Tag: fiction

Fiction: Freckled

Posted on by bryon

Mandy stood by her mother at the kitchen sink. Her mother was clucking almost as much as one of the nearly ninety hens on the farm.

“Here’s another freckled egg,” Muriel said. “Put it in with the others for your Aunt Anna.”

Mandy took the egg from her mother and dried it. Before placing it in the little basket meant for her aunt, she held and pondered it, looking at the dark red spots that mottled the light brown shell.

“Why do you give the freckled eggs to Aunt Anna and Uncle Eddy?”

Mandy noted her mother’s tiny pause; it happened more and more when Uncle Eddy’s name was mentioned. “Because your aunt grew up on this farm with your daddy and knows there ain’t nothing wrong with a freckled egg. City-bred people will think it’s bad and won’t buy it.”

The kitchen door banged shut as Mandy’s father came in. “That’s right,” Billy told his daughter. “Same reason we can’t sell you,” he said.

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Fiction: Plea

Posted on by bryon

“Work harder or die!” the foreman shouted, waving his well-used pistol. “There are plenty more where you came from. And you three over there — yes, you! You’re on half rations because you’re behind everyone else.”

All heads in the dark factory turned quickly back to the line and weary, gnarled hands tried to work more quickly.

“We’ll die in this place,” one whispered to another.

“Maybe not,” his friend said. “I managed to get some help in the print shop. Even as we work, our plea is going out into the world.”

*

Bob threw his head back and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Vicky asked.

Bob handed her the tiny slip of paper and she read it to the group at the table.

“ ‘Help! I’m being held prisoner in a Chinese fortune cookie factory.’ ”

Fiction: Cliffside

Posted on by bryon

Ardelia, yellow rose in hand, walked slowly toward the precipice. Her silken dress trailed carelessly through the thinning grass and pointed to the manor house behind her.

She stopped near the edge and looked over. She shifted a couple of feet to the left and was satisfied. This was the spot.

Ardelia gazed across the lush valley so far below and away from her. This was land her marriage to Cedric had added to the family’s fortune only two years earlier. She literally could not see to the other side of the holding, not even from her great height.

She looked down again at the cruel crags that would tear at a person’s limbs en route to the creek below. She took a long moment to peer down into the chasm, to make certain she was doing the right thing. Then she resigned herself to it.

A quick underhanded toss and the rose flew upward ever so briefly before turning and falling toward the bottom.

A waste of a perfectly good rose, she huffed to herself. But this little ritual was expected of her on the anniversary of Cedric’s death and she couldn’t very well return to the manor house with the flower.

Ardelia watched the rose take nearly the same path as her husband had when she pushed him over the edge; that moment of victory had cost little more effort than it had taken to throw the flower. When it was out of sight she turned and strode back home. There was a tenant’s foreclosure to see to and she was eager to get at it.

Fiction: No Respect

Posted on by bryon

“Here is a live satellite image of Hurricane Maera,” newscaster Tim Milloud said. “You can see how huge it is as it approaches the Florida peninsula. This monster is pushing the limits of what it means to be a Category 5 storm.”

“It certainly is, Tim,” said his colleague, Ellora Colonomous. “Hurricane Maera has shredded the Caribbean and the death toll is expected to be nothing short of horrific. The evacuation of Florida and all of America’s southern coastal regions is still ongoing and many people say they are headed as far inland as Iowa to try to escape Maera’s wrath.”

“We’ve still got a crew in Miami,” Milloud said. “Let’s go to Arlin Armon for a live report. Arlin?”

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Fiction: Recording the Will

Posted on by bryon

The attorney set the laptop down on the swing-arm table and moved it to face the old man in the hospital bed. He nodded, and the old man looked into the camera.

“I, F. Mordecai Hauser, being of sound mind and failing body, do here record my last will and testament. My attorney, Danvers Adams, is present and will make himself known when I’m finished.

“Smaller and special bequests have been previously made. This is for my family.

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Fiction: On the Old Campground

Posted on by bryon

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have suggested a camping vacation. I’m to blame for everything,” Nathan said.

