K R Smith

Thursday, May 16, 2019

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 107

Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt was taken by Russian photographer Daniel Kordan - he has some incredible pictures, definitely worth checking out his site.

Have you sussed what this is yet? It's not some strange photoshopped image, it's actually a photo of an ice cave being illuminated by a flare - an ice cave in Kamchatka in the Far East of Russia. He explored under the glacier near the Mutnovsky volcano. You can read about it here.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

Yet another sci-fi tale this week.

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 462 words for those who are counting (not including the title and byline).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

Crack the Sky

K. R. Smith

"An ominous sign, to be sure," Glornacht said. His eyes scanned the sharp lines cutting through the hazy red hues glowing above.

"Hasn't anyone climbed up the cliffs to understand what's going on?"

"You're not from this place, David, and you must learn our ways. It would be considered presumptuous for a mortal to ascend the mountains. That is the domain of the Everlasting Ones. We have been provided for here, and here we will stay."

"How can a sky crack, Glornacht?" David adjusted the universal translator hoping the meaning of his words might come through somehow. "How?"

"It happens from time to time. I've read of such events in our chronicles. We go deep into the underworld until it is safe again."

"How long will that be?"

"It is difficult to say. A hundred cycles, or a thousand." Glornacht shrugged. "Perhaps more. When it pleases the Everlasting Ones, we will return."

David hung his head. "Let me explain again. I've been above what you call the sky. It's not the sky at all. It's a huge sheet of ice on a world we call Mars. The only reason you can live here is because the rocks shield you from radiation, the ice sheet locks in an atmosphere, and enough ice melts to provide you with water. And now, for whatever reason, that ice sheet is cracking. When it comes tumbling down, many of your people will be injured or killed."

Glornacht looked at the visitor and smiled. "Though I don't understand all your words, what would you have us do? Leave? Even if we were allowed to do so, the place you describe beyond the sky would not support our bodies."

"So, you'll remain here to die—all because of some ancient superstition?"

"Superstition? Perhaps. But we will not die. From what you tell us, we have survived, even thrived here, longer than species has existed. And why did your people leave their home to come to this place? Because your world is failing. At your own hand, I might add."

David had no reply.

"I know you're trying to help, and we are grateful, but it might be best if you helped yourself first." Glornacht put his three-fingered hand on David's shoulder. "And, of course, you—and those with you—are welcome to join us. The Everlasting Ones do not mind, I can assure you."

David looked into Glornacht's eyes. Only six months since landing and the colony was already in trouble. Farming, energy generation, even waste disposal was more difficult than they had ever imagined. Water was critically low. They had investigated the ice sheets as an easy way to obtain a suitable supply. How could he explain that, this time, he was the reason their sky was cracking?

While you're here...

Author Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available: If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

Sunday, May 5, 2019

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 105

Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

Today's picture prompt was created by Norwegian artist Erlend Monk. He has a few of these, and many images I find intriguing. I might just have to return to use more.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

Another sci-fi tale (with a touch of horror) this week. It may have even borrowed the germ of an idea from Miranda's own Slipping Through.

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 544 words for those who are counting (not including the title and byline).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

Dark Dreams

by K. R. Smith

We were just being silly, letting our imaginations run wild. That's what they told us. Whatever we were seeing couldn't be real. Even if it was understandable, being isolated in a remote star system, working long hours and often alone. Of course, that sort of concern had no place in the corps. We needed to get on with our jobs. After all, not a single person had been harmed and there was no proof of any other large indigenous life forms on the planet. It was all in our minds, like some childish ghost story.

The higher-level technical types, the engineers and such, scoffed at our concerns. They didn't believe in spirits or phantoms, but then again, they were always safe and sound within the ship orbiting above. We were on the ground. They never experienced the fleeting, nebulous blur that seemed to follow along as we set up the sensors. Or the dark, wispy swirl of smoke that appeared from time to time out of the corner of an eye. Perhaps, they suggested, it was the low oxygen levels, or maybe the higher levels of cosmic radiation, that cause these visual aberrations. Without evidence, what could be done? Never so much as a footprint or bent twig had been found.

Still, at the insistence of the forward landing party, it was agreed they would look into the matter, if only to appease our concerns. Or humor us, I suppose. Despite their own opinions, they appeared to be professional, and quite deliberate, during the investigation. Yet neither the instruments, nor any of the surveillance cameras, detected anything. There were anomalies, of course, but there always are, aren't there?

