Flash Fiction Friday #28 - Tiffany Sweet

This week's Flash Fiction Fridays piece is a sneak peek at the some of the background of one of the characters from my Expired Reality series. I actually wrote out the background to this particular character during National Novel Writing Month 2009, and hope to publish that novella at some point in the near future.

In the meantime, enjoy today's short nugget.

Tiffany Sweet
Jensen Alcon stepped three feet to his left and stood in front of the next research pod. This one was particularly larger than the last three he had done a routine checkup on – it was bigger, more advanced in its technical workings, and was being used to isolate a human rather than a creature like the others. The stainless steel surface of the cylinder-shaped chamber glistened under the fluorescent lighting of the lab, adding a hint of refinement to the somewhat macabre task at hand.

Jensen held his clipboard out in front of him and cleared his throat. He didn’t like participating in experiments on humans, but – as his colleague, Roc, had put it, Wedges weren’t normal humans. They were super powered beings, putting them in a classification of their own.

Jensen only half believed that lie. He half believed it so he could move forward and do the work he was getting paid to do. Squelching his conscience was just part of the job.

“Subject 7A4T,” he said, hoping Roc – who was monitoring him from the security panel in the other room – wasn’t paying attention to how nervous this made Jensen feel.

“Just get it over with, man,” Roc’s voice boomed over the lab’s speakers.

“Leave me alone,” Jensen said.

“I want to go to lunch. They have that buffet place that just opened down the road. Hurry up so we can get there before the crowds show up.”

Jensen sighed and read aloud the fact sheet on his clipboard. “Subject 7A4T. Name: Tiffany Sweet. Age: 16. Family is deceased. Mother was a baker, and her father owned a bookstore. Tiffany’s powers are…erratic.” Jensen glanced up at the camera in the ceiling that he knew Roc was watching him through. “Erratic? That’s all it says here. Is that why her powers were put into dormancy?”

“Just read the sheet, man. Nobody really cares what it says. Just read it for the record, open the chamber, and check on the experiment before naming it.”

“She’s not an experiment, Roc. She’s a human being.”

“Man, we’ve been through this.”

“You have your way of dealing with things, and I have mine. I don’t want to think of her as a test tube or a beaker. She’s a young female. A human. Endowed, maybe, with powers beyond our comprehension. But still human.”

“Just finish your damn job so we can eat, man! I’m starving!”

Jensen input his sixteen-digit alphanumeric code into the security panel on the front of the chamber and stepped back as the chamber hissed. White mist swirled up from the bottom of the unit as the front shield lifted up to reveal the female within.

Her appearance shocked Jensen for more than just a mere moment. She was nude, and her arms and legs were strapped into the chamber by a silver-colored flexible alloy known as Silvertech. Nobody had ever escaped Silvertech, nor had anyone ever destroyed Silvertech. Jensen briefly remembered reading a newspaper article about the Eneran military wanting to use Silvertech to build their tanks.

He shuddered at the thought of indestructible tanks.

The girl’s breasts were covered by her long, pink hair that had grown down to her hips. The most striking trait about her though was her bright turquoise-colored eyes. In the chamber, their ‘experiments’ were put into cryo sleep – which happened immediately upon activation – and caught some of their subjects with their eyes open.

“Are you getting off on the experiment, man? Hurry up!”

“She’s…stunning. Not her flesh. Her hair. Her eyes. One could get lost in those eyes…” Jensen mused.

“We need to get you a girlfriend. I heard there’s a lot of women that eat at that new buffet down the road.”

“I’m not looking at her like that, Roc. There’s something special about her. I can’t place my finger on it.”

“Just name her, and let’s go. My stomach is crying out somethin’ fierce!”

“Alright. I’ll name her…Turquoise. Turquoise Wedge.”

“Great. You named your new girlfriend. Now, can we eat, please?”

Flash Fiction Friday #26 - Dead Train

Dead Train

The smell is what wakes me. Then the movement of the train. My first instinct upon being assaulted by the aroma of death and decay is to panic, however, within a split second my memory takes the movement of the train and assures me that the smell simply means that I am alive.

I find nothing but darkness upon opening my eyes. Decaying flesh rubs against every part of my body, and I have to work hard not to vomit – which will only make things worse. I’m still on a train full of corpses. I stowed away on it after feigning my death in the EX chambers in the city of Soral. I didn’t actually think I would get away with faking my death and hiding on this train to escape the genocide. But I did.

I shift my weight to the left and right and manage to wiggle to the front of the pile of death and enter a very small space in the train car that is not occupied by corpses. I roll down the pile of bodies and hit my head on the wooden floorboard. I use my arms to push up from the bloodstained floor, take a deep breath, and look over to the pile of bodies. Hundreds of bodies. The heads are covered in black sackcloth, but the bodies have been stripped nude, and most are covered in boils, bloody lines, or acid-eaten patches.

I stand to my feet and brush myself off. I confirm that I am still dressed in my brown skirt and white blouse. My black denim coat has managed to keep most of the filth off my blouse, however, I feel patches of blood as I run my fingers through my long hair. I’ll need to shower once I find a safe place to settle.

A loud screech nearly blows out my eardrums as the train suddenly decreases its speed. Since I have been out cold, I’m not sure how far I’ve traveled from Soral. I know the destination of the train was supposed to be Baruck, but I have no idea how close we are to that destination.

I glance around to see if there is an exit to another train car, but most of the car is occupied by rotting corpses. The only doorway off the train is the large sliding one in front of me. I move the door latch to the right and slide the door open.

Snow.

Ice.

We are nowhere near Baruck.

The train comes to a complete stop. The same panic I felt upon awakening attempts to creep in again, but I will not allow it to cloud my focus. I have to get as far away from the train as possible before the authorities find me alive. I glance at one of the bodies. The flesh has been covered in acid that has torn away a good portion of the skin, leaving an open gash allowing me to see bone and muscle. I have no desire to turn out that way.

A siren rings out, and I know now that they’ve been alerted to my presence. I had heard that these trains had heat sensors integrated in them, but I hoped it had been rumor and speculation.

The train is a good three feet from the ground. I hop down without issue. I glance to my left and find a small company of blue armor-clad Sentries closing on my position. Blue laser blasts fill the space between them and me as I make a run for the patch of woods a few kilometers in front of me.

The snow isn’t too deep, and I’m able to run without too much hindrance. My sneakers are not the right type of shoe to be wearing in a pursuit such as this, but it’s nothing I can change at the moment.

A bolt hits my shoulder and I feel the sting of heat and needles. I keep running, realizing that they are starting to draw back from the pursuit. I keep running, nearly out of breath, until I reach the entrance of the woods.

Looking up, I understand why they fell back. The trees are tall, stretching so high into the overcast sky that I cannot make out the tops of them. The bark is black, and there are splotches of red paint cast across the trunks. Blood? Paint? I don’t want to find out.

“Sarah Groves!” one of the Sentries calls out.

I turn my back to the woods and give the small squad of Sentries my full attention. They are almost an equal distance between me and the train. Five of them. The leader is in yellow armor.

“Surrender, and we will take you in without issue.”

“Bullshit!” I shout. I have no desire to turn into one of the corpses inside the train car. I know that is what will happen to me if I turn myself in. However…I turn to the trees behind me. Black bark. Red splotches. This couldn’t possibly be the Blood Grove, could it? The Blood Grove is nowhere near the vicinity of Soral. Why would the train be moving through this area of Anaisha?

“We all know you’re not going to enter the trees. Come with us, and you will be safe. You will have a proper trial in Soral.”

“You lie!”

The Sentry in yellow armor holds up his arms and chuckles. “You have nowhere else to run.”

“I do,” I whisper. I turn and thrust myself into the patch of trees, uncertain which is a worse fate to face.

