Tag / creative writing

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 31: Defiance

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 story is a companion piece to FFM 5: Guardian of the Gate. More notes at the end of the story.

This is also the last day of FFM! All my stories will be up through the month of August, after which some of them will be taken down. I also won’t have any posts in August, as I’ll be hibernating. Thank you for reading!

Rage. My rage is so loud it drowns out my sorrow. Screams and sobs become one noise, the sound of pure grief, spilling out of my tortured throat. I would tear down the world, wrestle Thanatos to the ground, spit in Hades’s face. I would defy the gods and return my family to my side. Grief is a weapon more powerful than death, and I am a sharpened blade. 

I cannot defy the gods. Every man has faced grief, and no man has brought the dead back to walk in the sun again. Even attempting to bring my wife and child back to the world of the living is unnatural. We are born, we live, we die. Should I try to break this most unbreakable law, what I have left of my life will be mired in torment. 

What I have left is a hut along the river that took my family from me. I have nothing. Nothing that matters without them. Food has no taste. Nothing brings me joy. My bed is empty; my life is empty. If I defy Hades, I cannot win. I know this. But without my family, I have no reason to continue living. For their sakes, I will defy death itself.

WE’RE DOOOOOOOOONE.

This was the final challenge of FFM. I didn’t follow it to the letter (please don’t eat me mighty Hydra), but it was to write an inversion of your last story. Instead of doing that, I wrote an inversion of my Cerberus story, this time from the point of view of the guy trapped under Cerberus’s foot. I wasn’t happy with my 369er, since every paragraph should be a story in itself, and that wasn’t the case of the Cerberus story. So I tried it here, while still trying to do the id-superego-ego combo.

And now I’m going to sleep for a month. Wake me up when September starts.

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 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 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 1: Spider Whelp

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 are at the end of the story.

“A ring of disguise. I know you have one.” 

“Thought you might be coming here, spider-whelp.” The human woman said. “Your kind never gets far on their own.”

“They are not my kind.”

The human grinned, baring a broken tooth. “I’ve heard differently.” 

Shoved against the wall, knife to his throat. “Let’s see what you’re hiding under here.” Calloused hands tore the hat off his head. Moonlight white hair spilled down to his chin. 

“That’s what I thought.” The point of the high elf’s blade trailed across flesh, to the spider insignia that stained the drow’s flesh. The high elf elicited a hiss. “You’ve been marked.” 

“I know you’re good,” the human continued. “You’ve killed plenty of my guys. But plenty of the other side’s guys, too. Keep going like that, you’ll be dead before the month is out.” 

There was an understanding between the drow and whoever hired him. He would kill no women, and his loyalty after the job was done was malleable. Most thought he was worth the price anyway.

“I have money,” he told the human. 

“I know. You’ve gotten plenty of it from me. I don’t want your money,” she replied.

The drow scoffed. “All anyone wants in this city is money.” 

“The ring has a price, but it’s not measured in gold.” She fished it from her pocket, a copper band with a tiny glass mirror where a stone would be.

 The drow’s red eyes gleamed. “What is it then?”

“You work for me. Exclusively.”

A mass of bodies under the earth, chanting and calling out to their goddess. They were divided, the men and the women, praising their true queen.

Silver webs shone against the dark, and Lolth came to them. Her many eyes swept over the mass of her worshippers. She picked from the women first, Her newest clerics.

Then, the men. Praying, but not daring to hope that the Queen of Darkness would deign to bless them.

She chose him.

He would not raise a hand to a woman, not even to this one, who both deserved it and had what he most wished for in the world.

But the price was too high.

“I work for no one but myself.” He took a step back.

“That’s what I thought you might say.” 

She drew her sword.

The burst of dark energy had slain the high elf before he could draw the drow’s blood. He had slain many others in the same way. 

With each spell, he could only hope that Lolth did not feel him drawing on Her power. Let her forget about him, and the gift she had given him. She had many, many others to do her bidding. Let him disappear into the crowd again. 

He could feel that borrowed power tingling at his fingertips now. He would not use it.

The drow fled. 

FFM #1 Challenge! Write a story with a nonlinear narrative.

I was really stuck on this one at first. Then I remembered I play DnD, and I have a character for an upcoming campaign that needs a backstory. The character in question is a male drow warlock, who came to Waterdeep from the Underdark. He’s really hoping that Lolth will just forget about him and let him figure out how to be a person.