36 responses to “Microcosms 94”

1. 

   Alva Holland

   20 October 2017

   Alva Holland
   @Alva1206
   294 words
   King/Wedding/Crime

   I Don’t

   Everyone likes their wedding to stand out from the rest, to instil a memory, preferably fond, in those who attend.

   I didn’t want my wedding to stand out, I wanted it to happen without a hitch. Apart from the intended hitch. Am I rambling? Not without cause. Here goes a summary of my recent ‘wedding.’

   Who chose the hotel? Well, himself, thinking ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ was a comical place for the nuptials.

   ‘Don’t be cruel,’ I said as he insisted.

   ‘It can be our ‘Good Luck Charm,’ he said with a grin.

   ‘There’ll be ‘Crying in the Chapel,’ I gulped.

   ‘You’re a ‘Hard Headed Woman,’ he argued.

   ‘Don’t Cry, Daddy,’ I whimpered as he walked me up the aisle, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

   ‘If I Can Dream,’ Dad whispered, ‘this is it.’

   ‘Suspicious Minds’ abounded among the guests. ‘Marie’s the Name,’ they giggled as they recalled his last girlfriend. It had me ‘All Shook Up.’

   ‘It’s Now or Never,’ droned the priest as my hapless ‘Teddy Bear’ stood waiting for me to arrive to the altar. ‘If there is anyone present with a reason why these two should not be joined in matrimony, please speak now or forever hold your peace.’

   ‘Angie! Don’t do it,’ someone screeched from the back. ‘You’re ‘Always on My Mind.’ ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ all over again as I watch you here.’

   ‘You never answered my ‘Love Letters’ I screeched back. ‘Marked ‘Return to Sender’ – every one.’

   ‘Wear my Ring Around Your Neck’ whispered my husband-to-be.’

   Around my neck?

   I didn’t go through with it. Maybe I have a ‘Wooden Heart’ but the truth is ‘I Just Can’t Help Believin’ there’s ‘A Big Hunk O’ Love’ out there. Was it a crime?

   Welcome to the ‘Jailhouse Rock.’

   Reply
   1. 

      Eloise

      20 October 2017

      Very cool incorporation of Elvis 🙂 Excellent!

      Reply
      1. 

         Alva Holland

         20 October 2017

         Thank you!
   2. 

      Angelique Pacheco

      20 October 2017

      The King of Rock rules! Well done Alva! Great story!

      Reply
      1. 

         Alva Holland

         20 October 2017

         Many thanks, Angelique.
   3. 

      Bill Engleson

      20 October 2017

      No doubt about it, Alma. You are a hunka flash fiction burning love.

      Reply
      1. 

         Alva Holland

         20 October 2017

         Thank you, Bill. I wanted to get so many more in there but I ran out of word count! I Feel So Bad. 🙂
2. 

   Eloise

   20 October 2017

   Bride/Wedding/Western
   Word count: 184

   Shotgun wedding

   It is quite funny how life twist the plans we imagine. I was preparing for my big day. I had blossoms in my hair. The veil covered my virign face and I waited on the stairs for my father. He had promised he would come. But yesterday I saw a posse of his friends at the tavern. They were slapping waitresses and downing beers quicker then a kayak going down a waterfall. He had caught my eye and I know he may not arrive. I stood. The shadows were growing and I could hear my grooms feet moving from left to right. I hitched my skirt. I would walk down the aisle by myself. As I stepped up, I felt a wet hand touch me. I looked down and my dress was turning crimson as my father looked at me.

   “I am sorry. But the duel was for your honor”.
   “What duel?”
   “The one for your honor”
   “My honor?”
   “Yes. Tiny Tim said you were with child?”
   “I am”
   His eyes widened as he took his last breath. I never knew what killed him.

   Reply
   1. 

      Angelique Pacheco

      20 October 2017

      Oooh! Fab Story!

      Reply
   2. 

      Alva Holland

      20 October 2017

      Creepy, nicely done. Couple of typos in the first two lines. I’m sure admin will correct for you before judging.

