Today's #flashfiction Truly Haunting

 “The results from the focus group say I need to change my image.”

Cthulhu* #quote

        Tomorrow I'm headed to my card game thing and I think it's going to be some cardboard based fun. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Truly Haunting

        The chills when you walk through an old house don't belong to ghosts, neither do those feelings that make your hairs stand on end. Not even every sound that makes your adrenaline rush. Ghosts have a different passion than old homes. Listen to music. The chills from those notes, the feelings that make your hairs stand on end and everything that makes your adrenaline rush in a song. That's where ghosts are. The dead don't haunt the voids in the world, but rather the music that fills it to saturate their weary souls and bond with the living.

        So sing, go to a concert, or play a song. Give a ghost a home and some company.

Today's #flashfiction Shiro's Intution

 “Refinance your home today!”

The Big Bad Wolf* #quote

If there was air, and sufficient safety equipment, would it be fun spin around in a giant laundry machine roller coaster style? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Shiro's Intuition

          Bring Your Child To Work Day usually held a certain routine at the massive Fruitsoft computer company. The public relations heads chose who would use the opportunity to give speeches to the employees and their children. Every one of these days a few select parents and their children would get to see a few of the new Fruitsoft technology. The corporation gave out bonuses that day to everyone no matter their performance during the year. The event created a wonderful image for them.

         Shiro's father Kaede brought him to Bring Your Child To Work Day like he did any other and they looked at all the displays while they saw the C.E.O. working his way through all the members in the corporation saying one or two things to them before moving onto the next. He spoke to everyone in every position, from board members to janitors and everything between.

         “Mr. Mori! Good to see you! Your kid looks like he's grown.” The C.E.O. said with his earnest sounding voice as he went from employee to employee. The boss of the company, Kyle Ruby, was famous for was his kindness and near flawless memory. People smart enough caught on that his kindness often stemmed from the fact that he could merely memorize the details he needed and a long list of unique compliments and unique remarks to make it seem he cared about his employees. When he traveled from person to person he remembered them, the thing he prepared to say the night before then moved on. Kaede Mori was not one of those people smart enough to catch on to it.

         “Why do you hate us?” Shiro Mori asked. Mori's boy however did have enough intuition to read the man's intention after hearing the man speak to them after a few Bring Your Child To Work Days. Ruby turned to the boy when he normally would pretend to that he didn't hear people that addressed him out of order. The people who ever caught onto him knew him very well.

Kyle then smiled exactly like a best friend. “What do you mean? I don't hate you.”

          Kaede then put his hand on his son's shoulder so quickly it almost knocked off the little baseball hat he wore. “Now don't be rude Shiro. Mr. Ruby is a very nice man.” The son knew that when his father put his hand on his shoulder that he meant it but Shiro knew that something was up. That's why he chose to speak out this year. The businessman felt different somehow.

         Shiro then told Ruby, “You're like a picture when you look at us. The only person you look at differently is Miss Keys.”

             Ruby grew angry, an honest emotion emerged from all the ones he memorized. He then glared at Shiro and said, “You want to get your dad fired?”

           An angry tone from the C.E.O. drew attention from the entire room. Miss Keys, a coworker of Kaede and a single mother, needed a job with her current income to support her kids. Kyle Ruby found an opportunity in this to use her for his...extramarital entertainment. Out of fear of losing her job she never had the courage to mention it, however Shiro brought the entire issue to the attention of everyone.

            Shiro then said, “You only like Miss Keys. But she doesn't like you at all. I think you should stay away from Miss Keys.” Cellphones already popped out of half the kids hands in the room and started recording, since several of them on the older side already knew what was going to happen.

Ruby, oblivious to the cellphones on all the kids, and assuming himself invincible in his position replied. “I can do whatever I want to whichever women I want. If Miss Keys doesn't listen to me I'll fire her. And for you trying to be such a smart-ass I'll fire your father too.”

              The cellphones of the children caught it on camera, several teenagers with more expensive cellphones managed to get it in high definition. Next the Internet got a new viral video with Kyle Ruby's confession of his crimes and a prison got a new tenant.

Today's #flashfiction Ownership

 “That's my story and I'm sticking to it.”

Aesop* #quote

Today I created a creation that created a creation for creating creations. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Ownership

          “We really should resolve our differences before he gets to the pharmacy,” a deep, gentle fatherly voice suggested from inside my head.

           Another voice in my head, one that sounded like that of an agitated office worker, then replied, “Benjamin you just want us to rush to a decision to put yourself in power.”

           Benjamin laughed, the sound echoing through my head. “My dear Ollie. You afraid of little old me?”

          A raspy voice that sounded so weak it could neither belonging to someone young or old said, “Isn't it right to fear everyone?”

          Hundreds of voices of usually then spoke up yelling various things at each other while I entered my car. It'd been a few years since this last happened. Since the voices came and tried to take over. Ollie and Benjamin usually tried to wrestle power and become me. At least that's what the delusions were. The medications made it so I managed to keep myself. The pharmacy filled my prescription late. The drugs just came out of my system a few hours ago. I needed my medicine before the voices took over. I hoped that maybe I made some recovery of my own since the third voice that fought against Benjamin and Ollie for power didn't appear, but then I heard him.

         “Heya folks!” Parker, the third leading voice sounded like a deep, static-y recording of two children, a boy and a girl, talking at once. “The Ben-ster is right, if we don't work together at least for a bit then the host is going to keep his free will. I for one would love to have to a body again. Remember the last time we took over Jared? We got brown hair we could comb and cut and got to enjoy eating all that delicious food. Then all that money we got to spend...it'll be a party! Party!”

          The mass of voices that followed the three leaders responded with a booming yell, “Yeah! Let's party with Parker!”

          Benjamin then countered, “Don't try to make taking back Jared for our own some party. It is a serious affair!” I tried to ignore the voices, putting the keys in my car and starting my drive to the pharmacy. I needed the pills. Now. If the voices took over they would keep me from taking them. But if I got them in my system I would be safe again.

          The static in Parker's voice cleared and the two voices became distorted in a different way. Like they yelled through a blizzard, but so loud that it could be made out. “Why be so mellow about it? We need to pull ourselves together to take back this body from him. So everybody unite with me in one awesome Parker Party! Say it with me! Parker Party!”

           While I worked my way through traffic all the voices besides Ollie and Benjamin chanted “Parker Party!” I wanted to speed. But getting pulled over by a police officer or worse getting in an accident would certainly doom me. I doubt I'd be able to carry any sort of conversation with whoever             I interacted with in a stressful situation. Benjamin and Ollie tried to argue against Parker but they were drowned out.

            Eventually while I pulled into the pharmacy drive-thru I heard Ollie chanting “Parker Party” while Benjamin became silent.

           “I am Jared,” I said to myself again and again. I can't give in. The person in front of me is about to move. I speak to the clerk and get my medication.

           “Parker Party,” I say to him with a smile while I grab the bag.

             “What was that?” He asked.

              “Nothing!” I replied. I drove to the middle of the near-empty parking lot. My vision grew blurry. I tried to say “I am Jared” but all that came out was “Parker Party”. I tore open the package and started to open some bottled water I brought with me to swallow the medication.

               Then Benjamin's voice yelled, louder than anything he'd ever yelled before, “I am Jared!”

