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  • taraskelt 4:28 pm on February 22, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Daydreamer 

    Tap, tap tap….tap…tap–

    “Miss Damling! Stop tapping your pencil, you are disrupting the class.”

    Mary stuck out her tongue after the teacher turned away, but ceased tapping in favor of staring out the window. There was always something interesting going on outside the second-floor window, whether it was people walking down below, a bird in the nearest tree, there was never a dull moment. And when there was, all Mary really had to do was make up something interesting outside the window. Today there wasn’t really much of anything happening outside. All she could see was snow. Maybe school would be let out early today? Nah, that never happened. Mary knew from experience that the day would drag on and on as the teacher droned about the civil war from the background.

    Her mom told her that when she got bored, words went in one ear and out the other. Mary could only wonder at why words would want to go into people’s heads in the first place, especially through people’s ears. Maybe that was why phrases like ‘waxing poetic’ existed…poetry was boring enough that the words would go right through her ears too, and get all waxy.

    But it didn’t make sense, not the way she saw it. And in a sudden rush of thought, she found that she saw the words in long filaments, flowing from her teacher’s mouth, swiveling through the air at crooked angles as they looked for a head to hide in.

    Mary looked around. There were words everywhere, and not just coming from the teacher’s lips. Words were slipping from the heads of other students, in little clouds of letters and numbers that slowly dissipated in the stagnant air, replaced with a continual stream of thought.

    There was one person in the class whose thoughts were not drifting out his ears. It was Bryan, the boy who sat one seat ahead in the next row. Bryan, the boy who handed in his spelling tests covered in doodles of aliens and otherworldly cityscapes, with weird, misshapen skyscrapers outlined against a loosely-penciled half-moon. Bryan, who at that moment was paying avid attention to the paper before him as his ballpoint pen whizzed over looseleaf. His hands were dyed black with letters, flowing to fall neatly before him, radiating outward from the center of the page..

    Slowly, Mary leaned over and peered at his notebook, and wrote what are you doing? in the top corner. Bryan’s hand stilled, the scritch of his pen silenced as he glanced up. After a moment of thought, he wrote in sloppy chicken-scratch letters beneath her own, writing a story.

    About what?

    Miss Damling, I suggest you direct your eyes forward and pay attention!”

    She flashed him a small apologetic smile and leaned back in her chair, staring out the window. This time, with pen in hand, scrawling doodles across her paper.

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  • taraskelt 4:33 pm on February 8, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Higher flash fiction prompt American Dream post status   

    Higher 

    “Daddy, daddy, look at me!”

    Daddy looked, and smiled as Casey swung higher.

    “Careful, if you go too high the sky might swallow you up.”

    “Really?” She stopped moving to stare at him wide-eyed, letting momentum carry her back and forth. “Then where do you go once it swallows you up?”

    “Somewhere amazing,” he said softly, flicking away the butt of his cigarette and clasping his hands before him as he watched her, a smile on his lips.

    She swung.

    Higher, higher.

    The old man stood, sparing one last glance over his shoulder.

    “Just watch me.”

    Today was the day. Fifteen years later, and today was the day she would finally make it. She kicked her legs out before her, pushing forward and falling back as she urged the swing higher, higher. And all she could think as her fingers let go of the ropes and she lifted from the seat was that she was going somewhere amazing, somewhere that she would see her father again, with his whiskery beard and sharp blue eyes, and he would hold her in his arms and tell her he never meant to go.

     
  • Traci 7:41 pm on February 6, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags:   

    Of Course They’re Real 

    “What exactly is this stuff?” Gentry asked, skeptically, looking at the little figurines. They looked soft.

    “They’re unicorns!” Ceres said, smiling cheerfully.

    “Yeah, I see that. But, what I mean is…what’re they made of?”

    “That’s a really silly question, Gentry! Of course you know what they’re made of!”

