Tag Archives: flash fiction

The View from the Shore

6 Aug

The white sand on the beach wraps delicately around my feet as I stand at the edge of the shore, watching as the cerulean waves crash gently onto my legs. The only sounds that can be heard is the rush of the water running up the bank as the tide inches ever closer to where they’re all hanging out.

On the horizon there is a flash in the darkening sky. A deep guttural growl issues from the unknown miles away. There is a breeze that slaps gently across my face, reminding me of the storm that is threatening in the distance. I believe it smells like salt and water, but I question if the smell is real or just what I’ve been led to believe about the ocean. The others still have not noticed the storm coming in.

I lean back slowly, ever so slowly, until my butt smashes into the hot sand. An indentation emerges where my large frame has pushed heftily into the earth. The sand is only warm for an instant, as the water rushes up to wash the beach out of my hairy legs. It runs down into the hole my body has created and leaves my genitals and rear-end both wet and cool. I enjoy the touch as it feels intimate, a secret meeting between myself and the ocean. Behind me, I hear someone beginning to move.

I close my eyes and lean back, letting the sun begin to cook my porcelain skin. It has been awhile since my last endeavor into this setting and oh, how I missed it so. The heat from above turns my skin as red as an eighth grader sharing their feelings with a crush for the first time. The water rushes up and across my body again and I shudder with delight between the contrast of the hot dry air above and the cooling rush across the ground. Behind me, someone begins to cast a shadow over my head.

“Alright now, that’s enough Stewart,” I hear above me. I keep my eyes shut, ignoring the person harassing me. Behind them, I can hear everyone else leaving. I ignore them as well and listen as the waves crash against the shore and how, still in the distance, the crashing of thunder threatens those at sea.

“Stewart, let’s go!” A hairy arm as thick as a baseball bat reaches down and pulls at my hair. I let out a screech and kick out, which appears to have been the wrong decision. A whistle pierces the air as several more uniformed men run and begin grabbing at me as I continue to lash out.

My eyes open now and the room returns. There are showers everywhere, all turned off and men in towels staring at me. Above, fluorescent lights shine down on my wet and glistening body as a ceiling fan sends a chill into my bones. The uniformed guards are all angry, each trying to grab my naked frame and drag me from the floor. In the distance, outside of the barred windows, I can hear the crash of thunder. I look from my vantage point near the central drain in the room and see another flash of lightning. I smile as I feel the doctor with the round glasses tell me everything will be okay.

A slight sting in the side of my neck. I close my eyes. I am back at the beach.


Journal ent…

3 Aug

It was a trap.

Wealthy benefi…

works 4 them.

I’m wounded.

No time.

Send hel…



Journal Entry 4: Official Prognosis

2 Aug

I escaped and woo-wee, heavens help me it was a rush. I’ve never felt as alive as I did last night, my gun sounding loudly into the night as the beautiful thudding sounds of bodies hitting the ground greeted my ears. The minions of darkness, or hell monsters as I call them, had charged forward while I tried to escape last evening. I fought valiantly but I had feared that my time was up. But that was when he appeared, a wealthy beneficiary from my blog. He knew the blight I had discovered and came driving in guns ablazing, friends hooting and hollering out of the back of his truck. They chased the monsters away with their high beams while pulling me up by my armpits into the bed. I have never felt more alive.

I write now from one of his spare rooms, with all of the assurances that him and his compadres will keep me safe. After their showing from last night, I have no reason to believe they will not uphold that promise. So now, as requested by my wealthy beneficiary, I have done extensive research this following evening into the threats to our existence. I was more than happy to oblige as well to his request for me to share my findings with you as well. Listed below is where I believe each of these 11 ancient abominations last attacked our beautiful planet.

I believe one of them was in control of Russia seizing Crimea.

Another had been in charge of the war in Syria. Rumors say that it is ending, and if that’s the case, it would uphold my theory that they’ve moved into the Russian or United States military.

The third I was wrong about. I no longer believe they are located in Flint, Michigan, but rather Yemen.

I believe the fourth I was wrong about as well, and he currently resides at the heart of this movement.

