Monthly Flash Fiction Challenge for February, 2018 by Jeff Baker (2/11/18)

Posted on February 11, 2018 by jeffbaker307

Note: The three items drawn for this month’s Flash Fiction Draw Challenge (by ‘Nathan Burgoine) were a compass, a soup kitchen and a crime caper. This is what I came up with—-jeff baker.

The Way Which Thou Shalt Go

By Jeff Baker

 

Pete stood in the line with Max and The Kid, hoping they looked enough like they’d been sleeping on the street. He stared up at the sign: Sup With The Lord, hoping whatever food and lecture they were serving was worth one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollars. Pete sighed, he’d double-checked this time; this was the same soup kitchen started by Reverend George Paskey who probably didn’t realize the antique compass he had was worth a small fortune.

Pete shifted from one foot to the other, glancing back at Max and The Kid. Early spring but still cold. He pulled his coat around him and wondered what made an old compass so valuable. Maybe it was gold? Or maybe it pointed the way to treasure? Either way Pete was sure Rev. Passkey’s great-grandson didn’t realize what he had or he would have sold it, and Sup With The Lord wouldn’t operate out of an old building that looked like it was about to fall down.

Sup With The Lord opened for dinner at five p.m. and Max, Pete and The Kid filed in with the rest. Pete could whiskey breath and old clothes. He looked around; long clean tables, folding chairs, looked ready for bingo night. The kitchen was in the room behind the long serving table at the front of the room. And the office door was on a wall to one side, partially hidden by a large standing American flag. Pete glanced at Max and The Kid. He wouldn’t have brought them along except that it was their family’s story that had clued Pete to all of this. He sighed again and waited patiently for his turn at the serving table.

The room was a mass of humanity when Pete saw his chance. He nonchalantly wandered around the room and then tried the knob to the office door. It was unlocked. God bless good, trusting people, Pete thought to himself as he slipped into the small office.

Pete had checked the closet, riffled through the pockets of the jacket he found and was ransacking the desk when Max and The Kid slipped into the room. He swore under his breath.

“What took you so long?” Pete asked.

“There’s all kinds of people out there,” The Kid said.

“You find the solid gold compass?” Max asked.

“No, just papers and junk,” Pete said tossing aside a handful of pencils, pens and a tool with a pointed tip. “Maybe it’s hidden behind one of those pictures.”

“All right, boys, that’s enough,” Reverend Paskey said from the doorway, standing between two armed policemen.  Pete swore again, this time not under his breath.

“It didn’t help that the one guy was on social media, posting pictures of the outside of the building and bragging that he was going to heist a solid gold compass,” the officer said later. “But that’s not the kind of compass they should have been looking for, and it’s not gold.” He picked something out of the desk drawer. “Remember using these in school? To draw things like circles? This one may have more than sentimental value. It was given to Paskey’s great grandfather, his grandfather showed it to me a couple of times. Wasn’t a big deal then, but a collector might pay top dollar for it today. Look, there’s the name of the man who originally owned it.”

Inscribed on the side of the V-shaped tool was a familiar name; Frank Lloyd Wright.

 

—end—

Posted in Fiction, Monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge, Mystery, Uncategorized | 7 Comments

Turn on the light for Monday Flash Fics for February 12, 2018 by Jeff Baker

Posted on February 11, 2018 by jeffbaker307

27858356_10156016243254787_5951548315620653690_n                                                                                  Night Thoughts

                                                     By Jeff Baker 

            Liz sighed and switched on the bedroom light.

            “Are you awake?” she said.

            “No.” Carl said without looking up. “Is something wrong with the light?”

            “Something’s wrong with me.” She said.

            “What?” Carl said sitting up in bed.

            “That picture,” she said pointing at the wall. “Jeremy and Margie. When she was a few months old.”

            “What picture? What about a picture? I thought you loved that picture.” Carl said.

            “Our son has a baby,” Liz said. “We’re grandparents. We’re old. I’m old.”

            “Forty nine isn’t old.” Carl said.

            “Forty nine years, three months and six days.” Liz said, sulking. “Next come wrinkles, age spots, grey hair. I’m old. Oh, God, I remember ‘Your Show of Shows’ being on when I was a kid.”

            “Liz, you’re not old,” Carl said. “You just feel old. Because your son is changing diapers and we aren’t. Anyway, I’m fifty-one, I’m older than you. Only time I feel old is when I watch the ballgame and realize I saw some of those guys fathers play. Let’s go back to sleep.”

