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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?

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 14: She stays away from Cabin 7

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.

There’s always a stir when a new camper arrives, and for a long time Annabeth, Thalia, and Luke’s grand entrance to Camp Half-Blood was the most exciting thing to ever happen. Then this Percy Jackson kid showed up. 

New arrivals are always exciting, and there was a lot of speculation about who Percy really was. He settled in the Hermes cabin with the rest of us for a while, but we would gossip about him whenever he was out of sight. 

“Did you see what he did to the bathrooms? He’s probably Posedien’s son,” I said. 

My friend Dani scoffed. “Come on. You know the Big Three can’t have kids anymore.” 

Then, when he, Annabeth, and Grover all went off on their quest for the stolen Master Bolt, I had a hunch they were going in the wrong direction. Hermes was the god of thieves, after all. It would make sense that he had some hand in this. “What if it was someone from our cabin?” I suggested. “I like Luke, but he’s got a chip on his shoulder and he’s crafty enough to do it.” 

“Gods,” Dani sighed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, Cassandra.”

IYKYK.

For those who don’t know: In Greek mythology, Cassandra was cursed by Apollo to give true prophecies, but no one would believe her. I’ve since been converted to a Percy Jackson fan, and thought it would be funny to have Cassandra as a camper. I thought about doing a vignette for each book in the first series, but it would all be kind of the same: “I bet that at least part of the Great Prophecy is about Luke.”
“Oh my gods, Cassandra, you’re such a liar.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 13: Imagine a Forest + Bonus Story

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 (and an extra story!) at the end of this one.

Everyone knew the city went on forever. No one ever left, because there was nowhere to go. There was only the city. 

But two years ago, someone had left. Her name was Sawyer, and she said that she wanted to see a tree. Which no one understood, because everyone had seen a tree. There was a tree made out of metal and glass in the square, and it looked just like the real thing. But Sawyer had gone anyway, talking about a forest where real trees grew. 

No one had seen her since. Sometimes people got bored and moved to a different part of the city. But there was nothing beyond it. She was missed, but people moved on.

Then Sawyer returned. 

The rumors arrived before she did: a woman, with long, knotted hair and calloused feet was going through the city. She pulled a cart full of plants. Real plants, made out of leaves and green and other things the citizens had no name for. 

She talked about the forest. It was real. The city did end. And beyond it was something that she could scarcely describe. “Imagine if the walls around you breathed. Imagine hearing songs instead of machines. Imagine the sunset – all orange, and pink and red, not just the color of smog. Imagine.”

It was a long journey, but Sawyer at last arrived at the city center. Her cart was empty, save a few containers. She did not return alone. Travelers surrounded her, women and men and children, who had all left their homes to hear more of her stories. 

A crowd gathered around her in the square, full of faces that Sawyer once knew. They waited. 

“Imagine,” Sawyer started. “Imagine a tree.” 

A tree that was real and alive, one that could grow as tall as a building. Imagine water that came out of the ground, not a metal basin. Imagine wild, fresh food, growing in front of you. Imagine breathing air that doesn’t make you cough. Imagine wide spaces. Imagine life, all around you, everywhere you look. Imagine being part of it, but you don’t feel small or scared. You feel at peace.

When Sawyer had finished speaking, she went to the cart. “An apple tree, for food,” she said, taking one of the saplings out of the cart. “A willow tree, for healing. And a magnolia tree, for beauty.” She presented the remaining two saplings. “Our forest starts here.” 

Today’s story was inspired by the prompt “A forest appears overnight in the middle of the city.” by Erica. It made me think of another short I’d written a few years ago, with a setting that I’ve wanted to revisit, but never did. This one was inspired by a quote from The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle: “There is no immortality but a tree’s love.” which became the basis for each paragraph in the story. I thought I’d include the original here. Are Sawyer and Maggie two different people, or did I just forget Maggie’s name and came up with a new one? You decide!

“There is nothing out there. The city goes on forever. There’s no forest out there. Everyone’s seen a tree, there’s one in the square. They say it looks just like the real thing. We can go there tomorrow. Come back to bed.”

