A Cyrius Mess…

Cyrius day walked around the decompression chamber, the sound of his breathing heavy inside the exo-suit he wore to protect him from the coldness of space that now filled the room. He knelt down and poked at a red jellied mass that broke free and started to float across the chamber in the zero-g atmosphere. He watched as it drifted away from him, blending into the surroundings.

It’s been a long four years and I’ve seen a lot of things in that time. Some of those things have caused me to regain my faith in humanity, to believe that there is something worth saving after all. Something that somehow made the Marshal’s star that I wear mean something. Something that says that humanity has a chance.

And then… then there are days like today. Days where all the rest of that good stuff gets thrown out the nearest airlock. I’d say excuse the pun, but, it was kind of intended. See, that blob of jelly floating toward the bulkhead use to be inside of a man named Jason Fletcher. Engineer’s Mate 1st class, and from everything I can ascertain, he was the nicest guy you’d ever meet. Husband, father, Cadet program leader, coach for his son’s Zero-G Ball team.

Just an all around nice guy.

And someone decided to sabotage the decompression chamber he was in, sucking out all the atmosphere. Ten seconds in, he popped and created this Pollock masterpiece I am currently standing in the middle of. Gruesome, I know. But, as I said, earlier, it’s been a long four years.

“So, Marshal, what do you have?” said a gruff and serious looking man through the intercom system. His blue-grey uniform fit him tight, his hair was trimmed neat and just about as tight as his uniform, and his face showed his years in a most unpleasant way.

“Well, other than a really big mess…” Cyrius paused, noting that his response was going to do nothing more than irritate the situation with the Captain even more than it already was, and decided on a better tone. “That is, it appears the chamber was tampered with.” Standing and walking over to the chamber operational panel, Cyrius continued.  “The safety locks were compromised and as soon as the maintenance routine began the doors sealed, the atmosphere vented out and…” He blew his hands apart while making a popping noise.

“You do realize you are speaking about one of my crew members? A man whom I have served with for over three years? Who has a wife and child?” The Captain stood with his hands behind his back, a stern look on his face.

And there’s the tone I was trying so hard to avoid. Ok, maybe not all that hard.

“Sorry, sir.” Cyrius said, smirking to himself inside his helmet. “Truth of the matter is, I don’t know if this was a deliberate attack on Petty Officer Fletcher or if it was just his lucky day.” The captain raised an eyebrow toward him. Cyrius walked over to the monitor and pointed behind him at the mess. “Look, sir. I’m doing my best here to figure out what happened, and so far, other than being this huge enigmatic mess, that’s all I’ve been able to ascertain. And forgive me for being a touch flippant about the whole thing, but, it is just how I work, so I can stay objective about it all. Otherwise, I won’t be any use to this investigation.”

There, that will set things right.

Clearing his throat the Captain responded, “I’ve already lodged my complaint with your superior.”

PLOX!

The Captain continued, “Your replacement will be here in two days.” It was the Captain’s turn to smile.

**********************

Trying something new with this character, or at least incorporating something that I have really wanted to do since the beginning with him. The internal monologue, a la Magnum P.I., curious what you, the reader, think.

TWW 440

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: Cyrius Day, TWW

A Cyrius Mess…

Cyrius day walked around the decompression chamber, the sound of his breathing heavy inside the exo-suit he wore to protect him from the coldness of space that now filled the room. He knelt down and poked at a red jellied mass that broke free and started to float across the chamber in the zero-g atmosphere. He watched as it drifted away from him, blending into the surroundings.

It’s been a long four years and I’ve seen a lot of things in that time. Some of those things have caused me to regain my faith in humanity, to believe that there is something worth saving after all. Something that somehow made the Marshal’s star that I wear mean something. Something that says that humanity has a chance.

And then… then there are days like today. Days where all the rest of that good stuff gets thrown out the nearest airlock. I’d say excuse the pun, but, it was kind of intended. See, that blob of jelly floating toward the bulkhead use to be inside of a man named Jason Fletcher. Engineer’s Mate 1st class, and from everything I can ascertain, he was the nicest guy you’d ever meet. Husband, father, Cadet program leader, coach for his son’s Zero-G Ball team.

Just an all around nice guy.

And someone decided to sabotage the decompression chamber he was in, sucking out all the atmosphere. Ten seconds in, he popped and created this Pollock masterpiece I am currently standing in the middle of. Gruesome, I know. But, as I said, earlier, it’s been a long four years.

“So, Marshal, what do you have?” said a gruff and serious looking man through the intercom system. His blue-grey uniform fit him tight, his hair was trimmed neat and just about as tight as his uniform, and his face showed his years in a most unpleasant way.

“Well, other than a really big mess…” Cyrius paused, noting that his response was going to do nothing more than irritate the situation with the Captain even more than it already was, and decided on a better tone. “That is, it appears the chamber was tampered with.” Standing and walking over to the chamber operational panel, Cyrius continued.  “The safety locks were compromised and as soon as the maintenance routine began the doors sealed, the atmosphere vented out and…” He blew his hands apart while making a popping noise.

