Flash Fiction Fridays #13

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Oct 16, 2009, 11:22:49 AM10/16/09
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I guess Im starting this week off! Here we gooooooo guys!


Oct 16, 2009, 11:24:13 AM10/16/09
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This is in honor of my sick day! Enjoy!

Title: He Was Dying
Word Count: 531

He was dying. That’s all there was to it.

He had to be. His body was being racked with wave after wave of
spasms. And it was cold. So very cold. A cold that ran deep in his
very blood itself.

He didn’t know how He ended up there. Where ever there was. His mind
couldn’t even figure that much out as the pain came again.

One minute he was fine, and the next he wasn’t.

His brain was still trying to comprehend what was happening to his

He remembered going to bed the night before. And from what he could
tell when he opened his eyes between the waves of pain, it was still

Or maybe it was just that his eyes had stopped working.

The pain was coming on stronger and stronger. Then there was the
nausea. It was almost unbearable.

Cold so cold, his mind raced.

What was happening to me? Why was it happening to me? He had
everything hen life to live for!

He had the nice car and nice house. We lived hen a nice affluent
neighborhood, with little to no crime and people who actually looked
after their property.

He had the perfect family. His children were smart, they attended the
best schools. They were perfectly well behaved kids.

His wife was the most beautiful thing he have every laid eyes on and
many men were jealous of me because of that. Their wives had gone
downhill after every child they had. His had only gotten more
beautiful, as if being a mother had brought out more and more of her

He even had the best job! Everyday He was able to help clean up the
streets of the beautiful city that we lived hen. He work as the city
prosecutor and had just finished a high profile case that had seen
some of the biggest local mafia members sent off to prison.

His life was perfect! Why was this happening?

Again the spasms over took his body and He groaned loudly.

“Honey?” his beautiful wife’s sleep soaked voice cut through the

All he could do was groan again.

“Honey?” her voice came again through the darkness this theme he could
hear the concern hen her voice as the sleep fell away.

He wanted to scream out to her how much pain he was hen but every
theme he opened his mouth he felt his gorge rise and he had to close
his mouth to fight to keep it down.

He groaned again and felt her roll over beside him and turn on the
light before turning back to him.

“Honey! What is wrong?” She asked her eyes searching his face.

He just shook his head as his body was racked by another wave of

“You didn’t eat that turkey hen the fridge did you?”

He stopped moving and thought about it. He had fixed himself a turkey
sandwich before retiring to bed that night.

He nodded slowly as his mind thought back and remembered what his wife
had said about the turkey.

It was his twelve year old son’s science experiment.

He just made it to the bathroom.

hilary slater lamont

Oct 16, 2009, 11:31:58 AM10/16/09
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nice.. ugh.. :D
I"m saving my friday stuff for NANO now.. just in case I run out of writing steam :D
H i l a r y   S l a t e r
Sustainable Landscapes


Oct 16, 2009, 12:05:41 PM10/16/09
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Silent Treatment

So she's sitting there again when I come in. On the floor, cross-
legged, facing away from me. At first I think she's doing one of those
exercise things, whatever you call them. Pilot-eez or Yoda or
something. I know she's not, but I try to pretend.

"Hello, dear, I'm home..." I say.

I put down by bag and take off my coat before I glance back at her.
Sure enough, she's still in the same position. If I had some fraction-
measuring ruler, I doubt it would have registered even the smallest
change. I hate how she just sits there. She does this now. I come
home, and she doesn't react. She robot-ifies. It's a thing.

"Did you make anything for dinner?" I ask.

Again, no answer. Last night I had to eat emergency rations. I tried
to give her one but she didn't even blink at me. When I got up in the
morning, she was still sitting there, the un-opened rations bar same
as where I'd placed it. If it keeps up this way, I'll probably starve.
A man can't survive on emergency rations forever. He'd die of culinary
boredom. It happened to a friend of mine. He wrecked his shuttle on
some human-forsaken planetoid and when rescue found him, he was dead
as the 'toid. There were still plenty of Emerations so it's not like
he ran out of supplies. They did an autopsy but afterwards, all they
could say was he should be alive today. I knew the guy: he lived for
food, and Emerations just couldn't cut it. Don't want to end up like
him, but with her sitting there like that, I think I might be on the
same damn 'toid, emergency-rationing myself to death.

When we first got married, things were different, things were simple.
I got home, she was there, dinner was made, love was made, sleep was
slept. That was before my promotion. We were young and in love and all
that. Things were different afterwards. She couldn't support my work,
she said. It's wrong to de-ecologize a planet for our own use, she
argued, there are other beings to consider. Well, excuse me for trying
to provide for her, for the family we were supposed to have. And those
beings? Not even sentient. She wants to sacrifice our livelihood, our
futures, for insects and rodents and plant life! Ridiculous.

"Okay, dear, I'm going to bed then. You coming?" I say, grabbing an
Emerations shake for variety. Same awful substance, in liquid form. I
can't decide which is worse, so I alternate.

She doesn't say anything. She's probably waiting for me to go into the
other room before she moves. She's probably sitting there wishing I
would just leave. These days, even though I know she hates my job as
much as ever, she probably wants me to stay there all the time, not
come home at all. She's probably glad she couldn't have children now.

"That's it," I say, "The final push of my abort-mission button!"

So I get back into the room where she's sitting and tap her on the
shoulder. I'm not going to stop until she reacts. Took a couple of
minutes, but then she turns her head and opens her mouth, and her eyes
lock onto mine.

"Three days, five hours, twelve seconds since I left this robot in my
place," a strange electronic version of my wife's voice says, "and you
have failed to notice the difference. Should have done this long ago.
Have a nice life."

I stand there, this robot wife of mine still sitting cross-legged,
staring up at me and all I can think is how amazing technology is,
that it can look like real anger in those computerized eyes.

hilary slater lamont

Oct 16, 2009, 12:08:37 PM10/16/09
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ooh nice one :D... Natalia!


Oct 16, 2009, 12:09:32 PM10/16/09
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Niiiiiice Nat!


Oct 16, 2009, 1:33:02 PM10/16/09
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Thanks guys! Alley, your story made me smile...although now I can't
decide if I want to call it gross or cute...lol. : )


Oct 16, 2009, 1:35:10 PM10/16/09
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cute or gross works.... either way i did my job as i made you FEEL
something :D

Ryan Harron

Oct 16, 2009, 11:13:24 PM10/16/09
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Excellent stories, ladies!  I just posted mine on http://harron.dreamwidth.org/4466.html

-- Ryan
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