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Part time writer, full time bad-ass
by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 28: Unclaimed Territory

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

“Eight years.” Carver rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We’ve been in space for eight years, and now you’re telling me we can’t land?”

“The problem is we’re not near our claim, Captain,” Beacon, one of the company’s solicitors, told her. “Our claim is specifically for Territory Zeta-Ogden-Five, which this is most certainly not.” 

“As far as we know, our claim is uninhabitable,” Carver protested. In the years since launch and finally reaching Port 895-b, colloquially known as “That Ugly Planet,” unethical spacers had used the land reserved for colonists as dumping grounds. Specifically, dumping parts of their nuclear engines, potentially poisoning the land, air, and ground water for generations to come. Spacing hazardous waste was protocol. This reeked of bad actors, and Carver was having no part of this. “And our supplies won’t hold out for another trip back. We land here, or we starve in orbit.”

Beacon fidgeted with his handheld computer. “This area hasn’t been claimed by anyone. That means you won’t be under the jurisdiction of any government. Any emergency signals won’t be answered, off-world supplies won’t be delivered, you’ll have no additional funding…” 

Carver looked down through the wide windows to the planet below – yellow and gray and everything they had been seeking. The most viable landing spot was half a world away from their legal claim. Safe from radiation, but maybe not much else. She didn’t know what awaited them outside of the territory that had already been mapped out for the colonists. No one did. 

“We don’t have much choice,” she said. Maybe they could ration enough of their supplies to survive a trip back to Earth, or scavenge along the way. It wouldn’t be easy, but they might make it back. “It’s not all up to me. Four hundred souls on this vessel, and I’m not turning back or landing without their say-so. Let’s take a vote.” 

Carver stood in front of the would-be colonists and explained the situation: the good, the bad, and That Ugly Planet’s unknown risks. “If we land, the Allied Western States will not help us. We’d essentially be declaring ourselves independent. It means that we would owe them nothing, but we’d be taking on a big risk. Maybe bigger than some of us signed up for. If we turn around now, we might make it home. If we land, we might survive, we might not. But I can’t be the only one to decide.” 

After a few minutes of murmuring, a woman named Remember stood up. “I signed up for a one-way trip. I vote we land.” 

Many others, if not all, agreed with her. Eventually, the votes were counted, and the ship finally set its landing gear on terra firma for the first time in nearly a decade. 

Carver called the colonists together before they stepped on land. “The minute we set foot out there, we are independent. And before we do, I think it’s best that we establish our own agreed-upon code legal.”

That Ugly Planet’s first code legal was simple, but it was upheld throughout the planet’s history as one of its fundamental documents: 

Don’t be a dick.
Don’t be a coward.
Don’t be a hero.
Be excellent to each other, and survive on. 

This was one of the prompts I got for the Day 22 challenge, where participants challenged each other with types of documents to include and write a story about. Holly gave me The Mayflower Compact, which was such a cool idea. However, I couldn’t seem to make it work for an epistolary story, which was also part of the challenge.

The name Carver comes from John Carver, one of the signers of the Mayflower Compact. Remember is the name of the main character in Dear America: Journey to the New World, a book I loved as a kid. And the other big reference…well, you should know that.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 27: Sleepless in Tír na nÓg

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

The queens hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month. No queen ever slept easy when their country was at war, but Fiadh and Mairead had another problem keeping them awake. A small, squirmy blond problem named Alexander. 

He’d always been a happy child, with a ready smile and a musical laugh. But then he’d fallen, and that cheerful, confident boy disappeared. It wasn’t surprising. He’d witnessed something that no child should see, trapped and alone. 

After that, Alex refused to be left alone for even a few minutes. When his mothers couldn’t spend time with him, he trailed behind his sister, Grainne. And if she couldn’t be with him, he’d go to the kitchens or follow the pages as they did their duties. 

Every night, Alex drank soporific tea to help him sleep. He would fall asleep peacefully in his own bed, then wake up screaming. The only way he could fall asleep again was snuggled between his parents, safe. 

It was getting to be a problem. 

Alex kicked in his sleep. He rolled. He slept sideways. 

And he still had nightmares. 

There was a tea for dreamless sleep, but it was a powerful blend, too stong for a child. If Alex drank too much, there was a chance that he’d be asleep for days. Fiadh had remarked that she and Mairead should down a few cups and actually get some rest. 

Then there was the matter of Grainne. She’s always been a serious girl, but she’d become sullen. She trained from dawn til dusk with any weapon she could get her hands on. She threw herself into magic practice, especially geomancy, which she’d always struggled with. 