“You do realize you are speaking about one of my crew members? A man whom I have served with for over three years? Who has a wife and child?” The Captain stood with his hands behind his back, a stern look on his face.

And there’s the tone I was trying so hard to avoid. Ok, maybe not all that hard.

“Sorry, sir.” Cyrius said, smirking to himself inside his helmet. “Truth of the matter is, I don’t know if this was a deliberate attack on Petty Officer Fletcher or if it was just his lucky day.” The captain raised an eyebrow toward him. Cyrius walked over to the monitor and pointed behind him at the mess. “Look, sir. I’m doing my best here to figure out what happened, and so far, other than being this huge enigmatic mess, that’s all I’ve been able to ascertain. And forgive me for being a touch flippant about the whole thing, but, it is just how I work, so I can stay objective about it all. Otherwise, I won’t be any use to this investigation.”

There, that will set things right.

Clearing his throat the Captain responded, “I’ve already lodged my complaint with your superior.”

PLOX!

The Captain continued, “Your replacement will be here in two days.” It was the Captain’s turn to smile.

**********************

Trying something new with this character, or at least incorporating something that I have really wanted to do since the beginning with him. The internal monologue, a la Magnum P.I., curious what you, the reader, think.

TWW 440

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: Cyrius Day, TWW http://ift.tt/1ff22HK

Downton Dependance…

The book flew across the room, pages flapping wildly, in what can only be described as an albatross in flight. Sadly, it landed in much the same way an albatross lands. With a *whump* followed by a *thump* as it hit the wall then the ground.

“Roger!” Her voice yelled out from behind the couch that she was currently using as cover.

“Miriam, I will not stand for this… this defiant behavior!” The sound of his foot stomping on the ground echoed in the study.

“Roger. My love.” She peeked out hesitantly from the cushioned concealment. “I was only saying that you might be. That is all.” The sequins on her headband reflected the flickering light from the candles in the room.

“Dare you, I say.” He turned, the tails on his jacket flaring, and walked toward the fireplace. “Such filth.” He rested his arm on the mantle and turned his head back toward her. “And coming from my own wife. My wife!” He let out a *hrmph* as he turned his back on her and stared at the large painting of his grandfather that loomed over him. “What would grandpapa Robert think? Imagine!”

“Roger, I think we should see someone.” She finally stood, the red velvet dress straightening itself out.

“Miriam. I am not addicted.” He lowered his head and shook it in disbelief.

“Roger, I think you might be.” She hesitantly walked over toward him, her gloved arm outstretched toward him.

He spun on his heels and stared hard at her, puffing his chest out. “And why, pray tell, do you think that?”

“Well, to start…” She stepped closer to him. “You built this study and started dressing in tails.”

He shook his head dismissively, “And what is wrong with building a study and wanting to dress nicely.”

She put her hand on his cheek. “Nothing.” And then she whispered, “Except, that isn’t your grandpapa and this isn’t Downton, this is our basement in Philadelphia.”

TWW 439

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW http://ift.tt/1Hxv2kR

Downton Dependance…

The book flew across the room, pages flapping wildly, in what can only be described as an albatross in flight. Sadly, it landed in much the same way an albatross lands. With a *whump* followed by a *thump* as it hit the wall then the ground.

“Roger!” Her voice yelled out from behind the couch that she was currently using as cover.

“Miriam, I will not stand for this… this defiant behavior!” The sound of his foot stomping on the ground echoed in the study.

“Roger. My love.” She peeked out hesitantly from the cushioned concealment. “I was only saying that you might be. That is all.” The sequins on her headband reflected the flickering light from the candles in the room.

“Dare you, I say.” He turned, the tails on his jacket flaring, and walked toward the fireplace. “Such filth.” He rested his arm on the mantle and turned his head back toward her. “And coming from my own wife. My wife!” He let out a *hrmph* as he turned his back on her and stared at the large painting of his grandfather that loomed over him. “What would grandpapa Robert think? Imagine!”

“Roger, I think we should see someone.” She finally stood, the red velvet dress straightening itself out.

“Miriam. I am not addicted.” He lowered his head and shook it in disbelief.

“Roger, I think you might be.” She hesitantly walked over toward him, her gloved arm outstretched toward him.

He spun on his heels and stared hard at her, puffing his chest out. “And why, pray tell, do you think that?”

“Well, to start…” She stepped closer to him. “You built this study and started dressing in tails.”

He shook his head dismissively, “And what is wrong with building a study and wanting to dress nicely.”

She put her hand on his cheek. “Nothing.” And then she whispered, “Except, that isn’t your grandpapa and this isn’t Downton, this is our basement in Philadelphia.”