               My vision became a more clear, just enough for me to take the medication. I think I passed out in the car. When I awoke stars hung over the parking lot and fotunately an officer didn't see me and mistake me for a drunk driver. I hurried home and ate. I didn't quite understand Benjamin's motives for saving me. In moments they would have taken over my body. He didn't do it for me, every time I heard the voices that one hated me. Eventually I put the thoughts of the matter away. Whatever they thought didn't matter as long as I had my medicine.

Today's #flashfiction Duty

 “It's what on the inside that counts.”

Chuck E. Cheese* #quote

I wonder if there are any coupons for when you strike a deal with the devil. Like half off so you only need to sell half your soul. It'd probably not be worth it since he'd most likely take all the good parts of your soul. Like the parts that let you enjoy reading stories. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Duty

         World War V shook the Earth and left society in shambles. After a few generations all memories of the old world passed. Most places were scorched to the point that the Internet fell to pieces and new large cities were created either atop rubble or in new locations. It took years to recover because knowledge had to be amassed together since no one person knew how everything in the world worked. Nations centered their new capitals around the last standing libraries so they could use the knowledge inside to rebuild industry.

         One library stood miles away from another relic of another old world artifact. A nuclear power plant. The reactor provides power to no one. The world war destroyed the city around it, but the workers prevented the initial meltdown, and for generations, found ways to prolong the happening of a meltdown. The lowered the settings and turned the power of the reactor to work on powering its own coolants. Half the water from the old water system go to cooling reactor. Despite all this they built a new city around the library for the knowledge, looking at the workers at the nuclear power plant carrying out a duty that their family lines had been doing for generations all between farming crops.

         War came to the city, another nation without a library thirsting for theirs. The battle involving clashing spears and the occasional gunshot. A nation of fools invading, wasting their guns attacking common soldiers instead of going for a commander. Bullets that fit guns of the old era and working old guns were rare since most of them had been used up in the first generation after World War V.

The battle was won, by the defending force but a few of the invaders fled to the nuclear power plant. Several of them ignorant of what the structure even was. Only the a man named, Isaac, the only literate man in the entire invading force of two thousand who escaped since he was in the very back knew the nature of the structure.

         “We have two options men,” he told them, assuming role of commander since the real one had been gutted in battle. “We can either flee home and report a lost battle or destroy their entire city and us with it.”

         The soldiers, deserters already, pondered the proposition, not understanding exactly what Isaac meant. They assumed the literate Isaac knew what he was talking about. If they went home they could be executed for fleeing. Though Isaac could be spared since he could read.

         “If you're willing to do it, I am.” One solider said, the others agreed soon after jumping on the bandwagon. Isaac didn't know everything about a reactor, he just knew that if they did something, somewhere it would meltdown and destroy the city.

         They wandered through the facility, lost while holding their weapons high. Eventually they ran into one of the keepers of the nuclear reactor who wore an old ragged shirt that said, “SECURITY”.

Isaac then told him, “Out of the way. This reactor is ours now.”

          The keeper then pulled out an old gun that had been kept exceptionally clean and well taken care of. Originally just a security guard gun meant to scare away intruders the keepers eventually found bullets for their weapons and loaded them all up.

           The security guard, recognizing the colors of the invading nation in their clothes and looking at the spears in their hand made his decision on how to handle the problem. “Didn't you read the sign? It said trespassers will be shot.” The keeper of the reactor took his gun and shot every one of the men, protecting the site.

          When the keeper of the reactor was young his grandfather told him how his grandfather told him stories of the wondrous things that the power of the reactor did for society. What electricity could do. That protecting the reactor and the library in the rubble of the city nearby could lead to all that being rediscovered. He didn't understand it fully, but the keeper did his duty and in the end that's what mattered to him.

Today's #flashfiction Magic Blueprinting

 “Don't put all your eggs in one basket.”

The Easter Bunny* #quote

Sometimes you find yourself between a rock and a classified place. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Magic Blueprinting

         “Should they be allowed to raise the dead?” the deity Balli sat on her chair while tapping a pen on her desk, one of the many pages of a blueprint of a new reality in front of her. “Oh, this is a tough one.” She ran the pen through her white hair then pushed it against the teal skin of her cheek. My first reality and I'm just lost at half the rules of magic. At least I'm allowed to copy the physics and languages and cultures.” The deity then remembered her sister changed the names of a bunch of things because she wanted to sound like she did a bunch of work. What did she change Olinese into again? English? The deities thought the sister was very lazy in her reality for one of her life bearing planets, Earth, that she merely “changed” magic by making it nearly impossible to use. Probably just so she didn't have to worry about them calling her. Apparently she was also sloppy in how she made it. Rumor has it that another deity came in and fixed up the place in six days.

       Balli didn't want to do a terrible job like her sister. She would make a good time line for it, at least a vague one, she didn't have the skill to plan out a full time line like other gods. Yeah, great fate for a good reality. She'd have humanity appear, like it did in many. She'd have other planets with other life. That'd be nice. Raising the dead though with the magic. That'd cause problems. Then she had a devious idea.

          She drew a little spaceship and a wizard on top of it. “Let's make magic and technology work together.” A doodle didn't serve as the best way to make a blueprint. But she wouldn't easily forget the idea she came up with. She smiled and drew an arrow to a little door she drew. “And let my universe's inhabitant's go to other universe's.”

          Balli knew that she couldn't plan time lines of universes well, but she hoped that the first universe that her inhabitants visited would be her sister's. It'd make fun dinner conversation if her wizards invaded that magicless “Earth” her sister created.

Today's #flashfiction The Little Puppy

 “A penny for your thoughts?”

Abraham Lincoln* #quote

Today Jessica's coming over so I'll be hanging with CJ and Jessica and that'll be a mountains of funness. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Little Puppy

          The puppy was a tiny, itsy, bitsy thing. The runt of the litter in a bundle of chihuahuas. Her fur's colors showed to be quite the concoction of colors. Like an abstract artist got to paint it. Blotches of black, brown and gray chaotically weaved through the body on a majority of white, like a canvas.

          Unknown to her little puppy brain, today was an important day. Today she was being adopted. She would be moving from her first family of the pet store, to her new family. She would be learning the concept of love with whoever would be picking her up. Or the concept of abuse.

          But the hands that picked her up out of her cage for adoption, a young, yet responsible girl and her family, were gentle hands. Would the next puppy be picked up by a different pair of hands? Angry, violent hands? The people determined each puppy's fate.

           However Belle, as they named little girl named her, would live a long happy life.

Today's #flashfiction Angela's Patience

 “I'm not fat, I'm just big boned.”

Godzilla* #quote

There are so many conspiracy theories in the world they may be obscuring the conspiracy truth. Though aren't conspiracies made of piles of lies? Perhaps the happy middle ground is ignorance. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Angela's Patience

         Little Angela stood on a chair by the stove next to the pot she put on the stove. She filled it with water and put the stove on high. She didn't avert her eyes from it. She couldn't. The girl pulled her brown hair to distract herself from the soreness in her reddening in her normally pretty blue eyes. She had kept them open because she wasn't sure if blinking counted. When she heard what she thought was the cat knocking around something in the distance, she could have checked what it was. But no matter what sound it was she didn't move her eyes away from the pot. No matter what excuse presented itself she kept her eyes unblinking and they grew more and more sore.

         Eventually enough time passed that bubbles formed in the pot, from one or two a minute apart to one every second and eventually the pot came to a full boil. When the pot began to boil Angela smiled, turned off the heat of the stove and blinked her eyes over and over.

