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.

This flash fiction submission explores the probability that no matter how good, or how lucky we are, we still need a little help…

Every landing you walk away from is a good one,  Sam thought to himself as he limped away from the now burning Jenny. He didn’t even look back at the plane as it was planted nose first behind the barn as if it were some twisted, exotic tree. In fact, his only focus right now was Howard Hamm, the film director who asked Sam if he could dive just a little lower before pulling out, And ‘The Double H’ was standing squarely in Sam’s crosshairs.

“Was that low enough, you sunovabitch?” The rugged looking, one time World War One pilot punctuated the question with a hard right cross that sent the overweight, balding director flat on his back.

Without missing a step, Sam strode through the dew dampened pasture with long, purposeful steps towards his Ford; leaving a wake of gasps along the way as the production crew stumbled back out of his way. No one immediately went to the aid of the struck director because they were afraid the tall, broad man would flail again. What those who had no air combat experience didn’t understand was that Sam’s reaction was very controlled and tightly focused. He had but one adversary in this situation; there were no other targets. Do the job and get out is what kept him alive to this point, and every action was treated as a job.

Upon reaching his car, he saw sitting in the passenger seat the most beautiful woman he had ever met, Georgette Hamm. Just before he got in, Sam leaned down to the window and addressed the gorgeous redhead, “Hey there, doll. Taking a bit of a risk being here, aren’t ya?”

“Get in here ya big lunk,” Georgette playfully told Sam.

Sam jumped in the driver’s seat and started the car, slammed in gear and drove the two of them off. The old dirt road was full of character, which meant that no matter what speed the car traveled, Sam and Georgette were tossed around in their seats.

Once the car ambled around the last bend of the township route and was dumped out onto the smoother county road, Sam looked over at Howard Hamm’s wife and said, “Once again, isn’t this a bit risky? Suspicions will increase and ‘The Double H’ will surely find out.”

Georgette looked up at Sam with her huge brown eyes and said, “Don’t worry about that sugar, he already knows.”

Sam slammed on the brakes and looked hard at his pale skinned lover, “What do you mean he knows? Holy Christ, I put my life on the line for his damn movie. I mean I just now did it. In fact, he could have had me killed if he wanted….”

“Shhhhhh, lover. Did you enjoy punching him,” She batted her eyes at him.

“Well, no. Not exactly enjoyed it; that would mean it was personal. What I did wasn’t personal; it was just a reaction to being put in a near death situation. I guess it was a counter strike.” Sam was visibly shaken with the news that Georgette gave him.

“He almost did kill you. I was able to save you at the last moment,” She smiled at him.

Now, the big man was really wondering what was going on with his lover. Was she going nuts? He said to her, “What do you mean you saved me? You weren’t anywhere near the production crew.”

“I was able to put up just enough resistance on the throttle that you fell short of air speed enough to kill you on impact.” A somber tone crept into her voice as she continued, “Listen, Howard found out about us and killed me this morning. Took me out to the reservoir and strangled me. He left my body in the lake and no one would have ever suspected him. I am an angel…”

“What? An angel? You have gone crazy. In the first place, you ain’t dead, you are right here in front of…well, beside me. And then there’s the fact that we both committed adultery.”

“No, it’s true. I am an angel; I was given my wings right away to save you.” Georgette blinked once, then smiled as she continued, “Sam, I was destined to die inside. Being a Howard Hamm trophy would have eventually made me a zombie. I might have fallen prey to opium or worse, if it hadn’t been for your love.”

Then, with a single tear slowly working down her cheek, she pulled back at her collar and showed the deep red rope burns and bruising. She took Sam’s hand and made him feel fatal wound.

Shakily, Sam said, “Georgette, my sweet Georgette. I do love you;  more than you will ever know.”

“Smiling, Georgette looked deep into Sam’s eyes and said, “No Sam, you are wrong. I know exactly how deep our love runs, and so does heaven. That’s why I am here. We both did our part to preserve our love and see justice come to an empty hearted killer.”

“Huh?”

“I knew you’d lash out at Howard, and I knew you’d do it regardless of who was watching. Now, many witnesses saw that and suspicions will rise. People will start to stick their noses in, especially after my body is found, and see that Howard clearly tried to kill you. It will all blow up in his face and he will be dealt with swiftly.”

“But…”

Delicately putting a finger over Sam’s lips, she continued, “I’ll be looking over you and you will know I love you, Sam.” She then stepped from the car, blew him a kiss, and then disappeared.

Publicity from ‘The Double H’ murder trial was so good for Sam, that he found it easy to locate financial backers for his successful flight school, Red Headed Angel Flight Training, and at the bottom of his business cards was the saying, “Every good landing needs a little help…”

© 2011, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Cracked Mirror was my first ever submission to the flash fiction site, Every Day Fiction. Unfortunately the story was rejected, and I would have to agree with the reasons why. I wondered when I put the fork in it if I should have held onto this one and turned into a longer piece. Oh well, live and learn…

Am I really sitting here talking to my ghost? Isn’t a person’s own ghost called something? What is that word? Dammit, come on now…

“…Fetch! Yeah. Fetch! Are you saying you’re my fetch?”

