Tag Archives: flash fiction

Everyday magic

 

My last two posts were so serious, I had to write something stupid to make up for it.

 


 

“Great,” Edward said. “I can’t get the damn lever unstuck.”

“Oh,” Wendy said. “Should I try a spell?”

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, let’s try!” She said, suddenly enthusiastic. “I’ve been practicing.”

He grimaced in spite of himself. “I’m not sure. The lever already has a lot of magic in it just to work.”

“Pish posh,” she said. “Scootch over. Humbeldy bumbeldy wobbledy fobbledy bing bang boom, now move anyway you dumb old lever!”

The lever moved alright. It moved a full three hundred sixty degrees, and went around three times.

“Oh my god!” Edward screamed. “It can’t handle that much pressure! Run, Wendy, run!”

They ran, but they didn’t run fast enough. The whole house gave a deep metallic groan, the sound of a soul in anguish. They actually felt the walls around them bow with pressure. His ears popped.

And then the plumbing exploded.

Water and feces rained down on them both.

“Goddamnit Wendy,” Edward said. “Next time the magic toilet gets stopped up, just leave it to the professionals.”

“Don’t blame me,” Wendy said. “You broke the lever in the first place.”

“Great,” he said. “This is just great. We’re going to have to move out, get the whole system repaired.”

“I can seal the pipes,” Wendy said. “I know a spell for that.”

“No no no no no–”

“Pish posh,” she said. “Move out of the way.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, a little girl noticed a blue glow under the stairs leading up to her bedroom. She peeked behind the things there and found a confused blue fairy.

“What is wrong, little fairy?” the girl said.

“I was abandoned,” the fairy replied.

“Well, you can live under my stairs if you like. But I’d rather you stay in my room with me.”

The fairy followed the girl upstairs to her room.  She gasped. “What a beautiful room!”

The room was full of fun things. Christmas lights, glow in the dark stars, hand-drawn pictures of fantastic animals, a pink four poster bed.

“Come and play with me,” the girl said.

And so the fairy lived with the girl for a long time. The girl would bring her pieces of cake and cookies and thimbles of cream from the kitchen. She gave her drawings and told her stories. It doesn’t take much to keep a fairy.

As the girl grew up, she spent less time in her room, less time with the fairy, more time with friends and boys. She took down many of her old drawings.

“Oh, not that one,” the fairy would say.

“But it’s terribly drawn, that nose is ridiculous,” the girl would respond, and remove it anyway.

One day the girl came home and said, “I got accepted into college!”

“Ah,” said the fairy. “I’m going to have to find a new place to stay.”

But the girl didn’t hear her. She often didn’t hear her these days.

The girl went off to college. She learned a great many things. She fought with her boyfriend, she got drunk every weekend, she examined all the things that were wrong with the world, she cried over her exams, gained weight, lost weight. Sometimes when she was homesick she thought of her little fairy friend, but soon was distracted by all the strange new things she was seeing and learning.

When she next came home to visit her family, she stayed in her old room. She took down all the childish things and cleaned up. She never even noticed the fairy was missing.

The girl, a woman now, graduated, got a job, lived her life. She married and had a daughter. She struggled to teach her right from wrong, while still succeeding in her job and saving enough money for the future.

The grandmother grew feeble and came to live with them. The old woman moved slowly. Sometimes she would make cookies. Sometimes she would sit on the porch and watch the sun set. When the woman worried too much, the grandmother always told her, “time will take care of things, my child.”

The grandmother adored her grandchild. She would sit quietly with her and watch her play.

One day the woman listened outside her daughter’s room, curious what her daughter and the grandmother talked about.

“That’s a wonderful animal you drew. Shall we hang it up?”

“Grandmother, I met a fairy today.”

“A fairy? Really? Can I see her?”

“She says you might, if she shines real hard.”

“Ah,” the old woman said. “What a lovely blue light. Your mother had a fairy once, when she was a girl.”

Hearing them talk, the woman remembered what it felt like to have a fairy. She stepped into the room and looked around, but there was nothing.

“Don’t worry,” the grandmother said to her. “If you really want to, you’ll be able to see them again. Time will take care of it, my child. Time always takes care of it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Doomed to Repeat

This is almost entirely based on a bad dream I had. A little sci-fi/horror/I don’t know what. Interpretations are welcome, if you dare plumb the depths of my psyche.

 


 

He looked at his watch. “It’s almost time,” he said.

The kids groaned and put down their forks.

“Come on outside. Come on! No dawdling, do you want to drown in the kitchen?”

“What does it matter,” grumbled the older daughter. “We’ll die either way.”

“Don’t talk like that,” the mother snapped. “Just… please. Come out here on the porch with me and hold hands. We don’t know that it could be the last time.”

“Mama, how many more days?” asked the younger daughter.

“I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe until somebody does it right. Maybe until somebody fixes it. We tried once, to fix it. We tried building walls together. Do you remember all the people?”

The child shook her head.

“Well, it happens all over the world. We can’t get away. So for a while, all the people tried to get together and build a shelter. But no matter how many hands we had, one day just wasn’t enough time. After a while, we started to stay home…”

“It’s here,” dad said with grim finality.

“Remember, kids: if you survive the impact, breathe deep right away so you drown quick. I’ll see you again this morning. I love you.” She had to shout over the rumbling of the approaching tsunami.

“I’m scared, mama.”

“I know baby. It won’t last. It won’t last.” Knowing the outcome did not prevent her from protectively curling her body around the child, who started to cry. The elder daughter and the father stood together, gripping the railing of the porch and waiting silently.

