Simple Math

Desmond and Lydia embraced as the sun set on the remote island paradise. The location had been chosen more for its sovereign nation status and stringent non-extradition policy than it had been for its idyllic characteristics of sun, sand and surf, though.

It was far too late to wonder if it had been a wise decision to abscond with ten million dollars-worth of the bank’s negotiable bearer bonds. The only question remaining was: who would be the first to work out that ten million divided by one instead of ten million divided by two trumped “love” and acted upon it?

Rules Are Rules

I will preface this little tale by saying that it was my first successful attempt at completing the 5-minute writing challenge hosted by Nicole Wolverton. I make note of this because it is a rather dramatic departure from my usual style of writing. I am a slow writer. There is no disputing this point, trust me.  Given the fact that nearly everything I write is short fiction, this may be hard to believe, but it's true. Short fiction writing is a true art form. It requires precise, targeted (almost surgical) precision. It requires every word pull its weight and advance the story or resolve the tale. So, as a general rule, I agonize over each and every word I use. I have been known to take three hours to write a 300-word story...seriously. So, while this was something of a fun departure from form for me, I sense it will, most likely, never be my forte. That being said, my story did not find favor with the judge today. I'm not surprised or dissatisfied, but I hate to let any of my creative endeavors go to the dustbin anymore. So, here is my 5-minute recycled fiction piece. Enjoy!


Phaelus fought desperately to free himself from the choking hold of the Yrfalla root vine to no avail. It tightened and tangled like an executioner’s noose about the youth’s slim throat. He knew he had but scant moments of life remaining to him and would have wept had he not been so otherwise distracted.

He would ender the Otherlife never having known the love of a woman. He had snuck outside the fence walls specifically for that purpose. Trella had pledged to meet him at the rise of the twin moons.The love-struck lad had forgotten the first rule of the Dhargalan people when outside the walls: Be Ever Vigilant.

As darkness overtook him, he summoned the wherewithal to smile, content that he would not need endure another lecture from his parents regarding his irresponsible tendencies. That was better than any woman’s embrace.

Family Dishonored

Xiang awoke in a strange bed, his left leg encased by hardened plaster. Had he broken a limb? How unexpectedly enlightening!


He disliked the metallic bracelet about his wrist. By whose authority had a prince of the Royal House been restrained?!? Oh…wait…since he had adopted human form, he was but another nondescript Asian man to these lesser beings.


A uniformed individual burst into the room. Xiang was shocked this personage held what appeared to be a weapon. Such an affront!


The barbarian spoke, “You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you for what you did to my partner! Ran him down like a dog! They don’t have roadblocks in your part of the world, gook?”


Xiang suddenly recalled a barricade of sorts, portable it seemed, as more segments were lying by the roadside. He remembered being far too drunk to either stop or even slow down. Then…nothing…until he awoke here.


Well, enough novelty, Xiang decided. With a thought, he swelled to his full 20 foot height. His bronze scales sparkled in the artificial light. He crashed through the flimsy wall and winged toward home. His father would be most displeased that he had, once again, brought dishonor to the family.

Vigilance

He shifted and took the spotter scope away from his eye. He’d been lying in the brackish tall grass all night. He just wanted a bit of sleep, but that was simply unthinkable. They were coming and unless someone was vigilant, humanity would be overrun before they had any chance to react.

He knew the elders thought him daft, but he didn’t much care. The lake was the nexus of ancient evil, waiting to spew forth its rotting army and he was damned if that’d happen while he was around.

He sensed rather than saw the presence. He reached for his weapon, unsure if such a paltry thing could be proof against evil incarnate.

He never found out as he orderly crashed into his hiding space.

“Dammit Charlie! We been lookin’ for you for hours. Gimme that fork! Dr. Fitzhugh is gonna put you in the hole for forever this time!”

A Bit Of Closure

The black Mini came zipping up, seemingly, from nowhere. In a spray of gravel, it described a tight turn, its bumper striking the back of the tandem bicycle with crushing force. Dr. Phillip Travers and his fiancée, Maggie, were thrown clear and into the arms of unconsciousness.

Phillip awoke slowly, confused by the black stiletto boot planted firmly on the center of Maggie’s back. His eyes tracked upward to focus on a pale face, framed by a mane of bright red hair.

“Rebecca?!? Wha…how?”

“Ah, Philly, always the smooth talker, eh? Before you ask, your whore is just fine, for now. Get up!” He noted the gun in her hand as she gestured. He rose, painfully, to his feet.