Flash Fiction Friday #25 - Moonlight

Moonlight

I packed my bag light in case trouble decided to pursue me along the road. It was a mistake leaving Avernon, but if I stayed with her she would have been killed. We both would have been killed, probably in our sleep. Instead, I decided to kill her in her sleep. Not actually, but figuratively. By leaving while she slumbered, I know she will awaken to a nightmare of my creation. I doubt she will ever forgive me. It is for the best, regardless if she is ever able to see it that way.

I shift the bag higher on my shoulder, shoving my fingers between the bag strap and the bone of my collar in the hopes of alleviating the dull pain the weight of the bag is causing. Even though I did pack light, the strap of the bag itself seems intent on tearing through my skin.

The path in front of me is mostly dark, save for slivers of moonlight that sneak through the massive tree branches spread overhead. A dark fog attempts to flood my path, but the slivers of moonlight will not allow it to consume my way. I am glad for this. I sense ill specters within the fog, but have yet to see them.

The air is damp, and my lungs feel as if they are filling with wet cotton. I wonder how long it will take for the Separsese to catch up with me. Even though I displeased him by stealing the talisman, he will not be pleased when he discovers what I did with it. He will undoubtedly hunt me to the corners of the planet. That is why I had to leave Avernon. That is why I had to leave my love behind, sleeping, naked after a night full of passion. I doubt I will ever cross paths with one like her again. If 

I don’t outwit the Separsese, I doubt I will cross paths with anyone ever again.

Suddenly, like mice scurrying out of the path of giant’s feet, the slivers of moonlight which have kept me company thus far flee, and the dark fog fills in the path around me. I am left in pure darkness. I set my bag on the ground and quickly pull out my pack of matches, lighting one upon the side of my shoe. The small glow barely illuminates the area around me, but it is enough to show me who I face here in the Drashard Woods: the Separsese.

His face hangs in the darkness as if he has no body. The wrinkles traveling his face create a map upon his countenance, one that hints at many adventures and much age. But the texture of his face is nothing to his eyes which glow a soft amber color in the darkness. The smile upon his lips are filled with poison as he opens them to speak to me.

“Victor. Did you really think you could outsmart me?”

“You came for your talisman?” I ask.

His body comes into view. He is wearing a flowing purple robe. It is what he usually wears when he sentences his people to execution. “You took a holy artifact. Where is it?”

He circles around me, but I refuse to follow him with my sight. Instead, I stand straight and tall in the hopes of hiding my fear. “I don’t have it.”

“You destroyed it?”

I nod.

The Separsese hisses like a serpent. “Why?”

“You were going to use it on me, weren’t you?”

“How do you know that? The talisman you took was the Oborong. An ancient artifact with the power to heal. Why would I use that on you?”

“In order to heal one, it drains the life from another. You were going to use it to drain my life to heal you.”

He stopped and grinned madly. “More clever you are than I ever gave you credit for. Yes. My intention was to destroy you to build myself up. However, now that you have destroyed the talisman, I will have to take your life in other ways. First I will drain your life, your blood, and then the blood of your beautiful Avernon. And the blood of her child.”

My heart slams against my ribcage, screaming to get out of my chest. “Child?”

“You did not know?” he says, flashing his rotted teeth. “She carries. I sense the power in the life she holds within her womb.”

“Leave her. Take me. I’m the one you wanted all along.”

“Yes, but you have destroyed the artifact that would have allowed me to fill myself with your essence alone. Now I need more than just yours in order to fill myself with life. That child will be the perfect source…unless.”

I can’t help but sneer. “Unless what?”

“I will allow you and your significant others to live. You pledge yourself to me. Your spirit. Your soul. Your life. You do my bidding, and I will allow you to live.”

“Never.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way. Lay down.” He waves his hand and I feel my body collapse to the dirt. “Roll over.” I roll onto my back. “Die.” My insides suddenly feel as if they are being drowned in corrosive acid.

“No!” I scream.

The pain stops.

The Separsese looks down upon me. “Did you say something?”

“I will serve you,” I say with a whisper.

He waves his hand and I stand to my feet. I feel something prick my right hand. I look to it and see a strange purple skull stamped into my skin.

“Go back home,” the Separsese says. “Go back home and enjoy your Avernon and enjoy your new child. Just know that I will have need of you soon.”

In the blink of an eye, the Separsese is gone and the slivers of moonlight return to my side like fair-weather friends.

Flash Fiction Friday #24 - Contessa

Contessa

Pieces of Earth drifting into space. A scene Contessa was accustomed to, and yet still alarmed by. The sounds of war had died out, leaving in its place an eerie silence that she didn’t realize she had ever known. As the Dark Army fled, leaving Earth nearly uninhabitable and scorched by war and soaked in blood, Contessa struggled with a desire to stowaway on one of the Master Vet ships she had seen them leave on. It would have been a serendipitous opportunity to infiltrate the enemy ranks and possibly find a way of sabotaging them.

Instead, she decided to stay here on the planet she was birthed on. She knew there were pockets of people residing underground, in caves, and in some of the cities that were fortunate enough to still be standing after the war. She was uncertain as to whether or not she would join up with others. She had grown warm to the idea of being on her own. It made things easier. She had no family. Her mother, father, and sister died in the war. The only friend – rather acquaintance – she had lived in Akoron to the east.

Contessa stretched her arms into the air, her eyes scanning the valley below the cliff she sat on. Her thick black overcoat did its job of keeping her warm against the harsh wind that blew through the area. It was a wind that had appeared once the war ended days earlier, and hadn’t quit since then. She rubbed her gloved hands across her thighs, grateful for the long pants she had been able to scavenge out of a nearby shack. The two corpses she found in the shack had died in each other’s arms in the bed of the master room. The pants had been covered in light blotches of blood, but running water in the shack’s bathtub allowed Contessa to wash them as clean as they would ever be in this post-war world.

A white blur crossed the dark sky in front of her. She let out a relieved sigh and put her arm out as the white dove fluttered to her and landed on her wrist. The bird’s blue eyes always alarmed her with their vibrancy. She took the small scroll from the carrier case around the bird’s neck and flicked her wrist, sending the bird off on its way back to Akoron.

Before reading the note, Contessa stared out at the valley once more, her spirit screaming at her, scolding her for not hitching a ride on one of the Dark Army’s ships. If she had done so, she could have found out where they had gone to after destroying her precious planet. Instead, she decided to stay grounded on Earth, grounded on a scorched planet that was as barren as her own womb.

She unfurled the small scroll: Akoron has fallen due to civil war. We are heading to Eradi to the west. See you there.

Contessa sighed and stared up into the dark sky. If the Dark Army hadn’t already destroyed everything, now the rest of humanity had to begin bickering and arguing with one another over the crumbs. It was pathetic. Too pathetic.

She dropped the scroll over the edge of the cliff and watched as it coasted downward into darkness and vanished. Loner it is, she thought. Loner it is.

Flash Fiction Friday #22 - Solitude

Today's FFF piece didn't seem too compelling once I finished writing it and read it over, however, I can see that it's more of a character sketch and plot idea than it is a full-blown story. After watching the season finale of 24: Live Another Day, I felt compelled to write out a sketch of a character much like Jack Bauer, someone who has nothing and nobody left and who is captured by his enemies and left with little to no hope. I'm not sure how this FFF piece branched from that intention to a plot about a full-blown plague epidemic but I'll take it.

Solitude

“Solitude is man’s greatest comfort, yet can also be man’s greatest nemesis.”
 

I read that quote many months ago. It was in a book…no, a magazine article on the human brain and the effects of solitude and its connections to insanity. I was waiting in the doctor office for Claire. She was there to get a checkup on an infection that had manifested in her lungs. The doctor office was busy that day. I complained to her later that it was too busy, but now I would welcome that busyness with open arms and pursed lips.
 

These shackles have cut and bruised my wrists. Mildew fills the air – and my lungs – making it hard to breathe normally. I haven’t eaten in days – too many to count – and I am ravished. The water they bring me is simply a collection of the condensation from the pipes that run through this compound. Aside from the guard who brings me that water, I haven’t seen another living soul in this place since I woke here. Where here is.
 

