Okay, it's windy here today--and wind makes my head ache due to air pressure and allergies--so I'll keep this to mostly just posting the fiction and wandering. I wrote a letter to B's teacher today, and I swear she probably thinks I'm on drugs... and not aspirin. It was all over the place. Note to self-- Do not fill in any blanks stating that I am a writer in regards to B's teacher. It may cause laughing pee-age.
See... all over the place. Soooo... now that we've had our awkward moment. Flash Fiction. Each day we get a prompt and write madly if our heart so desires and then wander off so that others may come and worship our beautiful prose. It's a lot of fun and there are some really brilliant people posting over there. Flashy Fiction--if you're not there, you're not really living. (Well... you may be... or you might be a zombie. It could go either way.)
I'll post the days I posted and the prompt.
*Warning--the third story contains words that are inappropriate for those under the age of 13 or my mother. Jaime, don't giggle uncontrollably.*
The Prompt:
The handwritten sign on the Monroe’s front porch said:
Sorry to disappoint on this hallowed nite!
We’ve places to be and people to fright.
But…
This little black cauldron will offer you treats,
Just don’t try to trick it or you’ll get zero sweets.
p.s. We assume no liability for broken bones, bitten fingers or night terrors.
Sorry to disappoint on this hallowed nite!
We’ve places to be and people to fright.
But…
This little black cauldron will offer you treats,
Just don’t try to trick it or you’ll get zero sweets.
p.s. We assume no liability for broken bones, bitten fingers or night terrors.
***
"Kat, your neighbors are total freaks," Blake said, looking out her window at the Monroe's house.
"Why?" his girlfriend asked, applying more black lipstick.
"They've left this cauldron full of candy on their front porch with a sign and they expect not to get robbed by the first group through."
Blake watched the streetlights turn on one by one. They were planning on hitting a few haunted houses, but a bunch of his friends hit houses like the Monroe's first.
"They are freaky, but not for that," she said as she outlined her eyes with a thick black line.
"What do you mean?"
"They're not actually gone," she said.
"What? They are. Their giant boat of a car is gone. The lights are off."
"Their kids tried to have them both sent to an old folk's home. Both of them are out of their minds and up the tree."
"So, they're inside the house?" Blake asked, squinting at the darkened windows.
"No, they're up the tree with four dozen eggs--at least. They'll pelt anyone who tries to steal extra candy. For being in their eighties--they're great shots."
A group of teenagers walked up to the front door and took handfuls of candy. Blake had opened Kat's bedroom window to listen. Their screams, as eggs flew from the tree, made him laugh.
"I think we should stick around until it's darker, Kat," Blake said as he saw some of his friends approaching the house.
"Why?" his girlfriend asked, applying more black lipstick.
"They've left this cauldron full of candy on their front porch with a sign and they expect not to get robbed by the first group through."
Blake watched the streetlights turn on one by one. They were planning on hitting a few haunted houses, but a bunch of his friends hit houses like the Monroe's first.
"They are freaky, but not for that," she said as she outlined her eyes with a thick black line.
"What do you mean?"
"They're not actually gone," she said.
"What? They are. Their giant boat of a car is gone. The lights are off."
"Their kids tried to have them both sent to an old folk's home. Both of them are out of their minds and up the tree."
"So, they're inside the house?" Blake asked, squinting at the darkened windows.
"No, they're up the tree with four dozen eggs--at least. They'll pelt anyone who tries to steal extra candy. For being in their eighties--they're great shots."
A group of teenagers walked up to the front door and took handfuls of candy. Blake had opened Kat's bedroom window to listen. Their screams, as eggs flew from the tree, made him laugh.
"I think we should stick around until it's darker, Kat," Blake said as he saw some of his friends approaching the house.
The prompt:
"Careful," I warn. "I bite, you know."
***
"Prithee, Spider, give me advice,"
asked the fairy, pretty and nice.
"What would you know?" I had replied,
measuring her wings, three bites wide.
"Should I sleep in winter white with snow
and awake in Spring, ready to grow?"
"Where will you sleep, my pretty sweet?"
I licked the air, wanting to eat.
"There in the glade in the old dry tree,
others will join me, plenty room free."
"Haste ye there, my plump little fly,
winter's upon us, and the frost is nigh."
"Or perhaps I'll go off, fly to the south,"
She swiftly added, tapping her mouth.
"Nay to sleep. It's sleep you must."
