Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Kimberly Gould Week 91: Not So Far Away

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Kimberly Gould’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Not So Far Away

Jess shook her head to try and clear the ringing from her ears. What had that been? A brilliant flash and a booming thud that still echoed in her bones. She had thought it was the end. This is what death is like, were her exact thoughts. Now, she believed death wouldn’t keep hurting. Dead people didn’t have ringing in their ears, right?

Everything was blurry, too. As though being unable to hear anything weren’t bad enough. Was it too dark to see? She rubbed at her eyes. No, it was bright. Very, very, blindingly, burning in her retina bright. It was almost as bright as that flash, but nothing could be that bright. This was just the sun, only closer, less filtered, as though there were nothing in the sky to block it.

There was a different buzzing, lower than the tone that filled her ears. She turned toward it and someone took her hand. Continuing to shade her eyes, Jess followed her through an archway. It cast a welcome shadow. She blinked her eyes clear again. The building was old, fallen apart, but she could still read the sign.

Lady Meredith’s School for Girls.

She hadn’t gone anywhere. This was exactly where she had been, and yet, nothing like her home. When was she?

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Kimberly Gould is the author of Cargon: Honour and Privilege, and it's sequel Duty and Sacrifice. She can be found most places as Kimmydonn, including Kimmydonn.com

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Monday, March 17, 2014

SJ Maylee Week 91: A Fresh Start

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SJ Maylee’s’ Choice: Both

Title: A Fresh Start

Colleen reclined in her plastic lawn chair and raised her chin, the sun’s rays swept across her face. She closed her eyes against the brightness and tried to imagine herself on a vacation far away from the crap and loss that surrounded her. A deep breath filled her with smells of wet dirt, nothing like clean sandy beaches.

For once in her life, she wished she could be writing about something she experienced, rather than pulling inspiration from events she’d read about or seen on TV. She bent over her journals and searched through each one for a spark of inspiration.

She considered making the hero in her next manuscript a mortician or a pest inspector. She was at least on a first name bases with the two men in her small town that had these jobs. She scrapped both attempts once her heroine became obsessed with scrubbing her hands clean and plugging in air fresheners.

After adding two more ditched stories into her trash can of rejects, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. She wished the world away and quieted her mind for a sweet midday nap.

“Excuse me?”

Colleen sat up straight and focused on the deep southern voice in front of her.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to have to wake you, but I haven’t been able to find anybody else on this road.” The soles of his cowboy boats had a fresh coat of muck from her driveway. His jeans however looked perfect as they stretched over his hard looking thighs.

“That’s okay.” She dragged her gaze up and over his pristine white t-shirt, chiseled chin, and past him to his bright red truck. She cleared her throat and pushed up from her seat. “Where did you come from?”

“I think I’m your new neighbor.” He took a step towards her and extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Dylan.”

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SJ Maylee believes hearts are meant to come together and find love. As a writer she has a tendency to break hearts, but she always glues them back together. You can follow her at @SJMaylee,

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Saturday, March 15, 2014

Jenn Monty Week 90: Normalcy

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Jenn Monty’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Normalcy

The mylar balloons made an eerie scratching noise as the wind blew through the empty back yard. Jamie inched around the swing set and moved toward the faucet on the side of the house. She stayed low as she moved, hoping the inhabitants were either dead or no longer inside. She sank to her knees and turned on the water. Jamie cupped the water in her hands and drank greedily as her eyes continued to scan the backyard and back door. The creak of the back gate sent a chill up her spine. The gate was around the side of the house and out of eyesight. Jamie frantically searched for a hiding place. She ran as silently as possible toward the swing set and slumped down behind the slide. It wasn't a great spot but it was better than staying completely in the open.

A girl walked around the side of the house. She was pretty in an old movie star kind of way with flowing chocolate hair and beautiful powder white skin. Her dress clung to her curves in all the right places. Her lips were ruby red and her checks flushed. As she neared, the smell that drifted over Jamie was so bad her eyes watered. It was like nothing she had ever experienced; a putrid rotten meat scent like several dead animals. Jamie choked back a gag reflex and wiped her eyes so she could focus on the figure still moving around the back yard. If she was lucky, the vampire wouldn't smell the fear rolling off Jamie's skin. She watched in horror as the beautiful head snapped in the direction of the slide.

