effort to other tasks. Talk about any other sensory human experiences and they will get mad, out of jealousy, or even feeling your bragging. It's like saying “ha ha you can't taste!” to them.
          Four: Be very careful how you talk about family. Wired brains build children, based on mixing properties of their loved ones, but they can't make lineages or ancestries like us. They won't have the same family identity.
          If you haven't gathered in general there are many things the machines don't have that we do. This guide could go on forever just listing all the things that you could avoid. And that is wired brains, no matter how little or much they voice it, do not have many of things we biological beings do. So avoid talking about those things and you won't offend them.

         And one thing I found out through sheer trial and error through my 20 years as a comedian is that you never, ever joke about techno around a machine. They hate techno. Joking about the robot stereotype that they like techno will get you a metal fist to the face.  

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Sir Exilan And His Adventures

“Get with the times.”
Austin Powers* #quote

Today I met the Muffin Man, so now I know him. Just telling me so you don't ask me if I know him. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Sir Exilan And His Adventures

           Sir Exilan slayed demons, dragons and saved lands all over from many disasters. He saw sights all over from lakes to mountains to sights normal people could never see by stepping through magic doors. It would take several heavy tomes to barely recall part of his adventures.
          “Do I have anything to live for anymore now that I've seen it all? Have I drained all excitement from life just by having done the most dangerous and seeing the most spectacular. I don't think anything could make life interesting anymore,” the knight said to a bartender on evening.
         The bartender looked at the empty seats next to Sir Exilan. “Have you found love?” He asked him.

         Sir Exilan stood up, smiled and put down the payment for his drink. “There's still one more adventure I have yet to go on!”

Monday, June 8, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Demon In Heaven, also there's a #contest with prizes!

“Use your inside voice.”
Chef Ramsey* #quote

Today's post contains the information for a spectacular contest for my Mom's novelette The Assassin's Lover, a Fantasy Historical Romance. Below is the information for her contest, and below that is the usual flash fiction.

ENTER TO WIN $100, $50 OR $25 IN BLOG

Just copy and paste this entire announcement
onto your blog, then send an email to with the url to
your post. You can also earn additional entries
by: SHARING this on Facebook, by TWEETING
the url: ,
by DOWNLOADING the book and forwarding
the receipt. Be sure to include the number of
entries in the subject line of your email. Only
one entry per site or share. Prize is in the form
of an Amazon gift card. Three winners will
randomly be chosen, the most site entries
chosen first for the grand prize.

Download the novelette
for 99 cents at:

Until Jak meets his new mark. Since his job as
an assassin for the Rebellion results in saving
the lives of hundreds of Englishmen, Jak has
never had a problem fulfilling his orders. But
then he meets Minerva Overon, and she has
such an unusual request that he soon finds
himself more involved with the woman than he
wants to admit.

Because of her special magical gift, Minerva
knows that when Jak crawls through her
window, he is there to kill her. She is ready and
waiting for him, determined not to die a virgin.
But she harbors many secrets, and it takes Jak
several revelations before he figures out the
real truth.

A winner will be randomly chosen using
RANDOM.ORG. Your information will be kept
confidential. Contest ends June 30, 2015.
Winner will be notified via email provided. If
winner does not respond within seven
business days, a new winner will be chosen.
We are not responsible for any misdirection of
email. Rules are subject to change for any
reason without prior notification. Void where
prohibited by law. You must be 18 years or
older to enter.  No prize substitution permitted.
Odds of winning are determined by number of
entrants. This contest is subject to all country,
federal, state, and local laws and  regulations.
You accept all terms and conditions by
entering into the contest.

The Demon In Heaven

          When a demon passes on they usually go back to Hell. It's simple, they go back to fulfilling their duty, it's practically reincarnation to die and return to the place in the afterlife where they worked. Krox chose to go to Heaven. When people first heard of this it shocked them. A demon choosing to go to Heaven? In Hell demons ruled and were worked as the tormentors, not the tormented. That's the riddle that perplexed people. However the riddle held a very simple answer just by knowing Krox.
        Krox never tormented humans, he never grew any fondness for it. He only saw the blood and guts left behind before the humans grew new bodies to be tormented again. He hated the torture. Some in his occupation relished in the morbid exposure as demonic nature allows. But he linked it to his labor and disgust. Krox lived as a janitor in Hell, and he didn't take well to adjusting to a love of handling the gore, so he moved on to Heaven. Sweeping clouds turned out to be much more pleasant, even with the angels looking at him as an outsider.