“Is that what you really think? Metal and glass and wire isn’t a tree. Trees are supposed to be living and growing. I heard this place used to be covered with them. And the city can’t go on forever. Nothing goes on forever. It’s got to have an edge. An end. And maybe there’s a forest…”

“No one’s ever gone to the edge. Because there isn’t one. No forests. I don’t know why you started thinking about this all again. I hope you haven’t been listening to McAllister. Just because he’s been gone awhile doesn’t mean he’s been anywhere. You don’t actually believe him, do you? That there’s some forest and trees can give you immortality…”

“Immortality? Why would I want immortality? I don’t want that. I just want…something. Metal, glass, and wire, metal, glass, and wire, over and over. That’s all we have. Recycled air and water every day. I don’t want to see something built and re-built all the time. I want to see something grow!”

“But what’s the point? Even if there is an edge, even if there is a forest, what’s the point? We’ve got everything we need. Who cares if it’s recycled?”

“A tree is something that goes on forever. Something that would outlive us. Something that could outlive the city. Can you even imagine seeing so many of them together? Or putting your hands on one. Would it remember you forever? Isn’t that the closest you can get to immortality? A legacy?”

“Trees! Stick to the city, Maggie. It’s the only place you’ll ever go.”

“Love, I’m not asking you to come with me. Just believe in me. And if you can’t do that, then just kiss me goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 10: Urbn Xplorerzz

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. Warning for strong language. More notes at the end of the story.

Makeup, lights, Evan in place, let’s do this. 

“Yo yo yo, what up squad fam it’s ya boi, Candlefüt and today we are splorin’ this crazy gh-gh-gh-ost town!!”

Perfect spot for airhorn sirens. Can’t wait to see some of the graphics for this. 

“Old Goose Meadow was a gold mining town waaaay back in the day.” 

Was it gold? Or was it zinc? Don’t remember. Whatever, everyone knows what gold is. The fuck even is zinc? 

“There was a huge-ass mine collapse and tons of miners died. The bodies were never brought to the surface, so the mine became their grave.”

Isn’t there more zinc in pennies than copper now? Something like that? Whatever, I’ll look it up later. Here’s the entrance. 

“BUT the mining didn’t stop, yo. Me and my team found an open shaft that might even lead us to their mass grave.” 

Give them the look, insert boom sound effect here, add some spooky music and effects. Damn, this place is darker than I thought. Who was in charge of setting up the lights? ‘Cause they didn’t do jack shit!

“Okay, I only got my flashlight. I’ll probably lose signal once I’m underground. And I’ll be truly, truly alone. I got a GPS tracker so hopefully if something goes wrong my team can–what was that?”

What the fuck? Evan knows his cue, and this isn’t it. You start slow, then he builds up with the noises and shit, then the big reveal. He’s way too early. 

“Ha, ha, nothing at all. Hope it’s not the mine collapsing. Let’s keep going further in and–dude, check this shit out!” 

This was not part of the plan, but this is sweet af. Actual miner graffiti? Hellz yeah. 

“Someone would’ve gotten in big shit back in the day for saying something like this about the company. So probably he wrote it here to–”

Fuck, fuck, did something just run past me? How? Shit, dude. Calm down, calm down, it’s just Evan.

“Oh damn, the slope’s getting steeper. We’re seeing the last of daylight behind us and damn, the smell, yo, I wish you could smell this. I don’t know what gold smells like, but I don’t think it smells like this. It’s like…bad man. Rancid.”

Team didn’t warn me about this! 

Was this a bad idea?

“You hear that? All that echo? Can you imagine how loud it must have been when there were dozens of dudes here, swinging pick axes and shit? And–holy shit!”

Don’t panic, it’s just Evan doing his thing. Only Evan. 

“Now we’re into one of the big chambers, where the miners woulda–Did you see that?!”

Just Evan. Don’t let it get to you. Just–

It’s coming towards me. Evan’s supposed to stay off-screen. It’s cool, it’s all

Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

“Evan, bro, don’t–”

THAT ISN’T EVAN HOLY SHIT FUCK I’M ABOUT TO DIE I’M COOKED I’M

Today’s Challenge: Scary Stream!

Element 1: Write a story in stream of consciousness.

Element 2: Make it a horror-genre story.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 9: You Gotta Love What You Do

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.

The key to avoiding burnout when you’re working for a non-profit is to find your Thing. You need something in your life that has nothing to do with your job. You don’t bring your Thing into work, work doesn’t come into your Thing. And for non-profit people like us, that can be a really hard thing to find. We’re so passionate about what we do that when we find something that’s just for us we want to share it. 