As for the others, well lets be clear, they have a strong foothold in our society. Pride, Greed, Anger, Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, and Lust are all at the forefront of this battle for mankind. Just look at the history of the world. These seven horrible creatures have always ran with their 4 leaders, it is only now that we have begun to see their attack out in the light of day. Woe is me, one of the few that can see the atrocities they are responsible for in day to day life.

However, this will come to an end. I have a mission, and a powerful one sent from the very top. I will reveal the names of those I believe are lying about being human, because as I see it, sins and horsemen cannot be human. Not after they hefted their evil frames from the meteor that destroyed the dinosaurs. Not when they have brought so much pain and suffering to our world.

I must end this post now, just thinking of these hideous creatures has led to my blood pressure rising and my old bones can no longer handle that like they used to. Hopefully my wealthy beneficiary will appreciate this post and let me stay for one more evening. He claims to sleep during the day and be awake through the night. Perhaps I shall take up that schedule as well, if only for my own safety.

Expect to hear from me tomorrow. I have a lot to share and I plan on needing you to help me.

Goodnight and sweet dreams.

Journal Entry 3: Who Am I?

1 Aug

I apologize for the delay of this post. I’m being hunted on this dreary night.

I have shed the damned laptop and am now beginning to create these posts on a smartphone. I am still shut off from the outside world, constantly on the run from the powers that work to strike me down. I can feel them, lurking over my shoulder, watching from the shadows. They run through every piece of data I touch, it feels as if they’re trying to read my very fingertips as I write. Maybe they can, maybe that technology has been embedded in our smartphones. I’m now wary of this piece of junk in my hands just thinking about it.

People keep asking who I am in the comments of these posts. Why is that of importance? Is there a reason to care for a loss soul like myself? I don’t believe there is. But who am I to judge them for caring or determining my own self worth? I’m just a man, no, much more than a man, trying to stop the evil forces at work. The 11 are still out there. The 11 must be stopped.

But the question remains: who am I? Should I share? I am on the run now and I’m sure these haunted figures know who I am, so maybe my loyal followers should as well. I could become a martyr if they catch me that way. I could be a man worthy of creating a crusade. I could die a legend. So be it, you ask, and so you shall receive.

I am a teacher. I am an educator. I am a writer. I’m an academic and a dreamer. I am a peace bringer and the end bringer. I am lost. I will never be found. I am a man, yet not a man. I am an unstoppable force. I am a sharpened weapon against the terrors. I am many things. I have been reduced to nothing. I am Joel.

There, I’ve exposed myself to them and the world. Now I must run again, This dampened road, slick from the rain, has the sounds of pitter patters echoing over my shoulder. I wish that it was just the sound of water slapping against the black top. I know it is not. I wish it was the sound of an animal scurrying across the road and up a tree, yet I know it is not. The lights behind me fade to black, which means I may have been found. Hopefully the weapon I’ve holstered can provide me the safety I need. I must run. I have no choice. If there is no post tomorrow then you must fear the worst for me.

Let’s hope I post tomorrow.

A message is hidden down below. But for you. Only you.

They are the horsemen. Their minions, the deadliest of our sins. They shall not win. They shall not prevail.

Journal Entry 2: Where Are They?

31 Jul

I hope you read this knowing that for the time being, my life is safe. I’ve moved locations since my last post and despite feeling like Frodo hiding from Sauron with the ring, I believe I have time to push out more information. At least, I hope.

I’ve had to resort to stealing and living in a world cut off from society. I have an old flip phone in case of emergencies, and oh how it drives me mad not to be able to have social media downloaded to it in these lonely times. The building I’m in is condemned and as I lie here on this old, forgotten mattress, the wafting smell of piss keeps penetrating my nostrils and making it hard to write. Already it has begun to get dark and I worry this old wood will go up in flame from the candle light I’m working under. Normally I would work with just the glow of my computer screen, but I can’t risk it showing my location and letting the business nearby know I’m using their wifi.

Enough about my struggles though, I must get back to talking about these creatures, and fast. I know I can no longer do anything about them, but maybe, just maybe, you can. I have found out they are all still alive today, but not all of them are working together. There are factions amongst their ranks. By my count, there are four factions in all.

