Falafel? #AtoZChallenge

This year, for the A to Z Blogging Challenge, I'm writing Micro Fiction (or Flash Fiction) that is 100 words or less around a set list of words provided by my BFF (Kemari Howell). Today's letter is "F", so today F is for Falafel.

Falafel?

The food court is the worst place to eat lunch on a Friday, but there I was, standing in line like the rest of the dumbasses at Eat-A-Pita, stomach rumbling.

“What’s the hold-up?” I grumbled into my BFF, Fiona’s ear.

“New guy, I think,” she shrugged.

“I’m starving.”

As we neared the front of the line, there was most definitely a “new guy”. Tall, dark, and OMG—the pin on his uniform, in bold letters, read: ASK ME ABOUT MY BALLS.

“Hi,” he said with a big-ass smile.

“Um… Hi,” I blushed. “Falafel?”

Fiona laughed—I died a little.

~2

Feel free to leave your short pieces of fiction (<100 words) in the comments below. The word for today is Falafel..

Infectious

(This is a bit rough and most likely offensive to some. If you're easily offended, stop here.)

You’ve been told, maybe your entire life, that all things—big and small--were created by a solo entity. That on your final day on earth, you are judged and only those that are righteous shall live on forever… in the kingdom of blah blah blah.

You can thank Harold for that.

Instead of taking his time and writing things out, he relied on shorthand—group of directors became god, and there you have it. Millions of people deceived.

He wrote a lot of other things, mainly to keep order, but he also got a little big-headed and “holier than thou”--he’s famous for it. Well, in our office building anyway. He actually keeps his lunch in a lock box in the fridge in the break room with a “don’t touch or else” note attached to the front. As if the lock didn’t deter us, his penmanship would definitely keep the beasts from eating what Mummy packed him that day. He also sent out an interdepartmental memo regarding microwave scheduling.

It’s ridiculous.

I try to hold my tongue; it’s not always easy when I have to work with the guy every day. Yes, Harold makes 9 to 5 feel like an eternity at Genesis, where we’re both VPs.

The group of directors is made up of five chairmen, or I should say, chair people—All VPs at Genesis. In the beginning, we had designated jobs:

Lamar was the imagination—design planner. He can put colors together like no one’s business. Sunsets and white sand beaches were sheer brilliance if you ask me.

Walter was the engineer. He was in charge of construction, genetic make-up, and atom/particle arrangement. He’s a bit flakey, which you may have noticed with species extinction and that whole monkey—man thing.

Ursula introduced the senses, which brought with it desires of man. She made Lamar’s beaches smell like salt and coconut—hot sweaty bodies and cool water—she introduced a whole new level of creation. She made it sexy.

Fucking Harold was in charge of documentation, which you were already aware. He was also in charge of cohesion, which is basically making sure everything goes together nicely.  He’s a bit of a dumbass, but I do think peanut butter and jelly was his defining moment.

Then there’s me, Georgie. I get to bring balance, so your dark has light, your predators have prey, and your life has death.

You might think with the nature of my work, I am a pessimist. It’s quite the opposite really. You can’t appreciate the light without the dark. You just don’t know how good you have it, until it’s taken away. There’s real beauty in that... and I like fucking with people.

Yes, I may be a bit of a trouble maker, but Harold also got a little carried away with the “pestilence and famine” bit. I’m not usually an extremist, but I can’t help if something I introduce takes on a life of its own. It’s part of the job—spicing things up.

These days, our jobs have changed a bit. Currently we have been preparing documentation to pitch to Alpha & Omega. They're looking over specs for new galaxy creation, and we are hoping to get a bid in. Earth doesn’t take a lot of our time these days, and ultimately it’s my fault. I admit it, but I really thought that humanity would prevail. It’s funny how a tiny infection can spread so quickly… 

This is actually the first little piece of my WIP. I'll let you guess what the infection is, and you can bet that this entire read will be very tongue-in-cheek. I hope you like it, and I didn't offend you too much.

Shhh! It Happens!

I don't think I've written a #FridayFlash this year, so I thought I'd take part this week (sleep deprived), using the #fictionfriday prompt:

[Fiction] Friday Challenge #207 for May 13th, 2011

Your Main Character finds the paperwork on the desk covered in red ink…..

It's suppose to be rough, so here it goes...

"Shhh! It Happens!"

From my bedroom, the distant buzz of my morning alarm roused me from a deep, dreamless sleep. Stretching back in my chair, I pried the spit-glued paperwork from my face.

Red ink covered my hands, desk, and the front of my button-down blouse.

“Shit,” I groaned, wiggling my mouse to check the time. “Shit!” I slammed my hands on the desk, pushing back in my chair. Attempting to stand, I fell—hitting my head on the desk.

Frantically, I rubbed at the pins and needles attacking my sleeping feet while also dodging the slobbery mouth of my 80lb pup, “No! Stop! Ugh... No, Titus!”

I pushed him away, crawling desperately toward the bathroom. He wasted no time in retaliating, attempting to dominate my compromised position. “Ugh… NO TITUS! Gross! Down!”

Threatening to kick my massive mutt, I made it through the bathroom door.

In and out of the shower; I grabbed my toothbrush and wiped a wet hand across the fogged mirror. “Shit…”

While I took the time to scrub the ink from my hands and arms, red covered my face. Unaware of this new artistic talent, I stared at the crude depiction of a penis across my right cheek and chin.

“Ugh,” I rubbed at the ink to no avail. “I’m calling in.”

Stepping over Titus, I stomped off to bedroom and crawled under the covers of my more-than-inviting bed.

"Caught With a Hand in Your Pants" #FridayFlash #chooseorDIE

For this week's #FridayFlash, I'm linking you to my post on Choose or Die. Cheating you say? *insert evil laugh here* I just got lucky and it happen to be posted today. Go read it, and be sure to vote :-)

Click the banner to cut to the chase--leaping through space and time; OR read below for a little more info on Choose or Die and Season 2.5.

.

If you're new to the project, let me give you some quick details. Choose or Die features a choose your own adventure story, where each week the reader reads then votes to determine the path the main character (YOU) takes. The winning "option" is carried on to the next week in the form of the next chapter. The losing options, often referred to as "kills" or "what you didn't choose", are brought to you the same week (usually). Chapters aren't written in advance, so it's guaranteed to be a surprise each week... for both the readers and the writers.

Today, my chapter 5 "Caught With a Hand in Your Pants" is posted. The next chapter is actually the last of this season, so you're coming in almost at the end of the story. That's OK though. Let me get you up to speed on season 2.5 

• It's about time travel *insert geeky SQUEEEEE*
• You're a bit of a dumbass (sorry) -mistaking a shower for a time machine? really?
• You kick some ass--take some names in 17th Century France
• You buddy up to Napoleon Bonaparte - saving his life and winning the attention of his lady friend

Now you've got to figure out a way to get home without totally screwing up the future.

I may have left out some things, so maybe you want to go back and read through the whole thing (CLICK ME) and experience the story from the beginning. Your choice. Regardless, a good time will be had by all.

Patches

Heya Folks! This was recently accepted for pub, and when I received the copy of the Anthology, it was changed SO much that I don't feel bad about publishing it here. It's an email. If you're easily offended, don't read any further.
~2


From: megaMark@aol.com
To: Gummiebear92@fastmail.com
Date: Tues, Jul 2010 20:02:23 +0500
Subject: Re: Re: PenIS pATcH: Make uR DicK so BEg Ur GRiL Can pArk HeR carp oN IT


Dear Gummiebear92,

I just received your email, so surely you are sitting by your computer waiting for my reply.

