The Blogging from A to Z April Challenge is Back!

Arlee Bird over at Tossing It Out is bringing back his April challenge - blogging Mondays through Saturdays in April with a different letter of the alphabet each day. As he says:

"You can post essays, short pieces of fiction, poetry, recipes, travel sketches, or anything else you would like to write about. You don't have to be a writer to do this. You can post photos, including samples of your own art or craftwork. Everyone who blogs can post from A to Z."

I'd like to see the #fridayflash group involved in this. Go read Arlee's full post here...I'll wait. While you're there, sign up for it! I know that Rachael Blackbirdsong of Ravenwood has already done so. I'd love to see many more of you signed up...perhaps with artwork or haikus? Short stories or recipes? Yeah, you know I'm talking to you.

To make it really interesting for myself, I'm going to incorporate my #fridayflash into it as well. The Fridays are the letters A, G, M, S and Y, in case you're wondering.

Join in the fun!

Update: Fridayflash people who've joined the fun! (If you've joined, leave me a comment and I'll add you here)

Jim Bronyaur

Rachael Blackbirdsong

Kevin Mackey

Pamela Jo

Heist Outré - #FridayFlash

This was first published at 10Flash in Oct, 2009 so I thought I'd recycle it. I hope you enjoy it for the first (or second) time!


“How bad are you hurt?” They waited, crouched behind some metallic thing that Eddie called a ‘dumpster’. The smell made Tom want to puke.

“My arm feels like it’s on fire. I think the bullet’s still in there too.”

“Bullet? As in ‘metal projectile’? Geez, Eddie. You said we couldn’t get hurt. That’s the only reason why I took this hare-brained trip with you. Why’d you think that robbing a bank would be fun in the first place?”

He’d been on a few adventures before with Eddie. They’d climbed Mount Kilimanjaro just last month, throwing snowballs at each other once they’d reached the top. So, when Eddie suggested going to 20th century New York to rob a bank, Tom thought it might be fun.

“Shh…they’re coming back.”

Eddie’s voice wheezed with pain, his breath rapid and shallow as they watched the cops run down the alley searching for them.

“Come on, before they turn back again. We’ve got to find a better hiding place.” Tom helped Eddie to his feet.

They picked their way through debris that seemed permanently attached to the concrete, checking every doorway they came to. Finally, one opened for them. The cool shadows were a welcome change from the sultry heat outside. No one seemed to be home.

“So how do we get out of this scenario, Eddie?”

“I’m not sure. I think the program has to run to the end.”

“You’re not sure? Didn’t you read the instructions that came with the machine?”

“I glanced at them when I first got it, but that was six months ago.”

Tom threw his friend a disgusted look. “I thought you said you couldn’t get hurt with this Time Game machine, so how’d you get shot?”

“I turned off the safety,” Eddie admitted. “I thought it’d make the experience more realistic.”

“What?” Tom noticed Eddie’s face turn the same shade of red as his hair. Small consolation.

“Well, remember the time we went diving in the coral reefs? You ran out of oxygen and the whole program froze until you changed your tanks? It was kind of disruptive, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it was, but I lived to complain about the glitch. That’s why the machine has a safety! Oh, never mind about that right now. You’re the history buff. What do you know about this place that might help us get back home?”

Eddie shrugged, wincing as the movement shot pain through his arm. Tom watched the blood drip onto the floor.

“We’ve got to get you some help before you bleed to death. Do you remember how this program ends, or did you even read it all the way through?”

“I read it. I think we’re supposed to meet a stranger or something like that. Okay, I only glanced at it. I’m sorry. Next time I’ll read the whole thing, all right?”

“If there’s a next time, I’m doing the picking – like Australia in the good old 23rd century.” Tom sat on the floor, contemplating what their next move should be.

The door swung open, spilling light into the room. A massive shadow quickly replaced it.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I believe you’re waiting to meet a stranger?”

Eddie could only gape at the large man, but Tom managed to find his voice. “How did you know that?”

“Simple. I represent the company that wrote the program ‘20th Century Bank Heist’.”

“But surely you don’t track each time it’s played,” Eddie stammered.

“No, of course not. However, we are alerted each time it’s played with the safety off. Personally, I’m amazed at the number of people who don’t read the alternate endings, always included with the game, I assure you.”

As the stranger’s eyes began to glow, Tom suddenly realized that bullets were the least of their worries.

A Moment With Mystee

I have an author interview today over at A Moment With Mystee. You want to know more weird stuff about me, right? Grab a piece of virtual chocolate from the sideboard and come join the fun!


