tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post6627089786086825545..comments2024-03-29T07:29:32.276-04:00Comments on Janet Reid, Literary Agent: Flash fiction contest with one helluva prizeJanet Reidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00615380335938685231noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-16054566069002627352017-11-19T08:59:57.945-05:002017-11-19T08:59:57.945-05:00Tonya and Billie, Mickayla and Nicky, they all kne...Tonya and Billie, Mickayla and Nicky, they all knew Peter. They knew to avoid him, knew he liked to shut the door when giving reviews. Peter hadn't kept up with the times, though, he didn't think about things like Go-Pros or the new zero-tolerance policy. He hadn't bothered to read that one because it was a really long email and he had more important things to worry about, like getting the best deal on his new rad road bike. <br />It was a great holiday party. <br /><br />katiehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05167978830347777260noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-45118867067327247802017-11-19T08:50:38.406-05:002017-11-19T08:50:38.406-05:00At Ground Zero in Lower Manhattan, there’s a memor...At Ground Zero in Lower Manhattan, there’s a memorial where the World Trade Center once stood. Two immense square pools have been built into the Twin Towers’ footprint. Water falls thirty feet into the pools along each wall. Flanking the pools are great sheets of bronze built into a protective barrier. Some 3,000 names have been cut into these great bronze sheets, for all to remember. <br /> <br />I remember.<br /><br />Bill, Tony, Mick. Peter and Nick. There were all there with me.<br /><br />I trace my finger over another name. <br /><br />My name.<br /><br />I turn and leave.<br />Richelle Elberghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11323766317305564428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-45773522865194493252017-11-19T08:43:33.729-05:002017-11-19T08:43:33.729-05:00“Button your shirt,” said Mom, as though a grave h...“Button your shirt,” said Mom, as though a grave hadn’t just appeared in the living room floor, “company’s coming.”<br /><br />She didn’t mention the grave, not the next day or even the next as the stench grew, though she did—stepping round carefully—spritz the room with lemon.<br /><br />By Week Two, guests were gagging. <br /><br />“Waiting on the recarpeter,” Mom said, eyes mimicking steel. “Tea?”<br /><br />Eventually friends quit coming by. But Mom never panicked, just kept spritzing, once, twice, a billion times.<br /><br />Bizarre, all those years we lived in that house before she died, how she never mentioned the grave at all.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-52296282936464143472017-11-19T08:32:03.589-05:002017-11-19T08:32:03.589-05:00The stony eyed tiger silently stalked the ferociou...The stony eyed tiger silently stalked the ferocious beast under the night sky lit by a billion stars.<br /><br />Panicked, the deadly creature turned to face his attacker, mimicking a monster, slashing and screaming.<br /><br />The tiger’s needle sharp claws flashed, nicked him. She went in for the kill and watched as his life petered out before her eyes.<br /><br />The victorious cry of the tiger filled the land.<br /><br />“Great. She finally got that mouse.”<br />Sharyn Ekberghhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11987304898246173619noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-62416893744947413582017-11-19T08:08:05.718-05:002017-11-19T08:08:05.718-05:00A succubus’ job is never done.
Knick knacks of va...A succubus’ job is never done.<br /><br />Knick knacks of various worth offered her. Stinking herbs and saltpeter mixed in ceramic kettle for the competing Incubus. Her target is his client, and my, the women who want that man’s head. Both of them.<br /><br />“He gets away with everything,” said the actress.<br /><br />“He lied,” said the sister.<br /><br />“It hurt,” said the nephew.<br /><br />“I’m not supposed to tell,” said the daughter.<br /><br />“Justice,” said the wife.<br /><br /> “No,” said the succubus. “I offer you vengeance.”<br /><br />The funeral proceeds minus three choice body parts, trophies for work done.<br /><br />The bill paid in full. Deliver to NY. <br />E.M. Goldsmithhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18387494005655553037noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-82369241196402593992017-11-19T07:57:01.240-05:002017-11-19T07:57:01.240-05:00Hey, you hear about Mickey?
What did you hear?