            “We’re both old,” Liz said. “There’s no way out of that.”

            “Come on, aren’t you proud of Jeremy?” Carl asked. “Single father? Magazine writer?”

            “Mmmm-hmmmm.” Liz said, settling her head back on the pillow.

            “Remember that big article he published last year that you framed and hung up?” Carl asked.

            “’Safe Sex in the Nineties.’ I remember,” Liz said with a smile.

            “Your sister didn’t know what to think,” Carl said.

            “My bridge club wanted to burn him at the stake,” Liz said.

            “Our gay, unmarried single-parent son likes to scandalize the neighborhood,” Carl said.

            “You mean, our gay single-parent son. ‘Unmarried’ is redundant,” Liz said.

            “Mother warned me about marrying an English teacher.” Carl said grinning,

            “I guess I’m just in one of those moods,” Liz said. “But I love that picture of Jeremy and little Margie. Oh, my God…My Little Margie! I just realized that! I wonder If Jeremy caught that?”

            “He’s gay, of course he did,” Carl said. “Turning out the light?”

            “Yes.”

            “Look, speaking of, you know, safe, you know. Do you want to…you know?” Carl asked, grinning again.

            “Oh, it’s late,” Liz said. “What is it, three in the morning?”

            “Eleven-fifteen,” Carl said.

            “What?”

            “We went to bed at nine-thirty, remember?” Carl said.

            “Since when do we go to bed so early?” Liz asked.

            “Since Carson retired. Nothing on T.V.,” Carl said. “It’s Friday,”

            “Besides, we’re old,” Liz said. They laughed. They kissed. “I’ve got the light.”

            In another moment the room went dark. After another moment, Liz spoke up.

            “Oh, God, I’m old; I remember ‘My Little Margie.’”

 

                                                —end— 

Posted in Fiction, Monday Flash Fiction, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Exercise, for Friday Flash, by Jeff Baker. Fics, February 9, 2018

Posted on February 8, 2018 by jeffbaker307

27336852_200981987311263_3048212749948354654_n

When We Hit The Strait of Gibraltar, Somebody Tell Ben-Hur                                         

                                                             By Jeff Baker

 

            With a clack and a buzz, the machine fired to life.

            “Oh, Geez, here we go again!” The voice blended in with the assorted grunts and groans in the long, narrow room. Patrick gripped the handles on the metal oars and grit his teeth as he pulled, leaning back on the bench, then leaning forward as he pushed.

            “That’s one,” he thought.

            The Restitutional Penitent Servitude Act had been passed five years earlier. It was responsible for Patrick and sixty-eight of his fellow convicts sitting in what was basically a glorified rowing machine. It looked like the metal frames for a weight set gone berserk. But the government felt this was more humane than having inmates working on a prison farm.

            “At least the benches are padded,” Patrick grumbled, listening to the loudspeakers keeping time so they rowed in unison, even though they were underground beneath a penitentiary, not on the ocean. Patrick threw himself into the rhythm, letting his mind wander. Pull. Push. Pull. Push. Pull. Push. His muscles burned, his butt chaffed.

            Three hours later, Patrick was drinking the water he’d been issued on their break when he heard the voice over the din of other inmate voices.

            “Hey! Up front! New guy!”

            Patrick turned in his seat.

            “Yeah, you!” Patrick could barely see the speaker, behind a steel girder angling up from the floor. “How you holding up?”

            “I’m okay,” Patrick said, with a caution born of time behind bars. “You?”

            “I’m all right. I get a workout. Never thought I’d miss sitting around in my old cell. I’m Julio.”

            “Patrick. How long you been here Julio?”

            “Here about two years. Been in the system about six,” Julio said. “You?”

            “Been down two years,” Patrick said. “Got rolled here about a month ago.  Armed robbery. Not gonna see the parole board for another three years at least. How ‘bout you?”

            Julio didn’t say anything for a moment. Then; “I killed a guy in a bar fight. I was stoned out of my mind. I barely remember it.”

            “When you up for parole?”  Patrick asked.

            “I’m not.” Julio said. There was another moment that seemed quiet, even with the yelling, talking, grumbling and threatening going on around them.

            There was the clack and buzz and Patrick felt the machine vibrate.

            “Back to work!” Julio called out.

            “You hang in there!” Patrick replied.

