Flash – Page 76 – Erin Penn's Second Base

Flash: Crawling

May 5, 2019February 8, 2019 Erin Penn 4 Comments

Digital art from freedigitalphotos.net

Crawling. Zebedee hated crawling. Winged angels should fly, and if they couldn’t do that, if they had legs, they should at least be walking.

His wings brushed the unseen roof again. It kept getting lower and lower. Something had to be an illusion. Either the endless white Lucia transported him to or the ever-shrinking box. Which sense was lying to him, touch or sight?

Neither the rough and splintered distressed wood floor of the club nor the thick silk plush hand-knotted antique Persian carpet underneath the pretend throne where Lucia reigned from were revealed to his ultra-sensitive fingertips. Only endless nothing. White above, white below. A nothingness unlike anything he had experienced before. The only thing he felt was the roof lowering onto the thousands of feathers capable of gauging air pressure, wind, and dozens of other datum needed when flying. The only feedback letting him know he still existed somewhere. Claustrophobia swallowed half his reason.

A whisper.

He heard a whisper.

A clink, laughter, mocking laughter.

Had he been transported at all?

Was he crawling around Lucia’s nightclub with her mob watching? He, Zebedaios, avenging angel? On hands and knees before that rabble?

Only he wasn’t an avenging angel anymore, but a protecting one.

Avenging angels only needed sight, to see miles in a dive, and touch for flying. All other senses were neglected for these two all important ones. But when Zeb had been assigned to Earth … to Dawn … he had been remade. Something Lucia, in her Fallen state, had not experienced.

She may be able to manipulate senses she understood, but the other three senses gifted to him for his new responsibility may be beyond her magicks.

And the demon-witch would not pass on the chance to torment Dawn while demeaning Zebedee. Dawn would be here, somewhere, if here was a place covered by an illusion. Dawn, the human he was tuned to. He should be able to hear her. Smell her. … taste her … no, not that … that thought leads to the Fall.

Hear. Ignore the white, the crushing non-roof. Only concentrate on hearing, however foreign that might be. Ears used to only hearing the rush of winds or the screams of battle search for … a muffled grunt, anger, … very angry. Dawn’s eyes would be sparkling.

That way. Who was near her? A scuffle with weight to it. Baal. Then Phil would be to the right.

Positive he was no more naked, defenseless, than he was in a No-Place, Zeb took the leap of faith normally reserved for humans and jumped forward to where his charge was.

The spell shattered around him and people scattered as he crashed through sycophants toward Lucia’s throne where Dawn was prisoner.

He had given up many things when he volunteered as a Guardian, but his Sword of Vengeance was not one of them. And, unfortunately on many levels, neither was his pride.

And they had made him crawl!

(words 492; published 4/3/2014; republished new blog format 5/5/2019)

Z is for Zillion

April 30, 2019April 21, 2024 Erin Penn 4 Comments

The newcomers came over and joined their fire pit. The woman of the new couple looked over at the dancers and drummers, “Oh good, Misty is dancing. She hasn’t broken out her silks in a while.” The long-haired brunette wore a flowing gauzy tied-dyed skirt and blouse combination. She eased her broad hips into the seat against the glass, the one facing at the understated outdoor entertainment.

“Hey, Jax, Cynthia,” the man said as he dropped in the chair directly between the new woman and the couple sharing a chair.

Cindy looked over, surprised anyone knew who she was. The man was the convention volunteer who helped them earlier. “Basketcase, how are you?”

“Off-duty,” he showed the plastic glass of bubbly amber liquid he was drinking, while his free hand reached for the woman beside him. The dark-haired woman looked down at his blind grope at her armrest, clearly thought a moment, then moved her hand towards his until they met. Their fingers intertwined, the woman studied the operation in amazement as though one of the hands wasn’t attached to her. Reese glanced over at the woman once the hands had found a comfortable position, but not looking straight on, and a slight, satisfied smile tinged with wonder curved the corners of his mouth before he returned his attention to Jax and Cynthia. “How about you?”