Yes, it was all in our minds, they assured us. And they were right.

It was only by accident, while scanning for background radiation, that we began to understand. The instrument had been improperly set to detect frequencies far lower than intended, below ten hertz, the range covering theta brainwaves. Whenever an apparition appeared, there was a spike in this spectrum. It took us a while to figure out. As they slipped in or out of their interdimensional hiding places, this jump induced a vision, a dark, blurry dream as it were, directly into our brain. Once they knew we had a way of detecting them, they no longer concerned themselves with hiding. That made it all the worse. They were quick to turn this ability of mental induction into endless torment.

And now we were trapped. The ship had departed orbit to resupply. It would be three months before it returned, three months of fighting an enemy both around us, and within, too. We had come to colonize this planet. Unfortunately, they had, too.

So, there were no ghosts, no specters, no lost, wandering spirits. That would have been far easier to deal with than a never-ending nightmare that comes after you even when you're awake. The drugs help a little, I suppose, but you can't turn your mind off completely. Well, you can, and it's a dark thought, one that's has been whispered among a few on the team. I'm not sure if it's courage that allows a person do that—or desperation that would drive one there.

Three months is a long time.

While you're here...

Author Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available: If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

Friday, April 19, 2019

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 103

Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post:

This week's picture prompt is from German Photo artist Veronika Pinke. She calls this one Magic.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

Wrote a sci-fi tale this week. Poor Wendell is having problems again. Whenever you see Wendell in one of my stories, you can be certain he's in some sort of predicament!

Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 611 words for those who are counting (not including the title).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

Empty Nester
by K. R. Smith

Wendell hated his assignment. Being posted to this backwater of a planet was like a slow death. It even had a fitting name: Aeterna. It meant eternal in an old Earth language, and appropriate in so many ways. The never-ending twilight, the flat plain that covered most of the surface, featureless other than the skeletons of a few tall tree-like plants and the omnipresent tufts of dead grass-like vegetation poking from the sandy soil.

Nothing seemed to change on Aeterna. No wind, no real clouds—only a moist, vaporous low-hanging fog. He had been here thirty Aeternian days already—the equivalent of nearly two Earth months. Even the star around which the planet revolved appeared to be in no hurry to move across the lifeless sky.

This was his first scientific mission to the outer systems. He'd finished the preliminary analyses. Oxygen levels were low, but sufficient for basic life, with atmospheric pressures slightly higher than Earth. Temperatures stayed within the range acceptable for colonization. Organic molecules were abundant, though there were no signs of active life. Everything here looked to have died some time ago. Wendell was used to having too much to study, of never having the time to devote to a thorough job. Here, the biggest problem might be sensory deprivation. Aeterna was a still and silent world.

He glanced back towards his transport vehicle. He had walked farther from it than safety guidelines allowed: When alone, always stay within 100 meters of the transport vehicle per safety protocol 11-06-A.

"Protocol," he snorted. "The most dangerous situation here is boredom."

Despite his contempt for the rules, academy training had been deeply embedded within his brain. His feet refused to take another step. He shook his head. "Yeah, whatever. Returning to vehicle per protocol 11-06-A."

Before he could finish his first step, something grabbed his attention. He wasn't sure what it was. Wendell stood as motionless as the Aeternian sun, waiting, listening for whatever had happened to repeat. He stopped breathing for a moment so the noise within his bio-suit would be minimal.

He thought he heard a faint click.

Wendell turned up the gain on the external microphone. Every now and then there was a clicking or cracking noise, short, but sharp. Sometimes it sounded faint or far away. Others seemed nearby.

He stood there, mesmerized by this eerie, ethereal song. Then a loud crack echoed through his ears from right at his feet. He turned down the gain on his mike, then scanned the ground around him. There was only a single grassy clump close by.

He knelt, peering down into it. The click came again. He pulled the stands away to see the center of it. An opening in the tuft showed a smooth, rounded surface between the dried filaments. He reached for it, but before his finger could touch the object, it cracked, and a claw as long as his foot poked out the top, waiving in the air.

Wendell jumped back and saw a mark on his hand. The edge of the claw had sliced through the outer skin of his bio-suit. It wasn't enough to cause a leak, but disarming, nonetheless.

He checked another tuft. It was the same. And another. They were all the same. The clicking sound was getting louder with each passing second. Even turning off his external microphone didn't help. He could feel the sound through his suit.

