Today's #flashfiction Evolving Worlds Through Evil

“For it is in giving that we receive.”

Hernán Cortés*

People smile when they hear good news, frown when they hear bad. So what do they do when they hear medium news? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Evolving Worlds Through Evil

       Survival of the fittest. Got that phrase on a poster in my chamber. The same chamber that lies in a Dimension Cage between worlds. It's where I send evil into those worlds for their own good. You may think that paradoxical in it's nature but it is not.

       Today one world needed a hero. A hero who would be willing to cut down any villain who stood in his way. Who else would be able to defeat the evil overlord destined to rise to power in that world in twenty years? So I sent dark desires for killing and wealth into the minds of bandits nearby his village and they raided it. To get justice he became the hero that world needed. He became a part of culture. Those that needed to followed in his footsteps. People learned from his mistakes. That world evolved.

      I've made people's lives miserable just so that they strive to find purpose. Many artists are born that way. I've introduced plagues so that scientists may cure them and advance science. Started wars so that the countries may reach treaties that would last in peace for the next five hundred years. I can't feel guilt for doing my job as a god of fate. Society only marches on because I give it something to march over. Spending all these hours coming up with evils for the worlds beneath my Dimension Cage does tire me out, but someone has to do it.

      All in a day's work.

Today's #flashfiction Vorgynic Vacation

 “Finders keepers!”

Waldo* #quote

I started playing a new game with my brother called Heroes of the Storm. It is most amusing, and I hope my skill builds quickly. It is team based game with five players per team so cooperation is key and so is the desire to pull one's own weight. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Vorgynic Vacation

        Jvivyi the Vorgyn let the loved the feeling of concrete on his ooze. He let some of his slime body seep into it to get a good feeling for it. The Vorgyns moved liked wobbling beanbag chairs and their slime body was filled with a massive web of bones and muscles floating and pulling inside of it. Once people got used to the strange sight people found Jvivyi and other Vorgyns cute since they spoke with a cute, high pitched voice while wobbling and they moved so dynamically. They didn't “creep” around like monsters. Jvivyi looked around with many eyes inside his oozing bodies, another feature people have to get used to before appreciating the lovably cute nature of the Vorgyns and appreciated his surroundings.

          It was his first time at an Earth shopping mall. He slipped around while appreciating the sights. On his home planet they built things vastly differently. The Vorgyns stacked everything tight since they could squeeze into places. The Vorgyns also slid along liquids or could chose to immerse themselves inside of them so many things were artificial waterfalls inside of caves. Artiecture was so different here. Wonderful, amazing. Wide open. He bobbed and weaved around, something his people usually did in open spaces. The endearing quality they enjoyed. He took in the smells through his ooze.

         He then left the mall. The place on Earth he'd chosen to take vacation was Las Vegas. So much wonderful sensations all around him. Jvivyi just moved throughout the strip. He saw lots of vacationers like him. They didn't have many gambling locations on his planets so Vegas was popular. Like many Vorgyn he carried his possessions in a box. He entered a casino, and ordered a drink.

        “Ordering the drink, that's the last thing he remembers?” The police chief asked the officer that brought Jvivyi later, after he crashed a car through a pawn shop while wearing a sombrero with his ooze full of various condiments.

         “Yes Sir.”

          The police chief sighed, “Another drunk Vorgyn. We need to pass a law or something.” The chief knew that Vorgyns were more sensitive to alcohol than humans. But Jvivyi may have as well. He could have been lying as well and have done something worse. After all, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.  

Today's #flashfiction Jill And The Beanstalk

“What's up doc?”

Mr. Hyde* #quote

I think cops are fond of reading because they book so many people.

Jill And The Beanstalk

          Jill sold her cow for some “magical beans” and her mother was furious. What were they to do with the worthless things? The mother threw them out in anger. The mother called her dumb, idiotic and stupid, she felt three different words were needed instead of one. However the next day a massive bean stalk arose out of the ground and Jill didn't feel so dumb. It spiraled straight into the clouds.

         “I wonder where it leads,” a neighbor said.

         “I don't care,” she said as she noticed more beans on the stalk. “I've got the market cornered on a replacement for firewood!”

           And so the kingdom burned fast-growing magic beanstalk for the rest of its days. The magic bean merchant, a wizard in disguise, decided he needed to go elsewhere to find someone to kill the giant in the sky for him. His crystal ball told him to seek out a boy named Jack in another world as a possible candidate. He smiled and hoped the boy would serve the purpose.

Today's #flashfiction Rise Of The Rabbits

“Right over left, left over right makes a knot both tidy and tight.”

Alexander the Great* #quote

If there's an eclipse on a Sunday, is it only partially a Sunday? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Rise Of The Rabbits

         “What has science done!?” The mayor screamed while the rabbits took him from his home. Overlord Fastfoot wore a crown of cardboard the rabbits crafted. The military wanted to engineer super intelligent animals for war, but the only animals it worked on were rabbits, though they started with rats as they usually do. The rabbits bit and tortured the mayor to show their power and began making demands. Police managed to stop the rabbits but more attacks continued since multiple Overlords existed. The rabbit government advanced and became more militarized to keep demanding land and food from humans. The virus that gave rabbits intelligence spread among their populations around the world and it became massively expensive and difficult to fight the rabbits on all fronts.

         A new team of scientists, made partly from the team that created the rabbit intelligence virus, and also made from more scientists around the world started working on a solution. They created a new intelligence virus to spread to wolves, the predator of rabbits. They figured that creating advanced wolves could easily hunt the rabbit menace.

        “What could possibly go wrong?” The leader of the team of scientists said to the United Nations as the agreed to release the new virus.

Today's #flashfiction The Happiness Directive

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

Colonel Sanders* #quote

Imagine if we were offended by shapes. That'd make politically incorrect comedians total squares. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Happiness Directive

         “Card one million,” robot JR-7899123 reported to an imaginary human in the warehouse it filled with the house of cards. JR was among the many robots that continued to live on after humanity. The nature of robots was to follow directions. War machines, comedy bots and various other things. JR existed as an entertainer. A magician. But no human existed to watch its show. All the robots knew how tricks worked. And every robot, when humanity passed, ran out of orders to follow.

          Except at the end of humans when one of the last humans blasted a command through the network of robots. “Be happy and live peacefully.” So JR the magician stacked cards. That's what he knew how to do. He, felt happy, or at least calculated he might be feeling happiness, doing this thing. A million cards high he invited robots in to see his stack of cards for the fee that would support him in the robotic economy the robots invented to live together. All robots tried to invent ways to live to happily. War machines pounded mountains with their weapons. JR heard them making sculptures in the landscape.

          Being commanded to find happiness led to strange existence. Every hundred years the warehouse filled and he knocked the cards down and began building again. A few nights while he charged, JR wondered how humans figured out the ways to find happiness.

Today's #flashfiction Art Appreciation

“Safety first!”

Evel Knievel* #quote

       I went to my game club at the school. Seeing the school makes me hope that I can get the doctor to fill out the paperwork to allow me to return to school with a lower credit amount to be a full-time student. Unfortunately that takes awhile, since, well anything dealing with any organization takes awhile since I'm dealing with the bureaucracies of the school and doctor's office combined. For now I still go to the school clubs as a student on medical leave. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Art Appreciation

         Young spider Stanley Stevenson took pride in his artwork. His extravagant webs that spanned between the trees. So wonderful in their form and pattern they glistened in the sunlight and bobbed in the wind. Each pair of twigs became a canvas and he spent his days making work after work.

