The 500 word story I wrote for Karen Lee Field’s writing contest has been posted to her blog. If you have a few minutes, why not go over there and give it a read. It’s a pretty fun story, I think. If you get a chance, why not read all seven entries and vote for your favorite?

Anyhow, here’s a direct link to my entry, titled Happens All the Time. Feel free to leave me comments/feedback either at her site or in the comments of this message. Or via smoke signals, but only if you live in Centre County, Pennsylvania. That’s probably the only way I’d see the smoke.

By the time you all read this, it most likely will be October, my favorite months of the year. In celebration of the month of Halloween, I’m going to pin my little flash fiction story Frank to the top of the blog for the month.

Frank was a little story I wrote in 2006, and has probably been the most popular post ever on this here blog. Those that are new here, and there are quite a few of you, really should check it out. I think you will enjoy it.

The coolest thing about Frank has been the emails I’ve gotten from it. More than one elementary school teacher has told me they have read Frank to their classes for Halloween and even analyzed the story. How cool is that? Anyhow, check it out and let me know what you think.

So, yesterday I came across a flash fiction contest over at Kyle Cassidy’s live journal. The story was to be 350 words or less, include Kyle’s cat Roswell, and part in the universe of a novel titled Seaborn. In not much time, I wrote a little story and submitted it. To my surprise I was one of three honorable mentions. That was a nice little boost to my ego today. You can read my story below.

Untitled

Roswell slammed her hand on the wheel of the Nautilus. It was bad enough that Nemo hadn’t given her much more than a pat on the back and a ‘Good luck’ when he retired, but it was becoming quite apparent that the old bucket of bolts was no longer seaworthy. And, the “fishy people” were laughing at her.

Why she would have gone with an all feline crew, but in this economy you go with what you can afford.

“It’s not as bad as it seems, you know,” said Kassandra, patting Roswell’s furry back. “I haven’t seen them for days.”

The words had barely escaped her lips when the Nautilus pitched hard to the left sending both Kassandra and Roswell to the floor. “We’re lost for sure,” cried Roswell, dazed. She had landed on her feet, as always, but that didn’t prevent her from pumping her head.

“Nonsense,” said Kassandra, with a fire greater than . “I am the Wreath-wearer. I did not go against my Father’s wishes and return to the sea just to go down so soon in our journey without a fight. Is this not the Nautilus, the most feared vessel on the sea?”

“It is,” said Roswell, her ears back on her head. “It’s just that he never gave me the manual.”

“Well, let’s have a look,” said Kassandra, inspecting the controls. Each lever and switch was more beautiful than the next, luminescent as the day they were made. Except for two.

On the far right corner of the control panel was a tiny, spring loaded mouse. “What does this do?” said Kassandra, pointing to the right of the toy.

“What does what do?” said Roswell, her eyes glazing over. She reflexively batted at the wooden mouse.

“This one,” said Kassandra, pointing at the switch. “The one labeled On/Off.”

“I guess I never saw that one before,” said Roswell, using all of her willpower to ignore the switch’s neighbor.

“I think old Nemo was playing one last trick on you,” said Kassandra, smiling. With a flick of her finger, the Nautilus was on its journey once more.

Have you all heard of Ficly? It’s a website where you write stories 1024 characters in length (a character being a letter, punctuation, a space, a carriage return, etc).  Once you write a story people can add to your story with a prequel or sequel. Users also rate and comment on your stories.

Anyway, I used to be pretty active over there, especially when the site was owned by AOL and called Ficlets. Anyhow, I just started posting stories over there again. Here’s one I just wrote, titled We Went There. I hope you like it. You can see more of my stuff here: http://ficly.com/authors/strugglingwriter

My contest entry is now posted at The Clarity of Night.  Mine is entry #24. This one was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoy it. As always, I’m happy to hear what you think of it. You can leave comments here or at the contest site. You can also head over there (the front page of the site) to see the photograph the story is based upon.
A Matter of Taste

“Drink,” said Graymatter, pointing at the goblet.

“I will do nothing of the sort,” spat the man in the sombrero. “I drank first at our last encounter.”

“Your memory is faulty,” replied Graymatter. “Much like your spine.”

“Have you met the last man who questioned my valor?” said the man in the sombrero. “He’s six feet under the ground. Perhaps you would like to join him?”

