Flash Friday

Time was a figment in a lab. Talia stood between an office chair and the stainless steel table, files stacked in neat piles and samples in vertical racks. The clock on the wall read 23:09, but the lights above held a steady morning glow.
She ran a hand through her cropped hair and set back to work. Dr. Folante had done thorough research in expansive studies. Years passed with subjects entering, sometimes fading, all before Talia could catch up.

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[Copyrighted © February 5, 2016, Jam Blute]

Flash Friday

It’s kind of a sad story, but there’s a pet bird in it. Silver lining.
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This stretch of city, tight and dark, was home to people like Runt. He blended in with a worn sack over one shoulder and a carrier’s “uniform”. None of them were ever truly the same, but there were enough common elements to make it close enough. Dirt stains spotted his clothing, which was padded in places for a fight-or-flight situation, and Runt never went without a hidden knife or two.

Or three.

He traversed knotted alleyways with native familiarity, winding up in the peddler’s stretch. Some good wares, some hot, and it was a task to tell the difference. Mess up, and you’d disappear with the real thief.

But he knew a guy, as Runt always did, and he wove through the crowd to a covered cluster of tables and barrels. Suo had done well for herself, scraping by to finally settle in peddler’s stretch. The fog of incense floated around her stand, and Runt crossed through it on his way in.

“Suo,” he greeted as he reached the back, and a gaunt man locked his sunken eyes on him immediately. He was tall, lankly, and his shirt hung loose from his scratched up neck. He sat where Suo normally perched on her table, chittering to her bird.

“What you on about? Shop or leave.” The man’s watery eyes fixed on Runt, waiting. To his right, Suo’s bird squawked inside a cage, pecking at the bars. People came and went in this city, here more than ever. Happened dozens of times to friends and strangers alike.

He wondered what this man framed her for, or what bribe he accepted. Might be just this shop she fought so hard for, a gathering of tables and everything Suo made herself. Not anymore, obviously.

Runt nodded to the bird. “How much?”
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[Copyrighted © January 29, 2016, Jam Blute]

Surprise Saturday

Yikes, it’s been forever.
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“Mr. Barnett,” she spoke, breaking the padded silence of the waiting room.

He continued filling in the sudoku puzzle book he got years ago and only just now started. Pace had a lot on his plate at any given moment, but some of them were sweet. And these easy puzzles reminded him that he was a genius. How could that be anything but sweet?

“Mr. Barnett,” the woman patiently repeated. “The doctor will see you now.”

“Hm,” he answered, looking up. It finally clicked – that was him. No one used his legal name, and Mr. Barnett was his father anyway. “Right, I’m coming.”

He grabbed the pen and book, standing to meet the nurse for his psychiatrist’s office. ‘His’ used loosely – he saw a new one often enough, cycling through just in case. But Dr. Gertler was a staple. She knew what he wanted, what he needed, and he trusted her.

That made him want to throw up a little, but trust was trust.
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[Copyrighted © January 16, 2016, Jam Blute]

Surprise Saturday

These are getting less surprising as we go.
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Her mother always said to be careful in parking garages. Alex whistled as she passed 2B, 2C, and 3A to her van wedged in section 3B. Luckily this client paid well for deliveries or she wouldn’t deal with this mess.
The van’s lights flashed when she unlocked it, and that’s when she heard him. On the opposite side of the van, he almost fell over getting up, but Alex was already there. A hospital band on his left wrist, his hood pulled over white hair, and a hunch like he could make himself smaller. Alex shook her head.
“You lost, kid?” It was a mall parking garage at 5:00 a.m., and this kid looked fresh from rehab. She’d made worse mistakes and gotten out fine.
“No,” he rasped, breathing shakily. “I’m where I need to be.”
“That right?” She stepped forward and he tensed, but not in fear. She finally his eyes, red irises looking out at her. No drug did that, or at least none she knew.
“You need a place to go, kid, I know ’em all. Name what you need and I’ll take you there.” She nodded to the van. “First ride’s free.”
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[Copyrighted © November 7, 2015, Jam Blute]

Slug Sunday

This week’s belated post is brought to you by my over-excitement during my first Halloween handing out candy.
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Commuters boarded and left as she sat there, reading and doing puzzles in last week’s paper. An earthquake across the sea kills two hundred people. Four businesspeople sit and talk into cell phones, never once seeing where they are before they’re off again. The economy is improving, studies say. A college couple makes out on the other end of the car, finally stumbling out on the stop for the orange line. The sun goes down and neon signs turn on. Another row filled in Sudoku, and twelve down is ‘era’. These were Dana’s connections to the world. By choice.
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[Copyrighted © November 1, 2015, Jam Blute]

Slug Sunday

You’ve seen Flash Friday, you’ve heard of Surprise Saturday. Now you have #SlugSunday. You’re welcome. ❤
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The world betrayed him. It had been as simple as it had been efficient. In the course of a few months, he lost everything to exile in the swamps. Even that exile was stolen, a precious gift he had to take or else die. Rahim, deposed King of Sand, sleeping in a humid swamp hut and dreaming, dreaming sweet nightmares.
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[Copyrighted © October 25, 2015, Jam Blute]

Surprise Saturday

This weekend snuck up on me, I swear.
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He was the last to leave the shuttle. The bags bumped off every seat and clattered through the doorway to the port. Wind crossed over the bridge, cold, and clouds swirled like mist underneath. In the open patches, Ashton saw clustered cities from there even smaller than the sidewalk life from his parents’ offices. At least back home, he could go down to the sidewalk if he wanted to. Even though he never did.

Ashton hunched deeper into his expensive brown windbreaker, hauling the bags up the stairs to an almost empty hall. Two students, a girl and a boy, it seemed, stood at the far end of it. The air shifting outside prevented him from smelling anything in this hall aside from the sharp scent of high altitude and the occasional hint of birds’ feathers. Only if he paid close attention, and he tried not to because the smell of most birds was dreadful.

When he was close enough, Ashton called out to them. “Hey, do you mind helping?”  So they likely weren’t waiting for him. And he wasn’t really asking, since he held out the two lighter bags in his right hand. To pass them the shoulder bags, heavier as they were, was just too inconvenient. But he couldn’t be expected to do this alone, he was Ashton Victors. He was meant for greater things than ferrying his own luggage to the dorms.

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[Copyrighted © October 15 2015, J.M. Blute]