"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
First, here’s the prompts for the August 2023 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge. Then my usual long-winded explanation:
A Science Fiction Story
Involving an Umbrella
Set in a cave.
Now, on to the details.
Hi! I’m Mike Mayak, I also write as Jeff Baker and I’m the current moderator for the monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge, which was started by ‘Nathan Burgoine a few years ago and carried on by Cait Gordon and Jeffrey Ricker. It’s a monthly writing challenge mainly for stress-free fun that anyone can play.
Here’s how it works: the first Monday of every month I draw three cards; a heart, a diamond and a club. These correspond to a list naming a genre, a setting and an object that must appear in the story. Participants write up a flash fiction story, 1,000 words or less, post it to their website and link it here in the comments. I’ll post the results (and hopefully have one of my own written!) the week of August 14th, 2023.
As I’m no good making videos I did the drawing offstage and the results were the Jack of Clubs (an umbrella) the Two of Hearts (science fiction) and the Seven of Diamonds (a cave.) So we will write a science fiction story, set in a cave involving an umbrella!
So, get to writing and I’ll post the results next week!
Thanks for playing, and I’ll see you next week!
And have fun!
——mike
(Science fiction! Whew! Easier than faking Kipling again!)
Every week we post six lines of a story of ours, a work-in-progress or from someone else’s work we recommend that has LGBT characters on Rainbow Snippets here https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
I’m quite crazy about anything Kaje Harper writes! Here’s a snippet or two from her shared-world novel “Magic Burning,” part of the multiple author “Carnival of Mysteries” series. https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/157842008-magic-burning
Here young schoolteacher and sorcerer Alan is picking out a wardrobe for a date with a hot young firefighter. Helping (?) is his familiar, Sunny. A wisecracking, opinionated bird…
“Not that one.” Sunny walked across the bed to peck peevishly at the shirt I’d laid out.
“Why not?” The green silk was a favorite.
“Too bright and eye-catching.”
“Says the orange, yellow and green bird.”
“You’ll need to go a bit slow with Jason. Don’t spook him. I get the feeling he’s a secret kind of guy.”
“Cannonball!” Scott yelled, jumping into the pool.
“Not so loud!” Chad said. “The neighbors are asleep.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry!” Scott said.
“Oh, wow! Will you look at the stars! There’s the Summer Triangle, right overhead!” Zach pointed upward, tracing the Triangle in the August sky with a finger.
Zach Abruzzi was taking care of his folks house while they were on vacation and he was home from college. He’d invited his cousin Chad and their friend Scott over for a couple of weeks. They all went to the same school together and they were serious students (Chad was pre-law) but that wasn’t apparent from the way they were goofing around in the pool. The big above-ground pool that took up half of Zach’s family’s backyard in Pending, Kansas.
“Y’know, I could float out here for hours,” Zach sighed.
“Yeah, me too,” Chad said. “I mean, we don’t have anywhere to go for a few weeks.”
Scott held up a finger. “Store,” he said. “We’re almost out of soda and chips.”
“Part of your nutritious breakfast,” Zach said in a mock-serious announcer voice. The three of them laughed.
They floated and bobbed in the pool, silently for a few minutes, listening to the water lap the sides of the pool and watching for a hint of breeze stirring the leaves of the overhanging tree lit by the pool lights and the lone porch light.
“Hey, Zach,” Chad said. “You remember when we went out to the lake with our folks that one summer?” “Yeah, we did that a lot of times.” Zach said.
“Remember skinny dipping?” Chad asked with a broad grin.
“Oh, God!” Zach said.
“Skinny dipping?” Scott asked, grinning himself.
“We were, what? About eleven?” Chad said. “We went swimming up at the lake, spending the day out there. We didn’t go in too deep or out to far and then Greg Louganis here…”
“Oh God!” Zach said, sinking down in the water almost up to his ears.
“…says ‘Hey! Let’s try skinny dipping!’ So we pulled our trunks off and floated around naked for a few minutes…”
“Oooooooooo…” Zach said blowing bubbles in the water.
“…when all of a sudden this seaweed or something brushes the inside of Zach’s leg and he screams ‘SNAKE!’ and runs out of the water stark naked, carrying his trunks in one hand!”
They were all three laughing.
