Freddie Dazzle Danced #fridayflash

Little Freddie Dazzle danced. He slid his feet across pitted asphalt, raising clouds of wispy dust, jerking his body in time to the music in his head. He skipped and leaped over rubble, as the beat drove him on. He twisted sinuously through the shattered remains of buildings, islands of steel and concrete jutting like jagged teeth here and there, where most things had been swept flat.

Untouched by fatigue, drawn like a moth to the corona of pale blue light illuminating one clump of ruined buildings, more complete than most, Freddie scissor-jumped towards the limelight as dusk pulled a shade over the angry red sky.

Nervously he hand-jived cautiously through a near intact doorway, spying light from a thousand cracks in the shattered walls, with no single, identifiable source. As Freddie danced into the building, the room grew brighter, his shadow deepened and he could hear something following him through the doorway. Without looking back, as the music in his head grew louder and the pounding beat quickened with his heart, he moved ever deeper, into darkened rooms that suddenly flooded with pale blue light from every door. But now Freddie danced away from the light, spinning towards the darkness until there was nowhere left to go.

He was trapped.

He shuffled, shoulders marching in time to the precise jerked movement of his feet, into the centre of a large room, open to the darkened sky. He was surrounded by the glowing things that formed a closing circle around him. As the lumpy creatures were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the tightening space, a wondrous beam of clear blue light shone straight up through the hole where the roof had been.

Freddie Dazzle did the only thing he knew how. He danced. Feather-stepping, spinning and high-kicking; he tested the boundaries of the misshapen monsters that ringed him in, never daring to touch their toxic glowing skin. He head began to thrum with dizziness, his ankles and knees ached like they hadn't ached for days.

He was losing his grip on the carefully constructed fantasy that had been the only thing keeping him going since the devastation. He dared not stop moving. When he did, he could focus on the eerie creatures, and if he looked too long at any one, he might just pick out features in their face that were too familiar.

Dancing until he could dance no more, Freddie fell to the ground in an elegant, dying-swan heap.

The things rumbled and closed over the tiny dancer. Even with his eyes shut, his retinas burned with the glow from their irradiated bodies. He shuddered under their clumsy touch.

Freddie passed out.

When he opened his eyes again, bathed in the morning light, they were gone. A dozen battered tins had been stacked beside him. Tattered labels hinted at baked beans, pineapple chunks and high-quality cat food. For the first time in days Freddie felt hungry. He took the first tin that came to hand and beat it open, sucking on the juice that trickled over his fingers, so confused by the explosion of flavour that, at first, he couldn't even tell what it was.

Still exhausted, but hunger satisfied, Freddie Dazzle lay his head down again and dreamed of a brand new theatre, gleaming fresh and lofty in the wasteland, a beacon of civilization amidst the ruin of humanity. And it would be outfitted with plush, purple, extra-wide seats.

Show business was back; the only business in business, and Freddie was the only star.

The Folly of the Paper Book #fridayflash

"The novel, as we know it, is about to change." Edward Ambergris beamed at the audience before him. They, for their part, squatted uncomfortably on their ricketty wooden chairs, glaring at him with narrowed, yellow eyes. Word had leaked out about what was to be proposed and the air in the lecture hall was thick with anger and dark mutterings.

Edward continued. "The traditional novel is a work of art, steel pages anchored to a granite spine, set in the most exquisite of locations, but consider the drawbacks-"

"There aren't any!" An unseen voice shouted from the audience.

Edward smiled weakly. "A novel is displayed in a single location. Anyone wishing to read it must travel there, and then pay a shilling to read the particular pages on display that day, all within their alloted time. It can take many years and a small fortune for an ordinary man or woman to read a single work."

"Art is nothing without suffering!" The same unseen voice. Then after a slight pause, "Their suffering, obviously, not our suffering."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please, open your minds to this possibility," Edward said. He held out a crude, rectangular lump, then the entire assembly gasped as he split it open to reveal the pages within. "See? Pages! Made from paper."

The unseen voice revealed itself. Marmaduke Cotterbum. "Paper is for wrapping gifts and wiping your arse, you little upstart. What relationship could it posibly have with the novelist's art?"

"With this," Edward said, waving his paper book, "every man, woman and child could have their own copy of a novel. Still for a shilling but their's to read wherever they choose, whenever they choose to read it."

