Flash Fiction: The Key to Time

The Key to Time

by Mel Dawn

Jane was going through the junk in the attic of the new house they had just bought. The former owners had never tossed anything out. Annoyed, she grabbed stuff and tossed it into a garbage bag. 

She grabbed another book off the shelf. Something dropped to the floor by her feet. It was a set of ancient brass keys. 

She briefly wondered what they could be for, but remembered there was an old desk here.

Now, she could see what was inside. The third key worked.

The drawer opened. Inside were several photographs, letters, and a small jewel box. When she touched a girl’s ring, the ghost of a little girl popped out of the box. 

Jane smiled at the image. 

“Hey, Jane, are you done up here yet?”

“Just a minute.”

“Do you have the garbage?”

“No, I want to have a better look.”

“I thought you said it was junk.”

“I think we can donate some to the Museum. These things belonged to a family and were very important to them. I’d feel bad just tossing it all out.”

“Works for me,” said her husband.

Flash Fiction: Theftproof

Theftproof

by Mel Dawn

Mark entered the cafe and tossed his backpack onto the floor.

“Hi, I’m Mark.”

“It’s ready.” She handed him a large brown bag and several drinks.

He carried his order to the table. “What the?” he exclaimed. “Someone has taken my bag!”

xxx

“That was an easy steal,” Tony thought.

Not bad. A tablet, a flip phone, and a box. He opened it.

Mist swirled out of it, along with the figure of a woman. “Return me or I shall haunt you forever,” she screamed at him.

It wasn’t just the image. Tony felt coldness and despair pierce his heart. He quickly closed the box and tossed it back.

“Now!” the voice yelled.

He raced back to the coffee shop.

zzz

Mark was in despair. They had searched all over. Then a man rushed in. 

“Sorry, I grabbed it by mistake!” He dropped the backpack onto the floor then quickly left.

“Mom!” said Tony, in relief. He pulled the box from the backpack. “Now we can resume your celebration of life.”

Time for Some Quick Reads!

While socializing at an event, many people will ask what I do for a living. I'll tell them about my writing journey. They're curious about where to find some of my short stories. Generally, I only write for pay. You can find a few of my free short stories scattered over the web if you look hard enough.

Here are a few spots where you can buy my short stories. Don't worry, most of them are only a few dollars to purchase. You really can't go wrong!

What the Cat Saw - Would you kill for your cat? This is a short crime fiction story, with a cat. Only 99¢ on Smashwords. It's quick and easy to sign up and you can pay with your Paypal account.

What the Cat Saw, available at Barnes and Noble Nook Book - Same short story, different location, also 99¢.

The Glass Marble - An ancient Egyptian story about a family struggling to survive, with many temptations available at the town bazaar. About one dollar (site is in the UK).

Zombies Against the Confederacy of Steam - found inside the Confederacy of Steam Vs Zombies Anthology by Marion Margaret Press. Normally zombie stories are told from the point of view of the humans. But what about zombie rights?

$2.99 US, available on Smashwords.

Thrilling Thursdays Presents: What the Cat Saw

A short flash fiction story of the thriller genre.

Please note the PG13 rating, some scenes of violence.

"You look a bit tired today, you came in late last night," Pete commented to his wife over the morning paper.

"I know, the girls wouldn't" stop chatting," Sue replied back. 

She tapped tuna off the spoon and into the cat food dish. After laying the dish at Mimsey's paws, she joined her husband at the breakfast nook.

Pete thrust the newspaper towards her face.

"I knew that crazy neighbour across the street was abusing his wife. She killed him in self-defense."

"What," his wife shrieked. She grabbed the paper to steady it. She rapidly read through the story. 

"How awful! I think they were called the Smiths. It says she's in a coma and may not make it."

"What a tragedy," Pete said. They both mused about the incident.

"I'm off to work now." Pete put his cup down, and grabbed his coat and briefcase from behind the chair.

"Have a good day dear. I'll try to continue to enjoy my vacation," Sue said, visibly shaken.

He paused by the door. "Where did you say the cat came from?"

"I found her outside, she was drenched and starving," his wife replied back.

Pete took a long look at Mimsey. 

"She looks like the neighbour's cat, I saw one just like her in their yard."

"Just as well she's here then. No one to look after her now, not that they did anyway, poor thing." Sue reached down to stroke the cat. 

Later that morning Mimsy lay on their bed. Her paws twitched and her tail swayed back and forth in her sleep.

