Go Back To Sleep…

I awoke at precisely 3.02 a.m., my internal alarm screaming at me – something was wrong.  I reached for my phone on the nightstand and pressed the home button, the light blinding me and causing me to squint as I checked the time. Rubbing my eyes, I listened, wondering what it was that could have woken me.

Over the whirring and knocking of the off-balanced ceiling fan that I had been meaning to fix for three years, I could barely hear the crying coming from the bathroom. I slide my hand to my wife’s side of the bed, and felt sheets where her body should have been, not that I needed to confirm it was her in our bathroom, but kind of hoping I was just hearing things, too. Sitting up on my elbow, I called out to her, “Maggie, are you ok?”

The crying stopped and I could tell she was doing her best not to concern me as she softly said from behind the closed-door, “I’m fine, honey. Go back to sleep.”

‘I’m fine.’ The two words in every woman’s vocabulary that ignites a primal fear in every man’s heart. Taking a deep breath, I propped myself up and swung my legs out over the edge of the bed. I wasn’t going to be going back to sleep, and I knew that if I did, sometime in the next fifteen years, this moment would be used against me in a court of matrimonial argument. So, I resigned myself to my course of action and made for the bathroom door.

I had to tread carefully, because the literal minefield of our bedroom floor could be littered with any number of children’s toys, balled up clothes, or left out shoes, each one spelling doom for me if I stepped wrong. However, the loud hissing shriek of the cat as I stepped on his tail was not something I was expecting, and as I jumped up off of him, I fell backwards into the wall I was using to support my half-asleep self, knocking over the lamp on the dresser and sending it crashing to the floor.

Without missing a beat, my wife called out from the bathroom, “Are you ok?”

Now, mind you, I’m a smart-alex to begin with, but as I sat there, on the floor with my pride firmly shattered next to the lamp, and the cat nuzzling up to me, I just calmly said back to her, “I’m fine honey. Go back to sleep.”

MMWM #11

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM http://ift.tt/1MSbwYp

Go Back To Sleep…

I awoke at precisely 3.02 a.m., my internal alarm screaming at me – something was wrong.  I reached for my phone on the nightstand and pressed the home button, the light blinding me and causing me to squint as I checked the time. Rubbing my eyes, I listened, wondering what it was that could have woken me.

Over the whirring and knocking of the off-balanced ceiling fan that I had been meaning to fix for three years, I could barely hear the crying coming from the bathroom. I slide my hand to my wife’s side of the bed, and felt sheets where her body should have been, not that I needed to confirm it was her in our bathroom, but kind of hoping I was just hearing things, too. Sitting up on my elbow, I called out to her, “Maggie, are you ok?”

The crying stopped and I could tell she was doing her best not to concern me as she softly said from behind the closed-door, “I’m fine, honey. Go back to sleep.”

‘I’m fine.’ The two words in every woman’s vocabulary that ignites a primal fear in every man’s heart. Taking a deep breath, I propped myself up and swung my legs out over the edge of the bed. I wasn’t going to be going back to sleep, and I knew that if I did, sometime in the next fifteen years, this moment would be used against me in a court of matrimonial argument. So, I resigned myself to my course of action and made for the bathroom door.

I had to tread carefully, because the literal minefield of our bedroom floor could be littered with any number of children’s toys, balled up clothes, or left out shoes, each one spelling doom for me if I stepped wrong. However, the loud hissing shriek of the cat as I stepped on his tail was not something I was expecting, and as I jumped up off of him, I fell backwards into the wall I was using to support my half-asleep self, knocking over the lamp on the dresser and sending it crashing to the floor.

Without missing a beat, my wife called out from the bathroom, “Are you ok?”

Now, mind you, I’m a smart-alex to begin with, but as I sat there, on the floor with my pride firmly shattered next to the lamp, and the cat nuzzling up to me, I just calmly said back to her, “I’m fine honey. Go back to sleep.”

MMWM #11

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM

The Killing Blow…

Malevolence swirled in the air; it coated my skin like an oily residue of evil. It drew me deeper in, preying on the hatred and anger I harbored for years, and like a fire raging out of control, it consumed me on the inside. My eyes boiled, my breath deepened, my chest swelled and my heart beat loudly in my ears. My hand gripped the handle of the sword, fingers flexing reflexively on the leather-covered grip.

I relished in the weight, feeling the heaviness of my weapon of warfare, knowing that it hungered for battle just as much as I did. I hunched down, my legs swelling with power as I prepared to launch myself into the fray, to become one with the dance of death and to unleash the destruction that bound up inside of me.