"Ridiculous," Cotterbum said. "A novel is supposed to be read at a location of the author's choosing, allowing for climate, scenery and a myriad other details to aid and enhance the appreciation of the work."

"Especially if the land's to be had for cheap!" A different unseen voice shouted. Cotterbum, snorted, apparently unhappy to be on this particular side of anonymous barracking.

"But don't you want your work to be read?" Edward asked. "A printing press can produce, literally, hundreds of copies of your novel every day." He stepped to the floor and handed the book to Cotterbum. "Just imagine a copy in every hand."

Cotterbum tore the book in half and handed it back to Edward. "Only a fool would want something so intangible, you dolt." He narrowed his eyes. "You propose that these printing presses will mass produce my novel like pots and pans. So what's to stop anyone  from copying it?"

"Ah!" Edward said, "it would only be legal for printers with an official license to copy the work, keeping track of how much is to be paid to the author. However, after a certain amount of time I imagine it would be in everyone's interest for the work to be freely available to anyone that wants a copy."

The room fell silent.

A wizened old man was helped to his feet with the assistance of those to either side. "Young man," he said, the words escaping as a loud world-weary sigh. "I rely upon the revenue from novels to put food on my table. Would you have me starve?"

Edward's collar was feeling particularly tight, so he hooked a finger into it to take a deep breath. "Of course not, mister... might I ask your name, sir?"

"Silas Humpwinkle," the old man said with all the expectation of a man who assumed he need say no more.

"Mister Humpwinkle, I'm sure the novel you wrote will-"

"Oh, I didn't write it," Silas interrupted. "My great grand-father wrote it, but I am now the sole beneficiary, and be assured, I have become mightily accustomed to the money that it brings me. It puts food on my table, sir!"

"And paid for an army of whores and cart loads of opium," a loud whisper chimed in from several rows back.

"Life has been most satisfactory," Silas said, his gummy mouth twisted in a leer. He thrust a crooked finger in Edward's general direction. "And how do you propose I make my living with no money coming in?"

Edward looked helpless. "Couldn't you write your own novel?"

The old man spluttered and clutched his chest. After swallowing a generous dollop of brandy from a proffered flask, he said, "That's your answer? That only a man who creates something should be expected to profit from it. Madness and idiocy. I have heard enough!"

Silas turned sharply to leave, but mis-judged the move and over-spun slightly so that he was facing his chair. He contemplated this for a while, obviously weighing up the wisdom of a counter-turn, but eventually began to shuffle sideways, bumping and stepping upon those still seated. Once he had made it to the aisle, all about the hall rose to leave, but in deference to the old man they let him lead them out, so that it was a very long time before they had all finally stormed off.

Edward looked forlornly at the torn pages of the book in his hands. "But it seemed such a good idea..."

Older, wiser, better, hotter. #fridayflash

"Dude, wasn't that just the most awesome wedding ceremony ever?" Bobby asked his buddy, Link.

"Epic, bro!" Link confirmed, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

Both young men burst into laughter.

Bobby put his arm around his friend's shoulder and turned him slowly through 180 degrees to take in the reception room. "See anything you like?"

Link nodded. "You mean, apart from Paula, right?"

Bobby squeezed Link's shoulder, hard. "She's pretty sweet, dude, but she's my big brother's wife now."

"The mcbride and groom," Link confirmed, referring to Paula's Scottish ancestry.

"For real! But there are rules, Link. If you wanted to bang her you should have done it just before the ceremony. Don't you know that's why they have all those little rooms everywhere in churches. It's like, a tradition or something."

"I know, Bobby-Sue, I'm not a hick, bro," Link said, aggrieved. "Whoa, who's that?"

"I saw her first!" Bobby exclaimed, scanning the room to see who Link was referring to, but it was soon obvious. She was tall and slim, dark tousled hair cascaded over her shoulders and her face was all big blue eyes and cherry lips. "I'm in love, dude..."

Link squinted at her, now that he could see the woman properly. "I don't know, man. I think she's older than my mother. Who is she?"

"That's Marrietta, boys." It was Paula's father, Ted. Fortunately he had only just arrived and hadn't heard their earlier conversation. "From my wife's side. You watch yourself now. That side of the family are... colorful. Circus folk, artists, performers, writers. Not respectable."

"Not respectable?" Bobby perked up.

