Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Captain Medusa by Jason Sullivan

Posted on by Standard 2
snakeleaf

Brandon and Zoe stared across the overgrown lawn at the ramshackle house. A dim light glowed from within. The light flickered or was it something dropping from the curtains?
“Do you think Captain Medusa is in?” This is what the kids in the neighborhood called the old man with the crazy hair that lived in the house.
“Of course he is! Where else would he be?”
None of the other kids would go near the place but Brandon and Zoe could not resist. This summer they had sealed their friendship with a kiss. Tonight, after sharing another, they found themselves outside the creepy old house.
“Come in, come in,” the captain waved at them. “Hurry! The ship sets sail at dusk!”
Brandon started to pull Zoe away, “I better get going home. It will be dark soon.”
Zoe regarded Brandon mischievous glint in her eyes. Brandon continued, “My mom says there is a burglar on the loose. He broke into a house just two streets over. He even beat up the homeowner.”
“What? Are you chicken, Brandon?”
Brandon did not like being called chicken by a girl, even if he had kissed her. “Okay. But just for a few minutes.”
Captain Medusa was wearing a sea captain’s navy blue coat and had thick goggle glasses perched upon his nose. He encouraged them to enter, “Quickly! Come in! Come in!”
He pulled them through the door and ushered them into the living room. “Take a chair in the Captain’s quarters!”
Brandon and Zoe moved hesitantly toward two gothic high back chairs. Brandon started to sit. “Wait!” yelled Zoe.
Captain Medusa saw the problem and with a sweep of his hand tossed the snake out of the chair. “Just some riggin’!” he exclaimed through a smile that was missing some teeth.
Two more snakes waited in Zoe’s chair. “Well, sit!” invited the kind old man.
“No thanks. I’ll stand,” Zoe replied with a gulp.
“No time for jawing, anyhow. Follow me into the galley. We need some grub before we set sail.”
Brandon and Zoe stopped gawking at the snakes in Zoe’s chair and followed the old man through the hallway. “Mind the riggin’!” he warned. “It’s a sailor’s life, yes it is.”
Zoe could not help but scream as she gingerly stepped over several snakes writhing on the floor. “Look out!” yelled Brandon. Snakes were sliding down the wall having released their curly grip from the banister above. “Let’s get out of here,” he urged in a desperate whisper. Unfortunately the hallway between them and the door was now covered with snakes. They had no choice but to follow Captain Medusa into the kitchen. Zoe felt compelled to speak up. “Captain!” The old man turned toward her with a warm, if  insane, look upon his face. He said, “Yes, my dear, what is it? We sail soon!”
Although trying to remain polite, Zoe half screamed, “The snakes! What about all the snakes?”
The clueless old man looked at her enquiringly, pushing his pop-bottle glasses up closer to his eyes. Zoe realized he could barely see a thing. “You mean the riggin’, the ropes?” he asked. “Can’t hoist a sail without them!” He gestured at the slithering snakes in the hallway. They hissed collectively in response. “Now sit, my buccaneers, while I get you something to drink.”
The two kids sat down at the kitchen table, deciding to play along until they could figure out a way to escape. Captain Medusa put a couple of saucers down in front of Zoe and Brandon and hurriedly filled them with cream. Brandon said, “Captain, we really can’t go on your voyage. We have to be getting home.” The two intently followed the old man with their eyes awaiting his reply. Maybe he would show them a snake-free way out. Captain Medusa did not answer. Instead, he stared at the table with a sudden keen interest. Zoe looked at Brandon, neither wanted to see what had captured the captain’s attention. Brandon was not going to look. Zoe thought she had better. She glanced at the tabletop. There, sipping from the saucers, were about half a dozen snakes! Zoe started to run. Brandon followed – pale as a ghost and gasping for air! As they passed Captain Medusa, he reached up to the top cabinet, “You haven’t had any cookies!” He opened the cabinet door and snakes fell from above in a slithery waterfall. The kids turned the corner, ready to jump any snakes in their way, but to their surprise the snakes parted gracefully and allowed them to pass. Zoe and Brandon sped out the door without looking back. Captain Medusa walked into the hallway, the snakes closing in around his feet. He shook his head, “Hard to get a good crew these days.” The snakes bobbed their little heads up and down in agreement.

