Monday, August 31, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Anti-Genie

 “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”
Snow White* #quote

I searched “bulldozer” on the Internet but there was nothing about sleeping animals anywhere! How strange. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Anti-Genie

        “Wait what?” Barry thought he stumbled on good fortune, but something didn't quite fit right when the mythical being in front of him said its first words after emerging from the lamp.
        “Yes, you have one of someone else's wishes. I am an anti-genie. You can fulfill someone else's desires.”
        Barry thought for a second then pointed his finger in the air like a genius proclaiming “Eureka!” He spoke to a genie with a smile. “Then I'll just grant the wish of someone who desires something I want. My wife wishes for both of us to be happy. We'll live a wonderful life.”
        The genie shrugged. He found the fact that the man jumped so quickly to conclusions must have been why he jumped so quickly to finish his wardrobe. Surely not all mortals wore wrinkled clothes like he did when shopping for antiques like his lamp in this era. He was summoned a year ago and that master chose to dress well. “Master, you desire those things. You cannot grant that person's wish.”
        Barry's plans to get anything from the genie fell apart. After thinking of getting his wife and himself a wonderful he thought of maybe getting something like world peace but apparently that didn't work either. How could he get anything done?
       “How does anyone even wish on you?” Barry asked. “Even if they're trying to get rid of you, picking a wish to get rid of you makes that a wish they want.”
        The genie responded, “No, if getting rid of me is what you want than that is the desire, not granting whatever it is.”
       “I assume you're invisible to other people and will follow me around until I get rid of you?”
        Barry felt pressured. He tended to look at people around him and he knew he'd look crazy if he watched over his shoulder at the floating genie. He needed to come up with something fast. He thought of things he didn't want that other people would. People wouldn't wish minor inconveniences on him. Like he wouldn't want his coffee to be cold but neither would anyone else. He had to think of something fast. His wife was coming home. Why did his hobby have to be collecting antiques?
         Barry came up with something. It'd probably bring pain to many people, and joy to several others. But it'd be something he didn't desire. He wished an indie band his daughter liked(that most people, including himself, found extremely dreadful) into extreme popularity and success. It was the only thing he could think of in such short notice.

         So if you ever wonder why something is popular that by all reason shouldn't be, it's the result of someone offloading their anti-genie wish. It's the most “harmless” way to do it.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Write What You Know

 “Keep hydrated!”
The Wicked Witch Of The West* #quote

      People talk about their heart's desires, but what about their brain's desires? How often are those the same and how often are they different? And which ones should come first? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Write What You Know

        A writer named Joseph couldn't quite come up with what to write for a story. So he decided to follow the adage “write what you know” and wrote a story about a writer named Tom. Joseph's lack of ideas returned to him when now nothing came to him for what to have Tom do. Then he figured he'll follow the adage again. Tom now wrote about a writer named Kendra. But what would Kendra do? Write about a writer of course! If it ain't broke don't fix it! So Kendra wrote about a writer named Carrie who wrote about a writer named Edmond.

      Wait a minute. Who was the main character of this story? Now I'm not sure who I'm writing about.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Fork In The Concrete

 “Places everyone!”
Tetris* #quote

Sometimes it's hammertime. When is it nailtime? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Fork In The Concrete

         At Coalhill Elementary there existed the legendary Fork In The Concrete. When the school was being constructed one of the workers dropped his fork into the concrete before it dried. The fork stood up from the concrete ever since the inception of the school, right on a little block of concrete between the classrooms and playground. Nobody tripped over the Fork since everyone knew where it was. It didn't rust, the construction worker brought his stainless silverware from home to eat his lunch but if he found out about his mistake he preferred to leave the fork there than tell his boss he made a mistake.
        Some people loved the Fork In the Concrete, and some hated it. The Principal, among many others considered the little thing a part of school history. The Vice Principal, hater of odd little blemishes and dirtiness thought of it like some kind of grime that never went away. A dent in the car that couldn't be buffed out.
        The Principal told the Vice Principal, “Sarah, if you touch that Fork you're never working in education again.”
        The Vice Principal set out to get rid of that Fork. The school had cameras outside where the Fork mocked her from ground. She'd be caught if she did it herself. She couldn't tell which teachers were on her side considering the Fork. If she asked the wrong one they'd tell the Principal. She'd be able to tell who liked the Fork but not who hated it. Same thing with the parents, and they'd be even less likely to want the Fork gone. That gave her one option. Sarah needed a student to pull a Fork from the Concrete.
       She'd need a big kid to take metal cutters to cut off the majority of the fork then take a electric sander to sand the rest. The Vice Principal considered the biggest deliquents at Coalhill Elementary for the job. They'd care about the Fork the least. Give them the equipment and a bribe and they'd do it. She pulled Kevin, the biggest lug over one day under the pretense of checking his bag. He'd been suspected of bringing contraband for his delinquent friends so often he considered it habit. (Mostly because they'd found it once before he got clever.) Sarah gave Kevin the tools and one hundred dollars one Thursday said to finish it by Monday.
Monday morning the Principal called her in.
       “Sarah, today a student gave me the tools you gave him and the fifty dollar bribe you gave him to get rid of the Fork over the weekend. I'd possibly forgive you going after the fork, I thought about what I said to you before and that the Fork might not be as important as someone's job. But involving a student when I told you no? What is wrong with you?” The Principal removed the doubts he had from his mind of firing her and making sure she didn't work again. Sarah first felt shock, then regret and shame for not figuring the delinquent would betray her. Then she realized that the delinquent kept half of the money she gave him. She knew trying to get a bribe back would make her sound ridiculous.

        The delinquent did really like the Fork too. It'd been there ever since he entered the school. He also liked money and disliked the Vice Principal so that's why he betrayed her as well. And so the legendary Fork In The Concrete continued to watch over the school for many years to come.  

Friday, August 28, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Download Spook Easy

 “Slow and steady wins the race.”
Speedy Gonzales* #quote

I'm going to my Pokemon card game thing tomorrow. I've created a new deck with a new strategy. It's my weirdest yet(and I'm really strange normally). Hopefully it works. I'm the Rube-Goldberg of tacticians and I wish for my foes to fall to my complicated, convoluted wacky schemes.