Ted laughed. "I better watch what I'm saying. Aww, you're only young once, Robert." Bobby cringed. "You should go chat. I heard one of the missus' second cousins say she was a cougar."

"Huh?" Link queried, eloquently.

"An older lady who favors the company of younger men." Ted explained.

"Oh, I'll accompany her, boss," Bobby said. "I'll accompany her all night long..."

"Go for it, bro!" Link said, slapping his friend on the back.

Bobby didn't so much approach Marietta, as he was drawn into her orbit. From the moment she smiled at him slyly as he approached, until she was pressing him down onto the motel bed, he couldn't remember a single thing he'd said. But whatever it was, it had worked.

He closed his eyes and moaned as she drew her nails roughly across his chest. But as her fangs closed on his throat, he realised exactly what they meant by cougar.

Scattered Pearls - #fridayflash

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Warm air lapped the back of his neck, blowing through from the open window behind him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Traffic sounds, voices and a far off siren carried on the breeze, but he could only hear the fireworks that had lit up the night as they watched from the Pont des Arts.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The dazzling lights in the sky had momentarily captivated them, but only briefly. They had faced each other, fingers entwined, sharing a single thought. She smiled and he knew.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

They kissed. Their lips touched, tenderly at first, then parted and fiercely pressed together as their tongues danced.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He pulled away so he could see her smile. He made a promise to himself that this was all he would live for, to see that look of joy on her face and her teeth shining behind ruby red lips.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

All that was left were the mementos on the table before him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A slim stack of photographs...

Tap. Tap. Tap.

...the letter she had left on his pillow...

Tap. Tap. Tap.

...the scale model of the Eiffel Tower, a souvenir of their trip to Paris...

Tap. Tap. Tap.

...her dried blood on one corner of the base.

Tap.

And a small enamelled tin.

Tap.

He caressed the sides of the tin, turning it gently with his fingertips. He lifted it and emptied the contents into the palm of his right hand. After a brief pause to admire them, one by one he dropped the teeth back into the tin.

Four Litres, Single Malt (rated M) #fridayflash

Daniel passed the rack of VHS tapes with flesh-coloured covers on his way to the back stairs that led to their room. The dust was thick on the cassettes. Nobody bought VHS, but everyone knew Kosmo, the owner and Daniel's landlord, conducted his real business under the counter in every sense.

"Hey, pretty boy!" Kosmo had spotted him. "Hey, you got my rent tomorrow, or maybe make deal with your girlfriend, huh? We boom boom, pretty boy, yes?"

"I'll let you know, Kosmo," Daniel said. "But I think she might already be fucking your mother tomorrow. How about the day after?"

"No good, pretty boy. That is day we fuck, remember?"

Daniel tapped the side of his head. "How could I forget."

"I fooling with you, Danny. I want my money, okay? No trouble, yes?"

"Sure thing, Kosmo. No trouble."

After climbing the stairs, Daniel let himself into the room. Nancy was still in bed, the sheet pulled down to her waist. He could see the beads of sweat between her breasts. Her skin was gray and she hardly moved her head to acknowledge him.

"Still in bed?" Daniel asked.

"I'm sick," Nancy replied. She groaned.

"You spent a week pumping soap powder into your veins, Nance. I'm all for the fun, sweetie, but when you get so wrecked that you wake up covered in rat piss with most of your toes chewed off, it's time to re-evaluate whether you're on the wrong road."

"They're growing back."

"But what about the poor little rats, Nancy? Imagine how sick they'll be after choking down your poisonous flesh."

"Don't be an asshole. I'm sick."

He hardly recognised the girl that had turned his head years earlier. Long, lustrous brown hair, wide eyes and apple cheeks that begged to be kissed. She was a sucked-in shadow of what he remembered.

"I'm going out again," Daniel said. "Mister Tree wants to talk to me."

"Why?" Nancy sat up. "Be careful. Don't let him mess with your head, Danny. You know what he'll do."

"T likes me, sweetie. Don't worry."

"Sure, he likes YOU." Nancy threaded her fingers together and bit on her lower lip. "You're not the wicked whore that corrupted one of their toy soldiers."

"It'll be fine," Daniel said. "But for God's sake do something with yourself while I'm gone. Kosmo wants to fuck you for the rent money tomorrow."

"Oh, so somebody is still interested in me?" Nancy laughed harshly.