But take my friend Ty, for example. Works for the Down Syndrome Institute. Loves the people he serves, but the job can wear you down pretty damn fast. He was on the verge of quitting after a rough few months, but he stuck it out. He and his friend Joe started a podcast where they review potato chips. That’s it, that’s the whole show. It’s twenty minutes long, they have a couple hundred listeners, but it’s fun for them and keeps Ty sane and working. 

Or Nat, who’s the assistant director at the Lanceville Women’s Shelter. Talk about a tough job. She’s always loved theatre, though, so she decided to make that her Thing. She builds sets for community theatre groups. Gets to be creative, use her hands, and she really likes not being in charge.

Me? I work for a hospice center. Comforting families, helping ease people’s pain and letting them die peacefully. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever done. It’s also the most important. Because during the hardest moments of someone’s life, I bring them comfort. 

So this is my Thing. Right here. You, and me. Stop squirming. Those knots aren’t coming untied.

Crying won’t help you. I hear it enough.  

There won’t be any comfort here.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 7: Questions on the Roof


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.

“Where have you been lately?” Violet asked. She and Dain were at their usual place, the rooftop of a closed tailor shop. It wasn’t uncommon to see people on rooftops, given that almost every Sylph had the ability to fly. 

“Working,” he replied with a shrug. 

“Uh-huh.” Violet cocked her head. “For who? Because I know it ain’t for Jax anymore.” 

“For myself.” 

Violet crossed her arms. “Really? After all we’ve gone through, you’re gonna lie to me now?” She pulled a slightly crumpled joint out of her pocket and stuck it between her lips. 

“Yep.” A tiny smile came over Dain’s face. Irritated seemed to be Violet’s default state. It was always fun to add to it. “I’m taking a break. I’ll get back to it soon.”

Violet’s dark eyes widened. “Shit, Dain. Someone’s got something on you.”

“No one’s got anything on me,” Dain snapped back, though the blue-gray feathers on his wings started to fluff up. “It’s just something I have to do.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Violet huffed, then stood up. “I’m off. Can’t risk being seen with you.”

Dain started after her. “Relax. It’s not like that, okay?” He couldn’t have his oldest friend leave him now. And especially couldn’t have her talking to his old crew that he was on someone else’s payroll. Jax might have tolerated Dain going solo for a time, but if he knew the truth, Dain was dead where he stood. 

“Then what is it like?” Violet propped her hand on her hip. Her sparrow wings were already spread, ready to take off. 

I’m working with the cops was the worst thing that Dain could say, but the partial truth he went with wasn’t that much better. “It’s a girl.”

That might have appeased anyone else, but he and Violet had done a little more than fly and smoke together multiple times in the past. No attachment beyond friendship, they’d said. But there were times when both of them hadn’t been good about following that rule. 

Violet folded her wings. “What’s her name?”

“It’s no one you know,” Dain replied. 

“Is she pretty?” Violet asked, walking back towards Dain. 

“Why do you want to know?” He frowned. 

“Just wondering who’s good looking enough to make you give up your livelihood.” 

She wasn’t jealous, Dain realized. Or, if she was, it was taking a backseat to Violet’s curiosity. She was still searching for information. “She’s pretty, she drives me crazy, I’m taking a break because it would be best for both of us. Happy?” 

“No.” Violet went back to the edge of the roof. “You’re throwing away everything for a girl? We’ve both done stupid things, but that might be the dumbest one I’ve ever heard.” 

Violet turned away before Dain could get a proper look at her face, but he heard it in her voice. “You’ve got talent, talent that people would kill for.”

“Oh, they’ve tried,” Dain said. 

“But a pair of big blue eyes comes along and–”

“They’re yellow.” The words were out before he could stop himself.

Violet spun on her heels. “She’s real?” 

Dain’s heart fluttered in his chest. Cordelia was very real. And her eyes were big. 

And she did, in fact, make him crazy. Not in the puppy love kind of way, but in an infuriating, self-righteous kind of way. Like how she just knew what he’d been through, and how he should have chosen another path. 

But she had listened when he set the record straight. And apologized. Cops didn’t apologize for anything, but she did.

It didn’t change the fact that she was always pushing him to do what she wanted, and she didn’t tolerate any bullshit from him and…

…and he kind of liked that he challenged her. 

But Dain especially couldn’t stand how she acted so tough with her magic powers and all, but was afraid of flying in open air. So he held her hand when they flew long distance sometimes, and it was nice that he could help her. 

“She’s not just real,” Violet said, her jaw dropping open slightly. “You’re in love.” 