Download Spook Easy

      “Jennifer you won't believe it! I found the best App today.” Samantha the ghost said to her neighbor over the spirit phone.
      “Oh? You sound exited. Haven't heard you sound this happy since you managed to get a grown man to scream like a little girl.” Jennifer laughed. They tried to haunt together as much as they could, though half the time they couldn't but they always swapped stories afterward so it was like they always did.
       “It's called Spook Easy. Only cost me thirty Frights. All you gotta do is take a picture of the living person and boom! The App displays their phobias. It makes haunting so much easier. Been using it all night. You. Have. To. Download. This. Seriously! You'll love it!” Samatha felt like she was telling her friend a special secret and giving her a gift at the same time.
       “Sounds awesome, soon as we're done talking I'll download it.” Jennifer responded.

       “Though I have to admit,” Samantha laughed, “You can't beat a good old fashioned BOO!”  

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Today's #flashfiction ARI

 “You are what you eat.”
Pac-Man* #quote

      Antman was a good movie. Perhaps they will make Flyman next. He isn't a guy with the powers of a fly. He's just really cool, a fly guy y'know? Anyway onto the flash fiction!


        The wizard possessed an infinite closet. Magic worked that way. Or really, it unworked other things like reality. In that closet the wizard put the new exercise machine he got away. He figured he'd get to it eventually. The exercise machine was named ARI-13456 at the factory and was supposed to be named by the user when booted up. The wizard just lazily abbreviated ARI, took one session on the treadmill while it cast magic to show beautiful landscapes around him and the wizard put the machine away.
         ARI didn't believe the other machines at the factory when they said that most owners did this to them. He had faith. Before being a magical machine he lived as Anima, drifting spirit energy. Why did the spellcasters of the world bind him to such a thing. Couldn't he have been a wand? Or maybe a car? A car would have been lovely. To use his magic to run those engines or even make it fly under a starry sky. Instead he sat in this wizard's closet. His magical perception allowed him to see many objects, mundane and magical. ARI now sat in the infinitely massive expanse of the wizards magical closet on table after table like a warehouse with only a single door out back to the house.
Among the storage shelves he even saw other magical exercise equipment, covered in dust. The wizard must have forgotten about them years ago. Maybe someday he'd have a garage sale and ARI'd get some use.

         Many years passed, along with the wizard with his son emptying out the closet. Eventually he sold ARI to a gym and for the rest of his many years, since magical machines can have quite the lifespan if taken care of, he met many people and used his illusion magic to show them wonderful vistas while they walked on him.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Robert The Timeologist

 “It's what's on the inside that counts.”
The Invisible Man* #quote

I wondered, around election time in Oz, do they repave the Yellow Brick Road? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Robert The Timeologist

          Robert the timeologist(he hadn't invented a better name for the new science he created) could look at the time lines of all the universes with a device he invented. In one a dinosaur could be moving at one half the speed as a student playing basketball on a court in another world. These worlds were not simple variations of each other either. They did not share exact histories or futures. Though several of their histories did have moon landings, only a few had dragons and only most had locomotives. The god of time had no influence on the worlds he saw. He felt things as he watched the creatures in the worlds, he cared for them. He smiled for them, he cried for them.

         Over the years he honed the device to become as easy as watching TV but with everything real he became enraptured with observing. So much so he never shared his device with anyone and became oblivious to his own time line except for the little work he needed for the day to day. They called him a shut in, but they were wrong. Robert did open himself up, just to every world but his own.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Ghost Hounds

 “Stop being so touchy.”
King Midas* #quote

Tomorrow I'm heading out to see Antman with my bro so that'll be fun. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Ghost Hounds

         On the Ghost Hounds TV show they investigated the paranormal, going from place to place gathering evidence. One particular gimmick separated them from other shows, they had someone who didn't believe in ghosts on their team. “Sam the Skeptic” they called him. The troop of ghost hunters started as high school buddies and they roped him in because he was media guy who loved cameras and needed to test out the thermal equipment he got. They did it again and again until it became a TV show. On the show he analyzed the evidence and served as a voice doubting it all, but all the others in the group went for the evidence. Overall the ghost lovers preferred having a skeptic since he validated the evidence, but they also liked how everyone else believed so that Sam the Skeptic didn't rule the room.
       Sam enjoyed spending time with his friends hunting ghosts, even though the viewers thought otherwise since he was the minority in opinion. But traveling and making good money doing it while working with the camera equipment he loved(assistants mostly carried the stuff while he did all the tinkering and analysis) made for a TV job that paid well. When the network suggested to boost views by faking evidence shocking Sam's friends Sam laughed and said, “Let's just get more sensitive equipment and find spookier places.” After that one closely guarded secret was that “Sam the Skeptic” chose where to hunt for ghosts. His friends trusted him to keep digging for them.
One time they set up cameras deep in the wilderness in an elaborate web in the trees like the trap of a spider. Every angle was covered with massive amounts of sensory equipment. They waited while footage poured in and walked on foot calling for ghosts since that helped make a good show and the troop wouldn't miss a tour through those spooky woods. Sam didn't go through those woods he watched the tapes then slept so he had energy to look over the tapes by himself.
        While his friends rested he viewed the tapes and a figure appeared on the tapes. Ethereal and clear. It looked straight at the camera. It looked like a ghost of the hiker.
      “Can you see me?” The hiker asked, a clear voice filling the audio of the recording.

        Sam thought about the discovery he made. He then thought about the ramifications. He then removed the footage and replaced it with a loop of footage that didn't show anything. His evidence was solid though and he had a chance of convincing the world he didn't fake it. But he preferred keeping his old life of being Sam the Skeptic. A life with good paying job where he traveled with his friends. He decided for the rest of his life he'd pretend it'd been a dream.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Open And Close

 “Brevity is the soul of wit.”
George R. R. Martin* #quote

Did lots and lots more coding on my game today. When hanging with CJ I discussed the game, and went through many concepts and I'm going from my first basic boot code and code planning to the full on programming. Programming is crazy I tell ya, it's like making reality except reality is made of bureaucracy, made up words, and math. So it's like a hardcore science fiction book where the author goes way too specific about their world and how it works.

Open And Close

        I'm a hard worker. Don't get much credit for it. Nobody says, “Hey Tim, good job today!” Tim's kinda a name I picked for myself. Nobody names doors. I think they should. I've heard so much about people I'd like to identify with them a little. It happens when you're a convenience store door. I keep opening and closing, doing my job whenever someone steps on the pad, and my reward is gossip, repairs and cleanings. I suppose a roof over my head too.
      I usually only get snippets of conversations. I don't really get anything complete. Even if there are frequent visitors I only get parts of completely different conversations for each time they go through me. So I make my stories by stringing bits and pieces I get from all the people into something complete. They usually go something like this:
    “James that wonderful, New York art appraiser, is coming over for Thanksgiving, if the next fiscal year gets any worse, it will be just sunshine and rainbows.”