As much as Fiadh and Mairead had tried to shield Alex and Gráinne from the war, it had found its way to them. And its touch had changed their children irrevocably. 

Things came to a head at breakfast one morning. “Mam and I need to leave for a few days,” Mairead announced. Alex and Gráinne looked up sharply. 

“We’re meeting with some potential allies,” Fiadh told them. 

“You can’t do that here?” Gráinne frowned. 

“This group hasn’t exactly been friendly with us in the past. It’s better to meet them on neutral ground,” Fiadh replied, then stabbed her sausage with such force that her fork scraped the bottom of her plate. 

“Better to have strange bedfellows than no bedfellows,” Mairead said. “Especially now. Uncle Lex is going to come stay with you for a few days.” 

Normally, they would have loved this. Uncle Lex spoiled the kids rotten and was something of a mischief-enabler for Alex. But at this announcement, Gráinne shoved her chair away from the table. “I’m going to the practice yard.” 

“Sit for a minute. Let’s talk about this,” Mairead started, but the princess was already gone. 

“I’ll grab her,” Fiadh offered, then started after Gráinne. 

Mairead looked across the table at Alex. He’d been voracious before, but now he stared at the food on his plate as if it were made of stone. “You know you’re safe here, right? Nothing will ever hurt you here. And Uncle Lex will keep you both safe.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. 

“Do you really hafta go?” Alex asked, still staring at his meal. 

“I can’t let Mam go alone. But I will miss you and your sister terribly, even if it’s only for a few days.” 

“Then don’t go.” 

Mairead let out a small, sad sigh. “I’m not worried, mo stór. And do you know why?”

Alex finally looked up. “Why?”

“Because I know you and your sister will look after each other.” She smiled. “Whatever happens.” 

“But I can’t fight like she does.” 

“Taking care of someone isn’t just about fighting. It’s about being there.” She scruffed Alex’s yellow hair. “Do you think you can do that for her?”

Alex nodded. “I think so.” 

“Good.” Mairead stood up and kissed Alex’s brow. “You didn’t finish your breakfast…but I think there’s a bit of apple tart left over from last night. Should we share it with Mam and Gráinne?”

Alex shook his head. There was a mischievous glint in his eye that had been absent for too long. “They can have cold breakfast.”

Yep, another one. But, hey, I’m caught up now! Poor young Puck (Alex) had a bit of a traumatizing incident with far-reaching consequences when he was young. There were a couple images in my head of him trying to sleep after, and the first one is in here. The second one will be in the next part. I don’t love dividing my stories for FFM into multiple parts, but at 600+ words I didn’t think I’d be able to give the final scene the room it deserved.

Also, it’s around this time in his life that Alex started to be called Puck. He’s not quite there yet, though.

Other FFM stories from this universe:

FFM 3: Love is a Battlefield
FFM 8: Queen of Nothing
FFM 15: It’s Not Rocket Science
FFM 18: The Goddess in the River
FFM 24: Summer Blues

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 26: Brain Power

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

It was kind of mind-blowing when I realized I fell into the category of “neurodivergent.” Yeah, there were signs, like sensory issues when it came to pencils or getting overwhelmed in crowded places. But for years I was just “quirky.” 

But now I’m neurodivergent, and the new label takes some getting used to. I’m still the same person. I still prefer round pencils and quiet spaces, I still eat my pizza backward, I can still turn your bones into liquid with my brain. 

I have friends, a good job, a pretty normal life. I’m pretty happy with the way things turned out. I learned how to manage my “sensory processing issues” pretty well now, and it’s been years since I accidentally turned anybody’s bones to liquid. 

“Neurodivergent” is a really broad category and I’m sure the label has been great for a lot of people. I still don’t know how I feel about being “neurodivergent,” but it’s more positive than “guy who can turn your bones to liquid,” so I’ll take it. 

A couple years ago I realized that I fell under the umbrella category of “neurodivergent.” This was so mind-blowing that I had to get up and pace and talk to myself. I generally find “neurodiverse” and “neurodivergent” a useful if imperfect label in the general sense, but my feelings about the term as it applies to me are complicated. I wanted to explore that a bit, but feelings are scary so I leaned on humor instead.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 25: As the World Falls Down

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

It was the summer of Titanic. 

I wasn’t allowed to watch the movie (PG-13 rating), but everyone knew about Jack and Rose. We cut out pictures of Leonard DiCaprio from magazines and found pictures of Titanic in the encyclopedia. Some of us even read the articles. 