Wendell looked to his vehicle. It was impossibly far away, with the path between it and himself alive with thousands of flailing claws.

The tufts weren't just clumps of dead grass; they were nests.

And what was in them was hatching.

While you're here...

Author Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

Author Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available: If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

Thanks!

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 102

Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

This story is for Miranda Kate's weekly flash challenge. This is from Miranda's post: This week's photo prompt is of a sculpture taken at a specific angle. This was created by Zenos Frudakis, an American sculptor and this is called the Freedom sculpture and can be found at 16th and Vine Streets, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He does interesting work. Here's a link to the prompt photo. I borrowed an idea from Jewish lore for this story. It's a little horror, a little romance, a little sad. I'm not Jewish, so take anything I write here with a grain of salt. Kosher salt, of course. No offense intended with the bad joke... Please note that anyone can join in with a story up to 750 words. Mine has 352 words for those who are counting (not including the title).

There is a downloadable PDF version of the story on my Patreon site.

The Golem's Dream

by K. R. Smith

Ezra looked down at his hands; they were strong, but rough and indelicate. He had been created from the dust and clay, brought to life by the words of his mistress. His duty was to serve, which he did gladly.

Why would he not? The tasks were simple enough: protect her, fetch food and drink, sometimes carry objects too large or heavy for her graceful frame.

Above all, he could enjoy her presence.

He had delivered the evening meal and was standing silently by the doorway as his mistress entered. Her sumptuous hair, her gown, her body all flowed effortlessly as she moved. It was so unlike his clumsy, plodding ways. She walked past him, then stopped suddenly and turned to face him.

"You are my crowning jewel, Ezra, my greatest achievement. You are of the earth, yet at times I look at you and feel there is more there than I know." She looked into the dark pits of his eyes. "Are you happy? Can you even understand what that means?" She shook her head and smiled. "If only you could speak."

If only. He raised his hand to reach for her but could not bring himself to do so. How could he defile her beauty with his coarse touch? He lowered his hand and gazed into the distance, embarrassed by his effrontery.

His mistress retired once the meal was finished, and Ezra returned to his small room. Many troubling thoughts filled his mind. Could he bear to leave her? Never. And yet, could he bear to stay, to be forever tormented by impossible dreams?

Ezra knew the answer.

He looked in the mirror at the word written on his forehead. His fingers dug into the clay, ripping away the one letter that would end his frustration. As his body failed, he staggered backwards, his limbs, his torso, crumbling. His only hope was, that perhaps, she would finally understand.

In the morning, all that could be found was a piece of clay with the mark א engraved upon its surface surrounded by streaks of dust in the shape of a hand.

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Squirrels And More!

Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

On the publishing front, the editor for Lonesome Train, the anthology containing my latest short story titled Momma Knows Best, says it is in the final stages of editing and should be available soon. Not soon enough, but soon. It's all relative, I suppose.

For those who are more likely to visit my blog here than find me elsewhere, I wanted to let you know about my Patreon Haiku post for April. This particular post is free for everybody to view and it has cute pictures of squirrels. And a haiku. What more could one possibly want?

Anyway, click on this Patreon link and you'll soon be enjoying this post. Okay, I don't really know if you'll enjoy it, but I'm an optimist.

While you're at it, please consider helping these writers!

Troy Blackford and his family is having a difficult time due to the potentially fatal illness of one of his sons. Help him out if you can. You can also find him on Twitter.

And last, but not least, Terri Deno has a new book of poetry available: If It Was New York, Summer 2009. Please consider purchasing a copy. Writing is her only means of support, so let's support her writing!

https://www.amazon.com/Was-New-York-Summer-2009-ebook/dp/B07P678X53

Thanks!

Monday, April 1, 2019

April Is Twice As Nice!

It's officially April, so we have two events starting this month!

First is National Poetry Month.

If you'd like, visit the website and you can get a free poster!

I know a few folks who will be doing a bit of poetry for the occasion. I'm sure Terri Deno will have something out there, or you can a copy of her new book of poetry And check my Patreon site for a free visual haiku (part of my monthly series). You don't have to be a member of Patreon for this one. It should be available soon. My little poem will be to celebrate Squirrel Week, an annual feature of the Washington Post, and possible the best part of that newspaper. Well, okay, I like the crossword puzzle, too.