---

Daniel arrived at Mister Tree's apartment and waited in front of the door. He didn't knock. A couple of minutes later a light-skinned black man opened the door. He was holding a Siamese kitten against his shoulder with his left hand, and extended his right hand to Daniel, who shook it.

"Good to see you, Danny" Mister Tree said. "I hope you know I'm still your friend."

"Good to see you too, T," Danny replied. "I appreciate you saying that."

"I'm in the middle of something here, Danny. Can we talk in the kitchen?"

"Sure," Daniel said. He followed Mister Tree to the kitchen.

"Tom asked me to help sort out your predicament." Mister Tree set the kitten on the kitchen counter top and hunkered down to search through a floor level cupboard. "He wants you back in the family. Truly, I know he means it."

The kitten peered over the edge of the counter, judging the distance to the floor. Mister Tree glanced up in time to spot it, stood and gently swatted it back to the middle of the counter. The kitten wrapped its front  paws about his thick finger and chewed on his knuckle. Mister Tree chuckled, disengaged his hand and went back to the cupboard. Immediately the kitten was perched at the edge again. Daniel sighed noisily. He scooped up the cat.

"So what's the catch?" Daniel asked. The kitten climbed his chest and rubbed its head against the crook of his neck.

Mister Tree emerged from the cupboard holding a blender. He placed it on the counter top. "I told you he wants you back, but there's a price."

"There's always a price," Daniel said. "So what's he want?"

"Four litres of blood," Mister Tree said, his head was bent, investigating the tangle of wires behind the wall of appliances that lined the counter top.

"Not a problem," Daniel said. "I can have it inside an hour."

"Not just anybody's blood, Danny, he wants the good stuff. Four litres, single malt. No blends. He'll know."

"Don't fuck me around, T. You're saying he wants my blood?"

"Maybe." Mister Tree shrugged.

"What do you mean?" Daniel asked.

"Maybe your blood, or... do I really need to spell it out, Danny boy?" Mister Tree unplugged the microwave so he could plug in the blender.

"No, T, I guess you don't. He hates her and he thinks I'll betray her. He's an idiot. I won't do it."

"You're gonna have to do it, or he'll hunt the both of you down. It'll get ugly for you, Danny." Mister Tree threw the switch on the blender. The grinding cacophony made the kitten tense against Daniel's chest. He flinched as it sunk its claws into him. Mister Tree turned off the blender, looking satisfied. Daniel stroked the kitten, whispering softly to it, calming it down.

"Give me the cat," Mister Tree said, holding his hand out to Daniel.

"What the fuck you gonna do with it?" Daniel demanded.

"I'm not doing anything to that damn cat. You're agitated, spooking it, and I have to make his formula."

"His what?" Danny asked.

"His formula... baby milk. I asked if they had any for cats but the stupid woman acted like I was crazy."

"You don't feed them baby milk, T. They get cow milk, or cat food. You know, tins."

"Oh no, gorgeous! Tried it. That shit is evil-smelling." Mister Tree said, wrinkling his face in disgust.

"Mister Tree, I may not know much about cats but I know you need to feed them better than powdered milk."

"You don't know shit better than shit, you young fool. Do you know if big Tom has someone across town making the same offer to your girl? You so sure she won't know a good deal when she hears one?"

"I don't know what that crazy bitch thinks about anything, any more." Daniel shook his head.

"So maybe there's your answer, Danny. It's you or the girl. Be sensible." Mister Tree gestured for him to hand over the cat.

Daniel held the kitten tight against his chest, stroking its head. He felt the throb of contentment as the little animal purred, its eyes closed. He didn't want to let it go.

---

The blood that had pooled in her navel still felt warm as he lowered his face against her belly to lap at it. He pressed his face against her, sliding his cheek along her cold flesh up to her breast where he caught a nipple between bloody lips.

Nancy giggled. "I feel better, Danny. Is there enough blood left for Thomas?"

Daniel surrendered his grip on her teat and looked up at her face. She looked better, her face showing a little colour. "Not remotely. We got greedy, sweetheart." The mischievous grin she gave him, showed that she already knew the answer.

"Okay Danny, so the next guy Thomas sends, we drain and send him the blood. Think that'll get him off our backs?"

"I don't think that offer is on the table any more, sweetie."

A noise made Nancy cock her head. "What was that?"

