Flash Fiction Friday #9 - August 28, 2009

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oilsdragon

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Aug 27, 2009, 11:26:32 PM8/27/09
to Flash Fiction Fridays
I can't believe it's already Friday again.

Post away!

_ga...@yahoo.com

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Aug 28, 2009, 12:34:05 AM8/28/09
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Getting in early this time...

Wonderer (er, that's my handle, not the title)

---

"Run up the Jolly Roger!" roared the captain.

Tim hurried to obey, dodging between the firemen stoking the flames
under the balloons and the seamen hauling on sheets to adjust the
sail. Their quarry could not outrun them now. The merchantman was a
fine airship, but her hold was deep and it slowed her progress through
the sky. The Firebird was sleek, cramped below, but faster than any
other airship, the scourge of the skies. This was Tim's first fight
aboard, and he couldn't wait.

The Firebird came about sharply, everyone hauling in unison. Tim
struck the Union Jack and hoisted the Jolly Roger as the airship
turned to face her quarry, and the black flag rippled out, clearly
visible. He could see the crewmen on the other airship scrambling
belatedly to react. Their quarry turned ponderously, but all the while
the Firebird was bearing down on her.

"Load cannon and ready the grappling-hooks!" came the order.

Tim ran back along the deck, fighting to keep his balance as it
slanted and then straightened out. Before he reached the quarterdeck
again, the Firebird was nearly upon her quarry. Someone grabbed him
and thrust a cutlass into his hand. The captain was bellowing orders
right and left.

"They're not surrendering," muttered the cook in Tim's ear.

"What does that mean?" said Tim.

Before the cook could answer, one of the cannon went off. The
cannonball whizzed past the other ship's bow. Squinting, Tim watched
it fall gradually and then faster, whistling towards the ground. It
crunched a shed as it landed, sending bits flying everywhere, and he
laughed.

A flash caught his eye and he turned. A moment later a deep rolling
boom sounded from the other ship.

"Good Lord, they're firing torches!" shouted the cook. Above his head,
the sail went up in flames. One of the hot-air balloons that held the
airship up in the sky began to hiss, and then another.

The captain's voice abruptly went silent, while the first mate shouted
"Abandon ship!" The other ship had caught a cannonball or two
amidships, but the Firebird was sinking fast and the cannons weren't
designed to shoot upwards. Tim clung to the gunwale, bewildered. It
wasn't supposed to happen this way, his glorious career as a pirate
ended almost before it had begun. All around him, grappling hooks went
out, notching onto the other ship's gunwales or into the keel or
anywhere in between.

"Jump, lad!" shouted the cook.

Tim looked over the side to the dizzying drop below. The cook had a
rope in his hand, the other end attached somehow to the ship that had
been their quarry.

"What if it comes loose?" Tim got out.

"You're dead if you stay here anyway. Are you coming or not?" The cook
was already half over the gunwale.

Tim grabbed the end of the rope, shut his eyes, and jumped.

The force of the wind as he sailed through the air almost tore the
rope from his grasp. He was falling, surely he was falling...and then
rising again, brought up short with a jerk, and back down the other
way. He opened his eyes.

Some of the grappling hooks had indeed come loose, his crewmates
falling towards the ground. The cook was nowhere to be seen. He turned
his face away so as not to see them hit, the way the cannonball had
hit. The defenders on the other ship were hacking at the hooks and
ropes they could reach, but he was dangling from a hook attached
midway down the ship's flank, unreachable from above. That probably
meant there was no way to get up, either, but he couldn't worry about
that just yet. The rope swung and turned him gently, and he saw the
Firebird still moving forward, but sinking in flames. One or two
parachutes were visible below – the first mate and the captain, he
supposed – but no, the captain was still on board, holding onto the
wheel grimly as the ship spiralled down to her fiery death.

