Flash Fiction: It Might Kill You.

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Luck Takes Unkindly to Being Taking for Granted.

A beautiful woman waited alone in a small, dingy apartment. Its only window afforded scarce illumination. Despite twilight fast approaching, Margaret sat still amid a muddle of shadows and the indistinct outlines of the room’s furnishings. She listened quietly to the neighboring inhabitants return home. Noises of life reverberated about her. Above, young children knocked about playing. Murmured greetings echoed from across the hall. Beneath, a couple argued as a baby cried. 

Distancing herself from the homey babel, Margaret closed her eyes and focused inward. With body stilled, her mind journeyed out past the town toward the castle walls. What she sought was within the keep itself. Probing the lowest levels, Margaret found what she was looking for. Sprawled upon a dungeon floor lay an unconscious man. The cell was dark, but she didn’t need natural light to see. Dried blood matted his hair, yet still he was breathing. Casting her farsight about, Margaret confirmed the inquisitors had no immediate plans for their prisoner. She sighed with relief despite her frustration.

You’re a damn fool and so am I.

Margaret felt guilty, an emotion she found tedious and useless. Self-assured in her ability to mentor Will, she had foolishly tasked him with a challenge beyond his capabilities.

I should have accompanied him.

Margaret had given in to his pleas to go alone.

“Play cards at the Sooty Dragon over a pint of ale. Practice bending your luck while avoiding notice. Discreetly return the ill-gained money, afterward.”

Those were the instructions. Unfortunately, hubris waylaid Will’s commonsense.

Thought I scared him enough with tales of luck benders believing they’re invincible.

Will played recklessly, winning every deal. Unaware of his latent ability to charm, he instinctively assuaged any suspicions with fair words. But, others were unaffected. They soberly watched as his opponents blithely surrendered their coin. Before long, the guard was called.

This audacious use of luck bending is dangerous. It might kill you, Will!

She shuttered recalling stories of spells and potions inquisitors plied to extract information. The Baron would be keen to discover any other rogue wielders of magic within his domain. 

Suddenly, Margaret became aware of a familiar presence entering the building below. It was Will’s roommate. With Will’s arrest, she had quite forgotten about Tom. Childhood friends, both men had left behind an impoverished existence to seek better fortunes. They landed work in the Baron’s coal mine. Margaret came across them a month ago at the Sooty Dragon. Sensing Will’s abilities, she started a conversation. Unlike his friend, Tom was unreadable. Nevertheless, she was certain he possessed no magical gifts. Tom distrusted Margaret. He would correctly lay blame for Will’s imprisonment at her feet.

Tom, it’s high time we cleared the air between us. Will is going to need your help which means I’m going to need it too. 

Margaret heard the scuff of dirty boots pause in front of the door and the scrape of a key in the keyhole. She opened her eyes and waited.

Don’t worry! I plan to continue! More to come soon.

Word Count: 500

Prompt from: The New UnOfficial, On-line, Writer’s Guild.

OLWG #232- First & Only Job (I used the weekly prompt at the bottom of the page called: it might kill you.)

Flash Fiction: Last Time He Prayed

I confess I have been avoiding work on the unfinished first draft of my science fiction novel, Jupiter’s Embrace. In an attempt to get the creative process going again, I’m using characters from Jupiter’s Embrace to respond to some flash fiction writing prompts.

This prompt is from The New UnOfficial, On-line, Writer’s Guild. The prompt used is OLW # 229 Love, Dad. (I used the weekly prompt at the bottom of the page called: almost never prayed.)

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Swallowing a sleeping pill, Johnny set no alarm, hoping for dreamless oblivion. His first time at the helm was disastrous. The smuggled goods were delivered, but there had been an unexpected complication. Embarrassingly, inexperience and indecisiveness nearly led to failure. 

Bleep!

The comm call triggered the dreaded dream. 

Eight-years-old, bewildered, awaken by yelling, he climbed from bed. Edging toward sounds of struggle, suddenly, a hand covered his mouth, stifling a yelp. His older brother carried him away from the commotion. 

Johnny focused on his older brother’s face, trying to understand. Hiding, they waited. Demands and protests grew louder. Threats were made.

“Rike..”

“Shh! Bad guys broke in wanting money. Mom and Dad are taking care of it.”

Trembling, Johnny held onto his brother and prayed. The struggle grew desperate. Blasters fired. Riker pushed him threw the bedroom window. 

“Run! I’m right behind.”

Bleep!

Drenched in sweat, heart-racing, Johnny awoke with a start. He swore. Standing up, he instinctually gazed out the porthole into the blackness of space. Swiping the comm open, he was surprised to see his brother-in-law. His face was serious; worried. 

