Flash Fiction Friday (Stuff... about stuff...)

Okay... here is my Flashy Fiction dragged back:

April 10th

Prompt:

Mom looked down at the three of us.
"Do not make a scene in there tonight."
Well, if that wasn't an invitation...

Mine

None of us wanted to be there. We'd all had places we'd rather be. I'd been invited to Chloe's house for New Year's. Greg had been given tickets to an all night monster movie marathon. Even Missy had been invited to spend the night at her best friend's house.

As we were about to go inside Uncle Larry's place, Mom looked down at the three of us. "Do not make a scene in there tonight."

Well, if that wasn't an invitation... The three of us smiled at each other. When siblings united in purpose, that was all it took. It was all the extended family... which meant our cousins were soon roped into ruining the party. There were accidents with spilled punch and burnt food.

The adults pressed on.

My sister tried whining... and whining and whining. All of us wanted to kick her, but that just went to show she was going with her strength. Someone locked the cat into a room with the dog... and all of Aunt Marge's figurines.

The adults pressed on.

They'd do anything... anything... it seemed to ruin our night. Then, something totally unexpected happened. Uncle Larry... boring Uncle Larry. Boring, bachelor at forty-five, and wealthy home-owner Larry. Grandma's perfect child Larry got drunk and not just a little bit. He got rip-roaring drunk and began to strip down in the middle of the coffee table.

My sister, Missy, pointed and said, "Mom, was that Uncle Larry's...?"

My mom slapped a hand over her mouth and while my dad was dragging Larry to a back room, she shouted, "Greg, Jake, why don't you take off... drop your sister off at her friend's house, will you?"

We bolted. We'd just come around the house, laughing at our good fortune when we saw Larry climbing out a back window.

Larry smiled, winked, and said, "Don't tell your mom. I had someplace I had to be."

He was gone a moment later in a squeal of brakes and the roar of his convertible.

"Uncle Larry is so cool," I murmured.

"Yeah," Missy said. "But I'm still pretty sure I saw his...."

April 11th

Prompt:

It was the best advice I'd ever gotten.

Mine:

"Whatever you do, don't run with scissors," she said. It was the best advice I'd ever gotten. She'd told me right before the big championship. I shook out my arms, limbering up.

Outside, the announcer called out over the loudspeaker, "Here she is... the reigning champion, Lenora Michaels... the Rockinator."

I needed a new nickname. It gave it away. Well, I didn't ONLY use rocks, but I rarely went with paper. I walked out into the arena, my cape billowing behind me in the smoke from the pyrotechnics.

"Her Challenger... Billy the Scissors!" Out he came. He was twice my size, but slower and that could count against him in the ring.

We shook hands. He tried to crush mine. Juvenile.

The referee looked us both in the eyes: "You know the rules. Best two out of three."

The crowd went wild... for some reason... the build-up was their favorite part.

We nodded. A hush fell. I'd studied Billy. I'd watched every competition he'd competed in--even that small one in a bar in Tulsa that I'd found on youtube. I knew his technique down to the muscle twitch.

In my mind, I heard my coach say "Whatever you do... DON'T run with scissors. DON'T!"

The referee yelled out "1-2-3 and..."

Our hands bounced in unison. The crowd screamed.

I boldly covered his rock with my paper. The traditional mockery was fun to go with sometimes.

It could be over that fast. Two rounds.

"1-2-3 and..." the referee shouted.

"BOOOOOO!" the crowd hissed. I held up a hand to still them. In all fairness, scissors did cut paper. I'd gone for the repeat knowing it was taking a chance.

I'd be expected to fall back to scissors this time. Billy would assume that. I knew him... knew what he was thinking.

"1-2-3 and...."

YES! They didn't call me the Rockinator for nothing. My signature move drove the crowd into a frenzy.

This WOULD be it! IT WOULD! I felt it in my bones. He would go with his strength now that he felt backed into a corner. I'd go with mine. I wouldn't run with scissors. I'd run with rock because I WAS the Rockinator.

"1-2-3 and..."

It was over. The crowd picked me up on their shoulders as Billy crumpled to his knees... a broken man. I'd won. Rock SMASHES Scissors!

April 12th

Prompt:

I love strange choices. I'm always interested in people who depart from what is expected of them and go into new territory. Cate Blanchett, Actress

Mine:

It didn't matter. I didn't matter. I was getting ready to go out and sing my heart out, but it wasn't my song and my name wouldn't be acknowledged. I was the understudy for if Ms. Klein didn't feel like going on. I looked just like her--now. Sang just like her. I was her--except--that I wasn't, and no one knew that. That was the secret--the big secret--the reason that Tamara Klein seemed to be able to manage such a maniacal schedule and be EVERYWHERE without burning out.

I looked in the mirror and touched her cheeks--only mine for two years now. I even had a scar on my arm from where she was burnt by a light six years ago. I had her scars.

Tonight, though. I was finished. I was done.

We'd been sworn to secrecy. SWORN! Two people in the whole world outside of Tamara and whoever I was... knew. Our agent and stylist. They knew that three years ago Tamara's baby sister had become her twin.

The people that knew I was dating the camera guy... were fewer. In fact, it was just Tamara and I that knew. I'd been planning on telling him tonight... on our date. I'd been planning on getting out of this life. I'd been hoping he'd take Mimi Klein over Tamara.

Instead, I'd been outmaneuvered by Tamara and locked in the dressing room just before Late Night was about to go on. She'd just snuck out with MY boyfriend. She knew I wouldn't back out of going on Late Night. I couldn't. Wouldn't.

I was in love with him. In LOVE with him. There were things you didn't do. Lines you didn't cross. Tamara didn't get whatever she wanted.

She was soooo going to regret this.

Tamara Klein was about to shock the world. I raised Tamara's sculpted eyebrow in the mirror. How'd you like me now, Tamara? Then, I walked out to show the world that Tamara Klein lip-synched.

Flash Fiction Friday (marbles/gargoyles/code red)

I put Honor's prologue in the blog that I'm using for her. You can access it from the side panel by clicking on the book cover.