TWW 439

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW

Hide and Seek…

*Thump*, *Scrape*, *Thump*, *Scrape*

The thump was heavy and the scraping noise was metallic. Billy could almost see the sparks it caused as he held his finger up to his lips, letting the other four kids know they needed to be quiet, even though it seemed a silly thing to do as the imminent danger they were in would have ensured their silence anyway.

But Billy, being fourteen and the oldest, was unceremoniously elected the leader, even though using the word ‘elected’ was just as much of a misnomer as say, calling the cubby hole the five of them were currently hunkered down in a grand hall. However, he still felt it was his responsibility to make sure they all stayed safe. 

He looked around the hole, light from the grate allowing him to see the faces of his charges. There was Sally and John, ten-year old twin gingers who shared a close bond that was now being expressed as they held each other closely. Henry was the youngest at 9, and even though he was the kid who everyone would vote as the most fearless, he sat as far away from the opening as he could, with his knees pulled to his chest. No one could blame him though, because if they had seen what he had seen, none of them would have been any better.

Mary was the mom of the group and even though she was only just turned 13, she had a nurturing side to her that held them together. Like she was right now as she did her best to comfort Henry, throwing an arm around his shoulder and doing her best to comfort him.

Then there was Aaron. Aaron was 12 and Henry’s older brother. It was mostly because of Aaron that Billy held his finger up. Billy knew that if he wasn’t sitting next to the grate, Aaron’s anger would get the better of him and he would be out in the hallway ready to fight, but Billy knew this was a less than optimal situation, so hiding was their best chance at survival.

*Thump*, *Scrape*, *Thump*

Billy’s heart beat faster and he held his breath as the polished metal foot landed on the floor right outside of the entrance to their hiding spot. He waited for the scraping noise and it wasn’t until he felt the burning in his lungs that he realized exactly how long had passed since the Hunter had stopped moving. He slowly tried to breathe as quietly as he could, afraid that it would hear them.

He heard the whirring noise of servo’s and saw metallic fingers stretch toward the grate that hid them. Billy pushed back as far as he could, holding back Aaron who was moving forward. He looked at Aaron and shook his head as he scrunched his face in fear and desperation.

The fingers locked on the grate, pushing through the grill and clenched, bending the metal vents. Billy heard Mary gasp and only hoped that the metal crunching noise masked it. The Hunter pulled on the grate, popping it off with ease and flung it to the floor. They all heard the servos moving as the Hunter started to bend to get a better look into the cubby.

Billy closed his eyes. He was ready to lose. He just wasn’t ready to fail. Not them. They deserved better, and it was that failure that was eating at him, as every choice he had made in the last two hours that lead them to this dark hole played back. If only he would have done that, or this, or turned here, or there. A wave of nausea flowed through him as the pit in his stomach overtook him.

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

It was soft and distant, but Billy heard it just before he heard the servos stop.

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

There it was again. As he heard it, Billy opened his eyes. Something, somewhere, was beating on a wall. The servos whined and the Hunter brought it’s back foot forward with a loud scrapping noise. It moved forward, the *Thump* of its front foot loud and impending as it moved away. The back foot dragged behind, speeding off as the Hunter went to investigate the new noise.

As the *Thump*, *Scrape*, *Thump*, *Scrape* got softer, Billy ventured a look out the opening and watched as the seven-foot tall metal Hunter rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

Billy scurried out of the hole, then turned to help the rest out as quickly and quietly as he could.

“Now what?” Aaron asked, ready to chase down the killer that they had just barely escaped.

“Now, we find a better hiding place and plan our attack.” Billy said, helping Mary to her feet.

“Are you sure that’s the best thing to do?” She asked as she took both of Henry’s hands in hers and helped him stand.

“I’m too tired to run, and hiding only works for so long.” Billy said as he pulled his fingers through his hair.

“We have to find a better hiding place.” Sally whispered.

“That thing is going to come back. They always come back.” John added as he held onto his sister’s hand.

Aaron’s eyes flashed. “That thing killed my sister. And you just want me to… hide?” Aaron stepped toward the twin’s, looking down on them as he clenched his fists.

“Shhh, it’s going to hear us.” Mary put her hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Not here. It’s going to come back.” Aaron turned, flashing his anger at her. Mary smiled, weak as it was, trying to defuse the moment. “Aaron, we need to run. We need to listen to Billy.”

“Aaron, she’s right.” Henry spoke. Aaron’s anger flashed away as he looked down at his brother. It was the first time he had spoken since they had found him huddled up next to his sister’s corpse. After a pause, one that felt like minutes, Billy finally spoke.

“Ok, then. Let’s go this way.” Billy pointed in the opposite direction that the Hunter had gone. “And see if we can’t find a better hiding place.”

TWW 437

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW

Hide and Seek…

*Thump*, *Scrape*, *Thump*, *Scrape*

The thump was heavy and the scraping noise was metallic. Billy could almost see the sparks it caused as he held his finger up to his lips, letting the other four kids know they needed to be quiet, even though it seemed a silly thing to do as the imminent danger they were in would have ensured their silence anyway.