I appreciate your concern regarding my penis. I am sure everyone could use a little more “oomph” when it comes to that, but right now is not the time. I have mass emailed my entire contact list in search of a quick reply, but I fear they are all dead. G-bear, you are my only hope.

The streets are crowded with people. They are moaning so loud… I can’t stand it.

This town has gone crazy. The dead are running around eating everything that moves… the smell is unbelievable, and my battery is almost dead. I am on the roof of the public library at the corner of Broadway and Adams in Elk City, Oklahoma. Yes, I am stealing their WiFi, but that does not mean I am a bad person, Gummie.

Oh god… Mrs. Highsmith, who owns the antique shop across the street just tried to shoo a couple off her doorstep with a broom. One grabbed her from behind and the other bit the nose right off her wrinkled face; she’s bleeding all over the street, screaming.

Would you happen to have a helicopter? I know that is a stupid question, but I bet you sell a lot of those penis patches. You could probably afford your own private jet. That would be awesome!

How many of those penis patches do you have? I will buy hundreds of them. You should just come and get me. You can bring the patches. I will put them all on at once, and we can watch, take pictures, and use them for advertisements. That would be great! You can make tons of money off my pictures; I will give you money for the patches. It’s a win-win situation for you.

Oh man, Mrs. Highsmith is laying face down on the road, and people just keep walking all over her. They are all over the library lawn; squishing their bodies up against the building like they want to lift it up and carry it somewhere.

I’ll give you whatever you want. My parents have a couple of cars – yours, a boat – yours. Hell, you can even have the house, if you want it.

I think you would really like me, if we met. I’m 19 - 5’11 with sandy blonde hair, and freckles. Do you like freckles? I do. I assume you are a girl, by the name, but if you’re a guy – that’s ok. Just say you’ll come and get me, G-bear. I promise I will buy all of your penis patches. My dick will be THE biggest… just say you can come and get me.

I am just going to send this now, and hope that you will reply soon. I hope that whatever connection we have made will be strong enough to get us through this… to bring us together. Because I think we belong together, G-Bear. You and me… forever.

Elk City is a small town in western Oklahoma, but here are the GPS coordinate: 35.4119944, -99.4042592

Xoxo

Mark
megaMark@aol.com

BOFF FTW!!!

I have been participating in J.M. Strother's FridayFlash for over a year now. While I might not get to post every Friday, when I do, I am always welcomed by such an amazing group of people.

I cannot thank the Friday Flash community enough for the motivation and guidance the community has given me... for the friendships.

It's been a long time coming, and a lot of hard work by many: The Best of Friday Flash Vol 1 is available for download on Smashwords.

YAY!!!

We're having a party over on Jon's blog, so go drop a comment and win a download :-). The book will be available (sometime) on Amazon, but right now you can download it: HERE

I am thrilled to be a part of this Anthology. "Exile of Innocence" - one of my favorite Eden Corp tales made the cut. While you can read that post here on my blog, you can't read all of the other amazing writer's submissions.

Shannon Esposito starts the Anthology off strong with "Her Migration." This story alone is worth the small price for the download.

So...

Go do it! Here's the link, and here.... here.... here.... here

<3
~2

Handsy

Leslie choked momentarily, coughed, and pushed the morsel back into her mouth. She shook her head in disgust as Paul’s life dripped from her chin. So damn eager… too bad really. He was cute.



Watch Miniature Tigers "Cannibal Queen"

Home Late

This morning this story was pulling at me. Nate is a supporting character in my YA novel currently Untitled (and unfinished). This is part of his background story:

Home Late

Nate watched as his instructor’s fingers danced across the strings of an acoustic guitar. He longed to play the way Mr. Williams did, and often stayed after school for free lessons. His twin sister sat out in the hall doing her homework, waiting for him to finish up, so they could head home.

“Now you try, Nathan,” Mr. Williams smiled.

Nate caressed the neck of the Gibson Sunburst his father had given him when he was ten. He turned the page of his sheet music and began to work the frets, his fingers mimicking Mr. Williams’ dance over his own strings.

The instructor’s smile spread wide across his perfect teeth, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair absorbing the beautiful music escaping from Nate’s hands. He waited until the end of the song, and clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, Nathan! You are getting better every week. Before too long, you will be outplaying me.”

“Thanks, Mr. Williams,” Nate slipped his guitar into its canvas bag and slung it across his shoulder and onto his back, “I’m practicing every night.”

“It shows, boy. It shows. I will see you… Friday?”

“Yes, sir,” he said as he slipped out into the hallway where Natalie was waiting. She had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot.

“We’re late,” she sneered.

“I know… missed the bus.”

“In trouble…” she breathed.

“Let’s get going,” Nate pushed open the front doors of the school and Natalie followed. They crossed the street and cut through the Meyer’s cornfield to get to the concrete drainage ditch. It was always dry, and the quickest route home.

“Quit trying to hold my hand, Natalie.” He shoved her hard. “Someone will see.”

“Everyone knows I’m your sister, stupid.”

“So… it’s weird.”

“We are weird; we’re twins.”

“Shut up,” he groaned. They walked in silence as Nate kicked stones and watched them ricochet off the side of the tall concrete walls.

“How much trouble, you think?”

“Loads,” Natalie huffed.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“Of course I did,” she smiled at him. “Stupid… besides if I got home without you; we’d both be in trouble anyway. Dad’s always angry.”

“Yeah,” Nate watched his feet as they moved along the concrete.

As they rounded the corner to their house, the neighborhood buzzed with activity. There were police cars, a fire truck, and ambulances parked in front of their home. Neighbors were clutching each other in their front yards; they watched the blonde-headed duo and whispered – pointing with their eyes as the children closed in on the scene in front of their house.

Nate dropped his guitar in the street and walked with his sister, shoulder-to-shoulder, into their front yard, staring at the house and commotion on the porch.

For a moment, the twins were invisible. People moved between them and around them. Neighborhood dogs were going wild, drowning out the sobs and gasps of their masters.

Nate felt the pull of people’s voices and heard the drone of radio communications, but he wasn’t really listening. Two looming, black stretchers floated by and disappeared; he turned away before they reached their destination. His heart was racing; each draw of air clouding his vision around the edges.

Nate watched the officer talking to the McMillans, watched as their lips moved; the woman with the slick black gloves on the porch, the fireman dressed for the non-existent fire. Two words bounced around inside Nate’s head, appearing and reappearing. They bubbled like bile in his stomach; threatening to erupt from his mouth at any moment – spilling across the manicured lawn.

If I say the words, maybe they will disappear… maybe we can go back to school. Not miss the bus, make it home on… time. Nate shook his head and felt his sister trembling at his side. Tears were free falling off her chin as she stared at the house they would never again call home.

“Murder suicide,” Nate whispered. The moment he spoke it, he felt cold and empty.

“Nate, Natalie,” a neighbor grabbed them and squeezed them close. She searched the crowd and pulled the children toward a police officer. He looked them over and sighed. “Ok, you come with me.” He grabbed Nate’s arm and started toward one of the many police cars parked in the road.

“No!” Nate pulled from his grasp and stepped next to his sister who was sobbing uncontrollably.

“We stay together,” he said firmly, as he grabbed Natalie’s hand and weaved his fingers between hers.

The officer nodded.

Pink is the Color of Shame

Looking for inspiration today, my good friend and amazing writer/editor, Kemari, gave me a list of words to use in my post. She called it the "Magpie Method" (whatever that means). Here's the list she gave me: Birthday, Balloon Animal, Radioactive Cupcake, Moldy Hummus, and Walkie-Talkie.

Here's what I gave her:

Pink is the Color of Shame


It’s my birthday today, and I am praying for radioactive cupcakes instead of the three-tiered cake with an obscene amount of ribbon. My parents have been planning this event for almost a year now, and it will be nothing short of traumatizing.