“I didn’t know if it was a snake or if it was going to bite me so I tried to pull my trunks on before I got out of the water but they caught on a branch or something that was underwater and they ripped.” Chad shrugged. “Cheap trunks!”
The three of them laughed loudly for another minute. Then Scott cleared his throat.
“You know, it’s gotta be around midnight. Most of the people in this town are asleep right now. How ‘bout we…you know?”
“What?” Zach asked.
“This!” Scott said, ducking underwater for a moment then popping back up with his shorts in his hand. “These aren’t even trunks, they’re my basketball shorts from High School. I’ve been going commando all day!” Yeah, the blue shorts had the South High School from Wichita logo on them.
Zach and Chad looked at each other and then quickly shucked off their trunks.
“Toss ‘em over by the ladder,” Zach said. Three pairs of sopping wet shorts went sailing over the edge to plop on the ground. Chad laughed and ducked underwater, launching himself from the wall of the pool to swim underwater to the other end, feeling the rush of water and hearing the clicking of sound.
“Marco!” Scott yelled, splashing water.
“Oh, no!” Zach said, laughing.
There was laughter and splashing for a few more minutes.
“Hey! I’m gettin’ cold!” Scott said.
“Yeah, that breeze came up all of a sudden. Wait ‘till it dies down.” Chad said.
“Hard to believe it’s been in the hundreds all week,” Zach said. “I gotta go to the bathroom anyway. Okay, here goes.”
Zach hoisted himself up the ladder and plopped down on the ground and slipped grabbing a rung of the ladder to steady himself.
“You okay?” Chad yelled, swimming towards the ladder.
“Yeah,” Zach said. “But we’ll need to wash these trunks. They all landed on a doggie present and I stepped on them and got them all messy.
Soon the three young men were standing by the ladder, not wanting to touch the trunks.
“So, do we leave ‘em there?” Chad asked.
“Naaaa.” Zach said. “Scrape ‘em off and throw ‘em in the washer. “We can walk into the house in the raw.”
“Yeah, we’re guys!” laughed Scott.
“MIS-ter Abruzzi!! It is almost twelve-thirty and some of us need to sleep!” The female voice belonged to Mrs. Hamilton who was sticking her head over the fence between the two properties.
Scott, Zach and Chad stood there frozen in surprise. She went on.
“I’ve told your family to keep it quiet on weeknights. Now if you don’t…”
The elderly lady (who must have been in her fifties, Zach thought) stopped talking. Here eyes were adjusting and focusing without her glasses. There was enough light for her to see all of Chad, Zach and Scott.
Every week we post six lines of a story of ours, a work-in-progress or from someone else’s work we recommend that has LGBT characters on Rainbow Snippets here https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I haven’t done one of these bar stories in about a year or so, possibly because the hostile and downright violent anti-LGBT mood in the country seemed to preclude a comedy set at a fictional venue similar to real-world ones that are getting attacked both metaphorically and physically. But I figured that enough was enough and so I wrote this; which is a bit of a nod to my favorite writers Henry Kuttner and C. L. Moore.
Here’s snippet one where Demeter’s Bar bartender Zack is explaining about his bandaged hand.
“Some homophobic assholes jumped him in the parking lot the other night, that’s what happened.” That was from Paco, sitting at the end of the bar looking muscular and young in the tank top he wore after workouts.
“They just caught me off guard,” Zack said, pouring the refill with his unbandaged hand. “I got a couple of bruises and this hand got bashed up against a car. One of the thugs caught the worst of it.”
“Yeah, Zack got him in the knee!” Paco said, giving him a thumb’s up.
“I was aiming higher,” Zack said, wishing he’d kept up lessons at the Dojo when he was in high school.
Okay, more than six lines. But the professor they are talking to offers them a solution. A few days later, we meet the solution. Here’s snippet two:
Mrs. DeLeon stood open mouthed at the tall, grey metal figure that stood by the door of Demeter’s. It was about six-foot-four, built like a muscular Tin Woodsman and had a face of frozen grey features that she had seen on a statue somewhere. It was actually dressed in shorts and a tank top that would have made Paco look scrawny.
“What the hell is this?” Mrs. DeLeon asked, to no one in particular.