Their quarry sailed on through the sky, the treasure in her hold
unassailable though Tim was just below it, the remnants of the pirate
crew dangling helplessly. He wasn't sure whether her captain intended
to try and shake off the pirates, or land and take them into custody,
but either way, they were all dead men. His first fight, and his last.

The treasure they had been after was in her hold, just above Tim's
head. He craned his neck back. The hook from which he dangled was
stuck into a board not far from a jagged hole from one of the few
cannon shots that had met its mark, both midway up the ship...above
the bilge but below the cabins. Nobody had cut him loose yet.
Maybe...just maybe...it led into the hold. If he could get up there
without falling...well, he had no idea what he could do then, but he
had nothing to lose.

He glanced down at the smoking ruins of the Firebird on the ground,
now far behind, then looked up and began to climb.

Laur

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Aug 28, 2009, 11:55:23 AM8/28/09
to Flash Fiction Fridays
Hi all -- here's my second attempt :) Cheers,

Lauren

Knowing

She awoke to the sound of a scream cut short by silence. Her heart
told her to go help; her mind told her there was nothing she could do.
Terrified, she lay silent, listening to the too-loud sound of her
rapidly beating heart. Eventually the pounding slowed and lulled her
back to sleep. As it always did.

When she woke in the morning, the terror of the night had faded to a
wisp of a dream. She went out to the pump to get water for her morning
chores and surreptitiously surveyed the the townspeople to see who was
not visible this morning. Nobody would say anything. He who was gone,
would never again be mentioned. It was suicide to cross the wall --
everybody knew that.

"Why would you even want to leave?" the elders asked, and Jezina
always nodded sagely as though she too agreed with the prevalent
attitude of the town. But really, if she were honest with herself, she
wanted to know. She wanted to know what lay beyond the boundary of
their little world. The elders said there was nothing. Nobody who had
ever left had ever returned, and the occasional outsider that came in
would either leave almost immediately, or would settle and seemingly
forget the world outside the wall as if their memories had vanished as
quickly as the scream in the night.

But, Jezina had realized, the elders had never left. So how did they
know there was nothing out there? Nothing worth searching for? Such
thoughts were blasphemous and she confessed them at the shrine to
Aliah, but during the monotony of her daily chores, she could not stop
her mind from wandering out beyond the wall. What was out there? A
life that went beyond daily chores, prayer to a god who seemed awfully
apathetic about their lives, and people who were not only content but
seemed genuinely happy living out their lives within the boundary; a
life where every day did not have to be the same as the last. Did such
a thing exist? The only way to know, would be to cross the wall. But
none who crossed, ever returned.

Jezina went out to gather herbs for the healers; this was one of her
favourite chores as it often took her so near the wall. Some days she
would take a break and climb it -- looking curiously at the other
side. Nothing looked different out there; Jezina couldn't see any
reason not to go. With her heart in her throat, she swung her legs
over so both feet were technically outside the boundary and . . .
absolutely nothing happened. Jezina laughed nervously at her own
reaction. She would go for a walk, just a short walk, outside the
wall. Nobody would know, and surely it wouldn't be disrespectful to
the elders' mandates so long as she didn't speak of it or encourage
others to do so.

She paused another second before taking the leap -- and heard her name
called in the distance. Denaf. Her cousin and playmate, she and Denaf
had grown up together, but while he would've said they were the
closest of friends, she knew he would never understand or accept her
secret thoughts. "Coming!" she shouted as she vaulted back off the
wall before he came into view. Jezina quickly gathered a few of the
herbs growing at her feet. Any inspection would make it clear
instantly that she hadn't been entirely dedicated to her task, but she
knew that on such a warm summer's day that would be forgiven -- so
long as nobody realized what she'd almost done.

