Flash: Anniversary Dinner

Photo by Chris Tweten on Unsplash

“I can’t believe you remembered our five-year anniversary,” Alledria said, a smile rippling across her face. “Even the same restaurant location, even if it is a steakhouse now instead of a fish camp.”

Wayne, her husband of three years growled a little, whether in thankful agreement or disgust of what he would have to live up to in the future was in question.

“Of course I did,” Dara replied as she buttered the small brown loaf provided while they waited for their salads to arrive. “I introduced you after all.”

“Not an introduction,” Wayne groused.

Alledria bumped shoulders with her grumpy man. “I needed a website made for my writing, you had been talking about starting a side hustle of making websites while doing a side hustle at that big box retail store with her. Both of us hemmed and hawed, being overworked, underpaid, too busy and not wanting to see people after dealing with them all day at work, until she finally nailed us down for a meet-up. I would call that an introduction.”

“It is.” He smiled reluctantly. “Thank you, Dara.”

“And I’ll shoot you the other dates I got on my calendar, including your actual first date.”

Wayne perked up.

“Hey, that’s cheating.” Alledria accused her best friend.

“Do you, or do you not, want him to remember to buy you flowers for April 19th?”

“Tulips.” Alledria immediately responded. “Three red and one yellow.”

They paused as the server delivered the salads, Ranch dressing for Wayne, French for Alledria, and a Ceasar salad for Dara.

“You will only get these cheat codes once,” Dara informed Wayne once the server left, waving her fork in his direction, “after that, it is up to you to enter them on your calendar and save it somewhere in case your computer goes down.”

“That is fair.”

“And they don’t cover everything.” Dara nodded to the two of them. “You should talk about what is important, what dates you want to celebrate. Don’t make assumptions, different things are important to different people.”

“We know,” Alledria assured her.

“Yeah, well, I thought Kase and I did too, but we didn’t last four years.” Dara stabbed her salad. “You are coming up on that magic number sooner than your think.” She lifted her eyes. “And I want you two to make it. You are good for each other.”

Alledria reached across the table to squeeze Dara’s left hand.

Wayne stuffed a forkful of lettuce into his mouth while he looked around the room awkwardly. Any Kase conversation came with a load of baggage he hadn’t been privy too, nor did he want to at this late date. After swallowing the greenery and taking a sip of beer, hoping he was gauging the break in conversation correctly, he asked his wife, “Hey, is this a good time?”

She glanced up into his chocolate brown eyes. “You know, I think it is the perfect time to tell her.”

“Tell me what?” Dara asked as she chased the last bit of dressing with a softened croissant.

“You know how we have been trying?” Alledria asked, leaning over to grasp her husband’s hand.

“What?” Confusion crossed Dara’s face, then cleared, “Oh, that.” Then joy lit her face. “Oh, that. You? Yes?” At Alledria’s nod and Wayne’s slight blush, Dara exploded. “Yes! Oh, that is amazing news. So now we are celebrating an anniversary, a book birthday, and … how far along?”

“Sixteen weeks. After all the troubles I had in the past, I wanted to make sure before telling anyone. We will be letting my parents know tonight when we call about my new book coming out tomorrow.”

Dara clapped her hands in delight. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. I am so going to Auntie all over the place.”

(words 635; first published 4/4/2026 – This was not the story I was trying to write. The characters just went off on their own.)

 

Anniversary Dinner Series
Chapter One: Anniversary Dinner (9/11/2022)
Chapter Two: What’s Wrong (9/8/2024)
Chapter Three: What’s Wrong with Me? (12/29/2024)

Flash: Air Ball

Photo by Gelu Iancu on Unsplash

“Sorry, I’m late guys,” Sarah said as she hustled through the afternoon heat to where the rest of her friends waited beside the oversize statues of Wilt Chamberlain, famous for playing basketball and volleyball, and Jim Thorpe who played everything as well as being descended from the Sac and Fox Nation. “Henry was late picking up the babies again.”

Richard shook his head. “Next time, just bring the kids. That bastard needs to learn to respect you and your time.”

“Yeah, we can tag team the kids,” John assured her. “They are under five so they get in free.”

