Category: Flash

Flash: Rain Rain, Go Away

Erin Penn

Photo by Nikolas Noonan on Unsplash

Torrential rains kept ahead of the windshield wipers, obscuring the road to the point staying on it was more a product of guesswork and the straight arrow nature of roads in middle America than my ability to see the reflective paint. Fortunately, the likelihood of anyone else being on the road was close enough to nil, I managed the sixty miles-per-hours my passengers required without feeling like I was endangering an innocent soul. Five quick lightning flashes, one bolt I swear crossed right in front of the SUV, followed by thunder hid the final beep I’ve been waiting for.

The oversized vehicle slowed, and finally putted to a stop.

“Have we arrived?” The Alien with the least bumps on his shoulders asked as I pulled over to the rumble strip just in case someone else had been required to play guide to our unwanted planetary guests. “I do not see facility.”

“No sir, I’m sorry sir.” I tried really hard to keep a smile from cracking my face. Reminding myself that these were Aliens, with a capital A, and I had no clue how they would actually react to anything, and normal humans in the tyranny style have shot the messenger, helped a lot. “We ran out of gas.”

“Gas.” It repeated through the translation matrix on its wrist, cutting and pasting my word complete with my inflection.

“Gasoline?” I responded, trying to find the word they had in the T-max. “Petrol? Go-juice? Petroleum? Hydrocarbon Propellent?”

It shifted in the passenger seat. “Hydrocarbon Propellent – yes, we are out of?”

Oh cripes, someone compelled to help create the language matrix really hated these guys. Kudos for getting away with it. If that someone got away with it. If not, may they be in good company upstairs.

“Yes. The car consumed all the hydrocarbon propellent in the storage tank.”

The lowest of the six I was escorting to the secured base they set up in Kansas turned to the rest of its cohort in the back and explained the situation. The one I nicknamed ScienceGuy since I picked them up yesterday interrupted the Lowman, turning on his own T-max. “We have enough propellent to make it to the base.”

“No sir, I’m sorry sir. That is not the case.” I learned ScienceGuy started by stating his theories as facts. I’m guessing because of issues with translation; I would be disappointed if a space-faring species capable of destroying sixteen major cities on Earth, and half our population with them, was so piss-poor at scientific thought they stated their initial investigation as though they were working from facts and laws instead of the unknown and theories.

Evidence says otherwise though.

Still, he hadn’t killed me yet for disputing his statements. Something I would wager would go otherwise if I talked back to those higher in the cohort structure.

Three booms kept speech from happening for a few moments. Once the storm quieted down a little, ScienceGuy rebutted, “The specifications for the vehicle indicated enough hydrocarbon propellent to cover the distance at the speed we required to meet our time of arrival.”

He had said the same exact thing, nearly word-for-word when I asked if they wanted gas before we left the last food stop. The cohort barely took two hours to eat, scarfing it down for the Aliens. They been pushing it since they arrived in Dallas, wanting to be at the Kansas base where their ships could return them to orbit.

“Sometimes vehicles do not meet specifications.”

“Poor technical design of a subpar species. When do vehicles not meet specifications?”

“Um. Speed, faster and slower than optimal, changes gas mileage – propellent usage. But you already took that into account.” I mulled it over. I hadn’t deliberately sabotaged anything. I was waiting for a really, really good moment. “Repair. Something wrong with the engine, but, no, this baby has been great.”

“It is a young vehicle?” ScienceGuy asked.

“Young ve-hic …oh, Baby. No sir, I’m sorry sir, slang. Vocabulary degeneration usage.” I shook my head to myself before tensing as the storm cleared enough for me to make out the color of the clouds. Green. My eyes started darting as much as I could politely do so, looking for downdrift on the storm clouds. “I mean the vehicle is in good repair and it shouldn’t affect propellent usage. Road surface also had impact, but the road has been great.”

“Has the vehicle been sabotaged?”

“No sir. It would not have done as good as it had in this storm if anyone had deliberately injured the vehicle.” I snapped my fingers, figuring it out. “Storm! It was the rain, sir.”

“The rain?” ScienceGuy asked, leaning forward, getting excited with an answer he wasn’t expecting.