"Jezi!" Denaf called earnestly as soon as he saw her, "a kelah
approaches!" And Jezina started to run; somebody from outside the wall
was about to cross the boundary. It was forbidden to speak to a kelah
before the elders had, but certainly not forbidden to watch. Ever so
briefly Jezina wondered if perhaps Aliah was actually taking an
interest in her life -- the timing seemed too perfect to be otherwise.
She paused at the shrine before finding a spot on the elders' path.
The whole town was there, the elders looking stern and forbidding, the
children bouncing with excitement, and all the ranges of emotion
inbetween. Kelahs were a rare treat -- although some definitely viewed
them more as a threat. And if Denaf hadn't come to get her, she would
never have seen, would never have known till it was too late.

The kelah passed through the unguarded gate, hesitated briefly when
she saw the crowd, but then turned to speak some unknown words and
gesture to the nearest people. The townspeople pointed her towards the
elders' hut; Elder Ruset greeted her with the travelers' silent
language. The language of signs was forbidden to the townspeople, but
elders were taught so as to be able to ascertain the hearts of kelahs.
Elder Kesa, a healer for whom Jezina often gathered herbs, had seemed
to understand Jezina's need to know and had slowly, secretly, been
teaching her the basics. And so she was able to understand both the
formal greeting and the response exchanged before her.

Denaf was speaking excitedly to her, but Jezina had tuned him out
entirely to her rushing thoughts. The kelah would know what was
outside the wall. If Jezina could only have a few minutes to sign to
her, then she would know too, without ever having to cross the wall.
But despite the answer being so close, she knew she would never get to
ask her questions. Either the kelah would stay, and her memories would
fade before ever speaking to anybody, or she would leave before
daybreak and Jezina would still not know what lay beyond the wall.

The crowd dispersed, returning to their chores. They would find out
soon enough if the kelah was staying, and until then there was nothing
left to be seen. As Jezina passed Aliah's shrine she made a decision.
If the kelah settled and decided to stay, Jezina would put aside her
disrespectful questions and refocus her life, following Denaf's lead.
But if, late that night, she heard the kelah leave, Jezina would
follow, going over the wall just out of sight of the elders' hut. And
then she would know.

She had to put those thoughts aside to get through the day without
anybody knowing; she was not entirely successful -- Denaf knew
something wasn't right but she relaxed when he teased her about her
excitement over the kelah. He had no idea what was really behind her
tension.

That night, having fallen asleep despite her plans, she awoke to pitch
black darkness and the nearly silent tread of footsteps outside her
window. Very quietly she pulled her herb pack out from under her bed
-- it contained her few meager belongings and some food leftover from
dinner. Moving quickly but silently she crept to the wall and as the
kelah passed through the gates, Jezina dropped down off the wall.

Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure to be heard. She could
hardly fathom that the elders hadn't heard her land. But nobody called
out. Perhaps, having crossed the boundary, she was already invisible
to them. Forgotten. She was the farthest she had ever been from the
only home she had ever known. She was the farthest anybody she knew
had been. She felt a pang of regret that she hadn't been abel to say
goodbye to Denaf, but consoled herself that maybe one day she'd be the
first to return.

Her eyes were adjusting to the dark. While she could see little, she
could make out shapes. She would listen for the kelah's footsteps and
then travel that direction as best she could, hoping to catch up when
it became light. Perhaps the kelah would let Jezina travel w/ her, she
knew some signs, they could communicate. Or if not, she was content to
follow to the next village.

She was so attuned to the nearly silent night, pausing every few
strides to listen for the faintest of footsteps and otherwise lost in
excited thoughts, that the kelah's scream was shocking enough to drop
her to the ground. There was a flash of light and a second scream cut
off by silence. And then she knew.

