The "Overcoming Adversity" Bloghop

This bloghop was organized by Nick Wilford @ Scattergun Scribblings. The entries will be compiled into an anthology to help raise money for his son to attend a specialist college. Please visit Nick's blog and check out the other entries in the bloghop.Thank you for reading.

Flight

Two men in uniform lifted me from my wheelchair and gently placed me onto one of four bucket seats in the passenger area, buckling me in securely. The other passengers were already in their chairs, with palpable excitement reverberating off the walls of the cabin. We were all winners, chosen for a very special flight. I looked out the window at the launch pad, hardly able to believe I should be among them.

The captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker, welcoming us to Utopia. The engines kicked on and the whole ship pivoted upward, pushing me back in my seat. The launch pad was nearly gone, enveloped by thick smoke and sparks from the rockets. A teenage girl strapped into the seat across from me looked over, grinning widely with a mouth full of white braces. I couldn’t help but to smile back.

3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

My hands shook as the rocket left the ground behind—and with it, all I’d been through since the accident, all the things the doctors said I’d never do again, and all the walls that had been thrown up around me. When the smoke cleared, the launch pad, the station, and the city were all within a circle no larger than a dime dropped in the grass. And then it was gone, swallowed up by the whole Earth as we left her behind, too.

Clouds swirled over the continents. City lights illuminated the side hiding from the sun. And we could see it all in one panoramic view. The sun smoldered in the nexus of the solar system, and the moon peeked shyly from behind its mother’s protective stance. A vast blanket of planets, stars, and galaxies stretched out forever, reaching for Heaven itself.

The captain announced we had reached our cruising altitude and we were free to move about the cabin. Everyone but me clapped and cheered. I had no idea where my wheelchair had been stored during the flight. I’d have to wait to be helped out of my—

The girl across from me hastily unbuckled herself and squealed as her chubby body floated out of her chair. The other two passengers also rose from their chairs and found themselves swimming through the air, flipping and twirling, dancing and laughing with gaiety I never believed I’d feel again.

I fumbled with my buckles, impatient to be released from the confines of my chair. The girl with braces glided by and extended her hand to me. I took it without question, and her momentum pulled me effortlessly from my chair. As soon as I was up, she let go of my hand; and I found myself soaring throughout the cabin with the other passengers—the other special winners. I reached the window with surprising ease and gazed out at the celestial perfection. The doctors said I’d probably never walk again, but they never said anything about flying. So I flew. 

Friday Flash Fiction: Under Sally's Watch

Today's flash fiction is my entry for Candilynn's Follow My Lead Contest. The prompt given is the picture below.

Under Sally’s Watch

The explosions in the distance look like fireworks. Lindi is perched upon her window sill, overlooking the violent festivities. She calmly combs the knots in her wavy, chestnut hair with her callused fingers and makes a wish.  

Marcus is out there somewhere, fighting to hold them back, and her wish is that she’ll be able to see him again. He’s been gone for three days, but she has faith in her brother’s skills. He’s taught her everything he knows—like an older brother should. At least he left her in Sally’s protective hands.

The quakes from crashing buildings shake her high-rise apartment tower. The panic of hopeless pedestrians fills the street below. But she has no intention of running. The sweat across her brow and beading along her forearms is from the summer evening heat, and nothing else. In her favorite dark tank top and faded shorts, she waits like an owl scanning for mice, eager to swoop down at the perfect moment and extend her experienced talons.

When the first soldiers reach the street below, she knows it is time to step away from the window. Lindi hops down from the sill, the wooden floor slippery under her bare feet. She snatches the Savage 110 BA sniper rifle leaning against the wall, kneels before the window, and takes aim. Gazing intently into the telescopic sight, Lindi finds her first target. He is young, probably on his first tour, in way over his head.

“Steady, Sally,” she says, exhaling slowly while grazing the trigger.

Lindi fires one shot and he goes down with an arch of blood outstretching before him. Thinking of how Marcus is out there somewhere, she scans the street for her next target.

Friday Flash Fiction: The Shutter House

The Shutter House

Every picture fell off the walls. The entire house came to life from the shaking. All of the earthquakes Tony had felt since moving to Southern California didn’t prepare him for this level of force and destruction.

He ran to the girls’ room, holding his hands in front of his face while dodging knick-knack projectiles. Lights sparked from above and rained down in showers of fireflies as he charged down the hall. The doorway to his daughters’ room loomed ahead. The sound of their desperate cries reached his ears, cutting through the roar of the house shuttering in its foundation.