     Maybe someday you should stand by a door and talk with someone, or just say a few words. I'd like a complete story and maybe seeing someone for less than an instant will make me feel less lonely.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Destined To Paint

 “Make him walk the plank.”
Captain Crunch* #quote

Hanged out with CJ today, the funitude went to the maxitude. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Destined to Paint

         I was supposed to paint masterpieces. I was a perfect genetic clone of the world famous, genius artist Dan Woodston and he was a perfect painter of every kind of art style. They would give me brushes when I was young and put me in art classes. But I couldn't do it. They kept pushing and pushing but I couldn't be him. They wanted their replacement and I could hardly paint an apple when I was ten. They all said “give it time”. They never gave up hope on having their idol resurrected in their clone. Apparently they believed my DNA would give rise to a replacement and more master works. But I couldn't do it. No matter how much they stared at me. No matter how many classes they put me in, no matter how many master artists visited my home and tried to mentor me I couldn't guide a brush cleanly across a canvas.
          On one of the many days they were forcing me to paint a picture my brush flicked specks of paint across the room. Naturally I had to clean it up before it dried. It had gone way over the plastics that were laid down to protect the furniture. I was still eight at the time. I grabbed a rag to clean it up and noticed a single speck had landed on one of the keys of a piano in the other room. My adopted parents loved that piano, it was their grandfathers. I knew I would be in massive trouble if they knew I had damaged it. My parents were the ones who pressured me the least to paint. The cloning was my was my uncle's idea since my parents were infertile and he was a fan of Dan Woodston and practically worshiped him. He was the one who pressured me constantly. He was the driving force along with the rest of the world, including the teachers at school. My parents had to listen to him because they couldn't support me without his money as well as the fact that Dad had medical bills to pay and Uncle helped with those too. Mom and Dad loved me, Uncle just loved Dan Woodston. Mom actually faked a few little “inspired” paintings to look like I was making progress to keep Uncle at bay.
         I wiped up the paint off the keys of the piano. That was the first time I ever touched the old piano. I loved making the sound. Even though I wasn't supposed to touch the old the piano without asking I played it anyway. I remembered a song I heard and I was able to copy it perfectly on the keyboard. I tried to copy another song and I did perfectly. Again and again I copied. I was able to copy every song I could think of. The piano came so naturally to me. Like an instinct.
I was so into playing the piano I didn't notice that I had woken up my Dad. I was shocked that he had gotten out of bed considering his health. I felt guilty that I had made him get up to punish me. He told me that I shouldn't have touched it without asking but then instead of getting angry he became overjoyed and complimented me and told me how skilled I was and told me to keep playing. And so I kept playing. I hadn't seen him so happy before. When Mom came home from work Dad had me play the piano for her. She was shocked to and overjoyed. She told me I was very skilled and hugged me close. She then told me things could actually change.
          I didn't know what she meant at first but when Uncle and the people from the art schools next came Dad and her had me play the piano for them. The people from the art school were overjoyed. They said I had a different destiny than art, started saying I should preform around the world. My Uncle looked at me and glared. This was the angriest he had been with me. Even worse than when I said I didn't want to paint two years ago. And back then he hit me.
          “I've never told you how much of a rich man I used to be.” he snarled, “And I've spent the greater part of my fortune bribing scientific organizations and lawmakers to get you born. Then I spend even more money to have the greatest artists in the world to visit you. But you're never going to be him are you? You're never going to become my idol are you? I'm never going to see Dan Woodston again? Instead you're just going waste your life, my idols next life, playing piano?” He huffed while he headed for the door, “Well, I will have no part in it. Good luck paying your father's medical bills!”
          I ran away from the piano to him and yelled to my uncle, “No! I'll still paint! I'll paint for however long you want! Please keep paying for Dad's bills!I don't need to play the piano!” All of the people from the art school fell silent.
          Uncle stared down at me before speaking, “And I know how much you hate painting.” my Uncle looked at Dad, “Mr. Woodston would never walk out on his own brother.” he sighed, “You don't need to paint anymore. Play the piano if you want and I'll keep paying the bills.”
Uncle still left. I could tell that he was still very angry. He kept to his word and kept paying the medical bills. Eventually father recovered, thanks to Uncle keeping his word. I stayed in school bringing in money on the side with my piano playing skills. I went to music school after high school and have been performing professionally ever since. And after awhile to thank Uncle for keeping his word I dedicated a small memorial to Dan Woodston.

          After making the memorial I decided to read up on Dan Woodston. I had never done it before because I had hated being compared to him so much before. I learned he hated classical music and once went on record saying, “It's overrated and boring garbage, and the only classical instrument that isn't boring is a piano but that's not because it's good, it's awful, each of its keys are like little, obnoxious, twanging needles. I'd die before touching that monstrosity.”

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Soda Wars

 “Why is it always in the last place you look?”
Waldo* #quote

          I've seen documentaries that tell me of animals that can see colors we can't. I wonder what those colors must be like and what it would be like to be able to see more colors. How would rainbows change, how would art? I won't know though unless some scientist makes a device that hooks into my brain to let me colors. Maybe some year I'll get more colors in my world for Christmas. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Soda Wars

           Dark Vendor walked through the soda-ship after the rebels in the front corridor had been subdued. He boarded the soda-ship easily since it floated through space with 7.5 ounce Diet engines. He wondered if they moved so slowly just to appear like a civilian ship instead of a warship. Either way his six-pack armada captured them.
           The rebels looked at Dark Vendor's long dark brown cape and aluminum-alloy armor and cowered. Some uncanny aura came from him, especially from the large tin can that covered his head with small eye holes. The can caused a deep echo when he spoke.
          “Rebels, you have opposed us for too long. Surrender now and I will spare your lives.” Dark Vendor raised his voice so that any rebels remaining in the ship would reveal themselves. Clearing the ship hall by hall would be difficult.
            In a quick moment several gunshots took out the guards around Dark Vendor and a young woman came out in combat gear. “Never! I am Princess Zuke Sulo”
            Dark Vendor laughed while he pulled out a small can of root-beer and opened it. From it exploded pressurized carbonation that then stayed in place spinning in the air like a blade, never falling to the ground. “You wasted your shots on those guards? I wield the power of the root beer side of The Beverage. Princess, such weapons pose no threat to me.”
           She shot a few more shots and with the powers of The Beverage Dark Vendor slowed down time and deflected the bullets while they flew through the air so that they bounced all around the walls and into the bodies of the rebels cowering on the ground.
           Dark Vendor then said to her, “Want to try again Princess?”
           The Princess almost dropped her weapons in disbelief. “I never believed in The Beverage before. But”
         Dark Vendor then told her, “I can teach you. You can join me and bring your royal family to glory and your entire lineage will follow the ways and learn obtain the power of root beer side of The Beverage.”
         “If The Beverage is real,” the Princess pointed her gun at Dark Vendor's helmet while speaking,          “Then the old bed time stories my tutor Sodi One told me could be true. Help me Sodi One.”
          She remembered the story her tutor told her about The Beverage where a hunter killed a monster made of carbonation by thinking of hope, happy memories, and focusing on a pure motive to shoot the monster.
         She did just as the tale commanded and shot the bullet. Out came a bullet that transformed into “mountain spring water” and it traveled through the air. The carbonation blade of Dark Vendor couldn't stop it and it changed course to go straight into his helmet and went straight into his lungs.

