Tag Archives: Flash Fiction Friday

6-Dec-2018

Tags : Flash Fiction Friday

Fancy Decorations Don’t Get It

After a long day of desperate Christmas shoppers, Cupid the Reindeer let out a contented sigh when the last customer left and the lights started going off at one end of the store and continued to the other.

“About time,” someone from the little village at the base of the tree muttered.

“These people are just about as far from the Christmas spirit as you can get,” Frosted the Snowman said. The jewels on his hat glimmered in the faint light left on for the night.

“Says the guy who doesn’t even represent Christmas,” piped up a comic book hero ornament from near the top of the tree.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Frosted shot back.

Cupid shook himself out, then tried to fling the myriad of tiny, sticky hand prints off of his legs. “Why did it have to be suckers?”

“That’s why they brought you in,” Frosted said. His coal smile somehow morphed into a smirk. “You’re supposed to be able to take that sort of thing.”

“Give the kid a break,” a gruff voice said from the village. “Just because he’s a discount store decoration doesn’t mean he’s not important.”

“Yes it does,” Frosted said.

“Do you want to get touched by all of those juicy, germ ridden, sticky little children’s hands?” the comic hero asked.

Cupid rolled his neck. “At least the kids can touch me.”

Frosted looked down at himself. “Well, they can’t touch the rest of us.”

“Certainly not!” a squeak came from the village, followed by several more voices expressing the same sentiment.

“We’re fragile!”

“And priceless,” Frosted said, gazing at his designer coat with diamond buttons.

“But the point of Christmas is to make the kids happy,” Cupid said.

“Or to eat the last half of that rum cake over there,” a villager said.

The comic hero snorted. “Uh, no. The point of Christmas is money.”

“You’re both wrong,” Frosted said. “The point of Christmas is to make people so frustrated that they’ll buy things they normally wouldn’t.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” the comic hero said.

Cupid cocked his head to the side. “Who taught you that?”

“The decorations that came before us.”

“But, at my old store, some moms brought their kids just to see the nutcracker, or me. Or both.”

“That’s because people who visited your old store spend their days in undeserved leisure, pretending to be functioning members of society.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Cupid said.

“Do you?” Frosted asked.

“Yes. I mean, how does it make you feel when a little kid sees you and their eyes go big and they point?”

“It makes me feel like hiding,” someone from the village said.

“Agreed,” the comic hero said. “All I can think about is going into their dirty, little mouths.”

Cupid’s mouth hung open. “You don’t get it.”

“There’s nothing to get,” the mayor from the village said. “We get put out once a year, ogled, sometimes abused and then we get shoved back into our respective boxes and piled in the basement until next year.”

“But this is the most wonderful time of the year!” Cupid said. “None of the other decorations get to see what we see, or feel what we feel?”

“Exhausted?” the comic hero asked.

“No!” Cupid cried. “Do you even listen to the kids? The parents?”

“All I hear is crying, begging and exasperation.”

“It’s under that,” Cupid said. “Most people love Christmas. They love that they get to give to others, because it makes them feel good.”

“No, what makes people feel good is after-Christmas returns,” a villager said.

Before Cupid could speak he heard a small voice coming from the towel section.

“Can we go see the tree?”

Frosted the snowman cringed. “Wonderful.”

More murmurs followed as the decorations went still.

Cupid kept his eyes trained on the approaching family. It was one of the managers, along with her two little girls. The oldest might be six, but the other couldn’t be more than three years old.

Both cherubic faces lit up as they rounded the corner and saw the display.

“Santa’s chair!” the older girl cried as she ran toward Cupid.

Cupid watched the younger girl as she kept a hold of her mother’s hand and quietly approached Frosted and the village under the tree. Her large, blue eyes never once blinked, and her little mouth formed an O.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

The older girl got to Cupid and smiled up at him. He wanted to smile back.

The younger girl kept moving until she stood right in front of Frosted. She looked up at her mom. “Can I touch him?”

“Go ahead, but be gentle.”

The girl reached out a chubby hand and gently stroked Frosted’s lowest snowball. She giggled. “He’s soft.”

Their mother, complete with dark rings under her eyes and a slight limp from working the floor all day, smiled. “He is.”

The family spent fifteen minutes examining each ornament and member of the village.

Cupid beamed. This is what the season was all about. Surly the others would see that.

After the family left Frosted snorted. “At least she didn’t have dirty hands.”

“They were so happy!” Cupid said.

“I’m just glad they’re gone,” a villager said.

Cupid rolled his eyes. This was going to be a tough crowd to crack.

***

Theme – Christmas

Character – Cupid the Costco Reindeer

Setting – A Fancy Department Store

Random Object – Half-Eaten Rum Cake

Here are the Options my Facebook Crew came up with!