Okay... it's flashy fiction time. If you don't already visit Flashy Fiction... you should. http://flashyfiction.blogspot.com/ Seriously, what are you waiting for? Here are the prompts and pieces I wrote this week:

March 1st

Prompt:

Bad is never good until worse happens. -Danish Proverb

Mine:

This sucked. This was hell. He felt crowded and filthy. Safety in numbers? What a joke. Later--after they'd passed out supplies, he'd get away from this crowd. All he could smell was sweat and dirt... and people. Too many people.

"Whatcha got there?" the girl asked, sitting down beside Nate. She dropped a backpack at her feet as she leaned against the wall beside him, crowding him. They were all crowding him.

All that remained alive were sitting beside a concrete wall in the dead part of town waiting for the week's distribution of food and water. This was it. Everyone alive was right here... crowding him.

When the entire city fried via the atomic pulse, only the less industrial dead side of town survived. The dead side. It was interesting that the dead side of town survived, in Nate's opinion. Ironic. As if a higher power was laughing at technology. He tossed the super round rock from hand to hand. It looked like a rock carved into a sphere.

"It's a rock, isn't it?" she asked, gesturing. "Did you make it?"

"I found it," Nate said, continuing to toss the rock from hand-to-hand.

"It's weird," the teenage girl beside him said. "It looks like a giant marble." She was his age and, truth to be told, probably cute underneath the grime of two weeks of rubble hell.

"Yeah... there were a bunch of them. Other people found them too. Maybe it's a sign.... or something," Nate said. He didn't really know what he was saying, but her nearness was doing funny things to his stomach. There was the rumble of hunger that was always present... but something else tickled his insides. Anticipation of... what?

Her eyes followed path of the rock. "Do you ever get the feeling that maybe there are bigger forces at work and we're just a game?" She was leaning closer to him, though she probably didn't realize it. Her dirty hand clutched at his soiled sleeve. He didn't mind it so much.

"You're hung up on the marbles thing," Nate said, trying not to smile.

"There are weird things happening out there," she whispered.

Someone walking by quickly snatched the bag from in front of her and took off running with it.

"HEY! My food!" she shouted, trying to get to her feet.

Nate beamed the thief with the rock and he fell in a heap. She retrieved the bag and his rock, leaving the thief where he fell.

"We should stick close together," Nate said to her. "Pool our resources and protect each other." He'd seen one of the bigger guys, glancing her way and checking out her legs. Yeah. She needed him and being needed... sounded pretty damn good. Plus, she had food to share.

She smiled... a flash of white against her dusty skin. Dropping the rock into his hand, she said, "My name's Ali... that sounds good." She sat even closer than before, and Nate glared at the guy checking her out.

"Yeah. Close together," he repeated. He put her backpack beside his and looped his leg through both the shoulder straps. The rock began its arc again.

March 4th

Prompt:

edifice

strategic

cold

Mine:

At the top of the imposing edifice to the age of industrialism sat a curious sight. A gargoyle... hunched over his feet with a scowl so fierce it was at odds with the smooth, cold marble facade of the building that now housed, of all things, law offices. The gargoyle had always been there though no one knew why. It wasn't in the building's plans. It didn't fit.

The building's owner had considered having it removed, but there was something about its sinister expression and the long, sharp claws on its hands and feet. The owner wasn't superstitious. Modern above anything else. Progress was his by-word. The inside of the building had been remodeled time and time again. Yet, the gargoyle remained. Its rough-hewn eyes watched the city below. Waiting. Always waiting.

It was no accident that it had been placed there. No... no accident at all. It's strategic placement, facing the sun just so... as its back welcomed the night was cunning of the one who'd placed it there.

An autumn sunset just as the penthouse's occupant stood after a long day. He stretched his stiff back as his hand flicked a laptop shut. Another day gone.

The gargoyle's leg shifted. A wing twitched. A new time began.

March 5th

Prompt:

Forgetting something important?

Mine:

For six months, we'd sat on either side of her... two code monkeys side-by-side with a goddess. During the summer, she had a fan in front of her that would blow her soft honey-colored hair in the air and sometimes... she'd dip forward and pull her shirt away from her skin so the breeze could cool her luscious body too. Usually, we just sat beside her salivating, but once Duane had been walking by in front of her when she'd done this and tripped spilling an entire Code Red on the floor in front of her desk.

Alanna. Even her name was beautiful and slightly elven.

So, it was just after seven p.m. on a Friday and while Alanna had left, Duane and I were still plugging away at our computer. The scent of her hair... which also smelled of honey... was still in the air. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

I'd been staring at my computer screen for twenty minutes while thinking of her. Duane noticed and threw a Cheeto at me, laughing.

"You should give it up. She doesn't even know your name," he said.

"I'm pretty sure she thinks of you as Code Red guy," I muttered... eating the Cheeto.

There was a loud beep over the speaker system above us, and it was as if we'd summoned her voice directly from the heavens. "Guys, I need to get in for something but I left my card key at home. I hope one of you is there to let me in. If you are... I'll buy you a drink... this is really important." There was a soft purring sigh in her voice... a sadness nearly palpable. She needed me.

I jumped to my feet just as Duane did the same.

"I got this!" I yelled, sprinting for the elevator.

"Like hell you do," he said, running too. We stopped at the elevator, pounding the down button alternately.

"I got this," I said, slapping his hand away.

"Whatever... she doesn't know you exist," he said, shoving me. He was really weak. I barely budged. Alanna deserved better.

"Guys?" her voice said, over the speaker. "Duane? Trenton?"

"Coming!" I shouted.

"We're on the fourth floor, moron," Duane said, shoving me again. "She can't hear you. Geez... the stairs would be faster than this...."

