Day 1: An impulse by leading to intergalactic warfare
No one could say that Nastos was the sharpest tool, but he was definitely the most earnest. Not Not the nicest, which was unfortunate because it didn’t help with his generally offputting way. When he’d walk down the street, most scattered to other things, leaving anyone not fortunate to be chatted up by Nastos. So it was no surprise that Nastos bought the keylight with no protest, since no one tried to pay any attention to him. And they were silent all the way to the Starfield battle ground to defeat the Muraders.
Part of the Flash Fiction Challenge by Eva Deverell, found here.
The anthology is available on blurb as a physical book or here, as a PDF. Have a happy November!
Teetering on the edge of jumpiness and true fear, where shadows that whip at the corner of your eyes shift and change and those strange sounds that can’t be placed make themselves sinister. That thing you saw at the corner of your eye, might be a thing. Those strange sounds? Might be something to worry about. And there might actually be something in the dark. Take a gander at the unfortunate folks in this anthology that discover It’s the Little Things that hurt the most.
Tomorrow’s the big day, but until then, snuggle up with a comic adaption of one of the short stories.
Read it here.
An essay I wrote as a kick-off in anticipation for my anthology book that will be available at the end of the month. Do have a read and leave feedback if you would like!
Carylee is a girl I once know.
She’s sweet, in a unique way, I suppose. I didn’t really speak to her before. I mostly saw her in passing. She always said Hi, I always said it back. My grandma told me it was good manners, saying “hello” to people.
As per usual, Carylee would be in the cafeteria by herself. I wasn’t one of the popular upperclassman, but I had a group of lunch buddies that sat at the same table near the windows. She’d sit a table over.
Today I thought I’d extend an invitation for her to sit with us. I don’t know why, but the feeling came over me. Grandma says I do those type of things because of my big heart. I didn’t have to introduce us when she came with me to our table, everyone knew her. And she didn’t say much, just ate her lunch – that was good for her. It was good for me too, since I’m the only one who sees her.
He forgot the pilot blew out.
Kicking the habit proved more difficult than he anticipated, and at the stuffy party his parents had put on, he thought the basement to be his escape. An escape in his own home.
He plucked out the slender white tube from the inner lining of his jacket and twisted it in his fingers. Cold air and chemicals didn’t help his bronchitis, but it was a relief in his mind. Anything was a relief.
He forgot the pilot blew out during the sore weather earlier this night, along with hailstones and busting winds. He was about to light it back up with his long match when his solitude was disturbed by his forced party wagon and guests. He hadn’t gotten a chance to turn the knob back off.
His mother was fussing over the candles, calling for him to come up so they could sing to him. The lighter clicked in his father’s clumsy fingers. Anytime now the sparks would finally catch. It was a wonder no one noticed the smell.
He lit the slender tube up, drawing the smoke into his weary lungs, one final breath.
Mommy told me never to speak to strangers. Not even a little. But what do I do when they wave at me? Sometimes I wave back. They always look so friendly and I can’t help it. I don’t even think about it. My hand just lifts up and I wave. Mommy hasn’t seen me do it yet but I wonder if she will catch me all the time.
The last person I waved at was…Mr. Red. He was wearing a red shirt like the ones Daddy would wear to work. It has a short sleeve and collar. Mr. Red had his folded over, just like Daddy’s, but his shirt was all wrinkly. Mommy says that wrinkles are bad and shouldn’t be shown in public.