Tasty wee fairies were known to trust.
"It's as you've said, dear Spider friend.
Plenty of winter for wings to mend."
A flap of wings, and the slightest trip,
my pincers so longed to tear and rip.
Wait, my love, wait for more,
One fairy gone means friends in store.
“Careful," I warn. "I bite you know.
Off you fly--here comes the snow."
Closer I creep to the old glade tree,
here they come, more fairies for me.
Fairies in a row, all bundled up neat.
Fairies all for me--a Christmas treat.
asked the fairy, pretty and nice.
"What would you know?" I had replied,
measuring her wings, three bites wide.
"Should I sleep in winter white with snow
and awake in Spring, ready to grow?"
"Where will you sleep, my pretty sweet?"
I licked the air, wanting to eat.
"There in the glade in the old dry tree,
others will join me, plenty room free."
"Haste ye there, my plump little fly,
winter's upon us, and the frost is nigh."
"Or perhaps I'll go off, fly to the south,"
She swiftly added, tapping her mouth.
"Nay to sleep. It's sleep you must."
Tasty wee fairies were known to trust.
"It's as you've said, dear Spider friend.
Plenty of winter for wings to mend."
A flap of wings, and the slightest trip,
my pincers so longed to tear and rip.
Wait, my love, wait for more,
One fairy gone means friends in store.
“Careful," I warn. "I bite you know.
Off you fly--here comes the snow."
Closer I creep to the old glade tree,
here they come, more fairies for me.
Fairies in a row, all bundled up neat.
Fairies all for me--a Christmas treat.
***
James sat in the small restaurant and waited with his fingers steepled. Alright, he'd made a mistake with the girl. Sure, he didn't need to sleep with her, but that was who he was--he had sex indiscriminately. If they brought in a temp, they could bloody well expect for him to sleep with her. How was he to know she was someone's niece? She certainly didn't say anything.
Looking at his watch, he acknowledged that this was much longer than he'd ever been required to wait for contact. Plus, this was a hole compared to what he was used to. You couldn't even get a decent martini for a mile. He'd have to go back to his hotel and wash the stink of humanity off him.
Plus, they'd been having a laugh at him when they sent him here in a tux. Not that he didn't tell everyone he ran into his name, but this was highly irregular to be so inconspicuous beforehand. If anyone was going to blow his cover it was bloody well going to be him. That was what he did!
He sipped the water. Swill! His water tasted like the glass had been boiled clean in his soup.
Plus, they'd never said how they'd be giving him the contact information. He'd unscrewed the salt and dumped all that on the table only to find the shaker empty. Damn and blast.
Normally, a pretty young bit of legs would escort him to a "special" table, but not tonight. No, the woman was far older than Moneypenny and fancied herself a cougar at eighty. She'd patted his rump before he sat down.
There was nothing on the placemat or the napkin. For all he knew, this was it. A wild goose chase.
Gently, he belched. He'd have gas later on. What had been in that soup? It was probably something's testicles. Yak testicles. Goat testicles. Snake testicles. Did snakes have testicles? Everything did. Pull yourself together, man.
They were probably watching him. He glanced around. If any of these other chaps were agents, they'd lowered the requirements for both hygiene and fitness. A few of the ladies were a possibility, but hopefully he wouldn't have to bed them. Well, no, he never had to, but that's what he did. That was who he was. He had sex indiscriminately.
Bother. This was just outside of enough. He wouldn't wait more than another quarter of an hour. They could simply contact him at the hotel--maybe he could find a frisky maid in the meantime.
The cougar brought him the cheque with a fortune cookie. He suspected that was her phone number on the top of the cheque and not any attempt at contact from the agency. He'd call it, but hopefully, he wouldn't have to play out the charade. He did discriminate--at times.
This was probably because he'd wrecked the last Aston Martin before he'd even found out how the missiles worked. The Russian had climbed on his lap, and she handled her curves better than he had. In all fairness, the maneuverability just wasn't up to snuff. Besides, he'd gotten some rather wonderful information that time--not for the agency, but he'd never really seen a girl be able to do that with both legs.
Ahh... the fortune cookie. Of course. They'd used this trick before. Clever. Opening it, he was forced to admit, "Well played, Q. Well played indeed." The GPS coordinates were there and the rest was as good as a signature.
"The greatest danger could be your stupidity."
