Thursday, July 26, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction – Perseverance

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Perseverance." What does it mean to persevere, and what kind of person does it? Why, it means to simply carry on; and everyone, it seems, does it all the time, every day, without glory, or song, or even sometimes something as small as hope.

***

He hates his job: the long hours, the sweat, the tears, and his bruised, aching bones give ample testimony to him having been ground deep under the heel of his backbreaking bosses.

The profit is not shared, his labors are many; and each night, late into the evening, he returns home with pains that wrack his frail form.

The agony is unending, and sleep does not heal -- he knows no rest -- his joints reverberate with ratcheting vocal lamentations while his blood boils in his veins as he hopes for a greater day, a future where such as his lot is but a faded memory.

Yet, each morning that seemingly comes earlier with every new dawn, he rouses and reclaims his yoke; and though his body screams, he is silent and he carries on again only to repeat his sufferings until night when he collapses onto his bed too exhausted to even breathe.

But this is his prize: no, not his bed, but she who shares it with him -- and their child -- for here in this place, though he is battered and beaten, broken and beleaguered, he is home.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

College co-ed beaten to death with a hammer!

Here's something I whipped out a while ago, thought you might enjoy it. Kudos to you if you get the meaning. It's a conversation between two gentlemen about an unfortunate murder of a college student.... Enjoy.

"Did you know Joan died?"

"Really?

"Yes, apparently while she was at college."

"Oh, dear! How dreadful!"

"Indeed."

"How did it happen? Accident?"

"No, unfortunately she was murdered."

"Really? Oh, my! I don't know what to say!"

"I know. Apparently, she was quite intelligent, always studying."

"What were her studies about?"

"Pataphysical Sciences, I believe."

"What's that?"

"Not entirely sure. Sounds exotic though, doesn't it?"

"Yes,... How was she murdered?"

"Some crazed medical student beat her to death with a hammer."

"Are you serious?"

"Indeed I am, unfortunately. I believe his last name was Edison."

"How horrid!"

"Rightly so, and he escaped from the courtroom as well."

"You must be joking... Do tell!"

"Well, there was a throng of people demanding he be released, who knows why; and this caused a distraction which allowed him to beat to death the judge as well. Then he apparently fled."

"Good heavens! Have they apprehended him?"

"No, but then again, that's how the song ends."

And if you don't understand what's going on.... Here's a nice cartoon to explain it all.

Monday, July 23, 2012

I cannot do it without you

I cannot do it without you

I can only be so many places at one time. That number is, amazingly, one. Additionally, I can only "reach" so many folks with my blog (http://crazyflipperfingers.blogspot.com) or through my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/MemoriesoftheDead) in order to reach out to those who might find my book interesting, fun, creepy, or whatever.

Which is why I need you: You're more than friends, you're more than contacts, you are even more than just people who may or may not have read my book -- and whatever your opinion of it might be, you are, in a strange way that you might not have anticipated, an advocate for me and my writing.

If you liked "Memories of the Dead," you're likely to tell others; and if you didn't like it as much as you perhaps hoped, you could find yourself in passing the book on to someone you think might appreciate it more than you did.

That's advocacy. That's being a multitude of my voice -- you literally are the ones who are showing people my work. You are the ones that tell others about it because my book is not in your regular, brick and mortar, bookstore. Yes, it's available for Kindle, Nook, and in print via Amazon, but even these electronic distribution channels are nowhere near as incredible, living, and "with it" as a live human who says "Read this."

So I am asking you to continue on -- be my voice. Help me get the word out about "Memories of the Dead." Help independent authors reach those that are not normally reachable.

If you like what I wrote, and think others may as well, please point them in my direction here, or to Amazon, or to B&N's PubIt! page. Every little bit helps.

You might think, "Gee, isn't that request just a little bit pathetic?"

No, not really. Word of mouth advertising is still king of the world; additionally, who better to vouch for the book than those that have read it and thought it was worthwhile? The author, yes; but like I said -- I can only be in so many places at once.

Which is why I need, and cannot do without, you.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

FIVE SENTENCE FICTION – SCARLET

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Scarlet," and this, too, was hard to conjure.

***

The blood flowed around his upturned boots like fresh rain in the gutters of his native Seville.

At his feet lay many dead Inca, all of whom tasted his hate-born blade deeply, horridly; they were slaughtered in a feast of scarlet bloodletting -- a frenzy the likes of which this religious site had never before known.

His crimson cloak fluttered in the slight wind as it blew through the passageways of the once holy pagan temple -- defiled by the corpses of the slain guardians -- and now that the raucous sound of battle had finally dimmed only the dripping of their vital fluids broke the silence of the solitary altar.

Finally, years after he heard the rumor of its existence, he held his prize: "The Heart of the World," a ruby bigger than his own powerful fist.

Cloak, blood, and ruby coiled together in unity as the Conquistador turned, his laughter echoing throughout the rough-hewn stone courtyard; and as he stepped towards the archway he left nothing behind him except sorrow.

Friday, July 13, 2012

FIVE SENTENCE FICTION – COMPOSURE

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Composure," and this was the hardest one yet--at least for me. When I think of someone who is composed, I think of the dashing British soldier, dutifully doing that which must be done. Such was my inspiration for this week. I hope you like it.

***

Machine guns churned in the distance as muzzle-flashes pinpointed their placement, only to be occasionally obfuscated by the billows of acrid smoke from the wretched discharge.