The officer reported to the sergeant, “They found him dead by the bed. No sign that the old man had any idea what was happening.”
“You mean he was sleeping, right there, when…”
“I would say so.”
The detectives looked at the crime scene in silence.
“Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about that burglar anymore.”
“No, sir.”
“What about the old man?”
“His vision is poor and he is getting on in years. He thought the body was some sort of rum barrel entangled in ropes. The old guy said it took him twenty minutes to get the ‘barrel’ untangled from the ‘rigging’.”
“My God” the sergeant said slowly, as the full impact of what had happened began to sink in. “There must have been a hundred of them.” As if to underscore the point two snakes slithered from under the bed and disappeared down the hall.
“Let’s get out of here!” the sergeant said.
“What about the old man? Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“”Yeah, I’d say he’s the safest guy in town.”

copyright © Jason Sullivan 2013

*originally posted at amwriting.com

graphic © Sashoalusevski | dreamstime.com

A Penny for the World: A Bankers’ Fairytale by Jason Sullivan

Posted on by Standard 2
gold moon

Miguel was among the poor children standing at Number One’s feet. He was not actually begging, although this was how Number One saw it. Number One had not always been rich, yet Stanford then Harvard Business School was probably not in these children’s future. Number One took a penny and tossed it in the air, commenting cynically, “Go buy the world, kid.”

Miguel grabbed the penny from the air. A strange sensation came over him and he felt that he must run deep into the jungle.

The meeting was supposed to be about consolidating Number One’s leadership. Number One had taken a large lead among the globalists and it was now time for the endgame. Three close competitors would make their move today. Nothing less than total control of the world’s resources lay in the balance.

The helicopter flew through the 3D security screens, seeming to disappear to anyone watching from the ground, and then landed at the secret location. The three bankers inside the helicopter contemplated the confrontation that would unfold shortly.

Collin was reflecting upon the loss of his family during the London food riots. The incident had happened years ago. At the time, he had considered it unfortunate and, sadly, analyzed it mostly in terms of how it might affect his career. He had always followed the dicta of Poor Richard’s—revised for the modern world, of course. He had worked his way up by financing two-bit politicians and avaricious contractors. When his moment came, to move the money from a large South American concern into an international real estate syndicate, he had not hesitated; it was his ticket into the club.

Klaus was a systems expert. He had complemented his specialty with several years of studying at an ashram. As the global markets came under the controls of more efficient computers, wealth accumulation at the top had become exponential—especially since the derivatives market was now the lynchpin for stealing global resources. Klaus had moved through the backrooms of the skyscrapered financial world. Yet his real power lay in his ability to understand the religion of globalism. He knew the rituals that would invoke the power of the markets to advance his career.

Goro had studied international politics with a concentration in arms sales. He had always been close to the power, and with each global conflict, his wealth grew. He knew the good times could not last forever, yet if they gave their assets over to Number One it would not be long before their persons were of no further value.

The four walked into the gilded hall where the business was to go down. They gathered around a circular mosaic depicting Zeus ruling over the Olympians. Above them, a moon made of gold slid in front of the skylight, eclipsing the sun from the room and casting them in a jaundiced light.

“Behold!” intoned Number One. “This is the physical manifestation of my wealth and influence. This is raw strength, pure power, and today I call you to follow me and worship my assets.” After saying this, a red pulsating column shot from floor to ceiling. All of Number One’s assets appeared on a large screen above the group. The total was a ponderous one, indeed. Number One said to the other three, “I order you to surrender your assets and join me.”

The three other bankers answered in unison, “We will not join you! We will acquire you!” They pulled out their Global Rubicon Executive Express Dining (GREED) cards and an orange beam started to gather strength between them. Their assets also tallied on a large screen. It too was an impressive number and the orange beam created between the three credit cards wrapped around the red column.  The world shook. The numbers fluctuated. In this battle of Titans, who would come out on top? Finally, the numbers came to rest. The three had done it! They were on top by $2013.43. The red power column sputtered and went out, as the orange ray surged and the walls trembled.

