#flashfiction

Logan contemplates his outdated Model 4 Bioport in a futuristic clinic, facing internal tech obsolescence. Image generated by Gemini Plus. He traced the raised, scar-tissue edge of the Model 4 Bioport embedded just below his left ribs. It felt cold. It always felt cold, like a copper coin permanently pressed into his skin. Inside the sleek, sterile clinic booth, the diagnostic screen flickered…

July 5 2026

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa Amehana Garcia

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The dragoness moved through the shrine on two feet, drifting with the gentleness of morning mist in her human guise. The red and white of her miko shōzoku glowed in the early morning beneath Amaterasu’s rays. Amehana’s steps wove from the residential hall of her family to the Honden where her own mirror, similar in some ways to Amaterasu’s, dwelled.

Amehana inhaled deeply, allowing the scents of the gardens and the lingering overnight incense seeping from the various subshrines to permeate her lungs. Having not yet had her morning tea and rice she fed instead on the elemental energies around her. Food would be there when she was done. Their son and daughter were grown, the boy in his father’s old position as guard at the Youkaimura gate, the girl in the kitchen performing the duties of lesser miko and preparing the morning food offerings. Something she herself had not had to do now for… centuries?

Time was hard to hold onto now. She now easily understood why the elder kami could no longer keep track of it, not even her own father.

The Storm Shrine rose before her and she ascended the steps after leaving her geta to the side of the stairs. As usual, with each step she felt the separation between herself and the plane of living normal life was in grow, thankfully not to the degree her thread to physicality would snap again. Making bodies to inhabit was not something she wished to do today. Her hand slid open the doors, and the light of sun and moon (wherever Tsukiyomi currently was) lightly struck the surface of the Storm Mirror.

“Arashi Kagami,” she intoned softly.

“Arashi Amehana Hoshitatsu Tenryū Himemikokami.” Her mirror intoned in return.

They flowed the energy between them peacefully, parts of a whole joining in similar fashion to how her mate had long ago healed the two main halves of her separated incarnation. She allowed her consciousness to release the final few trappings of incarnated life and spread itself out among the local storm systems and then reach beyond, touching up against the other remaining storm dragons of her clan around the world… withdrawing whenever feeling the seeking energy of her clan’s rival.

After all these centuries, they still sought her? A married woman? A very happily married woman with no intention of giving up her kitsune? She snorted. Gathering the news and state of the worlds was more important than dealing with such petty concerns. If found, she’d deal with it. Then probably bewilder her mate again, just because she enjoyed –

There, a dissonance.

Her consciousness congealed above a facility far from human, yet firmly in the human world. Here, she took the form of a roughly dragon shaped serpentine cloud, her five toes per hand and foot, six wings, and prehensile tail plume each splayed wide to maintain the hold.

Perhaps she should have had tea first after all.

Below her sprawled a small compound of strangely shaped buildings seemingly grown from the plant and mineral life around them. Vines and trees intertwined with spires of crystals of such quality Amehana found herself fighting her species tendency toward hoarding that got the Western variety in such deep trouble with equally greedy humans. With the handiwork she witnessed, Amehana half expected some elves to pop out of somewhere.

Nope, no elves. Not after a morning of watching. Her distant physical body reminded of a missed opportunity called breakfast and a new due collection called lunch. All this time it seemed nothing had stirred.

Then, she saw them.

Tall, thin, rather Nordic looking. Definitely blond. Amehana groaned. Lemurians on holiday. Lovely. Why weren’t they around Mount Shasta? They rarely left the area. They rarely even came to the surface anymore, much less left the Mount Shasta area… like… dwarves… and elves…

The earlier disturbance was probably just one of their little generators to manipulate the weather. HER weather. In HER bailiwick.

“Feckers...” She grumbled to herself, followed by a few other unpriestessly words but definitely things her very distant ancestor Susanoo would consider clever and thus still at least kami-like. “How dare they?”

She’d read the old records. She had the shattered memories of one of the times she’d been shattered, thanks to Atlantis, Lemuria, and Mu, resulting in all the myriad of her clan. Blood memories. She was aware how close this probably splinter group was beginning to come to that old path. Bad enough humans were already in it, they didn’t need Lemurians finding it again too.

“I’d better report to the council, though it’s not Kamiari-Sai yet. It’s been long since we had to have an emergency gathering. Hopefully it won’t take a month like the yearly does...” Amehana sighed her herself, a plume of cloud spilling from her mouth like flame and steam. Lightning flashed within her as she darkened, her waters gathering in her irritation and her size growing. All unnoticed by those below.

