Flash Friday

Enjoy this week’s slice of literary cake.
They came to the house by the dozen, all between sundown and when she went to bed. Her aunt’s boyfriend, Christophe, would lead them past the dining room to the locked door. Nothing seemed exceptional about it from the second floor.

Millie never saw the strangers together, and her aunt made it perfectly clear that these parties had nothing to do with her. But she guessed there was just shy of a hundred people in the house by the time she went to sleep, and they were always gone in the morning. From her bedroom window, between the parted lace curtains, she could see them walk down the street and always knew they were coming here.

[Copyrighted © May 29 2015, J.M. Blute]

Flash Friday

This week’s 100 words (ish) is also snippet of a larger piece, like a second slice of literary cake. One per week, we should probably get used to that. Anyway, enjoy.

TRIGGER WARNING: Implied violence and poor dental hygiene.

“Keep in t’hold,” the captain ordered, pouring his payment into his pocket. A smile split his rawhide face and a scar followed the curve of his left forearm. Four crewman on deck grinned with tombstone teeth or whistled a seafarer tune. Their bond was one of men who raped, stole, and murdered together and lived to sing over it in a tavern. There could be no men more predictable than these. “There, y’ll be outta the way.”

“Aye,” Raie answered, meeting his eye. A wolf, you could look away from, surrender to, and he’d leave you be. Let these men see you weak and they’d never back down.

[Copyrighted © May 22 2015, J.M. Blute]

Flash Fiction Friday

Here’s to the first! This week’s 100 words (ish) is a snippet of a larger piece, like a slice of literary cake. Enjoy.

“He’s in the kitchen,” the voice spoke through his earpiece. Nexus was an automated system, and he was sure the person who recorded it had no idea what they were part of. Like Susan Bennett and Siri.

Daniel passed the staircase to the door on his right, his tranquilizer gun going first. Take him alive, sure, but don’t be stupid. The beanpole artist stood over a mostly sliced apple, a bowl of Nutella on the counter beside him. Brown hair, a little long by Daniel’s standards, fell in front of his eyes as they stared at each other.

“Let’s make this easy, Mr. Preston.”

[Copyrighted © May 15 2015, J.M. Blute]