Friday, July 13, 2012

Flash Fiction Month: Entry 13 (LUCKY 13 BABY!)

I don’t have a lot of time because wedding things are moving very quickly all around me, so, here’s my prompt, which I was GIDDY upon reading:

Flash Fiction Month - July 13, 2012

Challenge #6

Today is another double challenge. In addition to incorporating two theme, like you have for the previous two challenges, you’ll have to incorporate a specific character archetype. If you need help, don’t be afraid to head on over to the official Flash Fiction Month 
Chat Room, where one of our volunteers will help you as best they can.

Write a story that includes the 
themes of failure and conformity, and where one of the characters is a Cloudcuckoolander.

Failure  refers to the state or condition of not meeting a desirable or intended objective, and may be viewed as the opposite of success.

Conformity is the act of matching attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors to group norms.

A Cloudcuckoolander is someone with there head in the clouds. They are strangely oblivious to things that everyone else takes for granted, such as social conventions, like wearing clothing, being polite, or obeying the law. However, cloudcuckoolanders are very rarely malicious.

Shoot for the moon. That was the easy part, I had told myself. All I had to do was dream big, think big, and then boom, magically before my eyes, the world would present to me what I was dreaming. All I had to do was just be completely honest, and so I was. Every time I took a dump, I recorded it and uploaded it. Every time I decided I was feeling a little ornery and wanted to rub one out, I filmed it and hosted it with absolutely no censorship, start to finish. People were going to love this, I kept telling myself. I know I love it.

Gaining some popularity, albeit slowly and not with the crowd you’d necessarily think (think older men between the ages of forty five and sixty five; not the twenty something females we all secretly wish for), I decide it was time to up things a notch, and post the world’s first twenty-four/seven cam access where users and followers were able to interact and view me at all times of the day. It was brilliant. Putting on some flip flops, a tank top with a mustard stain, which was weird because I didn’t even like mustard, to go with a pair of neon green shorts and I was ready to hit the streets. Luckily technology was so advanced that most people couldn’t even tell I was filming myself, even though there was an object attached to my hat, filming the whole thing. I sparked up the joint I was hiding behind my ear and stepped into a particular eating establishment I wanted to try. Immediately, a line of ten people turned to look at me as I stepped into the lobby. Furrowing my brows, and looking concerned, I stepped back outside, wiped my sandals off on the doormat, and then stepped back into the lobby, taking a nice slow drag off the joint resting between my lips.

“There, is that better?” I half-mumbled, half-inquired as the smoke filled the space in front of me, and a few people nearby fanned the air around their faces, and darted past me on their way out the door.

“Geeze, what was their problem,” I asked a couple standing at the back of the line that gave me a somewhat confused, somewhat angry look in response, “And hey, what’s good here?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see someone behind the counter pointing at me, and then a couple of men in uniforms and boots fast approached me and escorted me out of the building, one of them grabbing the joint out of my mouth, tossing it to the ground, and extinguishing it with his boot heel before the other one through me into the back of their tiny, mall security truck..

What had I done now, I wondered. And how do they both fit in here? This truck is tiny.

The proceedings were pretty nasty. They said I was breaking some strange civil or penal law that I still refuse to acknowledge. And because I refuse to acknowledge what I had done, the state had decided to shut down my site, take all my cameras, and force me to pee in a cup every few days for some odd reason. Maybe they want to make sure there’s nothing wrong with my blood.

Now, I get to work a wonderful job, where I stand around all day, pretending I am making a difference or living out my dream, like the universe once whispered to me while I lay sleeping at nights, dreaming of possibilities and realities where I did everything I wanted to and everyone loved me for being exactly who I was. And then my boss yelled at me for not paying attention. So, I got back to work. I’m sure you know the rest of the story. All I had to do was shoot for the moon. That part was easy.

The falling face first on my way back down to earth was not. Oh well. At least they pay me to stand around and act bored now. I shrugged and told my boss I’d do whatever he wanted, so long as he got his fat gut out of my face. He didn’t like that but, I didn’t really care. I was just another man in a uniform doing a job he wasn’t suited for; failure was a feeling I would soon not forget. But for now, I scrubbed as hard as my back would let me.


Thursday, July 5, 2012

Flash Fiction Month Entry Number 5!


I kinda forgot/didn’t have energy for the FFM #4 entry, so I just copy n pasted a story I had written awhile go. Kinda cheating, I know, but I spent all day with my family yesterday, and my sister being just as high strung as I am was super stressed out and it kinda wore on me. No exc uses, play like a champion, I know, its just that I really wanted to do all 30-31 days of this thing, and I regret missing a day, already. Oh well, just gotta keep going. We’re all human, we all make mistakes. I chose to do this prompt for today to make up for it, because it will be challenging and show that it is of course original, because I just found out about the prompt five minutes ago. Here it is: (also five is my lucky number, traditionally)

"The earth really did open up and swallow him," she told the reporter. 

