#ThursThreads Week 335 : But They Sure Don’t Seem To Like Me

On Friday morning, Jimmy woke up, and like he always did, checked the news. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very happy with what he saw.

His friends Bobby, Tim, and Eddie, all made the morning news, but not for good reasons.

Bobby was found, naked, face up, in the middle of the road. No one could figure out how the staked that ran through his arms and legs, and held him to the pavement, had been hammered into place. A note was attached to a nail hammered into his head, “One down. Three to go.”

They found Tim at a hotel, in a room, naked, and face up on the bed, tied down, with a rope around his neck that had kept him from breathing. A rather disturbed woman sat in the corner, crying, and screaming, “It was all black. No face. No eyes. Nothing. Just black.” A note on the rope around Tim’s neck said, “Two down. Two left.”

Eddie’s body was at the counter at the entrance to the police station, with a metal pipe that ran through him, and pinned him to that counter. The officer at the counter was in shock, and kept mumbling, “It said this makes three. And Jimmy’s next.”

The note attached to the pipe that killed Eddie read, “Jimmy. I’ve met your friends. But they sure don’t seem to like me.”

Pastor Greg called the Sheriff. They picked up Jimmy, and took him to a safe house, as if that could stop me.

249 Words
@mysoulstears


Getting closer to the end of this Armor 17 story. Only 4 parts left. It’s Week 333 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.

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#MenageMonday 2×03

Considering how I was pounding on the door, and ringing the bell endlessly, and screaming, “Marty! Marty! Marty!” at the top of my lungs, it took a ludicrous amount of time for Marty to actually answer the door.

When he finally did answer, he had his handgun pointed right at me. I threw my hands up, “Don’t shoot me!” as I backed away.

“Tom?” He didn’t look happy. “It’s 3 in the morning, Tom.” He looked rather angry, “Why are you beating my door down at 3, Tom?”

I pointed at the moon. “Look! Look!”.

“I don’t see anything, Tom.” I swore the angry look he gave me could cut glass, “Just the moon”

I was hopping up and down, pointing at the sky, and wishing I could hide in a deep cave full of guns. “It’s right there!”

“What’s right there, Tom?”

“Pegasus!”

He looked at the moon, and then looked around, mostly at the sky. “I don’t see anything, Tom.”

“Oh, crap! He’s seen me!” I tried to push past Marty, in to the house, but he blocked my way, and aimed his gun at me. “Go home, Marty. You’re having a nightmare. There’s nothing to it.” I almost broke my nose on his door as he slammed it shut.

I stood there. Every time I looked up, there was Pegasus, leather wings and all, watching me. I kept hearing Rockwell singing, “I always feel like, somebody’s watching me.”

“Please, Mr. Pegasus, sir. Don’t eat me.”

246 words
@mysoulstears


I wrote this for week 2×03 of Cara Michaels‘s #MenageMonday flash fiction challenge. You can read about #MenageMonday here. Please, go read all the short tales from this week. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/10/14

“Gravity. That’s always been a good thing,” I decided, as I floated around my living room. “Military technology. That’s always been a bad thing.” Which seemed to sum it up nicely.

I was in my encounter suit. Like the ones NASA used to use on the old Space Station, way back in the early 2000s. Turned out I was one of the lucky ones, I had a suit. They’d only sold 100,000 or so, trying to recover some of the money NASA lost the Federal Government.

I’d decided to water the plants. The ones on my patio, that I’d been smart enough to catch, and pull inside before they floated off. Something about physics being physics, and gravity no longer working, and things floating off, and becoming detached from the planet.

“Damn ray gun loving, warmongers!” Yeah. That summed it up. It was 2106 when the remains of what had once been the United States went financially insolvent. Which wasn’t a surprise, given it was $378,296,185,243,156.43 in debt when the bankruptcy was declared.

I still blame the Republicans. Spending money hand over fist for military programs, and cutting taxes until no one had to pay any taxes. They made money out of thin air. And it caught up to them. But. that’s another story.