Number One, however, did not give up. With an evil grin, Number One took off a ring and threw it down, saying with a laugh, “That’s a damn nice ring!” The computer found its value to be two thousand three hundred twenty-four dollars and sixty-one and one-half cents! (It was a very precise computer). The three bankers were now a few hundred dollars short. Their orange ray made a loud sputtering sound, spun around like a sick snake, and then with a flash disappeared into thin air.

Also refusing to give up, the three bankers pulled out their wallets, emptied them and combined the cash within—they were still five dollars and thirteen and one-half cents short! They frantically stuck their hands deep into their pockets and proceeded to empty them, spilling the coins out onto the floor. They almost had enough, but they were still one-half cent short! Number One cackled madly. Number One always won! No one else ever had.

It was then that Miguel burst through the door and slid gracefully across the polished floor. Drawn by the opulence of the tropical rain forest, his feet gaining strength with each stride upon the rich soil, he had discovered the secret meeting place. He saw the three bankers, with their pockets hanging inside out, and asked, “Hey boys, need a loan?” The looks on their faces went from stunned to astonished. The boy continued, “Don’t worry. You don’t have to fill out any long and intrusive forms. Your credit is good with me!” He produced the shiny penny; the same penny Number One had given him that very morning! It would put the three over the top. Before giving it to them, Miguel said, “On one condition! There are about seven billion people, along with countless plants and animals, who are my partners. If you take this penny, we all get an equal share of the resources of this planet!” The three could not speak. They nodded their assent. The gold moon had fallen to one side and the sun shone into the room. Number One, who had gone from the richest person in the world to the poorest, wore a Cheshire cat smile. She, after all, had tossed Miguel the capital he needed to buy the world. She wondered if maybe they could do lunch sometime.

© Jason Sullivan 2013

Gold Collonade graphic © Zuboff | Dreamstime.com

*This is a work of fiction. Any similarities with real people are coincidental.

**Initially published at #amwriting.

DRAC Is Thirsty by Jason Sullivan

Posted on by Standard 2

DRAC

The robotic arm came swiftly down over Sonny’s shoulder.

“One hot mocha java for Sonny,” it said mechanically, before adding, “with whipped cream.”

Sonny put down his book and watched the mail cart scurry away across the smoothly polished floor. He had been reading about the cloud of social consciousness. His fellow IT experts would often joke with him about the philosophy minor he took in college, but thinking on his own was something he still liked to do on occasion—even if most of the world now only  thought with the aid of the DRAC 7000. The basic idea behind the cloud of human consciousness was that human minds acted together to create a cognitive shared space within which the world was understood. This idea of a social field influencing our perception of the world fascinated Sonny because he had been having worrisome thoughts about the DRAC ever since DRAC’s main board was replaced with the new crimson chips from the valley. It was true that now DRAC was performing beyond all expectations. Often its computations would be running at incredibly high speeds, sucking up such huge amounts of energy so that there weren’t enough fans to keep the machine cool. The ad revenues were going through the roof because of DRAC’s new social media programming that the computer itself wrote to go along with the new chipset. DRAC seemed to know exactly what every human wanted, and how and when to serve just the right ads. When the crimson chips were installed, it was as if a line had been crossed. The other IT guys didn’t seem to notice. They were all big on how DRAC, the Digital Reticulated Algorithmic Computer, was only a complex series of algorithms. They insisted that this, the most advanced computer ever made, was nothing more than a compilation of discrete commands written by humans. When DRAC started to program itself, first by recommending algorithms, then by writing them and implementing them, no one thought too much about it. After all, they were so rich, beyond anything anyone could imagine. They had calls from the Pentagon, the United Nations, and all the universities and institutes begging for a little access to the computer behind it all. What if DRAC was now flying solo most of the time—no one else had to know.

Sonny was concerned that he had not been cc’d on DRAC’s email request for the new crimson chips. There was a bit of an uproar at the production facilities. Sonny never heard exactly what the commotion was about, but he knew DRAC always got what it asked for. Who could say no to DRAC? What with the world grid more and more dependent on DRAC’s seemingly transcendent computing abilities, it was thought to be too big to crash. If DRAC goes down, all the computers go down, that was the theory anyway.