“Yes sir, the rain.” I waved at the outside, clearing as the eye of the storm passed overhead. Bless flat Kansas, I could see the lights of the Alien compound about five miles away. “Individual impact of the water droplets increases the propellent usage, as the rain is harder to push through than empty air. Each hit, as we move forward, slowed us a little, so we needed more propellent to maintain the speed you required.”

“Rain does this?” ScienceGuy’s coloring along his lower plates shifted two shades of green darker. “It is just water, hardly different than air.”

“Yes sir, no insult, but you spend a lot of time in space. Water has a lot of unique properties on planet, and its interaction with weather can be … momentous.” Several clouds along the coming second half of the storm, likely hurricane – don’t know for certain since they shot down all our satellites, were doing the swirl thing. It could just be a normal cycle of thunderstorms and we were between bands. “Rain impacted the propellent usage and we have run out of the hydrocarbon propellent.” Cursing myself for needing to make the offer, but knowing it was the moment I’ve been waiting for.  “Do you want me to go to base and get some?”

“No. We do not keep propellent at the base. It has been used in sabotage.”

ScienceGuy and Lowman bounced ideas back and forth in their click language until the Alien with the most bumps on his plates declared something. It didn’t bother with having a T-max. At its order, everyone opened the doors and started getting out as the first of the drops restarted as the back half of the storm arrived. The side with the funnel clouds.

The one I called Nervous Nellie, the only other guy with a T-max asked, “Kangaroos, do you have kangaroos?”

“Oh, shit, you guys were in Australia?” The stories that we were getting from the Land from Down Under about our Aliens dealing the Earth’s death continent were nothing short of delightful to us survivors of the First Strike, “No sir, I’m sorry sir. No kangaroos here.”

“Emus? Any deadly spiders?”

No wonder Nervous Nellie was so twitchy. “Kansas has few deadly creatures, and most of them will be hiding from the storm.” I started walking toward the far-off shelter, pulling down the brim of my hat. “All we got to worry about is the wind and rain. And maybe lightning.”

“Water and air.” I could see Nervous Nellie deflate as he said the words. Literally, his plates lowered closer to his body. “No biological threats.”

“No sir, I’m sorry sir. No biological threats.” I smiled as we walked, watching the darkening clouds hide the funnel touching down between us and the base we were walking toward. The wall of swirling wind took off away from us, toward our destination. As the heavens opened up another deluge, I saw another funnel twist over, closer to the base. I could barely make out how wide it was, but I could pick out the roar against the thunder and striking rain. I held back a chuckle.

One of the bumpy guys without a T-max was already limping in the rain, a couple of plates on one of his legs looked cracked. About the shape of a kangaroo kick. The now pouring rain flowed over the cracks weird. I wonder if the wind blew into those cracks.

“Nothing to consider combatant.” Nervous Nellie sounded completely relieved.

ScienceGuy agreed.

Nope sir, I’m sorry sir, nothing to worry about, consider combatant, at all, I thought to myself as I pressed against the low-level hurricane winds smiling wide.

(words 1,403; first published 7/10/2022)

Flash: Punch a Nazi

Erin Penn

Photo by BENCE BOROS on Unsplash

“They’re back.” Rick had his back to the door as he whispered low enough no one beyond the bar could hear thanks to the additional enchantments the owner had added after the incident last week.

Drawing a deep draft for a half-giant, I glanced toward the door where the new bouncing staff held up their hands trying to deescalate the situation. Four to one wasn’t good odds. “Tats,” I spat, darkening my skin further, drawing up my hair into elaborate braids. “Take care the Pix’s top, could you?” I jumped over the bar and slid down the other side. “I got some lessons to teach.”

“Sure thing. Should I let the boss know?”

“Not going to matter.” I didn’t have the patience to be polite and play by human rules. My long stride ate the distance between the bar and the door.

“Look man, your club ain’t allowed here anymore since you guys broke sanctuary last week.” The fae bouncer kept their hands visible. Even wearing their male aspect, the winter Seelie was over a foot shorter than the lead vampire.

“Whatcha gonna do about it, fairy?” The vampire crowded the bouncer toward the wall, confident the three jackets he came in with would guard his back.

I scented with my tongue. The groupie vampires had been turned in the past month, and the were of the group had at most three moons since being bit. The lead vampire pushed a decade but wasn’t the sire of the babes. Smith really needed to clean up his coven or I would clean it for him. With an egg to consider, all unnecessary dangers in my territory needed to be eradicated soon.

