Paying A Flying Visit (Flash! Friday)

Letter Boxes, Area 51 Public Domain Photo by Martin Str. (via Flash! Friday)


Paying A Flying Visit

It has taken the Red Planeteers light years to reach the quarter-inch thick bulletproof metal box on its chipped pole – Black Mailbox 80, owner Steve Medlin, with its Master Lock and contradictions.  For a start it’s faded white; for another thing, it’s not used by Medlin, nor anyone else the hundreds who camp around and converge upon it and the Extraterrestrial Highway have ever seen.  The signs towards Rachel with their question marks are there for those in the know, though any activity takes place when they’re not looking.  Suggested sightings are delusional; sometimes placed to mislead and misdirect – misinformation at its best.

They often wish there was a more convenient drop box – somewhere around Deimos or Phobos, as opposed to Route 375.  It would be a sight easier – and cheaper - to sort interplanetary tax liabilities.  Still, if Area 51 showed on planetary positioning systems, perhaps the payment wouldn’t be perennially late.  They always take a wrong turn somehow.

(160 words)

Comment

It's been a little bit since a piece for Flash! Friday featured here.  This is my latest, requiring inclusion of unpaid bill as part of the prompt.  Went slightly tongue in cheek this week, which makes a change from the darker stuff which recent photo prompts generally seem to have been resulting in.  Loads of great entries over at the site for those who care to take a look!

Light A Life (VisDare)

Light A Life

Freya travels the world and carries her world and its occupants with her.  There is no escaping the memories which follow her wherever she goes, whether she tries or no.  Her salve and service to them is her penance; the ritual, now familiar in its repetition.  Where and when she can, she strikes a match; places flame to wick, to watch it burn; black at its centre, amidst the incandescence, so bright it hurts the eye to watch it closely, for too long.  She keeps her silence, in the cool dim of the church, whilst civilisation carries on without her, unheeding, uncaring; unknowing, in those mere moments.  She will catch them up in due course.  There is time enough - and time owes her her time out, every once in a while; such is their unspoken bargain with one another.  She watches as the wax disintegrates; the wick to nothing. 

(150 words)

Comment

Another VisDare piece.  The word prompt this week was "festival".  Guess we'll have to of Freya as having her own private, slightly sombre festival/celebration of times past when she lights her candle to those who have gone before her here...

The Ice Clause (Angry Hourglass)

Photo Prompt courtesy of Ashwin Rao (via The Angry Hourglass "Flash Frenzy"-Round 20)

The Ice Clause

Liv has decided.  She wants rid of him, now – no going, simply gone; the bitter sting of her last words to him and his response, erased from the tip of her tongue, where their sour taste sits still.  She doesn’t want to see or feel the space where he was and should be.  It is what has brought her to Dr Seva, to sit on plastic, in a sparsely furnished room, after a tip off from Sara, who has already been here, courtesy of the guy she previously referred to only as “git features”.  The corners of her mouth raise slightly, at Sara’s “gift” to her.  Certainly, it’s one way of putting it. 

They have explained the procedure to her in minute detail, so she understands what it entails; the hardening of the heart to dull down residual pain and crystallisation in the central nervous system, through to the cerebrum.  It will take time to take fully, although there will be some immediate relief post-treatment.  Liv signs the page in front of her with a flourish after they have explained the benefits and potential side effects; no hesitation, signature transcribed across the “Ice Clause” – a contract like and unlike any other.  Dr Seva describes it as the latest non-invasive technological and medical advancement.

It feels odd to walk the streets after the solution has been injected, knowing it is making its way through her, set towards a gradual spread of indifference.  She feels colder; knows it is not the chill of the slight breeze blowing across her arms; not this time.  She pulls her jacket around her shoulders; feels the warmth for a split second, before the ache sets in again.

The pain creeps through her spinal cord as Liv reaches her apartment door and sees the card tacked upon the door, waiting.  The message is simple.  Mike has written two words only – “I’m sorry”.  Liv rests against the doorframe, as she feels a sting gathering in the corner of her eyes.  She wonders if it is too late for him to try and reverse the process, so they can work towards a thaw, instead of towards freeze and ice.   