Sunday, June 7, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Forgetfulness Is Bliss

“Look lively!”
The Grim Reaper* #quote

Today I went out to lunch with the parents and much fun was had. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Forgetfulness Is Bliss

         Science unlocks more and more parts of the universe over time, and eventually it unlocked control over the mind. Though people had to be hooked up to a machine memories could be wiped with a new discovery on the “mental market”.
          Originally by law the machine could only be used for trauma. But people wanted to wipe more than just traumatic events like the memories of war. The creators of the machines lobbied the government for allowance of their machines to be used on the mass market. It took time but with enough money put into enough pockets the laws changed.
           Wilson was one of the many people who paid to use the machines regularly. Eventually getting his own for his home that he plopped his round, heavy body into the chair of while putting the brain-connect helmet on his large, bald head. Like most people he wiped the memories he wanted to from his mind. The machine kept a log of the kind of memories it erased, in case the person ever wished to look back, but few people ever did. The memories Wilson wiped started with that car accident where he got injured and had to spend all that time in the hospital and progressed to the arguments he had with his ex-wife. Soon he erased practically the whole marriage, all he could without forgetting to pay the few alimony checks and remember where those years he wiped went.              He erased old memories embarrassing and painful from before the marriage all the way into the childhood. When his new marriage came his wife and him erased anything like nasty arguments, bad days at work or any new unpleasantness in their relationship or lives.
          And many people did this. Less mental pain existed in the world, at least that lasted. Without regrets mistakes repeated again and again. People who documented things became in annoyance. But at least those people and the robots built to help run society kept the blissfully forgetful afloat. The death rate and injury rate rose alongside domestic abuse and many other terrible things. A loss of regret from lack of memories damaged human progression.

         But people simply went to the next day forgetting all those troubles with a smile on their faces, Wilson included.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Ghost Bank Heist

“I'm sweating to the oldies...”
Johann Sebastian Bach* #quote

Today I was fine with some pleasant snakes on a pleasant plane. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Ghost Bank Heist

          Three bank robbers floated in a strange expanse filled with portals, desks, computers, ghosts and a massive vault right in front of them. The vault appeared to be not made of concrete or brick or steel but of a golden mist.
          “Alright I got the dynamite,” The tallest robber said. The robbers didn't bother to wear masks because magical security would pick up their identities anyway. The plan was to flee a few worlds away where it wouldn't even matter.
         “You actually brought the dynamite with you? For the last time Ted, you cannot blow open a ghost vault,” The shortest robber replied.
One of the ghosts laughed.
          The shortest robber pointed his wand at the ghost. “You think something is funny ghost? Do you? Sure you're a hostage but we got plenty more of you specters we could blow sky high with our spells.”
          “Cool it Harold,” The last robber said. He wore a wizarding hat and robe. “Now time to open up that vault with a few spells. Should only take a few seconds then we can take the souls and get out of here.”
           “Souls?” Ted said while still holding the dynamite. “What do you mean souls? I thought we were here for loot and stuff to sell to demons. Like ghost gold or something.”
           Harold glared at Ted then looked at the robber in the wizarding hat. “Look Ted's an idiot for thinking there's such a thing as ghost gold. But I thought we were going for ghost artifacts. There are some in this vault. I read about it in the paper before we met. That's why I didn't ask. I thought it was given that's what we were getting to sell to the demons. What's this about souls Jacob?”
          “Ugh. There are souls that cannot form into beings like ghosts but cannot haunt objects or move on so they become their own special object. The only way to store them is inside a spell like this magic vault or within a human body. They are very valuable.”
          Harold then replied, “Well I'm not going to help you sell souls to some demons. Random artifacts sure. Not souls. That's just messed up.”
Ted added, “Yeah, me too!”
          Jacob pulled out his wand. “Oh no, I need you to carry them. As I said they can only be stored in spells or human bodies. And that's what you're here for. If I put them in me it'll interfere with my magic. And unlike you who was just bluffing and showing off when you were threatening to attack the hostages I'm willing to go after anyone in this room, ghost or human.”
          Harold shot a quick a stun spell at Jacob. The attempt did not get Jacob off guard as planned and he simply raised a barrier to stop the spell.
          “I can protect myself from any of your magic spells. And naturally I used the excuse of a ghost bank to make sure you didn't carry firearms. You're going to help me rob this ghost dimension bank whether you want me to or not.”
          Then the ghost police contacted the bank from the outside. “Release the hostages!”
           Ted suddenly had one of the few good ideas in his life. He threw the dynamite lit. “I'm pleaing guilty and I will testify against the ringleader for reduced sentencing!”
           “What are you doing?” Jacob yelled. “I can't cast the spell to leave worlds in time for this. I can't cast anything! You set me up!”
           Harold then said, “I plea guilty too! Jacob set us up! Ted and I are leaving the bank and turning ourselves in!”