I am almost certain there will be balloon animals and moldy hummus – like my friends would eat that anyway. The guests are probably filing into the backyard right now, laughing at me behind their wrapped packages. I am the butt of all jokes; the laughing stock, but I can deal.

If my parents weren’t so damn happy about it, I would totally blow it off. I would skip the event all together and head to Beatty’s to play his Playstation and eat pizza. We could pretend it’s just a regular day, where I am not forced to make nice with people I don’t want or care to know.

The reflection in the mirror stares back at me. I look ridiculous. I would never wear this much pink if they hadn’t insisted. I would never paint this much gunk on my face if they hadn’t asked. Oh, God… I can tell it’s going to be a nightmare.

I am pretty sure the purpose of this party is not necessarily to celebrate my birthday; they are looking for acceptable husbands. Like I would marry one of those pimple-faced booger eaters.

They want to marry me off, so I can move out of their house. They want time to do things together. Probably run around naked, or something equally gross.

“Bridget,” the walkie-talkie I’m holding hums.

I gather my strength and reply, “Yes, mother?”

“It’s time.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I really don’t want to go, but I can’t tell her that.

“Sweetie, you’re only fifteen once.” I can hear the smile in her voice. She loves me; I know. This will make her incredibly happy, so I will do it. I will paste a sickening smile on my painted face and walk down the stairs, out to the back yard, and try not to die.

I can’t make any promises.


This is also my submission to contest going on at Deanna Schrayer's blog. Check out her site: HERE

Go Meat!

After the last box was finally unpacked, Embry decided to celebrate. She unscrewed the top from the finest bottle of Strawberry Hill Boone’s Farm had to offer and stepped onto her patio for a smoke. The neighbors were working on their already perfect lawns. Embry looked over the jungle of weeds that made up her front yard, and flicked her cigarette. She attempted a weak wave at the neighbor next door.

Being new in town was rough, and Embry just didn’t fit in with the geriatric crowd. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen old people before. In Arizona, they had whole communities of them, but she wasn’t used to seeing so many everywhere she went.

She made it easy for the neighbors to ignore her, and it was quiet, which she didn’t mind. It gave her time to think, reassess, and validate her life.

Across the street, the front door opened and the smallest white-haired woman made her way across the street. “Hi, dear, it looks like I got your mail today,” she said as she handed over a small bundle. “I’m Bess Michaels.”

“Thank you Mrs. Michaels,” Embry said as she took the mail. “I’m Embry Franks.”

“I know,” she said tapping the letters in Embry’s hand. “I see you got Reggie’s Flyer. He has a six hour meat sale twice a year. Everyone in town goes. The prices are amazing. You’re not a root-eating tree hugger, are you?”

“Uh… No. I’m a voracious carnivore.”

Bess laughed long and hard, clutching her side. “Well then, you’ll want to get there early, or all of the good stuff will be gone.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Michaels.”

“Oh no, you can call me Bess, or better, Grandma,” she winked. Embry couldn’t help but return the smile.

“Grandma,” a man yelled from across the street.

“Just a moment, Grandpa! I’m talking to our neighbor,” she shouted. She turned back to Embry, “That’s Grandpa. I would introduce you, but he’s really cranky before dinner. I must go and feed him. He’s a voracious carnivore too.” She laughed.

“Maybe some other time then,” Embry said as the woman turned to leave. “It was nice meeting you Be… Grandma.”

“Nice meeting you, dear.” Embry watched the old woman cross the road and disappear into her home.

That night Embry studied the flyer. She had an empty deep freeze sitting in the garage that she had received as a wedding gift; she never bothered to return it after her wedding plans soured. She could go to this sale, fill it up, and not have to leave the house for months. “6 a.m. God, that’s early,” she said to her empty cupboards.

She woke up long before the intended 6 a.m. Her alarm clock read 4:30. A shower and coffee later and it was only 5. She stared at the clock. “This is ridiculous,” she said to her coffee table, “I’ve spent all night standing in line for concert tickets. I even stood in line for six hours for the new iPhone. I don’t want to show up early for meat.”

Pulling into Reggie’s at 5:15, Embry was surprised to see a line outside of the store. She had intended to read on her phone to pass time, but instead, she exited her car and got into queue for meat.

“Grandma,” she heard a man say behind her in line, “You go for the chicken, and I will get some steak.”

“Sounds like a plan, Grandpa.” Embry laughed quietly. She was surrounded by grandmas and grandpas and they all insisted on calling each other just that. At least she wouldn’t have to remember anyone’s name.

At five minutes to six, a voice boomed from the loud speaker. “Welcome Reggie’s patrons! Today is our famous six hour meat sale. Are you excited?” A loud noise broke out from the crowd. “What was that?” the voice asked.

“Yeah!” the crowd yelled.

“I thought so,” the voice continued. “Please remember no pushing, no cursing, and absolutely… NO… Fighting. Thank you for shopping Reggie’s!”

“What the hell?” Embry said more to herself than anyone else, but it got the attention of the grandma in front of her.

“What’s wrong dear?” she asked.

“Fighting?”

“Oh yes. See that couple over there?” She pointed to a sweet old couple dressed in matching khakis. “Last year, he tripped Mrs. Walker, and his wife gouged out Mr. Walker’s good eye.”

Embry stared at the couple holding hands. They didn’t look the slightest bit violent.

“The man at the front, that’s Mr. Barney. Stay away from him. He will steal your basket when you’re not looking and hide it in the store.” Embry looked him over. He was carrying a cane.

Embry shook her head in disbelief. There was no way these people could act so badly.

“And there,” she pointed at Bess Michaels, Embry’s neighbor, “that’s the witch who bit me two years ago!”

“She bit you?”

“Yes, I had to get five stitches and a Tetanus shot… Crazy bitch went nuts when I grabbed the last pork roast.” Embry laughed. It was too much.

The fog horn blew signaling the beginning of the six hour meat sale, and a mad rush of grandmas and grandpas was at Embry’s back, pushing her. She attempted to move forward but was lifted off her feet and squeezed out of the line onto the sidewalk. She sat there for a moment dazed as the crowd filed into Reggie’s, then dusted herself off. Laughing, she got back into her car, giving up on the meat sale.

It was after dinner that evening when Embry answered a knock at the door. “Hi, Dear. I saw you had a hard time at Reggie’s this morning.”

“Yeah, maybe next time,” Embry shrugged.

“Well, I brought you a pork roast. Consider it a house warming gift,” she smiled.

“Thank you, Grandma. This is very nice.”

“You’re welcome dear. It was a great price, and I didn’t have to kill anyone for it.” She winked.

Zombie Luv Flash Fic Contest: Three Steps

The caravan was gone for weeks looking for generators to power the lights around the compound’s perimeter. Fences had been fortified and walkways established, but still people preferred the safety of their homes to the courtyards.

Cora had been pacing since the caravan left with her husband two weeks ago. Being the soldier he was, Oliver offered to travel alongside the caravan to help fend off the sea of undead. He left Cora safely behind the fence, alone.

While the distant moans could not penetrate the walls of her home, Cora knew they were out there past the fences feasting on what was left of humanity. She hoped Oliver was safe, but it was not looking so good. The round trip should have taken a week at most, and now with every day that passed she grew more and more anxious.

The pacing had started inside the confines of her safe house but progressed to the front gates of the compound. No matter how many times Cora checked the front door or the gate, Oliver was not there.

Moonlight flickered off the new fence as she walked the perimeter, occasionally passing a patrolman with a torch. No words were ever exchanged; each pretended the other didn’t exist. Cora tried to focus on the movement of her feet and the sound of her heart in her ears instead of the moans on the other side of the fence.