I bolted for the stairs while Duane was still finishing that thought. He caught me one flight down, slamming me into the wall. I tasted blood. He'd pay for that. I jumped over the rail down to the next flight of stairs. It was risky. I have weak ankles, but it put me ahead of him. He caught me again, diving at my mid-section. Wow... weak but fast and wiry. I slid out of the way at the last second, and he hit the wall. I had one flight left, and I shoved through the stairwell door seconds ahead of Duane. Since the stairwell door was in sight of the front door where Alanna stood... I was the victor and Duane hung back swearing and not wanting to appear overly eager.

She was there in a brief red dress that clearly didn't have pockets. In fact, I don't think she was even able to wear underwear underneath. It hugged her curves as if it had been photoshopped on at the last minute. I could barely breathe as I let her in.

"Oh... thank you," she squealed, leaning forward to hug me. She smelled like honey and... Alanna. I choked on my tongue. "I just knew you'd be here, Duane."

"Uhh, Trenton," I said. It was sad that she'd both knew I'd be here and called me by the wrong name, but I was willing to overlook that... especially when she looked at me as if seeing me for the first time.

"Trenton," she repeated, her voice breathy.

I thanked the God of Nerds which occasionally smiled down upon me and let hot girls forget something important.

Flash Fiction Friday (Panda, Ghosts, Brick, Nudity is fun)

Okay, it's been a while, but I went and did some flashy fiction yesterday, and I know how much you like it when I flash... you with fiction.

February 6th

Prompt:

"Are you sure it's supposed to look like that?"

Mine:

"Is that the model from behind?" the kid next to me asked. He examined my painting and then the nude model lounging in front of the class.

"No," I said.

"Isn't that her butt, though?" Larry asked from the other side of me. "If that's meant to be her from in front, you aren't seeing what I'm seeing. Plus, you're using the wrong colors. Blue and green? It's like someone beat her with a stick."

"Are you sure it's supposed to look like that?" the girl in back of me hissed.

I rolled my eyes. Who cared about the model? She was plain and uninspiring. I was painting the beautiful girl in front of me... who was probably blocking her own painting of the model with her curvy, clothed form. Carissa turned to look at me. Her blue eyes tipped up slightly at the edges giving her an exotic look. Her red lips were puckered and looked like they wanted to be kissed. She smiled at me. I smiled back.

She took a step to the side, so I could see my own face looking back at me. She was painting me? Dipping her paint brush into the flesh tones... she painted, "443-8974 Call me" just below my chin.

I snatched my pen up, wrote it on my palm, and a moment later, a brush stroke obliterated the words--but not the satisfied smile on her face.

February 8th

Prompt:

"Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge." -Paul Gauguin

Mine:

Slapping the brick from Edgar's hand, Allen said, "What are you doing?"

"You slept with my wife. I'm walling you into this sidewall... just like in this book I'm reading," Edgar said.

"You git! You can't wall a conscious person up into a brick wall. They have to be unconscious. Do you expect me to just stand here while you're building a wall around me?"

Edgar nailed him in the head with the next brick. Allen dropped in a heap.

"Good point, Allen. This'll be much easier," he said, starting a fresh layer of bricks and dipping his trowel in the cement. "Much easier."

February 9th

Prompt

Mine:

"He's going out again," Travis said, gesturing at the back window.

"Hush up, Travis," his mother said.

"Gramps has cracked, Mom. We both know it. He should be in a home or something." Travis chewed on a wad of gum. He'd replace it with tobacco when he was out of the house, but this would have to do with his mom around.

"I think it's sweet." His mother washed out the remainder of the breakfast dishes while gazing out at her father. "It's only been a year."

"Yeah, but he goes out there, sits in that chair, and talks to her like she is sitting in a chair next to him. It's weird enough having that chair out back," Travis said.

"It's not hurting anyone."

Travis rolled his eyes and pushed through the back screen door of the ancient farmhouse, striding toward the chair.

As he approached, he could hear his grandfather say, "No, Nell, the boy will be fine. You'll see."

His grandfather was deaf as a post and didn't hear Travis's feet in the grass as his grandson crept up.

"Nell, are you sure he is the one killing the chickens?" his grandfather asked.

Travis stopped and stared. He and his friends had snagged a few of his grandfather's chickens a couple nights back. There was no way that his grandfather could know that. Still, there was no way his dead grandmother was sitting in a chair beside him telling him this stuff. Was there?

Looking at the ground, he noticed a patch of dead earth to the side of the chair his grandfather sat in. It was as if something was blocking the sun from that spot of grass. Grandpa Troy was too frail to move the chair. Still, if it wasn't Grandpa Troy's chair killing the ground beside it... whose was it?

Travis turned around and strode back to the house.

"You're right," he told his mom. "It's nothing."

"I told you," she said,smiling over her shoulder. Dropping the dishcloth to the side of the sink, she asked in concern, "What's wrong, Travis? You look like you've seen a ghost."

February 11th

Prompt:

Misfortune shows those who are not really friends.

-- Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC)

Mine:

I answered the door, dressed in a panda suit. My date looked at me in shocked disbelief.

"Uh, Faith, what's with the panda suit?"

I didn't even look like a real panda. I looked like a giant child's stuffed animal There was no mask, but the hood on my head conveyed that I wasn't just dressed in an unflattering black and white jumper. No, I was a panda.

"What?" I asked, plastering a confused look on my face.

"Uhh... the bear thing," he said, gesturing at my outfit.

I looked down. In the distance, I could hear my roommate run into the bathroom before she could ruin this by laughing.

I shook my head while narrowing my eyes. "Are you feeling okay, Billy?"

"You're wearing a panda suit!" he said.

Keeping my face straight, I said, "No... I'm not."

"YOU ARE." He gestured at me again before running a hand through his hair. "I can't take you out dressed like that."

"Dressed... like... what?" I asked.

"LIKE THAT!" He groaned. "Look... just go change. We can still make the movie if you hurry."

I narrowed my eyes. "You can't tell me what to do."

He stormed off toward his jeep just as a ratty old Cadillac waited for him to exit the driveway. A moment later, a new guy appeared at my front step. He took in my outfit in a glance.

"Cool. Do I get one too?" he asked.

I unzipped the panda suit and pulled it off to reveal my actual attire. I fluffed my hair, saying, "That thing was hot."

