Tag Archives: flash fiction

Not Gone Forever

tasmanian tiger

Robert Harbison/The Christian Science Monitor

“There they are, a small streak of them.” Clive Ambrose was actually over five kilometers from the subjects of his research, looking at the group on a laptop in a small hut which served as a blind at the edge of the Southwest National Park in Tasmania.

“A group of Indian Tigers is called as streak, Clive. Is that what we’re calling a collection of Tasmanian Tigers?

Ambrose’s scientific colleague and occasional lover Cappi Lawrence was looking over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you amazed, Cappi? Definite proof that Tasmanian Tigers aren’t extinct, and that they are organized into social groups which include breeding pairs.”

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Matzah Pizza and an Island of Peace

pizza

© Dale Rogerson

Esther had some cheese and matzah pizza and another sip of wine. Fortunately the owner of “Stanley’s Pizza” knew how to accommodate her needs during the Passover season.

At work, time was very fluid, which was why she appreciated the dependable rhythms of a Jewish life. Looking at her watch on the counter, she chuckled. She could only wear it off-duty.

Being a Cross-Time Detective was draining. Thank Hashem she’d captured the dimensional jumper before he could illegally copy the plans for, what..oh, “velcro” and bring them back to our reality.

Now she could enjoy her pizza and peace.

Written for the Friday Fictioneers photo challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The idea is to use the photo above to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. Mine is exactly 100 words.

Since this is the week of Unleavened Bread, and since my wife is visiting our daughter in California and I’ve got the place more or less to myself, I thought I’d write this small bit of “Jewish themed” science fiction. Besides, the pizza really does look like it’s made of matzah.

To read other stories based on the prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

Doing What’s Necessary

yosemite

© Maria @ Doodles and Scribbles

Yosemite National Park has gone downhill since I was a kid. We used to come here every Spring and Fall for the bicycle rallies. Some entered the races, but a lot of us just liked to ride around the main road inside the park.

Now look at it. Bastards have carved their initials into everything, and the park has been so defunded, that no one’s here to stop them.

Why doesn’t this country take care of its resources anymore? It’s all about building safe zones for people’s feelings, restricting free speech, and generally stroking the fragile egos of children who have no idea they have the strength to suffer someone else’s opinion and live.

It’s up to me and my generation to make it right, to show the kids coming up that they can be strong, too. The enemy isn’t someone else’s opinion, it’s seeing where there are real problems and having the courage to solve them.

I’m going into that water to get rid of the graffiti. Who’s going to come with me?

I wrote this in response to the FFfAW Challenge-Week of April 11, 2017 hosted by Priceless Joy. The idea is to write a piece of flash fiction between 100 and 175 words with the ideal being about 150. Mine comes in at 174.

I realize some of what I’ve written may be controversial. Many students on today’s university campus feel that free speech is hate speech unless it conforms specifically to their required norms. In my opinion, it’s not so much about safe places and the perception of microaggressions, but taking a look at real, tangible problems, and then diving in to help fix them.

In the late 1970s, every Spring and Fall, Yosemite hosted bicycle festivals and races. My friends and I would drive up from the Bay Area and participate. It was great fun, and a chance to visit one of the most beautiful nature areas in the world.

We really need to keep our priorities straight. No matter what your politics or social imperatives, we all have to share the same world, so we might as well all work together to protect it. We can come out of our shells long enough to do that, can’t we?

To read more stories based on this prompt, go to InLinkz.com

Strange Sight Expanded

strange eyes

Found at freestockphotos.name

Ronald Connor sat on the sandy shore and stared up at the cliff where it all began. It would be the last thing he’d ever see. His peripheral vision was closing in on him. He could see the trees, the buildings, the tower, all through a continually narrowing tunnel.

“I wish I could have seen your face one more time.” He deliberately left her, Shannon, his fiancée, left everyone else who loved him, because his going blind wasn’t something he wanted to share. He didn’t want their pity, their concern, their last second attempts at trying to cure him, or even to understand exactly what was happening to him.

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The Experiment

shadow

© Jellico’s Stationhouse

“Johnson, apply more power. I think an image is forming in the Temporalscope.”

“I see it too, Reynolds. Applying power.” Henry Johnson slowly pushed the lever up a bit more. Screaming transformers almost deafened them.

“There it is. It’s just a shadow. but…”

“You’re right, Reynolds. It’s a picture from another time.”

“Counters are settling in, Johnson…twelve years into the future.”

The video projection destabilized before Emmett Reynolds recognized the man about to mount the 1907 RaCycle Pace Maker was his currently ten-year-old son, He almost had proof that little Charles would survive his severe case of diphtheria.

I wrote this in response to the Friday Fictioneers Photo Writing Challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The idea is to use the photo above as a prompt to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 100 words long. Mine came in at 97. It was an excuse to indulge myself in another time travel, or rather, time imaging story with a hopefully unpredictable twist.

To read more stories based on the photo, go to InLinkz.com.

For the Love of Cynthia

viking

© A Mixed Bag

The fake Viking boat was the only unusual thing about the park. It overlooked Suisun Bay to the north and bordered the Point Edith Wildlife Area. Cynthia always felt safe in the reserve, which is why she told Richard to meet her here each morning after it was over.

Early on a Monday morning, the park was deserted, though there was plenty of evidence that hundreds of children played here the day before.

Cynthia always loved children, but they were never able to have any together. Small wonder given her unique nature. How would she ever carry a pregnancy to full term?

The full moon was just about to set so she’d be coming soon. In his left hand, he had the rucksack with her clothes in it.

The wolf appeared out of the bushes to his left. Even knowing who and what she was, Richard still felt afraid.

