Flash: Unexpected Consequences

Smoke curled outward from under Mohan’s duster, seeking lungs to fill.

“Who’s there?” yelled the recent vampiric conversion. A silver chain on his ankle limited his movement to the illuminated area of the spotlight. His night vision would not develop for three more nights, granting the watcher effective invisibility. She was impressed he had sensed her entrance, sitting quietly beside the empty rust-stained bowl until she changed shape.

Once the cavern swallowed the last echoing “therrrrre”, the new arrival cautiously drew air to speak. Holding the breath a moment, testing its flavor, she then slowing moved it over her vocal cords to answer, “Emily, Dion’s sire … your grandsire and keeper.”

“Where’s Dion?” Mohan rushed the light’s edge, pacing back and forth with his chain chiming against the stones. He earnestly sought her location, despite the disorienting echo. A useless task as he had not had a chance to develop the skill set; her servants had been under strict order to remain silent during his captivity.  

“Being disciplined.” The vampire elder coldly stated as she moved over the loose overburden and wet tailings, judging the fog’s reach.

Mohan stilled as he processed the information. Living habits clung to him like leeches. His constant movement was distracting, but understandable. Only a week had passed since his removal from the grave; so she forgave him the disgusting habits he was displaying.

“He wasn’t supposed to turn me, was he?” Mohan’s brown curls fell across his forehead as despair hunched his shoulders.

“Awarding our blood to other supernaturals, can have …” Emily paused watching the smoke thicken and reach further into the abandoned mine before completing her thought, “… unexpected consequence.”

Mohan wiped his hands over his face. “Did you destroy him?”

“He is young, less than four decades old. I decided he should be given a chance to learn.” Emily took another breath to continue talking and this time felt the fog fill the corners of her little used lungs. She felt something, a wish to reassure the suffering child, hold him. Crushing the feeling to unfeeling, Emily declared, “You will not see Dion again.”

“But he only did it to save me!” Mohan shouted. “We love each other! Please!”

Whispering a final begging crossed his lips, “please.”

Jealousy, a much more familiar emotion than compassion, ripped through her. She nearly closed to force obsession on the boy. His love should only be for her.

…. Interesting gift, that fog. A little too visible at the moment. But she could already think of a few uses. The fog must be gaining in strength, otherwise her servants would have released him by now.

She would have to take over all care of the youngling. She pushed the bowl of blood she had brought with her across the light’s edge. Again, compassion tried to sneak in as she watched Mohan collapse crying. Tomorrow, after she has cleansed herself and arranged for a means to communicate without breathing his air, she would need to decide if she would let this one live. 

(words 507 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 2/3/2013 (copyright of picture inspiring story was unknown); republished in new blog format 1/28/2018)

Flash: Death Wish Part 2 – Nothing Fits

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature (Language)

The shower’s water and my blood were fighting each other as they ran down the drain. Water trying to follow natural forces and move one way, and my very unnatural blood running counter to how the world should work. The red froth gave me something to stare at in the shower other than my friend’s shampoo and his kids’ bath toys. I wished I still had tears to cry.

Rod’s was the nearest place I could think of.  Hell, it was the only place I could think of that they wouldn’t know.

I don’t know why the Philadelphia Court attacked. I certainly had no fucking clue why they would be angry enough to hire hunters as cleanup. Shit, I am only five … well four – five in at the equinox … and not even my creator shared anything with me.

I should have run somewhere else. Then Rodrigo would still be alive. His kids would still have their dad.

… and I wouldn’t be saddled with a death wish.

I could hear the bitch cackle. And I deserve every snide remark my creator would give me, if she had survived the attack. Which she hadn’t.

I tried to erase the picture of her head flying towards me as I was frozen by fear. But … shit … having a lover’s head hit you square in the chest does reactive the run-like-hell reflex.

I had been taught to calm prey down first. Control them. Get them to the point their only desire to please me. I had blanked Rodrigo’s memory of my feeding off of him plenty of times. Why not tonight?

Instead I talked to him! Hell, I apologized! What was I doing?

And now I got a death wish.

I twisted the nob and the water stopped. The pink foam would eventually make its way down the drain.