      Reply
      1. 

         Eloise

         21 October 2017

         Thanks Alva 🙂
3. 

   Nancy Beach

   20 October 2017

   Title – Celebrations
   Prompts – Bride/Forest/Alternative History
   Word Count – 267
   Twitter – @nancymbeach

   I want to thank each of you for coming to celebrate Robert’s and my special day.I am thankful for your each of your friendships. It is an honor to be married here Central Kentucky at National Historical Park on the land where Granddaddy’s Granddaddy was born. This day represents not only our wedding but the day Granddaddy Lincoln signed the Proclamation that set aside the last Thursday in November as a day of Thanksgiving. I’d like to hand the mic to my nephew, Aaron. Before the celebrations begin, let us pause and not forget our past. Aaron.

   “As we approach the 153rd annual Thanksgiving Day let us thank Almighty God for prolonging our nation for another year. He has defended us from our enemies and ourselves. He has shown us favor and health as we are in our homes and our soldiers and sailors abroad. He has given us freedom and opened up opportunities for wealth abundantly blessing us. He has also encouraged us to fortitude, courage and brought us to a place of hope for deliverance from our dangers and afflictions.

   Let us remember as did our forefathers this last Thursday in November as a day when all citizens pause to thank and praise the Almighty God, our Creator, and Ruler of the Universe. On this day reverently humble yourself in the dust and offer up prayers of repentance and fervently pray and ask God’s blessings of peace, union and harmony throughout this land which God has given us as a dwelling place for ourselves and our future generations. Thank you.”

   Reply
   1. 

      Angelique Pacheco

      20 October 2017

      Lovely! 🙂

      Reply
4. 

   Bill Engleson

   20 October 2017

   US President; Dinner; Crime
   300 scoops of ice cream and counting
   @billmelaterplea
   http://www.engleson.ca

   White House Confidential- The Big Banana Split With all the Evidence

   “Have a seat, Mister Montenegro.”

   “Thanks, General. Call me Max.”

   “Max, I take it you have never done investigative work for the White House before.”

   “You got that right, General. Strictly a peeper who works for the food industry crème de la crème. What’s cooking?”

   “As you know, the President has…certain peculiarities. Lately, one thing has been consuming his thoughts.”

   “Nuclear holocaust. Yeah, that’s been keeping me awake at night.”

   “No, its not that.”

   “Puerto Rico? Man, did it get crushed.”

   “No, Mister Montenegro, it’s a little less catastrophic than those admittedly earth-shattering events. The President recently discovered a couple of facts about two of his predecessors.”

   “What facts?”

   “At least two of them, two he admires greatly, have their names, their legacies attached to two grand American traditions. Lincoln, formally established Thanksgiving as a National holiday.”

   “Every foodie worth his salt knows that, General. And the second?”

   “This one is especially galling to the President. In 1984, Reagan proclaimed July National Ice Cream month.”

   “I did not know that. Good for him.”

   “You may have heard that the President loves his Ice Cream. Eats it in wild abandon.”

   “I had heard about the two scoops thing…but…”

   “The two scoops are important. Along with the banana, they are the foundation of…”

   “I know. The B.S.”

   “B.S.?”

   “Banana Split, General.”

   “Of Course. Anyway, The President is building his legacy. Reclaiming it, in fact. Within his family, there was a poignant remembrance about the grandfather. He was a restauranteur in Seattle, Alaska and, most importantly, New York. On his deathbed, he uttered…“My Split.” The President believes his granddaddy was laying claim to creating that marvelous dessert. Will you help us prove it?”

   “I am nothing if not a patriot, General. Consider me on the case.”

   “Thank you for your service, Sir.”

   Reply
   1. 

      Angelique Pacheco

      20 October 2017

      I’m also particularly fond of B.S. Banana Splits, of course! 😉 Great story!

      Reply
      1. 

         Bill Engleson

         20 October 2017

         Many thanks, Angelique.
   2. 