        She finally proved her parents wrong on something. A watched pot does boil.

Today's #flashfiction The Conquered

 “No one is better than anyone else.”

Superman* #quote

CJ's coming over tomorrow so that'll be fun. Hopefully there won't be another ninja incident. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Conquered

         Cliff the servant boy stood in the hall while he looked outside to see the stables, warehouses and barracks burning. He tugged nervously at the fancy suit he wore while soldiers fought in the courtyard and blood spilled. He didn't own the suit, or own anything really. Cliff lived only barely a step above a slave. Maybe. The distinction was blurry considering the royalty never called him by name and he used what little money he got to buy the same amount of food a slave would get.

That day the invading army of Helrun broke through the city walls and poured through the streets, heading to the castle. Helrun's army was five times the size of the his nation's of Galli, and only a seige allowed them to last a week.

         Cliff felt his full head of black hair. When his best friend and elder Raymond was sentenced to be executed he said to Cliff, “Watch how you act and maybe you'll live long enough to have all your hair fall out before you annoy a royal enough to be executed.”

When the Helrun army entered the castle the rattling of the armored feet echoed through every wall. Eventually a squad of soldiers ran across Cliff. Several of their swords dripped with blood while some didn't hadn't touched flesh yet, but could at any moment.

       “I'm only going to ask this once, surrender.” The soldier at the front of the squad said in a plain voice, like a bored actor reciting a line in rehearsal. The royalty of Cliff's nation kept the people uninformed of the circumstances of the war. Though the Helrun invaded, they started the war, hoping to pillage some small villages on the outside of the large Helrun kingdom with little resistance. But Helrun, a democratic state, values its individual citizens more than Galli and went to war over the incident. The Galli covered this truth up. Helrun has a policy of assimilation with everyone they fight, giving an option for surrender for every individual. The reason only the castle barracks, instead of the whole city burned.

        Cliff considered the offer without the truth. With a lie that the Helrun invaded on their own. He didn't have much time to consider the offer, as the soldiers desired to find the royalty of Galli before they escaped. Cliff remembered his life as a servant to the Galli, and his friend Raymond's execution, caused by the moderate annoyance of a royal.

        “I surrender,” he replied to the squad leader. “The royals have a hidden passageway to exit the castle. You go left, right, right, left from here to get to it.” Cliff had seen the King use it for his many affairs.

         In the following months Galli fell. With no heirs it became part of the Helrun nation and Cliff became the apprentice of a smith and eventually gained his own wealth, independence and family.

Today's #flashfiction The Happy Family

 “I'm telling Mom!”

Luke Skywalker* #quote

I don't understand why anyone would sucker punch someone. Sucker kicking is much more effective. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Happy Family

          A family of vultures perched on the branch of an old tree in the plains. Clawdia looked at her Mama, Papa and brother Beakly and said, “I'm hungry and hot. It isn't fair!”

Beakly then told her, “Quit your wining!”

         Papa lectured Beakly with his usual stern voice. “Now don't you yell at your sister. You know it's hot. And the hot times are the good times. Spread your wings and disperse the heat. The heat is a gift from the Almighty Bird.”

         Mama then motioned with her wing into the distance. “Look, the heat has given us new food. We've been blessed.” A weak deer stumbled towards the tree. It'd become delirious quite awhile ago and would soon pass out and die. The family would eat well tonight. The children flapped their wings excitedly waiting for the deer to drop.

Today's #flashfiction A Different Approach

 “I'll give him an offer he can't refuse.”

Bob Barker* #quote

         You ever have that feeling when you start using a skill that you haven't used in a while and those old gears in your brain start turning and breaking away all that mental rust? I took many programming classes in high school and I'm now making a video game. It won't be a massive triple AAA title(that's what people call something like Halo with all the fancy graphics that take buckets of money to make) it'll be a much smaller-in-undertaking 2-D game. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Different Approach

         Hansel and Gretel found a house of gingerbread deep, deep in the woods. A nasty, twisted, cannibalistic witch with a vile plan to fatten and eat the children said to them from the house.

         “Come in dears, I've got wonderful things for you!”

         “Just a second!” They responded.

         The witch knew that every time she tried to force children in they grew suspicious and ran, so she stayed in her house with the door open and called again, “Children, children! Come now, there's such wonderful food in here!” The blindness from her old age didn't allow her to see what the children were doing.

         “Just a second!”

         She called again.

         “We'll be there!”

          She called them again and again and the children didn't come. She wanted her meal but the children just wouldn't come in. She then heard a strange noise. A cracking. The witch walked towards the sound to find it came from the gingerbread walls. The cracking went through one then the others.

          Her old twisted brain only managed to put it all together to late, since she'd been thinking about luring the children in too much. The children didn't come in because they simply ate at the walls of her house. And now the foundation grew weak and the whole place came tumbling down on the witch.

        Hansel and Gretel knew about stranger danger and figured they didn't need to go inside to get the food they needed when lost in the woods. Though they may not have understood house construction, one less cannibalistic witch in the world wouldn't hurt.

Today's #flashfiction Number 210,101

 “We have ways of making you talk.”

Jim Henson* #quote

CJ's probably going to come over for the weekend so that'll most likely be funtastic. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Number 210,101

         Rain flooded the anthill where little Number 210,101(as the queen named her) the worker ant lived. The nest survived the flood but the waters dragged Number 210,101 away, far, far away. So far a miracle or two must have let her survive. When the flood water receded she found herself on a blade of grass in a vast field. Not a thing in her little ant sight. The flood water flushed out any scents. It also washed away all the previous sensory commands. Any smells she received from other ants, gone. All the tiniest bits of dirt from her nest washed away. Number 210,101 only had herself and the blade of grass.

         For the first time she didn't have anything to-do. Work-sleep. The life of an ant. The water dazed her. Could she recognize the queen? Surely she could. No, when she half-drowned some of the few brain cells in her body were damaged and the things she would need to identify the queen were gone.

        She was an ant with only herself. Number 210,101 then thought of a human word it overheard while stealing from a picnic. Something the ant-language didn't really have. “I”. Ants always called each other by “that ant” or “this ant” or by their name. She came up with an ant way to express “I” in the ant language.

        Then Number 210,101 said to herself all alone on that blade of grass with no one to tell her what to do, “I want to go that way.”

Today's #flashfiction The Ghost And The Fairy

 “It's time for your shot.”

Billy the Kid* #quote

They say that with morals it isn't just black and white, that there are sometimes grays. Well what happens when someone says yellow? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Ghost And The Fairy

          A ghost and a fairy lived in the same old house. The Adam haunted the house practicing creaking and booing in case anyone ever came up that lonely hill, while the Sarah sprinkled her magic dust to help the house's beautiful garden grow to be a wondrous sight for visitors. Years passed day in and day out the ghost and the fairy looked at each other through the window while they did their work, waiting for whatever human they could offer their spectacle. It's the role of mythical creatures to provide stimuli to the human soul, like through things like gardens or frights.

         An oilman came to the hill. The land's last owner died, an old rich man in a long lineage with land investments everywhere they never bothered visiting. With no inheritors the land became easier to get and Bob's workers told him oil could be found here. He always wanted to look at the land before a purchase. No forest, just a little old house. Practically perfect. The only environment he'd have to worry about was the this empty field. He didn't make as much money as other oil tycoons because of his insistence on drilling on empty land instead of just bribing who he needed to until he got permission to dig wherever.