Betty stuck her head around the corner. "He didn't run off."

"No. I'd say my portion of the forfeit is fulfilled," I said.

"Yep, next time bet on the Saints, bubs," she said. "I'll let bachelor number three know you're taken." She looked at my date for the night and said, "Hey, Luke, for the record... I was betting on you."

Luke smiled and said, "I'm a little disappointed that the Panda costume came off."

I winked at him and said, "Honey, it was bound to come off sooner or later tonight."

Flash Fiction Friday (two out of three/Talons/hotpants)

Wow. It's been a while since I dove into Flashy Fiction and became a contributing member of society. I'm back, though.

This first one was more of a comment than a flash fiction piece:

January 8th

Prompt:

I let out a held breath. This was a it. True love. Well, except for the fact that he was a...

Mine:

I let out a held breath. This was a it. True love. Well, except for the fact that he was a figment of my imagination, my main character's love interest, and a vampire. Really, though, only two of those were a problem for me.

January 12th

Prompt:

Mine:

Get in. Get the picture. Get out. Why had this fallen to me--of all people? Get in. Get the picture. Get out.

She was sitting in the corner surrounded by a dozen guys. The music was blaring and dancers kept stumbling into me. A stoned teenager made up almost entirely of piercings walked in front of me and stopped, blocking my view. The lights were obnoxious. How was I going to get a decent picture in this place?

I slid around the teenager just as she was getting up, much to the astonishment of her entourage. She glanced around, searching for someone. Her eyes fell on me. Uhh. Looking behind me, I couldn't see who she was smiling at. She was coming right my way. I fumbled in my pocket for the camera.

"TALIA, I love you!" a guy nearby screamed and two of her body guards grabbed him as he dove for her.

She didn't even slow down. Ten feet. Eight feet. It would be obvious if I pulled out the camera when she was headed right for me. Besides, I was supposed to get a picture of her new tattoo, and I couldn't see it. They'd said it was on her neck, but her hair was down. Four feet--and she stopped right in front of me.

Her eyes traveled up and down my frame. Uhh. Okay. I was a desk monkey. What was she looking at? If Nick hadn't gotten swine flu, he'd be here. This was his job--he was the photographer. I barely knew how his camera worked. What was I doing here? Oh yeah, the ten thousand dollars--and our rent being due--overdue.

She closed the remaining few feet and slid her hands up my chest and around my neck. Holy... freak... Talia was touching me. She leaned in, her lip-sticked mouth touching my ear, her warm breath against my skin, and she said, "I know what you're thinking. Talia Talons is right here--right now. You know what I'm thinking?"

"I have no idea."

"I have a thing for nerds, and my bus is outside. Let's go get you out of this tie."


The next morning was surreal as I stumbled into my apartment. Nick was lying on the couch wrapped in the Snuggie my aunt had given me for Christmas. His face still looked unnaturally pale as he asked, "Was his information good? Was Talia there?"

"Oh yeah." I swallowed and blinked. I wasn't sure that I wanted to share the pictures, though. I was in most of them... and a few were just of me... and my tie. Talia had really enjoyed taking pictures. I sort of just wanted to keep them... to myself.

"So, this tattoo. Did you get a picture?"

"Uhh, yeah."

"Right on. What was it of?" Nick asked. I waited while he coughed miserably.

"It was Tux."

"Tux?" Nick repeated.

"The uhh... Linux penguin. It's a computer thing... and it wasn't on her neck," I said. Wow. It was most definitely not on her neck. Up close, you couldn't tell where the skin was located. I could give him that one--to pay the rent.

January 13th

Prompt:

Rick Thorris revved his Harley. "Hey hotpants. Wanna take a spin?"

Mine:

Rick Thorris revved his Harley. "Hey hotpants. Wanna take a spin?"

"Rick, you dog, you don't remember me, do you?" I said, easing into the drawl of my past.

He squinted at me. Not a clue. Not a darn clue. Typical.

"Cindy," I prompted him.

"Riiiiggghhtttt," he said. Clearly, he didn't remember me.

"I used to change your diaper when I was eleven. I lived down the street from you."

He cleared his throat.

I went on, "I remember thinking, my heck what are his parents feeding him? We're talking nuclear waste toxic."

A few of his friends outside started laughing at his discomfort.

"Then, there was the fact that you got gas from everything no matter what I fed you. Geez... even water. I used to double up on your diapers just to try to keep it in."

"Okay, Cindy, it was really...."

"Then, you got older... and you were a pill. You used to throw the biggest tantrums if I didn't let you sleep with that stuffed rabbit of yours. What was his name?" I was nearly being drowned out by the laughing at this point.

Rick revved his Harley again and took off.

"OH YEAH! FLUFFYKINS!" I yelled at his back as he took off. Several of Rick's friends were clutching their stomachs from laughing so hard.

"Who was that, Jess?" Laura asked, walking out of the bar.

"This guy that once stood me up for a date in high school," I said, dropping the accent. "Did you find out where the rehearsal dinner is?"

She nodded.

"Okay, cool, maybe this trip back won't be so bad after all."

Friday Flash Fiction--on a Saturday.

Okay, so yesterday I was distracted and busy. (Should be pronounced bis-SAY.) The husband and I had a good anniversary yesterday, by the way. (wink wink nod nod Know what I mean?) Note to all: My mom discovered yesterday that if you ask me what I did for my anniversary--I will tell you. I'm all about full disclosure. To say that she was shocked, would be understating it. The day was celebrated--that is all. :) Thoroughly. Very thoroughly.

I didn't really do a lot of flash fiction at Flashy Fiction, but I did some.

Here is this week's contributions.

December 5th

Prompt

"Hey, isn't that your brother coming out of the Pleasure Chest?"

Mine

Filling up the tank at the gas station next to the town's only strip club was never a choice--it was a "running on fumes" necessity.

Jon had run me out of gas again. So, you'd think he'd man up and put down that stupid book and pump my gas. Maybe he didn't think I knew what all of these "trips" out of town entailed, but I knew.

