Flash: Positive Punishment (Or I don’t think this means what you think it means)

Photo by Eduardo Soares on Unsplash

“And furthermore, if I get one more customer complaint, you will get a three-day suspension.”

Yada, yada. Maribeth had been nodding along, doing her best to ignore the growing three o’clock cashier lines from all the parents running errands while picking up kids from school which she would get to dive into after her once-every-couple-of-weeks being-bitched-at session with her manager was done. Likely another customer complaint would be happening as she dug out of that line with Latoya and Fernanda.

Next on her agenda of the day is rushing to pick up her five-month-old and four-year-old from daycare since her mom had the flu and couldn’t babysit at the moment after her custodial job. Damn Tim for dumping her the minute she started showing. You think after Seth she would have known better, but one keeps hoping guys actually mean what they say.

Wait, back up.

“A three-day suspension?” Maribeth asked, her voice wobbling.

“Yes. It is a new corporate policy. Three strikes, three-day suspension.” Aaron smirked, pleased to finally get a rise out of her.

O.M.G. The only time she had got three days off in a row since returning to the workforce after a short round of unemployment for the audacity of needing a week to recover from birthing issues with her first kid was the birth of her second kid after her water breaking on the job Monday. The store had scrambled to cover her shifts the final two days before Christmas and had convinced her to come back Friday because Return Day is always crazy.

Punishments had been undesirable hours, which usually worked out well with the hours of her mom’s job, saving them on day care. Forced overtime or double-shifts, with the nice bonuses. Stocking instead of cashier, which allowed her to move around more and even sit a little on the floor. But three-days off in a row?

The things she could accomplish with guaranteed hours of not being randomly called in! Likely it will mean a couple double-shifts thereafter because of being short-handed but what else was new? Corporate didn’t like them turning in more than sixty-hours per week for the full-timers so she would get the same hours after they had to rearrange the hours for the other five full-time cashiers. Not a paycheck hit, unless it was summer when they had the high schoolers available during normal work day hours.

“I will keep that in mind, sir.” Wait until she told the others of the new corporate policy!

(words 417; first published 5/3/2026)

Flash: Early Notification (V is for Veronica)

Photo by Mathias Reding on Unsplash

Flicking through the letters, Veronica pulled out the only one not a political ad and dropped the rest into the recycling bucket tucked under the entry way table inside the front door. She sorted through the pile on top of the table looking for the letter opener among the things which didn’t make it past the front door. Coins, keys, rocks, two mini chocolate bars from Halloween, paperclips, a dried pen, the electric bill due next week – oops, no, it had been a week, due tomorrow, but no letter opener.

“Where did it end up this time?” A quick search of the house revealed the jeweled hilted piece of metal in the bathroom, likely to remove the plastic around the bacterial soap. She had thrown a fit last time Jericho had used one of the good kitchen knives for the task.

Moving to the apartment’s living room, Veronica slit open the pristine letter, dropping the letter opener beside the cable remote. She would need to remember to return that to the front door. The letter came out crisp, on expensive paper. She unfolded the tri-folded white page.

“Dear…We regret to inform you…please accept our condolences…died valiantly…arrangements for funeral…”

Veronica sucked in her breath and glanced at the date. Three years and two weeks from now. More warning than the notice of surviving spouse benefits, which she got the week before her husband’s cancer diagnosis.

Hearing a key in the front door, she tucked the letter into her purse on the sofa.  She would need to put it with the other governmental letters she got early.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Hey, Mom,” Jericho exploded in the room. “The recruiters came by the school today to help us seniors get everything in order for the draft sign up.”

(words 296; first published 4/27/2026)

Flash: P is for Proud Pappa Praise

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“Now try a little lighting, see if you can hit that yacht’s mast,” Storm Front encouraged his daughter while he manipulated the wind to pile the water into the pier area. It was tricky to keep it in the million-dollar area and leave the boaties’ docks safe, still he managed to sink one of the overpriced penis replacements and his SCUBA minions were salvaging the wreck below the water.

His six-year-old screwed up her face concentrating. Usually, her powers were stored behind a FireWall Collar™ for good reason, but she had been working hard for the last month on control since they signed up for “Take your daughter to work day”. On Friday she would need to present her day in front of a class of first graders.