“I’m not in love,” Dain shot back. 

“Now you’re lying to me.” Violet smirked. 

“Absolutely not. She’s pretty, sure, but she’s infuriating and she cares about everything so much and…”

And they did kiss once. Just once. But it was after the fire and their adrenaline was pumping and it was making them do crazy things. 

It had been a very good kiss, though. 

“There it is.”  Violet grinned as the realization washed over Dain’s face. 

Dain forced his expression into a grimace. “Get outta here.” 

Yes, he was in love with Cordelia. But that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Today’s story was inspired by this prompt from bunnythewriter: Yes I’m in love with her, but I’m not HAPPY about it! 

See, Mom, I can write straight romance, too!

Dain and Cordelia are characters from a novel I’m taking a break on (read: it’s such a mess I can’t bear to look at). As you might have guessed, they have something of a rivalmance. Dain also made an appearance in my 2023 FFM.

I would really love to finish their story one day, but it needs a serious overhaul.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 5: Guardian of the Gate

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 this story.

The left head was already slavering. “Let’s eat the mite,” it growled. It inhaled deeply. The scent of the living was rare at the gates of Hades. The mortal squirming beneath Cereberus’s clawed foot gave off an intoxicating smell. The mortal’s fear and desperation only added to the aromatic bouquet. The left head licked the sobbing human’s leg. “Then we leave the gates, and hunt more! We will feast!” 

“Why would a living mortal wish to enter our domain?” The right head snuffled. “This one is only here to find his wife and child. Yes, he was bold enough to attempt to sneak past us, but he came here in pain. Can we add to his suffering, when he’s suffered so much already? He will come to Hades eventually. Raise our foot, and let him leave for now.” 

The right and left looked to the center head. That was the one who made the final decisions, and would decide whether or not to raise Cerberus’s mighty paw and release the mortal. “No living mortal may enter our domain,” the center head barked.  “But this one may not deserve to be devoured just yet. We will raise our foot and let him leave…but he doesn’t need both legs.” 

Today’s challenge was the dreaded 369er! I went with the Greek myth of Cerberus, obviously…but the evolution comes in the form of Cerberus’s heads. Each head represents one of the Freudian concepts of the id, ego, or superego. Since the ego works to balance the wants of the id and superego, it’s the center head, and has control of Cerberus’s body.

Element 1: Today, we would like your story to have a specific theme: evolution of a (real-life or fictional) myth. Please tell in the story’s description which myth you picked or created!

Element 2: We also want a specific format for today’s story: 369er – in other words, 3 interconnected 69-word stories.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 4: Easier to Remain Silent

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 this story.

“The book is called Two Boys Kissing. Do you really think that’s appropriate for a school library?” This mom was one of a dozen, standing in front of me with a written complaint for the school librarian. “And this one.” Her next book surprised me. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. “And this one. Why do you allow pornography in our schools?”

“That’s actually a part of our curriculum. We use it in the seniors’ history class and–”

The mom threw the book down on my desk. “Disgusting. Disgusting.”

It was only two books. We had plenty of romance novels in the school library already, and the history department had loaner copies of Angelou’s biography. 

“Mom, you’re not thinking. If you look at the statistics, immigrants are actually less likely to commit crimes than–”

She cut me off with a glare. “They committed crimes when they snuck into this country.” 

“That’s really not how–”

“I worked my hands to the bone to give you a better life, and I’ll be damned if someone steals everything that we earned.” 

There was no arguing with her. I let it drop. 

The call came hours before school started. “Mrs. Harris was arrested.” 

“What?” I asked, trying to take in the news. 

“For distributing pornography to minors.” My principal rattled off a series of book titles: Drama, Melissa, It’s Not the Stork. More than I could remember. “This is serious. She might have to register as a sex offender.”

“By the way,” Mom told me. “Could you look into finding someone else to do the yardwork?”

“Someone else? What happened to Diego?” 

Mom looked down at her lap. “ICE.” 

“What the hell? He has a green card!”

“I know.”  She sighed. “He has two kids. I wish I could have done something.”

What can I do? I’m not a lawyer who could defend Mrs. Harris or get Diego out of detention. I’m just one person, one small person with no real power. Maybe if I had fought harder to keep those books, or tried to talk sense into people like mom, or…

Maybe nothing would have changed. 

But I could have fought, and made it a little harder for those big, sweeping powers to do harm. 

I don’t remember when I learned to swallow my own voice, but I know I’m tired of the aftertaste. 