He'd take that under advisement. Plugging the GPS in, he saw he'd be headed near the Sudan. His stomach protested the thought of flying right away. He belched again. Perhaps a few alka-seltzer--shaken--not stirred.
Looking at his watch, he acknowledged that this was much longer than he'd ever been required to wait for contact. Plus, this was a hole compared to what he was used to. You couldn't even get a decent martini for a mile. He'd have to go back to his hotel and wash the stink of humanity off him.
Plus, they'd been having a laugh at him when they sent him here in a tux. Not that he didn't tell everyone he ran into his name, but this was highly irregular to be so inconspicuous beforehand. If anyone was going to blow his cover it was bloody well going to be him. That was what he did!
He sipped the water. Swill! His water tasted like the glass had been boiled clean in his soup.
Plus, they'd never said how they'd be giving him the contact information. He'd unscrewed the salt and dumped all that on the table only to find the shaker empty. Damn and blast.
Normally, a pretty young bit of legs would escort him to a "special" table, but not tonight. No, the woman was far older than Moneypenny and fancied herself a cougar at eighty. She'd patted his rump before he sat down.
There was nothing on the placemat or the napkin. For all he knew, this was it. A wild goose chase.
Gently, he belched. He'd have gas later on. What had been in that soup? It was probably something's testicles. Yak testicles. Goat testicles. Snake testicles. Did snakes have testicles? Everything did. Pull yourself together, man.
They were probably watching him. He glanced around. If any of these other chaps were agents, they'd lowered the requirements for both hygiene and fitness. A few of the ladies were a possibility, but hopefully he wouldn't have to bed them. Well, no, he never had to, but that's what he did. That was who he was. He had sex indiscriminately.
Bother. This was just outside of enough. He wouldn't wait more than another quarter of an hour. They could simply contact him at the hotel--maybe he could find a frisky maid in the meantime.
The cougar brought him the cheque with a fortune cookie. He suspected that was her phone number on the top of the cheque and not any attempt at contact from the agency. He'd call it, but hopefully, he wouldn't have to play out the charade. He did discriminate--at times.
This was probably because he'd wrecked the last Aston Martin before he'd even found out how the missiles worked. The Russian had climbed on his lap, and she handled her curves better than he had. In all fairness, the maneuverability just wasn't up to snuff. Besides, he'd gotten some rather wonderful information that time--not for the agency, but he'd never really seen a girl be able to do that with both legs.
Ahh... the fortune cookie. Of course. They'd used this trick before. Clever. Opening it, he was forced to admit, "Well played, Q. Well played indeed." The GPS coordinates were there and the rest was as good as a signature.
"The greatest danger could be your stupidity."
He'd take that under advisement. Plugging the GPS in, he saw he'd be headed near the Sudan. His stomach protested the thought of flying right away. He belched again. Perhaps a few alka-seltzer--shaken--not stirred.
Wendy you are amazing. Your flashy fiction is so awesome. Are you aware of the blog Miss Snark's First Victim at http://misssnarksfirstvictim.blogspot.com/
ReplyDeleteCheck it out. You can enter a contest where you submit a 1000 words for a secret agent to judge on it. Many winners have gotten an agent this way. Also your work is critiqued by readers.
I was following her blog, but this last contest filled up my blog post list. I haven't fit into her "niche" yet. Maybe this next time....
ReplyDeleteoops made a mistake this one is for the 250 words contest.
ReplyDeleteWow. 250 words isn't very long. I'm trying to figure out about how many paragraphs that would be on average. Well, it looks like my entry for Nathan's paragraph contest was 160 words. On the other hand, no one wants to read a billion posts that are super long--we'll leave that for agents. ;)
ReplyDeleteWow Wendy. HA on the first one. I would love to see that on You Tube. I would never have thought to make the second one into a poem, it's so perfect. The third one, oh that guy is such a sleazeball, love it.
ReplyDeleteTalent people! She oozes the stuff!
I think you should enter Miss Snark's contest too. You are so good at this!
Hi Wendy!
ReplyDeleteFirst, thank you so much for the award! I'm tickled pink!
Second, I love your fiction pieces- very fun and you should definitely enter some contests with them.
Third, I'm sorry you're sick. That sucks! I'm sending healthy vibes your way!
Aww, Diana, you're such a good cheerleader.
ReplyDeleteThanks and you're welcome, Stephanie. Hugs.
You guys "got" that the last one was about James Bond, right?