Tag Archives: Flash Fiction

Pirate My Book

webSeriously–do it.

Downloading books for free is wrong, right? It devalues books and doesn’t give an author his/her due for their work, right?

Not always. I want my name out there, but the biggest ebook site in the world won’t let me give it away (without me waiting for them to price match), so here it is. You can download it as a pdf from Slideshare. Or you can get it as an ebook on Smashwords.

It’s a collection of flash fiction that I posted on this site before anyway.

Enjoy! Let me know what you think.

 

 

There’s a Storm Coming

Announcement:

I’ve decided to compile a lot of my flash fiction and short stories into a free eBook. I’m re-editing (if that’s a word) each story, then uploading the book to all eBook sites for free. Be sure to look for it later this month.

This is the fantastic cover that I got at authormarketingclub.com

It’s a great resource for all authors. If you have a book, be sure to check it out. They have two services: free and premium. You’ll find value in either one.

Flash Fiction Thursday–Living a Nightmare

Flash Fiction ThrusdayOkay, I caved. I’ve been trying to put this story off for the longest time, because I plan on this being my next full-length book (after I write another novella). However, this story kept playing over and over in my head, so I caved and wrote the first 1,500 words. Hopefully that holds me over until I’m ready to write the rest of it, which I plan on starting in January.

Here’s the first scene that I have. Enjoy!

Living a Nightmare

When all your dreams are nightmares, insomnia is the only rational solution. Even more so if all of your dreams come true.

Justice sat up in bed. The sheets stuck to his cold and sweaty body like a wet raincoat. Despite the warm bedroom, Justice shivered uncontrollably. Except his shuddering didn’t come from being cold—it came from fear.

He glanced to his right and saw Michelle. Or is it Miranda? he thought. Maggie? Or Melissa? Great!

Waking up to someone different wasn’t a new thing for Justice. Besides, he made a habit of sneaking out well before they woke up, so remembering a name was just a bonus if he was able to manage it. He knew all of the tricks to the trade. Justice left his clothes by the bedroom door and drank plenty of water just before lying down with someone new. That way, he’d wake up around four to use the bathroom, and have everything laid out for him on his way out. Sleeping with new women seemed to be the only thing that calmed him down outside of his good friend Mary Jane. But neither cure worked that night. As vivid of a dream as ever haunted him when he sat up in the strange room.

When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a room infinitely more messy than his—granted he did keep a pretty clean home. Michelle (or whatever the hell her name was) had clothes littering the room, papers and trash everywhere, cups and plates next to her bed, and random debris that he couldn’t even identify. She seemed to break the stereotype of women being the cleaner of the two sexes.

He stepped out of bed, being careful to avoid stepping on the water glasses lying on the ground next to the box spring. With the careful and silent steps of a veteran hunter, Justice made his way to the bedroom door. He paused at the door only long enough to pick up his clothes and check to make sure she still slept, then made his way into the bathroom.

Justice flipped on the light and waited for the fluorescent above the mirror to flicker on. It took it a few seconds. For a moment, Justice thought he’d have to change in the dark—then it came on, illuminating him with a bluish glow. He surveyed the bathroom and grimaced at the woman’s uncleanliness once again. The shower lacked a curtain. Rust built up on the drain in the tub. And what looked to be a spiderweb—or a webbing of shed hair—attached itself on the rings that once held a curtain. Justice shook his head at the thought of taking a bath in that filthy yellowish tub. He gathered himself, stepped up to the commode, whipped out his ‘member’, then handled his business.

After seventy-one seconds of bliss, he shook off, then stepped up to the sink.

At first glance in the mirror, Justice saw Charlton Cook staring back at him. Charlton’s head twisted in an unnatural way just above his jawline. Blood ran down his pale face and onto his shoulders.

Justice shivered once more; this time working himself in all-out convulsions. His legs first weakened, then gave out altogether. He dropped his dusty jeans and collared shirt onto the tile floor as his back slid down the wall. His eyes closed as he moved toward unconsciousness.

Before blacking out, his butt slammed down onto the cold tile floor, jolting him alert.

Justice opened his eyes and tried to stand up. His legs obliged. He gave one hurried glance at the mirror, expecting to see Charlton’s mangled head once again. He flinched away, crouching until his mind processed what he actually did see in the mirror this time. Slowly, he extended his legs to a full standing position. This time, it was a clean cut, young, African American male looking at him through the mirror. Justice exhaled.

Thank you, Jesus, he thought. Before he could make it past the word Jesus, his thoughts returned to his nightmare.

He started shaking once more. Charlton Cook. Twenty-seven. Father of two—run over by a dumb chick texting while driving. What a shame. He started convulsing again, feeling his knees weaken under him. However, this time he controlled it. Justice steadied himself in the strange woman’s bathroom. He knew the dream would continue to replay in his head until the deed was finally done. Or until I get too high to care anymore, he thought.

Justice dressed himself in a hurry, and exited the ladies small apartment before she had a chance to wake up and discover him missing. Did he leave a note? No. He never did. Justice didn’t think that he owed any of them his respect—especially after saving their lives. All he cared about was the money that they always offered them for his trouble—and of course the panties that they offered as well—you can’t leave that part out of it.

In the stairwell, Justice lit up the permanent marker-sized blunt, and smoked his dreams away.

Flash Fiction Thursday: Spider Legs

Flash Fiction ThrusdayOkay, okay, this isn’t really a flash fiction story. I entered Chuck Wendig’s flash fiction contest this week. The challenge–Write a horror story in only THREE sentences. Is it a lazy way for me to complete Flash Fiction Thursday? Sure. But I finished a book last night, so give me a break!

http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/10/11/flash-fiction-challenge-horror-in-three-sentences/

The winner gets a prize. Wish me luck.