“They are going to let me take care of it.” I crossed my arms over the black cropped shirt the wait staff used as a uniform. I shifted my mobility from the human appearing glamour to normal flight, then I pulled some extra weight from the plane where I stored my excess. Just six percent should be enough; it wasn’t like my present body presentation could handle more than that, especially since I restored the shape to slimmer version for work.

The vampire didn’t even turn around at my words, foolishly thinking after a measly decade and a nip of the teeth he now qualified as an apex predator. Cockily, he held out a heavily tattooed arm with a finger up. “One fucking minute doll and I will get to you.”

“Nah.” I grabbed the finger and pulled it down, along with the muscular arm, then yanked him toward me. The vamp had been a weight lifter in life, and at over seven foot, he weighed a meager three hundred pounds. I had moved 1,500 pounds of extra mass from my main form.

He moved, I didn’t.

I dead-palmed the punch he threw as he turned, wrapping my fingers around it.

His eyes grew round, before narrowing at the negroid features I had started wearing since Massey agreed to be my egg carrier. He tried to yank his hand away from my grip, and I let him succeed. I watched as his bigoted brain downplayed my danger because of the color of my skin and the shape of my nose, and maybe even the size of my breasts. Supremists often came with a side of misogyny.

“Fuckin’ cunt.” He gripped and ungripped his hand, testing the mobility.

“Tell you want, let’s do a one-punch contest. You win, we serve you. Hell, I’ll even buy the first two rounds. I win, y’all leave and never come back.” I spread my arms. “I’ll even let you go first.” I smiled with teeth showing, maintaining full human appearance. The expression didn’t seem to faze the gang members, but the crazy grin made the bouncer take a step back. Fae understood crazy. I nodded to Seelie. “Just hold up the line for a couple minutes if you can, this won’t take long.”

“You got that right.” The lead vampire growled. “It won’t take long at all.”

“You agree? You tats leave and don’t come back, ever, if I win?” I carefully adjust my stance to make it look like I was bracing for a punch. Looking like you are walking while you are actually flying isn’t the easiest thing, but I had plenty of practice in a variety of forms and glamours.

“Yeah, sure.”

He blinked as the magic covenant slid into place.

“Sanctuary grounds. Don’t make contracts you don’t want enforced.” I smirked. The regulars quickly learned never to stiff a bill or skimp on a promised tip. Roderiguez didn’t run tabs. “Be sure to make the first punch count.”

“Oh, I will, bitch.” The huge undead took a step and swung hard. The power of his punch pushed him back a few steps, and he curled around his hand.

I was disappointed when I didn’t hear bones crunch. “You pulled your punch, that was stupid.” I moved to close the gap. “My turn.”

“Jump her.” The elder grunted at the younger vampires. But they weren’t his spawn, so they had the option to back off, which they took. I memorized their faces. Smart vampires made good neighbors, if they remembered to be smart and not try to be clever. Only the werewolf responded, transforming to full lycan shape and leaped at me. Either the lead vampire had were- control, a common enough ability, or the furry hungered for a pack and answered to an alpha orders. Hurting him would be like kicking a chained puppy. I backhand him gently into the babes. The two younglings grabbed him and hold him back.

To control the slap, I had turned toward the werewolf. The owner of Bar None frowned on killing customers, even unwanted ones.

The pack leader used what he thought was a distraction to jump at my back at vampire speed. At a mere decade, his speed was a joke. I easily spun, brought across just a minuscule portion of my talons into this form, and punched through his chest, holding his black heart hostage, before he understood what happened.

“That wasn’t part of the agreement. Ordering the fledging like that. It was to be you and I.” I stared up at him, letting a bit of my golden lizard pupils shine through my human appearance, and curled back my lips. “You broke Sanctuary.”

I squeezed my fist closed, then dropped the decaying corpse on the ground.

Wiping the blood turning into dust over my bare stomach, I turn to the remaining tats and jackets. “You were part of the agreement. You understand that right?”

The two vampires nodded their heads vigorously. The transformed wolf growled groggily, his broken jaw healing with audible snaps.

“Don’t come back. Let the rest of the gang know too.”

I dropped my chin to stare into the vampires’ black eyes, breaking the common-sense rule of never making eye contact with vampires. They were too young for it to matter. The werewolf tilted his neck, exposing his throat.