Memories come back to me in painful flashes of light and color, but I can’t seem to recollect exactly what brought me here. When the plague attacked New Haven, Claire and I were packing up to move West toward Lockly. We weren’t able to leave before Claire died. I found out – too late – that the infection in her lungs had been spurred on by the Rack Plague, and I could do nothing to save her.
 

I fled the city, taking what few supplies I could transport in our small sedan. I made it into the Wastelands and set up camp at the base of Mt. Sel. I grieved Claire’s death for days. I almost killed myself, but resolved to do what I could to survive. It’s what Claire would want. It’s the only reason I haven’t killed myself in this place.
 

I was going to leave my camp, to head further West and hopefully reach Lockly, but…I can’t remember…bandits, maybe, ambushed me. I remember men with cloth over their mouths. I remember guns. I remember the smell of sweat and urine. Everything after that is shrouded in darkness in the recesses of my mind. I woke up here, chained to the floor, half naked and starving.
 

There is nothing left for me except for the memory of Claire and that hideous plague. I wish I knew where it came from, what caused it, and how to stop it. It swept through the continent within a matter of weeks. I have no idea how I escaped its clutches.
 

Come to think of it, I haven’t seen the guard in a day or two. I haven’t seen anyone in a day or two. I’ve only seen the beam of sunlight which pours through the dirty window and shines light across me, bathing me in warmth, for a time each day.
 

Has the plague reached here into the depths of hell?

(Click the Flash Fiction Fridays link at the top of the page to read past pieces!)

Flash Fiction Friday #21 - Roaming V

Roaming V

A purple silhouette in the shape of the female form. Flat, without any identifying details, much like a blank cardboard cutout. That was all the woman was to Dellaray, even though it was known that the woman was so much more than a mere cutout or silhouette. She was a hologram. She was an A.I. – Artificial Intelligence – although the ‘Artificial’ part wasn’t as true as it once was. Verspe was more than a computer program, more than a robot. She had gained an awareness. She had gained a spirit, although Dellaray knew not of how she had accomplished such a feat.

“Your blood pressure is rising,” Verspe stated in her usual monotone female voice. “As a result, your breathing has increased, and your perspiration levels have risen dramatically.”

I move the thick stick into the makeshift campfire, stoking the flame in hopes of keeping the heat in our cave until morning. The downpour outside the mouth of our dwelling space threatens to flood us out if the water level reaches the cave entrance which is three feet above the ground level of the forest. The rainwater was at nearly two feet when I last checked a half hour ago.

I have never seen it rain so much before.

Verspe moves her glowing projection close to the fire. Her figure fades in and out depending on what angle I look at her from. The firelight is doing a good job of washing her out. I know she is a mere hologram, but sometimes she personifies a human being better than some friends I have.

“You are worried of the rainwater,” Verspe says.

I stoke the fire some more before setting my stick on the ground and pulling the front of my thick denim coat shut to seal out the cold wind that is sneaking its way into our space. “Yes.”

“At this rate, the rainwater will begin to flood the cave in approximately - ”

I wave my hand at her to shut her up. “Zip it, robot girl. Okay? I have enough on my mind right now, I don’t need your depressing statistics. Just...just let me rest for a bit.”

“You would rather die in your sleep?”

“It’s the best way to go,” I whisper as I stare into the fire. “You don’t have to worry about death though, do you? You’re some fucked up artificial intelligence that isn’t really even here.”

“I am here. I am just not embodied in a form that you approve of.”

“Tell me, robot girl, is there anything we can do about the rainwater? Is there higher shelter somewhere?”

“There is, but it is unwise to pursue it.”

“Why is that? The wind is cold, but I can deal with it if the shelter isn’t far from here.”

“Sarppers.”

I shudder at the name. “You never told me there were Sarppers close by.”

“You never asked.”

“You shit-for-brains!” I stand to my feet and kick dirt into the fire. A few moments later, the source of my warmth is put out, but the glowing purple freak next to me is not. “Extinguish yourself or go dark or whatever the hell you do when you turn yourself off.”

“I cannot turn myself off. It is against my programming. The Anaishan Sentry Unified Sector does not allow a Roaming V to shut down. Ever. I must monitor your health and well-being until you are safely in the custody of the proper authorities.”

“Monitoring my health and well-being is much different than doing something to protect my health and well-being. If I had known Sarppers were nearby, I wouldn’t have picked this cave.”

“They are twenty yards to the west. It is very possible they know nothing of your presence here.”

“That’s reassuring.”

The rain stops. The wind stops. I draw near to the mouth of the cave and look out into the thick forest beyond. All I can make out is a massive turtle shell the size of a one-story house. The shell glows red, which tells me that my time is already up. I won’t have the opportunity to run, to hide, to flee.

“You have received your death sentence, Dellaray Realia,” Verspe says. I have a few moments to realize what has happened, that Verspe led me out here to execute me. Nobody will ever know that’s why I was led out here. I thought she was leading me to civilization so that I could be tried by a civil court. Instead, I realize I have been led into a trap meant to execute me in the vilest way without the Anaishan Sentry Unified Sector causing a public outcry.

Warmth fills my britches as I lose control of my bowels. It has begun. My nose suddenly bleeds, and my head feels like a stone is inflating within my tiny skull. Before everything blacks out, I hear the pulsing groan emanating from the turtle shell, a sound that I should have been prepared for. And then all at once, I collapse unto death.

Flash Fiction Friday #20 - Mercy Springs

Today's piece of fiction was written because I wanted to explore some of the space/time continuum anomalies that occur in my Black Earth series - such as the appearance of the Mercy Springs Elementary School in the middle of California, mentioned in the second novel in the series, The Broken Daisy. Enjoy!

Mercy Springs

“What do you make of the anomaly,” Hendricks asked her.

Sybil shrugged. “I can’t really make heads or tails of it with what little information we have.”

“I have a theory,” Hendricks said as he took a seat at his desk.

Sybil tied her long brown hair back into a ponytail and held it together with a rubber band. “I really don’t care for theories.”

“I know. But you might want to hear me out on this one.”

Sybil took a seat in the chair opposite Hendricks’ desk. The thick leather made a loud noise as she settled into it. “Fine, let’s hear it.”

Hendricks leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk. “Okay, Nathan Pierce and his friends made contact with a school called Mercy Springs Elementary.”

“Correct.”

“Now, we have no record of there being a city named Mercy Springs in California.”

“I already know all of this, Hendricks. Get to the point.”

“What if Mercy Springs Elementary School is from another reality?”

Sybil straightened up in her seat. “You mean like the Black Doors?”

He nodded and stroked his beard. “Yeah, I do mean like the Black Doors.”

“But how would it have appeared in California? How did Nathan Pierce, Heather Rhodes, and Cynthia Ruin come into contact with a school from another reality? The Black Doors are small. And you’re talking about an entire school.”

Hendricks sighed. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but my theory is that the school appeared without the assistance of a Black Door. Mercy Springs Elementary came through a time rift. I know, it sounds very science fictiony, but I believe that’s what happened. After we went through the files from the Vector organization, I found detailed reports of a woman – Jennifer Glass – who could move through time involuntarily. That was until a young man named Griffin helped perfect the ring that now allows her to move through time and space at will.”

“Jennifer Glass is an enemy of our organization, Hendricks.”

He nodded and waved her comment away as if it were a fly in the room. “I know, I know. The Time Protection Society has been hunting Jennifer for years. Blah, blah, blah. But listen, I’m convinced that her journeys through time and space have actually been damaging the space/time continuum. Her very presence has been causing rifts in our reality – and subsequently other realities – and I think that Mercy Springs snuck in through one of these rifts. In fact, I have reason to believe that the entire city of Mercy Springs was caught up in the rift and was transported somewhere else...some other reality.