      Alva Holland

      20 October 2017

      Excellent! Bill.

      Reply
      1. 

         Bill Engleson

         20 October 2017

         Much appreciated, Alva…
5. 

   Angelique Pacheco

   20 October 2017

   Former First Lady/Forest/Crime
   Words: 282

   First to Last

   She was taken away one night and replaced with a double. In the morning he did not realize that she was not actually his wife and continued with his usual callous behavior towards her. She took it until lunchtime when, in front of the kitchen staff, she threw a plate at his head. The staff scattered, wide-eyed. They had never seen a First Lady behave that way before. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the Oval office. “You are not my wife,” he sneered. “Where is she?” “Gone.” She replied. “She’s not coming back. You’ll have to make do with me.” He glared at her trying to intimidate her. She glared right back cheekily. He sighed. “Fine, then. I hope you know what you signed up for.” She smiled a secret smile. “I know. I’m to be your wife and act accordingly so that the public never finds out she left you. Now let’s talk about my spending allowance.”

   In a small cabin nestled among the trees a woman dressed in denim and a checkered shirt sits, her feet resting on the table. She reaches for her steaming mug of coffee as she opens the newspaper. The entire thing is dedicated to the untimely death of the President. She reads, hungrily devouring the juicy bits and she laughs so hard she spills her coffee. She curses in Slovenian. After she has cleaned up, she continues reading and she sees the First Lady mourning at the graveside. The daisy in the hat is the code they had agreed on to inform her that everything had gone according to plan. She is free. Just as she always wanted to be.

   Reply
   1. 

      Bill Engleson

      20 October 2017

      The Secret Service might be coming for you, Angelique. Anyway, I always enjoy liberation day for women in untenable positions. Nice story and rather comforting.

      Reply
   2. 

      Eloise

      20 October 2017

      Very cool twist

      Reply
   3. 

      Alva Holland

      20 October 2017

      Love this, Angelique. Are you sure this is just fiction? 🙂

      Reply
      1. 

         Angelique Pacheco

         20 October 2017

         😉
6. 

   Stephanie Ellis

   20 October 2017

   Rose Petals

   300 words
   Elements: vampire, wedding, horror

   @el_Stevie

   Slowly the children entered, two porcelain-skinned princesses, pretty in pink, scattering rose petals at the feet of the bride.
   “Adorable.”
   “Precious.”
   “Don’t you just want to gobble them all up?”
   The sentimental clucking continued as the bridal party processed down the aisle, captivated further by the tiny pageboys bearing the train.
   “Oh, they are just too cute …”
   “They’re gonna be heartbreakers when they grow up.”
   The cooing continued as the bride took her place and the children moved to one side, becoming hidden from the guests by an old stone column. The priest beamed at them. The sight of innocence always cheered him up … such tender flesh. The infants returned his smile. They were his special ones. Today was a happy day. A day to eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow …
   The bride and groom faithfully repeated their vows, eyes only for each other, hungry for each other, a hunger reflected in the more ancient eyes of those who watched from the wings.
   “Until death do us part,” said the priest, continuing to smile as the couple repeated his words. He could see them imagining their life together, all those years. Such a shame. He glanced again at the youngsters. They crept out of the shadows. Sharp-toothed grins etched into their faces. Another figure silently barred the church doors. The congregation failed to notice anything amiss, too caught up in the excitement of the occasion, looking forward to the wedding breakfast. The priest could understand that. The desire for food could be all consuming. A small hand tugged at his cope. He gave a nod. The grins widened, revealing needled canines. It was time.
   When the screams finally stopped, pink had turned crimson and rose petals glistened on the walls. It had been a lovely wedding.

   Reply
   1. 

      Alva Holland

      20 October 2017

      Such an innocent title, belying the horror to follow. Gorily done, Steph.

      Reply
7. 