We played Titanic, like we were playing Barbies or House. Abby, my best friend, and I would stand on her pool deck, clinging to each other. We called each other Rose and Jack, and repeated lines we knew from the movie. We said that we would rather die together than live apart, and jumped into the pool together, giggling. We did the dead man’s float until one of us had to come up for air, then we’d run back up to the deck and do it all again. 

Summer meant staying up until ten o’clock, playing street hockey in the morning and swimming at Abby’s in the afternoon. Or it meant pooling change with the other kids to buy candy at 7/11, buying a sugary smorgasbord with quarters and times. It meant riding bikes down by the river, coming back with muddy tires and muddier shoes. 

In summer, the world was ours, and I never wanted it to end. 

But somehow, August came. 

I called Abby to ask if I could come over. “I can’t,” she said in an annoyed voice. “My mom’s making me try on uniforms.” 

My heart sank. It wasn’t just an unwelcome reminder that summer was coming to an end. If Abby was getting uniforms, then the worst thing was really happening. She was going to a different school. We had both pretended like it wasn’t happening, but we couldn’t ignore the evidence anymore: a plaid skirt and white polo shirt. 

“Awww,” I whined. “That stinks. Can you come over tonight?”

“Um…maybe. I’ll ask my mom. MOOOOOOOM! Vanessa asked if I can come over later.”

Abby came over for dinner. We had pizza and soda and I showed her what movie my mom had finally let me rent. 

“No way!” She squealed. We ran to the living room without even cleaning up our dishes and popped the first VHS tape into our VCR. I turned off the lights, and we shrieked with excitement while the opening credits rolled over sepia footage and slow, melancholy music. 

We were captivated. We sighed at Jack and Rose’s kiss on the bow, gasped when we saw Rose’s hand against the foggy car window (they weren’t married!) and cried when we saw Leo sink beneath the icy waters. 

The credits rolled, and Celine Dion’s voice soared over us. “Do you think it was a dream, or do you think she died at the end?” Abby asked.

“I think it was a dream,” I said. I didn’t want Rose to be dead, even if she was old. 

“I think she died.”

I wiped my eyes. “Maybe.” Abby’s eyes were equally wet. When I looked at her, I knew that we would never play Titanic again.

“But then she could be with Jack forever,” Abby said, and smiled through her tears. 

“Yeah.” I paused. “We’re always going to be friends, right?”

“Yeah. Best friends.” She hugged me, and then we belted together:

You are safe in my heart
And my heart will go on and on

It’s my favorite challenge of FFM, the David Bowie challenge! At first I wasn’t sure what to do…then I remembered what might be the most 90s song ever, “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion. Then nostalgia did the rest of the work for me.

Element 1: Choose one of the decades of David Bowie’s career. Your story must be set in your chosen decade. It must be made clear in your story, in some way, that it is set in this decade. (You aren’t allowed to switch up the century; no 1860’s here, sorry.)

Element 2: You must include a song from the decade that you chose in your story. It does not have to be a David Bowie song, but we’ve included some examples for you below. The song must appear in the story as an actual song (i.e.; played or sung), not just referenced or used as a prompt.

HARDCORE MODE: Use the name of the example Bowie song for your decade in your story, word for word, or as the title of your story. I almost went with “Changes” but that seemed too easy.

You can take Bowie’s glitter, but you can never take his sparkle.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 24: Summer Blues

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

The efficiency didn’t look like much, and that’s because it wasn’t. 

It was a square room with one door, one window, a refrigerator, a sink, an oven, and a few cupboards. The bathroom was scarcely larger than that of an airplane’s, but usable, if you didn’t mind your knees hitting the sink when you sat. 

Other than that, it was barren. But the linoleum wasn’t too cracked, and the noise from the street wasn’t that bad…Theo checked the spreadsheet on his phone once more. Split between him and his two friends, they would be able to afford rent and have a little extra money for the summer. 

“Well?” Brody peered over his girlfriend’s shoulders at Theo. Peyton leaned against Brody, his arms on her hips. His fingertips reached down to the inside of her torn jeans. Another reminder that Theo’s friends had a very active love life, and they were asking him to share a room with him for two and a half months. He’d constantly be the third wheel, and there’d be almost no privacy. 

“C’mon, man, we can’t do it without you,” Brody added hopefully. 