The first faction I believe operates somewhere within the banking system. From what I can tell they run on a global scale. The head of this faction operates somewhere over seas, maybe in Swedish accounts. As of late he’s brought in two cronies from the beginning. The first is his right hand woman. She generally is found in yellow, flowery clothes, but don’t let that fool you. She’s a shark for money in any way she can get her hands on it and will bleed the middle class dry to help her boss and the top one percent succeed. The other follower is a woman that dresses in violet. She works as a middle man between millionaires and billionaires to the banks. When speaking to her, you can tell she thinks highly of herself and of the status in society that was thrust upon her.

The next faction resides somewhere in either the U.S. or Russian military, but I haven’t been able to place it as of yet. So far all I know is the leader of this faction is a general and a ruthless one at that. He will stop at nothing to win any battle that he may be thrust in to, and at any cost. Just like the other faction, this leader has a right hand man. From what I gathered this will be a young man with an obsession of the color red. I haven’t been able to gather much, other than the fact he is short in stature and has a short temper to match it. He will often be found with a comrade decked head to toe in green clothing. This man will watch how the short tempered one and the general interact with each other and have nothing but contempt in his eye. This faction, in my opinion, is the most dangerous. They will be quick to lash out and destroy anything in their path.

The next group I found, however, seems to be the weakest. It would be of no surprise to me if they ended up going their separate ways or joining with one of the stronger factions later on. This group doesn’t so much have a leader and follower system like the others. No I believe they are lovers, a sort of yin and yang to one another as they bring their chaos across the United States. One of them loves to work with the poor and downtrodden and was last seen in Flint, Michigan wearing all black, looking almost like he wanted to imitate Johnny Cash. Meanwhile, his wife was hard at work in Hollywood overseeing all sorts of experiments on video and film. She works tirelessly to ensure that people are always seated and consuming the media that is produced from there.

The final faction is the one that I have the least amount of information on. The leader of the group seems almost non-existent save for when major catastrophes pop up in the world. Many say that he is a plague on any civilization he touches but there just isn’t enough information to pin where he’s at in today’s world. From what I can tell though, he does have two henchmen. There is one that operates the food industry, helping to control how much the major nations eat versus the ones that don’t have a seat at the global table yet. The other works within the confines of the porn industry. It’s said that he helps to ensure they have open freedom in every nation porn is available and he fights for people to have access to it in nations that forbid it. I cannot fathom why this work is important.

That’s all of the information that I have for now. If I’m not found out and murdered in this building I will have more information tomorrow. My plan is to steal back to where my notes are on these terrible monsters and begin exposing their influence throughout history. Maybe then can we put names to faces. I will try my best to post again tomorrow at the same time and if a post does not appear, just know they have indeed caught up to me. Hopefully, I still have the edge.

Stay vigilant.



Journal Entry 1: The Dinosaurs

30 Jul

There is a common belief that it was a meteor that struck the earth at a high velocity years ago, effectively wiping out the dinosaurs. With this belief, I agree. There would be no other logical explanation as to what could have done it. However, I believe there was something more that came with that meteor and led to the demise of the dinosaurs.

Now don’t be silly and think that I believe for a second any of the hogwash that’s infiltrated our movies and television. Heavens no, none of that. I don’t believe there are transformers secretly hidden underground or trapped deep within the ice. It’s just like I don’t believe there is a spaceship buried at the bottom of Thor’s Well or the Mariana’s Trench. It’s all non-sense.

No I believe something, or several somethings did exit that meteor and have plagued our planet ever since. I have researched this case thoroughly and I feel that I have enough evidence to try and prove what these creatures are. I don’t have a specific name for them yet, but I hope as I continue my research and begin to share it here, others may be able to help me name them. For now, here is what I know:

In all, I have found accounts of 11 different entities leaving this meteor. Over the years they have emerged to feast before disappearing again. Each have some form of color that is attached to them, and it either illuminates the air or can be found in the backdrop of their attacks. All of them are still alive and well today, thriving amongst our current discord.

I shall post another entry soon, but for now that is all I am willing to share. I fear that recently my research may have fallen into dangerous hands. I pray that it hasn’t fallen in with one of the eleven, heavens no. Each of them are dark and would make me wish for death if they knew that I had found them.