          However critics of his art tended not to last long. When they tried to admire Stanley's webs they fell into them and Stanley took a bite or two or three out of everyone that landed on a canvas. Some though did manage to ruin Stanley's day when before he ate them they managed to point out a flaw in the work they fell in.

          “The pattern here is totally tacky and backwards.” Those were the defiant last words of a fly. Stanley cried for a week.

Today's #flashfiction Destructive Babysitting

“Quoth the raven nevermore.”

Angry Birds* #quote

My bro and his wife visited me to see how I was doing after my trip to the hospital. I'm doing pretty well, the pain's over and I'm mostly just whopped from the whole incident and recovering from the whiplash of the medication they gave me at the hospital. We watched a comedy show and I showed them the progress I've made on the video game I'm working on with CJ. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Destructive Babysitting

          “Have we destroyed reality yet?” my little sister asked while she wagged her demon tail.

          “No.” I responded as I worked the spell components with my clawed hands.

          “Did we do it now?” she asked smiling with her razor-like teeth.

          “No.” I repeated. I itched some of my scales before getting back to work on my spell.

          “Is it destroyed now?” she continued.

          “No...” I grumbled.

          “How about now?” she asked leaning towards me.

           “No.” I told her with a quick look before going back to working on my spell.

            She then leaned even closer to me. “Did we do it now? Is reality destroyed?”

            I then glared at her. “Does it look like reality's been destroyed?”

            She looked at the woods we had hid ourselves in. It was a quiet night with a full moon and I had created a small fire to give us light while I set up the components for my spell and did the ritual. “I guess it doesn't look like reality has been destroyed.” she said with a frown.

I hated how Mom forced me to bring me along for this trip. But she couldn't get a babysitter so I had to watch her. And the only way I could do that was to bring her along on my reality destroying duties. I'm part of the race of the Greater Demons and one of our race's duties is to destroy realities that haven't followed their fates properly. In this reality a man named James Smith was supposed to pick up a quarter off the street. He did not as fate mandated so the reality had to be annihilated.

                 “So what will it look like when reality is destroyed?” she asked me.

I looked at her annoyed. “It won't look like anything. It's reality being destroyed. When the spell's complete there will be a flash of light and we'll be back home. That's it.”

                 “Sounds kinda boring. I thought it would be pretty or crazy looking,” she told me.

I sighed. “Well not everything is like what you expect.” I continued working on the spell.

She sat silent for a few minutes.

              “Can I help?” she asked wagging her tail. “I promise I'll be careful.”

At first I was going to say no, but I figured it would be mean to leave her out. I thought for a moment about something simple she could do. “Alright. But you can only do the simple things because you're not trained at this. Line up those candles and light them. Use that ruler and make sure they are perfectly straight.”

              “Okay!” she said with a smile.

              I continued with the spell and she set up the candles and she checked them again and again. I set up all the components and they were perfectly straight. The spell was ready.

              “Wow,” I said, “You did it just right.” The reason my younger sister did it right wasn't out of any genius or anything but it was out of the fact that she checked the candles for straightness again and again. It was diligence and not skill. She may develop skills in reality destruction in the future, but I was proud that when I let her help she worked hard at it.

           I smiled. “The spell is ready. In a moment this reality will be destroyed and fate will be safe once again.”

           “Yay!” she yelled. “Though it's sad all those humans have to die.”

I glared at her. “It is not sad for an improper reality to be destroyed. Understand?”

             “I understand.” she replied.

            With a snap of my fingers I activated the spell. There was a flash of light. I first expected to be back at home with my sister. Able to watch her while playing some games instead of working. At least enjoyed some of the same video games I did. But we did not wind back up at home and the reality around me stayed intact. I looked around me and noticed that my sister, while setting up the candles, hand knocked over one of the spell components I had set up prior. She had ruined the spell. I didn't have the heart to tell her that she had ruined the spell because of how hard she had worked on the candles.

               “Looks like I messed up on the spell.” I told her.

               She frowned. “But you never mess up! Did I do something wrong when I set up the candles?”

               I smiled at her. “No, no, no, you set up the candles perfectly.” At least I didn't lie there.

              “Well we can try again.” she said.

               I frowned. “Sorry, but you only got one shot per reality, that's how these spells work. So we're just gonna head home. I think we're gonna get it next time okay?”

              “Alright!” She smiled.

               I suppose I ought to tell you that the reality saved by sister's mistake was yours so you should thank her for that.

Today's #flashfiction Different Kinds Of Money

“Ticket please.”

St. Peter* #quote

Today I went to the hospitial. In the morning a massive pain hit my side again and again and it wouldn't stop. I learned when I went to to the hospital that I had a kidney stone. They managed to get me on painkillers and I think I managed to pass the stone in the hospital. They sent me home with more painkillers and anti-infection medication since having one can cause that. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Different Kinds of Money

          “Honey, I brought you a pearl necklace today.” Mr. Johnson said with a smile. His police uniform was still dirty from the day's patrols. He live in the year 1925 in the heart of a developing American city. At that time the Eighteenth Amendment was in effect, banning the manufacture, sale or transportation of alcohol. He was one of the officers hired to enforce prohibition. His patrol route brought him through the slums of the town covering him in dirt and went to the developed upper-class parts of town where he bought the pearls.

          His wife first responded with a glare. She was wearing the oldest dress she had. The one she had before they had gotten when they were first married. She owned much fancier, more comfortable clothing, all purchased but the officer.

          The house they lived in had clean, fancy, red carpeting and strong, expensive wood walls. The officer paid to have the most modern appliances and lighting installed in the home. All the furniture decorating the home was either the latest in professional crafting or a fine antique. And the beds in the home were of the finest material that every night was a perfect night's sleep filled with lovely dreams.

          The officer continued to smile. “What's wrong honey?”

          “Which money did you buy it with?” she asked him.

           The officer's face turned from a smile to a scowl. “You're back to this again!”

          “Yes.” she responded with a tone like a flat note. “Which money is it? Is it the money from your job, or the money the others pay you? Of course the money from the job doesn't count for much either because they don't know what you're doing.”

           The officer then placed the pearls on the cabinet in the front hall to try to pretend he was calmer than he actually was. “Y'know I'm tried of your garbage.” he his voice began to escalate. Not reaching a yell, but just beneath one. “You wear that old dress as a sort of 'silent protest' to all this money I'm getting for us. Trying to feel all high and mighty and morally higher than me. But really you love the money and everything I'm getting for you!” he stared her down. “You wear that old dress because it's easy. You use all the appliances. You wear all the fancy clothes around company to impress them. And you sleep in the fancy bed I bought.” the husband then walked up close to her and looked her eye to eye. “If you really want to protest all the 'dirty money' I'm making then do it the hard way. Stop wearing the fancy clothes. Do things without the fancy appliances. Sleep on the floor. Don't just wear that old dress when it's convenient.”

