Flash! Friday: “Long, Long Life”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Because I was feeling zippy and optimistic today, I decided to write about the collapse of an aging father’s family life and sense of joy.

We all just have days where we want to spread joy and love into the world, right?

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: Long, Long Life

Character: A Doomed King

Setting: A Castle

Word Count: 205

 

 

What happened to Don McClean and dinner with the family?

I think I saw them walk out hand-in-hand with my 14 year-old daughter and her 17 year-old boyfriend. She told me she’d be spending the night at his house, my castle. She came home to visit once in a when she decided to stay the night for the rest of her life.

My son was texting before I could dial a cell phone. He’d always be looking down at his screen, talking to somebody he doesn’t want me to see. When I was young, your neighborhood was your world and everyone knew each other. Now the whole world is at your fingers and is stealing conversations with my kids that I’ve never had.

Many dying years later, my son married to the man on the other side of that phone. I wasn’t even invited. “Too conservative and old-fashioned,” my son labeled me. I cried myself into a waking nightmare of an empty nest.

Elvis died on the throne, I always say. He won’t be the only king to die there. Every time the clock’s hand ticks, it slaps me in the face. I can feel my own life drain away like a thermometer in winter.

 

BLUE FRONG

 


 

 

Did you know that “Scorpion” is pronounced “Score-pea-an” and not “Scwore-pea-an” like I’ve been pronouncing it for years?

Oh, you did? Well then why didn’t you tell me?

Some friend you are.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Flash! Friday: “Beauty in the Eyes”

 

BEGIN TARNSMISSION.

 

Yes, that’s a typo. I left it in because I think it sounds FUNNY.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Title: Beauty in the Eyes

Conflict: Man vs. Everyone/thing Else

Character: A charismatic hedonistic narcissist

Word Count: 160

 

-Excerpt from page 1 of 150 of the legal confession of Jo Brakenburg

 

Burb of Ny’roh 6, Mike the Sentient Planet and me, Jo Brakenburg were all in the running for “The Most Beautiful Not-Necessarily-Organic Lifeform in the Galaxy”

Why was that even a contest worth having? I don’t care how many fjords Mike has. I have magnificent sunlight-golden living hair that is perfect. In every way.

And the day before the final judging, I’m in third place. I can’t even count to three! I’m that much of a Number 1!

That night I had a revelation that shook me. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. My definition of beauty was not everybody’s definition of beauty.

So I had all of the judge’s eyes removed overnight. You see, such things are possible when you’re beautiful and beautiful people like me just have that kind of power. Not like you’d know. Mountains of money from Brakenburg Beautifications helped too.

 

 

FRONG

 


 

 

 

I kind of have a seething hatred of Fridays now, which is terrible because it’s  the best day of the week, just because I have these two writing deadlines due (the other is Friday Fictioneers, obviously) and then work at an obscenely early hour in the morning.

And the morning is evil.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

Friday Fictioneers: “Viking Funeral”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Green Day’s “Peacemaker” is partially to blame with the inclusion of Mr. Molotov’s cocktail. The name is just too pleasant sounding (like “engine” and “cellar door”) to not include in a story about fire.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Image Copyright: Jennifer Pendergast

Image Copyright: Jennifer Pendergast

 

Title: Viking Funeral

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100

 

Grandpa Johnathon’s a bad influence. That’s what my parents said. They sipped bitter wine and ate sweet grapes from a platter at Grandpa own funeral. Grandpa’s lakeside house must have been a bad influence too, because it was ravaged like a corpse by cousins and in-laws.

Grandpa always loved fishing— part of his Viking blood. Amidst the chaos and looting, I stole away Grandpa’s best hat and most beloved photos. I loaded them up onto his favourite fishing boat and set them on fire out in the link. Grandpa was the one who showed me to make the Molotov cocktail.

 

 

 


 

 

I wanted to include a scene in this story where the kid pushes the boat out of the dock while it’s still at the grandpa’s house and then lit it on fire, walking back and ignoring all of the rambling and blabbering that was flung his way.

It’s not like he lit the old man on fire, though! Just his most beloved stuff.

He should have thrown a spear into the water too, dedicating the funeral to Odin.

No, I didn’t just read American Gods in the space of about a week and a half and am now internalizing all of its greatness.

Not at all.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

 

Five Sentence Fiction: “Not Subtle At All”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Seriously, why didn’t this dumb kid just stick a post-it on his head and say, “I’m lying through my teeth!” At least he wrote his confession of guilt on a piece of paper where his body language and blubbering can’t make him look more like an idiot.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Bookmark the permalink.

