Category: Flash

Flash: Friendzone Boss Battle

Erin Penn

Photo by Pylz Works on Unsplash

Something a friend posted on Facebook:

“What men don’t realize is they aren’t ‘sentenced to the friend zone’, no, they allowed into the friendzone and given the first step of a quest. Women want to know if you can be friends, then we’ll talk about what else may or may not be added to the relationship.

Because if we can’t be friends, there isn’t a relationship.”

The following flash continues the “conversation.” Assume Shayda said the above.

“Yeah, noobs think they can just jump to Big Boss level 100 immediately.” Joanne snorted. “Amateurs.”

Shayda lay on her stomach between her friends, one on a recliner and the other hogging the coach as only a seven-month pregnant woman could. She grabbed another fistful of popcorn from the bowl between the two pieces of furniture, before asking, “So what would be your Big Boss fight on your quest?”

Rubbing her stomach, Joanne replied, “Oh, I don’t know, getting past my daddy issues?”

Carefully not looking up at the one in the recliner, Shayda asked, “You?”

“Hmm, sticking around through a crisis, I guess?” Patty shrugged, feet curled up in the overstuffed chair. “Never had anyone do that but you guys. The boyfriends always want to solve it and be done. Mack was the best of the lot and he couldn’t handle the long-term COVID fatigue that took a year to clear up. No stamina.”

Both of the other women nodded, with Shayda adding. “True dat.”

“How about you, Shay?” Joanne placing a small bowl beside the coach to be refilled. Shayda reached for it.

Patty rocked forward to look down, “Yeah, Shay, how about you?”

“Well, that stamina thing is huge.” After carefully doling out the next serving of buttery crunch for the land-whale and passing it up to Joanne, Shayda responded, “I guess that is part of the guys wanting to jump right through the friend zone to the boyfriend zone. No one wants to spend three months being friends with no ‘reward’.”

“Except they are willing to do three months on a game to get to level 100, so not buying that,” said the youngest member of the MMOG Thursday group.

“And friendship is its own reward. … Being around all of this is a pretty awesome thing, you know.” Joanne waved her expansive body, “And you are getting us off topic, Shay.”

Patty asked quietly, “What is your big boss?”

“Listening, I guess.” Shayda levered herself up to look at her two friends, leaning against the low center table. “Caring, supporting. Being a friend.”

“Yeah, if someone is in my house day-in day-out, I would want that.” Patty said in a wistful tone.

“Help with laundry, mowing, all the chores.” Shayda started ticking off requirements on her fingers. “Does me no good if you are more work than being on my own. Especially, if you want kids.”

Joanne twisted her lips, rubbing her stretched red-lined skin where her too tight shirt had slid up, and grunted, managing to sit vertical in one try, and set aside the re-emptied bowl.

“So a partner.” Patty wrapped her arms around her legs.

“Exactly,” the black woman nodded, “An equal.”

The group sighed at the concept.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Joanne agreed.

The three gave little smiles to each other.

Then Shayda’s took a manic curve. “Plus explosive sex!”

(words 544; first published 11/29/2023; written 5/12/2023)

Flash: Apollo’s Fall

Erin Penn

Photo from Unsplash

Apollo finally approached close enough to make out the sentry guarding the bridge across the Cut. Surprisingly, it was a girl, well, woman full grown but without armor or reasonable weapons. Clothed only in colorful gaze she leaned on a walking stick thin enough her slight weight bent it, although when he came within shouting distance, she lifted it to hold it sideways, completely blocking the rough wooden bridge behind her.

Her stance mimicked that of a fighter, with the confidence of one expecting to win.

The mercenary searched the barren sandy wasteland either side of the Cut for the source of the confidence. Flat land, little thorny shrubs, and one woman and one bridge among a whole lot of nothing.

“Papers please,” a pleasant alto asked, once he was within easy speaking range, holding out one hand.

That was one thing Apollo’s employers could not provide, because papers, the type capable of passing the scrutiny of the Gorge Centettes, required official governmental approval and what he needed to do on the Leopard Horde side of the Cut could never be officially noticed. He passed her paper denominations marked in Elven Leaves instead, worth more than his initial downpayment for his task, though not as much as he would receive upon completion.