Spider Legs

The heavy breathing on the back of her neck sent the feeling of seven sets of spider legs crawling across her spine. When Denise looked back, she wouldn’t be able to make out a shape in the nearly pitch-black room, but she knew he’d be there. Slowly, Denise wheeled her head around only to realize she was wrong—the light shone off his white teeth as well as the cold steel of the knife in his hand.

Flash Fiction Thursday–Wrong Sample

Here’s another flash fiction story from this random plot generator (Great tool for flash fiction by the way):

http://www.archetypewriting.com/muse/generators/plot.htm

I received this scenario:

random

I played football all the way through college, so I had fun with this football related story.

Enjoy!

Wrong Sample

“What the hell do you mean, ‘Do I do it?’ Of course I do,” Curtis said. He shot Henry a strange look. “Hell, we all do. You can’t take a beating week after week and not have something that gets you ready to play when the time comes. I know you’re a fan of the game, so don’t let it surprise you. I came to you because I hear you’re the best—that’s all.”

Henry nodded. “Okay, we can get you fixed up. Your test is today, right? If it’s tomorrow, new urine now won’t help.”

“Two hours away. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Satisfied, Henry took the needle and jabbed it into the place where he thought the bladder was. He didn’t have any formal medical experience, however, he was Cedar Ridge’s expert in urine transfer.

Curtis winced. For a split second, Henry thought he had messed up and stuck him in the wrong place. But when the almost clear urine came out of the tube, he relaxed. “That’s the tainted stuff. We’ll flush it all out of your system, then replace it with clean stuff that won’t test positive.”

“Is it—”

Yours? Curtis was going to finish with, but broke off his sentence instead. He didn’t want to know.

Henry raised his eyebrow, in an effort to get the question out of his ‘patient’, but Curtis wasn’t having it—he remained silent. This made Henry uncomfortable, so he made an attempt at small talk. “So what are you taking anyway?”

Curtis sighed. “I don’t know, to be completely honest with you. Obviously some P.E.D. that my trainer gives me for my shoulder, but I don’t know the specifics—something hydrate, I think.”

“You don’t know? Have you thought about any side effects?”

“I make five million a year for running at eleven guys that wanna take my head off. Do you really think I give a shit about side effects?”

Henry smiled. “You don’t exactly run at them. You run around the for the most part. That’s why you get paid five million to do it.”

With that, Curtis snorted laughter. “I guess, man.”

“It’s true. You’re actually my favorite player, and the Mammoths are my favorite team. That game you rushed for 250 and four touchdowns was insane! Have you on my fantasy team too. You’re a beast.”

“That’s not what Trey Schwartz thinks. Trey wants to take my job—with my shoulder acting up on me, he just might. Just need a bridge till the off-season. You’re the bridge. I hope you’re as good as they say.”

“That guy is a fucking scrub. He’s neve—”

“He’s a professional football player, man. You know how hard it is to be the last player on the fifty-four man roster? You know how good you gotta be to just ride the bench the whole season? The man’s got skills. If I don’t stay healthy, he’s gonna be the guy you try to get on your fantasy team next year, believe me.”

“I’m just saying, he’s not you—nobody’s Curtis Gardner.”

Curtis shook his head. “Well, Curtis Gardner is sitting in some slap-dick wannabe clinic, getting his urine replaced so he won’t lose his job. Curtis Gardner is thirty years old—old man for a running back. Just trying to hold on another year or so.”

Henry took the needle out of his torso.

“We done here?” Curtis asked.

“Yep.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“No charge for my favorite player. Maybe seats at will call if you can manage.”

“Done,” Curtis said. Henry couldn’t tell if it was a serious voice or not, but he chose not to ask.

***

Curtis stood in the middle of the bathroom in nothing but his towel.

“Drop ‘em,” the doctor said. His team doctor forced the players to stand it front of him, stark naked, in order to ensure an honest test. Although he claimed it was league rules, Curtis doubted it for some reason.

Curtis obliged, anyway, and relieved himself into the small cup.

Henry instructed him to hold his urine until the test. His bladder remained swollen for a full two hours until he was finally able to release the pressure during the test. Usually he had trouble peeing if someone was standing next to him in a stall, but now, with a man squatted in front of him like an umpire in baseball, he had no issue with stage fright.

After the test, the team doctor set him outside in the lobby. Curtis grabbed an issue of Sport Illustrated with his own picture on the cover and thumbed through its contents. He didn’t read the magazine, but merely flipped through all its pages so that he would be able to see all of the pictures the colorful magazine had to offer. Before he even got all of the way through the magazine, the doctor called him back into the office.

Shit! He usually just walks in here and says clean, then sends me on my way, Curtis thought. He looked around the room with dubious eyes, then followed the doctor.

“Did I test positive for something, or what? I’ve been taking this new protein shake lately, so I hope it’s all good.”

The doctor waved off his explanation. “Nope, nothing like that,” he said, then smiled. Curtis didn’t like the smile on his face, but he grinned along with the man just the same. “Trey told me to look at your sample veeerry closely, so I did.”

That fucking guy, Curtis thought. He didn’t let his frustration show externally, however.

“So if it’s not positive, then what’s the deal?”

“I just want to say congratulations,” the doctor said.

Curtis raised his eyebrows.

“You’re pregnant. Coach Winters asked me to tell you to clean out your locker, and turn in your playbook.”