Sally turned and looked back at her cameraman, Mike, who shrugged at her, as if to say, so what, keep going, which in turn made Sally clear her throat and turn back to the woman standing in front of her. Behind the woman was a scene straight out of a post-apocalyptic horror movie: ambulances, cop cars, helicopters, news vans and reporters running everywhere, not to mention the park that was once voted the most beautiful metropolitan park in all of the country now looked like a war zone covered in explosions, craters, and firemen eagerly trying to put out the spreading fires.

“What happened, exactly?” The reporter asked, offering an extremely serious and hard look. The woman looked down at her feet, and began to recount her story:

It was a beautiful day at the park, and her boyfriend, Leo, was taking her out for a stroll in the park. He had always loved being around nature, hiking, exploring, but most importantly, being with me. And I couldn’t imagine myself without him. Leo always had such a warmth to him. In any case, we were walking through the park when someone behind us called out Leo’s name, loudly, shouting it. It was so loud, I covered my ears, and I could feel my hair whipping all around my face. Leo, at that very moment, let go of my hand, told me to run, and started charging towards the stranger.

The reporter interjected, “What did this, Stranger, look like?” She titled her head, a bit, for effect. The woman startled that the reporter interrupter her story, looked up, and said, “Dark. He was very dark. And I don’t mean skin color. I would never consider myself a racist person at all, but this man was so black, I could make out no discernible features, including his eyes, which appeared to be two empty sockets with clouds of smoke swirling about inside. He wore a leather biker’s jacket, to go with jeans, and boots. I don’t know how he found us or where he came from, but all of a sudden he was there, and all of a sudden, Leo and him were fighting.”

“Fighting, how?” The reporter asked, hoping to finally get some details. The woman looked up again, solemn as ever.

“With fire. And light. And darkness. And magic. And their fists. I know you’ll think me crazy, but look around; how else would destruction on this level exist without some sort of…”

“Magic.” The reporter said, flatly, as if this story all of a sudden became irrelevant.

“Call it what you want. The stranger struck Leo with a chain made of purple fire, and threw him into the trees behind him so hard, he burned a hole through the trunk before punching a hole through the ground so deep I heard they’re still searching in it. Ignoring me completely, the stranger vanished before my eyes, and was on top of Leo again. I didn’t see what Leo did from where he was, he flew some distance, but there was a bright ray of light, so bright I had to look away or else I feared I might go blind, and then, I could hear an inhumane, monster like growl as the Stranger was launched into the air. Leo got him good, that time.” The woman smiled.

The reporter, semi-interested, semi-just-going-through-the-motions, followed up with, “And then what happened?”

“And then,” The woman continued, “I saw Leo leap from the hole he was put in, and spread wings I didn’t know he had.”

Now the reporter had clearly stopped believing this woman, “Wings? You saw your boyfriend sprout wings and fly?”

She nodded. “Yes, as hard as it may be to believe. I had always told him he was my guardian angel, but today, he was. With his outstretched wings, and a lance made of golden light, he flew, straight at the Stranger, like a hawk diving from up high to snatch up its prey. Only,”

Now the woman looked upset.

“What? Do you need a tissue?” The reporter turned to look at Mike, and yelled at him to get a tissue box from the van. Mike sighed, loudly, and started running all the way back to the van. Sally shook her head, and turned back to look at the woman, whose eyes were now pitch black. She tried to scream, but before she could, there was a thick, black ichor that covered her mouth, and was seeping in through her throat, and her eyes, and her nose. It sounded like she was choking, and her body shook, as her eyes rolled back into her head, and the woman, now looking more like the Stranger, spread a slow smile across her face, as it watched Sally suffer and contort. After a few seconds, the Stranger was done with the reporter and dropper her body to the ground, in a heap. Seconds passed, as the stranger reverted his form, and the reporter, Sally, slowly rose from the ground, just in time to have Mike come back with a box of tissues. He offered one to the woman being interviewed, who thanked him, graciously. Mike looked at Sally; it looked like they had a heart-to-heart, and even Sally looked a little disheveled. “Are you okay, Sally? Is that a rap?”

Sally, the reporter, turned to look at Mike, and for just a second, he thought he saw a swirl of blackness in her normally gorgeous hazel eye color.

“No, I am fine. Let us continue the interview. Three, two, one,” Mike struggled to keep up with her, hoisting the camera back to his shoulder and pressing the record button.

“And then what happened?” Sally asked, more serious and straight toned than Mike had heard before.

“And then the earth opened up, and swallowed him,” The woman said.

link to FFM5 entry page: