Posts Tagged ‘flash fiction’

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The Black River

In Fiction on June 27, 2013 at 9:54 pm

fire truck

The Black River

The old desert tortoise took slow, deliberate steps. One leg up, one leg down, with a dull scrape as his shell dragged along.

“Before the black river came, the crossin’ took ages,” he told the young ones that scrambled in his wake. “Of course, these days it’s hurry, hurry, hurry. Go, go, go.”

The sun was high and they cast no shadows.

“Technology…” the tortoise muttered.

Then suddenly the ground began to rumble, and the pebbles skipped and snapped on the quaking road—and a great red beast went screaming past.

“Hey!” the old tortoise bellowed. “Where’s the fire, Bub?”


Tomorrow is Friday, so that could only mean one thing: Friday Fictioneers! This is my response to this week’s photo prompt, above, taken by Indira.

Click the blue guy up there to read the other stories, and have a great weekend!

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The Mechanic

In Fiction on June 24, 2013 at 11:21 pm

rusty gearsThe Mechanic

The door of the station wagon let out a pitiful metallic wail as my wife pulled it shut; the Aries had always been a piece of shit, I thought. My son stared blankly from the passenger seat, watching me in the doorway—watching as his mother backed down the long driveway and into the icy street.

“You’re like a goddam robot,” she had said. “Christ, Andrew, can’t you show even a little emotion about this?”

I couldn’t, so I shrugged blithely, like I was watching someone else’s life fall apart on TV. That’s when she’d started packing her bags.

Honestly, I didn’t see what the big deal was. Marriages end all the time—the statistics are staggering—and I wasn’t about to break down just because we’d failed like so many others. I even felt freed by it; I watched the sun scrape through a dull orange sky and dip below the horizon, then stayed up into the night working on my coupe and watching black-and-white reruns on the flat screen. Read the rest of this entry »

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Omne Trium Perfectum

In Fiction on June 21, 2013 at 10:51 am

English: Three Ek Knives

Omne Trium Perfectum

They say bad things come in threes: misfortunes, children, crimes.

Omne trium perfectum, I say.

My brothers and I are three, but I’m youngest—the charmer. I lure the victims.

Then: Three cuts.

This 33-word story is my response to this weekend’s Trifextra challenge: Third time’s the charm. I went creepy with it, clearly. Check out the rest of this week’s stories for all kinds of great reading fun.

And happy weekend everyone!

*The phrase “omne trium perfectum” is Latin and roughly means “everything in threes is perfect/complete.”

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The Post

In Fiction on June 20, 2013 at 1:43 pm

Guard, copyright Managua Gunn

The Post

Elizabeth stood with pride, ennobled by her place in the city’s secret history; through every hour of every day—on every day of every year since 1372—a guard had stood at this spot, and now the post was hers.

Her gun was loaded; her bayonet was sharp; her orders were simple: Kill anyone who willfully pursued the Secret.

Not that the tourists knew this. To them, she was a quaint anachronism. But the ornate government offices behind her were a decoy, built to deflect attention from her true charge: the grate upon which she stood.

Far below, the Ancients fumbled in the dark, roaming the catacombs in search of light.

Read the rest of this entry »

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The Garden District

In Fiction on June 18, 2013 at 8:27 pm

Garden District

The Garden District

Philippe Bonté had clubs all over town—Carrollton, Gentilly, the Lower Ninth—but it was Sunday morning, and that meant I’d find him at his Garden District hotel, likely sipping black coffee and balancing some lithe teenage girl on his knee. For a criminal, Bonté kept a surprisingly high profile; his schedule was practically public knowledge, and Madelaine’s story was far from the first I’d heard of the man. I knew he was dangerous.

But as I walked from Madelaine’s apartment, stumbling a bit on the sun-kissed cobblestones, it occurred to me that she was dangerous. Read the rest of this entry »

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From the Cradle

In Fiction on June 17, 2013 at 4:18 pm

palm trees

From the Cradle

Fevered, I dreamt I crawled a burning maze, my limbs withering and sloughing off in my wake; dead men chattered nonsense, mouths filled with ash, eyes filled with pain; then a drenching rain swept up from some distant gulf, washing the ash and limbs and fire into an endless black chasm.

When I woke, dew dripped from the palms, dropping heavy in the leaves. A faint light glowed over the dunes to the east, pink like lilies in the spring. The oasis, our green cradle, seemed to sigh. We were safe.

I let my brother sleep and set to work digging a shallow grave. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Crucible of Death

In Fiction on June 13, 2013 at 1:32 pm

light through windows with curtains

The Crucible of Death

When I awoke, the golden morning was pouring through tall windows, glowing behind shifting gossamer curtains. Madelaine lay beside me, long and liquid and naked. She smiled.

“You talk in your sleep, Sean,” she said. I sat up. I was still fully dressed.

“Anything interesting?”

“Dreadfully boring. Dirty laundry and mysteries and murder.”

She rose from the bed and stepped to the window, where she was a cutout in the incredible light. The sun flashed through her legs. I reached for my gun. Read the rest of this entry »

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Lonely Travelers

In Fiction on June 11, 2013 at 9:30 pm

moon, stars, night sky

Lonely Travelers

I drove south over dunes and flats of rough-packed gravel, my brother groaning meaningless psalms in the back, Meher’s lifeless body jostling like a marionette to my right. My leg needed attention: Shrapnel had nicked the femoral artery, which leaked a slow pulse of blood—a violent bump might tear it completely—but our attackers were in pursuit.

Egypt’s Western Desert is a bleak expanse marked by few settlements and fewer roads, but I knew the Dakhla Oasis lay some 30 miles to the south; it would be several hours over the treacherous terrain, but I drove on, praying the dusty skies would give us cover… praying the blood I had left would last.

*** Read the rest of this entry »

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Out for Blood

In Fiction on June 4, 2013 at 11:11 pm

English: Human blood magnified 600 times

Out for Blood

Sweat stung my eyes and blurred my sight. Meher stumbled ahead of me, walking backward and straining. My brother hung between us like a bridge, heavy and insensible, as the footsteps grew louder behind.

“Who are they?” Meher gasped. “What do they want with your brother?”

“They don’t want my brother,” I said, wheezing. “To them, he’s just a freak. They’re literally out for his blood; whether it’s hot or cold when they get it is incidental.”

Meher’s terror flashed on his face.

“I do not wish to die,” he said.

“Then let’s get him to the truck.” Read the rest of this entry »

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On Damāvand

In Fiction on May 31, 2013 at 12:21 pm

iran-tehran_l

On Damāvand

We sit on sleeping fire, on Damāvand, where the dragon Dahāg writhes in his bonds.

We see our city, older than myth, and its transient seething.

The hill shakes; our hearts are inflamed.

This is my response to the weekend Trifextra challenge, from the friendly folks over at the Trifecta Writing Challenge. The prompt this week is the picture up above, provided by mohammadali on Flickr.

The photo is of Tehran in Iran, and my story draws on some old Persian myths. Check out this wikipedia entry if you’d like to know more.

Happy weekend!