#MenageMonday 2×15 : The

In two hours, it would be time to go to work. Hank stared at his watch. “I like my watch.” It was larger than a wristwatch, and it attached to his belt with a well crafted chain. “A pocket watch. Not at all what anyone would expect.”

Carefully, he placed the watch in his pocket, and looked at his computer once more. “Two hours of freedom. Two hours to be me. And then. Everything becomes the same, the same colors, the same rules, the same words.” He hated work, where everyone behaved identically, no matter what. “We all dress the same, always shave, always keep our hair cut just right, wear the same suits, the same ties, the same shoes and socks.”

It was one of those mornings where he was desperate for anything different, anything that wasn’t the same, that wasn’t old, and hadn’t been done a billion times. He brought up the video streaming service, and searched for random names, and random items. “Jose Benedict”. “Concept cars 2019”. “Hunting a new music video”. Nothing felt right in the results. Everything felt the same. “Less than two hours now.”

Out of desperation, he got more detailed in his search efforts, “i am hunting for pearls music videos.” He wondered if that was too specific, as the results showed up. It wasn’t. “There. Something new!” A new music video, he’d never heard. “Finally! A fresh start with something different!” he clicked play, and watched something he’d never seen before.

249 Words
@mysoulstears


It’s week 2×15 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.

 

#MenageMonday 2×11 : The E Line.

He sat in his seat and stared out the window at the snow, and trees, as they drifted by while I tried to answer his question. “The E on the front of the train means ends at sundown. I am sorry if you thought it meant Express.”

He shook his head, and glared at me. “When do we get to Roanoke?”

“When we get there.”

“There’s a schedule for when this train is to be where. When does that schedule table say we get there!”

“It’s not that kind of schedule. This train’s schedule ends at sundown, and starts at sunrise. It’s more like a city park that’s only open from dawn until dusk.”

“Will we get there today?”

“If we get there before sundown.”

“What happens at sundown?”

“The track ends.”

“What?”

“The track ends. And at sunrise, the track starts again.” He looked totally confused. “Think of it as a Final Fantasy computer game, but they turn it off at bedtime.”

We waited, staring at each other, until the train stopped. He stared out the window again. “Where’d the track go? It was there a few minutes ago.”

“Sundown, sir. The track ends at sundown.” I reached into the overhead bin, and pulled out a pillow, and a blanket for him. “Enjoy your night, sir. At least it’s warm in here.”

223 words
@mysoulstears


This was fun. It’s week 2×11 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.

#MenageMonday 2×04 : Support Local Business!

They told me supporting local businesses, small businesses in the town, was a civic duty. That’s what each of the candidates had in their political advertisements. “I support local businesses, they help communities grow.”

That’s where I got the marvelous idea of seeing how much they supported local businesses, and if they were particular about which local businesses they’d support. I marched into Magic Letters Tattoo, and plunked down $100 for gift cards, $50 on each of the candidates. “Yeah. Let’s see how you support local businesses now, you political reprobates! Ha!” I love being the mischievous little devil sometimes. Although at over six feet tall, I suppose I’m not really little.

And then I went to the local offices of the two candidates, and donated a $50 gift card to each of the candidates, with a card attached that asked, “Magic Letters needs your help to stay in business! Please help them out! Support local business!”

I even wrote a letter to the editor of the local news station that explained what I’d done, and how I was waiting to see if the candidates could put their money where their big fat mouths were.

Of course, they didn’t. No Magic Letters on either candidate.

I’m not sorry at all. I knew it was throwing away the $100. But, it was a civic duty, after all, to support local business, and reveal the true nature of the political slimes running for office. Or should I say, running for money?

245 words
@mysoulstears


I wrote this for week 2×04 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.

#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.