Tag: Flash Fiction

The Other Fantastic Four

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Flash Fiction: Fandango’s One Word Challenge (#FOWC)

AI-Generated Image: The Other Fantastic Four.

Zeyla snuck out on a blistery cold night–escaping the sheltered lifestyle her parents invented for her. Her best friends Catarina, Shiloh, and Bree awaited her arrival. Even in the darkness of the forest, her hair greeted others before she could make an appearance. It was as wild as the woods, and long, like weeds that hadn’t been tended for weeks. Yet, there was something so incredibly demure about her–something inviting.

She floated into the heat of their embrace. Each one took a turn laying their hands on her, examining Zeyla for signs of tampering or further parental distress. She leaned into their powerful, enveloping arms. The plan was to evade checkpoints, hop on the next ship chartered for Aruba, and blend in–in a new country.

Everyone who knew them wanted the women banned from public spaces and fought the town’s authoritarians for years to make it so. Superpowers had been labeled passé, yet Zeyla and her best friends flaunted theirs as if the new rules did not apply to them.

Zeyla, within seconds, could morph into two different versions of anyone standing in front of her. Catarina blew coal ash from her mouth–up to 500 feet. Shiloh could enter the body of her opponent, puff into a gigantic ball, and telepathically order them to spontaneously combust. And, Bree?! Well, Bree’s superpower was the most unsuspecting of them all…she could shape-shift into her opponents’ grandparents, and use this when it was most necessary. After all, what person of sound mind is going to kill their grandparent?

The four of them knew they were no longer wanted in their home country. They had heard the whispers–saw the evil looks on their neighbors’ faces. It was only a matter of time before a riot ensued. Orchestrated by the mastermind of the group, Zeyla, this plan was a surefire one.

All they had to do was survive for five days away from home–away from their power source, and if they did… their superpowers would remain forever.

Aruba doesn’t know what’s headed its way.

**Musical Selection for this story:

Bishop Briggs, White Flag

This flash fiction piece is in response to Fandango’s One Word Challenge, and the word is “demure.”

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Wayne Donald

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Flash Fiction: Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge

The image depicts the corner of a room with bright green walls and ornate stacked moulding in white and gold. We see part of a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A sofa with green and gold striped fabric and gold trim sits against one wall. Various artworks of different sizes adorn the walls, some framed in gold and some black. Photo by Elif Gulgac on Unsplash.

“Where the hell is Wayne Donald?!”

Kinley Chris yells from across the salty shore. Her younger sister shot like lightning from their grandmother’s front porch to the mouth of the beach when she heard the fireworks.

To try and coax her home, Kinley runs at full speed with a bag of gummy bears dangling from her back pocket–her sister’s favorite snack.

“Wayne Donald! Wayne Donald! I’ve got your favorite snack! Come on out here. I ain’t got all day!”

The girls are the two most oddly named children at their school–in their neighborhood. Wayne Donald, the youngest, at age 7, is a blonde-haired, green-eyed turbo train of unbridled anxiety. Kinley Chris, 13, is cinnamon sunshine with a pinch of “Don’t waste my time”, and their personalities speak before they do.

Plainly put, they don’t need an introduction.

The girls’ grandmother sits in her art room, rocking back and forth to the sound of the island’s fireworks.

No one is allowed in this room, not even her husband (not the girls’ biological grandfather). The room is both peaceful and creepy. It’s a vibrant green with a cream and gold ceiling, and has Art Deco-like furniture. It smells like a scene from a Foghorn Leghorn cartoon married to last night’s dinner. The girls gladly stay out of it.

“Wayne Donald! Wayne!!! Girl, where are you?! It’s getting dark, and I’m cold as the teats on a mama polar bear!”

On the pier, directly behind the viewers, Wayne Donald appears. She is wearing a snaggletoothed smile and sea-soaked clothes.

“I’m right here, Kinley Chris! If I was a snake, woulda bit ya!”

The little girl races to her older sister, slaps five with her, and snatches the gummy bears from her back pocket.

“If that was all I had to do to get these here gummy bears outta ya, Kinley, I woulda did it long ago.”

She leans into the tight embrace of her big sister, and they plop their tired bodies on the muddied sand.