I stared across the gravel pit at my opponent. My victim. His poor pathetic excuse for a life would easily enough be snuffed out as my blade drank deeply from his corpse.

The cheers of the crowd surged through me, my name dripping off their lips like fresh wine. Their applause is my spoils. Their chants my battle cry. They think it is for them, and only them, that I raise my blade and strike. All for the glory of battle. All for the roar of the crowd. All for… them.

Pathetic fools. Vicariously living through the victory of others. Sitting in their seats, giving accolades for another’s performance thinking they had anything to do with it. This is my blade, this is my body, this is my blood. I live on the edge of death while you sit safe in your seats. I know the value of the lives I take. You only know the value of admission.

As I rush across the field, my body and blade as one, I strike once, batting his defense away. I kick him in the gut, and as he doubles over, I bring the pommel down on the back of his head, flattening him to the ground. All too easy. And as he lies on the floor, the crowd grows louder. As I raise my blade, their volume increases. They chant for his death, only wanting to see their money’s worth.

I swing the blade down, the crowd quiets, as if all at once they draw a collective breath into their lungs in anticipation for the cheer to follow the killing blow.

Only, this victory is mine and not theirs. They know nothing of the sacrifice. They know nothing of the life I am about to take. They know nothing of me. They know nothing at all.

And in their ignorance, the silence grows. There is no cheer. There is no uproar. I have stolen them this victory as what should have been a deafening upheaval of clamorous noise turns into murmurs and hushed disbelief.

I have won this battle. My final victory. My legs give way as the strength in them leaves me. I fall to my knees as the blood rushes out of me. I feel my breath come in short gasps as the world starts to fade. And with the last of my strength, I pull my blade free from my chest, raise it into the air. Never again shall I raise my blade to the fools in this stadium. And as I collapse backwards, I look into the cerulean sky.

“I am free.”

MMWM #10

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM

The Killing Blow…

Malevolence swirled in the air; it coated my skin like an oily residue of evil. It drew me deeper in, preying on the hatred and anger I harbored for years, and like a fire raging out of control, it consumed me on the inside. My eyes boiled, my breath deepened, my chest swelled and my heart beat loudly in my ears. My hand gripped the handle of the sword, fingers flexing reflexively on the leather-covered grip.

I relished in the weight, feeling the heaviness of my weapon of warfare, knowing that it hungered for battle just as much as I did. I hunched down, my legs swelling with power as I prepared to launch myself into the fray, to become one with the dance of death and to unleash the destruction that bound up inside of me.

I stared across the gravel pit at my opponent. My victim. His poor pathetic excuse for a life would easily enough be snuffed out as my blade drank deeply from his corpse.

The cheers of the crowd surged through me, my name dripping off their lips like fresh wine. Their applause is my spoils. Their chants my battle cry. They think it is for them, and only them, that I raise my blade and strike. All for the glory of battle. All for the roar of the crowd. All for… them.

Pathetic fools. Vicariously living through the victory of others. Sitting in their seats, giving accolades for another’s performance thinking they had anything to do with it. This is my blade, this is my body, this is my blood. I live on the edge of death while you sit safe in your seats. I know the value of the lives I take. You only know the value of admission.

As I rush across the field, my body and blade as one, I strike once, batting his defense away. I kick him in the gut, and as he doubles over, I bring the pommel down on the back of his head, flattening him to the ground. All too easy. And as he lies on the floor, the crowd grows louder. As I raise my blade, their volume increases. They chant for his death, only wanting to see their money’s worth.

I swing the blade down, the crowd quiets, as if all at once they draw a collective breath into their lungs in anticipation for the cheer to follow the killing blow.

Only, this victory is mine and not theirs. They know nothing of the sacrifice. They know nothing of the life I am about to take. They know nothing of me. They know nothing at all.

And in their ignorance, the silence grows. There is no cheer. There is no uproar. I have stolen them this victory as what should have been a deafening upheaval of clamorous noise turns into murmurs and hushed disbelief.

I have won this battle. My final victory. My legs give way as the strength in them leaves me. I fall to my knees as the blood rushes out of me. I feel my breath come in short gasps as the world starts to fade. And with the last of my strength, I pull my blade free from my chest, raise it into the air. Never again shall I raise my blade to the fools in this stadium. And as I collapse backwards, I look into the cerulean sky.

“I am free.”

MMWM #10

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM http://ift.tt/1PrFhxC

Blending In…

I’ve always known that monsters exist. Call it intuition. Call it a sixth sense. Call it being able to just see people for who they are. Whatever you want to chalk it up to, the fact is, they’re there and they don’t like being seen. Not one bit. And they go to extraordinary measures to make sure no one ever finds out.