There's also Camp Nanowrimo.

I won't be participating, but check out a few writers on the web - it shouldn't be hard to find one who is. Or maybe you should just try it yourself. It's a great way to force yourself into starting that novel you always said you'd write!

Saturday, March 23, 2019

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 99

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 99th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt - as best as I can ascertain, I believe was created by someone under the name of Georgie69 back in 2008, as it appears on a blog with many other pictures designed around the same picture, but the blog seems not to be in use after 2009.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

This time I present a really short horror tale in a traditional style called Just A Job. It is also posted on Patreon, with free access for everyone that includes a downloadable PDF file of the story. Only 340 words for those who are counting!

Just A Job
by
K. R. Smith

It's dark now. They're all asleep—or what passes for sleep by the ones inside. They never close their eyes.

I know people will wonder why I did this. Why wouldn't they? It's such a beautiful place. The elegant buildings, the graceful bell tower that marks the hours with a peaceful chime—yet whose bright, clean walls serve only to hide those hideous beasts inside from prying eyes.

It was only a job, I reasoned, a way to put a few dollars in my pocket. Taking care of the patients was all that was required. Clean them up, feed them, that sort of thing. And keep quiet about it when in town. We have to protect their privacy I was told. It seemed innocent enough though I was warned there might be situations I would find disturbing. I had no idea.

Patients? Ha! What a ridiculous distortion of the word. They're not sick. Whatever they are, they're thriving. A captive existence to be certain with each one chained to the floor, but thriving nonetheless. They grow stronger each day. It's their keepers who are the sick ones.

Feeding time was the worst of all. Some of what I saw in their food bowls looked uncomfortably familiar. I assured myself I was wrong. I had to be. People don't do that sort of thing.

Last night, I heard the doctors talking. It was nearly time they said. For what purpose, I refuse to imagine. I had no choice but to act. Any sane person would agree.

The gas lines in the cellar have been loosened just enough for the fuel to escape. It will take a while to fill the rooms beneath the facility. Eventually, the vapors will find an open flame. I've made sure of that. The main door has been locked to keep anyone from escaping until that happens. I suspect some innocent people will die, too. There must be a few left there.

Am I mad? Possibly. That doesn't mean I'm wrong now, does it?

Well? Answer me!

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Haiku For March 2019

Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

I've put a new haiku out on my Patreon site (sorry - patrons only). This one celebrates the Full Crow Moon which will appear tonight along with the spring equinox. It's also called the Full Worm Moon, but that wasn't as appealing to me! This is another of my monthly haiku that is on a formatted photo I've taken. Here's a teaser of the full image:

Here's a link to the Patreon page: Haiku For March 2019

Please note that Patreon isn't Internet Explorer friendly, so it's viewed best using Chrome, Firefox, Safari, or Edge.

Friday, February 15, 2019

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 94

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 94th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

I picked this week's photo as it is Valentine's week and it seemed appropriate. It was created by a company called Ars Thanea, and it is an actual sculpture they made, called The Ash. An explanation about how they did it is here.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

This week's effort is a short horror/noir story called By Any Other Name. It is posted on Patreon, with free access for everyone. The link is below!

By Any Other Name

Follow this link to my Patreon site for free access to the story.

Friday, February 1, 2019

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 92

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 92nd Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo was taken by a guy called Garret Stark who likse gaming. From what I can gather he took a lots of shots of his dice, and this is one of them.
Here's a link to the prompt photo.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

This is a short horror story called Bones. It is posted on Patreon, with free access for everyone.

Bones

Follow this link to my Patreon site for free access to the story.

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Updates And News For January 2019

I have new stories coming! Here's a link to my Patreon post on what's happening!

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 89

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 89th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's prompt photo I found online, probably through Twitter, but I can't find any results on its origins online on any searches.

Here's a link to the prompt photo.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

This story is a "second part," so to speak, of an earlier story I did. It was called Ave Maria. That story, like this one, was also posted on Patreon, with free access for everyone.

Ave Maria, Part II

Follow this link to my Patreon site for free access to the story.

Thursday, December 27, 2018

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 87

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 87th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt was taken by Carlos M Almagro, a Tenerife based photographer. This was taken there. He has some incredible pictures on his website, definitely worth checking out. He calls this one Calm and Joy.

Here is a link to the photo prompt for this week's challenge.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

A romantic drama this time. Exactly 750 words. I like to live on the edge...

