Flash: Quick Questions

Photo by Hybrid Storytellers on Unsplash

Priscilla grabbed the talking stick from Gary. “My turn. What superpower would you want, invisibility or teleportation?”

“Invisibility, duh.” Hands freed, he grabbed the bowl of chips and refilled his plate on the red paper plates leftover from his parent’s Christmas party.

“Why?”

Gary smiled lusciously, “Girls bathroom.”

“Of course.” Pris rolled her eyes. “How about you, Lou?”

“Easy, teleportation.”

Tilting her head, Priscilla looked closer at the third wheel of their friendship group. She and Gary had dated until they stopped dating, but they still went to prom together. The breakup had been more about going to separate colleges than any real change in their feeling about each other, though after a semester off at college she realized their feelings were never suitable for marriage no matter how many hearts she had drawn on her notebooks with their initials. Through their three years of high school dating, Lou had remained friends with Gary and became friends with her. “Okay, why teleportation?” she asked.

“Well, right now the work commute is nearly an hour by bus since I don’t own a car. Teleportation would save two hours a day.” Lou moved some of the fruit slices they had raided from the party trays Gary’s parents had in their guest refrigerator onto his plate. “Then there is needing to help with Mi-mi now that Pop-pop had his stroke. Also I could visit you guys. Also, you know, the family in Chile. Be nice to see the cousins and family on that side. Travel just takes so much time.”

“Fair.” She passed Lou the talking stick.

He rolled it between his right and left hands, staring down at it, before shrugging. “What are your favorite colors?”

“Oh no you don’t.”—“Dude, that is like a sophomore question.”

“Hey, it might have changed while you guys were off at college.” Lou defended himself.

“No change.” Pris said.

“Ditto,” Gary agreed. “Green for Pris here, red for me, and lavender for you, unless you changed. Try again.”

Lou looked over at Gary. “Still like lavender. Looks good against my skin and makes me stand out in the white-black-gray boring world.” After causally glancing around the white and black walls, furniture, and carpeting of Gary’s family home, he dropped his eyes back to the black stick he was rolling in his hands. He peeked under his thick black eyelashes once at Priscilla.

“Do a good one,” she encouraged.

“Alright,” Lou returned his eyes to the stick, his cheek reddened slightly, but it was hard to tell under his olive complexion and the dark lighting they had for their private hanging out the night before New Year’s Eve after all their family obligations had been fulfilled and they could just be friends hanging out one last time, once more time, before Priscilla had to fly back to the East Coast on New Year’s Day to get back for a special class on the third.

“Um, okay got one.” He lifted his closely shaved head, his dark eyes darting to Pris before quickly shifting to Gary. “If only once in your life, you can make your face do the big Cthulhu thing, like all tentacles bursting out—” Lou raised right hand in front of his face and wiggled his fingers, “—when would you do it?”

Giggling, Priscilla laid sideways on the sofa. “God, I missed you.” She smiled softly at Lou.

“Tough one.” Gary tapped his chin. “Hmm. Maybe….nah. Give me a moment. Priscilla, you?”

“Nope, you first.”

“You don’t know yet.”

“I don’t know yet, and you go first. You had a lousy answer last time. Invisibility to sneak into girl’s bathrooms. What a creeper answer.”

Chopping on the potato chips, Gary considered. “Okay, I would use it on the turnpike one night, just out of the blue, on a cashier.”

“What a waste.” Priscilla complained. “They might not even react. Those guys see everything.”

“But imagine it.” Gary raised his greasy hand into the air. “Foggy night. Quiet night. Just past the witching hour. A white compact pulls up. You ask for the dollar and turn and a bunch of tentacles jump out at you.”

“Still lame.” Lou said.

“And you can do better?” Gary challenged his best friend from middle school. He was still surprised they managed to remain friends through high, but here they were. He wasn’t sure how much longer they would be together but was glad for this last hurrah. He ignored the stab in his gut and chest at the thought.

Lou shrugged. “My question. I don’t have to answer it.”

