Out to Roost

A Flash!Friday story:

Character: A talking rooster; Theme: Justice

“No one wakes up on time anymore,” Rob the Rooster told the horizon, perched on his spot on top of the hill. “I could crow from sunup to sundown and, still, everyone would wake up to their vibrating gadgets.”

Rob did not want to be replaced. Rob wanted to rule the waking hour.

“A plan is what this Rooster needs,” Rob considered under the fine morning glow.

He needed to get inside the gadgets. The humans had a constant connection with them. If he could control the devices, then his job of Waking Up The World (on time) would be massively successful.

Rob the Rooster needed a hacker.

Good thing his best friend is a Worm™.

It was easy to devise the plan, easier than resisting the urge to eat his friend. Worm™may be a genius – but he was still a worm.

If his friend noticed the inner conflict, it didn’t stop him from slithering into the nearest Wi-Fi hub and doing his magic.

The next morning, when the sun rose at 5:43 am, Rob the Rooster heard the echoing sounds of vibrating gadgets all throughout the land – his job was done here.

Love’s Craft


Love brought color to this world.
We walked this path, hand in hand, the warmth of your coat around my shoulders. You lit me up and with that light the world was anew.

Love brought purpose to my world.
Your small hand in mine, a whiff of your perfume. I would walk this path and wait, for you. Then you’d turn the corner with a bright smile and the world was anew.

Love brought unrecognizable pain.
Flayed us open. Let the harsh wind scrape our most private of parts. You were mine, I was yours. The world was anew. Then the gods stepped in with their malicious craft.

Photo Credit: Xenja Santarelli via CC.

Written for: Micro Bookends.


The curve of your spine is like crisscrossing branches.
I trace your skin, kissing each vertebral knot
as we lay together, tangled as one.

Written for #3LineThursday

“Every round, we get a fair amount of entries that center around the theme of love (or lust or passion or something in that ballpark). This one stood out because it so perfectly incorporated imagery from the photo prompt, which made the emotion of the narrator so accessible.” Judge’s Thoughts

Now What?

Under normal circumstances, I’d be glad that someone killed my captor. Her dead eyes will haunt me for the rest of my days, but that isn’t the issue here. No, I had fallen in love with her. I’m a stupid statistic of the Stockholm syndrome. And even knowing this, I can’t bring myself to be happy.

She gave my life meaning. My meaning was to please her, and now she is gone.

“Mam, can you identify the victim?” The police officer asks me, his walkie-talkie statics into the empty night.

They don’t know. They don’t know she took me from my boring undergrad and whisked me into her whirlwind of a life – Paris, Morocco, Tokyo.

A flash to the beatings too, her tornado like bursts of anger that left me bruised and sometimes broken as I shuffled to find us another hotel room.

There had been moments I could have escaped but then where would I be? Later, a slap would hit my face and knock a tooth loose and I’d remember standing in the middle of some million-person city and think, “if I had only disappeared when I had the chance.”

But my captor needed me, she needed me the way anyone needs their lover. She chose me, I was special – in her eyes.

The eyes that now stare blankly towards the summer night sky.

“I just met her tonight,” I lie.

“Did you hear any noises? See what took this woman down?”

We had just left the bar. The rain poured down our bodies – horrible weather for an ambush. We ran three blocks, laughing, drunk, until she pushed me to the wall and kissed me hard. It was beautiful, the feeling of having her eyes on me alone, her lips on mine, I’d never been enamored by a woman – by anyone – until my captor found me.

She kissed me, tugged at my hair, and then the bullet came. I will forever wonder if she was shielding me from it’s blast.

“What brought you out tonight?” The officer continues his questioning.

I shrug. “Bar hopping.”

“And that’s where you met this woman?”

No one in the bar knew anything about us, no one would refute it. So, I nod in agreement.

“Did you hear anything?”

“A loud bang. A bullet, I guess, and then –“ I gesture to my dress, soaked wet with water and blood.
The police officer looks around, towards vantage points before breaking the static and sending a message through his walkie-talkie.

“Check the rooftops, we may have a sniper.” The officer waits for a response then turns back to my captor. “Someone had a bone to pick with this gal.”

I shrug again, keeping the emotion from my face.

“You’re free to go.” The officer states, slowly, assessing me with his eyes. “Unless you want to come down to the station.”

I shake my head. I wonder where I’d go next. What life would be worth living after my captor and her violent love?

A #FinishThatThought tale.

Back to School

For more Adventures of Linus and Margaret

Linus turned the corner fast, his knee colliding with the back of his sister’s head. She was crouched on the ground, digging deep into her pink and purple backpack.

“It’s time to go, Mar,” He said, picking up his own backpack from next to the door. “Mom’s already in the car.”

Margaret rubbed her head. Linus was about to mutter an apology for the bruise when his sister turned around and looked at him with watery eyes.

This annoyed Linus because they were already late and he hadn’t even hit her that hard.

“Come on! I don’t want to be late for my first day of second grade.”

Margaret bit her lip. They had spent the summer taking on Leviathans and going on vacations, but he his little sister look so unsure and afraid. Time for some big brother action.