“Jax proposed!” Cindy got to say for the first time ever. She waved the hand with the engagement ring. “One of Xander’s specials. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Reese and Otero oohed and awed appropriately, though the other woman, strangely only muttered, “The blue goes well with your boyfriend’s eyes,” before returning her attention to the far-off dancing. Jax was impressed she had been able to pick out his eye color in the flickering light.

A group came out the bar doors wearing an eccentric mix of pirate, medieval gowns, and, one person, Japanese samurai plate. They made a bee-line to the larger gathering on the patio. The straggler of the group, a woman in chain mail, held open the door for Denise who had her hands full with four drinks. After thanking the stranger, they parted ways.

The black woman stepped over Otero’s legs, then stood over him tilting out a dark bottle in the group of drinks she carried. “This is the closest thing they had to a decent stout.”

“That is a loose definition of decent, but necessity is the mother of acceptance.”

She then turned in place and tilted out the other bottle, which Jax took. Down to two cups, Denise offered Cynthia the one with red liquid. After sitting down, Denise took a sip of her drink.

“Ah-hem.” Otero cleared his throat, reaching out with a hand.

Denise gave a minx smile to the older man. “Oh, you are wanting this back?” She took out the card from her back pocket and placed it in his hand. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

“If you did any more often, I will need ballet point shoes.” Otero complained, before raising an eyebrow and nodded to the newest additions to their conversation pit.

She followed the nod, pointy looked at the joint hands, and said, “Well, it is about time.”

“I know, right?” Otero agreed.

Basketcase shook his head slightly at them, but rubbed a thumb over the back of the still unintroduced woman’s hand. “Don’t push.”

“Come on,” Denise responded, “You breeders are insufferable when courting … or between relationships … or in a relationship. Pretty much you are insufferable.”

“Just because you don’t like the candy…” Basketcase responded.

“Sweet tooths are overrated.”

“I disagree.” Otero swung his bottle in a circle, talking in a low considering voice.

“Says the happily married man.” Denise teased.

“It is nice coming back to cream-filled eclairs every night,” he agreed.

Caught midsip, Denise had to put down her ginger ale and cough. Across from them, Reese said, “aaand time to change topics.”

“First point to the Hispanic.” Otero claimed, holding up a finger in victory.

Denise nodded, “I concede the point.”

The conversation continued, with the core group around the outside gas firepit remaining except for drink runs and, as Otero called them, draining episodes. At one point, the brunette, Cloe, who proofread for Denise, a local author, and other writers at the convention, moved to sit on the ground and lean against Basketcase’s leg, freeing up the chair closest to the bar’s door, which became a rotating interview area. Turned out Otero had a very, very well-paying day-job, and a magician’s gift with investments, and used his recreational cash to underwrite about half the Indie movies in the city. Directors, actors, screenwriters, and writers came and went, some setting up longer, more private interviews for Saturday and Sunday recorded by Denise, who acted as Otero’s personal assistant. Others touching base on a production in-process, but most were just visiting, staying friends with the man who helped them realize their dreams.

To Be Continued…

Look for “The Small Courages of Giants” including the conclusion of Panic at the Convention to be released at some future date (shooting for the month of May, because I am that kind of crazy).

I tried to finish Panic at the Convention during the A to Z, but this last conversation is killing me. I’ve rewritten parts of this scene at least five times now, and I have two more scenes to go. Even publishing the last short in 900 word groupings instead of the 500 word goal I had originally planned for A to Z, to give y’all as much as possible without overwhelming people during the blog tour, I still have a long way to go. At least a Zillion words, and every word is a battle. I have to finish this scene – which has expanded to be twice as long as I originally imagined – and still going. And I have to write out the closing scene. Plus another scene wants to be inserted between this one and the ending of the emotional growth arc for Cynthia. Like I said, a Zillion words to go.

