Category: Flash

Flash: The Antichrist’s Big Sister Blog – Part 3

Erin Penn

Hey all. I’m back.

Sorry to take so long – the final year of high school has been a whirlwind.

First, I would like to thank the message board for all your suggestions about how to function in my unique family situation. Everything from stocking up on marshmallows for the Apocalypse to what to expect when my brother comes into his powers was awesome.

I especially want to thank all the support I got about confronting my father, the judge and even step-dad.  The non-stop “You Go Girl” was, for lack of a better adjective, awesome. I am flattered that several people used my example to throw off some of the really bad situations they were in. I didn’t set out to become an inspiration. And truth is, having read the circumstances some of you gals, and guys, were in, my complaining about my situation is like the meme of the first world problems crying woman going “I tried to spread cold butter on my toast … and the toast ripped”. All I can say is my telling Satan I will cut off his balls makes you stand up to evil where you live, then more power to you. You gals, and guys, rock – and good luck.

Second, $exy$hi#. No, you can’t have the two phone numbers I got. But I showed Troy your comments about what you want to do with the guys, demons, whatever. (I think I will go with whatever from now on – everyone down with that?)  He recommended two other whatevers that step-dad did not introduce me to. I have set up a temporary email address which I am going to post in the “contact me” area. Shoot me an email with your contact information, I will forward the information to them while also providing you their information at the same time. Then I am going to delete the temp e-box and get out of the picture. And, no, $exy$sh#, I do NOT want to know what happens. Reading about your plans was bad enough, informative, but harsh. I is only eighteen. You are a sick, sick girl and I think you are going to have lots of fun.

Anyhow, business out of the way.

Troy.

I know, new name. Yes, not his real name.  Really not suppose to share his real name, he is one of step-dad’s minions. No relation to the happy, bouncing yellow minions from Despicable Me, except their boss knows everyone’s names, fart guns are acceptable forms of entertainment, parties every weekend and lots of gluttony involving ice cream, … and well, I guess whatevers are very close to the minions in Despicable Me.

Anyhow, Troy. (sigh)

He has been hanging around the house … a lot.

He was not one of the entertainers step-dad offered up on my birthday as a gift. Troy is much too busy actually doing work for the horned one. Himself is not one to deprive himself of good help – actually bad help – someone really, really good at bad things.

I haven’t been home as much. Which is good, because I am not doing too well standing up to Troy’s flirting. Cripes, the man can handkiss. It feels really weird the first time, but the whatevers don’t change manners fast. Or maybe they do. They are good at blending.

But they know a good thing when they find it. Hold a woman’s hand, slowly lift to your lips keeping eye contact the whole way, lightly – oh so lightly – brush your lips against the knuckles, wait for her to breathe again, never losing eye contact, wait a second so she is not sure you are finished, then either kiss the fingers again, rotate the hand to kiss her palm, or lower the hand before releasing. Never release the hand before lowering and, never, ever break eye contact. Vary so she never knows what to expect so she keeps eye contact trying to see the intent in your eyes. Troy’s eyes are green, with a rim of gold right before the pupil. The right iris darkens to a deeper green towards the edge than the left one. His pupils always expand, covering the gold when he makes a decision to kiss my palm. His lips feel like a brush of roses on my hands.

Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.

Anyhow, working lots of hours. A good thing. Been at the Scottish Hamburger joint doing my final sentence in the fast food industry. Hopefully next year I will be a college intern. More on that later. Mom says the chances of my beginning major, English Literature, being my final major is like nil. She says to get as many of the liberal arts requirements out of the way until I find what I really want to do.

Personally I think me being a reporter would be awesome.  Step-dad is torn. Again, that whole seeking the truth thing. On the other hand, reporting will make me an observer. Which sets me up for the not getting in the way of the end of the world. I will just write as the world burns. I mean, like any reporter, I hope my words will change the world. But I got enough of a cynic in me to realize the chances of that are slim to none.

Except you gals and guys have already shown me my words can change things. Maybe need to rethink the pessimism, and also whether being a reporter will let me do my job as the Antichrist’s Big Sister.