“I think these rifts have been interfering with the Seer device. They have to be. The Seer device – from what I’ve been told – can only search out events along the current timeline. But what if outside sources – the rifts – bring in anomalies that the Seer device cannot compensate for? It would mean that the TPS is moving on commands that are not made in sound judgment.”

Sybil stood to her feet. “I’ve heard enough. This is why I don’t like theorizing with you, Hendricks. You take it too far. Unless you have proof of one of these rifts that Jennifer Glass supposedly created, then I would suggest you keep your mouth shut and just do what Redford Raleigh wants you to do. Don’t ask questions, don’t push your agenda. Just believe that the Seer device works and that we are to follow all instructions given to us based on what the Seer device reveals.”

Hendricks shook his head. “No. No, I’m not going to just go with the flow around here anymore. I’m tired of taking orders without any context. We don’t even know where the Seer device came from, Sybil, nor do we know how Redford knows so much about time travel and the future. Aren’t you the least bit curious to know why none of us have ever been allowed to see the Seer device?”

“Stop,” she said. “Just stop now before they decide to silence you for your insubordination.”

“Nobody really knows why Macayle Harper defected. I’d like to know the reason for that decision. Don’t you?”

Sybil reached behind her and pulled the Glock pistol from her back pocket. Before Hendricks could protest, she fired a bullet straight between his eyes, splattering blood and brain matter across the leather chair.

“Sorry, Hendricks. But those who know too much don’t need to be a part of this organization. Just like Macayle Harper.”

Flash Fiction Friday #19 - Violet Dawn

I've been wanting to explore my character, Violet Dawn, a bit more since finishing the Black Earth series, and this Friday's piece gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. For those of you who have read my Black Earth novels, you'll know Violet Dawn from some of the quotes at the beginning of the books, and some of the artwork found throughout the series.

Violet Dawn

Donald Respy, a male reporter for the Violent Underground newspaper, took a seat on the red leather couch, afraid to touch anything in her apartment. Violet Dawn was known to be a germaphobe, and she hadn’t set the rules for her place when he first arrived at her apartment to do his interview with her for the newspaper. Instead, upon answering the door, she left him in her foyer and went straight back to the canvas she was currently painting: a lonely daisy, the flower rising tall above the blades of grass surrounding it. Behind the daisy was a field of trampled flowers of many varieties and colors. Violet was in the midst of painting one of the crushed flowers, a violet.

How appropriate, Donald thought. “So, how did you come to be a painter?”

“Artist,” she corrected as she dipped her brush in some purple paint set to the side of her easel. “I am an artist.”

“But aren’t painters artists?”

“Not all painters are artists. You are only an artist if you bleed all over your work.”

Donald scribbled her quote on his notepad, unsure if he should ask a follow-up question. “So, how did you come to be an artist?”

“I took a risk one day. Remember that movie, The Matrix? Remember when Neo takes the red pill?”

“Yes.”

“That was a risk that Neo took to find the truth in everything. One day, I slit my wrist – figuratively – and bled my anger, my love, and all the emotions I felt in between upon the canvas. That’s the day I became an artist.”

Donald began scribbling down her quote, and stopped for a moment to study her figure. She wore blue jeans and a red blouse, and her figure was that of a perfect hourglass. Donald wasn’t sure how old she was – she never, ever gave her age in any of her interviews – but he could easily guess she was in her thirties. The white smock she wore over her blouse had a large black oak tree embroidered on it. Her sneakers were Sketchers.

“Your stare is burning a hole into my right butt cheek,” she said, dropping her paint brush on the edge of the easel before turning to him. Her bright red hair came out from behind her head in all directions, like a long cluster of fiber optic cable. Donald was certain his cheeks had turned the same shade.

She simply grinned and motioned to the painting.  “Done.”

He nodded. “Very nice.”

“Oh, I wasn’t asking your opinion,” she said. “I’m just stating a fact. I’m done. Well, not completely done.” She picked up a piece of white paper and set it on the edge of the easel underneath the painting. “This will be the caption that goes with the picture.”

Donald set his notepad on the surface of the glass coffee table and stood to get a closer look at the canvas. “And the flowers were trampled under their feet,” he read. “All of them were. But the daisy rose above the others and stood tall, carving a way through the valley to the Mountain of God. Violet Dawn.”

She nodded. “I have to get the proper plating for the caption, but other than that, I’m done.”

“What does that caption mean?”

She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know?”

“Because you wrote it.”

“I did. Artists are simply conduits, Mr. Respy. Conduits to the emotions around us. Conduits to the darkness and light in this world. Conduits to the spiritual realm. Just because I painted this painting, and just because I wrote that quote, doesn’t mean I understand what any of it really means. It’s left open for interpretation. Open for examination.” She took a step toward him, leaning in near his face so close he thought – with a delighted expectancy – that she might kiss him. “The real meaning behind the painting is the meaning you apply to it. What does this painting mean to you?”

He stepped back, giving himself room to examine her artwork more closely. “It’s a daisy that has lasted some chaotic event. Maybe some global disaster. Or maybe some kid came by and trampled all of the flowers and missed the daisy because his mother yelled for him to come home.”

Violet crossed her arms and nodded. “I can see that. What else?”

“Nothing more. I don’t know what the Mountain of God is supposed to refer to in your caption.”

“It could be anything that means something to you spiritually. Or it could be an actual mountain that God has appointed as His own.”

Donald picked up his notepad and pencil from the coffee table. “Ms. Dawn, where exactly do you get your inspiration from?”

“No more questions, Mr. Respy. You know all you need to know about me by viewing my work. Like I said before, I bleed all of myself into my work. Everything you want to know about me is on that canvas.”

Flash Fiction Friday #18 - Red Crane

Red Crane

Detective Hale ripped through the strips of yellow and black police tape and entered the dark room, exchanging the warmth of the hallway for the cold of a crime scene. Blue moonlight pierced the long vertical blinds in the living room, casting cerulean stripes across the disheveled studio apartment. He shut the door behind him, wishful that none of the neighbors had seen him enter. The department knew nothing of his presence here. He had been ordered to stay far away from this particular crime scene, but he had no idea why. He wasn’t a suspect, and this part of Lysallis was under his jurisdiction.

He made his way past the small kitchen to his right and entered the living area. He scanned the room, making a mental note of the toppled lamp, the smashed computer desk, and the overturned couch. A struggle had occurred here. He approached the blinds  and peered out on the city. He marveled at the view of Lysallis from the vantage point of the twentieth floor. The Pleasure District, lit in a red haze, stood out like a glowing ruby in the distance.
 

Hale continued his search around the one-room apartment, checking the in-wall bookshelves, the big-screen television, and the small bathroom. Nothing stood out to him, aside from the various toppled items that filled the living space.
 

And then his eyes caught sight of the one item he had been searching for, the one item that would connect his assumptions with the truth of the matter. Atop the small end table that stood near the overturned couch sat a small crane made of origami.
 

Hale took a pair of tweezers from the inside pocket of his overcoat and used them to lift the  crane from its perch on the end table. He examined the paper bird and noticed that it was nearly identical to the other paper birds that had been left at the other half dozen crime scenes he had investigated in the last few months. The crane was made of paper, red in color, soaked in the victim’s own blood. A calling card left by the Red Crane Killer.

Flash Fiction Friday #17 - Edge of Babylon

There's a Switchfoot tune - "Where I Belong" -  that speaks of a song sung on the shores of Babylon. I heard the tune while I was driving through San Francisco the other day, and this new character - Solaris - came into creation. Here's a little piece I sketched out about her -

Edge of Babylon
Solaris stood at the shore of the Bark Ocean, watching the waves break against the sand. The moon cast its blue light across the waves, turning them cobalt, cerulean, and sapphire, while a cool and gentle breeze caressed Solaris’s face like the hand of a past lover.