Moonset. She collapsed on the grass and started writhing, her shape twisting, fur vanishing. In moments, she was his beautiful wife again.

He ran over to her now shivering form. “It’s okay, darling. It’s over. I’ll take care of you.”

Written for the Sunday Photo Fiction – April 9th 2017 hosted by Al Forbes. The idea is to use the photo prompt above to write a piece of flash fiction no more than 200 words long. Mine came in at 189.

I’ve written werewolf stories before such as The Wolf’s Mate and Violation, so this is merely a continuation of that theme, though with different characters.

To read other stories based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.

The Fairies Pond

fairies pond

© Google Maps

On most days of the year, The Fairies Pond was just a pond. It’s an isolated body of water in western Oregon with only one trail in. A serene place certainly, but not always worth the eight hour hike to get there.

But on one day of the year, what’s called “The Fairies Day,” it’s either a place to adore or fear. Those purest of heart, those who knew which day it was, came to witness the blessed event. The impure hearts who happened to be present suffered the horrible wrath.

This day was the anniversary of when the fairies created all green and living things. On that day, the pure hearts were blessed for loving the living. The impure, who hated life, were summarily damned.

Cathleen brought Charleston to the pond to hope miracles would soften his heart. Instead, he came to his doom. Was this too her blessing?

The photo prompt for this week at What Pegman Saw offered four possible images and I chose the one above. The challenge is to take an image and write a piece of flash fiction no more than 150 words long. Mine is exactly 150 words.

For more stories based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com.

This Isn’t My Home Anymore

yarnspinner

© yarnspinner

It’s all changing. My home, or what’s left of it, is barely recognizable. Hard to believe I grew up here. This used to be the field where I flew kites, played tag with my friends, where we ran around pretending to be superheroes.

We sure could have used a few of those, but now it’s too late.

The K’trn didn’t make contact with Earth by radio or landing ships on our planet. We found out about them when we detected the bioweapon heading toward us from space. In spite of all the talk of building a defense against asteroid strikes, we couldn’t stop the thing in time…and it was just the first of many.

I’m sure the K’trn don’t call them bioweapons. I wonder what their word is for terraforming? That’s what they’re doing, changing Earth’s climate, atmosphere, everything, so it’s like their home planet.

They should begin colonizing their new world, the Earth, any day now.

I wrote this for the FFfAW Challenge-Week of April 4, 2017 hosted by Priceless Joy. The idea is to write a piece of flash fiction between 100 and 175 words long, with 150 being the ideal. My story comes in at 157 words.

Today, April 5th, is First Contact Day. In the 1996 film Star Trek: First Contact, April 5, 2063 is the day when Vulcans make first contact with humanity after they detect the warp signature from Zefram Cochran’s experimental warp ship, the Phoenix. I hear some Star Trek fans actually celebrate this day. I thought, in honor of the occasion, I’d write a first contact story, though mine is much more grim.

To read other stories based on the prompt above, go to InLinkz.com.

Strange Sight

cliffs

© A Mixed Bag 2012

He sat on the sandy shore and stared up at the cliff. It would be the last thing he’d ever see. His peripheral vision was closing in on him. He could see the trees, the buildings, the tower, all through a continually narrowing tunnel.

“I wish I could have seen your face one more time.” He deliberately left her, left everyone who loved him, because his going blind wasn’t something he wanted to share. He didn’t want their pity, their concern, their last second attempts at trying to cure him.

He’d been studying the alien spores brought back from the dwarf planet Ceres by the Demeter probe. They were different enough from what he expected that there was a breach, just big enough to allow the spores to travel up through the electron microscope and into his eyes. His optic nerves deteriorated in just a few weeks.

Fade to black. “I’m blind.”

Then something rippled in his visual cortex.

“I can still see.”

The spores didn’t just destroy his human sight. They gave him back something better.

I wrote this piece of flash fiction in response to the Sunday Photo Fiction – April 2nd 2017 writing challenge. The idea is to use the photo prompt above to craft a small tale of no more than 200 words. Mine weighs in at 180.

I woke up this morning with some sort of swelling in my right eyelid accompanied by discharge. It looks pretty yucky, but is most likely nothing serious. Nevertheless, it did put the idea of vision in my thoughts, so I decided to write about it.

To read other stories based on the prompt, go to InLinkz.com

Seeing Means Changing

crash

Photo: Deren Martinez/KTVB

Police said that two people died in the car crash. It certainly seemed like they should have. Only I knew they originally did die, but then, I saw it happen yesterday, before it occurred.

How do you stop a car accident unless you’re involved? Fortunately, one car was driven by an Uber driver and he didn’t have a passenger when I saw the crash in my vision.

So I became the passenger. All I had to do was distract the driver, his name is Gerald, a few seconds before impact, changing the car’s trajectory. Sure, they still hit and they got hurt, but no one died. Gerald even realized that I probably saved his life. He just doesn’t know I did it on purpose.

I got a dislocated shoulder for my trouble, but no one died. The sight, my hereditary gift or curse depending on your perspective, was satisfied.

My name is Brian Vail and I see visions. I wonder what I’ll see next?

The photo above is a real car accident reported here. I like these little “photo challenges,” and since I had just a little time on my hands, I thought I’d give myself one. But what to write about?

I decided to write a flash fiction piece about my character Brian Vail, who I introduced in Tunnel Vision and who subsequently appeared in The Ghost of Natalie Edwards. For both of those stories, I had to write quite a bit to do the set up for the story, but here, I managed just a tiny tale while making it a full story.

Brian Vail next appears in What I See When I Look At You.