“Well, I can.” Priscilla said. “You know when your parents say, ‘Don’t cry or I will give you something to cry about?’”

“Yeah”—“Sure.”

“Then. I would do it then. Only, you know, after I had the third child. When everyone was there, but only the kids. I would do it then.” The evil smile sent shivers down both the guys’ spines. “Thereafter, I could give them the ‘mom’ look, and maybe whisper, ‘do you want to cry’?” Her voice hissed in the room.

Gary looked at Lou uncomfortably and gulped. Lou sat up straight, carefully straightening his plate and napkin on his lap for balance, before placing the talking stick on the coffee table and declaring, “You win.” The guys genuflected her dominance.

(words 887; first published 3/16/2026)

Flash: Running Out of Fear

Photo by Kari Sullivan on Unsplash

“Why are you running?”

“What, hmm?” Dazed from working your second job, you look up at your coworker sitting across from you on the assembly line.

“You, I saw you are running for office when I passed the Board of Elections today. Why are you running?”

You shrug, “Someone needs to.”

“Oh, it is one of that ‘girls should run for office’ things you talk about all the time.”

“Partially.” You pick up doohickey B, hold it under the oil jet for a second, then slide the doohickey into object beta. It moves in cleanly. About one in ten objects have the hole in object beta drilled wrong, which is why this job was still a human job instead of a robot job like the stations immediately before and after your team. “And it is ‘women,’ not girls. Children can’t run for office. And I would like it for woman to retain full adult citizenships, so, yeah, women need to run for office.”

“Stupid.” Your coworker shakes his head. “Just get married and live off the husband.”

“At our wages?” You ask. “That is another reason. I’ve talked to my legislators, visited them at the capital, wrote them and emailed them about wage inequality and the crack-down on creating unions fighting for workers getting a reasonable wage, and they don’t care.”

“And you think if you get in office, you can change that?” Brad snorts in disbelief before tossing one of the object into the recycling bin that was badly drilled and grabbing the next one coming down the line. “You and what army?”

“Yeah, not likely, anymore than me getting elected.” You turn a grimace into a teethy challenge, “but if I manage to get elected on the wage platform, won’t that scare the politicians?”

“You will be a complete wrecking ball.” Jennifer laughs from where she sits beside Brad.

Joe finishes off your team in charge of putting doohickey B in the right place during second shift. He doesn’t talk much. Unlike the rest of you, the job is a challenge for him. But he does it earnestly, and maybe a little better than you since he doesn’t get distracted with boredom.

“I will need to be.” You push back a thought of the threats the union organizers got when they tried last year to bring things to a vote. Everyone got shoved off to third shift, written up, and just out-and-out fired “for cause.” You had kept quiet because you were still pushing your last kid through high school.

“Problem?” Of course Brad noticed your no-fear expression falling into the shadows of reality.

You get two more objects assembled and tossed one aside where the drill had only gone halfway down before answering. “The third reason I’m running.” Your voice is soft, but the machinery in the area had gotten quieter over the years with the additions of robots. They can’t handle the vibrations of loud noises; made them glitch more. By the time the sound drops enough to stop creating hearing damage, there won’t be any humans left on the plant floor.

“What’s that?” Brad probes.

“The third reason I’m running, why someone needs to run.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Don’t be an ass.” Jennifer tosses a bad object into the recycle bin on their side of the line to loudly bang against the wall beside him.

“No, really, I’m all ears.” He smirks my way. “Lay it on me.”

“She’s fighting.” Joe answers before I respond.

All of us glance toward him before returning our eyes to the line.

“She’s fighting because the bad guys are hurting people.” Joe smiles his gentle, innocent smile, but, for once, his eyes are too-knowing. “The bad guys want people like me to go away. She is a hero and fights for people like me and Jennifer.”

“Joe,” you say softly.

“You are imagining stuff kid.”

“No, he is not.” Jennifer cuts Brad off. “You don’t think those in office are trying to erase my rights, my existence, every day?”

