In honor of marriage equality being legalized nationwide, today’s flash fiction will be from one of my homosexual characters. I promise he’s usually happier than this.
“How long has it been now,” she asked, forcing sweetness. “Three years, I think.” They stood together in the kitchen, but who knew why. The two of them were just in the way of the personal chef. “What’s kept you, dear?”
She smiled, manicured nails lacing between another in front of her silk floral blouse. Marilyn had to be in her early to mid 50s, but she’d only refined her skill of how to look whatever part she needed. Today she was Mom, a loose curl hanging out of her bun and elegant flats on her feet.
Connor swallowed anger, bile, and more of the same. People had said to him that regret was a prickling in their eyes, but with Connor it was like rats chewing through sinew & bone in his chest. “Nothing really.”
“Well, I doubt that, darling. But I’m sure we’ll find out in time. Come along,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder and another toward the dining room. “Everyone is waiting.”
[Copyrighted © June 26 2015, J.M. Blute]
PortCon is less than a week away. Awesome, yes, but here are some quick cosplays to throw together should anything go awry. For those little disasters that hot glue, duct tape, and even safety pins cannot solve.
“You know my opinion on what you’ve done.” Some rock song played on the solar-powered radio, and Merisi watched through slitted eyes from her stool. The cat had never liked Bridget.
“Broke two of my best plates,” Breann agreed, smudging some pastel on the canvas with her finger. As usual, she sat on her ladder with the easel on a bookshelf. Maybe the air or the view was better, but Breann always worked up high. Never gave the reason even when Bridget asked.
“This isn’t about us,” she stressed. Combining their first talk since breaking up with this proposition… It should’ve been easier.
“What is?” Breann smiled, switching to dry brushing the canvas with a dark paint. Another test piece, just Breann at play with expensive supplies. Some of those pieces were her best.
Bridget stepped forward, dropping the black folder on the middle rung. “Fill it out. Bring it back. Or I turn you in.”
[Copyrighted © June 19 2015, J.M. Blute]
“39,691 operations performed, Lee,” she said, trailing fingers through her hair. Numbers flashed across the screens and her glasses as Charmaine smiled, leaning forward on her creaky stool. “Now we’re configuring,” she chirped and her hands went to the keys.
“Still not Lee,” Kyran answered. She had one chair in her “workspace”, which was only a cramped cove she carved out for herself in the warehouse. Why she picked the most difficult place to set up computers, no one wanted to know.
She only laughed as he conducted coins through the air, using kinetic spells to line them up and form a small dragon. He had to splinter some coins for the finer details likes horns and eyes, but he had hours before Charmaine remembered he was there. And not as Lee.
[Copyrighted © June 12 2015, J.M. Blute]
This one is actually connected to my very first Flash Fiction Friday. I’m happy to share it with anyone who can’t see that post for whatever reason.
TRIGGER WARNING: Alcohol
For little Danny’s birthdays, the Hansen family always took a road trip to a park. They packed bags, coolers, and maps and always forgot something at home. People complain about long rides, but he always had something new to see and something say about it.
Maybe that’s when they realized their son had an annoyingly sharp memory. Daniel laughed to the dark room, swishing the bottle in a circle.
He learned to play catch with his dad, his mother taught him how to whistle through a blade of grass. They broke out the sandwiches and guessed what the clouds were and everything felt so real and fake at once. His ninth birthday would be the last.
There would be no videos or pictures. It wasn’t allowed. He couldn’t remember the name of the park, and even with the maps, he couldn’t find it before they found him.
His parents had no graves. If they did, it was the park he’d never see again.
[Copyrighted © June 05 2015, J.M. Blute]