Character

1. Cupid, the reindeer from Costco
2. Weeping angel
3. Nutcracker prince
4. John McClain
5. Frosty, the Snowman
6. Jack Frost
7. The Grinch
8. Elf on the Shelf
9. Bu (the gnome off The Troll Prince)
10. Frosty the snow letch

Setting

1. A Hanukkah party
2. North pole (under attack by gumdrop terrorists)
3. Phoenix
4. Black Friday Shopping brawl
5. The In-Laws
6. A gingerbread house
7. Santa’s chair at the Little Rock Mall
8. Fancy department store
9. High School Holiday Concert
10. Sledding Hill

Random item

1. BlueRay of Scrooge with Albert Finney
2. Giant candy cane
3. Jack Frost’s Staff
4. Eggnog
5. Re-gifted fruitcake
6. Christmas toilet paper
7. Half-eaten rum cake
8. Can of Vienna sausages
9. Krampus’ bag of naughty children
10. String of red lights—only half working

30-Nov-2018

Tags : Flash Fiction Friday

Potions and Witches and Garlic, Oh My!

Warda the witch huffed as a hollow knocking sounded from her front door. “Go away!” she cried.

Most of the time that worked, but not this time. Indeed, instead of the blissful silence Warda had been expecting, she heard a click, then a squeak.

“You do know I can turn you into a toad, do you not?” Warda bellowed in her biggest voice.

“Hello?” A tiny voice asked. An angelic voice.

Ethan’s voice.

If she ignored him, he might go away, so Warda turned back to her potion book and scanned the page for the next ingredient. “Dragon Claw,” she said aloud. She had some of that. Warda turned to walk to the shelf behind her and almost stumbled over the little boy standing right in her way.

Ethan—a skinny, blond boy with big blue eyes and dirt smeared on his cheeks—stared up at her with a grin. “Hi, Warda.”

“Get out of the way,” Warda said, sending a half-hearted kick his way.

Ethan scrambled toward a tiny crevasse of safety where the cauldron usually sat. “What are you making?”

“None of your business,” Warda said as she tapped her chin. That Dragon’s Claw had to be around here somewhere.

“It smells like cloves.”

“That’s because there’s cloves in it,” Wanda said. Had she used it all last week?

“It’s at the other end,” Ethan said.

“Pardon me?”

Ethan pointed. “I alphabetized your ingredients last month. The d’s are over there.”

Warda narrowed her eyes and gave the child her most hideous glare.

Ethan ignored it. “Next to the purple jar of Dragon Dung.”

A quick inspection told Warda that the child was correct. She grunted and retrieved the bottle. “Why are you touching my things?”

“Because they’re disorganized.”

“You don’t even know what that means.” Warda took a pinch of Dragon’s Claw out of the container and sprinkled it into the bubbling potion. After a few stirs, the liquid turned bright yellow, and the smell changed from cloves to the wind at the top of a mountain.

“I thought you weren’t going to make healing potions like that anymore,” Ethan said.

“Where did you get that idea?”

“You told me last week.”

Warda sniffed. “I didn’t tell you nothing.”

“You tell me everything.”

Did she? Warda thought about it. The kid was here a lot. She usually ignored him, but she did have a tendency to mutter under her breath.

“So why are you making it?”

“It’s not a healing potion,” Warda said.

“Then what is it?”

This time Warda looked hard at the boy. “None of your business.”

His lower lip stuck out.

Warda turned back to the book to check the final ingredient. When she saw it, she frowned. “Garlic.”

“Over there,” Ethan said helpfully.

“Pressed.”

“Your knives are in the top drawer.”

Warda had been wondering why she could suddenly only find half of her belongings. She moved to the drawer and pulled it out. When just over half of it jutted past the edge of the wood, the whole thing rocked forward, smashing the contents up against the front panel with a clatter.

“On the left,” Ethan said.

“I’m not looking for a knife,” Warda said.

“Then what?” Ethan asked. The scuff of a shoe told Warda he had emerged from his haven.

The utensils chinged and zinged as she dug through them. “It was just here.”

“What?” Ethan’s blond head crept into Warda’s vision as he peered into the drawer.

Warda began tossing things out. “No. No. No.”

“Stop!” Ethan begged.

“No.” That one hit the caldron with a deep clang. “Nope.” She reached for the next item, then caught a glimpse of the one she had been looking for. “Ah-ha!” She pulled it out.

“What’s that?” Ethan asked.

“A garlic press.”

“A what?”

Warda waved her free hand and returned to the cauldron. “It’s from the future. Very useful.”

“Th—the future?”

“Isn’t that what I said? Now bring me the garlic.”

“The what?”

“The spear shaped leeks.” She held out her hand.

“Oh.” A moment later Ethan placed a bulb in her palm. Then he retreated to his haven.

Warda pulled off a clove of the potent root and stuffed it into the press. With one quick squeeze, and a sickening crunch, the garlic exploded and oozed out the tiny holes in the bottom. “Also good for squishing faerie heads.” A quick glance toward Ethan showed him watching with wide eyes. She dumped the garlic in the pot and stirred.

“You’ve been to the future?”

“Yes.”

It took him a moment before he asked another question. “What was it like?”

“Convenient.”

Silence.