Mom doesn’t think I’ll be happy. Being a reporter. She is all big on happiness since marrying the horned guy.

Again, respect my mom’s choices. My step-dad is light-years better than my bio dad. The horned guy makes her happy. Heck, we are even expecting AC (antichrist) number two shortly. Sometime in December.

Go figure.

My bet for delivery date – when does winter start? Any takers?

Oh, oh. I got into a college. I think I told you that, right?

Got the letter right after my birthday, so maybe not. Out of state. Best media and news reporting college in five states, plus. Far from my bio dad, plus. Bigger bill for him to pay since I don’t get in-state grants, extra plus. (Yes, I have verified he has sent in the first semester’s payment and it has cleared the bank.) Far away from the bad influences of step-dad and his minions, plus. Far away from mom and Billy, neg – big neg.

Far away from Troy. I don’t know.

We talked all night last night on the porch about my move, my job, his job, my future. But not our future. He even gave me glimpses of his past as I fell asleep on his shoulder. I don’t think he realized I was still awake … he just kept talking. Comparing the starry night sky to things he had seen.

I don’t know what to do about Troy. Long distance relationships aren’t good. Relationships with whatevers aren’t good. Look, don’t want advice on this one, not yet. Still need to think things through. Life is going to change.

Off to pack. Only a month until the off-to-college roadtrip. AC’s Big Sister signing off.

(words 1,207 – first published 4/9/2013; republished new blog format 1/21/2018)

 

Flash: One Soul Per

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

The two girls looked like water nymphs, half-submerged in the bay. “How soon will one of us die?”

Layne frowned. “You should be feeling the pinchers by now. Don’t worry, they only eat dead things.”

Sheep, at least he thought it was the girl with the Sheep constellation tattooed on the back of her nape smiled, “So we aren’t going to have any clothes soon?”

The picture of the two girls naked, with hair floating around them, while chained, had Layne’s fifth extremity lengthening. He adjusted his lower armor to make room. “No, pinchers recognize dead matter attached to living matter and leaves it alone. Only if you dead inside and out will they eat everything.”

The water started to recede, leaving wet lace covering their bosoms and nothing to his imagination. The Keeper of Kaireen’s Sacrifice requested the surviving twin be brought back promptly. Normally those undergoing the Tide Test wore simple white linen. But these two had apprenticed to a lacemaker and wanted to wear their skill on what could be their final day of life. They had spent the day before the Test creating the dresses from new silk and fresh linen, dyed specially for surviving the salty sea. Whichever survived would wear her masterpiece to report to her journeyman position at the lace shop. It was clear the Keeper was proud of both girls, as much as could be knowing one was a monster. Layne did not envy the Keeper his job of raising children and monsters together, never naming either to prevent giving the monsters the power of a name. Only one soul per child birth was given by the gods, and so the question becomes which of a set of twins has the soul and which is a false one. Unwilling to kill a true person without reason, the city set aside the Sacrifice grounds to raise them until they were old enough to be tested.

“We live sister!” One leaned into the other, as hugging wasn’t an option because of the short chains attaching them to a concrete block for the test, while the tide continued to fall back. They kissed cheeks and lips. Hands touched wet legs as if assuring each other that no wounds were hidden by the sea. Turning as one back to their guard. “Please, may we be released.”

Never had both twins survived the Test. But only if one had a living soul would the pinchers not tear her apart in the tide pools.

A new wave, higher than previous, and wind-blown, hit the girls about the shoulders, knocking them over. Layne’s eyes returned to the distant ocean. A storm had rolled in while he had watched the girls. The narrow bay would fill with storm-driven water. Panicked, the girls tried to stand on the cement block they were chained to, keeping their head high as waves returned without the tide.

Tossing aside his spear, Layne ran. He unbuckled his armor and sword before splashing into the water, holding the key in his hand. He quickly unlocked the chains. Sheep made it to the beach, but the girl with the Mare tattoo was terrified of drowning. She fought mindlessly, hardly aware of his presence as her water phobia terrorized her. He finally managed to carry her in and put her down on the sand.

