Category Archives: Flash Fiction

Search Me…

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They were big and beefy and incredibly strong.  They were aggressive, pointing their weapons everywhere and smelled like belligerent fear as they shouted and snarled.  They wore plate armor like insects but they were pasty and bony underneath with beady eyes and a ridiculous tuft of hair on their tiny heads – like hand puppets.  They were most definitely …ALIEN!

When they landed their starship in my back yard and demanded, “Take me to your leader!”  I was so stunned – so baffled that I just froze and blinked at them.  Their exasperated captain tried again, “Where are your leaders?!” with a sneer of contempt, as if I was a child.  I simply shrugged and said, “Search me…”

Now, I don’t know if they misunderstood me or just had a REALLY strange sense of humor…..but being held down in a medical lab with a gnarly probe approaching my buttocks is taking things waaaaaay too literally.

***This one reminds me of my last colonoscopy…And can anybody explain what the deal is with Aliens and anal probes?  Every single time; anal probe – anal probe – anal probe.  They’re almost as bad as the CIA (though, at least Aliens ask intelligent questions).  This was the (lucky) 13th cover John did for Analog/Asimov’s Magazines.  -Marsha 

Sundae The Clown

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“Ohhh…its not so bad.” his wife told him with thinly veiled sarcasm.  “You look absolutely delicious…..!” she smiled sardonically.  But it was a hot summer day and he was melting on the spot.  He wouldn’t last much longer.

Billy was so intent on pleasing his estranged wife (poor henpecked bastard) that he took her desire for an ice cream sundae too far and transmogrified himself into one, without considering the consequences.  And still, as he slowly disintegrated into a sweet soupy mess, she would not favor him with her attentions – except to say, “Ugh!  You know I don’t like pistachio…..!”

***The hell with Billy, its hot out and I want ice cream!!!  This image is another piece from our now book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks”.  You can find it here at www.sallemander.com (or follow the link above).  -Marsha

Freaky Uncle

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We never spoke about Uncle Dixon. Our whole family tip-toed around the subject…but I could tell there were powerful feelings just under everybody’s skin.  He was a horrible pariah.  The black sheep of the family.

We kept him straight-jacketed in one of the padded cells in the catacombs below our cabin.  He was never allowed out in the light of day (lest one of the neighbors spot him), only after midnight on stormy nights and always tightly chained, gagged and bound in one of those psycho metal hockey mask get-ups.  He got wheeled around in a steel cage on a hand truck under constant, heavily armed guard.

As if that wasn’t bad enough…Uncle Dixon was never allowed to go wilding with the rest of the family, never allowed to invade homes, to rape and burn and shoot folks in the face with shotguns or dismember them with his best machete before skinning and roasting them on the Bar-B-Que for the family feast…..how sad and dull.

I felt bad for him.  What possible meaning could his life have?  I always wondered what awful thing he could have done to deserve such treatment – until I overheard Pappa Ripper telling old cousin Head-Stomper that Dixon was a pacifist, an atheist and… a vegetarian (whatever that was).  He also said that he had NEVER murdered a baby in his whole life – actually refused to do it!!!  Eeeeew!  What a Freak!?!

***Every family has at least one crazy relative that makes Thanksgiving an unforgettable event rivaling any ten episodes of The Jerry Springer Show….and worth 6 months of therapy.  I think my illustrator, John, serves that role in his family.  John’s illustration is from our book, ‘Bludgeon the Clown’, scheduled for publication in 2017.  -Marsha

Worse Day of My Life

“Worse day of my life…” began the stranger at the bar, “…the day I lost my HEAD!” He stared at me oddly, chuckling. His words hung in the air for a while as I wondered who the heck this guy was and why he was chatting me up. He sounded absurd!  “What?!” I asked, a little annoyed. “Yeah!” he continued, “It just tumbled off and rolled away. I couldn’t find it for a YEAR!” ‘How ridiculous’ I thought – but then, I remembered hearing about that sort of thing happening more and more these days. “I found it conjoined with some other dude’s left hand like a circus freak-show exhibit …awkward!”

 

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I reached for my beer glass but knocked it over with the empty stump of my wrist. The stranger grinned at me and chuckled again knowingly. It seems that both my hands had quietly popped off and were crawling down the bar toward the attractive woman in the breasty, low cut blouse at the end…the one I was too shy to approach earlier. I didn’t know what they planned but I could just imagine what MY brainless hands might like to do with HER. That’s when I noticed the stranger’s collar – bolted tightly ‘round his neck. It looked positively medieval but locked his wayward head soundly to his torso. ‘How clever?!’ I thought.

