Today's word is: Loveableness!

               The crowds all keep rushing by, on their way here and there like ants in a colony. A few of them even acknowledge each other as they pass, but it’s a rare occurrence. And there I stand here, still, being knocked this way and that as everyone churned forward to their workplaces.

               What am I even doing? Hoping for some sort of human interaction, I guess. I saw a few of them glace at me where I stand, wearing my long raggedy coat and hat. It was only ever like this at rush-hour, so it made sense that I came here now, but as for why, well, that was a different kettle of fish. It’s difficult to say exactly why, except for perhaps the idea that someone might bump into me, to have a conversation. Even if someone just asked what I was up to, that would’ve done. But no, nothing.

               At that moment, a bell chimes above. Eight-fourty-five. I should get a move on, I can’t be late for my meaningless filing. I let the tide of the crowd pull me toward my office-block, a mediocre looking building with grey walls, blue halls and the smell of paint and coffee.  Recently they even put some cheese-plants in to make the place look vaguely more accessible, but nothing says I love my work like plasticesque indoor foliage.

               I climbed the stairs to my little cube, not a single response from any of my so-called co-workers. Tapping keyboards, phones ringing and the occasional screech of our crappy wheeled chairs scraping across the plastic linoleum. This place is a little slice of purgatory. Not bad enough to be hell; but balancing on a knife-edge between acceptable and abysmal. I can’t even fathom what half of my job is as I sit down and start booting up Excel and Word and another thing for accounts, and a proxy so I can still see half the internet while I’m on my break.

               There’s no joy as my day flits by, another eight hours of clicks and numbers and tired eyes. I didn’t even bother standing in the crowds to gain something. I stop at a Tesco on the way home and buy some macaroni and cheese, but I don’t even really like it, let alone love it. The only thing I can think is that she’ll  be home and awake by now. Then again, she does like to nap.

               I catch a packed bus home, the smell of sweat and smoke on everyone around like smog. No one enjoys the bus except little kids, and sooner or later they learn otherwise. I get off, trudge up my driveway and slot a key into the door.

               Immediately, I’m knocked back by the smells of spice and warmth. It’s the antithesis of the office, all reds and oranges and browns, and from the kitchen she yells “You’re just in time, lovely, dinner’s almost done.” And then I remember why I’m going to go through it all again tomorrow.

               

Happy 1001st viewer, Blog!

So, last night with the addition of yesterday's (or today's post, but who's keeping track anyway), Sudden-fiction-sunday.blogspot.co.uk hit 1000 hits. Yaaay!

So here's a breakdown of who has been visiting:

United Kingdom	743
United States	138
Germany	29
Russia	23
United Arab Emirates	21
Argentina	12
Egypt	11
Sweden	9
Netherlands	8
Belgium	6

Firstly, and foremost, I'm from the UK, so most of the UK hits can be accounted for. Still, if you're someone who doesn't know me personally, I'm really very glad you follow this blog.

Second, the US. I can only think of a handful of people who are out in the US, so this one's a little trickier to explain. Even still, thanks for dropping by! :D

Now we get into the more confusing territory. I only know two people in Germany at the moment, so for all you German viewers, Hi and hello!

This one really confuses me, though. Hello Russia, nice to see you here. I don't actually know any Russians (except my aunt, but she lives in London somewhere anyway), so it's great to see you here.

Same goes for you, United Arab Emirates. I mean, that one seems particularly random, but still, I hope you guys are enjoying my snippets of literacy.

Argentina! Hi! How's it going. Only twelve of you out there, so that one's really interesting.

And hello to you Egyptian followers. Down to eleven! 

Sweden. Now this one I can account for. Hi Abso-folk, nice to see you've dropped by ;) (and for those of you sitting there going, "Abso-folk? Huh?" then I'm glad to see you too!

Netherlands can also be attributed in part to Absolution. So hello to you out there, and same goes if that made no sense to you!

And finally, Belgium. I know of a few people out there who might read this, so I'm glad you've taken the time to stop and look.

Anyway, that was the point-break-down for the countries. Thanks again for helping me hit the 1000 mark, and lets hope I've got more flash fictions up my sleeve!

Yesterday's word was: Photosynthesis!

Sorry about this being late! I’d love to say I was busy, but it was more or less just not knowing what the fuck to write. So anyway, here goes:

               Where did it go? Where is it!? I’m so hungry….

               It stared towards the concrete sky. A little bit of light filtered down, but the poor thing could already feel itself wilting.

               C’mon, it’s not like I’m asking for much here. A little bit of flare, that’s all. I just need to bask a little while. I’ve got plenty of water. Just a little break would do.

               The little strip of foliage didn’t know how long it had been cloudy. Plants don’t really check a calendar or observe holidays. They just wait. That was all there was to it.

               A few vibrations began to stir the damp soil, reaching through dirt and detritus to the plants slightly furred roots. It was rhythmic, but it wasn’t rain, but rather a plants worst nightmare.

               Agh, get off, there’s a thing on my stem! Get off, get off, stop it! The plant couldn’t shake, couldn’t escape. It’s getting closer to my leaves, my precious leaves! I need those you thief! Get away!