Expatriate

The cool morning air off the water blew down Fred's collar. He zipped his jacket higher and continued to walk along the shore.

This was supposed to be a vacation. Spending time together ended up being anything but relaxing. It was bad enough that his in-laws were living with them. With his own kids beginning to exert their influence on events, it was like dealing with two sets of quarreling children. Even here he couldn't escape. There was always another job, another decision made beyond his control, another day of pandering to everyone else's needs and desires. This was supposed to be a time to unwind, to regenerate while listening to the splash of gentle waves and haunting call of seabirds.

The morning had not been peaceful. He'd slammed the door when he left, telling them all to figure it out on their own. The beach, only a short walk from the rental, was good a place as any to go. The sunrise was beautiful, though his eyes only looked down. In his mind, an endless loop of the morning's events replayed.

He walked until he came across an old chair left on the beach. It was probably not worth saving and thoughtlessly left behind. He gave it a shake. It seemed sturdy enough to support his weight. He sat and stared out over the water, occasionally kicking one of the stones near his feet. He contemplated them for a moment, then stood up. He chose a few of the larger ones and placed them in an arc in front of the chair. Feeling oddly satisfied, he continued until there was a small area encircled by rocks. Once complete, he stepped inside the circle and placed his hands on his hips.

"I name this land Fredonia. I am its sole occupant and ruler. I declare my independence from all other lands, governments, people, authorities, foreign obligations, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera."

He flopped back into the chair.

The sun peeked through the clouds near the horizon. He could feel its warmth on his legs. The rhythm of the small waves calmed him, his mind slowly drifting from the chaos of the morning.

"Fred?"

It took a moment for the voice to register in his mind. It was Cathy, his wife. He turned and looked, but didn't respond.

"Are you still angry?"

Fred took a breath and rubbed his hand over his jaw. "I don't know. Maybe." He looked back over the ocean. "I'm just so frustrated with the world, my life, with everything and everybody."

"Even with me?"

Fred turned towards Cathy. She was standing back away from where he sat. Was she afraid to come closer, afraid of him? The magnitude of her words, her distance, tore at him. How could he be mad at her? She had it no better.

"What can I do, Fred? Tell me and I'll try."

He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don't know, Cathy. What can anyone do? It's just the way things are. I don't know what to do myself."

"Would you hold me?"

The idea that Cathy would ever wonder if that was acceptable, as if needing permission to be held, was more than he could stand. He held out his arm invitingly. When just a few feet away, however, Fred raised his hand and said, "Stop."

Cathy's eyes opened wide. She brought her hands up to her face, unsure what to do or say.

"I have declared this good place to be Fredonia," Fred said loudly while waving his hands over the stone ring. "It is a land unto itself, free of all worldly obligations. None may enter without the permission of the, uh, king? Yes, king would be appropriate. Which is I. Or me, I think." He looked at Cathy. "Do you have business with the king?"

Cathy stared at Fred, then repeated her request. "I would like a hug?" She waited for a reply, but none came. "Your majesty?" she added.

"I see." Fred nodded. "You may enter."

They held each other for a long while. He kissed her. She turned within his arms so the two of them could look out over the water.

"This is all I really want, Cathy. Just some time for myself, for us."

She nestled against him. "Can we stay here forever?"

Fred sighed. "Well, at least until breakfast need to be made—or high tide—whichever comes first."

She held his arms tightly against her. "That would be perfect."

Thursday, December 20, 2018

Updates And News For December 2018

Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

You may have noticed, or even visited, my Patreon site as I have placed some of my recent flash fiction postings there. I'm in the (glacial) process of doing more there and moving away from Blogger. That's a hint that you may want to check there more often that here in the future. I'll probably set up another true web site on different platform at some point, but that's only in the planning stage right now.

Postings of my work have been slow in coming this year. I've complained enough about that already, so I won't go into the reasons again. I have noticed an uptick in viewings on Patreon. Although I don't have any patrons so far (I haven't posted enough stuff to make it worthwhile), this is a good sign.

Patreon viewership has increased lately

As you can see, I've even had some interaction with new readers! Woo-hoo!

In other news, I believe I've had a short story accepted for inclusion in an anthology, but I'm waiting to get that confirmed. It's a Southern Gothic horror story call Momma Knows Best. More later - I hope!

Some of the authors I follow have been making progress, too!