He looked around for the Sheep tattoo, and spotted her as she flung his sword into the ocean. A hand touched his fifth, exposed by the lack of armor, immediately hardening it and freezing him in place. “What…”

“I just want to thank you for saving me.” The girl at his feet rose to her knees. “I really am afraid of the water.” Her mouth claimed his fifth, slowly sucking it deeper and deeper into her mouth until he touched the back of her throat.

He moaned. Barely able to move, he brought his hand to rest on her soaked hair.

“Don’t make him cum sister.” The Sheep had returned. “We have need for his seed if we are to survive.” The girl circled around his back and bit his ear. “And need for many other things as well.” She whispered.

Despite the Mare cupping his balls and her round mouth stroking up and down along his shaft, Layne managed to ask, “How?”

“How?” The woman whispering his ear repeated. “How are we both soulless or how did we survive the test?”

He could only moan a response. Both of his hands clenched the hair of the girl giving him the blow job.

“Enough sister, we need to move him before his fellows return.”

His fifth popped out of the Mare’s mouth. “We won’t own him until he owns us.”

“True.” The Sheep wrapped around his torso and lowered her channel onto his shaft. She squeezed the warm, wet channel around his dick. Already on the brink, he surged into the false woman, his seed spurting into her. “That’s it, give me half your soul.” Her mouth claimed his, and he felt something being pulled unwillingly from him, as much as he willingly gave her is cum.

Once he was spent, the Sheep climbed off him. Confusion clouded his thoughts when the woman instructed, “Take my sister’s hand. You know you want her soon. Don’t let her go until you’ve given her everything you have.”

Layne’s vision narrowed to see only the girl as he grasped her hand. He followed her as she pulled him over sand and rock, his eyes focused on the Mare constellation tattoo on her nape showing between the wet strands of her hair. Darkness chased them as the storm grew closer until he was drawn into a cave high in the cliff face.

Mare pulled him down on top of her as she lay on the stone floor. “To be fair, I should tell you, while there is still some of you left, my savior.” Her hands stroked his shoulders, loosening the last of the linen until he was as naked as an animal. His fifth was refilling with the juices of life, and started prodding the woman’s moist entrance. “You see we weren’t twins but triplets. While one soulless one cannot overcome a true being, two can. The true girl died stillborn.”

Horrified at the secret truth, Layne still could not keep himself from entering her. He pumped into her, feeling the last of him pass into the woman. 

(1,071 words – originally appearing at Breathless Press 10/21/13 for the 9/23/12 Sunday Fun; republished in new blog format on 1/14/2018.)

Flash: Unloading

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The noise of a thousand bodies in a small space quieted as the ship doors opened to reveal the immigrants new home. Non-canned air slipped in on hot wind, replacing human stink with the unmistakable odor of sulfur. Human noses inhaled deeply the pungent scent, glad for something new to smell after so many days in transit. Bright natural light rushed to fill the corners of the room as the doors widened enough for the ramp to be deployed.

Clarence huddled mid-way in the masses with his family. The trip had indentured them for ten years labor. More likely twenty years for him and Monique to cover the costs of Grandpa and Nanna’s trip. They were young and could suck it up. Food and other living expenses were going to keep the family down for a generation. Still, they had gotten out of the ghetto.

He waited for the other shoe to fall. He figured he wasn’t about to step into Eden. Others might buy the brave new world bit the recruiters sell. But there had to be a reason why they recruited in the slums and not in the colleges. Someone needed to do the work before brains arrived.

The people at the front stepped back seeing their new home. A few started wailing and cursing.

His dad and Gramps pushed the crowd back from the women on one side, Clarence stepped between the family and the mob on the other. Lincoln, a young man and his pregnant wife who had befriended the family on the trip out, helped him. On this new world they were going to be family too. That is if the company allowed it.

Yelling started in the front, and the side walls started slowly moving inward, forcing people off the ship. Nothing for it but to leave, although a few people fought the issue. Idiots, like a company is going to pay to haul bodies out here and allow you to turn around to go back.

Bridges burnt, Clarence and his clan stepped onto their new planet.