With a flash, she sent a summons, exercising her rarely used right and standing. In the mountains of Rhian the Kagami Arashi flashed within the Purple Shrine and wards activated around the territory of the Elemental Empire. In Draiganpairc the Dragon Stone glowed, calling the witches of the O’Drake bloodline to attention wherever they were scattered around the world. This tugged on the Makay bloodline of Seal Point through their ancient blood oath.

“We have a problem, and the Heart of Storms needs protecting. This I see from within Arashi Kagami.” Her words rolled as thunder through the web of life to each kami.

Below the sea her grandfather looked toward her. Within his stronghold in the mountains her father paled, and dropped his teacup. Together, unknowingly as one, they rose to answer her call, unwilling to leave the last of her clutch to be undefended and risk a repeat of disasters long past.

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Alright! Caught up! Day Five's story actually managing to get posted on the day before any distractions calling me away from that. Whoo!

suddenly remembers she's been forgetting to update her fictionpress

Wow, over 20 years of posting my work for others to see, and it catches up with me how many places I don't post to as often as I should. Good thing I'm posting here first...

Need more coffee. I'm very glad I've got this to post to before remembering to update those old places. Meanwhile, my boy's messaged me that he's picked up some food to take with us to Mom's so we have food to eat while we are back where I grew up to run our booth the two days of Big Valley Days. It astounds me how far he's come in his development. I wanted a family business when I first fell pregnant with his big sister, I can certainly say that I have one now with how they've helped with different events over the years as they grew.

July 4th 2026

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa Amehana Garcia

She glowered at the small green orbs that now assaulted her plate, knowing as they fell from Cooky’s ladle that she would have to allow them to do the same to her palate and her gut. Woe to the unfortunate sisters who would be subjected to tonight’s flatulence performance in her shared cell.

Sister Mardra hid a sigh of relief on discovering that a scoop of peas was not the only item served for dinner tonight. It had been done many times before. What was the occasion for two proteins?

More importantly, what was it?

She let her feet flow down familiar paths to her habitual seat. First, the potatoes and cabbage. Next, the creamy mystery meat, served over a healthy and surprising helping of French Fries. Truly divine, blessings to whatever kind soul had donated the beastie to their ancient nunnery. The Sisters of the Trumping Silences were temporarily saved from… the peas. The source of their trumps.

The Abbess watched the sisters with her slate eyes, lingering lightly on Mardra. Mardra placed a large spoonful of the pustulating peas into her mouth and chewed with exaggerated gratuity. Mardra had no doubt those who revealed their dislike of the sacred legume were spirited away into the winding passages beneath the nunnery. Trying to eat them all proved as difficult as usual. Thankfully, she had also been equipped with some French Bread… Mashing them up she spread the peas on the bread, also succeeding somewhat in masking the taste.

The Legend of their own Labyrinth was often whispered among the sister after lights out, particularly the mysterious link to the alligators of the Everglades and what legendary item of provenance they guarded.

Perhaps, whatever it was, would eventually free them from the peas.

Sister Mardra had just finished the last bit of her peas, distracting herself by mentally rerunning the scene wherein Anakin Skywalker had his limbs rather forcefully – she smiled at the pun – removed from his keeping. A soft clatter cut through the silence.

A suspicious wooden dish sat beside her own, bearing a yellow dangerfruit, lemon, and lavender flan concoction that normally would have been met with excitement by any of them. A treat? Again, what was the occasion?

Wait… What was the occasion? Her eyes narrowed, focusing more on the delicacy, then following the arm that was still withdrawing.

The Abbess.

“Sister, it is due to your diligence in tending the wounded on the paths that bring us such unaccustomed plenty this night. It is fitting you receive the first serving of pudding.” Her voice, coarse from disuse other than the soft prayer chants, was difficult to decipher at the distance from her ear. “See me in my chambers after Martins.”

She nodded a reply and ate her pudding as ordered, but Sister Mardra hadn’t been aware that her stomach was capable of dropping any lower. What could the Abbess want?

When the time finally came, and after nearly getting lost in the maze of hallways and stairs yet again (despite all her many long years in the cloister), and a close encounter with a suspiciously steamy “chocolate bar” clearly deposited by the Abbess’s French Bulldog during one of its nighttime escapes helping the cats combat the mice and rats… Mardra finally stood before the simple wooden door.

Which was already opening, since the Abbess had been waiting impatiently for her to catch up. A bony finger pointed in, and she followed it to the seat on the bed slab she’d just been assigned. Not the best start, in her mind. Clearly, also not the best start in the Abbess’s mind, either!