“If all you wanted was some candy, Wayne Donald, all you had to do was ask.”

The girls’ grandmother lifts the window in the art room and calls them home. Her wretched voice echoes along the beach. They race each other back to the long-winding porch and float through the front door.

Tomorrow’s adventures await.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. The name, “Wayne Donald,” came to me first, then the image of the little girls, and the story wrote itself from there. I love these challenges, and I am grateful for them as kickstarters for buried creativity.

Damien’s Last Call

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Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge

The image depicts a close-up of a payphone on a wall. There are stickers on the phone that read “4 MINUTES FOR $1.00,” “LOCAL CALLS 50¢,” and others. Photo by Nellie Adamyan on Unsplash

He stood at the pay phone, short on change and on love, and waited for the last seconds to tick by.

“Please insert $0.50 to continue.” The automated voice chimed in before Lacy could complete her sentence.

The two of them were like peas in a pod. Damien, with his wild antics, and Lacy, with her calm demeanor. Opposites attract, and they were inseparable.

Who would have ever thought Lacy would be on the other end of what would have been a collect call, but Damien had $0.50 on him to spare. His last bit of change for a woman who changed him.

“I should have stayed outta that store, Dame. Ain’t no changing it now. I did what I did.”

“It’s supposed to be me! I’m supposed to be in there! Not you! Not you, Lace!”

The automated voice chimed in once again to remind Damien of the pressing need for more money for the call. Please insert $0.50 to continue. Please insert $0.50 to continue. Please insert $0.50 to continue.

“I AIN’T GOT NO DAMN $0.50, OKAY!”

Damien banged the receiver’s cradle with the handset three times to match the automated voice’s demand. The last words he heard from Lacy before the call was cut short were, “I’ve done time for both of us.”

He dropped to his knees, held his head in his hands, and sobbed for the love of his life.

The execution was scheduled for 10:00 AM sharp. He had forty-five minutes to save her. The spare change he had to make the call to her was his last.

David T. Pulman, Jr., Esq., sat in his oversized office chair, his hands folded perfectly in his lap, his hair slicked back in a greasy ponytail, and waited for the phone to ring.

It didn’t.

Time of death: 10:05 AM.

This flash fiction piece is in response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. I couldn’t let this one pass when I saw the pay phone as the image from which to create. If you want to try your hand at it, go for it!

A River Bath

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Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge

From Ryan Grewell on Unsplash. The image depicts a bear in a body of water with rocks and trees in the background. Most of the bear’s body is submerged. We see the bear’s head above the water, along with his right leg, which he appears to hold with his right arm. What is this bear doing?😅

I am your most esteemed Tour Guide and Developer of this beautiful place, Logan Tismouth. If you’ll direct your attention to Caper the Bear, who appears to be river bathing as we speak…

Logan extends his arm and points his hand in the direction of the bear. The crowd follows with their eyes.

Caper is a show-stopper. He is one of the happiest bears any of us has ever seen. He is our featured attraction here at River’s Ridge Sanctuary. We provide semi-natural-to-their-habitat homes for bears, mountain lions, deer, bobcats, etc. You name it, we’ve got it! But Caper is something special.

Three years ago, he was found slumped over the stump of a chopped-down tree, dehydrated with a gaping wound in his lower left leg. Daniel, our Lead Ranger, placed the call to me. He gave me the rundown of the bear’s status and informed me to send out two more rangers, a sack of tranquilizers, and a pack of bottled water. He estimated his time there would be four hours. I issued the work order and had all of the items disbursed, along with the requested rangers, too.

If we had not acted fast, Caper wouldn’t be here today. So you see, not only is he our featured attraction, but he is the only bear with a story like this to tell at River’s Ridge Sanctuary. And we believe he knows just how special he is. I have to say, I’ve never seen a vain bear, but Caper is one.

He has grown accustomed to looking at himself in a mirror. When I visit his dwelling space, I take a hand-held mirror along with me. His greeting is always with a light paw to my right shoulder, and a welcoming scoff as he blows a puff of air into the forest around us. I pull out the mirror, hold it up directly in front of him, and he muses about himself for several minutes.

