So, um, last week the was a twitter discussion between @lynthornealder, @Inventrix, and myself about perspective. Lyn and I were talking in third person, while inventrix was talking in second. (No, really.) We got on the topic of challenging perspectives and came up with a little three-way competition to write first person present tense flash fiction for the Friday Flash round up.
It was decided that since I’ve already written in this perspective, I should wait until this week to begin planning my story. I agreed to this handicap and kept working on my other stories. (Sadly, I’m still languishing for want of a great ending paragraph.)
Then Wednesday rolled around and I recalled the challenge. I commented to my cohorts that they were going to have a major head start, and to my delight, it turned out they’d also forgotten. Huzzah! Lyn and I then sat down to plug out a flash story. Here is mine (If it blows, you can rate it low, really.):
It’s this simple. Go to http://topwebfiction.com/ and vote for Haunting Sins. If I can crack the top five, I will post a bonus blog story, Job Interview With a Vampire. Y’all seem to really like Vicky the vampire and Amber the “overfed chipmunk,” so here’s your chance to get a new vampire story early.
UPDATE: Yerp! I’ve been tied for the top spot with 8 votes, so you get a bonus blog story. Thank you very much for the votes!
Twas the eve before Christmas, or so the tale goes,
but this is not the same story that everyone knows.
So gather your eggnog, and stock up on rum,
then wrap up your tootsies, and drop on your bum.
Gather round the fire and give a listen to me,
and I’ll tell you the story of a holiday killing spree
caused by the Krampus and a wyrm named Dimitri.
(Some sensitive readers may become queasy.)
His black claws click-clack on cobblestones as he paces in the dark alley behind the theater. Anticipation waters his mouth and sends rivulets of slobber down the sides of his grey muzzle.
The door opens, and he take off at a full run. The alley will soon be crowded with humans, and he cannot afford to be choosy. He will take whatever comes out of the door first.
The girl steps around the swinging door, her blonde head craned back and raised to look at someone behind her. She hears his claws and starts to turn her head, but she never sees him before he barrels into her. He rams her with his head, and she goes flying up the alley soundlessly. Stunned by the impact, the child drops on the pavement and rolls without crying.
In the theater, voices scream as the humans catch a glimpse of him passing the open theater doors. His ancestors might have foolishly gone into the theater for a grand feast. But he is wiser, choosing to pick off weaker targets from the edges of the herd.
The muse pixie came to Toby Lester on translucent wings to lay a larval idea in the midst of his dreams. The idea slept in his mind, absorbing ideas from Toby to spin into dreams of her own.
Two months later, the idea became a voice, a muse who promised him amazing stories, if only he would just listen to her. Her voice was so unlike his internal muse that when she began talking, he got scared.
But the muse soothed him, whispering promises of a reward greater than physical pleasure or monetary wealth. She promised the immortal power of fame for Toby’s writing. The seductive voice had no name and wore no form, but to a struggling writer desperate for ideas, she seemed to be everything he needed.
He listened and wrote what she gave him, and she was right. Her stories were exquisite.
Today, I’m adding an extra story to the blog, something previously published in issue 4 of Necrotic Tissue. You can still pick up the original printing of this story at the NT archives, and if you like the magazine, consider getting a subscription, since NT has now gone to a print format.
The rights reverted back to me on this story, so I’ve gone back to run another round of edits on this tale for my online edition. Of course, if you read the NT version, you also get the nifty artwork. But either way, you can read it for free.
So, enough introduction. I hope you enjoy Alpha Male.
Paul Blake watched the overcast grey sky while he waited for his client to arrive. Normally the August weather of San Antonio would have been hot and dry, but a number of storms had kept the city on the verge of flooding conditions for the entire week of his visit.
Raindrops beat upon the rooftops of the buildings outside the hotel window. Paul’s gaze drifted to the mall, which the hotel sat adjacent to, keeping track of the uniformed officers who wandered along a small patrol area on either side of the river. The cops were easy to spot because there weren’t any of the usual throngs of people moving toward and away from the mall or resting in the outdoor portion of the food court. The temperamental weather kept most everyone indoors.
A bit of an explanation: A while back I wrote a parody story based solely off the title of someone else’s story, Weep Not for The Vampire, by William, A. Veselik. The title itself became a running gag, and a fellow by the name of Alkilyu made up a fake book cover with the title Sheep! Not for the Vampire! I chose to write the story to fit the cover, and for a while this was a “super secret” Easter egg on my web site.
Oriel Stroker hunched in the shadow of the oak tree, sulking as he watched the bloated sheep grazing in the pasture below his vantage point. For years, he had ventured out to the hilltop to stare longingly at the succulent fat beasties, each one seeming to call out to Oriel, “Please, come and suck me like a fluffer in a Long Dong Silver movie.”