“I am here, Abbess. What did you need of me?” Her eyes met the rheumy ones that were sinking to join her on the bed.

“I have noticed that the world seems to be calling you louder than usual.”

Her stomach turned over. Was this about the crying spat when the ski competition had been interrupted by commercials? Had she missed a pea, and this was how she would be dismissed?

“No louder than usual, to my knowledge. I have my work here, praying for the souls of all those who need better nutrition, roughage, and tending the wounds of those braving the alligators.”

“None know the dangers that await those who try to find what they guard.” The Abbess made the sign over herself, Sister Mardra following and bowing her head on reflex. “But no. I have seen a sign.” She pointed at the small wood sign. It bore Sister Mardra’s former worldly name. “The adventure party had it in their possession.”

She nearly threw up her peas. “Elia Schmitd shall unite and guide us to save the world from the Trump of Completion, with the Trump of Completion.” She read slowly, seeing the literal sign she’d been dreaming of for days. “But, what if I don’t?”

“Then I’m afraid the end of the world looks very wrong and messed up indeed.”

“What even IS the Trump of Completion?”

“That, we need you for.” The Abbess pinned her with a gaze. “Do you remember how you resurrected that man?”

“I… farted… While treating him. It brought him back.”

“And what took him out again?”

“Farting in the medical bay when checking on him...”

“Yes, and so, you must now go through the Sacred Tunnels and Steps of Solemnizations, exit out into the swamp, and go find yourself. It is time.”

“I can’t save the world. I’m just a flatulent middle-aged woman...”

“Save. End. All the same. You must discover how to trumpet the new age into being.”

“Can I at least get a night’s sleep first?”

“Of course.” The Abbess looked at her. “We are The Sisters of the Trumping Silences, not a company of young adventurers on their first Quest. In the morning, after outfitting yourself. See the Chambress in the morning for your provisions.”

“Yes Abbess.”

She left for her cell, trailing odiferous reluctance.

Yes, escapes instead of escapades was a choice.

Should I start tagging the short stories with the genres?

Edit: I forgot to include that this was done using the FFM challenge prompt. https://flashficmonth.wordpress.com/2026/07/03/ffm-links-4-july-2026/

Generators chosen Event Prompt https://flashfictionmonth.itch.io/flash-fiction-month-event-prompt-generator

Event: The end of the world looks wrong and messed up.

Tense: Future tense.

Genre restriction: Cannot be apocalyptic.

- by MinneWinne

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Campfire Tales Prompt https://flashfictionmonth.itch.io/flash-fiction-month-campfire-tales-challenge-generator

1. Whodunit 2. Each suspect narrates a portion of the story 3. French bread, french fries, and a French bulldog - challenge issued by ilyilaice

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Adventure Prompter https://flashfictionmonth.itch.io/flash-fiction-month-adventure-prompt-generator

Character: A thirty something woman, values solitude and peace, hates peas, her struggles with depression and anxiety have reduced her ability to deal with shenanigans and people. She cries at commercials but laughed hysterically when Anakin Skywalker got his limbs chopped off. - by NamelessShe Setting: An old nunnery, with a hidden maze of catacombs below it and mysterious staircases that don't lead anywhere. Or do they!? - by salshep MacGuffin: No one knew what the gators of the Everglades guarded, nor the dangers that awaited anyone who try to find out. - by Teela-Y

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Daily

We return briefly to the Selkies' Skins universe, sometime in Kirsty's first year of teaching.

July 3 2026

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa “Amehana” Garcia

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Kirsty stretched, then turned over in her bed. Her arm reached out and only found her cat. Blue eyes slowly slitted open in the pre-dawn light.

Right, work day. In the castle, where her aunt specifically requested no hanky-panky. Why did they opt for rooms in the castle itself instead of getting a house nearby or one of the outbuildings, like Thomas and Ally, also professors, did?

When was the sale of the place she and David wanted to be expected to finish again?

Definitely a coffee day.

“Mroooooowww...” The large white fluff ball complained and balled up.

“Me too… Me too...” Kirsty blinked and focused with difficulty on the window.

Why was she awake before her alarm? David would still be sleeping, probably, in his own bed. Surely. She snorted, discovering that some part of her did hope for some romantic gesture from her husband, like showing up on the broom balcony, tapping at the window for morning kisses before the breakfast that would bolster him for his Potions class and her for her Merstudies students.

Nope. No David through the glass. Not in his human self, not the ravenperson thing that had figured so much in their last year of school she knew he’d been working on, no hippogriff form for early morning flights… and definitely no sedated werewolf.