               It was something long, slightly hairy, and too big to be a group of ants, too heavy to be a centipede. The creature only had one thought on its mind, and that was to feed.

               Oh no… it’s a pillar…thing. What are they for anyway? They just make useless fluttery things, and they don’t spread pollen half as well as the bumble-y guys. I know; I’ll just wait. I’ll get him off.

               Slowly, steadily, the caterpillar climbed up the plant, reaching ever closer towards food. Perhaps if he was full, he could even hang his cocoon off of the top. But who knows, he still felt hungry.

               That’s right, a little closer, I’ve nearly got you, you rogue. Aha! Take this!

               Suddenly, the plants leaves flooded with tannic acid! It was too late, the caterpillar had already begun eating, and couldn’t stop. More of the toxin drained into the plant’s assailant. Victory, at last!

               Ah, stupid thing. I think I can even feel the clouds breaking. I sure hope it’s the Sun!

               It wasn’t. It was a meteorite.

               

Today's word is: Speaker!

               It just sat there. Doing absolutely nothing.

               I’d bought a pair of them in a garage sale down the road from a guy with a crooked walk, and an even crookeder look in his eye. He couldn't wait to be rid of them, sold me the pair for just under a tenner. Attempting to set them up in my car, I couldn't get the fricking things to work for the life of me.

               On the drive home, my car was totaled by some asshole in a red four-by-four. He just came out of left field and in the crash my boot sprang open and one of the speakers got absolutely crushed by a bus, which in turn burst a tire and went reeling off to one side. From there, I rang my insurance, rang my parents, and rang work. I wasn’t going in the next day; that was for sure.

               So I took the remaining (left) speaker, and caught a taxi home. My neck hurt a little from the jaunt, but I was more or less fine. Still, more than acceptable as an excuse for a day or two off from handing tickets out. I stared at the now lonely speaker, and the round pad in the centre seemed to stare back. It was a little unnerving, but mostly just because it rattled in my empty flat. I shook it, but the box appeared to move against me, as if it was trying to unbalance me. I set it down and pushed it out of my mind for a week, up until just now, in fact.

               See, I was watching reruns of Top Gear (there’s nothing on during the day anyway), and I was more focused on the groups of school kids walking by outside, when I heard a faint knock.

               I got up, walked to the door, but there was nothing there. Bloody kids, probably. I sat back down, and heard the same knocking. However, it sure as hell wasn't coming from the front door, but from somewhere inside. I guessed at pipes, first, and then at something banging against the wall from outside, but as I stood up, the speaker toppled over on its side.

               The strange knocking was coming from inside the speaker, so I snatched it from the floor and shook it again. The counterbalancing feeling happened once more, only it seemed worse. I didn’t want this thing in my house anymore, but as I walked to the door, I heard one of the creepiest things in my life.

               “Where’s my sister?” it whispered. The voice sounded course, crusty, like wires zapping from being a little damp.

               So what do I do now? This thing is still talking to me.

Today's word is: Mottephobia!

Now hold on,  I know what a lot of you (at least those of you who know me for reals) are thinking “mottephobia? Bit lucky for that to be the word this week.” Well, have a gold star, because it isn’t  lucky at all, but rather because in the past week, I’ve rediscovered my absolute loathing of all moth kind. So, fuck the police, today I’m not going to do a random word, but instead here’s a story about my absolute fear of moths.

               Pastel shades of lilac punctuated the orange sky that night. It was lovely, and with a warm summery breeze blowing through the open window, I took my chance and swooped in. It was bright in this new place, really bright. A thing like the sun hung from the centre of the square place I’d just become a new resident of. There were places to hide everywhere too, open places, dark places, under-the-bed places, and it sure was great. I could stay here a while.

               I felt the air change as a large door opened across the room, it must have been a part of this bigger place I was in, and in came a human. A man-human, with hair and shorts and stuff that smelled like sweetness. He seemed friendly, and I bet he wouldn’t have minded, but I think I was too quick to show up.

               He swung an arm, and the gust blew me round. I was dizzy. I didn’t like it in here anymore, it was weird and the light was really big, and I wanted it, so I flew upwards, but something swept me away, like a tentacle of the things that hung up one of the dark, open places. I fluttered back up toward the sun-thing and I bounced away, it repelled me. I tried again to no effect. By now, I could feel the human on the other side of the room. He was shrieking and throwing big clumps of things at me, and every time one got close, the air tore me away. But I no longer cared, I kept smashing myself against the sun-thing. It could’ve been for days.

               The last thing I remember was a big soft, heavy thing catching and pulling me down. I couldn’t move, my wings shattered and I’m too sleepy to think.

***

               I walked into the room, sat on my bed and opened my laptop. Looking outside, the sky was pretty and all, but having spent the day getting sunned, I thought a little inside time was more than apt.

               A dark shadow flew past my face and I flinched, shoulders up. Not another one.

               I swung my hand aimlessly, trying to hit it, but the stupid thing flew out of the way. The moth darted toward the light, and bounced. The dread boiled up inside, and I considered just leaving the room entirely. I didn’t need my laptop, right?