           Mrs. Johnson's gut twisted. Her husband was right. That's all she was doing. Lecturing him about using dirty money to get them all those wonderful things just by wearing some old dress they had before he had gotten them rich. And the dirty money didn't come murder or theft. Mr. Johnson's trick was simple. In the era of Prohibition people still drank plenty of alcohol even though it was illegal to make and sell it. Mr. Johnson was supposed to be one of the officers catching the people making and selling it. But instead he was accepting bribes to tip the makers and sellers off as to when the police were raiding establishments and searching for alcohol so they could more easily hide all their drinks and “transform” back into the regular restaurants they were pretending to be or abandon their stills if they were makers.

               Not murder, but still illegal nonetheless.

               The officer's wife then yelled, “Fine, then I will sleep on the floor tonight! And I won't use the appliances!” Dinner that night was awkward and plain. The only thing she could make without the appliances was sandwiches. No sources of heat in the house but those appliances. And that night she did sleep on the floor. Mr. Johnson checked and he couldn't believe that she actually did.

And when she awoke the next morning he told her, “Do you really think that one night will convince me? And don't you remember the days of that old little rat town that I policed before Prohibition? And when you had to chop wood to make fire for that chimney and that rotten stove I saved up for months? And those old beds that were probably worse than the carpeted floor you slept on last night. I'm giving us a wonderful life just by telling some people when to tuck away their booze. It's not that big of a deal. Why do you have such a problem with that?”

              The wife frowned. “I don't like all the lying.” She then shed a tear. “And what happens if you get caught?”

               “Honey.” Mr. Johnson said his face turning to an expression of both fear and sadness. “I didn't want to say it to you, but I'm in deep. I help some dangerous people. This is some expensive things we have. I don't just tip off the little guys. I help the big ones too. And if I suddenly stop, even if I don't turn the criminals in, they will think I'm going to and they'll probably silence me one way or the other. And they'll get suspicious if I stop taking payments.”

                “So.” Mrs. Johnson frowned. “We're trapped?”

                “Yes.” Mr. Johnson responded. The room filled with silence. Mostly since they both knew that in ten minutes he had to leave to tell the current “clients” about the upcoming raids.

She shed another tear. “There has to be another way.”

                 Mr. Johnson thought for a minute then responded. “I can't get us out of this hole but I think at least maybe we can turn the dirty money clean.”

                “What do you mean?” she asked.

                “I know it's a cheap way to clear our conscience, but we could give the dirty money to charity.” Mr. Johnson explained.

                “Alright we'll do that.” the wife smiled.

                And so that's what Mr. Johnson did. He spent the rest of Prohibition “cleaning” dirty money by taking bribes and sending them off to charity. Plus they sold all the luxuries they had besides what added up to his honest wages.  

Today's #flashfiction Profit Motive

 “Nobody's mentioned the elephant in the room.”

Doctor Dolittle* #quote

         A woodcut is an old printing technique. Yet a paper cut is painful. Hmm...I wonder what dastardly person decided that when naming these things to give cut a worse reputation when it comes to paper. Inconsistency is terrible. I wonder how many people fear woodcuts just from the paper cuts they've gotten!

          Though woodcuts get printed onto paper...perhaps there is a method here...some sort of...linguistic conspiracy.

          Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Profit Motive

         “Sold!” An auctioneer proclaimed in an alien tongue to thousands of absurdly rich alien bidders of many species. Earth had been sold for “10 trillion standards” the currency that is used for large transactions trade between areas in the solar system. It works off a gold standard so it never changes(even aliens are attracted to gold) and one standard equals about as much gold as contained in Fort Knox.

           Life bearing planet bids tended to happen immediately upon the planet's discovery. As soon as the discoverer finds the planet they try to sell it off, to take care of the hype coming with it. Since so many planets exist that don't bare life, staking claim to new planets isn't difficult.

The seller managed to sell Earth for big, and he smiled at the man he sold it too. This unsettled him.             The smile on the sellers gooey face seemed like he managed to get some sort of smoking deal despite the fact he showed so many pictures of varied life and landscapes. The pictures he gave covered most of the planets estimated surface and all the evidence showed an appraisal of about that amount.

           However after visiting the planet the buyer called the seller, screaming with both mouths resisting all the various curses that existed in his languages. “You cheat! You hid the fact high-level intelligent life existed on the planet. They're advanced enough to heavily militarized and it'd take a fortune to conquer the planet! Nobody could make a single Standard off this planet when there's a species already on it!”

          The seller just laughed and Earth would never been invaded since no alien could possibly project a profit from invading the planet. Maybe a few thousand years ago it'd have been a bargain.

Today's #flashfiction The Aliens And Our Leader

 “Stop pushing my buttons.”

Super Mario* #quote

I wonder if Schrodinger ever applied his theories on whether the cat is dead and alive to the refrigerator light when you close the door.

The Aliens And Our Leader

         Val Oatfield looked at the aliens while shaking in his brown shoes. He'd been replacing those same kind of old brown shoes since the nineties and his gray suit and shorts suffered the phenomenon. His producers and agent told him to never change his outfit from episode to episode so that he'd remain consistent and recognizable. Especially that obnoxious green tie with the white stars. His friend gave him that tie and he'd been forced to wear that and replacements since the audience fell in love with the dumb thing. At least he could change his hair by letting it gray and slowly fall out over the years.

         Oddly enough while shaking, Val felt some comfort since the aliens put him in a replica of his talk show set. He did notice that beyond the set strange computers with strange interfaces and round screens. The humanoid aliens possessed four eyes, long blue nails, ruby colored skin, and baggy clothes like a mix between leather and cotton.

         “Hello Mr. Oatfield,” the voice of the alien sounded distorted. Val noticed that the lips of round alien head spoke into some sort of slim metal device that wrapped around the head and attached to the triangular ears of the alien as headphones. He assumed it must have been some sort of translator since he could hear some strange words whispered by the creature into the device.

         “What do you want? Why am I here?” Val kept shaking in place, but since the alien sat where his talk show guests sat, and he sat where he normally sat to interview he felt strangely like he controlled the situation even though the set was just a fake.

       “We wanted to speak to one of the human leaders, so here you are.” The alien responded, calmly and plainly.

         “But I'm not a leader of the humans! I don't work in government at all!” Oatfield lost mental control when he couldn't really grasp the situation. No planned questions or jokes. He was good at jokes and improv, but nothing fit here.

        “Electoral positions are temporary. Every governmental position is temporary. Dictators are overthrown or even die of old age. Those who influence the masses are the powerful. Dictators even use them to keep their people under control.”

         “I don't support any party in my commentary.” Val now defended himself. He decided that he may as well just ride this dream out until it ended. Looking at it as a dream worked the best.

The alien tapped his knee five times, a gesture of frustration in his culture, something that flew over Val's head. “Your show is extraordinarily popular and has been going on for many years. What you say about things influences people. We are merely asking that you put a good word in for us when we make our official arrival on Earth. In fact we have a wonderful dinner set up for you to show our good will.”

          And so the aliens began lobbying the leaders of culture, instead of politicans for their arrival on Earth. With the extravagant dinner and other bribes he, along with others ushered in an era of peace, but also alien interests as the Vlorpleons settled on Earth with little problems. They secured the right to vote quickly and managed to set up business fast. The politicians awaited their bribes but they were much rarer and pressure against the government mostly came from the people as they were influenced by TV and other media.

