#flash! friday

At Home With The Dollmakers #flash!friday #flashfiction

Roland Dollmaker hit the gas tap. ‘Bloody thing,’ he dropped the lighter and kicked it across the floor. ‘Reality TV sucks.’

‘It pays, sweetness.’ Puella Dollmaker marked Bring It On as a possible for the 4.30 at Kempton. ‘You wanted another series.’

‘Oh sure. And you wanted to get a real job.’ Roland cracked open a beer. ‘We need a theme for the next episode. Any ideas?’

‘You could melt…

Blind To Tragedy #flashfiction #prompt

They all saw the dog. Black, shaggy, watchful.

The suit said he couldn’t have known, not his fault. I think he blames the student for bumping into the guy. She’d have been watching the dog, too. At least the dude’s on it, holding the dog. Everyone’s worried about the dog.

I called a handler, just in case he bites. Standard procedure, when paramedics come. Now that’s sorted they all want…

‘Gerald, will you shush.’

‘I can’t believe…’

The tattooed bruiser who had terrified Gerald when collecting them at the airport made a slicing motion, not across his throat, but somewhere more sensitive.

‘Did you see that? He wants to cut off my…’

‘Gerald Pelmet, I’ll do it for him if you don’t…’ Daphne stopped.

The scrawny boy held out his hand. ‘The gifts for Our Lady?’

‘Gerald…

The man was prowling the docks for a juice joint when he saw her. Hair as red as a freshly gutted tuna. A face that could’ve launched the ship she arrived on, the Mauretania. “Jimmy Banks. You’re a choice bit of calico.You gotta name?” “Penelope.” “A pleasure. You need a gig? I can get you work making dresses. Yes?” “No. I didn’t come here to be a seamstress.” “I dabble in muck sometimes. You…

Every Breath You Take

Movement was his intoxicant. If he could pour her enhanced slither into a glass tumbler, he would find oblivion. Jason observed from the corner. A slow dance, her body painted in satin, the kind you didn’t buy at a thrift store. Hips and eyes in suggestive unison, a subtle coquetry. Hands as elegant as gold foil clawed the affluent back of a silver-haired man. The way her face disrobed when the…

He slid the CD, a meal of memories, into the mouth of the plastic device. It accepted his offering with a grinding, mechanical thank you, a sound that became his friend over time, his partner in torment. Images leaked from the television, coating the walls and his face with the chaotic light of evacuation. He was a human tree on the couch, rooted in the fabric, sedentary, except for his eyes.…

Detour #FlashFiction

Louis Dodier as a prisoner, 1847. Public domain daguerrotype photo by Louis Adolphe Humbert de Molard; courtesy Google Art Project. Rasputin scratched at the insect-bites under his coarse linen shirt and scowled at the photographer. They’d taken his weapons, clothes, implants and external devices and flung him amidst the byways, as vulnerable to the vortices as some ignorant primitive from an…

public domain photo

There was love in the way she poured milk on my cereal. The plastic jug tilted by a fragile hand, filling the bowl halfway. Just how I liked it. A motherly wink when she prodded me to eat the banana slices sitting atop the sugary concoction like fibrous wafers of a solidified disease. I ate them for her.

The first of the month was our food jamboree. The bologna and tuna…