            “You too!” Julio said.

            Over the noise of the oars and the machine came an administrative voice:

            “Attention. Due to an attempted escape, you are now on twenty-four hour duty. Four-hour sleep breaks in place. You will row the equivalent of the distance from Athens to the Strait of Gibraltar before regular hours are resumed.”

            “Great,” Patrick grumbled.  “Somebody tell Ben-Hur.”

            Nonetheless, as he pulled back on the oars, Patrick felt lucky for the first time in a while.

 

                                                —end—

 

Posted in Fiction, Friday Flash Fics, Science Fiction, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Monday Flash Fics for February 4, 2018 by Jeff Baker–Something Ecco-Friendly

Posted on February 4, 2018 by jeffbaker307

27067623_10155997708294787_8161458640722065436_n

Captain Ecology and the Cavern of Doom

By Jeff Baker

 

The Ecolo-Car in hover mode floated over the forest, just high enough for the two men to lower themselves in front of the cave entrance.

“Golly, Captain Ecology,” said the younger man, wearing inconspicuous yellow shorts, a purple shirt and a cape. “Are you sure The Asphyxiator has his hideout in those caves?”

“Positive, Compost Boy!” said the older man, wearing a similar outfit, except with long pants. “And if my sources are correct…”

“And they usually are!” Compost Boy said, grinning.

“…The Asphyxiator is in there, getting ready to launch his scheme for world domination,” Captain Ecology said. “To say nothing of ruining this pristine environment.”

“And really hacking-off the National Park Service,” Compost Boy said. “We’ve been trying to nail the Asphyxiator since he tried to wreck the first Earth Day celebration five years ago. So do we go in there and bust some heads?”

“We sneak in. Through the front,” Captain Ecology said as they stealthily slipped down the ropes and ducked behind the bushes next to the cavern entrance.

The cavern entrance was wide but the ceiling lowered after a few yards and became dark even though it was bright midday outside. Fortunately, Captain Ecology and Compost Boy were able to see in all but the dimmest light.

“You notice something?” Compost Boy whispered. “This is a super villain’s lair but it’s unguarded. No guards, no henchmen, no booby traps.”

“If he’s doing what I think he is he would have thought traps unnecessary and probably couldn’t hire any guards or henchmen.”

Oh, that just reassures me no end, Compost Boy thought.

They turned a corner and found a small door. Holding up a hand, Captain Ecology opened it, leading them into a large, vaulted cavern filled with cabinets, scientific equipment and a nasty-looking machine topped with what looked like four tubas pointing upward. Standing beside it, wearing a gas mask and standard black supervillain robes was The Asphyxiator.

“Hold it right there you fiend!” Captain Ecology shouted.

“Too late!” The Asphyxiator cackled. “I have already activated this device, one which shall let me rule the world! And you and your juvenile partner will be its first victims!”

“Hey!” Compost Boy yelled. “I’m twenty-six years old! I just look young!”

The machine was sputtering and shaking. Compost Boy’s eyes began to water. Captain Ecology let out a cough.

“What is that stuff?” Compost Boy said.

“A mixture of methane and other gasses,” Captain Ecology began. The Asphyxiator interrupted.

“All natural ingredients, I assure you! A more intense combination of the same ones found in the human body!”

“Oh, God! I thought this smelled familiar!” Compost Boy said, coughing. “Let’s get out of here and find some air!”

“The Ecco-Domine Serum that enhanced our own abilities unfortunately heightened our sense of smell, so I agree for the time being!” Captain Ecology said. “This way!”

The pair raced back out the door, as Captain Ecology kept talking.

“This cavern is perfectly shaped and positioned for those noxious fumes to be spread to the neighboring towns, then the cities beyond, unless I can remember where I; aha!” He stopped by an incongruous metal door to one side of the caverns corridors, and pulled it open. “Just as I thought!” He walked in and quickly pulled a lever. “Now, we wait outside.”

A few minutes later, The Asphyxiator, coughing and gagging staggered out the main entrance of the cavern into the waiting handcuffs of Captain Ecology and Compost Boy.

“Golly, Captain Ecology!” Compost Boy said. “What did you do?”

“Every supervillian’s secret underground lair is equipped with a functioning ventilation system,” said Captain Ecology. “I spotted the control and turned it off.”

“How did you know that would affect him?” Compost Boy asked. “He was wearing a gas mask!”