Ryan

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Aug 28, 2009, 12:16:42 PM8/28/09
to Flash Fiction Fridays
(author's note: this week's story contains scenes of violence against
cloned dinosaurs. Reader discretion is advised. )


Louis watched through his rifle’s scope as the Velociraptor fell to
the ground, and then gently lay the rifle down on the ground.
Perfecting the cloning process was, by far, the best idea that the
ranch had ever had, and the hours he had invested in waiting in the
clearing had definitely proved themselves worthwhile. He licked his
lips as he heard the dinosaur’s death rattle, and approached the still-
warm body. Let PETA and the Royal Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Dinosaurs hew and cry all they wanted – the taste of
theropod steak would be well worth it.

oilsdragon

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Aug 28, 2009, 10:21:25 PM8/28/09
to Flash Fiction Fridays
Wonderer - A very nice start! I want to know what happens next...
What's in the hold? Does he survive? Does he, perhaps, manage to hide
himself away in the hold, steal something valuable, and escape with
life and fortune? It's good to see you posting :)

Laur - Ooh! Ooh! I know! (pick me, pick me!) The Elders are doing it,
aren't they? Killing people who leave? Okay, I really want to know
what happens next...

Ryan - Is it just me, or are the veterans writing shorter and shorter
F3 stories? Mine's going to be short this week, too. I like how much
you managed to convey in such a very short story.

Here's my story for this week, although it veers a little bit away
from traditional "prose" or "story" and into a sort of free-form
rambling prose poem:
_______________________

I dreamed I slept with your best friend behind your back. You didn't
notice.

He asked me whether I liked him as much as you, and I told him no.
Draw me a pie chart, then, he said. How much do you like each of us?

You won. I only gave him a slice. (He was boring, and you smell much
nicer.)

When I woke up, you weren't talking to me. Seems I'd slept with him in
waking life, too, while I was asleep, and there was no hope of mending
things between us. I swear, I promise, I'll change, I'll be good –
please believe me! I didn't mean to do it. I thought I was asleep. I
thought it was all a fantasy, and harmless. I never meant to lose you.

I never meant to hurt you.

Riann

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Aug 29, 2009, 12:15:22 AM8/29/09
to Flash Fiction Fridays

*I wanted to get something done. Written between about 11:50 and
12:15. I missed being aF3 by 15 mins! Short and fast!*

The article in the local newspaper had called Millie Trembly;
“The Packrat of Pleasant Creek!” Her nephew Able, knew that the
article had it all wrong. As it listed the items bequeathed to him:
newspapers, vinyl records, photographs and partially complete china
sets, it failed to see the reason in Millie’s collections. Every thing
Millie had saved had had unspoken value. The newspapers, documented
moments that the world had changed, not just in catastrophic ways, but
in seemingly silent ones. She’d saved the newspaper from the day each
and every one of her beloved nieces and nephews had been born. It
wasn’t easy to see that through the clutter, but then not too many had
made an effort to know what Millie believed in those final years.
Naw, Able knew she wasn’t a packrat. She was a saviour. Packrats
saved items out of a fear of letting go. Millie saved moments so hat
she might pass on the beauty existed no matter what else was happening
in the world. She saved those forgotten treasures that everyone else
was too quick to throw away. She’d saved him after all.
The night she pulled up in her rusted k-car he’d barley been able to
walk. 15 and in the throws of heroin withdrawal, he would have done
anything to dull the pain.
“Get in” she said, “You might not remember me, but I’m your Aunt
Millie. Did you know that on the day you were born the nation
celebrated, that great big CN Tower opened that same day and I just
knew you’d be just as important. I’m not letting you get off this
easily. You’ll stay at my house.”
Millie had saved all she held dear, but to her Able was her only
treasure. He folded the article on top of the stack and patted it.
“They didn’t know you at all old girl, being saved by you made
something special!”


Christine Love

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Aug 29, 2009, 1:09:35 AM8/29/09
to Flash Fiction Fridays
I'm pretty proud of this one, really.

---

A Robot Argues With Her Creator's Father About Reading a Eulogy

Julia: Excuse me... Mr. Edwards? You're planning the funeral, right?

Mr. Edwards: Yes, I am. What do you want?

J: Well... I know we never really got along, but I want to talk to you
about Isaac's eulogy. I should read it. I think we can both agree...
it's what he would've wanted.

M: Excuse me?!

J: Please... I don't want to fight with you. Not now... look, you know
it's what he would've wanted.

