A brief encounter for Monday Flash Fics, November 20, 2017–by Jeff Baker

Posted on November 19, 2017 by jeffbaker307

23621426_10155795904929787_1838146347723101665_n

                                             Double Date

                                             By Jeff Baker     

 

            We’d been sitting in the diner (one of those cool ones made up to look like the ‘50’s) for about an hour and he’d been laughing when Doris walked up to our booth. Doris! I’d come to this side of town with Mickey so nobody would recognize us.

            “Hi, Mike,” she said. She’d been sweet on me in High School before she’d realized we were both crushing on the same guy on the basketball team. Just friends since then.

            “Uh, hi Doris,” I said.

            You never told me you had a twin brother!” Doris said. “He looks just like you!”

            I figured I’d better come clean.

            “Doris, this is Mickey.” (He grinned, raised one hand and gave a half-wave, half-salute. He could be cocky like that, like a fighter pilot in a movie.) “Mickey is my…”

            “Mike and Mickey!’ Doris interrupted. “Oh, I think it’s cute! My cousin named her twins Donald and Donna, but of course they were…”

            “Doris, Mickey isn’t my twin or my brother. He’s a Replicated Genetic Construct. And he’s my date.”

            Doris stared at me. “You’re dating your own clone?”

            “Mike says I’m perfect for him,” Mickey said. “And we know each other so well.”

            “Mickey has all of my memories, from right before the time he was, uh, grown a couple of months ago,” I said.

            “Yeah,” Mickey said. “Like I remembered when Doris asked you if you’d go to the senior prom and just ‘fake it.’”

            Doris and I just stared at Mickey.

            “Now, I would have gone to the prom with her and I wouldn’t have to have faked anything.” Mickey said. “We could make up for lost time.” He grinned again. His teeth were whiter than mine and I thought his voice was deeper.

            “You’re supposed to be my date,” I said.

            “Aren’t you, you know, interested in the men’s basketball team?” Doris asked.

            “I’m versatile!” Mickey said. I was about to point out that I’d spent a lot of cash for Mickey and he was obligated to do what I said, but that made me sound like an actor in a bad porn movie about gladiators. One who couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag.

            “Sure, sure, you can go out with her,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. They grinned again, this time at each other, and left.

            Holding hands.

            I sat in the booth for a moment. Then the jukebox started playing an oldie; “My Clone Sleeps Alone.” That was when I pulled one of the prop electric guitars off the wall and started smashing the jukebox.

            So, that’s how I ended up here in jail. How about you?

 

                                            —end—

           

 

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

Out-Of-Sight Story for Monday Flash Fics (Nov. 13, 2017) by Jeff Baker

Posted on November 12, 2017 by jeffbaker307

23167828_10155776020664787_4741315093649416360_n

                                     Boot-Scootin’ Boogie                                                                                                                                  By Jeff Baker

 

I stared at the pair of boots as the executed clumsy move across the floor.

“Cut that out, Henry!” I said. “And make yourself visible, okay?”

“You mean, I shouldn’t show up just like this?” The familiar voice came from a few feet above the boots.

I grinned. “Yeah. Just be visible,” I said reaching out to embrace what looked like thin air and give it a kiss. “Uh, and put on the rest of your clothes!”

Henry laughed as the boots flopped off onto the floor and he faded into view. A little shorter than me, scruffy blonde hair.

“How long before this country swing thing anyway?” Henry asked.

“About an hour and a half,” I said. “Plenty of time.”

“Great!” Henry said. He kissed me again, grabbed his boots, grinned and disappeared as he walked towards our bedroom.

“And don’t get to popping in and out all over the place,” I said with mock dismay. “It’s not like we were still in high school.”

High school had been seventeen years ago. We’d both been serious closet cases. Then Henry had his “little accident” at the research facility his Dad worked at the summer after our freshman year. He’d gotten his invisibility largely under control by the start of school but he still needed to be invisible about twelve hours a day or he’d start fading. That meant a lot of ducking out to the restroom in the middle of class.

His family and the research facility wanted to keep it a secret. But he’d told me right before Christmas vacation. That was the start of it. Well, I’d been smoking a cigarette in the boy’s room when he rushed in with his midsection just gone. The next two years felt like a very weird cable kid’s show, with both of us jumping around to keep anybody else from finding out that Henry spent part of his time literally out of sight.

