Category / flash fiction month 2025

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 30: Keyboard Gremlins and Drunk Snails

“Annnnd done!” I posted my final story for the month, copy-pasted links on the appropriate pages, and let out a happy sigh. I started to close my laptop, but a keyboard gremlin crawled out from between the keys. 

“Wait, wait! You can’t be done yet!” He tapped his clawed foot and crossed his spindly arms, annoyed. 

“But I am done. Thirty-one days, thirty-one stories, and now I need a nap and a cookie. Lots of cookies,” I told him. 

“But you haven’t bared your soul through fiction!” He protested. He reached down into the crevasse between H and J and pulled out a chart. “July 2022: first year of Flash Fiction, started because your cat died and you were having a hard time writing anything.” 

“Hey…why’d you have to bring that up?” I frowned. 

“July 2023,” the gremlin continued. “Flash fiction month became an important distraction as you learned to deal with a recently diagnosed medical condition.” 

“Dude…” I hid my face in my hands. “I’m fine now.”

“And finally, July 2024, with some newly minted PT–“

“Don’t say it,” I snapped. 

“Learning how to write again after the world exploded. You really put a lot on the page there. So, what’s going on for this year?” He flipped to the next page on the chart. “Two young, healthy cats, your own health is pretty good, and your mental health is way, way, way better than it was this time last year.” 

I stared at him, utterly confused. “So what’s the problem?” 

He flicked his tail in annoyance. “The problem is that you haven’t bled nearly enough onto the page. Your stories are normal and aren’t about meltdowns or your most personal fears. Where’s the edge?” 

“Did it ever occur to you that since I’m doing well right now…that this is just for fun?” 

The gremlin’s mouth dropped open. 

I put my finger on his head, between his curly horns, and pushed him back into the keyboard. 

A snail sitting on my shoulder hiccuped. “Why’d you keep that guy around?”

“He eats the crumbs that get between the keys,” I told her. “Want to do margs and karaoke, Progress?” 

A slow smile came across her slimy face. “Always.”

This one’s a bit personal. At the end of FFM, I like to write a little reflection about how the month has gone for me. And since I’ve started doing FFM, it’s always seemed to come with some big life problem. But this year has been just…normal. I’m a million times better than I was at this time last year. Progress isn’t measurable in the way that a lot of things are. But comparing this FFM to last year’s, I can see how far I’ve come. It’s a good feeling.

I’m not 100% fixed. I may never be. But I’m doing really well. As some of you may remember from last year: Progress is a drunk snail. It moves slowly, and never in a straight line.

It’s okay to not be okay.

But you know what?

It’s okay to be okay too. 💜

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 29: The Shadow and the Shield

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 the direct sequel to FFM 27: Sleepless in Tír na nÓg. More notes at the end of the story.

Gráinne ran at her trainer, thrusting forward with her rapier. He easily parried the blow. “You’re being too obvious, Your Highness.”

She glowered and took a step back. “Fair.”

Scurry, her trainer was a svelte man with a busy red tail and fingers with an extra knuckle, lowered his sword. “You can’t let your emotions rule you on the battlefield, Ma’am.”

“I know.” She shook out her arm and resumed her stance. “Again.” 

He tipped his head one way, then the other. “No, I don’t think this will help you today. I think you need to hit something.” 

“I am hitting something,” Gráinne said through gritted teeth. 

Scurry’s tail waved playfully. “You haven’t managed to land a single hit on me yet. You’re a pixie in a tankard of ale.”

The comparison was not a flattering one. She was flailing with no real purpose, and couldn’t manage to get herself out of what she’d fallen into. But, unlike a pixie, Gráinne actually wanted to get out. 

“Again,” she demanded. 

“Very well,” Scurry said with a sigh. 

They sparred for two minutes more, until Scurry disarmed Gráinne and knocked her on her arse. He chittered, disappointed, then offered the princess a hand. “Let’s take a break. Then we’ll work on something new.”

