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Monday, September 25


flash fiction
by the name is dalton

The fence needed mending.

I lifted the board up and attempted to hammer in a few nails. No one else dropped by that day. I was left alone with the fence.

The head of the nail eluded me and after a number of swings, I voiced my lack of enthusiasm for the project with a few well placed words of curse.

I put down the hammer, opened a can of beer, took a nice long pull and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

To hell with the it.

Punk rock bass player with too many beers in his fridge and too many Bukowski books on his shelves. His work has appeared in Culture Freak, Flash Flooding, and Long Live The Kin

Monday, September 18

Saying Goodbye

"Saying Goodbye"
Short Fiction - Literary
by Kelli Pliner

I woke up to my alarm, knowing what today would be like. I got showered and dressed, placed a handful of kleenex in my purse. I knew I would need them. I grabbed my keys and went to my car.

The funeral home isn't far.

I backed my car out of the drive and turned onto the road. I drove down a few blocks and came to the funeral home, only to keep driving...went right on by.

I drove to school instead, seeing most of the cars were gone to the funeral, I kept driving down the road back toward the funeral home.

I came to the traffic light. It was red. I glanced down and saw that my gas tank was on "E". The light turned green and I turned into the gas station on the corner. Forty dollars later, I once again, got in my car, and headed toward the funeral home.

There were many more cars now. I didn't stop...I kept driving...and went around the block. I came back to the front and parked my car along the road.

Purse and kleenex in hand, I stepped out into the warm, humid air and proceeded to the building flocked with people. I opened the door, smiling sadly at the police officers standing outside (they were fellow officers of Grandpa Mike), and entered the building.

At the top of the stairs were some of the faces I knew only too well, standing in line with tear-stained faces. We solmenly greeted each other and entered the chapel.

Pictures of a small, red-headed little boy filled the walls, flowers adorned the entire front of the room. Then I saw it. I saw the one thing that made my heart begin to break and tears to flow freely down my face. Mason's sign-in paper from school. Each line was a wobbly, squiggly version of his name. He had come so far with his writing. It sat above pictures from school and daycare. All filled with Mason’s smiling face.

I kept following the line. I noticed Addie, Mason’s mother, sitting on the couch, looking numb. I had to tell her. I stepped out of line and knelt in front of her, tears streaming down my face.

Silently I prayed, Please, let me be able to tell her.

Her eyes filled with tears as she leaned forward to hug me. We hugged a long time.

I took her hand in mine and looked her in the eye.

Then I told her.

"You have to know...Mason was not afraid. The children and I talked about going to heaven and what that meant and all that happens. Mason was not ever afraid. He knew that Jesus would take him to heaven. He knew he would be there with Jesus, away from pain, suffering and saddness. Each time we talked about it, Mason would say, 'I love Jesus and I can't WAIT to get to heaven!' This Addie, is something I needed to tell you and something you needed to hear. To know that your son was braver and had more faith than so many of us. Take comfort in knowing that the faith given to Mason kept him strong and happy."

No other words were said as Addie hugged me one more time. Stilling holding her hand, I stood and she whispered, "Thank you for sharing with me." Tears began down my face again, I patted her hand and replied, "No Addie, thank you for sharing your son with me."

Monday, September 11

Two Peas

"Two Peas"
Short fiction - Literary
by Rod Drake

Soccer practice was over. One by one, parents came by, picked up their kids and drove away. Eventually only two boys were left waiting for their rides.

Troy sat on the bench, his new uniform only slightly grass stained, his expensive tennis shoes still shiny. Jack huddled on the curb, his uniform a collection of stains, rips and clumsy sewing repairs. His shoelaces had several knots in them where the breaks had been tied back together.

Troy moved down to the curb and sat with Jack. Troy and his friends had been sitting on the bench, waiting for a BMW, Lexus, or Mercedes to come get them. Now only Troy remained, and it seemed funny to him to sit there alone.

