Flash: Safe Surrender

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

Maturity Tag: Language

Black rain sparkled against the pavement outside the hospital’s emergency room as the automatic doors softly opened and closed, letting in another needy soul seeking care and compassion. The admittance admin glanced over as she worked on assigning the emergency in front of her their place in triage, a few stitches likely would be enough but a fully certified medical professional would need to make the final call. The woman at the door turned sideways, her profile against bright lights immediately jumped her to the front of the line. Pregnancy won most triage sorting battles.

One of the ER staff rushed forward, skipping the normal administrative procedures.

“Hello. My name is Douglas Yu, I am an ER technician. Are you okay dear?” he asked, “Any bleeding or contractions?”

“No,” she said rubbing her belly, a frown etched between her eyes, “I just want it out. I can leave the baby here, right?”

“What, um, is this an emergency? Is something happening?”

“No, no. I am just done with this. I waited seven months, it should be viable, just get it out and I can leave.”

The medical professional blinked. “Ma’am, we don’t just do that.”

“Sure you do, you induce all the time.” The woman pushed her wet hair back, her voice raising. “Just give me the shots, get this fucking kid out, and let me get on with my life.”

“Ma’am while you can leave a baby at the hospital if you are unable to take care of it, your child has to be born first. It has to BE a baby.”

“Look, they said it was a baby as soon as conception, it’s conceived. They said I can’t get an abortion. I’m not asking for an abortion. I waited seven fucking months. I did the time. It can live on its own. GET.IT.OUT.”

The tech waved off the police officer walking towards them from his normal station near the door. “Ma’am, ma’am. Let’s come over here and get you signed in.”

“I don’t want a pysch eval, I’m fine.” She eyed him as they walked over. “I am just done with this bullshit of not allowed to even leave the state because I got knocked up because they cut off my damn birth control. Get this thing out.”

“Can I have your license?” the technician fired up his computer station.

“Nope, John took it because he thought I would hop states on him. The bastard isn’t wrong. As soon as it’s legal, I’m gone. I got a new one ordered and it should arrive next week at a friend’s house so this shit doesn’t happen again.”

“Insurance card maybe?”

“Do you SEE a purse? I fucking walked here because the bastard is out with friends getting drunk tonight.” She sat down in a wheelchair a gray-haired hospital volunteer brought over. “Just call me Jane Smith, no insurance because I got fired for being fucking pregnant, though the boss didn’t word it that way. I was taking too much time throwing up in the bathroom.”

“Sounds like a bad situation ma’am. I am sorry you have had to live with it. Do you have a primary caregiver?”

“Nope, no insurance.” The woman naming herself as Jane crossed her arms, then took a deep breath, one of her hands moving up to grip her shoulder. “Please, I just want this nightmare to end.”

“I’m going to transfer you to OBGYN area. They might have a solution for you.”

“I told you the solution. They said it’s a baby even in a petri dish, they said if you can’t take of a baby to drop it off, they said it can’t be by abortion, so here I am, get it out and let me escape.”

The tech locked his screen after it beeped the second floor nursing staff could accept a non-emergency patient. Pulling a bracelet off the printer, he wrapped it around the woman’s wrist. “Mr. Shepherd here will take you to them. Good luck.”

(words 665; first published 10/6/2024)

Safe Surrender Duology

  1. Safe Surrender (10/6/2024)
  2. Harm’s Highway (10/13/2024)

Flash: Negative One is a Value

ID 177155887 | Vodka Bottle © Maryia Kazlouskaya | Dreamstime.com

Jacc grabbed for the bottle, but despite having more of the vodka in him than the bottle, Jeff easily dodged his sibling. “Come on little bro, give it over. You have had enough.”

“Who says enough? I ain’t no quitter.” Jeff’s snarky smile turned Jacc’s stomach.

Shaking their head, they said, “It’s destroying you.”

“My body, my choice.” The broken chair he fell in crackled under his light weight. While liquor had a lot of calories, when you don’t eat anything else, you lose pounds.

“It’s destroying everyone around you.”

He snorted before opening the screw lid and downing another chug. Pointing a finger with the hand holding a bottle at the only person still willing to come by his place to make sure he was still alive. “Better a negative than a zero.”

“What?”

“Oh, you remember, everyone while we were growing up said I would never amount to anything. A big fat zero.” His smirk deepened. “At least as a detriment, I am not zero. I am negative all the way, baby!”