Terri Deno has a poem, Our Conversation in the Garden, published in America's Emerging Poets 2018: Midwest Region from Z Publishing House. It's available on Amazon and should eventually be available directly from Z Publishing House.

Cover of America's Emerging Poets 2018 from Z Publishing House

It's right there on page 163!

Miranda Kate has announced a sequel is coming to The Game, the novella in her book, Slipping Through. The title is to be Pool of Players. No firm date yet (other than spring of 2019), but if you subscribe to her newsletter, you'll probably be the first to know!

That's all for now. Thanks for stopping by!

Wednesday, November 21, 2018

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 82

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 82nd Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's photo prompt is of white Tulips taken by Olay Seven, a Turkish photograph from Istanbul. He has taken these from a few angles. You can check out his instagram page here.

Here is a link to the photo prompt for this week's challenge.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

A sci-fi shorty for this challenge. Only 472 words.

Mission Accomplished

Willard never dreamed there could be a world like this. He'd explored many planets during his career with the Unity Space Corps. Most were barren and rocky, either too hot or cold, or had a noxious atmosphere. Of all the places even close to being Earth-like, nothing compared to Silanius.

The air, slightly richer in oxygen that Earth, seemed to be blessed by the sweet perfume emanating from the flowering plants covering its surface. They were everywhere, yet it was never overpowering, just a faint, relaxing bouquet that made one wish to inhale deeply and long, to enjoy every breath, to savor the wonderful aromas of each blossom. And what plants they were! Marvelous, immense versions similar to those he knew, though they towered so far over him only the occasional glimpse of the system's central star was visible.

He leaned back against one of the huge stems and turned on his utility device to take notes. There was so much to learn here, so much to be excited about, yet Willard was in no hurry to start work. Surrounded by such beauty, how could he be? The plant he was using as a backrest swayed gently in the warm breeze. There were no known large animals to be wary of, only a few flying creatures and the soothing hum of what would be Silanius' equivalent of bees darting between the flowers. This was paradise, or as close as anything his mind could envision. Silanius overwhelmed his senses with wonder, rendering his brain into a state of rapture. Like an addicting drug, Willard willingly abused it; he couldn't get enough.

In a moment of clarity, he wondered how these plants could grow so large. He observed a handful of soil as he let it fall through the fingers of his glove. There didn't appear to be the amount of organic material one might expect. It was one of the mysteries he'd been sent to investigate. Willard, however, was going to take his time doing research here—he was in no hurry to leave. This was the first time in months he'd been able to unwind, to rest, and he was going to take full advantage of his situation.

Willard woke to a discomfort in his leg. He must have fallen asleep in an odd position, he thought. He tried to reach down to rub his calf, but his arm wouldn't move. Opening his eyes, he saw the tendrils wrapped around his limbs. The one on his leg had pierced the skin. Struggling against them only seemed to make their grip tighter. The utility device was too far away to reach. He called to it, hoping voice commands would work. The front panel shattered as a green shoot pushed through. He'd found the missing fertilizer, but no one was ever going to know.

Friday, November 9, 2018

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 80

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 80th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's picture prompt was taken by a friend of mine, Michael Sands, when he was in Oxford. This building is called The Radcliffe's Camera and it's part of Oxford University. It houses the Science Library.

Here is a link to the photo prompt for this week's challenge.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

I wrote this in a hurry tonight, so if you see any missing words or other errors please let me know. It's a bit of fantasy this week, 631 words worth (no pun intended). But you have to read Miranda's tale first!

On the Flip Side

The damp stones of the old building exuded a chill as he huddled in its shadow. A shiver went down his back. As uncomfortable as Fenton was, the shadows were his friends now. What he'd stolen was worth quite a bit. He expected the owners would want it back. Surely the police had been notified by now.

He glanced each way, half expecting to find them on his trail. He took a deep breath. Only a couple of people passing by—no one to worry about. It was then something caught his eye.

Though the morning rains had stopped, the street was still wet. There was movement in a puddle not far in front of him. He couldn't make out what might be causing it, but it appeared to be a shoe. Whatever the object was, it quickly disappeared. A moment later, a finger, then a hand, briefly appeared.

Fenton cussed. This was not good. "Some fool must have fallen into an open manhole," he said. "Probably flooded and didn't see it. Now he's drowning. I don't need murder added to theft if I'm caught."