But Billy, being fourteen and the oldest, was unceremoniously elected the leader, even though using the word ‘elected’ was just as much of a misnomer as say, calling the cubby hole the five of them were currently hunkered down in a grand hall. However, he still felt it was his responsibility to make sure they all stayed safe. 

He looked around the hole, light from the grate allowing him to see the faces of his charges. There was Sally and John, ten-year old twin gingers who shared a close bond that was now being expressed as they held each other closely. Henry was the youngest at 9, and even though he was the kid who everyone would vote as the most fearless, he sat as far away from the opening as he could, with his knees pulled to his chest. No one could blame him though, because if they had seen what he had seen, none of them would have been any better.

Mary was the mom of the group and even though she was only just turned 13, she had a nurturing side to her that held them together. Like she was right now as she did her best to comfort Henry, throwing an arm around his shoulder and doing her best to comfort him.

Then there was Aaron. Aaron was 12 and Henry’s older brother. It was mostly because of Aaron that Billy held his finger up. Billy knew that if he wasn’t sitting next to the grate, Aaron’s anger would get the better of him and he would be out in the hallway ready to fight, but Billy knew this was a less than optimal situation, so hiding was their best chance at survival.

*Thump*, *Scrape*, *Thump*

Billy’s heart beat faster and he held his breath as the polished metal foot landed on the floor right outside of the entrance to their hiding spot. He waited for the scraping noise and it wasn’t until he felt the burning in his lungs that he realized exactly how long had passed since the Hunter had stopped moving. He slowly tried to breathe as quietly as he could, afraid that it would hear them.

He heard the whirring noise of servo’s and saw metallic fingers stretch toward the grate that hid them. Billy pushed back as far as he could, holding back Aaron who was moving forward. He looked at Aaron and shook his head as he scrunched his face in fear and desperation.

The fingers locked on the grate, pushing through the grill and clenched, bending the metal vents. Billy heard Mary gasp and only hoped that the metal crunching noise masked it. The Hunter pulled on the grate, popping it off with ease and flung it to the floor. They all heard the servos moving as the Hunter started to bend to get a better look into the cubby.

Billy closed his eyes. He was ready to lose. He just wasn’t ready to fail. Not them. They deserved better, and it was that failure that was eating at him, as every choice he had made in the last two hours that lead them to this dark hole played back. If only he would have done that, or this, or turned here, or there. A wave of nausea flowed through him as the pit in his stomach overtook him.

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

It was soft and distant, but Billy heard it just before he heard the servos stop.

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

There it was again. As he heard it, Billy opened his eyes. Something, somewhere, was beating on a wall. The servos whined and the Hunter brought it’s back foot forward with a loud scrapping noise. It moved forward, the *Thump* of its front foot loud and impending as it moved away. The back foot dragged behind, speeding off as the Hunter went to investigate the new noise.

As the *Thump*, *Scrape*, *Thump*, *Scrape* got softer, Billy ventured a look out the opening and watched as the seven-foot tall metal Hunter rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

Billy scurried out of the hole, then turned to help the rest out as quickly and quietly as he could.

“Now what?” Aaron asked, ready to chase down the killer that they had just barely escaped.

“Now, we find a better hiding place and plan our attack.” Billy said, helping Mary to her feet.

“Are you sure that’s the best thing to do?” She asked as she took both of Henry’s hands in hers and helped him stand.

“I’m too tired to run, and hiding only works for so long.” Billy said as he pulled his fingers through his hair.

“We have to find a better hiding place.” Sally whispered.

“That thing is going to come back. They always come back.” John added as he held onto his sister’s hand.

Aaron’s eyes flashed. “That thing killed my sister. And you just want me to… hide?” Aaron stepped toward the twin’s, looking down on them as he clenched his fists.

“Shhh, it’s going to hear us.” Mary put her hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Not here. It’s going to come back.” Aaron turned, flashing his anger at her. Mary smiled, weak as it was, trying to defuse the moment. “Aaron, we need to run. We need to listen to Billy.”

“Aaron, she’s right.” Henry spoke. Aaron’s anger flashed away as he looked down at his brother. It was the first time he had spoken since they had found him huddled up next to his sister’s corpse. After a pause, one that felt like minutes, Billy finally spoke.

“Ok, then. Let’s go this way.” Billy pointed in the opposite direction that the Hunter had gone. “And see if we can’t find a better hiding place.”

TWW 437

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW http://ift.tt/1gVuaRJ

Stake-Out…

No one ever tells you how boring a stake-out is. It’s nothing like the movies show you. TV doesn’t even come close. You sit in the dark, sipping on whatever beverage you can to keep yourself awake, silently praying that something, anything, will happen to break the monotony.

I think out of all of the problems I have, though, being lonely is the thing that bothers me the most. You would think that I wouldn’t have an issue with it, that I would find some kind of solace in it, but nope.  It just deepens the sense of night, drawing me into a depression that can only be broken by a strong drink or some extreme action.