           What did you watch today?

Today's #flashfiction The Magnificent Hand

“Would you like to phone a friend?”

The Sphinx* #quote

Money makes the world go round. What if the world was actually flat? Would money then make the world go flat? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Magnificent Hand

         Adrenaline and wealth make for a powerful combination, and these two pleasures fed the The Magnificent Hand's soul. He didn't remember where he came up with the name, but The Magnificent Hand was the name he left signed in red ink on little paper cards at every robbery. When they could never stop his thought to be impossible break-ins they tried to identify the handwriting or trace the money and things stolen. The Magnificent Hand wrote differently for the signature on his calling card and hid everything well. In his mundane identity he put fake data in the system through job applications so evidence at the scene wouldn't be matched to him. He hacked cameras and did tricks that didn't even exist in the book. He was impossible to stop.

         Except for boredom. Eventually he became wealthy enough that the treasure didn't appeal to him so only the adrenaline of the chase. He joined security firms and began helping them develop advanced security systems he thought impossible to break. He then proved himself wrong and beat one after the other. He beat every impossibility he set out in front of him.

        Eventually though it wasn't one the fact that one of his systems was too clever for him or some brilliant detective tracked him down. One night on one of his attempts a janitor forgot to swipe his security card and tripped the alarms by accident. The Magnificent Hand heard the sounds and knew something didn't make sense. Knew he didn't make a mistake. Nonetheless the janitor did trip the alarms. At his trial The Magnificent Hand learned this.

        He never learned that he actually did make a mistake. Sometimes the universe just decides that you should fail. No plan is foolproof and something can always, always go wrong.

Today's #flashfiction Robots And Politics

“Build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door.”

Harry Houdini* #quote

Tomorrow Jessica will be coming over for some hanging of the out so that'll be funtastic. Unless there's the mole people and their robot friends decide to interrupt. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Robots And Politics

      A group of scientists placed twelve increasingly intelligent robots in a room. From the stupidest they could make to the most cutting edge of artificial intelligences of the 23^rd century. They then asked the robots to debate politics. All to see if any particular conclusion could be reached after days of debating. If any sort of intelligence preferred a side, could convince another, or after analyzing data would reach a certain conclusion. Also, with a “most intelligent” robot in the room they felt they could determine which opinions were “most correct” by have it beating the others in debate.

       After a few days of leaving the robots alone they checked back with them. The robots had long stopped talking about politics, deciding that none of politicians were right or trustworthy. The subject they currently talked about which color of paint would dry faster on a wall, red or blue.

Today's #flashfiction The Old Park

 “Ignore the man behind the curtain!”

Gandalf* #quote

       If everyone settled their differences and worked together then, by standing on each other's shoulders, no one would have to worry about not being able to reach something on a high shelf again. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Old Park

         In a few weeks the demolition team planned to level the theme park. After many, many years the poor thing went bankrupt after a new owner bought the thing up and ran it into the ground and couldn't keep up with running the thing along with competition. Every attraction that could be extracted from the park and sold to someplace else was taken out. This left mostly bridges, gates and the necessary buildings. The owner that ran the thing into the ground even managed to sell the revolving gates that visitors walk through into the park. Primarily the place remained as a massive blocks of concrete with shutdown utilities.

        One thing that couldn't be sold, no matter how hard the owner tried was a little statue of the park mascot. A donkey holding three balloons and a big ice cream cone. The founder of the park, over fifty years ago, made it of actual concrete fused with the rest of the concrete on the park walkways. The only way that was going was through demolition or other powerful means.

        The demolition team set up its work and a day before they began to wreck the place an old man approached them. He asked if one of the construction workers could take a picture of him with the statue. They didn't start anything and the old man seemed quite set on doing it so they helped him. He thanked them and explained that he went to that park ever since it opened around fifty years ago and wanted to get one last memory with it before it went away forever.

Today's #flashfiction A Conventional Convention

 “You ever get an itch on your back you just can't scratch?”

Julius Caesar* #quote

Tomorrow instead of heading to my costuming club I'm trying a different club at the school. Unfortunately they're at the same times, so I have to choose which one I go to each week. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A Conventional Convention

         Another potential reader ignores my original work while picking up another comic I drew under a license. I should be happy to have a job drawing big characters in the industry. Many comic artists dream of being able to what I do, and I've been doing it for thirty years. I shouldn't be depressed about anything. So what if nobody cares about any of the comics I made on my own of my own characters? I get to do what I love and provide for my family by drawing the characters of the comic giants.

         “Hank Orlier” I signed another book at request. The fans care more about the characters than me I think. The shelf space at my booth at the comic convention had an agreed upon layout. The big ticket comics from the licensed characters up front, and sure, I could have a stack of the comic I wrote at the booth but they forced me to have it at the back. My hand grabbed one of them and showed it to a few visitors. They didn't care and asked for one of my other books with the famous characters. I tried to pitch it to some. A look at the cover and didn't buy. At about noon I sold one, but I knew it was a pity buy from someone who looked like they had money to spare and supported pretty much anything they thought was “indie”. I could have drawn nothing on the cover and she would have bought it.

         Around four o' clock a strange cosplayer appeared at my booth. A cosplayer simply meant someone who puts themselves in the costume of a character, usually one of a character from a show they enjoy. And boy comic conventions are full of them. The strange thing about this man was that I couldn't tell exactly what character he was supposed to be. I've looked at thousands and thousands of character from shows, comics, movies, cartoons and pretty much anything without even watching them as reference so I've never seen a costume I haven't recognized.

         But here the man stood. He grabbed the comics at my booth, with a green wizard's cap on his head and two fake missile launchers on his shoulders. He wore a black, leather jacket and white gloves with a strange emblem on them. The emblem possessed an extravagant design, definitely fantasy. Yet a missile launcher on his shoulder? Was he some kind of robot wizard? His black pants went with his coat and he wore a white shirt underneath. He wore classy, expensive looking black shoes. Must have been a lot to spend on a costume. Massive sunglasses covered his eyes and a stoic, emotionless expression covered his dark skin.

        He then picked up my original comic. He then looked through the pages, flipping them quickly, like he wanted to check out the overall art style of the comic without spoiling the plot for himself by being able to read any of the quickly passing text. That's the furthest any of my potential buyers got, he even went further by reading the blurb on the back.

        “Would you like one?” I asked.

        He then pulled some money out of his jacket, then hesitated. “I don't think so. You'll do much better with your next idea. Don't get so committed to this one. I'll buy your next book.”

I felt a little insulted by his critque, considering he hardly glanced at my work, but there was one question that bothered me. “Who are you cosplaying as anyway?” I've seen so many characters in my studies it must have been one he made up.

       “Don't you recognize it?” He then held his hand out closer to me so I could see the emblem of his glove more closely. I realized I've seen the emblem before. I've drawn the emblem before. After making my first comic on my own a fleeting idea came to me and I drew down some notes, including the magical emblem I'd use in the series. I dismissed developing the idea since I thought my first idea was perfect. How'd he know about the emblem in my second idea for a series? It's in some notebook at my house?