“Rebecca, please! Don’t hurt her. Don’t do anything we’ll both regret. Maggie is innocent in all of this. She has no knowledge of our past…difficulties.”

She giggled, musically, “Silly boy. Only one of us cares a fig if any harm comes to this woman. And for the record, I believe having me committed qualifies as a skosh more than a ‘past difficulty’, eh?”

“For God’s sake! You stabbed Professor Leighton in the neck with a salad fork. It was all I could do to keep you out of prison.”

“That old strumpet was stalking you and paid for her insolence. Well, I suppose that’s all water under the bridge now, love. Let’s move on to more current affairs. Here is how things’ll work here. You’re going to get into my car and we’re going to go for a pleasant ride in the English countryside. We can get caught up on things and just have a bit of a chat. Comply, and you’ll be back here in no time and free to pursue the rest of your life with Miss Suzy Rottencrotch here and never have to see or hear from me again. Defy me, and I swear I WILL cap your little princess right here and now.”

Devoid of alternatives, Phillip did not resist as Rebecca muscled his handcuffed form into her small car. As she slammed the door to and walked around to the other side, he briefly struggled against the restraints, gauging their strength. He, fervently, hoped she’d not noticed. She had. She buckled herself in and gunned the Mini’s engine, frowning all the time.

“So, that’s how it’s to be then, eh? I make a, perfectly reasonable, request for an hour of your time…for a bit of closure…and you have to go and try to scamper off the very second my back is turned. Well, I suppose we move on to Plan B then.”

The vehicle jolted as both axles passed over Maggie’s prone body before surging back onto the road and speeding away. Phillip’s mouth gaped in stunned silence as Rebecca laughed raucously.

“Focus, Philly, focus! See that bag there in the back? I took the liberty of popping around to your flat and picking up your surgical kit. Finest tools of the trade they make and I bought them for you, remember? Six months of my tips from the coffee shop, it was. I reckon that since, once upon a time, you pledged me your heart, forever and always, that we might as well find ourselves a secluded spot out here and I’ll just go ahead and collect that up from you.”

Phillips frenzied screams battled for dominance over Rebecca’s maniacal laughter within the constrained space of the small car.

The Pawn Is On

“They’re Death Goggles. Been in my family forever, but I really need cash badly. Make me a decent offer for them?”

Since I run the only occult pawn shop in existence, all kinds of weird stuff makes its way to me. Made from the twin barrels of a shotgun used to commit a truly heinous murder, I knew I wanted them.  I could see misty tendrils of ectoplasmic energy with only a cursory glance through them.  Yeah, I wanted them.

He left ten minutes later with a thousand cash and a lot of grumbling. But hey, business IS business, y’know.

Science Trumps Heresy

Aemon set his utensils down, belching loudly. Fuck all if he cared whose sensibilities he offended at this juncture. As “The Condemned”, he should be permitted a degree of latitude.

It was the last consideration he’d receive from The Protectorate. He’d devoted his entire life to flaunting their rules, defying their edicts and, generally, pissing them off as many ways as one might conceive of. His fate already sealed, he could still “rage against the machine” during his guaranteed appeal to a larger audience than his writings might ever otherwise reach.

The clock clicked to the appointed time, offset by the jangle of keys. He rose to his feet, muttering, “Let’s get this over with.”

The door opened only far enough to allow Procurator Valdanka to enter. “Sit Aemon, we must talk. No hearing, no forum for your heresy, today. Your conviction and your refusal to rebut it have already been logged into the Central Database. I am here merely as a courtesy.”

Aemon’s laughter echoed in the small space. “This is why The Protectorate is doomed to the dustbin of ignominy, Valdanka. Your kind will never understand. You can kill the man but not the idea. My legacy is secure!”

Valdanka offered him a mocking smile. “Actually, Aemon, science once again trumps heresy. With the introduction of a newly-developed aerosol agent, by this time tomorrow, no one will recall you ever existed. I wanted you to die with that knowledge.”

His snickers made a sardonic counterpoint to Aemon’s horrified expression.

Shakespeare Denied

Progress on his play remained in a hopelessly static state. He’d hoped taking pen to hand would breach the barrier typing could not seem to break through.His eyes were glued to the ominously blank sheet of paper that lay there mocking him.The floor all about him was littered with similar sheets,each angrily discarded as the words upon them continued to fail to impress him. His sobs of frustration were lost underneath the noise of the infinite number of monkeys around him. Blissfully unaware, they continued to hammer away on the infinite number of typewriters upon their desks.

