Flash: What are they really trying to sell?

Image from freedigitalphotos.net

“Telly off.”

“Hey, I was watching that.” Karter complained to his mother.

She picked up two dishes, then stacked a third between them, showing off her skills as a human waitress. “And I told you, no screen time until your studies are done for the day.”

“I got it done, mostly. And what I didn’t finish isn’t important.” He flopped over on the floor to look up at her. “Consumer awareness is complete yesteryear.”

His mom’s eyes twitched, and her lips formed a flat line. “Fine, then tell me why that commercial, selling a car I couldn’t afford on two years hustling tables, and certainly not something you can buy at your age, showed up in your feed?”

“Um … because it is cool?” Sitting up, the fourteen-year-old looked around the room for clues. “Maybe related to a new three-dee-show?”

“That is a start. The HyundaiHondaHover is used a lot in Fifteen Rings over Cylan, but reverse the logic.” The adult lifted the plates. “I’m drop these into the cube and set dinner heating, but I expect a better answer by the time I get back or you will be on screen blackout tomorrow.”

“Aw mom, no, tomorrow is MechBattle.”

“Karter, this is important to me, and I believe it will be important to you in the future. Use that implant and gray matter to come up with something.” She stopped in the threshold and looked back. “I’m not being unreasonable. I know that is what you are thinking. But remember, I’m your mom. I’m always on your side even when it doesn’t feel like it. The sellers, with those commercials and ads, are not. Know who is your opposition and who is your support system.”

He rolled his eyes but activated the EdYou screen.

***

Karter made his way to the kitchen after the dinner ding came through. He discovered the reason why his mom hadn’t came back immediately was she had been folding laundry. Tucking his head down, he sat at the table. That folding and delivery chore should have been completed by him two days ago.

The near-beef stew with a side of real bread from her work smelled delicious. Automatically he reached for her hand across the small table.

“We remember to be grateful in the small things for they build the best parts of our lives. We remember to be grateful in the small acts for they build the best friendships of our lives. We remember to be grateful for the small ideas for they build the best principles of our lives. Confirm.”

“Confirm.” Karter solemnly closed the grace. Dropping his mom’s hand, he dug into his fourth calorie allotment of the day.

She let him eat about half before asking, “Do you have the report ready?”

“Hm, maybe. Obviously if it is an officially registered commercial, they are either advertising, selling a product or service, or marketing, selling a concept or reputation. Since we aren’t in the position to buy, under proper targeting for advertising, I shouldn’t have seen the flying car commercial.” He tore two more pieces of bread off his slice and dropped them into the soup and stirred it. “So the question is, what are they marketing?”

“And you had speculated maybe a movie or telly show.”

“But that isn’t right, because product placement would be doing the reverse, unless it is selling nostalgia like using old cars in shows.” He scrunched his nose. “Since the HyundaiHondaHover is a newer line, only two years old according to the implant download, and they are pushing next month’s model, the new show is selling the car, not the car selling the show. Like you said, reverse the logic.”

“You do listen to me sometimes. Good to know.” His mom smirk turned into a smile. “I appreciate your thinking so far. But you haven’t answered why are they dropping a commercial for a private car into the feed of a family only able to afford public transportation, and not even the special services like individual taxi and flame jumps, only the mass transport.”

“Well, if it isn’t advertising, it has to be marketing.” Karter used the last of his bread to empty the bowl, then jammed it in his mouth before he continued talking. “I don’t think it is the concept. We are aware of the flying cars using the flame streams to triple their speed. I’m sure they want to drop that in every now and again, so if we ever get insta-rich, we want to pick up one immediately. But the HyundaiHondaHover ads came on three times today, and there were another couple for the MercedesCadallicWind. I could see one or two every few days, but five in one day is a lot to aim at someone my age.”

“Just how long were you on screen today?”

“Um, do you want me to answer that or finish the report?” Karter asked hopefully.

His mom pinched the bridge of her nose. “Finish the report.”

“Since it isn’t a concept, it has to be reputation.” He pushed his bowl to the center of the table frowning. “They want us to WANT flying cars even when we can’t afford them. They want us to desire things beyond our ability, to make them more valuable to people who can afford them because other people can’t. Make some people feel better when other people are hungering after the idea they have access to, the small ideas. But this twists the small ideas, corrupting people’s principles with envy, instead of the pillars of support, growth, and beauty.” Karter looked at his mom. “That is some premium grade therapy-need.”

“Yes, and they also take it further.” His mother stacked her bowl into his and stood up from the table, moving the dishes over to the washer cube for loading. “They will sell you models of the cars, clothing with the design, and posters for the walls, all to keep you aware of what you want but can’t have, and have you pay for the privilege because they own the idea and image. But, you know, Consumer Awareness is a boring, unimportant subject. It’s okay to blow it off and support the mega-corps products.”

“Mom, I haven’t been dipping on the psychology classes; reverse-pysch is complete yesteryear.”

“I accept correction.” Having finished loading and activating the washing cube, his mom leaned against the counter. “But I do have one last inquiry before you put away the laundry.”