“Save the braggadocio and drink, coward,” said Graymatter, leaning back in his chair, just out of reach.

The man in the sombrero looked at the glass and then at his rival. With a cackle, he folded his arms and grinned. He would not be fooled so easily.

Graymatter blinked. Had he underestimated his opponent? Had the large man somehow found composure?

The enemies sat silent, each waiting for the other to flinch. The taunts of Graymatter gradually wormed their way under the skin of the man in the sombrero. Unable to ignore their itch, he clutched the glass and consumed its contents.

“Well?” asked Graymatter, smirking at the shrewdness of his maneuver.

“Red… banana?” replied the man in the sombrero, coughing as his body rejected the wretched drink.

Graymatter gasped. “Impossible,” he said. “That flavor exists in legend alone.”

The door swung open. A young man wearing a golf shirt emblazoned with the Kool Aid logo emerged. “Next,” he said, placing a new glass on the table. “And this time with a little less drama, please. We have twenty more flavors to test today.”

Remember that writing contest I entered a few weeks back but didn’t win? I didn’t think I’d be able to, but I entered again for Chapter 2 of the story. You can read the winner of chapter 1 here. Here’s my entry. It’s not great, but it’s the best I could come up with. I tried to steer the story in a different direction. That was fun at least.

Chapter 2

Sidney did not move, at least not voluntarily. She did shuffle her feet a bit, as the small metal shopping cart rammed into the back of her legs, snapping her out of her swoon. “Watch it,” she screamed, turning to face her assailant.

“Sorry,” said Luke Vafeas, his seven-year-old face red with embarrassment. He took a step back, just in case.

“It’s okay,” said Sidney, trying her best to smile through the pain. “Just watch where you’re going with that thing, all right?”

“I know,” said Luke, avoiding eye contact. He breathed in and out, trying to catch his breath. “It’s just there’s this weird dude chasing me.”

“Oh really?” asked Sidney, not overly concerned. “Why is he chasing you?” Most likely, the kid was just exaggerating, as children tend to do when they think they are in trouble. She scanned the crowd, looking not only for the “weird dude”, but also for John. Once again, she felt herself drawn into a situation beyond her control. Maybe this time, however, John could get her out.

“Because of this,” answered Luke, pointing at a small black and white cat inside the shopping cart that had moments ago given Sidney a dead-leg. “I saw the creepy guy getting ready to hurt her so I grabbed her and ran away. I don’t think the cat is really his.”

Sidney looked down at the cat. It was a cute little thing, not much older than a kitten. The cat was completely ordinary, two eyes, a tail, and four tiny paws. Nothing at all exciting. Sidney leaned down for a closer look. The cat was a perfectly common breed, although there was something about those eyes…
“Hey kid, come over here,” boomed a voice from across the room. “That’s mine.” Sidney and Luke both jumped.

Sidney lifted her head in the direction of the noise. A man in his early to mid-thirties, with a build as big as his voice stood pointing in her and Luke’s direction. There was something in his voice that told Sidney the man was dangerous. There was something sharp in his hand that confirmed her suspicion.

In one swift motion, Sidney grabbed Luke by the arm and started to run, dragging the boy and the cart along. She was not sure if Luke was telling the truth, but the police would be able to sort that out later. If she did not act now, they would not have the chance.

The big man gave chase, taking care not only to conceal his weapon, but also to dodge all of the people in between. Had it not been for these obstacles, it is doubtful Sidney and Luke would have had a chance to get away.

As they made their way to the door, Sidney glanced behind her one last time. She knew she was doing the right thing by helping the kid escape. However, she could not imagine what John would think when he returned to find her gone. She would most likely never see him again. Sidney pushed the door open, stepping through with the kid and the cat. It was too early to tell if she was making the biggest mistake or the best decision of her life.

Well, I’ve had that enormous headache again yesterday, but I still managed to get some writing done. In fact, I though I’d share a bit of what I wrote with all of you. Comments would be greatly appreciated.

This was for a writing contest with a local newspaper. They started the story, and the readers were to finish Chapter 1. The winning chapter will be printed in Sunday’s paper.

