I Always Feel Like…

So, there I am, eating lunch the other day and this acne-faced teenager sits at the table next to me. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, his face in his phone the second his butt hit the cushion. He pushed his glasses up as his mom talked to him about what he wanted to eat, and the second she leaves, his greasy hair flips back over his face and he’s gone into his phone again.

I go back to reading my book and eating my tacos, looking up periodically to see if the kid ever comes up for air. It must have been a good minute or so, but about the fifth time I look up, there he is, his phone propped up and on the screen, zoomed in, is the girl sitting twenty feet away. The gall! Here this kid is taking photos of some girl he probably doesn’t even know.

I watched as he snapped a few more photos of her and then close down the phone as his mother came back. She was all smiles, none-the-wiser to her son’s proclivities. I tell you, I felt the need to tap her on the shoulder and give her the what-for.

I mean, who does he think he is, spying on other people like that?

***

 

Something I wrote for my fiction writing class.

Private Malone…

 

Thirty-six hours ago, he stood on the tarmac with his entire life stuffed into a ruck slung on his back. His face was shiny as the prospect of his first deployment loomed before him. He watched the Osprey class dropship land and let a grin slip at the prospect of ‘finally getting into the thick of it.’ He shouldered his weapon and marched to the lowering gangway at the rear of the Osprey.

“Private Malone, reporting for duty.” He snapped a quick salute to the crewman manning the ramp who just waved him in and shook his head.

“Booters,” the crewman mumbled to himself.

***

Thirty-two hours ago, he landed on the Leviathan, a troopship in orbit over the recruit training world of Andari. He was shuffled through in-doc, orders handed in, and assigned to a cryo-tube and berthing deck.

“Private Malone.” He smiled to his new commanding officer, who never looked up as he signed the last line on the form.

“Good to have you son. Sergent Barry is your platoon sergent and will be taking over from here.” With the briefest of eye contact, the CO shook his hand and then Malone was ushered away.

***

Thirty hours ago he sat on the mess deck, a tray of food in front of him. He poked at the slop with his fork while he listened deep in conversations around him. “Private Malone.” He offered his hand to the group of soldiers who sat down near him. One of them turned toward him and tilted his head up.

“S’up, booter?” He smiled mockingly as he sat, and then turned back to his group.

***

Twenty-six hours ago, he was running to his cryo-tube as the klaxon on the ship whined. They were making an emergency jump to Tallos IV. “Move, move, move!” He could hear Sgt. Barry’s voice boom from the end of the passageway as boots echoed down the metal hall.

Malone stopped for a second in front of his tube, his heart in his throat. That’s when he saw that someone had marked ‘Booter’ over his name. “Time to get in, son.” Barry’s voice was close.

Malone froze, his face went pale, and he felt his stomach turn. “I…I…” His voice stuck in his throat and his mouth went dry. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and turn him around.

“You need to get in.” Barry’s voice was strong and commanding as he pushed the petrified soldier into the cryo-tube. “It’s going to be fine,” he said as he reached in and pushed the activation nodule.

“Sir… I’m scared.” Malone said.

“We all are, Malone. We all are.” Malone smiled at the sound of his own name as the door sealed and the sleep started.

***

Sgt. Barry walked down the passageway to his own cryo-tube, doing one final check on his platoon. Everyone was in bed. Satisfied, he stepped into his chamber and hit the nodule. “Ploxxing booters.”

Friday Fiction with Ronovan Writes

Of Slaying Windmills…

“And you think you can get to the top?” Don looked at his chubby friend and snickered. “I don’t think you can even get halfway up.”

“It’s simple,” Panza said. He stepped off his horse and walked over to where the blades came closest to the ground. He swung the rope grapple up and caught the vein on the first attempt. “See.”

The windmill blade spun, pulling the rope and Panza smiled at Don. Don sat astride his horse and folded his arms. “We’ll see.”

Ticks and Tocks…

 

Jamison looked at the golden pocket watch in his hand, closed the cover, and tucked it back into his vest, patting the spot twice before buttoning his black suit jacket closed.

“Is everything fine, sir?” The porter asked from the station platform.

“Hmm.” Jamison looked up into the bright portly face of a man in his mid-forties who’s glasses did little to hide his face. “Oh, yes. Quite so.” Jamison curled the edge of his mustache up.