Rod’s towels were more thread then cloth, but they worked well enough even if none of them matched. It’s not like the water wanted to stick to me.

I moved quietly down the hall to his bedroom. Maybe something would fit me. He had over six inches and fifty pounds of muscle on me, not counting about twenty pounds of comfortable, as my mom put it.

I had been turned when I was eighteen; happy graduation – hoped you enjoyed your summer, because it is the last one you are going to get. Still hadn’t got my full growth.

Hated them. I was taught not to turn anyone before twenty-five. Just easier for the Made to blend long-term. The only reason anyone gave me for the early turn came from Al who said they needed a daywalker. If he wasn’t just tormenting me, then they broke their own rules to make me. I figured I was minion then toast, and nothing they did to me showed different. Going out in daylight HURTS … but then so did staying in the Court. Working Elias’ gas station actually was a reward in my book, even though it was far beneath the rest.

In the end, the daylight saved me. The younger you are, the less the sun affects you. Nature isn’t completely out to get you. An hour past dawn in July, and I could still run outside and keep running for a good long time. 

To my friend’s home. Well, hovel … I looked around the large closet where he had put a mattress. But whatever … he had a place. Better than me at the moment with everything from the Court gone.

The one bedroom was dedicated to his kids. Damn, he loved them. Talked about them constantly at work. Feared for them, leaving them home alone at night while they slept, keeping them feed, wondering if child services would come.

The few shirts and pants hanging over the mattress were all too large. And idea nibbled at me on how to hide and deal with the death wish.

 … The death wish

Why couldn’t have I played with him until his only thought was to please me? I’ve done it before. Then the death wish ends up being having mind-blowing sex, and that is really easy to do since people can get really off when they die. But I was so hungry and hurt.

I heard my creator’s laugh again. No excuse. She had taught me on my first kill just what being caught up in a death wish gets you. Sip – never kill except on the anniversary – and then only after getting the prey prepared. I’ve killed only five times, two in training and three anniversaries.

I pulled on one of the faded Mr. Mart shirts. Behind me I heard movement. For a second I was paralyzed again. They found me.

Then a slight mew of a child’s sigh and I realized what was happening. The children. It was about ten, so Rod’s after-work nap would be soon ending for what he called the ”las guerras de comida”.

I cracked open the hall door to look at the triplets. Two identical boys and one angelic girl just beginning to stretch and twist out of dreamland.

And I knew.

I had to do it. I began to pull Rodrigo’s form about me. I had until my anniversary in September to wear it. Looking like him would let me hide in plain sight. The others would not expect me to take care of three kids. But function follows form, and memories and actions would pop up while I wore his shell. I should be able to do this. I already knew his job.

I shrugged my shoulders and the shirt settled on my new frame. I strode back to grab some pants.

So this is what tall feels like. Very cool.

… I would also have time to figure out why the hell a sane man rather have a vampire take his kids than their own mother.

(words 985 – first published 11/28/2012; republished new blog format 12/17/2017)

Flash: Death Wish Part 1 – Hair Drop

Rating: Mature

Pietro leaning against the wall outside disturbed me when I opened the apartment’s door. I was about to go to sleep when I heard the knock.  I hadn’t seen him in two months; he always took off the summer from the gas station – convenience store where we pulled third shift. The boss didn’t mind, as summer had plenty of high schoolers to abuse. I figured he had a gig at the shore, but Pietro was looking far from tan.

How did he know where I live? Took me a moment to remember I had invited him over for my new year’s party. He showed up late and left early since he was covering work that night.

God, he looked yummy. We had started grabbing quickies in the back during restocking; hence inviting him over for a party.

God, he looked awful. I knew I was staring at the shorter man, but he had knocked and I still didn’t know why he was here. I didn’t remember it raining, so why was his hair soaked?

Then a drop of liquid fell from his hair to his white T and formed a bright red spot. My eyes suddenly saw his shirt was covered in the red dots and his denim jeans were more black than blue from something other than dye.

I took a step back to close the door when suddenly he was through it, his bloody hand covering my mouth.

“Shush, shush, shush. I am so sorry. I really am. I am sorry.” He muttered using his foot to close the door behind him. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go and the sun is up. Hell, I am so sorry.”