Here’s what the newspaper wrote:

She hadn’t meant to come in, but she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten, and the aroma of fresh-baked cookies wafting from the Old Gregg School was irresistible.

She stepped inside the old gymnasium, looked around at the shoppers milling through the farmers market that had taken over the space and tried to convince herself that it wouldn’t hurt to walk over a buy a couple of cookies. Those blocks of cheese were pretty tempting, too.

After all, she told herself, she was just a face in the crowd. And it had been years since she last seen the inside of the school. Even if she ran into someone she knew, God knew it wasn’t likely anyone would recognize the girl she’d once been in the face she now showed to the world.

Bang! Startled by the loud noise, she whirled and slipped, her feet going out from under. Her posterior made rather painful contact with wood floor.

A hand reached down, offering help, and she looked up into a pair of green eyes.
Those eyes fastened on her face, and widened in surprise. “Sidney! Is that you?”

Sidney blinked, hoping that when she opened her eyes the man who had been in front of her would be gone. Maybe her Senior Prom date was only a hallucination caused when she bumped her head.

No luck. Flex Thompson stood staring at Sidney. He had a little bit less on top, and a little bit more in the middle, but those eyes were unmistakably Flex.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about,” lied Sidney as she accepted his outstretched hand while imagining how ugly her dirt-encrusted face must look.

“Don’t be silly,” said Flex, pulling Sidney to her feet. “I don’t care how old I get, there’s no way I could ever forget Sidney Lane.”

Sidney’s cheeks burned. “Nice to see you again, Flex,” she said. “Thanks for the hand.”

Sidney turned and made her escape toward the door. A cookie would have been nice, but the hunger pains in her stomach were no match for the embarrassment in her heart.

“Wait,” yelled Flex, jogging toward Sidney.

Sidney quickened her pace and was soon outside.

“How about lunch?” said Flex, a step behind.

Sidney turned to face him. “Well, I don’t really have any…”

“I’ll pay,” said Flex, grinning. “Gotta make up for all those times in high school you paid for me, right?”

“Well,” said Sidney, the nerves in her stomach beginning to drown out the growls of hunger, “I should really get a shower first.” She followed that with a lie about having worked in her garden all morning.

“I don’t mind,” said Flex, still struggling to catch his breath. “To be honest I haven’t had a shower either. I just want to talk.”

Sidney bit her bottom lip. A free lunch would be nice. “Okay,” she said. “But just for a quick bite. I have a lot planned.”

“There’s a Sheetz up the road,” said Flex. “They have picnic benches outside. I’ll drive.”

“Fine,” said Sidney with a sigh.

Following the silent ride to the convenience store, they ordered their food and then took a seat in the shade. Sidney ate her hamburger, quietly savoring each bite.

Flex, ignoring his food, began asking questions to Sidney’s dismay. “So,” he said, “Married?”

Sidney sighed. She knew it was going to come up eventually. “He disappeared on me,” she said without taking her eyes off her food.

“He ran out on you?” said Flex. “Jerk.”

Sidney paused. It was very unlikely she would ever see Flex again, so she might as well tell him the truth.
“No,” she said. “Disappeared. One minute he was there, and the next he and the house were gone. The worst part is nobody remembers him or the house except me.”

“Oh,” replied Flex.

Sidney casually pulled the remainder of her food closer to her body, just in case. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she said. She knew the answer to that question. Of course, he thought she was crazy.

After a long silence, Flex looked Sidney in the eyes. “I’m not gonna lie to you,” he said. “That is hard to believe.”

Sidney got up from the table, her expression unchanging. “Thanks for lunch, Flex,” she said.

“Wait,” said Flex, rising to his feet. “I can’t say I believe you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you.”

Sidney looked at her old friend. “I don’t need any charity, and I don’t really care if you believe me,” she said. “I could use a ride home, though.”

“Where’s home?” said Flex, curious where somebody whose house disappeared might live.

“Rec Hall,” she said. “Locker number 2027.”

My entry for the writing contest at The Clarity of Night contest has now been posted to the site. Mine is entry number 26. You can read it over there or you can read it right here.  Any comments here or on the contest site are welcome as always. I’m really proud of this one, so fingers crossed! OK, here it is:

Reversal

Swinson cackled as his eyes adjusted to his new reality. A grand escalator leading into the sky rose majestic before his eyes. He stepped out of the nothingness onto the moving staircase.