(words 174, first published 9/15/2024; written 8/27/2024)

Flash: Exit Strategy

Photo by ConvertKit on Unsplash

I couldn’t take it anymore and left my private space to grab Xanadu’s alarm and turned it off. They may be my favorite American, but sometimes I could ring their neck. I have to bang the curtain surrounding her woodworking space to find the overlapping cloth entrance. The white kitchen timer was set on a stool near the passthrough.

“What, oh, was that ringing?” they asked, looking up from the ten-to-one ratio rat-inspired column they were carving for the Manyard building, red paint clinging above their left eyebrow. They had finished the last of the two-foot columns for the inside atrium Tuesday and painted them with the red lacquer substitute last night. Dabbing the splinters and sawdust away with a brownish washcloth, they revealed the hand-held foot-sized zodiac-inspired art had been roughed out since I left for work. Six of the eight outside columns were at the detail stage; only the rat and pig needed the initial rough-outs. They had chosen to do those last since they were the two center outside columns and would have the most traffic.

“For an hour.”

Xanadu laughed, “Surely not.”

“It’s seven-twenty.”

“Dinner!” They set down the toy column carefully, then jumped up and ran toward the kitchen.

I grabbed their shoulder as they ran past. “I’ll order pizza. No need for another meal with sawdust in it.”

“What? Are you sure?” Their eyes drifted back to the wood carving.

I squeezed their shoulder. “Yes, I’m sure. And, no, you are not going back to that until you take an hour break – your orders.”

They closed their eyes and nodded. “I forgot to eat lunch.”

“Then you are done for the day.”

“But—”

I held up a finger. “Your orders.”

“My work gets crappy without breaks.” They pouted, crossing their arms over their leather apron. “Fine, I’ll shower while you order. No pineapple.” They stomped off to our mutual bathroom.

***

Xanadu took the last pineapple slice, leaving the bacon and cheese pizza of the two-for-one deal untouched. Rolling their dark eyes as they bite in, “I forget how great warm pineapple tastes.”

I picked up the untouched pizza and put it in the fridge for tomorrow’s breakfast. One meal down and ready for when I take over kitchen duties tomorrow. Grabbing a washcloth, I wiped down the counter and the island for crumbs and sawdust settling out from the air. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you want to go to the November Lantern Festival again this year?”

“It happens the first week of November and it is September already. There is no way we could get a travel visa ready.”

“About that.” I moved over to our pile of mail and dig down a couple of days, dropping the political flyers and store advertisements into our recycling bucket at the end of the kitchenette island before I find the government envelope. “My family really would like to see me so they expedited things for us.” I wave the fat envelope.

“But the plane tickets will be crazy expensive this close.”

“Paid for.”

Their eyes narrowed, black eyeliner turning their eyes into slits. “What’s going on?”

“My parents would like me to be outside of America during the election,” I said tapping the envelope against my other hand.

“Why?”

Stopping the nervous tic, I gave them a look, tilting my head. We both grew up political brats.

“He isn’t going to win. There is no way he is going to win again.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Sure he managed to stay out of prison so far, but there are still several court cases to go.”

I waited.

They sighed, “But even if he loses…”

“He’s promised chaos, refusing to accept the outcome if it goes against him.”

“That’s not just it, it can’t just be it.” They hopped off the stool and walked over to me and took the envelope out of my hands. “What else has your family heard?”

“Nothing they can share with me, but I am going home to keep them happy.” I shrugged. I may be a fighter of justice, but I wasn’t untouchable. “He promised to round up all the Chinese and illegal immigrants and put them in camps.”

“You are Korean, not Chinese. And on a permanent visa thanks to your family.”

“Like his followers can tell the difference between me and the Chinese.”

Xanadu ran rough fingers around the edges of the envelopes, switching to Korean to say, “The travel visa will only be good for a couple of weeks. What will we do then?”

“It’s a three-year work visa with exit and entry privileges. Father and older brother slid us in under the Manyard trade contract, since you are working for them.”

Frowning, they worked a finger into the envelope and opened it. “And how did they justify you?”

“Native son.”

They switched to American. “Right. Duh.” They unfolded the paperwork, being careful not to drop the visas while examining them. “It will take me away for the second round of project baseline work. But…” They handed the paperwork to me. “If he wins, then the only second round I will be dealing with is getting hauled off to those camps for some reeducation. I’m in.”

“Korea isn’t much better for accepting queerness.”

“Are they threatening camps? Do they have full-blown plans like Project 2025?”

“Not unless North Korea comes across the border.”

“Then we are all screwed. Everywhere.” They tossed the envelope and paperwork onto the island and stepped into my space to hold themselves against me. “How did it get so wrong?”

