Flash: Puzzle it Out

Photo by Ashkan Forouzani on Unsplash

Jamus worked at a puzzle factory. He didn’t operate the presses printing the cardboard with beautiful pictures, nor did he install the die cuts into the jigsaws to stamp out the puzzles. He swept.

Bottom of the totem pole. Answering to everyone, nobody answered to him.

Yet, without him, the place fell quickly into disrepair. Puzzles create a huge amount of paper dust. The piles would stack around machine legs; the dust made the floors slippery. It infiltrated the building ductwork. Without regular sweeping, and he started every hour at one side and the building and ended the hour on the other side, the piles would be a fire hazard. Without regular sweeping, the dust would break the machines even faster as it clogged mechanisms and rendered the necessary oils useless. Without regular sweepings, the constant breathing of dust by the workers would be even worse.

Every year he would try for a raise. Every year he would be denied it, nothing he did was extraordinary. He didn’t bring new pictures to the factory. He didn’t develop new cuts.

Maxey got a raise when he suggested adding a 750-piece to the lineup. Rachel got a raise when her frog-in-the-rain series hopped off the shelves around the world.

All he did was sweep the factory from one end to the other eight times every day. Cleaning around the legs of the machines, replacing the filters in the air vents daily, kept the floors clear of the puzzle pieces to prevent slips.

He took the fallen puzzle pieces home. Shifting them into piles by the jigsaw cuts. While Jamus was only a custodian in the eyes of his employer, he was also an avant-garde artist, assembling the puzzles pieces into something the company never intended. On Saturday he would go to the Blue-Ways walk and join the chalk maze drawers, the watercolor painters, and dozens of other creative people along the riverside and sell the creations.

The fallen, who never made it into a box. The broken, that jammed the machine. The lost. The useless. The unsung.

The workhorse sweeping up the factory and creating art.

(words 354; first published 6/26/2025)

Flash: Death Keeps Anniversaries

Photo by Aris Sfakianakis on Unsplash

The click of metal on the tile floor roused Beverly. “Who’s there?” she croaked into the night-darkened room.

“Just me, Miss Jackson,” a voice filled the darkness.

“Ah, come to take me to visit my Georgie.” The old woman turned her head. “You’re late,” she accused the worker.

“I am always on time.”

Beverly snapped back, “Well, I’ve been ready to go for ages. Today is the twelfth anniversary since he died. Tenth would have been better.”

“You wanted to see William graduate.” A cool boney hand smoothed her thin hair back. “Fought for it even, through great pain.”

“Yes, well. His father was an idiot and said he wouldn’t amount to nothing and someone had to be in his corner.” She harrumphed. “Can we go now? I’ve had enough of this great pain shit to last a lifetime.”

“Of course.” The reaper grasped her hand to help lift her up.

She shook the creature off. “I got it.” On her own, she managed to swing her feet around, sit up, and then pushed off the grab bar keeping her dead body on the bed, wobbling as she tried to get vertical.  The reaper reached out to help. “I said I got this,” she snapped. “I just haven’t stood in a while.”

“Nearly four months.”

“Yes, well. That is what happens when you get old, but I don’t expect you to know it.”

“I assure you, I have met a lot of old people.”

“But you haven’t experienced it. I remember what it felt like to be young and getting upset with the old people hobbling on their arthritic hips, taking up half the sidewalk. ‘Get out of the way grannies,’ I would tell them. Served me right.” Beverly stood straight. “Now that is better.” She looked down at the body on the bed. “Can’t say I’m going miss you. You were a piece of crap.” Turning back to the reaper, she said, “Alright, let’s go.”

“Do you want to visit any relatives on the way out?”

“No. Them busy bodies have all been coming in droves, visiting every day since the nursing home tattled and said I refused to eat anymore and kept pulling out the IVs. I’ve seen them plenty.” The old spirit nodded her head. “Time for them to get back to their lives.”

“Well, I know George has been waiting a long time to see you again.” The reaper started walking toward a new door on the wall, its edges delineated by glowing white light.

“I expect so, since I cut off his heart meds to get him to die quicker. He likely found out about that after he died.”

Delighted in gossip, the reaper offered her an arm covered in loose black wool. “Did you now?”

“Yes, well, the kids were grown so he had taken to hitting me harder. Not often, mind, but enough to be annoying. You would think the idiot would know better than to hit the person who cooks for you, buys your meds, and makes your doctor’s appointments.”

“That does seem unwise.”

“Yes, well. I admit I didn’t marry Georgie for his brains.” Looking up at the skull-faced reaper, she asked, “Do I have to spend eternity with shit-for-brains?”

“No. Infinity doesn’t require anyone to provide someone else their expected paradise. What would you like?”

“Somewhere I can watch the great-grandbabies. William, little Stephanie, all of them. I don’t want to influence anything, just watch.”

“Infinity can definitely arrange that.” After the reaper opened the door so that Beverly could see the long corridor of light, it said, “I must ask. If you didn’t care much for your husband, Miss Jackson, why did you arrange to die around his birthday and death day.”

“Oh, that. Well, the family always expected me to be a loyal and good wife, working part-time to help out the family, support Georgie during his long decline. It is a good example to set for others The importance of family, you know.” She smiled. “Plus, it’s nice to be well thought of. Makes a good funeral. Trying to figure out a eulogy for Georgie took some doing.” Her smile turned mischievous. “But now that my reputation is sealed here, show me how I can have some real fun on this side.”

As the door closed behind them, a nursing home aide came through the more traditional door to wake Beverly with a breakfast he knew she would refuse. Discovering her dead body, he went to tell the front desk to call a doctor to confirm and get the paperwork ready for the family. There a nurse said, “Oh, she died the same day her husband died.” He responded. “That is true love, right there, that is.” To which she quipped, “Death always keeps its anniversaries.”

(words 799; first published 3/17/2026)

Flash: Punch a Nazi

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

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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: Promotion

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)