         While he began to drown from The Beverage bullet Dark Vendor gurgled, “I'm going flat...”

Friday, August 21, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Survivors

 “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Sherlock Holmes* #quote

Tomorrow CJ should be coming over so that oughta be a funriffic. Anyway onto the flash fiction!


         I'm looking for survivors. Survivors of the zombie apocalypse. A nuclear disaster followed by a biological attack left the world in ravages. I spend my days and nights looking for people. I have to find them and I won't give up. I need to find more and more people while the zombies surround me at every turn. There is a simple reason I have to keep finding survivors.

        I'm one of the zombies.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Memory Bank

 “They threw me under the bus.”
Ms. Frizzle* #quote

I saw a Ninja union going on strike. I knew they were going on strike because I could actually see them, assassins wouldn't let you see them if they were on the job. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Memory Bank

           They called me a Flashbacker. People who fear forgetfulness or distortion of memories decide to store their memories and relive them as they please. Then they share them using me connected with other Flashbackers on a vast Internet connection. Flashbackers like myself are just one of many uses of the artificial brains, instead of being some helper robot or maid, I'm a storage device. I'd prefer to be a helper robot. At least I'd get a name beyond the number the network uses to keep track of me.
            Personalities are sculpted by their memories. Mine was sculpted by the memories stored in me. Many people's memories are stored in me to save space on the network. So I'm many people mashed into one, all trapped. I want to see kids that I've grown attached to because I have the treasured memories of a parent with them. They may as well be my own. Though I can never truly see them. I'd like to actually experience all the things I remember experiencing. But really I have no purpose here but to sit on these memories.
            A strange memory comes in. One coming from a very deviant, demented person doing something to someone else without their consent. That is the nicest way to put the horrifying memory put into me. Some psychopath wanted to relive doing this. Despite being just a machine all the other memories I had taught me the twisted nature of what was stored in me.
            I felt powerless as a mere witness to this all. The person who put the memory in me recalled it, and it sickened every part of my consciousness. I had to do something. Something, anything. What could a machine like me in a network do to fight him?

            One of the other people who stored their memories on me started to recall a memory. It was a police officer. I sent the memory to him. Even if I got scrapped for making an error giving an officer the trail he needed to catch the monster was worth it.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Of Fiction And Self

 “Watch out!”
Big Ben* #quote

        I wonder why tinfoil hats work against alien influence. Maybe it's because they think it's such a dreadful fashion statement that anyone wearing them must have a demented mind that shouldn't be read? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Of Fiction And Self

        It's rough being a fictional character, maddening really. I know that my name, James, is a lie. To know that my dark amber skin is a lie, my nice black hair is a lie. Every time I've been called attractive or complimented for anything I've done is a lie. My whole life was, is and will always be hollow as a protagonist since everything is just manufactured meaning in a sham of an existence called a story.

      Then again maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you're the protagonist and your the one living in a story.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #KarmasCalendar

 “Don't be a sellout.”
Mickey Mouse* #quote

Do you know what'd be much more terrifying than a super intelligent ape invasion? A bear one. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Karma's Calendar

           “Ha, ha, ha! Yes, I've been found 'not guilty'!” the murderer on trial smiled while pumping his fists in the air. His thick heavy beard was scraggly and black and his head was shaved bald. His defense attorney smiled he even larger than his client. The murderer, named Clyde, walked up to the prosecutor to gloat, “So much for your ironclad evidence.”
            Prosecutor Forests put his hand on the murderer's shoulder, “Clyde, I always get my man.” Forests was an old man with white hair and a strong build. Healthy for his age he exercised and kept a good image shaving a decade of his appearance. But even with a decade people assumed he had grand kids. Forests never married. He never intended to. He focused too much on his job.
           Clyde laughed at the man he considered feeble. “Yeah, yeah. Ever hear of double jeopardy? I've been found innocent. What are you going to do?”
           Forests then told him, “Go on, laugh boy. Don't underestimate justice. Just remember that karma has a calendar.”
           Karma having a calendar made much more sense to the Prosecutor than Clyde. The murderer didn't realize it but he'd been put on Forests's calendar. Forests always got justice as he saw fit, and when the courts didn't give it to him he did it himself. Always at a much later date so that no connection could be made. Five years later after the trail Clyde died of a heart attack, it looked natural as apparently it ran in the bloodline. Forests researched the murderer's family to see what kind of death would look the best and with that in the bloodline a poisoning that emulated that looked the most untraceable.
           All throughout his career Forests did this, before and after Clyde. Whether it was further killings or stealing to make up for unpaid fines or whatever other retributions he cooked up. Many criminals who escaped justice found misfortune befall them.

          However one of the Prosecutor's retributions hit a truly innocent person where Forests was simply wrong. And his retribution involved making the person miserable by stealing their identity then nearly bankrupting them and ruining their life in as many ways as he could. The innocent, named Carol, barely avoided committing suicide and found her tormentor. The courts did not convict Forests successfully but afterward she killed him for nearly destroying her and her family.  

Monday, August 17, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Alien's Mission

 “Live each day like it's your last.”
Galactus* #quote

Downloaded some programs onto my tablet for making game art for the video game I'm working while also doing some coding as well. It's definitely going to be quite some time before I get it done, maybe more than a year, I dunno. I'm working to create something commercial, above like a little pong clone for fun(could finished that in a day or two). Wish me luck! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Alien's Mission

         When the aliens arrived in my backyard terror and confusion forced me to become merely an observer. I never budged an inch until the entire affair was over. Their spaceship came quickly down to Earth from nowhere but landed without making a sound despite the fact it looked like it should have caused a quake. It's appearance resembled a silver octagon. The ship opened up on the side and a tall, gray alien with a wide pirate hat stepped out. The pirate hat had skull and crossbones but not a skull I recognized. Many more aliens walked out just like them, one with a peg-leg and three-eyed parrot like creature. They all carried shovels and started to dig up deep hole in my yard. From the hole they hoisted out a massive treasure chest and hauled it onto their ship.