Theo looked around the room again. They could make do with air mattresses, maybe hang a sheet up between their “beds” for a little privacy. “Alright,” he said, a nervous smile coming to his face. “Promise you won’t have sex while I’m here, and I’m in.” 

Theo stared at the calendar on the wall of his dorm room. Two weeks until finals, and then his first year of college would be over. It’d be a relief when exams were over, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for the school year to end. 

His phone rang. Mom. 

Signing the rental agreement had been easy. Telling his mom his summer plans would be a lot harder. Ignoring her phone call, though, would result in several more until Theo finally picked up. He was the oldest kid in the family, the first to leave home. His parents had gotten better about giving him space to live his life, while still making sure that he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. Mostly. 

“Hello?” Theo answered. 

“Hi honey.” Lena said. There was excitement in her voice. “How’s school?” 

They talked for a few minutes about Theo’s classes and the glut of homework he had. She updated him on his younger sisters and the dog, then told him, “I ran into Mrs. Saunders from church the other day. She asked about you. I told her you’d be coming home for summer.” 

“Well, actually, I was thinking about that…” Theo started. 

“I’ve got good news! Her husband owns a landscaping company. She says that he always has a few extra job openings in the summer, and she’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Um…that’s great.” Theo wound and loose thread from the hem of his t-shirt around his finger. “But I thought I’d…stay up here for the summer?”

There was a pause. “What?” Lena asked after a moment. “But you haven’t been home since March.” 

“I can still come back and visit,” Theo said quickly. His next words rushed out. He had to tell her everything before he lost his nerve. “I found a place with Brody and Peyton. We’re going to rent it for the summer.” 

Another pause. “You just found an apartment, and didn’t tell us?” 

“Well…it’s only for a couple months. They’ve already got jobs for the summer, and I’ll get one up here too.” 

Lena clicked her tongue. “Did you already sign an agreement? Put down a deposit?”

“Yeah.” Theo smiled. He’d been nervous, but signing it and handing over his cash had felt so real. And he and his friends had done it by themselves. It was something to be proud of.

“Did you have anyone else look over before you signed it?” Lena asked. 

“Um…no?” It had been fairly straightforward – no smoking, no pets, trash pickup on Tuesday. “Why?” 

“So you could be sure you weren’t getting screwed over.” Lena’s “mom voice” was coming out, the one that was usually reserved for telling Theo to clean his bedroom or stop fighting with his sisters. “Theodore. Always have someone else look over a contract. You don’t know what you’re getting into.” 

“What I’m getting into, Mom, is an apartment. It’s fine.” 

“It’s not!” Lena snapped. “You’re just a kid. Does everything work in this place? Is it in a safe area? Or did you just see a ‘for rent’ sign and jump at it?” 

Anger creeped up inside Theo. “I’m not stupid, Mom. Obviously we tested everything,” he lied. “And it’s close to school. So it’s fine.” 

“Fine, fine.” Lena sighed. “It’s done. Just remember what I said for next time.” 

“I will, Mom.” Theo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I have homework to finish. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, go get your work done. Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

Theo ended the call. I’m not just a kid, he thought. And by the end of the summer, I’ll prove it.

No challenge today. I’m a bit behind and my brain is soup. Less than a week til the end of Summer Reading and FFM. And I can’t wait. 😴

I wanted to write a story about Theo sans Puck, just to get to know him a bit better. The biggest theme in my novel is “earning adulthood.” Theo strives for independence, while Puck has to be dragged kicking and screaming into it.

Other stories from this universe:

FFM 3: Love is a Battlefield
FFM 8: Queen of Nothing
FFM 15: It’s Not Rocket Science
FFM 18: The Goddess in the River

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 23: Your Librarian Believes in You!

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

Your librarian believes in you!

She believes that you can read all five books for the summer reading challenge. Really, you can! You might even find a new favorite!

Your librarian knows that you can go to storytime without crying, not even once. He knows how brave you are!

Your librarian knows that you’ll be a great volunteer. They think you ask good questions and pay attention to your tasks. Thank you so much for all your hard work!

Your librarian believes that you can use the library catalog. She’ll even show you how if you have questions. And she really trusts that you’ll be able to use it to look up every. Single. Book. on your school reading list, so she doesn’t have to. 

Your librarian is excited that you’re excited to use the computers. He would also like to let you know that you are so much smarter than that scary game on Roblox, and maybe there’s an even more fun game on the computer for you to play. 

Your librarian knows how enthusiastic you are about volunteering here. They really appreciate how you try very hard. They really think that you can do all your tasks correctly and follow simple instructions, even after you’ve proven them wrong. Keep trying!