“It’s just that, if you begging my pardon for saying so, sir,” the porter looked as if he was trying to choke down an entire side of pork, which invariably he had done in days recent.

“Out with it, man, you haven’t got all day.”

Discarded Ambivalence…

 

Martha sat in her recliner, wringing her hands, as her younger brother opened a new industrial strength black garbage bag and placed a handful of the old magazines that piled up around her living room in the New York brownstone.  The tears welled in the corners of her eyes as years of her life were discarded with such ambivalence.

Over the last hour, her brother had taken out six such bags. Inside each one, another piece of her left her, wrapped in their own body bags and tossed out into the street for the collector to gather.

Cat’s Rule…

“It doesn’t seem fair,”Melvin said.

“Why do you say that?” Fluffy seemed less interested in the actual answer and more interested grooming her own fur.

“Well, they get to go on all the walks they want. Without a leash.” Melvin lowered his snout to the floor and breathed out heavily, blowing the dust bunny across the room.

Fluffy yawned widely. “You do realize, I never go outside on a leash.” Fluffy seemed satisfied with the dumbfounded look on the dog’s face as she saw Melvin contemplate this information as if it was the first time in the last four years she had ever said this to him.

Santa and The Malamute…

 

Santa slid into his leather heated seat, another house checked off his long list that we all know he checked twice, and took the reigns in his fur-lined gloved hands. As he settled his backside into the memory-foam bench, he double checked the GPS system on the console, marking the next step… just one roof over.

“Never understood the need for this thing.” He blew on the hot cocoa before he sipped on it. “Alright boys, next house.” He snapped the reigns and the sled lurched forward, launching into the air and across two-hundred feet of snow laden lawn.

The bells on the reindeer barely ceased their jingling before he was out of the sled and down the chimney. A blink later he was back up and looking at the GPS again. “Next.” The sudden movement of the sleigh almost caused him to spill his cocoa on him, making him look over at Blitzen with a crooked head. “Hey…” he said titling his head to the side. Although not entirely sure, he could have sworn Blitzen giggled.

This house, like every one of the 3,7043,891,553 other houses he had already visited that night, was a quick package drop, but as he reached into his pack, Comet sneezed causing him to lose grip of the present and as if all 8 reindeer knew exactly what had happened, they turned and watched the red and silver stripped box slide down the snowy roof toward the iced over gutter.

Santa sighed and sauntered, as well as an over-weight elf can saunter on a slanted and slippery surface, down toward the truant goody. As he reached for it, the sheet of snow that held the present broke loose and slide off of the roof, depositing the gift on the top of a mound of piled up snow like a silver and red cherry on top of a snow cone, and in the process startling Hunter from his slumber.

To back up a moment, I feel the need to explain that Hunter is a dog. An Alaskan Malamute to be exact. So for him to be outside on a night with snow, snuggled up and sleeping in his dog house doesn’t seem all that strange, because… well, he’s a Malamute. So, now that we have that covered, where were we? Oh yes. Santa knocked loose a sheet of snow, causing it to slide off of the roof and startled Hunter from his slumber.

Normally, this wouldn’t have been an issue, as Santa has ways of dealing with ensuring that sleeping dogs lie, but his Slumber Biscuit treats were nestled in their doggy-bag back up in the sleigh. However, with the startled canine now sniffing around and catching the scent of chocolate and peppermint, Santa knew it was only going to be a matter of seconds before the Malamute would no longer be mute.

Leaping from the roof with an agility that is normally only resigned for Olympic level gymnasts or ninja from 80’s movies, Santa bounded down to the ground, landing with a tuck and roll and coming out of the maneuver with his hand on the package.

Santa looked at Hunter from under the brim of his hat.

Hunter snarled at Santa, unaware of the importance of the festively dressed elf.

“Code Jingle. I repeat, Code Jingle.” Santa said into his mic. Up on the roof, Blitzen snorted the team into action and all eight reindeer launched into the air, zipping the sleigh behind them.

Hunter growled, hung his head low and lunged toward the red-suited fat man. Santa leaped into the air, grabbing the rail of the sleigh as it passed overhead, swinging himself into the seat and grabbing the reigns in one motion.

With Santa now at the helm, the sleigh rose into the night air with Hunter chasing after the Christmas team, down the road, barking and yapping all the way.