Jamie tried to run. It was no use but she tried anyway. The vampire was upon her within seconds. She watched in horror as a silky white hand plunged into her chest. Jamie screamed then abruptly stopped as the vampire pulled out a lung.

The body no longer resembled a human when the vampire glided back through the gate, leaving the balloons as the only evidence of normalcy.

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Jenn Monty, also known as Brewed Bohemian, is a lover of Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Horror and anything with "Punk" in the name. She is an avid reader and writes flash fiction at www.BrewedBohemian.blogspot.com

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Thursday, March 13, 2014

Mark Ethridge Week 90: The Whole World Went Insane - Part 3

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Mark Ethridge’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: The Whole World Went Insane - Part 3

On the fifth morning of my walk home, three wolves were waiting for me outside my tent. There was a time I would have wet myself, and screamed like a girl when I saw them, because I knew I would their lunch. But that time ended when Jessica found me. I knew the wolves were there to show me something, and I knew to follow them. I’d seen them ask Jessica to follow them enough times to figure that out.

“Jessica sent you, didn’t she?”

One of them did its best to smile, which was downright scary. Looked more like it was baring its teeth, getting ready to have a Frank sandwich for lunch. But it nodded its head. I found myself wishing I could talk wolf, like Jessica.

I quickly gathered up my tent, putting my backpack together, while the wolves waited for me. Then, I followed them. They kept taking turns on which one stayed with me, the slower than hell human, while the other two ran ahead, making sure the way was clear.

I found myself wishing I had a pedometer, so I could tell how many steps I’d taken. And a watch, so I could tell how long we walked. The wolves stopped after a couple of hours. They helped themselves to a couple of rats. I had a drink of my scarce water, and one of my bags of nuts. That was lunch. Then, off we walked.

I watched the sun getting lower in the west. “At least the directions of a compass still work.” North was still north. West was still west. Sometimes, I wasn’t so sure about South and East. It was like all the bad things happened to the South and East.

As the sky started to turn shades of pink and gold, the wolves stopped. I heard voices ahead. They nudged me, and I took the hint to walk toward the noises.

Into a clearing. A big one. It looked like an old city park. There was a paved road next to it. And an old bus stop next to that. Carefully spaced trees filled the park. An old building stood on the far side of the park.

The voices came from a couple of dozen people at the bus stop. They were carrying suitcases, backpacks, and bags, like they were heading somewhere. I heard a bus engine, and watched a full-sized bus with an old Greyhound logo on the side pull up. Everyone got on the bus, and it drove off.

No one remained at the stop.

And all the noise stopped. That’s when I heard her. Weakly begging for help. That’s when I saw her. Among the neatly spaced trees of the park. Naked, of course. Very visible bruises on her face, and arms.

Hell, it was obvious what had happened.

Of course, no one at the bus stop had helped her. No one would. The male gangs use girls like her as bait. They suckered people in. Then killed them, and took all their belongings.

“Um.” I turned back to the trees, “Guys? A little help?”

The wolves entered the clearing. One came up to me. The other two were a hundred or so feet to either side. Their eyes constantly scanned the area, their ears constantly twitched. I heard an eagle scream, and looked up. There were six of them circling overhead.

The wolves and eagles knew I had to help the girl. They knew it was in my blood. That I couldn’t leave her there.

I crossed the street, wolf by my side, and made my way through the park to the girl.

I didn’t talk to her. I didn’t touch her. I tried not to look at her at all. I put my backpack down, and pulled out my only other shirt, and pants. I took my canteen, and my clothing, and put it on the ground in front of her. I turned away, and acted like I was keeping guard over her. Watching to make sure she was safe.

I thought about the type of animal men that hurt girls like her, for no reason. Other than to get their rocks off. I wondered what kind of animals rape a girl for hours on end, beats her half to death, and leaves her to die.

I knew there was no answer. How could there be an answer? It was like the world went insane. Like the human race suddenly decided to destroy itself. I’d never understand it. I’d never figure out why.

The wolf next to me growled as it moved into an attacking stance, ready to pounce. The other two magically appeared short distances to either side, teeth barred, growling, with ears laid back.

Six men dropped out of trees. Scrawny men. Looked like they hadn’t eaten in days.

Like I said. Bait.

The wolves moved between them and me, and the eagles screamed as they dove at the men.

At least the men were smart. They backed up, held up their hands in the universal sign of surrender, and one said, “It’s cool. It’s cool. You want her? She’s yours.”