G...Hey, you hear about Mickey?<br /><br />What did you hear?<br /><br />Got stabbed. Nicked his artery.<br /><br />Damn. He okay?<br /><br />Blood transfusions, from what I hear. <br /><br />Have the police talked to him?<br /><br />I--yeah, I dunno. My phone battery petered out. I think he's still in the ER. Gonna have a hell of a bill when he gets out.<br /><br />If he survives, Tony.<br /><br />Yeah, that's true. Hey, I heard you guys got into a helluva fight a while back. You gonna go see him?<br /><br />When things calm down. <br /><br />Kiss and make up, huh?<br /><br />Not exactly.Stacyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03365582623380288038noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-11778236603998578482017-11-19T07:55:59.531-05:002017-11-19T07:55:59.531-05:00Tony invented his autonomous Slaughter Drone, Taki...Tony invented his autonomous Slaughter Drone, <i>Taking the 'ill' out of 'kill'.</i><br /><br />Peter did the global marketing, ultimately fueling the desire for inculpable power.<br /><br />Bill played devil's advocate but unintentionally rationalized its expense and scope.<br /><br />Nick fine-tuned the programing, eliminating any vestige of direct human guilt.<br /><br />Mickaela passed universal, preventive legislation in the United Nations hours before product launch.<br /><br /><br />Humans breathed a collective sigh of relief.<br /><br />Lucifer took it underground to the blackest market.<br /><br />Gaia said goodbye to her parasitic human predators forever.Kate Higginshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09861373649696211491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-2944806472444605742017-11-19T07:52:02.685-05:002017-11-19T07:52:02.685-05:00He wanted me.
I wanted his money.
She stood in the...He wanted me.<br />I wanted his money.<br />She stood in the way.<br />No biggy. I invited them to dinner.<br /><br />They came<br />I slipped an Atomic Kingslayer<br />into her drink, <br />chitchatted, and waited.<br />When the tonic kicked in,<br />he fell, not her.<br /><br />She leaned in and kissed me.<br />"I switched drinks.<br />That's what you wanted. Right?"<br /><br />Talk about mixed signals.<br />But she inherited.<br />"I've always wanted you," I lied.<br /><br />We made love.<br />He struggled on the carpet,<br />erg, erg, erging,<br />face blackening to burnt onyx.<br /><br />We were arrested,<br />taken downtown in dishabille.<br />Son of a bitch.<br />He managed to livestream it.<br /><br /><br />Barbarahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15769803733067838372noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-61398280212197759192017-11-19T04:10:03.067-05:002017-11-19T04:10:03.067-05:00
The monotony of St. Petersburg was broken only b...<br /> The monotony of St. Petersburg was broken only by the flash of billboards on the frozen winter morning Mick gave in to Death. All the color was washed out of the streets, the gray of soot and snow covered what must have been beautiful architecture in days past. Even the bodies that lay along the roadside like forgotten nicknacks lacked the warmth of life in their cheeks.<br /> Death stepped beside him and took a long drag off her cigarette. <br /> “Are you ready yet?” she asked. <br /> He took one last, long breath of smoky air.<br /> “Yes.”<br /><br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12964473925684317787noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-71210755981189349512017-11-19T03:35:21.383-05:002017-11-19T03:35:21.383-05:00Louella-Marie Busch was dead.