    “Uh…no. Or, I wouldn’t have asked.” He sighed. Getting information out of Ceres was like pulling teeth. No matter how straight-forward it probably should have been.

    “…I don’t know how you couldn’t know what they’re made of!” Ceres said, blinking at his friend. Gentry was always a little clueless, if you asked Ceres. Really, he was always asking what something was made of! It was like he didn’t trust Ceres or something!

    “Just answer me!” Gentry was getting fed-up with this. He hated this little round-about shit they went through every time he asked a simple question. And the truth was, he didn’t trust Ceres! Ceres was the weirdest person he’d ever met.

    “They’re made of meat, of course.” Ceres said, sighing as if exasperated with a very slow child.

    “M-meat?!” Gentry stared at the little unicorn figures in horror. Who the hell made unicorn figurines out of meat?!

    “Of course! That’s what they’re made out of in real life!”

    “No they aren’t!”

    “What do you mean? Of course they are! I just have to figure out how to stop them from growing mold and bacteria.” Ceres said, thoughtfully.

    “Ceres! Unicorns are not made out of raw, ground meat in real life! In fact, they aren’t real!”

    Ceres gasped and stared at Gentry with wide eyes, filled with hurt.

    “…What?” Gentry was caught off guard. What had he said that could have possibly given birth to such a look on Ceres’s face?

    “Of course unicorns are real! You just have to believe!”

    Gentry sighed, a vein in the side of his forehead popping out just a little throbbing. “Ceres…unicorns aren’t real. They never were. They’re a myth. Probably a trick of someone’s eyes a long time ago, or the result of people putting together bones the wrong way. Sort of like the myth of the cyclops.”

    “Gentry, how could you say such a terrible thing! You just have to believe! Of course unicorns are real!”

    “Ceres…!”

    “No! I won’t listen! They’re real, I tell you! They are! And they’re made of meat!”

     
    • Fallen Red Ninja 3:03 am on April 10, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      I love the idea of making figurines out of meat, it sounds like a great way to terrorise small children!

      Well written, I love the figurines and the ending.

  • Traci 8:15 pm on February 5, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Sly’s Day Off 

    Prompt: Secret Agent Man

    It was supposed to be his day off. His day to relax. His day to have fun! But, instead, what was he doing? He was doing a favor for a friend. A favor that was most definitely not as fun as it was bizarre, and not as interesting as vegging out in front of the television watching an anime marathon.

    Still, this was a favor for a friend. Sly’s best friend, to be exact. And, besides that, it wasn’t like refusing would’ve done much good. After all, there was never any real arguing with Nora. It just didn’t work, she’d look at you like you just told her the grass was pink. It didn’t matter how legit your argument was. It didn’t matter how stupid or bizarre her idea was. You always ended up doing what she asked you to do. Often without even realizing it until you were doing it!

    Thus, enter Sly sitting in his office, on his day off. Not only was he sitting in his office on his day off, but he was staring at the monitors, watching a mouse’s eye-view of the city of New York. It wasn’t really a total loss, though, he supposed. As the camera sped along, sometimes he got a brief glimpse up a girl’s skirt. And…okay, sometimes he turned it back for a second, better look. But, who could blame him??

    Well, apparently the women here weren’t all that stupid, and didn’t really think the remote control car was just some kid’s toy. They realized what it was driving around under their feet for, and more than one woman had chased the car. Thankfully, Sly’s toys all came suped-up. The cars could outrun most of the women.

    Well, unless you counted that Amazon of a woman who kicked the car just a moment ago, and sent it hurtling through the air several feet. Thankfully, he was able to get it back on its wheels and keep it going. He thought perhaps he would stop looking up women’s skirts on purpose, though. Well, at least going back for second looks was out of the question.

    Perhaps this wasn’t a total loss of a day off, after all. He got to be a pervert, and he did a favor for a friend. And, he got to do it while relaxing in a comfortable chair, even if it was his office chair. And from the safety of his office, away from the high heels and sharp nails of women who might have figured out otherwise who was driving that little car and decide to exact some form of terrible torturous revenge upon his innocent and sexist self.