Flight Of Not-So-Fancy

Eunice's financial excesses forced Stanley to make do with a cobbled-together travesty of an aircraft that looked like hell and flew erratically at best. Built entirely of scrap and bits of refuse, Eunice had scant cause to complain of any cost.

She brutally mocked his miniature creation whenever possible. "Off to fritter with your Rolls Canardly then? Daft thing can 'ardly roll along the ground let alone fly!"

The morning Stanley'd finally had enough, he crashed his beloved plane into the propane tank outside their home. He lamented the loss of his mechanical friend far more than he did Eunice.

All For The Realm

Madame Paeony rose, silently and carefully. She did a mental inventory of the arrayed components: budding branches, bark shaved to reveal the Summoning Circle, water in close proximity. Yes, all was prepared in accordance with the sacred texts.

None but the eldest of her kind had even heard of this ritual. None at all had any memory of it having been performed successfully. But hard times had fallen on the realm of Bob and Debbie's Garden, requiring hard choices.

She mourned the loss of the Debbie. The Debbie had possessed the fabled Green Thumb of Life and had wielded it wondrously. With her departure, the Bob had ceased to care. Creepers, thistles and even crab grass threatened to overwhelm them all.

She whispered to the Maidens, "It's almost time." As she took her place, they began to sing. She chanted the power words in counterpoint. Slowly, ever so slowly, the ten figures rose from the earth. When the soles of their boots stood on firm ground, she collapsed, cracked and broken from the strain.

As her essence faded, she smiled, secure in the knowledge that the lawn gnomes she had summoned would turn the tide. The Realm would prosper again!

Extinguished Lights

Spring had come early. The woods were alive with the sounds of rebirth. None of that mattered a lick to Becky.

To her, all was subsumed beneath an impenetrable shell of silence. It was an incongruous silence that bled dry the earth. It scoured away anything with the slightest potential to distract her.

Her scarlet hair was bound up under a kerchief. Her pale skin was concealed beneath layers of lamp black. In dark homespuns, she was an unseen wraith.

An incandescent bulb sprang to life within the cabin. She waited until the glow illuminated the face of the man who had taken not only her innocence but her heart and then cast her aside so casually.

Her first shot struck that handsome face and it vanished in a burgeoning cloud of crimson. Her second shot transited the bare bulb, extinguishing its light as easily as she had extinguished the light in her betrayer's eyes.

What's In A Name?

Sydney found himself in a squalid neighborhood, with exactly 45 minutes to deal with HER and get to the Wilshire for the Valentine’s Day Ball. His fiancée, Astrid, would be livid if he were late. 


He was careful not to brush against anything. His Armani tuxedo was worth more than most of these buildings. The place was an abandoned Fair Ground café. How fitting, since she had probably worked here. She turned as he entered, and Sidney stared aghast at her swollen belly. Oh bollocks! The silly goose was pregnant!


“It’s a boy, love. Shall we name him after you? Da says something like that is your decision to make.” 


His laughter boomed. “Sure, I plowed that field a time or two, but how many other farmers have worked that same land, eh? I can provide you some funds but I’ll be damned if things go beyond THAT.”


“But…I swear, you’re the ONLY man I’ve ever been with. Keep your money! I do expect you to man up and give him your name though.”


“Fuck all if that will EVER happen! I told you I’ll write you a check and I shall, but pursue this any further and I’ll see you buried before you get tuppence from me!”


Her hand emerged from the pocket of her cheap cloth coat with a gun in it. Her eyes were no longer teary but cold and calculating. “So, the lord has had his pleasures and rides off into the sunset? No, my love, no. I’ll have your signature on the papers I brought or I swear you’ll not leave here upright.”


“Sod off, you worthless scut before something bad happens. You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass for the insult.”


The pistol bucked in her hands as shot after shot slammed home in Sydney’s torso. She knelt beside him and brushed the hair from his eyes. “It didn’t need to be this way, my love.”, she whispered, “Now not only I will miss you but our wee Sydney will as well.” She got to her feet and shuffled slowly away.

Maintaining The Balance

What a way to spend that special day, Jake groaned. That was the best Control had to say?!? He'd been stuck in this flyspeck town for three days waiting on a Clean-up Team. Even though he'd put the body into a stasis bag, he was certain it was starting to stink.

He'd be damned lucky if Gladys didn't castrate him over this debacle. Her refusal to answer the phone for two days spoke volumes about how deep the shit he was in, truly, was. As expected, she didn't care why he was unlikely to be able to get back to Seattle for Valentine's Day. Truth be told, he couldn't really blame her.