               But no, I had to do something about the moth, so I chucked a bunched pair of underwear at it, no effect. I kept throwing pieces of clothing, but the harder I tried, the more frantically the moth bashed against my light. Time seemed to move slower, and the longer it took to catch the little bastard, the more scared I felt. I know they’re harmless, but they’re erratic, they’re annoying, they’re precious. When you kill one, they seem to turn into a grey smear of dust, which is just nauseating.

               As a last ditch attempt, I took a used bedsheet and threw the entire thing at the fluttering menace, which caught it and went down. I shook what was left of the moth away and chucked the sheet in the wash. Breathing slowly, I sat down and cold fingers sped down my back. I shook my head and lay back, staring up at the dusty ceiling.

               “I should shut the window.” 

Today's word is: Exutory!

               “There’s an exutory!”

               The room was silent save for the repetitive beep of a heart-monitor and the slow pushing wheeze of breathing apparatus. Light shone off of every surface, the scalpels and tongs and clamps of an E.R, but not a single orderly or nurse made a sound.

               “An exutory people! Get moving!” Doctor Hargreave said, a surgical knife in hand. The other doctors looked at each other, masks obscuring all but their eyes.

               “What… what do you mean?” Nurse Foreman whispered. She seemed loathe to break the silence.

               Hargreave lowered the knife, his eyes ablaze. “You know, now find out what it is!” Nurses and doctors alike peered at one another. Doctor Bisharpe shrugged at Nurse McDonald. Foreman returned with a large dusty book.

               Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep.

               “You can’t bring that bloody thing in here!” Hargreave’s voice carried over the various machines. “You should know the term, Foreman. Can’t anyone just follow an instruction?!”

               “No one knows what the word is Hargreave!” Bisharpe to Hargreave, E-five. “You’re using a word no-one knows.”

               Beep beep beep. Beep.. beep.. beep.

               A bead of sweat trickled down Hargreave’s face before being stopped on its way down by his mask. “It’s an issue, ok?! An issue. A bloody issue in the stupid patient. Now find it!”

               And the room sprang into action.

“5 milligrams of rocephin!”

               “I need another blood-bag here!”

               “Why didn’t he just say there was an issue?!”

               Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep.

               “We don’t have time for this! Hand me a clean scalpel, he’s not breathing and we need to do a tracheostomy!”

               The room swirled with movement, clattering and shifting and making sure everything was set for the process. Still, no one could find the issue complicating an otherwise easy procedure.

               Bisharpe spun around, watching the patients sats sink like a brick through a lake. “Is there something in his lungs, Hargreave?”

               But there was no response.

               “He’s frozen!” Foreman cried. Hargreave had stopped everything, his eyes down on the boy with a new hole in his throat. “Get him out of here!

               Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

So, it's been a while:

Hello everyone!

For various reasons (i.e skiing, coursework, killing dragons ect) I haven't been as proactive as I'd like to have been for the past few weeks, but I'm kicking this back up now I've got more free time. Isn't that exciting?

For now, I thought I'd share my flash-fiction-based coursework I did over Easter, which is all centred around the items people sell on eBay around Valentine's Day because they are "not needed". Each item listed is a real thing I found on eBay that I could have bought, and this is also my first time linking many flash fictions together. I hope you enjoy it!

Not Needed

Listed: February 15^th 2013

Matching his/hers hoodies and towels. New.

Description: Due to unforeseen circumstances, this is no longer necessary. Never been worn/used. Contact for more information.

               Tom narrowly dodged a plant-pot flung at his head, which smashed as fast as their crumbling engagement. The earth clung to the walls, leaving a brown smear on the bone-white, but he couldn’t stand still for too long, more foliage was on its way.

               “You’re out of your mind!” He yelled, a particularly nice peace lily meeting its doom to his right. The room was slowly becoming less inviting. The pillows from the sofa were everywhere, uprooted from their usual place, and glass was shattered across the fine mahogany floorboards she’d insisted were so pretty at the time.

               Lydia launched another pot, this time a hand-sized grenade-like cactus, pre-empting his movements and hitting Tom squarely in the chest. The cry of pain echoed through their apartment. I do hope the neighbours are out.

               “Aargh! Seriously,” He panted, doubled over while brushing spines and dirt off his striped shirt. “Who reacts like this? It was just a phone-call.”

               “I heard her voice, Tom! I’ve heard it before, you’re clearly fucking that bitch!”  The moment Tom’s back was turned, Lydia seized the opportunity, pushing the wheeled armchair directly at him. It slammed with a large thud.

               “And what,” he snarled, looking up at her immaculate face through his now tousled black hair. “You immediately jump to us having an affair when I just forked out about one-and-a-half grand so we can go on a honeymoon for our future wedding? Call me crazy, but that’s one expensive fucking cover-up.”

               He waited for a response, and like clockwork, the insanity melted into crocodile tears. Lydia collapsed into a ball, crying while her floaty summer dress pooled around her like magma. Whatever this whole act was, it was damned theatrical.