“Um, that’s mine,” Zack said rushing from behind the bar. “At least it’s a loaner. For now. I’m giving it back.”
Okay, one more snippet
“About two nights after he talked to us,” Zack said, “Professor Ginastera shows up right before closing. And this…guy walks in right behind him. Metal. Professor said he called him Vengador. that’s Spanish for Avenger.”
“Yes, I know,” Mrs. DeLeon said.
“Well, he tells me this is a defense robot he’s been working on and that he figured I could help him test it out. For a week or so. Kind of like a test-drive.”
Well, that’s it for this week. Next week something very good not from me. —-jeff
Helpful tech Brodie at Ribbit Computers, West Street Wichita, KS.
I had to replace my old laptop about a month ago. I’d spilled beer on it and took it to see if it could be repaired. They advised replacement. So I selected the Dell (smaller keyboard, more memory and faster speed) which I now use and they proceeded to transfer my precious documents and pictures to the new laptop. Got it at a good price and it is performing well.
Time and again I take my computers to Ribbit and get either serious repairs or free tech advice. I’ve always found their efficient service well worth it! I recommend them highly!
(And I apologize to Brodie if I misspelled his name!)
I’d been banging on the delivery door for about three minutes when I finally got a response from inside. It was like that old comedy bit.
“Who is it?” the voice said.
“Delivery!” I said.
“Read the sign. No deliveries between Eleven-Thirty and One-Thirty.”
“It also says ‘Taco Grande’ and they moved.” I said. “Look, your boss called us up and wanted this stuff immediately. Open up, it’s hot out here.”
“I can’t open this door before one. Besides, we’re in our lunch rush.” the voice said.
“I drove around through the front parking lot,” I said. “You don’t look busy, and you need…”
“Look, you don’t bring anything in here without my approval,” the voice said. “I don’t care who said what or how hot it is. You’re not getting in here right now.”
“Your boss wanted this stuff as fast as we could get it here,” I said. “I have the cooler in the van and I…”
“I don’t care what anybody said,” he said opening the door a crack. “You get out of here and come back after…”
He was a tall, lean man with brown hair and one of those corporate-looking button-down shirts restaurant managers wear with the company logo on his tie.
He stared for a moment.
“What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing to my two-wheeler and the brown cardboard tub oozing a purple glop all over the pavement.
“That,” I said, “is the tub of raspberry ice cream your boss called up for and wanted in a hurry. We had instructions to bring it out as fast as we could and put it in your freezer. Your boss has big plans for it. And,’ I said pulling the wheeler out from under it, “he already paid so you don’t have to sign for it.”
I turned and went back to my delivery truck.
The joke was on me. They made that idiot who wouldn’t open the door a Supervisor.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Actually, everything in this story really did happen to me at various times in my career as a deliveryman (about 25 years!) I thought about inserting dragons, zombies or a flying saucer but truth is stranger than fiction! ——jeff
Every week we post six lines of a work of ours, a work-in-progress or a work of someone else’s we recommend that has LGBT characters at Rainbow Snippets, here https://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
Arnie Gilman shifted the loaf of bread in his arms, real bread, he thought, not that processed stuff they grow in sheets. He should have probably gotten a cart, but hell, sixty-four wasn’t old, he could carry the big bottle of juice in one hand, the bread in the other and the spatula under his arm.
He glanced out the big grocery store windows as he walked up front to the checkout. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of the Mars Shuttle that was leaving from the airport. He smiled. He and Mark had always talked about taking one to Mars for a vacation. But now…
Here’s another snippet, as Arnie wanders over to the new “Slow Checkout” and a young checker named Carlos.
“The idea was for there to be a lane for checkers to take their time and talk to the customers because a lot of older people are just lonely and come into stores for conversation.” Gilman said.
“Yeah, that’s the idea,” Carlos said. “It’s just been a week but I have some regulars who come by here. One lady comes in every day and just buys a bag of M & M’s. Talks for five minutes.” He grinned. “But I don’t mind.”
Yeah, I like sweet stories too. Next week, something a bit more edgy (if I remember to do it!)
When I was thirteen, my Father had me run occasional errands for him. Sometimes, this involved delivering messages, sometimes packages. I wasn’t sure what he did for a living but as I was out of school, I didn’t care. This time, it was a message, a piece of paper folded and sealed with old-fashioned wax.