Senior Prom was cool. By that time Henry and I had discovered each other. I was ostensibly taking Jan Hall but Henry was my real date. Invisibly. It looked like I was slow dancing with myself during the last dance and kissing thin air, but I didn’t care. I told everybody I’d been stood up and the Principal gave me a breath test, but still, Senior Prom was cool.

By the time we graduated College, Henry only needed to be invisible about two hours a day. Also, we’d moved in together.

“How’s this?” Henry said walking out of the bedroom. Western shirt, jeans, boots and a cowboy hat apparently perched on thin air above the empty collar.

“Perfect!” I said. “It’ll inspire a new country song: “the Invisible Man Boogie.”

Henry’s face appeared below the hat. He laughed as we kissed.

“Personally, I always liked classical,” he said as we walked out to the car, fully visible for the night. “Hey, you know Rimsky-Korsakov wrote a whole piece about an invisible city?”

 

—end—

 

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Invisibility, Invisible Henry, LGBT, Monday Flash Fiction, Science Fiction, Short-Stories, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Screaming for Ice Cream, Friday flash Fics for Nov. 10, 2017 by Jeff Baker

Posted on November 9, 2017 by jeffbaker307

23032386_298868510610727_7348292570511776684_n                                                             We All Scream For Ice Cream

         

                                                By Jeff Baker

                      Tommy had lost track of how many boards he’d sawed in the last four hours. He was just glad he could take his shirt off on this job. Hell, he was just glad he had this job. He picked the shirt off the stool and wiped his face with it. This place needed more ventilation. But it was better than the machine shop in prison. And it was better than having no job and being made to police the yard for cigarette butts at the work-release place.

            He resumed sawing and started trying to think about how much money he’d made in the three weeks he’d worked here. Wasn’t sure what percentage work-release took out for expenses and he hadn’t had to spend anything except for lunches and bus fare. He wouldn’t even get the bulk of it until he made parole. Maybe about three, four months from now. Maybe in time for Thanksgiving.

            Tommy placed the sawed sections into the box and glanced at the saw. He grinned. No way they would have let him near one of these behind prison walls. He looked over at the window. Bright sun, blue sky. Be nice to be out there on a day like this. But this wasn’t a bad job to have, even temporarily. Maybe when he made parole he could relocate here and keep working at it. He stretched for a minute. It was getting close to quitting time. He’d have enough time to clean up a little and head for where he picked up his bus. He grinned to himself. There was a little ice cream shop on that corner. It probably wouldn’t blow his budget to stop in quick and get an ice cream cone. He hadn’t had one in a long time.

            It would be worth it. A taste of home.

                                    —end—

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

Monday Flash Fics with hors d’ oeuvres by Jeff Baker

Posted on November 6, 2017 by jeffbaker307

23131018_10155759402544787_3784023549434840280_n                                                       Do You Hear What I Hear?

 

                                                By Jeff Baker

 

            The reception had been going on for about twenty minutes when Adam leaned over and nuzzled Josh’s ear.

            “Don’t react and don’t look,” Adam said. “He just walked in.”

            “Is he armed?” Josh asked.

            “I can’t tell,” Adam said.

            Josh and Adam had been hired by one of the grooms just in case the one’s ex showed up at the wedding to cause trouble. The ceremony had gone on without incident but now they were all seated at big picnic tables in the park next to the wedding venue.

            “We’re detectives, not bodyguards,” Josh had said when Walter had hired them.

            “Didn’t you say you’d boxed in college?” Walter had asked.

            “I was a box boy in college,” Josh said.

            “Oh.”

            The gist of it was that Chris’ ex-boyfriend had said he was going to break up the wedding. He hadn’t threatened violence so Walter had remembered Josh from school.

            “Chaz can be mean,” Chris had said.

            “Is that why you broke up with him?” Adam had asked.

            “No, he broke up with me,” Chris had said.

The grooms were paying Adam and Josh plus renting their tuxes. It was a formal wedding. Plus, there were free hors d’ oeuvres. Then Chaz showed up.

            “He’s looking around, he’s staggering. I think he’s a little sloshed,” Adam said.

            Chaz was six-foot-something and probably would have looked at home in any football uniform instead of the suit and tie he was wearing. For a moment he stared at the table loaded with food.  With a yell, he tipped the table over. In the corner, the band stopped playing.

            “Oh, yeah, he’s a lot sloshed,” Adam said as he and Josh jumped up from their table.