(360 words)

Comment

Another "Angry Hourglass" entry.  "Claws" became "clause" - at least in my mind ;)

In Plain Sight (MWBB)

They tell me it’s in my head, though I’ve tried to make them understand that my nightmares are real, running riot, not imagined.  They don’t listen, so I figured I’d try talking to someone else; aim to get the message out there, my missive to the masses, you amongst them.  That’s why I’m sitting here, talking like mad into my microphone, gabbling to get the words out, while I’m still making sense of them in my head.  It’s hard to describe it, somehow, now it comes to it and it’s me and the disembodied world; all of you I can’t see, those of you I can imagine.  Maybe even the Whitecoats, the ones who think I’m mad.  They might be listening too, making their way here, if they can find me, can track me down.  I took precautions though.  Hopefully made myself difficult enough to locate.  Maybe that will put them off, at least long enough for me to finish what I’ve started.

I see the world as it really is – it’s everyone else who’s blind, that’s the truth.  Apologies if I’m putting you off by saying that; making you angry.  I can’t help it.  I have to tell it as it is, so you’ll get it, by the end.  I have to try and make you see too – all of you - it’s the only way.

I guess I thought there was a simple medical explanation, at first.  Especially given they kept trying to tell me so.  Easy to believe what they want you to, when it’s so much simpler than the truth.  Migraines was the first one they came up with, when I mentioned the clouding across my vision, the blurring and spotting, in whites and greys, when I looked directly at people in the crowds surrounding me.  Didn’t fit though, given there were no accompanying headaches, no incapacitation lasting over the space of several days.  Not to mention that it seemed to come and go subject to who and what I happened to be looking at at the time.  They checked my eyesight – twenty twenty – scanned for the obvious blips and blurs on MRI and CT without finding anything.  Small wonder, really, given there wasn’t anything there – but that’s something I only realised later and need to explain in the right way.

To give them their dues, the doctors, all those clever medics, they kept looking; determined to help me find the issue.  Possibly the problem was they finally figured it had to be me – something they couldn’t see with all their machinery and gadgets; that the internal cogs weren’t working the way they should be and I might have done something to bring that on.  That’s not it though, even though I listened at first when they suggested it.  It was the fact that they had no faces, those bodies in amongst the crowds, which did it – the reason I was willing to accept what they said – and to be fair, it was plausible enough.  They thought it was some kind of break with reality; I did too.  ‘Til I saw them kill; ‘til I saw them maim, right there in daylight and the red stains spreading across the concrete as the girl dropped from living to lifeless in seconds.  She was the first.  It made the news too – that’s how I know it isn’t just me, that they’re real.  They put a call out for any witnesses as part of the investigation – not that there were any apart from me.  Seems as though they’re too clever for that.  I guess they saw me though; not that I can say for certain, given they don’t have any eyes but the featureless forms turned towards me at the last second.  That was when I lost it and ran.  Freaked me right the hell out.  Guessing that’s possibly where they come from too.  No kidding.

A few more “unexplained” deaths and that brings us up to speed.  Now I’m barricaded in here, talking to you, all of you, everywhere.  Because they’re coming now, stronger.  For me; certainly.  In time, for you too.  So you need to try and see them, while there’s still time.  Before it’s too late.


Comment

Nice feedback on this one this week, even though it didn't place.  Interesting to think about expanding it out... :)

Taking The Time (VisDare)

Photo Source (via VisDare-60)


Taking The Time

He had lost it, somewhere.  Sam couldn’t even recall the when and where, by this point in time.  Perhaps it had been thrown out in error.  He simply knew he must find it again, if his mission was to succeed.  It was his imperative; his only, enclosed in scratched, oaken casing, pendulum at its hidden, beating heart.  The dials would point the way, once spun in the right direction.  Counter clockwise, widdershins, that would be the way.  Find the timepiece first, find her second – first things first, to seek what mattered most; order in all things, first and foremost.  The moment was what mattered and he must hit upon it exactly, pinpoint in his accuracy, to the hour, minute and second.  Miss it and he would miss the meeting completely.  He knew he must not make that mistake, if he found it.