I hug them to my body. “I don’t know, my dragon, I don’t know.”

(946 words, first published 9/1/2024)

Capturing the Tiger and Dragon Series

  1. X is for Xenophile (4/28/2024)
  2. X is for Xylotomous (5/19/2024)
  3. X is for Xanthic (6/9/2024)
  4. Exhibit (7/14/24)
  5. Exit Strategy (9/1/2024)

Flash: When a DM asks a question, you say yes

Image from Rock Vincent Guitard on Unsplash

The white dragon rises, shimmering in the slanted rays of the winter sun, her moves sounding like icicles crackling as her great head—

“I cast fireball.”

The DM stops her description and sends a sharp look at the player.

“What? I cast fireball, a surprise attack, right?” Jeremy starts picking up his six-siders.

“She is well aware that your party is there.” Emily places the sheet she had been reading down behind her screen. “Even the thief failed his stealth roll.” She sent her boyfriend a sympathetic smile.

Mark slouches further in the Snorlax bean bag lounger, crossing his arms. “Stupid nat one.”

“Yeah, that was a bad one.” Jeremy laughs.

“Now do you want to roll initiative, or hear the rest of the description?” Emily laces her fingers and rests her head on them.

I and Andre perk up and look at each other. As the other DMs of the group, we know exactly what she is saying.

Time to meta? I raise my eyebrows at Andre.

The group formed around three high school best friends: Andre, Jeremy, and Chris. They picked up Emily from a book club, and me from an advertisement at a comic store. Mark joined when he moved in with Emily, as she and Andre alternate hosting the sessions.

The problem is Jeremy. He likes action, and the rest of the group leans more toward roleplaying. To make matters worse, he doesn’t really listen well to women, even with two out of three of his DMs being female. So whether to meta is an Andre call. Will he yank Jeremy’s magic user back?

While we are talking with facial expressions, a die rolls. “Twelve for initiative.”

Andre sends me a shrug of I-guess-we-are-doing-this. “Sixteen.”

“Five” I say, then mouth ‘sorry’ to Emily.

She gives me the same smile I gave the party after a superhero TPK three months ago where they ended up in the realm of Death and Dreams, before looking down behind her screen with an air of concentration. Not good.

I notice her scratching out things with her pencil and writing new stuff. “So, what are you doing Em?”

“Hmm.” She casually raises her eyes with an innocent look on her face.

No DM ever gives a look that innocent without doing evil things.

“What.are.you.doing, Em?” I clearly enunciate each word.

“Oh, nothing big. I’m adding a hit point for each die of the dragon since …someone…” Emily glares at Jeremy, “cut me off.”

“Hey, that is not fair.” The man protests.

She points a finger at him. “Zip it. I spent hours on this campaign. I can choose to alter things.” Emily drops her voice. “Pray I do not alter the contract further.”

“You can’t just—”

“No.” I yelp, and Chris hits Jeremy with his journal. Simultaneously, on Jeremy’s other side, where the three core friends of the group sit on the couch, Andre says, “Dude, don’t.”

“Max hit point it is.”

Mark palms his face and mutters. “I’m getting the strap tonight.”

“If you survive,” Emily blows him a kiss.

“Jeremy, let me explain to you a fact of life.” Chris says, reopening his journal to the appropriate page. “DMs are gods. We live in their worlds. You, my friend, are crunchy and taste good with ketchup. Do not antagonize them.”

“Whatever.”

“Everyone else, your initiatives please?” Emily pulls her sweet persona around herself, and the guys relax.

Six and eleven finishes out the group.

“The dragon’s initiative is a 23, and her mate’s rolled fifteen.”

Chris surges forward on the sofa. “What mate?”

“The one I would have described. Why don’t you roll perception and if you get a ten, I’ll give you the sheet to read. Your fighter has that study opponent’s skill, right?”

Chris didn’t even hesitate on the roll, “Fifteen, give it here. I don’t get to act until six so I got time to read it.”

After creasing the paper and tearing off a small part, Emily passes the rest of the paper to me, since I am the closest to the DM table. I do a quick glance over the sheet and notice the words nest and eggs. Wincing, I rock forward on hands and knees to reach over to where Chris sits on the couch.

“Now, where were we?” Emily picks up her favorite silver and black twenty-sider and contemplates it. “Ah yes, a towering ice dragon and a party threatening her. I do believe her first action is to breathe. So nice of you to be clumped together after going through the ravine. Everyone roll dodge.”

