story

Flash Friday

Time was a figment in a lab. Talia stood between an office chair and the stainless steel table, files stacked in neat piles and samples in vertical racks. The clock on the wall read 23:09, but the lights above held a steady morning glow.
She ran a hand through her cropped hair and set back to work. Dr. Folante had done thorough research in expansive studies. Years passed with subjects entering, sometimes fading, all before Talia could catch up.

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[Copyrighted © February 5, 2016, Jam Blute]

Surprise Saturday

It’s what happens when I have no internet on Friday.
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Who in their right mind would elect to ride in such a contraption? Esmé kept a firm grip on the carriage’s frame, stepping out onto the capital’s stone pathway. She still felt the rocking in her legs, which the frigid spring air did nothing to alleviate. At least if the carriage couldn’t give a smooth ride, it was warm in comparison. However, the daylight in the castle’s plaza was an improvement from the dark insides of a carriage. All the same, Esmé was grateful she didn’t have to live in such a place.

“Princess Esmé,” her chief servant greeted her. “Your belongings will be brought to your room. Feel free to explore the castle and meet your peers.” He was fairly young, but he’d earned his position. The true head of staff could not be whisked off another nation’s capital, not even for the destined Queen of Light, but he would not send a fool. Rens was short for a male, only about half a foot taller than Esmé, but efficient and well-dressed. Rumors travelled quickly about him because of his contained demeanor. His blue-white marble eyes met hers, and he blinked. “Please be cautious.”

She smiled, gliding toward the castle. It was elegant but formidable, a towering architecture built to impress while being relatively easy to defend. Some of those particular changes struck her as afterthoughts rather than part of the intended design. “Have I ever been careless?” Rens trailed close behind, dark servants of Light carrying her embroidered luggage bags beyond them and into the castle. “You are new to me, Rens. I will forgive you.” They entered the great hall as servants directed them into the ballroom. He walked as she hovered, her layered dress barely touching the sandstone floors beneath her beaded winter cloak. “This once.”
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[Copyrighted © August 22 2015, J.M. Blute]

Flash Friday

The asylum finally released him in the early part of eighth grade, but… He’d been in for two years taking half-courses. He was far behind his classmates. After school let out for them, his father drove him there in silence. He spent five or six hours there, depending on the day, trying to catch up. Someone came for him when they were ready.

It took him a long time to adjust and even longer to get where he was. In college, working toward a respectable degree, and even holding down a couple friends. No one special. No one could be that close. He stacked journals ever since the end of his stay in psych wards, writing down every dream, every nightmare, every half-seen illusion– They were real. If anyone knew, he’d go back.
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[Copyrighted © July 24 2015, J.M. Blute]

Flash Friday

The café wasn’t as good as he remembered it. He was indifferent to their affection for the old internet radio, or their antique twenty-second century television. There was nothing appealing about the workers coming in for breakfast, throwing their sweaty caps onto their silverware without hesitation. Derric was here for the frappes, which were little more than chocolate milk served in sloped glasses. The ancient bell rang from the kitchen, and the cook’s shout reached his booth. His organic wheat pancakes would have to be the best he’d ever eaten to make up for the frappe.

“Derric,” his breakfast partner interrupted, digging a fork in her syrup laden waffle, “do you listen to anyone when they speak?”

“We have a more dire issue at hand than your genetic creations,” he reminded her, pointing to his glass. “This has less cubic volume than the plastic cups they used to have here.”
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[Copyrighted © July 17 2015, J.M. Blute]

Flash Friday

TRIGGER WARNING: Body horror

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Dr. John Mellon smiled from behind his imitation wood desk, his pale pink tie and gleaming buttons matching the waiting room atmosphere.

“It’s been a while, Denzil.”

“Three months exactly,” he answered, cleaning out his eyes. That flaky crunchy stuff had been showing up more often lately. Maybe he could ask his real doctor about it sometime, but until… He faced the man and finished his explanation. “Same as last time and all the times before it.”

“And how has it been?” Denzil looked away from the good doctor to the potted plant across the room. The soil might as well’ve been brown dust, but the plant was green as radiation and screaming comfort from beside a stack of glossies on parenting. It persevered for the Greater Good.

Denzil shrugged.

John’s leather ergonomic chair creaked as he leaned forward. “Remember the importance of communication, Denzil. Do I need to remind you how your last team disbanded?”

He started at the doctor and blinked once slowly. Raising his left hand as the bone extended from his pointer finger, Denzil answered.

“Bone is stronger than eye tissue, John.”

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[Copyrighted © July 2 2015, J.M. Blute]