“Fine.” Gráinne sheathed her sword and went to the wooden benches that ringed the practice yard. Unsurprisingly, Alex was sitting next to her gear “What are you doing here?” She snapped. 

“Waiting for you,” he told her. 

“And you couldn’t wait in the castle?” Gráinne took several gulps from her waterskin. “Find something to do with Uncle Lex.” 

Alex shook his head. “He had to help in the medical wing.” 

That explained it. Alex had never liked the medical wing, a dislike that had turned to dread since the war began. Uncle Lex, who’d been trained in both magical and mundane healing, was often called there on his visits to the castle. With their parents gone at the moment, Alex had few options for someone to tail. 

“Will you please stop following me?” Gráinne turned her back to him. 

“But Gráina…” He tugged on the hem of her tunic. 

She spun around and slapped him. “I said go away! How hard is it for you to just go away?”

This time, Alex listened. He ran back to the castle, holding his stinging cheek while tears ran down his face. 

Uncle Lex was called in for negotiations. The agreed upon course of action was bed with no supper for Gráinne, and a talk with Alex about “alone time,” for both Gráinne and himself. 

“We all need to be by ourselves sometimes,” Uncle Lex told the prince, while silently giving thanks that he didn’t have children. “I know you like to be with people, and I know that things are scary right now. It’s okay to be scared. But when your sister tells you she needs some space, you need to listen. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Alex looked down at his feet. “Okay.”

“Good.” Uncle Lex smiled at his nephew, and namesake. “I need to visit the library. Do you want to go with me, or go to your room for a little bit?” 

It was a hard decision: a room with nothing but books, or being left alone? After a minute, Puck said, “Can you find me another book about electricity?” 

“Can do.” 

“And read Caps for Sale and do funny voices?” 

Uncle Lex smiled. “Of course.” 

Later, when Alex was totally absorbed in a book about circuits, Uncle Lex went to check on his niece. She had flung herself on her bed and was crying. 

“Gráinne, I brought you supper.” Uncle Lex sat at the foot of her bed with a plate of battered fish and mashed potatoes. 

Gráinne sat up slowly. She wiped her cheeks and sniffed. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to have supper.” 

“You’re a growing girl. But no dessert.” 

Gráinne accepted the plate and silverware from her uncle. “Thanks.” She didn’t eat right away, but stared sullenly at her food. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Uncle Lex put his hand on top of her head. “But it happened. Do you know why?” 

Tears swam in Gráinne’s eyes again. “Why can’t he learn to fight? Why do I have to?” 

“You don’t have to. You like to. Your brother doesn’t like it, and he’s not very good at it, so he doesn’t have to,” Uncle Lex said. 

“But if he could fight then maybe–” she hiccuped. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to protect him and…” 

Realization dawned over Uncle Lex. “And maybe he wouldn’t have fallen?” 

Gráinne nodded, tears falling from her chin. “I couldn’t protect him, and…and…”

Uncle Lex put his arm around his niece’s shoulders. “You did the best you could.” 

“But it wasn’t enough and we were only at the ruins ‘cause I wanted to go and…” She threw herself down on the bed, hiding her face in her pillow.

“Shh…shhh. It’s okay.” Uncle Lex rubbed her back. “You saved him, and you’re both safe. That’s the most important thing.” He gave Gráinne another minute to cry. When she finally raised her head and caught her breath, he said, “He feels safe with you. That’s why he follows you around so much.” 

Gráinne tipped her head to get a better look at her uncle. “You think so?”

“I know so.” 

Night fell, and with it came Alex’s nightmares. 

But when he woke up gasping, Gráinne was there, with a wooden sword in hand. She didn’t have the right words like her parents always seemed to, but she held up her sword so he could see it in the pale crystal light. “Go back to sleep,” she said. “I’ll keep all your nightmares away.”

Another challenge day!