Before he could figure out which way to run, two feet sprouted up out of the hole. Within seconds, an entire person had popped out of the puddle and was standing upright not ten metres away. The man seemed confused, though not as much as Fenton. Oddly enough, he wasn't the slightest bit wet.

He fought the urge to approach the man, still concerned about possible pursuers. Fenton ducked behind the corner of the building as the man turned towards him. When he peeked out again, he saw him running down the street. There was no trail of wet footprints to mark his path.

Despite his circumstances, Fenton's curiosity drew him to the puddle. It looked no different from the others along the street. He reached out to touch it. There was no ripple, no visible disturbance. He rubbed his fingers together. They weren't wet.

"Bloody..." he muttered under his breath. He reached in further, staring into the puddle trying to see what was within. He leaned closer and felt himself being pulled deeper. Whatever force was drawing him in was stronger than his efforts to resist.

He found himself sitting on the street—the same street as before—though in a world around him that was in ruin. The cold rain hitting his face brought him back to the moment.

Reaching into his coat pocket, the clandestine prize which had driven him to desperation was still there. The police were no longer his concern, but he felt an uneasiness as to what, or who, might be here instead. It was time to move. He would have to figure what had happened to him later.

He didn't go far until his path was blocked by debris. He worried about damaging the precious item in him pocket climbing over the twisted metal and stone. Fenton pulled it out of his pocket, still wrapped in an old cloth. He would set it up on some stones, then climb up to it, repeating this until safely over the top. He had just raised it above his head when he heard a familiar voice,

"So, what have we here?"

Before Fenton could turn, something hard and sharp went into his back. He couldn't breathe. As it all went black, a hand reached around him and took the package from his hand.

"Must be something mighty special," the man said. "What do you say we have a look?"

He started to unwrap his prize when Fenton's body fell over. Though life oozed from his mouth and the eyes were closed, the face was one he'd seen before—in the mirror.

"Bloody..." the man muttered under his breath as he backed away.

Saturday, November 3, 2018

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 79

Everyone likes a little flash fiction, right? Thanks to a photo prompt from Miranda Kate's 79th Mid-Week Flash challenge, you're going to get some! This is from Miranda's post:

This week's prompt picture is again all over the net and various pinterest accounts globally. A lot comes up in Arabic so it could be from someone in the Middle East, but sadly can't be tracked.

Here is a link to the photo prompt for this week's challenge.

If you want to join in, here's what she's looking for:

No horror this week. Only mushy stuff. 684 words.

Searching for Flowers

It had been years since Jason last walked down the beach. It was where he'd met Alicia. That was all so long ago, it seemed. She was gone forever now, taken from life too soon. The shore was still beautiful, though not as inviting as he remembered. The once-invigorating fragrance of salt air now only induced shadowy, melancholy visions.

At his feet, lodged in the sandy soil next to a half-buried piece of driftwood, a flower sprouted. How many times had he picked these for Alicia? How many silly little bouquets had he made? He reached down and pulled the stem free of the tough roots. It was only a weed, though an attractive one.

"That's pretty."

It was a tiny voice he heard, so small he wasn't sure it was real. He turned slightly in its direction to find a girl, a very young child, in truth, standing next to him. She had a wide smile on her face.

Jason attempted a smile, though with little enthusiasm. "Yes, I suppose it is, isn't it?"

The girl remained quiet, alternately grinning and biting her lip, shyly avoiding eye contact. Jason held the flower out and said, "Here." She snatched it from his hand, then ran off giggling.

He quickly disappeared back into his thoughts, his mind entranced by the rhythmic waves and gentle breezes. What, if anything, was left for him here?

"That was very kind of you."

The sound startled him. A young woman stood only a few feet away. He'd been so engrossed in his thoughts he hadn't noticed. Her long, dark hair drifted across her face from the sea breeze, though her eyes seemed to pierce through its gossamer veil as if they had a light of their own. She was smiling, though she eventually looked away. He realized he'd been staring at her for an uncomfortably long time.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you like that," she said.

"I—I didn't know anyone was there."

"I know. I was trying to catch up with Sarah. She ran off ahead of me. I hope she didn't bother you."

"Oh, uh, no, not at all. Your daughter?"

"Yes. She can be a handful at times. The two of us moved here last week from back east. Thought we go exploring today. By the way, I'm Kristen."