“A defective one,” Captain Ecology said. “I recognized the brand right off; they’ve been recalled by the manufacturer.”

 

—end—

Author’s Note: Influenced by a lot of the ecology commercials on T.V. in the 1970’s. I was reading a lot of comic books and I may have dreamed the characters up back then. I forgot about it all until maybe a couple of years ago. I may write up more about these two if I ever have the time!

 

 

Posted in Captain Ecology and Compost Boy, Fantasy, Fiction, Monday Flash Fiction, Science Fiction, Uncategorized | 9 Comments

Friday Flash Fics for February 2, 2018 by Jeff Baker

Posted on February 2, 2018 by jeffbaker307

26908008_197050297704432_110624270397404164_n                                                            We’re All In Our Places With Bright Shining Faces                                                                                                      By Jeff Baker

 

There was something a little frightening about Doctor Straw, Arlecchino  Martinelli thought. Not just his ability to squeeze through the smallest opening as a seemingly wind-blown cloud of yellowish straw; more his grim appearance. The face like a shock of wheat with eye slits and a mouth. Arlecchino thought this as he watched Doctor Straw re-form inside the Teacher’s Lounge. Not as frightening as those kids in A-21. He suppressed a smile.

“I’ve had it,” Straw said in his hollow voice. “Absolutely had it! I fought the Villains United Coalition; even went up against the Crisis Squad that time they turned bad, but I refuse to spend another minute in there with those incorrigible delinquents.”

“I thought you said there are no bad nascent superheroes, only misunderstood…” Arlecchino began with a grin.

“Stuff it!” Straw said. “We should sic those, those, those…”

“”Youthfully exuberant…” Arlecchino began again.

“Oh, come on! Leave him alone!” Ezekiel Bert said, setting down his coffee. “You have a body that’s built like a tank, literally…” Arlecchino Martinelli flexed his right arm, watching the steel ripple. “…and I have my Leonine form. Doctor Straw is, well, straw. Give him a break.”

“Those kids barely have their powers and I became a strawstorm and I still couldn’t control them.” Doctor Straw grumbled. “Somehow, they ganged up on me.”

“They’re the remedial education class, remember?” Arlecchino said. “They’re irresponsible kids, not a grad school study hall. These kids aren’t used to knuckling down.”

“But you need to treat them like people, not like inmates,” Ezekiel said.

“Maybe you’re right,” Doctor Straw said. “After all, nobody ever said teaching kids at a High School for aspiring superheroes was going to be easy.”

“Tell you what,” Arlecchino said. “Keep your signaler on; if the kids become unmanageable, give us a call.  We’re not too far.”

“Darn shame Hypnos retired,” Ezekiel said. “Those kids wouldn’t give him any trouble.”

Hypnos had retired on the verge of having a nervous breakdown after a semester in A-21, Arlecchino thought. The year before they hired Doctor Straw and Ezekiel.

It was half-past one when the signaler in Arlecchino’s belt buzzed. He excused himself from his class and ran down the hall to Room A-21. He saw Ezekiel midway between his human and Leonine forms.

“They’re not there!” Ezekiel said. “The kids or Doctor Straw! The signal came from outside.”

As Ezekiel and Arlecchino ran outside, they were greeted by Doctor Straw’s voice.

“Heymph! Uffer hurrr! Uffr hurrr!”

Propped on the hood of a parked car, Doctor Straw’s straw head clenched the signaler between his teeth. He spat it out and glared at Ezekiel and Arlecchino.

“Don’t just stand there! Help put me back together!”

“What happened?” Ezekiel growled in his leonine form.

“What do you think happened?” Straw yelled. “Those kids happened! I turned into a strawstorm and one of them moved like lightning and scattered me all over the grounds! Too far for me to re-assemble by myself.”

“So what do we do?” Arlecchino asked, trying not to laugh.

“Go get the rest of me!” Straw snapped. “They threw my legs over there, and my arm over there, and my hand over there and my…”

And suddenly, the metal man and the lion began to laugh.

 

—end—

 

 

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Friday Flash Fics, Science Fiction, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Looking at artwork: Monday Flash Fiction by Jeff Baker, January 29, 2018.

Posted on January 28, 2018 by jeffbaker307

26907595_10155976964024787_3731194612280354274_n                                                                Arrangement In Black and Gray                                                                                                                     By Jeff Baker                             

            “Here’s why I wanted you to come here to the gallery today,” Ajuliano said.