Thinking of all of his colleagues who had given away their precious time and money to charity, Swinson laughed. He had done none of that, yet there he stood, where they aspired to be.

If only he could be present for the reading of his will. To see the look on the pathetic faces when they hear his wish to be buried with his fortune would be to die for. They said he couldn’t take it with him. Ha!

In an instant or possibly an eternity he arrived at the top. The view was spectacular. All of creation lay sprawled at his feet on the earth below. The old man stepped forward.

“Isn’t it a bit warm up here?” said Swinson to the man at the front of the not-so-pearly gates. “And I’m not really sure what the stuff looks like, but I don’t think there’s supposed to be brimstone in Heaven, is there?”

“Heaven? Quite the opposite Mr. Swinson,” chuckled the man in the crisp red suit as he opened the gate to reveal the horror inside. “We switch places ever few millennia. They go down, we go up. But do not despair. We have a special place reserved just for you.”

Terror gripped Swinson and he wept, the tears of the Doomed dampening his cheek.

I wrote a short story for a writing contest a few months ago. I posted the few lines of the story here a while ago. I told you all I’d post the entire story here if it didn’t win the contest. Well, I’m pretty sure it did not win. This particularly story was submitted in the “comedy” category of the contest. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy it. It made me laugh at least. Let me know what you think.

The Innovator

“Edible Velcro,” said Jesse.

“What?” said Mark.

“Edible Velcro. Velcro you can eat.”

“Why in the world would you want to eat Velcro?” said Mark. “That’s disgusting.”

“No it’s not,” continued Jesse, “and I’ll tell you why.”

“Uh…”

“Fruit cups.”

“Fruit cups?”

“Yes fruit cups,” said Jesse. “Cups of fruit. Have you ever had a fruit cup, got that fruit all stacked up, and then the stuff keeps falling out? It’s like you could have more fruit if it wasn’t for the fact that the cup just won’t hold it. Well, what if you could just Velcro it in? We’d be rich!”

Mark sighed, shaking his head in disbelief at his longtime friend and co-worker.

Jesse thought of himself as an inventor, philosopher, and traveler. In the broadest definition of each word it was true. It was true that he did conjure up contraptions in his head, he often spouted philosophic on any number of topics, often without prompting or any subject knowledge, and he did travel to work every day, sometimes even taking the long way home.

Everyone else thought of him as a scatterbrain, if they thought about him at all.

“There are a couple things wrong with your idea,” said Mark. “First of all, I’m not sure it’s physically possible to make Velcro out of an edible material. Secondly, how many pieces of Velcro are we talking about? Wouldn’t every piece of fruit need the Velcro? Finally, is the fruit cup industry really that big of a market? You got anything else?”

“I have a few more ideas,” said Jesse, unable to hide his disappointment. “I still think the Velcro idea is pretty good. What about county fairs?”

“It’s not gonna work,” said Mark, his voice rising. “It’s a solution without a problem. What else ya got?”

They were spending their Friday happy hour, as always, thinking of ways to get rich so they could quit their day jobs and spend more time doing what they enjoyed most: going to happy hour and talking about how to make more money. As usual, Jesse played the part of idea man while Mark played the part of the wet blanket.

“Table stabilizers,” said Jesse, slapping his palm on the table. “Have you ever been to a restaurant where the table was all wobbly, and your drink kept spilling?”

“All the time,” said Mark. “I hate that.”

“Well,” said Jesse. “What if you had this little spring loaded gadget that you slid under the leg of the table and it made it all even. Businesses and customers would buy that.”

Mark sighed. “Really?” he said. “We’re gonna get rich with a table leveler?”

“Yes we will,” said Jesse. “I haven’t been to a restaurant in my life that had perfectly level floors. We’ll make a fortune just in State College.”

“Or people could just do this,” said Mark. He grabbed five sugar packets from the table, reached below, and inserted them beneath one the table legs. “Problem solved. Look there,” he said, pointing to the far end of the bar where their boss chatted with two young blondes. “I can’t take another Thursday morning staff meeting with that guy. Got any other ideas?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” said Jesse. “I need a drink first. Want anything?”

“I got this round,” answered Mark, handing Jesse a five dollar bill. “Get me a lager.”