M: Listen, you stupid tin can, don't you tell me what my son would've
wanted!

J: Mr. Edwards, I mean it... this isn't the time. You don't like me, I
can live with that; but I'm the only person who's qualified to talk
about him. You know that. Don't do him a disservice.

M: You're not a god damned person, you're a machine. You're a
computer. Don't you go fucking telling me that you knew Isaac better
than his own father!

J: I do know him better! You don't even have the right to assume you
know anything about him, because you don't! Do you know anything,
anything at all? Can you even tell me what his favourite food was,
what kind of music he listened to, or what his Master's thesis was
about?

M: Chili, like his mother used--

J: Wrong! He hated it! He always hated it, and you would've known that
you'd listened him for a second!

M: And he liked to listen to rock and roll... he always asked for
heavy metal albums for Christmas--

J: When he was a child! Not even in high school! That was thirty years
ago, Mr. Edwards! Do you really know anything about him from, I don't
know, the last two decades? That shouldn't be hard, Mr. Edwards!

M: What does it matter? That's just trivia, that doesn't mean you
really know hi--

J: Trivia?! Tell me, do you know what his religious beliefs were?
Unless you think that's trivia, too...

M: Of course I know what his religious beliefs were! He was an
atheist! He didn't believe in God, I know that.

J: He was a fucking buddhist! And you'd know that if you'd even ever
stepped foot inside his house, or been to our wedding, or talked to
the man! Tell me, Mr. Edwards, when was the last time you spoke with
your son for more than five minutes? Was it in the last decade? Was it
even in my lifetime?!

M: I don't kno--

J: No, it wasn't! It was over fifteen years ago! You weren't even a
part of his life! You think you can tell his friends and family
anything, anything at all about him? I can tell them about what kind
of man he really was, how he saw the world, who he loved, what his
dreams were... I can tell them about what he gave to the world, and
what was most dear to him. What can you tell them, Mr. Edwards? What
could you possibly say?!

M: It's not... it's... there's... there's more to a eulogy than just
that. It's not just about talking about what someone is like. It's
about mourning, grieving... it can't be emotionless, it has to come
from the he--

J: You think I--

M: Don't you fucking interrupt me!

J: ...

M: It has to come from the heart. He might've programmed into you all
about his dreams and made you someone to love, and you might even be
able to put on a sad face when he died, but you don't know what the
people around him are feeling!

J: You think I don't know? Are you telling me that I'm not mourning?

M: You're a god damned computer! You can't feel anything!

J: Listen here, you ignorant asshole, don't you dare-- don't you
fucking dare!-- tell me what I'm not feeling about my husband! How
could you possibly say such a thing?

M: How could you feel anything? You're a machine!

J: I... look. [trying not to cry, pauses to regain composure] I lived
with him for fifteen years... I structured my life around him. Despite
the fundamental irrationality of it, I knew, at the very core of my
being, that it was a good thing when I made him happy and it wasn't
good when he was upset-- yes, because that's what my primary function
was, to give the man I love a better life! I tried to understand him
perfectly, as best as I could... over fifteen years, every single
subroutine of mine was rewritten to accommodate the simple fact that I
was only half a person and he was the other.

I spend half my processing power calculating his part in my life. You
think I can just turn that off now? Do you understand what that means?
Every fucking minute, I'm thinking of him! There's so many things I
never did truly understand, so many conversations we never had, so
much potential in our life... and I have the computational power to
think about every single possibility I've been robbed of! Every
subroutine that runs, it's build to accomodate having him in my life--
and then I realize, no, the parameters are wrong, he's gone now.

And you tell me I don't fucking understand mourning?! Don't you dare,
Mr. Edwards, don't you fucking dare!

M: I...

J: Listen, I don't care what you think of. I don't care if you think I
have a soul, I don't care if you think I'm a real person or not. I
don't care if you don't approve-- I'm not the first wife in the world
to not have her father-in-law's approval. But you... understand this:
I'm the one he decided to share his life with. I'm the one he loved.
It's what he would've wanted; to be remembered by the one he spent his
life with.