What sane person would believe his explanation anyway? He'd been sent here to find and neutralize a rogue cherub. Yes, a cherub. Cute, pudgy man-babies with little wings who flitted about firing metaphorical darts of love...they were real, decidedly NOT mythical. This would have been about where Gladys would have hung up on him anyway.

In any event, when one of those adorable fellows decided love was only an illusion, things got hinky. When this disgruntled chap swapped his love darts for hunting shafts with barbed heads, things got serious. When this gifted archer started racking up a body count, Jake got involved.

Though he'd hoped reasoning would do the trick, it never seemed to work. After a veritable storm of arrows, his Colt Python had ended the melee in bloody fashion. Lesson learned? Never bring a bow to a gunfight.

He'd been overjoyed to transition from low-level FBI functionary to the position of Field Agent with the newly-formed General Services Paranormal Operations Task Force - GSPOT for short. Great acronym guys! The work was exciting, the pay was astronomical and it opened up doors he'd never imagined existed.

Every job had its downside, though. His job demanded frequent, unexpected travel. So far, he had missed Gladys' birthday - undocumented Medusa in Toledo, the 4th of July - Chinese dragon in human form selling illegally-potent fireworks and now THIS! Something had to give soon or he would lose her forever.

The jangle of the phone jarred him from his reverie. It was the Chief himself!

"Jake, absolutely great work on the cherub matter! A team will be on site within the hour."

Jake nearly cheered. It would be tight, but he could STILL make it back for a late dinner with his beloved. He was so distracted he barely realized the Chief was still speaking.

"...know it's quick turnaround, but we have a damned succubus taking down some VERY influential high rollers in Vegas. You leave on the same aircraft the team arrives on. Of course, you'll get bonus rate for the short notice."

As Jake hung up, he was already doing complex mental math to determine if he had enough on his combined cards to order everything 1-800-Flowers offered AND buy out a Zale's Jewelers AND get it delivered to Gladys by tonight. Hey, why not? Stranger things happened.

A Forbidden Gift

He knew the Great Woods better than most. He knew those places in that were sacred and special to the Elder Peoples. Like any prudent man, he stayed well clear of such...until today.

Today he would find that which would forever win him Varenia. On Valentine's Day he would present her the legendary Pixie Primrose. Found only in the deepest deep of the forbidden lands, they were tiny, delicate, perfectly-formed examples of natural beauty. They were a fitting gift to she who possessed the same qualities.

No sooner had he plucked a wondrous miniature bouquet when he was seized by the Old Magic that guarded the Woods. Wrist-thick vines pinioned him to an ancient oak. A strange alien presence invaded his mind.

"You presume to take what is not yours, human? That's not good...not good at all. Your grubby hands, your plodding feet, your eyes, your nose...We could go on listing the means by which you have assaulted Our domain but, to be honest, you bore Us. Please try to die quietly and quickly."

He did die rather quickly but hardly quietly. Thorns and branches flayed him bloody before the vines, at length, took mercy, of sorts, and tore him limb from limb.

Last Entanglement In Paris

Their relationship was based more on mutual gain than passion. She worked for the Guggenheim as their rising star of Impressionist restorations. She was required at endless black tie affairs to schmooze donations from patrons.

Trevor was such, though he wouldn't know a Degas from Dogs Playing Poker. With Rebecca, he gained credibility in the artsy crowd. She got to show off a suitor who wasn't battery-powered. She'd shunned romantic entanglements in pursuit of her career. Trevor took up the slack.

The package contained entanglements. Trevor had tried enticing her into a Valentine's getaway. She'd TOLD him she had deadlines to meet and couldn't afford the time off.

A box of Swiss chocolates? He'd forgotten she was allergic to cocoa in any form? A ticket to Paris on the overnight flight? Seriously?!? A short note reading: Choose me or your "pictures" and ending with instructions to meet him at the Jules Vernes restaurant.

An ultimatum?!? Rebecca might seem shy, but she'd not triumphed in her field by being soft. She dialed up an old friend from her student days. Giacomo called the shady back channels of Marseilles home. In truth, they had briefly been far more than "friends".

Giacomo listened intently before assuring her he would "deal with" Trevor. She knew better than to press him for details.

Trevor was surprised by the hand on his shoulder and the needle-sting that accompanied it. He tried to rise but was unable. Giacomo sat, placing a carved wooden box on the table.

"You have treated my old love most unkindly. On her behalf, I am ending your... involvement. The toxin in your system will not wear off before her final gift to you detonates. C'est finis monsieur."