“Remember static goes bottom to top then top to bottom.”

When the sonic boom thunder announced her success, the villain jumped midair beside the wharf warehouse where he had installed her as chewing gum and flying was a little much for her young brain. Below the yacht became little more than kindling. Not the best for robbery, but an amazing feat. Under his proud pappa praise of her success, his daughter glowed.

(words 200; first published 4/19/2026)

Flash: (J is for) Journey to Julenheim

Photo by Deepak Gupta on Unsplash

The sea spray cut through even the oiled woolen blanket the sailors provided. Melinda resettled the heavy cloth about her shoulders while she huddled against the late autumn cold. “I can’t believe he is making us travel all the way to Julenheim.”

“Fifteen,” said her cousin, Mallik, from where he shivered, using the side of the boat as back support.

“What?”

“That is the fifteenth time you said you did not believe Uncle Charles is making us go to Julenheim, like you ever saw him do anything for anyone’s convenience but his own.”

“Shush.” Melinda glanced at the casket lashed to the deck. “Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

Mallik grunted, swiping the water dripping off his beard with his wooly, a thick poncho belted around his waist. He shifted upwards a little to look over the bow.

“See anything?”

“Just fog and rain and waves. The sailors said we will arrive before night.”

“Four days at sea. Wait overnight at the Chainhouse, overpaying for the stay. Then we have to find someone to take us across the inlet to Julenheim proper, find the family house and install him in it, and get back—”

“It’s on Brickyard, about two blocks over from Main throughfare. I have the map.”

“You told me already the lawyers gave you the map.”

“And you keep saying we need to find the house like it will be a big production.” Mallik snapped. “It will be a quick in and out, and everything is being paid for by the estate, so what do we care if we overpay for an inn on either the Chainhouse or Chainport islands? It’s not like his children need any more money than they already have. I say we sleep well, and eat better, before we get back on the boat for another four days at sea to get home. Milk it like the poor relations we are. I kept the house repaired and you sat by the old man’s bedside for over two years until he had the decency to die.”

“He gave us a roof over our heads for those two years.” Melinda looked toward the casket and addressed the spirit within, “For which we really appreciate the help.”

“Yeah, after you sold off the sisters you couldn’t marry off to the temples, it was really nice to buy back their offspring with a generous donation because you needed someone to take care of you when you were dying since your own kids and your ‘real’ relatives, our cousins from prestigious arrangements of your prettiest sister and your younger brother, refused to deal with your venomous ass anymore. You were a true gem Uncle Chuck.”

“Shush. You want him to tell everyone in the family house we didn’t treat him well on the trip out?”

“We treated him better than anyone else for two years.” Mallik wiped his face again. “If that isn’t enough, nothing will be. By the Chains, we even volunteered for this. The lawyers did say the testament allowed for hiring of professional mourners to do the transportation.”

“No one but our family should be entering the Esterall Manor.” Melinda firmly resettled the blanket, tucking her curls under the corner covering her head. “I’ve heard what the mourners do. They just take whatever bedroom closest to the door and toss in the new casket without moving the older resident. Sometimes even dumping the body into,” she whispered the next two words, “a warehouse.” Her hand moved in a complicated pattern they both learned at the temple to ward off angry ancestors. “I could never. The worst are rumored to keep the afterlife clothes and baggage for themselves and consign the noble dead to the Reaper Fires like unclanned commoners. No, Baron Charles Degree, clanhead of the Esterall, deserved a proper escort to a necropolis. If not by his children, at least by family.”

“I’m right here with you Linda.” They had different mothers, but they were born twin close in age and nature. When the Baron had come knocking on the Temple of Comfort door for a trusted servant, the priestesses had recommended them as a pair instead of one of the others his sisters had produced before their deaths and the skinflint had surprisingly agreed. “Though I will be laughing on my death bed as the clan will have to have us taken to Julenheim now that we are full clan members too.”

“The family minimal stipend isn’t enough to live on, but it will be nice to not starve immediately when we get back.”

“You could—”

“Never going back to the temple.” The words were sharper then the cold wind.

“Yeah.” Mallik nodded slowly. “Me either, though I am too old for them to even consider except as a handyman.”