I shall share this for now, since it’s surely on a page they would never expect. I plea with you, implore of you, beg to you, please return to this page tomorrow. If there is another journal entry then you will know I have not been found out and I will hopefully be able to slip in more information on our enemy. If there is no journal entry, then you must run and hide, as quickly as possible. If they’ve gotten to me, it’ll only be a matter of time until they get to you.


Finding Home

27 Jul

My clothes get covered in dirt as I sit at home looking out into the field. The lights were left on at my request, I wanted to make sure that I could paint the perfect image. The dirt continues to blow in little swirls as the wind from the oncoming storm begins to pick up and my beard darkens from dust that continues to catch in it.

The scoreboard, also still on from my request, is telling part of a story I wished to capture. It lets the fans know how their team took a beating to the tune of 18-5. It was hard to watch, even as a long time fan. This team had a rough season with little wins, and tonight’s loss was worse than the no hitter they endured the week before.

Behind me a bolt of lightning illuminates the sky as a crack of thunder makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. Still, I sit on home plate, looking out at the field. I can see him standing at second still, a goofy smile spread across his face. It was his first hit of the night and he had managed to turn it into a double. I was proud of him and I still am.

I closed my eyes as I sniffed the air and could smell the rain coming in. In my mind I could see myself standing where he was once. A simple boy in love with the game. I remember the last time I was his age and playing ball. I had hit the cycle and was given the game ball after delivering a trouncing much like the one that was delivered here tonight. My father had rushed out onto the field to give me a hug, despite protests from the umpire and the coaches.

Rain drops began to fall gently now and they darkened my grey jersey. I opened my eyes and grabbed at the wooden bat I had lying next to me, digging it into the ground as a way to haul myself back to my feet. I looked back out at the field again, this time watching as my boy ran the bases. I turned and stared at third as I pictured him turning the corner and running for home. I stepped off the plate and watched as the memory from tonight slid safely in for a run.

The rain began coming down harder now and so I lowered my hat and began walking back to my car. In my hand I held the notebook that I used to sketch out the field and jot my memories of tonight’s game down. I gave a wave to the men up in the box and they went to work shutting everything off. Ahead of me, the lights to my van kicked on and a loud honk issued out between the claps of thunder. I ran over, opened the door, and hopped into the passenger seat.

“What took you so long?” my son asked. “You and mom promised us ice-cream 20 minutes ago!” He was still in his uniform and tossing his ball up and down. I reached back and pulled his hat over his mouth, forcing him to put his hands up in protest while laughing.

“You know what took him so long,” my wife replied. “He was making sure YOUR game was covered accurately, weren’t you Dan?” she turned at me and smiled, looking down at my dripping wet clothes and the notebook I had fought to keep dry.

“Absolutely,” I replied. “How am I to properly document the next great baseball player if I’m not given the time of day?” my son laughed and gave my arm a slight punch before demanding that we get ice-cream once again. I looked at my wife and nodded, indicating I was ready to leave. She pulled out and as she did I gave one last look at the field and watched as the lights began powering down one by one. It felt like watching the end of a movie and as the storm began to rage over head, it was the perfect end to a long season.

The Ghost Writer

26 Jul

When I went to school to become a writer, I had no ambition to be a ghost writer. I wanted to be able to go out and create my own work. Something fun and exciting for people to love. Throughout my classes people talked about how ghost writing was a great way to build up a resume, and maybe it was, but it was still something I had no ambition to do.

And yet, here I am. I sit patiently in my office while my client, a Mr. Johnson, droned on and on. I should be taking notes on whatever part of his life he’s on, but instead I sit here and blog about it instead. I think I’m writing this because maybe it will be a way to reach out of my comfort zone, to not write what my office requires me to write.

“So then in ’92, that’s when things got really hot and heavy between me and my third wife,” Mr. Johnson says. Awesome, is all I can think. This man, like so many others that come to me to help write their autobiography, believe that it clearly needs a steamy sex story. Pro-tip, it doesn’t. Sex mainly sells in advertising, where your audience can SEE the sex.