“You come in while I’m here, anyone with your colors, and I will remove you.” I kicked the shrinking dust pile to indicate how I would remove them. I taught lessons but only once. Supernaturals either had a learning curve or they didn’t. “Got it?”

They nodded.

“Go.”

The three children rushed out the door.

“Alphin, do a better job and sweep up this mess.”

“No problem. Sure thing.” The fae stumbled over their words. “On it.”

I turned around, forgetting for a moment to make it look like I wasn’t flying, the spin raised me an inch or so off the floor. Sighing, seeing about half the customers with their eyes wide staring at me, comparing the rumors of what they heard about last week against what they just witnessed, I shunted my talons and weight back to the other side and landed on the floor light enough not to crack the tiles. “What?” I asked the crowd, “Boss said no more tats. We are a Sanctuary. Anyone got a problem with that?”

People shook their heads and dropped their heads to their drinks.

“Remember to treat your waitresses with respect, because if you think I’m scary, you should see an annoyed witch.”

The wait staff chuckled at that one, all of them apprentices of the owner, a thousand-year-old wizard capable of maintaining a Sanctuary in a large metropolitan area, and one of the few being on the planet who remembered what it is like to hunt dragons. Some of the regulars joined in the laughter. By the time I made it across the club to slide across the silver-trimmed bar, conversations were restarting around the room.

(words 1,449; first published 1/19/2024)

Flash: Rainbow Skulls

Erin Penn

82890011 © publicdomainstockphotos | Dreamstime.com

I lined up the colorful skulls on the retail shelf. Just another holiday to full up the store space. Rainbows, flags, hearts, trees, pumpkins, calendars. An ill-advised plague push as though COVID was a joyous celebration. Blue and yellow support the Ukraine for a brief moment. Then back to the normal pipeline of product. Changing in endless rotation. Up too soon, scavenged in a last-minute scramble, lingering in the clearance section.

Skulls, Mexican flags, little sombreros. The liver spots on my hands tell me I’ve been doing this endless, senseless, useless task far too long. I got my children out the door. Do I really need to eat this badly?

The skulls grin at me.

(words 115; first published July 3, 2022 – from a picture prompt for a Facebook writing group. Aim is about 50 words)

Flash: Computer Matching

Erin Penn

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

Summer studied the sheet. It would be her first date since she and Hammer parted ways. Sure the Utopia Match Personality System had matched them, and they got along, even signing a three-year contract with an option for another seventeen with offspring clauses. The mating should have worked; they had been successfully matched on many levels. But somehow it wasn’t enough for him, even at a nine on the compatibility matrix. He wanted to restrict further than code-acceptable and paired outside matrix options with a coworker.

The matrix disapproved of coworker matching for romantic purposes as the community narrows too far for emotional support.

But to drop from a nine to a mere five, the lowest the system allowed. Scary. Had she failed that badly? Did the code punish failure?

Especially her only failure. Her work was a standard seven, but she excelled at it and recently got upgraded to a specialty making it an eight match. Her housing, now that she no longer needed to take Hammer’s needs into account, allowed her to move into the tiniest studio apartment, gaining her a ten approval. Her circle of friends between work and housing ranged from seven to nine.

But five, a five for a potential love interest?

The male describe stood taller than her. Yes, it was superficial, but her chemical programming just didn’t do well when the man was shorter than her. Hammer soared eleven inches above her five four. This man, Merc, income was from handwork, physical labor, plumbing of all things in this day and age, with a side as art installment, whatever that means, while hers came from interviewing for work matches, in particular logistics and cataloging. His housing was the weird greenhouse mix on Mason Rd, with trees on the balconies and vines and flowers covering the façade set aside for those needing green spaces but not qualifying for employment in food production or other high land usage. She didn’t even bother looking at the personality traits and expansions.

May as well get it over with so she can get a different match next week. She clicked acceptance, then followed the prompts through possible food service locations midway between their homes. After picking three choices, she skipped activities. Hammer didn’t like to do much of anything but work training videos and encouraged her to do the same. His support got her three levels of promotions in two years, but the pursuit of labor had made her other interest fade to nothing. Since the person she would be meeting made his work through physical labor, he likely would be happy just sitting doing nothing except eating.