"Hey, isn't that your brother coming out of the Pleasure Chest?" Jon asked, rolling down his window to tell me. He probably thought his new mustache was something other than what it was. It was a pornstache. A thin wriggle of hair across his flaccid thick upper lip. It reminded me of the nasty tent worms we got every seven years, and we killed with a propane torch.

I glanced over at the strip club and shrugged. "He's the town sheriff, Jon. He probably had to break up a fight or something."

"Shouldn't he be in uniform or something?" Jon asked. There was an accompanying snicker, barely muffled.

Always with the questions. Always. Jon was the most worthless human being on the planet. Somewhere there was a squid that was maybe, possibly less useful to the greater plan for the universe. That might just be a rumor, though, much like the existence of Jon's brain.

I'd seen a few charges on the credit card statements that I'd found after Jon had left. Jon was intimately familiar with that strip club and he'd spent our money--my money at that place. At least my brother was single. Jon fit this self-righteous attitude just as well as he might a cheap green polyester suit from the big and tall clearance rack.

"Maybe he was on his way home and stopped."

Jon heaved a huge sigh, and it shimmied down my nerves like one of the Pleasure Chest's dancers on a pole made of sandpaper.

He'd left me. Jon had left me. Now he was back--like it was some huge favor to me. It wasn't. I was doing fine with him gone. I was doing freaking fantastic. I'd even met someone. I was anxiously awaiting the divorce papers. Then, he came back--like a bad case of fungus.

"I don't think he was in there breaking up a fight," Jon said, and the smugness was so thick you could practically see it. "You know how your family is. I won't call them white trash, but...."

Yes. That's right, Mr. Holier-than-thou. You were perfect. You were so perfect that you were too good for me--as you've reminded me a dozen times in various ways since you've returned. It was a sack of lies that stunk like roadkill baking on the pavement at noon.

The night was dark. The town was small enough that the gas station was closed though the pay at the pump was still working. I'd used Jon's card--and gasoline could wipe the prints off of everything. All of this flashed through my mind just before I pulled the handle from the gas tank and aimed it at my stupid, stupid, stupid husband. Gas splashed all over the inside of the car as he yelled about it getting in his eyes. I threw the match into the car and walked away.

Sliding into the car beside my brother, I tried to feel remorse for what I'd just done. I couldn't, and it wasn't the first time our family had resolved a sticky problem thus. My brother was filling out a police report but spared a look in his rearview mirror.

"Never liked Jon," my brother said.

"Yeah--neither did I," I said.

"He was a little like a rabid mutt--mean and begging to be put down."

"Yeah, well, I'd call him put down," I said, watching the fire engulf the car like the swamp mud swallowing a rock--a big, dumb, stupid rock.

December 10th

Prompt

Why is my toothbrush wet?

Mine

Oh! Oh! True story! It's not often I get to tell a true story.

Adam and I were in a battle for total domination. Well, not total--just king for the day really. It was unofficial. A snarky little skirmish between just us. We didn't know when it had started, and there was no way to end it.

Such is the relationship between a super intelligent older sibling and a middle-child sister forced to hear: "OH! You're Adam's sister." From teachers: "I had Adam in my class already. Are you as intelligent as your brother?"

No, I'm dumb as rocks. That's why I'm in your advanced classes. Yeah--and bite me.

Green as grass jealousy defined my tricks just as amused retaliation had become his instinct. Once he tied up my arms in too long sweatshirt sleeves and hung me from a doorknob. I was stuck in my own sweatshirt. Stuck.

The toothbrush was my epiphany of passive aggressive genius. When I first conceived its simplicity, I laughed out loud. Perfect. He would doubt his very frame of mind. His high I.Q. wouldn't be able to wrap itself around the quandary. Brilliant. He thought he was so smart.

The first week, I just got it wet--each morning. His puzzled reaction was hard to ignore.

The second week, I smuggled both lemon juice and salt into the bathroom. I alternated. I tried to hide smug smiles. It was difficult.

The third week, he switched toothbrushes--and I picked up my toothbrush to find it wet one day.

Well played, Adam. Well played.

Flashy Fiction Friday (Family/ Haunted House/Awkward)

Hey, it's flash fiction Friday! The most beautiful day of the week.

So, this week, Diana got sucked into the writing maelstrom that is Flashy Fiction. Peer pressure is awful--so just give up already and go over there.

November 21st-

Prompt

Mike raised his glass, "And lastly, I'm thankful for the Witness Protection Program."

Mine

It was a shoddy joke and a stupid attempt to ease the atmosphere of meeting his in-laws.

Mike raised his glass. "And lastly, I'm thankful for the Witness Protection Program."

His new father-in-law was the first to break the awkward silence. "What's that supposed to mean?" Don Marcos asked.

"It was a joke," Mike said weakly. He'd eloped with their only daughter, and they hadn't taken that lightly. Apparently, she was to have had a giant, lavish wedding with someone who was "people." Mike was not "people." Whatever that meant.

Don looked around at the others. Maria's brother, Little Don, shrugged and cracked his knuckles. Her father's accountant, Two Thumb Tommy, frowned and eyed Mike before shaking his head.

Maria rolled her eyes and said, "Guys, it was a joke."

Big Don laughed first and the others joined in. Don's wife brought in the turkey and handed Don the largest knife Mike had ever seen.

Standing up, Don said, "This here turkey, Mike--strangled it myself just for looking at me funny." A tense moment went by before Don smiled and said, "That was a joke too."

Everyone but Mike laughed. He was fairly certain it wasn't a joke--he'd seen it happen after all.

November 22nd

Prompt

All of the lights went out.

Mine

"It's simple. I could find my way through blind-folded," I said.

"Idiot," Tina muttered beside me.

My boss, Jack, raised his eyebrows and reached over to the switch. All of the lights went out. The crew groaned, and someone hit me on the back of the head.

"The newbie here brings up a good point. You'll need to know this place in the dark just as well as in the light," Jack said.

"Idiot," Tina muttered again, kicking my leg. "I vote Slim here tries first then."