On the other hand, this is really the breakpoint of the story. Where we change from Jax and his concentration on their romance, to Cynthia figuring out how to be with him the way she wants to be. I know, POV switch in the middle of the story, Ugh. Bad editor.

If you would like to see the ending, like my Facebook author page. I will post when the book is available there. I’m also likely to release the raw ending directly to my Patrons before the polished book version, if you don’t want to wait for the sensitivity beta readers to complete their reviews and the rest of the editing process.

Sorry about the wait. I thought this was a 5K story; it is likely to close on 10K before I am done. Yes, I am writing the story so you would think I control the word count – but sometimes the story just need to be told in the words it takes.

A to Z Short Story List Breakdown

Rainbow Spectrum (A to F)
Marathon Party (G to M)
Trigger: Cutting (N to Q)
Bookstore Sort (R to T)

Panic at the Convention (U to Z)
4/24/2019 – U is for Uniform
4/25/2019 – V is for Volunteer
4/26/2019 – W is for Weasels
4/27/2019 – X is for Xander
4/28/2019 – Y is for Yuengling
4/29/2019 – Z is for Zillion

Y is for Yuengling

April 29, 2019April 21, 2024 Erin Penn 5 Comments

Rating: Mature (language, implied situations, and drinking – basically PG)

“I was wondering,” Jax said while finishing off his honey-drenched sopaipillas, “if you would like to go to the bar with me tonight.”

With a fork halfway to her mouth, Cynthia looked at him. “You’re kidding right? The bar?”

“I go to the bar every night when at a convention.” He shifted in the rolling chair. The hotel room only had two chairs, one a rolling business chair which normally was in front of the desk across from the sink, and a chair beside a small table with lamp, the table they converted to their very intimate dining table.

Cindy got the more stable chair. She finished taking the bite, raising her eyebrows.

“Don’t give me that look.” He leaned back rubbing his full belly. “I text you every time.”

“And they are really amusing.” Cindy waved the fork in time with her words. “But me, not in a bar, not ever.”

“I could still text you. Maybe it will distract you.”

“Nope.”

“It’s not like a normal bar, I promise.”

She smirked. “So no alcohol? No dark lighting? No loud music? No people talking just to talk?”

“Um.”

“Exactly. No. I think we all learned our lesson today.” Cynthia sat back satisfied she won her argument.

Jax reached across the table and laid his hand on hers. He wasn’t going to let her win an argument based on fear making her world smaller. “We could sit outside. The hotel has these little fire pits. We can people watch and text each other.” He turned his hand over, slipping it under hers so they were holding hands. “I want you there, please. If you get uncomfortable, just let me know and we can leave. But try it, for me?”

“Jax…”

“Pretty please. I’ll get you the dragonball you saw in the vendor room.”

Cynthia sighed. “I’m going to regret this,” she said twisting her engagement ring.

“Every single moment,” Jax hopped up and offered her his hand to help her stand.

She put her hand in his, standing gracefully. “You are not going to get me drunk.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he stated. “At least, I hadn’t before now.”

Cynthia closed the door to their hotel room after they both showed the other they had their room card key as well as their cell phones.“I throw up when I’m drunk.”

“Then let’s not get you drunk.” He reached for her hand automatically as they walked side-by-side down the long hall to the stairwell instead of the elevators.

At the second floor landing, they stopped. “You know, I am kind-of liking taking the stairs.” Cynthia gave Jax a quick hug before continuing down.

“They have machines in the gym for this sort of thing!”

Cynthia gave him the finger without looking back and continued down the steps.

Jax kept trying to convince Cynthia to join him at the fitness center. Her response was if the gods wanted women to exercise, they wouldn’t have made all the curves based on fat. At which point, if they were home alone, she would flash Jax one of his two favorite fatty areas depending if she was in a skirt or low-cut blouse. He never won that particular argument, though he really liked how that conversation usually ended.

