tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8991202678872420732024-03-12T23:45:12.428-07:00Flash Jab FictionJack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-32651461190367275612018-03-06T19:37:00.002-08:002018-03-06T19:37:15.056-08:00A Randomly Generated Jacket BlurbWriter's block?<br />
Algorithm for the distraction.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFHroj8hcM-OtR3pKZ_eqK3X3XRufzVbVcirdVwxSe76y8Da9ctnQXbpxc4M8-gMg1qpB_-nrBJbjCSoXxvpGchyphenhyphenKVoVS5FVLs3CquSSUbfomQu-J2gwThGMOWF0-6SxI0DB3IRn-S7Y/s1600/Cover.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="729" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFHroj8hcM-OtR3pKZ_eqK3X3XRufzVbVcirdVwxSe76y8Da9ctnQXbpxc4M8-gMg1qpB_-nrBJbjCSoXxvpGchyphenhyphenKVoVS5FVLs3CquSSUbfomQu-J2gwThGMOWF0-6SxI0DB3IRn-S7Y/s320/Cover.png" width="197" /></a></div>
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<h1 class="output_h1" style="background-color: #e6e9ed; font-family: "Century Gothic", Verdana; font-size: 20pt; margin: 1px; padding: 0px;">
The Heavy Paperweight</h1>
<h2 class="output_h2" style="background-color: #e6e9ed; font-family: Raleway, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
A Mystery<br />by Jack Bates</h2>
<div class="blurb" style="background-color: #e6e9ed; font-family: Raleway, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 21.3333px; margin: auto; max-width: 600px;">
The small, cold town of Row holds a secret.<br />
Shelly Hope has the perfect life working as a pharmacist in the city and hiking with her warm boyfriend, Mark Tupp.<br />
However, when she finds a heavy paperweight in her cellar, she begins to realise that things are not quite as they seem in the Hope family.<br />
A Sorghum Festival leaves Shelly with some startling questions about her past, and she sets off to dark Row to find some answers.<br />
At first the people of Row are bright and cheerful. She is intrigued by the curiously tender pizza chef, Larry Forton. However, after he introduces her to hard opiods, Shelly slowly finds herself drawn into a web of murder, blackmail and perhaps, even theft.<br />
Can Shelly resist the charms of Larry Forton and uncover the secret of the heavy paperweight before it's too late, or will her demise become yet another Row legend?<br />
<br />
<h4 style="font-size: 21.3333px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
Auto Praise for The Heavy Paperweight</h4>
<div class="praise" style="font-size: 21.3333px; margin: 8px auto 0px;">
"Who wouldn't give up a life of hiking with their warm boyfriend to spend a little time with a curiously tender pizza chef?"</div>
<div class="praiseWho" style="font-size: 21.3333px;">
- The Daily Tale</div>
<div class="praise" style="font-size: 21.3333px; margin: 8px auto 0px;">
"About as mysterious as finding a poo in a public toilet. However, The Heavy Paperweight does offer a valuable lesson about not getting into hard opiods."</div>
<div class="praiseWho" style="font-size: 21.3333px;">
- Enid Kibbler</div>
<div class="praise" style="font-size: 21.3333px; margin: 8px auto 0px;">
"The only mystery, is why did I keep reading after page one?"</div>
<div class="praiseWho" style="font-size: 21.3333px;">
- Hit the Spoof</div>
<div class="praise" style="font-size: 21.3333px; margin: 8px auto 0px;">
"I could do better."</div>
<div class="praiseWho" style="font-size: 21.3333px;">
- Zob Gloop</div>
</div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-77245938293768961912018-03-05T17:14:00.002-08:002018-03-05T17:16:42.951-08:00HUGE ANNOUNCEMENT!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7UTJnjZLa8hiRUvCpyfonKd9zZ8IdOdHC6ljlr5_O_d7-TzxnJFmbPlx02uxllw-O9xvBvXNHQyEXp7As8T80l3G4Mv_RgmVJ_QFx1_MFyCXVtCp0zswRpmds1uuaBzorgLR6zduNu3U/s1600/Bouchercon+Anthology.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="384" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7UTJnjZLa8hiRUvCpyfonKd9zZ8IdOdHC6ljlr5_O_d7-TzxnJFmbPlx02uxllw-O9xvBvXNHQyEXp7As8T80l3G4Mv_RgmVJ_QFx1_MFyCXVtCp0zswRpmds1uuaBzorgLR6zduNu3U/s320/Bouchercon+Anthology.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Drum-roll please! We are thrilled to announce the contributors to the 2018 Bouchercon Anthology!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="color: #1d2129;">Patricia Abbott, "When Agnes Left Her House"</span><br />
<span style="color: #365899;">J.D.Allen,</span><span style="color: #1d2129;"> "The Unidentifieds"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Jack Bates</span></span>, "The Fakahatchee Goonch"<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Lawrence Block</span></span>, untitled as yet (it's a surprise!)<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Susanna Calkins, Author</span></span>, "Postcard for the Dead"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Reed Farrel Coleman</span></span>, "The Ending"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Angel Luis Colón</span></span>, "Muscle Memory"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Hilary Davidson Books</span></span>, "Mr. Bones"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Brendan DuBois</span></span>, "Breakdown"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">John Floyd</span></span>, "Frontier Justice"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Barb Goffman</span></span>, "The Case of the Missing Pot Roast"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Greg Herren</span></span>, "Cold Beer No Flies"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Eleanor Cawood Jones</span></span>, "All Accounted for at the Hooray for Hollywood Motel"<br />John D. MacDonald, "The Hangover"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Paul D. Marks</span></span> "There's an Alligator in My Purse"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Craig Pittman</span></span>, "How to Handle a Shovel"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Neil Plakcy's Books</span></span>, "Southernmost Point"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Alex Segura</span></span>, "Quarters for the Meter"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Debra Lattanzi Shutika</span></span>, "Frozen Iguana"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Holly West Books</span></span>, "The Best Laid Plans"<br /><span style="color: #365899; font-family: inherit;"><span style="cursor: pointer;">Michael Wiley</span></span>, "Winner"</span></span></div>
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<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px;">
We are immensely grateful to everyone who submitted stories. We had a record number of submissions, and choosing from this embarrassment of riches was a monumental task (that's a real quote from our editor, Greg Herren!).</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We'll have more news about the anthology (including the cover, which the images below are not...we just needed fun pictures for this post) soon--stay tuned!</div>
</div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-78932877925868241772016-10-05T13:25:00.001-07:002016-10-05T13:25:34.083-07:00Gumshoe/BGirl Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLo3kRezR4pAS5uh9dVoF0WHE1mijbWJxRzohXZEZazbS3XOZ8w6-TB51uQ4nqXT7dWuV2tHcYzLQ4OUP4MoeG276dZbhV882sNuh1RE_UHkg4ihYjlJLsvZpjGnqAh-zGTrJZvjuoYsU/s1600/Falcon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLo3kRezR4pAS5uh9dVoF0WHE1mijbWJxRzohXZEZazbS3XOZ8w6-TB51uQ4nqXT7dWuV2tHcYzLQ4OUP4MoeG276dZbhV882sNuh1RE_UHkg4ihYjlJLsvZpjGnqAh-zGTrJZvjuoYsU/s1600/Falcon.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
It's the most wonderful time of the year...<br />
<br />
October 18.<br />
<br />
Gumshoe/B-Girl Day!<br />
<br />
Have a party celebrating the cinematic release of The Maltese Falcon!<br />
<br />
Take pictures!Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-4394069112029690622015-10-03T05:34:00.004-07:002015-10-03T05:34:35.615-07:00A Couple of Flash Jabs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1JD_sqRWmTL3RSTpB-oc1l023zqkontSbzQEK4lnf1r2CU_QtXjB7aPOOfIp7TubYdjMb8Pv9PC2aYVdz_b9C0ZuRKU37YEd01_iO6c6MezDONYncsX7xqRtx2mUma55QUAqNOVZ9b8/s1600/11856422_10153614642966383_2909806035530151816_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1JD_sqRWmTL3RSTpB-oc1l023zqkontSbzQEK4lnf1r2CU_QtXjB7aPOOfIp7TubYdjMb8Pv9PC2aYVdz_b9C0ZuRKU37YEd01_iO6c6MezDONYncsX7xqRtx2mUma55QUAqNOVZ9b8/s320/11856422_10153614642966383_2909806035530151816_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Shattered</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>photo by Brittnay LaMeau</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A pair of fine flash jabs are here for your enjoyment. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first is from Seana Graham. <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Seana Graham is a book reviewer and blogger living in Santa Cruz,</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">California. She writes short stories and longer fiction when she can fit</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">them in. Her most recent story "The Rival" was published by the online</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">FlashFlood Journal on this year's National Flash-Flood Fiction Day in</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">June.</span></span><div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">The second comes from Morgan Boyd. Also from Santa Cruz, California. He lives there with </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">his wife and two cats. He enjoys reading and writing crime fiction and spending time outdoors.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Enjoy the reads and leave our two guests some feedback.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; text-indent: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9.5pt; text-indent: 0in;">Black and White and Red All Over</span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 9.5pt; text-indent: 0in;">by Seana Graham</span></div>
<br />
Flores the doorman led George over to show him where the accident had<br />
happened. There was glass on the floor and a viscous clotted red substance<br />
oozing out all over. George blanched.<br />
<br />
“Hombre!” Flores said, clasping his shoulder. “It’s not what you think.<br />
It’s jelly.” He bent over to read a scrap of label still clinging to the<br />
jar. “Red currant.”<br />
<br />
“I know what it is,” George said. “I hate the stuff.”<br />
<br />
“Well, hate it all you want, but get it out of here before someone else<br />
complains.” Flores glanced toward the entrance and then rushed back to<br />
greet one of the residents.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t just the jelly, though, George thought. It was the black and<br />
white floor, the shattered glass. It was like one of those reenactments<br />
you saw on television—the scene of the crime.<br />
***<br />
When they were teenagers, George and his pal Eddie used to meet up in the<br />
evening, pick some stranger out and follow them. When they started, it was<br />
just for laughs. Once they’d followed a rich guy and stolen his umbrella<br />
while he was preoccupied with a phone call. Another time they’d followed a<br />
young mother with too many kids and swooped up a package she’d dropped<br />
without even noticing. At first it was fun, but after awhile it was just<br />
too tame.<br />
<br />
Eddie was the best at picking out the old and vulnerable. At first it was<br />
just bums—some derelict would buy a bottle of cheap booze at a bodega and<br />
they’d follow him to wherever he settled down to drink it. Roll him when<br />
he passed out. It was easy, but barely worth their time, or that’s how<br />
Eddie saw it.<br />
<br />
It was George who noticed that it wasn’t just the bums but the elderly who<br />
also shopped at the little corner markets. He wondered at their lives,<br />
holed up in those warrenlike apartments and only scurrying out now and<br />
then to get a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, some canned soup. Pathetic,<br />
yes, but pathetic didn’t necessarily mean poor. Sure, some were just<br />
living from one Social Security check to the next, but a few would have<br />
some real money on them. One old lady had a roll of bills wedged in the<br />
bottom of her purse. George tried not to think how it might be her life<br />
savings, but Eddie only laughed. How could anyone be such a damn fool as<br />
to carry around so much cash?<br />
<br />
One night as they were scoping out a corner grocery, they saw a little old<br />
man bundled up in an enormous coat walk in. Eddie had keen eyes and nudged<br />
George when the old guy paid. “That’s the one,” he said.<br />
<br />
George didn’t like it somehow, even from the beginning. But he’d picked a<br />
lousy target the night before, an old lady who was sprier than they<br />
thought and who’d chased them down the street hurling abuse, so he had to<br />
go along with it.<br />
<br />
They were relieved to find that the guy lived in a building with no<br />
doorman. There was just a small ugly foyer with black and white tile and a<br />
further door you had to have a key to, which is what the man was<br />
struggling with when they’d come up on him from behind. Eddie shoved him<br />
forward into the door, a technique he’d developed or maybe seen on some TV<br />
show. He was proud of it. This time, though, the old man was pushed into<br />
his own shopping bag, which burst, spilling its contents on the floor. A<br />
jar exploded against the ground and a shard flew up, puncturing the old<br />
man’s neck. He looked at them with alarmed and yet still somehow docile<br />
eyes (George would never forget their meekness) and then slid slowly to<br />
the floor. George knelt down to help him, which was when he saw the label<br />
on the jar. Boyer’s Red Currant Jelly.<br />
<br />
“Are you some kind of freakin’ idiot?” Eddie screamed. “Come on!” And so<br />
they’d run out into the street and left the guy. They never did find out<br />
what happened to him. Didn’t dare.<br />
<br />
***<br />
George swept the glass up and began to swab the floor. The jelly was all<br />
gone now but the floor still pooled with red tinged water.<br />
<br />
Some stains never really do come out, he thought, and sighed as he wrung<br />
out the mop before dipping it again into the bucket of now slightly dirty<br />
soap suds.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p>####################################</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">Enology (The Study Of Wine)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">8/19/15<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">By Morgan Boyd<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Every minute or so, the
tiny apartment filled with screams from the nearby
rollercoaster. Raymond came in the front door, and set a bottle of
wine down on a cluttered coffee table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“Rothschild, 2009,” he
said, reading the label.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “Where’d
you get that?” George asked with a Coors Light in his hand as the
bass from a car stereo down the street vibrated the walls. “You
heard from Henry? We ain’t supposed to leave until we get word.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “I
ain’t heard from Henry. My sister texted me, and said her piece of
shit husband Steve was beating on her. I went over there to
straighten him out, gave him a new perspective on how to treat a
woman. After he came around to my point of view, I took this bottle off
his hands as compensation for my troubles.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “You
show him what for? Slap him around?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “When
I got there, Steve was standing in the front yard wearing a gi all ganked out
on yayo. When I came at him, he tried some karate bullshit, but I
smashed his nose. We ended up inside. He landed a few
punches, but it was just a matter of time before I got my hands on him, and
made him apologized to my sister. Apologies are important to me. They
show a level of humility that I can respect. I recommend the lit
match near the eyeball technique. I find it gets results.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “I
like to show guys a picture of their moms. You don’t have to say
much. They get onboard real quick. That’s how I get
results.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “I
don’t like bringing the moms into it. I can’t respect
that. This place got a corkscrew?” Raymond asked as a series of
rising sirens warned of some nearby peril.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “To
each his own,” George said, staring at his phone. “Try the drawer in
the kitchen. Google says this Rothchild is worth seven thousand
dollars.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “Steve’s
lucky he’s wealthy, and can afford to beat on my sister,” Raymond said, coming
back with the corkscrew. “Let’s see what rich people wine tastes
like.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> Raymond
uncorked the wine, and almost chugged it straight from the bottle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “Hold
up,” George said. “You’re supposed to let it breath, pour it in a
glass, swirl it around, sip but don’t swallow, taste the aromatic flavors, and
spit it out. Didn’t Henry teach you nothing? He loves
that shit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “Nah,
we never talked grapes. This place got glasses?” Raymond
said, setting the bottle on the coffee table before walking back to the kitchen
to investigate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> George
grabbed the bottle, and put it to his nose. It smelled
disgusting. All wine smelled like garbage to
George. Henry had taught him a thing or two about vino, but it still
tasted like trash to George. He stared at the label, sipping his Coors
Light, and wondering how something so stupid could cost so much? On
the bottom left hand corner of the label, George noticed something faintly
written in pencil. He looked closer, and saw a name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “Hey
Raymond,” George asked, standing up and pulling out his gun. “Remember that job
we did using the chainsaw haircut technique?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> “Sure,
the hippy,” Raymond said, holding a plastic cup in each hand. “We
got results.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
“Back then you told me you didn’t have
a sister,” George said as a car horn honked out on the street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>
