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Thursday, April 11, 2013

Flash Fiction By: T. M. Vornes

These stories were written for school but hold near and dear to my heart.
And comment.  I love feedback. 

Flash Fiction

Chaos For The Fly

Pam sits on her bed smoking a cigarette.  The Addams Family movie is showing on her television. Pam’s only conscious behavior is the mechanical way she lifts her hand to her lips and takes a long drag from her cigarette.  With each drag her chest heaves in deep unison.  Each heaving inhale is followed by another mechanical movement of her arm over to an ashtray resting on a nightstand.  Her gaze unchanged as she exhales a cloud of smoke that drifts into the air.  Its thick at first then dissipates near the foot of the bed where her sleeping child lies.  She’s heavily focused on nothing while mechanically pulling the cigarette to her lips dragging again systematically before ending with a few taps over an ashtray.
A rustling can be heard outside of Pam’s open door.  Through her window she can make out two men fighting near the tree line. The two men fighting become several men in uniform detaining a wiry looking individual.  Pam moves quickly to close her curtains and shuts her door.  As she closes her door she sees flashing blue and red lights coming up her drive. Police sirens over take the once peaceful quiet night.  Pam’s heart races as she takes more frequent and less mechanical pulls from her cigarette.  She finishes it, dabs it out in her ashtray and lights another.  The newly lit cigarette dangles from her clenched lips as she looks around for her robe.  While searching she feels her ponytail brush her shoulders agitating her so she wraps it around into a tight bun.  With both hands moving frantically to pin her bun tightly, Pam exhales smoke from both sides of her mouth while the center of her lips are still clenched tight on her cigarette.  Pam jumps, startled by three heavy knocks at her door.
                        “Just a moment!” she yells, pulling on her robe.
The robe is a cotton blend, thin, light and no match for the curves of her body. Her shape easily perceived as the robe draped her frame.  She exhales still clenching the cigarette.  She quickly looks herself over and decides to tighten her belt and pull her lapels apart. Doing so exposes her cleavage protruding past the laced edge of her nighty.  When she opens the door a man dressed in black stands before her.  The bold F-B-I letters of his flack jacket shine with cascading red and blue squad car lights dancing along his frame. Pam notices no two car’s lights blink in perfect unison.  The strobe light effect briefly reminds her of her youth.  She smiles as she greets the agent.
“What’s all the commotion officer?”  He lifts a picture to her face.
                           “Do you know this man?” He asks bluntly. Pam shakes her head no seeing that the face is completely unfamiliar to her. “I’m Special Agent Lennox. The man in the photo is Hershel Wyles a known serial rapist and murderer.” Agent Lennox pauses retracting the photo. Pam opens her door fully.  She sees Hershel seated in the back of a squad car.  She props herself upon the doorframe with one hand. Her other hand removes the cigarette from her mouth.  Propping herself against the doorframe like she did causes her robe and nighty to rise exposing more leg.  Agent Lennox takes notice of her leg. Following his eyes, Pam takes a step forward.
                        “I don’t know him.” She reiterates.
                        “We’ve been tracking him for years.  The last two hours lead us through the wooded area to your front yard.  You were lucky.  He doesn’t hesitate to kill.” An agent behind Lennox picks up an object catching Pam’s eye.  A light on the object chimes on and Pam deciphers what it is.  She looks over at Wyles and then again at the agent.
                        “He’s been in these woods for hours. I caught up to him crouching just past the tree line, no doubt stalking you.”  Pam leans her head a bit, looking around Lennox.
                        “Excuse me! Miss! That camera belongs to me. A friend of mine just left an hour ago. They phoned me saying they couldn’t find it.  I must have missed it when I searched earlier.”

