Category: Flash

Flash: Orchid Monks

Erin Penn 2 Comments

Image courtesy of Danilo Rizzuti at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Worm-hole was nearly complete. Vincent looked longingly at the caffeine pot set to start as soon as the power returned to general colony control. In the meantime, he activated the final exchange, this one directed to their sister colony in the MarkNineZebra sector.

“Oh thank the Grounds it is finally Wednesday. Everest, you got to help us!”

The communication specialist jumped in his chair at the unexpected verbal contact. His hands danced over the control console to activate the microphone. “What is wrong, my friend?”

“We have an infestation of those orchid monks. Already glass structures have been raised. How did you get rid of them?”

“Ah, let me send you the contact information for the extractor we hired.” After calling up the contact IP, Vincent quickly tacked on the databit to the agricultural exchange, marking his addition for immediate unravel.

The wormhole exchange and quantum computers provided instantaneous information transfer. “G-G-Grounds and Air! You hired a dark mercenary.” The woman at the other end sputtered with shock.

“I know, I know. But we tried everything and only this worked” Vincent reassured eyeing the information exchange countdown. Only seconds remained. “Use him, please. Yu’gl and only Yu’gl can prevent florist friars.”

(Words 201; first published 11/17/2019)

Flash: I Am Prophecy – Part 5

Erin Penn

Caught with her hand on the door, nearly fully recovered from time lost at the closet, Vixen shoulders slumped and she turned.

“Up, up.” Her mother directed as she stood and made her way over.

Two minutes play room before a DNA test would be required.

Vixen raised her chin and squared her shoulders, thrusting forward her newly formed chest. Her breasts came out even further than she expected after months of hiding them in binding. She was going to have to be careful not to hit things with them, like she did with her suddenly too long arms and legs. Being clumsy was frustrating.

“Spin, there is a love.” Her mother’s first wrinkles stood out when she smiled. “My girl is all grown up. Not even the uniform can hide your beauty.”  She tapped the belt on her designer outfit, considering. “I’m going to see if a closet update is possible; the tailoring on that blouse isn’t quite right.”

Her mother always had appreciated appearance over brains even though Tamatha’s ability to memorize every script in a single read proved her brains outweighed even her famous beauty. Father would not have contracted a fool, no matter how beautiful or famous, though he admitted once he was still fairly infatuated with Tamatha despite their contact being dissolved for years.

Vixen returned the smile, forcing her face to react as it would have yesterday. Before she knew, before she understood. An aging starlet getting fewer and fewer parts every year, no matter how skilled an actress she was, would become depressed. Unfortunately her brains and acting ability would let her hide her mental state from the monitors until it was too late. The question was who would die first, the daughter by cleansing or the mother by suicide.

“Air kisses mom?” Inside the carefully constructed bored and indifferent but not quite indifferent exterior a teenager would have – acting was much harder than it looked – Vixen searched the future for paths to help her mother.

The hologram leaned in and kissed the air either side of the half-helm before whispering, “Tell Osantos you are not allowed to watch any more rated entertainment at his place.”

Dashing out the door sadly gratified by another day won with her mother, Vixen realized she hadn’t needed to use her Unnatural abilities at all. Lesson learned: physic abilities are not always needed.

Mental puzzles entertained the actress. Searching out information real-time without being obvious to her daughter had challenged her, not knowing Vixen could see exactly what she had done as soon as Tamatha had finished it. Maybe mom would even change the program for the kitchen. Vixen could not see the action clearly, her mother was less predictable than the wind. But today her parent will live; the poison purchased would stay in its box.

The question was, would Vixen? Would she survive the next hour, let alone the next day?

(words 486; first published 11/10/2019)

Flash: I Am Prophecy – Part 4

Erin Penn

“Hey mom … pops.” Vixen hurried past her parental holograms on the way to the breakfast her mother had programmed. She frowned at the biscuit, soft boiled egg and clumps of tricolor berries. The breakfast hadn’t varied in four days. Past, present, future blinked. The countertop grounded her in the now until her timeline realigned.

Oh, momma, is it really that bad?

“Is that anyway to greet your mother?”

Taking the plate and eating utensils to the table from the nutrition dispenser, Vixen baited the woman on the other side of the world before sitting at the one real chair at the table. “You didn’t complain when Gina did it.”

Foxhole’s premiere female fatale of Length stories, one-shot entertainment video narratives between two and three hours often shown in group situations like the old movies of Earth, pulled out a chair and sat, the hologram program overlay transposing whatever milieu she was in to the kitchen in the personal module where Vixen lived. “Really, Environmental Fail? When did you manage to get past the age protections on that? … And Gina was killed in the next scene for not respecting her parents’ instructions.”

“Mom, it is only restricted from the concrete thinkers. I’ve been rated abstract for over five years.” Vixen shoveled food in, trying to make up for lost time.

Father’s hologram lacked interaction since he was still on circuit. He left a placeholder with a half-eaten plate of food in front of him, distracted from eating by the fan twisted open with whatever news or laws he was reviewing. Not far from how he would be if he was really there, though he would be demanding the half-helm be removed. “People need to see you more than you need to be connected,” he would say. Still, he was one to talk since he was never without a fan, snapping it open and close constantly to study esoteric laws from hundreds of worlds and outposts as his brain danced from one problem to another.

“It’s restricted to parental review for the non-citizen. And I know I have made certain all of the fictional parental review programs are locked, even if you father unlocked all the non-fiction.”