</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-59924348595517280662015-08-08T11:26:00.001-07:002015-08-08T11:28:39.149-07:00Flash Jab Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lIwmmeA2DHLRws0U3sKvcD7uNDE7ObagxUzP1QEJZd_XkXsKuf09TTY2WXmDITP8VQ-dcE-9W1RfSU_XeBhDg1v7gb_wGkKsmPjmYbmQGQ_mA5mHhJT_3euTpLcmyeiCxVvVnweRbRg/s1600/11856422_10153614642966383_2909806035530151816_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lIwmmeA2DHLRws0U3sKvcD7uNDE7ObagxUzP1QEJZd_XkXsKuf09TTY2WXmDITP8VQ-dcE-9W1RfSU_XeBhDg1v7gb_wGkKsmPjmYbmQGQ_mA5mHhJT_3euTpLcmyeiCxVvVnweRbRg/s320/11856422_10153614642966383_2909806035530151816_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Shattered</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
All right! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Time to write!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's the September Flash Jab Challenge!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here are the requirements:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
1) Stories must be based on the above picture taken by the fabulous Ms. Brittany LaMeau.(She should not appear in your story. I'm just giving her props for the pic.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
2) Maximum 750 words</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
3) Due date September 30, 2015</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
4) Email to jacktheauthor@gmail.com (Please do not post story in comments.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
5) Flash Jab reserves the right to refuse a story for ethical, moral, and religious reasons. These don't have to be cozy but there are limitations to what I'll run.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
6) Minor editing may be done before posting.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
7) There is no prize. This is writing for the sake of writing. Readers may comment.</div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-10316982994926868272015-06-01T13:51:00.001-07:002015-06-01T13:51:21.025-07:00Pausing for AJWhen I started Flash Jab I had a kind of idea it would be a website for flash fiction with a noir twist. There were a bunch of other ones out there. I knew I was moving into a crowded market place. I started it for a variety of reasons but mostly because when I retire from my day job, I wanted to have something to do.<br />
<br />
Somewhere along the way I crossed paths with a guy named AJ Hayes. He may have been the first guy to ever submit to an open call. He quickly became a favorite here. Five of his pieces are archived. All you have to do is search the contributor's column to the right of this post. Each one resonates. He could really pack a punch in a few words.<br />
<br />
I always enjoyed his comments to other contributors. In fact, if AJ posted I knew I had chosen a good set of flash jabs. I waited to see what constructive criticism he'd leave for veteran writers or newbies. The criticisms were never trite, never bogus. He could be both supportive and critical in a single response.<br />
<br />
It's been a while since I posted here. It's been an even longer while since I put out a call for flash jabs. I checked on the last one several times just to see if there were any responses. I had chosen what I thought was a really good subject from a very talented photographer. I had gotten a mixed bag of flash jabs and I had posted what I thought were very solid stories.<br />
<br />
One thing that was missing was the usual response from AJ.<br />
<br />
A few weeks went by. The weeks become months. Still nothing from AJ. I figured he was working on something else or his attention was with a new website or project. One of the Yahoo groups he and I belonged to was no more. I didn't see him responding at the other one we had in common. We all get busy. I always assumed at some point he'd submit a piece for the next drabble or flash challenge or he would respond to someone's contribution.<br />
<br />
I've always been under the impression social media shrank the world, made news sharing faster and more prevalent.<br />
<br />
I was wrong.<br />
<br />
Somehow I missed his passing last year. I feel awful about it and I never even met him outside of this virtual world. I never heard him speak. Never shook his hand or shared a soda pop with him. Yet I feel like I did have those experiences with him, that we did shoot the sh*t with our elbows on the bar, our feet on the rail, our voices loud and boisterous.<br />
<br />
I miss his presence in these circles. And man, could that guy write.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-57771023129934995452014-10-12T09:54:00.004-07:002014-10-17T20:11:59.953-07:00AUTUMN DRABBLES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKsLLjNS-dS30Oi2rmI8queEECZ6i9dQNtgg4pB0LZRKAwNT4BDdeyM42_nBEq-NTCoRe6rDPaoSdJtLVKdaDmcmJcBQd_-aGVmWJeJ9-Mv9KY7zl7eiK9bsbBMZMBMxdzaBj4m3UduJA/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKsLLjNS-dS30Oi2rmI8queEECZ6i9dQNtgg4pB0LZRKAwNT4BDdeyM42_nBEq-NTCoRe6rDPaoSdJtLVKdaDmcmJcBQd_-aGVmWJeJ9-Mv9KY7zl7eiK9bsbBMZMBMxdzaBj4m3UduJA/s1600/unnamed.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>photo courtesy of Catherine Bertrand</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.3333320617676px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8666667938232px;"><span style="background: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 15.3333320617676px;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/CMBArts" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/CMBArts</a></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8666667938232px;"><br /></span></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 16.8666667938232px;"><i>I asked.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 16.8666667938232px;"><i>You wrote.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 16.8666667938232px;"><i>Now read.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 16.8666667938232px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 16.8666667938232px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">R U M O U R E D</span></b></div>
<b></b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">~ by Absolutely*Kate</span></b></b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Came
a time one night light flickered faster than sleet. White light. Easy to tell
Good Guys from Bad Guys light. So I thought. So she thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We
thought wrong. It’s a pisser when illumination screws with shadow-vision. <i>Illusions?</i> They’re more cracked up to be
what they flicker to be. But when light beams its pompous prevail? Bloody hell.
Get outta there!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Good
thing we did. Why I’m tellin’ this tale. Vern Volt was an electrician with a
spark to grind. Rumour was he crossed currents in 2-B so roomers were not to
be. We pulled the plug on him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">SHOULDA
KNOWN<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">~by
John Clark<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="text-align: left;">
“Boy I could use some of that polar whatsit crap, but there's
no way in hell I'll score any. Not a chance. Serves me right for hanging with a
bunch of stoners all day. Knew it was a dumb idea. After the first hit, I kinda
lost sight of the time. The gang blew town before this freezing crap hit. Can't
blame them. Temperature's gotta be close to freezing and that damn wind is
gonna knock me on my ass.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Default" style="text-align: left;">
Sadly not a soul was watching as sleet knocked the dazed Luna
Moth from the lamp post and into oblivion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Default" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Default" style="text-align: left;">
<b>SEE YOU TONIGHT<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="Default" style="text-align: left;">
<b>~by Lance Zarimba</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Default" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The light glowed from
his apartment window. She could see it from across the street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">She knew he was home.
The night's mist chilled her, and she pulled the trench coat tighter.</span><span style="color: #500050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He told her she was his
only one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">His
silhouette filled the window, and then there were two. They embraced and
kissed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“My Mother is coming to
visit. I can't see you tonight.”</span><span style="color: #500050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Your Mother, my ass.</span></i><span style="color: #500050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">She headed to the front
door of his building.</span><span style="color: #500050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He would see her
tonight.</span><span style="color: #500050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Her hand clenched around
the handle of the knife in her pocket.</span><span style="color: #500050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He would see her now!</span><span style="color: #500050; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"> <b>THE ONLY LIGHT</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">~by Kaye George<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He was drawn to the lone
streetlamp like a moth to a flame. Most of the street lay in inky darkness. The
rain had soaked through his hoodie and his jeans. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He turned his head to
the windows overhead, the only ones that were lighted. The small head in the
corner of the left one disappeared. Then reappeared. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The whiskey had addled
his brain, or maybe it was the crack. He knocked on the door to see if she
would let him in. Then he remembered. He had strangled her. How could she be
looking out the window at him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">UNDER THE STREET LAMP<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">~by </span></b><b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Carole Sojka</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Crossing
the square, I kept my head down, the sleet slashing me viciously. When I got
near the house, lighted by the street lamp, something attracted my
attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A
woman, dressed in black, leaned out of the open window on the third floor. If
she jumped or fell, I knew she would die. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Help
me,” I heard. Then something dragged her back from the window. I ran to the door and rang the bell. No
response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Help,”
I heard again, and something hurtled through the air and crashed at my feet. It
was the body of the woman in black.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">BEST SERVED COLD<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">– by Lucy Cameron<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
said standing under the lamppost was a mistake, I’d be seen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They
missed the point. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
smile at his peeking shadow. The sleet dissolves on my skin. His brain whirls,
racks through the past, searches for a younger version of my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">From
his slumber I’ll whisper, ‘Shhhh, don’t make a sound. You know you love it
really.’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
nails will scratch his cheek, my breath burn his face. I’ll revel at my
reflection in his black eyes as he did to me all those years ago. As he
finished. And plunged in the knife. Not quite deep enough.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>UNTITLED</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>- by Al P</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #373737; font-family: 'Volkhov Regular'; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21.3333339691162px;">Harry, barely five years old, fled from his mum's flat when she fetched the switch yet again. After a breathless run in a pelting rain, he stopped and saw a blinding street lamp outside an apartment building. Squinting, he saw a huge helmeted English Bobbie standing watch. Harry thought the corner unit looked empty even though a light shone through it's window. But it was the next unit which confused him. That apartment showed a shadow sitting by the window. Harry couldn't decide if the shadow posed a threat or not. He was soaking wet. He stood there shivering, wishing he had brought a jacket and an umbrella.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
About the Authors<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
Absolute Kate is just--- well--- absolute energy. Frantic comes to mind
and that’s a bit of okay, okay?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">John Clark is a librarian with an extensive
mental health background. He lives in the 'other Maine', the one tourists never
see, or avoid like the plague. When not writing or running a library, he reads,
gardens and sells stuff for way too much money online.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
Lance Zarimba lives in a haunted house that the man who invented Old
Dutch potato chips built. He wrote,
Vacation Therapy, and three children's books: Oh No, Our Best Friend is a
Zombie, Oh No, Our Best Friend is a Vampire, and Oh No, My Brother is
Frankenstein’s Monster, and has over 100 short stories in print.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
Kaye George, national bestselling and multiple-award-winning mystery
writer, writes several series: Imogene Duckworthy, Cressa Carraway (Barking
Rain Press), People of the Wind (Untreed Reads), and, as Janet Cantrell, Fat
Cat (Berkley Prime Crime cozies). Her short stories appear in anthologies and
magazines as well as her own collection, A Patchwork of Stories. Her reviews
run in Suspense Magazine. She lives in Knoxville, TN.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://kayegeorge.com/">http://kayegeorge.com/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
Carole Sojka was a law office administrator before she started writing
mysteries, the first of which is now available on Amazon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Lucy Cameron lives in Scotland, enjoys writing,
red wine and cheese - in any order. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-33178291546155268882014-09-09T17:19:00.000-07:002014-09-09T17:19:13.526-07:00AUTUMN DRABBLE CHALLENGE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Pvuw-Rki3G7eOOAXjtyaPp1Xs9r3_AuJo0o6pOzZ5c6GiOtHqxZiFiFnmuH4Vqq8pQjPi12Gdm1Ob1-wRx3eWM2yXjLc41i2XmPdLF24NnnjWvwoK2TYMH25t-qncEAm7m4i2pt30LM/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Pvuw-Rki3G7eOOAXjtyaPp1Xs9r3_AuJo0o6pOzZ5c6GiOtHqxZiFiFnmuH4Vqq8pQjPi12Gdm1Ob1-wRx3eWM2yXjLc41i2XmPdLF24NnnjWvwoK2TYMH25t-qncEAm7m4i2pt30LM/s1600/unnamed.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>photo courtesy of Catherine Bertrand</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="background: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/CMBArts" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/CMBArts</a></span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Guidelines:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">1) Pieces must be 100 words exactly (not including title) and are to be based on the above picture.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">2) Submit it to me at jacktheauthor@gmail.com by 11:59:59 pm October 15.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">3) Selected drabbles will appear here</span></div>
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Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-72836041129803391802014-06-01T17:19:00.000-07:002014-06-05T16:53:05.354-07:00Summer Drabbles 2014<i>Below are the responses to Flash Jabs summer Drabble challenge. A drabble is a story that is exactly 100 words (not including the title.) Each drabble was based on the same photograph.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzfc3-is42yicQ_GFj-vKP4FMPM4iZa-ljIH8nJxJdJ5dJQo2KclxN6D_JsdrXGIdxAqqYnAEaTaOInYHZI0q7IlDH4lygjVMzOZiBCqC2KVIZxAd7G2Z3y-b6PulkjTBce7k59e1p1DE/s1600/Shadow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzfc3-is42yicQ_GFj-vKP4FMPM4iZa-ljIH8nJxJdJ5dJQo2KclxN6D_JsdrXGIdxAqqYnAEaTaOInYHZI0q7IlDH4lygjVMzOZiBCqC2KVIZxAd7G2Z3y-b6PulkjTBce7k59e1p1DE/s1600/Shadow.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Shadows</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Birthday Afternoon Dilemma</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<br />
Colin’s shadow mirrored his movement as he passed the decaying wall.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
It reminded him of another, seven hundred miles away. His cousin and best
friend's</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
names were etched in its shiny black granite. What was it about walls anyhow?</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
Did they keep you in or keep the world out?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He shrugged; it was too complicated for him to figure out.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
This was his daughter's birthday and if he was late, Norma would squeeze him
for extra support as usual.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
No way did he want to disappoint a three year old. He waved goodbye to his
shadow and hurried on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-John Clark</div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Senior Games</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">We sat on the porch of Harmony House rocking,
and drinking iced tea. Bertram</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">pointed to a shadow on the wall across the
street and said, "Like clouds,</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">you can see different things in shadows.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;"> "Let's try the shadow behind that man
at the bus stop."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">I said okay; the others thought it was silly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">Bertram said. "It's a man carrying a box
with an arrow through his neck."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">Before I could go the man fell over and I could
see someone had shot an</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">arrow through his neck.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">"Good guess," Bertram said, backing
into the home with a bow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">-Paul Beckman<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hot Summer Nights</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had a wife named
Maria. Our red sedan entered the intersection on green. Robert
Green was drunk. His blue pickup entered the intersection on red.
