Her fourth husband was late. Not in the same way as the first three, at least not as she knew. There could be no telling until he arrived.
“Milady?” A servant paused with a pitcher held above her crystal goblet. Unlike at the Masten estate, this gentleman could meet her eye without fear.
Their wine was rich, dark, and not her favorite. As her fingers brushed the stem, her son’s hand touched her forearm.
“May I have a taste?” His face was sharp and his skin, tanned, like hers. But his dark green eyes were his father’s. Her second husband loved his wine rich and never went a day without a glass. But he was as tempered with that as he was all things.
Even as sickness took him, he was patient, wise, and calm. She slid the goblet to her child, their hands touching as he reached for the bulb.
He drank all this kingdom would willingly give him. But he would have her love, his siblings, and his own life. The world would be beautiful.
[Copyrighted © July 10 2015, J.M. Blute]
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]
“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]
Enjoy this week’s slice of literary cake.
They came to the house by the dozen, all between sundown and when she went to bed. Her aunt’s boyfriend, Christophe, would lead them past the dining room to the locked door. Nothing seemed exceptional about it from the second floor.
Millie never saw the strangers together, and her aunt made it perfectly clear that these parties had nothing to do with her. But she guessed there was just shy of a hundred people in the house by the time she went to sleep, and they were always gone in the morning. From her bedroom window, between the parted lace curtains, she could see them walk down the street and always knew they were coming here.
[Copyrighted © May 29 2015, J.M. Blute]
This week’s 100 words (ish) is also snippet of a larger piece, like a second slice of literary cake. One per week, we should probably get used to that. Anyway, enjoy.
TRIGGER WARNING: Implied violence and poor dental hygiene.
“Keep in t’hold,” the captain ordered, pouring his payment into his pocket. A smile split his rawhide face and a scar followed the curve of his left forearm. Four crewman on deck grinned with tombstone teeth or whistled a seafarer tune. Their bond was one of men who raped, stole, and murdered together and lived to sing over it in a tavern. There could be no men more predictable than these. “There, y’ll be outta the way.”
“Aye,” Raie answered, meeting his eye. A wolf, you could look away from, surrender to, and he’d leave you be. Let these men see you weak and they’d never back down.
[Copyrighted © May 22 2015, J.M. Blute]
Here’s to the first! This week’s 100 words (ish) is a snippet of a larger piece, like a slice of literary cake. Enjoy.
“He’s in the kitchen,” the voice spoke through his earpiece. Nexus was an automated system, and he was sure the person who recorded it had no idea what they were part of. Like Susan Bennett and Siri.
Daniel passed the staircase to the door on his right, his tranquilizer gun going first. Take him alive, sure, but don’t be stupid. The beanpole artist stood over a mostly sliced apple, a bowl of Nutella on the counter beside him. Brown hair, a little long by Daniel’s standards, fell in front of his eyes as they stared at each other.
“Let’s make this easy, Mr. Preston.”
[Copyrighted © May 15 2015, J.M. Blute]