The apparition almost smiled,”No, fetches are folklore; some drunken Irishman’s bad dream, nothing more. It just never happens, you know, the living seeing their own ghosts. Well, never until now.”

Tony thought the ghost seemed nervous, apprehensive; as if he felt guilty about something.

“Okay Tony, I can call you Tony, right?  What makes you and me so special?”

If the ghost really had finger nails, he was nervously picking at them, “Not just us. There’s a couple thousand of us talking to each other, or at least trying.”

Scratching the back of his head, Tony said, “Now you really got me confused. First you say that fetches don’t exist; now you say there are a couple thousand? What the fuck?”

“Look, all I can really tell you is that some of us defied our laws and ended surfing to the one place we were never to go, which is here…”

Holding his hand up to stop the spirit in mid tale, Tony muttered something about being eight in the morning and he never did this, just before he took a long draw off of the bottle.

Tony grimaced, “Okay. What’s this all about?”

Taking a big deep breath, “Here goes; I am a snapshot of your energy that exists, or did, in another dimension, on another planet. All of my kind lives there and we survive as long as our energy source thrives…”

“So, you really are my ghost.”

“Yes,” the spirit looked less apprehensive and more frustrated, “Let me finish. Roughly 100,000 years from now, there is a major catastrophe which is best described as an explosion. What you typically see as shock waves, or ripples, are actually gaps in this event. Gaps whose width remains constant, while the diameter expands…”

“Like throwing a rock in the river!”

“Yes. Only these gaps are disruptions in the mechanics of how everything operates. The changes on these outermost ripples were subtle, but enough that a lot of us were dieing. Oh, by the way, don’t ever think that humans have an exclusive on ghosts.”

“Ah, so we are NOT alone,” Tony winked. “Hey, you said the event has yet to occur, but you have seen some of the effects?”

“That’s right, I also said that it fucks with the mechanics of the universal structure,” now looking perturbed, the ghost continued, “A bunch of us saw the writing on the wall and found a way to ride the front edge of the ripple to here. That was a thousand or so years ago. We have been hanging out trying to figure the best way to survive all of this. We simply don’t want to die before our time.”

Tony took another draw off the bottle and ran his hand through his thick salt and pepper hair, “Okay, I get the survival instinct, and I now understand the ghost sightings over the years, but what has any of this to do with me? According to the World Bank, I got another 30 years or so. And why aren’t you supposed to be here?”

The wisp of vapor relaxed. ”The subtle effect, as near as we can tell, causes our energy sources to make slightly different decisions than they would normally make, resulting in termination,” the spirit smiled a bit, “As far as us not supposed to being here; well, it has been long forbidden that anyone member of our society should tempt fate, or alter outcomes to save our own hides. So, I guess you could say that I am part of a huge criminal conspiracy.”

Feeling the effects of the alcohol, Tony slurred, “That makes two of us. I mean, I gotta tempt fate to save both of our lives. When is this all gonna go down?”

“That’s why I’m here, and I’m glad you’re seeing it my way,” the dogged ghost smiled.

“As far as when; we can only guess it will be soon. Listen, you have a very kind energy; all I can advise is to dig in and rely on that for the rest of your life.” At that the ghost stood up and straightened HIS leather jacket.

Just before Tony passed out, he said, “I never want to see harm come to anyone.”

***

In the background of the conversation between Tony and the younger, but worn looking black man sitting next to him at the bar, the television droned on with the latest episode of Ghost Hunters. The dimly lit, dust smelling dive was empty, save for Tony, Ronnie, and the bartender (idly wiping the far end of the bar with a white towel).

“…so, I had Ricky in the car and was headed to drop him off at the clubhouse. Usually, I’d just lecture him real bad, but not that night. No sir, I drove right on past that place with him in the car. Don’t think Ricky didn’t nearly kick my ass for that,” downing a shot of tequila, Ronnie continued, “We found out later that there was an ambush at the Bangers crib. We’d both been dead.”

Tony flashed back to another moment. He was walking the 70 year old Jo to her car, which was his routine. At the last moment, he gently took her arm and kept her on the sidewalk. Just as he was insisting he call her a cab, the drunken Teddy Wheeler went howling by in his monster truck. Wheeler didn’t see the car he hit just after he passed Tony and Jo.

“January 1^st, 2011, at 1:11 a.m., right?”

Deep furrows across Ronnie’s forehead, “How’d you know that?”

“I’ll tell you what; I’ll buy you another tequila and then ask when it was you talked to your ghost.”

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

This 55 word flash fiction piece is dedicated to one of my dearest Twitter friends, @mamatreelee, on her birthday. Happy Birthday, Theresa!

She lost track of time. The warm sun, rhythmic wind and beach sand had much to do with that. The water, crystal blue as the sky, was always the right cure.