Maria died that hot summer night. Robert Green went to prison. I
went to a different kind of prison. Robert Green educated himself.
I intoxicated myself. Robert Green was paroled and found a wife named
Sarah. I had a wife named Maria. On a hot summer night, Robert
Green left his window unlocked. The shades were drawn and my silhouette
materialized among the shadows of branches. Now Robert Green has no wife
named Sarah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">-</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Morgan Boyd<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>Untitled </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span>
<span id="yiv7309578415yui_3_13_0_9_1399383898918_25" style="border: 0px; color: #555555; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Raymond Brown's friends had disappeared and he was walking alone now with his head down, dragging his heavy sack behind him. Raising his eyes, he peered at a sudden gigantic shadow which stretched across the street and climbed half-way up the back of a house.</span><span id="yiv7309578415yui_3_13_0_9_1399383898918_27" style="border: 0px; color: #555555; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> How menacing that dark figure looked. He grabbed his phone and snapped a picture. Checking the photo, a big smile spread across his face. How menacing that dark figure looked. Wait until everybody saw all his candy, and the awesome shadow which made his Batman costume look ten feet tall. This was going to be the best Halloween ever! </span><br />
<span style="border: 0px; color: #555555; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #555555; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Verdana, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">-Al Parrot</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #555555; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Verdana, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">The Colour of Shadows </u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
boy wonders what it would be like if shadows had colour. Would angry shadows be
red? Happy shadows yellow? Would a shadow cast in spring be fresh and green? He
forgets himself for a moment and smiles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">His
father’s shadow looms up the wall, crisper in sunlight. The boy does not need
to see the restraints to know they are there.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">‘Come
out come out wherever you are, I can see you.’ Father’s voice echoes off the
brickwork. The boy’s smile dries, sticks his upper lip to his teeth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">If
shadows had colour his father’s would still be black. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">-</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Lucy Cameron</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-44231127503287899182014-05-05T17:07:00.000-07:002014-05-05T17:07:17.453-07:00SUMMER DRABBLE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPRhUM6rwd5SCyJB-_yBUnYwjn9sRJ8tdS7xUrySoNAcxYx4bQxaHlSsZo0LUxhiT3MTBFUHEOCGAfRENJa_sqtyrG8QMmFQpUSBqVVJbRLI_l0adD-mOSv-Pcsr30rkXGgeXNklH6_o/s1600/Shadow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPRhUM6rwd5SCyJB-_yBUnYwjn9sRJ8tdS7xUrySoNAcxYx4bQxaHlSsZo0LUxhiT3MTBFUHEOCGAfRENJa_sqtyrG8QMmFQpUSBqVVJbRLI_l0adD-mOSv-Pcsr30rkXGgeXNklH6_o/s1600/Shadow.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Shadows</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>What? </b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Summer is almost here?</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>All that time on your hands.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>What to do? What to do...</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>How about writing a Drabble?</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">
<b>The rules for the challenge are simple:</b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">
<b> 1)100 words exactly (not including title)</b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">
<b>2) Use this picture as the inspiration for you piece</b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">
<b>3) Submit to me at jacktheauthor@gmail.com before 11:59:59 pm on June 1</b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">
<b>4) </b><b>There's no money involved. </b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">
<b>5) </b><b style="background-color: transparent;">Drabbles chosen will be posted on or around June 2</b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">
<b style="background-color: transparent;">6) You keep all rights and allow me to post your piece for the world to read.</b></div>
<div style="background-color: #fff9ee; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">
<b style="background-color: transparent;">7) If you later find another market, I will remove your story</b></div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-60808052019969149242014-02-28T15:11:00.002-08:002014-03-18T17:32:00.688-07:00February Drabbles<i><b>I asked. You answered. Here the responses to the first Drabble challenge of 2014. The 100 word stories were based on a photo from my friend, Sarah Bevan.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Read. Enjoy. Leave some support in the comments.</b></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDDd9TyjZaw-p6iqXaYhFRT_vg9C4VHaP8kffSDUOqwNqWQFMtVn6GJHnvNwuPkUXxK3for44ZcdaP0MU5bKV2MebQR0WG8VAJ_CBFxLdDPPVnO0yjzd_zRFmj_uxjZmNz-HxKXQHIqk/s1600/New+England+Farm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDDd9TyjZaw-p6iqXaYhFRT_vg9C4VHaP8kffSDUOqwNqWQFMtVn6GJHnvNwuPkUXxK3for44ZcdaP0MU5bKV2MebQR0WG8VAJ_CBFxLdDPPVnO0yjzd_zRFmj_uxjZmNz-HxKXQHIqk/s1600/New+England+Farm.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Distance </i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(c) 2014 Sarah Bevan</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lot’s wife turned to
salt when she looked back on Sodom. Once, Ellie thought the farm was Sodom, or
some other unimaginable place where all that was good and just fell to evil
men. John was the devil encased in overalls and farmer charm. Blood streaked
overalls; the neighbors thought chicken or pig, never wife, scarred beneath the
dress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Two angels descended
last night with ski-masks, their swords pump action. They didn’t come to rescue
her, but the rescue of Lot’s wife wasn’t the point. They told her not to look
back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She looked back. She
didn’t turn to salt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>-Liam McSweeny<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Liam Sweeny is an author and
disaster relief volunteer from Upstate NY.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>_________________________________________________________________________________<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Jennifer prayed this was the
right farm. They all looked alike. Three
hours of walking already and more hours to return home. She had to see Frank, but didn't realize his
farm was so distant. She was hungry and already getting tired. Her feet ached.
The trip was more arduous and colder than expected, and she was wearing thin
flats, a long dress and light sweater. Drawing closer, she recognized Frank's
battered pickup truck. Striding to the farm house and removing her sweater to
show him his unborn daughter, Jennifer removed her gun from her shoulder bag
and rang the bell.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>-Al Parrot<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Al Parrott is a retired phys. ed.
teacher whose first goal is to have a short story published in Ellery Queen
Mystery Magazine.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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_________________________________________________________________________________</div>
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From a distance, the farm looked perfect. Waving grass glittered in the
sunlight. She watched a meadowlark take flight, a silhouette against the sky.
The beat of its wings matched the beat of her racing heart. She followed its
flight until it reached the trees. “Freedom,” she whispered. That was what she
wanted. The wind carried the smell of cows and manure to her nostrils. She
looked down to the milking barn and saw her mother and father slogging buckets
through the mud. “No turning back,” she said, “I’ve got to go now.” And she
turned back toward her car.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>-Jennifer Beatty<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jennifer Beatty lives in the
mountains of North Carolina with her husband and three kids.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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_________________________________________________________________________________</div>
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Halfway down the hill she took her shoes off. The hurt in her heart
made the blisters pale in comparison. She sat on a weather-beaten log and
stared down at the farm, not really seeing anything. She was too busy reliving
their last conversation. It had been so brief, confusing and unexpected she
wondered whether she'd been hallucinating. 1500 miles lay between this terrible
pain and home where she could hide until the ache faded to numbness. Getting
here had seemed so full of anticipation, but now, she was faced with reality.
The magic was gone, and so was he.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>-John Clark <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">John R. Clark is a Maine
librarian, book reviewer and author of YA fiction and short crime stories.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>_________________________________________________________________________________<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Belinda paused to stare at the distant farm buildings, a refuge she
hoped. The ad requested a nanny to take care of three young children. His wife
a victim of cancer, he couldn’t run the farm and raise the kids alone.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The sounds of laughter put a smile on Belinda’s face. The smell of
dormant fields and the bleats of sheep greeted her from afar. It seemed the
perfect place to hide, to escape her own father. She inhaled a deep breath, let
it out, and continued toward her new home, the gun in her purse adding to her
confidence.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>-Jim Harrington<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jim is a father who never
required the services of a nanny—thank goodness. Read more of his stories at
http://jpharrington.blogspot.com/</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>________________________________________________________________________________<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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She’d been working on her G.E.D. in prison before they let her out. It
was</div>
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just a way to pass the time. That’s how she’d learned about Zeno’s</div>
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Paradox, though, the one that said you could never get to your
destination</div>
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because how could you cross the infinitude of points that came before
it?</div>
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Later mathematicians came up with their own solutions to the problem.
But</div>
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as she finally crossed that last short distance to the house where
she’d</div>
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killed her stepfather (though pleading self-defense), Janna hoped that</div>
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somehow the old Greek philosopher had been right about it all along.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>-</b><b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Seana Graham</span></b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Seana Graham lives in Santa Cruz,
California, where she writes blogs,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">book reviews and, just
occasionally, a short story or two.</span><o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">_____________________________________________________________________________________________</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"Looking Forward"<br />by John Weagly</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #555555; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.4em; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 5px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #555555; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.4em; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 5px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span>She dyed her hair the color of wheat before she returned to the farm.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The homestead looked so small from the hill, smaller than when she'd disappeared.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Would they remember her?<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span>Was five years too long?<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span>Did they think she was dead?<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span>The golden hair might help, they'd called her their "golden-haired girl" when they looked at photos from when she was born.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">She hadn't understood them, and they couldn't comprehend her.<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span>At that chaotic teenage time it's a common tale.<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span>Running away to the city had seemed the only release.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #555555; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.4em; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 5px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Now returning home seemed the only salvation.</span></span></div>
</div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-11003675707894387502014-01-24T13:36:00.001-08:002014-01-24T13:36:53.410-08:00 Drabble Challenge #1 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRh1wEWb_iBLW8xNqhb9e7XFd2cc7-_-NuLZ-anbKHtIx9kWiJF-3YPeMli-vaf6aMHYP8nV2hEp3BrcMvuq76vOs9r6sxfvGGXb7ShTuU-ToYcfSPvW_fFmYHMT9_vsIqbiYIhjdBOtM/s1600/New+England+Farm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRh1wEWb_iBLW8xNqhb9e7XFd2cc7-_-NuLZ-anbKHtIx9kWiJF-3YPeMli-vaf6aMHYP8nV2hEp3BrcMvuq76vOs9r6sxfvGGXb7ShTuU-ToYcfSPvW_fFmYHMT9_vsIqbiYIhjdBOtM/s1600/New+England+Farm.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Distance</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>The rules for the challenge are simple:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b> 1)100 words exactly</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>2) Use this picture as the inspiration for you piece</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>3) Submit to me at jacktheauthor@gmail.com before 11:59:59 pm on February 28.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>There's no money involved. Stories chosen will be posted here.</b></div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-8207795751813448522013-07-01T10:03:00.000-07:002013-07-01T10:05:53.852-07:00Summer Drabbles<i>I asked. You responded. Sit back, read, and leave some praise!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFmrTgTi2d93G8-z_5VY4A12wBYPpC4ZNhb2iisenN1skhqUsrbBQO37tIbuDWRv06eTYtm01huUsjqOXwFLspZ6JPopod8WBcfQaCbTrAKAtFBZxkg7RxXgZGF9rlLKgxqxRLNBuZoQ/s800/IMAG0146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFmrTgTi2d93G8-z_5VY4A12wBYPpC4ZNhb2iisenN1skhqUsrbBQO37tIbuDWRv06eTYtm01huUsjqOXwFLspZ6JPopod8WBcfQaCbTrAKAtFBZxkg7RxXgZGF9rlLKgxqxRLNBuZoQ/s320/IMAG0146.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Oldest Ent <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">by
Kaye George</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The first sign was a
slight twinge of pain at the core of his being. Then he noticed hordes of
strange insects crawling up his trunk. He was used to the usual bugs, but these
ate voraciously and nonstop.</span><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> High
winds came, and drenching, life-giving rain. But the insects kept coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> One
day he realized that his core was gone, eaten away, nothing left of it. He
peered down the length of his body through his glasses. The axe men were here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> First,
the yellow painted X. Then the chainsaws. Finally, he became a stump. They left
him his glasses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: x-small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kaye George, Guppy president, two-time Agatha
Nominee/<br />
Imogene Duckworthy Mystery series/<br />
EINE KLEINE MURDER, now out!/<br />
DEATH IN THE TIME OF ICE, coming in June from Untreed Reads/<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: x-small; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">FAT CAT cozy series, writing as Janet
Cantrell, coming 2014/<br />
<a href="http://kayegeorge.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">http://kayegeorge.com/</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Upon Reflection <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">by John R. Clark<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The jay
thought the shiny thing on the fence post was his. Scolding skreaks battered my
ears as I picked up the sadly familiar glasses. The last time I'd seen them,
they had been perched on Uncle Jake's nose while I read over the biopsy report.