The Female agent eyes the camera for a moment then nods her head in agreement.  She walks over and hands the camera to Pam.
“Nice shot of you and the kid before he lost it. Probably fell out of his pocket as he climbed into the car.” The female agent’s nose twitches. “Awful strong bleach smell miss. You been cleaning?”  Pam looks into her eyes and smiles.
                        “More so sanitizing than cleaning.  I have a sick baby.”  The woman nods and walks away. Agent Lennox fumbles through an F.B.I. protocol and hands Pam a card. They agree to keep in touch then he leads the troops and Hershel Wyles back down the dark road. On Pam’s returns to her previous post on the bed she hears Morticia Addams speaking on the television.

            : Normal is an illusion. What’s normal for the spider is chaos for the fly:

She sits at the edge of the bed and looks at her child before turning on the camera.  The first five photos are of her interacting with her baby. The next forty-two show a more gruesome scene of pam dismembering a body in the once blood drenched bathroom, washing down the walls as she throws bleach about, and laboriously treading to the back of her car parked near the door filling the trunk with garbage bags filled with the dismembered body.  As she sits Indian-style on her bed looking through the camera she notices the blood stain on her palm and the other one on the bottom of her slipper. She had hidden them while talking to Agent Lennox.  She chuckles thinking of what just happened in her life.  The baby coos when Pam leans over to pick him up.
                        “Remember baby, we are always the spider, never the fly.”

Rudin, S. (Producer), & Sonnenfeld, B. (Director) (November 16, 1991). The Addams
            Family(Motion Picture). United States. Paramount Pictures.

A Choking Darkness

            Fast paced footsteps draw nearer; their direction unknown. The footsteps stop suddenly only to be interrupted by a clattering of trashcans being strewn about as a body hits wet pavement.  The person cries out in agony, obviously in pain but also to throw a bit of a tantrum.  One of the trashcans is clearly kicked as the body makes it’s way back to its feet.  Heavy breathing draws closer to the looming darkness.  The swinging open then dramatic slamming of a door briefly interrupts the darkness.  A silhouette of a man showed as the light graced the darkness for mere seconds.  His fingers were thick against the frame of the door His hair hung long and matted, possibly wet from the rain.  The source of the light was unknown bi it afforded the darkness life. Life it would soon long for once more.  After slamming the door the man fell to the ground sitting back against the door.  He welcomed the black void, the silence.  It was a comfort to him.  There are no windows nor cracks or seems at the door.  No light creeps in nor darkness seeps out.
            “We’ve lost him!” a man screams minutes later.
            “Doesn’t matter.” Another man says in passing. “I shot him dead to rights.  Its really only a matter of time.”   The men outside grow quiet as their footsteps become more faint in the distance.  Still Huddled against the door in the darkness, the man’s breathing pucks up. A rustling in the darkness alerts the man's senses. He strikes a lighter piercing the darkness momentarily.  It doesn’t catch fire. A task so remedial weighs on him heavily.  Curious to see something, anything he powers through the task focusing to get it struck this time.  As he figured, the room is an abandoned wreck.  It is ugly and unsettling. Out of the darkness tiny eyes glare at him before blinking and scurrying off into the darkness once more.  With death in the air he drops his head in dismay. 
I’m right where I belong. He thinks to himself with a slight whimpering in his throat.
Between his legs he notices an old tattered photograph partially burned and partially gnawed on by rodents sticking out from under a rug.  The scene is simple enough. A couple sits on their hotel room patio. They can be seen through the patio door.  The two queen sized beds suggest they may be more friendly than romantic.  The man squints feeling his sight fail him.  He notices their faces and fantasizes about the joys the two spoke of.  He chuckles to himself realizing he no longer sees the man who is actually in the photo but himself.  He longs for the joy the photo offers up.
She loved me despite my flaws and I loved her because of hers. I accept this fate knowing she loved me. The man  
 A smile crosses his face once more before the dancing flame snaps closed snatching the black void back to reality; it erases any life once prominent.  A wheezing hiss and throaty gurgle breaks the silence followed by the clatter of the lighter tumbling from a short fall out of lifeless fingers.