“And they have enough of those already.”

He nodded. After a pause, he lifted his head above the bow again. “I think I see some lanterns burning.”

Melinda shifted to her knees to see above the wooden edge of the ship. They crackled. Thirty-three years wasn’t kind to either the temple comfort children nor the bedside keepers, but her eyes and ears worked better than Mallik’s after his years of offering comfort and home care. The mists held sparks to either side of a darken port, she could make out stone houses walking up from the shoreline, cut into a cliff face. “Looks like we will be arriving in an hour.”

It ended up being closer to two hours as the fog had hidden a half dozen other pilgrims bringing noble family members to their final homes. The majority likely, like the six coffins below decks, will be temporary residents, having paid to be put up at the taverns and rest houses along the shoreline for a time, graining them forever entry into Julenheim proper.

Better to be a beggar in one of the Julen cities than ash in the wind between them.

But a few will be escorting family to one of the upper echelons carved into the cliffs. Meanwhile, tonight, they will be rubbing elbows at one of the Chainhouse island rest homes. It was bad luck to move into a new home after dark.

Their captain helped them check into Fate Foremost, though the cousins moved the casket from the boat to their room. Across the sheltered water of the cove, the necropolis rose sharp and colorful from those families who regularly came to repaint and repair their buildings. Mallik had attempted to get their uncle to spiff up the place in preparation of his death but was refused by the incoming clanhead who held the purse strings once Charles could no longer hold coins in his hands.

They were to note any repairs needed and let Evan know so he could arrange for them when the clan had to visit during the Julen Year of the Delen-to-Julen cycle in four years. Mallik and Melinda had specific order to only escort the old clanhead to the manor with his wardrobe and baggage and nothing else. He offered to pay them two weeks of coin if they didn’t unpack for the dead man. Evan and his father hadn’t spoken directly in two full DJ cycles, and twenty-four years gave him plenty of time to figure out dozens of different ways to spite his father’s spirit.

Mallik joined Melinda on the porch, breaking a cheese bun and then passing her half while their host prepared the dinner meal. They both stood though plenty of seats were provided on the porch. “We are getting close.”

“How much did you order?” Melinda took a bite with the left side of her mouth. Her right side was missing two teeth.

“The lawyers paid Captain Rilley up front for everything. We aren’t gouging anything.” He gave her a sideways look, with a grin, “They, on the other hand, are paid a percentage of the trip, so they got us the best accommodations in town. Cove crawlers, saltwater Whites, tangled greens. Everything on the list of mourner food will be on the table either tonight or tomorrow night. Breakfast will be a simple flat bread with aged cheese.”

“You are enjoying this entirely too much.”

“Yeah, well, with you in the sickroom, you didn’t have to deal with the vultures visiting and splitting the furniture and art, nor their comments about us and the rest of the de-clanned cousins.” He tossed the last of the bread into his mouth and spoke around it. “They were wanting to know, since I had the inside scoop, which of the rest of us would be good to buy back for house servants.”

Rubbing the skin between her eyebrows did not release the tension in Melinda’s forehead. “Did they say anything about us?”

“Yeah, we were too ugly and old. Too beat up, not worth the hassle of training us to be proper servants.”

“You recommended Lynnary, Tschel, Bluem, and Ringer I hope.”

“While I would rather not help out the others, I ain’t leaving clan behind if I can save them. Even recommended little Grunt, for all the good that will do once they see his face.”

“Misha and Avery, of course are nos.”

“They are too damaged for anything.” He turned around and faced her, leaning against the porch’s barrier.  “Want to tell me what happened to Chizel? You just asked for coin to burn her proper instead of adding them to the unclaimed bone pile.”

Melinda jerked her brown eyes from his green-edged ones, to stare off at the city of the dead.

“Ah, shit.”

“Leave this one in the hands of the bedside keepers.” Melinda’s voice grew softer. “Trust me on this one.”

“She was thirteen, would have been fourteen this year.”

“I brought a bag of her ash with me.”

“Now who is breaking the rules?”

“She was family.” Melinda nodded toward Julenheim. “They aren’t going to notice if the manor has more dust than expected.”

“Don’t tell me you have the rest of them as well.”