"Okay," I said--if for no other reason than to get away from Tina--just so I wouldn't accidentally kill her.

I made my way through the house. I was cheating, of course. They couldn't know that I could see in the dark. I kept that secret. It was more comfortable to be in the dark actually. The air seemed cooler and more comfortable. I was anxious for the coming nights when I wouldn't have to venture out during the day. It had been a while since I'd held down an actual job.

The giant spider hung in the air, limp and plastic, and I smacked it as I ducked beneath it. Walking through the indoor graveyard where I'd be "sitting," I skirted all the gravestones. The sacrilege was barely palatable. If only I'd been able to be in one of the dark hallways. Death had my respect. The quasi-mockery of the dearly departed's remains didn't sit well with me. Still, I was the house's vampire, and where else would I be? Besides, this room didn't have those damn strobes. Why haunted houses all had strobes--I had no idea.

In the "killing room" the chainsaw that Tina would be pretending to be "killed" with caught my eye. Tina was so annoying--and yet--tasty. My fangs rubbed against the inside of my mouth--elongating at the thought of her smooth neck, running rich with fragrant blood. She was type A negative, and it was one of the few things I liked about her. She would be the first to disappear into the dark of my own personal haunted house.

I could hear the others stumbling around in the dark behind me. Oh yes. Say what you will about Christmas, but this was the true season of giving in my world. These silly little freaks had so much to give.

November 23rd

Prompt

"You know, they invented a word for guys like him."

Mine

My grandma was chopping carrots as she said, "You know, they invented a word for guys like him." She pointed at me with her knife and added, "And for girls like her too."

"What would that be?" I asked, ignoring the shocked look from some of my cousins. They saw my grandmother rarely and didn't realize how deeply senility had set in.

"Hussy. She wore black nylons to church when she was there for her grandfather's funeral. Then, she married him, and he's no better." Down came the knife--cut, cut, cut.

"No, he isn't," I agreed.

"He's a gold digger. He's after my money, but I'm going to trick them. I'm going to live forever."

"You do that, Grams," I said, pulling out silverware.

"Oh, dear, not that silverware, Sweetie," she said gesturing at what I had. "Put out the stuff with the little flowers on them. I like those better." She called all of us "Sweetie." It was easier that way.

"You don't have any silverware with flowers on it," I said, looking in the drawer.

All eyes swung to me.

"No?" she asked, confused.

No, my gold-digger of a husband had stolen them last year before I'd divorced his sorry butt. That was a year after I'd worn black nylons to my grandfather's funeral. That marriage was a year too long in my opinion. It was strange the things Grams remembered and the things she forgot.

"Whatever is fine, then, Sweetie," she said, going back to cutting. Cut, cut, cut. "You know that Tessa is no better. Why do you remember that one time when she got drunk at the wedding and went home with one of the waiters?"

I smiled at my cousin, Tessa, whose mouth had dropped open in a large "O." Hopefully, there was a word invented for her too. I saw the moment it dawned on her that she couldn't respond.

Yes, sirree, I was thankful for an interesting family at times like this. I half-way wondered if my Grams was faking this just so she could say all of this to our faces and see our reactions. I was going to be just like her when I got old.

"Then, there was that one Thanksgiving when your Uncle Joe told us that he was dreaming of cross-dressing. No, wait. Maybe he just told me...."

Friday Flash Fiction (Bloody Mantis Aliens)

Okay, so I've dragged my flash fiction over from Flashy Fiction. If you're not there--you're square--that's the only reasonable explanation. Each day they post a prompt and everyone so inclined writes like a fiend for ten or twenty minutes and posts it. It's a fun bunch, and they have a November contest which only requires you to post. So, just do it! I order you!

November 14th

Prompt:

"Awww, Trevor! How'd you manage to get blood all over that?"

Mine:

I won't say that vampire hunting is a highly skilled job. It used to be, but that was back when people assumed that vampires were smart and hot. That was when they were still stuff of legends. Now that every fourth person is a vampire--no one wants to track down their neighbor and stake them. Besides, the first thing to go is their minds, and it's like dealing with large, deadly cockroaches really. They were slower than cockroaches, though.

This new recruit they'd stuck me with was as dumb as they came. I'd been bailing him out of one mess to the next.

"Trevor," I yelled again. "Oi! You're supposed to be aiming for the middle of its chest, you git!" All he'd managed to do thus far was to make sure the stupid vamp could never have children. How was his aim THAT bad?

"He keeps moving," Trevor yelled back.

This was what came of dropping the benefits and making it contract work. No decent person wanted to stake effin' bloody vampires at five a.m. when the only company was the sanitation workers.

"Training another?" Tim asked as he dumped the trash from a nearby dumpster into his truck.

"Always," I said. "I'm always training another. We're starting off slow-like here in the burb park, but I think it might be a week before we even make it into the city."

Tim laughed and asked, "Hey. Can I have a try?"

I tossed him a stake. Like a javelin, it flew from Tim's hand and right into the vamp's chest as he was trying to fall on top of Trevor. (Why was Trevor laying there?) The stake had just the right amount of power to dust the vamp, but fall effortlessly next to Trevor.

"That was bloody amazing," I said, impressed.

"Thanks," Tim said.

"Would you ever...?" I started to ask.

"No! Are you kidding? I make twice as much doing this," Tim said. He waved and his truck took off.

Trevor wandered back to me. "He kept moving."

"Yes," I agreed.

If you wanted to call that moving.... The old man had been moving slower as a vampire than he probably had in life--and he looked to be over a hundred.

"You just don't have the killer instinct, Trevor. Come on. Let's go back to the building. Dawn is about to break." I tossed him the spare stake bag to put in our trunk.

"What's with all the pouches of blood in the back?" Trevor asked as I opened the driver's side door.

"Bait. If we can't find any, we drop a bag of blood, and they come for miles."

Trevor nodded and slammed the trunk shut.

It was a quiet drive back. I drove Trevor through some of the more vampire-rich areas on our way back--as a sort of inspirational ride. They scurried around in shadows--just waiting their turn to be staked.

