Category: Short Fiction

Dinner with a side of distress Part Two – Flash Fiction

by Allie P., posted in Short Fiction

It is time once again for another installment in my Writer’s Toolbox Flash fiction. For those not familiar with The Writer’s Toolbox (affiliate link) exercises, I pull out three sentences at random which have to be used as my first, middle, and closing lines. Additionally, I must utilize three descriptions, also pulled at random from a stack of cards. Due to the random nature, I do not know how the story will end. I apologize for the shift in point of view, but rules are rules.

Story to date: Bill, a somewhat socially awkward paleoclimatologist in our distant future, learned that his sister has gone missing. Their father, a high ranking official, living and working in the orbiting space station, has come to Earth requesting Bill’s help tracking her down. Click on this link to read the first part of the story in full.

Dinner with a side of Distress - www.alliepottswrites.com
background image courtesy of http://www.pixabay.com

After only two months, Helen decided to become an exotic dancer. She’d tried to make it off the random tips the male patrons threw her way as she delivered drinks to their tables, but the wad of cash in her pocket at the end of the night was nothing compared to the stacks of bills the other ladies took home. She closed her eyes and thought of the space station even now spinning like a top over head as it circled the Earth. If tossing her clothes at some drunk strangers meant being able to afford a ticket on the shuttle sooner, so be it. It wasn’t like she was going to bump into any of the club patrons again once in orbit.

As she made her way toward the back office, she saw her manager, Devin, smile knowingly. “You finally ready to get into the driver’s seat?” he smirked, offering a drink. Devin was under the impression he had a gift for comedy. Helen hid her disgust by tipping her head and letting the bitter taste of Woody Allen’s kiss wash over her tongue as was tradition. Helen was fairly certain not even Devin knew the origin of the club’s signature drink’s name, but it didn’t stop him from keeping a ready glass on hand. She wasn’t the first girl to make this walk of shame. Nor would she be the last.

After her the first shift of her new career ended, Helen made her way outside into the narrow alley behind the club. The eight inch heels Devin requested she wear during the show, had wrecked havoc on her arches and toes. She held the more sensible shoes she’d worn prior too making her decision in hand, preferring to go barefoot that force her feet to withstand another minute of agony. The wine of a lost dog, a puppy by the sound of it, startled Helen. She turned, but couldn’t locate the animal in the darkness. It must be behind the dumpster, she thought. Unable to resist an animal in need, she crouched down as she looked for the pup.

“It’s not my fault the plane was two hours late,” a male’s voice coming from a yard or so behind her almost caused Helen to jump out of her skin. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to stick around and finish the job. That’s what you were supposed to do,” Another male replied.

“Don’t see what you are getting all upset about. Thought the whole point was to take the girl out while the captain was in his meeting. Whole plan falls apart if he’s on ground when it happens.”

Helen heard a slap of skin on skin. “Idiot. You and your big mouth are going to get us both on his list one day.”

“What was that for? It’s not like anyone’s around but a bunch of drunks and hookers.” The first man whined as Helen tried to make her body as small as possible in the shadows.

“Doesn’t mean they don’t still have ears,” the second man argued.

“Yeah, but who’d believe them? Especially not after the thing he does with the newspaper…”

 

Will Helen’s first day on the new job also be her last? Who is the ‘he’ the men are referencing and what is he planning with the newspaper? Will the Writer’s Toolbox ever allow me to close a story without a cliff-hanger ending?

 

Dinner with a side of distress – Flash Fiction

by Allie P., posted in Short Fiction

My mind is still reeling from a weekend of holiday hosting duties, so instead of one of my usual essays, I decided to take another stab at writing some short fiction as prompted by the ever so handy dandy Writer’s Toolbox (you can find an earlier piece here).

For those not as familiar with The Writer’s Toolbox (affiliate link), it prompts you with a first, middle, and last sentence as well as a series of descriptions to include and a protagonist. I hope you enjoy it –

Dinner with a side of Distress - www.alliepottswrites.com
background image courtesy of http://www.pixabay.com

Dad gave me a wink like we were pals or something. Then again it could just have as easily been a bit of pollen or dust caught in his eye. It always took a while for the orbiters to get reacquainted with uncontrolled wilds of earth-bounding living again. Gazing up into the twilight sky at the stars above, I thought I saw a circling bat. They had no idea what they were giving up, living up there. He had no idea.

“Where is your sister?” he barked the question out between coughing fits.