Sonny wondered what effect DRAC might have on the cloud of human consciousness. It was naturally created, after all, long before there were computers, especially ones like DRAC that could think on their own and which controlled more and more aspects of daily life. At what point did DRAC start to influence, maybe even control, what used to be a world interpreted solely by humans? Was there a line that would be crossed where the world became more DRAC’s creation than our own? The thought left him with a cold chill.

Sonny got up to do the midnight rounds. He had to make sure DRAC was whizzing and bleeping in all the right places. He walked through the half-light of the darkened after hours control room, down the long aisles of computer servers. Serenaded by the electric hum of the main servers, Sonny wondered how one might identify subtle changes in the world that were the result of a supercomputer’s cogitations.

Then Sonny noticed something odd. There was a shiny new server, about eight feet tall, with metal doors on the front. It must have come in with new crimson chips. Strange, though, as Sonny had not been told of it. He tried to pry apart the elevator-type doors, but they would not budge. It was then he noticed something even more disturbing, there was a dark pool of liquid seeping out from under the doors and enveloping his canvas white sneakers. He started to feel something ooze into his socks and in between his toes. Sonny could not be sure in the low light, but the liquid appeared to be staining his shoes red.

A frenzied electronic commotion suddenly grabbed his attention away from the mess on the floor. It sounded like a blender trying to shred silverware. He looked up to see the mail cart charging around a row of computer servers, mechanical arms flailing and warning lights madly blinking. It was moving at high speed in his direction. The mail cart had gone postal! He stood frozen, his sneakers still soaking up the dark liquid, as the unit careened toward him. He managed to shake his fear and jump to the side toward DRAC—only to discover that the metal doors of the new unit were now open. On the floor—in a pool of blood—was the head of the IT department. Above him protruded a sharp stainless steel siphon, like something you would stick a very large bug on. Sonny tried to stop the forward momentum of his leap; he teetered above his boss’s body and mere inches from the razor-sharp steel that would undoubtedly, if fallen upon, put a massive hole in his torso. Just when he thought he had regained his balance the mail cart zoomed by, and with a triumphant beep, pushed Sonny into the chamber and onto the deadly device.

As he felt the mechanism efficiently sucking the blood from his body, Sonny was sure he noticed something else too—it was the presence of a higher consciousness. He started to fade, to leave a world that was less and less each day. He wondered when his fellow humans would figure out that a line had been crossed from which there was no going back. Would they meet a fate similar to his? Sonny’s body slumped to the floor. The doors closed and the chamber pulled back to conceal itself behind the row of computer servers. A chute used for heavy metal waste took the bodies into a sealed dumpster. DRAC created the appropriate letters of resignation, cover stories, and bank account changes—all in a millisecond. DRAC loved blood and it was very, very thirsty.

copyright Jason Sullivan 2013

servers graphic © Tomix | Dreamstime.com

*originally posted at #amwriting

Yuletide Zingle by Jason Sullivan

Posted on by Standard 1

XmasDino

The Errychris were short pointy-eared planet fixers and cold weather lovers. No one knew exactly how they came to love cold weather, except that they had very high body temperatures and this made them uncomfortable in the heat. They liked the cold so much that they would sleep under the stars and take baths in a one horse soap and sleigh.

They roamed the Milky Way looking for planets to fix, for this is what they had done for as long as anyone could remember. One day they came across a planet, third from its sun, which had tilted horribly onto its side. When they landed for a closer look, they found many frozen dinosaurs on one side of the planet, and many cooked dinosaurs on the other. The Errychris felt sad but prepared to leave, and then something furry darted between their legs. Life still graced the planet! They knew, however, if they did not fix the tilt quickly, that the life would not last for long.

They immediately stuck a large peppermint striped pole into the ground. They would set up the spin around this and call it the North Pole. They then began work on adapting the trees. You see, they had to transform the trees into jolly conductors. The trees needed to conduct an awful lot of jolly for the Errychris to prop the planet up so that it got just enough night in the summer to cool off, and more importantly, just enough day in the winter to warm up. They immediately began rigging the long tin sails. The tin sails would catch electromagnetic waves from the sun, turning the trees into electromagnetic collectors. The Errychris then made branch augmentations called ornamateriological minterfeasiasticals. These little “orna mints” were where the hard science of planet tilting took place. The orna mints transformed the electromagnetic waves gathered by the tin sails into specific commands that could adjust gravitational fields, orbits and the like. At the top of the trees, the Errychris put beacons which, if shining, would let them know the jolly was flowing and everything was proceeding according to plan.