When I finished, I knew what would happen, but not when.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">After
he'd been absent for three days, I headed to the lower pasture, his favorite
part of the family farm, gut roiling because of the missing shotgun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Changed
my mind, I can't go ugly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I
smiled sadly and took him home to die.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">John Clark, YA and mystery
author is a Maine librarian who blogs regularly on the Maine Crime Writer's
website.</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">S.H.C.</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">by Darren Sant<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The press did their usual lazy job and simply called it S.H.C. The truth
is no one knew where Joel disappeared to. Crazy theories spread through the neighborhood
like fleas on a cat. Yes, he'd just been jilted at the altar. Yes, the woodland
lodge he called home had been abandoned with the door ajar and Kenny Rogers
playing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But the best that Ford County Sheriff's Department could come up with
when they found a just a pair of glasses and some smoking hiking boots? Well it
had to be Spontaneous Human Combustion, didn't it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
</span><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://www.darrensant-writer.yolasite.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc;">http://www.darrensant-writer.yolasite.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Street Justice<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">By Wayne Zurl<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jamal
Willie Walker raped and murdered a six-year-old girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We
traced him to a tenement in Brownsville.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
kicked in the door and my partner covered the room. As it swung open, Walker
grabbed an automatic from the dinette table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Two
against one,” I said. “No matter what you’re dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Whoa,
Man. No trouble here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He
raised his hands, still holding the pistol. Light reflected from his
eyeglasses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Paul,”
I said, “Go outside. Make sure those uniforms cover the fire escape. The
window’s open.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Close
the door.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fifteen
seconds later. “You burned that girl with a cigarette. Sayonara, sport.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Wayne Zurl writes the popular Sam Jenkins crime stories for Mind
Wings Audio</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Brother’s Keeper<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">By Katt Dunsmore<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Marty leaned on his
shovel, shoved his glasses up on his forehead, and wiped his face with a sweat
stained bandana. Looking around, he shoved the bandana into his back pocket and
started to dig.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Later, Marty stood waist deep in the hole he’d dug.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“I think this is good enough,” he said, and climbed out of
the hole. He stepped over to a nearby tree trunk, took off his glasses, and set
them down.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">A moment later, a shot rang out. There was a thud.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Marty began to fill in the hole. He hated cleaning up after
his brother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright 2013 Tonya D Dunsmore. All rights reserved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Katt Dunsmore is a Native American short
story author, and an illustrator. You can find her on facebook and twitter.</span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<b><u><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Vergence
</span></u></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">by Scott Dingley<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I got
old young.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Inheriting the farm after my folks died, I made my first trip
back in years. By the edge of the corn field, I found my grandfather's
eyeglasses in the dust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The lenses dull, spidery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I wrapped the wire arms around my ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Lost focus...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Visions: the man who wore these, bitter and violent; dad hiding
out in the corn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">I hid too, ‘til dark. In the mirror, even with the eyeglasses
discarded again, the old man stares back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">This happened yesterday. I been here ever since, never getting
around to selling the place like I planned.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Scott Dingley is a </i><i><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">London-based writer with a few novellas under his belt as
well as some short fiction published by A Twist of Noir, Near to the Knuckle
and 101 Fiction</span></i><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">.</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-63649387630336126572013-05-22T08:44:00.000-07:002013-05-22T09:05:52.039-07:00Drabble Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFmrTgTi2d93G8-z_5VY4A12wBYPpC4ZNhb2iisenN1skhqUsrbBQO37tIbuDWRv06eTYtm01huUsjqOXwFLspZ6JPopod8WBcfQaCbTrAKAtFBZxkg7RxXgZGF9rlLKgxqxRLNBuZoQ/s1600/IMAG0146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFmrTgTi2d93G8-z_5VY4A12wBYPpC4ZNhb2iisenN1skhqUsrbBQO37tIbuDWRv06eTYtm01huUsjqOXwFLspZ6JPopod8WBcfQaCbTrAKAtFBZxkg7RxXgZGF9rlLKgxqxRLNBuZoQ/s320/IMAG0146.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"<i>Peering</i>"</div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Drabble: Telling a story in exactly 100 words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Can you do it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">It's almost summer! Time for a Flash Jab Drabble Challenge. The drabbles will be based on the picture posted on the web site: <a href="http://flashjab.blogspot.com/">Flash Jab Fiction</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Here are the rules:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">1) This is writing for the sake of writing. No fees or payments will be made or trophies given.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">2) Chosen drabbles will be posted here at Flash Jab.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">3) Stories must be exactly 100 words (not including title or byline)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">4) Email responses to me at jacktheauthor@gmail.com</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">5) Please submit by June 30, 2013, by 11:59 p.m.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">6) Flash Jab reserves the right not to post submissions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">7) No bigotry, pornography, or anything featuring the exploitation of children will be considered.</span></div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-22908656825417535402013-02-02T14:09:00.000-08:002013-02-02T14:56:05.497-08:00Drabble: Along the Beach<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Drabble:
Telling a story in exactly 100 words. <o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>I put the challenge out a month ago. The stories were to be based on this generic shot I took on an east coast beach. I tampered with it in Picasa. Liked what I saw. Posted it and invited you to share your ideas (or in some cases, nightmares). Below are six brave writers who picked up the baton and turned out some solid stories in 100 words.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>Dig it.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">~JackBates</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZMyGnzp02mHbdOCxK74pfAZMSXpoTVkoXAO-Y84hfecVts-GxR5SyVF7ZmVtySP0cnvdIWwcULHoNwkK9KNG3LE1vSHcL5H90HUqFmut0pVMEWWfrWwG6Va3v49wtharVjyvlLTCu9E/s1600/IMGP4523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZMyGnzp02mHbdOCxK74pfAZMSXpoTVkoXAO-Y84hfecVts-GxR5SyVF7ZmVtySP0cnvdIWwcULHoNwkK9KNG3LE1vSHcL5H90HUqFmut0pVMEWWfrWwG6Va3v49wtharVjyvlLTCu9E/s320/IMGP4523.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">Along the Beach</span></b></i></td></tr>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Bitch, the Beach, and the Cub Scout</span></b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
by Jim Harrington<br />
<br />
Karl spotted the woman and boy through the rifle sight. He knew three things
about the witch. Her ass was way too big to be wearing a thong, the kid wasn't
his, and she and her lawyer shouldn't have stole his money. He'd taken
care of the lawyer. Now it was her turn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
He found her easily. She always complained about not going to that famous
Daytona Beach.<br />
<br />
"Bitch," Karl mumbled.<br />
<br />
The boy giggled and ran away from the waves. Karl lowered the rifle, wiped the
salty sweat from his eyes, and smiled. Maybe tomorrow would be better, he
thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Seasick<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">by
John Clark<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I pitied everyone in the Bayport Motel. They
were, to put it bluntly, screwed and there wasn't a thing I could do to change
that. I closed my eyes and fought the nausea threatening to send eggs over easy
and maple-flavored bacon onto the granite outcropping that was all that stood
between me and 500 feet of nothing. I wasn't afraid of heights. No, my fear was
fueled by the images running through my head as I imagined the scene below just
a few minutes from now. I turned and began climbing higher, as the giant wave
filled the horizon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">SCENE
CHANGER<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~
By Absolutely*Kate<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"> “What a crummy room. Can’t even see the sea.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Sighting
seas ain’t what we came here to do Barney. Boss sent us on a job. Here, we
perch over Mango Bay’s comings and goings. Do our business, nail the next one,
walk beachfront, jibber-jabber later. Got it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Well
sure Fred, ya put it that way. Where d’we get started?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Now
you’re talkin’. Help me lift this tarp, angle the body right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Ya
sure this caper will work? Won’t they stink when they’re dead?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Nah.
Sprayed this baby. She’s a beaut! Boss said make it look natural.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Fish-Décor.
Who’da thunk?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Yabba-dabba-do!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Along
The Beach<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">by
Darren Sant</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Max sat on the roof
looking out over the beach. Grey waves kissed the pebble strewn expanse of
sand like a long lost lover. He sucked on his cigar and blew smoke
upwards. It hung in the air for a moment before the wind took it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A lone gull cried a
mournful tale causing Max to nod. It shouldn't have been like this, there
was no need for the betrayal. Max sighed knowing there was no other way.
The business would carry on regardless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As the sea carried his
partner's body away Max climbed back in through the open skylight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Ebb Tidings<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">by </span></b><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;">Walt Giersbach</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gloria was in that
motel when the hurricane hit the Jersey shore. She was ten miles out
to sea or in a shark’s stomach when they finally let people return to
town. The sea mocked my salty tears as I walked the dunes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“We’ve all lost our
past,” a cop said when he saw me crying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Gloria DeLillo was my
fiancée,” I choked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Miss
DeLillo? Long gone. We thought it was her body in the
motel, but ID in the lady’s pocket said otherwise. We’ve got an APB
out on her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“She’s alive!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.25pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Well, until we charge
her with murder.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Summer Sunset</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;">By Katt Dunsmore<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;">Sarah stood on the balcony, sipping champagne
and watching the tide come in as the sun sank behind the sea. She could see
Mark, out by the shore. She raised a hand and waved, unsure if he could see
her. She was, naturally, mostly in shadow; he was out in the dying rays of the
sun. Soon, she would go to him. As Sarah walked out to the edge of the water,
she would get her feet wet in the spray as she made her way to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;">There shouldn’t be much left. Vampires did so
poorly in direct sunlight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;">©
Copyright 2013 Tonya D Dunsmore. All rights reserved.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;">Tonya "Katt"
Dunsmore</span></i><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 10pt;"> <span style="background: white;">is an
American short story writer and</span> <span style="background: white;">illustrator.
Her stories and essays have appeared in</span> <span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Crime and Suspense Magazine</span><span style="background: white;">,</span> <span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Flashing in the</span> <span style="background: white;">Gutters, Flashshots, Mouth Full of
Bullets, Associated Content, Silver Moon Magazine, Bewildering Stories, and
Flash Jab Fiction, and in the anthologies, The EX-Factor: Justified Endings to
Bad Exes (Koboca Publishing, 2006), Daily Bites of Flesh 2011 (Pill Hill Press,
2011), Daily Flash 2012 (Pill Hill Press, 2012), and Daily Frights 2012 (Pill
Hill Press, 2012.</span> <span style="background: white;">Her
illustrations and graphics have appeared in several publications and on the
internet<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
</div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-88798841403659850792012-11-21T09:29:00.002-08:002012-11-21T09:34:24.966-08:00Morning Before a MurderA while back, late last summer I think it was, Kaye George and I tried creating a Miss Marple type character. Mildred Morning's background is a bit sketchy. Kaye's story ran here for a while. Now I'm putting up mine. I invite anyone who reads these to contribute his or her own story about Mildred. Keep it around 1,000 words. Send it to me at jacktheauthor@gmail.com<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The heroine is Mildred Morning.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">The stories take place between 1935-1945, making
her 60-70.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Mildred was born in 1875. By 1940, she was an on
set tutor to child actors. Let's</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">imagine her as a tenacious, hardened Betty
White.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Her fiancé disappeared after the 1895 invasion
of Panama. She was 20, he was 23.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">Name: Martin Adler. Navy.</span><br />
<span style="background: white;">She lives alone in a West Hollywood bungalow
surrounded by aspiring stars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><b>MORNING BEFORE A MURDER</b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">The crazy red head was at it
again.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred Morning, the consummate
nosy neighbor, was also at it again. Sitting off to the side of the window that looked out on the red head’s
bungalow, Mildred cupped her Pall Mall inside her hand and listened to the
leggy dancer go at it with her latest date. She was going to be the next Myrna
Loy, the gal had told Mildred. That was
a summer ago. A year later, she was still entertaining midlevel studio execs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">If what she did was
entertaining. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Harry, don’t. Not that.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred laughed. There she went
being the innocent ingénue. ‘Don’t’ wasn’t in that gal’s vocabulary. Mildred
knew. Sometimes from her bungalow’s upstairs bedroom she could look down into
the red head’s bedroom window and see all the things she said ‘don’t’ to but
did do anyhow. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred took a final drag on
her cigarette. She flicked the butt out the window. The clock on the mantle
chimed nine. It was just about time for Jack Benny on the radio.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"> She passed the mantle to the stairs, stopping
to pick up the La Brea Tar Pits ashtray she kept there. The glass dish sat between the nautical chime clock
from Santa Monica and the Carlsbad Caverns paper weight. They were her personal
treasures given to her by Marty. When she looked at the knick knacks she
remembered him in his parade uniform, shipping out with those other brave boys
to go to the far away land of Panama. Marty never came back. The trinkets were
all she had to remember him by. To
anyone else the souvenirs were tchotsky, odds and ends not worth locking her
doors to protect.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Mildred went upstairs to her
bedroom where she settled down on her mattress. She put her teeth on a glass of
water on the nightstand and lifted the La Brea Tar Pits ash tray onto her
stomach. She lit a cigarette and settled down for the Benny show. An hour later she slept peacefully, the lit
cigarette burning safely on the face of a </span><span style="line-height: 14px;">woolly</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> mammoth.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">The slamming of car doors and
the wail of sirens startled her awake. The world wasn’t its normal, peaceful
self. Why? Fire. She remembered lighting
a cigarette. Had she fallen asleep smoking again?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">She sat up in bed knocking the
ashtray to the oval hook rug. Ash spilled. Mildred got out of bed and ground
the cooled ash into the carpet. She’d heard ash was good for the carpet. Her
heel twisted back and forth. She yawned, not feeling like she’d slept at all. It took her a moment to realize it was still
dark outside, that her house </span><span style="line-height: 14px;">wasn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> on fire, and that all the commotion was
coming from that crazy red head’s house next door.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred grabbed her housecoat
from the back of a chair near the bedroom window. Below her uniformed police
officers stood on the sidewalk and the concrete steps cut into the neighbor’s
raised lawn. Detectives in trench coats moved in and out of the house. The red head’s blonde roommate, also a studio
dancer but with lower expectations than the red head’s, sat on the porch swing
having a cigarette and crying. A
handsome, younger detective sat next to her, a Fedora tipped back on his head.
