Today is Christi Floss’ Birthday and what follows is my gift (55 words of Flash Fiction) to her. Christi is a free spirited poet who owns Getting It Right where she unknowingly published one poem in particular, Breathing You, that …pinned me for reasons some of you may guess, and fewer will know.

Happiest of Birthdays Christi!

Fresh Air

“Air!” She gasped as her flight path sped upwards, “My sweet air.”

A tear marked her cheek as she glanced back at her cage. A tear for illusions she once knew, and for the freedom allowed by her muse and lover.

“I’m yours,” her scream filling the night air, “I am me- free to love.”

© 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

“REBELLION”
2200 A.D.

Journal entry 2210 A.D.

…… My days are numbered. I’ve come to realize this. Unless help arrives soon, I fear all is lost……

The year is 2210 and our planet is at war.. A war started by a Past president resurrected by science controlled by evil.
There are a few chosen warriors who stand and fight for the greater good. Longing for peace and to return Mother Earth to her former glory & beauty.

Stamor- Communictons Expert – can get a message to anyone anytime, anywhere.

Shocktra- killer with telekinetic powers & a shocking personality. Don’t break her heart you might get fried.

Hinge- entrance expert- the expert in getting into anything with a lock  & at getting into trouble.

Toro- Lots of muscle & fire power but not much brains overall nice guy with a big heart.

Relay- Driver-Top gear- Best  drive man around. once drove a Harley across the roof of the White House. You need transport he’s the man .

Chop Shop- Weapons & building expert- good with hands can build a weapon  out of any material at a moments notice.

And then there’s me … I’m the bitch that runs the show.. My aim is second to none. you cross me you die. I am simply Skye.

We are the Rebels…. the freedom fighters who want to make Mother Earth better for the children of the future. The goverment will fall. We shall continue the battle until the last one drops.

WE ARE REBELLION

© 2011, Skye Poet. All rights reserved.

Happy Birthday to one of the best Twitter pals out there. Mary (@NanaMary05) is a retired Navy Nurse who didn’t check her heart with the service- she is golden and ROCKS!

Mary- enjoy this 55 word flash fiction story and enjoy the day!

Under the din of the O.C., Karen leaned in, “The blood, latex, gurneys, and those poor boys.”

Mary smiled, “It’s because we care that we put those nightmares away- so we can help their friends tomorrow.” She then winked towards two handsome officers at the bar and said, “Right now, it’s time for Operation PORKSWORD.”

© 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Happy Birthday, @jkewell! Kacy is one of my closest Twitter friends, so I wrote this flash fiction piece as my gift to her…

Lost, floating, bobbing, and bouncing- off of elbows, knees, and… what the heck was THAT? He wanted to cry out, “I want my mommy!” But all he could do was squeak.

“There’s my ducky!” Reaching past Theresa, and around Mary, Kacy scooped him up.

He squeaked when she said, “You’ll always be my rubber ducky.”

© 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Twice Missed is the first piece of flash fiction I have written in a couple of weeks. This one was influenced by a string of Philip K. Dick tales I recently read.Felt good to saddle up once again…

A rainy night in late March, the Appalachian Mountains, a shallow and dank cave, Harry and his parents. The three of them were huddled over a fire that was small and short on providing real warmth, but sometimes perception is everything as they felt like they were warmer, even as the cold dirt floor tugged at their fantasies about heat.

“John, I can’t let him go. He is my son.” Margaret’s wet eyes pleaded with her husband as she faced him.

Taking his wife by the shoulders and looking her square in the eyes John said, “Margaret, it has been ten years, and we are slowing down. Every day brings us closer to peril because the Feds are closing in on us and before long we will be caught.” His eyes narrowed and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “You know the ramifications of being apprehended while attempting to flee; we’ll be tagged as treasonous…”

…Because the automaton population grew rapidly, not only in numbers but also intelligence, the human population, at least those that didn’t own simulations, became extensively paranoid because of the difficulty in telling humans and machines apart. The fire to put an end to full blown, life like automatons had gasoline thrown on it by the Shelby County Catastrophe.

A group of the living machines in Shelby County, Ohio, were updated with the latest gaming software by their teen aged owners. After a few short days of gaming, the machines banded together and set about to stimulate their war game coated pleasure circuits by going on a killing spree.

The death toll stopped at 3,317, some of those victims died as a result of friendly fire when the U.S. Army Rangers fought the automatons.

Immediately, the American government enacted the Shelby Automaton Eradication Law requiring that all the qualified machines to be handed over to authorities for disposal. Refusal to turn over automatons meant charges of treason…

“…I am getting too old to run any longer. I want to live out the rest of life in peace and cling onto the beautiful memories from before the accident.”

A tear trailed down Margaret’s cheek. “John, are you saying there have been no good memories in the last twenty years? None worth dwelling on?”