“Brad,” you try to head off the ongoing war between Brad and Jennifer. “They aren’t wrong. I’m doing this because I am tired of seeing my friends live in fear. Hell, I am tired of living in fear. And I will not have my children live in it, if it within my power to prevent that from happening.”

Brad rolled his eyes. “There is nothing to be scared of.”

“You mean like the emails I am getting once a week threatening to get me fired for daring to run against the establishment. You mean like the people who chased Biden through the desert with guns. You mean like people getting tear bombed at peaceful protests. You mean like women losing the right to their control their bodies and their futures.” You calm down enough to smile sadly. “You mean like me coming out to find a flat tire after speaking at a candidate forum.” You shake your head. “Dear sweet summer child.”

“You got attacked?” Brad asks in shock.

Jennifer winces and Joe keeps is head down.

“My car had a flat tire.” You shrug. “The police said it was from a nail in the parking lot, nothing to worry about. Set me back money I don’t have to buy a new one.” This time a doohickey hits the recycling bin, the plastic had air holes that hadn’t settled right. “But if someone did it deliberately, that was a huge mistake.”

“They tried to make you scared.” Jennifer said, nodding her head. “Can’t know for certain, but it is possible.”

“And I don’t run in fear, only out of it.” You refuse to acknowledge the tremors in you. You’ve studied enough history to know riots have started on legislative floors, duels and assassinations are a thing. Sure, the chance of it coming back to bite you is low, but it wasn’t zero. You were fairly certain the nail was just a normal thing, mostly. And the emails are just business as normal, since normal had added terror to politics. Your last baby was off on a life of their own staying with an older sibling in a different state. Local politics shouldn’t reach their ugly hands out to hurt them. Now you needed to act before those ugly hands reached too far.

Fear wasn’t an option for action anymore.

(words 1,059; first published 2/23/2024)

Flash: Jules at Home

Arriving back at the homestead, Jules slid off O’Faithful and led the tired horse to its stall and its well-earned brush-down and food. “Who’s a good girl?” she ruffled the brown mane once more, as Faithful concentrated on the oat treats mixed into the normal feed, before heading to the house. The milk cows were already in their stalls, so the livestock chores had been completed for the day

Shouting out as she entered the house, Jules said, “Hey Roamer, got the lands below the cherry groves plowed for Mia and her young’ins.”

Speaking of young ones, Jules paused as her brother’s four-year-old ran at her like an escaped bull, barely managing to hold steady despite her greater height and weight when the speeding child hit, once again proving shortness has advantages. The monkey climbed up her leg, unresisting arm, and scaled up to her broad shoulders for his preferred perch. The soaring ceiling in this half of the house, used to keep thing cool in the summer, let her not worry about head bangs when combining his short height with her six-foot three-inch towering frame.

Her brother came out of the kitchen carrying Gianna in his arms, the two-year-old had been crying again and Romeo looked exhausted. The back molars were coming in and nothing helped. Anna sobbed most of the night and Roamer took the brunt of it while Beatrice was away. Confident in Lorenzo’s ability to stay glued, Jules crossed the room and took Anna into her arms. “Finish dinner, I got the kids.”

Romeo rubbed his dark eyes. “Dinner’s ready, it is the last of the packing that needs doing.”

“Gotcha Roamer, I’ll get the spites fed and bed, you finish prepping for World’s End.”

“Have I told you how much I love you, sis?” A weary smile crossed Romeo’s face as he reached up a hand to stroke her cheek, rested a moment on Lorenzo’s leg, and a final brush of tears on Anna’s face.

“Go on, get.” Jules smiled back, bouncing Anna gently on her hip, Lorenzo’s balance shifting in response. “Sooner done, sooner bed, and sooner back to seeing Trish.”

“May the Waters carry your words.”

Walking toward the kitchen, Jules said, “Duck,” just before passing under the casing. The family grew big; Jules might be the tallest present living example but Uncle Enzo pushed seven foot before his injury. The doors on the airy side of the house had been built seven foot six inches. The winter side doors were only six foot with low ceilings Enzo scraped when wearing his war boots and helmet. But heating was much easier.