CHALLENGE: IDIOMATIC

Element 1: Your story must contain an idiom or idiomatic expression; by which we mean an expression that is used non-literally. Confused? You’ll probably recognize some examples here.

Element 2: Your expression must be entirely made up.

A pixie in a tankard of ale = flailing, but not trying to hard to get out of the current situation. Fantasy lends itself very well to new idioms.

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 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 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 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 17: Cleanup Crew

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. In this story, Fen uses e/em/eir (Spivak) pronouns. More notes at the end of the story.

Low Earth Orbit Cleanup attracted certain type of people to the job. A lot of them were people like Angeles and Hiro, recently graduated and looking to beef up their resumes before going to find “real” jobs in space. Or people like Nox, who’d made it their career, because they had nothing going on down on Earth.

Then there were people like Fen, twentysomethings with no degree and no plans. Cleanup was easy work to get into: pass a physical, take a personality test, and get through training. The next thing you knew, you were shot into space and dragging a giant net through the void. 

Fen floated down the short corridor along with eir crewmates. Priya had been on dark shift and headed back to the sleeping quarters from the opposite direction. Everyone had to work dark shift once every six sols, monitoring the ship’s systems while everyone else slept.

There was a lighter mood in the kitchen/dining area that day. There were only thirty sols left before this mission ended and they all had their feet on terra firma once again. “Of course I’m going to re-up,” Nox said between slurps from his protein pouch. “They need to shorten the waiting period between missions. You can see if I’m healthy in six hours on Earth, not six months.” 

Angeles, as always, had something to say. “You know it’s not just about checking to see if you’re healthy. You need to build up bone density again, and then there’s radiation to worry about.” 

“Then what’s the treadmill and shielding for?” Nox grunted. 

Fenn and Hiro exchanged a look. Exchanges like this between Nox and Angeles were common. “What about you, Fen? Gonna re-up?” 

“I dunno,” Fenn replied, opening eir own protein pack. It tasted vaguely of eggs. “I do miss real food, though.” 

“Real food’s overrated.” Nox finished his protein pack, crushed it into a ball, and tossed it into the disposal.

“And who was getting all drooly at the mention of a real steak not too long ago?” Angeles countered. 

“Well…maybe steak’s not overrated,” Nox conceded. 

“Glad we agree on something.” Angeles turned her attention to Fen. “But have you thought about going to university, Fen? I could help you with your application if you wanted.” 

“Or maybe trade school?” Hiro suggested. “You could help make the ships, instead of working on one.” 

Thankfully, the mission commander, Dr. Tetra, glided into the room before Fenn had to answer. “Shift’s schedule’s posted,” she announced. 

Fenn checked eir handheld, which e always kept in one of the pockets of eir skinsuit. E was on inventory for the first four hours of eir shift.

E went to the zone of the ship that was colloquially known as “the dump.” Here, space junk was sorted and stored. Any materials that could be repurposed would be brought back to Earth to be recycle. The rest would be tossed into one of the superdeep boreholes in the polar regions on Earth. 

Fen’s station could seat two comfortably, and a clear wall allowed em to look at the collected trash, if e really wanted. E was still fascinated by it: antennas sticking out of piles and broken bits of solar panels, lost tools that may have been floating in orbit for decades, even paint flecks and the occasional logo of some company or another. It was beautiful and eerie all at the same time. 

Fen reviewed the inventory from the previous sol’s shift, saw no anomalies, then sent the report back to the flagship Kessler I.

Finally, the first net’s worth of junk arrived. This was one of the few areas of the ship that had artificial grav, just for the ease of being able to drop everything from net level on the floor above to inventory level. Once Fen was certain nothing had been missed, e began the scanner. 

A green light fell over the pile, and tiny bots picked it apart to get more accurate readings. Fen watched the data fill up eir screen. 