Suddenly feeling the chill of the wet cave, John answered, “The last twenty years are filled with false memories. Only the ones before the accident are real. Margaret, he was five, I should never have fallen prey to my grief. I should have let it go and never bought into the Re-Live Corporation promise. Hell, I really couldn’t afford it. And I certainly couldn’t afford the constant upgrades; that’s why you keep treating him like he is five years old.”

“How could you do this, John? Forget about what you are doing to me, think about Harry. How can you give up on him? He is your son too.”

“Margaret, in many ways he is more my son than he is yours.” John took a deep breath. “Harry and I have discussed this and he agrees that we should quit running. He is okay with my decision.”

Margaret’s eyes widened as she jerked free of her husband’s grip to spin and look at Harry as he sat on the cave floor. “Is this true, Harry? Do you want to go through with this? I don’t think you understand.”

Looking up at his mother, Harry closed his eyes and slowly nodded yes. This shocked Margaret and she went stiff as if to absorb the dreadful revelation.

John saw this as the perfect opportunity, so he slipped the .38 from his coat pocket, held the barrel to the base of Margaret’s head and pulled the trigger. The lead slug ripped the synthetic skin and exploded through the CPU of the Margaret unit, splattering the cave wall with coolant. Margaret jolted, twitched, half spun, and then crumpled to the cave floor like someone tossed down a pile of dirty laundry.

Harry and John both had loud ringing in their ears, but they could also hear the last of the compressed air hiss from the dying Margaret. The unit was expiring.

Once his eyes readjusted to the under lit cave, Harry stood and went to his father. “Are you okay, Dad?”

Putting an arm around his son, John answered, “It wasn’t easy to do, son. I am shaken now, and maybe a little regretful. But it is done.”

“Dad, you know there was no telling what she would have done. Those mother instinct circuits and programs were pretty old and primal. Twenty years of learning from that loop could have made her very dangerous, especially if we would’ve been cornered. And hell, after you told her and she was staring at me, I could swear a trapped animal look came over her face. I think she was going to try and kill you.”

“Oh well Harry. We can now live free and build new memories. Although,” he looked down at the broken machine, “I will miss your mother once again.”

Philip K. Dick may be the greatest American author you don’t know about, but you can bet you have heard of a movie or two that was created from his work. Blade Runner, Total Recall, Imposter, and many others are joined this year by the award winning indie film Radio Free Albermuth, a movie that is sure to be true to the vision of Philip K. Dick as the talented creators are not only fans of his work, but also know that he was a literary genius.

© 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

If We Kissed…..

The moment they had waited for had finally arrived
Crossing the next plane as their love thrived
Her eyes met his and his met hers
Broadening smiles as blood began to stir

A slight movement and his hand touched her skin
Electrifying her flesh and her desire within
They ease their bodies closer narrowing the field
Both of them yearning and ready to yield

She had dreamed of this moment in time
Many lonely hours that seemed such a crime
That fate and destiny had created such distance and space
Between the lovers who had to learn to embrace

Each second and minute which were so precious and few
But quite knowing the clock would be true
Giving them their heart’s desire
As the pendulum swung and took them higher

His body now dangerously close to her flesh
The look in his eyes managing to refresh
Every ounce of passion that took her soul
That filled her, completed her, and made her whole

Her body began to respond to his touch
And she knew he needed and wanted her just as much
His hand now rested under her chin
As their eyes met and drank one another in

Lost in the deepness of the love through his eyes
The flames of passion began to lick at her inner thighs
Her breathing now more shallow as her heart begins to pound
The memory of her deja’vu all the more profound

There were no need for words as their love volume’s spoke
As their passion and desire began to evoke
All the emotions that they had ever felt
Their inhibitions beginning to melt

For neither one could wait any longer for their first kiss
As his lips fell against hers in willing bliss
Their tongues danced a melody as they touched and played
Their kiss deepening which conveyed

That all their wonderment of what would be
Was all they had dreamed and imagined and now with guarantee
That their love was most definitely written in the stars
And as rich and deep and as beautiful as a Renoir

The lovers future was now emblazoned in stone
Which all along she had known
That he was her destiny as she drowned in his soul’s loving abyss
As their passion, desire, and love was reinforced in their first kiss.

Misty Jewell 2/19/07

© 2011, gypsy_heart. All rights reserved.