   Geoff

   20 October 2017

   Vampire wedding horror
   @geofflepard 260 words
   Toothsome
   ‘Dolores, I didn’t recognise you. You look wonderful.’
   ‘We’ve been caving in Bulgaria. The dark was just divine.’ Griselda stood back a little.
   ‘Lucky you. You’re so beautifully pale.’
   Dolores leant forward, whispering conspiratorially. ‘The catering was simply sublime. The mini bar was full of type O too. Ferdinand was peckish all the time, if you know what I mean.’ She pulled her cloak to her, hiding from the strong moonlight. ‘And you? How are the wedding plans going?’
   ‘Don’t get me started. It’s going to be a disaster.’
   ‘No! How so? The girl, she’s a Lugosi isn’t she? Well bitten.’
   ‘Oh her breeding is fine and she’s been finished well but, well, she’s all post modern. She doesn’t file her teeth you know?’
   ‘Oh that’s just fashion. My Esme has started using Garlic by Fnag. Smells like that Norwegian who tried to terminate Cuthbert with the old church spike last November. All pickled herrings and alliums.’
   ‘You know that’s part of it, the catering. Not a transfusion in sight. They don’t want the soup to clot, and the main course is steak. I’ve no idea what my father will think. He’ll be turning in his grave.’
   ‘I wish mine would. A bit of turning would help him avoid the sores, poor old soul.’
   ‘That’s not the worst of it, Dolores. There’s going to be a hen do. We’re all expected to join in. It’ll be so embarrassing.’
   ‘Why? Won’t it fun?’
   ‘You think? There’s a theme. Holiday time.’
   ‘How’s that embarrassing?’
   ‘We start by getting a spray tan…’
   ‘Nooooo….’

   Reply
   1. 

      Alva Holland

      21 October 2017

      Another glorious full dialogue story! Splendid, Geoff. ‘They don’t want the soup to clot and the main course is steak.’ Gulp!

      Reply
8. 

   Elliot P. McGee

   20 October 2017

   I spun:

   King – Your Choice (Throne Room) – Crime

   Words: 300

   King Casmus and His Court

   Casmus was alone in his throne room, alone as any king could be. A handful of attendants stood awkwardly awaiting orders.

   Casmus was occupied with the strumpet whose skirts were about her head. She giggled at whatever Casmus had done, before sighing in satisfaction.

   The young lady straightened out her skirts waiting with flushed cheeks for Casmus to catch his breath. She eyed the servants conspicuously.

   “My king… I’ve something I desire to discuss with you.”

   Casmus drank greedily from a flagon one of the servants had brought him. He wiped ale from his greying beard, turning his attention to her.

   He eyed her for a moment.

   “Yes, what is it?”

   Crisilla cast her eyes down, fidgeting with a hem. “I hoped we might have privacy.”

   Casmus guffawed. “This is the most privacy you could hope to attain. I should be in bed with my wife, the queen, and those around you daren’t breathe a word. If you could bare yourself before them you, may speak before them. Speak.”

   The command caught Crisilla off-guard. “It’s about your lady wife, your majesty.” After a few moments she added, “And us.”

   Casmus’s face darkened. “There is no ‘us,’ woman.”

   Crisilla choked a response, “But… we’ve played our cat-and-mou…”

   “Enough!” Casmus roared. “I will hear no more.” He gathered himself and turned away.

   Crisilla took hold of his arm, teary-eyed. “Please,” she begged.

   In fury, Casmus turned and struck Crisilla down. “I knew you would become a regret,” he breathed so only Crisilla heard.

   Casmus turned to the servants and ordered them out. They shuffled from the room.

   “And not a word,” he added as the door closed behind them.

   The next day, rumours flitted about what was heard from the throne room. Crisilla had not been seen since.

   Reply
9. 

   Dave Allen

   20 October 2017

   When Science Meets Magic
   Elf/Mansion/Sci-fi
   Word Count: 298

   “What’s the problem R.A.I.N.?,” I asked when I got the alert.

   “Sorry to bother you sir but there is an unauthorized guest in your personal lab.” Rain informed me.