The sentry raised an eyebrow, fanning the paper with one hand before tucking the money into a pocket in her flowing skirts. Apollo took a step forward, but she put out her hand again, this time with a smirk, “Papers please.”

“I just gave—”

“A donation, for which we thank you, but crossing here requires papers from the Elfwives or the Spotted Khan. Our oath before our gods requires obedience to the contract.”

“I don’t have any damn papers.” Apollo growled. “That money could have bought a dozen perfect counterfeits. Just step aside before I got to hurt you.”

She laughed, resting her staff once more on the sand right before the first wooden plank.

If he rushed her, she would fall the mile into the Cut.

“One, no counterfeit ever works here.” Her beautiful features hardened as she regripped her thin wooden staff with her left hand. “Two, fuck around and find out.” With her right, she waved toward the unseen Middle Sea. “Might I recommend the Horn route? If you need water to help with the journey, I can provide two-days worth which should get you to Fire Falls without issue.”

He had started in a seaport, but going around the Horn took over a month, especially considering where the nearest port was to his final destination, whereas jumping the Cut at the Diplomatic Shake Crossing would only take four days, the first three already used.

“Ah hell,” Apollo drew his hand and a half sword. Forty inches of steel lethality.

The sentry smiled, dragging her comically thin quarterstaff in a line in the sand from one support rail of the narrow bridge to the other, stepping aside once she completed the mark. “Well, if you insist.” Now using her right hand, she waved him over the bridge.

He narrowed his eyes. “I do.” Was all this posturing? Did the Centettes, supposedly the world’s most elite force who lived in caves within the Gorge, really just bluff their way through everything? He stepped on the wooden bridge, then turned to face her. She could push him off as easily has he could have pushed her.

He slowly backed across the bridge. No raised sides or hand rails meant the hot winds rising from the red blood of the world wound a mile below made the action tricky. She remained on the Elfwives United Paths side of the bridge. Once he was half-way, just as he was about to turn and run the rest of the way across, the sentry raised her hand. That was it. She just raised her hand.

He turned around and discovered three women with crossbows rising from the barren wasteland, sand rolling in waves off their cloaks. Apollo was dead before he hit the lava.

(words 676, first published 6/4/2023)

Flash: Full Potential

Erin Penn

The busty blond shimmied over from the dance floor to Daniel’s minuscule table. “Hey, can you pretend to be my boyfriend?” She didn’t need to scream, since Daniel sat behind the aimed speakers.

“Problem?” he asked, waving her to sit on the stool opposite his. Daniel had been watching her, but not her exclusively, just enjoying the view between kicking up his boots. The woman was a regular and had a lowcut blouse, but not too lowcut, and a short skirt, but it didn’t raise the hem to mini. It was her friends that pushed the sensual envelope, and tonight they all seem to have hooked fishes.

The woman moved the chair closer to him, then shimmed up on the raised chair. “Not anymore, I hope,” she said, angling her body to him, while touching his arm. “Some guys don’t take no for an answer.”

Blue shirt, opposite side of the dance floor, fired his stalker stare at his prey and her camouflage. Nope, Daniel thought, that is not a guy that understands no. He turned toward her, smiling, leaning closer, he laced a tease in his voice. “How do you know I’m not worse?”

She laughed, partially for show, though nervousness laced it. “Short of you being a serial killer, we should be fine.” She dropped her eyes as she plucked at his cream-color linen sleeve. “Besides, I see you here every Saturday.” The woman angled her eyes up through her fake eyelashes and kohl cat eyeliner. “You are a great dancer by the way.”

“Thanks.” Daniel touched her cheek, turning her face back toward him. Her eyes had been drifting to dance floor and the blue shirt brute plowing his way through the crowd, his buddies chuckling from one side with several of the more risk-seeking regulars hanging out with them for the free drinks. The group that oversized asshole came in with weren’t regulars. Likely in town for the political protests raging back and forth while everyone waited for the jury to make their decision.

He pushed his drink toward her.

Distracted, she glanced down at the pale brown bubbly liquid.

“Ginger ale. Sorry I don’t have anything stronger, but you do look overheated.” he stated, drawing her hand towards it gently. “I’m going to need a name soon.”

“Jennifer.” She smiled, lifting his drink. “Usually, Jenny to friends.”