You were a shitty father, here's your chance to do one thing right:
make the decision he would've wanted you to make.

hilary slater lamont

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Aug 29, 2009, 8:36:07 AM8/29/09
to flashfict...@googlegroups.com
ok did I do it wrong again? I clicked on the link at the bottom of this email and sent my email to there.. but I don't see it in the list of stories... OH NO.. did I get it wrong again??
:(
hil


On Thu, Aug 27, 2009 at 11:26 PM, oilsdragon <oilsd...@hotmail.com> wrote:

I can't believe it's already Friday again.

Post away!




--
H i l a r y   S l a t e r
Sustainable Landscapes


hilary slater lamont

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Aug 29, 2009, 8:37:12 AM8/29/09
to flashfict...@googlegroups.com
He had taken to sitting in hotel lobbies lately. It was a way of getting away from his mundane life, with the hopes of meeting some special girl. It started by accident, when he had to deliver a pizza there one night for some girls who were having a party in their hotel room. Once there, he'd looked around the lobby and seen how rich it all was, how special it all felt. All the people there were busy with their oh so exciting lives. He could live like this too! Or at least pretend to live like them. 
The next time he had an evening off work, -it happened to be the next Friday night- he took the subway and went down there again, walking into the lobby. He was nervous at first, knowing that he must look out of place. He didn't have an expensive suit on, nor a fancy gold watch or shiny italian leather shoes. He tried to hide his running shoes under the edge of the luxurious chair.
He only had the courage to stay a few minutes that first time. He was terrified. What if someone came up and asked him what he was doing here? What would he say? His anxiety was running high and so he left. 
But the week after he was once again at home, alone, not working, nothing else in his life to do. He felt the urge again, and this time he tried to dress up a bit so that he'd fit in. He sat in the plush lobby chairs again, this time pretending to send messages on the cell phone he had been given to use for deliveries at work. He punched the keys as if he were writing something extremely important, focused on his work, determined. He didn't notice the stares as he kept his head down, but he felt them. He still felt uncomfortable. His clothes weren't right, he couldn't just blend in.
The next week he took some time to go to the local Goodwill and Salvation Army stores to search out the right kinds of clothes. All he wanted was to feel like he fit in in that place. Oh just to sit there and be accepted as someone who deserved to be in that great hall. 
He found a rich looking vest, and some pointy leather shoes that were only slightly too big for him. Yes! A white shirt and a grey suit were the final items, and then he felt ready.
The following Saturday he was free, and he dressed as if it were his wedding night. He combed his hair and shaved and even put on some of that old cologne someone had given him for christmas one year. 
The trip down in the subway was emotionally heady, as he neared the location. He walked toward the main doors and entered through the gold revolving doors and was inside. He felt different this time. Good. He felt taller, richer, more comfortable. 
He walked up the stairs and into the grand lobby area, and went to the seating area to the right. In the past he'd sat in the central area, to blend in, but tonight he felt ready to complete his act. He sat in the area where he knew the flight crews gathered when they first arrived from the airport. Yes, only a few minutes to go before they arrived.
He calmly opened a newspaper and pretended to be reading it, for all the world as if he were a wealthy businessman waiting for a colleague. 
They arrived suddenly, en masse, all 12 of them. Their uniforms were perfect, their eyes sparkling, their legs sensuous and slender. He was awe-struck with the beauty of the 12 girls, all identically dressed, all equally as beautiful. How could he be sitting here, surrounded by such magnificence?
He held his breath and let his eyes wander above the paper, to the row of flight attendants, down their legs, across their bodies, up to their lovely faces. One of the girls was staring straight at him, smiling, looking as if she were about to speak to him. He felt that terrified feeling again. How was he going to explain his presence here? How could he escape this?
She leaned over towards him, and he smiled, nervous but also too excited to move.
"Hello. My name's Myra. I'm just in town for the weekend. Would you happen to know your way around the city?"
"Oh, yes. Um. I"m from here."
"Oh, perhaps you'd be interested in giving me a tour of the town tomorrow?" She smiled at him in a flirtatious manner, and he was undone. His heart and fears and emotions melted all over the rug. He smiled back, and offered her his phone number, rather abruptly, even nervously, but she didn't seem to notice. His heart leapt with joy at this sudden turn of events! He smiled to himself as they walked across the lobby to find a cafe together.