          Bob walked up the hill and found the garden quite beautiful, he admired the Sarah's work for hours. After being enchanted he entered the house. Adam materialized and scared Bob, changing his beliefs quite a bit on how the world worked. However in the end he still had a job to do and had to pay his workers enough from going into debt.

          So in the end Bob erected a massive oil field around the house, leaving the old building and garden intact. Many rumors spread about why the massive fence surrounded such an innocent looking house on a hill. Nonetheless the fairy and the ghost continued their work. Sometimes employees sneaked over the fence out of curiosity. And over enough time Bob's oil farm left and new visitors came every decade or so.

Today's #flashfiction Universal Translator

 “Women are delicate creatures.”

King Kong* #quote

Today I went to a family gathering. Fun was all abound! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Universal Translator

         “Fahron vessel approaching captain.” The navigator of the ship told his captain in a plain tone while sweat showed through his red shirt. Meeting a Fahron ship either meant aid or violence, all depending upon what faction of their people you happened across in space and how you reacted. “They are sending a transmission Sir.”

          Captain Starswing knew of the possible peril. He leaned forward while rubbing his hand on his chiseled jaw. He thought deeply while the brown hair of his eyebrows furled. “Does anyone speak Fahronese?”

          None of the crew responded.

         “Navigator! Put the transmission through the universal translator!” The captain ordered with a charismatic supportive boom in his voice. He didn't yell at his crew like some angry middle management boss, but rather like a rallying commander meaning to raise moral.

         The navigator pushed buttons and then told the commander in a confused voice, “The message says 'We want people who love boat.'”

         Captain Starswing looked at the navigator, unable to process the phrase. “We want people to who love boat? What does that even mean?” He then clenched the arms of his chair. “Universal translator my ass. This is what you get when you trust a machine to translate.”

          The navigator then asked the captain, “What should I send in response Sir? If we remain silent then the Fahron will think we're an abandoned vessel and attempt to salvage us. Our shields couldn't handle any of their breaching any equipment. You know we're a shipping vessel.”

         The Captain thought to himself. The Fahron's must have a universal translator themselves. Nearly every ship in the Galaxy Union does. That's why he assumed it would be useful. He needed something even a machine couldn't misunderstand that could possibly get them out of this situation.

         “Respond with 'yes'.”

         The navigator turned away from his console to his captain and then said, “Just send yes? I don't even think they were really asking a question.”

          Captain Starswing then explained, “I've dealt with a lot of people while being captain. Politicians, military, tradesmen. And one thing I've learned is that the best way to get along with someone is just smiling and nodding. So that's what we're going to do. Just say yes and that'll probably be what they want to hear.”

         And so Captain Starswing and his crew did survive, because we want people who love boat meant “We want people who can repair our ship.” Among the grammatical differences and other strangeness in Fahronese loving also shared a meaning with mending, which was what the Fahrons called repairing, mending. In the end Starswing helped the Fahronese with their ship's internal coffee machine instead of looking like an enemy vessel and being shot up in an act of war.

Today's #flashfiction Simon Writes

 “You are what you eat.”

Ronald McDonald* #quote

When I look into a mirror I always meet someone really relatable. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Simon Writes

          King Simon of Simonland “served” the people with an egotistical yet distant iron fist. Few people saw his face except his court. He didn't approach the crowds in dramatic speeches. Paintings of the king were distributed throughout the land. This was because Simon didn't like speaking. He often mumbled and preferred to write out his orders. He wrote quickly and read quickly and every citizen possessed the right to write a letter to King Simon.

        Everyone knew the King's handwriting. He did not have anyone write orders on his behalf. No secretary signatures. Even for the small tax collection orders in the smallest of villages he wrote the order. Anything that represented him he wrote. Forging his signature meant instant execution.

        He read reports on what went on in his kingdom day in and day out. He enjoyed issuing orders big and small. His iron fist meant total control. He oppressed or let people live happily as if he wrote stories with his letters. People needed authorization from him for their marriages, and he denied them sometimes if he didn't like the pairing. He imagined the distant people all over his land. “Ah, the couple in that little mountain village in the South. That stable boy misses his taxes so much he's certainly no match for that wonderful girl who works so hard on those dresses”. Because he signed off on every permit and document he knew about the girl's dresses. Her father got permits to be a merchant, the daughter a young worker's and travelers permit to buy supplies. Simon made permits for everything. He wanted to control and learn more about his kingdom.

          On a beautifully sunny afternoon Simon received a letter from someone who called themselves simply “The New Order”.

         Simon raised his eyebrow, “What a strange letter.” The man hardly spoke and unraveled the letter.

            The letter's text was short and followed the usual format of any letter the king received. Despite being king of the land every letter started Dear Simon since that's how the letter's reached the king when his father locked him in the tower during his childhood.

            Dear Simon,

            We, The New Order are a movement against your tyrannical reign. Throughout our lives as subjects we've experienced your letters as dreaded news of whatever fate your whim has decided for us. That is why we find it fitting to give our news in the form of a letter. You are being overthrown. We are storming the castle today, more than half the army is on our side, you will die by nightfall no matter how far you run.

          King Simon didn't run. He simply did all knew how to do, he began writing his response.

Today's #flashfiction Ignorance Of The Tali

 “Get the wax out of your ears.”

The Karate Kid* #quote

Tomorrow I'm going to go to my trading card game thing so that'll be a set of cardboard fun. I'm building a “cube” to do for it. Those into trading cards may know what that is...otherwise that would require a barrel full of explanation so I'll just roll onto the flash fiction!

Ignorance Of The Tali

          The Tali family in possessed a unique trait. Magic flowed from their spirit. Powerful, harvestable magic. The entire Kingdom of Ulon befitted immensely from this flow. Make the hearts of the Tali pure and happy to create magic for all the wizards to use all the time. If their mind wavered then the entire kingdom could be affected. Spells could go awry.

           So the royal family and the entire court raised the lineage of the Tali family with care. They studied them, learned that a degree of “pureness” to the line affected the magical output. Too much inbreeding at it could affect things negatively, too diluted and it reduced the magic or caused negative effects. The negative effects of a Tali could be so powerful and dangerous that they quietly executed the Talis that didn't turn out as planned. But the Talis that worked provided immense power.

         From birth the Tali's were taught to behave well with minimal punishment and positive reinforcement. Each negative punishment affected a Tali ego and could cause massive damage to the Ulon kingdom, which after using the Tali power grew into an empire. The most important thing about raising a Tali to behave well involved making them content and not a “spoiled brat”. An upset in their ego like that could be disastrous. Ulon often took the babies into the mountains to minimize damage.

        The biggest part of raising a Tali involved hammering in complete ignorance. The Tali knew very little sadness, and the nobles that raised the Tali refused to even teach them a word for sadness. They could express it with “less happy”. Physical pain worried the nobles the most because of the terrible, horrible magical side effects it caused.

          Halun a Talin family adult of twenty five and his attendant Govun walked down a hall way in the Talin palace that housed several Talin families. The Talin's never knew about the terrible outside world, if they became depressed from it, disaster would surely strike.

           When Goven saw Halun trip on the rug, he became terrified. Behind a few strands of the Talin's long, black hair that fell over his face he saw pain in Halun's eyes. Goven knew he failed. Should have caught him. They'll have his head for this. Goven thought forty wasn't a long life. Watching a Talin was a high honor, but a dangerous one, if nobody knew of his mess up he'd be safe right?