One guy started to make a bunch of claims that he could see them, going to the newspapers and television stations. The night before he was to be interviewed, he had an unfortunate meeting with a trash compactor. Crushing as it was, it was ruled an accident. A woman started telling her friends that we were being invaded, two days later she decided to go swimming. She started by diving off the top of her twelve story building. Head first.

Hence, why for the last six years, I have done everything I can to make sure that they don’t know that I know. I keep my mouth shut, I keep my eyes forward, and I go about my business like everything is normal. I record everything I see. Each new one I encounter goes in my log. Where I see them, how often, who they are with, what they are doing. I have no idea what I am going to do with this information, but I need to do something while I can because eventually, I’m sure I’m going to make a mistake that is going to end up getting me killed.

But, until then, I act just like everyone of the other normals doing my best to stay alive and blend in.

MMWM

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM

Blending In…

I’ve always known that monsters exist. Call it intuition. Call it a sixth sense. Call it being able to just see people for who they are. Whatever you want to chalk it up to, the fact is, they’re there and they don’t like being seen. Not one bit. And they go to extraordinary measures to make sure no one ever finds out.

One guy started to make a bunch of claims that he could see them, going to the newspapers and television stations. The night before he was to be interviewed, he had an unfortunate meeting with a trash compactor. Crushing as it was, it was ruled an accident. A woman started telling her friends that we were being invaded, two days later she decided to go swimming. She started by diving off the top of her twelve story building. Head first.

Hence, why for the last six years, I have done everything I can to make sure that they don’t know that I know. I keep my mouth shut, I keep my eyes forward, and I go about my business like everything is normal. I record everything I see. Each new one I encounter goes in my log. Where I see them, how often, who they are with, what they are doing. I have no idea what I am going to do with this information, but I need to do something while I can because eventually, I’m sure I’m going to make a mistake that is going to end up getting me killed.

But, until then, I act just like everyone of the other normals doing my best to stay alive and blend in.

MMWM

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM http://ift.tt/1MnClmJ

The Present…

He slid a small box across the white table-cloth toward her. The box was a polished rosewood with a butterfly made from mother-of-pearl inlaid on the top. Her smile grew as her fingers traced delicately across the top, feeling the smooth surface.

“For me?” She asked, perking up.

“Yes.” he said, his legs crossed as he sat back in his chair, pulling the cigarette to his lips and looking at her as his head tilted back. “You’ve earned it.” he said as smoke billowed out of his nose as he talked.

Sitting up straighter, she placed both hands on it, the light glinting off the strand of jewels embroidered on the plunging neck-line of her Vera Wang black evening dress. He watched her, his demeanor cool and calculated, a small smile cracking his lips.

“What is it?” She asked, unsure if she should open the box now.

“Go ahead.” Ash fell from the cigarette as he flicked the filter with his thumb. “Open it.” He waved at her with his fingers down, in an almost shooing motion as he scrunched his eyes closed and nodded toward her.

“Really?” Joy overtook her. “I can’t remember the last time anyone got me anything. This box looks so…” she struggled to find the words.

“I hope you like it.” He said taking a sip of his cognac.

She took a deep breath and slowly opened the ornate lid. Her joy was suddenly replaced by confusion and dismay as she eyed what lay within the box. “What the hell do you expect me to do with that?” She said as she looked at the Jennings .22 caliber semiautomatic pistol lying in the red crushed velvet interior.

“I expect you to do your job.” He let his words sink in as she closed the lid to the box. Her face slowly started to reveal that her mind was understanding what was going on. “He is behind you, three tables, with the blonde woman.” He crushed his cigarette out and started to stand.

“Where are y…” He put his finger to her lips and tsk’d her into silence.

“I will be outside when you are done.” He pulled on his jacket and straightened it out as he turned to walk toward the entrance. “Oh, and, please, do hurry. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

He gave her a quick wink as he nodded and smiled at her, then he walked away, leaving her alone with her present.

MMWM

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM

The Present…

He slid a small box across the white table-cloth toward her. The box was a polished rosewood with a butterfly made from mother-of-pearl inlaid on the top. Her smile grew as her fingers traced delicately across the top, feeling the smooth surface.

“For me?” She asked, perking up.

“Yes.” he said, his legs crossed as he sat back in his chair, pulling the cigarette to his lips and looking at her as his head tilted back. “You’ve earned it.” he said as smoke billowed out of his nose as he talked.