            “Chaz no like buffet table, Chaz smash,” Josh said.

            Adam kept his eye on the groom’s table. They were seated with family and the wedding cake. It was on the other side of a tree so maybe Chaz hadn’t seen it yet. How bad was this going to turn out? A food fight or worse?

            Josh reached Chaz first.

            “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Let’s cool down. Okay?”

            Chaz snarled, raised a fist and swung at Josh, missed him by a half foot. Josh felt a breeze from the fist. Chaz staggered.

            “Hold up, man!” Adam said, reaching Chaz. Chaz stared, bleary eyed. Then he fell over on top of Adam.

            Adam was about 185 pounds and muscular. That didn’t help. He was slammed to the ground by the now unconscious Chaz.

            “My, God! You okay?” Josh said.

            “Yeah,” Adam said. “I just wonder how Mannix would handle this.”

            Somebody put Chaz in a car and hauled him off. Chris and Walter thanked Josh and Adam, even asking if there was anything they wanted.

            “Just one thing,” Josh said grinning at Adam in his food spattered tuxedo. “Have the band play something slow. It’s been a long afternoon.”

            Adam grinned back at him. He was still grinning as they danced, cheek to cheek, trying not to slip on the little cucumber sandwiches on the ground.

 

                                                       —end—

Posted in Fiction, Josh and Adam, LGBT, Monday Flash Fiction, Mystery, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

“All Hallow’s Eve.” Monday Flash Fics. for Oct. 30, 2017 by Jeff Baker

Posted on October 29, 2017 by jeffbaker307

22788627_10155743030119787_6000867585554295384_n                                                                             All Hallow’s Eve                                                                                                                                            By Jeff Baker                                                                                                         The house was an old Victorian, two stories made of graying brick with a flat roof. The yard had seen better days; brambles tangled through a growth of brown grass. The shutters on the windows were securely closed. Irving sighed. If the flag wasn’t up on the open mailbox with a stamped letter inside Irving would have assumed the house was deserted. He sighed and snapped the mailbox shut, glancing at the name on the box: Mordante.

            Mordante, he thought as he walked up the stone walkway. Mordante, Mordante. He reached the door and was about to reach for the big brass knocker when he saw it was in the shape of a skull. He stared for a minute, and then remembered. October Thirtieth. The family must have decorated for Halloween. He knocked on the door and after a few moments the door swung open and a blond, middle-aged man stood there in a turtleneck sweater and jeans.

            “Good afternoon Mister Mordan-tay,” Irving said. The man smiled broader and held up a hand.

            “Mordant, it’s pronounced Mordant. The e is silent.” Mr. Mordante said.

            “Oh, Mordant. Sorry,” Irving said pulling out one of the flyers. “Mr. Mordante, I represent Josh Silk who is a candidate for Representative here in the thirteenth district. Are you and your family registered to vote in the election next week?”

            “Ah! Civic duty!” Mordante said with an even broader smile. “But come in, come in. You shouldn’t be standing outside on a day like this!”

            “Well, okay,” Irving said following Mordante through the front door, glancing backward before the door closed. Clear, sunny, not a cloud in the sky.

            The interior of the house was greyish and somehow cozy with an old stone fireplace and antique furniture. The windows were tinted a dark green. The fireplace was made of the same gray stone with ornate carved groves and lines crisscrossing the mantle. Irving squinted: the lines almost resembled snakes.

            Irving took a few steps to the side and stared into a large room where a rocky gully on the floor with a small, flowing stream (inside the house?) blended somehow into a large, high-vaulted cathedral, complete with a gray, stone altar.

            “We only use it for Sabbaths,” Mordante said almost apologetically, steering Irving back to the living room.

            Irving was puzzled; he hadn’t noticed a high vaulted roof on the house when he’d driven by it in the side street. He hadn’t thought the house was that big.

            “Now, young man,” Mordante said. “About your candidate…”

            “Oh, yeah. I mean, yes,” Irving said. “Well, he, we, believe in the importance of everybody in the household being registered to vote in local elections.”

            “As do we!” Mordante said smiling even more broadly.

            Irving stared. It had to be his imagination. Mordante’s teeth seemed longer and sharper. And there seemed to be more of them. Must be the light.

            “Ah!” Mordante said. “Here is my lovely wife! As much a believer in the electoral process as I!”