We'd parked the car and gotten out when I heard them.

"What the...?" I asked as I stared into the darkness.

"What's that sound?" Trevor asked.

I saw it... a large pool of blood trailing from our trunk out into the street.

"Aww, Trevor! How'd you manage to get blood all over that?"

There was at least a dozen of them snarling in the dark. I opened the trunk to get out the stakes. That's when I realized that Trevor had upended the bag of stakes on top of the now empty bags of blood. We'd been dragging blood all over the city, and now we most likely had dozens of the giant blood-sucking cockroaches heading for us.

"Well, Trevor, today you're actually going to earn your minimum wage. Try to stay alive until the dawn breaks in..." I looked at my watch. Yeah. I'd been training a new guy tomorrow. There was no way Trevor would last twenty minutes. Maybe I'd let the new guy stake Trevor.

November 15th

Prompt:

I look at him. "Look. We have to end this. We're over."

"Why?" he asks, pouting.

I check my watch. "Um, in about four minutes you're going to want to eat my brains."

Mine:

Okay. That was fun--mostly. Now to the dirty, ugly business of killing.

I look at him. "Look. We have to end this. We're over."

"Why?" he asks, pouting.

I check my watch. "Um, in about four minutes you're going to want to eat my brains." It's weird to be wearing a watch, but we were trying to fit "in."

"Are you sure we don't need to do it again? I liked that," he says.

I roll my eyes.

"Anyway, I'm pretty sure you're wrong," the creature who'd chosen the name "Bob" replies. "I watched that documentary on mantis too. It was the female that rips the head off the male after copulation."

"Are we sure that mantis and man are similar?" I ask--again.

"Bob" shrugs. "The great overlord told us that we needed to watch educational television if we were to properly infiltrate this alien life form. Man... mantis... they're just different breeds of the same thing. We've copulated and I've given you my seed... you're supposed to rip my head off."

"Do I have to eat it?"

"C'mon, Batty, we went to all the trouble to time from copulation to cannibalism--we even suffered through those stupid hair soap and infant butt padding ads to get the timing right. Don't you want to fit in?"

"It's BETTY not BATTY."

"Whatever. I told you to go with Jane," "Bob" says.

I ripped his head off--he'd made it fun. There was no way I was going to eat it, though. It's not like he'd know.

November 20th

Prompt:

"You're late."
"I swear, I have a good excuse!"
"You'd better. You've got three seconds to explain."

Mine:

Courtney was waiting inside the theater with her dagger-sharp eyes poised on the door for my entrance--my very, very late entrance.

"You're late."

"I swear, I have a good excuse!"

"You'd better. You've got three seconds to explain."

Three seconds? Last time she'd given me ten seconds. This didn't bode well for our relationship.

"Aliens," I said. "I was abducted by aliens."

Growling, she hissed, "Owen, you little twerp! What is it with you and aliens? It was cute the first time, but this is the third time, and it's just a little ridiculous to hear from a grown man."

"I swear--it's the truth, Court. They picked me up outside my house, did a little probing, dropped me off here. I'll need a ride to my car. It's on the side of the road about a mile from my house."

She scowled at me. It wasn't attractive, but it seemed a poor time to mention it. "Are you ON something?"

"Like what?" They'd asked me to bring out my girlfriend, but I'd declined--maybe I should mention that--win some points back.

"Forget it!"

Storming out, the beam caught her mid-stride. As they towed her up into the mother-ship I yelled, "Be strong, Court. It's really not so bad--just stings a bit the first time. I'll just drive your car back to mine--if that's okay. Guys, if you could drop her off at my house when you're done, that'd be great."

Looking down at the movie ticket in my hand, I changed my mind. There was no point in wasting nine bucks, and I'd been anxious to see this.

"Take your time!" I yelled up, pointing back at the theater.

The first time took the longest anyway.

Flashy Fiction Friday (catty chat, speed dating)

So, I only have two flash pieces this week but I may have extra next week. The Thursday Flashy person didn't post a prompt, so I think that's why there isn't a prompt for Friday either. I can either get my trousers in a twist or go into a corner and cry... or I can just wait patiently and tack it onto next week.

I say this every Friday, but I also employ sarcasm sometimes and there is no sarcasm font, so this might be why you're not all running to the site. Flashy Fiction is awesome. Go there. Now. They post a prompt. You think about it. Flash on a brilliant work of literary fiction. Write it up in ten to twenty minutes. Praises galore. Instant gratification of being a success. Ego rises above the dismal swamp of rejected queries. Yay! Plus, it's good practice. Deb, Walt, and Girl with One Eye (GwOE for future reference because I'm lazy) all post there.

Okay, here are my pieces for this week:

November 8th:

Prompt:

I stared at the cat. "Did you just talk?"

It stared back. "No."

Mine:

I stared at the cat. "Did you just talk?"

It stared back. "No."

No, of course it hadn't. Wait. "Are you trying to trick me into thinking you're not a talking cat?" I asked the gray tabby. I couldn't believe I was even having this conversation.

"No," it said again. That creaky voice sounded familiar, and the cat's mouth hadn't moved.

"I'm going to go eat all the lemon cookies, do you want some?" I asked.

"Staaay Awaaay from the lemon cookies! They're not yoooours," it moaned. I saw a tuft of gray hair peek above the back of the couch, slightly above the cat's perch.

"Okay, kids, who switched Grandma's meds out with tic tacs again???!!!" I shouted behind me. "You know how weird she gets when you do that!"

November 9th

Prompt:

Mine:

I hate speed dating. Why did I let Kendra talk me into it again?

Oh look. Here is my date for the next fifteen minutes. He looks like he just got out of prison.

"My name is Doug," he says, sitting down.

"Amy," I reply with a frozen smile. He's date number six.

Meanwhile, Kendra is at the next table with the guy who I assumed was a mortician and unable to smile, and he's laughing his stupid head off. He'd yawned while talking to me and looked at his watch six times.