"I'm..." His voice drifted away as he studied the soft contours of her face. "Jason," he finally exclaimed, as if shocked by some great revelation. "My name—it's Jason."

She tried not to laugh, craning her neck to check on her daughter as a cover. "Do you live nearby?"

He took a deep breath. "No, not anymore. I came by to—well, I'm not really sure. Just to see it again, I guess."

"Is this place special to you?"

Jason wasn't sure how to answer the question. It used to be. Was it still? Did he really want to bother someone else with his past? He hadn't talked much to anyone about Alicia, let alone to a woman. He didn't know what to say, even what he should say, but he did want talk about something, anything. He hadn’t felt that way in ages. There was life in the way her eyes seemed to dance, glancing at him only briefly before looking away.

"There's a cove not far past the point here." He knew he was staring again. "I used to go there a lot. It's really beautiful."

"Oh?"

"If you'd like to see I could..."

She turned away, grinning, he noticed, exactly like her daughter.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to presume."

"That's alright." She looked directly at him this time. "I'd love to see it."

They walked along the beach together as Sarah scampered from shell to stone, the tiny flower firmly clenched in her fist. When he could divert his attention from Kristen he scanned the beach, inspecting every rock, clump of grass, and piece of wood that might provide a shelter for life. What a shame it would be, he thought, if there were no more flowers to be found.

Monday, October 8, 2018

Looks Like Google+ Is Going Away

Just a reminder: It’s okay to leave comments!

Looks like the security breach in Google's sort-of-equivalent to Facebook was the last straw for Google+. I know it isn't that popular. Even Google says so. This is from their blog:

I'm not sure what Google thought my expectations were; they never asked me. It was, I'd hoped, another way to get info out about stories I've written though I seldom got any feedback via Google+. I wonder if Blogger is next. Guess I'd better do a backup...

And, no, I still won't get on Facebook.

Sunday, September 30, 2018

ZNB Anthologies Funded - Call For Submissions

For the last few weeks you've seen this at the top of my blog posts:

Well, I can stop posting that now!

The three anthologies ( Portals, Temporally Deactivated, and Alternate Peace ) have been funded (and exceeded their target) with $25,854 pledged towards $25,000 goal as of 11:30 pm EST on September 30, 2018!

Now comes the fun part. There is an open submission call to fill out the anthologies in addition to the tales from the pre-selected authors. You can find the submission guidelines here: Submission Guidelines: Portals, Temporally Deactivated, and Alternate Peace. So get writing and pass the word!

Thursday, September 27, 2018

Health, Fitness, And Dieting?

Just a quick announcement before my blog begins...

Please consider donating to the Zombies Need Brains Sci-fi/fantasy anthologies Kickstarter! There will be three books! Lots of perks and, if funded, there will be an open submission! If you're a writer, that's a good thing! You can reach the Kickstarter by clicking HERE.

Today I logged onto Amazon's Author Central to see how things were going. You know, have any books been selling, what's my author rank, etc. I'm not sure why, but there is a new category on my ranking page describing the category of books I've been published in: Health, Dieting, and Fitness.

Now, I have to say up front that I haven't written any books or stories that would offer useful information in these categories. Well, none that I'm aware of. If I had you surely wouldn't want to take advice from them. I did write a story where a dad ate some of his kid's Halloween candy that had little monsters in it. And in another anthology, a girl was bullied because of the effect of a thyroid problem. Wait—maybe it's Haiku of the Dead because zombies, of course, eat brains! No, I guess that would be a bit of a stretch. I don't really think any of these qualify, though I may be mistaken. Yet, somehow, I have an author ranking of 213,799 in this category. The category just started, so the graph is only for today.

Health, fitness, and dieting category? How?

Apparently I'm doing better than I thought, branching out into new literary frontiers without even trying! Maybe next week it will be erotic romance. Say, that might be interesting! Or, at my age, really disgusting. To tell the truth, for me it would probably just be confusing. And I'm already half-way there!

Thursday, May 16, 2019

Sunday, May 5, 2019

Friday, April 19, 2019

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Monday, April 1, 2019

Saturday, March 23, 2019

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Friday, February 15, 2019

Friday, February 1, 2019

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Thursday, December 27, 2018

Thursday, December 20, 2018

Wednesday, November 21, 2018

Friday, November 9, 2018

Saturday, November 3, 2018

Monday, October 8, 2018

Sunday, September 30, 2018

Thursday, September 27, 2018

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