            Irving turned. What was slithering towards them on the carpet bore a superficial resemblance to a boa constrictor, except it had fins and human-like eyes. Luckily, it was not between Irving and the door. Irving barely remembered throwing the door open, racing through the yard, starting the car and speeding off. He didn’t remember that he was screaming.

            He knew two things; he was done canvassing for the day and he was going to have a large drink.

            Maybe two.

 

                                                —end—

Author’s Note: I had another story plotted out for this picture and then I realized what day this was going to be posted on. So I came up with this. Happy Halloween!

           

Posted in Fantasy, Fiction, Halloween, Horror, Monday Flash Fiction, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Friday Flash Fics from Jeff Baker for October 27, 2017

Posted on October 27, 2017 by jeffbaker307

22528141_293174197846825_1323547811841694792_n

The Optimum Fractured Curve Against the Reality Flow Matrix Theory

                                                           By Jeff Baker

 

            I hadn’t seen Roberto Anyas in about thirty years when I turned around that morning to see him lying there in bed. He hadn’t been there a moment before. He stared at me and a broad smile spread over his face.

            “Connor?” the man in the bed said. Roberto’s voice all right.

“Roberto?” I managed to sputter out.

            “Looks that way!” Roberto said. “My gosh! You look great!”

            “Yeah, you too!” I said. “I mean, you really haven’t changed.” I was convinced I was still in bed asleep and that it was the middle of the night, not mid-morning. Usually when I dreamed about Roberto Anyas he was bare armed and bare chested. Like now.

            “How long has it been?” Roberto asked. “No, really, how long? I’ve got no way of knowing. Just blame the tattoos.” He pointed to the green lines that striped and crisscrossed his left arm and shoulder.

            “Well, the last time I saw you was right after we graduated in 1983,” I said.

            “Eighty-three,” Roberto said, leaning back in bed. “That was about five years ago for me.”

            “Five years?” I aid. “More like thirty-five.”

            “Like I said, you can blame the tattoos,” Roberto said. “Hey, you have a pair of pants I can borrow?”

            “Sure,” I said. By this time, I was expecting to walk down a hallway and find myself in my high school class on the day of the big test. Still, a lot of it seemed real. I grabbed the sweatpants from the hall closet (our only closet) and turned back to the bedroom.

            “So, you zapped here from, like, 1988 or something?” I asked, tossing Roberto the sweatpants.

            “More like the early 75th Century,” he said as he slid further under the covers and started putting on the pants. Going for modesty. “After I graduated, I got involved with this think tank. We were going to try and reach the future.” He grunted, presumably pulling on the pants. “The tattoos are microdots. They’re linked in with the mainframe and with me. I can work it mentally so I went ahead about eight thousand years. Tried to learn something about future technology.” He shook his head. “They didn’t like that. I got out of there in a hurry. You were the first person I thought of so I homed in on you.” He looked around at the bedroom.  “I was aiming for the dorm, back about 1982.”

            “Why me?” I asked.

            “You were a really clear memory in a specific time frame,” Roberto said. “Besides, I really didn’t have any time to think about it. I had to get out of…where I was, fast.”

            “Without your pants.” I said, smiling.

            “Yeah.” Roberto said. “I was in a hurry. Oh, and thanks for these.” He tossed back the covers and stood up. The sweats just fit him. I stared. He looked just like he did 35 years ago. Back in the dorm.

            “They belong to Jason,” I said.

            “Thank him for me,” Roberto said. “He’s your boyfriend?”

            “Husband,” I said. “We got married about three years ago.”

            Roberto grinned. “Husband! Niiiiice! I could get to like this, what is it again, 2017? Almost as much as I liked the dorm.”

            I remembered the dorm in 1982. The windows open with the spring breeze. The radio on low. The lights off.

            “But I have to go,” Roberto said. “I’m stretching things with the optimum fractured curve against the reality flow matrix to drop me here and get me, well, back where I belong again.”

            “Nice seeing you,” I said. It was even if this was an increasingly realistic dream.

            “If I’m in the area, I’ll send you guys a postcard or something,” Roberto said.

            “Sounds good,” I said. “Hey, if you get there, say ‘hi’ to 1982 for me, okay?”

            “Will do.”

            “Hold up a minute,” I said looking out the window at the driveway. “Jason went out to the store; he should be back in a few minutes. He’s bringing donuts. If you like we could…”

            I turned back and Roberto was gone. I blinked a couple of times. I sat down on the bed, remembering 1982. It was a dream, I said to myself as I stood up again and walked over to the closet running my hands over the clothes.