               “Ah, we’re at this stage now.” He walked to her, sidestepping broken petals to her side, and squatted a foot or so away. Make up lined her face in smudged bars, and her hair was everywhere, in a haystack. She looked at him, before dispersing into more floods of tears. Sighing, he put his hand on her shoulder.

               “So what did you get for me then?” He smiled, attempting to alleviate the situation. Tom looked around the devastation. It was the same more or less every time. I’m going to have to do another plant run, I guess.

               Lydia looked at her soon-to-be-husband and buried her face in his chest. Great, another shirt ruined. She gracelessly groped around behind her for something, before pulling out a now trampled package covered in dirty shards. Towelling peeped through the torn paper.

               Cringing a little at the saccharine gift, he forced a grin. “See, we needed new… err… his and hers towels! Awh, it’s sweet.”

               At that, the tears broke off abruptly, and she took back the parcel, “I’ll sell these ones on eBay. I mean, they’re a bit ruined now, and then we can start planning for the trip, yeah?”

 Tom rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Listed: February 13^th 2013

One set of La Sanza lingerie, Red Lace, 32-C. Used. 

Description:

Only worn once, this set should spice up any romance. Not needed any longer.

               The rain pattered against the windows, filling the awkward silence between Vince and Ellie. Every now and then, lighting would ignite the features of the room, just long enough to silhouette his dark, hulking frame against the walls.

               The pair sat on the end of a hardly unmade bed. “I’ll… sleep on the sofa then?” Vince mumbled, looking at his feet. His eyes were full of tears. “Don’t be silly,” Ellie comforted, grabbing his cool hand in her own freezing ones. Vince flinched a little.

               Wordlessly, Vince grasped the duvet and drew it round the two of them, cutting off the rain and the darkness to a safe-feeling hideaway. He looked at the barely visible features of her face. “I wish I’d found out sooner. I bet I’ve screwed you up a lot.”

               Ellie shook her head, cuddling up to him. Her body was like ice against his. “I don’t feel you have. At least now we can start this new chapter together. And heck, we’ve roomed together for years, I’m not going anywhere just yet.” The tall, cue-balled man smiled at the slight girl beside him, and drew her in. Ellie breathed in sharply. She was going to miss the cuddles, that was sure.

               “How do you know?” Maybe it wasn’t what she thought it was. “Well, obviously this is a bit of a giveaway, but did you know before today?”

               Vince nodded vaguely, still not looking at her. His fists clenched and unclenched, and Ellie could feel a tear or two hit her leg. It wasn’t fair. Was she defective? Some girl who can only ever chase the wrong thing? He was big, protective, and good looking, but didn’t want her. Couldn’t want her. Ellie shied away from the thought, and let the night run on through the rain. Regardless, Ellie could hardly leave him now.

Listed: February 15^th 2013

One soft-leather bondage set including: four bed-ties, handcuffs, PVC bed-sheets and two cotton blindfolds. All black. Used

Description

This once-in-a-lifetime bundle comes at a very reasonable price. Used twice, this item has been thoroughly cleaned and is in pristine condition.

Selling due to unforeseen circumstances.

               Riley had never been so ready for anything in his life. The sheets were pressed, and newly on, the candles around the room were lit. A gentle, if slightly brisk breeze rolled through the slatted wooden blinds. Perfect.

               Dong, Dong. 9 strikes.

Riley looked at the clock on the far wall. Would he have time to use the loo? No, it would take him forever to get back into position. It had taken all evening already. Besides, maybe she’d be excited by the prospect of-

The door opened with a slam. The woman looked utterly flustered, eyes half shut with headphones still in. Her normal smart shoes weren’t on, replaced by worn, outdated trainers.

“Ugh, such a mess, traffic was murder, and I can’t believe I was this late on Valentine’s Day.” She grumbled, pottering around removing her shoes and gloves and various other trappings. “So what was this big Valentine’s Day surprise-” Her voice faltered, looking first around the room, and then to the bed.

Tied, ankles and wrists against each bedpost, with naught but a pillow covering his cock, was her boyfriend of 6 months. Riley grinned, guessing she had seen, not that he could tell through the blindfold across his eyes. Any minute now… any minute.

“What the HELL is wrong with you?” she screamed. Vi looked at around the bed, before snatching the blindfold off of the thirty-something year old man. “Seriously, what the Hell?” Instead of the grinning, slightly naughty face he expected from her, she looked shocked, even angry at him.

“You don’t know me at all, do you? DO YOU?” He cowered away from the biting fury in her voice. Now what was he going to do? “This was supposed to be our Valentine’s Day. Our first one!”

Vi shook her head, before storming out of the bedroom, snuffing a couple of rose-and-cinnamon scented candles on the way.

“Well shit.” He mumbled, before he tugged at each wrist brace with a frown. He’d secured the ones on his wrists with his teeth, but now there was not a snowball’s chance in Hell he could untie them again. “Vi? Can you at least untie these? We can talk about it, right?”

The silence said it all. Any second now, he expected to hear the slam of a door, or the phone ringing for Vi to talk to her mother about staying over. Riley’s eyes filled with tears. “We can talk about it, Vi, please come back!”

