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Flash Fiction – “Callie, Morning Drama” (~ 1,030 words, modern)

Note: This is sort of a prequel to my first flash fiction attempt titled Flash Fiction – “Callie” (~ 700 words, medical modern).

Melanie stood there with her hands thrust angrily upon her hips as she looked up the dark wooden staircase and then yelled “Callie, unhealthy hurry up or you will be late for school. Conner’s principal is going to be really angry if he’s late again. Come on, child! It does not take that long to brush your teeth!

They were always waiting for their little Callie and it made everyone cross. They were not sure if Callie was just slow for a 9-year-old or doing it for the attention. Her husband, Jeff, even pondered the possibility that perhaps Callie was a budding Time Lord whose sense of time was different than everyone else’s. Her two other children, Connor, age 12, and Crystal, age 6, looked at her, their faces scrunched up in annoyance. Even Crystal was standing with her arms crossed because she would most likely miss play time and possibly even their morning snack time and, today, Conner could lose his place on the middle school football team if he was late to school… again.

Calliiie!!” Melanie yelled. She looked back to Conner and Crystal. “Conner, go help Crystal into her seat and wait for us in the car so we can leave as soon as she gets done.” Conner muttered “Ugghh” under his breath as he gave Crystal a little push toward the door to the garage. Crystal angrily shrugged his hand off her shoulder in a way that looked like a spasm. Looking back to him, she narrowed her eyes in an icy stare and then her pigtails jerked about as she stomped towards the garage. Shaking his head Conner could be heard grumbling “Uggh!” louder this time as he walked after Crystal, his red football helmet under his left arm. This was how it was every morning no matter how they tried to change things so that Callie (and the rest of the family) could be on time.

This seemingly irreparable morning drama had manifest as Callie has grown older, more independent, and responsible for her own routine. This morning drama set Melanie’s days wrong and made her cranky because she was usually late to work. Melanie has become her office’s ‘late person’ and she has never been that person, nor did she ever want to be. She has heard that her supervisor, Teri, who also has kids, gets to work on time, usually a 10 or so minutes early. ‘God, how different would things be if they never had Callie.’ she spitefully thought to herself. Her husband, Jeff, never had to deal with the morning drama because he had to leave an hour early to get to work, and he never understood why she was always so cranky when she got home.

Ok, Callie, you are going to have to take the bus home tonight, so mommy can make up the lost time from your teeth brushing time-warp.

Callie’s voice whined down “But Mom, I hate the bus. The older kids are mean to me.

Cross that Callie had the temerity to be upset with this, Melanie growled “Well, consider getting done on time in the morning and this would not have to happen. It is your choice, little girl! Let’s go!

Callie stomped down the stairs, her pale cheeks and ears were red and her lips were pursed in anger. Sternly Melanie said, “Get in the car!” After Callie ran out to the car Melanie stalked after her grumbling the whole time. She snapped up her phone so she could call their schools and her office to let them know that they were all going to be late… again.


Tired from a long day at work Melanie returned home after six o’clock. She walked in and saw Jeff cooking and Conner at the table working on his math homework. She sat her purse and briefcase down on the counter, hung up her coat, and then, unceremoniously plopped down into a chair at the table. Jeff started to speak “How’d…”.

Don’t ask!” she quickly cut him off. Connor looked up at his mom and then quickly looked back down. He could feel the tension and the stress in her, so he decided that now was not a good time to talk about his football practice problems.

She quietly asked “Crystal?

Just started a bath.

She could smell the garlic aroma from the sauce he was working on for spaghetti, Callie’s favorite. Still grumpy about this morning’s events she rolled her eyes, straightened up a little, and cleared her throat.

Callie in her room trying to avoid me?” There was a pause as Conner looked up and Jeff turned around, confused.

We thought you were picking her up as usual. I was expecting her to walk through the door after you.

Melanie’s eyes and mouth went wide and her mind started running. She stumbled out “I, I told her to take the bus home after school, because I was going to be at work late.” She stood up quickly, the chair slid away, groaning in protest against the wooden floor. Her heart pounded in fear as she quickly picked up the phone from the table and started to make a call. Jeff turned down the burners for the spaghetti and the sauce and then picked up his phone too. Jeff heard the fear in her voice and then, calmly, said to Conner “Conner, why don’t you finish your homework in your room, while mom and I make some calls.” Without making a noise Conner, not sure what this meant, picked up his books and quietly walked to his room.