So definitely the dust then. How silly of me to think he was actually trying to reconnect. “I haven’t seen her,” I replied returning my attention to the meal in front of me. It was the truth, but then again I rarely saw anyone outside of the lab. For some strange reason, people didn’t seem to think that my passion for paleoclimatology combined with my charming personality produced the most stellar party guest. It was also why I agreed to this open-air dinner in the first place. I bit into a slice of apple savoring its juices. At least the food was good even if the company was less than ideal. “Last I heard, she had her eye on some bartender from Seattle. Maybe she’s taking up stalking?”

This time, I suspected the resulting frown on Dad’s face didn’t have anything to do with his allergies. “This isn’t a joke, Bill. Your sister is listed as failing to report to the launch deck this morning and I only have so much influence I can spend.”

I fought the eye roll by focusing on the straggling cuticle on my right thumb. Dad could never resist the opportunity to remind any of us exactly why he was living in space while the rest of us were on the ground. As if I’d ever want to. “Well then, I don’t know what to tell you other than I haven’t seen her since last week.”

“And you aren’t concerned?”

I shrugged. “She can go off for a few days if she wants too. She’s an adult – unless you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed. I’ve also noticed that she has started taking up a lot of bad habits. Habits I would prefer weren’t associated with the family name.”

I waved his concern aside. “Lucky for you, I’ve been using Mom’s name for years.”

Dad’s frown deepened so much I briefly wondered if it might cause his entire face to collapse into his crisp uniform. “Listen, I’m not trying to be combative here. It just would be better if I found her before command does.”

“What? Are you that really that afraid of what her AWOL designation might do to your reputation?” I snorted. “I’ve seen you smooth over worse.”

“No, I’m afraid because as much as either of you might not like to admit it, I am your father. And because I found this in the briefing room.” Dad shoved a piece of fabric at me featuring a vaguely familiar looking pattern.

“Have they taken up quilting?” I asked with a smirk, picking up the fabric. “Well, that’s a relief. That group really could use a hobby other than making the rest of us miserable.” I couldn’t help adding just to annoy Dad as I rolled the piece of cloth around in between my fingers. The jab wasn’t strictly necessary, as Dad knew full well what I thought of his cronies, but it was always fun to remind him that this apple had fallen far from the proverbial tree. As in two hundred and fifty miles, give or take a mile.

“Bill, for the last time, this isn’t a joke.”

“Fine. No jokes.” I replied holding up my hands before examining the fabric more closely. Where had I seen it before? “So what is this then?”

“Something that has no business being up in command if your sister is still on the ground. It’s from her dress.”

Was that really a bat circling overhead, or was it a drone? Did Bill’s sister get mixed up in a larger conspiracy or did she simply run off with a bartender from Seattle? And will Bill’s experience with paleoclimatology actually play a part in the plot, or is that a throw-away detail? Who knows!

 

We Survive, We Improvise – Conclusion #shortstory #fiction

by Allie P., posted in Short Fiction

The below is the conclusion to my short story, We Survive, We Improvise. If you missed the beginning, you can read it here.

wesurviveweimproviseThe engines’ roar seemed louder than usual in the plane’s cabin, likely because the cabin was filled with only about a quarter of the passengers it originally started with. “Let’s go home ladies,” Darla announced in a somber voice over the speaker system as the rest of us readied ourselves for lift off. The look in her eyes as she began making her final inspection down the aisle before giving the pilot the thumbs up sign told me our latest sergeant wouldn’t be looking for another challenge anytime soon.

Home. The word sat in my conscience. Could the place we were going to really be called home? For the first time, I allowed myself to think of the family I’d left behind. Not the fantasy family that had gotten me through so many terrible nights, but the real one. I forced myself to do the math. The daughter I still saw in braids and pigtails in my mind’s eye would be a woman now. She might even have a child of her own. I reached for the harness as an anchor only to recall my right arm was no longer attached to the rest of my body.

Stacy, the not-so-newbie, whose first battle proved to also be our last, pulled the belt across my body, securing it into place before strapping herself into Christie’s old seat. I bit my lip. Home. Would I ever really be able to call it that without these women by my side?

The scent of blood, dirt, and gasoline tickled my nose, causing my nostrils to quiver and eyes to water as I took a deep breath to settle my thoughts. I certainly wasn’t crying.

“Double or nothing?” Stacy asked Darla as my sister-in-arms made her way to our seats.

Darla glanced in my direction and the corner of her lip turned up. “You’re on.” Then she caught my eyes. “We were asked to give our all Ladies,” she shouted to the masses. “And that’s exactly what we served. Never forget who you are. We are the Mother F–ing Army.” Leaning in, she lowered her voice so only I could hear. “We survive. We improvise.”

I nodded as the plane began its journey to the place that might one day be called home again. We do indeed. 

Hooah.

This was a story that was partially inspired by a dream, but also the village that helped raise me – a wonderful group of women known as the Ladies that Do Bridge. While they might never have been sent to war, they’ve never shied from a battle.