Giacomo returned to Marseilles, his long-dormant love briefly remembered. Rebecca never attended another fundraiser and never missed the entanglements.

Damage Control

Scouts Zerl and Tregg stood aboard the Zaldoran flagship. Specifically, they stood in the command cabin of Fleetlord Xarg. This wasn't the first time they had been here, but might well be the last. They'd truly nalfixed the phelavor THIS time!

The Fleetlord growled as he viewed the image.

"I don't even care to hear explanations. It's one thing to expend lasers burning asinine patterns into grainfields. But a...what IS that?!...a Buick dropped on them is beyond idiocy! Our agents are scrambling to discredit this but it won't be easy. Our mission isn't called "covert observation" for nothing, you idiots!"

The Call Of Home

As she crested the dunes, Shelleah felt the siren song's beckon. No matter how much she treasured her occasional dalliances amongst the Landwalkers, her rightful place would always be beneath the chill waters of the sea.

She frolicked in the sensual blue-green caress of the surf, subsumed by euphoric sensory overload. The crashing of the waves upon the cliffs, the salt-tang scent and, even, taste of the morning air, these mingled with an infinite number of other elations beyond description.

With a moaning sigh, she discarded her human form like a flawed garment and answered the irresistible call of home.

A Final Shot At Love

The picture had been a red flag. Clare found it in his jacket when gathering up laundry. It was a waif-thin blonde pixie, naked as the day she'd been born. frigging herself with an enormous dildo. Scrawled on the back were the words, "Wish you were here."

Bradley had laughed it off as a bawdy joke from the lads on his rugby team. She had let it go.

The yellow Post-it on his desk was a red flag. "Thames River Valentines Cruise" it read, with a slip number and time. He had told her he would be out of town on business for "the lovers' holiday" and would make it up to her upon his return. She had NOT let that one go.

She stood in the cool shadows of the dockside and waited for...what? Did she crave validation of her worst fears? Did she seek a logical explanation for unsubstantiated suspicions? As unsure as she was of her desires, she was more unsure of how she would react to any of the possible scenarios.

She remained unsure until she glimpsed Bradley, striding confidently through the crowds. His left arm embraced...HER...the elfin slut!

Conjecture vanished, sanity fled and time froze as Clare reached beneath her coat and withdrew her father's old service revolver. Her first shot struck Bradley's whore squarely in her face. Her head vanished in a crimson cloud of displaced flesh and fragmented bone.

Before he could react, Clare shifted her point of aim and fired twice more. Both bullets struck Bradley scant inches below his Gucci belt.

Wrestled to the ground by horrified bystanders, Clare prayed..,not for forgiveness or understanding but for...life. She prayed Bradley would live. She prayed he would live a very long and very dysfunctional life as NO woman's lover EVER again!!

The Sunset Road

His wife,Triella, had done herself proud with the Sunset meal. Every clanswoman down to those barely old enough to walk had helped.

His clansmen and sons had provided him with wondrous Sunset gifts. He wore supple leathers and fine walking boots. The long knife and battle blade gleamed.

When shadows grew long, all knew it was time. He turned his back and began to walk away.

The Law was clear. At sixty, he must leave to ensure the young ones sufficiency of resources. And so, in the sunset of his years he left them all to walk The Sunset Road.

Vault Cleaning: The Wings Of War

General Nigel T. Twitchwhisker concluded his inspection of the perimeter with a growing sense of displeasure. The situation was even worse than the reports from his field commanders suggested.

He found the troops soft and unmotivated. The defensive emplacements and heavy weaponry were shoddy and in need of significant repairs. It was preposterous to think they could stand against the threat that drew closer with every passing hour. The Council must be told while there was still time!

Twitchwhisker had been unsure what the precise reaction of the council would be, but they had left him feeling both angry and stunned.

Councillor Crumbsnatch's sneer of contempt was ill-disguised as he offered his remarks.

"My dear General, had we known you were such a blatant alarmist, I can assure you we would have declined your posting here. The odd sighting of a crow or two is hardly cause for such concern."

Twitchwhisker had struggled to contain himself. "These are NOT isolated incidents, sir! We stand to face a very large, determined force. There can be no doubt. It's a murder of crows on a direct course towards our colony!"

The rest seemed every bit as willing as Crumbsnatch to ignore and downplay the inevitable. Even Lord Cecil Cheesesniff, his family's staunchest ally, was unwilling to accept the possibility of invasion. 

Twitchwhisker left them and went to wait on the sagging battlements for the telltale flap of wings he knew was sure to come. He would meet HIS end not debating but fighting.