He tugged fruitlessly at the bindings, trying desperately to free himself to console his girlfriend. His thoughts drifted to his coat pocket, inside of which was a sapphire and chrome ring Vi had seen and loved a week or so ago, but now through his carelessness, he’d lost her. Riley’s longish ash-blonde hair covered his face, and he waited for the inevitable.

The door creaked, but he didn’t raise his face. He couldn’t face her, not like this.

“Look up.”

All he could hear was the ticking clock, but as he raised his face, his eyes brightened. The short, fiery-headed woman was dressed from head-to-toe, or... well… toe-to-knee and then belly-button-to-bust in leather. A top-hat perched on her curled hair, and on her crotch, attached by harness, was the shiniest, largest strap-on dildo he had ever seen. Riley gulped.

“You bought leather bindings? What ever happened to the chains, huh? God, you’re an idiot. I’ll make you pay for that.”

Listed: February 15^th 2013

18ct White-Gold Diamond Solitaire Engagement Ring Clarity VS1

Description

Brand new white-gold engagement ring, never worn. Was not wanted.

               Tonight is the night.

               Tonight is the night that she’ll marry me. That’s all there is to it.

               I look around the restaurant, couples all over the place happily eating, trading stories and laughing. Getting to know each other. We did the same three years ago, and it’s finally time. I think we’re ready. Aha, here she comes now. Fuck, she’s beautiful too. The high-neck red dress with the open shoulders and the frill-thing at the bottom, and her black-brown hair all knotted like silk behind her. But she’s flushed, and keeps glancing around the room.

               “Hey honey”, I say, mouth parched. I drank all the water in the first half an hour waiting for her. She’s late, but I guess she had work to do.

               “Bill, this is… nice.” She doesn’t like the place. But we came here before. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she just doesn’t like it here.

“We can go somewhere else.” I offer to leave, to find another place, whichever is the most expensive. She’s worth it.

               I start to my feet, and she sits down, so I guess that’s not it. I sit back down too, and I my mind paints out a thousand different pictures. “Did you want a drink? I can call the waiter over.” She nods, and when the fancily-dressed man arrives, she asks for vodka, neat.

               “So how was work?” I stab at conversation. Maybe she’s just not feeling well. Women’s problems, or stress, or she could’ve caught something. She doesn’t say anything and gazes into the candle in the centre of the table.

               “I’ve fucked the boss.” Her voice twists, harsh, as though she had rehearsed that phrase a dozen times. My fingers run across the little chestnut case in my pocket, and I hear her say “fucked” half-a-hundred times until it doesn’t even sound like a word any longer.

               “Well, why?” I know why. Fucked. Fucked. Get out of my head. I stand up, I feel sick, and it can’t be from the three whiskeys I’ve had waiting for her.

“I just need someone else. You’re so boring.” Boring. Fucked. My head’s spinning. I spend so much on her, why doesn’t she love me? Why?

               I stumble, kicking a dessert cart in my haste to the bathroom. People are watching, staring at me. I open the top of my shirt, breaking a button while I careen towards the bathroom.

               Like our relationship.

               Fucked.

Listed: February 14^th 2013

One complete wardrobe of women’s clothing, sizes range from 8-12.

Description

I’m taking a leap of faith today. I’m hoping it’s the right leap. Most clothing used to varying degrees.

               That was the last box.  Elin waved the slightly confused looking pick-up man away and shut the door. It felt so freeing, knowing that was it. And whether he wanted to come or not, Elin knew she would never be so restricted again. Spinning around the house, Elin started mixing up flour and eggs in just her apron.

               The doorbell went, and at the ringing through the silence, Elin yelped, spilling a little of the mixture on her “Baking for Beginners” book. He was home early, what would she say. Could she just say it immediately? Oh damn, what if it was a mistake?

               Elin steadied herself, knowing either way, she would be fine. Well. Mostly. She could still work from anywhere, so it all depended on Patrick’s decision. With a sure spring in her step, she waltzed toward the door, and opened it.

               “Elin? You’re-…” The sentence hung in the air. Elin spun around and curtsied with her air-dress. Patrick’s broad face split into a cheeky grin. “Oh, I see, well happy Valentine’s Day to you too.” He pressed his lips against hers, and shut the door.

               Well, so far so good, she thought, wandering a little behind him into their shared bedroom. “Good day, dear?” his deep, silk voice seemed musical. “Better now you’re back.”

               “I’m glad of the random nudity. Good surprise.. yeah, good.” He grinned again, stripping down to his boxers. The naked girl walked through to their room, and stared at her boyfriend, her sapphire eyes bright in their pastel-shaded boudoir.

               “What about… permanently?” Her voice softened, and she toed the carpet, looking anywhere but his face. “What, as in… nudism?”

               Mistake mistake, abort! “N-not necessaril-…” She looked back up at him, and, as naked as the day he was born, opened a box revealing a simple silver ring.

               “Permanent sounds good to me.” Patrick locked his soft granite-eyes onto hers and decided to marry his slightly unconventional partner.

Today's word is: Grateful!

               I knelt before one of the greatest knights in the land.