“Thanks guys, but, one, he didn’t respect me before the divorce, so that isn’t going to change. And, two,” Sarah continued, “I want time off from being a parent now that the nursing stage is done. The next five days is just me and he can discover time management when the daycare slaps him with the fines of showing up late for pickup.”

“Those ain’t no joke,” Alex said as she started walking toward the stadiums entrance when the lines were streaming in, getting them all moving. “My bosses are learning I am not going to pay the $25 per half hour late charge just to get a measly $15 in time and a half.”

“Ugh, Janice and me have been discussing her going back to work full-time instead of us tag-teaming the childcare, but I had totally forgotten the late charges. We are going to need to discuss it some more.” Richard jogged up the stairs, bypassing the slow movement of people on the ramps. Their tickets weren’t exactly nosebleed tier, but the fourth rank of seats were just under them strategically chosen to be near an air conditioning vent. “She really wants to get back into the workforce now that we are done having our children.”

“Have you thought about letting her be fulltime and taking over as the primary caregiver?” John asked. “Me and Vanda have ended up much better off now that she is full-time and I’ve been able to score work-from-home. Only one car, no need for suits since her nursing job provides the uniforms. Gas prices don’t matter. I’ve lost weight and gained muscle mass since I’m not eating out and can actually use all that gym equipment in the casino next door. Our bills are like half of what they were.”

“Row 35,” Alex said as they arrived at the green-west section as she did every time, like their season tickets could change location. Reaching their row, they nodded to the other Firebird fans in their section under the Nevada Casino Association dome. As they crossed legs, she read the big screen, “Oh, they did lacrosse yesterday. Drat.”

“You just like seeing Pumehana hip-checking the guys on the field,” John accused.

“They fall over so nicely with their high center of gravity, but she likely won’t be in the eighteen for today if they did lacrosse yesterday.”

Richard stayed at the edge waiting for everyone to sit. “Two popcorns, one boiled peanuts, and celery with dip for the diet guy. Maribel, Patrick,” he asked the two people we just all crawled over, “do you want anything?”

Maribel lifted her cheese dip and pretzels, indicating they were good.

“Hey, down to two fifty.” John answered. “And yes. I already venmo’ed you the money and Hasty should get us our beers after the coin flip.”

Richard made his way to the nearby food station while the rest of us settled in to see what rosters had been chosen for today’s Air Ball game. Each Air Ball team had 24 members, but only 18 were allow to be fielded per game day. And since you didn’t know which of the three types of air ball games were going to be played until the coin flip, the coach choices could make or break the day. Twenty-four members, four coaches, and just twenty additional support staff like medical made teams lean and carefully chosen for maximum versatility.

Except for the Jim Thorpe Firebirds. The Casino Association went for a different draw other than winning. Each person, including the support staff, had to be First Nation to the Americas or born in Nevada. The team usually ended up at the middle of the standings each year, but damn were their fans a loyal bunch.

With lacrosse already played, today’s coin flip would be for either Volleyball or Baseball. Walker, the head coach for the Firebirds, likely won the flip yesterday. She knew the hometown team loved seeing lacrosse played, with its links to First Nations, so that is the perfect Sunday choice. Most other teams liked to play lacrosse last since that had more injuries and having Thursday to Saturday travel gave them time to recover.

“Looks like Walker is betting on a Baseball choice,” Sarah said after seeing the faces flashing on the big marquee. “But the Manitoba Grackles are set up for Volleyball. Oh, that isn’t going to go well for the Firebirds with the Grackles get the flip.”

“Nah, it should be fine.” Alex disputed. “Looks like the Grackles dipped heavy into the male side of the team yesterday. Walker is too predictable. I think that is their entire female group. Yep ten women plus eight guys for them.”

Rules required at least one third of each team be male and one third female, including in the coach and support staff. The final third could be any gender and the Firebirds tried to fill that with as many two-souls as they could find interested in professional sports. The rules also required the gender split for the daily eighteen choice, but if someone wasn’t picked for the first day, they would have to be play the other two days. No one was allowed to sit out more than one of the three days of an Air Ball tournament, meaning six players did a grueling three days of gameplay. Medical leave added more complications to the chessgame of who should play when since teams are not allowed to modify their team after the official season begins. Right now, with just two more weeks left in the regular season, the Firebirds were down three players. Notah, their tallest guy and an incredible spiker for the volleyball game, but couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn in baseball; he was on a three-week rest from a concussion during lacrosse. “Taffyhouse” covered first base, did the back line in volleyball, and wing in lacrosse; she came down officially pregnant midseason, though everyone had known since May, and they finally pulled her from the lineup last week when her belly ballooned during her eighth month. Colorado didn’t even finish their first game; the hamstring tear benched them for the season. The debate is if the Fireballs make playoffs whether Colorado should be allowed on the field. Six months of regular season matched the doctor’s orders. In the end, it is up to Colorado. A retear likely would cripple them for life.