(Words 343 – first published 5/30/2013; republished new blog format 1/7/2018)

Flash: Open Door Policy

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of Phil_Bird at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Floors and walls first shook, then thrummed. Step.Step.Step boomed, vibrating the air as the Orcian left their headquarters single file. My stomach dropped to my knees, which wasn’t far as I huddled down behind some crates in the industrial section of the station. I glimpsed their beetle plates, shiny black, crossed with matted black straps for weapons. More knifes, guns, and curved hooks than any human would think of carrying. They would slow us down, much too much, when we needed to run from the Orcian down here in the ragged-halls.

The gleam of white here and there from their beady eyes and overbite tusks dripped icy sweat down my back, making me shiver. Seven foot, or more, and a quarter ton, each biological hybrid moved with a fast precision somewhere between military and mob, an avalanche heading to whatever helpless soul had raised their ire this time. They ruled the dark and low places like the angel hybrids ruled the planets and the station links.

My friend put a hand on my shoulder to calm my tremors. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with adventure, a grin creasing her lips. She mouthed, “Wait”.

Why did I let her talk me into this? We were going to die. We were going to get caught. Run over. Beaten. I wanted to breathe deep to calm my nerves but scared the Orcian would hear the inhale over their trooper boots pounding the metallic floors. I reminded myself their human-alien hybrid lost most of human acuteness in the senses of sound, smell, and sight. A trade-off the scientists who made the biological monstrosities took for strength and endurance. Pity they hadn’t thought about the emotional end of things, Orcian like their Angel brethren had no compassion. But I had no pity for the scientists themselves, the first to fall at the hands of their creations forty years ago, only for the rest of natural humanity who had inherited their legacy.

Once the floor ceased vibrating and the last echoes faded from the cavern-corridor, and we waited a bit more, Pips leaned forward and whispered, “Let’s go!”

I bent-scurried behind her as we dashed to the headquarter entrance. The normal guards usually stationed either side followed their cohort through the lower levels.

As she found from her previous excursions, the Black only knows why she hung around so close to the Orcian, the front door was ajar. Barely, but enough for two thin ragged-hall rats to slip between the huge metallic door and its air-lock seal. Another metallic door faced us, equally cracked open just enough. A double-seal with opposite openings for strength during decompression. Both left unlocked and unguarded. Like an arrogant statement, “No one dare enter our realm even when we aren’t here.”

Or, if not a statement, then a trap.

I followed my best friend into the room. Twenty doors opened off the main chamber of the quarters. The walls soared up nearly twelve feet, but the ceiling receded even further. They had carved out the overhead floor giving them two eight foot levels plus the couple feet between the floor/ceiling plates used for maintenance and services – the wires and vents usually hidden, twisted off of normal paths to follow the top of the make-shift walls.

Pips laughed out loud and spun in a circle. “Told you!”

“Yes you did.” I nodded as I walked inside the most non-human place in the whole no-longer human universe, quickly searching for what we could take. I pocketed some rations tossed randomly about the room, each meal size, likely light snacks for the Orcian. For me, an entire day of food.

We started opening the doors, which led to small, for them, sleep spaces. Just enough room for a cot and locker. The locker had armor bits, no coins or cards because they could take whatever they wanted, and, strangely, underwear. It was human male underwear, tighty-whitie variety. Each pair was wider than my shoulders. My brain stopped a moment.

I knew they were part human. But … For a second I saw my brother running around in his underwear, making jokes in our sleeping rooms, before he got caught in one of the Orcian avalanches.

I slammed the door shut on the locker and the memory. Nothing about these monsters could be human. I refused to allow it.

“Hey Spanner!” came a whisper shout.

I popped back into the main room and looked around. Pips’ head emerged out of a wall. Now that is intriguing. What did the monsters need with a hologram? Pips’ wild grin had taken over her entire face. “Got your kit with you girl?”

“You know it.” I rushed over and stepped through the hologram. A door. Metal. Closed. Locked.

The wall here only went up the traditional eight feet with the floor/ceiling covering the space. I walked around the separated room. The roof to the room had been cut and isolated from all maintenance services. Studying the floor, I noticed welds and rivets indicating a possible matching isolation below.

Something off the grid.