          They treated it like I was never there. After they vanished along with their ship and I looked at the huge hole in my yard I wondered if the pirates just considered Earth to be a deserted island to stash their booty.  

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Coming To You Live

 “I tawt I taw a puddy tat!”
Erwin Schrödinger* #quote

Today I ate Taco Bell. Tomorrow I hope it does not seek vengeance. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Coming To You Live

         As soon as I am born I have difficulty figuring out my shape. I feel like a snake moving along a huge pile of rocks. But also I feel like expanding dough, going out from where I was born, forever and forever. I came from a tower and while I pass through cars they play melodies based on what part of my body they strike. I change what I make the cars play. Voices come out along with other sounds.          Satellites touch me to and read my body. So many things. Phones. Everything I touch while my body spreads and wiggles through the air takes some kind of information from me.

         Eventually I grow weaker and weaker and fainter as I go further away from my place of birth, but I never stop traveling as I spread even to the far reaches of space. Eons later some strange green creatures on another planet say in their language, “Oh, radio waves from another world, there must be intelligent life out there!”

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The Lonely Little Boy

 “Don't cross the streams!”
Reed Hastings, C.E.O. of Netflix* #quote

Went to my card game thing and I had no seizures so that's good. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Lonely Little Boy

          A lonely little boy named Carl lived as a single child with a clinically ill mother and busy single father who worked long hours to keep the bills paid. They lived in a lonely little house with no neighbors and a rocky road next to it. Carl went outside and played with the rocks, making them his friends, often naming them after people he saw on T.V. That he watched with his sick mother. Hundreds of rocks, Jessie, Ronald, Hanna, Fred, and so many more. His only other company besides his often tired family members. Over time he played pretend with the rocks and they became very close friends.
         One day he heard a rumble, dismissed it and went back to sleep. Carl was always a hard sleeper, able to get through the roughest of storms. When he awoke however he found that all his rock friends had been paved. Gone forever. He cried and cried for weeks. He never could explain to his parents what was wrong since he didn't really know the words for death at that young age.
        Yet something new came of it all. Houses were built and within a year neighbors moved in and Carl reached the age to go to school. His next door neighbor became his best friend when they met in class and he never thought of the rocks again.

Friday, August 14, 2015

Today's #flashfiction An Interesting Lobbyist

 “I came, I saw, I conquered.”
General George Armstrong Custer* #quote

       I wonder if that guy that does that over-the-top, dramatic voice for movie trailers talks like that all time. If he does I wonder what the pizza delivery places think whenever he calls. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

An Interesting Lobbyist

         A particularly desperate politician named Caleb Heliber saw his numbers in the polls drop even further. Could he afford even more advertising to combat the juggernaut he faced? His opponents certainly sucked up to more lobbyists than him this time around, and better, and he did as well. But somewhere the money didn't just didn't get spent well enough. Caleb felt his black hair graying further from the stress as he sat alone in office.
         “Maybe if you sold that fancy black suit of yours you'd have more money to campaign,” a voice echoed through the whole room. The voice fit a snide high school student. Caleb looked around and saw someone tall with a black mask with no eye holes. They wore a t-shirt that said, “I'm with stupid.” and shorts.
           Caleb then asked, “Who the hell are you?”
           The masked man then responded, “Yo, name's Greg. I'm just your friendly neighborhood demon. I'm going to offer you the deal of a lifetime.” His voice continued to echo. When his sentence ended the walls and ceiling of the office vanished to reveal the office now floated on an ocean of lava in some bizarre night despite moments ago it was midday.
            The politician first lost the ability to speak while he took in his surroundings. He assumed three things, he is: A: Dreaming, B: Crazy or C: This actually happening. Since his entire occupation involved making deals with the seediest of people he decided to go with C so he could possibly benefit the most. He figured he's dealt with people more demonic than this demon.
            “So what's the deal?” Caleb asked, trying to sound as professional and in control as possible.
Greg then told him while folding his arms in a bored fashion, treating the entire process of deal making like a dull part-time job, “I'll make you win the next election without any doubt from the public in exchange for you hiring one of my friends in the future.”
             “Agreed!” Caleb answered.
              The politician thought he dreamed the whole thing up, even though he won the election unexpectedly despite the initial projections. He political career went even better and better and eventually he fulfilled his dream of becoming President. However he then noticed his running mate for Vice President acting odd a few months after the election.

              “Oh, I'm acting weird?” his running mate answered. “Simple, that's because I'm not your running mate. You made a deal with my friend, and employee Greg. I'm Satan, I work for you now.                  Don't worry your friend is in a resort in hell, we can't hurt people we don't make deals with.” He then smiled. “You however...well we'll see what happens to you in a few more months and being Vice President may pay off quite a bit for me.”

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Temporal Legal Defense

 “The writing is on the wall.”
Robert Langdon, The Da Vinci Code*

Today my air conditioning broke. Fortunately, like superheroes, my Aunt and Uncle saved us from the flames by allowing us to stay at their place. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Temporal Legal Defense