            Nonetheless, Jason’s old sweatpants were gone.

 

                                                —end—

Posted in Fiction, Friday Flash Fics, Science Fiction, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

“How about a ride?” (With Monday Flash Fics for October 23, 2017 by Jeff Baker

Posted on October 22, 2017 by jeffbaker307

22552607_10155728820024787_7832669725760103066_n

Skuller

By Jeff Baker

“First of all, I never liked the guy, y’know? Not that Skuller’s name was a turn-off. No, he was the turn-off. No manners, no class, no job. He was kind of cute, and he was collecting tattoos which looked kinda hot, but he wasn’t the kind of guy a girl wanted to be with, y’know? At least, not this girl. Anyway, one night, yes that night he pulls up in front of the house right before dinner and starts honking the horn on whatever car he’d stolen. He waves this sign out the window that says Let’s Get Lost and opens the passenger door, y’know for me to get in with him? So, I tell him to get lost himself, y’know? Skuller gets pissed and roars off, giving me the bird out the driver’s side window. So, anyway, the next morning we hear the news on the radio (just before the weather and all the local kid’s birthdays) that some lunatic tried to drive through a liquor store but clipped a fire hydrant and flipped over and burst into flames, probably because he’d been tampering with the gas tank. Skuller, of course. Anyway, it was no surprise and no big loss but the day after his funeral there’s this honking in front of the house (right around dinner again) and who do you think is there but Skuller. Same car, looking singed and his face looks like he’s made up to play in a cheap zombie movie. Well, my Dad gets mad but not half as mad as I was when he waves that same stupid sign in my face and I’m on the verge of telling him to get lost again and that I don’t have any desire to re-enact one of those lame old teenage tragedy songs, and certainly not with him. By this time my little brother comes up and suggests I say ‘Skuller’ three times (he loves those kind of movies) and them my Dad suggests that he go to Hell and Skuller just laughs and says something about Hell not wanting him. So I tell him I don’t want him either and Skuller just looks at me funny and drives off. And I ought to tell you that was the last I ever saw of him but we see each other now and then, usually when I have to work late and I pass Main Street downtown where the kids race each other and sometimes Skuller roars through scaring them all. Y’know, now that I think of it, Skuller wasn’t even the worst boy who wanted to take me out, there was the Renaldo kid, remember him? But enough about me, what’s all this about you and this big shot from Kansas City?”

 

—end—

 

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

“Flying Blind.” Blind Date for Friday Flash Fics, October 20, 2017 by Jeff Baker

Posted on October 19, 2017 by jeffbaker307

22405792_290821531415425_4835395192658818847_n                                                                  Flying Blind                                                                                                                                                   By Jeff Baker

 

            I hate time travel. And going on blind dates. And this was both, and it was all going wrong.

            When I arrived, I took off the glasses and pulled out my revulator  to check to see if I was in the right place and right era. Mine was one of the cheap ones. It said I was “somewhere in the western hemisphere” and it had an estimation of the date. Yeah, an “estimation.” Oh, and it said two-fifteen in the afternoon. Great. I’ve shown up late for things but being a century or so off for a date was overdoing it.

            “Steve!” a voice called from behind me. I turned and saw a tall, reddish-blond guy in jeans and a green sweater climbing the small hill I’d apparently appeared on.

            “You’re Steve, right?”

            “Yeah,” I said. “You’re Walter, right” I asked.

            “Yeah,” he said. He pulled out a revulator and stared at the display. “Any idea where we are?”

            “Nope,” I said. “According to this, it’s the twenty-seventh century. Probably.”

            “Mine says it’s 1926,” Walter said. “Any idea which of us is right?”

            “Nope,” I said, clicking on the display. “At least we homed in on each other. Well, there should be a place to sit down and eat somewhere near…”

            There was a huge roar. We turned and stared. Neither of us was sure if the giant dinosaur we saw ambling towards us belonged to the future or the prehistoric past. We didn’t try to figure it out, we just ran.

            “You got recall on yours?” Walter yelled, running.

            “Yeah!” I said. “Yours?”

            “Yeah!” Walter said. “Grab my hand!”

            I slowed down enough to grab his hand as we both keyed in the emergency recall option and pressed, just as the dinosaur-thing gave another loud roar. Very close.

            Everything faded into a greyish blur with black stripes and flashes. It reminded me of old images I’d seen of an old home video viewer from the mid-twentieth century.