Stopping at the front gate, Cora stared down the dusty gravel road. There were no lights in the distance; only shadows of what were once people staggering across the road in different places. One more time around the perimeter and she would retire to pacing her safe house.

Around the corner, Cora spotted people in the park on the other side of the fence. She walked closer to get a better look; it was a man and a woman. Their faces were emotionless, but he held her hand with the utmost care. Cora found it hard to believe that they were undead like the others.

Cora sat quietly on the ground and placed a hand over her mouth, watching the couple. They made their way slowly toward the old swing set. The man helped his partner gently into the swing. She stared blankly at the heavens as he pushed her softly.

The next day, Cora did not pace. She sat at her small dinner table, set for two, and cried into her coffee. That evening she slipped into the night filled with the eerie call of the undead.

The couple was closer to Cora’s house than they were the night before, under the tree that overhung the old campgrounds. They sat across from each other at an old picnic table. Again Cora sat down, rested her elbows on her knees, and watched.

The man leaned across the table and brushed the hair from the woman’s brow with broken fingers, trailing blood across her forehead and cheek. It glistened in the moonlight. She tilted her head and followed his face with her cloudy eyes. He softly brushed her lips and covered the top her hand with his own.

Cora felt jealous of the couple. Their love was so great it passed into their next life. She didn’t want to think that Oliver might not make it back, but there was a nagging pang in the pit of her stomach. What if he’s wandering around, undead? Would he be looking for her?

In her dreams, she saw the couple very much alive, picnicking on a red gingham blanket in the courtyard. The woman’s crimson smile spread wide as she fed her partner grapes that sparkled like rubies on the vine. They laughed, kissed, and basked in the company of the other, while Cora sat alone in the dirt.

The pacing began again. Her thoughts were consumed with images of the couple. Each night she crept into the courtyard and watched their show of affection. While it wasn’t quite like she remembered, it was most definitely love, and she ached for it.

The perimeter was still unlit three weeks after the caravan left. Cora made her way around the grounds looking for the couple, but they were gone. With a heavy heart, she headed home

As she rounded the corner, she saw the silhouette of a man. He was standing quietly by the fence. Cora’s heart stopped.

“Oliver,” she breathed and ran toward him, but stopped short. His eyes were milky white, and blood stained his lips. His uniform was ripped, his hair matted. He stood there unbroken.

She took a step closer. Oliver didn’t move. There was one long stride separating them.

She stepped closer, and he stuck his fingers through the chain link and pressed his face to the fence.

One more step, and she entwined her fingers with his. She pressed in close to him, her heart racing. He stood perfectly still as she touched his face and ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and let out a soft moan.

Cora gathered her determination and her strength and attempted to force her hand into Oliver’s mouth. His eyes shot open and he pushed away from her, stumbling backwards.

“Where’s your teeth?” Cora said in a panic.

Oliver stepped backwards.

Cora threw herself at the fence, “Where’s your teeth, Oliver! Where’s your teeth!”

Oliver took another step backwards as his wife flung herself into the fence screaming and moaning uncontrollably.

He took one more step backwards as campus patrol rounded the corner. Thru milky eyes, Oliver watched Cora’s rabid expression explode into the night.

Guidelines:

• Word count: maximum 1,000
• The story must be a romance between two zombies. Make it as horrific as you like. ;)
• Stories containing animal cruelty, torture, graphic sex or violence, any form of exaltation of violence, racism or other forms of prejudice will be immediately disqualified.
• Post your entry on your own blog, with a title resembling this:

Zombie Luv Flash Fic Contest: Story Title

• Leave your story title and a link to the story entry post as a comment at mari's randomities: http://marisrandomities.blogspot.com/
• Copy and paste the contest logo and the guidelines at the end of your entry post.

Note: If you have any doubts, please give me a shout on the comments or through the #ZombieLuv hashtag. ;)

The Painting on the Wall

Brian watched as Avery squeezed several large grubs and rubbed their pulp vigorously between the palms of his hands, shucking off their crusty hulls. No one in the chamber seemed to notice; they just danced wildly to the rhythmic pulsing of the music.

“Open your hands!” Avery shouted, nodding towards Brian.

“I’m going to be sick, Avery. I am not touching that.”

“Don’t be such a fucking baby, Brian. Open your hands!”

Brian’s face was pinched with sickness as Avery slapped the thick mess into his palms. It was strangely cool and calming.

“Rub them together, “Avery said.

Brian began to massage the grubs in his hands, feeling their bodies break down, and releasing the delicious smell of burned marshmallows. Brian’s eyes widened as his hands began to glow an electric blue.

“What is this?” he asked.

Brian had heard rumors of Avery’s shady dealings, and though he had never experienced it first hand, he was still skeptical.

“Wait for it,” Avery smiled, “You’ve never experienced anything like it.” The hairs on Brian’s arms were standing on end, and he was aware of every square inch of his flesh. It danced in time with the music.

“I found these… things, in a crack in the wall behind that big Eden Corporation poster. I accidentally smashed one.”

“Incredible.” Brian couldn’t take his eyes of the brilliant blue paste that was running down his arms and dripping from his elbows.

“You’re an artist… paint me something,” Avery said grabbing Brian by the shoulders and pushed him toward the corner of the room. Brian pressed the paint to the wall and began feeling the surface out with his hands.

“My clientele awaits.” Avery started toward his other guests but stopped, “Oh hey, I almost forgot.” He pulled a brown piece of paper from his pocket, “Open your mouth.”

“What is it?” Brian scratched his chin, smearing grub across his face and neck.

“Does it really matter?”

Brian hesitated for a moment then shook his head and opened his mouth in acceptance.

***

“Hey,” Pete stared at his brother through the railing of the top bunk. “Hey asshole, wake up.” He poked him in the face.

Brian swatted his brother’s hand. “Leave me alone… sleeping.”

“You need to get your lazy ass up and clean this mess. You’re fifteen for crying out loud. You’re supposed to be the responsible one!”

“Ugh… what mess?” Brian rolled to his side and opened his eyes. His room was covered in blue paint. Lewd drawings and profanity were on every wall; all in the same electric blue. “I didn’t do that!”

“You sure as hell did! You’re just as blue as these walls. And this,” Pete pointed to a picture by his desk, “dick sucking stuff… better come off, or so help me, I will kill you.”

Brian tried not to laugh at the photo of Pete with a large penis painted behind his head, “OK, OK! I will clean it up.” He rolled onto his back and looked at his hands. They were caked with blue grub guts. He vaguely remembered being at Low End with Avery.

While Pete continued to curse him for his art, Brian looked closely at the painting above his bed. It was an ongoing project, but now the image on the ceiling had a fresh coat of blue paint. He was amazed by the detail on the portrait of Jen. He hadn’t seen her since she disappeared before this year’s matching ceremony.

“Who’s Jen?” Pete shouted from their bathroom.

“What?” Brian blinked as he stared into the eyes of the painting above his head.

“Jen? Does Rachel know about her?”

“Can we not talk about Rachel?” Brian shuttered. The mention of her name caused his stomach to turn. They were to be married in the coming months, and Brian still despised her. He closed his eyes and imagined squeezing her in his hands and painting her on the walls.

“Jen is the lucky one… miles above basking in the sun.”

“What?”

“That is what it says in here. Jen is the lucky one… miles above basking in the sun. It doesn’t make sense, does it?” Pete walked back into the room.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What’s that on your neck?” Pete pointed.

Brian reached his hand to his neck and felt a grub attached to his skin. He could feel his pulse in its fat belly and pulled it off.