Things I am grateful for today:

  1. With the exception of a slight cough, my cold is nearly gone
  2. I made it through my *gasp* eight-year old’s birthday party extravaganza, sanity intact
  3. I have friends and family close by as well as across oceans
  4. I have one complete manuscript simmering and a chapter written for the next one
  5. The knowledge that I am strong, I am determined, and I will make will make the best of whatever tomorrow throws my way. Because I survive even if it sometimes means I have to improvise.

We Survive, We Improvise – A bit of #shortstory #fiction

by Allie P., posted in Short Fiction

 

wesurviveweimproviseI waited as the plane’s door latch engaged. Any minute now, I thought. Sniff. Cha-ching. The engines whirled to life, drowning out all but the sounds generated by my seatmates – but I’d heard enough before their roar. “Newbie broke.” I turned to Darla with a grin, “just when I said she would.” We all broke. Darla and I only bet on when.

Darla snapped her harness together, readying herself for the flight. “You said preflight.”

“Yeah, and our wheels are still on the ground.” At least they were for a couple more seconds. Sure, there was a time when betting on when the newest recruit would break down into a puddle of tears would have sounded like one of the cruelest games imaginable, but I’ve long since witnessed far crueller. Besides, only a fraction of the green recruits managed to survive the first few days anyway, and those who did, well . . . they typically didn’t hold a grudge. When the only people between you and certain death are those you flew in with, you tend to become a little more forgiving.

Darla rolled her eyes. “Double or nothing.”

I smiled. I’d won the last three rounds in a row. Easy bet. It was also the only bet I would make against Darla. Back before, she’d once chaperoned an entire field trip of kindergarteners to the candy factory. Alone. The other chaperones having succumbed to a bout of food poisoning from the school’s volunteer thank you banquet the evening before. If that wasn’t medal worthy enough, she’d also somehow managed to do so while simultaneously coordinating the school’s fundraising carnival and spearheading the community’s clean water awareness campaign.

The rumor around the barracks suggested Darla may have had something to do with the banquet too and had intentionally given the other chaperones bad food just because she wanted an extra challenge – but I knew that story was garbage. Darla couldn’t ruin a dish if she’d tried.
In another life, I might have hated her, but in this one . . . In this one, I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather have on my side.

“You’re on” It was money in the bank. That is, it would be if banks still existed. Still, the on-going bet helped pass the time and ensured the new faces didn’t blend together.

The plane’s engines roared as we began speeding down the blackened earth serving as the day’s temporary runway. Traditional infrastructure had become a target in the same way as the banks had. “We survive. We improvise.” I repeated our unit’s motto to myself as my ears adjusted to the ascent.

“I always think it is so cute you repeat that phrase each time. It always makes it sounds like we were given a choice.” If it was anyone poking fun at my ritual other than my other seatmate, Christie, I might have been offended. But I owed her, in more ways than one. Decades of mastering a world of pins and ‘grams had gifted her with a number of other life-saving talents. She could disguise a weapon as a tea cozy, disarm a bomb using pipe cleaners, and could trick an eye with any number of camouflages. If I’d only known the various sites would be so useful in my later years, I might have actually paid more attention to them when I had the chance.

The smile left my face, as it always did at the thought of my former life and my kids. Especially my kids. I wondered if they still remembered their mom’s face or if their ‘new’ mom was now filling in for me in that role as well. I knew it was a bitter thought. The women, whose primary civic responsibility was now populating the next generation while caring for those left behind, had about as much say in their assignment as those of us now past their prime, but it hurt to think about all the same. I kissed my fingers wishing I could kiss my children instead. If Christie noticed, she was kind enough not to say anything more.

As the plane leveled off and hit cruising altitude, our sergeant’s voice placed over the speakers. “Listen up ladies. I know the last several years have been hard on us all. When the enemy struck and destroyed all of our military units in one coordinated attack, we might have thrown up the white flag. But we survived. We improvised. When that same enemy released the bio-pandemic and decimated nearly eighty percent of the population, we could have surrendered. But we survived. We improvised. We may be past our childbearing years. We may be of no use in repopulating our once great nation, but we are far from useless. Some of you volunteered. Some required more . . . persuasion. But each and every one of you are now part of the fiercest fighting team the world has ever seen.”

The sergeant’s voice paused allowing her words to wash over the ranks like a wave. Even I was affected and I’d thought myself jaded to these rallies years ago.

She continued, “I am pleased to report our intelligence has located the enemy’s stronghold. Our assignment is clear. It’s now our turn. They may be able to improvise, but rest assured, they won’t survive. Because we are the mother f–ing army.”