   I picked up my stunner, set it to full power and began to make my way through the house to my downstairs laboratory. I had spared no expense to secure this facility, there was no way anyone could sneak onto my estate with being seen.

   When I got to the lab, I released the retinal lock and the door slid aside to reveal the intruder. I had never seen the like before. The intruder stood about six feet tall, with dark black hair which went to the small of the back pulled back into a ponytail revealing a pair of pointed ears. The intruder turned to face me, he had eyes as black as his hair and angular features.

   “Good day to you sir,” he said, “I’m sorry to intrude, but you have taken up residence on my property.”

   “Not possible,” I replied, “when my family bought this property in the early twenty-first century it was a legal transaction.”

   The intruder pulled out what I thought might be a pipe. I had seen one in a book, but no one had smoked in years. He pulled out a pouch and loaded the pipe. He then muttered what sounded like a made-up word and a small flame appeared and ignited the substance.

   “You see, the claim I have is thousands of years older,” he said, “this land belongs to the Elvin kingdom.”

   I stood there a moment, then I raised the stunner and I fired. The elf dropped where he stood, I had always wanted to prove the existence of magic, now I have the perfect subject for experimentation.

   Reply
10. 

    M. Levi

    20 October 2017

    Fairy/Forest/Steampunk
    Words: 266
    Title: Or You’ll Sink Like A Stone

    At 4:02 exactly, the cottage rumbled. The inhabitants of the house rode their way through it. Mrs. Darsin took a deep breath. “Time for your chores,” she told her children.

    Loren and Tara obediently slid out of their chairs, closed their books, and went out to the barn. June stayed planted in her seat, kicking her feet and glaring at the wall.

    “June,” Mrs. Darsin warned.

    June rolled her eyes.

    “June!”

    June finally turned to Mrs. Darsin. “I went outside yesterday, Mother. Four o’clock exactly. And do you know what I saw?”

    Mrs. Darsin met her daughter’s gaze, refusing to panic. This happened every once in a while. Poor June still thought that she was discovering these things for the first time. Mrs. Darsin twisted her fingers behind her back, preparing the ritual and letting June have her moment.

    “I saw the steamship!” June ranted. “It passed right above the birches! It was so low that I could see people through the bay doors! Mother, why didn’t you tell us?! Why do you act like everyone’s like us–just a bunch of stupid farmers?! Why do you–”

    Mrs. Darsin spoke the word. June didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence.

    Her eyes went purple and unfocused as the spell hit her, the magic floating through the air like dust. Mrs. Darsin nodded slightly. “June?”

    June shook her head like she had water in her ears. “Mother? Did I go to sleep?”

    “It’s chore time. The others are outside.”

    “I’m sorry,” June said, dashing out of the house.

    “No problem, dear!” Mrs. Darsin called after her.

    Reply
11. 

    Richard Edenfield

    20 October 2017

    Dracula at the Formosa Café
    ________________________

    The studio was faded with a California sun bleaching the trees with an electric rust that sat on mountains bent toward the oblivion of a dream factory. The small streets between the lots held extras and stars that were finished for the day. There was a musty smell that came from the building of sets, a wooden majesty of sheathed ambition. He walked with a script under his arm. All the autographs he had given wallpapered the sky with the black ink of a desperate evening. The palm trees met his gaze at the gate like magical elusive parrots: Slight nods. Caught whispers. Intricate secrecy. They knew his name. He made his way to the Formosa Café where the deep drunk of the bar would light his despair with tiny angels. He was greeted with glances. A red booth. A quick glass and a menu. Jazz could be heard. The alcohol dulled his desire. The music separated the air, stirred it with an even temper. His career was done. Just a relic. His black cape hung on his shoulders like a tattoo of a shadow from a once great light. A young woman approached. Youth danced in her eyes. She held a red pen and an ornate notebook. He noticed the veins in her neck swelling with excitement. Heard her heartbeat. Her skin blushed with surprise. He signed his name with the flick of his wrist like an accomplished magician and then she disappeared. But her perfume lingered like a flower balanced on the edge of eternity. Perfect notes of lavender.
    _____________________________
    Vampire/Movie Set/Drama
    (260 words)

    Reply
    1. 