“She drank too muc...Louella-Marie Busch was dead. <br /><br />“She drank too much,” Holmes concluded.<br /><br />Detective Carmody shrugged. “So, cause of death—gluttony?”<br /><br />“Too much tea. Spiked with too much cyanide. Was Susan Morey did it. I’ll bill you.”<br /><br />“<i>Was Morey did it</i>,” Carmody sang, mimicking the master. “Sorry, but we like evidence.”<br /><br />Holmes snickered. “Let’s hope terribly you don’t investigate my murder. Morey made tea for herself. Here’s her suicide note. Busch drank the wrong tea. Good day, detective.” <br /><br />Deputy Watson waltzed in. Smug. “Brought your suspects, Carmody. Anthony, Pete, Mike, Nikki and Belle.”<br /><br />“Don’t need ‘em anymore.” Carmody said. “Holmes already solved it.”<br /><br />John Davis Frainhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18020019400599228492noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-62647453269713078262017-11-19T02:05:20.038-05:002017-11-19T02:05:20.038-05:00The salesman emitted a gimmicky smile. “This one’s...The salesman emitted a gimmicky smile. “This one’s a beaut. Bit rickety, though.” <br /><br />The chair sighed, missing Mexico, and the girl who painted him stony red. An old woman, now, if she was still alive.<br /> <br />The woman inspected the armrest. “Paint looks cracked.”<br /><br />Nicks--constant pokes and prods that deepened each year the chair was stuck here, with the store’s soul-killing Muzak.<br /><br />Unless.<br /><br /> “I’ll take it, along with another coat of paint. Send me the bill.” <br /><br />“Might peter out on the journey. You certain?”<br /><br />“I’ll make sure it passes the border,” the woman said. “My grandmother will be thrilled.” <br />Karen McCoyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02640324898284007337noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-84756004261672925002017-11-19T01:40:19.248-05:002017-11-19T01:40:19.248-05:00“The truth is,” he begins, but his voice peters ou...“The truth is,” he begins, but his voice peters out when he catches the old man watching. Rising, he heads toward the john. A few not-so-discreet seconds later, our watcher follows.<br /><br />I’m not about to throw in the towel this close to success. I lay down some bills and go after them.<br /><br />“She’s curious, Nick,” I hear my companion plead.<br /><br />The geezer’s baritone echoes off the tiles. “She’s a journalist!”<br /><br />It’s a Tony-winning performance, but I’ve been gimmicked before. I kick in the door, ready for the exposé. The brilliant red suit takes me by surprise.<br /><br />“I believe,” I whisper.Just Janhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12546035917149403735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-39741946039590189502017-11-19T01:11:58.226-05:002017-11-19T01:11:58.226-05:00Tony’s marriage is on the rocks. He’s gotta nag hi...Tony’s marriage is on the rocks. He’s gotta nag his wife for, like, two weeks straight to get any.<br /><br />Peter’s got the opposite problem. He’s so busy with all the nurses at the hospital, he doesn’t have time for his wife.<br /><br />Nick's into dudes and groping. He’s lucky that way—guys like it.<br /><br />Mick's twitter handle is @Micks_Dick_Pics.<br /><br />Bill’s an even bigger womanizer than Peter. He gets a lot of complaints, but he can always talk the girls out of it.<br /><br />Everyone says they’re dirt bags, but that’s their problem.<br /><br />People like me.RKeelanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16761835094251669865noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-55912886801705707722017-11-18T23:12:10.672-05:002017-11-18T23:12:10.672-05:00I dropped into the profession of vending machine o...I dropped into the profession of vending machine operator like a package of M&M’s when you hit E5. Lulled by comfortable monotony, I grew to appreciate the gig’s routine. Restock. Empty the cash. Rinse and repeat every Friday. <br />Gloria didn’t understand. She’d say, “Peter, if you don’t come up with a new gimmick, those nickels will never turn into billions.”<br />Her electric cigarette would fill the room with annoyed vapor while I rolled up my buckets of change. It wasn’t about the money for me, though. I did it for the snacks.<br />Rochellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16147360924646873752noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-44887502044483426582017-11-18T22:47:07.778-05:002017-11-18T22:47:07.778-05:00A half-glance, mascara. A tony bar on the Upper Ea...A half-glance, mascara. A tony bar on the Upper East Side. Don’t look.<br /><br />Prada and Chanel. Foot the bill, skip the rent.<br /><br />Heels on black asphalt, faltering too fast. Not unsteady enough, after three glasses.<br /><br />Wash off the makeup, a nick deep in her jawbone. Powders don’t hide it, a shawl usually can. Tequila in her bathroom. Excuses peter out faster than the memories that made them.<br /><br />I always thought those cabinets were reserved for medicine.