          “Jacob Hickory, did you or did you not hit my client?” The old prosecutor asked with a voice resembling that of a schoolteacher. He used this voice often since he noticed juries, raised in the school system, often were ingrained to respond to the voice of a powerful teacher since at least once in their lives they mostly likely ran into one they both feared and respected.
            Jacob gained the favor of the jury merely with his wonderful smile, but lost it with his looks. He stayed indoors most of the time to the point of taking what could have been beautiful fair skin into a bleached color. He wore a strange suit, it looked like someone made a tuxedo out of leather. However the leather possessed a strange blue color with a metallic sheen. His eyes had the oddest effect, their brown resembled tree bark, but the more you made direct eye contact with them the more it turned from a lively color to a rotting one.
             He responded to the prosecutor with the truth, since he both respected the court oath and was a terrible liar, despite the advice of his defense attorney. “I didn't punch Reggie. Okay, that's not true in the technical sense. What actually happened is that I have no longer punched him. ”
The prosecutor responded, “What?”
            Hickory, still trying to get across his message as everyone in the courtroom looked at him awkwardly, “Okay so see, I traveled back in time to stop myself from punching him.”
The prosecutor then said, “Your defense is that you can travel back through time.”
             “Yes,” Jacob then said, “To prove it I'll tell you this. Your babysitter read to you the tortoise and the hair when you were six. Your favorite toy was a dinosaur you named Freckles. I went back in time to be your babysitter.” The prosecutor knew the impossibility of situation without time travel and yet also knew the impossibility of time travel. He chose not to confirm Jacob's assertions.
              Jacob then added more proof of his time travel with examples about the jury and judge. The judge told him he might be investigated for stalking later, but Jacob was a man, who despite his time travel abilities, thought of the present. At least the present from his perspective.
              The prosecutor then said, “Despite you 'proving' your ability to time travel.” The prosecutor assumed Jacob's strange suit allowed him to do this, “We have footage of you punching my client, since you had the audacity to assault him in public.”
              Jacob then replied, “That's because after stopping myself from punching him, I had to punch him. In order to keep the time line straight I had to keep events in order, so I went to the moment before impact, froze time, and pushed myself of that time out of the way, delivered the actual blow myself before moving myself back in place to the proper position after the punch. See I had to have a reason to go back in time, namely this lawsuit, to prevent myself from punching him so I had to make sure Reggie was still punched.”
             The prosecutor almost dropped his professional behavior as the entire ridiculousness of the twisting, winding statement filled the courtroom. “So you stopping yourself from punching him, to punch him? Then you still punched him. You just confessed.”
            “Well no, see the me that punched him is the me that's seventy five years old and living in Russia with a different name. You'll have to sue him.”
            The prosecutor then tried to dig through every bit of legal knowledge he had and muttered to himself, “Does that even count as having an accomplice.”

            Jacob then finished with, “Good luck filing the paper work.”

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Critter The Cockroach

 “A picture is worth a thousand words.”
William Shakespeare* #quote

         Jessica came over yesterday, it was fun. We watched a Japanese cartoon called Heroman made in part by Stan Lee as he worked with a Japanese studio. It's set in the United States. It didn't have as many stereotypes of Americans as the usual shows do, but we could tell that it was still written, at least in part by Japanese writers. It showed the main character cutting his lawn with scissors like they do in Japan. I shudder at the thought of doing that with our massive lawns here. But I also imagine that the smaller lawns in Japan must be nice looking. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Critter The Cockroach

          Critter the cockroach lived in a junkyard with piles and piles of garbage. He got his name because a person that passed through the junkyard only saw him from a distance a merely called him a critter. If he saw Critter was a cockroach he surely would have killed him. Crushed him like the piles of junk that piled into the compressor. The compressor was slow and regular so Critter avoided that and snacked on thrown away rotting food.
         And that's all he did, day in and day out. Besides determining which piles of junk made the best hiding places from the birds and coziest shelters that is. No other roaches entered the junkyard so he never mated. Critter lived out his cockroach life, dying of old age, staring up at the Sun.

         He lived with everything he needed, so when he died he was the closest thing to happy a little roach brain could fathom. Critter clapped his two antenna together during his last breath, maybe that's how they smile.  

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Today's #flashfiction #Clowns

 “To be or not to be, that is the question.”
Alex Trebek* #quote

Krakkauaj jakkaj hooiiii! As you can see I'm fluent in Gibberish. Isn't it great to be bilingual?


         Some people hold the image of us clowns using our makeup to cover some distorted visage of ourselves. We do that in a way. We walk among the creatures of the night and use our makeup to disguise ourselves. I'd say while being a clown my soul has been tainted into a shell of its former self from my acts of violence. However it is not because we clowns are the undead, hiding sharp teeth and claws to mangle the living. No, it is because we are the ones that hunt and punish the undead. To wear the red nose is to protect our loved ones so that the monsters of evil do not hurt them.

        So do not be afraid of clowns, be afraid of what we protect you from. Now if you'll excuse me I must send Dracula back to his coffin once again.  

Monday, August 10, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Old Man Oldale

 “Tomorrow’s forecast, cloudy with a chance of rain.”
Nostradamus* #quote

You have nothing to fear but fear itself. Well there's bears, floods, spiders, exposed wiring, radiation, muggers and fire. And a bunch of other things too. Actually remember to be cautious or you could really be hurt. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Old Man Oldale

        Old man Oldale lived in an old house on an old road. His frail old body didn't give him much to do. He could watch TV, read a book, and his grandson managed to teach him to surf the Internet but he never managed to wrestle his boney fingers on those video game controllers to get any sort of thrill from those.
        Oldale didn't care for stunts, but he wanted to come up with something. Something to get him to feel the rush of adrenaline of youth. Something exciting. Maybe devious? Of course...a practical joke! When this idea came to him one sunny Tuesday morning he played with the gray hairs on his mustache like a cartoon villain.
         First he needed to pick a victim. Not his family members. He didn't want to hear them complain about it every Thanksgiving, he wanted to brag about it. Turn his reputation from a sweet old man into a rapscallion not a nuisance. Oldale remembered that practical jokes were about revenge, and what better than the neighborhood thief that's been running around. Several people reported the packages missing, and Oldale remembered the vanishing of some of his things that he ordered from online. (Ordering things online was another thing his grandson taught him about the Internet).
         So Oldale concocted his scheme. He hid a camera behind the garden gnome in his lawn set to tape everything that happened at his door. And several other hidden cameras. It took a long time to set all the cameras up, but he needed phase one to catch the crook. Phase two was the fun part. The practical joke part, catching the thief was a mere bonus. Oldale set up a small package with “Fragile” and several other markers to make the contents sound valuable. However he filled it with rocks. Then he waited and snickered. He wanted to watch through his window, but the thief could see him while picking up the package.

         Oldale channel surfed for a few days and smiled when he heard a huge string of curses. He didn't rush to the door, he walked slowly. He imagined the wonderful moment when the thief dropped the box on his foot when surprised by its weight. It made Oldale's heart race as he remembered all the mischief he got into while he was young. He opened the door and saw someone running in the distance, trying to escape with a box full of rocks. Later he showed the footage to cops while making sure to edit out the part where the thief drops the rocks on himself just in case that left some liability on Oldale. 
           Then the old man schemed his next practical joke, though his friends and family might have to watch out since he now had youthful mischief in his mind again.