Evert few moments his hand went to the blonde’s knee. Mildred leaned over the sill of the open
window. It was too difficult hear from the loft.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred went back downstairs to
her rocker. Skipping the cigarette for the moment, she pulled the chair closer
to the window and strained her ears to pick up the conversation. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“She wanted the place to
herself tonight,” the blonde was saying.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Where were you?” the detective
asked.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“I was out.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“It would help if you told me
where. And if you we</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">re with anyone.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Is that important?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“It would establish your alibi
and eliminate you as a suspect.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“You think I did that to Lulu?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“No. Of course not.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">She couldn’t see it, but
Mildred was certain the detective’s hand was back on the blonde’s knee. Maybe
it was on her hand now. Mildred wanted to look but it was best she stayed where
she was, unseen, and out of the attention zone. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"> ‘Alibi my ass,’ Mildred thought. That young
dick was crafty. Most murders weren’t as random as people would believe.
Mildred knew that from reading Detective Magazine. It wasn’t like a well thought out Agatha
Christie. Most of the time murders were spur of the moment, crimes of passion. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Maybe Blondie came home to find
Red and her date having a go at it and the guy—what was his name? Mildred
searched for it. Harry. Maybe Harry was Blondie’s sawhorse. Maybe she didn’t
like the idea of her Harry sharing his pine with that dirty Red. Harry beats a
path and the two gals go at it like kittens over a saucer of milk. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">That detective knew what he was
doing, all right. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“When you say out,” the
detective said “were you with anyone else?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“A bunch of girls went over to
the Trocadero. We had just wrapped one of those water dance scenes for Mr.
Berkley’s latest project.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“So there were other people who
witnessed you at the Trocadero.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Yeah. There’s Shelly Martin
and Sylvie Abbott and Henrietta Barrymore. Oh, she’s not related to the
Barrymores. She just has the same last name.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“That’s good. Did you all have
fun?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Who </span><span style="line-height: 14px;">doesn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> have fun at Café
Trocadero?”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“Well, I </span><span style="line-height: 14px;">wouldn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> really know. </span><span style="line-height: 14px;">I've</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> never been.”<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Smooth, Mildred thought.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“How long have you lived in Los
Angeles?” Blondie asked.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Born here,” the detective
said.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“And you never been?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">The conversation had taken a
decidedly</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"> boring turn for Mildred. The red head was dead. The blonde had found
her. And some time in between when Mildred went upstairs to fall asleep to Jack
Benny and the blonde had come home, red had been murdered and Harry had skipped
out.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">The clock on her mantle chimed.
Mildred squinted at its dial in the dark. A little light spilled in from the
porch light next store. She walked over to check the time. It was only a little after eleven. Benny had
been on at nine. That meant the crime scene was less than two hours old. Harry could
be anywhere. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Only Harry hadn’t gone anywhere
at all. It took her a moment to realize someone stood in the alcove between her
front door and mantle. Harry stepped out
of the shadows and cupped a hand over Mildred’s mouth.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Don’t say anything, lady,”
Harry said. “You gotta help me.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Mildred </span><span style="line-height: 14px;">didn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> move. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“You gotta understand, it was
an accident. That Lulu, she liked it rough. Everyone said she did. It was just
playing. I gave her a push. She fell against the mantle. Hit her head. That’s
all. You believe me, don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred shook her head. Harry
got a little rougher with her.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“What do you know?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred put a hand on his wrist
to pull his hand away. He pushed harder.
Even in the dark she could see the anger in his eyes. Outside the window
the blonde laughed at something the young detective said. Both she and Harry
looked at the drift of the curtains as a breeze wafted through. When she looked
back at him, Harry was glaring at her.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“You heard it all, didn’t ya,
you old crow?” He clamped a hand against her throat. “Look, you gotta understand me. I’m not real
good with broads. Everyone in the mailroom says I want to get my cherry popped,
all I gotta do is tell Lulu Barel I’m some hotshot junior movie executive. What do I know about how to make movies? I’m
just a Joe looking for a job and a dame, right?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred shrugged. What did she
know, after all? To her, it was just a typical Saturday night for the red head.
Harry pleaded his case.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“So Lulu, she keeps asking me
ques</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">tions. What’s my next project? Who’s going to be in it? Do I think there’s
a part for her? All these questions and me, hell, I just want to get down to
the real business. I try giving her answers but I don’t know what to say. Lulu
catches on and she wants me to leave but I ain’t leaving till I get what I came
for. All she had to do was go along with it and I would have left.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Harry’s voice cracked. The
gravity of what he’d done weighed on him. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Mildred reached to the mantle.
The clock was too heavy for her to use but the paper weight was just right. It
fit comfortably in her hand. At first she thought about hitting him in the
temple with it but then she had a better idea.
She summoned her will to survive and heaved the globe at the window. Her
plan had been to toss it through the opening but her aim was off and it
shattered through the raised panes of glass. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">A uniformed officer stuck his
head in the window and shined a flashlight across the room. It lit up Harry and
Mildred.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Detective, in here!” the
officer said.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">Harry shoved Mildred backwards.
Years of teaching primary school before becoming an on set tutor had given her
legs of steel. She barely moved. Harry broke for the door. Mildred raised a
foot and snagged his ankle. Harry tumbled forward and fell face first into the
diamond shaped glass doorknob. When he tried to get up, she crowned him with
her fireplace poker.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">The front door flew open. The
young detective and another uniformed officer stood inside the alcove, their
guns trained on a dazed and moaning Harry. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Ma’am, are you all right?” the
young detective asked.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 115%;">“Oh, I’m fine,” Mildred said. “But
I think the next date this poor bastard has is with a chair at San Quentin.” <span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-49602268372891835392012-09-08T07:03:00.002-07:002014-10-16T12:45:38.848-07:00Mildred Morning: Swinging on a Star<i>Way back in June, I posted a challenge to the members of an online writing group of which I am a member. I'd watched a series of noir films on TMC and was taking notice of the great performances put in my the ancillary character actors. The idea occurred to me to take one of these background plot-advancers and move him or her to the front.</i><br />
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>So I created Mildred Morning, a sixty-something spinster with a somewhat nefarious past. I tried to keep her as simple as possible so anyone who wanted to contribute could add to Miss Morning's development. The basic idea was Miss Marple meets Sam Spade.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Fellow collaborator Kaye George took a stab at it. Below is her contribution. Give it a read. I think you'll enjoy!</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>SWINGING ON A STAR<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> by Kaye George</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was swinging on a star in the summer of 1948. I was in
Hollywood, greatest city on the planet. I was engaged to Tyrone Rivers, the
handsomest rising star of the silver screen there ever was. And we had an appointment
in a few days to look at a little bungalow we might want to rent after we got
hitched. His father was a politico in
Washington and his mother made the keenest paintings. She gave them away to
other politician's families. I hoped I'd get one some day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next afternoon, that world caved in on me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As soon as I got off work at the drug store, I hurried to
the set to watch Tyrone do his scenes. The place looked dead. Mike, the new camera
man drooped beside his dolly and the director's chair was empty.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What's buzzin' cousin," said Mike. He was an easy
guy to talk to.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I was about to ask you the same thing," I said.
"Where's everybody? Where's Tyrone?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"He didn't show up, doll. We were scheduled to shoot
his big scenes today. Acton only called a couple other actors in. We haven't
done much anything. If your lover boy shows up, he'd better duck when he sees
Acton coming." For some reason, Mike didn't seem to like Ty very much.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One actor stood on the set, a mock up of a swanky hotel
room. He must have just finished a scene. He was a tall, thin, distinguished
gentleman with a dark pencil mustache. The man walked off the set wiping
greasepaint from his face with a towel. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What's eating you, dollface?" he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Aw gee, Uncle Connie. Tyrone hasn't shown up today.
Something must be wrong. We're supposed to go dancing tonight at the Palladium.
Ty would never miss that." My words sounded confident, but inside, I
wasn't so cocky. Every day I expected him to leave me for swell dame, someone
richer and better looking. Every broad around carried a torch for him. I
honestly didn't know why he stayed with me. He was a hep cat. But we did have that
date to look at the bungalow. Had that been too much? Had I scared him off?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, he wouldn't miss his shoot just to dump me. Something
was very wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Will you come with me to his place, Connie?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"You think something happened to him? I figure he was
hung over again." Uncle Connie didn't care for Ty, but hadn't told me to
stop seeing him outright.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"He hasn't been hitting the sauce nearly so regular
lately."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Connie nodded. "You're right. We should check on him. Give
me a chance to get changed and I'll come with you."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sat in the director's chair while he went to his dressing
room, to the rear of the set. Behind me, I could hear the drone of three
children reciting the grammar rule, "I before E, except after C, or when
sounded as A as in neighbor or weigh."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mildred Morning was drilling two of the children of the film
company workers, and one child star, Dora Darling. Dora was an impossibly cute,
smart, curly-headed moppet who could sing and tap dance and act. She was
hotsy-totsy this year. She had starred in three hit films so far, and was
making another one. Mildred was hired by the studio to tutor the kids that missed
school when they were the set.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mildred was also Connie's latest girlfriend. I hadn't gotten
to know her very well yet, but liked her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Connie didn't really like me to call him Connie, and
especially not Uncle Connie. His name was Conrad Edgington III, and it suited
him, but I didn't like to use it. Too formal. When my parents both died in the
Cocoanut Grove fire in Boston, Connie took me in. I was a young teen-ager and I
guess it might have seemed odd to some people. Luckily, we were then in
Hollywood, where Connie settled after the tragedy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My parents and Conrad had been on the stage together for
years. They toured with their three-person routine ten months out of twelve. I
used to be one of those kids getting my schooling at studios wherever we were. Connie
got into films soon after their death. He told me he couldn't work closely on
the stage with anyone else. Besides, he wanted to settle down in Hollywood so I
would have a stable place to live. Uncle Connie was the best.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Acton, the director, appeared from the shadows and stalked
toward me. I didn't realize, until he was within a few feet of me, that his
scowl was because I was in his chair. I jumped up and greeted him. He ignored
me and dusted off the seat before he sat. What a flat tire!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew Tyrone hated working with the greeby guy, but there
was almost no one left. The last three directors, and two of the best
cameramen, had gotten fired when their names were turned into the House
Un-America Activities Committee. Who could have guess there were so many
Commies in Hollywood?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tyrone never got upset about any of them, but I knew that
Jimmy, the last cameraman, was a good guy through and through, no matter what
anyone said about him. I'd tried to explain to Tyrone that I thought they were
all getting a bum rap, but he thought they all got what they deserved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Acton, the fat head, had always given me the heebie-jeebies.
