Little Luigi…

The family had no idea that little Luigi would grow up to be… over 7 foot tall. But, there is that saying that goes something like humble beginnings and greatness. I don’t rightly remember, some dilly-dally said it once and with his fancy pants and his fancy mustache, I really didn’t pay that much ‘tention to him. ‘Sides, hes’n was just selling some snake oil bout how “if elected, I will reform America”. How you gonna go and reform land anyhow? Not like you can just pick up a plot and move it. City folk was always tryin’ to sell us and what this coot was pushin twain’t  first, nor the last, time any of us folk heard a tall tale spun like yarn from Rapunzel’s hair.

Anyway, I always fount it silly to call him Little Luigi. Guess’n just goes to show, people’s lie bout all kinds of stuff.

MFtS 8/24/15

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: MFtS http://ift.tt/1EkYvDQ

The Freak Show…

You knew her once, but she’s not the same

You see, she’s undergone a little change

There’s no need to worry, no need to fret,

Just don’t say something you might regret.

Just give it a few days and you’ll be fine

Unless you post it in verse and rhyme.

***

Disclaimer: This was just something silly that popped into my head. Not related to anyone in specific. Oh, and if you don't hear from me in the next week, assume that I'm dead.

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: Doggerel http://ift.tt/1i4sRAt

Breakfast is Served…

The table on the patio was set, and violets, her favorite, were freshly cut and placed in a vase as blueberry pancakes lay wrapped under a linen towel and the compote kept warm nestled over a tea-light votive. He checked his watch, nervousness overtaking every fiber of his being, as he toyed with the diamond engagment ring that was the constant reminder to the painstakingly difficult plans he had so desperately worked on. He saw her through the sliding glass door as she walked into her kitchen, the kimono hugging every inch of her body, and he felt a lump grow in his throat as she turned and saw him. As she walked outside, he came over to her and knelt down on one knee, the ring extended out in front of him. But before he ever had a chance to speak, she hit him with the cast iron skillet in her hand, and as unconsciousness threatened to overtake him, he heard her say, “I warned you what would happen if you kept stalking me!”

FSF

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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

Brush…

The soft bristles brush

Through her hair one-hundred times

Her nightly ritual.

***

How easy it is

To brush aside so much pain,

When it is not yours.

***

Her face flushes red

As fingertips brush gently

Across her soft cheek.

***

Haiku Horizons

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: Haiku, Haiku Horizons http://ift.tt/1JsFc7r

Red is the Color…

Red is the color

That has allowed me to be

A free bird in flight.

***

RW Haiku Challenge

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: Haiku, RW Haiku Challenge http://ift.tt/1LwUkr4

Buy Me the Moon…

“Yes, I’d like the moon balloon, please.” The man said as he looked at the colorful conglomeration of helium filled mylar.

“Oh, the moon? Yes, I…” The woman paused as she looked through the entire sorted stack, then spotting it at the very top, frowned a little and sighed. “You sure you want the moon?”

“Well, nothing is too good for my little girl, and when she asks her daddy to buy her the moon, you better believe that her daddy is going to buy her the moon.”

“Well,” said the attendant, “I can’t argue with that.” And begrudgingly started untying the mass of balloons one strand at a time.

FFfAW 27

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Million Dollar Question…

“Pods.”

“Is that what they are called?”

“Yes. Pods. Quite sure.”

“So, like peas?”

“Hrm. Yes. I guess your right.”

“Seems silly, don’t you think. They don’t look anything like peas.”

“That they don’t, son. That they don’t.”

“When did the last one die?”

“Oh, long before I was ever born. Back in the 21st century.”

“Seems a pity. They seemed like beautiful creatures.”

“From the vids I have seen, they were quite the creature.”

“Why didn’t we save them?”

“Now, that my son, is the million dollar question.”

“What’s a million dollars?”

“A completely different story, son. A completely different story.”

Friday Fictioneers

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An Artist’s Anxiety…

Trenchant and desperate thoughts stirred his soul as his brush moved across the canvas in harsh strokes, splattering blues and greens, blending yellows with reds, leaving indistinguishable traces of the masterpiece that lay underneath. He called it “Inner Self”.

photo credit

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: Grammar Ghoul http://ift.tt/1EJ8BZX

Broken Promises…

She held out the crumbled paper in her hand toward him. “How could you?”

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“A moment of weakness? We made a promise!”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry? That’s the best you can do.”

“Honey, it was just one hamburger.”

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: Yeah Write http://ift.tt/1hp0FII

The All Seeing Eye…

“I see absolutely everything.” The words formed in the young wizard’s mind from the eye carved out of the knot in the tree.

“I see what you did there.” The young wizard spoke out loud.

“What? What do you mean?” The thoughts came.

“You said ‘I see’. That’s very funny.”

“What? Are you mocking me? That isn’t very nice.”

“I’m not mocking you. You made a joke.”

“I did not.” The wizard guffawed. “What now?” Asked the tree.

“Eye. Knot. Come on, how are you..ehem.. knot.. getting this?”

“You’re being mean. You should leave.”

“Oh, you mean, I should be like a tree?” The wizard smirked.

“What?”

“And leave? No? Nothing? Seriously?”

“You are getting on my last…”

“Root?”

“That’s it.” The voice was angry. “Now you will pay.”

“You’re a giant eyeball carved into a tree. What are you going to do, stare me to death?”

The wizard was laughing so hard he never saw the limb that took him off his feet.

“No, I think I’ll just branch out and try something new.” The tree smirked.

MFtS 8/17/15

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: MFtS http://ift.tt/1PxHjfy

A Daughter’s Smile…

“I use to work here.” He said as he pulled up to the drive through window. His six year-old daughter sat in the back seat, her face lit up like a mid-summer carnival.

“Really?” she said gleefully, her smile ear-to-ear.

“Yep. You think that’s cool?”

“Super cool.” She said as he watched her smile in the rear-view mirror.

It was in that moment, in that smile, in that youthful innocence, that he finally realized that no matter what mistakes he had made that lead him to this place, his daughter’s smile somehow seemed to make them all right.

Friday Fictioneers 8/14/15

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: Friday Fictioneers http://ift.tt/1Pk5LQR

Lead…

***

If you are in front

You have to maintain the pace

Or you’ll get trampled

***

People will follow

Anyone who is leading

Even if they’re bad

***

Drastic circumstance

Might require drastic measure.

Enter, the lead pipe.

***

Haiku Horizons

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Rise and Save…

******

To save all mankind

And set us free from ourselves

A hero must rise

***

I raise the weapon

In order to save a life

I must now take one.

*****

The stone’s rolled away,

And the third day has drawn nigh.

Rise up, O’ Saviour

---

RW Haiku Challenge #58

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: Haiku, RW Haiku Challenge http://ift.tt/1Nhdy4s

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

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

The Picture of Melvin…

Pleased, Melvin put the brush down and smiled his toothy-crooked smile. Sure, it wasn’t a Dorian Gray masterpiece, but then Melvin wasn’t really like his half-brother.

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: Grammar Ghoul http://ift.tt/1UKx9Lz

Lipstick…

Her lips shaded red

WIth passions burning desire

Drawing me closer

Sparking smouldering yearnings

To want for love’s one true kiss.

*****

FSF

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: FSF, Tanka http://ift.tt/1DOv1Oy

Anbar and Caleb…

Anbar looked down from the battlement, the field in front of him was littered with the campfires of the Garvorian army. He stopped counting at 15, mostly because he couldn’t count any higher and he wasn’t even sure if he got to 15 properly. Caleb, the night watchman, walked over to him and put his hand on Anbar’s shoulder, causing him to almost soil his britches. 

“You ok, Anbar?” Caleb asked as he looked at the blacksmith’s son.

“Other than almost crapping my pants, I’m great.” is what Anbar thought, but he only said, “Other than almost crapping my pants.”

Caleb looked at him sideways with a screwed face. “Ok.” He finally responded, shaking the comment off, then looking out at the campfires on the field. “Tomorrow shall be a good day, aye?”

It was Anbar’s turn to look at Caleb with a screwed face. “Why’s that?”

“Battle! Glory! Death!”

“Mine or theirs?

FFfAW 8/11/15

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: FFfAW http://ift.tt/1UE1qeU

Blaze of Glory…

“Where did they go?” Carver asked as he dove behind the old brick wall. Several shots rang out and kicked up brick-dust in response.

“Had to ask?” Gabby said as she tucked even lower behind the wall. Carver just smiled and shrugged as he checked his Peacemaker’s and pulled back the hammers. “What are you doing?” Her voice notched up an octave.

“If I’m going to die, I’m doing it on my terms. And my terms are in a blaze of glory, darlin.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“It’s kinda going to happen one way or the other.” He smirked as he took a deep breath, then spun around to face the wall, kissed his guns, and began to stand, stretching out the guns in front of him to fire.

The roar of gunfire echoed all around and a second later, Carver’s bullet riddled body slumped behind the wall.

MFtS

Filed under: Micro Fiction Tagged: MFtS http://ift.tt/1J0AXQj