“Daniel, but never Danny to friends.” His firm lips twisted up one side, waiting for her to finishing swallowing, her shoulders relaxing at the sweet safe drink. “So how would you define a serial killer?”

Jenny still choked a little at the question. “I don’t know, maybe five?” Leaning forward, giggling a little more naturally this time, she asked, “Are you a serial killer?”

“Nah,” Daniel, never Danny answered, “but I got good potential.”

“Don’t we all?” Jenny rolled her eyes in sympathy. “Job or family.”

He took his drink back for quick sip. “Why not both?”

“Who the fuck are you?” the blue shirt psycho finally broke through the crowd. Sitting behind the speakers, and in the area furthest from the bar, bathrooms, and official entrance was a choice Daniel made to avoid too much crowding, but it did mean few witnesses to the man’s rudeness and less bouncer backup.

Putting on his game face, Daniel gave all the appearance of a suitor reluctantly pulling his eyes from the most beautiful woman in the world, a slight confused expression crossing his face. “Excuse me?”

The jilted stalker gave his perceived opponent a once-over. Even taking into account Daniel was sitting down, the goon had at least four inches and what appeared to be forty more pounds of muscles based on the way the linen didn’t stretch on the pansy’s biceps. No scars, perfectly straight nose, perfect teeth. Learning in, the blue-shirt poked Daniel with a finger, repeating each word. “Who.the.fuck.are.you?”

“Danny.”

Jennifer’s dark eyebrows crunched at this obviously hated nickname. Her pretend boyfriend wasn’t sweating, or worried, at least as far as she could tell. She hoped he wouldn’t get into trouble. His dark brown eyes returned to hers and his lips curved in a reassuring smile, which in no way, shape or form, reached his cold eyes. Their strange sparkle of delight twisted her stomach.

“Jenny here tells me you’ve been bothering her.”

“Nah, she came on to me.” The asshole snorted a laugh. “Guess she was tired of pansies. Time to go sweetheart.” The six-two man reached with his orangutan arms to grab her, flashing very specific tattoos of his full sleeves at the seated couple.

Daniel moved faster, grabbing a wrist, and with a quick twist, the brute kneeled while Daniel smoothly rose above him. “Leave now.” Nothing had been snapped. The hold was a non-lethal measure. “Unless you want to take this outside.”

“Outside,” the other growled.

“No,” Jenny said, scared for her chosen rescuer.

“It’s okay honey,” Daniel’s smile morphed to match his eyes, freezing her in place, “it’s what I’m here for.” He dropped the wrist of the blue shirt, and motioned the larger man to a fire exit slightly ajar for the DJ and staff to sneak out for smokes.

Shivering, Jenny asked, “How many?”

“Three, soon to be four.” Daniel’s brown eyes gleamed black. “Come back next Saturday. I’ll love to have someone help me reach my full potential.”

***

The following week Daniel arrived to find Jenny sitting at his favorite table with two ginger ales. He slipped in the chair opposite her.

“Serial killers have a type.” The busty blond, in a lower cut blouse than her normal style, gave him a very determined look. “If that asshole was your type, I want to help you.”

“Sister?” Daniel stirred his drink with the little straw.

She shook her head, “but two friends, yes. And … well …” Jenny looked away gripping her hands together until her knuckles were white. “… but not really, well, not really really, but every woman has a me too.”

“It is never right, and a wrong is a wrong.” He assured her. “It’s not a competition.”

“Do you do it,” she made eye contact, “to make things right?”

He laughed at that, a deep belly laugh. “Nah, I just wanted a challenge. Complete psychopath here.”

(words 1,043, first published 5/24/2023)

Flash: Ten Thousand Generations

Erin Penn

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash – Mother and baby cassava farming

Care never ends. Prepare, plant, weed, harvest, preserve, dry seeds, and restart. Children born, children die, children raised. Clean house, clean clothes, clean bodies. Gather wood, cook, spread the ashes. Women’s work. The never-ending chores.

Tasks would be easier. Things on the to-do list that can be crossed off forever, or at least for months. Not a meal-after-meal-after-meal circle. Thanks to the caregivers for the ten thousand generations of humanity.