Sitting up straighter, she placed both hands on it, the light glinting off the strand of jewels embroidered on the plunging neck-line of her Vera Wang black evening dress. He watched her, his demeanor cool and calculated, a small smile cracking his lips.

“What is it?” She asked, unsure if she should open the box now.

“Go ahead.” Ash fell from the cigarette as he flicked the filter with his thumb. “Open it.” He waved at her with his fingers down, in an almost shooing motion as he scrunched his eyes closed and nodded toward her.

“Really?” Joy overtook her. “I can’t remember the last time anyone got me anything. This box looks so…” she struggled to find the words.

“I hope you like it.” He said taking a sip of his cognac.

She took a deep breath and slowly opened the ornate lid. Her joy was suddenly replaced by confusion and dismay as she eyed what lay within the box. “What the hell do you expect me to do with that?” She said as she looked at the Jennings .22 caliber semiautomatic pistol lying in the red crushed velvet interior.

“I expect you to do your job.” He let his words sink in as she closed the lid to the box. Her face slowly started to reveal that her mind was understanding what was going on. “He is behind you, three tables, with the blonde woman.” He crushed his cigarette out and started to stand.

“Where are y…” He put his finger to her lips and tsk’d her into silence.

“I will be outside when you are done.” He pulled on his jacket and straightened it out as he turned to walk toward the entrance. “Oh, and, please, do hurry. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

He gave her a quick wink as he nodded and smiled at her, then he walked away, leaving her alone with her present.

MMWM

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM http://ift.tt/1V0Qmts

White Picket Fence…

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It was suppose to be a fairy tale, a ‘Happily Ever After’. It was suppose to be the two of us living in the suburbs, in a house with a white picket fence that our two point five kids played in. I would cook all day and bake him pies and cakes and cookies. He would work in the city and come home every night. I would meet him at the door, we would kiss. On the weekends he would play catch with our son while I taught our daughter how to take care of her man. We would be the modern day Cleaver’s and life would be perfect.

But someone had to get angry at someone else. Then their friends got involved, and then their friends, and the next thing you know, someone went and pushed the big red button and the whole world blew up. Literally.

Good-bye suburbs. Good-bye white picket fence. Good-bye two point five kids. Good-bye fairy tale. Good-bye ‘Happily Ever After’. Hello apocalypse.

I was one of the few lucky ones chosen to be shipped off-world in a Lifeboat. Each Lifeboat was designed to hold fifty people, and someone decided that sixteen year old kids stood the best chance to continue the human race, so other then the ten adults to run the Lifeboats, it was just a bunch of teenagers taken from their families, shoved into a tin can and launched into space.

Forty-eight Lifeboats were built. Thirty-five launched. We’ve lost two since then, one that never made it to orbit and the other just five years ago when their tether broke and it drifted away from the pack.

In case you weren’t doing the math, that is just over sixteen-hundred people who survived the devastation of an entire planet. We are the remnant of what’s left of that once great plant that held over 8 billion people. That was almost 12 years ago.

Today, I have a husband, and even though it started off as a requirement, we have come to care about each other. We live in a twenty by twenty habitat. He works maintenance on the water plant  five decks down and I work two decks up in hydroponics. We have a daughter, the required single child we are allowed to have, and she turns 7 tomorrow. No, it’s not the happily ever after I dreamed of as a young girl, but last night… last night my husband painted a white picket fence on our door.

MMWM

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM

White Picket Fence…

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It was suppose to be a fairy tale, a ‘Happily Ever After’. It was suppose to be the two of us living in the suburbs, in a house with a white picket fence that our two point five kids played in. I would cook all day and bake him pies and cakes and cookies. He would work in the city and come home every night. I would meet him at the door, we would kiss. On the weekends he would play catch with our son while I taught our daughter how to take care of her man. We would be the modern day Cleaver’s and life would be perfect.

But someone had to get angry at someone else. Then their friends got involved, and then their friends, and the next thing you know, someone went and pushed the big red button and the whole world blew up. Literally.

Good-bye suburbs. Good-bye white picket fence. Good-bye two point five kids. Good-bye fairy tale. Good-bye ‘Happily Ever After’. Hello apocalypse.

I was one of the few lucky ones chosen to be shipped off-world in a Lifeboat. Each Lifeboat was designed to hold fifty people, and someone decided that sixteen year old kids stood the best chance to continue the human race, so other then the ten adults to run the Lifeboats, it was just a bunch of teenagers taken from their families, shoved into a tin can and launched into space.