I think I’m broken. But, it’s a job, right?

TWW

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: TWW http://ift.tt/1MyT6bG

Stake-Out…

No one ever tells you how boring a stake-out is. It’s nothing like the movies show you. TV doesn’t even come close. You sit in the dark, sipping on whatever beverage you can to keep yourself awake, silently praying that something, anything, will happen to break the monotony.

I think out of all of the problems I have, though, being lonely is the thing that bothers me the most. You would think that I wouldn’t have an issue with it, that I would find some kind of solace in it, but nope.  It just deepens the sense of night, drawing me into a depression that can only be broken by a strong drink or some extreme action.

I think I’m broken. But, it’s a job, right?

TWW

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: TWW

Appearances…

As they walked the long line of grapes, his father told him he would one day run the whole business. Antonio smiled outwardly, but inwardly, he cried out. He didn’t want to be a business man. He wanted to use his camera and capture the world. But years ago, his father called his dreams “an aloof dream of a teenage boy”, and so, he hid his dreams. After all, he could be the dutiful son, keeping up appearances.

“It would all be temporary anyway,” he convinced himself, “After all, the old man can’t live forever.” Thoughts he kept to himself as he forced another smile toward his father.

FFfAW

 

TWW

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: FFfAW, TWW

Appearances…

As they walked the long line of grapes, his father told him he would one day run the whole business. Antonio smiled outwardly, but inwardly, he cried out. He didn’t want to be a business man. He wanted to use his camera and capture the world. But years ago, his father called his dreams “an aloof dream of a teenage boy”, and so, he hid his dreams. After all, he could be the dutiful son, keeping up appearances.

“It would all be temporary anyway,” he convinced himself, “After all, the old man can’t live forever.” Thoughts he kept to himself as he forced another smile toward his father.

FFfAW

 

TWW

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: FFfAW, TWW http://ift.tt/1Odk2il

Anything…

SIlence, somber and sad, filled the air. The weight of it was palatable. Diane leaned against the bathroom door, allowing it to hold her up while she stared into the mirror. Her makeup was perfect. Her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun with just a whisp let loose on purpose. The black dress she wore was just the right amount of elegant and casual. Her french manicure immaculate. Everything was in place, where it belonged and how it should be. And her face hurt from all the smiling.

Taking as deep a breath as she could manage, she held it in, closed her eyes and swallowed her tears. Slowly letting out her breath through pinched lips, she did everything she could to force this moment away.

“Diane, are you ok?” A male voice interjected into her world, shattering the silence and bringing her back into the space and time she was so desperate to escape.

“Yeah.” Her voice was raspy as her suppressed emotions tightened her throat. “I just… I just needed to get out of that room for a minute.” She could feel him lean against the door, his body weight causing it to move slightly against her back.

“Can I do anything for you?” His voice was barely above a whisper, just enough to get through the door.

Jack was a good friend to her husband. He tried to help as much he could, but right now, Diane just wanted to be away from everything. To be alone. Everything inside of her was hurting and she didn’t know what to do. She had been the obedient daughter. She had been the faithful wife. She had been the doting mother. Had been. Those words echoed in her mind, stirring her emotions into a firestorm.

“Go away.” She choked out as her legs gave way and she slide down the door. “Please.” As her body hit the floor, the tears sprang forth in a deluge of emotions as she wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them tightly to herself. “I just want my family back.” Her voice lost in grieving.

Outside, Jack heard her sobs, turned his back to the door, folded his hands in front of him and stood guard.

TWW 434

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW

Anything…

SIlence, somber and sad, filled the air. The weight of it was palatable. Diane leaned against the bathroom door, allowing it to hold her up while she stared into the mirror. Her makeup was perfect. Her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun with just a whisp let loose on purpose. The black dress she wore was just the right amount of elegant and casual. Her french manicure immaculate. Everything was in place, where it belonged and how it should be. And her face hurt from all the smiling.

Taking as deep a breath as she could manage, she held it in, closed her eyes and swallowed her tears. Slowly letting out her breath through pinched lips, she did everything she could to force this moment away.

“Diane, are you ok?” A male voice interjected into her world, shattering the silence and bringing her back into the space and time she was so desperate to escape.

“Yeah.” Her voice was raspy as her suppressed emotions tightened her throat. “I just… I just needed to get out of that room for a minute.” She could feel him lean against the door, his body weight causing it to move slightly against her back.

“Can I do anything for you?” His voice was barely above a whisper, just enough to get through the door.

Jack was a good friend to her husband. He tried to help as much he could, but right now, Diane just wanted to be away from everything. To be alone. Everything inside of her was hurting and she didn’t know what to do. She had been the obedient daughter. She had been the faithful wife. She had been the doting mother. Had been. Those words echoed in her mind, stirring her emotions into a firestorm.