“Sean?”

“Johnny!”

“Amelia? Jack? They ok?”

“Yes. But, Riker. He’s in Sol Corp custody. There’s been a military tribunal. Riker’s been convicted of being an alien, Rangari spy! Sentence is life on Jupiter!”

Johnny broke into a cold sweat and tried to swallow the taste of bile from his mouth. He realized for the first time in twenty years, he was praying. 


If intrigued and seeking more, click the link below to the first two chapters of the story.

George, Not a Wizard, Just a Dishwasher

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The Saga of Jockular, the Swamp Barbarian and George the Dishwasher Continues!

George sat at his kitchen table, head resting on his hands, staring at the butterfly he had just drawn. He waited impatiently, feet bouncing. It had been a week since his sketch of Jockular, his LARPing character, had come to life.

My life was boring! Can’t say that anymore. What the fuck is happening? This shit is crazy! Amazing! But, insanely crazy!

The shock had worn off. But, his body refused to relax. Instead, it continually idled, awaiting the next adrenaline rush. He knew he wasn’t hallucinating. Yet, he still had no explanations.

Wonder why the timing is so inconsistent. 

George had brought other things into existence; nothing monstrous as Jockular requested. He had been exceedingly judicious with his choice of subjects. First an apple, then a rose, followed by a ham and cheese sandwich and a housefly, all eventually became reality. He had googled butterflies, searching for a picture of a type common to this area. George selected the spring azure. Its periwinkle, blue wings with traces of purple had enchanted him. Peering closer, he sensed all the waiting was about to pay off. The monochrome sketch, still only shades of grey, appeared to shimmer. The perspective seemed deeper, stretched.

Yes! Come on…

Flash Fiction: Need a Hand?

This is my third piece featuring Nakul, who wields the ability to take on traits from nearby animals and use them. There is a cost though.

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This story is set in India. Below are definitions for the Hindi words you’ll find used in the story.

Mātā – mama.

Ajee! – Good gracious! Good Heavens!

Priya – Nakul’s deceased, older sister. 

Vaah! – Wow!

Are nahin – Oh no!

Ḵẖudā – diety, god, divinity

Lēnēvālā – taker 


Monsoon season dominated the countryside. A seemingly endless storm ebbed and waned, day to day, week to week and now month to month. Torrential rains submerged much of the landscape surrounding the village, its people patiently enduring this life-giving deluge.

From an outlying house, a restless boy stared out a doorway. Nakul was aching to venture outside. He was ever vigilant, scanning above for signs of any approaching respite in precipitation. The especially prolonged, heavy, soaking rain, the day began with, had miraculously ceased and a burgeoning patch of blue sky emerged high up in the sky.  

“Mātā! Mātā!”

“What is it Nakul?”

“The rain has stopped. I’m going out. I’ll stay close. I want to see how fat the stream is with rainwater.”

“Stay out of the stream, Nakul! It will be swift and the flooding disrupts the wildlife.”

“Yes, Mātā.” 

“Nakul! Your walking stick. In case of snakes. Remember, Priya. Ajee!.”

“Yes, Mātā. I remember.”

Nakul didn’t fear snakes, even the poisonous ones. He understood his mother’s dread, but he had never known his older sister. She died before he was born. 

Nakul’s favorite tree grew along the stream. He was surprised by the extent of the flooding. The familiar scene was strange and compelling. No longer along the banks, it sat within this new, swollen river.

“Vaah!” he exclaimed.

Nakul yearned to climb up and survey everything.

Reluctant to disobey his mother, the water posed a problem. He gave the situation some thought. Only a few steps would bring him to the trunk. Swishing the stick back and forth repeatedly, he probed the water. Nakul cautiously waded in. The water was just past his knees. Emboldened, he sloshed quickly to the tree and secured the stick into the submersed earth. His conscience nagged. Keen to leave the dangerous water, he blindly grabbed the lowest branch to pull himself up.

Straight away, he noted a difference. Expecting a rough, unyielding surface, his grasp instead sunk into something softer. The branch roiled. Pain lanced Nakul’s hand, jarring fingers, wrist and arm like an electrical shock. Releasing, pushing away, he stumbled backwards falling with a splash. Gaping upwards stupidly, Nakul recognized the markings of a king cobra. Dumbfounded, he peered down at two marks glistening like vibrant ruby pendants.