               “You’re no wizard, are you?” He said to me, his chain-linked vest glistening in the morning sun. I’d heard about what they did for me. This man, this paragon of justice threw a man, and not just any man, but the Archbishop from the greatest building in the city. I felt honoured; I’d never had so much as an early second egg from my own chickens before, but as I shook my head my stomach dropped out.

               Sir Archibald looked at me. Right in the soul. A shiver ran down my arms, and but fled all too quickly. What would he have said if he knew? “How far is home for you?” His voice was like melted iron, soft but somehow harsh.

               I pointed toward the sun, hovering above the horizon, down the dirty cobbles toward my chickens and cows and bone-crushing boredom. Who wouldn’t get curious if they had all the time I do? The large man extended his hand, raising me up onto the roan-horse. His bruised face was smiling. He seemed friendly enough.

               “Grateful’s not even close.” I said, and I meant it.

               It only took a short while before we were outside the grimy paddock and crumbling hay-and-mud nest in which I lived. People still believed I was just a lonely farmer, so I had to keep up the mask. “This is your home?” he said. I could hear a note of aversion as he asked. I nodded and eased myself down from the overly-tall horse. My knees creaked as I landed.

               “Thanks for… well... my life.” I never knew what to say around these knights. They perform such a duty for their folk. I wished I could do something for them all. And maybe one day I will.

               With a nod, he inclined his head in his saddle and set off to his tasks. I was alone again, and I could finally get back to work. Entering my hut, I saw the place was wrecked in my absence. I had nothing worth stealing at the time, but the hay-bales I slept in were scattered, and my father’s worn table was cracked in two. But it didn’t matter.

               I crossed through and stamped a foot around, thumping my calloused foot into the mud until I found the handle. It was brass, and cold to the touch. Pulling it out, I wrenched the trap-door wide and disappeared into the underworld.

               I wish I could do something for those knights. And maybe one day I will.

              

              

               

So! 6 weeks in!

Well, hi everyone!

This is Sudden Fiction Friday's sixth week now, and I like to think this going at least a little well. I know there's a few regular readers at least, which is good news! Do remember to tell me what you think by commenting, either if you know me in the real world or in the comments, or failing that, use smoke signals or flags or something obscure. I mean, at least that way you can have fun with trying to tell me about my inevitable grammatical errors. 

I'm going to try something a little different week after nexr, especially because as of next Saturday I'm disappearing into the Alps for a week; so don't fret that I haven't updated SFS, because that Sunday (which is something along the lines of the 21st of April), I'll give out a double helping of work. 

Anyway, as for this week, I'm going to be releasing the word in advance for both next Sunday (where I won't be posting) and the Sunday after, and I'd love for people to get involved. These words are as follows:

Sunday 14th April: Seal

Sunday 21st April: Shipwreck

Use one (or both!) word(s) to create something brilliant between 300-600 words, and I'll post the three best ones (provided I get at least three people entering them!) You can send these to me at breton.evans@googlemail.com

So yeah! Till then, hope everyone's having a cracking (HA!) Easter break. 

Today's word is: Communism!

               The children all filed in one by one. The room had been laid out into each individual desk, all facing inward toward a bowl of sweets, which were all the same size. Graham stood at the back of the room and waited for his class to file in.

               “What’re we doing?” Toby, a very short ginger boy missing all of his front teeth, asked.

               “Today we’re going to learn about different societies and how they share, or don’t.” The children all looked at each other, and then around the room. Half of them were already staring at the bowl of sweets in the middle.

               “I want everyone to take a seat. Girls on the green seats, boys on the blue ones. Quickly.” He was doing his best to sound authoritative but it just came out a little pleading. Already the class troublemaker, Neil, was complaining.

               “This is stupid-..”

               But before he could keep going, Graham held a hat out to him filled with ‘jobs’. “You can go first then.” Neil looked at Graham warily and sat on a blue seat. Tentatively, he put a hand into the hat. One could hear a pin drop in the silence.

               “Policeman.” The boy read out, wiping his mop of unruly hair from his eyes. “Does this mean I’m in charge, Mr Daggerly?”

               Graham turned around to Mr Daggerly, who was taking notes in one corner. “I don’t know, Neil. Why not ask your teacher?”

               The kid’s face ranged through several emotions. All eyes were on Graham, suddenly, and he could feel them burning into him.

               “Well… err... yes-.. No!” He shook his head, before walking into the centre of the room and picking up the bowl of sweets. “Who knows what “communism” is? Has anyone heard that word before?”

               No response. Emma and Brad were doodling on each other’s books, while Toby was now looking at the ceiling. The class was getting restless, the plan falling apart. But slowly, a hand rose.

               “Isn’t it where everyone gets paid the same for doing different things ‘cause every job is meant to be worth the same?” It was Neil. Graham raised an eyebrow, eyeing the lad speculatively. For weeks, Neil hadn't spoken so much as a whisper to him unless he wasn't supposed to. It’d been a nightmare, but why had he changed his mind so quickly?

               Graham cleared his throat. “That’s more or less correct.” He offered the bowl to Neil, who seemed perplexed, before picking out an orange chew. “Can I have it now?”

               Chuckling, the prospective teacher nodded.