And I got to take it to one of my very favorite people; Old Doctor John, who I figured must have been a hundred years old, but in 1928 he was a lot younger than I am now.
The times he made house calls, or when I took messages to him, he had some of that peppermint candy from a jar, but that was not as wonderful as the stories he told of the years he lived off in London where he tended the sick or helped his friend solve the sometimes bizarre problems that came his way.
That Summer evening, with music playing in the air, I ran over to Dr. John’s office to deliver the message.
Dr. John was his usual, happy self, until he opened the message. As he read through it, I saw his expression turn grim. He mouthed one, strange word: “Mycroft.”
“Young Lad,” he said to me, and somehow I felt the importance of what he said from his tone of voice. “I must, and your Father and I must, ask you to do something dangerous, if you will.”
My heat beat faster. I nodded.
“Do you hear the band playing in the distance?”
“Yes,” I said. “They are rehearsing in their front yard. Near us.”
“I must ask you to go there and pretend to listen to them play. Applaud if you want, but do not think you are anything but a listener. And count how many of the people, including the conductor, are wearing glasses.”
“Glasses?” I said.
“Yes, glasses.” This is vital. They will never suspect you. But this is dangerous. Even more dangerous if you do not do this.”
I nodded.
I started running to the street where the music was coming from, then I realized that I should not appear to be in a hurry. I should appear to just be walking by and happen upon the band practicing there in the yard. Which is what I did. It was a small group, maybe twenty people and they were playing, rehearsing a piece I remembered from when the famous American bandleader Sousa had come to our town a year earlier and my family and I had heard it.
They were all dressed casually and the big man who was the conductor had taken off his jacket and was in his shirt sleeves. I loved the music, but I remembered my mission. I drew closer, pretending to listen intently and I carefully counted the number of people who were wearing glasses. I counted three times to be sure.
I stayed there, watching the band rehearse and then I casually walked down the street, opposite the way I came, repeating the number in my head. When I was far enough away, I ducked down a side street and ran back to Old Doctor John.
His response was simply “Splendid!” He wrote the number down, along with a short note and put it in his jacket pocket. “This,” he said, “I had better handle. And you had better get home.”
It was a week or so later when I found reason to step into Old Doctor John’s office again.
Old Doctor John grinned at me.
“Some day, I may be able to tell you of the service you performed for your country and maybe the world. For now, the only reward you will receive is my gratitude and this little gift.”
He handed me an envelope which smelled of tobacco and chemicals.
“That is just a trivial note once written to me by that old friend I sometimes tell you about. I’m sure he would want you to have some sort of souvenir for your service and your silence.”
I nodded. I did not open the old letter until I got home. It made me smile. Like Dr. John’s fabulous friend was talking to me.
It was many years later when I came upon a rumor that the town I lived in had supposedly once been the headquarters of a spy ring which had been broken. I smiled again.
I will be 101 years old next week. I still have not shown the letter or told this story to anyone.
Every week we post six lines of a story of ours, a work-in-progress or from someone else’s work we recommend that has LGBT characters on Rainbow Snippets herehttps://www.facebook.com/groups/963484217054974
I’m posting this little snippet from my most recent of my weekly Friday Flash Fiction stories “Nights in White Satin.” https://authorjeffbaker.com/2023/07/14/friday-flash-fics-nights-in-white-satin-by-jeff-baker/ Yes, there are LGBT characters in it, but this snippet is an evocation of the power of story (which is what we’re here for, isn’t it?) In this bit, it’s dusk and Scotty is telling his vacationing kids a local ghost story. (or is it just a story?)
Even in an age of cellphones and made-to-order videos there is a power to a good story well-told. Scotty knew his kids and knew when to pause, what timbre of voice to use and how to make it all atmospheric. It helped that it was dark and lit by the lights on the low corner walls of the porch which cast long shadows.
The boys were enraptured. Eyes wide, mouths open, hanging on every word.
Scotty took a deep breath as he finished, his voice just above a whisper.
For the record, I wrote that story out-of-town in my Brother’s backyard while his nephews and grandkids frolicked in the pool. (May have inspired some of the story!)
Next week, some surprises! (Meaning, I have no idea what I’m going to post!)