We guarded the girl while she washed her face, and a few other places. Here abusers had left a lot of stuff on her. Then, she pulled on the pants and the shirt. One of the wolves crawled up to her, getting low to the ground, wagging its tail, making little “yip” sounds. Looked just like a happy puppy. A happy gigantic puppy that could tear a man to shreds, and then eat his heart out.

I didn’t look at the girl. “I’m Frank.”

She didn’t speak.

“Can you walk?”

I heard her whisper, “Yes.”

The wolf put its head under her hand, and rubbed up against her leg.

“It’s time to go,” and I started back the way I’d come. She slowly followed.

What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t touch her. I knew that. I couldn’t comfort her. I knew that. Hell, she was probably terrified of me. Another male. Like the ones that hurt her.

We walked another hour, in the dark, until I felt we were a safe distance from the park. I stopped.

“Here’s a good place to rest.”

I put up my tent. Big enough for one. I unrolled my bed covers, as meager as they were, in the tent. I pulled out two bags of nuts, and the last piece of jerky I had. I put one bag and the jerky down on my empty canteen, in front of her.

“You can sleep in the tent tonight. I’ll stand guard.”

We didn’t talk. We sat in the dark. Eating what little food I had left.

“I wish I knew how far it was to the camp.” I had to say that out loud. Let her know I was taking her somewhere. “Valerie will be able to help you more than I can. Hannah too.” I wanted her to know there were other women where we were going.

She wandered into the trees after a bit, one of the wolves went with her. One of those mother nature calls we all have to make. I wondered if she’d come back, or if she’d run. But I didn’t follow her. I waited.

When she returned, I pointed at the tent. “Get some sleep.” She crawled in, and pulled the opening shut. The wolf taking care of her parked itself outside the opening.

I didn’t sleep much that night. Neither did she. She had nightmares. Bad ones. Woke up screaming. Lots. She cried.

I wondered if I could find enough guns, and bullets, to kill all the animals on Earth that hurt people like her. I knew I’d try to find a way. I knew there’d be less of them in the world before my time was up.

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Mark woke up in 2010, and has been exploring life since then. All his doctors agree. He needs to write.

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Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Pablo Michaels Week 90: Spring Break

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Pablo Michael’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Spring Break

It was 10:30 pm., Friday night on Spring Break at the Boardwalk. I was waiting for a prearranged date with Sam. It had been twenty years ago since we met Jane here. We were only sixteen but managed to fool our parents, staying the entire weekend at the Hotel, nearby, instead of a school sponsored retreat.

Jane, the supposed person of our wooing, had nicknamed Sam, Sammie, and me, Chucky. Jane's affection seesawed back and forth between us. Vying to win her attention, Sammie challenged me for the final tally of points to win free parasailing for two on the beach. Even though I was more adept in Skeeball, Sammie had outscored me by 300 points in all the other games. I suspected he didn't even try with this last game, allowing me to win by 400 points. I gave the grand prize, a giant panda bear, to Jane who was less than thrilled. She grabbed my gift and ran down toward the beach where it was quite dark and deserted, Sammie and I chasing her as she ran into the cold ocean water. I thought Sammie had won her favor when she lost her footing from a large approaching wave and fell. Sammie rescued her as I attempted to retrieve the soaked stuffed animal. Shivering from our drenched clothes, we propped the heavy Panda bear against the arcade stairs and rushed to our hotel rooms.

Jane retired to the adjacent room Sammie and I shared, hinting she must rest for sunning on the beach the next day but winking at Sammie before shutting her door. I was not surprised to find his bed empty when I came out of the bathroom to go to bed. He obviously was with Jane.

I woke around four a.m. to a knock from the adjoining door. Jane was surprised then worried when Sammie was not in our room. I listened to her account of their attempt to make love and Sammie’s failure to perform.

That happened three hours earlier when Sammie fled her room.

Although we asked the concierge if he paid for another room, he had disappeared. Jane and I searched the boardwalk, the rest of the weekend, only relying on a platonic bond to salvage our vacation without Sammie.

After Spring Break when we returned to school, Sammie explained his flight, only as needing his space. Jane and I remained, only, platonic friends while Sammie disengaged his ties to us, concentrating on his studies.

After twenty years I was surprised by Sammie’s request to meet him at the Boardwalk. He booked our rooms at the same hotel, prompting me to meet him at the Skeeball concession at eleven at night. I accepted, desiring to see the kid I always had a secret crush for all those years. I wondered if he was gay like me.