Karter rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Are you going to continue to dip on the Consumer Awareness?”

“Do you think that they will continue to hit me up to ride the envy flame?”

“They hit you five times today.” She shook her head in annoyance. “No screen time tomorrow until ALL your studies are done. But, let me tell you as someone with a few more years living the marketing stream, they hope you don’t bother with your studies, and if you do, they hope that they can wear you down with a constant stream. They want you to want a flying car really badly. And other stuff like it.”

Karter glanced around their small eating room before he said, “I would like a flying car.”

“So would I.”

(words 1,206; first published 12/10/2023)

Flash: Honey’s Adoption

Image by Nika Benedictova on Unsplash

“Aw, isn’t she the cutest.” I hunch down beside the black cat. “Look someone has put her in a costume.”

“Jessie, it has orange eyes.”

“I know.” I sit beside the cat, not directly in front of it so she (or he, I wouldn’t want to misgender the black beauty, but in my mind all cats are girls like my calico pair at home) could decide if we might be friends. “And believe me, if it’s owner is around we would be having a talk. But I don’t think they are contacts, they look natural.”

“Its nails are blood colored.”

“They did not!”

The cat hissed at my sudden outburst.

“So sorry honey,” I say looking down at the cat, “but did your owners paint your needles of death? If they did, that is so rude. Could I see, please?” I hold out my hand carefully, waiting.

Turning towards me, the cat holds out a paw, her claws extended.

They are indeed red, but it appears the keratin is naturally that color. I take the foot and press the toe beans to extend the claws further. “All good.” I whisper, assuring her and myself, letting go of her foot. “Gill, they are fine, she just has some unusual coloring.” The cat stands up and saunters over to me, standing on her back legs and raising her small body so her front claws prick at my jeans.

I hold my breath, and Gill, bless his overcautious body, takes a step back. She pushes off and lands in my lap, the wings opening and closing with the movement. Turning around in a circle in my crossed legs, she presents me with her long black tail with a swish across my face, an extra smack against my nose, and an unmistakable view confirming she is female, before settling down. I start scritching her behind the neck and she arches into it.

“Where…” Gill coughs. “How are those wings attached?”

I dig into the fur, looking for strings or some sort of wire frame, maybe a leash support. The wings look leather with very short fur over them, almost a felt, thick along the lead edges mimicking bones; whoever made the costume did an amazing job. “Not sure,” I answer, “I can’t find anything.” I frown. “Not even a collar.” I run a hand down the body. “Oh, honey, do you need a place to live?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“No?” I raise my eyebrow at my live-in fiancée.

“No, we do not need another cat.”

“We can’t take her to a shelter, not this close to Halloween. All kinds of kooks grab up black cats this time of year.”

“No. She is a demon cat, look at her.”

“Darling, they are all demon cats.” I lean closer as I continue to pet her. “Isn’t that right honey? Do you have a name? Would you mind if I call you Honey for those beautiful eyes of yours until we figure it out?”

Gill sits on a discarded can in the alleyway. “No, please do not name the demon cat.” He covered his face with his hands. “We will have to take it home, then keep it separated from the others for two weeks, then all the new vet bills, explaining why the fuck Honey has wings.”

“So you think Honey is a good name?” I ask happily. Honey’s body is doing a deep, nearly silent purr against my hand. “She likes it.”

“Right,” Gill sits up straight. “Honey,” he says to the cat and she lifts her head to look at him. “Oh, this is going to be a fucking disaster,” he mutters, before continuing in his I’m-in-control voice I enjoy so much in the bedroom. “Do you want to be adopted?” he pauses and her head tilts sideways. “By us. We have two cats, normal ones … well they are both whack jobs and Patches ain’t too smart.”

“An understatement,” I whisper to Honey, “but I love her for it.”

“Queen Bee is gonna to do the territory thing. But she is lazy about it and will wear down. But,” Gill held up a finger and I felt Honey tense under my hands, “Jessie and I are engaged. We plan on getting married next June after I finish college and we will be having two children.”

“Four,” I whisper really soft to the potential adoptee, Gill was an only child didn’t know just how big his heart could grow. I felt Honey relax back into the pets. A full house doesn’t seem to be a problem.

“You must treat these kids well. No harm to our children, to our present fur babies, any future fur babies because Jessie collects them as you can see, or to us.” Gill dropped his hand to his knee. “If you came to live with us, you are welcome, and we will protect you as one of our own, but we expect the same courtesy.”

Honey looks back and forth between us, takes a gentle swipe at my hand, and then leaps out of my lap. Those gorgeous wings do a quick spread for the perfect landing then pulling against her body. Whoever made them did an incredible job. She walks away, her tail swishing.

“Oh, oh well,” I say, disappointed. “I guess, as clean and neat as she is, she already has an owner.”

At the entry of the alleyway she meows in annoyance, turning her orange eyes at us. The sunlight streaming in from the street made them look like they were glowing.

“Oh, wait, she wants us to follow!” I jump up and go to where Honey is sitting, waiting for us, her wings completely blending into her fur.