Letter to a Lover

My Dearest Love,

I awoke to the sound of nothing, but yet all I could hear was the soft lilt of your voice, and the steady beat of your heart. Your drumming heartbeats drill life into this lifeless corpse of a shell when you are not with me. I am quickly learning that sleep does not quite find me in the blackest of the night in such an empty and cold bed. I get up to look down on a city, dark, quiet, and serene; the multitudes asleep and full of dreams as the twinkling stars shine down and bless their slumber. I, my love, can’t seem to quite figure out the message that the glittering night sky is sending me, for all I see is you. The stars are your eyes; the moon, your beautiful smile; and the wind, your free-flowing spirit. My dearest, you must understand how my tortured soul cries out for you in the night, and the longing that fills my body.  My dreams are elusive, as the vision of you turns hollow and motionless. My eyes jolt awake only to find in reality what my dreams have already brought to light.  I sigh heavily for I miss you so. Every part of my body aches for you, and it needs your angelic touches to ease its’ pain. This is my nightly desire.

You, my love, are the sun, the moon, the stars, and the entire heavens rolled into one. I live to see the beauty of you. You are my purpose in this mortal life, and I will die knowing you are part of my heavenly design as well. Our souls are forged together by Excalibur itself. Blessed by the Gods and tempered by the Goddesses. We rage together when we take on the world side by side. We blaze the fiery trail of love with our passion, desire, and a lover’s intent. Without you, I am half a person, and only when your hand is resting in mine will I be whole.

Well my love, the bell tower just struck thrice, and my visions of you are strong and vivid. I must take my leave of the stars and the city and turn my tearful eyes away from a dream, the dream of you. It is my body that cries out in the night for sleep for my mind races and never rests in the hollowness of your absence. I turn to look at my lifeless bed, and as I crawl between the flaxen sheets, my body turns as cold as they, and I become a cold-blooded creature of the night, which waits the dawn, ready for the warmth of the sun and a chance to love you once again, in all our passion, desire, and glory, but for now, I close my eyes and reach out to a darkened dream, and if fate is kind, I will find you there waiting on gossamer wings.

With all my heart, soul, mind, body, and spirit,

Your Eternal Lover

© 2011, gypsy_heart. All rights reserved.

This 55 word flash fiction piece is my birthday gift to Christa Rucker (@PhyreAcid) on twitter.  Just because we foster patterns and make them thrive, we are not beholden to them; especially when forcing pieces so they conform to the puzzle nets disaster.  Enjoy!

She was broken, lying at the bottom of a deep cleft. Her life spared by being thrown from the car.

Months later, at the usual split, she made a decision. This time, instead of taking the easy path,  she took the road to mystery, trust, pain, and love.

If only her old car was fixed

© 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Like Cracked Mirror, this piece of flash fiction was rejected for publication at one site. Of course I love this tale, but I can’t expect everyone to see it as I do.

The three editors who commented on it all said the same thing, that it begs to be expanded, which I find uncanny because I have toyed with this for quite a while in hopes in turning into a novel. The history of this begins with a metaphor exercise for an online workshop and may not find an end for quite some time…

Staring at the monitor, seeing the early morning clouds of midnight blue, glowing orange around the edges, he knew it wouldn’t be long before he realized his hopes and desires. A realization that took a few hundred years to reach and one woman to understand.

And now that woman was gone. Lovely Lilly was buried last night at midnight. Taken by the ravages of a mortal disease. Hollowed out by time. She was a delicate flower right up until her last gasp.

The neighbors all turned out for the somber event, and they paid tribute to Lilly with glow in the dark bandages, which were a sign that they were trying to keep memories of lovely Lilly alive by giving Henri a gift. Henri cried at that thought, but he knew his moment had come. Heartfelt gesture or not, he had to go.

Presently, as the sky on the monitor grew less dark and the orange grew a bit brighter, Henri grasped the ornate vial that hung about his neck gracefully at the hands of a delicate silver necklace. As a single tear traced a sad trail down his cheek, memories of a day not all that long ago came flooding back…

“Henri darling, your breakfast is ready,” Lilly’s voice came to him like a gentle spring wind. Her words danced on his eardrums and fell into his heart. Poetic images were one of the symptoms of love that he truly enjoyed.

“I’ll be right there dear.” He finished reading the passage in his book, a fanciful tale about, of all things, vampires, and set it on the nightstand. He smiled to himself when he thought how a literary license permits an author to invent far flung fantasies from facts an assault on the reader’s imagination.

Henri walked from his bedroom to the kitchen where Lilly had two place settings simply arranged at the table.  As she walked towards him with a cup of coffee he watched her, because his heart gave him no choice. She held a beauty so rarely found. Her soft raven hair fell below the ridges of her shoulders and midway down the subtle lines of her breasts. Her smile was not sly or impish and did not stretch her face, but it was one of contentment, warmth and love. Her blue eyes sparkled in the shimmer of her smile. Yet, these weren’t the real reasons Henri loved her. She shared with him the incredible depths of her soul and a burning desire to be with him, to love him.

She set the coffee down and gently traced the outside of his left cheek with the back of her hand. He lightly took her hand and gave a slight tug that brought her lips to his. As they kissed, a sudden rush of joy came across him. When he slid his hand to her waist he had a flash image of what was hidden beneath the nightshirt, an image he had seen many times, the curve of her bare hip as it rose from her thigh and sloped to her waist.