Linus bent to his knee. “Is there something missing in your backpack?”

Margaret shook her head.

“What is it then?”

He remembered his first day of Kindergarten. How excited he had been to be driving to school – not pre-school – for the first time. This is where big-kids went, he remembered thinking.

“I’m scared,” Margaret whispered into the backpack. “I won’t know anyone.”

“No one will. It’s the first day.”

“Yea, but –”

“You wanted to learn how to read, right? And practice coloring in the lines?”

Margaret nodded.

“That’s what Kindergarten’s for!” Linus wedged his hand under her arm and pulled them both up from the ground. “Plus, if anyone bother’s you just come find me.”

The backpack was nearly as large as Margaret when she finally pulled in onto her back. She looked up at Linus, worry growing with each minute. “You think the other kids are going to bother me?”

Linus groaned. “No. I think that wittle kindergarteners are usually pretty nice and the mean ones get put in the corner right away.”

“What about the big kids?”

Linus shrugged. He had experienced some bullying from the third graders before but he didn’t want to scare her more, plus, he wanted to get in the car already! “You won’t see them much until first grade. They keep you separate for now.”

“So how will I find you if I need you?”

Linus thought for a moment before the idea hit him. He dropped his backpack without a word and rushed back up the stairs to his bedroom. When he returned, he had two walkie-talkies in his hand. He unzipped Margaret’s backpack and threw one in.

“There,” he said. “Now you’ll be able to reach me if you need me.”

Margaret’s face lit up.

“But only if you really, really, really, need my help,” he warned. “Or else you risk the teacher taking it away.”

Margaret nodded repeatedly, “I won’t lose it.”

She was smiling now and Linus pushed her out the door, locking it with his very own copy of the front door key. Their mother had given it to him this morning because he was a big kid now.

Margaret waited behind him, swaying on her feet. “I wonder if I’ll get Ms. Callahan like you or someone else.”

“Ms. Callahan was nice but I hear Mr. Broody brings snacks every morning.”

“Ooh, I love snacks! When do you think I’ll learn how to read? Right away? It takes a while right? You didn’t really learn until last year but I’m smarter than you so…”

He listened as the excitement grew in his sister’s voice. When they approached the car their mother sent him a small smile and asked, “Everybody ready?”

They cheered as she pulled out of the drive-way.

Inspired by Write Anything Wednesday!


A Flash!Friday Tale:
Those kisses used to be mine.

As she bends, I catch a glimpse down her blouse. The sight of her breasts used to spark hot arousal but now they bring only anguish. Instead, I let my eyes fall on her soft, warm, loving lips as they caress the bare cheek of my heir.

I should not be envious, but I am. He gets her attention now, he gets her time. I get half-forgotten smiles.

She looks at me, Henry on her hip, her words callous. I barely hear them. Her mouth twists in disgust at my silence, or maybe at the mere sight of me.

“Were you listening?” She demands.

I nod. “Of course.”

Then she leaves with him. The door slams in her wake and I am left alone, again.

Road Trip

“Plotting coordinates on a map,” Meagan answered.
“With push-pins?” Her son asked.
“Yes – not everything needs to be done digitally.”
“But then we have to take the map with us!” He grumbled.

Later, they sat side by side in the old Toyota she hoped she wouldn’t have to pass down to her son. She hoped a lot of things, including breaking down this wall that grew between them.
His nose stuck in his phone, her eyes on the road as they entered the mountains.
“Something’s going on with my phone! I’ve lost service.”
Meagan smiled, triumphant, but hid it quickly. “Time for that map! Now, isn’t this a twist?”

A Micro Bookends story: where they provide the first and last word, we provide the rest!

Best Practices

The detective cleared his throat. “I am the Great –”

“We know who you are.” The Master of the House interrupted.

“That’s why we invited you to sit on our couch.” The Lady supplied.

The detective’s hands tightened around his tools of deduction. “You must let me finish my introduction.”

The Lady’s eyes slipped into slits of displeasure. “We must do no such thing.”

“We called you here to solve a murder, not stroke your ego.” The Master stood.

“We will proceed immediately to the scene of the crime.”

“But you do not understand, my introduction incites fear in the spirits.”

The Lady looked to her husband. “You said he was sane.”

The Master flushed. “All detectives are eccentric.”

The detective continued murmuring his introduction as he followed the Master towards the kitchen, where remnants of murder remained untouched.

“What did you say, lad?” The Master asked.

“I am beginning my investigation. Continue onwards.”

The Master detested anyone ordering him around his own house. But, with his wife waiting in the sitting room, he did not feel the need to exert his superiority. Instead, he watched the detective crouch to his knees and investigate the carcass.

It all seemed above-board until the detective removed a straw from his pocket and began slurping the blood.

“Now, what is this?” The Master demanded.

“You want me to solve your murder?”

“Of course. But surely –“

“I am the Great –”

“I’ll just return to the sitting room,” the Master interrupted again.

He suddenly felt defeated in his very own kitchen.

A Flash!Friday Tale: Conflict: man vs man; Character (choose one): arrogant detective