“Go away.” She choked out as her legs gave way and she slide down the door. “Please.” As her body hit the floor, the tears sprang forth in a deluge of emotions as she wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them tightly to herself. “I just want my family back.” Her voice lost in grieving.

Outside, Jack heard her sobs, turned his back to the door, folded his hands in front of him and stood guard.

TWW 434

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW http://ift.tt/1GZXYVI

Morning Routines…

He stood in the faded green bathroom, a bar light with two of the four working lights flickered to life, wearing his dingy wife-beater and boxer shorts. He stared into the mirror, his old face staring him back, and ran his hand across the three days worth of stubble that now grew out white on his cheeks, making him feel older than he was. He smacked his lips as he took in his hair, a mangled mess of bed-head and unkemptness that added to his crazier-than-though look. With one hand he scratched what little chest hair he had while he yawned, which lead to a much deeper yawn, his mouth wide, eyes closed, and his arms subconsciously stretching long in either direction. He ran his hand over the stubble on his face and silently cursed whomever it was that thought a clean-shaven face was an appropriate look for a man.

Leaning into the mirror, he stretched his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue making a loud ‘blahhhh’ noise, over exaggerated in order to make the silliness of the whole ritual even more absurd. He paused while looking at his tongue, pockmarked and white, and wondered what that white stuff was and why every morning, no matter how well he brushed the night before, there it was to greet him. Shrugging his shoulders to no one in particular, he let out an audible ‘meh’ as he closed his mouth and turned on the water in the sink.

He looked down at the sink, seeing his orange handled tooth-brush, whose bristles were no better off then his own hair, standing erect in its holder like a little mop-headed soldier. He mockingly stood to attention and feigned a salute as he grabbed it and requested permission to brush. A quick pass over his teeth, gums and tongue, and the toothbrush found itself so much worse for the wear as it sat lopsided in the cup by the sink.

Smacking his lips loudly, he enjoyed the minty fresh taste of after-morning breath and smiled. He leaned into the mirror again, opening his eyes wide, feeling the crust from the sleep break off and overstretched eyelids as sleep finally started to recede from his tired body. Cupping his hands, he splashed the warm water several times over his face, rubbing it into his eyes to clear away the rest of the crusties, and over his head to lay down his hair before he looked back into the mirror, which now bore the battle marks of the just fought water war as droplets rained down on the lower half.

Sighing, letting the water drip from his bristled cheeks, he stared into the mirror again. Resolution filled him as he stripped off his shirt and reached over to turn on the shower in the darkened room. That’s when his eyes caught the large darkened patch of skin on his left pectoral, the blemish that marked the spot which left his ‘permanently disabled’, ending his career on the police force and resigning him to a desk. Running his finger over the up-raised edges, he looked down at the straight-edged razor on the lip of the sink edge.

He reached down, grabbed the shinning silver blade in his hand, looked hard into the mirror, trying to ignore his surroundings. The running water in the shower, the flickering light overhead, the smell of despair that permeated the entire apartment he lived in, all of it fading into the background as he looked at himself hard deciding what to do next.

Raising the razor up to eye level, he grinned at the sharp-edged instrument and said, “I really hate shaving.”

TWW 431

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW http://ift.tt/1TjmRlP

Morning Routines…

He stood in the faded green bathroom, a bar light with two of the four working lights flickered to life, wearing his dingy wife-beater and boxer shorts. He stared into the mirror, his old face staring him back, and ran his hand across the three days worth of stubble that now grew out white on his cheeks, making him feel older than he was. He smacked his lips as he took in his hair, a mangled mess of bed-head and unkemptness that added to his crazier-than-though look. With one hand he scratched what little chest hair he had while he yawned, which lead to a much deeper yawn, his mouth wide, eyes closed, and his arms subconsciously stretching long in either direction. He ran his hand over the stubble on his face and silently cursed whomever it was that thought a clean-shaven face was an appropriate look for a man.

Leaning into the mirror, he stretched his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue making a loud ‘blahhhh’ noise, over exaggerated in order to make the silliness of the whole ritual even more absurd. He paused while looking at his tongue, pockmarked and white, and wondered what that white stuff was and why every morning, no matter how well he brushed the night before, there it was to greet him. Shrugging his shoulders to no one in particular, he let out an audible ‘meh’ as he closed his mouth and turned on the water in the sink.

He looked down at the sink, seeing his orange handled tooth-brush, whose bristles were no better off then his own hair, standing erect in its holder like a little mop-headed soldier. He mockingly stood to attention and feigned a salute as he grabbed it and requested permission to brush. A quick pass over his teeth, gums and tongue, and the toothbrush found itself so much worse for the wear as it sat lopsided in the cup by the sink.

Smacking his lips loudly, he enjoyed the minty fresh taste of after-morning breath and smiled. He leaned into the mirror again, opening his eyes wide, feeling the crust from the sleep break off and overstretched eyelids as sleep finally started to recede from his tired body. Cupping his hands, he splashed the warm water several times over his face, rubbing it into his eyes to clear away the rest of the crusties, and over his head to lay down his hair before he looked back into the mirror, which now bore the battle marks of the just fought water war as droplets rained down on the lower half.