Cheers sounded throughout the plane. Even the woman who had been crying at take-off now looked optimistic. Darla slapped my back as the sarge’s words soaked in. Could this really be it? I dared to hope and wonder. Christie grinned like a maniac. If not, at least I’d go down with the best friends a woman could ask for.

“Hooah”

To Be Continued…

October 31st not only marked the day my children manage to bring home their body weight in candy, it also was my self-imposed deadline for my second draft of my current work in progress. I am pleased to report that not only did I achieve this goal, I actually beat it by a couple of days. So now I’m leaving this project to sit and simmer, allowing all the lovely passive voice, clichés, and other typos proper time to rise to the surface before I attempt another round of rewrites and edits.

What this means is that I can finally allow myself to actually contemplate another novel project. Or I could, if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve taken on new responsibilities at work, am attempting to plan Kiddo’s birthday party extravaganza, and have come down with an ugly head cold. So instead, I hope you might enjoy this sample of some of my shorter fiction.

The Writer’s Toolbox: Flash Fiction

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Short Fiction

While Lamont’s annual Christmas light spectacular is still causing our power meter to whirl, the discarded cardboard from toy boxes, sheets of flattened bubble wrap, and broken twist ties that seem to multiply with every pass are proof that another holiday season is coming to a close.

Clicking on this image will take you to an affiliate link

Overall, Santa was kind to me. Clearly, it is not nearly as difficult to stay on the nice list as his elves would have you believe. One of the gifts I received was The Writer’s Toolbox: Creative Games and Exercises for Inspiring the ‘Write’ Side of Your Brain.

One of my resolutions in 2015 was to participate in more short story contests. I started out strong, but I have to admit I fell well short of my goal. I guess I was too focused on the final re-writes and edits of my novel. But I am now back in early draft mode. Anything can happen. Let the creative juices flow! I opened the box.

Inside there were Popsicle-type sticks with random sentences on them. The instructions say to pick up one labeled FS for First Sentence, then another one labeled NS for Non-Sequitur and finally one labeled LS for Last Straw. Last Straws are only sentence fragments.

For example, I picked up the following:

  • FS: I had this system for getting exactly what I wanted out of people.
  • NS: They were all the same, I decided.
  • LS: the time Leslie called me a leech.

Then there are cards that deal with senses. The instructions say to draw three:

  • The straggling cuticle
  • a rusty weathervane
  • the taste of lipstick

Finally, there are disks which prompt protagonist, action, obstacles, and goals.

  • Protagonist: Laurie the famous actress
  • Goals: To know God
  • Obstacle: The barista at Starbucks
  • Action: Learns to foresee the future.

I had this system for getting exactly what I wanted out of people. It wasn’t exactly difficult. I’d always been a natural actress. I mastered the art of laughing and crying on command before I was even out of diapers. I didn’t feel any guiltier manipulating the average person on the street than I did manipulating the emotions of the audience. They were all the same, I decided. I didn’t know then how wrong I could be.

It all started that day on the set. Props were still in a state of assembly. A rusty weathervane which would eventually be mounted to the box that would serve as a barn blocked stage left. As Julie handed me my costume, the fabric caught on a straggling cuticle. I made a mental note to schedule an appointment with my favorite manicurist.

Joe, the production assistant, began handing out plain white Styrofoam cups containing a steaming beverage. “Here you go, Laurie, from two blocks over, just like you asked.” He beamed like a well-trained pup. The whole crew preferred Starbucks, but I wouldn’t let them serve it. I couldn’t. The awful barista, Leslie had the nerve to call me a leech. I smiled as I sipped the beverage even though I had to admit it tasted like lipstick.

Savoring the image of Leslie’s empty tip jar, I wasn’t paying attention as I made my way off stage. I didn’t notice the length of cord stretched out along the exit until it was too late. Coffee spilled from the cup, landing in a puddle near the electrical plug. Instinctively I reached out as I fell, my palm coming in contact with the hot liquid. My hand wasn’t the only part of my body to burn as a lighting fire danced along my spine. My vision blackened as my body convulsed.

Then it was as if the pain was being experienced by someone else. I could see my body surrounded by the crew, but I floated above the chaos. Then I felt another presence and I knew I sensed God. I reached out toward its warmth, but it was as if a bubble popped. Suddenly I was hurling back to the ground as all went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was once again on the stage floor. Joe was cradling me in his arms. Julie was crying. Images danced across my vision as I took in the scene. That’s when I realized I had returned with a gift. I had seen the future, but the next time I met God I would make sure he didn’t have reason to reject me.

I may not have done the exercise exactly right but it was fun nonetheless to connect the dots and now I am thinking that I may just be able to keep my resolutions after all.

May you all have an equally promising start to 2016!