Right then, I had my hands full, trying to put the plants back into their pots, and trying to suck up all the water floating around my Dining Room. Oh, I knew all about physics. I knew how water behaved in zero gravity. Knew it was not a good idea to water the plants. The water would end up everywhere. But. Well. The plants were looking kind of bad. And I knew they needed water. And I couldn’t figure out how to get water to them. So, I’d managed to trap some water from the faucet in a sprinkling can. And the rest was history.

I’m sure any aliens watching us stupid humans were dying of laughter, as I demonstrated how water goes wherever it fucking wants to in zero gravity. And how plants can float out of their pots, dirt and all.

It was frustrating, I’ll admit that.

But it was better than thinking about what was going to happen in the coming days and weeks, as the atmosphere floated off, and left the planet a barren rock, floating through space. “Damn ;ray gun loving, warmongers!” Yeah! I’d tell them!

I’d been climbing the stairs of the building to my apartment when it happened. I pushed down, against a step, like one does. And instead of my foot staying put on the step, and my body raising high enough for me to put the other foot on the next step, my whole body shot up into the air, and my head collided with the bottom of the next flight of stairs. Painfully collided, I might add. “What the fuck just happened?”

Poor Jenny, my neighbor. She’d been in the bathtub. With one of those bath bomb things. Imagine. Gravity stopped, and all that water started floating around the room, and leaving a trail of soapy, glittery shit everywhere.

The news that night was entertaining, to say the least. The Department Of Defense chairman, tied to a big ass podium, standing in front of a bunch of cameras that were floating in all kinds of directions, explaining, “We had an experiment go wrong. It was a local anti-gravity weapon, designed to make enemies have to deal with no gravity in their environment on a battlefield. The test started out well. But something went wrong, and the test equipment ran wild, and, well.” He’d paused at that point, and looked at 43 different cameras, so everyone could see him. “It took out the gravity field planet wide.”

It got more entertaining quickly, like when the Atlantic Ocean decided to swallow a large chunk of Africa, and all of Europe. I heard the defense jockeys in my head every time I thought about it, “Oops. Sorry about that…”

Now, it was our last days, as the atmosphere had started acting like a comet’s tail, and was trailing out millions of miles behind the planet. “Funny how it’s easier to breathe in high spaces than on the ground anymore.”

I stared at the water, and the plants, floating in my Dining Room. “Fuck it. We’ll call it Art Deco, and see what happens next.”

I sighed. At least Jenny was happy. She floated over naked each night for endless sex. She called it one last big bang before the apocalypse. Who was I to argue with her? “If I gotta die, I may as well make the best of what time’s left.”

I don’t think I’d ever heard more appropriate words, or more truthful.

791 words
@mysoulstears


Saw the picture for week 76 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge, and this little bit of fiction popped into my head. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/10/03

Julia carefully straightened one last misplaced curl of my wig, “There. That’s better.” She examined me from head to foot, a thorough once over. “I know why you’re doing this, you know. But you could just dress as yourself. No one would really mind.”

I stared into the mirror for a moment. “Mom always said she wanted me to have a proper wedding. One with a bride, and a groom, and a grand wedding dress, in a grand old church.”

“I know.” She adjusted the white fabric flower on my left sleeve again. “There. That’s better.”

“You’re certain you have everything right? Nothing missing?”

She nodded. “You couldn’t look any more like a bride if you were a girl, dude.”

I looked at myself in that mirror again. “You know. I’ve never had on a wig, or makeup before.”

“I know.” Julia grinned.

“I honestly don’t know how you guys deal with all this stuff. Every single day. It would drive me crazy.”

She had a fun laugh, I’d always thought that. Almost a cross between a giggle, and a guffaw. It was what I needed right then, it made me feel better. “See, Bobby? See? That’s the smile you need today. That smile.”

I keep smiling into the mirror. “Bobby, you make a gorgeous looking bride.”

It was my time to laugh, “No. You made me a gorgeous looking bride. On my own, I’d look like some bearded woman in a pile of wrinkled fabric.”