Pete’s face contorted in disgust as Brian began to rub his hands together. “This is how I made this paint,” he said. “Look.” Brian opened the palms of his hands, but this time red coated his skin and dripped from his fingers.

Brian managed a weak “Oh… “ before hitting the floor.

“Grow up, Brian,” Pete rolled his eyes and left his brother lying in the mess he’d created.



I cannot thank Kemari Howell (literaryseamstress@gmail.com) enough for her editing expertise and patience with me and my brainworms. You're awesome, Kemari!

Baby Collector

Repossessing children was not originally on Leo Barnes’s list of job responsibilities, nor was disposing of them. Thanks to a rogue doctor, twelve children had been genetically altered before their incubation, and now these defects had to be recalled and destroyed.

With the help of fellow chairman Reginald Foster, all but one child had been collected and returned to the Eden Corporation. This remaining child was Leo’s to acquire.

“Barnes, if this is going to be a problem, I can collect the child for you,” Foster said sliding the microscope toward Leo.

“There is no problem,” Leo glanced thru the lens to view the specimen; nothing looked out of place, but then he didn’t know what he was looking for. “I will pick up the child first thing in the morning.”

“Let me know if you would like me to accompany you.”

He did not reply, he simply continued to look at the slide until Foster left the Genetics Lab. He waited until he heard the swish of the doors then let out the breath he had been holding.

Leo slumped into a chair and rested his head in his hands. He closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and let the tremors consume him.

He had hoped the twenty-seven flights of stairs down to his living quarters would clear his head, but all he could think about were tiny fingers and toes as he ran down the last three flights.

When Leo finally pushed open the doors to his home, a small child lay on a blanket in the living room floor, sucking on her hands and kicking her tiny feet. He walked toward her, but heard the clink of glass in the kitchen and headed that way.

“Rebecca,” Leo called for his wife. She was pouring a glass of wine with another baby on her hip.

“Hello, dear,” She smiled; her face already warm from a previous glass. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He stared at the child.

Rebecca took the baby’s hand and waved at her husband, “Hello, Uncle Leo,” she said in a sweet little voice. This made the child smile, exposing a single tooth. Leo melted, grabbed the baby from his wife, and covered her with kisses. “Oh, Natty,” Leo grinned, “I got your sugars.” She giggled as he hugged her close.

The baby in the other room began to cry. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Rebecca said as she grabbed the bottle of wine and walked into the living room. She sat down on the floor close to the baby, tickled the bottom of its feet, and ran her fingers through the child’s dark hair.

Leo sat Natty beside the baby on the floor. They instantly grabbed hands and began to babble incoherently.

“Rebecca, you really think this is going to work?

“It has to. It will be too late for Emily to notice tonight, and Eden will take her early in the morning,” Rebecca said. She stared blankly at the children in front of her.

“Well. Let’s just hope nothing goes wrong.”

Tears began to trickle down Rebecca’s face. “Eden will make sure Walt and Emily forget, right?”

“I hope so,” Leo uttered.

After dinner and baths for both children, Leo and Rebecca changed them into their pajamas and laid them down to rest. Natty slept quietly in their bedroom, while the other child lay in a bassinet in the living room.

It was getting late, when Emily finally arrived. “Hello, dear,” Rebecca said as she wrapped her arms around her guest.

“How was Natalie?” Emily asked.

“An absolute joy,” Rebecca smiled.

“Thank you for watching her, Aunt Rebecca. We never seem to get a break these days.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Rebecca steadied herself as she reached for the child in the bassinet, “I went ahead and changed her into her pajamas, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it when you got home.”

“Thank you so much.” Emily took the wrapped child into her arms. “She gets heavier each day.”

“Well, she did eat some pasta,” Rebecca winked. Emily laughed.

“It’s been a long day.”

“Well get some rest. I will see you soon.” Rebecca kissed both Emily and child on the cheek and walked them out the door. She waved until Emily stepped into the elevator, closed the door, and sank to the floor.

After helping Rebecca to bed, Leo decided to take a walk. Three flights of stairs later, he was standing in front of his colleague Reginald Foster’s living quarters. He rang the bell.

Leo was surprised to see Foster answer the door in striped boxer shorts. “Uh,” Leo muttered.

“It’s late. What is it Barnes? “ Foster furrowed his brow.

“I have uh… a conflict of interest. The last child belongs to my wife’s niece.”

A big smile spread over Foster’s face, “You want me to pick her up?”

“Please.”

“Consider it done,” Foster said as he closed the door.



***
“How was Bethany, Mrs. Barnes?” Gretchen Townsend asked.

“Bethany? Oh, she was great… a sweetheart.” Rebecca smiled. “Thank you for letting her stay with us for the night. Leo and I have discussed fostering for a while.”

“It’s a big decision. I know.”

Rebecca held the baby’s hands in hers and tried to swallow the knot in her throat. “I will work on Leo, but with his schedule, I don’t think he will want the added burden of having a small child in our home.” Tears began to well up in her eyes.

“Oh, Mrs. Barnes, I am sorry you’re upset. I will find a good home for Bethany. Please don’t worry about her,” Gretchen said as she handed Rebecca a tissue.

“She is a lovely child, and I wish her the best.” Rebecca kissed the baby on the cheek and handed her carefully to Gretchen. “Thanks again, “she said as she left the office.



***

If you're new to my blog, read my very first Eden Corp story, "Forbidden Fruit". My other Eden Corporation stories are all tagged so, and located under the "Categories" section on my side bar... if you're interested.

Thanks so much for reading and commenting. You're awesome!
~2

Friday, I'm Home!

Sometimes, I find it hard to sort fact from fiction. The other day, I was at the grocery store buying a brisket. It was this ten pound package of vacuum sealed blood and guts. I stood in line, shifting it from one hip to the next; waiting. When I got to the counter, I sat it down for the cashier. She ran it across the bar-code reader, tossed it to the other side to be bagged, and said, “I love throwing meat.”

I laughed at the comment, but my “What if” mechanism started firing. I see the meat flying in slow motion, hitting the conveyor belt, ripping, and splattering its contents across the poor bag-boy’s face. He screams. The woman behind me folds over, throwing up, and it splatters my shoes.

I am standing there glassy-eyed as the cashier repeats the amount I owe. I pay and walk out of the grocery store wondering how I can work this into my #FridayFlash.

I didn’t even know what flash fiction was until I stumbled upon Editor Unleashed about a year ago. They were hosting a flash fiction contest, and I entered. As soon as I posted, I wished I hadn't.

I posted the wrong story, with a horrible title. It wasn’t even fiction. It was part of a collection of tales from my childhood; exaggerated truths. It was definitely a lesson learned.

I met some really cool people in the forum at Editor Unleashed: E.D. Johnson, Laura Eno, and Jon Strother. The three of them played this cool game where they posted a piece of fiction, a thousand words or less (flash fiction), on their blogs each Friday. They would then tweet their URLs with the hashtag #FridayFlash; forever linking their stories together and showing the world how cool they were.

I wanted in. I have never considered myself a writer, but I have always written. Flash fiction is a manageable chunk of writing that I can hold myself accountable for. I have started many novels, but I get overwhelmed by the sheer size of the project, and end up tabling them to work on later… or never. I can’t explain to you, with my limited vocabulary, how great it feels to finish something.

All of my life, I have written for an audience of one. Now, people take time out of their busy weekends to read what I have written. I am so honored to receive comments each week with reader thoughts and feelings, or what I could change to make my story better. It feeds my fire, and I want to write more.

I also love to read what others have written. Over the past year I have made the acquaintance of many amazing writers. I am shocked at the variety that is posted each week. I want to read, so they will write more.

Jon Strother asked me, “What does #FridayFlash mean to you?”