If only for enough time to find it.

(150 words)

Comment

Another "VisDare" piece, after a week off.  The word prompt this week was "patience".

Walls (Horror Bites)

Photo courtesy of Officemango.com (Horror Bites Challenge 4)


Walls

There’s a way out, I know it.  I just haven’t found it yet.  Even though it’s been..sixty days?  I think.  The problem is it keeps changing!  I look away for a split second and – wham – there’s a wall where there was an open space literally moments before.  There are doors, of course.  Doors in their tens, possibly in their hundreds.  I lost track somewhere along the way.  I started a tally once, with the pen I had in my pocket but the fascia I scratched my markings into disappeared somewhere around Day Thirty Two.  I gave up keeping count after that.  Seemed little point, really.  That was when I figured the key was to keep moving, to try and make my way through the maze before it had chance to manoeuvre itself around about me too much.  It’s been harder than I thought it would be though.  Sleep deprivation plays tricks on you, for one thing and you need to keep your wits about you, so I’ve had breaks here and there.  That’s when the walls close in again.  It always knows as soon as you close your eyes.  Somehow.  I looked for cameras once, amongst the wood and plaster, to see if that was it.  No such luck or I’d have had them all out, straight off.  Just me versus the all-seeing eye and sentient walls.  I swear sometimes they contract and expand – breathe – with me trapped between them.  Keep moving, stop thinking about that, that’s the knack!  After all, so many doors must lead somewhere new.  Eventually.  I wish I could stop myself thinking they might just be leading me further towards the epicentre though; I really do.  Daren’t think how many more doors it would take to get back..  

There’s no way out.  I know it now.

(300 words)

Comment

Another short piece for the "Horror Bites" flash fiction challenge.  Think this one stems slightly from a fondness for the film "Labyrinth" and the more recent watching of the indie horror flick "Armistice".  This one was lots of fun to write!

Cycles (Angry Hourglass)

Photo courtesy of Ashwin Rao (via The Angry Hourglass Round 18)


Cycles

He meets me at the door; suit smart, whip thin; touch of grey at the temples.  No distinguishing features, weathered with wrinkles.  Seasoned, at a guess.  “Welcome to the society.  I’ll show you around; show you the ropes.  This is where you’ll be stationed.”  He gestures to the double doorway at the end of the corridor.

We move through to the hub of the action, where the machines stand ready.  The one nearest the doorway has no rider, whereas the others have men seated at the saddles, peddling at pace.  The motion is frenetic, feet moving, seeking speed at a blur.  Sensors capture their progress; careful calculation and conversion on pedal power.

“Here you go.  Have at it.”  Before there is chance for questions he is gone.

The machine in front of me blinks; the red light on the monitor, on and off.  Insistent.  I figure I’ll humour it.  That’s my job; what I signed up for.  I climb onto the leather, legs astride the frame; seek to set a steady speed, without undue pressure. Presumably, technique counts in this game.

There is no talk, no banter from those to the right, who peddle incessantly; look towards the parent machine and progress chart it controls, displayed on the farthest wall.

It’s a strange set up.  Despite the bikers’ speed, which causes sweat to drip from their brows and coat their clothing, there are breaks as they change position; swap from one machine to another.  It doesn’t last long before they continue apace.  The pause is perfunctory; practised.  No debate; no discussion.

It takes time before I get it; the price for my sign up.  The nudge from my right as we shift rows, bike to bike, is my cue.  The guy furthest from me sways on his feet; seems likely to fall, before he masters himself.  He passes through the right hand door and beyond.

Later, he returns, suit clad, from the left, bringing an unknown face with him, towards the last machine.  We make eye contact briefly.  I know I will not see him again, where he heads.  Know, the exit through which I, too, will leave, in time.

Comment

Another one of my recent weekend flash fiction pieces for the Angry Hourglass "flash frenzy" challenge.