She glanced over her shoulder at the massive stone wall that stood between her and the city of Babylon. She wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this place, but her directive was simple and clear. She had to enter the city and find Tibolt before they executed him for treason. It was no simple task to reach the shoreline, let alone infiltrate the kingdom, but Tibolt was the last friend Solaris had, and she owed it to the man to attempt her daring rescue.

Her gaze returned to the ocean tides, watching them slap each other like playful children. A strange scent filled the air, something that resembled grilled beef. Within that seemingly innocent fragrance, she was able to identify the putrid smell of burnt human flesh. The people of Babylon were performing their nightly sacrifice Arumash, their god.

Solaris felt a melody rise within her spirit, consuming her fears and her doubts. She hummed it loudly, watching with fascination as the sound carried across the waves and stilled the rambunctious children of the sea. She hummed louder, allowing the tune she was pulling from thin space to echo out across the deserted shoreline, causing the grains of sand to tremble and the water to turn to glass.

She stopped humming, in awe of what she had done. She heard voices behind her and turned to find a multitude of guards roaming the top of the wall. One of them pointed in her general direction. Solaris couldn’t make out what he was saying, but she knew enough to know she had to hide or she would be tortured and killed with Tibolt.

Flash Fiction Friday #16 - Sapphire

This week's FFF piece developed out of my Black Earth series. Pearl is a character from that series who was created by hand by the witch, Evanescence, in the bowels of the Depths. Even though she was destined for destruction and malevolence, Pearl managed to escape and carve out her own destiny. This new character that I introduce in today's piece - Sapphire - seems to have been formed within the same circumstances. And much like Pearl, Sapphire wants nothing more than to get as far away from the Depths as possible.

Sapphire

They say that a rose by any other name is still a rose. I don’t believe that nonsense. A name has more impact than most people give it. At least, I would like to hope so.

I sit in my bone chair, the smell of death rising from the seat, filling the air with the putrid scent of decay. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this place before I concede to madness. Looking around at the walls that imprison me, my stomach churns at the site of the splattered blood and the random skulls embedded within the walls. Hollow eyes searching me, wanting to know why I would despise a place such as this.

I was born here. Well, created here. My mother, Evanescence, pieced me together. She had high hopes that I would follow her and her army into darkness. But I will not. I cannot. Something else compels me not to. Something else pursues me. Something else is...drawing me from her.

I dart up from my bone chair, thoughts racing through my mind wondering where all of the bones came from. People. Dead people. Humans slaughtered by the army I am supposed to help command. I rush to the mirror framed by black-painted bone, and I look upon myself. My form is slender, my eyes are bright and beautiful with their cobalt hue. I want nothing more than to shed myself of this raggedy black gown. My hair, dark and flowing like oil, could be cut short and I would be happy. Very happy. I just want to be clean, to be rid of this filth.

Maggots crawl near my feet, scattering out of a rotten chunk of indiscernible fruit tucked away into the corner of the room. I leap backwards, frightened of the worms, terrified of the filth they carry.

I tuck myself into a different corner – the only clean corner in the room – and I work hard to stop my stomach from casting its contents across the cement. Suddenly, the skulls in the walls begin chattering, their jaws moving on their own accord, their hollow eye sockets looking upon me.

“Stop,” I whisper.

Their chattering increases, the annoying sound turning into words. My name. My old name.

“Sapphire. Sapphire. Sapphire.”

“Stop!” I scream.

Their chattering refuses to miss a beat in the steady rhythm of incessant droning. “Sapphire. Sapphire. Sapphire.”

“My name...my name is not Sapphire. It is Abigail. Abigail. Not Sapphire.”

“Sapphire. Sapphire. Sapphire.”

I rush to the nearest skull in the adjacent wall and grab hold of the bottom portion of its jaw. I break it free, scattering the fragments of bone across the floor. The rest of the skulls stop their chant.

“My name is Abigail. Not Sapphire. Sapphire does not exist. I exist. And my name is Abigail.”

I have to  wonder if Pearl went through this before she escaped this horrible place. 

Flash Fiction Friday #15 - Darkwielder

Darkwielder
Beatrice stood before the two story house on Hawk Street and looked up at the charred remains of what once used to be her home. The houses to the right and left were untouched by the blaze, shielding the rest of the block from potential harm. But Beatrice knew it wasn’t luck that prevented the fire from the spreading. The fire had been supernatural in nature, a violet-colored blaze specifically set to destroy only her home. A blaze that only could have been cast from a Darkwielder.

Beatrice approached the small set of stairs that led to what was once a beautiful porch area. Now it contained nothing more than skeletal remains of ash and sorrow. Her sneakers pressed against the sick wood with creaking and groaning, as if she were taking the last bit of life from the structure.

She walked through the empty doorframe into a room full of ash. Most of the walls had been burned out, leaving behind charred studs that revealed the true structure of the home before its unfortunate demise. She scanned the room and spotted a small purple shine glittering from under a mound of gray ash. She hurried to it, pushing the ash away, revealing a small cluster of crystals.

“You’ll do nicely,” she whispered. The collection of purple crystals – gleanathyst – could fetch her a high price on the magic market. But she had no intentions of selling it. More than anything, she wanted to use the remnants of the Darkwielder’s magic staff to create her own staff. She was long overdue for it, especially since the completion of her elemental training months earlier.

She tucked the gleanathyst into the inside pocket of her long gray sweater and stood to her feet. The house felt so empty, so cold. She heard the sound of neighborhood children playing nearby, and she remembered when the house was abuzz with life within its walls. Now it lay dead, like a Gurgant beast that had been slain by a dark magician.

“You came back for it,” a voice spoke out behind her. “I didn’t think you would push aside your fear to return to this place.”

Beatrice turned around, unsurprised to have a visitor in what was left of her home. The woman who spoke was none other than the Darkwielder herself. A tall and slender woman, the Darkwielder wore the gray silk cloak and tall black boots that most every other Darkwielder wore once they graduated from their training in magic. This particular Darkwielder had brilliant green hair that snuck out of the sides of her hood, surrounding her flawless pale face with green bushels.

“You took my home from me.”

The Darkwielder nodded. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Give me that cluster of gleanathyst.”

Beatrice clutched her sweater shut over her chest. “No. You burned my home down with your dark magic. In return, I am going to keep this for myself.”

The Darkwielder held her pale hand out. “I said give it to me.”

“No. You no longer have a staff, so you cannot use your fiery magic on me.”

“I still have other magics,” she said.

“But you’re not allowed to use them here,” Beatrice replied. She approached the woman, a wide grin on her face. “I don’t know why you burned my home down, but you’ll regret doing so.”

“I will –“

Beatrice put her hand up to stop the woman. “You will do nothing. A Darkwielder has to follow certain rules.”

“Members of the clan do.”

Beatrice stared into the woman’s green eyes. “You cannot fool me. You’re still in the clan. It was your clan who set you up to burn down my home. Were you trying to kill me?”

“We do not kill. We simply steal.”

“Yes, that is your philosophy. But to kill is to steal life, is it not?”

The Darkwielder’s thin lips curved into a grin. “You know nothing of our philosophies.”

“I do know about your rules though.”

The Darkwielder moved to the side, allowing Beatrice a clear path through the empty doorframe. “Be on your way, hunter.”

Beatrice smiled, patting the inside pocket her of her sweater. “Your rules were meant to give you freedoms in this world, but they have only chained you to your broken ideals.” 

Flash Fiction Friday #14 - Black Doors

Black Doors

The train started up and began its journey through the Wasteland. Veronica peered out the window every so often, but there was really nothing to see. There were no lights in the Wasteland, save for light bulbs of solo shacks, or random campfires of outposts adventurers made while journeying through the sand-drenched desert. During the day, black paneling came down over the windows, blocking one’s view from the Wasteland itself. Violence was a common occurrence out here, but more so were attacks from the random beasts which inhabited the Wasteland. A family sued the train company years earlier when their child witnessed a horrific dismemberment of an adventurer who came too close to a Riptosar.