The squeaky toy kind nearly wrecked the ominous mood; Pietro grimaced as he glanced down. Well, may have wrecked what he was creating – but it added a whole other level of fear to me. I tried to take advantage of the broken eye contact to move away, get his hand off my mouth. Anything so I could scream or fight.

“Quiet.” He said and the word echoed through my head cutting off my voice just as the scream was about to break away. Looking again at the toy, he asked “Are they here?”

I nodded as tears rolled down my face. I kept trying to back away from him.

He slowly inhaled as he cornered me against the couch. How had I never noticed the man didn’t breathe? “Where will you like them to be taken?” he asked as he pushed my six foot frame onto the soft surface.

I refound my voice. “Don’t hurt them. Please don’t hurt them.”

“They will be safe. Where do you want them to go?”

God, I should have made a will. But a convenience store income isn’t exactly something you think about dividing. I forgot my most precious possessions also needed assignment. “Not their mother. Please keep them away from their mother.”

He looked at me in the eyes again, his pupils expanding to fill the white. “Any other family?”

I shook my head, unable to look away. His eyes were like a bird’s. A baby bird with its constant hunger, mouth gaping. An adult bird, who remembered that constant bone deep hunger. I wanted to feed it. I needed to feed it. I adjusted my legs as I grew hard. Looking into those black eyes, I knew much of the blood on him was his. He was hunger itself.

”Just take care of them.” I panted as he approached dragging his hand up my leg, over my boxers and finally to my neck. “And don’t ever let their mom have them.”

“I will do what I can.” He swore just before he bit down.

(words 624 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 11/25/2012 (photo for the prompt of unknown origin so not copied); republished in new blog format 11/26/2017)

Flash: Regret

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

“You are going to regret this.”


The words slipped out of Joshua’s mouth, half threat and half remorse, as he watched them circle. Vampires. They were somebodies once.


The woman of the brood laughed. “Oh, yes little man, regret rules my every living moment. …. Wait, I’m not alive.”


No, she wasn’t. Nor were most people on the planet now. Fuck the Zombie Apocalypse, vampires came first.


Joshua watched the woman, keeping his eyes on her. None of the others will move until she does. The thing that rode them, that rode the once-humans, loved the hollow space inside women. From there they could seed dozens of others. But women were jealous bitches. Only one per brood.


Some of the vampire broods were smart and started farms so they could keep their blood supply. But vampires were more plague than predator, refusing to find a balance with their ecology. The smart ones turned out not so smart as the others raided the farms and killed their less aggressive kin.


Joshua counted only seven in the brood, so the mistress may decide to have her cake and eat it too. Desert and dominion. If so, she would order him stripped before the group feast so she could ride him into oblivion.


As usual, the tormenting ended in a blink and they closed before his human thoughts could process. The first bite was hers. He screamed in pain, then screamed again, tearing his vocal cords as pleasure thrust over and above the pain.


He didn’t think he would ever get enough.



Dawn swept into the broken building where Joshua had been cornered. He watched as first one then another of the gentle pink death rays disintegrate his attempted killers. He grabbed some of their clothes to replace the ones torn from his body the night before.


As with any plague, someone’s immune system was slightly better at fighting off the disease than others. Lucky him. Leukemia survivors possessed immunity in a manner similar to sickle cell for malaria. If you can survive the one, you can survive the other.

(Words 351 – first published 1/9/2013; published in new blog format on 9/3/2017)

Flash: Tank


copyright 2006-2013 foolishbunny

Rating: Mature (Language)



Startled, Neville immediately went on full alert. Anything to set Younger cursing could not be good. Neon lights blazed over the gas station, making an oasis of light and cement in the black night. Nearly seven hundred miles from their stomping grounds, the needle pegged empty and they had to stop for gas. Ramps had been closed the last fifty miles because of flooding. This was their only chance before the fumes ran out.


Neville leaned forward in the passenger seat to access his gun tucked into a back holster. “What’s wrong?”


“I hate using stolen cars. I never know what side the gas tank is on.”


(words 108– first published 10/2/2013; republished in new blog format on 8/06/2017)