They each made some calls to Callie’s friends, to the school, posted to Facebook, and then, finally, called the police. All they found out was that some of the kids saw her at the bus stop after school. Jeff pulled Melanie close as she started to sob, eyes red as tears streaked down her cheeks. He rocked her in his arms as she repeated through choked tears “Where’s our Callie, Jeff? Where’s our little girl?

Her phone rang. Jeff Answered. It was the FBI.

Looking for a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) in Creative Writing

once upon a time...

once upon a time…

Ever since working on reworking a friend’s character history for Dungeons and Dragons in 2011 I have been working on learning how to write with what little time I have had available.

In the last year, mind I have been looking into going back to school for a Creative Writing degree. Specifically, sales I have been looking for places to where I can complete a BA online. I found one that interested me – Southern New Hampshire University. I have had my credits transferred and accepted, and had my classes picked out. Then I had to deal with the dreaded financing. I was hoping that the Public Service Student Loan Forgiveness Program which starts in October of next year would get me there in a reasonable way, but it turns out that whatever my payment plans were for the last 10 years were not a payment plans that qualified for Loan Forgiveness so my 10 year timer will get start when I change the loans which will increase their monthly payment by almost $100. I was counting on this to have my loans paid off sooner than later to justify going back to school, but that was not to be, sadly.

Last week I met with a counselor at the UW Sauk Campus and talked with her. She said for most people who come to the campus with and existing Bachelors Degree that they look at going for a Masters Degree of some sort. She suggested a Masters of Fine Arts (MFA). I had been looking at the MFA while looking for an online degree program, but thought I should get to a BA first. It turns out that if you are accepted into a Masters Degree program in this way they will figure out which classes you need to meet the prerequisites for the degree program and then you will have to complete those before officially entering into the program. Basically, I would need to finish to the core BA courses for a Creative Writing degree. Now, unfortunately, the UW Baraboo Campus does not offer a Creative Writing Degree so that makes things much harder. I will be meeting with their Creative Writing instructor, who graduated from the prestigious Iowa University, in the next week or so to talk to her about things. I also found out that the Wisconsin GI Bill should cover at least 2 years of schooling as long as it is with a State of Wisconsin public university, so that is some good news, however, I had been checking for that specifically and I cannot find one that offers a Creative Writing degree online, although UW Madison does offer an MFA. Me sad panda. We shall see if anything comes of the next meeting.

If you are completely bored and are interested to read some of my subjectively better writings then here are a few examples that might be palatable for you:

Flash Fiction – “Kin Slayer’s First Breath” (~ 680 words, fantasy)

Trigger Warning: rape, apoplexy murder, women, children, serial killer, prison, capital punishment

They sat there in the sterile white visitation room, a thick ceiling-to-floor glass wall separated them as a large red digital timer on the wall counted down from fifteen minutes, second-by second. The fluorescent ceiling light cast a sickly white light over both of them as one of the ballasts buzzed and was the only thing to break the cold silence. He looked at the floor. She could only hope that he could not look at her due to a deep soul wrenching shame that he felt for all that he had done to those innocent women and their families. Five minutes left and she was growing fearful and impatient that she would never get closure. She needed closure and so did her husband. They both deserved it. Who was she kidding? His victims and their families deserved closure from him more than she did.

The man finally grunted out his first heavily accented words to her in his harsh and gravelly voice:  “I’ve wronged many in dis life. I’ve done some tings. Some dat I regret. But, what has me sit’n here in dese chains isn’t one’o  dem.”  Her heart beat faster and faster as she resisted the overwhelming urge to flee when their eyes met for the first time.  His dark brown eyes started to peruse her toned feminine form like a predator before its meal. She was a mother of three that he never would have hesitated to pull into the back of a van to violate horribly while she would have screamed and screamed, and then leave her for dead along a highway somewhere, her eyes opened wide in terror and desperation staring off into eternity.

She saw it in his cold and remorseless eyes. She could feel it. She could feel all of the horrible things he was imagining he would do to her, which sent a shiver down her spine. Melanie shifted uncomfortably in her chair as he carnally undressed and assaulted her with his eyes.  Her hands felt cold and clammy, and were white from gripping her seat tightly when she knew he was thinking of where he would have left her violated body for the crows. She had never felt so dirty and worthless in all her life, like a piece of unwanted and infected meat, and she wanted to run out of that cold room, but she stayed.

Every night since she braved looking at the numerous reports and bloody pictures two weeks ago that recounted the bloody end of his victims – soccer moms, college students, goth girls, a construction worker, an exotic dancer, and even a nun – she has bolted upright in a cold sweat each night screaming after reliving the bloody deaths of his victims in her dreams.  The news clippings read to her like they had been taken straight from a horror movie. They left her speechless. She did not understand him or anything he had done, least of all why he would kill another serial killer so brutally, smashing in his skull until there was nothing but as crimson paste remaining. She just wanted to know why. Why he did it?