The tidal wave took them.

 

 

 

 

 

Kid’s stuff… or maybe not

Penorama said we should post something pointless. I’m always up for that!

I spent most of middle school writing stories with my friend Liz and giggling insanely in the corner of the classroom instead of doing work. When we wrote this, we must have been in… seventh grade, so 12-13ish?

This doesn’t make much sense… it was written by kids after all. Enjoy!


 

 

Darla and Doug

 

One day, a girl named Doug was walking along at the Zoo.  Suddenly a monkey swooped down from a tree and hit her on the head.  Then he threw coconuts at her.

“Ow! Ow!  Owwwongle?  Waahlamop.”

Then the monkey stole her purse and ran into the zookeeper.  Then the zookeepers took the monkey way and gassed it.

Doug said, “Glop-op-do?  Wa… Wha…  Where am I?”

A passerby said, “You were just hit on the head with coconuts when a zookeeper gassed a monkey who swooped down from a tree.  Or maybe it was a rhino.  I’m not sure. I couldn’t tell the difference.”

Doug said, “Cool!”

The passerby said, “Where are your parents?”

Doug said, “I don’t know.  I don’t remember having any.  Can I live with you?”

Passerby said, “But I’m a guy named Darla.  guys and girls don’t live together… Oh, well, I guess it’s an exception for me and you.

“OK.”  Darla said.  “I have to warn you, I’m forty-five and I live with my parents still.”

Doug said, “Oh, that’s alright.  I dig old guys.”

Darla said, “Don’t you go hitting on my dad!”

Doug said, “OK, I’ll just hit on you.  OK?”

“Sure!”

Darla and Doug walked away.  On the way home, they visited a pet shop and bought a monkey.

“Be good now,” said Doug.

“Okay,” said the monkey, Bart.  Then he stole some girl’s purse.

“I guess that just primate nature!” Doug laughed, then Darla laughed, and they walked home talking about cancer.  They also bought some ice cream with the money from the monkey’s new purse.

 

 

 

Fading

I am an old woman.

I have a history. I have had a beautiful life. It’s made me the strong person that I am today.

We went hungry. For a while my husband and I were eating roadside dandelions and bad cheese from the deli garbage. During this time I got pregnant. When I found out, I cried.

I had four miscarriages and four children. A soul lost for each gained. Our marriage survived it all.

I got a job selling tickets to the movies. Ten cents a pop.

Then my husband got a good company job. I quit working and spent more time taking care of the kids. I watched them grow up. Watched them make mistakes, fall in love, get jobs, fail out of school, neglect their health. I watched them gain scars as I did, earn wrinkles as I did. One of my sons nearly lost his leg in a motorcycle accident. We held his hand in the hospital. My other son got arrested protesting. We bailed him out. My daughter married too early and fought with her husband, until my grandkids had to go through a divorce. They lived with us for a while.

Every day my husband says he loves me. Every day I make him breakfast. He fixes the plumbing. I remember birthdays. We take care of each other.

My scars make me who I am. I have seen so much. I have lived a full, rich life. Everything I’ve been through has given me a bottomless well of strength. My arthritis is painful, but I don’t really mind. My hip is like fire. Some days my hands ache so badly, we just eat store bought muffins for breakfast. But I remember the old days; we are lucky to have this food. It’s an easy life. Pain is part of living, and every day I have left is a blessing.

 

I am an old woman.

My memory isn’t what it used to be. I write down birthdays, but they keep slipping by me. It’s hard to keep track of what day it is anymore. The calendar is always marked up wrong, I get tired of fixing it.

My husband is very patient. Sometimes I forget to make breakfast. Sometimes I am so full I suspect that I made us two breakfasts, but he doesn’t say anything. The kitchen is a little more disorganized than I like it lately.

My children don’t visit very often. They always protest and say they do. Maybe they do. Maybe I’m just complaining. I don’t want to be any trouble so I try not to complain too much, but I can’t help missing them. I want to see their bright little faces. I heard one of them got married? I’m not sure which. I get them mixed up when thinking back, but when I see them it’s alright. I just haven’t seen them in so long.

My husband looks a little worried. I think whatever’s worrying him is aging him too fast. I hate to see him suffer. Maybe I’ll cook him something nice tonight; that always cheers him up.

 

It’s frustrating, living in the house with this old man.

He’s like a warden. Today I was done visiting and went for a walk back to my own house. I know it’s in this neighborhood. He chased me down and brought me back here. Nothing happens, I just get so antsy!

The kitchen is in disarray. He rearranges everything. Nothing is where I put it. It’s like living in someone else’s house and never getting past the house tour stage. What kind of devious person would keep moving the silverware drawer? I want my own house back.

My hands hurt. My hip hurts. Sometimes I forget and move wrong, and then the pain hits me, hard.

I miss my parents. I miss my sister. Sometimes people visit me, people I don’t know, and they claim to be family. I pretend I know them because they seem so sure, and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

I cry a lot lately. Nothing makes sense. I yell at the old man. He laughs like it’s nothing to him. What a bastard.

 

Ah…

Who is this holding my hand? An old man… he’s crying? And a few other people.

I am hooked up to machines. It’s hard to breathe…so hard to breathe. I must be sick.

Oh no. Everyone looks so sad. The old man is crying for me.

Don’t cry. I don’t want you to cry. I hate to worry anyone.

But I can’t talk. My breathing is too weak; I’m wearing a mask over my mouth and nose.

I don’t know how to handle this. I can’t take it.

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