(words 70, first published 5/14/2023 – from a picture prompt for a Facebook writing group. Aim is about 50 words)

Flash: Z is for Zzzz

Erin Penn 8 Comments

Photo by Photos_frompasttofuture on Unsplash

Jonathan meandered into the second-floor nursey looking for his wife and their newborn. Obviously the baby had been fussy in the night, and she decided he needed sleep more than her. While he appreciated her concern, her logic didn’t hold up to reality and he would need to remind her, like he did after the birth of all their children, that she was no longer alone in her parenthood. The long nights broken by feedings always reset her back to the amazing self-sufficient, but exhausted, woman Elizabeth had been when they first met.

What he would not remind her of is the fact he was two decades younger than her and could handle lack of sleep better.

Also, he wouldn’t say a thing about how he wasn’t the one who had just given birth six days ago. The last time he tried to argue from that position, she went off on an esoteric rant of the renewal energies from birthing. She lost him between midwifery blessing incantations and timing the birth for maximum astrological benefit.

Shifting back and forth, the rocking chair creaked in the moonlight, the beam creating a shimmer over the person holding the baby on her shoulder. A doting smile began to touch Jon’s lips when a small snort-snore came from the chaise lounge snapped his head to the right where Lizzo slept under a charm quilt her coven had gifted her on their marriage.

Oh, …oh!

Looking back on the indistinct human form in the rocking chair, Jonathan asked, “Abby?”

Not that he didn’t believe his wife and Malcolm when they said the old Henry Plantation Manor came with its own ghost, or when Jonny and Ada filled him in about their garden explorations with their beloved invisible nanny, or Barby went room from room demanding “awBEE!” appear as only a two-year old can.

But, he was a scientist. Seeing things with his own eyes made a difference. Now he got to add ghost to the list of things he knew lived outside of nightmares and late-night television.

The rocking slowed, the shimmer coalesced into something more the shape of a woman then a determined fog. A hollowed voice whispered in the room, sending shivers down the man’s spine, “Master Turning, how you be doing this evening?”

“I’m well.” Jonathan gulped, struggling to pull up everything Lizzo and Mal had told him to do and ignore all the fiction and campfire stories he had absorbed in his twenty-nine years of life. They hadn’t done a full-sit down with him species specific briefing like they had when Elizabeth added dervishes to their Sparkle Network Services, so it was not as easy to do as with their normal supernatural clients. “Emma, okay?”

The fog-light shape sent a limb rolling up the infant’s back to cradle the head in a pillow of mist before standing, Emma hovering midair against the apparition’s form. Emma bounced a few centimeters up and down, rocking back and forth over four and a half feet above the floor.

Jonathan fought the urge to reach out and grasp his child.

“Just a little gassy tonight,” the voice seemed to be the echo behind words never spoken. “Kept the mistress up until I insisted she lay down a moment.”

Jonathan stifled a louder laugh to a quick chuckle. He could not picture anyone, let alone a whisp – a real whisp of a ghost – forcing Lizzo to do anything. “That I would like to learn.”

“Not something being good for a man to know.” The shimmer moved side to side, letting Jonathan see Emma’s blue eyes were wide open but calm and taking in what little a few days old infant could see. “There are things woman folk just need from women.”

His eyes closed for a moment and the mundane man breathed in and out slowly. His wife gave up so much to be with him, for a second he imagined her old coven filling the manor, visiting for the holidays and passing the infant around. He hoped they came for the Solstice; the new High Priestess didn’t approve of him and often refused given permission for members to visit because of his “contamination.”

“A pity.” Jonathan approached the circle of the moonbeam where the ghost stood. “But thank you for being there for her. Would you like to tag out?” He held out his arms cautiously.

“Thank you, Master Turning. Dawn is coming soon, and I did want to get the meals set up for the day while I could.” The shape that the family named Abigail laid Emma gently in his arms, brushing her frigid essence against his limbs in the transfer.

Worried, he pulled the child against him and touched her cheeks for temperature, finding the infant warm, even a little hot and sweaty on the side which had been against the ghostly shoulder as though it had been against a human body. “I really appreciate all you are doing, by the way Miss Abigail. The children love you, and you have made my wife’s life a lot easier.”

The vapor sparkled slightly pink a moment before fading to nothing.

(words 857, first published 4/30/2023)

Series: Under Contract
1. N is for Noise (4/16/2023)
2. Q is for Quicken (4/19/2023)
3. Y is for Yield (4/28/2023)
4. Z is for Zzzz (4/30/2023)