She gave me a hug, like any big sister would. “You ready? It’s almost time.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

James was resplendent in his tuxedo, standing at the front of the church, next to the pastor, with Alexander standing next to him. Mary and Danielle stood on the bride’s side of the pastor, and watched as my boss from work, Stephen, escorted me down the aisle.

I was terrified. Walking in those damn high heels, with those straps cutting into my ankles, to keep the shoes from coming off. And my legs felt all wrong, having been shaved, and having none of the hair they’d always had.

But, if I was getting married, I wanted it to be a wedding Mom would approve of. And she’d wanted me to find someone to love. My other half, she called them. And have a big celebration, with a church wedding, and a beautiful, classic brides gown.

I’d always loved my Mom. Always. And I wished, as I walked down the aisle, she could be there, on that front row, next to Julia, and her family, to see the wedding I’d arranged.

It was beautiful. I know Mom would have loved it. And I hoped she would approve of me having found my other half in James. As I walked that aisle that day, it was like I could see her looking down from heaven, watching.

It had been Mom’s wish. And I’d found a way to make it come true.

496 words
@mysoulstears


Saw the picture for week 75 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge, and this little bit of fiction popped into my head. As a friend said, “Your blog. Post whatever you want.” So, here it is. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/09/23

I don’t know how much longer I can keep her heart from going cold, how much longer I can keep her from the fate we all share. How long it will be until she turns to stone. Nothing more than a statue of of who she once was.

I hold her every chance I get. And pray the heat of the molten rock inside my shell reaches her, and warms her, so I may have one more day with her. One more day.

The first time I felt her growing cold was the day her father turned to stone. The day the last glimpse of heat left his eyes, and all the flames of life flickered out, and faded from his surface, leaving nothing save the granite he once lived within.

That day was fatal to her. It was the start of her own freeze. The beginning of her surrender to death. To the cold.

It was slow, so slow. I didn’t know what to do. How to you speak of such a thing with the one you love? How do you keep them warm? How do you convince them to keep their fire burning?

When our daughter left home, to find a life of her own, it weakened her further, and the cold grew. I could feel her heat fading daily.

I took time off of work, and took her everywhere she’d ever wished to go. To the top of the mountains. To see the mothers of us all, the volcanoes. Where our people were first born, in fire, and heat, filled with life, and lust to see the world, so many centuries ago. She cried. She walked in their fire, waded in their pools of molten rock, their streams of lava. For a time she was warmer.

But it didn’t last. Once we returned home, to our place here in the caverns, in the dark, the only light being the light of our inner fires, she spoke with me, for the first time.

“I grow cold, my love.” A molten tear flowed from her eye, down her perfect cheek. “I grow cold.”

“I know.” What more had there been to say? “I’ve known for a while now.”

“I will gather what heat I can. So I may stay with you.” Small flames flickered, and raced along her surface. “I would stay with you as long as I can.”

“I would stay with you forever, my love.”

She smiled. I had always loved her smile. She always brought warmth to me. Heat. That raced along every surface of me. Flames that flickered on the surface of the molten rock that were my eyes. “I know.” She placed her hand on my cheek, and I felt a hint of warmth in her fingers I hadn’t felt in ages. “I will last as long as I can.”

In the years since then, she has slowed. Now, most days, she sits. Motionless. And watches the sun, basking in its heat, resting her feet in the lava stream that flows along the edge of our back yard.

Now, most days, I cry, for I know it is only a question of time, now. Many nights I don’t sleep, standing with her by the stream, my arms wrapped around her, as I desperately try to breathe my warmth into her.

But I know the day will come when the last of the fire in her fades. And she follows her father beyond the veil of this life. And all I will have left of her is a cold, stone statue.

596 words
@mysoulstears


This is written for Week 73 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

 

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/09/16

“It took us two years to reconstruct this.” I waved what was left of my top right arm at the structure. “Two years to figure out how it all fit together.”