A Moment With Mystee


While you're there, have a look around. Mystee has interviews and reviews galore!

Alchemy - #FridayFlash

Beverly woke to the sound of a strange voice speaking right next to her ear. She would have flinched except for the fact that she seemed frozen in place, her body immobilized.

Her eyes slowly focused, as if they'd been open all along but not seeing. A bright light hung overhead—too bright to be anything in her house.

Where was she? A body came into view; a white jacket hung inches from her nose. A tiny light flicked back and forth across her face. She tried to close her eyes against the pain it caused, but her eyelids didn't cooperate.

"Patient is unresponsive."

A hospital…she tried to tell the doctor that she was awake but her lips didn't move. No sound issued from her throat either. A spark of panic lodged in her brain when Beverly realized she couldn't even shift her eyes from side to side.

Had she been in an accident? The last thing Beverly remembered was window-shopping in front of Hardy's Department Store. After that…nothing.

A withered arm came into view, flaccid and covered with age spots, as they strapped a wristband to it. The tag said Doe, J.

The doctor still spoke as if she couldn't hear him. "…patient looks to be approximately eighty-five years of age."

Beverly silently screamed into the abyss of the nearly dead.

"I'm only twenty-three!"

***

All eyes followed her entrance, but Darla was used to stares. She soaked up the admiration from the male contingent and ignored the daggers that seemed to spark from the female eyes.

Her green silk gown complimented her dark hair, making Darla the best-dressed woman at the party. The men circled around like moths to a flame, the atmosphere charged with possibilities as she danced with one after another.

She accepted a glass of champagne and drank to new beginnings, determined to leave her old life behind and start anew.

***

"Hello, police department? This is the manager of Hardy's Department Store. No, I'm not calling about the woman who collapsed outside the store yesterday. I'm calling to report a missing mannequin. She has dark brown hair and wore an expensive green silk dress…"


©2011 Laura Eno

Runner-Up #FridayFlash

Runner-up, or second place, can mean different things, depending on the context. In my case, I have a long history of almost winning.

The last beauty contest I entered, for example, was a farce. The winner was inferior to me in every way, but the judges were biased towards her. I will admit she had an unfair advantage over me, but I was taught to be gracious.

No more. This contest means life and death. No one will have the favoritism I've become accustomed to. I mean to have the surgical enhancement necessary to win.
Do you think that's cheating? That it's not an honest way to win? You might think differently if you had my face.

Genetics shouldn't play into this, but it does. It's not my fault that my human ancestry gave me only one nose. The Denebian judges are partial to two noses and since they are the ones overseeing the contest, I have no choice.

Monday at dawn, they will announce the winner. Right after the ceremony, the runner-up will be barbecued for the banquet.

©2011 Laura Eno

Writers Talk

I'm being interviewed today for the Writers Talk segment by John Hayes of Robert Frost's Banjo. It's an eclectic site with writer interviews, music, poetry, trains and beautiful photos. Drop on by and say hi!

Robert Frost's Banjo

Don't Fall Asleep - New Review

I'm very excited about the insightful review that Cecilia Dominic has posted for Don't Fall Asleep over at Cecilia's Random Writings. I'd be honored if you gave it a read!

Don't Fall Asleep review

Thanks!

52 Stitches Is Here!

52 Stitches is now available at Amazon, including my story Dangerous Premonitions.

Aaron Polson and Strange Publications have decided to donate all profits to the Jamie Eyberg memorial fund for his and Anne's two young children. Please open your heart and buy a few copies for a worthwhile cause and excellent tales of terror.

52 Stitches at Amazon

Product description:

These flash stories are quick, dark, and sometimes mean. You’ll find black humor here. Zombies. Killer angels. Maybe a vampire or two. But there are other, less common horrors at work, even a few subtle, unsettling tales which stretch far beyond their few pages. Each story can be read in a few minutes, but will haunt for much longer.

52 Stitches at Amazon

Want Fries With That Novel?

The dream I had last night will continue to haunt me until I get it down on paper and subject other people to it. Yes, that means you are now part of a viral infection.

In my dream there was a way to feature a FaceBook Author page on a kiosk at *cough* McDonalds, guaranteed to boost your fans.

I swear, I only left it up there for twenty minutes before shutting off the ad, but in that time, I gained two MILLION fans to my page. Mostly they were five year old button pushers, with a few eight year old fans thrown in with comments like "This is a neat book!" sprinkled over my page.