Five Sentence Fiction: “(Can’t) Move On”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

So, I know I’m bad at checking for new Five Sentence Fiction’s early and often but then never doing them until it’s almost too late. But now I’m actually getting decent at writing them. So it makes my late arrival even worse!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Word of Inspiration: Breakfast

Word Count: 120

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Title: Not Subtle At All

 

 

Hi Mom, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out of the house for a little while today. I know today’s supposed to be your special day, but don’t let my absence stop it from happening. I just need to head into town for a little bit and find something to treat burn marks and ash cased into tile, nothing to panic about, just a little bit of cosmetic touch-up so the house sparkles. P.S., don’t go into the kitchen at all; it’s not ready for you to see it yet. Also, I know I promised you breakfast in bed but I had just a little tiny kink in the plans (seriously, don’t go in the kitchen).

 

 


 

 

Augh, help! I’m at the footnote and I’ve run out of things to say! I could tell a very short anecdote about how I made a big fancy breakfast (relatively speaking, I’m a simple man when it comes to breakfast) for myself this morning. But nothing got burned down, so it’s a little underwhelming.

Little and underwhelming-

I bet you thought I was gonna make a self-depreciation joke there. But no. I’m of average height and I actually like the material I put into these flash fiction posts.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

Five Sentence Fiction: “(Can’t) Move On”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

So, I know I’m bad at checking for new Five Sentence Fiction’s early and often but then never doing them until it’s almost too late. But now I’m actually getting decent at writing them. So it makes my late arrival even worse!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Word of Inspiration: Lipstick

Word Count: 132

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Title: (Can’t) Move On

 

 

It’s moving day— I’m moving on. My friend and I are hoisting up my sofa; there’s been too much done on it to keep it any longer. Too many quiet words whispered with I had childishly thought was love— too many promises woven that split like fraying twine. I kinda wish I could follow this sofa into the fire, the flames might burn away the invisible grime she left on me when she kissed me on the cheek and vanished into the warm neon night. I kept the lipstick stain she left on my cheek for a whole day, thinking she would be coming back; I’m going to have to keep the spike she drove into my heart for the rest of my life, knowing she never will brighten my doorway again.

 

 

 


 

 

If I can finish writing this whole post by the time this Duct Tales “The Moon” remix is done I’ll be so proud of myse-

And it’s done. Well, there goes my pride. Oh well, can’t miss what you never haaaaaaad.

 

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

 

 

 

Five Sentence Fiction: “4th of July”

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Yes, I’m phoning this one in. Yes, it’s not very good. Yes, I finally forced myself to take a few days off of writing altogether!

And it was so nice!

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

 

Word of Inspiration: Bubbles

Word Count: 85

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Title: 4th of July

 

 

I’m blowing bubbles outside- it’s a nice day out and every bubble pops on top of my dad’s car. He’s out with her again, I forgot her name, so I’m enjoying myself. It turns out that gasoline doesn’t float like soapy water does but I’m making due. There are puddles forming on the hood of dad’s cars and I’ve got one sparkler left from the 4th of July.

Dad chose to be with her instead of watch the fireworks- he won’t forget this fire, though.

 

 

 


 

 

Hopefully the next Five Sentence Fiction will be available soon enough so I can redeem myself for this- a story I came up with while driving to my friend’s house today. With no AC. For an hour and a half.

I hate summer. So very much.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.

 

 

 

 

 

Five Sentence Fiction: Clock Thief

 

BEGIN TRANSMISSION.

 

Five Sentence Fiction is, for better or worse, the real step-headed red child of my blog’s roster. I blame the fact that I can’t do dialogue very easily with it, which is my favourite thing to write in short, pithy stories.

 

Have fun~

 


 

 

Word of Inspiration: Thief

Word Count: 135

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Title: Clock Thief

 

Quick, quick officer, somebody has stolen my hours and days from me! It started with Garamoush, that blasted book simply won’t get finished no matter how much I chip away at it with the old editing-stick; It has a deadline to boot goddammit! Next came Ghost in the Shell with its magnificent cool and collected Major Kusanagi and the grimly gleeful Batou— will they manage to stop the Laughing Man? But worst of all came Arkham Horror in the middle of the monster-infested night, spreading the words of the Great Old Ones into the streets of the tiny Massachusetts city— I couldn’t resist its call of Cthulhu! So you see officer, this is a theft of the highest degree and I will not wait and waste away any longer waiting for justice to be served.

 

 

 


 

 

Funny thing is, I also left out Pokemon, Guns of Icarus, Smite, Landfall, Friday Fictioneers, Flash! Friday, work, and eating which managed to all steal my time away too.

It sucks being interesting sometimes.

 

 

Good luck, you brave writer folk!

 

END TRANSMISSION.