Daniel lay across her so he could scoop something from the floor. He dropped it on her belly.

Four sets of tiny claws tickled her skin as the kitten walked towards her face. She moaned when it paused to run its pink sandpaper tongue across her nipple, licking away a trace of blood.

Daniel kissed her on the cheek. "Surprise! You're a mommy now."

My Heart Soars Like A Parakeet But You Are An Avocado

The old tree against his shoulder, upon which the side of his head rested, made no comment as Dan vented his frustrations.  Catalog of woes completed, the young man noticed the somber shade of the clouds scudding across the reddening sky. The forest shadows had grown long and only a few dim pools of light painted the leaf litter.

"You're a good listener, Mister Tree," Dan said, "but my mom was a real clever talker. Know what she always said? She said, 'Never let the sun go down on an argument'." He straightened up and gave the tree a hearty slap on the side. "We're two peas, you'n me. I'm dumber than a post too, old buddy, but I ain't dumb enough to ignore my momma's advice. I got some apologising to do." He pointed at the sky. "And I ain't got long to do it!"

Dan set off at a breakneck pace through the forest, leaping from stumps and ducking branches. The rightness of his decision filled him up like he had a fat helium balloon for a soul and he wanted to soar. He fought down a holler, aware that his apology remained unspoken.

The notion to stop came a little late to check his speed, so that he stumbled and slid to an ungracious halt next to Maria. He hunkered down beside her and grabbed her hand, wrapping both of his hands around her fingers for warmth.

"Listen, sweetheart, I was wrong," Dan said. "You shake me up like a soda pop, baby, but I shouldn't be letting it bother me so. I apologise. I sincerely apologise, and I hope that you can find it inside you to forgive me."

The sun had set some time ago when he finally let her hand drop. With a sigh, he pulled the shovel from the pile of loose dirt and started to fill in the shallow grave.

Hard Knock Wife - #fridayflash

Trudy was grinding flour for her daily bread, according to a recipe that a friendly giant had given her. Trudy was renowned for her ability to whip her ingredients into one dish or another. She would start with the whipping, then follow that with the flaying, the drying and the grinding. She was an old school cook.

An aroma, carried on the breeze that blew through the cave, made her set the mill aside and check the oven. She had a batch of tarts baking. Trudy peeked inside, the heat and the smell washing over her face. Bliss. She fetched the tray out and set it aside to cool. The tarts were perfect. Nobody ever missed them.

She heard a noise from the cave mouth and hurried out to see what it was.

"Sorry..." Sid attempted a sentence. "I was just..." Practice didn't seem to help.

"Hey honey!" Trudy said. "What's that?"

Sid put his hands behind his back, awkwardly. "Nuh-"

It was as if Trudy had five sets of arms the way she swarmed around him. Sid didn't stand a chance. Trudy plucked the letter from him.

"What is this?" she demanded.

"Nuh-"

"That's my name on it!" she interrupted.

"I-" Sid began.

Trudy straight-armed him in the chest, sending him lumbering backwards. She ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter. After a few minutes reading it, she looked up at Sid.

"Is this a joke?" she said.

Sid opened his mouth, but Trudy was speaking over him again.

"You're not doing this," she said. "You are not dumping ME. You LOVE me."

Sid sighed. "I DO love you. I love you SO much. I... I never..."

"So why are you doing this?" Trudy said, shaking the letter at him. "Why now? I know you love me!"

"I do, baby," Sid said. "It's just... you're wearing me down."

Trudy snorted. "Wearing you down? This nonsense is wearing me down. Silly man, we can work it out. Is it all the clubbing?"

Sid shook his head. "I like clubbing things. I love it. I'd club anyone for you."

Trudy grabbed Sid's hands, clasped them tight. "So what is it?"

A huge tear rolled down Sid's cheek.

"Oh baby," Sid said. "It's the sex."

Trudy rocked back. "You... don't... like... the... sex...?"

"No, baby! No!" Sid said. "The sex is amazing but it's wearing me down."

"Explain yourself," Trudy said, looking vexed.

"Well... we're both rock trolls, right?"

"Of course," Trudy said.

"But you're an igneous rock troll, and I'm just a limestone rock troll..."

"So?" Trudy demanded.

"Baby, you're wearing me down." Sid glanced at his crotch. "You're harder than I am, baby. You're seriously wearing me down..."