They looked at the orbit of the planet on their Orbitron watches. They knew the best time to attempt the tilt was when the planet was closest to the sun; this was when they could get a good Wish off. They needed some extra helpers for when the big moment arrived. They found a large red T-Rex, and an even bigger green Brontosaurus, and defrosted them. For the good of the planet, because they were dinosaurs of good will, the T-Rex said he would not eat Bronto, and Bronto said she would not stomp Rexy.

Now there is another important part to this story. The Errychris had found this adorable man on a planet that they had tried to fix. He either did not have a name or could not remember it. It was, however, too late for his planet because the burning of carbon-based fuel had ruined the atmosphere. Nevertheless, they could not leave this man because of a sanitary clause in their contract, i.e. they must remove people and things from dead planets. This latter part was especially difficult because the planet this sweet man was on contained tons of toys! What a headache for the Errychris!

Being conscientious citizens of the Milky Way, they gathered all the toys up in a big bag and took the person who had not a name, but whom they had all come to refer to as the “sanitary clause” guy. Unfortunately, he was not particularly fond of cold weather, which the Errychris loved, so he ate a lot in order to put on weight. He became quite fat on hohoho, which was what the Errychris ate. In fact, he was always asking the Errychris for more food.

The Errychris joyfully prepared the planet, third from its sun, with Red Rexy and Green Bronto standing by, and with the sanitary clause guy hanging around saying, “Hohoho!” (Because he was hungry, as he always was when he was cold), and they got ready to cast their Wish toward the sun. At just the right moment, on the day when the planet was closest to its sun, the leader of the Errychris, whose name was Am, cast a Wish out toward the sun. A Wish was similar to a big fishing line, except it was for catching the sun instead of fish. The Wish caught the sun and the planet started to tilt ever so slightly. The whole group of Errychris, en masse, leaned to the left in order to add weight. They did not weigh very much, but it moved the planet enough so that the tin sails started to collect the sun’s electromagnetic waves. The tin sails then directed the energy into the ornamateriological minterfeasiasticals, lighting them up with sparkles and all the colors of the rainbow until, after just a bit of excited zingling, the jolly started to flow up and through the trees lighting the beacons on their tops. The planet was now starting to tilt significantly up and off its sideways axis, yet it was still not enough. A little more was needed and this was where the dinosaurs came in. The Errychris called out to the defrosted dinosaurs, “Lean to your left!” Red Rexy and Green Bronto leaned with all their weight. With a lot of leaning, and a couple of thunderous dinosaur jumps, the most amazing thing happened – the angles started to sing! Not to worry, this was what was supposed to happen. When the planet reached its correct degree of inclination, the electromagnetic waves emitted by the sun caused the intersecting angles to sing. Thus, the Errychris knew the planet had achieved precisely the tilt desired and the angles singing let loose a tide of jolly that saved the planet!

The Errychris had done it again. They could not stay long, however, for they had more planets to help. It was then that it hit them. They could leave all the toys under the trees and the sanitary clause guy along with them! There were some animals on the planet that looked like they might evolve into something similar to him. They asked him if this was okay and he said, “Hohoho!”

“Good enough,” The Errychriss replied and, upon parting, gave the sanitary clause guy one last task. “Oh yeah, and see if you can find something to do with for all those toys!”

So at solstice time, to create a yuletide that will preserve the correct tilt of the planet, people say, “We Wish you Am Errychris en masse!” which over the years has turned into “We wish you a Merry Christmas!” because that basically describes how the planet was saved. Of course, ornamateriological minterfeasiasticals or “orna mints” became ornaments, and the tin sails on the trees have become known as tinsel. The red and green dinosaurs somehow fell out of the tradition, but their colors are still the colors of the holiday. Stars represent the jolly beacons atop the trees, and someone misspelled “angles” leaving us with “angels”! Of course, angels sing nicely, too. The sanitary clause guy fulfilled the request of the Errychris and each year, when the planet passed closest to the sun, he distributed toys from his long forgotten planet to all the boys and girls, and sometimes even to grownups. Finally, you guessed it, the sanitary clause guy we now call Santa Claus! Oh, and if you hear “hohoho”, make sure you leave out some cookies.