I wanted to tell him not to snap his cap, but he got up and started to scuttle
off before I could screw up the courage to open my mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Hey, hang on!" I yelled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He turned, looking at the floor in front of my size sixes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Have you heard from Tyrone?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His eyes widened in…fear? Just for a second. "He never
called. Never showed up."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Are you taking him off the film?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another frightened expression ran across his face, fast as a
single frame on the movie reel. "Of course not. We need him on this
picture."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Well, that settles it. I'm gonna go to his place and
roust him. He'll be here tomorrow."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Connie emerged, dressed in his street clothes and scrubbed
free of grease paint. We skedaddled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was starting to get dark out. You could tell because the
lights blazed brighter at night on the strip. We drove with the windows cranked
down in Connie's Hudson Commodore. That was one swanky car. The air was sweet
and soft. Summer was winding down and we'd have to ride with the windows up
soon. I trailed my hand out the window and let my palm ride the wind.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw something and jerked my head around. "Stop,"
I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Connie obliged and pulled to the curb. "What's the
matter? Are you sick?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shoved the door open and ran back to the middle of the
block. A derelict with a shock of carrot-red hair huddled in the doorway of a
closed tobacco shop. His head rested on his drawn-up knees and his right hand
clutched an empty pint bottle. I reached down and touched his shoulder. I
recognized that hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"My God." Connie had come up behind me. "It's
Jimmy, isn't it?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I nodded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The odor of hooch about knocked me over. Jimmy raised his
bleary-eyed face and squinted, trying to focus on us. "Applesauce,"
he mumbled, and dropped his head back to his knees.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Connie took my hand and led me away. "There's nothing
you can do for him, sweetie."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"This happened because he lost his job. He was the
best. Can you talk to Acton, try to get him his job back?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"He's blacklisted. He's a Commie. What could I
do?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"As Jimmy said, applesauce! If he's a Commie, where's
his cell? Aren't they supposed to be Socialists? All take care of each
other?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Let's go see what's happened to Tyrone. I'm worried
about him."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hated to leave Jimmy in that condition, but I was worried
about Ty. We piled into the Commodore and drove to Tyrone's apartment. He lived
on the second floor. Connie and I hurried up the outside staircase to find his
door open. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ty, strangely still, lay on the floor. His head was an odd
shape.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stood paralyzed for a few seconds, my body prickling all
over. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I noticed the dark, red liquid pool beneath his head
and the frying pan lying next to him on the floor, bits of hair and…something
else… sticking to it. I dropped to my knees beside him. "Ty? Ty?" I
whispered his name again and again, but didn't dare touch him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Connie raised me up by my armpits and sat me on the sofa,
then went to Tyrone's telephone to dial the police.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day, I couldn't work, but Connie had to finish some
shooting. Acton said he wouldn't delay the schedule for the death of one
two-bit, replaceable actor. So I sat huddled on an extra chair in the studio,
watching people parade through scenes, acting, moving, talking, without really
seeing any of it. I knew it was too good to be true. A dame like me, hitched to
a swell guy like Tyrone. The fates hadn't liked the arrangement.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mildred Morning, who had been putting the kids through their
paces, released them and came to sit beside me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What do they know about Tyrone's death?" she
asked, her voice gentle and her crinkly blue eyes kind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"The cops told Connie, I mean Conrad, that Ty was
bumped off, but they don't know who did it. Who would kill Tyrone? Everybody
loved him." I was going to start blubbering again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Not everyone, dear."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I guess you're right. Not the person who killed him.
But why? Why would someone dislike him?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I can think of a few reasons," she said, looking
away, into the shadows of the unlit parts of the huge studio cavern.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That stopped me. "You can?" I blinked. "Like
what?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Do you know how many people in this studio have been
blackballed since Tyrone Rivers started working here?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knotted up my forehead and thought. "A lot have been
blackballed everywhere."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"But none here, until Mr. Rivers showed up."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Golly. I wonder why…." Tyrone's father was a
Washington big wig and had been at the forefront of the HUAC hearings when they
started up last year. I never thought anything about it until Mildred put two
and two together. "You think Ty had something to do with the
blacklist?" <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She gave me a sideways glance and pressed her lips together.
Uncle Connie called over to us. "Done for the day. Can I take my two
favorite dames out tonight?" He looked so buoyant right then.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tyrone's killer was never found. Connie dated Mildred until
he had his heart attack, ten years later. After his funeral, Mildred invited me
out for coffee. I told my husband to go home to relieve the babysitter and I'd
be home in an hour or so. I'd gotten to know the woman much better in the last
decade.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I'm so glad Conrad had you to take care of him,
Mildred. He was a lucky guy."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"We were such a good fit for each other. I'll sure miss
that man."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We sipped our coffee in silence for a few moments.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Are you happy with your husband?" she asked me.
"Your children are so beautiful."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Yes, delirious."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Do you ever miss Tyrone Rivers?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hadn't thought about him in years. "I guess
not."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Good. We did the right thing then."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wondered what she meant by that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
THE END<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
</div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-75168781331427849832012-08-19T13:55:00.005-07:002012-08-19T13:57:22.591-07:00Flash Jab 13: Wayne Zurl<i>Summer is always busy for me. Back in July (maybe June) I put out a request for flash fiction centering around baseball. Fellow Mind Wings author Wayne Zurl responded. I finally got around to checking for replies. Sorry for the delay, Wayne!</i><br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>LAST GAME IN BROOKLYN</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>By Wayne Zurl</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">On September 24, 1957,
the Brooklyn Dodgers played their last game at Ebbets Field and I was there.
Well, not exactly there—I watched the game on TV. I was eleven and had sprained
my ankle the day before in gym. My mother kept me home from school.</span><span style="font-family: Dauphin, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Junior Gilliam had just
hit a high fly ball to shallow right field when I heard what I thought was a
muffled backfire sound off close to our house. I looked out the window, but
didn’t see a car running. Then a man about thirty or forty—as a kid, I had a
hard time telling—slammed the side door at Mrs. Campbell’s house. It wasn’t Mr.
Campbell. He jumped into a two-tone brown ’48 Chevy, one just like my father’s,
and drove away. I went back to finish watching the game.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The cameras panned the
small crowd of people scattered around the stadium. The announcer said only
6,700—a drop in the bucket. The game ended when Pirates’ outfielder Bob Skinner
grounded to short and Don Zimmer scooped it up and fired a bullet to Gil Hodges
at first. End of an era. The Dodgers won the five-hitter two zip, but no one in
Brooklyn looked happy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">My mother was preparing
a meatloaf when I pushed the curtains aside and saw two marked police cars
parked in front of the Campbell’s house. As I peered out the window, a black
’55 Ford pulled into the driveway and an overweight guy in a gray suit and
fedora stepped out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I called to my mother,
“Hey, Ma, what’s going on next door?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">She didn’t know.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Another dark four-door
pulled up and two more suits got out. One carried a big Graphic Reflex camera
and the other, a big tool box.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">My mother stepped up
behind me and looked over my shoulder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m going out there,”
she said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Me, too.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You shouldn’t walk.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Sure I should.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I hobbled after her and
reached the sidewalk in front of Campbell’s house just as a Nassau County
patrolman approached his car. He looked short for a cop. His orange oval patch
and powder blue tie contrasted sharply with the navy blue uniform.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What happened?” my
mother asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Woman got killed.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“She get shot?” I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He looked at me for the
first time and frowned. “Yeah, why?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’ll bet I know who did
it,” I said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">My mother stared at me
like I was a Martian.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The cop smiled and shook
his head. “Sure you do, kid.” He got into his car and drove away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What are you talking
about?” Mom asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I saw a guy run out of
the house before.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">She grabbed my hand.
“Come with me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Campbell’s front
door stood slightly ajar. Mr. Campbell sat on the sofa hanging his head. Mom
knocked on the jam and the overweight guy opened the door. A gold shield hung
from a leather fob on his jacket pocket.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“My son has something to
tell you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He stepped outside and
closed the door.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“This guy,” I said,
“came out the side door and jumped into a car.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What guy?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I don’t know. Some guy.
I never saw him before.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What time?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not sure. Third
inning?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The detective looked
confused.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I shrugged. “I was
watching the Dodger game.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh.” He rolled his
eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Was she shot?” I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I must have seemed
overly enthused. He scowled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Look, son, we’re pretty
busy here. I hope you’re not fooling around.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; margin: 3.75pt 0in 11.25pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He wouldn’t do that.”
Mom always stuck up for me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What’s his name?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I spoke for myself. “I’m
Sam Jenkins. We live next door.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">"How old are you, kid?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Eleven and a half.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You look pretty big for
eleven.” He pointed to the Ace bandage around my foot. “What happened?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I told him, and then
described the man I saw and his car.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Okay, thanks. I’ll look
into it.” The squad dick turned to leave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Hey, wait,” I said.
“You want his plate number?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">THE END</span><span style="font-family: Dauphin, serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I<i>f you want to read more about Wayne or check out his Sam Jenkins series, just follow the link: </i></span><a href="http://www.waynezurlbooks.net/" style="background-color: transparent;"><i>http://www.waynezurlbooks.net/</i></a></div>
Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-89156426817028717512012-07-09T14:58:00.001-07:002012-07-09T14:58:05.343-07:00Flash Jab Challenge 13Well, here it is July and the holidays are over. Tonight's the MLB home run derby so in honor of baseball, that's the topic for this month's Flash Jab Challenge. Make it about baseball.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">The stipulations are:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">1) 750 word max</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">2) Must be original</span><br />
3) Embed it in an email and shoot it to me at jacktheauthor@gmail.com<br />
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<br />Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-77080635253036183512012-06-03T11:14:00.001-07:002012-06-05T12:37:35.162-07:00Ichabod<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5_n0KuLG8ty-IqU1AZOTW0uQ4DUtvhjh8_eqwt23cAC5raZnMIa4E4tYzLZXaoahAevBr4HXpSGsJ3Dn0VSUE9rdrV8py8C8-06AEEAtqKFAOOHXzGce0fMYOYOF3WeFo-kY6_W0nP8/s1600/church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5_n0KuLG8ty-IqU1AZOTW0uQ4DUtvhjh8_eqwt23cAC5raZnMIa4E4tYzLZXaoahAevBr4HXpSGsJ3Dn0VSUE9rdrV8py8C8-06AEEAtqKFAOOHXzGce0fMYOYOF3WeFo-kY6_W0nP8/s320/church.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Below is my response to Patti Abbott's 'drabble' challenge. A drabble, I was surprised to learn, is a story that is exactly 100 words long. </i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Ichabod</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The red letters fade.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">No one will say who wrote
the name Ichabod over the front door.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> The glory had left that country church long before the
graffiti ever appeared. Eternal whispers persist in a congregation as parted as
the Red Sea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Is it true?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“I don’t want to believe
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“He the preacher.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“And she. Married. Those
poor children.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sunday potlucks sour.