I used the prompt “I don’t remember when I learned to swallow my own voice, but I know I’m tired of the aftertaste.” by Erica, from this year.

Stay safe. Keep fighting.

Project 2025 and Its Threat to Free Expression, Part 1 (PEN America)
Project 2025 and Its Threat to Free Expression, Part 2 (PEN America)
Project 2025 and Its Consequences for Libraries (EveryLibrary Institute, PDF)
Undocumented Immigrant Offending Rate Lower Than U.S.-Born Citizen Rate (National Institute of Justice [pdf])
Is There a Connection Between Undocumented Immigrants and Crime? (The Marshall Project)
Ask PolitiFact: What evidence does the government need to deport green card, visa holders? (PoltiFact)

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 3: Love is a Battlefield

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.

Name pronunciation:

Fiadh – Fee-uh
Onóra – Oh-nor-uh
Mairead – Mahr-ee-ed
Caoimhe – Kee-vah

More notes on this story are at the end of the post.

“Fiadh, be sensible.” Onóra finished tying her younger sister’s hair into a series of knots and braids. “You might love a human, but you’ll never be allowed to marry one.” She opened Fiadh’s jewelry box to find baubles for her sister’s horns. “Ugh–what’s this?” 

Onóra pinched a long piece of fabric between her thumb and forefinger. It might have been white once, but was stained with sweat and dark splotches of blood. “Mairead made it for me,” Fiadh replied with a smile. “One of my hand wraps. I still prefer bare-knuckle, but she insisted. I was afraid that it would make my punches too soft.” She formed a fist. “It didn’t.”

“Well, those days are over.” Onóra dropped the wrap on the floor and found some bells for Fiadh’s antlers. “You’re next in line for the throne now. If you keep going like this, both you and Mairead are going to get hurt.”

Fiadh glanced at the wrap. “We’ve both already been hurt. I’m not giving her up. Not for anything.” 

The ball was beautiful, as always. Food and wine were plentiful, as were Fiadh’s suitors. Men and women alike had traveled far for the promise of a dance with the eventual queen. Each partner was more tedious than the last. It was like they had all read from the same “How to Woo a Princess” handbook, feeding her the same praise again and again. Every so often someone would add in something about what their clan could offer the crown.

Fiadh knew that fending off so many potential mates would be irritating, but she hadn’t expected it to be so boring. They would give her gems and dote on her, when what she wanted was a woman who made hand wraps and challenged her. 

She stopped mid-dance with a handsome púca. At least, they might have been handsome. It wasn’t easy to tell with shapeshifters. “Pardon me. I must speak with my mother.” 

Fiadh rarely asked Queen Caoimhe permission for anything, and her request shocked her mother. Caoimhe nearly refused, until Fiadh swore that she would be true to her word. Only then did the queen allow Fiadh to make her announcement. 

The music stopped, and Fiadh called for attention. “I know many of you have come seeking my hand. Your words are kind, but they do not easily sway me. I believe in action. I will only marry someone who can defeat me in unarmed combat. No weapons, no befuddling magic, just a good fight.

“Anyone who wishes to challenge me, come to the training yard at dawn.” 

Eight challengers lined up on the edge of the sparring ring. Her first opponent was Aos Sí like her, but a muscled warrior with fists like stones. They would feel like boulders if they hit her. 

So she wouldn’t get hit. 

Fiadh’s opponent had the advantage in size, but she was faster. She dodged his first swings, then threw a jab to his face. He caught her fist in his massive hand, but not the hook that came for his side. Fiadh moved in. Her foe couldn’t adapt quickly enough to avoid the battering that Fiadh was giving him. If he tried to punch, she slipped out of reach and countered with an uppercut. 

He finally surrendered. Fiadh grinned at her audience. “Right, who’s next?” 

By the fifth bout, Fiadh was getting worn down. By the sixth one, she was making mistakes. She’d beaten her opponent again, but she had a bloody nose and bloodier knuckles. 

Fiadh caught her breath and gestured for her next suitor to come forward: the same púca that she’d cut her dance short with. Fiadh licked her lips. Even at full strength, a shapeshifter would be difficult to deal with. Fiadh had barred magic that affected the senses from the matches, but anything that altered the participants’ bodies was fair game. 

“Another dance, Your Highness?” The púca bowed and looked up to give her a coy smile.

“Gladly.” 