At night though, at a time when the sun escapes the evils of the day and retreats to make way for the more courageous moon, there was no need to block the windows. In fact, the random campfire glows and electric beacons provided small tokens of hope, proof that life existed out here in the middle of nowhere. 

Veronica recalled history lessons about the Wastelands in high school. Adventurers went in, so few came out or made it to the other side. Either the wilderness killed the unprepared ego trip, untamed beasts of all shapes and sizes tore the ignorant limb from limb, or some actually managed to get lost in some of the Wasteland ruins, which were said to have existed many thousands of years before Anaisha was even colonized.

Veronica remembered one particular story about a young man – brash and full of spitfire – who led a small team into an underground ruin near the Sarlin mountain range. Montgomery. That was his last name, I think. Montel Montgomery was his full name. The ruins were said to be inhabited by dark creatures and a rare artifact, but Montgomery and his team never returned. When another expedition crew went into the ruins after him, they came back with reports of a large chamber full of doors. Black doors with silver knobs and strange symbols etched around the doorframes. The doors were said to float above the stone flooring of the chamber, no strings attached, no hover lifts. Whispers filled the chamber, but nobody in the expedition team could make out what was being said. Nowhere else within the vast ruins were the doors found, and when the doors within the one chamber were counted, the number came out to four dozen. The expedition team claimed they weren’t able to open any of the doors, and even if they could, each one of them said they didn’t want to know what was behind them.

After hearing that story, Veronica spent many weeks researching black doors. The Black Door Phenomenon, in particular, was something that had been experienced by a few dozen people across Enera, each in a different location. People would turn a corner or enter a room or even wander outside, and suddenly there would be a black door. Some even said they would go to their neighbor’s house and their neighbor’s door would be replaced with a black door, with the strange symbols around the frame. Each black door had a different set of symbols, making interpretation nearly impossible. Some people reported being able to open the doors by turning the silver knobs. Once opened, they said they saw a variety of different things: apartment buildings, futuristic spacecrafts, alien species, and sometimes horrors beyond explanation.

No research uncovered a report of anyone ever stepping through the doorways. Veronica figured it was because anyone who ever did step through the doorways – and she was sure there were people who did out of a curious compulsion – were never able to come back to tell anyone about it.

The going theory right now was that the doors opened to other realms.

Veronica leaned back in her seat and wondered what it would be like to come across a Black Door. She wasn’t sure she’d walk through one if she were able to open it. To explore other realms was something that kept her curiosity at its peak, even though common sense and self-preservation kept Veronica from really committing to the idea of jumping through one of those Black Doors.

Flash Fiction Friday #12 - Crystals

Crystals
The red hue emanating from the fist-sized crystal shard reminded her of the lava pits of Endwon.

“You must handle the crystal carefully, your majesty,” Cedrick advised.

Breata huffed. “This is the fifth shard I have recovered in the last Universal Year, Cedrick. I don’t need a lecture on how fragile and unstable they are.”

Cedrick took his worn brown cap off and bowed. “My apologies.”

Breata brushed her hands, which were covered in sweat and grime, on Cedrick’s cap before he placed it back atop his head. “I would much rather have come to these caverns in more appropriate attire.”

Cedrick cleared his throat. “I sincerely think the blue gown you picked out for our excursion makes you look the part of royalty – which is what we needed the denizens of this planet to believe if they were to let you near this specific shard.”

She glanced down at the hem of her gown, covered in mud from their trek into the cavern. The glow from the red crystal shard made the brown dirt look black – like Legion’s dark form – against her attire. With much resolve, she thrust her hands toward the rock wall and took hold of the crystal shard embedded within.

“Careful!” Cedrick snapped. “If you break that shard, the magic energy within it will kill us!”

Breata sighed. “When we get back to Endwon, will you do me a favor and grow a pair?” She grasped tightly to the shard and pulled on it. The crystal came free from the weak rock. She held it up in front of her face, feeling its warmth against her skin, and grinned. “One step closer, Cedrick. One step closer to defeating Legion once and for all.”

Cedrick chuckled. “Hardly a step toward such a lofty achievement, your majesty. This crystal shard – well, enough of them – will simply keep Legion at bay, it will do nothing to destroy Legion.”

She took the burgundy-colored pouch fastened to her wrist and slid the crystal inside it. “That in itself brings us one step closer to defeating Legion for good. Have you no sense today?”

A loud click echoed through the cavern corridors. Breata turned to Cedrick, her earlier suspicions confirmed when she saw the energy pistol in his hand, pointed directly at her. He held his other hand out toward her. “I’m sorry to do this, your majesty, but I’m going to have to insist you hand that pouch over to me.”

“Your words don’t fool me,” Breata said, placing the pouch in his palm. “You’re not sorry. I had my suspicions about you since the day you requested to accompany me to this place.”

He grinned, shoving the pouch into his coat pocket. “If you suspected me for a traitor, maybe you should have done something to prevent this.”

“I hoped my suspicion was just that. I placed my faith and trust in you.”

“And look what you get for it,” he said, slowly backing up toward the entrance of the cavern. “You get abandoned here on a desolate world outside of your own star system. I’ll make sure to inform the kingdom that their royal majesty was killed valiantly attempting to retrieve the Sols crystal before it shattered and she was killed instantly by the magic residing within.”

“That doesn’t sound rehearsed at all.”

He stopped backtracking and tilted his head. “You don’t seem that concerned in regards to your predicament, your majesty.”

“Is that what you want to see? Fear? Begging? I will give you neither. I’ll find a way off this world and I will hunt you down and make sure I get back what is rightfully the Kingdom of Edwon’s.”

“Correction, your majesty, I will make sure to give the Kingdom of Edwon’s what is rightfully theirs: judgment.”

Flash Fiction Friday #11 - Legion Theory

Legion Theory

 “It’s only a theory, Rezmalfen. I can’t base decisions on theories alone.”

Rezmalfen sighed loudly, unafraid to let Snendinky know he was supremely irritated with the man’s lack of vision. “I understand it’s only a theory, but that is what our work is based on. We are scientists.”

“No, you are a scientist, I am a religious warfare expert. There is a huge difference.”

Rezmalfen scoffed. “Give me a break, Snen, there is no difference between religion and science. Science is my religion, and religion is your science. Simple as that.”

“The Legion Theory is only a theory. I cannot instruct others to follow precepts and guidelines based on a theory alone. Especially one as weak as this.”

Rezmalfen stroked the bottom of his icicle-shaped goatee and then dashed to the giant whiteboard. Using the eraser, he swept clean the myriad of formulas and scientific equations until he had an adequate space to begin his doodle. He began by drawing a stick figure – one with a triangle dress.

“Let’s say,” Rezmalfen began, “that this person here is your mother.”

Snendinky chuckled. “You would need a much bigger triangle if that is my mother.”

“No jokes!” Rezmalfen shouted. “This is science. Do not joke about science. Now, let’s say this is your mother. And let’s say she has been inhabited by Legion.”

“Okay, let’s start with that.”

“Okay. Now,” Rezmalfen drew another stick figure, this one with an upside down triangle. Then another, with a sideways triangle, and a final one with no triangle at all. “Let’s say your mother is destroyed and/or cured of her Legion possession. Now,” he tapped the next stick figure, the one with the upside down triangle, with the dry erase marker, “let’s say you run into this individual on the street. Let’s say she looks like your mother, has the same qualities and characteristics of your mother, maybe even sounds and smells like your mother.”

“You are giving me the willies, Rez. Move on with your point.”

“Let’s say the Legion entity that once inhabited your mother scrambled to find a replacement. It’s comfort would be found in someone who closely resembles your mother, correct?”

“That makes logical sense, if we are applying logic to the things of the spiritual and/or alien world.”