<br /><br />Red-lacquered nails, don’t touch your stomach. Damn these earliest of maternal instincts.<br /><br />Open the drawer, a shotgun, <i>click-clack</i>. Mick, or Millard. Something like that.Abrielle Sarah Fuersthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06186995402271005125noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-72853235355102975232017-11-18T21:10:58.572-05:002017-11-18T21:10:58.572-05:00Tony: Spades! Ha. I beat you all. Hey Pete read ...Tony: Spades! Ha. I beat you all. Hey Pete read that later.<br />Mick: Pete, watcha reading anyways?<br />Pete: It’s a contest about writing.<br />Nick: Writing? I didn’t even know you could read.<br />Bill: I bet he reads better than you play poker.<br />Nick: That’s not what your mom said.<br />Tony: Spades! I win again. Hey Pete, write that later.<br />Mick: Pete, watcha writing?<br />Pete: A story about an alot.<br />Nick: A lot of what?<br />Pete: Not a lot, an alot.<br />Tony: Spades! You guys suck.<br />Cards tossed across the table.<br />nphollandhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11147914537371906782noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-48942810065055494472017-11-18T20:47:19.814-05:002017-11-18T20:47:19.814-05:00The Peterbilt rumbled into the rest area. Tony pat...The Peterbilt rumbled into the rest area. Tony patted his wife’s hand. “Meet you back here,” he said. “Don’t run off with no billionaire.”<br /><br />He ducked into the building and dug out his phone. “We’re here. I can’t stand this no more.”<br /><br />He watched as Nick approached the truck. He watched as Mickaela hopped down and followed Nick. He watched them disappear behind the buildings. <br /><br />He roared back onto the highway. “Breaker! Breaker! This is High Baller riding solo again.”<br /><br />Mickaela had taken over the CB one time too many. Nick would take good care of her white line fever.<br />Sherry Howardhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04326605891373049617noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-16357705097927632612017-11-18T20:38:08.605-05:002017-11-18T20:38:08.605-05:00Maybe today, she’ll guess the right name.
“Tony.”...Maybe today, she’ll guess the right name.<br /><br />“Tony.”<br /><br />Her favorite singer. She said the same names every time.<br /><br />“Nope. Try again.”<br /><br />“Peter.”<br /><br />Her favorite Saint, back when she knew how to pray. I shook my head.<br /><br />She paused, her hands and head in a thinking pose. I knew better.<br /><br />“Bill?”<br /><br />“Huh-uh.” He was the President, last she knew.<br /><br />“Nick?”<br /><br />Her favorite author was Dashiell Hammett.<br /><br />“Mick?”<br /><br />She loved baseball.<br /><br />I wheeled her back to her room and patted her shoulder. She didn’t like hugs.<br /><br />“Who’re you again?”<br /><br />My heart broke, like it did last week.<br /><br />“Good-bye, Mom. See you soon.”Scott Ghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00293362485142152780noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-38858990671063705742017-11-18T20:28:44.013-05:002017-11-18T20:28:44.013-05:00Waiting for my Whopper I heard, "Excuse me. H...Waiting for my Whopper I heard, "Excuse me. Have we met?"<br />I turned to look. Twenty years faded away. "You were hitchhiking. <b>To Ny</b>ack."<br />"You gave me a ride in your <b>Mick</b> Truck."<br />"You mean Mack, but it was a <b>Peter</b>built."<br />"You were very kind."<br />"You weren't. You <b>nick</b>ed the <b>bill</b>s stashed in the console."<br />She blushed. "I'm sorry. I was young, desperate, and stupid. I can repay you." She seemed sincere, but who knows?<br />I spent twenty years in Rikers for that truck theft. She looked well off. I smiled. "Water under the bridge. Want to share a table?"roadkills-r-ushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14029861300358380117noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-73016890046062056482017-11-18T20:21:56.550-05:002017-11-18T20:21:56.550-05:00Reflowered were once a boy band.
They refused to ...Reflowered were once a boy band.<br /><br />They refused to be considered washed up, but did acknowledge some vigorous wiping with a damp cloth.<br /><br />Enter: A reality show.<br /><br />Just them, the elements, 60 crew.<br /><br />Tony realised he only loved reality TV for the lack of reality. The same reason Bill missed alcohol. The others arrived with identical rhinoplasty so hadn’t spoken.<br /><br />The fight was gluten related. While Mick and Nick had the size advantage, Peter really knew his way around a kick ball change.<br /><br />Six weeks later, they hated each other.<br /><br />Seven weeks later, they hated each other in sold-out arenas. <br />Brighttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04404682134487083817noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-51051711136798443672017-11-18T19:57:37.436-05:002017-11-18T19:57:37.436-05:00Tony turkey.