Jesse grabbed the crumpled bill and walked to the end of the bar, striking his best “I need a drink” pose. Being a football weekend, his hand had company.

Each time the bartender began in Jesse’s direction, a new customer would cut ahead of him, gaining the bartender’s attention. “What’s taking so long?” Mark shouted after some time, from just beyond punching range.

“Huh?” said Jesse, returning from a far away land in his mind. “This place is too crowded. I got another idea, though.”

“I’ll need a drink first,” said Mark.

Twenty minutes later, having miraculously gained the bartender’s attention, Mark and Jesse finally got their drinks and returned to their table. Or rather, the space that had been their table.

“I guess it’s the bar then,” said Mark, pointing to a tiny spot of open space. “We’d we come downtown?”

“We always come here,” said Jesse. “Two dollar pints!”

“True,” said Mark, clinking his glass on Jesse’s. “So, what’s the new brilliant idea?”

“You’re gonna like this one,” said Jesse. “It’s almost as good as the edible Velcro.”

“Sounds like a winner already,” said Mark. “Go ahead.”

“Take a look at that guy,” said Jesse, pointing to a college student leaning on the bar. “That guy’s completely unnoticeable. He’s never gonna get a drink.”

“Good,” said Mark. “He should have to wait like we did. So what?”

“Where there’s a problem, there’s money to be made,” said Jesse. “He needs to get the bartender’s attention, right? It’s tough to do with all those people, especially when you’re a little guy like that.”

“Right…” said Mark.

“Well,” said Jesse, “What if we create some type of gadget that helps people stand out from the crowd and lets the bartender know they want a drink? Make life easier for both the customer and the bartender.”

Mark thought for a moment. He looked out at the crowded bar. Who didn’t hate waiting to be served in a bar? The idea made sense, at first blush. Then he found a flaw.

“What happens if everyone gets one of these things?” he said. “Then we’re back to where we started: a bunch of people and nobody standing out. Then the little guy goes thirsty again.”

“That’s the best part,” said Jesse smiling. “We charge more for the ones that work the best. If you want a drink bad enough you’re gonna be willing to spend more, right? Heck, maybe we even sell them in the bars.”

“I like it,” said Mark, repressing his usual skepticism. “This is by far your best idea. I don’t see how it can’t work. I think I even know how we can make these things.”

“What exactly were you thinking?” asked Jesse.

“I don’t know,” said Mark, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “The thing would have to be small enough to be portable, but big enough to get people’s attention. Something cell phone sized that made a lot of noise with flashing lights.”

“Yeah,” said Jesse. “The more expensive version should be louder and have more flashing lights.”

“But not too expensive,” said Mark. “We’ll make our money on quantity.”

Jesse, at that moment, began to notice an unusual number of eyes and ears pointed in his direction, not so casually listening to their conversation. The frustration with the lack of service was not unique, and that could be exploited.

“And furthermore,” Jesse began, putting his arm around Mark. “I believe every last one of us should be able to buy a beer whenever we want, regardless of stature. We’re here to tell you that we can guarantee that will happen.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” shouted a dull man, wearing unexciting pants, and a plain white t-shirt. The man’s comparatively bland friends echoed his shouts. A heavily tattooed gentleman wearing all black, standing in the corner cleared his throat in approval.

The bartender glanced at the group nervously. The bouncer, a large man stuffed into a tiny black t-shirt, shuffled his feet. He hoped he wouldn’t have to move from the spot where he had been leaning for most of the evening, not because he was scared, but because of his disdain of movement in general. It wasn’t part of his job description.

“Where can we buy this thing?” said a timid young man who, based on his level of sobriety, had been standing at the bar for hours.

Mark pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and placed it on the bar. “We’re all sold out right now,” he shouted. “We have a waiting list, though. If anybody wants one, write your name and your email address on this sheet.”

A line of frustrated customers formed, snaking around the bar. It was a mix of young and old bar patrons, some sober, some drunk, and all male. Those at the front of the line offered praise to both Mark and Jesse for such a great idea. Those in the back of the line weren’t entirely sure why they were forming a line, but they hoped it had something to do with free shots.

Jesse leaned into Mark. “We should start taking down-payments,” he said. “There’s enough interest here we could quit work tomorrow.”