“Well, that Legion entity is going to reside within this copycat of your mother, until it is destroyed or chased out somehow. Then it will move on to another incarnation of your mother.” Rez tapped the stick figure with the sideways dress. “And it will keep doing so in order to accomplish familiarity. To add to this theory, since the Legion entity is the same entity leaping from host to host, it will begin picking up the characteristics, mannerisms, and qualities of each individual – include the subtle ones that have nothing to do with your original mother – and will keep reinventing itself as it jumps from host to host. Eventually, the last host in this line that the entity takes may not be recognizable as your mother, and will instead be a modge podge of your mother’s characteristics and the characteristics of those who came after your mother.”

Snendinky turned and stared out the window on the dark street below their highrise lab.

“What are you thinking?” Rezmalfen asked.

“I wonder how many of them are out there, Rez. How many people are wandering the streets, carrying the weight of that grotesque alien species with them. I believe you, Rez. I believe your theory – our theory – but the way you just explained it stirred something within my spirit. We have to warn the President. We have to warn everyone.”

“You are wrong, my friend. If you cast this theory out there into the waters, the school of fish will turn into a mass of piranhas. Everyone will become suspicious of everyone else, and each will turn on each other. We cannot allow that to happen.”

“Then what do you think we should do about this?”

Rezmalfen shrugged. “What can we do? Our situation, my friend, is hopeless.”

Flash Fiction Friday #10 - Light

After being sick for the past couple of weeks, I'm finally getting back into the swing of things. That means Flash Fiction Fridays are back, and this week's is sure to shine some light on another Black Earth survivor...

Light

A light flickers in the distance. It is the only light I can see from the window of the Mega Dollar Store. I can’t tell what the light is exactly – a malfunctioning bulb, wild electricity, maybe even someone attempting Morse code with light? I am too afraid to venture outside of my little trinket store, cross the dark parking lot, and make my way to that light. For all I know it could be a trap.

My time here in the Mega Dollar Store began a few days ago. I ran here to escape the menagerie of evil that has infiltrated our planet. Hellhounds and Trapors and Sceens and all other matter of darkness came after me as soon as the mark on my right wrist began to glow – the three horizontal lines with the small dot in the center of the second line. Bright white light poured out of the mark, yet I have no idea where the mark came from or how my body is able to create such light naturally.

I was in the middle of scrounging for food on the outskirts of town in an abandoned grocery store. My wrist lit up in a flood of light and the shadows suddenly came alive. I ran for it, lost them – somehow – and managed to get to this dollar store. I’ve been living off cans of stale chili and flat soda since then. The light coming from my wrist allows me the ability to see in the dark, but it also draws in the darkness. I use towels sometimes – most of the time – to muffle the light.

I move from the window and make my way through the cash register stands, using my wrist light to guide the way while shielding it with my left hand. I am glad I traded out my squeaky boots for quieter tennis shoes. They are more comfortable, but less durable. I wish I could find pants, but my skirt will have to protect my legs from the cold until I am able to leave this place and move on. I know there is a mall not too far from here, but I fear what may be in that mall now that Legion has overrun the city.

I wander down the educational aisle, full of pencils, stencils, poster paper, and...yes, music books. Cheaply made, highly generic, but they may do just the same to comfort my trembling soul. There is a book here with church hymns within its flimsy pages, and I thumb through to a random page of which I am unable to read the title of the song.

I clear my throat and glance around the dark store, confirming there are no glowing blue eyes anywhere. Then I began to sing, my voice a bit raspy, but melodious just the same.

Your mercy stirs my heart to sing,
a melody I was taught in creation’s womb,
Though the stars fall to the earth, and darkness plagues the land,
Your love will remain,
The flowers of the field will sing Your praise,
and all the world will dance for You,
You, oh Lord, give me light to battle the shadows,
You, oh Lord, give me healing with the pain,
You, oh Lord, give me shelter in the storm,
Oh Lord, I live to give glory to your name!

It isn’t until I pull my face out of the music book that I am startled by the fact that the darkness which once resided with the Mega Dollar Store is gone, and in its place, the light from my wrist is able to fill the entire area with a brilliant light, as if it were daylight within the store.

Flash Fiction Friday #9 - Astrid

Today's piece has no connection to the previous four pieces (which all interlock with one another). This is a fresh standalone piece which seems to me to be an intro to a new location on the planet of Anaisha - perhaps a location we'll see in the third book of the Expired Reality series?

Astrid

Laughter once echoed through these hallways. A joyous raucous. The people used to dance here, under a blue sky filled with sunshine and a dark sky bleeding with moonlight. Elaborate parties were once thrown here, filled with elaborate costumes, war-torn romances, and dazzling magic. Victories were toasted, glories were reveled in, and successes were shared. This was once a place of beauty and grandeur, a place envied by the outsiders. Here is where crops grew in excess of the population. Nobody here ever lacked. Food covered the surface of every table, and clothing covered all flesh.

This place lived in plenty...once. The Land of Plenty is what the outsiders called it. Me...I called it a mirage. I knew it wouldn’t last long. I watched as each took pleasure without giving thanks to the one they call the Invisible God, the one who blessed them with everything they possessed. None of what once was is anymore. The dark sky – filled with thunderclouds and constant rain – refuses to speak of the prior years. A heavy sadness fills the hallways, whispering regrets in the ears of those who are willing to listen.

I live here only because I have pity and sadness within my spirit for this place. It anchors me to these stone walls, refusing to let me pass through to the valley beyond. So much was possible in the days of Astrid’s glory. But the people became drunk on their own pride, drugged with their own arrogance. The temples which were set up for worship to the Invisible God were torn down first. Then the books – the tomes of the Invisible God’s edicts -  were burned in mountainous piles in the courtyard. Lastly, those who still spoke in secret whispers to the Invisible God were tortured and killed.

I was sent here to give the people one last chance to turn around, to turn back the clock and rebuild the temples, rewrite the tomes. They were given a second chance – and they spit in my face, cast me out into the Wasteland with nothing more than a sack full of fish bones.

And it was with that action that the Kingdom of Astrid fell.

Flash Fiction Friday #8 - Clouds

This week's Flash Fiction Friday entry is yet another continuation to the previous three weeks - Jed, Mr. Worth, and Scars.

Clouds
Jed stepped off the train with little to no idea of what he was getting himself into. He didn’t really want to work for Sarah – or whatever massive corporation she was being employed by – but he couldn’t think of anything better to do with his life other than sit in Saddle’s Sasspire and drink away his sorrows.

Jeran, his dead wife, haunted him day and night. The alcohol washed her away somewhat, but nothing – not even the few drugs he had dabbled in – wiped her away completely. She always sat aside him, her bright green eyes dazzling in any light, her hair brown and healthy, her chest always swelled with pride at calling Jed her husband. If there were a single trait Jed could say he loved about Jeran, it was that she was extremely supportive of his line of work. Even though she didn’t know each intricate detail of his assignments, she had a general idea of what he did – killed for money. And that money paid their bills month after month so Jeran could stay home and prepare for their coming child.

Jed sensed Sarah coming up beside him off the train. As attractive as Sarah was, nobody could compare to the beauty that Jeran held in those sparkling green eyes.

Sarah grabbed his arm and began to pull him toward the tall set of stone stairs that led to the tower that rose up before him. The massive cylinder spiraled up into the darkness, the surface of the tower smooth, dark purple, and lit up at each level in blue light, adding a wonderful color effect Jed hadn’t seen since Legion had brought darkness to the entire planet.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sarah asked, pulling him up the steps. Large automatic gun turrets stood posted around the stairs at different intervals, held up on stone pillars. “The lights change color every other day. Tomorrow, they will turn green. Five hundred billion dollars is what this building has cost us so far.”

Jed could see the main entrance at the top of the stairs. The bottom level of the tower had been made completely of glass – at least on the outside. The front door of the tower stood wide open, two figures covered in black armor guarding each side. 

“Where did all of that money come from?” Jed asked, pulling his arm out of Sarah’s embrace. The further he kept himself from her, the easier his job would become. He held no romantic interest in her – nor would he – so there was no point in wooing her or pretending to be her friend.