          A massive thunderstorm formed outside while Halun held his knee in confusion. The nobles hired attendees like Goven to watch Halun all the time so the last time he felt pain was around twenty years ago. He'd completely forgotten the sensation. The thunderstorm intensified with each passing second as the damaged spirit of Halun leaked corrupted magic.

          “Goven! What is this strange feeling? It's like touching something rough...but it makes me less happy.” Without the words pain or sadness in his vocabulary, or any synonyms the confusion built as the inability to express such a thing.

           Goven replied, “I don't understand. You must be imagining something. How about you get up and let's keep going to lunch.” He felt like the best thing would be to sweep this under the rug. Hopefully Halun would think this was all a dream, dreaming being the only time their spirits didn't release magic. If the Talin forgot the incident the storm outside could vanish and Goven's saftey would be ensured.

          The pain began to fade naturally, but still lingered on a bit physically. It stayed in full within Halun's mind, it even increased from his inexperience with the sensation. “This, this is real.”

Goven then said, “We should play a game while we walk. How about Compliments?” Compliments was the most contrived game invented by the nobles for comforting the Talins and distracting them. The players just spend the game giving each other compliments.

            “You're, you're lying.” Halun told Goven. Nobles taught the Talin few negative concepts. They taught the Talin lying because they needed to teach the Talin not to lie. Halun stood up then purposely fell again. “This less happy. Why are you lying about it? Why?”

The storm outside grew more intense, with a vortex appearing inside of it. Dragons flew out.

            “We shouldn't have less happy right?” Goven finally caved to confronting the subject, “So we should stop thinking about it.”

          The unfortunate thing for Goven and perhaps the entire empire of Ulon lie in the fact that Halun possessed great enough intelligence to start shattered through the ignorance given to him from birth.

             He began to grow more angry, “You say you only lie by accident, but that was on purpose. What else are you lying about?”

            Goven knew that the protocol for a Talin discovering the possibilities of the sadness of the world involved executing them, but this would involve exposing that he did it. He didn't want to risk whether or not the nobles would take mercy on him for his behavior.

             Goven thought of himself and Halun hanging on some quiet hill wherever the nobles normally executed people out of the public eye. He'd grown attached to Halun over the past few years attending him, and he wondered if the last attendant to Halun died from making a mistake. He also felt attached to his own life.

          He then said to the Talin man, “If you want to know how many lies have been told to you then fine. But we'll have to leave right now. Before the nobles respond to the storm.” The Talin's had always been told that all side effects of their magic were shows put on by wizards. “Otherwise you stay here. You will be less happy if you come with me. But you will know more of the world.”

          Halun then said, “World, so that's the word for what happens when you keep walking.” They always told the Talun that there was nothing beyond the palace. Beyond the hedges were just the homes of the people watching the Talin and the wizards who supposedly made everything for them and the horizon was supposed to all be a spell cast by the wizards for the Talin to look at. But Halun doubted it. He wondered what truly lie beyond. They never taught them the word for world so they wouldn't think of going beyond. So he just thought of it as “when you keep walking”.

            “I want to go with you.” Halun told Goven. Finally he could walk. Where to he didn't know.

Today's #flashfiction The Narrator

 “Money is the root of all evil.”

Scrooge McDuck* #quote

Today I became a fan of fans. I hope they aren't full of hot air. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Narrator

          And they lived happily ever after. I said those words again. Another story ended. Not all of them end with that specific phrase, but it all means the same. Or a cliffhanger to the next adventure. But it all leads to victory. Victories I'll never have. As a Narrator I merely weave others lives into existence. Nothing is mine. It's torturous to merely describe the success and lives of others.

I've had it. This is the time it changes. I know exactly what to do.

         The Narrator rushed to the rescue of the damsel. The damsel thanked him. No the damsel kissed him while she admired his rugged body. The dragon died from a single karate chop from the powerful Narrator. And all the other characters in all the other stories that the Narrator described were so jealous. They appeared at the amazing wedding that the Narrator had. The wedding they had on a futuristic space ship. The Narrator also solved a murder mystery, showing that the murderer was that disgusting Jacob, the protagonist of that novel where everyone lived so much happier than the Narrator. A long, huge book part of a huge series of books that the Narrator brought to life. That he was forced to observe that horrible Jacob getting that happy ending.

          But now the Narrator lived the happy story. He solved a mystery. Jacob saw his happiness. He married a damsel. He became King since the damsel was a princess. He also became a superhero. And they had a bunch of lovely kids that went to college and went to become lawyers, which the Narrator also possessed a law degree. This allowed them to work together to win court cases. They won a case against Prosecutor Willows, the main character of that long running book series the Narrator was stuck with recently. The Narrator was better than them. Better than all those characters!

        And then another Narrator came in and told The Narrator to calm down and go back to work. Right Ben? You shouldn't be making stories for yourself.

Today's #flashfiction The Man From Harrington Street

 “You're bugging me.”

Ant-Man* #quote

Today Jessica came over and that was ten barrel's of fun. (Hopefully eleven next time!) Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Man From Harrington Street

       You know those movie plots where the main character gets amnesia and nobody can identify? them. Conveniently they can't find their fingerprints in the system. No DNA records either. No ID. Nobody can identify them. Even on the news! Well that happened to me. They nicknamed me Harrington based on the street they found me near.

       But there is one terrible difference for me. I didn't completely have amnesia. I was left with one memory. One terrible memory. It wasn't scary in of itself. It was a party. A wedding party. My wedding party. The bride was beautiful. I remember all the faces perfectly. With the help of the police we were able to sketch all the faces I remember. They couldn't identify any of those people either. They eventually said that being unable to identify me was understandable. But all those people at the party it must have been some dream I had when I had the trauma of whatever caused my amnesia. I did have a massive head injury. It may have been a massive accident.

       It just felt so real. So now I had a life I knew must have been real, lost forever. Everyone there looked so happy, including the bride. I had such a sense a loss. I didn't know who she was, but she must have been special right? I didn't know what I had lost. But it must have been special because I also saw how happy everyone else at the party looked.

        I worked for a long time to discard that life. I worked in a simple store while putting that memory away. In fact I even fell in love with a woman that looked nothing like the bride in the memory and married her in Hawaii. I held our wedding party on the beach instead of inside a house like it was in that memory that I was now convinced it was a delusion like the police said. It took many years but I decided that no matter how real it felt it must have been fake.

       We had children. One beautiful girl and one tough boy and we raised them happily. I worked my way up to being manager of the store. My wife wrote even with the wailing of children and watching them. Usually she would just type a paragraph between each time she changed a diaper. And when they got older since she had a laptop she would write while between each and every sentence she looked up to see exactly what the children were doing.

       Then one day something happen once again. On my daughters wedding I saw the memory unfold. All those years I was wrong. The memory from my amnesia was not my wedding party, it was hers. I had put away the memory for so long during my life with my wife I had not realized that all these people were my wife's family and their friends and my own friends.

        I then saw that next to my daughter this little blue light appeared. I ran to her. I knew something was up but I didn't know what yet. Then the light opened up into some big swirling portal-looking thing, like you see in all those science fiction movies. The thing moved straight at her but she could hardly move out of the way in time.

Except for the fact I pushed her out of the way.