            “Wow!” Andy said, staring at the drawing on the wall. “Arrangement in Black and Grey; Latin Youth, 1926.”

            “You’re not looking at the picture,” Ajuliano said, grinning and pointing a finger.

            “Huh? Oh. Woah!” The muscular blonde man in the purple tank top gaped at the drawing on the wall; staring just slightly over the viewer’s left shoulder. Close-cropped hair, thin nose, glittering eyes, firm mouth.

            Andy stared back and forth between the drawing and Ajuliano. The face in the drawing was almost identical to Ajuliano, who Andy had backed up against. The taller man grinned and rubbed the shorter man’s arm.

            “That’s you!” Andy said looking up at Ajuliano.

            “Yeah, it is!” Ajuliano laughed. “No, I’m about sixty-five years too young to have been in that painting. I saw this when I was in the gallery a few weeks ago and I had to show somebody.”

            “Think it’s one of your family?” Andy asked.

            “Don’t know,” Ajuliano said. “I only know my Mom came from Chicago. I don’t go back any further. Not even sure I know who the artist is.”

            “Raymond DuPass,” Andy read, squinting at the card by the painting.

            “Let me make a pass,” Ajuliano said, running his hand through Andy’s blond hair.

            Andy grinned and kissed him. “Careful, we’re in public!”

            “So let’s stop being in public,” Ajuliano said grinning back. “My place is right near here.”

            “We’ve known each other what, four hours?” Andy said.

            “Yeah. Happy anniversary! Sure you want to be with an old man like me?”

            “You’re what? Forty?” Andy asked.

            “Closer to five-hundred and forty,” Ajuliano said grinning again. “I’m really a succubus.”

            “Hey, it’s my bus and you can…” Andy began, as they both started laughing again.

            They kissed again and walked out of the gallery, the drawing staring after them.

It was later in the afternoon when a small group of art students wandered through the gallery.

“This one’s by Raymond DuPass,” a young man in the group said.

“Who’s he?” asked someone else.

“Raymond DuPass,” the young man began in a mock-serious tone. “American expatriate, One of the Barcelona School in the early Twentieth Century, relocated here to California.” The young man grinned. “And grew up where I was raised in Kansas City. Best known for his sculpture, his paintings and drawings are comparatively rare. He had an eye for male models whom he was rumored to dally with.” He laughed, and looked at the card again. “Wow. 1926. He died later that year. Probably right after he did this.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno,” the young man said. “I read somewhere that he seemed to age overnight. Hey, they’re showing the Bernecky mural here!”

“You really get into this stuff, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said as they walked to the next room, the drawing staring silently from the wall.

 

                                                       —end—

 

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Horror, LGBT, Monday Flash Fiction, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Friday Flash Fics, January 26, 2018, by Jeff Baker. A tale with an oceanfront view…

Posted on January 25, 2018 by jeffbaker307

26903715_193404984735630_587372210355527985_n                                                                          Let’s Get Away From It All                                                                                                                                  By Jeff Baker

 

            “Man! Look at that view!” Steve said, staring out the window at the ocean. “And we can see it from inside in a hot tub!”

            “Yeah!” Mickey said. “As beachfront properties go, even rental properties, this is a steal!”

            It would be a steal at twice the price. A house opening out onto a pristine beach. It would be a steal even without the beach. Two-story, well-furnished, plenty of room. Open, lit and airy, done in what would have been called a modern style sixty years before when the house was built.

            Then there was the hot tub. Built into the floor, surrounded by stone and looking for all the world like a big, ceramic coffee cup. (“Nothing like getting into a hot cup of coffee in the morning,” Steve had cracked when he’d first seen it.)

            Mr. Wilson, the real estate agent, had been extolling the finer points of the house while leading the pair through the downstairs and to the upstairs bedroom which had a fine view of the ocean. As they gazed out they automatically held hands.

            “What do you think?” Mickey asked when Mr. Wilson was out of earshot.

            “It looks nice,” Steve said, but we wouldn’t be living here, just staying here now and then.”

            “Yeah, but what about the low price?” Mickey asked. “Too good to be true?”

            “You mean, like termites?” Steve said.

            “Big water bugs?” Mickey said.

            “Loud neighbors?” Steve said.

            “I suppose you’re wondering,” Wilson said walking back in the room, “how we can offer this at such a low price. It’s not really a secret…”

            “Here it comes,” Steve whispered to Mickey.