Tony found his two young girls huddled together on the floor beside their bed. Their toys and books fell from shelves, posters peeled off the walls, and the bed rumbled like an object possessed.

“Daddy, what’s happening!” his youngest cried, her head on the shoulder of her older sister.

“You’re okay, I’m here.” Tony skidded to a stop and dropped to his daughters’ side, wrapping his lanky arms around them both.

“I want Mommy!”

Tony’s heart sank, though he understood his petrified daughter’s response. The world was collapsing around her and she didn’t understand why. His thoughts went to his wife who had recently left for the store and prayed she was safe.

The quake’s fury was unrelenting. Tony collected his daughters, his youngest in his arms, and his first born at his side. They ran down the crumbling hallway. The only things left on the walls were cracks streaking from ceiling to floor like gaping wounds.

They rounded the corner into the entryway and crashed through the front door. Tony led them to a safe distance, dropping to the grass in the middle of the front lawn. Nothing would hurt them out in the open air as the buildings collapsed around them as the shaking—

There was no more shaking, the earthquake over. Tony looked around and saw no one else exiting their houses. No fallen trees. No damage of any kind for as far as he could see. He looked back at the house, with a daughter clinging to each arm, just in time to see the front door snap from its hinges and fall forward like the house was inviting them back inside. 

Friday Flash Fiction: Gentleman Masquerader

Today, my flash fiction is my entry for Candilynn's Follow My Lead Flash Fiction Contest. It has to be under 300 words and use the first line supplied. Also, there is a picture supplied to use as extra inspiration. Thanks, Candilynn! Follow the link above to check out the other entries. Enjoy!

Gentleman Masquerader

The streets of this restless city never slept. Two couples walking as one stumbled along the sidewalk, clinging to each other for support, prattling and pointing, spilling and sinking, drinking through the night’s festivities. Those standing in doorways watched as they passed; others laughed and flashed, reaching for necklaces falling from balconies.

The street was filled with pedestrians instead of cars, the parties spilling out from the bars, creating a single group of hedonists. The couples finished their drinks and dove into the crowd to dance. Passing masqueraders and exhibitionists, they claimed a spot and let the music take them to the next level of ecstasy. The guys swayed and the girls twirled, reaching out and pulling back into each other’s arms.

“May I have this dance?” a masked man asked, stepping out from the surrounding dancers—offering a painted hand.

He bowed and the girl curtsied with a smitten giggle. Her partner stepped back and allowed the guest into their group’s intimate circle. She took the costumed man’s hand and stepped closer. He kept her at an elbow’s length as he led her through a classical waltz. They glided to the music like royalty amongst peasants.

When the song they started with bled into another, the elegant stranger cupped the girl’s hand in his and held it out.

“You are a lovely dancer, my dear. And so very beautiful,” he said and raised her hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss. She blushed from his old-fashioned etiquette—and moaned when he sunk his teeth into the meat surrounding her thumb.

The masquerader dropped her hand and met the gaze of the group with blood dripping from his chin. Before the screams, he bowed again and slipped inconspicuously into the restless city crowd.

Friday Flash Fiction: Eileen

I saw her for the first time while sitting on the bank of the pond, my afternoon sanctuary in the woods behind my house. Her head emerged from the calm water, with long blonde hair slicked back and the tips spreading out on the sunlit surface like tiny snakes dispersing in all directions. She caught sight of me immediately and produced the most beautiful smile I’d ever had directed at me. As her shoulders bobbed rhythmically with the water, I noticed she wore a collared long sleeved shirt.

I was taken aback by my unexpected visitor and had a fleeting urge to jump to my feet, but her beautiful gaze hypnotized me and kept me seated. She looked about my age, but not like any girl at my high school. She had a wild and carefree spirit that only a girl swimming in a pond fully clothed could have on a humid autumn day. Her face was completely washed clean of make-up, but her skin was so fair and flawless that it would have only distracted from her beauty.

“Hey there,” she said, almost shouting at me over nature’s conversations of birds and trees. “I’ve seen you here before.”

“You have?” I asked. My body released a shutter from her stalkerish statement. “Do you go to Rose Madden High, too?”

“Once upon a time,” she answered, gliding through the water with a graceful breast stroke.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Once upon a time there was a girl named Eileen who went to Rose Madden High.”

She found her footing as the water became shallow and stood up, now with only her legs submerged. She wore washed blue jeans below her plaid, button-down shirt, which clung tightly to her dripping body.