"Good practice," Troy ventured. He didn’t know Jack very well. Jack didn’t go to the private school that Troy attended.

Jack shrugged. “I guess.” Jack went to the public school where practice was sometimes held.

Troy pulled at the grass bordering the curb. “Is this where you go to school?”

Jack looked down at his feet. “Yeah.” After a long pause, he said, “You did alright today.”

“Not as good as you did. That goal you scored was great. I’m just not fast enough.”

Jack shrugged again. The boys were quiet for a long time until Jack finally asked, “Do you know what time it is?”

Troy looked at his watch. “It’s 5:01.” The watch was a gift from his dad when Troy was named Outstanding Citizen in the fifth grade. His dad couldn’t attend the school presentation, but sent the watch by messenger. “It’s late. I bet they forgot about me. Again.” He smiled ruefully at Jack. “My parents are the worst at remembering my practices. And games for that matter.” Troy pulled at the grass with greater urgency.

Jack nodded. “My mom too. I usually end up walking home.” As explanation, he added, “My mom works extra shifts, so she can’t always get away to pick me up.”

Troy stared into the setting sun. “Same deal with me. My dad’s always at the hospital, and my mom is usually in court or at a hearing or something. They never have their cell phones on when I need to call them. None of our nannies stays longer than a couple of weeks, and it’s been a month since the last one left. I often bum a ride with another parent. I guess I should have today.” He turned to Jack. “How about your dad?”

“My dad left when I was 3 or 4. Haven’t heard from him since.” Jack looked over at Troy in a sudden shared confidence. “So my mom has to work a lot to take care of me and my sister. I only see her in the morning and sometimes at night if I stay up late enough.”

“I don’t see much of my parents either. Always at some fancy function thing, like a fund raiser or awards banquet. And my sister . . . well, she’s away at a place getting some help.”

Jack retied his ever-shortening shoelace. “So,” he offered, “you want to start walking?”

Now Troy shrugged. “Okay.” Both boys got up and started walking across the soccer field. Silhouetted against the late afternoon sun, they looked like twins.

Rod Drake lives and writes in Las Vegas. He appreciates all the comments received on his stories, and hopes for more. Rod has been published in Fictional Musings, Flashing in the Gutters, Flashes of Speculation, Flash Flooding, Flash Forward and AcmeShorts.

Tuesday, September 5

FM Bulletin: Anne Frasier's Pale Immortal is Out!

Hello FMers!

A special bulletin to inform you Thriller writer and past FM Contributer, Anne Frasier, has her latest release hitting stores--TODAY!!!

Welcome to Tuonela, a sleepy Wisconsin town haunted by events of 100 years ago, when a man who may have been a vampire slaughtered the town's citizens and drank their blood. Now, another murderer is killing the most vulnerable...and draining their bodies of blood.

Evan Stroud lives in darkness. The pale prisoner of a strange disease that prevents him from ever seeing the light of day, he lives in tragic solitude, taunted for being a "vampire." When troubled teenager Graham Stroud appears on Evan's doorstep, claiming to be his long-lost son, Evan's uneasy solitude is shattered.

Having escaped Tuonela's mysterious pull for several years, Rachel Burton is now back in town, filling in as coroner. Even as she seeks to identify the killer, and uncover the source of the evil that seems to pervade the town, she is drawn to Evan by a power she's helpless to understand or resist...

As Graham is pulled deeper and deeper into Tuonela's depraved, vampire-obsessed underworld, Rachel and Evan team up to save him. But the force they are fighting is both powerful and elusive...and willing to take them to the very mouth of hell.

Here's Anne's Pale Immortal book video below brought to you by You Tube. Unfortunately, those of you with older browsers may not be able to pick this up. Here's also another link to check out.

You can also read excerpts at her Pale Immortal blog, and listen to a very cool soundtrack Anne put together for this novel. I've had the pleasure of reading this novel and it is absolutely chilling! You won't regret picking up this novel, FMers, so be sure to check it out!