(word 765; first published 3/3/2024)

Roleplaying Group Series

  1. Roll to Hit the Ceiling (5/30/2021)
  2. When a DM asks a question, you say yes (7/28/2024)

Flash: Exhibit

Photo by Oliver Sherwin on Unsplash

“Seok, just the man I’ve been looking for.”

I turn to find someone my size standing too close, but not unexpediently close in the crush of people at the exhibit opening. I just have a larger space than my Korean heritage would indicate around Americans, especially Americans with an open bar. “How can I help you?”

“You shack up with the artist, Xanadu, right?” The man extended a hand to me, “Eric.”

“We are flatmates.” I use the European term for roommates since Americans add sexual connotations to nearly everything they absorb into their culture including words. Bracing myself, I take his hand. Years working in political circles keep my politeness front and center when all I want to do is walk away. He pumps my hand like he is trying to find oil, and also applies more pressure than needed. A slight twist relieved the excess pressure on my hand.

“That is one way to call it, am I right?”

He nudged me. Actually nudged me.

“Anyway, I was wondering are they a girl or a boy?”

“Excuse me.” I drop the inflections I usually add to keep my accent minimal.

“You know, are they a spoon or a fork?” They supplied hand motions with the hand not holding a tumbler filled with brown liquid.

“I wouldn’t know. If you would excuse me.” I tried to move away.

Eric stepped closer. “Don’t be like that, do you know who I am?”

A breath escaped when I couldn’t. “Enlighten me.”

“Eric Kingster. My dad is Michael Kingster, one of the Manyard partners.” He leaned in and the stink on his breath indicated he hadn’t been drinking only the free champagne. “Now, I swing both ways. I just want to know to get my approach right. You guys are both artists so you got to have an open relationship, so … open up.”

“Mr. Kingster. Our relationship does not work that way, but Xanadu Georgladis and I do have an agreement not to allow people within our residence without the approval of the other.” I smiled like my mother taught me. “Let me assure you, that should such approval be requested I will immediately respond with dissent in your case.”

“Thanks, …” The too-handsome face froze and then scrunched ugly. “…wait.”

“Oh, Georgio is waving at me. Someone must be interested in one of my pieces.” Moving away while Eric worked out if I insulted him, which I hadn’t unless the man took ‘no’ as an insult, (I believe he was the type who would), I eased toward the gallery branch set aside for some of my pictures from May this year. My special American had insisted I get room for at least three photos in her exhibit, and once Georgio had seen my work he gave me room for fifteen. The man liked to make money, so I was flattered to know he thought my pictures could make money in art circles as well as in journalism. The added advantage as far as he was concern, my absorbing some of the gallery’s space meant Xanadu could show that much sooner, not needing to make as many things.

He wasn’t waving, of course. The art salesman would never need me. All of my pictures were fixed prices; they either sold or they didn’t. And Georgio assured me they would all sell before the end of the night. Or, more accurately, tomorrow after all the assistants showed up with their boss’ money.

On the other hand, Xanadu’s stained-glass piece contract fell through, with Georgio pocketing the earnest money after the investor had a bad week speculating, so that was back out for bid. Before the party opened, the bidding war had already doubled what the original contract had been.

“Nice turnout,” said someone behind me.

Not again. As I turned, I realized the person was talking in Korean. And I recognized the voice. “Brother!” I responded in the same language. “You were able to make it.” In his case, the close press in the crowd felt perfect. In his hand was the same mostly-filled glass of champagne matching my own levels. One doesn’t drink and work.

“Father sends his apologies. Something came up, but he did want you to know you have the full family support.”

“I appreciate that. And so does Xanadu.” I twitched my lips just enough to indicate full amusement. “As does our agent. He was surprised at the list of people we expected him to invite tonight, and I believe a bit shocked at how many accepted.”

“Anything for your American.”

I nod accepting the promise. The family had said the same thing when the middle brother had brought home Talora from his time in the mid-East. Seong-Min married traditionally, as expected of the eldest, granting the rest of us, especially me as the youngest, a lot of freedom. “While I have you, I was wondering if you could check something for me. I may have made a misstep.”

“Ji-ho, I doubt that my tiger brother. But how can I help?”

I pointed out the man I had escaped from, using less than flattering terms but still within the polite realm. Basically a native speaker would know how badly I thought of Eric Kingster’s character but a second generation would be unsure. I gave my oldest brother his name and relation to Xanadu’s present main source of income. Seong-Min pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture and sent a text to someone. Likely father’s and his assistant back at the embassy.

“You managed to bring a phone in,” I said while we waited, “I thought they were collecting all of those by the door.”