Kent Deflated

A man walks through the front door of his house.

            “Damn it, Lisa!” Kent yells up the stairs. “Stop setting my wrist watch ahead!”  He sits his briefcase along side a long decorative table near the front door. After removing his coat he places his keys, wallet, and watch in a ceramic bowel that sits atop the decorative table.
            “Oh hush Babe. You’re always running behind.” Lisa replies as she walks down the stairs.  “You need all the help you can get.  Those five little minutes probably saved your ass all day.”  Kent chuckles, walking into the kitchen while undoing his tie. 
            “You are right. I made a few meetings on time instead of five minutes late. Still, just don’t.” The doorbell rings causing Lisa’s reply to fall faint.”
            “Whatever Babe, your loss.”  Lisa opens the door with a smile.  A man unknown to her extends his leather glove covered hand. His small pudgy physic isn’t off putting but fairly unusual for the kinds of people she is accustom to.  Oily skin almost hidden by coarse hair stretches out past his tweed coat sleeve. Before she can say a word he retracts his hand. His eyes show his disdain as he keeps his composure.  Realizing she took too long to accommodate her guest she extends her hand with an even bigger smile.  He sees through her dead eyes and crosses his hands and arms over his protruding belly.
            “May I speak with Kent please Ma’am?” He asks smugly
            “Certainly. May I ask who is seeking him?”
            “Friend from work.  Here to drop off a car for his boss.” 
Lisa calls for Kent and excuses herself.  Kent pulls the front door closed behind him.  “David! You shouldn’t have.” Kent’s boisterous laugh carries through the door to Lisa’s ears.

Now outside out of Lisa’s sight Kent’s demeanor changes.
            “What are you doing at my house?  You know this isn’t the drop off.  You choose to bring it here in broad daylight?  What were you thinking?”  The pudgy man reaches his oily, hairy hand up to pat Kent’s face three times.  The third time is much harder.  It leaves a sting as crisp as the sound it created. Kent’s deflates immediately.
            “David? That’s cute.  Its biblical right?” The man coughs in to his hand. “You were late.  You missed the drop. You really think you have any room to question me?” The man steps back adjusting his coat.  He glares into Kent’s eyes looking for any desire to retaliate. But, Kent buckles under the levity.
            “I wasn’t late.  I was early.  My wife…” Kent stops talking and reaches his hand out.
            “The keys?” Kent’s hand shakes a bit as he waits.
            “Remember. He leaves the house every day at 8:28 p.m. He’s like a machine. At 8:29 p.m. his car will be at the edge of his driveway and at 8:31 p.m. he will be where you park the car.  Just in case you foul up the blast radius is 60 yards. Give or take a very few seconds you’ll still succeed.”
“What do I have to do when its time?” Kent nervously asks.
“It’s all set to go… pull the windshield wiper button and its set. At 8:31 the front lights will come on and good-bye mister congressman.  Don’t foul up!”  The pudgy little man walks away whistling the theme to a familiar song that Kent cant seem to recall. Another car pulls up and the little man is driven away.

Hours later Kent sits across town at the corner of two intersecting streets in a quaint suburban neighborhood.  He looks at his watch. It reads 8:27 p.m. why did they use such an old car? I’ve never seen a radio with thick jukebox buttons.  Kent attempts to push a button in to turn on the radio but bends the tip of his finger back instead. Kent inhales deeply; a stiff pain grips his chest as he exhales heavily fogging the windshield and driver side window. Clearing them with the sleeve of his forearm Kent sees his watch flip to 8:30 and pulls the windshield wiper button.  He exits the car and feels his chest tighten immediately. An unimaginable pain shoots through his right arm.  He’s paralyzed with fear of uncertainty.  He takes two steps, then three more.  He tries to shake it off and move quickly away from the vehicle. The pain hits him once more like a sledgehammer.  He falls to his knees.  The gritty pavement tears through his slacks ripping flesh.  Kent panics as he looks towards the vehicle.