Exactly at the arranged time, two hands from behind covered my eyes. “Are you up for a different kind of date this time?” he asked. “But I won’t let you win Skeeball this time.”

I turned around. A more than average attractive man, who had challenged me, showered me with a sensual grin.

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Pablo Michaels writes LGBT fiction and has published with Naughty Nights Press, http://naughtynightspress.blogspot.com You can follow him at @bell2mike

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Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Samantha Lee Week 90: Traditional Mortal Date

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Samantha Lee’s Picture Choice: Two

Title: Traditional Mortal Date

She frowns, looking around. Humans are everywhere, dozens upon dozens of them. They mill about eating something fluffy and pink wrapped around sticks. They go to booths to throw balls at staked cans and toss rings at bottlenecks so they can win giant understuffed toys with vaguely animal-like shapes. There are brightly coloured tents set up between the booths, the signs out front boasting of magicians, acrobats, jugglers, knife-throwers, fire-eaters, jesters, and freaks within. Dead centre of the whole affair, a massive wheel rises above everything, creaking as it carries evenly spaced chariots in slow churning circles. It made no sense to her.

"Why am I here?"

"Because you said you wanted a traditional, mortal date."

She looks around again, never having seen anything quite like this. Usually, she keeps to the ancient age where the temples and religion of her people still thrive and their worship is still strong and persistent. The festivals and celebrations are vibrant, full of life and passion yet infused with an awareness of the fleetingness of mortality.

This is something else, something new. This isn't children crying out to the heavens for acknowledgement. It isn't designed to appease or honour the divine. It isn't a paltry expression of gratitude born out of fear and desperation. This...this is amusement for amusement's sake.

A completely foreign concept.

"I...I...what is it?"

He grins, taking her hand and leading her into the throng. "It's a fair. We'll ride the ferris wheel, you'll eat some cotton candy, and I'll win you a giant teddy bear."

Still frowning, she glances at the laughing, smiling mortals they pass, looks up at the still ferris wheel, and bites her lip. "I don't understand. I thought...I thought we'd take a walk or attend the theatre or...something like that..."

She lets out a surprised squeak when he spins her around and loops his arms around her hips, holding her against him as he continues to cut his way through the crowds. "We've already walked the world and seen all the plays the Greeks have to offer - twice. This is something new, something special. Don't you like it?"

"Of course...well, maybe. I don't know. I've never...this isn't like anything we've...I've ever done before. I'm...I'm nervous."

He stops in front of a booth, one of the ones with rings and bottles. Stuffed toys of various sizes line the sides and hang from above. He pays the attendant the required fee and takes the proffered rings. All five loop around the bottlenecks and he claims an enormous stuffed bat as his prize. Handing it off to her, he flashes another of his rare grins. "For you, milady," he informs her with a mock bow. "This is going to be fun. This is something new, something we haven't done before, something that definitely falls into the category of a traditional mortal date. Give it a chance, dove."

She looks around again, her gaze inevitably drawn to the ferris wheel. She notices how it stops and goes, stops and goes, and it deposits old passengers and collects new ones. A smile slowly curves her lips. "What are we supposed to do while we ride the ferris wheel?" she asks.

Following her gaze, his smile actually widens, taking on a decidedly wolfish quality. "I'm sure we'll think of something," he tells her.

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You can read my blog - Calliope's Domain - over at calliopedomain.blogspot.ca

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Monday, March 10, 2014

Lizzie Koch Week 90: Grandma’s Story

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Lizzie Koch’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Grandma’s Story

As soon as I saw the house, I knew who used to live here. Those angel wings were legendary. This is what we’d all come to see. The man, who going by stories, single handedly won the war on zombies or ‘walkers’ as they were referred to then. This was where he finished his days, living in peace, in the countryside, away from civilisation, being able to track and hunt with no fear. Gone were his ‘family’. Once the threat of walkers were no more, his family went their separate ways. Rick, like a brother to him, moved back to the city with Judith, Carl and Michonne. Rick was always about family, finding a way to survive. There was no way he was going to miss out on rebuilding, making decisions that had to be made. Of course, by the time the war was over, Carl was a young man himself but he stood by his father, making sure Judith knew the sacrifices their family had made, made sure their mother was remembered. Who knew after all that whinging and bitching, Carl would turn out to be a statesman with a vision, a leader with passion.