Once on the first floor, they made it to the bar-restaurant area, and Cindy balked at the crowd gathered in the area. Not a single seat was empty. Jax steered her to the glass doors leading to an outside area. Once they were outside, they heard steady drums and could see some mid-eastern dancers gyrating in the open area away from the main building seemingly unaffected by the cool late spring night.

“I see the SCA are out in force.” Jax said, taking a seat in the fire pit area closest to the bar’s door. The oversized chair held them both snugly, just the way Jax liked it.

A woman and man were already seated in the conversation area, and two more seats were still open.

The woman answered. “Well, Achbar is here, what do you expect?”

“How are you doing Jax?” the man asked.

“Same old, same old.”

Cynthia elbowed him.

“What?” Jax looked down. “Oh, shit. Right! So Cynthia, let me introduce you to Otero and Denise. Otero and Denise, this is Cynthia, my fiancee.”

Denise, who rocked short bleached curls against her black skin, leaned forward to offer her hand since she was in the seat closest to them. “This is your text buddy, right?”

“Yes.” Jax settled in deeper, pulling Cindy tight against him after the women shook hands. He kissed her forehead since it was right there and needing it. “And my world.”

“Don’t you forget it, doofus.” She leaned her head back so his lips now hovered over hers. Jax took advantage of the invitation.

“Didn’t see you much today,” Otero said, his white hair a product of age rather than hair salons, “Did you get in late?”

“No,” Jax turned Cynthia’s face toward him so he could watch her eyes for guilt at having a panic attack and then losing three hours sleeping to recover from it. “I was busy asking this wonderful woman to marry me.” The pain creases at the sides of her eyes smoothed as a sigh of happiness escaped her mouth.

“That’s a great excuse,” Denise turned to Otero, “why don’t you do that with me?”

“Well, if I wasn’t married, and gay, and you weren’t an Ace, I would be all over it.” Otero turned to Denise, leaning forward on the rattan chair’s arm, and looked longingly at her, “I guess you’ll just remain my con wife.”

“I’ll accept that, if you get me a ginger ale.”

“I’ll buy you a ginger ale, if you get me a beer.” Otero handed Denise a credit card. “How about you two, to celebrate the happy day?”

“They got Yuengling, pick me up one.” Jax never turned down free booze.

Cynthia shifted uncomfortably. “Nothing for me.”

“You sure?” Denise asked. “Otero’s buying. How about a cranberry juice or water with lemon?”

“Oh, cranberry juice actually sounds nice.” Cindy perked up, surprised alcohol wasn’t being pushed as the be-all-end-all like it had been in college.

As Denise slipped into the building, two more people came out and tried to stop her. “Can’t stop, beer run.”

A to Z Short Story List Breakdown

Rainbow Spectrum (A to F)
Marathon Party (G to M)
Trigger: Cutting (N to Q)
Bookstore Sort (R to T)

Flash: Simile Comparisons can be Real

April 28, 2019February 8, 2019 Erin Penn

Photo from freedigitalphotos.net

Elijah staggered up the steps. Once on the Victorian wrap-around porch he dragged off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and heaved it in the hamper his mom kept outside for his use. He flopped onto the wicker bench beside the hamper to unlace his work boots. Propped against the white picket railing, he delayed, gathering strength to bend over.

Mowing lawns in August was rough, but brainless. Some days the mindless work made him long for school to restart. Get the brain cells sparking. Even high school lit class sounded like paradise two days ago. Today, the monotonous activity kept him moving.

Moving. He needed to move.

Hoisting his left foot onto his right knee, Elijah tackled the wet grass-stained lace. Broken dirty fingernails dug into the sticky Gordon knot. Eventually the heavy boot thunked on the porch. A sodden once-white sock flew in a high arc, landing in a splat beside the hamper. The newly lightened foot floated to the wooden slats.