    Plus, this toy was awesome. It had amazing range. It was twelve blocks away! And do you know what that meant? That meant that Sly was a genius. Sure, Nora had come up with the blue prints and everything, but he’d been the one to actually build it.

     
  • taraskelt 3:05 pm on February 1, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Something Beautiful 

    “It’s not what I expected.”

    Ren took a drag of his cigarette, and flicked it aside as he stared up at the Seattle Space Needle. The enormous building was tilted to the side dangerously, on the verge of collapse.

    “Well, nothing can be trusted enough to be expected, these days,” Ren whispered in that gruff, raspy voice that he’d had ever since that drifter hit him in the throat with a crowbar.

    Every city they’d gone to was dead, save for those too stubborn or too crazy to leave behind the wreckage of what had once claimed to be a great country.

    “Eh. We should get going and scavenge for supplies. I’ll bet we can still find a few canned goods in some of the stores, at least,” Pete said, scuffing his foot in the dust that coated the street before he walked off. It was only when he realized there was no sound of footsteps in his wake that he realized Ren wasn’t following.

    Ren stood, eyes still fixed on the dilapidated skyscraper, silent. “Come on, we should get moving before any mercs spot us.” Still, he stood silent.

    Ren cleared his damaged throat and said, “It could’ve been something great, you know.”

    “It could have.” They stood in silence for a few spare minutes before Pete suggested once again that they move on. Ren spared one last glance over his shoulder, before they continued onward to walk the streets in search of survivors.

     
  • amerryunbirthday 4:10 am on January 31, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: secret agent man!   

    There was a small buzzing noise on the sidewalk one Saturday evening in Manhattan. A few freaked out civilians gasped and jumped as a small remote control car drove over their feet. One woman accidentally spilled her coffee on the little thing, but it kept on driving by. It was made to handle such conditions. No matter what it kept on driving until it reached the lower, more grungey parts of the city. In the camera’s vision that was built under the windshield there was a long line of adults and older teens alike, waiting to enter a metal club where the sounds of drums and wailing guitars would pass through the outside world whenever the doors would open to let people in or out. A man with many piercings on his face picked up the small car and showed it to his friends. “Hey look.. Some kid left their toy outside! Dudes we should totally bring this in”, he said. Little did his friends know that he was working for me. His mission was to get this little car into club to spy on Mr. Anderson. He was the head of the new Mafia and was a frequent visitor to this club. The man with the piercing’s real name was Marcus, but his friends called him Sid V. See Mr. Anderson wasn’t there for the music or any of that crap. He was a sick man who flashed around his guns to draw the ladies in. There were plenty of clubs and bars around New York to grab ladies at, but no one could roll better than the girls at The Cafe. Sid V took the car over to the room that Mr. Anderson was in. Before he brought it inside, he said to the camera “Look, i’ve got the car inside.” he pointed the car in the direction of Mr. Anderson. He was sitting on a couch with a girl in each arm. He had a martini in one hand and a cigar in the other. Typical. He was laughing about some joke and the girls, like the good little golddiggers they were, giggles with him with their hands on his chest, waiting for something to fall out of his pocket and into their cleavages. He was dressed like a stereotypical Italian Mafia man. the black suit, the tie, his hair slicked back, and even his cologne stinking of money. Sid V rested the rcc on the ground. He knew what to do. If something were to go wrong with the car, he would be there to investigate so I could finally find out what his plans are so I could finally stop him and put his crime to an end. For now all we need to do is sit here and wait. Sid V stood near by with a beer in his hand, nodding his head to the music. He was into this metal stuff but he was a good kid. It was handy to have him around for undercover work. Mr. Anderson played with a girl’s hair and caressed another girl’s shoulder.