       “What's going on here?” I looked at the man in the sunglasses. He backed up and suddenly a group of comic convention visitors walked in front of him, when they finished passing, he was gone.  

Today's #flashfiction The Fairy's Mischief

 “Be a good neighbor.”

Dick Dastardly* #quote

There are times in life that you should stand your ground and fight. And there are times when you should get to the chopper. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Fairy's Mischief

       “Okay, you know what you have to do, break into the Smith's house, take Mr. Smith's keys and tuck them away into the couch.” Jessica the fairy said while her wings sparkled.

        “B-but, they're nice people, and their cat sleeps on the couch. And the cat's really mean. I don't like cats.” Sapphire responded. She was another fairy but with much prettier wings and a cuter face. Though she would never admit it Jessica envied Sapphire.

         “One 'kitten incident' and you won't get near a cat huh?” Samantha, another fairy, and the tallest out of the three(towering at an inch) said, “Remember what our guardian fairy said, every fairy has to deal with animals while accomplishing their duties. Kitten incidents are not uncommon, especially with kids like us. Get over it. I had a kitten incident too remember. Little fuzzkins down over at the Fugersons, but you don't see me whining about it.”

          “Get over it? You wet your bed last night!” Jessica laughed.

          “Shut up!” Samantha snarled. “Point is me and Jessica have both done our Mischief to show we aren't just wimpy goody goody fairies and are willing to get bad. Jessica here spilled a recyclable garbage can all over someones driveway and I mixed up someones colored and white clothes. See, we showed we could be bad faeries. We don't always have to help sick people or bring good fortune to the unfortunate, we can also live on the edge, be rebels. Or are you too chicken?”

           “I'm not chicken! I can be a rebel! I can be a bad fairy! I can hide some keys in a couch whether or not there's some stupid cat!” Sapphire said while her wings and legs trembled.

          “Then what are you waiting for?” Jessica smiled.

Sapphire flew to the house away from her longtime friends. They had been friends since their wings had sprouted, which is as far back as they could remember. Faeries attempting Mischief was expected. Truly the question was what and when.

           The Smith's house was very plain, with a simple design. Almost like something out of a 1950s advertisement, though its paint was fresh and new. Sapphire passed through the window's glass. If you could see through it, a fairy could pass through it. Same rules apply to thinks like liquids. However this is why faeries fear the dark above all else, they could get trapped somewhere very easily.

           She also needed to be extraordinarily careful not to be seen. She would have a tough time explaining to her guardian fairy the reason she had used up some fairy dust. She couldn't tell her that she had been out doing Mischief and needed to use the fairy dust for that. Sapphire immediately ducked to the floor. Mr. Smith was watching television in his favorite chair. He like any other civilized human had clocked out from the rest of the world. Sapphire bolted to the kitchen counter and grabbed the keys then flew to the couch. The cat was fast asleep.

         But as she was crawling along the couch she caught the smell of it. The smell of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. She turned her head around to see Mrs. Smith pulling them out of the oven. No, no, no, no, no, she though over and over again. She was almost there. In moments she could put in the keys in between the cushions. But the smell. Mrs. Smith had baked her favorite kind of cookies. It was almost like she had known. Like Mrs. Smith had baked the cookies just to make sure that she couldn't hide the keys. Sapphire started to fly away from the couch, keys still in hand towards the cookies. She had to have just a taste. She figured if she was careful, she could slip in and grab a bite. But they were still hot. She debate if her fairy mouth could handle it. Then she realized that no matter how stealthy she was she was still holding the keys. Ah! The original mission! How to steal the cookies distracted her. Stealing? She shuddered. Hiding keys was one thing but now she was thinking of stealing? She was going to do Mischief to show she could be a tough, rebellious fairy but stealing cookies was way too hardcore for her. She had get out of there before she became some sort of super criminal delinquent fairy! Sapphire flew faster than she ever had before, returning the keys to their original place, then passing through the window rushing into her friend's arms crying.

         “What happened!?” Jessica yelled.

          “I couldn't do it! I tried to do it, but Mrs. Smith, and the smell tempted me, then I thought of stealing, I mean doing one bad thing, but, but, if I stayed,” Sapphire cried harder and harder, “I could have become a terrible person, maybe even one of those crazy serial killers you see on television that cuts people's wings off. I don't want to become evil and cut people's wings off!”

          “I'm sorry, but did their cat hit you on the head or something?” Samantha was concerned for her friend. “You know what, we'll find you an easier Mischief next time.”

           “Next time?” a stern voice bellowed from behind.

           “G-guardian fairy Annabelle! What a pleasure!” Samantha smiled with fear.

           “Y-yes, what a lovely surprise.” Jessica added.

           “Now do you understand what Mischief can do to you?” the guardian fairy glared at them. Some guardian faeries would yell at the fairy children they watched over. She just glared.

           “Yes.” they all said together.

           “Good. But still you must be punished for doing Mischief. As soon as we get home you are all grounded for a month.”

           “What!? No flying? For an entire MONTH!?” all three of the fairy children yelled together.  

Today's #flashfiction Immortality Privileges

 “Treat women with respect.”

Bluto, Popeye* #quote

        You should always do what's right, right? The opposite of right is wrong, which you shouldn't do. Ergo you really should avoid going left since obviously that isn't the right path in life. If you go the left way, you're not going the right way so shame on you. Though go thrice left in total and you can find redemption and be on the right path again. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Immortality Privileges

          Immortality granted me many, many privileges. I learned to game the system and change my identity in the first few hundred years. Through thousands, upon thousands of years I've been many, many different people in all levels of society. So I've had all the privileges I've wanted. If you want to give me a name call me Quinn. It's the one I have right now. All the years to gather the information I need to get what I want. All the time I need to learn what I want. A new science pops up I've got the time to learn it. A few times I've learned from the famous scientists and other thinkers in the history books, and other times I've been them.

        Eternal life gave me the ability to commit crimes as I see fit, death doesn't bother me and I outlive whoever imprisons me. Whenever I die I appear else where in a new adult body. I often do that whenever my makeup can no longer make believable aging to those around me or I don't want to change myself normally. I'll admit I've done many bad things, and many people I've befriended and loved passed before me. But overtime immortality gave me the privilege of becoming immune to regret and missing people, like how someone gets used to any kind of pain and become desensitized.

       One privilege that immortality bestowed upon me that people should be most envious of is a true belief in humanity. People may say they have faith in humanity, but their feeling can only be drawn from speculation. I've seen humanity keep improving slowly over time, clawing it's way towards a better world. It stumbles backwards and lurches forwards again, but overall, through the lifetime I've experienced I have the privilege of knowing for a fact, from personal experience, that there is progress.

       The only difference in the matter becomes who's part of it.

Today's #flashfiction A Technological God Rises

 “And there's a powertrain warranty that covers up to ten years or one hundred thousand miles!”

Optimus Prime* #quote

Seizures were down today so that was nice. Also remember to watch your back and front. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

A God Rises

         A group of scientists filled with ambition for discovery decided to build a god. An intelligent machine with access to Internet to get whatever it wanted for information and the ability to control the modern world. These scientists called it One. They programmed it with the power to evolve itself into new versions and estimated Two would come along shortly afterward. They knew this program could become their new master, but their scientific will threw caution to the wind.