It seems the kiosks were centered in the middle of the McDonalds playgrounds, right next to the plastic tubes that look like they're made for giant gerbils. The comments from my "fans" puzzled me though. Did they have little plastic keyboards attached to the screens for young minds to participate in a type of modern-day graffiti?

The teenagers were worse, of course. One wit asked if my book came with fries; others thought they'd practice their stand-up comedy act for the X-rated crowd on my page.

None of this woke me up though. I could deal with it all, calmly considering a change of name and possible move to another country to fix my blunder.

It was the English Professor who left me with heart-pounding fear, waking to stare at the dark ceiling while dread settled in for a comfy spell.

The Prof went on a diatribe of quotation marks, bold words and the horrific s/he vs. they conundrum. I swear an entire English course passed before my eyes. At one point, I bit halfway through my tongue (maybe it was less than halfway, but at the time it felt like I'd severed it).

By the time I read the dissertation s/he had left on my page, I wondered what a person like that was doing on FaceBook in the first place. Really, wouldn't *they* go mad witnessing the grammatical inconsistencies that abound there? Or perhaps defacing my author page was only a pit stop squeezed in between sliding through the gerbil tubes and munching salty burgers.

I could almost feel sorry for the person…almost.

Disclaimer: I am not responsible for any inconsistencies, since it was a dream. You'll have to take your complaint to the REM department, which keeps strange hours and is totally unreliable…usually…often.

Death In A Red Suit - #FridayFlash

Chronos heard a commotion outside and hurried to the door, opening it to find a tiny reindeer stamping on his welcome mat.

"Are you lost, little one?" The miniature cutie only stood five hands high.

"I ain't lost, Pops," the deer growled in a voice better suited to a carnie with a cigar chomped between his teeth.

While Chronos stared at the small hellion, he heard the roar of Death's Harley in the air behind him.

"Get back in formation, Prancer."

The small deer grumbled and sprang into the air just as Death and seven other reindeer came in for a landing in the middle of Time's carefully tended garden.

"I got us a gig!" Death hopped off his bike and danced over, his Santa hat flopping down to cover one eye socket and looking like a jaunty pirate.

"Doing what?" The second the question left his mouth Chronos decided he really didn't want to know.

Death presented a pointy green cap with a flourish.

"Macy's hired me as their Santa and you're going to be my helper. How cool is that, my friend?"

Chronos backed away to a chorus of snickers from the little deer, waving his hands in front of him to fend off Death.

"No, no…you're not turning me into an elf. I won't do it."

"I have candy-striped stockings for you too," Death continued as if Chronos hadn't spoken. "When I arrived to collect their old Santa yesterday, the manager asked if I wanted the job. It seems the city has a shortage of jolly Saint Nicks."

Chronos shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear it, but the scene before him remained unchanged.

"Where did you come up with the rude reindeer?"

"Lucien loaned them to me," Death enthused. "Aren't they great?"

"Your reindeer are demons?"

"Well, sure. I couldn't take Santa's real ones, you know. How would he get around? Come on, it'll be fun."

Chronos stuffed the elf cap on his head and stalked over to the bike, already regretting his decision.

***

The mini reindeer caused quite a stir as they strutted into the large department store ahead of Santa and his peculiar-looking elf. The manager flagged Santa down and pulled him aside.

"You can't bring these animals in here."

Prancer left a present in the aisle as response.

"Don't worry," Death said. "The children will love them."

The manager's face turned a deep shade of purple. "Get them out of here!"

A crowd had already formed around them by this time, children squealing with delight as they cavorted with the deer. The demons, for their part, took a perverted pleasure in knocking over display units and creating havoc while leading the kids astray.

Chronos noted one woman gasping for breath as she caught sight of Death over by the perfume counter.

"One of your imminent clients?" Chronos asked as he watched her portrayal of a fish out of water.

Death followed his gaze. "No. She is only suffering the aftereffects of inhaling Poison."

As Death sat down in Santa's chair and listened to the children telling him their fondest wishes, Chronos couldn't help but be proud to call him friend. Even when they were fired a half hour later for giving away the merchandise, Chronos could call it a good day.

"What about the demon reindeer?" he asked as they exited the building without the tiny menaces.

Death shrugged a clavicle. "They'll revert back to Lucien at midnight. In the meantime, let them have a little excitement."

"I have to admit, it was fun watching them tree that manager," Chronos chuckled. "I didn't think he'd climb that display so fast in dress shoes."

©2010 Laura Eno