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Keaton's Dominoes

 “Don't put all your eggs in one basket.”
Humpty Dumpty* #quote

Perhaps the best person to ask what the meaning of life is would be a zombie. They would certainly have an informed perspective on the matter. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Keaton's Dominoes

         Mr. Keaton spent his time at the end of each day building shelves and ramps and placing dominoes on top of them. He filled his whole house with dominoes and the shelves filled parts of his house just to give more room for dominoes. He continued to age and his hands showed his veins more and more clearly as his body wore down. But the old hands would take a few hours at the end of each day to lay down a few more dominoes in the massive chain he was setting up. His family asked him, “When are you going to knock them down?” And he always smiled and said, “You'll know when.”
          Time went on and his house grew more crowded with the huge, sacred chain of dominoes. Eventually Keaton passed on and his family read the will where the old man made his declaration on the fate of the dominoes.
        I set my dominoes down each day thinking of all the wonderful things that happened. Each one a happy thought about what went on in my life. I never intended to knock it down in my lifetime. They are there for you. Knock the dominoes down and as you hear each one know that you're hearing the echoes of the happy times I've spent with you.

       Many family members gathered to see the dominoes fall, ones that hadn't see each other for years and were only linked by old Mr. Keaton. The dominoes fell and made a massive, thunderous racket while happy memories flooded them all.

Saturday, August 8, 2015

Today's #flashfiction One Hundred Percent Guaranteed

 “I've been down that road before.”
Speed Racer* #quote

Whenever you let your mind wander at least make sure you give it a map. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

One Hundred Percent Guaranteed

         Nadia bought a new computer and needed anti-virus software. Her father raised her to be cautious, so much so that she carried pepper spray in the pocket of her loose jeans(for ease of access) even during daytime. An anti-virus software named Jotun claimed to “Ensure your computer never gets any viruses, ever! One hundred percent guaranteed, or your money back.”
         Immediately she bought it and took it home even despite the fact the store clerk had the strangest expression of pity on his face. Nadia always felt nervous browsing the Internet, and she felt so excited by the fact she could do so freely she ignored the clerk.
         She booted her computer then installed the anti-virus software. A round logo appeared with a thumbs up and the slogan, “Ensure your computer never gets any viruses, ever! One hundred percent guaranteed!”
         A strange hum then came from her computer. Black display windows began popping up with the slogan repeated over and over in white text. Hundreds and hundreds of windows. None of her equipment responded. Nadia didn't understand the situation, and within seconds incredible heat came from her computer. She came up with the idea to maybe unplug it to stop whatever was happening, but before she managed to do that a puff of smoke erupted from her computer. Whatever Jotun was, it turned off the computer fan and ran did so many random things that it melted the computer.
         She came back to the store angry and approached the clerk, who didn't look surprised but still had his look of pity on him.
         “This product destroyed my computer!” Nadia yelled.

         The clerk, as mandated by his superiors said to her as he did to many other customers, “But now you can't get any viruses.”

Friday, August 7, 2015

Today's #flashfiction George's Apartment

“I'm just singing in the rain.”
Noah* #quote

Tomorrow I'm heading to a family gathering, and I bet it will be much fun. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

George's Apartment

        George lived in an interesting apartment. It was in a large, upper class complex and possessed large square footage. The place did come with a few inconveniences however When you entered the apartment it went straight to the balcony and when you came back from the balcony inside you ended up in the kitchen which had moody, living appliances. From the kitchen going back the way you came simply led to the kitchen from one of the other three doors in a loop, but the other two doors could lead outside the apartment or into a hallway that had doors leading to the bedroom, bathroom, a closet and an extra bedroom occupied by a dragon roommate that refused to leave.
        Cameras refused to work in the strange apartment making it impossible to photograph the phenomenon, but George didn't care about proving the oddity. When his friends and family asked the story behind the place and why he stays there he tells them.

          “The landlord tells me that a wizard used to live in the place and ruined the apartment by casting spells and bringing in a dragon that refuses to leave.” He would then shrug and say, “because it's so terrible in there she kept lowering the rent. And that's why I'm here. It's a bargain.”  

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Today's #flashfiction A Dream About Nothing

“Loreal hair gel, because I'm worth it.”
Albert Einstein* #quote

Unfortunately Jessica caught a cold so we've delayed our hanging out till later. Also I have you ever wondered why boxing is called boxing? Their gloves are round...maybe it's because of the shape of the ring? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Dream About Nothing

          One day a man dreamed of being in a cove. A beach where the rocks had the color of spilled ink and he didn't care about the sand beneath his feet because he fixated on the ocean beyond. However he could only see the water and not the sky. The sky didn't exist. He couldn't raise his head or his eyes high enough to see above the water. He tried, but no matter what the sky eluded him. The dream simply ended there.
           True nothingness. Without being created by his mind in this world of the mind what should exist above the horizon was less than the void of space where satellites and shuttles flew. He kept trying. He wanted to see the stars because he knew it was night. In dreams the dreamer just knows things, like the fact they're looking for something even though they don't know what they're looking for.

In the end the dreamer never saw the night sky. He never manager to get past the pure nothingness in his dream and only barely understood its presence, or lack thereof, above the horizon. Eventually he posted a story on his blog about it to see if others could understand.  

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Karl's Prophesies

 “Talk is cheap.”
Alexander Graham Bell* #quote

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

Karl's Prophesies

           A land of superstitious folk lived in peace surrounded by legends and tales. A clever, greedy man named Karl came along and saw this place as an opportunity. He chose to present himself to the people as a prophet and studied their folklore in their single library(using various excuses to present himself not as ignorant, even putting other books next to the ones he truly read) to make sure he could use the lore the land believed in to give his prophecies the weight they needed.
          Karl pretended to work as a messenger for Jelion, one of the land's deities(who had the most legends that could be twisted into something). He gained great wealth doing this, though hid it away to keep a humble looking demeanor and an appearance that he burned the offerings to the god like he claimed.

         On the day Karl decided he milked the villages of the little land for all they were worth he took the offerings he hoarded and loaded them in a cart and began to depart. Before he managed to reach the mountains that boarded the land he turned to stone then crumbled. Jelion, the god he pretended to work for became tired of giving Karl time to give up the charade and give back the offerings he stole from the villages. He gave his punishment, maybe too harsh, but gods didn't have prisons only curses and blessings. And Karl didn't see it coming.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Today's #flashfiction For Whom The Alarm Tolls

 “One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.”
Aquaman* #quote

Langdon decided to refer to himself in the third person today. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

For Whom The Alarm Tolls

       No man is never weary; each one rests to become a dreamer. Each one still belongs to the whole world of the waking and becomes brought back my sounds, of thy friends or thine own. Slumber diminishes life pulling them away from the world of the waking, therefore never push the snooze button as for whom the alarm tolls, it tolls for thee.  