His jeans had a hole, above the knee. Elijah started at it a bit poking his finger in the opening. He would need mom to patch it. Mr. Taggert didn’t like his team to look ratty. Team … I guess two people would still count as a team.

Other foot.

Task completed, and five pounds lighter between the shirt and boots, Elijah stood. The breeze was picking up, turning the hot afternoon chilly as it dried his sweat. Shivering, the teen debated taking off his work pants before going in. His mom hated him tracking grass clippings in the house.

“What’s up homey?” a voice said unexpectedly, breaking into his thoughts.

Elijah jumped. Spinning rapidly, he saw his best friend since fifth grade stepping onto the porch. The turn combined with exhaustion, physical and emotional, left him dizzy. He leaned against a nearby pillar for support, while his overdressed friend waited for him to regroup.

The tux looked great on Matthew. But then Matthew, from his wavy black rock-star hair, to the perfect cleft in his chin, had always looked good.

Naturally muscular and agile, Matthew had made the football team freshman year as linebacker. Elijah preferred track, but relented to Matthew’s friendly taunts to be a wide receiver under the condition Matt take up shot put. Which meant Matt had ended up with football AND track scholarships on the table waiting for him to finish his senior year and Elijah got a lot of bruises from being tackled.

“Gotcha!” Matt reported as he bounded over. Seeing Elijah still depending on the pillar for support, his skin more ashen than bronze despite a day outdoors, Matt got concerned. “Dude, are you okay? You look like you have seen a ghost.”

Elijah swallowed and licked his lips and swallowed again, trying to get the spit up to talk. “I have, bro. Haven’t you read the obituaries today?”

“What?” Matt shook his head. “Have you ever known me to read the paper? You have the freaky parents still getting the morning paper delivered.”

“Matt, you missed work yesterday. I thought you had cut out for the beach or something.” Tears streamed down Elijah’s face. “Your parent found you dead, an aneurism or something.”

Matt laughed. “Stop messing with me, Dude.”

Elijah slammed his hand against the wooden pillar. “Oh God I wish I was. … Mr. Taggert let me off early so I could shower and go to your viewing tonight.”

“Dude, stop it. You’re scaring me.” Matt tried to grab Elijah by the shoulders to shake sense into him.

Elijah had stepped back quickly to avoid being touched, so only the tips of Matt’s fingers passed through Elijah.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” The teen ran to his front door, banging open the screen. “Not again.”

Behind him, his best friend stared at his fingers in shock, waving them back and forth a moment. He laid his hand on the railing and gently pushed it through.

“Shit.” Matthew squeezed his hand into a fist. It felt solid. Matthew inhaled, trying to kick start his thoughts. He blinked. “Wait, what did he mean by ‘again’?”

(words 685 originally appearing at Breathless Press 6/27/13 for the 4/1/12 Sunday Fun – I have modified the final 3 paragraphs; republished new blog format April 28, 2019)

X is for Xander

April 27, 2019April 21, 2024 Erin Penn 3 Comments

Returning, she found Jax pulling on a tight pink t-shirt proclaiming “It’s an Anime thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Hey honey, that was the ring guy.”

Scrunching her eyes, Cynthia asked, “What ring guy?”

“Umn, the one we were to causally come across in the vendor room and then I go down on one knee there and ask you to marry me, and then we pick out your engagement ring and our wedding rings.” Jax rubbed his neck. “And that would have been a disaster. I don’t know what I was thinking, putting you on the spot like that in public. Anyway, he is wanting to shut down for dinner and was wondering if we were coming by soon. I … well, I am going to go meet his assistant at the table and we are going to put together a selection and then, once Xander finishes his dinner, we’ll come up here and let you pick things out. Is that okay?” Jax used his puppy dog eyes like he always did when he did something he shouldn’t have as he shuffled toward the door.

Cynthia held up her hand. “Wait, you actually had a plan?”