Gill reluctantly follows. “No, I think she is waiting for us. God help us.”

Honey hisses at Gill.

“Sorry, no G word. Got it.” He shrugs. “We don’t use it much.” My patient, forgiving boyfriend pauses in the twilight between the noon sun on the street and the midnight dark of the alleyway. “Blessed be better?”

Honey stands, flicking her tail high before walking over and rubbing his legs.

(words 1022; first published 11/20/2023)

Flash: Pixie Power 1 – I feel a sneeze

Photo from Unsplash

“Amie, what are you doing?”

Amie looked up from her hands, filled with pixie dust. “Deciding.”

Her sheep-hooved friend, normally as staid as any domestic animal, even when as tipsy as they both were after their third bar of their monthly fourth Friday bar crawl, her one weekend night off each month, covered his face with his hands, then spread his fingers to look through them, his black nails stark against his white hair and eyebrows, “Do I even want to know.”

“Mischief?” the pixie dust in her cupped hands illuminating her face from below. The stuff just slogged off naturally from her hair, skin, and cut nails. By law, Amie had to keep it under tight control – combing her hair at home, wearing a hair net or using a hair net spell, scrubbing skin vigorously every morning. Jars of it lit her bedroom between her trips for bio-magick sanitation processing. She pocketed two handfuls before leaving the apartment.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Becaaaause….”

“Not good enough.”

“You really want to spend the weekend in a holding cell,” Bowser wiped his hands down his face and brought them to his side, “again.”

“What else is there to do, now my debit card is maxed out?”

“Girl—”

“Woman,” she snapped.

“Lady, my friend, my dear, dear, precious pixie pal,” Bowser stepped closer, but to the side. Pixie power aimed as a cone effect in front of the wielder. A bar that refused to serve fairies and an after-hours club using pixies and elves as entertainment, but not welcomed as patrons, were across the street. “Please see reason for once in your madcap life.”

Glancing to the sheepish male, Amie scrunched her nose. “I feel a sneeze.”

“Don’t.”

Amie blew the pixie dust, grabbed her friend’s hand, and pulled them into a run. Behind them rainbows and bubbles of colored light flew across the street and coated the entrances. Expensive witch hexes sparkled, fighting the pixie dust, neutralizing it, but leaving the establishments vulnerable if others took decided to retaliate tonight against their bigotry before the spells could be recast.

(words 348; first published 10/15/2023)

Pixie Power Series

  1. I feel a sneeze (10/15/23)
  2. I rather not (10/22/23)
  3. I am just boring (10/29/23)

Flash: Dustu Hunting

Image: Photo 94880168 | Indigenous North Carolina © John Wollwerth | Dreamstime.com
CHEROKEE, NORTH CAROLINA-JUNE 17, 2017: A Cherokee Indian uses a traditional blowgun.
NOTE: Picture is for SALE on dreamtime. I paid for use of this. If you choose to use the photo elsewhere,
please give credit (and money) to the artist. Thank you.

Last year’s leaves under the new leaf-fall itched, but Dustu did not move. His six-foot blow gun was aimed at the autumn berry bushes, a favorite of small birds. A younger sister rested nearby. She already had four birds on a string, ready to be taken back and shared. To feed everyone, they needed six.

Waiting patiently for the birds to calm after the last kill resulted in an unexpected bounty. A group of turkeys scratched at the bottom of the bushes, getting food the bright-songs and angry-flyers couldn’t access. Dustu dropped his aim to the large ground birds. He wasn’t the best shot of the tribe, but patience brought in food as much as accuracy.

Focus.

A turkey head, eye, lined up perfectly. Dustu blew the hand-length dart down the cane tube with one hard breath.

His sister’s whoop chased away other possible prey, but they had enough. More than enough. Some of today’s meat will be dried for the winter months.

(words 164; first published 10/8/2023)

Flash: Peacock Caper

Photo by Stacy Ropati on Unsplash

The canals of Venice, famous for their beauty, but infamous for their treatment of Carnival costumes, became an insurmountable barrier in Nemesis run from the police. At least, this one waterway in particular, and at least, so the police thought. Peacocks are not water fowl, blue though their colors be, but Nemesis wasn’t a bird, nor just a costume, but the best jewelry thief of all time. And insurmountable just mean you go under.

A lift of the skirt inverted the costume into a watertight bag holding all feathers, satin and costume jewels within, the criminal grateful to be out of the outfit. Waterproof lining meant the outfit did not allow any air in, and the breeze made Nemesis grateful for whatever slip since sent the police stumbling across their tail. The gems, wallets, and small bits and bobs of art procured over the three-day spree tumbled from sleeve to bag and they sealed it close. Larger, special-ordered items, had already been delivered to agents hidden among the crowds with a brush and bump. A twist converted the figurehead of the cane into a breathing mask, and the cane a very limited air supply.

The black full body suit kept the questionable water from touching skin, and Nemesis slipped away.

(words 210; first published 10/1/2023 – written for a Facebook group. Aim is 50 words.)