“If you charge ten thousand apiece maybe,” whispered Mark. “Don’t get too carried away.”

“No, I’m serious,” said Jesse, beginning to walk toward their boss, who was still deep in meaningful conversation with the two young ladies, both half his age. “I’m sick of working at that place and I’m sick of looking at his stupid face.”

The crowd gathering crowd egged him on. “That guy sucks,” they said.

Sure that he would soon be independently wealthy with his invention, Jesse walked over to his boss and poured his drink on his head. The bar erupted in applause. Jesse’s boss rose from his chair, looked him in the eye, and said, “I wouldn’t bother coming to work on Monday.” He turned to Mark and said, “You either.” With that he stormed out the door, his two young female friends in tow.

Neither Jesse nor Mark paid for a drink the rest of the night. When they happened to see someone struggling to buy a beer, Jesse would approach them and encourage them to sign the waiting list, which soon approached sixty strong.

A half hour before closing, a rather intoxicated man wearing glasses and a Red Sox cap tilted slightly to one side, tapped Jesse on the shoulder and said, “Hey. Why don’t you show us how this amazing invention works?”

“Alright,” said Jesse calmly. “I don’t have it with me, but let me demonstrate. The key is to get their attention. Our device will make it easy for you. Let me show you the hard way.”

“Hey. I need a drink over here,” screamed Jesse as loud as he could while jumping up and down and slapping his hands on the bar. He followed that with a rendition of the Penn State Fight Song, getting some of the words right. The bartender started in Jesse’s direction.

Out of breath, Jesse said, “See that? Our product will have the same result, without all jumping.” The man in the Red Sox cap grabbed the pen and signed his name.

From what Jesse would later describe as out of nowhere, a stunning woman in a low-cut top leaned on the bar and gave the bartender a subtle nod. His head, along with every other head in the bar, turned in her direction. Jesse was forgotten.

Jesse tried for naught to regain the bartender’s attention. Behind the woman with the low-cut top stood her sorority sisters, each as attractive as the next. Behind them gathered what had been Jesse and Mark’s captive audience.

Crestfallen, Mark crumpled the potential customer list and threw it on the floor. He turned to Mark and said, “Men are pigs.”

“Yep,” replied Mark.

“We’re screwed aren’t we?” asked Jesse.

“Yep,” Mark answered. “What flavor would the Velcro be, anyhow?”

“Strawberry,” said Jesse, with confidence.

I finished my entry for the writing contest at The Clarity of Night today and my entry is now on the site. I’m happy with what I’ve come up with, which is all I can ask of myself. I was definitely a challenge, but I was able to mold my initial idea into what I hope is an entertaining story. I won’t know that until I hear what you all think, of course Anyhow, here’s my entry (number 39 in the contest). Your comments here and at the contest site are as always welcome and appreciated:

Photo by Jason Evans

Ar’n Man

“Will it always feel this odd?” said Douglas, opening his eyes.

“No,” answered Dr. Grim. “You’re body will adapt.”

“But it feels so cold,” said Douglas, touching his face.

“Steel,” said Dr. Grim.

“How about all the dials and numbers? “Will I always…”

“You’ll get used to it,” interrupted Dr. Grim. “Everything you need is in the packet the nurse gave you. My advice is to wait a few hours before looking in the mirror. We don’t need you back here with a heart attack.”

“Is it that bad?” asked Douglas, peeking at the shape his shadow cast on the floor.
“Not everyone can afford the best parts, son” said Dr. Grim, walking toward the door.

“Sometimes we have to improvise. “

Douglas’ shoulders dropped. “What happened, Doc?” he whispered.

“All in the packet,” said the doctor, closing the door behind him.

His mind spinning, Douglas sat alone with his uncertainty. How had he died? Who had paid for the procedure? And why couldn’t feel his lips move when he talked?

Douglas opened the envelope with a shaking index finger and removed a thin pamphlet, hoping for answers. Staring back at him was the title: “Your New Head: The First Twenty-Four Hours”.

Laughing, Douglas tossed the packet in the bin marked Biohazard. He would find his answers where all great thinkers do, not in some book, but at the bottom of an icy glass. He was thirsty and his problems could wait. Now, if he could just locate his mouth….