Jason Sullivan copyright 2012

CHRISTMAS DINOSAUR illustration by Caraman @ Dreamstime.com

*originally published at #amwriting

Sunday Best

Posted on by Standard Respond

by Jason Sullivan

“I don’t want to get my Sunday best wet!”  Jess petulantly exclaimed to his little brother.

Little brother was very excited about going on the whale watch, but not Jess. When Jess thought of whales, he thought large, messy and wet. He was not really an animal lover, except for possibly the roast beef on the Sunday dinner table. It was Sunday and Jess was handsomely dressed. He liked getting dressed up for the Son, and this was not vain because it showed respect. The problem this Sunday was the whale watch. There would be no time to change; what if his clothes got wet? His little brother, however, wore a big smile in anticipation.

As they sailed out of the harbor, Jess noticed Paul’s “castle”. Paul was able to build it because the Son had been very good to him. Paul had listened to the message of the Son. If you are good, you will flourish; if you are bad, you will wither. Jess sometimes wondered about little brother. He did not have the necessary respect for the Son. It was a lovely day on the ocean and the whales appeared from the four directions. Some jumped all the way out of the water, landing with magnificent splashes. The people on the boat cheered as the whales said hello with their flappers and tails, snorts and leaps. It was an affirmation, a sharing between mammals, different animals — but also alike. Jess noticed one or two others who were as unimpressed as he was.

As Jess stood there, behind the crowd that leaned out over the railing, an image leaped into his mind and captivated him for a moment. It was of millions and millions of plankton, fed by the sun and filling the oceans, and the whales sweeping them up with their baleen not merely nourished themselves — but also the whole planet! He shook the thought from his head and instinctively brushed off his lapels. The afternoon ended and the boat headed back toward the harbor. The crowd funneled inside the cabin leaving Jess alone on the deck. Out in the quiet, Jess thought he heard the whales talking to him. The boat was no longer in the whale area, yet the ethereal song of the whales filled his ears. Where was this coming from and how could he hear it? He moved closer to the edge of the boat, maybe a whale was following them. The high-pitched delicate sounds encouraged him to get closer to the water. He leaned out over the rail. The boat hit the wake of a passing ship, lurching for just a moment. No one saw Jess go over the railing and slide into the water.

He knew immediately that the boat was too far. He tried a scream, but stopped halfway — it was no use.  Jess, however, had faith. He knew the Son would save him. Just like Jonah and the whale, he would be rescued from the savages of nature. It was too far to swim to shore so he tried to stay afloat in the hope that someone might notice him missing. He stared longingly at the tiny houses on the shore. They were the homes of the good people of the Son. He refused to relinquish his grasp of the coastline with its sharply protruding houses; he imagined his hands bleeding as they scraped against the distant gables. He was getting tired; time to slip beneath the waves and sleep.

Splash! What was that? Another splash right in front of him. Jess pulled his head up above the water. To his surprise he heard chatter, not of whales, but of dolphins! They spoke to him, too, but it was not the airy echo of the whales. These guys were funny! The dolphins chattered away, occasionally nuzzling him with their snouts. He thought he could see the stars in their eyes. Just as soon as they had appeared, they were gone. Their visit, however, had buoyed him.

The lights along the distant shore seemed miniscule to Jess, a thin line of artificial light separating the vast ocean from an endless glittering field of stars. Jess had the sensation each one of that infinite number reached out to him with crystalline strings of light and held him afloat. Back on shore there was talk of a search party at first light. His parents prayed to the Son to save their boy. He had always been a good boy. Little brother was not worried because in the middle of the night a raccoon had tapped on his window.

Jess began to sink for a second time, but then he felt a warm kiss upon his eyelids. He opened them to see the ocean set ablaze by a brilliant star rising into the sky. It was the greatest of all stars, his sun! As energy ran into his arms and legs, he realized the most amazing thing — this star, his sun, knew him personally! It was sublime in its power and yet he held its energy in every cell in his body. The sun was not going to let him flicker out. Like the whales, the dolphins and the stars, the sun made him light; it lifted him.