My answer in essence is Everything: It’s all of those “What If?” moments; The love of writing; the wonderful sense of accomplishment; the honor of you reading my posts; the emotional rollercoaster of reading your posts; friendship; family; and rubbing elbows with genius.

Thanks, Jon, for making me feel at home here, and Happy Anniversary, #FridayFlash!
~2



This is my submission for the Friday Comes Monday contest on Mad Utopia. Readers, there is a contest for you too, check it out: HERE


Continue to checkout the #FridayFlash hastag on Twitter for great flash Fiction each week. If you're confused about how all of that works, hit me up on IM and I will walk you through it ;-)
MSN: tomaral@hotmail.com Yahoo: mara_barz or shoot me an email tomaraa@gmail.com

Anywhere

By the time Remy reached the outskirts of her camp, her lips were cracked and bloody. Blisters from the desert sun dotted her nose and forehead, and her dark hair was matted more than usual. She had walked for three days along old “Hwy 8” with only two canteens of water and the remains of a crudely bound book clutched to her chest.

While the sun was setting, dragon’s breath wafted up from the cracked asphalt. The soles of Remy’s shoes were sticky from the heat and marked her path as she dragged her feet along the road, toward her grandmother’s tent.

The camp’s generators kicked sand up as she passed the massive cluster of roaring machinery. The stench of gasoline burned her nose and settled into the fibers of her clothing. As she rubbed her eyes with her free hand, she smeared dirt and blood across her face. Coughing, she ducked into the shadows and waited until she caught her breath before moving on.

Remy pushed through the heavy canvas doors and collapsed onto the area rug in the front room. She closed her eyes, let out a sigh of relief, and kicked off her shoes. Relinquishing the book, she slid it under her head and began to move her legs and arms across the floor. When she finally peeled herself from the rug and headed toward the bath to wash up, the dusty outline of her carpet angel remained.

“Is that you, child?” The familiar voice of her grandmother questioned from the other room.

“Yes, Ma’m. I’m sorry I’m late, Nan,” Remy shouted.

“Take your time. I will fix you a bite to eat.” She laughed.

The voice of her grandmother and the smell of breakfast made the process of scraping the dirt from her blistered flesh much easier. The water in the basin felt cooler than normal.

Ham and eggs were waiting for Remy at one end of the small kitchen table as she came out of the washroom. She quickly sat and began to eat. Slowly she let the flavors explode on her tongue as the weight of the last few days sank into her bones, and she hunched forward.

“Sit up properly, girl,” Nan said as she sat down in front of her at the table.

“Yes, Ma’m.” She sat up.

“What is this?” Nan asked as she slid the book onto the table. Remy dropped her fork, but her grandmother began to turn the slick pages instead of waiting for a response. “Where did you get this?”

Panic rose in Remy’s chest. She wanted to jump over the table and pull her book away. She wanted to shout keep your hands off that book, but she could barely breathe. She tried to push the knot back down her throat and closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the table.

A few moments passed and she opened her eyes. Nan was still turning the pages of the book, and tears were streaming down her delicate face. “Grandmother,” Remy whispered, but she did not look up. Remy cleared her throat, “Grandmother.”

“Your father used to collect comic books like these. Look how well these pages are preserved. Someone really loved these books.”

“I know.”

“Where did you get this?”

“I found it when we were out last… scavenging.” Remy did not explain that the book was split up between her and the other two girls, how she had lost most of her pages in an unfair card game, and how she had stolen her pages (and then some) back from Angel while she slept.

“How did you get away from those raiders?” her grandmother asked.

“What?” Remy tilted her head and screwed up her swollen face.

“Angel told the council that you were attacked by raiders…”

“Raiders?”

“She said that the three of you were attacked. They killed Tara… she said she couldn’t find you before she escaped in the camper,” Nan said as she raised her head and looked at Remy. “They thought you were dead.”

“Raiders? Raiders killed Tara? Are you sure?”

“Angel was able to bring back her body. Her throat was slit.”

Remy dropped her head into her hands. She followed the same road that the camper had traveled, and she hadn’t seen anyone for three days. “Grandmother, there were no raiders.” Remy shook her head. “Angel must have done it...”

“That’s a strong accusation, Thief. I wondered when you would make it back.” Angel stood in the doorway. The corner of her mouth twitched around a stubby cigar. Her freshly shaved head sported bruises and cuts but somehow managed to glimmer in the tent lighting.

“A lady shouldn’t smoke,” Nan stated.

“I never said I was a lady,” Angel spat. “What’s this?” she walked toward the table and grabbed a handful of pages from the book, but Nan had a good grip and pulled them away, sliding the laminated pages through the meat of Angel’s hand.

Instantly Angel was on Nan smearing her bloody hand on her face and gripping the front of her nightgown. Remy pushed the table back. “Hey!” Remy shouted, “Keep your hands off my Grandmother!” Angel smiled and tightened her grip on Nan.

Remy jumped up and over the table, plunged her fork deep into Angel’s shoulder, and pushed her off Nan. Angel fell backward, hit her head on the corner of the table, and crumpled to the floor.

They stood and stared at her for several minutes, shaking. “Grandmother?” Remy whispered.

“Yes, Child?”

“Are you alright?”

“I… I think so.”

“We should probably go,” Remy said.

“Where, girl?”

“Anywhere,” she said. “Anywhere, but here.”

Something Practical

“Only in a backwards world do guys throw baby showers for their guy friends, Ben,” Melanie said as she stuffed her tiny foot into an even tinier black heel.

“The guys from work planned this. I’m just following along.” Ben studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror and ran his fingers back and forth through his hair, “what do I buy for him?”

“What’s he having?”

“A baby.”

Melanie stared at Ben’s reflection in the mirror as he continued to strategically mess his hair. “Oh my god, Ben... a boy or a girl? I meant, is he having a boy… or a girl?”

Ben blinked. “Oh,” he said. “I don’t know.”

Melanie shook her head, straightened her dress, and walked out of the room.

“Are you going to help me here?” he shouted to his wife.

“You’re on your own on this one,” she shouted back as she opened the garage door and disappeared.

The office was surprisingly dull, and the day progressed at a snail’s pace. Ben had three meetings with four clients and had little to say to any of them. This baby gift was really eating at him, so he decided to leave early for lunch to shop around.

The first boutique was an epic failure. While the colors and tiny outfits in the window said baby, the interior screamed adult bondage. The second place stocked more than a fair share of breast pumps and hemorrhoid creams. While asking for help at the third stop, the clerk spoke to him in a sickly sweet voice, “Are you a new daddy?” It was turning out to be an impossible quest, and Ben was feeling the sting of defeat.

Ben stopped at a convenient store to grab a soda and sandwich. The thought had crossed his mind, to just give money as a gift, so he purchased an overpriced card, took it to his car, and filled it out while he ate.

He was ready to return to the office when he saw the sign, “The Coldest Beer in Town! Cheap Cigarettes! 99 Cent Corn Dogs!”

“Beer!” he shouted behind the closed doors of his Chevy Malibu. “I can get him beer and some… diapers! Diapers for the baby and beer for Dad. Oh man, I… am… Awesome.”

The rest of the day was smooth sailing, and Ben had a bit of spring in his step. “Hey Ben,” a co-worker stopped him in the hall. “Going to Randall’s baby shower?”

“Yep,” Ben smiled. “Is everyone heading over to Jerry’s after work?”

“Yeah, they reserved the small room in back for us. I’m thinking about taking off early, to see if they need help setting up.”

“Setting up?”

“Oh, just move some tables around and make sure that the bar is stocked.”

“Cool. What did you get Randall? The baby gift?” Ben asked.

“Oh shit, man, I got him an awesome gift.”