Suspicion walks the road whenever people drive pass.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And then the bodies, arranged
upon the altar. Pastor J____ and Mrs. K___.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> Naked as Adam and Eve. Sinful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The artist reminds: Ichabod gets a new coat of paint. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-41198955650677470802012-05-24T18:37:00.004-07:002012-05-24T18:38:12.787-07:00Flash Jab 12<br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This month's Flash Jab Challenge comes to us from my follow anthologist Seana Graham. It's a little longer than requested, but sometimes that's all right. </span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5LKNTvNq8U_kaDxqzENlwBSpCyUAH6Y4gOmnC443g81VLQjqy_Rn7OAahpNR39kcJwFJHHPknETBPzQUvxX_W8j0z970b7CGBNVF0AOixtBAq8LJkuJkmh3p1OzVOUP8tmwTw-R3XzMc/s1600/no_trespassing_sign-600x443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5LKNTvNq8U_kaDxqzENlwBSpCyUAH6Y4gOmnC443g81VLQjqy_Rn7OAahpNR39kcJwFJHHPknETBPzQUvxX_W8j0z970b7CGBNVF0AOixtBAq8LJkuJkmh3p1OzVOUP8tmwTw-R3XzMc/s320/no_trespassing_sign-600x443.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>Warning by Seana Graham </b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
Trig couldn’t be sure, but damn it if it wasn’t the same sign that greeted<br />
him as he walked up to the fence surrounding the property. Faded, yes. Of<br />
course it was. But the words could still be made out, though they were now<br />
more a paler shade of pink than red:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">WARNING!<br />
No trespassing.<br />
Violators will be shot.<br />
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The fence wasn’t as formidable as he remembered. Of course, he’d been a<br />
kid then, and he’d seen it from a kid’s perspective. He hadn’t had wire<br />
clippers back then, either. Back then, he and Sally had to scooch underneath
the<br />
bottom strand of the barbed wire. He would have liked to cut through the<br />
fence completely now instead of just that one middle strand, it would have<br />
felt like an end to something. But that might distract him from the main<br />
mission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
“What is your main mission?” the career guy had asked them over and over<br />
in prison, during the Life Outside class that he took whenever it was<br />
offered. “What do you hope to accomplish in this life?” Trig knew what he<br />
hoped to accomplish, but he wasn’t telling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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There was a road through the property, and Trig followed it loosely. He<br />
remembered now that this was what he’d hoped to do back then, too. Sally<br />
had liked cutting through the tall grasses even more than he had.<br />
He’d never made it to the end of that road, though. Part of his main<br />
mission now was to find out what was there. To find out who.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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He hadn’t been a bad kid back then, even if he might be a bad man now. All<br />
he’d wanted that day was to get away--go somewhere no one could find him,<br />
smoke a little weed. School sucked. Home sucked. Was it really so much to<br />
ask to find one place on earth that didn’t suck, just for awhile?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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True, the sign had probably been a provocation. Provocation. He’d learned<br />
that word in the Self-Evaluation Session that he and the other violent<br />
offenders had had to go to every week. Provocation: what caused you to<br />
react. Overreact, the counselors said, but that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t<br />
always overreaction. Sometimes it was the just and appropriate response.<br />
But yeah, there were other places he could have gone that day. For sure.<br />
He could make it out now, just barely. The place where the road petered<br />
out. A house, he thought. Some kind of human dwelling, anyway.<br />
Though human might be overstating the case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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He hadn’t been high that day, not yet. Later, sure, he was a methhead,<br />
boozer, cokefreak. He’d own all of it, whatever they wanted to throw at<br />
him. But not then. That day he had only wanted to smoke a little grass, be<br />
in nature, hang out with his black lab. Sally—his personal savior, the<br />
only creature that cared about him in the entire freaking world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The bullet had caught her clean, there was that small mercy at least. He<br />
hadn’t had to finish her off himself. One minute she was bounding over the<br />
field, the next she was dead. He was glad now that after the one moment of<br />
total panic and fear, he’d gone to her and seen this. In prison, he’d<br />
sometimes dreamed she was alive, but suffering. He would have slit his<br />
wrists by now if he hadn’t witnessed with his own eyes that this wasn’t<br />
true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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It was just a small cabin, no more than a lean-to, really. An old man was<br />
working out in the garden as he came up. Frail. Feeble. Fuck. Trig had<br />
delayed this too damn long.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“You’re trespassing,” the old guy said without turning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Yeah? What’re you going to do about it, old man?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Nothing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Yeah? You ever killed anyone on this place?” Trig knew it had to be him,<br />
but on another level, he was unsure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
“I killed a dog once.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“What kind of dog?” Trig asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“I don’t know what kind of dog. Black. That’s all I know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“My dog.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“I figured.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“So?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
“So? So I regret it. I regretted it in the moment I did it. It was a<br />
mistake.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Damn right it was a mistake,” Trig said. Inside, though, all he could<br />
think was shit, shit, shit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
“I had a clear shot at the kid, though. I saw him go running off… I saw<br />
him come back. You were that kid?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“I could have killed you that day, you know. I would’ve been within my<br />
rights.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“I could kill you right now just as easy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“I’m sure. I hope you won’t, but I would understand the reason.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“What happened to her?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“What happened? I buried her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
Trig felt an easing up. Years had gone by with him picturing her bones<br />
picked clean by crows and other carrion birds. Not that it made much<br />
difference that it was worms. “Where?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Here, of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
“Where here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“I’ll show you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
They walked around the back of the house, Trig thinking all the time that<br />
it was some kind of set up, the guy was just too calm, but sure enough<br />
there was the grave, complete with a small, primitive headstone. It read,<br />
“To the Unknown Dog”. Trig wondered if this wasn’t maybe some dark joke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Sally,” Trig said. “Her name was Sally.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
“I’ll change it. I didn’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“It doesn’t excuse anything,” Trig said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Of course not,” the man said. He wasn’t afraid of Trig anymore, and Trig<br />
knew it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“You wrecked my life,” Trig said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“I wrecked my own that day, if it’s any consolation.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Trig thought about it. “It is and it isn’t,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Come inside?” the man asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Trig shook his head. “You smoke dope?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The man looked at him. “I could.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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“Because that would be the right thing,” Trig said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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He brought the bag of weed out of his pocket, but they both just stood<br />
looking at the grave for awhile before they did anything else at all.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(c) 2012 Seana Graham</span></span></div>
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<i><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Seana Graham works at an independent bookstore in Santa Cruz, California.</span><br style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Her latest published story, “Gato”, appears in Grimm Tales, edited by John</span><br style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Kenyon. She also has stories in The Best of Lady Churchill’s Rosebud</span><br style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Wristlet, and the second volume of Carpathian Shadows, edited by Lia</span><br style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Schizas. More recently, she’s been writing daily prompts for Short Story</span><br style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Month at her blog Story Dump, which led to her writing this story.</span></i></div>Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-24530673415627817362012-04-02T07:06:00.002-07:002012-04-07T09:26:54.873-07:00Flash Jab Challenge 11<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_JE0ue_f-ZX9yuYGYon0BAg99W4L5ubSiUTaxAisozh7dAfCrc5ibEDmC494mSjYLhZTDy0cSb9ecCisnayIsH8qr0NsUrRFgxHSSED4JQnGngzHo8rmMWklb0nzVeLMtW-fE2-bpMtk/s1600/shot_1333290322815+%25281%2529.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_JE0ue_f-ZX9yuYGYon0BAg99W4L5ubSiUTaxAisozh7dAfCrc5ibEDmC494mSjYLhZTDy0cSb9ecCisnayIsH8qr0NsUrRFgxHSSED4JQnGngzHo8rmMWklb0nzVeLMtW-fE2-bpMtk/s320/shot_1333290322815+%25281%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726804797177983378" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;"><i><b>Lost Connections</b></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">This month’s response comes to us from the talented Katt Dunsmore. It’s a bit of a haunting tale that zeroes in on the zombie trend. Thanks, Katt, for a disturbingly entertaining tale!<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; "><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt; ">Zombie Walk<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt; "> by Katt Dunsmore<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt; "><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">We forced the four of them to walk to the old Peters place at top speed, which, being zombie speed, is pretty slow. When they fell, we stopped to give them a chance to get up. When they wouldn’t, we’d grab them and snatch them back to their feet or else drag them along. It’s not like we were exactly concerned for their comfort or anything.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">“Gah!” one of the females gave an inarticulate cry as she fell again in the front yard of the Peters’ place.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">“Get up,” Travis kicked her in the leg.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">Marty stepped in between Travis and the female. “Travis…stop. Wait til we…get around back. Plenty of…play time…then,” he said breathlessly. It had been a long walk herding the prisoners, and we were all tired. We would have to take a break before the festivities began.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">Marty leaned down and grabbed the female’s arm and pulled her to her feet.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">“Leh me gah,” the female croaked. One of her eyes was swollen almost shut from the beating we had put on all of them to get them into the ropes.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">“Let’s go.” Travis pushed the female forward.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">It took us about ten minutes to walk around to the back of the Peters place – zombies are so slow – and walk the prisoners over to a platform built around an old, unconnected power pole. We had to drag them the last twenty feet or so once they saw what was waiting for them.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">It was the type of power pole that looked like it had two sets of arms hanging out from it, the lower one with shorter arms. Four nooses hang down, one from the end of each arm. Travis, Marty, David, and I had set everything up to save time once we made it here tonight.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">Travis dropped a noose over the head of the female that had fallen and tightened it. She started to struggle, trying to get away from the noose, and Travis grabbed her shoulders.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">“Stand still….sweetheart,” his face was inches from hers. “You wouldn’t want…to fall again…not yet, anyway.”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">We got the other three in place and the nooses on them, and then stepped off the platform. Marty looked at me and nodded. I put my hand on the lever and looked up at our prisoners, then over to Marty.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">“Go for it,” he said, an odd grimace on his face.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">I pulled the lever back, and the platform fell away. The prisoners fell several feet, an audible cracking noise coming from three of them. The other one, a male, didn’t die immediately, but instead hung there, struggling to breathe as the rope cut into his neck. It took him awhile to strangle. We waited until he stopped moving before we walked away.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">At zombie speed. We would be long gone when the humans found their friends.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">© Copyright 2012 Tonya D Dunsmore. All rights reserved.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">BIO:</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 13.5pt"><b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">Tonya "Katt" Dunsmore</span></i></b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "> </span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">is an American short story writer and</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "> </span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">illustrator. Her stories and essays have appeared in</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "> </span></i><b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">Crime and Suspense Magazine</span></i></b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">,</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "> </span></i><b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">Flashing in the</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "> </span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">Gutters, Flashshots, Mouth Full of Bullets, Associated Content, Microhorror, Silver Moon Magazine, Bewildering Stories, and Flash Jab Fiction, and in the anthologies, The EX-Factor: Justified Endings to Bad Exes (Koboca Publishing, 2006) Daily Bites of Flesh 2011 (Pill Hill Press, 2011), Daily Flash 2012 (Pill Hill Press, 2012), and Daily Frights 2012 (Pill Hill Press, 2012).</span></i></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "> </span></i></b><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">Her illustrations and graphics have appeared in several publications and on the internet.</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "> </span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; ">Katt is married to her beloved husband, Dinny, and they have three children: Kitra, John, and Thomas. They make their home in northern South Carolina with their Rottweiler/German Shepherd mix, Briscoe, and their feline companion, Sixx.</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; "><o:p></o:p></span></i></p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></div><p style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto; "></p><div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto; "><p align="left" style="font-weight: normal; margin-top: 5px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; line-height: 1.4em; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Here are the protocols:<br />1) Use the photo on the site: <a href="http://flashjab.blogspot.com/">http://flashjab.blogspot.com/</a><br />2) 750 words or less<br />3) Please don't plagiarize<br />4) Get it back to me within the next two weeks or sooner<br />5) With the authors' permission, stories get posted at Flash Jab Fiction<br />6) This is a writer's exercise done for fun; no fees, no pay. You get a byline and you keep the all rights. (Please notify me if you sell it so I can yank it from the blog.)<br />7) Embed the story in an email and shoot it to me at jacktheauthor@gmail.com </p><p align="left" style="font-weight: normal; margin-top: 5px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; line-height: 1.4em; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">(Bloody Knuckles reserves the right to post or not to post a story.)</p><br style="color: rgb(85, 85, 85); font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><p align="left" style="font-weight: normal; margin-top: 5px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; line-height: 1.4em; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span style="line-height: 1.4em; ">Flash Jab Fiction, Bloody Knuckles, and The Hard Nosed Sleuth reserve the right not to post submissions. This is an adult fiction site but there are limitations to what I can run. No bigotry, pornography, or anything featuring the exploitation of children will be considered.</span></p><p align="left" style="margin-top: 5px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; outline-color: initial; line-height: 1.4em; color: rgb(85, 85, 85); background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><b><br /></b></p></div></div>Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-58597499772414669382012-02-14T13:56:00.007-08:002012-03-10T09:39:03.510-08:00Flash Jab Challenge 10<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3b0SFOJ4-aPzL7e3C3v9IsieNxAIBoIRq0OTOxcmjxss7F4sowi2Nzu4PmurnKJi69A08nBEW9NE97hMtToXKXWsJLtW-RJpj8nvBR7gFKrI4_iQvN6ybc0C4qRtCVWwHICH22ywnHo/s1600/Girl+in+Aquarium+Megan+Abbott.JPG" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3b0SFOJ4-aPzL7e3C3v9IsieNxAIBoIRq0OTOxcmjxss7F4sowi2Nzu4PmurnKJi69A08nBEW9NE97hMtToXKXWsJLtW-RJpj8nvBR7gFKrI4_iQvN6ybc0C4qRtCVWwHICH22ywnHo/s320/Girl+in+Aquarium+Megan+Abbott.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715701173038298978" /></a><br /><div align="center" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; "><b><i><br /></i></b></div><br /><p style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></p><p style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></p><p style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></p><p style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><span><i>(Photo credit: (c) <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/115214964544965230890/posts">Megan Abbott</a> 2012)</i></span></p><p style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></p><p style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; "><i>A big thanks to Megan Abbott for the use of her photograph. Also, a big thanks to AJ Hayes and Graham Smith, frequent contributors, for their spins to this months Flash Jab. Both stories are posted below. </i></p><p style="font-size: 100%; "></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; "><b>EXPERIMENTS<o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; "><b>Graham Smith</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; ">It started out as a daft conversation in the pub. Could a fish tank be used as a boat and if you sat in it would it float free of the beach before the tide washed into it?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">As it was December and the water was bloody freezing, I decided to get someone else to be my guinea pig. I chose the cow from accounts that continually halved my expenses claims as my test pilot so to speak. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; background-color: white; ">I’d thought about balance and stability for the improvised boat and had all my calculations worked out. All I needed now was a way to persuade the bitch from accounts to get in.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">I waited until the Christmas party, when she was drunk and trying unsuccessfully to hook up with any single man present. Steeling myself to the task I made small talk until we ended up playing tonsil hockey. A few colleagues saw us together and I knew they’d rip the piss outta me but that was all part of my plan.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">She agreed to meet up with me a few days later. I took her for a walk along the shore. When she spied the four foot fish tank I’d deposited on the deserted sands the night before, she walked over to it commenting about flaming fly tippers.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">Bending down I lifted a fist sized stone which I slammed into her temple. Her eyes rolled back in perfect synchronisation with her buckling knees.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; background-color: white; ">I could see her chest rising and falling as she lay at my feet so I knew I’d only knocked her unconscious rather than killing her.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">Leaving her be, I went over to the fish tank, which I then dragged to with six feet of the incoming tide. Using my jumper as a towel I dried the inside of the tank and then went to drag the bitch nearer. When I had her laid beside the tank I stripped off first her coat, then her boots and the thick tights she was wearing.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">I then fed her limp body into the tank and lifted each leg in turn to apply a full tube of Superglue beneath each knee. I repeated the process with her arms. Now if she came to before the tide came in she wouldn’t be able to escape.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; background-color: white; ">What would happen to her? Would she float away or drown?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">From my vantage point ten yards back, I watched as the tide came in. First small waves eddied up against the tank. Then there was an inch of water around the base.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">Five long minutes passed before the water around the glass coffin rose to a depth of six inches. The waves were lapping against the side of the tank but had another foot to go before they breached the top and flooded down onto her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">The incoming tide had pushed me back some twenty yards but I could still see the tank start to lift at the end her feet stuck out from. There was a definite lifting of that end, and as the depth increased I could see the waves pivoting the tank on the still grounded end where her upper body and head were. The water was only three inches from the top when the whole tank started to drift.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">Just as I was cursing my luck, a slightly larger wave came in and as it neared, I could see it rising and forming into a breaker. I watched open mouthed as it collided with the tank, cascaded over the lip causing the tank to sink back onto the sands.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">Subsequent waves washed into the tank and just over an hour after I’d adhered the bitch into place, the waves hid her watery tomb.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; background-color: white; ">Shame she never came around. I would have enjoyed watching the terror in her eyes as she drowned. Still I would have my fun with filling in the next expense form. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; background-color: white; ">Four tubes of Superglue from Homebase – £6.60 Fish tank from EBay - £87 Getting that bitch out of my life – priceless!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; background-color: white; ">(c) 2012 Graham Smith</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span><i>And now, from Mr. Hayes:</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span><b>Rapture of the Deep</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "><span><b>AJ Hayes</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; "></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 100%; ">After he set the record for the deepest dive they called him The Kraken. He never told them at the bottom of that plunge he met a girl with high turned breasts and eyes of gray-green splendor. She held him close and breathed for him while he made love to her. When he rose to the light of the world above she waved sad farewell and sank from view. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 100%; ">Now, old and too short of breath to swim, each day by the sea he fills a tub with water and listens for her song and weeps.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span >(c) AJ Hayes 2012</span></p><p style="font-size: 100%; "></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><o:p> </o:p></p><p style="font-size: 100%; "></p><p style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><br /></p><div align="center" style="font-variant: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "></div>Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-86217700163863314652012-01-18T17:58:00.000-08:002012-01-19T04:42:16.904-08:00Flash Jab<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2vc0FLQXbLC5Gk-1Csoi1p7KRRIG64KtPpJ1h3ZthOeHgs39YB5V_NG1Lomb_8yBhqHQTQAxXEjGsd8wCRPSUmU17ztjYM-f2HdMFkZU1eSw4-zmjm9VZIQiBu-bfrbYXWOQkk6-4Vtg/s1600/chess+crop"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 220px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699156929344597490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2vc0FLQXbLC5Gk-1Csoi1p7KRRIG64KtPpJ1h3ZthOeHgs39YB5V_NG1Lomb_8yBhqHQTQAxXEjGsd8wCRPSUmU17ztjYM-f2HdMFkZU1eSw4-zmjm9VZIQiBu-bfrbYXWOQkk6-4Vtg/s320/chess+crop" /></a>
<br /><em>So this is a first for Flash Jab- an unsolicited submission! It comes to us from across the pond from fellow pulper Daz aka Darren Sant, who runs the gritty Close to the Bone flash site. I first read this when he submitted to the Crime Fiction Writers Group for a critique. I'm including it here because it's a damn fine tale! </em>
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<br /><em>It's an intriguing little flash that juxtaposes fate and reality- but which is which?</em>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The Sad End of Ernest Winthorpe</span></strong>
<br /><strong>by Darren Sant</strong>
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<br /></strong>Ernest looked up at the sky. Bruised angry clouds hung just beyond his reach. He scratched his bald pate and looked down the hill it had taken him all morning to climb. Bedraggled gorse had nipped and scratched at his ankles for the entire ascent. He sat and patiently waited for the storm he knew was brewing. A strange little smile crossed his face. As the first rumble of thunder charged the air he thought of his beautiful wife, now absconded with his former business partner. Before leaving their scornful note they had made sure to clear out all of the bank accounts. Ernest held aloft the length 15mm plumbers Copper that had served as a walking stick for his trek."Do your worst you bastards! He yelled with a primal ferocity at the roiling skies and any Gods that might be listening.