(words 438; first published 11/13/2022; )

Flash: Between Earth and Sky

Photo 3387265 / Handglider © Mypix | Dreamstime.com

What I wanted was both quick and forever. So many things fall in that category, tattoos and suicide being what pops in most people’s minds. Falling in love is another with a windfall of regrets. Destruction, creation – mirror images like quick and forever.

I wanted wings to fly. To soar and swoop. To sing among the stars and clouds.

But I don’t live in a fantasy world with magic or in the far-flung future with cyberwear options.

I breathed hard, once in and once out. Nodding to my trainers who flew me tandem a half-dozen times. I ran to the cliff-face and the hand glider caught an updraft. My feet left the ground.

Hundreds of feet below me, farmland stretched in a patchwork of browns, half-harvested in the October autumn cool. I drifted among the raptors. Behind me another colorful human-supporting kite launched.

(words 143, first published 10/16/2022)

 

Flash: Are You Thinking What I am Thinking?

Photo by Andrew Ebrahim on Unsplash

Dejoy plopped down beside me at the back of the classroom. “Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

“Lord fuck no, I hope not.” I glanced up and made sure Ms. Leonhardt was still taking attendance.

Dejoy and me go way back; she should have never given us assign seats next to each other.

“Yeah. I hope not too.” A smile cracked his face wide.

But I know. I know we are thinking exactly the same thing.

“No.” I shook my head. “No. I’m not getting detention today.”

“Then how about…”

“Fine. Will do.”

Tamsin who sat in front of us turned around. “You guys are the weirdest.”

“A-yep.” My crooked smile matched Dejoy’s.

***

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Dejoy waved the fourth bottle of his six-pack back and forth.

Halfway through my wine bottle sans glass, because who needs extra dishes?, I respond with, “Lord fuck no, I hope not.”

Dejoy and me go way back; I should have known not to drink with him after his breakup with Tamsin.

“Yeah. I hope not too.” A sad smile had him staring into the hole at the top of his empty bottle.

But I know. I know we are thinking exactly the same thing. But I won’t be a rebound, and we will never be friends like that. I hate to see him hurting.

***

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Dejoy demented smile seemed to have touches of rigor mortis at the edges as he stared at me across the table from where he attempted to study for his exit exams.

“Lord fuck no, I hope not,” my response immediate and flat.

Dejoy and me go way back; don’t know why any of the teachers thought we would make good study buddies. But, hey, both of us were in the top 10% of the community college despite it. He studied my face more thoroughly than he had been studying his books. Dejoy’s overlarge head tilted sideways like Chewy, my old puppy used to do.

Hesitantly he grunted, “Yeah. I hope not too.” His smile edged away like the sun getting covered in clouds.

I know. I know he understood my dark, angry thoughts about graduation. About the war they are fighting along the coasts around the planet. About my dad’s deployment and my mother’s suicide attempt last night, which I hadn’t talked about yet but would. All those things making these final two tests meaningless enough to blow off for ice cream and running screaming through the woods afterwards like we’ve done a million times. But not today, and not likely ever again. Sorry to bring you down buddy.

***

Dejoy glanced sideways at me before whispering. “Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

“Lord fuck no, I hope not.” I met his eyes only for a moment before returning to the piles of paperwork that matched the piles on his desk, and the desks of everyone in the room. I waited two long inhales, hoping against my daily growing despondency to see if our Overseer noticed. A tiny smile curved across my downward tilted face, the unused muscles fighting the deepening frown lines. What I was thinking was very much Not Safe for Work.

Dejoy and me go way back; they never should have put us next to each other. Not that anyone was going to be telling those now in charge who knew whom before.

“Yeah. I hope not too.” His voice was a low hiss as he kept his head down.

But I know. I know we are thinking exactly the same thing.

(word 601, first published 9/18/2022)