Doomed from the start. Everyone knew...Tony turkey.<br /><br />Doomed from the start. Everyone knew the yearly Bill of Salvation came for <i>Toms,</i> not <i>Tonys.</i><br /><br />Hammick the hog smoked away, his corpse lending a thick porky scent to the late autumn chill. Already, an LED-laden Saint Nick was being wired in place to prevent escape before his annual immolation. The winged trumpeter had been nailed through the head into a tree, yet didn’t bleed. <br /><br />The merciful cat licked feathers from his claws. Cleaned mud from his paws. He had seen this all before.<br /><br />But then, Tom cat’s life had also been blessed by mercy.Juliehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15041316285692964293noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-57481629307723713942017-11-18T19:29:37.091-05:002017-11-18T19:29:37.091-05:00“This one’s petered out,” Mick growled. “He’s nick...“This one’s petered out,” Mick growled. “He’s nicked.”<br /><br />“No!” Edwin cried. “Give him a second chance. It’s tough billowing smoke and breathing fire all day. Plus, he’s small. Only weighs a ton, ya know?”<br /><br />Just then, a unicorn whinnied from the edge of the forest.<br /><br />They turned toward the sound. “Everyone deserves a second chance,” Edwin whispered and set his hand on Trinket’s snout.<br /><br />Christmas morning:<br /><br />“What’s this little trinket, poppet?” Mum asked, leaning over Anna’s shoulder.<br /><br />“It’s a dragon!” Anna gasped. She caressed the shimmering figure with awe.<br /><br />“Who’s it from?” They looked around the room.<br /><br />“Dunno,” Mick shrugged. <br />Melanie Sue Bowleshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11820711791019410116noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-43216378602402979832017-11-18T18:42:21.271-05:002017-11-18T18:42:21.271-05:00My brother's joint was the kind they'd sli...My brother's joint was the kind they'd slip you a mickey sooner than start an honest fistfight.<br /><br />The regulars played billiards in the back, the snick of balls an accent to rough voices. Couldn't compete with the tony clubs on the north side, but the table felt was immaculate. Priorities. <br /><br />Conversation petered out as I stepped up to the bar.<br /><br />"We don't serve cops."<br /><br />"Good thing I ain't planning to order one."<br /><br />We traded hard stares, harder memories. <br /><br />"Cut bait while you still can, Frank."<br /><br />He sneered. <br /><br />Priorities.<br /><br /><i>Goddammit.</i><br /><br />I held the door for the Feds on my way out.<br /><br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-27854005808155447502017-11-18T17:55:40.353-05:002017-11-18T17:55:40.353-05:00“Turkey?”
“No,” said Jack’s wife. “More sweet pot...“Turkey?”<br /><br />“No,” said Jack’s wife. “More sweet potatoes, though. Love that toasted marshmallow.”<br /><br />“Spinach? Cucumbers?”<br /><br />“They’re all yours. Tony place, this. I can’t imagine the bill.”<br /><br />“It’s Thanksgiving. And I am blessed to have you. Eat up,” Jack said.<br /><br />“But that waiter! ‘Would the lady like me to clear the platter?’” she mimicked. “If I had a nickel for every time someone said that.”<br /><br />“They always rush us. Would you like my slice of pumpkin pie?” <br /><br />“Extra whipped cream, please. And the bourbon, just a nip. Eternally grateful.”<br /><br />The platter finally clean, Mr. Spratt signaled for the check.<br />RosannaMhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06399732751877180737noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17040756.post-37525709675645365732017-11-18T17:38:23.955-05:002017-11-18T17:38:23.955-05:00A month before Christmas, my mom stashed bills int...A month before Christmas, my mom stashed bills into envelopes marked: “Gas,” “Electric,” “Groceries,” and the intriguing one: “Christmas.”<br />“It never pays to rob Peter to pay Paul,” she said to me.<br />Confusing. Who were Peter and Paul and who would rob them? <br />“I’m scrimping down to the nickel to make ends meet,” she said later to Tony.<br />“To the nickel,” he mimicked. “Steal some from another fund.”<br />“No! Then something will be short.”<br />Christmas morning: I ripped open my present. My mom never robbed Peter to pay Paul, but somehow she still managed to buy me my heart’s desire.<br />Linda Straderhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13651163529711298130noreply@blogger.com