            “…at least, not on the island,” Wilson continued.

            “It is to us,” Mickey whispered to Steve.

            “But you know how people sensationalize.” Wilson said.

            “About what?” Mickey and Steve said in unison.

            “The house is supposed to be haunted.” Wilson blurted out. The two men stared at him.

            “Uh, I don’t believe in ghosts,” Mickey said.

            “Nonetheless, I feel obligated to inform you that the average tenancy in this house is about three days. Some of them don’t even stay the whole night.” Wilson said.

            Steve looked around the room. It was bright, cheery, no shadows.

            “Where’s the rental agreement?” Steve asked. Mickey smiled, but not as broadly as Wilson.

            The house was softly lit, the dusk was sinking into a deep black outside and from the hot tub Mickey and Steve could see tiki torches on the far end of the beach and hear music playing.

            “Sinatra, I think,” Steve said, sipping the last of his glass of wine as he snuggled next to Mickey in the warm water of the hot tub. Mickey grinned. He could see the glimmer of the distant lights reflected in the water of the hot tub. He stared closer.

            “Hey, Steve, are you wiggling your toes?”

            “I can if you want me to!” Steve said, finishing the wine.

            “Nah, hold up a minute, hold still,” Mickey said. “One, two, three four…five…”

            “Toes?” Steve said glancing down. They looked up at each other, their mouths open wide. An instant later, they had jumped out of the hot tub.

            “It wasn’t a shadow,” Mickey said.

            “No, it wasn’t,” Steve said.

            “Five feet,” Mickey breathed. “Your two, my two and…and…”

            “It’s gone,” Steve said.

            “Yeah,” Mickey said.

            “How far’s that motel, Mick?”

            “Not far if we drive,” Mickey said. “Let’s grab some clothes, quick. And for gosh sakes turn on the lights!”

            Twenty minutes later they walked into the lobby of the Beach Ways Motel. The desk clerk looked up, eyed their rumpled clothes and hastily packed beach bag with the clothes sticking out of the sides and smiled pleasantly.

            “Rented the LuMarro place, I see?”

 

                                    —end—

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Friday Flash Fics, Horror, LGBT, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

For Monday Flash Fics: An Encounter With Frivolity, by Jeff Baker. January 21, 2018.

Posted on January 21, 2018 by jeffbaker307

26908101_10155956231384787_9003954654469820790_n

                                               With Bells and Motley

                                                           By Jeff Baker                                                                      

            The city is old and familiar. But all cities, all places are familiar to me. I glance casually at the people walking along the street. Some of them eye me curiously, some of them are smiling. I smile to myself at that.

            Fashions have changed (of course) and at times I feel there is as much difference between different countries and different centuries. I have worn the most outlandish outfits as well as sober grey flannel. I have been plainly seen presiding over my special area of human frailty and strength. In the days of knights in armor I was in bells and motley, but I also was seen in ermine robes as well as running naked in the woods. I have been to funerals in a burst of sudden good feeling and nostalgia and once, in this very city, I was in the wings on opening (also closing) night of an unfunny stage comedy, where the conversation between the playwright and the stagehand was funnier than anything the audience was being subjected to. I hope the playwright took what little hints I could give as to subject matter for a next endeavor. I don’t drop hints very often, though I have dropped people’s pants unexpectedly.

            I am an Embodiment, what some called a Teraphim, a personification, of something considered insubstantial. The depiction of Death, with a skull-face and black hooded robes is one such being. Father Time is another. I am laughter. I am humor. Frivolity and satire. And I take many forms in many places. I have been in hospitals, on playgrounds and in prisons of all sorts. I have literally been gallows humor.

            So, why am I here in this place at this moment? There. That young man at the table, at the outdoor café. The one with the drawing pad. He has drawn me here.

            Because he is thinking about me.

            He is talking to his friends about me. And he has drawn a picture. It doesn’t look like I appear now, nor is it dressed like I do today. No white jacket, no hat, no carrying bag. In the drawing I am wearing bells and motley, the exact same pattern as I wore long ago. The drawing is not a surprise. We are not entirely unknown, and there are some people who are sensitive to us. This young man is one of them I am certain.

            In the drawing, I am behind the wheel of a fancy car, a convertible. A well-drawn car, a car of at least four decades earlier. My drawn counterpart is laughing, and so is the young man at the table with his friends as he points to something.