In her dreams she was fleeing.

"I don't want that cat around here no more," an angry man's voice cried. 

Mimsy felt herself being grabbed and pulled into the air. A door crashed against its frame and heavy feet stomped down a set of steps.

"No!" cried a woman's voice,"Bring my cat back." Tiny steps followed.

Mr. Smith threw Mimsy against the fence. The cat fell on the ground and lay stunned. Now was the time to run but she was concerned for her mistress. She watched as he pushed his wife against the fence. Mimsey watched the fence give way as her mistress fell in a tangle of wood right down the embankment.

The cat launched herself at her enemy's head. The man struck her aside. 

Mimsy landed hard on the grass. She watched horrified as her beloved human's body hit the concrete paving below. She didn't have time to see if the body moved. She braced herself for a kick from the man's boot.

Her eyes whipped to a movement from behind the man. There was a blur of red hair and the green flash of a bottle as it struck the side of the man's head.

Blood and small bits of bone mixed with the champagne as it spewed across the grass. 

A woman with red hair scooped up Mimsey and they ran.

Suddenly, Mimsy woke up to her tummy being rubbed.

She gazed up at Sue. 

"Wake up liitle kitty. You're having a bad dream." Sue kept on stroking her. "I promise I will always take care of you."

Mimsey started purring and gazed up in adoration at her new red-haired mistress.

A Writer’s Retreat – Or the act of withdrawing from society to stay at an asylum in order to produce productive literature

After participating in Debra Kristi’s flash fiction challenge, I've been thinking long and hard about organizing my own writer's retreat. Needing an avenue to start at I checked online for writing group retreats. I found that nothing fit my date or price range. This took me back to the Lower Mainland where I live. Since I'm considering three days minimum, the hotel route could be pricey. 

One promising option I've found is shared office space for $5 per hour, but the downside is there could be several office-related distractions ranging from cell phone calls to chatting with the other cohorts in the room. Still, outside distractions may not be as bad as at-home distractions of cat, laundry, crafts, renos, Internet, steampunk, TV, the list goes on..... I’ve made it a fine art of keeping myself occupied at home over the years and now there are many things to occupy my time.

With all these distractions it means very few hours per week spent doing any sort of writing, let alone the kind of fiction I want to write.

My patio: distraction or inspiration?

Dictionary.com has this definition of the word “retreat”:

1. the forced or strategic withdrawal of an army or an armed force before an enemy, or the withdrawing of a naval force from action. - This sounds like a great idea for a short story!

2. the act of withdrawing, as into safety or privacy; retirement; seclusion. - This is exactly what I need to do in order to get some writing work done.

3. an asylum, as for the insane. - This could be the spot for me.

Other retreat options include staying at a friend’s place, sitting out on the patio, visiting a café, sitting in a park, and locking myself in a closet.

Please stay tuned to find out when I will vote myself out of the house for my top secret writer’s retreat.

Flashing Debra Kristi

Earlier this week I was catching up on Debra Kristi's Blog and reading about her self-induced writing retreat, located in a secret location. I thought about how wonderful it must be to get away from it all.

Taking a break from her book, she was inspired to write a flash fiction story. She challenged her readers to choose one of her photos and write a flash fiction story on their own blog.

I chose a photo depicting snowy ski runs above a Bavarian-style building. Here is my story.

I awoke around 7 am after a sound night's sleep. I lay in bed and rubbed the palms of my hands together before doing cat stretches. Yoga was a great way to wake up in the morning. I sat up and moved my hand to pick up the glass of water on my nightstand. One glass of water in the morning replenished the body.

I thought about the long day yesterday, packing up and gathering supplies, then trying to secure transportation. 

I had nearly downed my glass of water when I spat out the last mouthful. There was bright sunshine seeping through the edges of the curtains.

I threw the glass down and leaped out of bed yanking the curtains open. The sunshine was blazing in the sky. Grabbing the binoculars from my window sill I looked through the lenses and scoped out the ski runs. There were seven visible to my eyes. 

After a long study I could not find humans or otherwise on the runs, but I did notice one thing. 

The snow was not as tightly packed on the hills as last evening, and I could hear a dripping noise outside my window.

Just then the door to my suite slammed against the wall, causing me to drop my binoculars.

My cohort cried, "Get packed up now, the snow is melting! We have to get to higher ground."

I nodded at him and started packing up my gear. It was done in record time.

I took one last look around the room. This would have been the perfect location to get some writing done.