“Do you always go for afternoon swims in your jeans, Eileen?”

“Why, is that weird?”

“A little.”

“Then I guess I’m a little weird,” she snapped back with a smirk.

Our conversation continued uninterrupted for a few minutes, but she never got out of the water. She splashed around, back floated away, and swam back to the shallow edge—never allowing the pond to fully calm.

“Hey, Davy Boy!” a voice called to me from the thick of the trees. It was followed by the crunching of dried leaves as footsteps approached. “What, you too good to wait for us?”

I looked over my shoulder and saw Toby, Stretch, and Tiny wading through the brush.  “I got board so I went on ahead.” I turned back to Eileen and was about to introduce her to my friends (who were never going to believe I was talking to such a smoking hot girl), when I discovered she was gone. The pond was still except for an expanding ripple like someone had thrown a rock into the water. But if she was under there, she never came up for air. 

Be sure to check out my Indie Author Blog Hop Giveaway where I'm giving away paperback copies of Provex City! 

Lightning Flashed!

I found this Flash Fiction Blogfest yesterday and was really excited to participate. Thank you to Cherie Reich for hosting it!

Here are the rules:

1. Entries must begin with the two words: Lightning flashed.
2. Entries must be 300 words or less.
3. Entries must be posted on your blog between May 21 - 23.
4. You must sign up in the linky to have your entry counted.

My flash fiction clocks in at exactly 300 words (including the title)! I hope you enjoy it, and the links to the other awesome bloggers participating is posted below, so be sure to check them out!

Facing the Pane

Lightning flashed, and I wished I hadn’t been looking out the window when it did. For a split second, I saw her standing on the sidewalk facing my house, her carmine dress and stringy blond hair drenched and dripping from the rising storm. Then she was gone again, swallowed by the unforgiving darkness as thunder tolled ominously overhead.

I didn’t know her well, but I was there. Everyone at school knew what had happened, but only a few of us knew the truth. She had visited all the others in the group and now she was visiting me. I couldn’t peel myself away from the window, from her still silhouette.

When lightning flashed again, she appeared halfway up my front yard, her body deathly still, her eyes fixed on me. My hand shook as I clutched the curtain with white knuckles, but I couldn’t let it fall. I couldn’t let her out of my sight—even if all I could see was her spectral shadow standing slightly more than a striking distance away.

The next thunderclap shook the house. The storm was directly overhead. She was right here in front of me, shrouded, but I could still picture her clearly. I could still hear her screaming. I could still—

My muscles tensed involuntarily and sweat trickled down my face as I awaited the next flash. And when it came, where she had been stationed was once again empty. I leaned in closer, placed my free hand against the frosted pane, and scanned the yard. That was when I saw her statuesque figure slowly ascending my two front steps.

I waited for the lightning’s better half, but it didn’t come, only the fierce rapping of my final visitor at the front door.

Lightning flashed; the door swung open.

Friday Flash Fiction: The Man in the Hawaiian Shirt

Jimmy awoke with his head pounding, which was not a new occurrence. The familiar pressure behind his eyes and sour remnants in the back of his throat were a small price to pay from a previous night of exuberant drinking. But when he awoke, he always awoke safely in his bed—until today.

His eyes had to adjust to the unusually bright room. It didn’t take him long to recognize he was in a hospital bed, positioned between the door and a curtain pulled halfway across the room.

In a chair across from him sat a man in a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and penny loafers without socks. He sat casually with his legs crossed and an open newspaper that covered his face.

“Hello?” Jimmy said, just trying to get the man’s attention.

The newspaper lowered and the man behind it smiled. His hair couldn’t seem to reach the top of his head and his circular lenses magnified his blue eyes.

“Jimmy, you’re awake,” he said. “I thought I’d be waiting here longer. How do you feel?”

Jimmy was more than a little confused. He tried to recall the events of the night before and if this man somehow surfaced into those memories—but the memories were not there.

“I don’t know.” Jimmy brought a hand to his face and felt a bandage over his nose. His left arm was in a cast. “I’m still in one piece. Do I know you? I’m sorry if I met you last night and don’t remember.”

“No, it’s nothing like that—but there isn’t much time. Do you remember anything?”

The pounding in Jimmy’s head made it next to impossible for him to think clearly. He tried to recall. He was at a bar with friends. Some girls joined the group. There were shots between beers. He had intermittent smokes in the alley. After last call, he got into his car alone…

“Why isn’t there much time?” Jimmy asked hoarsely.