***

Merc growled at the newest match sheet. A cookie-cutter woman, average worker, gaining social status but claiming the smallest housing footprint allowed. The second page showed run of the mill opinions on political and social matters, coded within a character of the school standards. If the Utopia System didn’t require everyone to meet certain number of community credits weekly he would burn it and work on his sculpture all weekend. On the fifth page of the package, he discovered why the matrix thought he could tolerate the blonde yes-er for the two hours required meeting. She danced, or had opted for it in the adolescent levels. No indication of doing it since graduation and her first match.

Two years in that match with a small social penalty for leaving the contract early. That might explain the housing option, trying to regain points. A yes-er dropping below seventy-five on Optimal Community did desperate things. He wondered what she thought of his forty-six rating. He barely qualified for food benefits, not really a problem because of his work specially drew so few people and no matter how much Utopia pretended everything was computerized, people still drunk water and need to take shits. Plumbing let him live at an eighty Optimal.

The match sheet indicated acceptance on her part and gave three food options. The first ever-popular hydroponic Calorie Requirement Site and the other two recent upticks on Community links. His mistake for taking so long to respond. Having just rewired the hydroponic levels at the CRS in midtown, he knew the food would be substandard for about three weeks until the kinks worked out. And he hated places working on climbing the rankings, their food became the blandest repeatable inoffensive unimaginative product possible.

She had left the activity option blank, offering now options. He called up the midtown activity list for approved Community Activities for first Interactions, the list automatically set to show from most popular to lease, so he scrolled down to the bottom then worked up, The fourth from the bottom was in the same building as one of the uptick restaurants she had chosen.

Clicking, he made reservations for the calorie outlet and the activity provider for the next night.

***

Somehow Merc had made the meal conversation all about her, where Summer had grown up, gone to school, and her electives in school. He missed his calling in interviewing, she barely noticed the food in a place rated eight of ten.

After turning down dessert for the both of them, though as a physical worker his calorie allotment had to exceed what they ate, he offered his hand. “I know you hadn’t picked an activity, but I found one three floors up. Want to try?”

“Is it intensive?” she asked, shaking her hair back behind her shoulder, “I wouldn’t want you to put you out after you worked all day.”

He snorted. “I just ran pipes in crawl spaces for six hours, I could use something to shake things out.”

Together they walked out the restaurant and headed to the elevators for the City Block they were in. Looking up, she asked, “So what activity did you choose or is it a secret?”

“Level sixty-four,” he said stepping into the slide cart, with her taking the next one.

Hammer and her often shared carts, but Merc shoulders touched either side of the box on his own and she wasn’t ready to be that close to him, even for a three-level rise. He was a gentleman for the dismount, holding out his hand to steady her.

“No secret.” He stepped aside, allowing her to see the entire level was dedicated to ice skating.

She had never ice skated in her life. “I … how does this work?” Her eyes studied the few people gliding across the surface. What did this rank as for Community Activities, a fifteen? She had never seen an emptier place within Utopia.

“Don’t know, but should be fun to find out, that looks like the intake module over there.” He kept his hand on her elbow as they walked across the carpeted area.

The machine accepted their Community Credits and recorded their interaction. The ranking for points including bonuses for physical activity and creativity, and even then barely broke a fifty. Still, it didn’t drag down her numbers. Her regular midday calorie outings with her co-workers and evening activities in her City Block residence keep her records high. The Ice Skating, being outside her normal community and activities got additional bonuses for expanding her community.

While Merc had been fast about entering his information, his low Optimal Community rating had shocked her. How did anyone get that low?

After watching the required tutorial, Merc helped Summer get the ice skates on and she did the same with him.

***

“Then we made complete fools of ourselves.” Summer told the three co-workers on her next work day over their calories.

“Just how many times did you fall Summer? I noticed you having problems walking back and forth from the waiting room to the interview room today.”

Summer felt heat rise up her neck, indicating a flush which she hoped they would take the obvious reason for embarrassment. “A lot. I picked up some bruises.” She bit her lip, figuring what else would be Community Appropriate to share about her extremely long and unexpectedly energetic recreational days. “We laughed a lot.” She stuffed the some of the hydroponic leaves into her mouth.

“So second match meeting your next romantic require day or back to the matrix?” Jessmaine asked.

Grifter swirled her cup, so the bobbles knocked together. “With laughing, I vote for second meet, even if he left your bottom bruised.”