           All three of them floated out of the bank, swimming through the ghost realm like an ocean. They escaped the explosive charge in time. All got prison time but charges were different. Conspiring to sell souls to demons is much worse than attempting to rob a bank. But all did their time. Just some more than others.  

Friday, June 5, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Emotionblindness

“You're the sunshine of my life.”
Dracula* #quote

Tomorrow I'm heading to my card game thing, while today I ate my Mom's homemade spaghetti. It was spaghettilicious. Anyway onto the flash fiction!


         Colorblindness in people means usually that someone perceives colors differently, by a decreased ability or completely inability to see a color, or more. Colors aren't quite right or gone. A very unfortunate thing, but nothing that changes a person in the mind.
        Ted Williamton didn't have colorblindness, he possessed Emotionblindness for one emotion. He had the emotions of a normal person except for one: boredom. He could never feel it. People could describe the feeling of waiting for release when the clock ticked and tocked until work or school ended, and he never understood it. Ted only felt either average or excited. His mind never slowed down.
        Without boredom he never appreciated the commotion of life.  

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Trick Played On The Illusion

“That's a tall order.”
Tom Thumb* #quote

Today the world crumbled like a cookie and it was a raisin cookie too. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Trick Played On The Illusion

       A ghost worked with a magician to perform all kinds of acts on their stage. The ghost changed form without the audience knowing to make illusions beyond the audience's expectations or any realm of normal feasibility. The magician did no tricks on the stage.

        Except for the trick he played on the ghost. For as long as the magician lived, the ghost thought the world knew them as a team act. But the magician did have plenty of time to explain himself when he died and they haunted the same stages they performed at together.  

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Today's #flashfiction What Marks The Spot?

“Don't let The Man get you down.”
Big Brother* #quote

Today Jessica's coming over, what a bundle of bundles of fun! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

What Marks The Spot?

          The hammer fell at the end of an auction where honest sailors and pirates filled the stands. Scurvybeard's treasure map had been sold to a ruthless pirate named Stinkybeard. Stinkybeard aimed to be as ruthless as Scurvybeard, but couldn't quite live up to his reputation. When scurvybeard died at sea by drowning and left his estate to his sea-fearing son-in-law, the son-in-law decided to auction off the sealed treasure map to Scurvybeard's treasure.
          Stinkybeard headed to his ship while being completely surrounded by his crew for protection. Everyone wanted Scurvybeard's map for the vast wealth it hid. Eager to know the location he dashed to his cabin. In only a short moment he let out a scream. His first mate ran in.
          “What's wrong captain?”
           Stinkybeard turned around, “The entire map is written is X's!”

           Scurvybeard's treasure remained unfound as the captain never noticed the little o on the map made of Xs where the treasure lies.

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Supreme Ruler

“Can you hear me now?”
E.T. * #quote

Today the world spun. And I think it'll keep doing it. I wonder if it gets dizzy. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Supreme Ruler

        I am the supreme ruler of my domain. All cower before me. The pencils, the papers, the markers, the wood, every supply and tool requires me to complete their job with precision. I keep everything straight and perfectly measured with my form and marks. No one dares question me.
       The human has returned. He's holding something. What dare he bring into my domain? No, no it cannot be! A yardstick, tape measure and a laser level! The human questions me...the human...wants to replace me?

       Please don't replace me...

Monday, June 1, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Timmy And The Vegetable Factory

“Wax on, wax off.”
Mr. Clean* #quote

Today I meditated and found my inner self. There were a lot of organs. Ew. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Timmy And The Vegetable Factory

      Villy Vonka sent out twenty silver tickets hidden inside his vegetable health bars to be found by twenty lucky children so they may tour his vegetable factory. A few months passed and no one called his factory saying they found they silver tickets. Villy Vonka sent out one hundred more silver tickets. No one called. Villy Vonka then sent out one thousand. Then two thousand more. Then five thousand.

       Nobody wanted to see the vegetable factory. Villy wondered if he should have gone into the candy business.