Sighing, letting the water drip from his bristled cheeks, he stared into the mirror again. Resolution filled him as he stripped off his shirt and reached over to turn on the shower in the darkened room. That’s when his eyes caught the large darkened patch of skin on his left pectoral, the blemish that marked the spot which left his ‘permanently disabled’, ending his career on the police force and resigning him to a desk. Running his finger over the up-raised edges, he looked down at the straight-edged razor on the lip of the sink edge.

He reached down, grabbed the shinning silver blade in his hand, looked hard into the mirror, trying to ignore his surroundings. The running water in the shower, the flickering light overhead, the smell of despair that permeated the entire apartment he lived in, all of it fading into the background as he looked at himself hard deciding what to do next.

Raising the razor up to eye level, he grinned at the sharp-edged instrument and said, “I really hate shaving.”

TWW 431

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW

Into the Vale…

She stared at the empty trees, and they stared back. Their haunting nature chilled her and the feeling of dread that spread from the branches toward her, rooted her in place. She wanted to run from that place as it closed in on her, abandoning everything that had gotten her here, but she took another step forward, through the gloom that threatened to steal her heart. The wind blew and sent the leaves rustling in a frantic dance, causing the branches to creek and groan under the pressure.

Her foot paused, her toe extended toward the ground but frozen just before the final touch. She looked around as the trees continued to look back. Her heart raced as the night was absorbed by the ominous guardians of the vale. She tried to explain to them before entering in to their sacred grove that she was here to help, but she was less and less sure that they were listening to her, let alone even there to hear.

Her toe touched the grass five feet from the pond. She could see moonlight reflecting in the surface, but that light might as well have been miles away for all the illumination it gave to her currently. A branch touched her cheek, startling her as she whirled around. The cracking limbs echoed, sounding closer and closer to her with every passing second.

“I’m here to help.” She whispered as her voice failed her. Another loud wood splintering boom sounded off to her left. She looked in that direction, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see anything, but instinct has a funny way of making you do things that don’t make sense.

Fear filled her as the wind increased, throwing leaves and dirt up toward her face. She covered her eyes as her hair joined the macabre dance swirling around her. “I’m here to help.” She began to sob, wondering why she ever volunteered to save the vale.

She tried to look around, tried to find the moonlit pool, tried to move in that direction, but every step brought her further away from it as the trees mounted their defiance against the intruder. She heard creaking closer than before and could almost feel the tree nearing her. She tried to move away from it, but as she did, she tripped over an upended root which sending her falling backwards onto her backside.

Scrambling to her feet, fear overwhelming every sense she had, she determined to get away from the vale. For even as much as she loved these woods, dying in them was not something that seemed very appealing to her. She closed her eyes, covered her face with her arms and ran. She didn’t care where, but anywhere had to be better than here.

Tree branches scratched at her face and arms, roots grasped toward her feet, vines snatched at her torso and still she ran. She felt her breath burning deeply in her lungs, she could feel blood flowing down her arm from a deep gash, and she could hear splashing coming from her feet slapping on water.

It was the splashing that made her stop. The coolness of the water on her feet began to spread up her legs and she knew where she was. She hoped she knew. Without lowering her arms, she dared to open her eyes and as she did, the small glimmer of hope that had seeded itself in her mind began to sprout. Light filled her eyes and the darkness of the woods gave way to moonlight from the pond.

She quickly reached into her robe and searched for the vial of Moonwater that she had been tasked with. The creaking of the trees grow louder, and what little hope that had formed now mixed with terror as she frantically searched for what should be there.

“No, no, no…” she kept murmuring as she searched and searched her robe pocket, her eyes looking around the edge of the pond from the direction that she had come from. Fear rose in here again as she saw the flask a few feet away, just past the edge of the pond and just a few feet away she could see the root tendrils of one of the trees, masked in shadow, moving toward her.

She mustered all the energy she had left, feeling everything inside of her hurt, and lunged toward the flask. She grasped it in her hand and started to scramble back to the edge of the pond, desperately trying to pull the stopper off the top. Finally freeing it, she held it up to the light, and intoned the blessing that she was taught. The final words came out as a terrible scream as a root tendril came down and pierced her left leg just above the knee.

The pain seared through her body, it found all the fear that had not yet found its way out of hiding and coalesced with it into the most horrible scream a girl could ever scream. As the scream subsided, darkness filled her eyes again as unconsciousness beckoned to her from just beyond her sight. As she succumbed to the sweet mercy, the flask fell from her hand and landed in the pool.