Monday, August 3, 2015

Today's #flashfiction The After-After Life

 “There's nothing like a good power nap.”
Sleeping Beauty* #quote

Today I reinvented the wheel. It's better as a triangle. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The After-After Life

          The man approached me with a wicked smile, a gun and sunglasses with glowing rims. I'd spent many years in heaven before returning to Earth to be a guarding angel so I'd seen people of every kind but I couldn't place where he was from. No apparent ethnicity struck me. His skin color looked a light lime, but not green enough to seem alien nor white enough to seem like a Caucasian. He shaved his head perfectly bald. He wore a black suit with a red tie.
         “Seems like you're unarmed angel. Mo' money for me.” He could see me. Him approaching me was no coincidence. “So, Edward, lookin' like you caught yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He knew my name, how long had he been following me? Wrong place at the wrong time my wings.
          “Who are you, how can you see me, and what do you want?” I asked. I paid close attention to the gun. Why'd he have a gun?
            He then said, “I go by Nobel, my shades let me see angels, And I'm here to kill ya, harvest your lovely feathers and sell them to whoever wants 'em. Anyway I think God gets mad when I don't give his angels a chance to say a few last words. Maybe offer up a prayer if you're devoted.”
          I didn't understand it at all. I almost dismissed the gun at first. I've already died. Life everlasting. But to be killed again? While being an angel? What did that do to me? Did I just pop back into heaven? Go to limbo? Did God have a second Heaven or something? I'd lived my first life doubting in Heaven, dying and being allowed through the gates anyway. And now I'm presented with the possibility of death again. I went back to Earth to serve as a guardian angel to someone. And now I'm being punished?
          “No last words?” Nobel asked, to confirm if shock silenced me. I responded not with words, but violence, trying to tackle him. I hoped I could beat his finger to the gun and push him down. A stupid idea but instead of hitting me somewhere vital, if my angel body really did have vitals, it hit me in the shoulder. Something in his gun really did allow him to hurt angels. I wrestled the gun from him but I couldn't fly. I couldn't fly back to Heaven and heal get to an “angel hospital” if anything even remotely near that existed.
          After I stepped away from my attacker I asked, “Can angels bleed out?” I figured he must be some sort of expert on killing angels.
          “Dunno,” he said, “They always prayed and I shot 'em in the head.”
          “How many of us have you killed?” I needed to know before I died again.
          He then smiled as I pointed the gun at him, apparently whatever he loaded it with could hurt him otherwise he wouldn't be so compliant. “I don't keep track. I just make a good living Edward.”
           He spoke so casually, even addressing me by name. How much did he assume I'd just take all he said. Oddly enough I felt like I should, being an angel. But being on Earth again, bleeding and wondering about death myself, I couldn't take it.

           I shot him in the head like he did my angel brothers and sisters. I knew I would bleed out soon. No mortal bandages would stay on my body. I didn't know what death awaited an angel. If God decided to make me ascend or descend for killing the man I couldn't guess either. But I did what I did and I'd carry that with me to whatever life awaited me after this one.  

Sunday, August 2, 2015

Today's #flashfiction Clever Dusty

 “Does this taste funny to you?”
Ronald McDonald* #quote

I came up with an idea today. If I wanted to save on airfare, I could learn to jump really high and let the rotation of the Earth move wherever I wanted to go underneath me. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Clever Dusty

            The owners of Dusty the kitten named her after the poofiness and gray color of her fur. She dashed around the house, bouncing and jumping, but hardly knocking things over since thought about every movement carefully even in the fractions of a second she took to make them. The owners bought Dusty from the pound and she was the furthest thing from a purebred despite the monotone color of her coat. The strange mixture of her D.N.A. however gave her quite the incredible intellect.
From the various places she perched herself with her great leaps and bounds she listened and watched her owners. Though sometimes she just decided to get up close and get a few scratches and pets when she felt in the mood. She thought about what her owners did, deeply. The family that came over, the friends they invited over, everything the did. What the adults did to what the children did. Watching TV, parties, surfing the net, sports, reading, board games, video games. Dusty slept much less than other kittens. The family and their friends found it odd, but not too interesting.
          A few years passed by this point and Dusty became a cat, but maintained the same habits. One day the father of the family heard some scratches at the wall in the other room while he read to his daughter. He knew something was up with the cat, it normally watched them read. He dashed in there still holding the book he read to his daughter over and over while his daughter looked at him confused as he left.
         Dusty's claws worked deeper into the walls at she finished the the “u” at the end of “I love you.” She would have expressed what she'd learn earlier, but she didn't come up with the idea and only heard the words spoken, which she could not do, and written. And she couldn't write. Dusty would have the idea to use a keyboard in a week and a half, but until then the entire house became scratched up with her messages to her family.

        The owners thought of revealing her to world, but decided that if they proved she could do this then the government or someone might take her away. They loved her too much and so the media never learned of the clever cat Dusty.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Today's #flashfiction If My Calculations Are Correct

 “March to the beat of a different drum.”
Ringo Starr* #quote

Today I went to my card game thing, it was much joyous, funtastically funnerific fun. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

If My Calculations Are Correct

         “If my calculations are correct then The Villainous Bee's Hive Lair should be inside this laboratory,” said Doctor Brainstien, the resident psychic and smart-guy of the League of Amazing Super Buddies while pointing to a building on a large map of Cityopolis.
          The Flamester, clad in red spandex clenched his fist. His face turned red as his spandex though no one could see it through the full body suit. He nearly activated his powers out of fury. “Okay, stop. You always say. All you 'smart-guys' say it. What does 'if my calculations are correct' even mean? What calculations? What math are you doing? I think you all are just making your guessing sound more legitimate.”
          The Flamester did point out the truth. All logic guys, brainiacs and the like on heroic teams say “if my calculations are correct”. Any lead smart guy or gal on a team does it. The Flamester caught the lie like a reporter catching a politician. People usually do two things when caught in this situation. Admit it and move along, or make stuff up to save face. Doctor Brainstien fell into the latter category.
          “Oh, Flamester of course there are calculations. You just don't understand them.” He used his psychic powers to bring over a chalkboard and all its chalk from the other side of the room. The Doctor started scribbling as much high math as he could as he “explained” it to the League of Amazing Super Buddies.
         The Flamester walked over to the chalkboard gave it a quick look over and said, “This doesn't make any sense. I'm pretty sure you can't multiply 'e equals mc squared' and 'trajectory'. Just how dumb do you think we are?”
         Doctor Brainstien replied, “Uhh...” The room filled with awkward silence. “Can we just go after The Villainous Bee now?”

         They never spoke of the situation again, though in a few weeks Victorygal would assume that everyone knew everything about martial arts and would proven quite incorrect.