I looked up to find Pips staring at me. My grin had to match hers. Returning to the locked door, I stroked the alum-steel challenge. A physical lock, no visible electronic. Not really a surprise there if they wanted it off of the grid. Most of the ragged rats would be totally stopped, but I pride myself in being well-rounded. The richer folks in the link levels like a combination of the strange physical with traditional electronic methods to protect their valuables. I don’t go up to those levels, since I can’t pass for anything but a 100% natural. But some of the rats who work up-levels bring me things which spring open to reveal other things, given the right kind of careful encouragement.

The lock, locks – several layers of them, was fun. Took me nearly ten minutes to open all the various bits, but the obstinate barrier gave up eventually.

“Weapons? Money? What do you think?” Pips whispered in anticipation.

Smiling back at her, I tapped the metal with the reproducer I had had to break out to take visuals to get around the last tumbler. With a bit of bravo and self-satisfaction, I opened the door.

Our jaws dropped.

That equipment wasn’t legal anywhere anymore. The Angels didn’t want any competition.

Unthinking, my finger nervously tapped the reproducer in my hand while my mind processed how much danger we were in. “We need to leave now.” I looked over at my unstoppably cheerful friend and watched her swallow in fear.

She nodded, and we slammed the door shut. She backed to the other side of the hologram before muttering. “No evidence.”

I stared at her, my eyes widening then I backed through the hologram again and worked my way through the Black-begotten lock, returning it to its previous state. When I returned to the other side of the electronic illusion, I found her hopping from foot to foot, her eyes subdued but brightening.

“All good?”

“Clean except…” I slapped where the reproducer had been secreted on my body. Did those taps take pictures? Doesn’t matter, what’s done is done. She didn’t need to know. “Yeah, clean. You?”

“No prints anywhere.”

“Great.” As we hurried to the entrance, I felt it.

The vibrations.

The floor trembled.

We had taken too long. Maybe. We.needed.to.move.

The pounding of boots shook the walls. Walls built to withstand decompression. Pips froze just before the door. I slipped by her and grabbed her hand to pull her through to the between area but she didn’t budge. I twisted to go back through the first crack when the outer door slammed open catching me between it and the wall.

The second door, the one I had just passed through with Pips on the other side, plowed through the air into the quarters as a hand big enough to palm my face and curl the fingers around the back of my head pushed it open. I saw the whites of her eyes as her pupils pinpointed. She glanced to me only a second, pleading, begging, before blanking her face. The Black bless her.

She backed up into the main room as a wall of plate passed by, blocking my ability to see her.

“What do we have here?” A voice deeper than any I have ever heard questioned. I lost the crack as another wall of shiny beetle plate pushed the door edge completely against the wall, preventing me from seeing anything else. I heard second voice state, “A thief.”

Another ton of monster caused the floor to tremble. “A toy.” Laughter. The pounding boots continued as each hybrid passed into their quarters. I inched further and further into the open area, until I reached the furthest corner between the door and the wall, trembling in time with the footsteps.

“Do I get any?” Said the deepest, strongest voice yet. It’s location the corridor side of the airlock, high above my head.

“After your shift.” Came the uncompromising reply. Several things laughed. The door on the quarters side slammed shut.

The corridor door, the one I hid behind, started moving. “Just my luck,” growled the guard before closing the other door catching me between in the dark.

Pips screamed for a long time. I could hear it through the airlock, the full seal wasn’t in place so air could circulate. She lasted beyond the guard shift change. It took a long, long.

Long.

Time before she stopped making any sound.

Five shift changes.

I stayed shivering in the corner. Terrified every time they opened the door. Terrified to move from the safe corner where they couldn’t see me. Terrified to sleep. Once or twice I slumped, but dared not close my eyes because I would fall down. The bars in my pocket mocked me, but I didn’t know when I could piss again so I didn’t eat them. I grew dizzy from thirst.

Inside, between the doors, I dreamed of warm liquid running down my legs, puddling on the floor. At shift change they found the puddle and me behind the door. I jerked myself upright. I hadn’t been sleeping. I rubbed my face.

With hands covered in blood. That was the puddle on the floor. Beside Pips body. Blood flowing from her to me. I left her, and her blood found me. Shuttering I pushed myself deeper in the corner.