“You were in an accident.”

Jimmy bit his lip as flashes of the accident returned like a broken movie reel.

“Did I cause it?”

The man in the Hawaiian shirt nodded. “The lady you hit is on the other side of that curtain.”

Jimmy couldn’t believe his ears. He was always cautious behind the wheel after drinking, on the lookout for cops along his route home. He would never be so careless—and this man was making it sound like he was there.

“Who are you?” Jimmy’s voice trembled.

“The husband of the poor lady is sitting at her bedside. She doesn’t have long, and when she goes, that man in a fit of anguish and rage will come and kill you.”

“What?!”

“So you have to decide—I can take you now, put you to sleep peacefully or you can stay here and wait for him to come for you.”

“You’re insane!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“I understand how you must feel. This is probably unsettling. I’m just advising you of what’s to come—giving you the facts. He will kill you and won’t even try to get away.” The man in the Hawaiian shirt folded his paper and set it on a chair to his left. “So which will it be?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening here! Are you going to kill me, too?” Jimmy reached for the remote control device on his bed and pressed the button for nurse assistance.

“Your button is defective. I’m sorry.”

Jimmy pressed it again, hoping a nurse would get the call. If one didn’t come soon, Jimmy was prepared to scream.

 “It’s almost time,” the man said, tapping on his wrist with his forefinger.

 “No,” Jimmy simply said, lying back and looking up at the ceiling, praying a nurse was just about to turn in.

Then the high pitched hum of a flatlining heart monitor consumed the room like everything else had gone silent.

“Olivia!” a male voice cried.

Seconds later, several nurses and doctors rushed into the room to perform emergency procedures on the lady slipping behind the curtain. Jimmy couldn’t see what was happening, but he could see that the man in the Hawaiian shirt no longer sat in the chair across the room. The man was gone.

An orderly rolled a smaller bed into the room and, seconds later, the lady was rolled away with great urgency. Jimmy could only assume the man following the gang of hospital staff out of the room was the husband. He looked over at Jimmy before exiting with a morose expression beaten into his face.

Jimmy let out a long breath with the relief of finally being alone. Now he could recollect the broken memories of the night before in peace and hopefully everything would be ok.

         Not five minutes later, the husband reemerged in the doorway with the same sullen expression as before. The two men stared at each other for a long moment without sharing a word. Then the husband stepped into the room and closed the door. 

Friday Flash Fiction: The Blind Man's Trumpet

Gabriel watched a haggard looking man, known as Harry to the other transients in this section of the city, stumble into the crosswalk with the rest of the pedestrian traffic. He clutched an old trumpet in his left hand and a blind man’s cane in his right. Professionals of the Financial District gave him a wide berth as he tapped his way to the opposite sidewalk. The locals called him Dirty Harry.

Upon reaching the sidewalk, Harry stopped amidst the flow of people like a boulder in a river, lifted his trumpet to his chapped lips, and began to blow. He didn’t attempt a tune like a street performer, he just belted out a monotone scream that cut through the morning air like a sonic boom.

People in Harry’s vicinity fled the street corner. Others standing nearby kept their distance. The crowd grew as more people from surrounding buildings exited by the dozens at the trumpet’s emergency calling.

Gabriel observed as Harry’s trumpet screams caused a restless commotion to ripple through the gathered crowd. Passing cars slowed to see what was happening. Observers began to yell for Harry to stop, but he continued his warning undisturbed.

Finally, one man stepped out from the crowd and approached the lonely messenger. The man placed a cautious hand just past the bell of the trumpet and gave it a tug.

Harry screamed in a wild fit of flailing arms and ripped his trumpet from the stranger’s grip. Yelling in gabbling tongues, Harry stumbled back a step, swinging his cane until he found the man’s ankle. Now out of reach, Harry blew into his trumpet again with an even greater intensity.

The man looked around at the infuriated crowd and decided to reach for the trumpet again, this time pulling it with enough force to peel Harry’s lips from the mouthpiece. But Harry refused to give up his instrument, now in a bitter game of tug-of-war. His cane fell to the ground as he latched on with both hands to pull his endangered friend to freedom. The stranger refused to give up in front of all the spectators and held on tight.

Three more men leapt from the crowd and grabbed Harry, each by an arm, yanking the trumpet from his frantic hands in seconds. They tried their best to restrain him, but Harry refused to be restrained. He screamed incoherently, and kicked and spat at his aggressors. His bony arms were flexed and sweaty hands balled into fists as he thrashed his weight around in a desperate attempt to break free.