Teams arrived on the field about the time Richard returned with the snacks. The support staff of both teams stood by the materials to adjust the field to be baseball or three courts of volleyball. The two mascots gestured insults across the field to brag about which one could set up their portion of the field faster. In the middle gathered the referees and the coaches.

The guests always got to choose which they wanted, heads or tails. The Grackle coach called Heads and got his wish. “Volleyball.”

“Yes,” Richard hissed.

Of the four friends, he loved volleyball the most, having played center, front row in both high school and college. He hadn’t a lick of skill at baseball, so joining a professional Air Ball team hadn’t been in the cards.

While the support group rush out with the nets and lining materials, the coaches broke up their eighteens into three groups of six. Volleyball was the least forgiving of all the Air Ball options because all eighteen of the roster played. If anyone got even minorly injured, there were no substitutes available. Three groups would play best of three. Group one would start and go until a timeout was called and then immediately group two would start and so on until all three groups had one of the teams win two games.

If one team won all three games, then the tournament would end there. Otherwise, the coaches would need to separate the eighteen down into two teams of six, with their remaining six most exhausted, injured, or worst players sitting out the final battle. The two new groups would face off and each play best three out of five. Then whichever team had the most wins of the five tournaments would win the Air Ball game. The second set of volleyball faceoffs were absolutely grueling for the players.

The Grackles set up the groups as a set of male spikers and then two teams of poppers. Walker balanced all three teams with spikes and pops. The big choice for her was lining up Billy “Deliverance” Elk against the spikers with Marisa “Postal” Page as the server, and it worked as the spikers try to send Postal’s serves back to sender only to have Deliverance set things up to make sure the ball stayed in the box. Things flashed through group one with the Firebirds clearly winning through strategy, even through the Grackles should have overpowered them.

Group two paced each other with some exchanging taking the maximum five contacts before returning over the net. The rallies last long and everybody’s hair was soaked to the ends before the first round was finished.

Group three was made of the leftover of both teams and some ways was the most amusing to watch. This was why people love the Air Ball league, good athletes, but not in their physically best sport, trying their best. Mistakes were made – balls sent to high, spiked to the someone able to immediately return it, angles going wrong. It was beautiful chaos. These were the baseball specialists – the pitchers, the catchers, the homerun kings and queens, the short stop, asked to keep a huge bouncing ball in the air. To bounce around in small squares instead of run in long lines.

At the end of the first sets, the Grackle spikers won two of the three they played, the Firebirds took the strategy in just two games and got to rest, and the leftovers had two of their games go into overtime and ended with the Grackles taking the two overtimes and the Firebirds winning the middle game decisively.

Now the coaches redistributed the eighteen down to two teams of six with two substitutes for the next set of best three out of five. If the Grackles won either of those set, they won overall. The Firebirds would have to win.

The fans had fifteen minutes before things restarted.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” Alex stood.

“Right behind you.” Sarah said joining her.

Richard looked at John. “Rock paper scissors to see who stays.”

“Nah, I didn’t finish my beer. You go,” John said.

(Words 1859; first published 3/22/2026)

Flash: Dr. Jump

 Photo by Larry George II on Unsplash

Brian landed on the pavement after jumping down three stories, hoping to god the diffuser he picked up from GizmoChik worked as advertised. So far, no new video footage featuring his signature green and purple outfit had been added to last year’s mess of him learning the ropes except those specific times he had turned the diffuser off.

Doing the jump while in civvies risked it all, but he couldn’t change at home or at work.