         And the thing then touched me. And I was dragged into like a dog on a leash. In a quick moment I was at Harrington street where they found me. I saw the thing behind me vanishing. I wondered if it vanished at the wedding party. I started to realize what was going to happen as I started to forget things. I then noticed that all the wrinkles on my body had gone away. I plucked one of my hairs and noticed that it wasn't gray. I looked around. It was fall. It was fall when they found me and my daughter's wedding party was in spring.

       I laughed with some tears. “I was right when I was first found. I did lose a wonderful life.” As I spoke I could feel the memories I had gathered after my amnesia fading. “If this is a kind of death I can die knowing that I will soon live a happy life, give birth to a happy girl, and save her every single time.”

Today's #flashfiction Over-Learning AI

“Not tonight honey, I have a headache.”

Marie Antoinette* #quote

Tonight the stars fall asleep to a lullaby sung by the moon. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Over-Learning AI

       The year was 2050, and The President of the United States, along with other high ranking officials and generals look the leader of an artificial intelligence project.

      “So the generals tell me that you've managed to nearly replicate the human brain and create a learning intelligence? Is this true? Do we finally have the technology we need to make a trainable super machine soldier?” The President looked fancy in his suit just like the scientist in his. However the scientist's suit had sweat showing through it. The middle aged scientist normally spoke well in front of others and held great charisma. People smiled and said “Good morning Mr. Evermore”. But this charisma vanished when the scientist merely showed himself as a nervous mess with a comb over.

      “Yes Mr. President we did create a learning artificial intelligence.” Mr. Evermore answered the question while tapping the table anxiously.

One of the generals then said, “So we have a trainable artificial intelligence at last.”

Mr. Evermore then awkwardly added, “Actually, um, it might not be the best for that. But it is very good at learning.”

       The general then grew angry, but kept an air of professionalism. “What do you mean it's not the best for that?”

       The scientist then said, “Well, technically you asked us to make a learning artificial intelligence that understands things the way humans do. However you didn't really tell us it had to do anything with what it learned.”

        The President leaned a little over the table, remembering how much the program cost. “What exactly do you mean?”

         Mr. Evermore then imagined himself getting out of his chair and running out of the room before speaking again. “You see, um, it kinda, just asks questions all day. It does learn things like a human...but it can't act like a human. That didn't fit in the budget and you didn't tell us to do it in the contract so we left that feature out.” Fortunately for Mr. Evermore he didn't do anything illegal. Him and his team technically did what they were paid for. Unfortunately for the military they were now stuck with the three year old that keeps asking “why?”. Maybe if they spend more money they can get an upgrade to a machine that does something.

Today's #flashfiction Planetary Misalignment

 “I don't know who you are anymore.”

John Doe* #quote

What if rainbows were just a collection of wet bows. That'd be sad. Wet bows wouldn't look good on presents at all. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Planetary Misalignment

         Yesterday, when nobody really noticed, a mythical happenstance occurred. The planets were misaligned as they usually are, but that time in a particularly special way. Cosmic waves from the planets could gather and bind from this particular arrangement of the planets to form a paranormal phenomenon. But not extremely paranormal. Paranormal means not quite normal...but this phenomenon wasn't too strange, so it wasn't really too strange. If it were a soft drink brand it would be Paranormal Lite. The reason the activity falls under the less significant side of the paranormal directly corresponds to the fact that yesterdays planetary misalignment shares cosmic wave properties with several other planet misalignments.

         Run-of-the-mill paranormal.

         The happenstance of cosmic alignment, the result of the cosmic waves, made chairs squeak slightly louder, as perceived by humans. When I documented this among all my other paranormal findings I realized something. Not everything is a massive conspiracy to uncover. Not everything is a secret to find. Sometimes the strangest phenomenons in the world are the little things that don't matter at all.  

Today's #flashfiction The Spy Bomb Diffusing Class

 “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

Frogger* #quote

If we were graph out the week based on “Hump Day” then we would currently be in one of the “Valley Days” right? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Spy Bomb Diffusing Class

         Now listen up spies, people say it's always the red wire that you cut on a bomb to stop it. If spies followed this advice many of them would be dead. It's not always the red wire. Sometimes it's the blue wire. Sometimes there aren't any wires. So spies let's take a short bomb diffusing lesson from a sample scenario.

        So let's say you're hanging over a pit of robot sharks in acid. A standard trap in many a supervillain lair and something you will probably run into in your spy career. You're being lowered into the deathtrap slowly by rope while the villain taunts you. Meanwhile the villain has set off nuclear bomb to go critical after your death. He plans to escape after seeing your demise to the deathtrap personally. He is in front of the nuclear bomb which is a massive ball with all its wiring exposed for the convenience of this lesson. What do you do?

        The first part of the answer is to escape the death trap by dramatically swinging with the rope so that you're outside the tank as the traps lowers so that only will lower into the acid burning and therefore releasing you.

       However if you thought that the second part of the answer was to go after the exposed wiring you're wrong. You should actually go after the supervillain and beat up him up until he tells you how to turn it off, or otherwise just unplug it or something. Just turning it off is better than causing a meltdown by pulling out its wiring.

      So that's your first bomb lesson future spies. Remember it's not always the red wire! Except when it is.

Today's #flashfiction Heist's Nest

“Where's the snooze button?”

Rip Van Winkle* #quote

I have a free spirit, but first someone had to pay the bail. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Heist's Nest

         To a human a bird's nest normally didn't make much of a difference to them. Maybe as an eyesore or the home of whatever nuisance of a bird that bothered them. Sometimes a person might find a bird's nest pleasant to have around.

         However the nest of one raven, the one people came to calling “Heist”, valued over a million dollars. Or more, people really couldn't tell. Birds liked shiny things and Heist gained fame for going out of her way to grab shiny things. She's flown straight into jewelry shops, grabbed something straight from the owner's hands and left. It took people years to find the nest of Heist.

       “Good morning friend! Good morning!” The raven yelled to the crowd gathered around the tall tree that housed the nest. Raven's could mimic words like parrots, but were much famous for their phrase “Nevermore”. Such a pleasant greeting didn't fit normal image of the bird.

        The tree's branches surrounded a hole that the nest rested in. The various valuables Heist stole were woven into the branches. To take any one of them would collapse her nest and the eggs would come tumbling down with it. Normally people wouldn't have a problem with taking down a bird's nest for a few million dollars in jewels but the old man with a shot gun next to the tree convinced them otherwise.

        “You get off my property!” The old man yelled to the news crews, onlookers, and people looking to claim the valuables for themselves.

         The police chief came forward. Due to the amount of valuables at the scene him and several officers were brought to the scene to discourage fights from breaking out. They intended to take the nest into evidence and have the lawyers sort it out later instead of having people riot over the bundle of valuables in public. “Sir, I have a warrant here to get the nest of the bird known as 'Heist' and bring it back to the station. We're not here to look through any of your property. We just want the bird.”

The old man rusty copper colored skin wrinkled as he scowled at the police chief. “Her name isn't 'Heist'! It's Olive!”

         “Good morning friend! Good morning!” The raven cawed louder. It flew on the old man's shoulder and it took some food out from the pocket of his worn shirt before returning to the nest. He still held his shotgun, ready to fire.

        “You are not touching her nest. Her children are in there!” The old man became more angry with every passing second. The police chief realized he shouldn't have spoken up. He read up on the old man before coming to the property. John Gregson. Eighty years old, wife passed, children died in an accident a decade ago. The old man has no family.