Be big problems if she woke up finding her sedated werewolf on her broom balcony instead of where he sequestered himself to hunt and snooze during his transformation. Problems coffee wouldn’t fix.

“The horrors persisted because you never did anything to stop them.” Kirsty quoted to herself, sighing deeply. “Right then. Early start to my day it is.” She slid out of her bed, her familiar complaining again at the retreat of her warmth. Her gauzy white sleeping gown billowed as she made her way to her dressing table. Not that her husband was there to be impressed by it since he was in his own room, and if he’d seen her yawn wracked stumbles, he’d probably have gotten her back in bed and asleep with that strange pull she’d never figured out in all these years she’d known him. Definitely none of the hanky-panky – either sort – they’d been warned of when hired.

“Coffee… strong, sweet, on the non-acid end. Blond roast. Stomach isn’t ready for the dark.” She placed her order, willing a connection, still too sleepy to conjure it herself, and relying on the kitchen’s magics to pick up on and deliver the request. Being a professor, especially at such a young age, definitely had perks not available to her when she was just a student hiding what she was. “Ah, some eel and egg on toast to see me over til Breakfast is ready, too, please.”

She felt the acknowledging pulse on the other end of the connection. Whoever was on watch so early had received her request. Absolutely no way she felt like making her way down all those flights of stairs to go directly bother the cooks. Nope. That would be like mixing up a lemon and a danger fruit.

“Stairs...” She sighed, slumping against the dressing table and drawing her sealskin better around her shoulders over her sleep gown. Distantly, she felt the tide, the call of the sea. She would need another swim in the loch soon. “I hope you slept better than I seem to have, David.”

Her coffee and eggy fishy toast apparated before her, prepared just the way she liked it. A little pickled slivered seaweed garnished her toast, telling her exactly which of the crew had received the request. Her lips curved upward gently. The coffee was as velvet and sweet as she needed it for such an early start, the caffeine strong and without the changes that bothered her on super early mornings. Comfort and strength began filling out her limbs, giving her back the closest thing she’d ever have to land legs.

The time for the Hunt was approaching soon. Perhaps she could throw a salmon at David should she see him on the shore during his. He could share it with the wolf pack Hearne had drawn into his life, perhaps. Doubtful he and his pack would leave her any venison on the shore… but she did feel as much of the pull to them as she did to the merfolk in the loch. Not something that had a word in any language, something spanning species. Not kinship, per se, and not a caretaker role… But… something…

Another sip. Another bite. Her thoughts turned to how best to guide the young souls she must shape in her Merstudies lessons. How best to serve Mara, goddess of the sea, The Lady, still with pieces of her name missing, and goddess of the land’s waters, and Hearne, lord of the Hunt? What should she do today, in their service?

“Waking up more would be a good start.” The Lady’s voice curled in her ear. “I had a memory. It may lead to another Piece.” The steam of the coffee caressed Kirsty’s face. “Sleepy selkies have scattered thoughts.”

“Mmm, so that’s why I’m awake so early. Might need two cups. Too early.”

---

The prompt was: The horrors persisted because you never did anything to stop them. – by bunnythewriter

https://flashficmonth.wordpress.com/2026/07/02/ffm-links-3-july-2026/comment-page-1/#respond

Posting to all my usual places. Maybe I can catch up and get today's posted too later in the day.

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Amehana

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa Amehana Garcia

July 2, 2026

The monastery cats were chanting again. What made it TRULY concerning was that it wasn’t Latin this time.

“Harae tamae, kiyome tamae, rokkon shōjō.” Nine meowtiful voices tolled from before the altar within the stone chamber and rolled out the doors, then over the garden. The strike of a staff and chime of a bell.

The priest poked his head around to peek in the open doorway. Just as he could hear, nine cats sat performing their calls. Before them lay nine deceased mice, recently caught, tiny black eyes staring glassily into infinity. No staffs. No bells. No incense despite the odor of catnip toasting away in invisible censers.

“Again, Brother Dwellyth?” the gardener came up the walk. Over his shoulder,at  he carried the hoe he had borrowed yesterday to cover his hoeing both at home and the kirk until he could replace his own.

“Aye, again, Michael.” Brother Dwellyth looked to his longtime friend.

“I still think you’re just working too hard.” Michael replied, his ginger hair gleaming beneath the sun’s light as he cocked his head just so.

“You hear it too.” Dwellyth passed a sweaty palm over his forehead and dwindling hair.

“Aye, but they are cats. You know how the cats here are.”

“Cats don’t speak human language.”