The two fighters circled each other for a moment, sizing the other up. Fiadh made the first move, feinting to the left then striking with a jab to the right. The púca responded instantly, slamming a fist into her side. For a minute they exchanged blows with equal fury. An unexpected hit to Fiadh’s jaw sent her sprawling. 

She gasped. No one had ever knocked her down in a fight before. As she got to her knees, she saw that the púca had partially shifted. Their arms and hands were thick as an ape’s, packing more power with each punch than before. 

Fiadh didn’t stand. She put her hands on the ground changed. Her limbs lengthened; dark hair sprouted along her body. Her antlers enlarged and flattened, until she’d taken on another form: the Irish Elk. 

The púca barely had time to react before Fiadh swept them up with her antlers. She tossed the púca to the ground, not quite gently, and rested a massive hoof on their chest. Not enough to hurt, but enough that they would feel its pressure. 

The púca surrendered. 

Fiadh gave a short victory bugle. She snorted and stomped her hoof, awaiting her next opponent.

No one moved. Then a hooded figure stepped forward. The challenger held out a hand, and Fiadh touched her nose to it and inhaled. She stomped her hoof again, indicating she was ready for the final fight. 

The challenger tapped Fiadh on the nose. 

Fiadh wobbled where she stood, then collapsed. Her elk form melted away as she cried out, “I’ve been defeated! I’ve been bested!” 

The crowd gasped, and all eyes went to the stranger. She pulled the hood away from her face. A face that was utterly, utterly human. The woman helped Fiadh to her feet.

Fiadh grabbed the woman’s hand and raised both of theirs in the air. “Meet my betrothed: Lady Mairead!” 

The uproar was instantaneous. Queen Caoimhe’s face was red with rage, while Onóra just looked shocked…and then started applauding. 

Mairead kissed Fiadh’s cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Why didn’t you wear the wraps?” 

They’re baaaaack! Fiadh and Mairead are characters from the novel I’m currently writing. They’re the main character’s parents. They’re both dead by the time the novel starts, but they have such a fun (and long) backstory that I’ve been writing pieces of it for FFM. There were a few stories about Fiadh, Mairead, and their kids last year. I’ve had a lot of fun writing these “bonus stories” that take place before the novel starts, so I’ll probably have a few more of them this year.

This story was also inspired by the Khutulun. Legend says that she was a great wrestler and would only marry a many who could defeat her. Any losers had to give her a horse. According to some stories, she had 50 horses before she had a husband. Good for you, girl.

This is also for today’s challenge: I Cannot Use That.

Element 1: Pick an item you have interacted with today. Its size, function, location or current state of existence do not matter. What matters is that you have interacted with it today and that you include said item in your story. – the hand wraps

Element 2: That said, your protagonist is not allowed to use the item you chose at all in the story. The reason why is up to you.

Element 3: As tempting as it would be to allow for the briefest of “I cannot use that” shenanigans, we are rather hungry for words after a long hibernation. Your story must be at minimum 300 words long. Because it’s day 3 and this is element number 3, you know? – this was the easiest one for me to do!

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 2: A Tail’s Tale

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. Last year, my cat Nimbus got her own story: The Adventures of Nimbus, by Nimbus. This year, Nimbus got a little brother named Storm. Stormy loves to go outside, but when he comes in I have to pick dirt and leaves off him, especially his tail. I decided I needed to write a picture book about him. There’s a picture of my muse at the end of the story.

Stormy was a cat with a fluffy, fluffy tail. All kinds of things got stuck in his tail when he went out to play.

On Monday, Stormy went out to play. When he came home, he had one ladybug stuck in his tail.

On Tuesday, Stormy went out to play. When he came home, he had two butterflies and one ladybug stuck in his tail.

On Wednesday, Stormy went out to play. When he came home, he had three lizards, two butterflies, and one ladybug stuck in his tail.

On Thursday, Stormy went out to play. When he came home, he had four birds, three lizards, two butterflies, and one ladybug stuck in his tail.

On Friday, Stormy went out to play. When he came home, he had five bunnies, four birds, three lizards, two butterflies, and one ladybug stuck in his tail. 

On Saturday, Stormy got brushed. His owner brushed out five bunnies, four birds, three lizards, two butterflies, and one ladybug that were stuck in his tail. 

On Sunday, Stormy went out to play. He came home with friends in his tail. His friends were…five bunnies, four birds, three lizards, two butterflies, and one ladybug! 

Stormy Odinsson, my little dirt boy.