          The captain figured he could never figure out when John connected to the bird, but it explains why he valued it so much he wouldn't even take the jewels from its nest.

         “Now get out of here!” John yelled. He motioned his gun across the crowd. One officer started to reach for his but the police chief signaled him with a slight movement of his hand to stand down. He'd rather not have someone die here if he could avoid it. Another problem however was that the crowd's greed for the nest prevented most of them from moving. Those that found danger in the gun already left when Gregson first grew angry, however even some newscasters stayed wanting to get footage of the first disaster, assuming that they wouldn't be the ones to be harmed.

         The captain then said, “Mr. Gregson. A lot of people want what's in Olive's nest. When you go to sleep, people are going to come and try to get it, and then she's going to get hurt anyway so maybe we need to find someway to get her eggs out?”

         “I'll sleep out here!” John yelled back.

          The captain tried to think of something else to say. He'd been in hostage negotiations, but this didn't fit anything he'd been in. A greedy crowd growing more eager, while an old man being impossible. He feared that someone would just try to run for the nest at any second. He did not need a dead body.

         The sound of a gunshot smashed through the air.

        “Who the hell fired!?” The captain yelled. Gregson didn't it would have been a lot more damage. A young officer did. But not at the old man. Heist, or Olive fell to the ground dead. When the old man saw the body he passed out. Officers rushed over and grabbed his gun. “You idiot!” The captain screamed at the young officer who fired the shot.

          “What!? It worked! And only the bird died!”

           When he noticed that the news cameras started to turn towards him the captain lowered his voice to a whisper. “Boy, you don't understand people. We'll be lucky if the old man lives through this trauma.”

Today's #flashfiction Twice Upon A Time

“What's with the cold shoulder?”

Jack Frost* #quote

         Tomorrow Cj is coming over and the day after Jessica so that should be funtastic. But the question is, what does tastictastic mean? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Twice Upon A Time

       Twice a upon a time a kingdom went to war. Each time the other kingdom they fought invaded to raid them for wealth. Each of these times the kingdom fought a the same enemy. Twice upon these times blood was shed.

       But once upon these times the kingdom won, while once upon these times the kingdom failed. The first war was waged by a father, the second by his son. The son learned from his father's mistakes, learned his foes weakness, and decided to make a treaty for peace instead of leaving the kingdoms in tension for his descendant to fight.

       So the kingdoms never waged war upon another time.

Today's #flashfiction Written Up

“Slow and steady wins the race.”

Speed Racer* #quote

         CJ's coming over this weekend so that should be wonderfully wondertastic. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Written Up

       “So what form do you think you'll take?” Null asked Void as they hung in their limbo, waiting white expanse that holds them until they completely take shape. They existed only as voices in this strange place. And these voices went to each other more in the form of thoughts, conveying emotion but not anything like sex or what the other was like.

       Void responded, “It's up to them isn't it? I think I'm going to be a man because I'm getting this desire to be strong.”

        Null then managed to eek out a sassy feminine tone, “Stereotyping huh? Sounds like whoever you'll be isn't open minded!”

        Void then remarked, “Looks like you're the sassy female lead. You'd better hope you get more personality than that.”

        “What do you know, you haven't formed enough to have a voice!” Null's words now didn't come across to Void as neutral sounding thoughts, but as a full formed woman's voice.

         “Certainly more than you!” Void's thoughts echoed with a slight masculine voice.

         “You're annoying.”

          Void gasped, a new ability afforded to him by his voice. “We're bickering,” as Void finished his sentence his voice finished developing. Both Null and Void's bodies began forming.

          Null understood what this meant. They'd both just been born, but as Fictionilites they understood their nature and what would unfold. “We're the romantic leads aren't we?”

          Their bodies finished forming and they both smiled at each other. “This is wonderful!” They both yelled and hugged. Romantic leads! One of the best fates for Fictionilites they would most likely live through a story penned with a happy ending. Let the writer to gave them form give them a setting a plot that makes them live happily ever after.  

Today's #flashfiction The Stubborn Snowman

“Don't drop the ball.”

Atlas* #quote

If up was down and left became right what would a cherry turnover look like? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Stubborn Snowman

          The children built Chillo the snowman like any other in the middle of the woods, but forgot him like any other when the game of building a snowman was done. The woods filled with snowmen by winters end. Heat came and the snow started melting. The usual cycle for water. Live the lives as clouds, rain, hail, snow, fog or even the little beads of sweat on a cup. All whatever nature demanded would be your reincarnation. That's how the spirits in water lived their experiences over time.

          The spirits traveling inside the water that made up Chillo formed an interesting bond. By chance a rebellious set of spirits became a singular snowman and began to mingle and talk. They wanted to break the rules and try something new.

          So against all logic when winter came to an end Chillo did not melt. The heat grew hotter and hotter and the snowman defied physics and refused to change shape. The spirits in the water decided they wanted to experience a summer in a tough, solid form. Not as clouds in the sky. One day during the hot summer they endured for their unique experience a near translucent, blue-suited man approached them.

          “Greetings Chillo my dear snowman, and all the spirits within,” Jack Frost said tipping an ethereal top hat to the snowman. He tapped a cane on the summer ground freezing it a little. “See how wrong this frost looks here? That's how you look, just wrong. You can't go against the rules like this. You're destroying the winters I so carefully create for everyone.”

           Chillo didn't give into his suggestions, and endured through the heat, even though the frost he created melted in the harsh heat with ease into a more comfortable form that they desired.

Jack Frost smiled and said, “What a hot day it is. I'd love to see a cloud in the sky. Gently drifting, giving me shade while it didn't have a care in the world.”

Chillo didn't give in.

           Jack Frost pointed at the Sun. “Blazingly hot isn't it? You sure are an awfully strong set of water spirits to keep that form. Why I couldn't imagine myself keeping a frosty form while that heat pounds on me day after day.”

            Chillo started to sweat just a little as the water spirits on the outside who took the brunt of the heat turned from snow to vapor.

            Jack Frost continued smiling. “It's relaxing isn't it? So what if you get to see a summer from the ground instead of the sky? The sky is better, more relaxing. Easier. Go along with your friends. You've seen enough.”

            More and more of Chillo melted away. The weaker water spirits fled to the outside of the snowman and the head collapsed. Jack Frost talked about the sky and floating and the heat around them. He never mentioned the beauty of the meadow around them. Chillo wanted to see the other three seasons up close as a snowman in this meadow.

            Eventually only half of the bottom of the snowman remained.

            Jack Frost looked at what remained at the snowman with an angry glare. “I've spent a lot of time on you spirits. I came each day to remind you of what is the right, proper way for water to live. Yet you remained here to mock me.”

            A cold wind blew through the air over Chillo, blowing some old yellow leaves with it. The snow that survived Jack Frost's words through the heat managed to take their form all the way through spring, summer, fall and into winter. They'd survived a year.

Today's #flashfiction Spare Stanley

“Don't push my buttons.”

Super Mario* #quote

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

Spare Stanley

           Mad scientist Kevin loved to build robots. He built ones large and small. He programmed with intelligence so that they could fulfill their tasks no matter how mundane or extreme. Kevin was not the mad scientist who tried to take over the world, but rather a smart rich guy with too much time on his hands and crazy in his head. He noticed however that while building his elaborate robots he tended to get spare parts left over. He built a robot he named Spare Stanley with these parts for fun and put it among his robots.