Finding his feet, Nakul ran. He sprinted. Adrenaline quicken his breath, his heartbeat and supercharged muscles. His frantic struggle accelerated the spread of venom throughout his body. His vision blurred and waves of dizziness disoriented him. Unbeknownst to Nakul, he was racing further away from his village. 

“Are nahin! Help! Somebody!”

Nakul struggled to breath. 

He collapsed to the damp ground in pain.

He tried to rise, but his limbs felt stiff and uncoordinated. 

“someone…help…anyone”

Nakul lay gasping, growing colder, knowing he was dying.

Moment bled slowing into moment.

He was lost and alone.

As he began to drift away from the pain, a voice shouted.

I’M COMING! DON’T GIVE UP!

Nakul searched feebly, seeing no one. But, an ember of hope flickered brighter.   

“help”

He fought to stay awake, alive.  

I’m here.

The voice sounded close.

“where?”

Here. Next to you.

Nakul turned his head to vaguely see an old, graying mongoose. Nakul understood animals didn’t speak, but he was young enough to accept this current incongruence with reality.

“A cobra bit me.”

I smell it.

“Mongoose. I’m dying.”

No. You are different. I can help. Accept my help. I am old with little time left. I will give you what I no longer need. You could demand it; take it from me, but I see you are unaware of what you are. I gift it to you. Take it.

“i …don’t know what you’re talking about…i don’t understand”

You are out of time. Let me help you.

how…how can you help

Trust me.

“ok.”

An ever so sight pain pinched Nakul. The little beast had bit his wounded hand. Now, a warm itchiness oscillated up his arm.

He felt the mongoose’s nip only added insult to injury.

Nakul wondered if the mongoose was hungry.

The thought was absurd. 

“why did you bite me?”

Giving you something only a mongoose possesses…so you may live.

Nakul felt a sweat break out. A buzzing in his ears intensified, drowning out all other sounds. He felt as if his very blood was boiling within. Somehow, he knew a battle was raging and his side was winning.

Time passed and finally all was still and silent.

The pain was gone.

“I feel better. I don’t understand?”

A mongoose is immune to snake venom. Now, you are too.

“But, how?”

Most men don’t have the speech and the ability to assume power from us. To us you are Ḵẖudā. Your kind calls you Lēnēvālā.

Nakul sat up. Observing his hand, the wound appeared now only as a bite from something non-poisonous like the checkered keelback snake. Gazing up, he startled seeing the mongoose lying prone with labored breathing.

“What’s wrong!?”

I too… change. You have given… in return… a part of yourself.

Nakul sat by the mongoose gently stroking its fur, watching in disbelief as glossy, dark brown hair replaced its grey, grizzled appearance. Suddenly, the mongoose was up. It stretched and bounced around. 

This is a tremendous boon! Youth returns! You have given me some of your natural longevity.

Nakul pondered this. He knew mongoose typically lived a fraction of the time a person might. 

“Am I going to die now?”

Hmm, I need a good look at you.

The mongoose jumped around Nakul sniffing. Satisfied with his inspection, he peered up at in Nakul.

You smell the same to me. Humans live forever to a creature such as me.

But, something else felt different to Nakul. Watching the mongoose catch and tear apart a large beetle with sharp canines, he realized what was different. Feeling inside his mouth, he confirmed it was full of sharp, pointy, jagged, canine teeth.

“Look you gave me your teeth too!”


Word Count: 1000.

Courtesy of Prompt Titled: Need a Hand?

By THESOLITARYWORDSMITH at PROMPTUARIUM.

Great sources for writing prompts! Please go visit and subscribe to their website!

Flash Fiction: The Cursed Power

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“Understand this. The power is a curse.”

Nakul stared. The woman’s pupils were slitted like a snake.

The youth nodded. 

Indali sighed.

“Why, Boy? Show you comprehend my meaning.”

He shifted apprehensively; surveying the cluttered hut. Nestled beneath the washbasin, an immense python lay curled upon itself. Seemingly attentive, the snake slowly blinked pronounced, round, brown eyes.

“Why are we and others like us damned?” 

Nakul had fled home and everything he knew to escape death. He cursed those afraid of him. But, the animal speak he cherished.

“Every time I use the power; I lose a part of me.”

Keenly conscious of Indali’s piercing gaze, he subconsciously ran his tongue delicately over his teeth. The needle-sharp canines filled him with a sense of exhilaration.

“Nakul. You saved your life the day the cobra bit you. Most would have died. The price though was a fragment of your humanity.”

Word Count: 150.

Courtesy of Prompt Titled: Huge Mistake.

By THESOLITARYWORDSMITH at PROMPTUARIUM.

Great sources for writing prompts! Please go visit and subscribe to their website!