“Diplomatic immunity let me keep the phone. And being on the short list for Xanadu’s special friends and family prevented them from turning me away on principle.” My brother’s eyes twinkled; he loved it when he could use politeness against his political opponents. And everyone who wasn’t family, and a few who were, were political opponents. “Ah, so the man in question does indeed have the relationship he is claiming. He forgot to mention he is a child by the second wife. The first wife had money and her prenuptial set up for her children to get everything even if her husband remarry after death or divorce. Second and third wife, and the present mistress, and their children may get up to the gift tax limits thanks to a special rider added after the second wife had this gentleman.”

“That isn’t enough funds to get in the door, even with the Manyard association.”

“Ah, but he works for his father as an executive and usually gets sent to functions where alcohol is available but little in the way of business deals. His younger brothers by wife number three likely will get similar jobs once they are through high school. And all of them will be cut off and kicked out once the first wife and eldest brother has full control of the family purse strings.”

“Saying no to him likely will have little impact on the contract Xanadu has.”

“According to the profile, he has no say in family business matters at all. And the few times he tried to throw his weight around at a stockholder meeting, everyone went with the opposite option.”

I tip my flute toward my brother in a toast. “That was very fast and skillful work by Kuk.”

“We are in trade negations with the Manyard Associates.”

“Ah. I thank you for letting me benefit from your information.”

Seong-Min tapped a few quick lines to send off before turning off his phone and returning it to his pocket. “Now, my turn for a request.”

“My eldest brother, I am at your disposal.”

“Grandmother would like a visit.”

Since I started college, the matriarch’s health kept her limited to the family’s holdings in South Korea, not that she traveled much before then. “My visa doesn’t allow travel outside of school.”

“Your visa expired four days ago,” my brother said dryly.

I stood stiffly, my drink sloshing the sides of the glass. I had been so caught up in graduating, in job hunting and finding a living arrangement, in getting the exhibit opened. The last month and a half had been completely crazy. And before then I was escaping … I pulled my brain back from what happened in May. The pictures in the gallery were a sanitized, curated version of reality. I would need to share details with father at some point soon; dead bodies can circle back unexpectedly.

“We took care of it,” he assured me after he let the panic hang a moment.

What is family for if not to create emotional scars? I guess also to prevent similar scars from being inflicted by anyone else.

He touched the champagne flute to his lips before continuing. “A carrier from the embassy will deliver the paperwork to you on Sunday.”

“Thank you.”

“And Grandmother?”

“I…I just started a new job last week, I can’t—”

“Quit it. We will get you better.”

I bite back the growl in the back of my throat. I had worked years getting a job in international journalism on my own. “Of course, thank you.”

“Father said to pick up one of your pieces while I am here to display in his outer office, which would you recommend.”

I run the fifteen on display through my head, and drop the ones which have already sold. None of them would work. Embassies are about aid, succor, and politics, not revealing truth and uncovering the dark corners. “Let me arrange for one.”

“Father wished to buy one.”

“I have kept a few personal ones back. I would prefer my family and my nation have something worthy of their contemplation. Please.” Stepping back, I let a woman walk between us. “It will be ready for the carrier when they arrive Sunday.” It would take a miracle to get out of bed before noon tomorrow, but I would find a way and get it done.

“There you are,” said a voice behind me.

Not again, this time the words were French. I turn to find Georgio in his green velvet jacket behind me. I switch to French since they both were fluent in the language. “Ah, Georgio, may I introduce my brother, Ambassador Seok’s personal assistant? Mr. Seok, this is my agent, Georgio.”

“Yes, yes, wonderful to have you here,” the agent nodded to my brother. “Come with me, someone wants to buy everything.”

“Everything?” I stumbled behind him.

“Yes, they are training an AI for creating disaster scenes in movies and want all your before and after shots. They don’t require exclusivity like the displays, but they are offering $10 per picture no matter how grainy just so long as they have all the data and $100 for shots of structures, up to $1 million and I think we can get that to $2 million. You said you had tens of thousands of shots, right?”

Well, this conversation would be unpleasant for everyone. For a moment, I imagine what I could do with a quarter million dollars, the amount leftover after agent fees and taxes between here and Korea. Then I lit the check on fire in my mind and watched it blow away in ashes.

(1,893 words, first published 7/14/2024)

Capturing the Tiger and Dragon Series

  1. X is for Xenophile (4/28/2024)
  2. X is for Xylotomous (5/19/2024)
  3. X is for Xanthic (6/9/2024)
  4. Exhibit (7/14/24)
  5. Exit Strategy (9/1/2024)