Just as she stretched, the cat saw the ship touch down on the sand near the faded ‘Fort Walton Beach’ sign

Vacation was over.

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

A little Friday night 55 word flash fiction piece that speaks to those of us who live, and maybe die, by lists…

“…rage, passion, self-defense, for the hell of it, sport, and last but not least, to end it all!”

Tommy penned the last words just before he looked up to see the door splinter. The room filled with cops.

Before they could stop him, he put the gun to his head and completed his ‘To Do’ list.

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

This was my entry for the Women On Writing Flash Fiction Contest for the Summer of 2010 Quarter. Although my entry didn’t make the honorable mention list,  it did beat out two thirds of the submissions for the contest.

I asked for an editorial assessment when I submitted for the contest and was actually giddy over the response I got. I scored a 13 out of 15 possible, with the greatest failings being that I slipped into passive voice in four different areas. I have fixed those areas and now present it for you, my faithful readers.

The word count here is just under 750, trimmed from 2400 plus, to meet the contest criteria. The longer piece piece is pretty close to straight up erotica and if anyone is interested in reading it, let me know through email…

Robert took long glances at his life-hardened body. Scars from many mistakes and hard fought battles accentuated his tanned 6′ 3” frame. Perhaps it was just as well she decided against coming. She would likely be taken aback by the scattered remains of life’s toll on his body.

The hot water engulfed him. Thoughts of earlier today gave way to thoughts of yesterday, the day before, last week, and several months ago. He began to harden as her words of love rolled through his mind. The aching to be with her almost turned to self gratification, but memories from this afternoon slammed back into his head.

He found the energy to exit the tub and, as he toweled off, checked his phone. As if to drive just one more nail in his heart, there was no message.

Too tired to pull the covers back, he collapsed on the bed. The building crescendo of the rain pounding some primal rhythm drove him into a quick and deep sleep.

The dream started with him frantically trying to outrun a monstrous thunderstorm. His motorcycle, although a large machine, swayed in the driving rain and forceful wind. Everything was dark, pitch black, and he was frightened beyond any fear he ever experienced. Lightning only intermittently lit his way, and just enough to bring out gray shadows. He couldn’t pull himself to stop and get off…he had to get home, but he didn’t know why.

That dream stopped cold between lightning strikes. He tossed just enough to feel the dark anxiety. Just enough to utter, “Sonja.”

No sooner than he drifted back to sleep, the curtains were drawn away. Suddenly, two hands began to rub his back, pushing, kneading. Although they had never touched before, he instantly knew it was Sonja.

He felt her as she bent in to whisper in his ear, “Welcome home, my love.” With a gentle kiss on the back of his neck, she raised to drive the weariness from his muscles. She teased him with her hair as she let it run across his back. Reaching in to his shoulders and dancing her nipples across his back.

The clouded edges of the dream were lit soft with love’s lamp. He felt her hands begin to drive even deeper as she now straddled him tighter. She was beginning to grind with the rhythm of her strokes.

Her scent, her touch, and now her moans were driving him crazy. This dream brought on a different type of anxiety than the first one that was so full of fear. This dream brought on the anxiety of wanting.

Slowly she kissed her way across his body, stopping to care for his scars. Murmuring something soft at each one.  Slowly, she left a trail of dedication.

He could see the dream’s edges begin to close in. The dream was coming to an end, but his soul rebelled. At that moment, even before they were both ready to collapse into each other, the curtains of the dream snapped shut.

Robert was rattled awake by a vaguely familiar smell and movement in the kitchen of his one time farmhouse. He slowly slid the Beretta from under the mattress and made his way down the hall. At the end of the hall, he took a measured peek around the corner. He didn’t have to see the front of her to know it was Sonja. His button up shirt draped her body in such a sexy way, he was breathless. He could smell her hair mixing with the odor of frying bacon.

Quietly laying the pistol on the table as he went by, he reached her, put his arms around her and hugged her in a way that spoke of love. She collapsed back into his arms.

“Baby, I’m so glad you are here. I tried to surprise you at the airport.”

“I know, lover. I tried to surprise you here,”she said softly into his arm. “I grabbed an earlier flight, got the rental and headed this way. I got lost.”

They laughed together, and then he asked, “How did you know I tried to surprise you?”

“The bike was still in the yard, your jacket was soaked, and you left a trail of wet clothes to the bathroom.”

“What time did you get in?”

Turning in his arms and reaching up to kiss him, she whispered just before their lips joined, “Did you enjoy your dream? I know I did.”

The Editor’s Overview of this story made my heart sing:

What an interesting story! I like the way it started with the description of Robert—you did a good job of showing his disappointment. Then you move into his dreams, and again have such a great way of letting the reader into his dream with the descriptions. I was intrigued by how he got the scars, and even though you don’t say, when he gets out his gun, it conjures up all kinds of ideas. I really like the end when Robert and Sonja connect. It all ties up nicely. Thanks so much for sharing!

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.