Stay awake. Stay awake.

So thirsty. Hallucinating from the thirst. Right? Her body couldn’t be here between the doors.

Shift change.

Could I piss myself and catch it to drink? Couldn’t miss. Can’t leave a puddle.

Shift change. Number nine or twelve?

I waited for the next avalanche, hoping it would arrive soon. They didn’t leave guards during avalanches. Unless they changed because they found Pips. I hoped not. I needed to get away. Before I give up. No, I can’t give up. So easy to give up. Been so long. So long. I won’t last much longer. No, must last. I could just push the door next time and give myself away. No. Don’t. But… But no.

Because if they find me. Find what is on me. I don’t think they would only play with me for a few shifts and then let me die. No, they would keep me alive a long time. I wouldn’t be a toy.

Because if they had me, they would find the thing on me. They would find the reproducer and those pictures my fingers had tapped. The pictures of the illegal equipment. Pictures capturing the movement I saw inside the equipment.

(Words 1940 – first published 12/31/2017)

Family Business Series:
Flash 1: Open Door Policy (12/31/2017)
Flash 2: Glass Ceiling Policy (12/1/2019)

Flash: And so they meet again

Erin Penn

Rating: Mature

Art peeked out the window of the clothing consignment shop where she worked as she flipped the open sign to close. Drat, the creep was still hanging outside. What had she done to earn her own personal stalker?

She had to admit he was absolutely yummy with his layered blond hair and kicking fog coat, like something out of an English fantasy. His cheekbones could cut bread. He also had the patience of a priest or demon.

She started noticing him in the audience during fencing competition her Freshman year. Art had asked around since he looked interesting, but he wasn’t from campus. Over the next two years, he would show up randomly in classes open to the public, at her favorite pizza joint, and sometimes at the action-adventure movies she loved. All he did was watch from a distance.

Then three weeks ago, the guy changed from someone she saw sometimes in a crowd to a constant presence. Enough was enough. The street was beginning to empty of holiday shoppers, but plenty were still around in case this went south. She closed and bolted the shop door, lowered the gate and locked it, shifted her carrying case, then turned to see he was still leaning against the building across the street.

After checking for traffic, she strode across the roadway taking advantage of the long legs her six foot two frame provided. Up close she discovered the man stood a disappointingly five eight; she had gotten good judging height and reach on the salle.

Crowding him against the wall, she asked “What do you want?”

The man raised black eyes to meet her piercing blue. They looked impossible knowledgeable in the young face. With a sad smile, he replied, “Your future.”

Taking a step back, the woman glanced around again to verify she was still safe in a crowd. “Well, you can’t have it, you perv.” Touching the sword case strapped to her back for courage, “And if I see you around again, I will call the cops.”

“A threat to use governmental structure. Excellent. Not unexpected from a political science major, but you are also a woman of action. I wasn’t certain which way you would go.” His shoulders pushed him away from the way and Art instinctively took another step back. Something about the man screamed power … and sex … she could feel her body getting loose as though she was about to fence or fall into bed with a teammate after a match. His English accent was to die for. “When you call the bobbies, please say my name is Emrys.”

“Do you got a last name so I can Google it and find out all the other women you stalked?”

He shrugged. Her mind instantly presented a picture of the wirely frame he had sported at the spring fair. He had worn cargo shorts and a muscle shirt. Not many muscles, but no excess fat either. A runner’s body. Unfortunately her mind provided the picture sans clothes. 

“First name, last name. I’ve had many names.” He started walking away backwards. “Gregory gave me the last name of Ambrosus; I guess that will do for now.” He turned around and she watched the wool coat getting damp as light flakes of snow melted on it. He stopped for a second. Turning his head around for a second, he said, “But then I guess I should say my first name is Merlinus.” He smiled a totally, ass-kicking, pussy-warming smile before continuing his retreat.

(Word 587 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 12/2/2012 (at least tried to, doesn’t seem to be taking); reprinted in new blog format 12/24/2017. The inspirational photo for the prompt was of unknown origin; since I could not verify the copyright, I am not posting it here.)