“No way, Chuck,” Ben held up a hand. “The gift I got him will blow your gift away.”

“What did you get him?”

“Shit… I am not telling you. You will try to one-up me the last minute. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Ha! OK. I am going to head that way. See you a little later.”

“Later, Bro.”

At 5:00, Ben was already standing on the curb outside of Jerry’s; a twelve pack of Bud Light tucked under one arm and a pack of diapers under the other. A few moments before, he had taken the liberty of writing “FROM: BEN CHESTER” with sharpie on both packages. He didn’t think his gift needed a frilly bow, but he slid a stick of beef jerky alongside one of the bottles of beer for good measure.

Opening the heavy wooden door of Jerry’s required superhuman skills, but Ben pulled it off like a pro. He nodded at Jerry at the bar and walked toward the back room.

The small room was bursting full of business casual, and Randall was already engaged in a round of shots at the corner bar. Ben waved at a few friends and headed toward the back of the room to drop of his baby gifts.

Two tables had been set up for gifts. One completely full of diapers; most were unwrapped, but a few sported bows. Ben figured this would be a common purchase for most of the party goers, so he had bought a larger size to accommodate a growing baby.

He had just slid the diapers onto the table when he noticed the presents on the next one. His heart sank. The table was almost buckling under the weight of cases of beer, bottles of wine, boxes of wine, whiskey, Jagermeister, and coffee. In the mix there were packages of peanuts, microwave popcorn, and nudie magazines.

“I think we should call it a draw,” Chuck laughed as he smacked Ben on the back. “Come on, we’re already behind.”

“Indeed,” Ben said as the two headed toward the bar and guest of honor.

Ben crept into bed a little before midnight, and Melanie’s eyes flicked open. “Nice baby shower?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he yawned, “Randall got a nice haul.”

“What did you decide to get him?”

“Oh, I decided on something practical.”

“That’s nice,” Melanie mustered before falling back to sleep.

Chemically Induced Optimism

Lying on his bunk, Brian ran his fingers across the ceiling of his bedroom. Blue paint dripped from his hands, down his forearms, and onto his bare chest. The paint mingled with red and green stains on his skin.

“You are so lucky, Pete,” Brian groaned. He rubbed his sticky hands across his face, slid off his bed, and sat heavily on his brother’s bottom bunk.

“Sorry, Bro,” Peter replied from his desk.

“I can’t stand her…”

“Well, at least she’s pretty.”

“Pretty dreadful, “Brian said. The brothers shared a look and burst into laughter, but it was short lived for Brian. He ran his hands across his face again, blue pooled in the dimple on his right cheek and smeared across his forehead, “I really don’t know if I can do this. It’s the rest of my life, and every time I hear her voice,” his eyelids fluttered, “I want to explode.”

“Have you talked to Counselor Reed?”

“She made an appointment for me with Dr. Williams. That was a lot of help…”

“Did he give you something? Marco said they have some sort of bonding drug.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Well?”

“It’s shit… Didn’t work. I was so excited about it when I first got it. I had made plans to take Rachel to a nice dinner and then spend some time in the gardens. I followed the instruction, and nothing changed.”

“Maybe you didn’t do it right.”

“No, Pete. I did it right. She must have some sort of super powers that make her exceptionally revolting. You’re so freaking lucky you’re thirteen…”

“Two more years…”

“Two more years. What I wouldn’t give for two more years,” Brian said as he sulked into the bathroom to wash the mess from his face and hands.

…

The elevator outside of Brian’s living quarters was under maintenance, so with a heavy sigh, he pushed open the door to the stairwell. He had already spent his required hour and half between the pool and fitness arena, so he wasn’t too eager to climb up the twenty-two flights to Level 12.

Brian sat down to catch his breath. Regret was eating at him, but he wasn’t going to climb back down only to change his mind and make the trek back up again.

Café Max seeped through the door and begged him out of hiding. As much as he wanted to stop and enjoy his favorite cup, Brian pushed on past the shops toward Low End, the slightly sunken and mostly condemned area furthest from the elevators.

He crossed the rope that marked off the area, stepped over a large crack in the foundation, and followed the “no entry” signs down toward the heart of Low End.

As Brian approached a group of people, he noticed an older classmate, Avery Miller, talking to a boy next to a large Eden Corporation poster. Avery noticed him and waved him over, but continued his conversation with the wild-eyed youth.

The boy’s gaze followed Avery’s hand toward a girl dressed in tattered clothing leaned up again the wall near a trash bin. Her eyes were rolled back in her head and her breathing was strange. She ran her hands up and down her body lingering on her exposed flesh. Two boys sat down in front of her, and gave her their full attention. She didn’t seem to notice. “What’s wrong with her?” the boy asked.

Avery laughed, “Nothing is wrong with her.” The boy looked again and the girl was on her hands and knees kissing one of the boys in her audience while the other played with her hair.

“What else do you have?” The boy glanced over at the girl again. This time she was kissing the other boy.

“Well...” Avery laughed again as the boy stared at the scene open mouthed, “Does that bother you?”

“She looks young…“

“She’s married.” The boy’s jaw dropped. “That’s her husband right there.” Avery pointed to another boy sitting on a bench watching the girl move from one boy to the next, smiling. “Think on it a few. I am going to talk to my friend here.” Avery said as he grabbed Brian’s arm and pulled him aside.

“Hey,” Brian said.

“Hey, Oldham,” Avery smiled, “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“Does it really matter…”

…

“Brian… Brian,” Rachel nudged him with her foot. He was lying on his back in the basking room waiting for her, enjoying the warmth of the lamps.

“Hey… you,” he smiled, opened his eyes, and propped up on his elbows.

“Oh my gosh! Where have you been all day? We have an appointment tomorrow to go over…”

“You look… pretty.” He sat up.

“and wedding schedules. My mother thinks it would be a good idea if we planned our wedding in a little over a month so…”

“Your hair is… nice.”Brian watched as Rachel’s mouth continued to move. “I really can’t stand you,” he sighed.

“The adoption process takes a few weeks to finalize our blood work. I have a copy of the catalog, so we can determine which traits we would like our child to have...”

“Well...I am glad I got that out in the open,” Brian said as he watched her continue on.

“I know we are supposed to have one child, but I really would like three. I really love having a sister, and…”

“I really wish you would shut up.”

“Really it’s whatever you think,” Rachel said as she sat down next to Brian on the grassy floor.

“Wow,” Brian mouthed.

“What?” she leaned toward him as Brian leaned in, brushed the blonde hair out of her face, and kissed her softly on the mouth. Rachel’s face turned a bright shade of red, and she tried to make herself look busy shuffling pamphlets.

Brian leaned back onto the warm grass and smiled.

Telling Stories

Betty wore the mark of the storyteller. The delicately woven bracelet cradled a single black pearl and rested high on her forearm under her white lab coat. While she hated having to keep secrets, it was something she had grown used to.

She felt the tickle of the cold pearl on her skin as Chairmen Leo Barns and Reginald Foster entered her office and closed the door. “Chairmen,” she said, but did not rise to meet them.

“Dr. Dalton,” Barnes asked, ”Have you had enough time…er… have you cleared your head?”

“Yes,” Betty said as she scribbled notes on her tablet behind her desk.

“I think I speak for the rest of Eden Corporation, when I say that we are truly sorry for your loss.”

Betty dropped her pen. She knew that this visit had nothing to do with the recent death of her grandson. Nerves from the depths of her stomach pushed a knot up into her throat “Can I help you, Gentlemen?"

Foster slid a white box onto Dr. Dalton’s desk but left a heavy hand on top. “The board has asked before that you mask you age, Dr. Dalton. What means are you taking now to conceal it?” he asked.