And as the lights of the neighborhood started to turn on from all the ruckus, Santa said, “Blitzen, I think it’s time we made a hasty retreat.”

And with a flick of his wrist, and a snap of his reigns, Santa rose into the sky, As Hunter barked again and again.

Dan’s Flash Fiction Challenge

Written for Dan Altore's Flash Fiction Challenge using the prompts "A dog running after Santa’s sleigh" and needing to include the word "present" (8)

Snowed In…

It was a winter day, and Ed, a government employee who had to stay home because he was snowed in, sat at his home PC and played the MMO, EverTell. As he played, he ran into a particular quest that was a bit more difficult than others he had done to this point, and so he had to call for help.

“Help! Help! I’m facing this giant beast that is doing nasty stuff to all the players of the game.” He shouted OOC.

“I’ll help. I’ve heard of such a beast, and I know the nasty things it can do.” Came the /tell from Julie Ann.

“Great!” Ed said back in /tell. “I’m hiding in Chin A. It’s right next to Chin B, if you didn’t know where that was.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can find that place, it shouldn’t be too hard.” And soon, Julie Ann was there, leaking from all her pores because she didn’t realize there were so many Chin’s in Chinland.

“Here, have a napkin, it will help wick up those leaks.” Ed said.

“Thanks.” And Julia Ann, sweeping her blonde hair to the side, dabbed the sweat away. Tossing the napkin aside, she pulled her giant bastard sword, Assange, from its scabbard, “Now, where is this beast?”

Ed pointed across the ocean Specific to the land of Merry Cans. “Over there, and it goes by the name ‘The Naturally Shiny Asgardian’. It says it does good things to protect the inhabitants, but I know better. I have watched it for a long time and seen that even though, on the surface it seems to do good, it does wretched and vile things to those it protects.”

So, the two set out across the ocean Specific, and in the land of Merry Cans they hunted the great NSA beast, as Julie Ann said it was too much to keep saying. “The Naturally Shiny Asgardian is just too much to say, let’s just call it the NSA.”

“Ok.” Said Ed.

But then, the NSA found out Ed was trying to kill it, so it sent out it’s tentacles to try to stop him, making Ed have to run away and hide. Julia Ann, being far wiser than Ed, began to send Ed /tells.

“You have to tell the world what the NSA is doing. I will help. We can shout to our zones, and let them know that the Naturally Shiny Asgardian is really a No-good Snake-like Assassin.”

So Ed and Julie Ann started to /shout, “The Naturally Shiny Asgardian is really a No-good Snake-like Assassin.”

Soon, people joined in the choir of voices, spreading it from zone to zone, until the entire server was nothing more then a chorus of the evils and travesty that the NSA had committed (some true, some not-so-true). Finally, the server crashed under the assault and brought the whole game down.

After that, Ed just sat alone in his cabin, loaded up solitaire and watched the snow fall outside his window.

Monsters in the Night…

The blade flashed silver in the light of the full-moon as he silently twisted through the trees in the park. He made his way toward the path and the spot where it passed under the road above. The tunnel, that was his destination. Just outside, on the north end, where she was sure to run by. He used a bush near the entrance as his hiding place, making sure he was downwind, just in case.

He looked toward the lighted path for any signs of her. Nothing yet. His heart began to beat faster. This was going to be the night. It had to be the night. Everything was perfect. The month of planning he put into this had to be tonight. He licked his lips as they dried in the cool autumn evening. He rolled the six-inch serrated blade in his hand, feeling the weight, taking comfort in the hours of practice he put into making the perfect thrust.

He heard the gravel crunching before he saw her crest the ridge, her body in silhouette as she ran along the path. He reached down and put the cowl over his mouth as he flexed his legs, making sure he was ready to pounce. Her ponytail bounced behind her as her arms swung. Crunch, crunch, crunch; the rhythm of her pace echoed in the night.

Overwatch…

Something I wrote awhile back, and because my time is being split between real life and school work… well.. enjoy.

A Flash of Fiction...

Neither of the planet’s moons were up yet, and the cool night enveloped the land in a blanket of darkness. A soft wind blew across the tall grass on the hillside, bending it to and fro as a distant bird sang the melancholy tune of a lonely soul. Slowly, a portion of the grass moved, imperceptible to the naked eye, as Bronski adjusted the scope on his rifle.

View original post 674 more words