The white clowns running Hero still didn’t know that Dr. Jump skintone had a lot more melatonin than anyone else in the seventeen-story building midtown. On the other hand, they probably though the doctor title was presumptuous. They had a lot of things they didn’t know when it came to him.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Brian worked his way up to a full run, under human power, while fading out to invisibility. Life would be easier if he could work more than one of his powers at a time. Rounding the corner, he categorized the new tags on the streets near his parent’s house. The Walleyes moved over one more street.

Someone was holding the door open to talk to a neighbor walking by, allowing Spades to slip by unnoticed, and more importantly, unregistered. He never left last night as far as the keys were concerned, and now he never came back. So long as no raid happened, his footprint on the city’s monitoring system would be clean.

(Words 248, first published 9/14/2022 – from a picture prompt for a Facebook writing group. Aim is about 50 words)

Writing Exercise: Tension Arrows

Photo by Susan Q Yin on Unsplash

After a read, I had the following feedback for an author:

Are you trying for thriller or horror vibe? I think the scare factor / tenseness needs to be ramped up a notch. This can be done by increasing the urgency (thriller leaning) or the uneasiness (horror). At the moment, the tenseness is steady throughout the book – might be helpful to work on building some up-and-down into the manuscript.

Tension needed to be ratcheted up within the story, but not all at once, and certainly not without some relief now and again. The roller-coaster ride needed to be put into play. In this particular case, a slow build was needed to start, but getting faster with time … taking a break now and again … then slam readers as they relax.

The tool I suggested to help visual this ride is place an arrow beside each build of tension, making sure to have at least one arrow per chapter. Adding more arrows as the manuscript progresses (3 or 4 per chapter by the end). Make a flat line or down arrow for each “break” from building tension.

WRITING EXERCISE: Write a tension-building scene. Add tension arrows once done.

My Attempt

The gun meant nothing. To him. To me. As it sat waiting between us.

Off to the side, the clock ticked, ticked, ticked. One of the old analog clocks of a bygone era, like the gun.

Peace. The world was at peace. Both of us could feel the calming emissions working their way through the layers of concrete between us and the city outside, but the scents blown up from the subway vents and billowing out of the skyscraper doorways had been replaced by mildew and dust in this time-forgotten subbasement.

We had left our cells at the entrance, before making our way down here. No tracking, no emissions.

Just us.

And a nothing gun.

He twitched. I moved faster.

The explosion pounded my chest, and I dropped the heavy metal object when the hot residual sprayed back.

(words 138, first published 11/22/2022)

Flash: Puzzle it Out

Photo by Ashkan Forouzani on Unsplash

Jamus worked at a puzzle factory. He didn’t operate the presses printing the cardboard with beautiful pictures, nor did he install the die cuts into the jigsaws to stamp out the puzzles. He swept.

Bottom of the totem pole. Answering to everyone, nobody answered to him.

Yet, without him, the place fell quickly into disrepair. Puzzles create a huge amount of paper dust. The piles would stack around machine legs; the dust made the floors slippery. It infiltrated the building ductwork. Without regular sweeping, and he started every hour at one side and the building and ended the hour on the other side, the piles would be a fire hazard. Without regular sweeping, the dust would break the machines even faster as it clogged mechanisms and rendered the necessary oils useless. Without regular sweepings, the constant breathing of dust by the workers would be even worse.

Every year he would try for a raise. Every year he would be denied it, nothing he did was extraordinary. He didn’t bring new pictures to the factory. He didn’t develop new cuts.

Maxey got a raise when he suggested adding a 750-piece to the lineup. Rachel got a raise when her frog-in-the-rain series hopped off the shelves around the world.

All he did was sweep the factory from one end to the other eight times every day. Cleaning around the legs of the machines, replacing the filters in the air vents daily, kept the floors clear of the puzzle pieces to prevent slips.

He took the fallen puzzle pieces home. Shifting them into piles by the jigsaw cuts. While Jamus was only a custodian in the eyes of his employer, he was also an avant-garde artist, assembling the puzzles pieces into something the company never intended. On Saturday he would go to the Blue-Ways walk and join the chalk maze drawers, the watercolor painters, and dozens of other creative people along the riverside and sell the creations.

The fallen, who never made it into a box. The broken, that jammed the machine. The lost. The useless. The unsung.

The workhorse sweeping up the factory and creating art.

(words 354; first published 6/26/2025)