TWW 430

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW http://ift.tt/1eWPsxs

Into the Vale…

She stared at the empty trees, and they stared back. Their haunting nature chilled her and the feeling of dread that spread from the branches toward her, rooted her in place. She wanted to run from that place as it closed in on her, abandoning everything that had gotten her here, but she took another step forward, through the gloom that threatened to steal her heart. The wind blew and sent the leaves rustling in a frantic dance, causing the branches to creek and groan under the pressure.

Her foot paused, her toe extended toward the ground but frozen just before the final touch. She looked around as the trees continued to look back. Her heart raced as the night was absorbed by the ominous guardians of the vale. She tried to explain to them before entering in to their sacred grove that she was here to help, but she was less and less sure that they were listening to her, let alone even there to hear.

Her toe touched the grass five feet from the pond. She could see moonlight reflecting in the surface, but that light might as well have been miles away for all the illumination it gave to her currently. A branch touched her cheek, startling her as she whirled around. The cracking limbs echoed, sounding closer and closer to her with every passing second.

“I’m here to help.” She whispered as her voice failed her. Another loud wood splintering boom sounded off to her left. She looked in that direction, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see anything, but instinct has a funny way of making you do things that don’t make sense.

Fear filled her as the wind increased, throwing leaves and dirt up toward her face. She covered her eyes as her hair joined the macabre dance swirling around her. “I’m here to help.” She began to sob, wondering why she ever volunteered to save the vale.

She tried to look around, tried to find the moonlit pool, tried to move in that direction, but every step brought her further away from it as the trees mounted their defiance against the intruder. She heard creaking closer than before and could almost feel the tree nearing her. She tried to move away from it, but as she did, she tripped over an upended root which sending her falling backwards onto her backside.

Scrambling to her feet, fear overwhelming every sense she had, she determined to get away from the vale. For even as much as she loved these woods, dying in them was not something that seemed very appealing to her. She closed her eyes, covered her face with her arms and ran. She didn’t care where, but anywhere had to be better than here.

Tree branches scratched at her face and arms, roots grasped toward her feet, vines snatched at her torso and still she ran. She felt her breath burning deeply in her lungs, she could feel blood flowing down her arm from a deep gash, and she could hear splashing coming from her feet slapping on water.

It was the splashing that made her stop. The coolness of the water on her feet began to spread up her legs and she knew where she was. She hoped she knew. Without lowering her arms, she dared to open her eyes and as she did, the small glimmer of hope that had seeded itself in her mind began to sprout. Light filled her eyes and the darkness of the woods gave way to moonlight from the pond.

She quickly reached into her robe and searched for the vial of Moonwater that she had been tasked with. The creaking of the trees grow louder, and what little hope that had formed now mixed with terror as she frantically searched for what should be there.

“No, no, no…” she kept murmuring as she searched and searched her robe pocket, her eyes looking around the edge of the pond from the direction that she had come from. Fear rose in here again as she saw the flask a few feet away, just past the edge of the pond and just a few feet away she could see the root tendrils of one of the trees, masked in shadow, moving toward her.

She mustered all the energy she had left, feeling everything inside of her hurt, and lunged toward the flask. She grasped it in her hand and started to scramble back to the edge of the pond, desperately trying to pull the stopper off the top. Finally freeing it, she held it up to the light, and intoned the blessing that she was taught. The final words came out as a terrible scream as a root tendril came down and pierced her left leg just above the knee.

The pain seared through her body, it found all the fear that had not yet found its way out of hiding and coalesced with it into the most horrible scream a girl could ever scream. As the scream subsided, darkness filled her eyes again as unconsciousness beckoned to her from just beyond her sight. As she succumbed to the sweet mercy, the flask fell from her hand and landed in the pool.

TWW 430

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW

The Toy Box in the Corner

The toy box sits in the corner of the room these days, neglected, unused, and generally forgotten about. It has been years since the children have even acknowledged the joy that has come at the expense of the toys that are now compacted into those six walls, but I still can’t bring myself to get rid of it.

Memories of jubilant Saturday mornings fill my head, of the children creating stories out of the dolls and Tonka trucks. Little green army men out to save the world being trampled on by a teddy bear that had transformed into “Bearacus the Destroyer”. Puzzle pieces strewn across the floor as they tried to compete to see which one could finish the fastest. Lastly, the numerous unspoken curses I held in as I stepped on countless Lego blocks while cleaning up after them.

It’s easy to forget the joys of your children, to forget those moments when life seemed so chaotic that you couldn’t wait for them to grow up so you could have real conversations with them. Those days of afternoon naps, tea parties, coloring book marathons and snuggling up on the couch after a day of running around cleaning up after them.

Too easy to forget as you rush forward with life.

Until…

Until that life is grown up and no longer needs you to wipe their nose, help them with their homework, kiss the boo-boo’s to make them better, read them bedtime stories or tuck them in.

G.I. Joe and Barbie are all grown up now, starting families of their own. The play room sits silent, transformed into an office and the house is quieter. The days I wished for have finally arrived.

And all I’m left with are memories.

And the toy box in the corner.

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