Don’t foul up… don’t foul up… don’t foul up… Continues to echo in the back of his mind.  Kent looks at his watch clenching his chest with his other hand.  It’s 8:30 p.m. and Kent’s mind returns to his task ignoring his immediate physical problems. Why don’t I hear a car coming down the street?  Kent wonders.  His fear of blowing up out weighs his fear of what he now thinks is a heart attack or stroke. Tears stream down his face as he watches the seconds of his watch tick away. 8:31 p.m. turns over on his watch and Kent closes his eyes. Seconds pass and nothing happens.  Almost two minutes pass and nothing.  The car is still in tact and his victim has yet to pass. Kent’s chest pain increases as he hears laughter. Across the street he can see two teens walking towards him.  I must have pulled the wrong lever in that old crap of a car.  They should have used a modern car.  I wouldn’t have fouled up. Anxious for help Kent signals the teens to come to his aide. They run over helping him up.
            “Are you okay mister?” One boy asks. 
            “I think I’m having a heart attack.”  Kent stumbles a bit before hearing a car coming towards them.  He cringes as lights from behind him come on. Looking down at his watch it reads 8:35 p.m. Lisa’s face clouds his mind.

Welcome To Balticia

Blaring sirens jolt Malik to consciousness. Still groggy, he blinks his eyes a few times trying to get them to focus.  When his site pulls into focus he realizes the room is unfamiliar. The architecture is foreign to him.  There is a glaze over the room uncommon.  Malik blinks a few more times thinking he might focus better.  His eyes canvas the room but to no avail.  His sight is more blurred than usually.  He lifts his hand to rub them and is immediately shocked to see the webbed appendage coming towards him. He draws back anxious and afraid.  Blinking uncontrollably he looks over the rest of his body.  What he knows to be his body is no longer there but something all together different.  Realizing he is currently sitting upon a peculiar design of a table he attempts to rise.  His body shifts but gravity doesn’t immediately pull him towards the ground.  He drifts a bit with more of a glide than the normal movements he is accustom to.  His abnormal motion causes him to gasp.  Flowing liquid gurgles through his body causing tiny bubbles to float up past his face.  The room becomes clear to him as his mind, while frazzled and in dismay, pieces together his predicament.  Out of what seems to be a more expanded peripheral vision Malik sees a reflective surface.  He swims through the liquid filled room getting a first glimpse at his new self.  His skin’s gritty and reflective.  Hue’s of turquoise sparkle with an under coating of opal iridescence.  Bright orange streaks stream from his nose volleying around his cheeks like war paint.  His eyes, incredibly disproportionate and askew, now sit more to the side of his head than centered along the front.  He can still make out what was once his human nose.  The sight of it perplexes him as he realizes there are gills along the girth of his neck inhaling and exhaling with ease.  His mouth also as it were when he was fully human.  Malik stares for a moment snapping to his senses as the autonomous sirens commands attention outside his door. Under his door lavender hued light dims and illuminates in sync with the siren.  Sporadic shadows break the light that creeps under the door.  For fear of what may be outside his newfound comfort zone, Malik edges closer peeking through the door.  Two beings in identical dress float shoulder to shoulder in front of his door. One of the beings turns to him pushing their way through the cracked door.  A voice, heavy and commanding floats into his mind.

            “You won’t escape like your companion.  And she wont make it very far.”
The words are clear in English but Malik realizes the creature’s mouth does not move. Its as if the words went from his mind to Malik’s.  Afraid and clearly a prisoner, Malik swims to his bedding and sits, unsure of what is to come.  Moments later the door swings open.  A creature, like the two outside floats into the room; his arms crossed behind his back. His demeanor is regal as he approaches Malik’s fearful frame. With the exception of a simple modification his uniform is identical to the two guarding the door outside.  His collar is a vibrant lavender color instead of the continuous black.   A voice, more soft and aged, creeps into Malik’s mind.
            “You’re friends have been restrained and sedated. They weren’t as receiving as I hope you are. I’m Galen. I know there is much you do not understand but if you give us the time we will make things more clear.  Welcome to Balticia.”