Stunned by his mannerisms, I leave the mirror with him. He has a collection of them now. Several of the rangers and staff have coined another nickname for him, one of which I do not approve, “Logan’s Very Special Vain Bear.”

Luckily, it hasn’t caught on… yet.

I enjoyed crafting this fiction piece for this week’s challenge. Maybe it’s something you’re interested in, too? If so, mosey on over to Melissa’s blog to give this challenge a once-over. I am sure she’ll be happy to see you there

The Beauty of Voyeurism

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Flash Fiction response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Prompt

Photo by Tetyana Kovyrina on Pexels. The image depicts a side view of a chipmunk with a tiny teacup. On the ground in front of the chipmunk is a tiny tea dish with a blueberry on it. The ground appears to be a stone-type walk, and there is a dark blue background.

Mr. Doyle lives across the street from us. He’s an older guy with wiry fire for hair in a golden rage. My mom hates him… says he’s on some sort of in-house arrest for his past following him all the way here. I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I like Mr. Doyle. He has this lisp that I bet could scale a ladder quicker than The Flash. I have tea and danishes with him twice per week. He paints nature–makes it pop.

Today’s piece is a chipmunk sipping from the tiniest teacup I’ve ever seen. He also has a rather fat blueberry on a plate in front of the chipmunk. “A proper breakfast”, I comment. Because who wouldn’t want tea and blueberries?!

He tells me he’s titling the painting The Beauty of Voyeurism, and I sit back on the green, crunchy cushions of his couch, swirl the name around in my mouth. I like it. But . . . “Why voyeurism? Isn’t this a more sexually derived term for being too nosy and too into what you’re snooping up on?”

Mr. Doyle rolls back and forth on the heels of his feet, nods his contemplative head, and shouts in my direction, “YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY CORRECT, SAM! If you notice, the chipmunk is focused, entirely too focused on the tea. The blueberry is lonely. It would like some of that attention, too. But the chipmunk has become enticed by, influenced by the deliciousness of the tea–so much so that its pleasure has been satiated by the tea alone.”

I know I ain’t the brightest crayon in the box, but I know at this point, exactly what Mom was talking about when she said Mr. Doyle has a past following him. I get up from the couch, grab my windbreaker, thank Mr. Doyle for the tea and danish, and high-tail it across the street.

Ain’t no way I’m telling Mom about this. NO WAY at all!

This flash fiction piece was written in response to Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge. Maybe you’d like to give it a go as well? Here’s hoping your mind doesn’t take you to where my mind took me. It was a fun write, nonetheless, though.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

Peace and Blessings!

“Do Gerbils Love?”

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Flash Fiction

AI-generated image created with WordPress images.

“Do gerbils love?” Paul pondered as he spent what could be his last moments breathing next to the love of his life, Sophie. The two were a pair of hopeless half-wizards and even though their hearts were recently connected, it felt like they had been in love for centuries.

Maybe in a past life?
Maybe in a past spell?

Whatever it was, Paul stood there with an invisible rope binding him in place–the slightest movement was an act of severe futility. Would Humphrey turn him into a gerbil, an elephant, a gecko, or the latest edition of Better Homes & Gardens magazine?

Whatever he was going to be, he wished for the ability to love. And to continue to love Sophie, too. But what would she be? If Humphrey could turn them into anything under the natural sun, what spell would he conjure up for his beloved Sophie?

The dank air of the firm’s office swirled around the hostages as Humphrey laughed maniacally from his throne. A snap of his finger . . . a flush of his lips . . . a slap of his left hand to his right ear and then . . .

*POOF*

They would all waddle like ducks waffling around for a place to find comfort.

As he snapped back to life from his daydream, the bulky image of Humphrey approaching him increased in size. His jowls hung viciously on his face, and his razor-sharp teeth barked out of his mouth.

He gawked at Paul with the intent to do bodily harm and whispered, “Now, where were we, you insolent fool?”

“Gerbils,” said Paul. “Gerbils . . . do they love?”

I am currently reading, The Portable Door by Tom Holt, and a particular phrase in this book (the title of this story) shook something alive in my brain. What you have just read is the product. I am nearly done with the book, and I cannot wait to write the review for it, too!