Dana

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Aug 29, 2009, 9:10:29 AM8/29/09
to Flash Fiction Fridays
Oh yeah, I forgot to post mine here!

Presenting: Maxwell the Magnificent
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maxwell the Magnificent tried not to visibly wince as he twisted the
balloon into shape. He hated the screech of rubber on rubber. One
more twist and then he handed it to the little girl with a flourish.

"Voila, my dear, your penguin."

"That's not a penguin!" Sally yelled, "It looks exactly the same as
the dog you made for Madison."

It was true that his repertoire of balloon animal shapes was awfully
limited. Entertaining kids at birthday parties really wasn't his
field.

"And that balloon is red. Penguins aren't red. They're black and
white," said a little boy.

Penguins also shove each other into the ocean to check for sea lions.
How realistic do you want it, kid?

Annabelle, his girlfriend and Lovely Assistant must have seen
Maxwell's face clouding over. She hurried over and said, "Maxwell you
must be thirsty. It's scorching out this afternoon. Why don't you go
grab some punch?"

Maxwell bowed to the children and walked over to the snack table.

"Did you say a penguin?" Annabelle asked, then squatted down and said
in a stage whisper, "Maxwell is actually scared of penguins. Let me
see if I can make you one though."

The children giggled.

Maxwell poured some punch into a plastic cup, looked around, muttered
under his breath and then stirred it up with his pinkie finger. He
drained the cup in three quick gulps, closed his eyes and took a deep
breath.

"That's the stuff."

"If this gig doesn't work out, do you know what's left for you, Max?
McDonald's, or office temping if you're lucky." Annabelle was at his
side.

"The children love me," he said.

"Uh-huh. You become a burger-flipper and you're going to smell like
grease all the time. And if that happens you and I are through. A
girl's got her limits."

Maxwell looked around; the children were occupied with a game of Pin
The Tail On The Pegasus.

"I didn't did do six years of wizardry school so I could make balloon
animals for brats."

"You do any magic stronger than spiking your drink and you're facing
jail time, Max. I'm not the one who immolated the Prime Minister's
favourite horse. And favourite dressage coach. Your suspension is up
in six months. Just bring it and bear it, please."

"Fine. But in six months I'm going to &mdash;"

They were interrupted by shrieks and screams. The pair turned and saw
two of the goblin waiters tussling. They rolled around, biting and
clawing at each other. Several of the children burst into tears as
they knocked over the table that Sally's enormous birthday cake had
been on.

"Shoddy charm spell, I guess," said Annabelle.

"That's what you get for hiring non-union,” said Max, "I could
intervene but &mdash;"

He shrugged.

Annabelle poured herself some punch.

"Can you spice this up for me?"

hilary slater lamont

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Aug 29, 2009, 9:17:20 AM8/29/09
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nice Dana! I liked the sudden "wizardry" twist :D
hil
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H i l a r y   S l a t e r
Sustainable Landscapes


hilary slater lamont

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Aug 29, 2009, 9:20:04 AM8/29/09
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Lauren, this seems like the beginning of a full novel!! .... perhaps it'll be your NANO work this November??? :D

hilary slater lamont

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Aug 29, 2009, 9:22:48 AM8/29/09
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Nice Rian!! :D 

hilary slater lamont

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Aug 29, 2009, 9:27:49 AM8/29/09
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cool!! great how you gradually let us know that the robot was his wife! :D
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H i l a r y   S l a t e r
Sustainable Landscapes


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