I nod my head for the benefit of Mr. Johnson while I continue to clack, clack, clack, away on my keyboard writing this. I wished my bosses gave me a better office. Here, let me paint a picture for you:

The office is maybe 186 square feet, give or take. In a most basic sense, it is set up just like a therapist’s office. I personally believe this is done intentionally so that our customer’s feel inclined to share their feelings. Anyway. You open the door to my office, and it’s a worn down oak if anyone cares about such things, and the handle is pretty much broken. On the east wall is a couch that somehow still looks to be in mint condition. On the west wall is red chairs that match the couch. It’s where I’m suppose to sit. In between the couch and chair? You guessed it, a coffee table. On the north side of the room is a large window looking out into the city. In front of it is my glass desk. That’s where I actually sit.

“Are you even listening to me,” Mr. Johnson says with a moan. I look up from my laptop and give him a smiling nod. “Well if you are,” he continues, “what did I just talk about?”

I look back down at my computer and read the paragraph that I just wrote on the description of the room. I forgot to mention the ceiling and walls are an off-colored white and the carpeting is a worn down beige. I should also mention that the office is cold, always so damn cold. I blame Mr. Johnson in my head but for now I need to give him some kind of answer.

“You were talking about how you and your third wife were having intercourse,” I say. Mr. Johnson stares back at me, a lost look in his eye. I wait for him to tell me that I’m right. Instead, he reaches for the flask that was set on the table for him when he arrived.

“No,” he said. “Maybe I chose the wrong person to talk to. I was told you were the best in the business, but I guess that was just old news.” I watch as he inches closer to the flask and I try to decide on if I want to stop him.

“Look Mr. Johnson,” I begin, “I’m sorry, today is just an off day for me.” I feel this is a harmless excuse everyone buys, and sure enough, Mr. Johnson does. “I have my notes right here. How about you just tell me what you said after sex with your wife and we’ll move on from there.” Mr. Johnson stares at me again with lifeless eyes before giving his response.

“No, I think I’m done with today and with working with you,” he says. “If you can’t bother to listen to how my wife murdered me that evening, why should I bother confiding anything else in you?” Mr. Johnson had a great point so I did the only thing I could, I shrugged. “That’s what I thought.”

With that, Mr. Johnson flew up into the air and I watched as his flask stood on end and he dived headfirst into it. This was the only part of the job that always amazed me. It never got old watching the ghosts re-attach themselves to the item their soul couldn’t break free from. They always did it with such pizazz, almost as if they were trying to show you why you should care about what they had to say and to question the importance of the item. I sighed with relief as the room warmed up. In a minute, a custodian would be in to collect Mr. Johnson and store him with the rest of the ghosts.

As I sit here and wait, I struggle to come up with anything more to write. It’s horrible, because I know I have more to say, more to create. Sadly though, all I can think of is Mr. Johnson and the stories him and his ghost pals have. Maybe I’ll wait to leave this job after all. The bosses won’t mind if I haunt this office until a better job comes along.

Always Rolling

20 Jul

There was a breeze. No, not a breeze. A wind. Or maybe it was something in between a breeze and being windy. Is there such a thing? If there wasn’t, there should be. The gusts created noises that crashed all around me. I swayed back and forth on my back, listening to it.

My eyes were closed and I could hear it. The steady swoosh sound rustling through the sails. It was steady and kept me moving. Always moving, always rolling. It kept me sailing. It had me on course. It usually did.

I let my hand fall gently from the hammock. It brushed against a hard, broken surface. It moved back and forth with the movements of the ship. I’d swing to the left. Then sway to the right. The tips of my fingers sliding along with each gentle motion.

Then a jolt. The swaying turned violent. I was thrown onto the floor. My eyes flew open. I grasped for my sword. Someone had stowed away on my ship! I turn and swung blindly but they fled. I could hear the laughing up above. I charged in pursuit.

The main deck of my ship was empty save for my old black lab Sarge. He blinked in the sun at me. His tail flopped once. Twice. He was my first mate. I ran over and asked him where the intruder went. He cocked his head. I demanded an answer. He licked my face as my blonde hair blew in the wind. He wasn’t the best first mate I had. Then I heard it. A call from the crow’s nest.