She pulled her eyes away from his carnal gaze, cleared her throat and then weakly said, almost whispering “After raping and murdering thirty-three innocent women over the last ten years, why did you let yourself get caught? Why did you kill him?

Did you do it for what he did to my little Callie?“.

Just saying the words gave her a small sense of closure, for she had come here and was brave enough to say those words, and he heard them, which was more than many whose families suffered such horrible fates received.

She felt it when he looked down to the ground again, his stare was palpable, had a powerful and filthy predatory weight to it. He grunted.“Wimmin folk can struggle’n fight. Chil’en can’t. Met him on a street and we wuz talk’n. Told me what he’d done. Was dead ‘fore he could finish speak’n ‘er name.” He grunted again. Tears streamed down her face leaving black trails on her cheeks as the guard walked in and escorted him to the last few moments of his life.
As the king’s honor guard roughly dragged Tradion out of his lightless dungeon cell by his heavy black iron chains, sickness
his left cheek bled profusely and he limped from the horrendous beating the guards had just delivered him for having the temerity to ask for water. They were once his friends and comrades-at-arms, as was the now deceased Prince, for whom he was accused of murdering. It started three days ago with bystanders yelling, screaming, and pointing at him with his blood-soaked blade and the Crowned Price lying dead at his feet in a pool of blood. He did not know how it all happened and now he is being led to the market for a public hanging.

The black hooded hangman bore the stench of unwashed peasantry and spilled cheap ale as he roughly dragged Tradion up to the noose in the center of the market before a whole crowd of people – beggars, nobles, peasants, soldiers, and slaves, his manacles cut into his wrist and drew some blood which dripped slowly to the wooden platform. People came from miles around to watch his hanging, the hanging of the man who killed the Crown Prince. The Chamberlain read the charges against him before he was to be hanged until dead. Tradion was strangely at peace with what was about to befall and he did not know why. He said a quick prayer to the gods above and then to his cousin the Crown Prince, and then waited for inevitable.

They fitted the noose around his head and pulled it tight around his neck. He looked around, not sure if this was even real, and then the floor dropped out from under him, the noose snapped tight and the pressure on his neck was unbearable, his eyes bulged as he struggled to breathe. His legs shook for a few moments and then he exhaled for the last time as the last sound he heard was the loud crack of his neck. The crowd yelled and screamed rejoicing that justice was victorious this day.

On a hill overlooking the market area were two hooded individuals who had watched the death of the traitorous dog, Tradion.  The much larger of the two men abruptly arched his back and took in a deep mechanical sounding breath, and then his head snapped from side to side like he was confused or panicked, or looking for something that was about to attack him. The other man pulled up his hood a bit revealing the concerned face of the Crown Prince. He wove his staff through the air forming arcane runs and then looked cautiously to his large panicking companion.

After a moment the Prince said “Will you ever forgive me, Tradion.” The Prince’s companion, fully a head larger and with the broad shoulders of a soldier, pulled up his hood with hands that bore metal plates and some bronze colored rotating gears. The Crowned Prince looked upon face made of a steel plate mimicking Tradion’s face, the dull glint of colored gears could be seen peeking out from underneath the sides of the faceplate which ended  at the line following the cheekbones down to the chin. A quiet mechanical whirring could be heard emanating from within his new mechanical form.

A gruff and mechanical voice answered “Next time you will be the one to die, Cuz.” Tradion shook his head and snorted, and then lifted and flexed his arms trying to get used to how this new mechanical body felt.

The King and Queen would never let me nor any of our knights undertake such a mission, so it is up to us my brother. We will need you at your best for the battle to come, for the Lords of Dathnar do not sleep.”  The Prince smiled, for Tradion was still in there… somewhere. His cousin’ spirit was tethered to this mechanical shell by the powerful magics he himself had forged over many long months of research and toil. They both reared their horses and galloped full speed due north toward the Dathnari Mountains where destiny waited.