ITEM: PAINT CHIP
STATUS: UNSALVAGABLE
ITEM: M086 SATELLITE PANEL (PARTIAL)
STATUS: SALVAGABLE
ITEM: ANOMALY
ITEM: UPPER-STAGE ROCKET DEBRIS (UNKNOWN ORIGIN)
STATUS: SALVAGABLE

Fen blinked. Anomaly? E paused the scan. Almost a year doing this, and e had never seen anomaly appear on screen. “Dr. Tetra,” e signaled through eir headset. “I’ve got an anomaly in inventory.” 

“Sometimes it’s a glitch,” Tetra signaled back. “Restart the scan and see if it happens again.” 

“Ten-four.” Fen shut down the scan, cleared the data, and tried again. Paint chip, satellite panel, anomaly. Fen signaled Tetra again. “Still there. Restart the scan again?” 

“No. I’m coming down there.” 

In a few minutes, Tetra was looking at the report over Fen’s shoulder. “Let’s have the bots fish out the anomaly. We can take a better look at it.” Fen nodded, and issued the command. The bots dove into the pile, until finally two came out, carrying a torn space suit glove. 

“That could be it. The scanner’s really sensitive to organic material, so a broken nail or stray hair could set it off,” Tetra said. Fen opened the door that separated em from the dump, and took the glove from the bot. 

E held the glove upside down, looking for anything that the scanner might have detected. E paled.

Dr. Tetra looked in the glove. Her mouth fell open. Then she signaled the crew. “All personnel, suspend operations immediately. Wake up Priya, and meet on the bridge in fifteen minutes.” She turned to Fen. “Not a word of this to anyone. Not yet.” She took the glove from Fen. “I’ll keep that in my quarters.” 

Suddenly what e was going to do after this mission didn’t matter so much.. All e wanted to do was get back down to Earth. Maybe e didn’t have a lot of prospects down there, but it was better than this.

Because down on Earth, Fen had never found a glove with a severed hand still in it.

Today’s a challenge day!

Element 1: For today’s challenge, instead of she/he/they pronouns, use neopronouns! Unfamiliar with them? Here’s a link to a MasterClass article that lists a manageable number of options and has other info too.

Element 2: One of the characters must redo something before the end of the story. Done, Fen has to redo the scan.

I actually had the idea for a space junk clean-up crew for FFM 2023, but never finished the story. Most of the character names are the same, though!

I might write a follow-up to this, since I don’t like ending things on cliffhangers for FFM, Fen’s story doesn’t have a conclusion. I just didn’t have enough words…I even went over the word limit at first with this one. I managed to cut it down to 999!

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 15: It’s Not Rocket Science

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.

I was trying to pay attention to an article about building an electric generator when my slate got warm in my pocket. I pulled it out of my pocket, just a thin rectangle of brightly polished copper with a few words written on it. I recognized Theo’s handwriting before I even read the message. Can you come over? Stressed af.

I wasn’t getting anywhere in my work (if anything, it was putting me to sleep), and I knew how worn down final exams were making him. Can do, I replied. Set up the beacon.

It was a quick trip to Theo’s dorm room on Earth. After much hemming and hawing about transferring schools, he’d finally applied to Embry-Riddle. I might have come from a magical land, but Florida was a whole other universe compared to Buffalo. 

Theo barely looked up from his laptop when I arrived. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that,” I told him by way of greeting. 

He shut his laptop and turned to me. The worries in his face disappeared. “You don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Because I don’t worry.” I grinned and took a seat on his bed. 

“Liar.” Theo sat next to me and poked the top of one of my slightly tapered ears. 

“Thank you for noticing.” Like a lot of people who have some Fae blood, lying isn’t easy for me. It took a lot of practice to get this good. “Are exams killing you?”

Theo buried his face in his hands. “Yes. A million times yes,” he groaned, his voice muffled. 

“Do you want to help me build a generator instead?” I asked hopefully. 

“For the last time, Alex, I’m not that kind of scientist.” He leaned against my side. 