“Special cats, too much communion wine, not enough food, and studying too late at night. Some mysteries just aren’t meant for humans to know.”( Collapse )

“We’ll never get a proper Priest for long, though, if the cats keep scaring them away.”

“Do we need one? What is the offering today, anyway? More mice?”

Dwellyth looked at Michael over his glasses and sighed.

“Yes. I’m not ordained a Priest, remember? Also because of them.”

Michael shrugged. “You’ll think of something.”

The cats began another chant. Invisible paper whisks whisked away at whatever things the cats prayed against.

“I highly doubt my idea of just declaring this a cat-run establishment will work.”

“Is there really anyone left to gainsay you?” Michael smiled, his green eyes gleaming just a bit too cat-like for Dwellyth’s comfort.

As usual, posting next to my DeviantArt and other platforms. I'm having to play catch-up with posting. The bookmark files took up a lot of energy (and Monday I'll have to go over the hill to have them printed, as I am out of printer ink).

Linktree: linktr.ee/Amehana

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa Amehana Garcia

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The mist rolls in over the hills. It would be so serene if you didn’t know what it brings.

The lookout sits in her tower, securing her corner of the compound. Whether the other three still retained their sanity, Hera could never be sure. It’s not like they met in the mess hall. No, they had all long ago taken to having their meals in their towers and coordinating among themselves who would be on watch when.

They were all that was left. All that still stood between their charges and what had taken the others.

Her eyes narrowed at a movement within the mist pouring into their arm of the valley. Behind her, she knew, another mist was rising from the creek. A flash of green, and her eyes focused on it.

A tendril? A tail? A head on a long neck?

Red spots glowed, and the siren song of vintage typewriters being worked at speed filled her ears.

Ah, of course. Today, they came.

Hydra. Their compound’s muse. Their nurse. Their God.

Her fingers itched, and she gazed into the visions flitting over her mind’s eye, scrying the mists just as ancient fortune tellers and Druidic bards once had long ago, far across the sea. Her hand drifted toward the silent alarm. It was time to release them.( Collapse )

The writers emerged from their cages, starved for sustenance and inspiration. It was time. Time to feed. Time to dream. Time to write. Only through the protective veil of the written word could the wisdom and folly Hydra sang and projected be safely allowed to come before those normies still used to traditional vanilla stories who hid in the labyrinth below.

Hera smiled. Things eldritch soothed her. She was going to hand on to this gig as long as she could, shepherding those writers seeking to dabble toes in waters outside their more comfortable genres. Other things stirred in the mists too. Zombies were not the way they used to be written of… Hydra would likely feed well on those who chose not to brave the new world and cling to the old way of things.

Writers’ Valley was a weird place, but she’d never felt more at home.

---

Viva Hydra! It's Flash Fiction Month! Pretty cool to see one of my suggestions made it in.

This is posted here, my Patreon, and will be mirroring to my Livejournal, Dreamwidth and DeviantART as well. If you like my art and writing, point your friends my way, and poke at my Patreon.

Linktree: linktr.ee/Amehana

By tradition, every expedition ended the same way.

No matter how successful the journey had been, no matter how many discoveries filled their journals, the explorers gathered one final evening before returning home.

They climbed the highest point they could reach.

They lit a single lantern.

Then they waited.

No speeches were given.

No medals were awarded.

The silence was part of the ritual.

When Elian joined his first expedition, he found the custom baffling.

"We've crossed three mountain ranges," he whispered to Captain Selene. "We've uncovered forgotten temples, mapped rivers no one has seen for centuries, and cataloged creatures believed to exist only in legend."

She nodded.

"We have."

"So...why are we sitting here?"

Instead of answering, she pointed toward the western horizon.

The sun slipped beneath the distant peaks.

Twilight settled across the world.

One by one, tiny lights appeared.

Not stars.

Lanterns.

Dozens of them.

Then hundreds.

Far across the valleys and mountains, other expeditions were ending their own journeys.

Each team stood on a distant summit, raising a single light to the coming night.

The mountains became a constellation of explorers.

Elian stared in wonder.

"We're not alone."

"We never were," Selene replied.

"Every generation thinks it's the first to chase forgotten roads."

She smiled as another lantern flickered to life on a faraway ridge.

"But every generation leaves a light for those still searching."

Elian carefully removed his own lantern from his pack.

He set it beside the others.

Its warm glow joined the countless lights stretching beyond the horizon.

In that quiet moment, he understood that exploration was never about being the first to arrive.

It was about making the next journey a little less lonely.

When darkness finally embraced the world, the lanterns remained.

Not to mark where the explorers had been...

...but to remind those still walking that somewhere ahead, fellow seekers waited beneath the same sky.