“Yeah mom, you need to talk to him about that. I stumbled over the Coord Outpost Full Recreate yesterday studying for today’s test.” Vixen shuttered dramatically while returning the plate for disposal. “Cannibalism, and other ick. Really didn’t need that in my head in vivid smell and space-time color. What the heck rating did that have? You were in it, so I know you got to know.”

“Citizen only, with verified mental stability of three or above.”  Tamatha sighed. “I am not going to win that argument, and neither are you. Not with your father. Now, let me see.”

Caught with her hand on the door, nearly fully recovered from time lost at the closet, Vixen shoulders slumped and she turned.

(words 488; first published 11/3/2019)

Flash: Fallen Angel

Erin Penn

Image by marcolm on FreeDigitalPhotos

“I’m so sorry.” The man hopped on one leg trying to get into his pants. “Sorry, so sorry. I… I’m sorry. Sorry.”

Sarif shyed her soulful, tear-filled eyes away from the man and his still excited prick, biting her abused bleeding lips. Hiding behind her blonde tresses, she turned her face into her shoulder, curling her legs to her body and gripping the angry red and purple bruises on her arms while holding the sheets to her breasts. Behind her, pure white wing spread wide, proclaiming her angelic heritage.

The man kept up his sobbing non-stop apologies, sticking his arms into the shirt and buttoning it up, missing several connections in his haste. He left one shoe behind when he slammed the door, running, trying to escape from his guilt. It chased him from the apartment and down the hall, into the rest of his life. Rage and self-hate grew daily as he never could forgive himself; anger at his unholy actions brought his fists up again and again, striking out at others in blame for his own failings, until his destroyed future crushed him.

Waiting, waiting, just in case he returned, Sarif held the pose, not moving, thinking on her short time with her rescuer. Just two days ago, the man had discovered her bruised, broken body from the side of the road after another one of the unending clashes with her opposites in the Battle. Caring and eager to help, he bathed her wounds while his eyes stared at her glowing soft wings. Her diety-blessed healing, restoring her within hours, astounded him further. Since he first lifted her up out of the muddy trench, the man never left her side, rapidly falling in love. Being human, sexual frustration slunk behind like a jackal, waiting for moments of weakness. Possession flared his emotions, one log upon another in the bonfire of his unhealthy desires: his angel, his love, his rescue, his female. Until the only thought remained, the coveting of heaven’s own, a single concept, — “his”.

Finally assured man wouldn’t be returning, Sarif started laughing. Full body shakes took her, slipping the sheet down perky, eternally-young breasts to pool around slim girl hips. Never had she had a man succumb to her temptations so quickly. A new benchmark for her to break. Why humans thought her kind were wrinkled, red, horned, and ugly, she would never understand. They were fallen angels; no one had taken their wings.

(Words: 409; First published 10/27/2019)

Writing Exercise: Priming the Pump

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of the NaNoWriMo hive mind on the Internet

Sometimes, somedays, you just can’t get started. You and the blank screen pixels have become one. Maybe you are between works. Maybe you are coming off of editing. Maybe you don’t know where to go with the work in-progress (WIP). Maybe work was exhausting. Maybe you suffered a loss, an argument, you’re sick – mind or body or emotions just ain’t working yet.

And sometimes …. sometimes there is just nothing.

You may need to Prime the Pump. Just do a simple little exercise of 100 words. That is all you got to write. One hundred words. Maybe with 100 words you can write 100 more. Once the brain gets moving in one direction, it continues moving.

Collect a couple ideas and set them aside in a “Prime the Pump” list. You need to prepare in advance, because you likely won’t think of anything when you are in the middle of the ennui.

Examples for the list would be:

  1. 100 words of a character fault
  2. 100 words of a scene description
  3. 100 words of a motion like a kiss or a punch. Whatever is the next movement the character should be making.
  4. 100 words of why the character in the scene is fighting having the scene written. Dialog between me and him/her.
  5. 100 words of why I think I can’t write right now
  6. 100 words of what the kid did today
  7. 100 words why the spouse makes me happy
  8. 100 words of what I’m cooking for dinner and why I like the idea.

An Excel file should work just fine for the list. These are not meant to be an opus or even a sellable item. Just 100 words to kick start the day of writing. When you hit 100 words, switch out. Save the bit into the Prime the Pump folder with the day’s date and then go to the project you should be working on. Maybe have it already open, so you don’t even have to think about the switch. Just close out on the Prime the Pump file and go-go-go. The object is to get writing anything – so you can write something. 

For date formatting, I would recommend year-month-day format, that way the list appears in date order. Example:

2014 10 22 – Where I sit
2016 09 22 – Want to cry
2019 10 22 – The Kiss

By the way, if priming the pump doesn’t keep the words flowing after the switch out, give yourself permission to stop if you need to. You wrote something. Only 100 words, but if you are heartsick, or stressed, or whatever it is your brain is occupied with instead of writing, trying to write Product may not be happening today.

Give yourself permission because you tried. You actually put words on a screen. You tested to make sure it wasn’t just enough to start typing.

On the other hand, the attempt of Priming the Pump may keep you typing for hours – which is why you tested yourself. You never know which it is until you tried.

WRITING EXERCISE: Create a writing folder for Prime the Pump. Then create a PrimeThePump.xls (Excel) file. Record ten ideas. Write one of them and post it below.

***

My Attempt: Where I sit when I am typing

Despite the heavy gray curtains, the afternoon sun shines in my eyes and overheats my face, interfering with my ability to concentrate on the computer screen. Glancing left and right , blinking the spots out of my eyes, shelves of books and towers of CDs and DVDs beg me to waste time with them. Studiously ignoring them, I curl my toes against the smooth wooden floors and bang out another 100 words. (72 words)