The man now holding the trumpet backed away as the other three men took over the fight. With a man securing each arm, the third man bent down to pick up Harry’s cane. Unable to anticipate what was coming, Harry was dropped to his knees by a swift jab to the stomach with the marshmallow tip of his cane. And his arms were suddenly freed, but they just fell limply to his side. A second man punched Harry in the nose, sending him reeling backwards onto the cement. All three spat on his bleeding body and marched off. No one in the surrounding crowd moved. Without the scream of the trumpet, the sounds of the city had quieted to a murmur.

With the fight over, Gabriel crossed the street, broke through the crowd, and took a knee next to his friend. He removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the spit and blood from Harry’s chin, and then held it to his swollen nose.

“Gabriel, is that you?” Harry asked.

“I’m here, Jeremiel.”

“Were you here, did you hear; did you see what I did?”

“I heard.”

“But I lost my trumpet.” Jeremiel coughed and cringed, clutching his chest.

“Not to worry. I’ll get it back.”

“I broke the final seal.”

“That you did, my friend,” Gabriel said with just the hint of a smile. “Can you stand?” He looked around as Jeremiel slowly got to his feet, bracing himself on Gabriel’s arm. The crowd had fully dispersed. The only sign left that something had happened on this corner was the spattering of blood on the sidewalk. “You have called forth the beginning of the end. And these people today were all witnesses. No more Dirty Harry.”  

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Also, I'm thrilled to announce that Allison from Geek Banter wrote a wonderful review of Provex City! She is also a member of the Insecure Writers Support Group (IWSG for those in the know) and a great blog to follow. Please check out the review HERE.  Have a great weekend, everyone!

"X" is for X Marks the Spot

Kenny laid the sledgehammer against the adjacent wall and admired the hole he'd made in the drywall of his house’s guest bedroom. He tugged at the crumbling board, and as the hole widened to the nearest stud, he noticed something quite unexpected underneath. A door. A thin door perfectly positioned between the two studs branded with a bright bleeding X.

“What are you doing here?” Kenny ran his hand along the warped wood of the mysterious door, knocked a few times, and tried the small brass knob. Locked. “This makes no sense. A door in the wall?”

He used the sledgehammer to sever the knob from the door, then jabbed the backside of the doorknob with the butt of its handle. Strangely, the metallic clink of the knob hitting the floor didn't sound.

The door creaked open when Kenny gave it a tap. Standing at the threshold, he peered into the shadows of what appeared to be a narrow, hidden room. A room between rooms? Light from the bedroom streamed in and revealed a circular hole in the floor, approximately three feet in diameter.

Kenny scoured the house for a flashlight so he could get a better look at what he'd found so unexpectedly.

The flashlight beam danced around the room as he explored the musty space. The walls were unfinished and the floor, nothing but dirt. The hole, centered in the barricaded and forgotten closet, was inlaid with redbrick like a well.

Kenny cautiously approached the well and shown his flashlight down into the creepy opening in the floor, which descended fifteen, maybe even twenty feet! And then the light grazed over a hunched figure.

“Lose something?” the man in the well asked, holding the other half of the brass knob in his hand.

Kenny shook with such a fright that he nearly dropped his flashlight into the hole. Now he knew he was crazy.

The man, or boy, looked no older than twenty. His clothes were ragged, his hair knotted and clumpy, and he flashed a smile of black and crooked teeth.

“What are you doing in my...house?” Kenny stuttered.

“It wasn't your house when I was put down here.”

“What are you talking about? I've lived here for ten years. You––”

“And the McKinley's before you. And the Cunningham’s before them. And Old Man Grommet before them. I've been down here a long time. Would you like the other half of your doorknob back?”

“How are you still alive?” Kenny couldn't believe what was happening. He clicked off the flashlight, confident that if he couldn't see the boy, then he would simply disappear.

“That's a good question. How about a little help. It would be nice to feel the warmth of sunlight on my face again. Then I'll tell you why I was placed here before taking my leave.”

“I don't know if that's such a good idea.”

“How can you say that? Do you really want me to remain here, in your house, with you and your wife? Jill, is it?”

Kenny felt a chill surge through his entire body. Turning the flashlight back on, those seemingly innocent eyes remained fixed on him like a helpless puppy. “So, if I let you out, you're just going to leave?”

“Right after telling you my story. You've got my word.”

“Fine,” Kenny said, backing away slowly. “I'll find some rope.”

       “Very good. I'll just wait here.”