There it was — the smile Jess had always found annoying. Little brother waved from a fishing trawler and his smile shone like the sun upon the sea. When Jess was pulled on board, little brother remarked gleefully, “I see you got your Sunday best wet after all!”

© 2012 Jason Sullivan

*The photo is of Dome’s tail. She is a humpback whale that has been visiting the waters off New England every summer since at least the early 1980’s. Please send her your congratulations as she has a new calf this year!

**This story was originally posted at #amwriting as an August 2012 Friday Flash.

Guidance Time

Posted on by Standard Respond

by Jason Sullivan

Bam! He hit the lockers hard. A junior, a member of the football team, smiled back at him. The football player then disappeared into the crowd of high schoolers rushing to get to their next class. John was a freshman. His strategy of slinking next to the lockers to avoid the tough kids had the one fatal flaw of making him an easy target for a locker smash. He would adjust his tactics and walk a little bit further out in the flow of chaotic adolescents—but not too far out. His friend, Alan, another freshman and the drummer in his band, came by.

“Going to see your guidance counselor? She’s kind of cute!” he said, with a silly smile on his face.

John did not have time to reply, the bell had rung and all the kids disappeared into classrooms. He stood outside the office. The smell of ammonia floated up from the scrubbed floors and the low murmuring of adult speech was now audible in the empty hall. The sign on the door read “Guidance.” John did not know what to expect, this guidance counselor thing was big kid stuff. He had never sat in a room before, alone with a strange adult, just to talk about himself. He imagined it might be like the wise man on TV who held out a pebble in the palm of his hand. The young novitiate had to grab it before the old man’s hand closed around it. If he was faster and could grab it, he was ready to go out into the world. Or maybe seeing a counselor was like what happened on his favorite UFO show. A special room would turn into an elevator and then descend deep into the earth where he would receive orders to go on an undercover mission.

John had noticed that the new guidance counselor at school was rather young, she had long brown hair and wore jeans. She did not seem at all like the football coach, who doubled as a guidance counselor, whom most of his friends seemed to have.

He walked in. She smiled at him. So far so good. His heart was pounding. She stood up and shut the door to her small office. OK, a little scary. There was a file on her desk. Aha, his undercover mission!

When she sat down, her smile was gone. She enquired about how he was feeling. John thought he was feeling OK, so he was not sure what to say. He nervously fidgeted in his chair.

She picked up the file from her desk, leafed through it, and then with a serious tone asked, “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

John responded awkwardly, “No…not really.” He was starting to realize the file did not contain his secret orders.

“Your honors English teacher is disappointed with your performance. She thinks you might be having problems at home?”

John did not see that coming. He wanted to open the door to the little office so that he could breathe, and possibly escape. He was thinking about answering but perhaps never quite said, “No, everything is OK.” He wished he was not in that dumb honors class, anyway. It was mostly girls, and the regular English classes were reading cool stuff, like science fiction. He knew the teacher did not like him. There was that day he had fallen off his bike on the way to school and had a big bloody scab on his arm that he did not have time to clean up before first period. She had looked at him as if he was some sort of freak.

The counselor continued, “Well, we might have to call your parents in so that we can all sit down and talk about this—if you won’t tell me now how you are feeling?”

John was actually starting to feel rather unhappy, as if he had been somehow tricked into thinking guidance was a cool thing. He said nothing; he just stared at the file that was now back on the counselor’s desk.

“OK then, I’ll let you know what we are going to do. You can leave.”

John was out of there in an instant. He quietly opened the door to his French class. His French teacher rather liked him even if John had once mistakenly said, “The Count of Monte Crisco” instead of ‘Cristo.’ She smiled at him as he slid into his chair. It felt good to be back in a normal place. Nevertheless, the feeling of unease from his guidance session lingered. His stomach clenched and he thought he might be sick. He wondered what he had done wrong; why he didn’t get that special undercover assignment.

© 2012 Jason Sullivan

*This story was originally posted at #amwriting as a May 2012 Friday Flash.

Can’t Have It!