               “This week, everyone’s going to be assigned different roles. Because we’re pretending to be a communist state, if you do your job, whatever it may be, you will be ‘paid’ for you efforts.”   And like that, the attention had been drawn back. Mr Daggerly made a long note and smiled, rising up from his chair with a grunt.

               “I’m sure you can take it from here, Mr Westerk.”

Today's word is: Axis!

               The room was dark, that was for sure. Not badly lit… just… dark. It looked as though someone had poured Vimto over everything, and then added skulls and spikes to whatever remained. The curtains had little bones hung in them, and a box beeped sinisterly in the corner.

               “Tell me again why you want the position?” That snapped my attention back. The interrogator had a pointed black beard that could’ve been made from plastic as easily as it was from hair. His moustache bristled whenever he spoke, and occasionally the air was punctuated with a sneeze as his facial fur tickled his nose. I felt a little let down. A wall chart to my right denoted how many evil deeds they had done, each one marked with a tiny sad face.

               “Well, I want to provide the world with my power. We are the true leaders, after all.” The line was rehearsed, and I hastily shook my sleeve over my arm to cover up the biro. The man in the middle leant back, pressing his fingertips into a chapel. “You think you’re that good?”

               I know I am, but you obviously don’t. The woman to his right arched her drawn on eyebrows. “Well, prove it then.” Ah balls, telepath. I’d forgotten that. Her head was big enough, I’d totally forgotten. I couldn’t even see her scraped back hair behind that huge forehead.

               “Prove… how?” I blanked. I didn’t think my audition would involve a practical exam.

               “If you want to join our organisation, you’ve got to show your worth! Prove to us your intent for mayhem!” Her voice was like a cat with a chainsaw up its arse. Profoundly annoying.

               “Please, I don’t deal in mayhem.” I stood up, my lab-coat falling into place. I straightened my goggles upon my head and drew back my left sleev-.. No! the right one, that one was still covered in scrawlings.

               “This is a crowd controller.” I said simply, showing off the device on my wrist. It looked like a regular watch, except about three times bigger, and I had designed the ‘face’ into a one way reflective mirror. Sound-waves come out, but anything that could foil my plans would be bounced back. “I designed it myself, it’s state of the art, and cuts all that mucky ‘making people panic’ crap out.”

               The last of my three judges stayed silent… well, as silent as you could behind a respirator. The mask was shaped like a tube, almost like a gas-mask, but a foul-smelling gas eroded at my nostrils each time he came close. It smelled like a mixture between toe-goop and an unclean kitchen. Anyway, he leaned toward my arm for a closer look, and I seized my chance.

               I sharply flicked my wrist, and the coalesced sound wave spun from behind the mirror into the face of the masked man. The other two recoiled suddenly, covering their ears. My masked puppet stood up, and I laughed a high, false laugh.

               “He’s more or less completely redundant now. Observe.” I moved my wrist back, and he stumbled forward, his arms swiping clumsily for my controller. He missed, obviously, and crashed into a cheaply reformed table from Ikea, knocking over a globe pricked with tiny black flags in the process. It’s not exactly an evil looking shop, after all.

               The bearded man stood up, and cast his hand forward, as if throwing dice. “Enough, let him go.” Oh really? I don’t really think so. I raised my wrist and shot another sound-wave, this time at the bearded man, who immediately lost consciousness and collapsed in a heap.

               The woman raised her arms, giving up. “Fine, what do you want from us then? Are you from the good guys, or something?” I swooped down and placed the bearded man back into his chair. Mask boy was still fumbling on the floor, dragging himself like a zombie toward my wrist. I shut the crowd controller off and grinned, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

               “I’m taking over. The Murky Brothers is just so…. Ugh.. It sounds like we’re doomed to fail.” I walked behind their bench, and eyed the flag, a purple splodge on a black background, before tearing it down, and replacing it with my own, which I produced from inside my coat. It was the only white thing in the room besides my own coat, the centre reflected with silver thread to shape a seven pointed star.

               “Henceforth,” I said, shaking the bearded man back to life, “We are the Axis of Brilliance. And we will blind humanity with our glory."

               "But why "Axis?" Big-head asked, while Beardy still attempted to make sense of what was happening. I walked to the globe, now on the floor, and spun it on it's poles. "Because, my planet-headed lady, humanity will revolve around us. Now, who wants me to use my crowd controller to make some business executives perform a scene from Twilight in their underwear?"

Today's word is: Spout!

               It lay in pieces.

               The handle was smashed beyond repair, and a few shards still dug into the wall from the throw. It was difficult to tell why I was so choked over just a china teapot.

               I couldn’t hear footsteps, and none of the doors were opening. The same calm had settled as if I had stepped outside after a snowstorm. Muffled. The air was dusty, mingled with a tang of iron and her favourite aromatic ginseng. I cast my gaze from where I laid. Chairs were tipped in every direction, the table itself was on its side. At some point, the crystalline light above had been taken down, but I couldn’t see where it was.

               The light from outside dampened the room in pastel shades, not really bright enough to show me what happened, but enough that I saw every picture of me that hung around the room was ruined. A fork stuck out of my forehead in the family photo above the sofa; and that triggered everything.