Your librarian believes…that she needs a nap.

I had a different story planned, but it’s been a hectic day. Eight days until the end of the summer reading program. I’m exhausted.

Your librarian believes that you can Show Up for Libraries! (ALA) The Institute of Library and Museum Services is in danger of losing funding or being dismantled entirely. If you have just 5 minutes, call your representative and tell them to support IMLS and libraries! Read more about Executive Order 14238, which targets IMLS and other agencies.

“When a library is open, no matter its size or shape, democracy is open, too.”

― Bill Moyers

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 22: To My Daughter

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

To my daughter, on her fifteenth birthday, 

It is incredible to think of how much you’ve grown. It seems like just yesterday I was holding you in my arms and watching you take your first steps. I am sorry I can’t be with you to celebrate your special day. 

Fifteen is a momentous occasion for a young witch as yourself. You have watched me practice my magic for years. Now you take your first steps towards the true life of a witch. 

I am giving you your grandmother’s grimoire, as you will one day give your daughter mine. Learn from it, and grow in power and grace.

Much love to you on the auspicious day.

– Mother

#

Dear Mom,

Thanks for the gift. It’s really pretty. Are you sure this is grandma’s grimoire though? It just looks like a book on flower arranging.

Love,
Haven

P.S. I already told you I’m never having kids.

#

Sweet Haven,

Yes, that is your grandmother’s grimoire. Don’t you remember her lush gardens and gorgeous bouquets? Each flower was chosen specially and arranged just so for a purpose. Good luck bouquets for starting a new venture, a vase of herbs and flowers for health, and her special “something blue” for weddings. Follow one of her recipes and see what works for you. 

I miss you my darling. I hope to return before the year is out. 

Love, 
Mom

P.S. You’ll change your mind. 

#

Dear Mom, 

I tried one of Grandma’s bouquets for wealth with jade, lavender, and basil. It just made me sneeze. I did find twenty dollars in a pocket of my old jeans though, so maybe there’s something there? 

I might try to make a bouquet for good luck. 

Love,
Haven 

P.S. No, I won’t. I babysit Cooper every time he comes to visit and he’s a screaming tyrant. 

#

Darling Haven,

I hope you’re using your newly “blossoming” magic to help others. Witches wouldn’t survive in this world if we were selfish or unkind. 

Love,
Mother

P.S. Babysitting your five-year-old cousin is not equivalent to having and raising your own child. Your child will mean the world to you, more than you ever would think possible. There are difficult times, but the joy outweighs all of them. 

P.P.S. Unfortunately, I agree. Cooper is a screaming tyrant. 

#

Dear Mom,

I gave the bouquet to my friend Angela. She’s auditioning for the school play. 

Sincerely,
Haven 

P.S. I hear you, but I don’t want to have kids. It’s that simple. And if your kid is your whole wide world, why have I been living with Aunt Mercy for 8 months now??

#

Dear Haven, 

Please tell me the results. Will you audition for the play too?

Love,

Mom

P.S. I hear you, but I also must impress upon you the importance of carrying on our bloodline. There are few witches left in the world, and more and more magic becomes lost with each generation. That is why I’m traveling, and that is why Aunt Mercy is looking after you. As I have said, I plan to be home before the year is out and we can spend Yule together. I miss you. 

#

Mom,

Angela got the part. School plays aren’t my thing. I joined the cinema club. 

-Haven

P.S. Why does it have to be me to carry on the bloodline, though? I didn’t ask to be born a witch. No one told you I had to be an only child. There isn’t a prophecy about me or anything like that. There might not be a lot of witches, but there are still plenty of them in the world with daughters of their own. And maybe those daughters will have lots of other daughters. 

P.P.S. You didn’t think that helping your daughter learn witchcraft was witchy enough for you? So you left to find better witches? More witchy witches? 

#

Haven,

I’m so happy to hear that. Send her my regards. What movies will you be watching? 

– Mom

P.S. Because every bloodline is unique and powerful in its own way. We need to preserve that magical diversity. You are so incredibly special, even if you don’t feel it. 

P.P.S. Your comment hurt my feelings. I wish I was there to watch you. 

#

Mom,

We’re not watching movies. Movies are for kids. We’re watching films. We’re starting with Jaws. 

– Haven

P.S. You know you’re basically comparing me to a panda, right? 

P.P.S. Then why aren’t you? 

#

Dear Haven, 

I’m coming home. I won’t be able to stay long, but I’m so excited to see you, my darling. 