“Good morning, sweet,” He uttered through her soft hair and into her ear.

“I love you,” She whispered into his shoulder.

He moved her so that he could look her in the eyes and said, “I love you too.”

Lilly separated herself from Henri and moved behind him where she stood and hung a gold chain around his neck. Bending down she whispered into his ear, “Just because.”

Henri looked at what struck his chest, just below his throat, and what he saw hanging from the chain was a beautifully crafted crystal vial, about twenty-five centimeters in length and nine centimeters around. The vial was adorned with a cap designed to look like two hearts that sealed the container and met to grab the chain. But, the contents of the vial grabbed his attention more than anything else. He knew without question that the fluid was blood.

“Lilly,” he spoke as she sat herself across from him, “I…uh…am without words.”

“It is a symbol of my life for you Love”, she gently smiled…

…Lilly was gone. She was the final act of the great stage play whose curtains were about to drop.

Henri had enough blood in the basement to live on for many decades; especially at the rate he’d been weaning himself from the dependency. This was all thanks to his loving neighbors. Neighbors who understood, accepted, and loved Henri because of Lilly. Lilly had showed them that he was trying not to be the monster that lived inside of him.

Lilly totally gave herself to Henri. She felt compassion and sadness for his soul; a soul that was littered with the many lives that perished at his trembling hands. She cried for him when he wasn’t looking. She accepted him for what he truly was.

She loved him.

Henri shut off the monitor and walked through the double foyer and out onto the front porch. He took a seat in what he knew was Lilly’s favorite chair, smiled, and pulled the vial from his neck. Just as the sun had edged to the top of the waning clouds, Henri emptied the contents of the vial into his mouth.  He could feel the world come alive with him. The sun burst through and Henri watched the day burn away the shadows of night.

Staring full into the sun at last, and just before his life was leached completely away, Henri smiled and whispered, “Lilly, I love you.”

Little Cassie Saunders watched tearfully from her bedroom window. She knew Henri would do this. She knew there was no other way. She cried for weeks.

Twenty years later, Cassandra Saunders told the only lie she ever would in her life when she said that her best selling book, Dying To Live, was fiction.

© 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

In this flash fiction piece I weave a tale of eventually paying the piper in currency inked with terror…

Beams of moonlight filtered in from the mostly cloaked windows and pierced her as she sat in the dark room, bound, gagged, and terrified. The wooden chair was cold against her thighs and the dirty cement floor uncomfortably raked her bare feet.

“I have been waiting for this dance for the five long years since you nearly took away my life.”  His wet, hissing voice against her ear startled her and tears began to flow as she choked a scream against the leather gag.

She heard a growl and felt his leather duster brush her arm and leg when he stood up and walked out in front of her. Her eyes, wide with terror, only saw a quiet, dark silhouette against an even darker room.

Suddenly, he leaned in just enough for the dusty yellow shards of light to stripe his face. The one eye she was able to see was ablaze with rage, and she could see his shape heave with each breath he took. Trails of sweat ran down, in and out of the visible slices of his face. Fear was gripping her tighter with each heartbeat.

He held in a dirty fingerless glove clad hand, a 9mm Beretta. Suddenly he pointed it towards her and let loose several shots. A scream curdled in her throat as her eyes squeezed tight. Flinching as she felt every round pass her ear; heard every bullet hit the wall behind her. Urine started to pool in the chair, soaking her thin purple dress as the grit from the violently roiled air pressed against her face.

Quickly he was next to her, pressing the gun barrel’s end hard against her temple. As the intense, painful heat and sickening sweet smell of her own burning flesh seared her soul, she felt him lean in to snarl, “Bitch, it’s time you collect what you paid for five years ago.”

She nearly strangled on her on slobber as she felt the pressure of him slowly squeezing the trigger of the gun tightly pressed against the side of her head.

CLICK! And her bladder fully let loose.

No explosion, no more pain than the burn, or the terror that had her fully in its throes. She was sobbingly alive.

His beastly laughter as he stood erect in the moonbeams unnerved her even more as she pleaded with him through teary eyes. She was sure he was going to reload the gun and end it. In fact, somewhere deep inside of her quivering mind a scream came out, wanting him to stop the game and kill her.

He turned his head and exposed a perfectly round scar that he fingered when he said, “I have marked us both for your sin. Live with it as a reminder not to fuck with me or anyone else again.”

With that, he dropped the gun and walked past her. As his footfalls faded behind, she was left soaking in tears, sweat and urine, to be awash in the five years of guilt stemming from that night after the office party, the morning after embezzlement with his name wrongly all over it, and his suicide attempt. The guilt she was hiding from had finally snared her in its monstrous jaws.

In the end, she cried for him.

© 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.