Flash Fiction Fridays: The Last Booth
Posted: 2007/10/26 03:11
Well, I've been gone for several weeks, but now I'm back with a new flash fiction:
THE LAST BOOTH
There were four booths along the restaurant’s front window.
The first one held an elderly couple, worn but sturdy, deep in the throes of routine.
The second was populated by a family. A mom and dad and what seemed to be twenty youngsters, though the exact number was hard to pin down since they never sat still.
Since flash comics depend on collaboration and more than one person’s schedule, they won’t be as regular a feature as the flash fiction, but you’ll definitely be seeing more of these.
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Caleb Monroe
Posts: 147
Karma: 4
Flash Fiction Friday: The Mountain Rises
Posted: 2007/11/16 09:35
THE MOUNTAIN RISES
The mountain shook, rolled and stood up. The people whose village rested at his feet had hoped to never see him, but he was here now. Awake. They prayed he would have strength.
His face shone like the sun, his limbs were the green of forests and his armor was the blue of mountains in the far distance. His cloak was the gray of granite and morning dreams. As he crossed the land, the animals were filled with strange powers and the harvest suddenly came ready. There was no sleep where he passed, but neither was their fatigue. Thousands of birds filled the air in his wake, their constantly shifting formations announcing things that could never be expressed in word or thought.
He paused at the coast and drew his sword. As he did, every unborn child in the land jumped in the womb. Its blade had been forged outside of time, where there was no death, and was so real and so alive that it could not be looked upon with mortal eye.
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Caleb Monroe
Posts: 147
Karma: 4
Re:Flash Fiction Friday: From White to Nothing
Posted: 2008/03/08 01:50
This is the first of these in about four months! At first they sort of fell by the wayside because I was doing so much other writing. Comic scripts, pitches, etc. But in doing all my pitching I discovered something interesting, which is that telling an interesting story in 500 words is a skill that can apply to both a flash fiction and a pitch. Using my flash fiction skills was helping me write better pitches. So I've resumed flash fiction to further hone my future pitching skills.
FROM WHITE TO NOTHING
The first time he saw her was only for a second. He was just a kid, deep in a magnolia tree, trying to find a branch high enough and sturdy enough that he could make the jump onto his friend Brian's second story roof. When Brian said something, he looked over his shoulder and glimpsed her standing next to the other boy before immediately having to return his attention to his precarious perch. Once he got his bearings again she was gone. When he mentioned her, Brian had no idea who he was talking about. She had been wearing the color white like it was clothing.
Seifert emerges from the core of his satellite house into bright, bright sunlight. The spherical 6000-cubic-foot core is the innermost level of his home. He steps onto the core’s outer surface, which is the floor of the next layer of his home: the space deck. The third and final layer is above his head: a mostly-invisible energy shield that ionizes to keep him from going blind or burning to a crisp in the sun’s light and, of course, keeps atmosphere inside.
He carries his breakfast to his lawn chair, which is maintains itself at such a heading that it’s always facing the earthset. This is his morning ritual. Today he cues the agitators to create a refreshing breeze. The microspeakers in his ears respond by producing the sound of wind blowing through trees overhead. Seifert has never seen a tree, but he found the recording browsing a random aural archive and finds it inevitably helps set him at ease.
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Caleb Monroe
Posts: 147
Karma: 4
Flash Fiction Friday: A Day In the Unlife
Posted: 2008/09/26 04:50
Today's story is "A Day In the Unlife":
At first, there is nothing but murky blackness. She slowly swims her way out of it and wakes behind the wheel of a car. She feels groggy. Slow.
The car is crumpled against a brick wall, the driver’s side window is shattered, and her cheek, neck and left arm have all been gnawed upon rather severely. Her shirt is stained with blood. The wounds don’t hurt—just throb unnaturally. It feels like the pieces of missing flesh are still there somewhere, asleep.
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