Resolute to silence the guns of the foul Hun once and for all, the Lieutenant advanced as all around him was torn asunder while comrades-in-arms fell chopped to pieces by the machinations of a mad Kaiser hell-bent on destruction.

Moving onward, ever forward, toward the earthly embodiment of a Germanic steel-reinforced Hell, complete with fire, smoke, and hot, blazing death, he was un-phased and possessed a preternatural calm as he approached the enemy position.

Smirking while his perfectly aimed Webley revolver shorn short the lives of many too foolish, or too brave, to seek appropriate cover, "War may be Hell, but by God, I do love it so."

Around him was all-consuming chaos but he was its primal opposite--the utlimate personification of collected self-control.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Five Sentence Fiction – Pirates

The Five Sentence Fiction is a simple idea:
Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.
This week, the chosen word is "Pirates," and I thought about it for a moment then wondered...what about the penalty for failed piracy? Why not give that a go? So...here we are, and I hope you like it.

***

The death is not pretty or serene; rather it is twitching, gurgling, jittering, and jolting as men tried desperately to clutch to what life might be left as they meet the sudden stop at the end of a short rope.

Such is the penalty for plundering the King's gold.

As he watched the others sway in the breeze the panic set in -- sweat, panting breath, tremors in the hands and legs, shock, wide-eyed and wild -- wishing to run but he could not, turning to the executioners he pleaded for mercies that would not come as he begged for his meager life to be spared.

Tears flowed with a bubbling on the lips -- a froth of words as he spoke wishing for one last time to be given a chance at redemption, life, and breath -- all the while the nearby priest chanted repeating blessings upon his condemned soul.

Unceremoniously, the hood was lowered over his eyes -- the silence beneath that woolen cowl was sickening, tainted with his warm breath and mist from sweat and tears -- he tried to cry out just as the plank beneath him fell away.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

A Happy 4th & a "simple" wish

Today, we Americans celebrate our independence -- 236 years worth -- and we must use this opportunity to reflect upon where we came from and to where we must go. We should remember those that built this fine nation: veterans, the Founding Fathers, our great allies, and those that came here with nothing but a simple dream in their hearts. This nation is great because of the people that make up the populace, make no mistake.

Yet, our nation's work is not done -- nor shall it ever -- for we have much that needs doing. This is the wonderful struggle in which we are fortunate enough to have been chosen to participate. We can make this nation -- and our world -- a far better place if only we enact the will do do so.

We can eliminate hunger, homelessness, many diseases, and tyranny. These things we must do. We must bring an end to war and hate. We must, with every fiber of our being, become the noble people that we ought to have been all along. But these challenges are not for us alone, no; we will need our friends and allies from around the world to accomplish these grand goals. And the only way we can do it is if we simply ask for the assistance we need, with humility, and say "Let us bring an end to these sufferings."

For all mankind.

So, as we celebrate around the world -- and indeed it is ok to do so -- all I ask is that in the new year we begin let us now work to end those evils still at play in the world -- each of us in our own ways -- so that the world we leave our children is more free, better, stronger, and more golden than the one we received.

Happy Independence Day, America!

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Really?

So, over at one of the blogs I follow, there was a posting that got my interest. I read it, and replied in the thread, actually agreeing with the posting and giving my 2-cents worth, only to have my post deleted by the blog owner. Apparently, she (and yes, it's a she) wants only a certain type of "yes" men to post. Nothing more than a "Totally insightful!" or you get axed. That's what I call pathetic.

Monday, July 2, 2012

The Flight of the Cruller

Ok, so, this is kinda old, but I figured why not post it? So, here you go, the beginnings of a sci-fi tale... Enjoy.

"The Cruller," a piece of shit starship if you ever saw one, barely could make it to the jump-gate without one of the nameless whiz-bang machines--upon which the very life of each passenger depended--coming to some cataclysmic stop. The failures were always in the worst of situations, naturally. Think "The Millennium Falcon," but less reliable.

I don't know why the fat pilot just didn't sell it for scrap metal. Honestly, the damn thing was a joke: it barely held air, and cruising to the Lagrange point jump-station really took forever, and just looking out the dirty, scratched windows I could see at least fifty other ships that just barged in line in front of us.

Just like us, each one of those other ships wanted to warp their way out of the Sol system. Some were business-class; others were luxury pods filled with the over-privileged out for a day-trip to Vega.

And yet here I am, stuck in the back of a bus that barely ran. My family couldn't be bothered to upgrade me to a commercial carrier, no, that was too expensive... Why the hell I had to be the one to go get grandma from Epsilon Eridani, I had no idea. She had a sky-pass, for Christ's sake! She can take the shuttle alone just like everyone else does. Jesus, she's not even sixty yet! God I hate this; and I hate having to travel third class.

The guy next to me smells funny, like a mixture of paint-thinner and vomit. Loverly. And he keeps glancing over at my knees. I know I shouldn't have worn this skirt. If he touches me, so help me God, I will mace him! Fucking sick pervo, he's older than dad!

Sitting here in the fake-leather seat, strapped in for the hour's long trip to the gate, waiting to jump out, next to a drunk letcher, makes me want to punch mom in the face. This whole thing is because of that God-damned email. I've got a print out of that stupid thing in my purse. It's really ridiculous, one email shows up from grandma and all hell breaks loose and I get sent to fetch her like some pathetic body-guard errand-boy...er, girl.

What the hell is up with that? All it said was "Come get me and be careful!" Dammit, grandma, just take the stupid shuttle!

UGH! It's not like this is some kind of spy movie...

And who names a space-ship after a doughnut, anyway?