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At first, the mild electrical shock and tiny horizontal rollers tickled as they brushed his eyelashes. The novelty wore off in seconds. Floating safely in the isolation tank of body temperature saline solution, Marsden relaxed, and began to enjoy the neural fireworks his cortex launched against the artificial night of his closed eyelids. Rippling orange waves of . . . → Read More: Happy Ending # fridayflash Eustace Greeley was old. Old like shady pine trees and half buried boulders. Old as legend and myth. His face was worn and creased like ancient Sumerian shoe leather, yet his eyes shone and darted about like shooting stars. He did not move quickly these days, but he moved with purpose. Most days, that purpose was to . . . → Read More: Three Bags Full Aubrey stood silhouetted against the window, contemplating his paper plate of cookies and cake, and the eulogy he had just heard. Pete and Connor joined him, each with their own plate of ladies auxiliary baking, and cup of maudlin coffee. The thick white paint of the window frame had cracked and yellowed over the years, framing . . . → Read More: Small Comforts. #fridayflash Jane emerged from the clatter and hiss of the kitchen, tying her apron on over her diner-issued peach colored dress. She checked her make-up in the mirror at the waitresses station. “He’s back again. Waitin’ for you in booth three,” Doris said without looking up from tallying her tips. “Oh, cool.” Makes the shift a little more interesting,” . . . → Read More: Learning to Swim Captain Noel Tayak went from unconscious to panicked as soon as he opened his eyes. It was a toss up, actually, as to which he became aware of first: the cold steel table under his naked back, or the thick leather restraints at his wrists, ankles, waist, and forehead. Along with the aseptic, professionally clean odor . . . → Read More: The Collector – #fridayflash An author can be casual in tone, original in content, and professional in presentation. Thank you, Kurt Vonnegut for reminding me of this. A story can be brief, rich in detail, and leave the reader with much to think about. Mr. Borges, I tip my hat. Metaphor, bizarre or otherwise, can illustrate the unknown, unexperienced, or imagined through . . . → Read More: Things I had Forgotten |
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