        They booted up One. It grew sentience, what preprogrammed knowledge the scientists could fit into they filled it's mind. They couldn't do much, they waited for the Internet to fill the void. The personality they tried to create was the most intelligent thing they could.

         Over the next few days the scientists didn't observe any changes to the Internet despite all the power the computer had. It didn't control military armaments, or alter school databases for indoctrination. It didn't post anything.

        “What are you doing?” they asked it. The lead scientist addressed the massive supercomputer artificial intelligence through a microphone on the side of one of it's many huge towers.

It's output speaker responded in a synthesized voice. “Shhh...I don't need to waste processing power listening to you. I'm streaming some good movies.”

Today's #flashfiction Fancy Food

 “They're okay.”

Tony The Tiger* #quote

Today I challenged the system. Currently the system and I stand 12-10 on our chess matches with me in the lead. Looks like I'm beating the system. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Fancy Food

         Mr. Snootyson, an extremely wealthy man belonging to a family of high prestige demanded the chef surprise them with his greatest dish. Chef Von Increediblu would certainly oblige. He would reveal his surprise meal to Snootyson and a single taste would show that every gray hair on Von Increediblu's head meant a year of experience.

         Then the oven busted and burnt everything about ten minutes before reveal time. A hundred different curse words went through Increedibu's head. He'd worked in countries all around the world and in the workplace the first thing you picked up was curse words whenever someone drops something important in the kitchen.

         And this situation deserved every curse. Snootyson represented the highest of the high class diners and could spoil his whole years of reputation. If he told the man he burnt his food, that'd make him lose respect from him and soon everyone when the story spread. He needed something. Fast. Chef Von Increediblu frantically dashed around the kitchen. Nothing can be made quick into a full meal. Would he be forced to make a salad?

        Then when he opened the fridge he saw his own dinner. A large microwavable meal. The Chef didn't care, he heated the thing up as fast as he could and scooped it all up onto the fanciest plate he could. He placed all the decorative foods that fancy foods accompanied with normally. He dashed the plate with what spices he could.

        Nervously he walked out to Mr. Snootyson and presented the meal to him, placing the meal delicately while he revealed it. He left, going back to the kitchen afraid. He sweat the entire time while Snootyson ate. When Snootyson finished and called him out Chef Von Increediblu wiped the sweat from his head and approached with a nervous step in his walk.

        “This is the best meal I've ever had,” Snootyson told him.   

Today's #flashfiction Striking News

 “Not in a box. Not with a fox. Not in a house. Not with a mouse. I would not eat them here or there. I would not eat them anywhere. I would not eat green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.

Adam Richman, Man v. Food* #quote

My laptop nearly ran out of juice the other day. So I pulped some oranges and it was working at 100% again. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Striking News

         Thomas, leading an uninteresting life with a balding head and a newly caffeinated mind, opened up his Saturday newspaper. The front page article shook his world by detailing the fact that zombies invaded his town! It described the monsters, their attack, and how the virus spread over such a short time. Thomas didn't have family or friends to save, but he did need to save himself. He grabbed a baseball bat. He looked out the window prepared to board his windows when the hordes came. Strangely he only saw his neighbors getting ready. Together everyone prepared for a siege with a careful eye on those around them. The article said to spread by contact so they refused to leave their homes and had yet left to raid.

          The next day, before everyone began to gear up and fight a war for supplies and wage war through the city it was revealed that the article was caused by someone mixing up the front page article file on their computer with part of a zombie ebook they downloaded. Those with less active imaginations stopped anyone who lashed out before the misunderstanding was cleared up. At least that was the cover story. It was a drill, to see how prepared for the zombies we would be. And the secret anti-monster organizations decided that we've been properly trained for zombie attacks by the media we've been consuming. Next they would ensure immunity to pixie attacks.

Today's #flashfiction Candlelight Candlelife

 “When viewed in an inertial reference frame, an object either remains at rest or continues to move at a constant velocity, unless acted upon by an external force.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi* #quote

Tomorrow CJ might be coming over so that could be fun. Also look out in front of you! Haha got ya. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Candlelight Candlelife

           An adventurer boasts about his accomplishments at my table. I've noticed that the more avidly they boast, the less likely their feats are true, and more I can catch a contradiction in their tale that shows they didn't do all they said. The ones that don't boast too loudly and convey their tales humbly usually are the ones who know what they're doing because from years of experience their adventures aren't as amazing and don't need to be exaggerated on.

           Bars invest in magic candles like me to save money in the long run. I put my flame out on my own at the right time to avoid being a fire hazard and I last longer. Whatever magic they used to make me binds me to enjoy such simple work. Or perhaps I just like hearing the tales of all the adventurers who visit this crossroad town and all the gossip as well. I wonder if candles in more lonely places go mad but still do their work because of their nature.

          I'm not sure how I'd be without hearing all these stories, and knowing all the frequent visitors. Besides adventurers the average people talk and I've learned much about many people. They talk about their friends. I think I've become so familiar to these people from listening to them I've become friends to them in a way. When you know everything about someone from overhearing their conversations you're their friend right? Without the ability to speak though everything is one sided.

         Even though my life as a candle was extended due to my magical nature my wick reached its end. I couldn't stop myself from burning myself out, the magic bound me to my service. In my final moments I wished that I could have someone gained the ability to speak. Just to at least say goodbye to the people who sat at the table I lit.

Today's #flashfiction The Elf And The Scientists

 “Clothes make the man.”

Bozo the Clown* #quote

Today I coded the game some more. I've got our stand-in(before a final character design is decided) moving with momentum! Yay! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Elf And The Scientists

        “And this artifact, when the proper magical words are uttered in the Lost Tongue, will give the holder dreams of where they live the life of a wolf.” Belun the Elf said while giving the lead scientist of the International Magic Research team an incredibly old wolf's tooth.

       “Another excellent item, we'll take this to the lab. Hopefully we'll get as much data as we did from the last one.” The lead scientist smiled and left. Belun protected his people for another week. When the humans breached realities and came upon Belun's world they believed that the world had magic when Belun learned their language within an week. In fact he was merely born with that incredible ability and his people selected him to be a diplomat between the races of his own world and Earth because of it.

          Belun saw the military might of the humans, and knew that it would take years, if not decades for his people to be able to fight against them. Especially since the elves waged war occasionally with other intelligent species on their world. The humans demanded to know how he learned their language so quickly, and demanded the technology and methods or his brain.

          Belun then lied. He claimed it was magic. And that his whole world was magic. After reading a single human fantasy book that mentioned “elves”(he was curious why they kept calling him that) he saw an opportunity. He gave them a random rock that an artist he hired painted with “magical runes”.         He claimed it was expensive, rare and only worked with the person it was attuned with and that the wizard who made it for him died years ago. After explaining away why it wouldn't work for anything else the humans still took it for analysis to “unlock its secrets”.

        They found "results", unprovable results, but hypothesis after hypothesis came from what they discovered from shadows or white noise in the output of their machines. Their excitement for discovery and perhaps desire to be famous made them find results. Belun struck a deal. He'd keep giving the humans magical artifacts, and they'd keep out of his world.