Forty-eight Lifeboats were built. Thirty-five launched. We’ve lost two since then, one that never made it to orbit and the other just five years ago when their tether broke and it drifted away from the pack.

In case you weren’t doing the math, that is just over sixteen-hundred people who survived the devastation of an entire planet. We are the remnant of what’s left of that once great plant that held over 8 billion people. That was almost 12 years ago.

Today, I have a husband, and even though it started off as a requirement, we have come to care about each other. We live in a twenty by twenty habitat. He works maintenance on the water plant  five decks down and I work two decks up in hydroponics. We have a daughter, the required single child we are allowed to have, and she turns 7 tomorrow. No, it’s not the happily ever after I dreamed of as a young girl, but last night… last night my husband painted a white picket fence on our door.

MMWM

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM http://ift.tt/1Tq3ruL

It’s Plenty Funny…

“Okay, I’ve got to be honest, I had absolutely no idea that would happen!” She said as she looked at him, covered in an orange gel foam.

“Seriously? I could have been killed!” He looked at her as he wiped the goggles clean. He flicked the orange stuff on his hands toward her, watching her jump back to avoid being splattered.

“HEY!” She yelled trying to avoid the onslaught.

“Yeah, not so funny, is it.” He held his hands out, letting the stuff drip off of him.

“Oh, it’s plenty funny.” She laughed as a large glob of the orange stuff hung down from his left arm, stretching comically before making a ‘splorting’ noise as it fell the ground. As it hit, the squishy splatting noise reminded her of someone letting lose a wet fart. “Ok, it’s a bit gross too.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the one wearing this stuff.” He looked at himself as best he could, seeing most of the white paper suit he was wearing covered in it. “I do have one question though.”

Between her laughing and trying to avoid any further attempts at him covering her with any more of the grotesque substance, she said, “What’s that?”

He started to move a bit more, almost comically dancing as if there were ants in his pants. “Is this stuff…” He squirmed even more. “Is this stuff suppose to burn?”

Her laughter quickly changed to abject horror as she watched the orange foamy gel rapidly start to bubble as it reacted with the paper suit. The bubbles turned violent, foaming more and erupting violently from the suit, spraying orange liquid outward.

His screams of “Get it off!” echoed in her ears long after the only thing left was just a puddle of orange and red liquid on the ground. She sat in the corner, huddled on the floor, rocking back and forth, covering her ears with her hands and squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could. She tried desperately to hide from the horror she just witnessed as she watch her best friend emulsify.

She tried so hard, that she never saw the orange puddle move toward her, never felt it slide up her foot, never knew that what just happened to him was about to happen to her.

Not until it was already too late.

MMWM

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM http://ift.tt/1g7fvTi

It’s Plenty Funny…

“Okay, I’ve got to be honest, I had absolutely no idea that would happen!” She said as she looked at him, covered in an orange gel foam.

“Seriously? I could have been killed!” He looked at her as he wiped the goggles clean. He flicked the orange stuff on his hands toward her, watching her jump back to avoid being splattered.

“HEY!” She yelled trying to avoid the onslaught.

“Yeah, not so funny, is it.” He held his hands out, letting the stuff drip off of him.

“Oh, it’s plenty funny.” She laughed as a large glob of the orange stuff hung down from his left arm, stretching comically before making a ‘splorting’ noise as it fell the ground. As it hit, the squishy splatting noise reminded her of someone letting lose a wet fart. “Ok, it’s a bit gross too.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the one wearing this stuff.” He looked at himself as best he could, seeing most of the white paper suit he was wearing covered in it. “I do have one question though.”

Between her laughing and trying to avoid any further attempts at him covering her with any more of the grotesque substance, she said, “What’s that?”

He started to move a bit more, almost comically dancing as if there were ants in his pants. “Is this stuff…” He squirmed even more. “Is this stuff suppose to burn?”

Her laughter quickly changed to abject horror as she watched the orange foamy gel rapidly start to bubble as it reacted with the paper suit. The bubbles turned violent, foaming more and erupting violently from the suit, spraying orange liquid outward.

His screams of “Get it off!” echoed in her ears long after the only thing left was just a puddle of orange and red liquid on the ground. She sat in the corner, huddled on the floor, rocking back and forth, covering her ears with her hands and squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could. She tried desperately to hide from the horror she just witnessed as she watch her best friend emulsify.

She tried so hard, that she never saw the orange puddle move toward her, never felt it slide up her foot, never knew that what just happened to him was about to happen to her.

Not until it was already too late.

MMWM

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: MMWM