            We wound up back at the TimeDate offices and had our first date in their employee cafeteria, while they were deciding whether to give us a refund or not. And I didn’t know whether it would all lead to a second date. All we knew was it wouldn’t be any place with dinosaurs.

 

                                                —end—

 

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

Canis Major; Monday Flash Fiction from Jeff Baker

Posted on October 15, 2017 by jeffbaker307

22309022_10155704774644787_5387197726199188837_n

Author’s Note: Again, this one is probably more a poem than a story. At least I think it’s poetic!

                                             Canis Major

                                              By Jeff Baker

                                   

            They’d spent the usual week apart. That is, for about eight or nine hours he wasn’t in their apartment. It was something the dog and the man were used to. Then, the daily homecoming, the tail wagging, the affectionate talk, the long sleep in the dark.

            And then, the weekend. Usually at this time of year with the windows open and the long nap on the living room sofa, snuggled together.

            And the dreams, the dreams where they were sitting by a huge window watching everything pass by. Or running in an endless, green park, man and dog deliriously happy. Or they are in the night sky, sometimes running past Orion and Canis Major, sometimes they are Orion and Canis Major.

            And, upon awakening, it never occurs to the dog or the man that yes, they did share the same dream.

            Such are the ways of love.

 

                                                —end—

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Monday Flash Fiction, Poems, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Friday Flash Fics. Inaugural Edition (From Jeff Baker.)

Posted on October 12, 2017 by jeffbaker307

22154570_287589925071919_6412678733566145973_n

          “…To The Best Of His Ability…”

By Jeff Baker

Author’s Note: As this is the inaugural edition of Friday Flash Fics, I decided this sort of tale would be appropriate.—-jeff

Schuyler Hampton Jones tossed his bowtie on the sofa next to his jacket, pants and shoes.

“As long as I remember where the bathroom is here, we’ll be okay,” he said. He grinned at Jim who had shucked out of his tuxedo and was seated on the floor next to their bed in just his shorts.

“Too bad you didn’t take my advice and wear the top hat,” Jim said.

“Not everybody can pull off the top hat,” Schuyler said, carefully taking off his cufflinks (they had been his father’s) and putting them in a box on the dresser. “J.F.K. did. I think Coolidge or somebody did.”

“And Lincoln,” Jim added.

“Yeah. Big shoes!” Schuyler said, putting his shirt on a hanger in the closet..

“Don’t forget Armbruster,” Jim said. “He was so preoccupied he kept his top hat on all through the swearing-in.”

“Don’t remind me!” Schuyler said with another grin. “I’m just old enough to remember that!”

“A little before my time,” Jim said. “Besides, Forty-three isn’t old. Not for you!”

“Neither is thirty-seven,” Schuyler said, bending down to kiss Jim.

“You don’t look old and gray,” Jim said.

Schuyler laughed and blushed.  “Give me about four years,” he said.

“Hey, how long have we been up anyway?” Jim asked.

Schuyler looked at the clock. “Since six-thirty yesterday morning, going on twenty-two hours.”

“Ow!” Jim said. “Definitely bedtime!”

“I’ll probably get up early,” Schuyler said with a yawn.

“It is early,” Jim said.

“Yeah, Schuyler said. “Guess I’ll get a couple of hours sleep.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Mister President,” came a voice. “My apologies for disturbing you but there’s a call for you. It’s the Joint Chiefs. The Armenian situation, I believe.”

“Be right there,” Schuyler said, starting to put his pants and shoes back on. He glanced over at Jim. “Sorry about this!”

“Hey, it’s the job!” Jim said grinning. “We knew what we were getting into!”

Schuyler grabbed his shirt and quickly buttoned it up, deciding to forgo his tie.

“James Thomas Randall, I’d marry you all over again!” Schuyler said kissing Jim passionately.

“Me too!” Jim said. “You’d better go talk to the Joint Chiefs.”

“Yeah. See you later,” Schuyler said. “Hey! Norcross didn’t wear a top hat either!”

“Way, way before my time!” Jim said grinning again as Schuyler headed out the door.

Jim sat on the bed for a moment then turned off the light. After a moment he got up and looked through the drapes out the window at the snow-covered city, the Washington Monument lit in the distance. It was going to be an interesting four years. He lay back in bed and pulled the covers around him.

No, eight years, he thought with a grin.

—end—

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