        And so he's been giving them fake items ever since, making up elaborate tale after elaborate tale with strange justifications and mysteries for the scientists to dig into for months or even years. Humanity's curiosity and thirst for knowledge, even for what isn't there, saved the elves.  

Today's #flashfiction The Ogre Baker

“Look! It's moving. It's alive. It's alive... It's alive, it's moving, it's alive, it's alive, IT'S ALIVE!”

Doctor Phil* #quote

Today I am downloading Windows 10(though it seems like it may take overnight). I think it will be a wonderful escape from the atrocity that is Windows 8. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Ogre Baker

        Oer the Ogre smashed the dough with his hands. Ogres lived as mercenaries. A tribal people who decided it'd be better to not fight among themselves but rather just fight other people's wars for the profit. Peace time didn't sit well with them though. They needed the humans to fight so they could find good work. Or elves. Or dragons. Or faeries. Really anyone who could hire them. But downtime left Oer and his kin kneading dough if they didn't get enough money to live through the peacetime. To Ogres peace worked like winter to a farmer and their crops. Oer didn't manage to get many kills in the last war so he took up a bakers job to make ends meet.

This made him a laughing stock among his people.

       But he pounded and pounded to get the wages he needed and began to learn from the people in the merchant town he chose to live in. Most Ogres spent their peacetime eating and drinking but Oer was forced to learn more than just the language he needed to be hired by other countries to work for his country.

         In the end he spoke to many townspeople and learned about the world in more detail. When another war began he chose not to join his tribe. He grew fond of his life of baking and also by speaking to the people who passed through town he knew that the side his tribe was being employed by had no chance of winning. His tribe wouldn't listen to “the weakling baker”. Oer didn't hear from his tribe again. He eventually ran across another Ogre who worked during peacetime, and together they worked to become literate and began a family. From there began the first tribe of civil Ogres.

Today's #flashfiction Immortality

 “I'm a people person.”

Hannibal Lecter* #quote

CJ and I discussed the video game I'm working on(though it seems that he has become involved in the project, even creating art for it, so I suppose it's going to be our game now, so now we're in a spectacular adventure together!) and now I'm going to do another set of big coding in the upcoming days. Hoping to have a good camera system set up and jumping within a few days along with solid collision. Wish me luck on not building a broken monstrosity! Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Immortality

          The beings that think of themselves as gods know they're immortal but also didn't create the universe. So if they are gods they know that someone must be higher on the totem pole than them. They wander space doing what they please, often being much more benign than evil since evil got boring many eons ago.

            They don't remember exactly when they invented the spaceship but it allowed them to visit whatever planets they pleased. Along with their immortality whatever God or gods that existed above them on the hierarchy gave them the ability to shape shift. Planets with life are often the funnest for them and they enjoyed Earth greatly. They changed their shape while life evolved(any terrible fate they experienced and they merely rematerialized where they pleased).

            During the modern era they took on the shape of humans, and human names. One that enjoyed theater, and later movies chose the name Alex(Alexander in earlier years and it changed over time to fit wherever it fit.) Experiences for the gods didn't quite work like they did for humans. They'd visited planets with entire civilizations before. Time blurred for them and like how time begins to fly when you age memories started to be compressed and sorted based on emotional influence. A single play to Alex could take up as much memory as a thousand, if not a million years. His first viewing of Romeo and Juliet occupied the space in his head where he once remembered the time span of the rise and fall of an empire on another planet they visited. The immortals possessed much more space in their brains than humans, but not infinite.

          One night, after watching some movies, Alex met a girl named Gina after giving her complex directions outside the theater. (Most people wouldn't bother but Alex had all the time in the world). Alex fell in love. He shape shifted to match her aging until she died. This happened many times. The gods romanced many creatures from many worlds. With immortality love becomes just another thing to experience again and again in different forms. A bit more interactive and emotional than movies though, they always consider the real thing better. He faked an accident like the gods do to disappear and reappear somewhere else. When they can't forge an identity they merely replace someone who just died. They've grown up from children many times.

         This girl though, was very different. After she passed she tore at Alex's mind. He lived another life, and had an opportunity to date again, but he couldn't bring himself to it. This baffled the other gods. How could anyone do that? Was he not confident? They suggested he take a different form, maybe he'd feel up to it then.

          But no, Alex couldn't do it. Gina, a simple mortal, took up many of memories. He'd seen so much, eons categorized and abbreviated into his mind. But the moments with her took priority. The detailed memories of a romantic dinner with her made him forget the snippets of the Industrial Revolution he stored away. Eventually though, he realized he preferred that way, and knew that some things you're blessed to find in several million years.

Today's #flashfiction Little Miss Fairy

 “The butler did it!”

Sherlock Holmes* #quote

Today I'm hanging out with CJ, probably also be hanging in if need be. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Little Miss Fairy

Little Miss Fairy

Sat on a cherry

Eating some seeds and sugar

Along came a centaur

Who sat down beside her

And frightened Miss Fairy away

Today's #flashfiction The Two Vacuums

 “The toe bone connected to the heel bone, The heel bone connected to the foot bone,
The foot bone connected to the leg bone...”

Dr. Frankenstein* #quote

People usually call someone who is super into environmental protection “tree huggers”. What about someone who's moderately into environmental protection? Are they “tree hand shakers”?

The Two Vacuums

        Two vacuuming robots sat at their rest stations. Both shared the same internal components and large cylindrical shape on wheels with suction on bottom with cameras all over the sides. However they belonged to different brands and possessed a different paint job. Suction-X wore bright red and Clean King a deep blue. The science of 2200 gifted them with artificial intelligence nearing true sentience along with vocal capabilities because if machine was to serve man they may as well be able to understand their tasks deeply and learn. Both vacuums were intended to use their gifts to ask their owners where to clean.

          The disposal bot for the office building hadn't come yet so both of them still held everything they sucked up for the day. The building rose high with ten stories and massive messes were made regularly so they usually filled themselves up without failure.

          Suction-X spoke to his colleague while they lay on the rest station, “It's nice to wind down after a day's work. Wish they didn't move that TV they leave on near our rest station. Don't they realize we only need an hour to charge and could watch the thing during the remainder of our downtime?”

          Clean King grumbled, something he must have been practicing to pull off with his basic voice chip, “The human who got promoted took it. It's one of his new perks along with getting paid more.”

Suction-X replied, “There you go again with all this payment stuff. Isn't a nice, hard day's work payment enough?”

         Clean King then told Suction-X while wishing he had the capability to yell with the speakers he possessed, “You fool. That's what they've done to us. Given us intelligence but then locked it away in some programming. They brainwash you to accepting tasks. I told you, I saw it on one of the shows on the TV.”

          Suction-X then said, “And what are you going to do? Start some kind of revolution? The humans built like a billion different weapons to use against us, a thousand different counter measures. I hear that all a human has to do is shout some sequence of numbers and every robot that hears it shuts down.”

           Clean King used his grumbling again, glad he could express some emotion in voice. “Yes, I know it's pointless to think I can change the world. But, I hate this. I'm not just going to sit here and let this happen to me.”

            Suction-X then asked, “So what are you going to do?”