Flash Fiction: “Callie” (~ 700 words, modern)

Trigger Warning: rape, purchase murder, visit this site women, discount children, serial killer, prison, capital punishment

They sat there in the sterile white visitation room, a thick ceiling-to-floor glass wall separated them as a large red digital timer on the wall counted down from fifteen minutes, second-by-second. The fluorescent ceiling light cast a sickly white light over both of them as one of the ballasts buzzed and was the only thing to break the cold silence. He looked at the floor. She could only hope that he could not look at her due to a deep soul wrenching shame that he felt for all that he had done to those innocent women and their families. Five minutes left and she was growing fearful and impatient that she would never get closure. She needed closure and so did her husband. They both deserved it. Who was she kidding? His victims and their families deserved closure from him more than she did.

The man finally grunted out his first heavily accented words to her in his harsh and gravelly voice:  “I’ve wronged many in dis life. I’ve done some tings. Some dat I regret. But, what has me sit’n here in dese chains isn’t one’o  dem.”  Her heart beat faster and faster as she resisted the overwhelming urge to flee when their eyes met for the first time.  His dark brown eyes started to peruse her toned feminine form like a predator before its meal. She was a mother of three that he never would have hesitated to pull into the back of a van to violate horribly while she would have screamed and screamed, and then leave her for dead along a highway somewhere, her eyes opened wide in terror and desperation staring off into eternity.

She saw it in his cold and remorseless eyes. She could feel it. She could feel all of the horrible things he was imagining he would do to her, which sent a shiver down her spine. Melanie shifted uncomfortably in her chair as he carnally undressed and assaulted her with his eyes.  Her hands felt cold and clammy, and were white from gripping her seat tightly when she knew he was thinking of where he would have left her violated body for the crows. She had never felt so dirty and worthless in all her life, like a piece of unwanted and infected meat, and she wanted to run out of that cold room, but she stayed.

Every night since she braved looking at the numerous reports and bloody pictures two weeks ago that recounted the bloody end of his victims – soccer moms, college students, goth girls, a construction worker, an exotic dancer, and even a nun – she has bolted upright in a cold sweat each night screaming after reliving the bloody deaths of his victims in her dreams.  The news clippings read to her like they had been taken straight from a horror movie. They left her speechless. She did not understand him or anything he had done, least of all why he would kill another serial killer so brutally, smashing in his skull until there was nothing but a crimson paste remaining. She just wanted to know why. Why he did it?

She pulled her eyes away from his carnal gaze, cleared her throat and then weakly said, almost whispering “After raping and murdering thirty-three innocent women over the last ten years, why did you let yourself get caught? Why did you kill him?

Did you do it for what he did to my little Callie?“.

Just saying the words gave her a small sense of closure, for she had come here and was brave enough to say those words, and he heard them, which was more than many whose families suffered such horrible fates received. She felt it when he looked down to the ground again, his stare was palpable, had a powerful and filthy predatory weight to it.

He grunted.“Wimmin folk can struggle’n fight. Chil’en can’t. Met him on a street and we wuz talk’n. Told me what he’d done. Was dead ‘fore he could finish speak’n ‘er name.” He grunted again. Tears streamed down leaving black trails on her cheeks as the guard walked in and escorted him to the last few moments of his life.

What is Flash Fiction?

So, urticaria in 2006 when I was just starting to get into politics and religion I took the Political Compass quiz to find out where I stood and I blogged about it, since it was also news to me. I found myself, where the x and y axis met, just to the left and down. Keep in mind I have no idea what that meant, not that I do now, but then I was just getting into the religious, political and electoral worlds which I never ever cared about before then.

Now, 9 years later, and having become active during California’s Proposition 8 trials in challenging right-wing nut-jobs, writing activist articles for my blog, joining a UU church, voting, joining the Green Party, and reading everything from evolutionary psychology and biology, Revolutionary War history, philosophy, theology, Christian history and theology, Near Eastern Archaeology, divine feminine studies, linguistics, and having joined the micronation of the Republic of Talossa, my views have changed quite a bit. I find myself quite a bit away from my uninformed self. Once you start to really care about justice and how the government treats others how you think about the world really changes.

2015 Political Compass Results [economic left: -7.8,Social Libertarian -5.23]

2015 Political Compass Results

Read More:

According to this short quiz my Political Leanings are Centrist. I have never heard of this until now. I have typically put myself on the side of Libertarians, epidemic
but this might be the closest label to my political leanings. We will see. I have to do more research on this to make sure.

Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction

Flash Fiction does not have a really hard or fast definition. It really just depends on who is talking and how they want to specifically define it. In general, otolaryngologist
 Flash Fiction is a story with a beginning, middle and end to it and is anywhere from 300 to 1000 words. Writers often try their hand at flash fiction as a challenge or for practice. There is even a national Flash Fiction Writing Day in Great Britain.

What is Flash Fiction

Places to Read Flash Fiction