“Even though that’s true,” Emily said, “you don’t need to play the martyr.”

“Just taking all the credit that’s rightfully mine. I thought this would be fun, like the camping trips my family used to take when I was a kid.”

“You’ve told me about them, endlessly, and if I have to hear one more time about how your mother was the key to making them so wonderful, I will never speak to either of you again.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Try me.”

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Fiction: Last Call

Posted on by bryon

Arnold put a bullet in each of the six chambers.

“Talk about overkill,” he muttered, and made himself chuckle.

He took a last look around his apartment, at the peeling wallpaper in the living room, the leaking faucet dripping on a stack of dishes in the kitchen, the worn carpeting, the old furniture that wouldn’t last long enough to become antique – and it wasn’t his to sell if it did make it that far.

He looked at the stack of bills he had permitted to accumulate on the corner table. They weren’t even all his bills; the previous tenant’s overdue notices were still arriving even after four years.

Arnold looked at the phone. The service had been cut off, but he remembered the last time he had used it. That memory brought him right back to the gun in his hand and the main reason for its being there.

Last words, he thought. I should say something, even though no one is here to listen.

He thought for a couple of moments but nothing interesting came to mind. He finally settled on, “The hell with it,” and raised the gun to his mouth.

The telephone rang.

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Fiction: Der Vampyr

Posted on by bryon

It was just after noon on a pleasant midsummer day that two American college students on vacation checked into the hostel in the picture-postcard Bavarian village.

After showing the young gentlemen their room, the hostel manager introduced them to the only other person staying there, a Spanish student named Pilar. The boys were smitten instantly and the young lady was thankful that neither knew more Spanish than he could pick up from a taco stand menu.

Herr Schnuckler gave the three a quick rundown of what little there was of historic and cultural interest in the area, and then he added an unusual caveat.

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Fiction: Memento

Posted on by bryon

“Can you believe this?” Tachibana asked. “T-minus four hours and counting and suddenly the captain has an unscheduled errand for us to run.”

Svitenko shrugged. “She’s the captain,” she said. “At least we’re here in the cockpit and don’t have to suit up.”

“That’s the other thing. She is the captain. She should have a million things to do this close to leaving Earth. Instead, she’s doing this herself and is going EVA.”

“Must be something pretty important to bobble up the schedule like this at the last minute,” Svitenko suggested.

“Given our landing coordinates it looks more like a pilgrimage. Chief Tak was pretty upset with losing us and the shuttle; he’ll be hopping mad if this isn’t a crucial trip.”

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Fiction: Replacements

Posted on by bryon

“A squid! A squid!” the children screamed.

“That’s right,” their father said happily. “Your very own squid. Go ahead and jump in the pool with him. Have fun!”

The three youngsters squealed their delight. They peeled off their clothing and jumped into the swimming pool to play with their new pet. Soon the squid was wrapping them in its long tentacles and swirling them around in the deeper end of the pool.

“Martin! A squid?” Alice asked.

“He’s a genetically altered 10-footer,” her husband said. “Just the right size for the pool and the kids.”

“But what if he harms the children?”

“There’s a 96-percent safety rate with this model. At least that’s what the salesman said. And even if something goes wrong, that’s what the backups are for.”

Alice couldn’t argue with that, and together they enjoyed the wonderful family moment, watching their three children – Annie, 12; Ron, 9; and Ben, 6 – splashing around with their new friend.

Alice’s concerns were eventually borne out, though, and Ben was heartbroken when his parents had some people come and take away Neptune the Squid.

“But he never killed me!” Ben sobbed. “Just Annie and Ron, and they were mean to him. He loves me!”

Alice rubbed her younger son’s back. “I know, honey, and Daddy and I are very sorry. But activating the backup clones of your brother and sister – and having new backups prepared – was awfully expensive, even with insurance. We can’t afford to keep doing that. But we’ll get you another pet. A walrus, or maybe a seal. Something the geneticists have really perfected.”

Needless to say, nothing can truly take the place of a beloved squid in a boy’s heart.