Category: Friday Fiction

by Smitty

“Your ratings are in the toilet. How about if Fernando starts trying to look up lady’s skirts? You know, just a hint of saucy, not too much,” ventured Tim.
It was the classic conversation with the producer. I looked at the picture of grandfather there on the wall, there with the original Fernando back in the Vaudeville era. His “no smut” rule had served him well.
The new Fernando had some features Tim didn’t know. I pressed the second button inside, yawning broadly.
“I’m not sure which one of us is the dummy,” said Fernando.
Tim, visibly startled, left immediately.

via Darleen

by Smitty

Gorgeous day for a picnic in Shenandoah. Daughter Shiela had brought along Flavius, the hipster boyfriend, oscillating between boredom and superiority. “Look at the bee on the Lobelia cardinalis,” he intoned with his best innocent condescension. Fumbled with his iPhone. “It’s trying to do something with the network, but we don’t have any bars!” his tone regressed to about age four.
I picked up the venerable Polaroid. Came in at just the right lighting angle. Snapped a gorgeous photo.
That was the end of Flavius in our lives. Hipsterosity crippled, he was autistic the rest of the day. Thanks, Polaroid!

via Darleen

by Smitty

The proprietor’s impassive face makes monks seem animated. The bedraggled, alcohol-reeking customer struggles to get the jewelry box from the tote, meaningless baubles spilling over the counter. Exchanges words and money. Leaves. The scene clicks.
I ask, “Weren’t the two of you across the bar from each other last night at the tavern next door?”
Nods.
“Seems a good business model; making money as they liquidate their assets, and as they hydrate the flesh.”
Nods again, replies: “It’s a blight on the soul. But my brother won’t listen until he smacks bottom, dislodging the wax in his ears.”

via Darleen

by Smitty

The two imperial wizards met in the sound workshop at the conjunction of the moons. Jurtran sat at the Azelbethor Grand, and Mindor (along with his impedimenta) sat among the Five Cellos of Delbin.

They launched into the Great Spell of the Zephyrus Monsoon when the shadows cast by the moons through the portals indicated the correct instant. Their hands spoke the music into the great artifacts, channeling power through beauty.
Nature heard the melody, the intensity, the perfection of the delivery, and answered with a west wind along the ocean that would propel the fleet to a far shore.

* * *

(See complementary piece by Darleen )

by Smitty

Cord. Dirty, slack. Perfectly strong-looking as it went from the small wall cleat, through the floor debris, under the locked door.
That rusty door was going to drink all the convenient oil before the key would be useful.
“Treasure,” said Thorgun, hefting his axe.
“Trap,” countered Greybane, adjusting a ring.
“Tempted!” admitted Rhialto, applying oil and key to the door’s works.
The door popped open with a token creak, offering a view a large room, where a figure in white spoke gibberish to at least 500 nicely dressed people.
A couple of minutes on, Greybane inquired “What fresh hell is this?”

via Darleen

by Smitty

Dawn broke, and he had to admit the spires of the city were lovely. Flying cars shuttled the rich to their jobs, where they would unplug from the car and jack into the grid that ran the economy across the solar system.

The weekend loomed, and they would show up at his farm, nerves wracked by the information firehose applying pressure across their augmented senses. He’d grind beans, crack eggs, grate cheese, slice ham, spread butter, and serve a simple breakfast to them before their stress overcame their superior health care.
He breathed deeply of the new day, pitying them.

via Darleen

by Smitty

“…beside all that, I will give you centuries of life, free you from the need to sleep, and give you the might of a dozen flaring limbs,” said her lush lips, while her emerald eyes hinted at much, much more. The pearl necklace, diamond tiara and wand-like cigarette holder, combined with the familiar on her shoulder, marked her a princess, a sorceress, and a seductress.
The lodge where she kept her workshop had all of the usual pentagrams, tomes and spell ingredients expected. Would he emerge empowered for his revenge?
Then he saw the face in the wall decoration.

via Darleen

by Smitty

She was hot. Figuratively and literally, as she’d been jogging at least a quarter hour.
The bush was thick, but not really that close to the path, so the rapist had to sprint to get at her. He counted on panic to freeze her, as he was frankly not in that great of shape.
She was well aware of the news concerning the park, but that was not the sort of thing that bothered her. She lashed out as she had been taught, with the heel of her hand connecting perfectly with his nose cartilage, ending the string of rapes.

via Darleen