“I have been doing the regular peels as suggested and henna in my hair.” She tried to smile, but the curls of her lips waivered.

“The board would like you to take it one step further,“ he said as he pushed the box toward her on the desk.

Betty opened the box curiously, and softly touched the dark locks of curly hair within it, “What is this?”

“It’s called a wig,” he stated.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Wear it.”

---

Level 12 had its share of nasties, but they were usually confined to Low End. Most of 12 were shops and cafés, but it had many areas for general congregation. Betty frequented 12, more now since the death of her grandson, Jared. It helped to clear her head in the evenings before retiring.

While she traveled mostly concealed, the children were drawn to her. The light would reflect off her treasured bracelet like a beacon for the young, and soon she would be surrounded by many smiling, giggling faces.

Betty would lose herself in hours of storytelling, and when she would think it was almost time to go, she would always hear, “please, just one more story.”

“When I was a child, I used to visit a storyteller in the gardens on level 10. She was always smiling... Even when her lips were tired and released their smile, her face smiled on.

“She had been telling stories to children in those gardens for many years before I met her. She told stories to my mother, and my mother’s mother… well you get the picture, “she winked at the children sitting in front of her. “She was getting older, so old, that even Eden began to take notice.”

“You see,” Betty leaned into the small group of children, “Her hair was turning silver.”

“There’s no such thing.” Sally Neil snorted.

“Counselor Meacham’s hair is so white it glows,” Bobby Marks giggled.

“Her hair is yellow. Like mine,” Sally corrected, “It’s not white Bobby… stupid.” Sally turned her gaze to Betty and said, “And you’re lying. There are no storytellers in the gardens.”

“Sweetheart, this was long before you were born.” Betty said as Sally rolled her eyes and looked away. “Have you ever seen silver hair?”

There was a silence.

From behind several parents cleared their throats, and Betty stood to greet them.

“Must you fill our children’s heads with lies?” Bobby’s mother didn’t wait for the answer, she grabbed Bobby’s arm firmly, and stomped away.

Betty watched the children clear out, and made her way home. Her living quarters were very quiet and sadness lingered there.

In her room, Betty removed the majority of her clothing and headed into the bathroom. She pulled her scissors from the cabinet and sighed. She would cut her hair to wear the wig the chairs had given her. She hated that she had to hide, but being on the board she understood the consequences of noncompliance.

Strands of hair fell into the sink. Thoughts of the sacrifices she has had to make for her job, the exceptions that have been made on her behalf, and the family she had lost, were free falling in the form of tears off her chin and into the pile of lies in the sink.

After showering off her mangled cut, Betty settled into her favorite arm chair. She sat quietly in her robe and played with the pearl on the bracelet that never left her arm. She couldn’t help but wonder what had become of the storyteller of her youth. Would she meet the same end?

Is there such a thing as a happy ending?


Want to catch up on the other Eden Corporation tales? I reposted them all week to catch up to this particular story (starting Satuday March 20). I hope you like(d) them. ~2

Looking for a Savior

Lisa sat slumped on the toilet, elbows on her knees, picking nervously at her fingernails. Through the doorway she could see the lifeless body of her husband lying on their bed. . “What am I going to do? Think… think,” she trembled.

When no answer came, she rose to her feet, pushed back the curtain, and turned on the shower. Time escaped her. Steam had filled the small bathroom and began to ooze out into the rest of the living quarters before she realized she was just standing there, staring at her reflection.

The woman in the mirror was unrecognizable. Her eyes had grown dark and her face was splotchy red; eyes swollen from tears. Her lips were moving uncontrollably; mouthing words that her brain could not register. She covered the mouth of her reflection with her hands, and stole a glance again at her husband.

Greg’s bulging stare bore holes in the ceiling, and the prints on his face and neck were darkening by the minute. Nausea overcame her, and Lisa folded over with sickness. She had loved Greg like the Eden Corporation had told her to. He was her ideal match, or so she thought.

Lisa stood up pulling the shirt off over her head. She wiped her mouth with it, and dropped it onto the floor. A heavy fog engulfed her as she opened the shower curtain and stepped into the running water. She closed her eyes for what felt like hours, as the water painted her face and chest red. It pooled in the pockets of her jeans and in her shoes, soaking her socks.

“I killed him, I killed him… ” Lisa whimpered, “He was going to turn me in. His loyalty to Eden was stronger than his loyalty to me.” This comment stopped the tears. “I am right.” She shut off the water, pulled back the curtain and stepped out of the tub.

Sloshing water across the room, Lisa confronted her dead husband, “I am saving our civilization,” she said through gritted teeth. “I found a genetic error, and I corrected it. There is no reason for us not to conceive our own children; we have been relying on surrogate clones for far too long… I was not wrong! How could you say that?”

Lisa began to pace and wring her hands, “Not wrong… Not wrong! There is no reason to turn myself in. I have saved our colony…” She shook her head and sat down at the foot of the bed.

…

After the last trip to the incinerator, Lisa thoroughly cleaned her apartment and took a proper shower. She packed a small bag and loaded her pockets with Greg’s personal items for trade. There would be plenty of takers at Low End, and she needed an escort.

…

“A recall, are you serious?” Leo Barnes was sweating, and his face was bright red.

”We have no option, Barnes. Elias Eden himself would destroy each and every one of those children. You and I know this to be fact,” Reginald whispered, and looked around. He wanted to be sure they were alone on the basking room floor before continuing, “We are lucky that the codes reset shortly after Dr. Baker altered them, and that we have genetic documentation for each child born at Eden. We will simply explain that the children have a deadly medical defect, and we need to take them in for testing.”

“How many, Foster?” he asked.

“Twelve.”

Goodbye

Dear John,

I hope you won't hate me, but I have to leave the colony. Please know I have always loved you. I knew it that first day in primary when you pulled my hair, and I am STILL sorry I spat in your face. I loved you when you held my hand at our matching ceremony, and you were not sure what to think about me. Even today, I love you now more than ever.

This is so hard, and I hate that I am writing you this note. If I had to tell you face to face, I know I would change my mind. I have to leave. There really isn’t a choice.

I am pregnant.

This colony has been birthed from the same 108 clones since the beginning. Why now, am I able to have a child, when thousands of women before me have not?

Last month, I came across some old documents in Filing. About fifty years ago a woman came to the Eden Corporation claiming she was incubating and that she was the key to a surrogate-free colony.

They killed her. They extracted her unborn child and dissected them both. I don’t want to be cut open and sampled.

There is a light burning inside of me, John. I feel it flicker. It’s like no warmth I have ever experienced before. It is truly amazing.

I’ve known for several months now, and it’s getting harder to hide. I know you don’t like the idea of me visiting Low End on 12, but I had to seek out some answers. I couldn’t tell anyone why I was there, but I overheard some Myrrh talking. They were going on and on about corruption, greed, and the desire to choose their own paths in life; “Free will” they called it. They were planning to leave the colony, and I am going with them.

I am so sorry, but I feel it’s my only option. I hope you can understand. This is so much bigger than us, John. It’s not something Eden should be able to control…

You will find a note under my pillow. It is full of untruths; how miserable I was and how I chose to end my life. It says that I plan to throw myself into the incinerator. Today, I will be seen in that vicinity, and I will be sure to leave some personal item behind. Please take THAT note to security and destroy THIS one.

I love you always,

Bethany



John stared at the paper until the words disappeared. Mucus and saline pooled in the crevices of his face, as the letter delicately slid from his fingers and floated to the floor.

She was gone, and John was sure he would never see her again. “Goodbye,” he whispered, “I love you, always.”

Broken hearted, John closed his eyes just in time to see Bethany walking away. Even his dreams denied him; she never looked back.