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<br /><em>Two elderly men sat playing chess their faces creased deep in concentration as they battled for supremacy."Rook takes pawn." said the man dressed in white. </em>
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<br />As if in answer to his prayers a mighty finger of fire reached down from the heavens. His knuckles were white as he gripped the length of copper tightly. He tried not to imagine his blackened dried up form being stripped of all moisture before roasting like a Christmas turkey when the lightning hit him. At the last minute the lightning veered away and blasted a nearby oak tree. Ernest stared in dismay at the now burning oak tree. The worst of the storm quickly abated but not before he was soaked to the skin.
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<br /><em>As he loomed menacingly over the ornate pieces on the board the man in black simply nodded and said "Impressive." as he moved a pawn forward.</em>
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<br />He threw the copper over his shoulder and trudged back down the hill. At the base of the hill he sat shivering in his aged Mazda. The heater was cranked up full as tried to start the engine which coughed and spluttered but failed to cooperate. Breathing a deep world weary sigh he stepped out of the car, locked it, and set off in the direction of town.
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<br />In the shadowy streets on the wrong side of town Ernest’s wrinkled face twitched into a smile as he spotted a group of hoodies drinking and smoking near the park. Their loud shouts and loud banter making all who passed near give them a wide berth. Can of lager littered the ground near them and the tangible smell of dope hung in the air.
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<br />"Oi come get some you little mother fuckers. Come on BRING IT ON!" yelled Ernest with an anger he didn’t really feel.
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<br />'I might get lucky,' he thought 'with a good beating they might even kill me.' His heart pounded with anticipation of the violence to come. This could be it. The hoodies looked nervous for a moment. One of them threw a can at him and they laughed.
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<br />“Piss off back to the funny farm old man before we hurt you,” yelled back the biggest of them.
<br />Ernest’s nerve left him and he halted in his tracks. This wasn’t the way to do it.
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<br /><em>With an angelic smile the man in white smugly exclaimed, “Knight takes rook.”
<br />Whole universes seemed to be contained within the man in black’s ancient eyes as he gave his competitor a disgusted look.</em>
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<br />Despair stabbed at Ernest like a physical entity and he wondered if he would ever be able to do this one thing right. The sound of distant traffic sparked an idea and he walked onward and away from the threat of the hoodies. As street after grey lifeless street passed him by he felt more despondent about life. He was going to end it one way or another. He found himself stood before the busy A6278. Cars and lorries whizzed past with frightening speed and Ernest knew he couldn't fail.The man in black spotted a sudden opening and moved in for the kill...Closing his eyes Ernest stepped out into the traffic. He heard a screech of brakes and the loud blaring of horns. He knew there were just seconds left but those seconds stretched out for eternity as he waited for death and a welcome release from his misery of life without Claudette.
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<br /><em>With a casual nod the man in white smiled and his eyes seemed to shine in the small dimly lit room."Bishop takes knight." The man in black blinked in surprise and shock.</em>
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<br />When Ernest opened his eyes he saw that a truck was just inches from him. It had jack-knifed and completely blocked the carriageway. The driver wound down his window and hurled a string of abuse in a foreign language at Ernest.Ernest wandered numbly away and decided that the fates didn't mean for him to die just yet. The nameless bastard gods out there had decided to toy with him. He decided that it might be best if he kept his appointment after all.
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<br /><em>With a sudden grin and then a wink the man in black cracked his ancient knuckles before moving his queen into position.
<br />“Check-fucking-mate, sunshine.”
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<br />A sudden gale blew as the storm picked up ferocity again. A supermarket carrier bag danced around being controlled by an unseen puppeteer as the winds manipulated it. Leaves blew from the trees and people dashed for cover and still Ernest plodded along. A hefty barrel tile flew off a nearby roof and struck Ernest solidly in the head. He went down silently crumpling to the ground like a deflated balloon. A steady drip of blood leaked from the fatal head wound as the gossamer thread of his existence was slowly snipped.
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<br /><em>The man in white cursed and stood up fuming.
<br />“Where the hell is Ernest tonight? At least I can beat him and it’s his turn to buy the coffee.”</em>
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<br />(c) 2012 Darren Sant
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<br /><em>Darren Sant is a 41 year old writer living in Hull in the UK. Since reading and contributing to Byker Books Radgepacket series his writing has been transformed. He tries daily to bring a little more darkness to the world through writing. He fails in this and adds humour and morality subconsciously.</em>
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<br />Find his website here: </em><a style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt" href="http://darrensant-writer.yolasite.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><em>http://darrensant-writer.yolasite.com/</em></a>
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<br />Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-899120267887242073.post-51535652401623620912012-01-01T14:19:00.000-08:002012-01-14T14:31:03.543-08:00Flash Jab Challenge #9: Graham Smith<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7Ret8Bj5XNL0iryCfaHoQRTR-d0vNDB_AD6qU6ylXgUHufBR4AjgeFwtsyOv5Kqxbe1VTKC-_690mejYDqKjA81XWXIApXkzZMgOSMzLz4El2AirSWM1GA5R9Kx4zc-j0V-103v30oo/s1600/Graham+Smith.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3_w7f_B2XaTgmEZvnpoZj02OWSXnfNRTJK-t9sUDon8O4RtyvVOlHGFIXUlgnvW0SHqwpRIi_aG4iHB34riotIdfmo5WLeEqnow8hbvcRzaIBx5FaaBXZWkTTz-M4FrefILJ5Lyzz8Y/s1600/Blood+on+the+Door.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 191px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692792068278711330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3_w7f_B2XaTgmEZvnpoZj02OWSXnfNRTJK-t9sUDon8O4RtyvVOlHGFIXUlgnvW0SHqwpRIi_aG4iHB34riotIdfmo5WLeEqnow8hbvcRzaIBx5FaaBXZWkTTz-M4FrefILJ5Lyzz8Y/s320/Blood+on+the+Door.jpg" /></a> <em>Blood on the Door</em><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>Flash Jab Challenge #9 Topic</em></div><br /><br /><br /><p><em>This month Graham Smith accpeted the challenge and has flashed us a great one. </em></p><br /><p><em>Graham Smith is married with a young son. A time served joiner he has built bridges, houses, dug drains and slated roofs to make ends meet. For the last eleven years he has been manager of a busy hotel and wedding venue near Gretna Green, Scotland. An avid fan of crime fiction since being given one of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five books at the age of eight, he has also been a regular reviewer for the well respected review site Crimesquad.com for over two years.As well as reviewing for Crimesquad.com Graham has also interviewed such stellar names as David Baldacci, Jeffrey Deaver, Dennis Lehane, Lee Child, Matt Hilton, current CWA Chair Peter James, Mark Billingham and many others. When not working, his time is spent reading, writing and playing games with his son. He enjoys socialising and spending time with friends and family.</em> </p><br /><p><em>And now, the story!</em></p><br /><br /><br /><p>HOMECOMING by Graham Smith<br /><br />I had returned to my grandmother’s home after her death. It was the first time I’d been back since I’d ran away aged sixteen with a head full of ambitions and dreams. Nearly twenty years had passed since I last crossed this threshold. Time had healed the wounds but the scars remained. Our truce had been tentatively agreed last year and we’d always met on neutral ground. Now she was gone, I could admit to myself she was right. </p><br /><p>A knock at the door startled me as I paced around the empty house. When I opened the door a handyman was standing there with a vacant expression. I’d seen him attending to next door’s garden. Expecting him to tout for business I was surprised when he pushed his way into the house. </p><br /><p>He was a big bugger, I’ll give him that. He towered over me by at least five inches, his black locks and jagged teeth giving him a wolf like appearance. He outweighed me by about seventy pounds. </p><br /><p>There was no waiting for my mind to decide on a course of action as instinct kicked in and my body screamed flight not fight. By the time my brain had sent the message to move it was too late, my legs had already mutinied and I was halfway down the corridor. </p><br /><p>Old habits caused me to seek safety in the most familiar place. My former bedroom was at the end of the passage and I flew in and slammed the door behind me. </p><br /><p>Shooting the tiny bathroom bolt across I almost laughed at the idiocy of the action. I could probably kick the door in without even breaking the heel on my Manolo’s. A brute the size of the handyman could break the bolt’s fastenings by simply leaning on the door.<br /></p><br /><p>Frantically I looked for some other way of securing the door. The keyhole at eye level fronted a lock that hadn’t worked twenty years ago and wasn’t likely to work now, even if I had a key.<br />I grabbed a dresser and jammed it under the golden handle in an attempt to jam the door. I could hear heavy footsteps clumping down the corridor as he lumbered after me. </p><br /><p>A quick jerk at the window confirmed it was painted shut just as it had been all those years ago. A glance round the room for a weapon I could use to smash the glass yielded only a lamp which was hardwired into the wall. Yanking it free caused a shower of sparks. Ignoring the flashes of death I wound the end of the flex around my hand and swung the lamp like a mace into the centre of the window. </p><br /><p>Disaster struck three times as the lamp smashed into two pieces, the window smashed into no pieces and the door crashed open. </p><br /><p>He just stood beside the door with a leer on his lips and lust in his eyes. I felt a jagging pain as the half of the lamp still attached to its flex cut my leg.<br /></p><br /><p>With no other course of action available to me I went on the offensive and swung the remains of the lamp once round my head before stepping forward and aiming for his face.<br /></p><br /><p>Instead of raising his arms to defend himself he just leaned back and tilted his head backwards. He obviously thought that he was out of range, as he started to smile milliseconds before the shattered porcelain gouged his exposed throat sending a spurt of bright red arterial blood onto the door. As he fell to his knees clutching at his throat the severed jugular vein pressured from within by his still beating heart, pumped more gouts of blood between his fingers. </p><br /><p>I sank to a sitting position on the bed and noticed for the first time that the room looked exactly like it did the last time I was in there.<br /><br />© Graham Smith 2012</p><br /><br /><p><em>Where to find Graham:</em></p><br /><br /><p>Amazon Author Page <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Graham-Smith/e/B006FTIBBU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Graham-Smith/e/B006FTIBBU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1</a><br /></p><br /><p>Harry Charters Chronicles <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Harry-Charters-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B006OG2IR2/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_2">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Harry-Charters-Chronicles-ebook/dp/B006OG2IR2/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_2</a> </p><br /><br /><p>11 The Hard Way <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/11-The-Hard-Way-ebook/dp/B0066CQOG0/ref=pd_ecc_rvi_1">http://www.amazon.co.uk/11-The-Hard-Way-ebook/dp/B0066CQOG0/ref=pd_ecc_rvi_1</a><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div>Jack Bateshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16055185636509700845noreply@blogger.com3