This was the confusing part. Theo and I had been together, broken up, and now…now I wasn’t so sure what we were. It was something deeper than just friendship, but we weren’t lovers, either. Theo and I have always been pretty touchy with each other, even from the start. Not weird for Fae, but weird for humans, especially Americans. So I liked when he leaned into me, and he relaxed when I put my arm around his shoulders. I didn’t know what it all meant, and I don’t think Theo did, either. 

“Right, you’re a space man.” 

“Astrophyscist. Except I won’t be if I don’t graduate, and I’m not going to graduate because I’m going to fail my statistical physics class and end up living in a cardboard box holding a sign that says ‘will calculate for food.’” All his words came out in one breath. Theo pressed his forehead against my shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” I said in a soothing voice. I ran my fingers through Theo’s thick, dark hair. “You’re gonna pass. And then there’s only one semester left, you’ll graduate, start counting stars or launching rockets or whatever you do. And I’ll brag that I know the guy who sent a satellite to Uranus.”

We both laughed at the dumb joke. It was always good to see Theo smile. He straightened up a little, then took my hand in his. “And you’ll have figured out how to build a magical power grid.”

“That, or I’ll have lost my mind working on it.”

He let go of my hand and stretched his arms over his head. “You’ll figure it out.” He lied down on his side, and gestured for me to join him. His twin bed was narrow, but I squeezed between him and the wall. 

We lay there together for a moment, our knees touching, so close that I could feel his breath on my face. Theo took my hand again, rubbing his thumb over mine. “Tell me more about this future where it’s just you and me and everything’s okay.”

“No math,” I promised. “We’ll go on our gay little adventures, kill some monsters, fall in love.” 

“You’re not exactly a monster slayer.” 

“No, I’ll leave that part up to you.” You’d think the magical half-Fae prince would be decent with a sword, but it turns out a pissed off and confused human can be more useful than a trained warrior when you’re in a tight spot. 

“And the ‘fall in love’ part?” Theo asked. 

My heart stopped for a second. I was the one who broke up with him. I needed time to learn how to be a whole person, not just the Trickster Prince who’d hid behind a mask of pranks and games. It was a fun mask, but a mask nonetheless. 

Theo’s eyes were beautiful, dark brown flecked with gold. 

“Already there,” I said in a whisper. “You?”

Theo raised my hand to his lips. “And I never left.”

Surprise! You’ve been pronouncing Theo wrong. This Theo uses the French pronunciation, which is Tee-oh. He has Lebanese heritage, and there’s a big French influence in Lebanon, particularly among Maronite Catholics. Or, as I like to say, “it’s French because he’s Lebanese.”

Here’s another pair of characters from my novel, Prince Alexander, better known as Puck, and his boyfriend(?) Theo. This story would take place a few years after the novel, with Theo getting close to graduating from college. I chose to write from Puck’s first-person POV, since that’s how I’m writing the novel. Puck is also one of Mairead and Fiadh’s kids and Korbyn’s cousin.

This is also a challenge!

Element 1: We love prompts (and would love it if you fed more of them to us ;)). Today, we want you to pick a prompt from the Prompt Bank 2025. Any prompt, any number of them as long as the number is at least 1. Difficulty choosing? Let the 2025 Prompt Generator make the choice for you!

I used two prompts from bunnythewriter: (not the exact wording, but close enough!)

“Tell me more about this future, where it’s just you and me and everything is finally okay.” and “We’ll go on our gay little adventures, y’know fall in love, kill some monsters.” because it was such a Puck response.

Element 2: We would also like your wordcount to be palindromic (that is, one that reads the same backwards as forwards, such as 121 or 747 or 666). Why? We just think they [palindromes] are neat. This story is 787 words.

Optional element: include a generator of any kind in your story. Done! Puck would love to bring modern technology to the Otherworld, but the problem is that smartphones can’t run on magic…or can they?