The Emperor butterflies stood on the tree limb, and studied the structure. “It looks incomplete.”

“We have no doubt it is.” The explanation would be complicated, I knew it, so did they. “All the parts we found were petrified wood, and stones. It was basically a pile of rubble.”

“How did we find the parts?”

There’d been a storm that dumped rain for days. “The rains caused flooding. The flooding washed away the dirt that covered it, and left part of it exposed.”

“Wouldn’t it have looked like some rocks?”

I’d wondered that myself. I hadn’t been who found it. A group of wandering crickets found it. They reported it to the ant colony nearby. The ants sent a research group to study the rocks. “What was exposed didn’t look like rocks at all. It was a handful of those rocks covering the top of the structure.”

Rocks that had clearly been manufactured in some way. They were uniform in size. And in shape. All with the same curve. All fit together.

“The ants reported the finding, and an archeological team was sent to investigate.” I’d been the leader of that team. I knew the uniform rocks were not natural. “We started an excavation, and found the rest.”

“And it took two years to reassemble?”

“Yes. Two years. We made many mistakes along the way.”

“Do we know who made it?”

“No, we don’t. We don’t know how old it is either. We do know it’s old. Ancient, in fact. What was left of the wooden posts in the original construction had become petrified. Turned to stone.”

The Emperors knew that took centuries. “Have we continued to excavate the site where it was found?”

“Yes. We have. We found a segment of a road, the same kind found at other sites. And we found a strange figure, made of stone. It’s got butterfly wings, but they are hundreds of times the size of ours. And it stands 70 monarchs tall. Other than the wings, we’ve never seen anything like it. It is bipedal, standing on two limbs, with two other limbs reaching to the sky.”

“Can we explore the reconstruction?”

“By all means. I should mention, however, the interior is mostly empty. We believe the interior was constructed of wood, most of which rotted away, and has long ago become dirt. But a few pieces of petrified wood remained, and they indicate the interior was separated into box shaped units connected by openings.”

“What do we think it is?”

“It’s hard to say, this being the first discovery of its kind. But, comparing it to the size of the roads, and the monoliths discovered elsewhere, and the few wheels we’ve found. We believe this was some kind of living facility. That something lived in this.”

One of the Emperors placed a hand on my shoulder, “You have done excellent work, as we knew you would. We do believe this is a living quarters for something. For the giant bipedal beings that once existed.”

“I wonder if we will ever find any fossil remains of those creatures.”

“Indeed. I hope someday we do. I hope someday we can piece together what happened to them, and why they no longer exist.”

569 words
@mysoulstears


This is written for Week 72 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

#ThursThreads Week 329 : Just Do What They Say

Jimmy wasn’t the only person involved, just the leader. Like always, Jimmy had followers. Bobby, Tim, and Eddie. Whatever Jimmy said, whatever Jimmy did, that’s what those three said and did.

I put together a list of names. All women. All with one thing in common. All raped by one of the four. All drugged by one of the four. I e-mailed the list to Eddie, to Pastor Greg, and to the Sheriff’s office.

Tim and Bobby had hard times on their computers, and televisions, because they’d suddenly start playing women’s voices, “No. No. No.” and showing videos of men not listening as they stripped them, and did what they wanted.

Then there was the day Tim woke up naked, tied to his sofa, wondering what had happened. When Bobby found his desk at work covered in books about how to trick women into sex, how to get all the sex you wanted. When Eddie found pictures of the bruises he’d left on too many necks, where he’d resorted to force.

And the billboard outside the Walmart with the picture of the four of them, and Pastor Greg saying, “You want to be safe? Just do what they say.”

The sheriff called the FBI, and the State Police. “I need help.”

They hung up on him.

Pastor Greg stood, looking at the door to his office, where a black shape had stood, and told him, “Violence breeds violence. They’ve hurt enough people. They should have been stopped years ago.”

249 Words
@mysoulstears


Getting closer to the end of this Armor 17 story. At most, 5 parts left. It’s Week 329 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who turn out weekly.