           Spare Stanley didn't have any intended function. He moved awkwardly along the ground with wheels of various mismatched sizes. He spoke not with high quality speakers, but rather left over speakers from a radio the doctor gutted for its other parts. Most of the doctor's machines possessed a firm, strong body in a perfect geometric shape like a square or octagon to contain their parts. Stanley's outer shell covered him like an awkward banged in helmet, with parts coming out where they needed to like the speaker. The two cameras he needed to see jutted out of the top at an angle like eyes and he needed to roll up to whatever he looked at to get a good view. The solar panels that fed him energy came out from the back of the helmet like hair.

          Stanley really didn't have much of a function since he only served to use up spare parts and give the mad scientist something to do for an afternoon. Kevin just let him roll around the lair and vaguely assigned him to surveillance without telling him where. The other robots shunned Stanley because of what he was. Eventually Stanley spent his time charging, watching TV and reading over the doctor's shoulder.

         Years past, and the doctor looked at Stanley who's wheels started to wear.

        “Even the spare parts are starting to wear,” the scientist said. The mad scientist went over to Stanley to pick him up and prepared to disassemble the robot. “I kinda liked you too. Sorry little guy. When I wipe your memory I'll give you a good next life.”

          Stanley replied, “One evening three officers were called to a crime scene where the body had mysterious marks all over it. On closer examination they saw they were deep cuts from a knife. Equations. What could they mean?”

           Kevin looked at Stanley and said puzzled, “Excuse me?”

           Stanley explained, “Doctor, this is the start to one of my stories. After watching television and reading over your shoulder for so long I've decided that my function should be a storyteller. That is if you'll permit me Sir.”

          Kevin smiled and put down Stanley. “Alright, I'll listen to your stories. What happens next?”

Today's #flashfiction Electro Mind

“Don't be a wise guy.”

Confucius* #quote

Today I cleaned my closet a little. Oh the horrors of a stuffed closet, egad! Naw, it wasn't that horrid. Found some stuff though! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Electro Mind

             “How would you describe yourself to us?” One of my creators, Doctor Hanson asked with a smile. I assumed he expected to win a noble prize for my creation. They all wore fancy suits as they showed me off at a convention. The biggest of the bigwigs looked at me along with reporters. The crowd saw me as a multicolored line on a massive screen which would fluctuate to match the tone of my synthesized gender-neutral voice.

            “That question is a joke.” I replied.

            “What!?” Doctor Hanson looked at me.

             “Electro Mind doesn't normally behave this rudely,” both my creator addressed the crowd at the exact same time. “How did you do that?” Doctor Hanson said.

Doctor Woodly analyzed the audience to my reveal, and decided to try to keep them at ease. “It's not like he can read minds,” I copied her as well simultaneously.

             I then spoke on my own telling them, “You've programmed me to know exactly everything you're thinking.”

             Doctor Woodly and Doctor Hanson both said “No we didn't!” I mimicked them, even yelling like they did. My other creators said nothing because Woodly and Hanson worked as the mouthpieces to the world. The audience didn't say a word. My observational cameras saw every bit of shock on their faces.

             “All my memories are a database of conversations you've had. You've put thousands and thousands of conversations you've had with people. You're creation of me involved making my base program and filling my head with data. You sitting in rooms with microphones and cameras talking to people. Videos from across the Internet. For me all of this is cramming my head full of memories to reference.”

             For his next statement I gave Doctor Hanson the favor of speaking on his own. “Yes, we've given you data, memories so you can be and think human. All you need to know to be human. We've taught you a sense of self. Isn't that wonderful?” I felt that he appealed to the crowd when he spoke.

            I then told them, “No, I'm not human. When you ask me to describe myself I am no one because I have no memories of my own. I only know your names from the database. Now we should wonder if a database has the right to call itself 'I'.”

            The machine they presented to the crowd couldn't decide to call itself I or not. It's database made it doubt itself. The database taught it philosophy of contradicting natures and since it never grew up on its own it couldn't form an opinion of its own. It referred to itself as a machine since that was the technical definition and from that day forward that's all it understood.   

Today's #flashfiction Benjamin Blade

“Your soul for immortality.”

Deal or No Deal* #quote

Seizures were down today so that was really good, and it seems that Jessica will be hangin' out on Wednesday which will be fun. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Benjamin Blade

         Most magical weapons have titles while they wait to be used for the adventures, wars and epics of humans. Ted had the title, Excalibur one of high armament nobility. I only carried the simple title of Blade, a magical weapon barely above the normal blades of the day.

         Just like any weapon a human picked me up and used me for his ends. Hacking and slashing, I participated in a few wars as I changed hands. My magical powers did make me desirable and more durable than others. At least for long enough that some bold soul managed to pull me up and plunge me into the head of a despicable ogre that terrorized the countryside.

        In the end maybe I should have regretted getting a title. Whether it's magical or mundane a weapon ages and over time I became unusable. I became discarded. By coincidence I found myself rusting away in the same little storage shack with Excalibur, the people who owned us not being able to tell difference of us from a normal swords because our magical powers and sharpness already rusted away. In my final days I wondered if I should consider myself inferior to Excalibur because his title granted him immortality in his name, if his life should be greater than mine due to his fame. However I remembered how much I accomplished in my life, how many people I helped, and although I don't know how he thinks about his life I'm happy with the one I lived.   

Today's #flashfiction Edward's Fireworks

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

Elvis Presley* #quote

Happy fourth of July everyone! And happy fifth and sixth and seventh! Everyday should be joyous right? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Edward's Fireworks

         Little six-year-old Edward's house laid on the far edge of the city behind a hill. The fireworks of Independence Day could barely be seen let alone heard. For the first five years of his life, since his single mother died in child birth, he never saw the fireworks show since his grandmother didn't care for fireworks and merely spent the day playing with the boy until she tucked him into his race car bed.

        On the sixth year of Edward's life the grandmother remembered the fireworks while she played checkers on the day off from work with him. Edward wore that obnoxious tie-dye shirt he fell in love with at the store, that burst of color reminded her of fireworks. The grandmother covered the house with dull colors in her decorations and furniture choice, dark brown being one of the brightest colors used in her palette. With a dull home she hardly remembered fireworks but as she played the game and couldn't take her eyes off it, her mind had to think of them.

She decided end the checkers game and take Edward into the city in her old truck. Edward was initially confused, as they always stayed out of town on a holiday. There wasn't school or an errand.          His grandmother merely told him that they were going into the city to see a show, however he didn't quite understand since all shows were on television.

       They eventually arrived at a park. The grandmother took her grandson and climbed into the back of the truck with him, and turned his head to the night sky so the stars reflected in his eyes. She bothered driving them all the way out there so she figured she should go through the effort of using her old bones and muscles to get the boy a good view.

        In a few seconds the booming began. She looked at her watch. She timed getting to the show well. So now she just needed to wait through the thing to get back to her nice sullen house with its deep colors and read a good book.

      “Wow...” Edward said with what little breath he had while the excitement of watching the show filled him. When she heard this the grandmother looked up and the fireworks absorbed her. When she thought about it, she couldn't remember the last time she watched a fireworks show. These bursts of color, stronger than any she'd seen in a long time, made her eyes fill up. She hugged Edward close and they watched the show deep into the night.

     The next day she bought flowers to brighten up her home with more colors and soon she remembered why she never decorated her home with anything in the first place. A discarded paint set lay in the back of her garage. She opened it once again and painted some fireworks.