This place was tranquil. I could understand after all the torment, not being settled, that he would build a home like this where the worries of the world were a million miles away, in another universe. He was done.

“And this is where the great, late, Daryl Dixon lived until his death in old age,” the tour guide said. I couldn’t believe Daryl being old. Couldn’t imagine him shuffling around on withered feet, the strength in his arms gone. That would have killed him I reckon, not being able to lift his beloved crossbow. “He was not alone when he died. His son and daughter stayed by him in the last weeks of his illness. It is thanks to his children, that the house is part of the trust to remember those dark times.” I flicked through the guide book. His children had their own families now, were grandparents themselves, retired and living by the coast, as far away from woodland as possible. It was hard, looking at the forest now, to imagine this beautiful land was ravaged by death.

The tour guide stood by the door, his hand on the handle. “Everything is left as it was. I ask you do not touch anything as you walk around.” This was what we’d been waiting for. The door creaked open. I took my grandmother’s hand and led her in. We hung back a bit, letting the group move on so we could take everything in. My grandmother’s hand trembled when she saw the crossbow.

“Are you Ok?” I asked. She was frail and I thought the trip too much for her but she insisted. She was part of that time but never spoke about it. I guess being here was bringing back her own torments of that time, her own struggles for survival. She must have been with an amazing group of people. I secretly wished she was with Daryl and his band of warriors so she could have had a good life once it was over. But she was one of many who just appeared one day and carried on living without fame, without help and no one wanting to hear her stories. . . until now. I longer for her to speak about it, such was the atmosphere of this house.

Her frail hand slipped from mine. “Grandma!” I caught her just in time and led her to the armchair where she flopped in. I gently fed her some of my bottled water. I knew this trip was a bad idea. What was she now? Ninety? I had no idea but she always looked young . . . until now. Now every line in her face was deep with history, etched with suffering, pain and horror, her eyes heavy.

“Excuse me! the voice of the tour tour guide bellowed. “No sitting on that chair!”

“She fainted. She just needs a minute.” I gave him my best hard stare before turning back to my grandma who now wore a smile. She didn’t speak as she reached for the locket around her neck. She always wore it, never opened it but when deep in thought, she fingered it, lost in a time that no one could comprehend unless part of it.

“This is your’s,” she said, trying to pull it over her silver hair which was still surprisingly thick, looking like candyfloss. “I kept it all these years until the right time. Now is the right time . . .here . . . in Daryl’s home. I feel close to him now . . . after such a long time,” she said wistfully with glassy eyes that now sparkled. The group had gathered around her, silent as they listened to her, realisation dawning they were in the presence of someone who survived the walkers. “He’d want you to have this, to know him. This is who he was. He lived for his family, for Carol. They were soul mates, matched in every way. I was just a silly little girl. But I understood him. he understood me.”

I touched the engraved angel wings on the locket, before opening it, knowing what was inside. Daryl’s face started back; tired, dirty but alive. “How do you . . . I don’t understand . . . What?”

“Who are you Ma’am?” the guide asked, overwhelmed with curiosity.

“My name’s Beth, Beth Greene.”

“But she died.” a voice stated.

“No, she’s here . . . for the moment. Once we all met up, I knew my time with the group was coming to an end. Watching Carol and Daryl every day hurt me even more. We were on our own for months, just the two of us. We formed a strong bond. Like I said, I understood him. He finally understood me. Here.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a wad of letters. “Something for your museum once my granddaughter has finished with them.” I shakily took the bundle, all addressed to my grandma. “They’re from your grandaddy.” she said smiling, closing her eyes.

I opened one, feeling eyes over my shoulder but didn’t care. I seemed to know what my grandma was trying to tell me before I saw the signature of those letters.

“You’re Daryl Dixon’s granddaughter!” voices exclaimed behind me.

“I . . .I . . . know.”

“Beth, tell us your story, please,” the guide asked as he pulled up a chair and sat, ignoring his own rules. The group followed his lead, sitting around, all eyes on my grandma. Now she could finally tell her story, her time with Daryl when the walkers roamed the earth.

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I dream of sharing my work with the big wide world one day as a published author. Right now, I share flash fiction with a wonderful community of writers and friends. If you liked this story, then why not visit my blog at http://40somethingundomesticateddevil.blogspot.co.uk/ for more. Thank you. Love Lizzie x

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