“I won’t then.”

Mallik grabbed her in a hug, engulfing her in his poncho. “Even my mom?” his voice stopped by Linda’s shoulder.

“Especially all three sisters. They deserve to have a least part of the family wealth they contributed to, even if it just in the afterlife.”

(Words 1720, first published 4/13/2026 – I think this story could be fleshed out into something real.)

Flash: D is for Distances and Detonations

Image Credit: NASA/Jessica Meir

The aliens, Josh and Kennedy (not their names but the translation of vibe and meaning from their original tongue … again, not tongue but they did have a speaking diaphragm and ligament contraption producing language through pressure waves) watched the nanoprobes return the visuals from a Florida explosion. Humans were throwing themselves off the planet … again.

Did they need to tell Karen or not? She didn’t like getting woken from her cryogenic sleep for nothing, but she also would hate to miss the main event. The very reason their monitoring station took over from the general scientific observation station three hundred years ago when humans got their balloons above the required distance from their natural environment.

But the humans were always sending debris into space, so it could be a false alarm. And Karen, their boss, progenitor, and neurological hub, made it very, very clear about her displeasure the last time they woke her.

Would this one rocket meet up with one of the various space stations the humans had around their planet, or would they make it to the moon? Or would they (vibration of dramatic disbelief) make it beyond the moon?

Kenndy reviewed the incoming transmissions and cross-verified, “Humans are on the rocket this time. It isn’t just a satellite.”

“Or a car,” Josh ran an appendage over his sensory organs. “Why did they send a ground vehicle into space-space and not to a planet?”

“The social scientists said it was a musical prophecy being fulfilled.”

“I think it was a drunk bet. Like every one of these.” He adjusted his position to an input-output station. “’Hold my intoxicating beverage while I see how much dinosaur fuel I need distilled to be blown upwards faster than gravity without dying?’”

“Not everyone lives in a gas giant and can glide into escape velocity over a two-year cycle.”

“They are crazy.”

“They are, the rocket is, aiming toward an elliptical. Running stimulated orbits now.” Looking over the results closely, Kennedy muttered, “So close. So, so close.”

“Really, how close?” Hope tinged Josh’s vibrations.

“Depending on the exact placement, we might be within a digital appendage of the regulation Distance. It certainly will be the furthest they have ever gone before.”

“Do you want to wake Karen or shall I?” Josh asked.

“I woke her the last time.”

“Ugh.” Josh set his stations to artificial monitoring. “Is this the same country initiating conflict in the delta region this year or it is the one in the icy area four years ago or is it one of the others?”

“The one that started the irreplaceable dinosaur remains burning this year.”

“Okay then. While I start cycling the cryogenic chambers, you prepare the ‘we come in peace’ propaganda for them to join the Galactic Union in the … how many languages are still active on the planet?”

“Over seven thousand,” Kennedy let her diaphragm collapse in exhaustion just thinking about it.

“At least there won’t be much change since we last updated them fifty years ago.” Working his way to where the scientists and administration slept, Josh reassured Kennedy, “And don’t worry about locking targets if they react poorly to our outreach program. I rework them every time they start a shooting war using equipment in the upper atmosphere. They are completely up-to-date.”

“Wait a moment.” Kennedy set the elliptical equation running through two additional models. “The computer reports they will be at least half a digit short of regulation in four out of the five predictive models.”

“Centimeters shy?” Josh glanced over the threshold where their boss slept. “Do we or don’t we? How long before they reach the furthest they have ever gone before?”

“Five Earth days.”

“Wake processing is only fifteen hours.”

“Let’s wait.” The two youthful monitors said simultaneously.

“I’m still updating the WCIP messages.” Kennedy said.

“And I will work the resolutions to removing their threat matrix should they be dangerous.”

“They throw themselves off planet via explosions, and” Kennedy waved where their system still recorded the ongoing detonations worldwide even as the humans brushed the greatness to qualify for galactic inclusion, ”that. They are going to be dangerous.”

“After monitoring them for three hundred years, I really would like them to be a little more mature.” Josh said while returning to his station.

“Same.”

“At least the final decision isn’t ours.”

“Thank prosperity for the Karens in the universe.”

(words 734; first published 4/5/2026)