I hate speed dating. My fake smile is starting to hurt my cheeks.

"Here are some break the ice questions," I say, holding up the sheet I'd been given in case a date isn't going well. It's true that it's too early to call on this guy, but I have a hunch.

Doug leans forward, saying, "Look. Let's cut to the chase. You want me. I want you. You can try on all these other guys but none of them will make smoke come out your ears as you scream their name...if you know what I mean. Let's just exchange phone numbers, and we'll skip this talking crap."

I look at the break the ice questions and answer them in my head on Doug's behalf. No. As black as my soul. No. A naked lady on my bicep. Yes. An STD. OH YEAH. Smashing beer cans with my head. Seven.

"Alright, Doug," I say, writing down Kendra's cell phone number on a napkin. "Sometimes I like to play hard to get--just to keep it interesting."

"I can't wait. I like the hunt." He fakes a bite in the air, and for a moment--I almost feel guilty.

Then, another round of laughter breaks out from the mortician, and Kendra puts her arm around him, giggling.

"Let me give you my work number too," I add with my first real smile.

Friday Flash Fiction- (Horny/Zombies/Peas)

No, not horny, zombie peas because that would be weird.

REALLY? You're still not over at Flashy Fiction? What on earth is wrong with you? Are you crazy?

Actually, this week it's been sort of slow. I think it has something to do with NaNo, but who knows. They have another contest starting for November. (You post on a prompt and win an entry into the contest. Then, you win--like I did--and you can't decide which item in your Amazon cart to spend your money on. Nail biting ensues. You sing a little Veruca Salt from Willy Wonka. "I want the world--I want the whole world. I want to wrap it all up in my pocket--it's my bar of chocolate." Or something similar, because--uhh--yes, I did it from memory. Oh the shame.)

Even if you're not there to write, you should still follow it to see what Walt and Deb and the others write. Walt's been on fire this week--in his own blog. (He's not playing so well with others this week. His poetry has been amazing--so he hasn't needed the prompts apparently.) (Why does that make me sound a little writing handicapped? Sometimes we all need a little prompt now and then--it's natural. )

Anyway, here are my week's fiction from the prompts--short this week:

October 31st

Prompt--

"I'm so done with Halloween, Robbie! Take those stupid horns off your head."

"Yeah. Babe, I've been meaning to talk to you about the horns..."

Mine--

"I'm so done with Halloween, Robbie! Take those stupid horns off your head."

"Yeah. Babe, I've been meaning to talk to you about the horns.... Remember when we met at that bar a month ago, and I said I was here for you, Tansy?"

Tansy took a second look at her new boyfriend and said warily, "Yes...."

"That wasn't actually a pick-up line. I'm a minion and you promised your soul in exchange for an idea for your thesis," Robbie said, tossing back a handful of candy corn.

"You're here for my soul?" Tansy asked.

"What's left of it. A Doctorate in Criminal Psychology sure has sucked most of it already. Still the big guy figures you're qualified to work in HR--more so than the freaks he has there that actually worked in HR."

"I thought I had to be dead first," Tansy said suspiciously while tugging on one of his horns.

"You're cute, so I got an extension. You have until Christmas and then I'll kill you--most likely gore you with the horns. So, what's for lunch? I'm thinking french dip... maybe some cheese fries."

November 1st

Prompt--

It was the best--and worst--night of my life.

Mine:

It was the best--and worst--night of my life. I'd finally, finally, finally taken Chad to the Halloween dance. All these weeks of perfecting our costumes had paid off. We looked stunning together. Everyone had said so. He'd looked smug whenever he looked at me--as if he'd won something better than the prize for best costume. I felt perfect. We were perfect.

Then, they'd arrived. Their costumes looked authentic--really authentic--of course, they'd won. That wasn't the problem. Being there with Chad, my Chad, had been enough. He'd even kissed me during Monster Mash--which had been awkward as that's not really a "kissing" sort of song, but still, it had been really good.

It all went wrong when the "costume winners" went to claim their prizes. Well, no wonder they looked like a posse of evil zombies--they were. My costume couldn't have been more ideal for killing zombies. I had the huge scythe already. All that fake blood on Chad, though. He'd been a meal to go practically. I'd taken down half of them before I could chase after the ones that had taken Chad.

I won't say he is definitely dead, but I don't think I'm following fake blood anymore. I told him that he shouldn't ever go as a victim, but did he listen to me?

Nooo... not Chad. He thought a grim reaper had to have a victim along for show. It made sense of course, but still.... You just never want to be a victim.

Tonight was going to be so perfect too, you know?

Crap. Is that an arm?

November 2nd

Prompt--

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I have something to tell you that's been bothering me."

-The Writer's Book of Matches

Mine--

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I have something to tell you that's been bothering me." I rubbed my forehead, trying to ease the tension. I'd tried--I'd really tried. "You are a mess. You leave a trail of disgusting food everywhere you go. I can find you simply by following what you drop."

He raised his hand.

"No, let me finish," I instructed. "It's more than that. I never have time to myself anymore. Everything about me is you now. I give and I give but it's never enough. You just keep taking."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but maybe he just wanted more of something--he always wanted more.

I needed to get this out, though. "I've given up everything for you. I can't sleep at night. I can't work. I can't even keep our house clean. It has to be enough for you."

Once again, he tried to interrupt, but I was on a roll.

"Then, there is the whining... and yelling. I've never had to deal with so much noise. I just really, really can't take it anymore. That's even before we get to the smell. Now, do we understand each other? You've got to cut me some breaks. Do you hear me?"

He clapped and laughed.

"Okay, pudding, open the mouth. Here come the peas. Zoom zoom, Tyler. Here comes the pea plane."

Flashy Fiction Friday (Scary Trees, Spiders, Indiscriminately)

Before I do my weekly drop of flash fiction, I noticed I have a follower named Cinders. That is so surreal. In one of my manuscripts, featuring chat room discussions, one of the main people is named "Cinders." I did a double take this morning.

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.*

October 24th

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.

***

"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.

October 25th

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.

October 27th

***

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.