“Donations.” If Sarah felt hurt by his rejection of her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she kept her pace going up the steps and calmly walked Jed into the front lobby of the tower. A line of small turret guns spread through the room, covering the entire front side of the tower. “These are the line of defense if anyone makes it into this building.”

Jed found himself impressed with the amount of weaponry Sarah had managed to gather around the building. He still didn’t know what the building housed, but he was certain it was something valuable. Maybe too valuable.

“Come,” Sarah said, grabbing his arm again. She pulled him toward silver-plated elevator doors which opened as they approached. Once inside, Sarah pushed a bright red button with a sideways eight on it and the doors shut.

As the elevator ascended toward the top of the tower, Sarah leaned against the wall and slid her hands into the pockets of her black pencil skirt. “You’re a distant soul, Mr. Worth. I don’t expect you and I to be friends. I have enough friends and plenty more enemies. What I do expect is that you treat me as your employer, to which I am from this point on.”

“I never said I’d take the job,” Jed grumbled. “This is just a field trip, isn’t it?”

Sarah grinned. “You really think I’d bring you into my tower just to show you around? This building consists of state-of-the-art technology that you – nor anyone else on this forsaken planet – has ever seen before. You’re in this now, Jed. There’s no turning back.”

Jed glanced at Sarah’s wrists. He couldn’t see through her blazer sleeves, but he imagined the scars she had just finished showing him on the train. “And if I try? You going to do to me like you did to that little girl? That child?”

Sarah frowned. “I’m ready to let you in on my secrets, Jed. But only if you’re willing to be an ally. If you’re not for me, for this tower, than you are against me.”

Jed shuffled his hand to his belt while he slid his other hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “I’ll gun you down if you threaten me like that again.”

Sarah shook her head. “You don’t frighten me. Mercenaries are a dime a dozen. The only reason I specifically picked you out of the fish barrel is because you have serious potential. You’re not quite like the other mercenaries I’ve done business with before. When you put your mind to something, there’s no stopping you. When you find a cause to fight for, you fight to the death. I need you to care about my cause.”

Jed took his hand out of his pocket and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What is your cause?”

The elevator came to a stop. As the doors slid open, bright sunlight burst into the small compartment, nearly blinding Jed who hadn’t seen sunlight since before Legion attacked Earth. “The hell?”

Sarah took Jed’s arm and pulled him out of the elevator. When he opened his eyes and adjusted his vision, he saw a floor of clouds as far as the eye could see, the sun blazing in the brilliant sky in the distance. Crystal blue sky filled the horizon above the clouds, and the air smelled fresh and cold.

“Are we...”

Sarah nodded, grinning at his awe. “We’re at the top of the tower. Above Legion’s darkness.”

Flash Fiction Friday #7 - Scars

Today's Flash Fiction Friday piece is a continuation of the previous two Flash Fiction Friday pieces, Jed and Mr. Worth.

Scars
The armored town car that Jed and Sarah rode in stopped at Aberfield’s airport, where they boarded a private Dirge Train capable of traversing the darkness of the Wastelands. They boarded a Model 7, which contained the heaviest armored plating known to the survivors of Earth. The inside of the train carried the most sophisticated electronic equipment, capable of detecting any known anomalies in the darkness and engaging anomalies with the appropriate weaponry, which was all state of the art.

Jed had never seen so much equipment aboard one vessel. He did his best to quell his curiosity and focus on the task at hand – to reach the Princeton and analyze its security risks. Sarah briefed him on the fundamentals first: the contract would last three months, his payment would be split three ways across the three months, and all room and board would be taken care of.

Secrecy was of the utmost importance, a fact that made Jed a bit nervous. Sarah wanted to implant him with a tracking chip that would allow her and her organization to monitor his whereabouts and all communications during the duration of his time at the Princeton, at the end of which the chip would dissolve and he would be free to  go about his merry little way.

Jed didn’t trust Sarah. Something about her – maybe the sparkle in her big brown eyes, maybe the lovely curves on her form, maybe the sharp and pointed way she snapped at him whenever he would ask questions she didn’t want him asking her – it all made him nervous. But he needed the money. And more importantly, he needed the work...to forget.

“You are lost in thought again, aren’t you, Mr. Worth?”

Jed snapped out of his daze. He had been staring out the window of the train for a while now, peering into the darkness, remembering the old days when he had his wife by his side. “Just thinking,” he replied, knowing he was going to get harassed by her for being so vague. She reminded him of his old teacher in Catholic school. Always riding him about his thoughts, about his life. He didn’t like people prying. He especially didn’t like his employers prying.

Sarah took a seat across from him, her blue blouse clashing with the black and grey shades of the inside of the train car. He caught a whiff of her perfume – heavy and sweet. “Short. To the point. I find you to be a man of few words, but also a man of deep, harbored feelings.”

“You know nothing about my feelings.”

“I’ve seen the world, Mr. Worth. Many times over. And I know trouble when I’m near it.”

He smiled. “I doubt you know what real trouble is. Your nails are manicured, your hair is permed, your makeup is put on just right. And you’re wearing perfume. Either you’re trying to seduce me – which I promise you I can’t be seduced – or you’re the one who gives orders in your organization, not the one who gets their hands dirty.”

Sarah turned and took her turn to stare out the window. The darkness outside was almost suffocating, and Jed had to keep from panicking at the fact that they were traveling right through the middle of it. He had been on a train like this only once before, during his escape from authorities when he killed the man who murdered his wife.

“I may keep my beauty intact, Mr. Worth, but I assure you that my soul does not contain the same level of naiveté that many of humanity’s victims do.” She placed her hands on the table between them. Jed noticed a very long scar running across the top of both hands and down around her wrists into the sleeves of her blue blouse. “These hands, they have killed.”

“I don’t doubt they caused death, but did they themselves kill?” Jed asked.

Sarah sighed, and then she retracted her hands into her lap. “You seem highly suspicious of me, Mr. Worth.”

“Can you blame me? You seem to know who I am, maybe a little about my past. But you’ve told me nothing about yourself, this tower I’m supposed to watch over –

“Defend,” she corrected.

“Defend, or why you even picked me for this job to begin with. I know a half dozen other mercenaries that you could have grabbed for this job, each of them just as capable and possibly more willing.”

“But you need the money, don’t you?”

He shrugged and rubbed the stubble on his face, realizing he was overdue for a shave.  “I like money.”

“You need it, Mr. Worth. I’ve seen the debt you’ve accrued over the past few months.”

“What is debt, Sarah? This world is at its end. If I run up a tab at the Silk Spider, I can just hop to the next safe town and start a new life. Nobody is going to chase after me in this darkness, not now, not ever.”

“You underestimate the evil in this world, Mr. Worth.”

“No, I give it just the amount of estimating that it needs.”

Sarah placed her hands on the table, only this time she turned them over so Jed could see the scars clearly.

“These were given to me by a child.”

Jed said nothing, only stared at the scars for a moment before peering deep into Sarah’s big brown eyes.

“A little girl...she was defending herself.”

“From the monster that is you?” Jed asked with venom in his voice.

Sarah nodded.

“So...not only do you recruit mercenary types like myself, you also kill children. Good to know who I’m dealing with.”

“Do you want to know why I tried to kill her?”

“Not really.” He caught how upset his voice sounded and he wanted nothing more than to calm himself down. The thought of this woman in front of him trying to kill a defenseless child – well, not completely defenseless – made him sick to his stomach. Part of the nauseous feeling was indeed the alcohol still working its way out of his system, but he had a rule that he kept in his line of work: kids are not collateral damage.

“I could tell you it was to save this world, to ensure humanity’s existence...but you probably wouldn’t believe that.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Then I’ll tell you this, it was to bring you here. To bring you to Saddle’s Sasspire, to bring you where I could find you, to bring you aboard this train. Her death...it is still carrying you along the currents of time to where we’re headed now, to the tower. To the Princeton.”