Love, 

Mom

#

Dear Mom,

I can’t wait! See you soon!

Love, 

Haven

Inside the envelope are three petals of a forget-me-not.

This was another challenge day!

Element 1: Write “Challenge me!” in the comments.

Element 2: Challenge other people by replying to their comment with a document type they must use as well as a topic that a document (of any type) in the story must cover. I was challenged by G. Deyke and got a grimoire and flower arranging.

Element 3: Choose one or more of the challenges you got and write an epistolary story using them.

This was also inspired by the novel Kiki’s Delivery Service by Eiko Kadono. It’s a bit different from the movie, but still utterly charming.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 21: Waggle Dance

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. This is a companion story to FFM 11: OPERATION HIVEBREAKER, but you don’t need to have read it to understand this one. More notes at the end of the story.

The Apidaar were a lost people. It was nearly sixty years after the Colony Collapse, and it seemed their society would never recover. With no queen to follow, the Apidaar had lost their instincts, and for some, their minds.

Z’lkne was in the second generation of Apidaar hatched off-planet. He was ten years old, a third of his way through his life cycle. Before Colony Collapse, he would have been assigned one of two roles in his society: scout or breeding male. This choice would not have been his. It was written in his genetic code, unalterable. 

But he, and so many other Apidaar, had never known the influence of a queen. Many of his kind went mad without their purpose, flying until exhaustion overcame them or refusing to eat or drink until they perished. Others formed swarms, declaring they would search the stars and find their queens again. Even more fell into drink, destroying their bodies and minds until they had drowned entirely. 

Z’lkne was one of the few who did not. He danced. 

He didn’t understand why mammalian humanoids considered this a shame. Many of them, especially the females, made a good living by shedding their fabricated exoskeletons in time to the beat. Z’lkne didn’t understand what was so exciting about that. The naked body of one person was quite similar to the naked body of another, provided they were members of the same species. 

Z’lkne only wore his natural exoskeleton, yet drew in large audiences nightly. He premiered at Freak Night, the weekly event where native species came to gawk at the bodies of aliens to their planet. Z’lkne’s popularity grew, and he soon became a nightly attraction. 

The lights shone against his exoskeleton and stripes. The veins in his wings lit up with fluorescent hues. Z’lkne danced. He didn’t practice choreographed routines. He just felt the music’s vibrations in every hair on his body, and moved as it told him. Two, four, or six legs on the floor or moving through the air, it didn’t matter. 

His dances entranced. They made crowds gasp, or weep, or bounce in time and scream for more. They were not always graceful or pretty dances. Some were brutal, angry and ugly. They all captured something in the audience, something deep within them that they could not express.

When Z’lkne danced, the crowd moved as one, hearts and lungs all pulsating in time to the beat. 

When he danced, he had a colony.

How stories change over time: I had planned on Z’lkne being some kind of researcher or meeting an anthropologist and learning about his planet’s history. Then as I was writing it, he became a bee stripper (striper?) instead.

Anyway, here’s my weirdest “I swear it’s for research” Google search to date:

Spotify does not have a playlist called “Songs for Bees to Strip To” (yet!), so I would like to offer this alternative:

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 20: After the Miracle

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July.

“Is she watching K-dramas without subtitles?”

“Yeah, gift of tongues.”

“Like, Biblical gift of tongues? Holy Spirit, tongues of flame over your head, that kind of thing?”

“Something like that. It was pretty sweet.”

“Isn’t she supposed to be preaching or something?”

“Well, she’s an atheist.”

“Even after the flaming tongues?!”

“Oh, right. I forgot. She’s agnostic now. ‘Cause of the miracle.”

“So it was a miracle.”

“Yep.”

“She can understand and speak in every language.”

“Yeah.”

“And she uses the most practical superpower to watch K-dramas without subtitles.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“…yeah. I probably would.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 19: In the Neighborhood

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

It’s not a nice neighborhood. Even so, I try to do some good. I can help my neighbor with her car. Or deliver misplaced mail, it’s not too far. Things around here can get rough. I try to help us hang tough. But there’s something we all say: at least we don’t have an HOA.

Today’s challenge: Brevity Schmevity

Element 1: Your story today must be exactly 55 words.

Element 2: You must have a pair of rhyming lines somewhere within your story. By “rhyming lines”, we mean a pair of sentences or phrases of at least three words each (preferably with the same amount of words), in which the last words rhyme with each other. It is up to you to choose how to incorporate these lines into your story.