This Next piece is Micro Fiction: 199 Word Count


 The lunch hour rush crowd flocks to the diner across the street from Karen's car as her white knuckles grip a brown leather wheel.  Her head whips around as she hears air breaks release.  her thumbs begin to tap the tattered wheel cover as her anxiety peaks.
          "It's only a semi-truck."  Karen calmed herself reaching to change the radio dial.  "You'll see him soon enough."  She exhales picking up a shoebox full of letters from the passenger seat.  She thumbs through multi-colored enveleopes until she comes upon her intended target pausing to read it briefly before returning the box to its resting place.  Resting on the hot leather steering wheel cover, Karen smiles, eyes closed and day dreaming of her little boy as he waved good-bye before boarding the bus to camp.
She imagines scenes the letters spoke of: chasing girls, fighting, archery and dozens of random joys only a boy could have away from home.  I wonder how big he's gotten over the past 2 months?   She thinks.  Karen, startled by tapping on her window, jerks back to reality. Her door swings open to a now towering son welcoming her with a hug.

                                 This next story was an exercise in creating from 5 trigger words.
                                                       My five trigger words are bellow.

(Zebra -Basin -Sunset -Dice -Shooting)

            A monkey sits washing himself in a basin full of dirty water. I find this peculiar at a crime scene. Nevertheless I continue over to the dead body. As I approach I see the zebra.  His leather coat is full of holes.
 “There was a shooting Detective,” The coroner says. 
“I can see that Jim.” I replay in dismay.  “Is there anything you can tell me that isn’t obvious?”  
 “Well the shooting occurred just before sunset,” Jim adds. “There was a discrepancy over a dice game and there isn’t a single bullet hole in his body.” 
“Who told you when it happened and how did he die?”
“The monkey over there washing himself in the basin. He witnessed it all.”
I turn to the monkey to see him still grooming himself.
            “For the love of all that’s good and decent, don’t you have any shame monkey?” I say in disgust.
He continues to groom himself as I stare.
            “Detective, he’s deaf you have to use sign language.”
Grief stricken, I stroke my mane quickly with both paws as I look for the obvious next answer from Jim.
            “Well Jim, are you going to do this or not? I don’t have all night.”
            “Since you asked so nicely detective.” Jim walks over and looks at me now waiting for my cue.
            “Ask him who did it, where they went, and why it happened.”
Jim signs and the monkey replies anxiously and excited finishing with a smile and a backflip.
            “Well detec.. det. de….”
Jim is interrupted by the presence of a gorgeous mare.  His speech stutters to an abrupt stop as she walks out and looks down at the dead zebra.  Briefly distracted by her voluptuous body I am snatched back to detective mode when the monkey flips over the basin splashing Jim and me with the murky water. I turn to see a set of dice taped to the bottom of the now upturned basin. 
            “Is he…?” She asks casually.
            “Yes, he is dead. This is a crime scene Ma’am. You can’t be here.”
As I motion her towards the end of the alley she snatches away.  I notice Jim is now standing more behind me. The sunset’s vanilla sky glistens off of her zebra stripped dress.
            “This happened outside of my club. I deserve to know what has happened.” She retorts.  I motion for two uniformed Cheetahs to detain her while I finish my line of questioning with the monkey.  They take her as I turn to Jim cowering behind me.
            “It was her. The monkey said a beautiful mare in a zebra print dress poisoned a set of dice and switched them in the game. He was the other player who hid when she came out to complain. She argued with the zebra apparently her stallion.  While they argued he hid in a pile of rubble. When the zebra died she hid the dice and ran.
            “That’s all I needed. Thanks Jim.”

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