Flash Fiction No. 44

#Flashfiction

A Kaleidoscope Vortex

He pushed the mirror and watched the ripple spread out from the place where his fingers had been, a million colours swirling in a kaleidoscope vortex. The reflection changed slowly. A bead of sweat popped on his creased brow. It was more difficult to control the molecules in a mirror than it was to manipulate water.

But water wasn’t solid. Water flowed.

This didn’t flow. Its stationary molecules were stiff and difficult to ply, but he was having far more success than he’d had before. He pushed the image around with his mind, distorting the colours until his reflection was dressed in a mishmash of green and blue. He took a step back and smiled then allowed the image to dissolve.

There were others who could do things like he could. But it was dangerous to tell anyone about it. Nobody would understand. And not everybody listening was your friend.

Just Get It Written

Those are the words that are constantly repeated at me by my parents. They seem to think that writing a novel is easy and that once I do I will be immediately snapped up by a publishing house and suddenly become rich and famous. All of my efforts to correct them on this matter seem to fade into nothingness in their brains.

Of course, this usually stems from discussions wherein I’m told I don’t have a job because they don’t consider it a job or well paid enough. And that discussion usually stems from being asked to clean up a mess that either Master Berserker or Blindy McBlindBlind have made. And why doesn’t Master Berserker have to help around the house or clean up?

Apparently it’s because he has a real job and is out at work.

Flash Fiction No. 43

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Are You Hungry For Blood?

Something far more potent than chicken excrement and straw filtered through to my quivering nostrils. Light crept in between splintered cracks, scarring my face with strange shadows. One eye opened to light and one opened to dark. Feathers were stuck to the side of my mouth, glued there by sticky, red cement that tasted bitter dried. I preferred it warm and fresh.

When I was human, I used to like milk that way too. I guess some things never change.

I turned my head to one side, mindless of the feathers. A glazed over gaze stared back at me. It hadn’t suffered. Its limp neck stretched across the hen house floor, completely void of blood.

My stomach growled for more.

Feel Free To eSlap Me.

A lot of things go through my head. They aren’t always things I can comfortably discuss with people or say out loud. A lot of the time I trouble myself over people’s reactions to whatever I might say and thoughts that they might have because of the things I’ve said.

To cut it short, I overanalyse a lot.

I don’t mean to and sometimes I wish it would just stop because there’s no need for it and I stress out more than I need to stress out. And I don’t really need to stress out much at all. Finances bug me a lot, but so do the people around me. Mostly it’s the important people that bug me and not always from what they’ve said or done.

What bugs me most is what they think or feel when I say or do something. It probably isn’t normal to obsess over it so much.

Flash Fiction No. 42

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A Watery Betrayal

Thunder crackled low on the horizon above a shimmying curtain of rain. The water gurgled, speeding towards the overflowing drains and spilling back onto the pavement. Her hood dripped into her vision, skewing shapes. The city smoked away on the horizon.

They’d arranged to meet an hour ago. She checked her watch. Maybe something had happened to him.

Her gaze shifted out to sea once more, absorbing the hard paddle of rain against the waves. It kicked up the stench of seaweed and brine into the otherwise fresh air. Hands twisted in her pockets. How much longer did she have to wait?

Free Chocolate & Rum!

Ha-hah! You clicked here because you thought you would get free stuff, eh?

Well you can’t because I don’t have either of those things. And I don’t know is the answer to the question you are asking (“Why is the rum gone?”). Suffice to say, I wanted to draw you in and then cocoon you in my weblog to read this post. I promise you’ll be released as soon as you’ve finished reading.

What I did want to do, however, is ask for recommendations…

Flash Fiction No. 41

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Infected Life

[A continuation of Infected Vengeance]

The lift shuddered down to the lower levels. The light above flickered in fear as the alarm continued to scream overhead. Nevertheless, that sound was getting distant, which meant I was passing into the underground labs.

I glanced down at the body on the steel floor. A crimson wreath spread out from the smashed remains of the cadaver’s skull. Blood silently pooled around my shoes, clinging to the lip of the leather warning me not to follow Kelis into the vaults.

I snorted. A warning wouldn’t stop me.

I nudged the lifeless hand with the toe of my bloody shoe, scarlet splattering with artistry. A sense of disconnection left me in awe of Kelis. Judging by this and the trail of bodies I’d followed, she wasn’t leaving anyone alive. But that only gave me more questions…

Why would she give me the power to survive?

A Collection of Random

First on the list of random things: #UKWriter. This is a new hash tag for tweeters that two lovely ladies, @AnneMhairi and @LadyAntimony, created in order for writers in the UK to connect with each other. They observed how few UK writers there seemed to be interacting with each other on twitter and decided to do something about it.

I must admit that I often noticed how a lot of my writing contacts on the network are from overseas rather than from this side of the pond, so to speak. So if you are a UK writer and you feel like finding the rest of us, please try the hash tag. It would be nice to get in touch. Along with the #amwriting tag and the Aspiring Writers Pledge, I think these are great ways to get writers connected and talking.

And now onto some other news.