       Alva Holland

       21 October 2017

       Beautiful words. Vivid imagery. What more do we want from a story? Loved this, Richard.

       Reply
    2. 

       Bill Engleson

       21 October 2017

       Bela…issimo, Richard, to coin a word.

       Reply
12. 

    steve lodge

    20 October 2017

    Watchman Of The Ghost Cheese
    by Steve Lodge
    300 words
    Monster/Castle/Drama

    Fragmenta

    Dialog/Manuskript/Texte: Gustav Koncilia
    Translated from Belzonian by Otis Cochise

    Translation Note.
    Some Belzonian words and even sentences can be ambiguous. Where I was uncertain as to the true intended meaning, I have guessed and given the reader two possibilities. (The second option appears in brackets). OC.

    These are fragmentary notes Koncilia made during rehearsals for his new film,
    “In The Shadow Of Castle Nosetattoo” (“You Are Behaving Like A Bag Of Boo”).

    This scene (noise) takes place around a sheepcote (sheep pen or fold). A strange vampire (Band) has been seen (performing) in the region. The shepherds and huntsmen alike are nervous (hungry), unsettled, wary (heavy bearded) and so are the sheep.

    One shepherd, Joszef, returns to their poor shelter, to see if the tea he brewed earlier is ready (drinkable) and the cheese fermented (stinking).

    An unseen huntsman blows his horn (nose). Joszef is confused, rushes out. Are the sheep being attacked (shaved) by the monster (werewolf)? What is happening (algebra)?

    He loses his way (virginity) and can’t find the sheepcote. He fears he will perish among the pines (He hears night music of a thousand years). Sounds of laughter echo from within the nearby castle walls. (He can’t remember the name of the girl).

    He finds a single upturned flip-flop on the runway (back) of a disused airfield (marsupial).

    There is an unquiet grave under a small oak tree (Government Official). Ill blows the wind (sheets).

    His panic mirrors my own insecurity (sunglasses) over some of my work (cooking). It is a tale about the lost among us. I wrote it at a very low point in my life (thirties).

    I hope my friends will buy tickets (pizza) and support the film. Apart from writing the original screenplay, I do have a big part (stomach) in it.

    Reply
    1. 

       Alva Holland

       21 October 2017

       As sharp-witted as ever, Steve. Giggled my way through this. Well done.

       Reply
13. 

    Sarah Minner

    21 October 2017

    The Happening
    Former first lady/opera house/ crime

    Michelle Obama knew what she was doing was wrong, but she had to do it. The angry civilians had gotten to her once pure heart and turned it a mottled gray and black, it seems. But alas, that’s not the case. Her heart was still pure, her intentions just, but actions so cruel not even Mao Zedong would act them out.

    The bright side of it all, the opera house where Abe Lincoln got shot in the head would be gone. The wires working so delicately together, they’d be destroyed on the explosion. No one would suspect her, but her husband, for he already knew of her plans. How did it come to this? One day she’s living the life in the white house, and now she’s blowing up historical places to keep Them at bay, Them being the reincarnatiöns of people like George Washington, Martin Luther King Jr, and even Ceasar. They knew too much, and so she had to get rid of them. They’d ruin the infrastructure she’d worked so hard to build.

    Oh god, what was she thinking? No wonder so many people hated their family being in the white house. She felt dirty for even doing this, but she just couldn’t stop.. so she didn’t even try. As she sits on the soft opera house carpet, the device was finished and she jumped up to attach it to a main pillar in the back. It fit perfectly. Michelle left the building and her secret service followed her quietly.

    She called Barack, when she was 3 blocks away as they had decided, and he pressed a small button on his watch. The opera house went boom. She felt no guilt over the innocent lives taken, for it was necessary for the greater good, right?

    In reality, the former first lady was manic and had 12 people killed for no reason. It was blamed on a gas leak.

    Reply

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