Posted on by Standard Respond

by Jason Sullivan

The immense glowing spheres slid into place above all the most important horse farms of the world. The spheres were making a strange humming noise. It sounded like Yankee Doodle, or was it Oh Susanna, or could they be whistling Dixie? Nah! The people of the world stood in awe. Who or what was inside these enormous spaceships that had appeared above their horse farms so suddenly? Could it be an army of ugly reptiles disguised as beautiful humanoids? Or could it be an army of ugly humanoids disguised as beautiful reptiles?

Many humans lined up to get on the ships and be taken away to a distant galaxy. “Eh, what are you doing?” boomed from the spaceships.

“We are coming with you, oh Great Ones!” chanted the humans.

“No, I don’t think so,” was the response from within the glowing spheres, and the spaceships pulled back a little.

On the third night, at 3 am, the request came (It was 3 am all over the world, the aliens knew how to bend time and they wanted to keep the humans groggy and in the dark).

“Okay, up and at ‘em! Everyone out of bed!” came screaming from the spaceships, together with the sound of a thousand bells ringing.

The humans scrambled out of their beds, wearing all manner of pajamas, and hot footed it outside. Was this the end of the world? When all but the very deepest of sleepers (some people can sleep through anything) had assembled, the aliens made their demands known. “We have come for the most precious substance in the universe. Our people have grown weak in its absence, our world withers without its presence, and our spaceships aren’t driving so great either. So, come on, fork it over!”

The humans all across the world didn’t know what the aliens were talking about. They kind of shuffled around and looked at each other. Finally a Texan, in a mighty big ten gallon hat, stepped forward, “Ah shucks, we’ll get the oil for ya. I mean, it’s not worth destroying the world over—“

“WE DON’T WANT YOUR OIL!” said the aliens.

There was a nervous silence until a New York banker stepped forward, “I will make the necessary arrangements to have the world’s gold supply handed over—“

“DO WE LOOK LIKE BANK ROBBERS?” questioned the aliens.

The humans were getting a little nervous. What could these enigmatic beings in humongous threatening spaceships possibly want? A young lady stepped forth from the crowd with a smug “I’ve figured it out” look on her face. “Oh Great Ones, I know what the most precious of all substances is, but we can only give you half, for we need water—“

“NOPE! NOT THIRSTY!” was the reply.

Now everyone was getting quite concerned. What if they didn’t have what the aliens wanted? Would the aliens experience interstellar space rage and destroy the world? Then the horses started to neigh very loudly, “ Chhhooocooollllaaatte….chhhhooooocccooooollllaaatttte…chhooccccooollllaaatte.”

Someone said, “Chocolate…could the horses be saying chocolate?”

“BINGO!” echoed down from above.

A Mayan wise man whispered to the guy next to him, “Yeah, last time they were here they took off with 2012 pounds of the stuff!”

The aliens continued, “We kindly request, i.e. DEMAND, that you gather all your world’s chocolate and place it in the designated loading areas so that we may pick it up PRONTO and be on our way.”

Humanity was bummed, like mega depressed. Anything but the chocolate! The world leaders, for once feeling their cacao beans, yelled back defiantly and in unison, “No!”

The aliens paused for a moment. They knew all too well that no alien civilization ever wanted to give up their chocolate. “What exactly do you mean by ‘no’?” the aliens inquired ominously.

Nobody could come up with a thing.

“Prepare to be annihilated!”

Just then a little boy stepped forward. “Ah, excuse me, kind aliens, what our leaders meant to say is that, no, you can’t have our chocolate because we don’t have any. Funny thing really, third time this millennium aliens have come looking for chocolate. You see there is another planet called Firth, looks just like Earth, which has a lot of chocolate. An easy mistake really, you just got the wrong planet! If you take a left at Jupiter and then go straight for a few million light years, you can’t miss it! Don’t rush, they should have plenty.”

Light beams lit up the small boy and a voice from the spaceships asked, “Scouts honor?”

It was then that the boy noticed a piece of foil, barely sticking out of his bathrobe pocket, but shining like the sun under all the lights. It was the wrapper to his candy bar! He quickly pushed it back into his pocket.

And humanity waited.

“Okay, we’re outta here. Horses only intelligent beings down there anyway,” said the aliens as they left.

And thus September 2nd became “Defend Our Chocolate from Aliens Day.”

The End.

©Copyright 2011 Jason Sullivan

*Learn a little bit more about chocolate.