“Um, yes?”

“You actually called ahead to arrange to buy rings.” Cindy was agog. “Who are you, and how far in advance did you plan this?”

“Hmm, it was part of the plan when I asked you to come to the con with me. I saw the vendor on the website when I was making reservations, and it went from there.”

“Jax, that was like, three months ago.”

“Yes?”

“What else is planned? A quiet dinner in the hotel room afterwards by candlelight?”

Jax shifted from foot to foot, looking abashed, “How did you know?”

His fiancee rushed across the room to hug him fiercely. Burying herself in his chest, she whispered, “I never knew you were a romantic. You do so many things off the cuff, I’m never sure if you really mean it.” She drew back, tears streaming down her face, making Jax feel very uncomfortable. “The public question would have sucked, don’t do that. E.V.E.R. Okay?”

Jax smiled down at her. “Okay.” He wiped a few of the tears away. “But the ring guy coming up, and food?”

“Wonderful. You are the most wonderful man in the whole world!”

Quickly kissing her, Jax opened the door. “I’ll be back soon. Why don’t you read some of the books we brought with us until I get back?”

“It’s what I always do while you are at a con.”

“So you get to do it where I can see you this time.” He tapped her nose while standing in the hallway. “I can get used to you attending conventions, just to let you know, even if you never leave the room. I love you.”

“I love you, too, you goofus.”

Once the door was closed, Jax pulled out his phone while taking huge strides down the hall to the elevators. Speaking at the black square, he asked, “Jeeves, what is the nearest Italian restaurant? No, wait. Mexican. Delivery.” He pushed the button on the wall to start the long wait for an elevator. The phone listed several places nearby, he scrolled through until he found one with delivery to the hotel. He was just finishing up his order when the elevator doors opened.

“Going up?” Someone in the small crowd asked.

“I think going up is the only way I will be able to down,” he said, stepping sideways into the lift, swimming toward the back through the ocean of flesh.

“Sure enough,” can the random answer.

***

Several hours later Jax sat across from the love of his life, for real this time, staring into her chocolate eyes and thanking his lucky stars. He had fallen in love for the first time in high school (middle school crushes do not count), the second time he lost his heart was Freshman year of college – and that one had been his biggest mistake (fortunately the antibiotics cleared his system), then again in Junior year. Him and Joyce might have made it the distance, but she wasn’t willing to leave the mid-west and his only job opportunities were at the coasts. She refused to follow even when he got her job interviews in her field paying her more than she was making in the town where she had grown up and given her more opportunity for advancement. He kept in touch for a couple years through social media, bleeding at every post like a love-sick idiot, until, one day, he was delivering product to at-home medical transcribers for a new corporate client and met Cynthia. He had remember previously running across her at a library event featuring the classic Vampire Hunter D, so they talked about that while he showed her how the new equipment worked. Before he left, she mentioned a dollar theater running anime nights on Wednesday and invited him.

One thing led to another.

Now he sat across from the most amazing woman in the world. Her eyes sparked like the three stones in the Tardis blue ring on her left hand. Xander had taken their measurements to make a set of matching wedding rings and promised them by the end of the summer convention season. Knowing the promptness of crafters who sell at conventions, Jax figured he would get the rings by Christmas.

Cynthia kept looking up at him, through the purple candles set into muetre skull candlestick holders he found when racing through the vendor room to catch the assistant before the convention closed the vendor room for the night. By the time the ring merchant finished his dinner and returned, the Mexican place had delivered to the front desk and Jax picked up the food on the way by. The candlesticks day-of-death theme tying into a Mexican tradition was a pure coincidence but made everything looked well-planned and coordinated. A perfect night for his perfect woman to remember.

A to Z Short Story List Breakdown

Rainbow Spectrum (A to F)
Marathon Party (G to M)
Trigger: Cutting (N to Q)
Bookstore Sort (R to T)