“James,” she cried. “Get in here and wash your hands!” I blinked and the ocean and my ship fell away. The intruder stood in a glass door way. It was my brother, Samuel. He was sticking his tongue out and giving me the L sign on his head. I sighed.

Overhead, a breeze. No, not a breeze. A wind. It was definitely something in between. I watched as it rustled through the green leaves in the trees above me. I walked over to my hammock and watched it sway back and forth. There should really be a word for something that was not a breeze but not quite windy. I threw my sword and watched as Sarge chased the stick. I picked up my toys that were in the rocks. My mom yelled from the second window to hurry up, a storm was rolling in.

I looked back to the sky. It was starting to get dark. But what else was new? There was always something rolling in. Maybe it was rival pirates. Or a swarm of orcs. Maybe it was just a boulder rolling down a cliff to stop me leaving with the treasure. I sighed again and walked back to the house with toys in hand. Tomorrow will be a better day for sailing.

Over a Shoulder

17 Jul

I wished the bedroom was darker. There was always just enough light from the street that would illuminate the room to give it an eerie glow. Shadows were casted onto the walls from figures I couldn’t see. Tall, hulking shadows. Small, crouching shadows. Thin and gangly shadows. All the sizes and shapes of figures that make an active imagination go wild.

I generally sleep in my underwear because if someone was lurking in my room, trying desperately to kill me in my sleep and take my valuables, I wouldn’t want them to see me in the nude. I would much rather die with dignity and clothes over naked and afraid. That’s what I was convinced would happen to me in my one bedroom apartment. Every night I would lie down and turn off the lights and wait. Wait for the killer or one of the shadows to come to life, just to take my own life from me.

My apartment was always noisy as well. There was a general hum that emitted from the various electronics running in the living room. On top of that, I could also hear the street clearly from my bed. Whether it was a constant thdunk thdunk thdunk of a car with a super bass built inside or the growling vrrn vrrrn vrrrrn of someone flying down the road in a jacked up truck, I heard it all. Maybe that’s another reason I searched in paranoia of an intruder. Mix the sounds of detestable humans blaring their vehicles at two in the morning with the ever moving and pouncing shadows of the room, something was bound to attack.

All of this was culminating again, paving the way for another night of lying paranoid on my side. I stared helplessly at the wall. Shadows lurched and lunged in various directions. I shut my eyes to ignore them. Bullying sounds from the vehicles outside my window accosted my ears. A feeling of panic crept in at the thought of one of them stopping to break in snapped my eyes open again. The heat kicked on throughout the building, sending a shuttering moan through my apartment as it fought to heat the place. I slipped deeper into the covers.

Then, a new noise. Chhhhttttccchhh. The sound scratched and crinkled over my shoulder. My eyes grew wide. This was new. Was it real? Ccccchhhhhttttcccchhhhh. Louder now. It sounded like the crackling of an insect. I didn’t want to turn. I needed to turn. I had to know. I rolled my body while closing my eyes. I didn’t want to see it. I was now facing the noise. It stopped. I opened my eyes and let my mouth fall open in pursuit.

It was all black and distorted. As if a shadow had found a way to leave the wall. It had piercing eyes, both white and pupil-less. I could feel it grinning, despite the lack of mouth. The white eyes were the only part of it’s head that was visible. It’s body was large, built like a heavyweight UFC fighter but there was no definition. It lifted an arm and pointed at me. It made the noise again. Cccchhhhttttccchhhh. I was frozen.

The thing began shambling closer to me. Not walking. Nor sliding. Instead, just a shamble. In the same way a zombie would move. My body froze. Each part of me became lead. My head wouldn’t raise and my eyes wouldn’t shut. My vocal chords seized into a whisper at each attempted shout. My arms laid useless, one on the bed, one on my side, as my legs did the same. The monster continued its shamble until it stood directly over me. I couldn’t look up at it but I could feel it moving closer. Slowly bending. Closer. It’s face nearing mine. Closer. I could feel heat coming off it now. Closer. It’s arms reached out as its face was about to touch mine. Closer. I wanted to shriek, to fight, but my body was still useless. Closer. It was touching me now. Closer.