               Darrel told me I wasn’t his father. He screamed for his brother and screamed for himself. I remember I told them the truth, and they blamed me for it. I think I do too, really.

               The back of my hand was chafed, a little raw. It was Julie’s locket, open with me and the boys inside. What else could I tell them? It clicked shut, but I knew I couldn’t really shut her out. I’m not even supposed to yet; I’m still new to being widowed.

               Everything I felt must’ve hit Darrel over a hundred times. The room was evidence enough of that. I wish I knew where he was, he was ever the delicate child. I wanted to sort the chairs, fix the pictures. But I needed to get my priorities straight.

               My face was lined from the grooves in the planks on the floor. Did I sleep here all night? Probably. I just hope everyone else found somewhere to stay. I must’ve been out for the count. Dirt drifted off me as I rose, but as I did, I felt a dagger between my ribs. Shaking, I looked down.

               Part of the teapot stuck out, cut through the cotton, skin and flesh. I wondered how deep the thing was lodged. It was kinda funny, in a way. It trickled blood a bit like the dregs at the end of the pot. I grit my teeth and yanked. A spray of blood, but it wasn’t that bad after all.

               Still. It wasn’t that which hurt the most.

Today's word is: Defenestrate!

               “Now, I call this meeting in the name of our Lord, and his majesty King Rupert IV,” the Archbishop continued, eyeing the table with disdain. “and for all of your sakes, I hope you’ve got better news this time.”
               The knights all looked at each other, apprehensive. What exactly could they say? The man claiming to be a wizard was just an old man with a sock on his head. He was harmless, and definitely didn’t need executing.

               Sir Archibald stood up, his chainmail rattling in the draughty stone room. The evening sun was sinking, and without any help, the ‘wizard’ would be killed at dawn. He looked toward the grand north-facing window, frowning. “Well, Archbishop, he’s… well.. not a wizard..?”

               The Archbishop’s face turned puce. He seemed really eager to kill something that day. He turned the tiny window frame of gold that hung around his neck, glaring at Archibald down his crooked nose.

               “No. Execution! I want to see that man fly from the tallest room in the tower!” there was a little ball of spit-bubbles resting at the corner of his lip. Another knight got to his feet.

               “I hate to say it, your excellence, but you’re horribly outnumbered.” Sir Quincy rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. Two more of the knights took a stand behind him. “We can’t let you murder an innocent man.”

               By now, the Archbishop’s prune-face was the same colour as an off tomato. A vein in his neck threatened to burst. “That’s it! You knights don’t understand the Lord of Window’s power! I, Archbishop Hubert von Vierecken will demonstrate his powe-..”

               Sir Archibald grabbed the thin man by his shirt and whispered, “You mean defenestrate, right?” For a second, a spasm somewhere between incoherence and embarrassment crossed his purple cheeks. “What do you-…”
               And with a crash, Sir Archibald shattered the north window with the Archbishops frail body, depositing the useless twit onto the cobbles below before wondering what to have for tea.

Today's word is: Familiar

               He could only see a face staring back at him. Vaguely lined, looking a little drawn maybe. It was difficult to tell if he was an old or a young man in the dark; the dank curtains were only letting in a few shards of light at a time. Graham watched as the man rubbed his face, leaning on the grime-stained sink before him. The same set of curtains could be seen behind the man, billowing slightly in front of open windows. The bed standing behind the other guy caught his attention, a tangled mass of linen covered a girl with equally as tousled blonde hair. He wasn’t sure who she was, but she seemed familiar.

               Birdsong flew through the window, and for a second everything seemed peaceful, up until it was utterly drowned out by an angry sounding jackhammer. The grating of steel on stone rattled Graham’s brain, and without thinking, he popped a headache tablet in his mouth, copying the man stood behind the sink. What exactly happened last night anyway? In flashes, he remembered being at a club; one of the really dingy ones. There was a girl…. Oh, the girl in bed.. he hoped nothing happened. The final flash brought an image to mind. He couldn't place it, but he remembered being really freaked out by something. The more Graham thought about it, the harder it seemed to recall what it was.

               He looked up, and stared directly at the man behind the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, and watering a little bit, and his reflection’s ruffled hair matched his own. But as Graham began to yawn, the other man spoke up.

               “Do you want to see what’s behind the glass in the mirror?”

               Graham's stared with disbelief. Rubbing his eyes did no good.
               Is this what happened last night?

About Sudden Fiction Sundays

Sudden Fiction Sundays are all about exploring a single word to create a piece of flash fiction.

For those who don't know, flash fiction tends to be a piece of written work, anywhere between one sentence  to about a 500 words long, and contain all the things of a longer story, like characters, a plot, and structure, but are hyper-condensed into bite-sized, easily read pieces. 

Now, what I plan to do every Sunday is to open a dictionary at a random page, and write a piece of flash fiction about it. And hopefully this will be as entertaining for me as it is for you.

The first Sudden Fiction Sunday starts tomorrow (03/03/13) so I hope you're ready for a thimbleful of plot-twists and drama!

- The Sudden Scholar