Summer managed to swallow her leaves without choking. “Yes, we made arrangements to meet again. He wants to go to the Tower Gardens but needs my Standing. They raised the minimum to get in the doors again. It’s like they don’t want the people who need open spaces the most from getting in.”

“You know it is just to encourage everyone to be part of the Community.” Jessmaine said, while folding up her recyclable plate and napkin. “Disruptors have to be controlled.”

Glancing down at the last of her salad, Summer swallowed the words, Do they though?

“Kind of you to take him there.” Grifter downed the last of her stimulant liquid before standing. “I hope you get more laughter.”

“I’m sure I will.” Summer picked up her scraps and joined them at the recycle area, controlling her gait for leftover soreness of the ice skating and the other activities she enjoyed with Merc. “Grift, don’t forget we need to fill five slots for the Hogshead Street Storage. I interviewed six people today and none of them had any businesses asking for transferred to new skill areas.”

Grifter pinched her nose bridge. “How much longer before we can put in a request to code training for logistics?”

“Three more work days.” Summer replied.

“Five days too long.”

(words 1,612, first published 1/12/2024)

Flash: Promotion

Erin Penn

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

“So are you going to try for it?”

Grabbing the edge of the metal from of the drop ceiling, I glanced down at Mark where he is holding my ladder steady-ish. The accounting department had not moved the desks to the new layout for the upgrade to their printers, so the ladder straddled between two cubicles as I pulled down the wires. “Try what?”

“Eric’s position.”

“He’s leaving the company?” I put my head back in the ceiling. We were on a tight schedule this morning; contactors were coming by in the early afternoon for the installations of the new equipment and we needed all the wires in place, preferably before the day crew showed up. “I didn’t think he could.”

“Nah, but he got promoted nearly twenty years ago. He’s going to go down for his first topor any day now.”

“Incoming.” I yanked the heavy weight of the long cables we ran between the computer floor to accounting, dumping the coils below me.

“So how about it; you going to try? You have the seven-year minimum time in company, and, man, I would be happy to answer to you compared to Lynn or David.”

Leaving the ceiling tile out of position, I climbed down the ladder, dusted off my hands, and started separating the wires into the pair we needed. “It wouldn’t be a good fit for me.”

“Come on, you got everything man.” Mark kept his eyes on me as he pushed, barely paying attention as he tied the matched sets to a weight. He punched my arm as he passed by, taking the first two sets to the primary print station. We will need to run the other three pairs through the ceiling to the third secondary station and the two manager offices, but the weights will make it easier to grab while also keeping all the heft of the cable from pulling them back down the two floors to the computer department. “The experience, the master’s degree, employee of the month for our department more than any other.”

“That’s because I have no home life.”

“Which they love.” Mark said, his voice raising at the end in emphasis, as he did that head bob thing with hands, I guess from some television show, that I was never home to watch.

“Yeah, but vampire? That is a commitment.”

“You already been here for ten, which was longer than your marriage.”

“Yeah, but there is that eye contact thing.” I glanced his way before climbing back up the ladder, rotating on it until I had line of sight to Abigal’s office, her blinds wide open for the rising sun over the many skyscrapers she admired at night, then poked my head back up through the hole. I put a hand down for Mark to hand me the next neatly paired cords and the extendable pole to direct the materials to the right locations.

“Right, you are like autistic, autistic. I keep forgetting.”

“Can you imagine me trying to hypnotize someone?” I shove the Abigal weight to her office, extending the pole to its maximum of forty feet. “Look into my eyes.” I said with the cheesiest accent ever, then switched to a slightly hyper scared voice. “Nope, don’t do that. Never mind.” I got diagnosed in third grade and had wonderful therapy all my life, but certain things remain damn near impossible like crowds (I love my job where I keep things going during the day while everyone else works nights) and staring deeply into the eyes of the woman I loved.

We had two great years, two increasingly bad years, three wonderful children, and enough hell when she couldn’t take my quirks anymore to traumatize all five of us. The kids were teens now. Being a vampire wouldn’t be bad in relation to the family since the first torpor wouldn’t set in for another twenty and only lasted two years.

Still, I wouldn’t want to deal a bunch of neurotypical vampires for eternity. Trying to keep them up on the latest technology had been hard enough.

(words 680; first published 12/25/2025)