“And?” Ethan asked.

“And loud. Couldn’t find any peace and quiet.”

“Why did you come back here?”

Warda snorted. “Because, if I don’t train you to be a wizard, bad things will happen.”

“Bad things?”

“Yes, bad things.” She pointed. “Now get over here and stir.”

***

Okay, I kind of ignored the theme. Ah well. Still cute!

Genre – Fantasy

Character – A Wizard (or in this case a witch)

Setting – The Past

Random Item – Garlic Press

Theme – Family

9-Nov-2018

Tags : Flash Fiction Friday

I told you not to touch that

“Whacha doin’?” my lump of a nephew asked as he oozed into the industrial kitchen.

“Preparing for later,” I said, setting a gleaming knife onto a white towel which sat atop a floating cart.

“You mean for those guys downstairs?” His bulbous body pulsed, and his eyestalks turned to examine the tray.

“The very ones.” The last item joined the others, and  I retracted my arm into my own body.

“Can I watch?” he asked.

I sighed. “No.”

“Why not?”

The whine in his voice made me want to form teeth and bite him, but I refrained. “You tell me,” I said with as much patience as I could muster.

His body sagged. “Because mom says I’m not mature enough not to go into a blood lust.”

“And?” I formed a ropey sinew and wrapped it around the cart’s controller. My nephew followed as I started toward the back door of the kitchen.

“And I would kill them too quickly.” His body grew larger on the bottom, as if he were slowly turning into a puddle.

“And why is it important not to kill them too quickly?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes in his eyestalks. “Because we want information.”

I stopped just short of the door. “And how valuable is information?”

“More valuable than currency,” he said in the most sarcastic voice he could muster.

He’d been here for over a cycle, and still wasn’t getting it. Of course I understood how difficult it was to stay in control during the development years. I’d been through it. I’d lost control once, and I still had the burn marks on the bottom of my body where my mentor punished me. It had only taken once.

Maybe it was time for my nephew to learn his first lesson.

“Listen, kid, tell you what. Why don’t you help me test some of this stuff?”

“Really?” His eyes widened, and he straightened.

“Really.” I jerked an eyestalk and moved the cart to a nearby counter. It would be another hour before the kitchen staff returned. Plenty of time for what I had in mind.

My nephew practically skimmed across the floor in my wake. I motioned for him to come around the other side as I pulled a drawer out from under the top of the cart.

Several organic items resided there. I could see their scents rise, like smoke, and my nephew leaned away when his body absorbed the first of them.

“This is the first level of persuasion,” I said. “The raw organics.”

My nephew paled, but eased forward.

“The scent isn’t deadly, but as you can feel, it is not pleasant.”

He shook his head and leaned to look into the drawer.

“This one in particular is mild, but it stays with you.” I plucked the white bulb off of the cold, metal surface. The outside of the organic shifted under my touch, and light flakes fluttered back down. I held it out. “Smell it.”

My nephew inched closer and extended a hand toward the object. He didn’t touch it, but instead cupped around it with the extension. Again, he paled, but didn’t move away.

“The outside is mild. The inside is a different story altogether.” I formed fingers and tore away the outer layers until I got to the segments. My appendage wanted to recoil, but I’d handled this before. I pulled a segment free and set it on the towel. “Get ready.”

My nephew grew still.

The blade of the knife gleamed in the light, and I placed the flat of it on top of the segment, then I pressed down.

The scent, once cream-colored, turned a disgusting hue of yellow. The moment the first tendril of it hit my nephew, he went green.

To his credit, he didn’t draw away.

“The beings downstairs will not like this, but it will not kill them.”

“Will they talk?”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Perhaps not.” I picked up the now cracked segment and began to peel the exterior away. The scent became more pungent, and I steeled myself. “But they will when I do this.”

I placed the segment into a little bucket of what we called the press. When it settled, I drew two handles together and pushed.

The segment squished apart and through small holes. The scent turned a violent orange, and raced outward in every direction.

My eyes secreted a protective layer.

“Ah!” My nephew reeled back, pulling his eyes into his body.

“One touch of this,” I said, “and they will be begging for mercy.”

I tapped the goo onto the nearby  counter the turned my back and moved to a disposal. I threw the whole press away.

I only counted eight seconds before a strangled cry of alarm and pain rang out behind me.

I smiled.

The smell of searing flesh reached me, and I turned.

My nephew had taken the bait I had so carefully laid for him. He’d reached out a hand and touched the garlic.

Now his fingers were on fire, and he couldn’t get them back inside his body. He twitched and turned and screamed some more.

I pulled an extinguisher off the wall and pulled the trigger. A layer of purple mist enveloped him, and the he stopped screaming.

I moved to his whimpering form and looked down. “This is why you can’t come down.”

He nodded, liquid running from his eyes and blood running from his ruined hand.

“Now go see the doctor. I have work to do.”

***

Genre – Sci-Fi

Character – Villain

Setting – In a Shop

Random Object – Garlic Press

Theme – You Are Your Own Worst Enemy