Tag: flash fiction

Story Jots # 14 (b) – This Droid Heart

That breakfast seven days ago was two piping hot medium-sized pancakes, infused with strawberries and topped with whipped cream. Tera’s comfort breakfast. Her favourite part was when the chilled whipped cream made a sizzling sound each time Roomer added that final touch. She adored that sizzle and loved that special requested morning menu item. She ordered it only on the days when Dr. Cross travelled to or from Earth. When he departed for Earth, its taste made her feel better. When he returned from Earth, its taste made her feel everything. The remaining days of the week between when Dr. Cross was onboard, Tera didn’t care what she had to eat. Never mattered. Everything tasted the same. The rest of the menu was bland like how time felt when Dr. Cross was away from the space station. Her days and nights seemed long, drawn out, and completely drab. The only form of excitement she experienced was watching the calendar by her bed flip to a new date bringing her closer and closer to when she would see Dr. Cross again. See her Eric again.

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Story Jots # 18 – Right For The Juggler

The circus is over, now comes the real fun…

Story Jots # 17 – Shooting from the Hip

The blazing gunfight ended a few moments ago. Cindy-Anne and Darby sit on a small hill, smoke cigarettes, while trying to catch their breath, and silently scour the bodies spread out all over the property in relief. Young Darby purses his lips, puffs a big “O,” and breaks the blaring silence.

Cindy-Anne, you’re going to be the death of me you do know that? You’re lucky I showed up when I did.

Whatever, Darby. I was doing just fine before you came and ruined my fun. I had it under control.

Under control alright. Billy Watson was about five seconds away from blowing that pretty little head of yours clean off those pretty little shoulders. Missed that part, did ya? Well, I’m sure glad he did.

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Story Jots # 16 – Peephole Under the Stairs

Honey, have you met our neighbour?
 
What? 

Our neighbour. The guy the landlord said lives across from us in the adjoining apartment. Have you met him?
 
Ah…no, I don’t think so. Why? 

Oh, nothing. I was just thinking today about how strange it is that we’ve been in our new place for three months, and both of us have yet to lay a single eye on him. Don’t you think that’s a tad odd?
 
No, not really. Maybe this guy likes keeping to himself. He could work shitty hours opposite us or something. Who knows.
  
Yeah, I guess. But you would think we would have seen him coming or going at some point. His front door closing here or there. 

Baby, you are being weird and uncharacteristically nosy. Who cares? Look, I am completely cool with not getting to know our neighbours. I hate those annoying stop-and-talks. Besides, shit’s tangly when people get too all up in your business. That’s the whole reason we moved. We hate people remember. 

All I am saying is that I find it odd. I haven’t seen him in the laundry room, I’m there almost every other day. Both of us check the communal mailboxes coming in and going out, no sign of him there, either, and his mailbox is right next to ours.

Ah, there’s that weird again, babe.

Plus, it’s not only his door, I also haven’t heard anything coming from his apartment. Nothing. It’s always quiet over there.

And, there’s the nosy.

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Story Jots # 15 – Grounded

“What the fu…“

Before Ben Coleman could finish his f-bomb, or the joint he was pulling back on, the sky had begun to fill with people. Popping up all over the place. As far as his eyes could see, human beings appeared everywhere. First, one by one, then two by two, now it seems they’re multiplying by ten at a time. Suspended off the ground about a hundred feet or more, all spaced out sort of evenly. He slowed his car to a stop to get a grip on what was happening. This couldn’t be real. He looked momentarily at the bag of weed sitting next to him in the passenger seat. Pausing a second thinking maybe he was high. Baked on his uncle’s homegrown stuff. It wouldn’t be the first time. His uncle’s gear was always sort of “use at your own risk.” Thinking this, he figured it was another reason to pull over. See if he could come down a bit from his buzz and get his head straight. The people kept coming and it wasn’t long before he realized it wasn’t weed. He was buzzed for sure, but this was as real as it gets and now he was freaking out. His buzz was just making it worse.

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Story Jots # 14 (a) – This Droid Heart

Whoosh…
A door slides open from left to right. A young woman scurries across a bedroom as quick as she can coming to a stop at the room window. As soon as she reached the view which was into outer space, a transport pod shot away from the lower deck of the same space station she stood on the third level of. Every few seconds she waved both her hands vigorously hoping someone she missed already would see her farewell before the pod shuttle burned itself into Earth’s atmosphere becoming no longer visible. As soon as it did, her smile was gone. She felt a rush of sadness fall over her. It lasted but a few seconds until she remembered the promise she had been left with which made her smile come back.

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Story Jots # 13 – Back to the Futon

And, now you can open your eyes…

Wow… your DeLorean bed arrived. So, this is what we all got you for your birthday gift?

It certainly is. You could say this puts a new “spin” on “bedtime”.

Great and with puns included. It’s official, you’ve gone full nerd. 
 
Shush, your pretty mouth. You like it. I can see you do behind whatever that expression is you’re trying to make. Come on, be honest. It’s exactly what you expected when you said I could get whatever I wanted for my fortieth. 
 
Yeah, I rolled over way too easily it seems this “Back to Your Birthday” day.

Ouch!

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Story Jots #10 – Dying Truth

Hope was something she had let go of a long time ago. They all did. The only thing left was her and the few remaining days she felt she had to live. Her food was gone, and without a fire to boil the blankets of snow, consuming it to survive would only prolong the inevitable. Dead of winter had no mercy where she laid in wait, awaiting help she knew was not coming. Before long she too would be left frozen in time like everyone around her when their will to stay alive vanished. Those rotting bodies beside her were the only morbid company she kept. Her body ached and her mind continued to play tricks as she would awaken from unconscious drifts only to find herself still clinging to a cold pointless existence. She was scared but was getting used to the fact that she would die soon like those before her. Being the last soul alive it was now about preparing for it. Allowing the elements to take over and finally start to accept that this unforgiving place would be her prison forever. That was the dying truth.

Story Jots # 6 – Peephole Under the Stairs

Honey, have you met our neighbour?
 
What? 

Our neighbour. The guy across from us in the adjoining apartment. Have you met him?
 
Ah…no, I don’t think so. Why? 

Oh, nothing. I was just thinking today about how strange it is that we’ve been in our new place for three months now, and the both of us have yet to lay a single eye on him. Don’t you think that’s a tad odd?
 
No, not really. Maybe this guy likes keeping to himself. He could work shitty hours opposite us or something.
  
Yeah, I guess. But you would think we would have seen him coming or going at some point. His front door closing here or there. 

Baby, you are being weird and nosey. Who cares? Look, I am completely cool with not getting to know our neighbours. I hate those annoying stop-and-talks. Besides, shit’s tangly when people get too all up in your business. That’s the whole reason we moved. We hate people remember. 

All I am saying is that I find it odd. I haven’t seen him in the laundry room, I’m there almost every other day. Both of us check the communal mailboxes coming in and going out, no sign of him there either and his mailbox is right next to ours.

Ah, there’s that weird and nosey again, babe.

Plus, it’s not only his door, I also have yet to hear anything coming from his apartment. Nothing. It’s always quiet over there.

And, there’s the nosey.

I am not weird, Bradley. Or nosey. Why are you being mean? 

Continue reading “Story Jots # 6 – Peephole Under the Stairs” →