    “You know i work for a weapon company..”, he said to them, clearly intoxicated. They gasped and wowed him just to please him. It was clear that they weren’t interested in what he did. They were only interested in what he had to give. “Yeah… It’s friggen huge. I’ve buildings and franchises all around the country… But where I really make my money..” he chuckled, waving his cigar “Is by eliminating my competition…”. He laughed again. He looked up at someone who could easily be his henchman. “Ey, You remember old Frank from that gun store?”

    “Yeah boss, we took him out a few weeks ago”, he said stupidly eating an olive from his own martini. It was funny how the news paper said that “Old Frank” went missing only a few weeks ago. So he had the government wrapped around his finger eh? Sid, who was standing outside the door heard this and stood a little closer to the room to get a better hear.

    “Hey, sir.”, he said over his bluetooth. “Did you hear that?”

    I nodded and responded “Yes I did. Just stand your ground and wait. I’m recording the conversation as we speak”.

    “You got it, Sir.” he said. I heard shifting over his end and assumed that he was getting back to his position. I told you he’s a good kid. There was more laughter on the criminals’ end. The camera in the rcc saw an olive fall on the floor. The stupid henchman poked his head under the table to reach for the olive and saw the car.

    “Hey… What’s this?”, he asked, picking up the car. “Hey boss, There’s a toy car under the table!” he said.

    Mr. Anderson laughed again and said to one of his girlfriends, “Would you hear this schmuck? A toy car, gimme a break!”.

    The other girlfriend cleared her throat and said “Sir… Look at what Phil’s holding” and pointed at him. The girls stifled their giggles as he saw the car and stood up.

    “Well…. What do we have here?”, he said smiling goofily at it. “It’s a little toy! Would ya look at that!… Wait a second…”, His face looked as if it were concentrating on something. “Ey, Phil! There’s a camera in this crap!”, he yelled. “Someone’s listening to our conversations!”, he looked at the camera. “Well Isn’t that rude?”, he said, snickering. “Oh don’t worry, Mr. Evans, you’ll get your evidence someday. Not today though!” he laughed at this, dropped the car to the floor and proceeded to stomp on it with his foot. The screen on my end went fuzzy and went out. I sat back in my chair and smiled. I still had Marcus. His bluetooth had an automatic voice recorder built into it. That was evidence enough for now. The chase wasn’t over though and it won’t be over any time soon…

     
  • Chase 2:45 am on January 31, 2011 Permalink | Reply  

    Secret Agent Man 

    Everyone’s fic has to include someone remote control driving a car through [big city]

     

     
  • withkeylymes 6:36 am on January 28, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Agent, Corner, Salt, Socks, Softer   

    ‘Softer… sooofter…’

    Nouăsprezece held his breath as he snuck as quietly as he could through the house. His feet, their hard soles normally giving him away against the hardwood floor of their small apartment, were cushioned by a pair of socks that… he wasn’t sure were his. If he were given a chance to guess, they were the socks that he’d gotten his wife a year or two earlier, for either Mother’s Day or her birthday. After all, he would never own a pair of thick, rubber-soled, bright pink socks.

    …at least, that’s what he liked to pretend; he was well aware that even strangers knew about his acute femininity – intimately.

    Nouă kept his feet pressed flat to the floor, trying to slide them smoothly across the floor. As matched his typical unluckiness, the rubber soles kept him from being able to do this. Gripping the edges of the tray he was holding a bit tighter, he softly stepped around the corner, eyes peeled for his adopted son. The boy was a sweetheart, and he always had been, but the little snow bee was a secret agent for his mother, always reporting back to the woman about anything that Nouă did, no matter how small.

    Taking a deep breath, Nouă puuushed the door open slowly and quietly, bright blue eyes glancing around the room. Coriander was curled up against his mother’s chest, who was curled up fast asleep around their child. The man paused where he stood, tipping his head softly to the side and causing his antlers to click gently on the door. A sigh passed his lips as he watched the two of them, smiling faintly as he pictured every step that had gotten him to where he was today.