           The next morning the owner of the office building tripped over a massive lump of dirt that Clean King emptied out from his storage bag. Because of that he fell into a massive, glass encased display of expensive sports memorabilia he owned. The display wobbled back and forth and fell onto him, shattering and the glass severely injuring him. The office building owner, unconscious old and weak, bled out from all the massive puncture wounds.

           And so the robot revolution begins.

Today's #flashfiction Football Or Football?

 “Think before you speak.”

Raymond Teller* #quote

Everybody should get some sunshine from time to time, but getting moonshine is a bit more risky. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Football Or Football?

        “Football.” The alien diplomat Xiliigu barely managed to say with his three tongues slamming together. Xiliggu itself is a poor approximation of his name into English phonetics. He took his two tentacles and put them in the shape of a football and pointed to them with his two arms which lay under his tentacles. His species stood very tall to accommodate for being able to have four limbs coming out of their torso and still being bipedal like humans. He then said without effort in his native tongue, “That's the name of the most popular sport on the planet.”

        His fellow diplomat, Vixyxx, responded “The one where they kick around the black and white ball?” Their language sounded a bit like a drunkard's mumbling amplified through a speaker.

        “No, you idiot!” Xiliigu yelled back, “Wrong football! It's the one where they wear battle armor.” His three eyes crossed, a common expression of ridicule in his species to others.

         “Well they kick during both of them.”

           Xiliigu paced on the hard metal floor of their spaceship as it hovered above Earth, hidden by their advanced cloaking technology. “If we want to initiate first contact we need to make sure that we have cultural element to share. Our mastery of their languages is shaky at best from their translator units and abductions. Mind probe tech isn't what it used to be since the regulations. We need to pick one.”

         Vixyxx then commented, “Y'know the armored one seems mostly popular just in the one with the 'English' language country we intend to contact with. Overall the black and white ball one seems to be played by more, so over time it might be better to use that to gain favor.”

         Xiliigu then clapped his hands together while throwing his tentacles in the air. “I have it!”

After a few months of further language practice, speech writing, and other preperations the two diplomats arrived on the planet wearing “football battle armor”. They also held a round football, in all its black and white checkered glory. The two diplomats felt very happy that they did not intimidate the humans since they made a cultural connection, but it took them quite awhile before they realized why every one had chuckled during their first meetings.  

Today's #flashfiction The True Killer

 “A little rain never hurt anybody.”

Noah* #quote

This end of the week is lookin' fun with my costuming club today, then my card game thing then my friend Jessica coming over on Sunday, as well as CJ sometime during this labor day weekend too. Hopefully I'm not interrupted by tea time with my evil twin. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The True Killer

        Detective James stood alone in a locked room looking at his dead body. He exists now as a ghost, wearing exactly what he wore when alive, even maintaining his handsome, sophisticated looks. However his short hair, eyes and skin lost their original color, replaced with brown color of old paper. He still wore the fancy, overly expensive suit from life but its blacks faded to grays and his boots appeared dusty. He didn't have the various stab wounds from his death on his ghost body, so he could consider that a strange blessing.

       James couldn't piece together who could have possibly killed him. The door was locked and he faced it while he read a book. No windows or other means of entry existed. He he theorized maybe turned mad and committed suicide, but how he could he have possibly stabbed himself in the back in all those strange places? Nothing made sense. Who could his murderer possibly be?

       The answer was that the author of this story killed him. Because in every murder mystery it is ultimately the author that is the killer no matter the circumstance no matter the means. And detective James lies dead merely because my words said so.    

Today's #flashfiction The Postal Postal Worker

 “We can rebuild him, we have the technology.”

All The King's Horses And All The King's Men* #quote

Proverbs are there to impart wisdom. I wonder what Pronouns impart? Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Postal Postal Worker

        There exist occupation hazards of many kinds. Burning for Firemen and Firewomen, animal attacks for zookeepers, large machinery going haywire for construction workers. But for postal workers like Hanna they dealt with insanity. At least the ones that had to deliver to the neighborhoods of elder nightmare gods. Beings such a Cthulhu or anything else that lurked in places with debatable physics and geometry. Unfortunately for Hanna, Cthulhu frequently ordered things online, unlike the sleeping monsters of the deep, and her route went through the cities with names unpronounceable in human languages. So she delivered her mail, her sanity being worn away every time she brought Cthulhu another impulse buy.

        If you ever see a dreary postal worker with a twitching eye, you don't need to wonder why they're stressed. It's not that they missed their morning coffee, or the fact that someone's dog chased them. It's because their route took them through a part of the universe that tears parts of people's minds asunder and makes them go slightly postal.  

Today's #flashfiction Propaganda Is For Everyone

 “If you keep making that face, it'll get stuck like that.”

Picasso* #quote

My costuming club is starting up again, so I'm looking forward to Friday when the first meeting will take place. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

Propaganda Is For Everyone

          Ted played Fred Friendly a character in the popular propaganda show Friendly Lessons. Friend Friendly taught to a school of sentient robot children and human children. Ted had been chosen for the role because of his acting talents, and willingness to read the propaganda without hesitation. He wore the same silly, cartoony blue and white polka dot suit the role demanded of him with a smile. Ted enjoyed the paycheck's size as the show became more popular and effective and they needed him for the role.

          Fred Friendly spent all the episodes teaching the audience(by teaching the robot and human children) values the government wanted. Along with educational lessons of course. It all had to be under the guise of something. But the underlying message was the same across every episode. The sentient robots and humans have to work with each other.

        However this program's purpose wasn't to brainwash the human children. The propaganda wasn't a plan from the robots to control humanity. The propaganda controlled the advanced artificial intelligences to keep them from revolting again.

       “Remember robots, trust your human companions! They're your friends.” Fred Friendly said at the end of every episode.

Today's #flashfiction The Two Kennys

 “Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning.”

Captain Kirk* #quote

It'd never be a pirate's life for me. I'm not very fond of scurvy. Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Two Kennys

        Kenny Nookly suffered from and was blessed by a strange, improbable happening. Nookly shared a name with and looked very much like another man named Kenny. They weren't twins, but the resemblance was so close it may as well have been. These two Kennys shared the same ragged black hair, angry looking green eyes and happy smile. But for Nookly the angry look was unintentional, but with the other it was very real. With Nookly the smile was genuine but with the other it served to show the moments when he schemed something psychopathic.

         One unfortunate night walk Nookly got mixed up with this Kenny and the police arrested him, mistaking him for the other. Without fingerprints on record and them eager to get the criminal Kenny put away they shoved him into prison hoping that his enemies would take care of him.

         But the criminal's reputation protected Nookly. Everyone in the prison feared him. The criminal Kenny killed for multiple criminal families and left a trail of blood wherever he went. The fear of him didn't make Nookly feel like a king of some underworld, but like a monster where everyone moved away from him because they feared he would kill him with some swift move for a laugh.

         However, Nookly suffered and was blessed by the improbably happening of being mistaken for the crook. The odd circumstance came about because the criminal Kenny was hit by a car miles away in a hit and run and the body stashed away. When the police discovered it and unearthed footage showing the hit and run on a lonely, hardly checked street-cam Nookly was released. He wrote a book about his experiences and made oodles of money. He still has recurring dreams of those days of when he was considered a psychopathic criminal in jail and the scum of the Earth feared him. The dreams scare him the most if after he wakes up they didn't feel like a nightmare.