            The license plate at the rear of the car. It does not have numbers, but is one of the recent, personalized variety. The term on the plate is a new one, just a few years old; LOL.

            It makes me smile.

 

                                                —end—

 

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Monday Flash Fiction, Uncategorized | 2 Comments

A Song for a Shutdown

Posted on January 20, 2018 by jeffbaker307

With the current government shutdown, I’ve been thinking about the one about 1991 during the first Bush administration. Congress looked silly and petty and the president came off smelling like a rose. And I did this song at a comedy club in town which went over well!

                                           Shutdown 

                               By Jeff Baker, circa about 1990

                        (To the tune of T.V. theme from “Rawhide.”)

 

            Keep Movin’, movin’, movin’

            Voters disapprovin’

            Incumbents they’re removin’

            Let’s hide!

            We’ve been enterprisin’

            And we’ve been compromisin’

            But Bush has the veto on his side

            Federal employees-a-waitin’

            For paycheck satiation

            They’ll vote us out by-and-by.

 

            Keep rollin’, rollin’, rollin’

            Budget bucks are swollen

            Looks like it’s been stolen

            Let’s hide!

            Not quite like we planned it

            In D.C. Boy Scouts are stranded

            Wishin’ that they could find tour guides!

            All the things we’re missin’

            That last week we were dissin’

            We’ll be voted out by-and-by.

 

            Vote ‘em in, vote ‘em out, vote ‘em in, save our butts

            Hopin’ it saves our hides!

            Veto in, veto out, veto in, veto out

            Hope that we can save our hides!

 

                        —end—

Posted in Political satire, Songs | Leave a comment

A Ride in the Sky for Friday Flash Fics, by Jeff Baker, January 19, 2018

Posted on January 18, 2018 by jeffbaker307

                                           The Skycruiser

                                                By Jeff Baker

                                   

            “Woah! Hey! Lookout!!” Kyle-Four jumped in his seat and alternated between pointing and covering his eyes.

            “Relax! I’ve got this!” Scott-Two said, as the skycruiser moved into the next airlane. “I’ve been driving for a while!” He steered the skycruiser into position as they soared past the tops of the downtown skyscrapers. “It’s actually pretty easy!”

            “Keep your eye on the line, dude!” Kyle-Four yelled in near-panic.

            “Hey! It’s chillib, Bro!” Scott-Two said. “Besides, the monitor does most of the flying, remember?”

            “Oh, yeah,” Kyle-Four said, settling back into his seat. “I keep forgetting.”

            The skycruiser arced above the city, following the rest in a line.

            “I got my assignment this morning,” Kyle-Four said, staring out the passenger side window.

            “Yeah?” Scott-Two said, his hands clenching the control disc. “What did they say?”

            “Girls,” Kyle-Four said still staring out the window. “I’m gonna like girls.” He turned to Scott-Two with a sad smile. “For the rest of my life.”

            “When…when’s the…” Scott-Two started to say, his mouth hanging open.

            “Acclimation?” Kyle-Four said. “Mine’s set for Frostday at 11:16 in the morning.”

            “Two days. Aw, Horus, two days.” Scott-Two said.

            “Look, I’ll always remember what we, you know, had…” Kyle-Four said.

            “But you won’t feel it anymore!” Scott-Two yelled, banging his fist on the dashboard.  The monitor didn’t even let the skycruiser jiggle.

            “But I’ll remember,” Kyle-Four said again, wondering how he really would feel then. “How about you?” Kyle-Four asked. “I mean, any word when your, you know, Acclimation is gonna be?”

            “Already happened,” Scott-Two said. “I turned twenty-two last month, remember?”

            “And?” Kyle-Four asked, his jaw dropping.

            “Same as I always was,” Scott-Two said in a flat voice. “Same as the last time we…you know. That’s why I didn’t bother telling you.”

            The two of them sat back in their seats and let the monitor do the flying. Kyle-Four slid his hand across the armrest and touched Scott-Two’s hand. They flew in silence.

            “We…have two days before I have to…you know.” Kyle-Four said.

            Scott-Two turned to Kyle-Four and grinned, squeezing Kyle-Four’s hand.

            “You know, for now I’m happy with this.” Scott-Two said.

            “It’s chillib, Bro, It’s chillib.” Kyle-Four said.

             

 

                                               —end—

 

Posted in Fiction, Friday Flash Fics, LGBT, Science Fiction, The Skycruiser | 2 Comments