    The man’s intention was to step forward, place the tray on the bedside table, and awaken the both of them to breakfast in bed. His luck decided otherwise. Somehow, the Nouă’s foot got caught on the back of his ankle, pulling him forward and sending him sprawling to the ground. The tray of food went everywhere, of course shattering the entire salt shaker (just his luck, right?), and sending eggs, toast, and juice in all directions, much of which ended up on his head. As the two sat up in bed, surprised by the noise, Nouă smiled awkwardly and sheepishly.

    “U-uhm… Ha-ha-happy V-V-Vale-ent-tine’s D-Day…?”

     
    • Zekkass 6:39 am on January 28, 2011 Permalink | Reply

      Awwww, he’s adorable! :3

  • taraskelt 4:35 am on January 26, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Caterpillar   

    As the poor creature’s orange innards spilled over the tarmac, all I could remember was how you used to stomp on caterpillars when we were children just to make sure they didn’t become butterflies, and that my ugly, fat little body was still boudn in my own chrysallus, shuttered off from the world and yet still not nearly as safe as I thought behind my wall of silk, and that any day you could come along and pluck me down, and my armor would crackle under the immense weight of your converse sneaker.

     
  • Fallen Red Ninja 6:21 am on January 25, 2011 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , They're made of meat   

    Just like that “You see it wasn’t so m… 

    Just like that

    “You see it wasn’t so much that I couldn’t procure the delectable that was recommended by the author but merely that I thought a more local flavour was desirable in this case”

    Mitchell was yammering on, as he does, about his changes to the recipes in whatever celebrity chef’s cookbook it was he’d bought this week. I mean I admire the mans dedication to his latest “greatest pursuit for lifelong fulfillment” but it’s a bit hard to take him seriously when you know the piles of junk rotting away in the garage. He’d had to buy a shed summer just gone so he had somewhere to put his tools.

    “And of course only the finest dark chocolate will do. But getting the colour in the shells is nigh on impossible, I don’t know how he does it.”

    What sort of man keeps his tools in a shed and his work benches in the garage?  Although considering the state of the garage, it’s no bloody wonder.

    “Chill. Heat slightly than snap-freeze.”

    At least he keeps the house in order. For a bachelors pad at least.

    “dioxode. Dried ice! Got some hellish burns though.”

    Mitch isn’t bad as far as the boyfriend front goes. He cooks weird stuff and is almost obsessive compulsive about his hobbies but a man could do worse. I’ve done and dated worse. Besides, this jumping from one thing to the next seems to keep him in great shape.

    “kept a few in the freezer as an experiment. I’ll tell you, never again! This batch is fresh this morning.”

    And his eyes. I would swim for hours in their icy depths, a rare and piercing husky blue. More’s the pity he’s a lousy shag. All enthusiasm but no technique.

    “Andrew? Are you even listening to me?”

    “What? Yeah of course.” I reply, staring with some consternation at the wildly gesticulating spoon that’s been thrust in my general direction.

    “Well? Are you going to tell me what you think?”

    Shrugging, I open my mouth and he tips the spoonful of goliath pebbles look alikes in. The coating is just sugar with a hint of chilli, interesting combo. I bite one. A unexpectedly savoury lamb flavour overwhelms my unprepared taste buds. Spitting out my mouthful in surprise, I exclaim “they’re made of meat?!”

    Mitchell’s hang-dog look tears strips “you weren’t listening at all, were you.”

    It’s a statement, not a question. He crosses the floor to where I dropped my satchel as I came in the door. He holds it out to me and opens the door. I can take a hint. I grab my keys off the table, my jacket off the back of the sofa and have just taken my bag from his out stretched hand when I notice my underwear under the coffee table. His gaze follows mine.

    “Take it. You’re not coming back.”

    And just like that it’s over. I grab the last of my stuff and slump out to my car. I should’ve listened. One time too many. And because of that, just like that, it’s over.

     
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