The barkeep wiped up my spilled beer with a lovely pair of shapely, ladies arms –which did NOT match the rest of his otherwise burly, tattooed frame. He caught me staring but shrugged and nodded me in the direction of my hands as they broke into a run…..while the woman’s breasts leapt out of her blouse and took off in opposite directions.

***John did this image for our new book, “Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks” which is available now, just follow the link above to www.sallemander.com.  -Marsha

 

Say It Isn’t So

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“Oh no!…Say it isn’t so!!!” Willy whined, staring down at his belly in horror.  “This is just getting weird…”  His therapist told him time and again to let his ‘inner child’ out but THIS was ridiculous!  What began as common heartburn blossomed into something completely bizarre.

Willy was the typical modern American man; A politically connected (racist), deeply religious (extremist), highly educated (affluent) corporate executive (dullard) – a completely normal, well adjusted person in a desperately broken society.  So naturally, he was quite fucked.  It was no wonder he developed chronic aches and pains…and over time they became rather terrible.

Willy’s doctors found nothing wrong with him, no infections, no disorders, no cancers.  They told him it was ‘all in his head’ (it was actually in his torso, an inch above his liver and just to the left of his pancreas) but his shrink found him just as fit as his peers.  Still, the pain got worse and worse until finally, at his absolute breaking point, Willy had…..a breakthrough.

He woke up one night from a juicy steak and alcohol-induced stupor to find a finger sticking out of his belly (and the complete absence of pain).  It was so weird he thought he must be dreaming and dropped off again but by morning a whole arm had emerged while a pair of feet proceeded to push out of his back with a gooshie spluck.  He was so freaked out, he fainted…..and when he got up again, he could do nothing but watch as a whole person emerged form his torso, front and back.

“Holy crap on a cracker!!!” he screamed.  But the Willy in his belly, who looked just as frantic, hollered, “Shut up, old man!…How do you think I feel?!  Oh no…Say it isn’t so!!!”

***We spent the better part of two days in the NJ motor vehicle gauntlet this week, getting licenses renewed and title, tags and registration done for a car.  John did this sketch while we waited which perfectly captured the experience in one shot.  -Marsha

 

Primal Urge

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I love brains!…LOVE them.  Can’t remember why I ever ate anything else…ever.  I vaguely remember being bitten, I think there were six of them.  They ripped out my stomach and organs as I turned…..then I joined in…and I tasted pretty good – but not as good as brains.

I don’t talk much any more, nobody in my group does.  It’s okay, I never was much of a conversationalist…and most folks seem too afraid of me to chat, anyway.  They run away screaming a lot or try to stab me in the head with sharp stuff… I never liked most people that much, so it doesn’t really hurt my feelings.  Their brains, though…ooooooohhh, nice!  Better than goose liver pâté and double fudge brownies.

I saw my own reflection yesterday, I’m looking pretty rugged.  I’ve really slimmed down without my guts…finally lost that extra thirty pounds.  And my skin, well…a mottled blue-ish grey with black streaks – reminds me of camouflage, my favorite color.  But oooooohh, the brains…did I tell you how good those are?  I highly recommend them.  Ooooooom!  Ughhh!!  Brains!!!  I love the brains.  Ummmmmm…I can’t remember why I ever ate anything else…ever.  I vaguely remember being bitten, I think there were six of them.  They ripped out my stomach……

***I’m obligated (by John, my illustrator) to mention that the image for this post is an “unrevised original rough sketch” and below his normal standard of quality.  I actually LIKE this one…but its also a crap-load of fun watching John have an OCD hissy-bitch fit over his stupid etchings.  I’m a big fan of zombies, even the bad ones are beautiful.  -Marsha

Comic Con

Paranoia Smith was the most exhausting, obnoxious, insufferable, skate-punk, tattooed, cross dressing poseur I ever met at a Comic Con.  Within a minute in this lunatic’s presence I wanted to rip off his head and crap down his neck.  He babbled incessantly (when he wasn’t ‘rapping’ or screeching heavy metal lyrics) and his fake blonde goatee and dreadlocks smelled like a port-a-potty.  He was one of those touchy-feely dudes who never let up.  Comic-Con-image-30He had a finger puppet named Yak Feces who insisted on probing all of my facial orifices.  And he simply could not convey any of his incomplete ‘ideas’ from a distance further than an inch from my nose with breath like the putrid steam at the edge of a volcano.  He was a wild eyed maniac with no self control….actually dribbled chaw juice on my shoe, then apologized as he hosed it off with urine…..

BUT, he bought one of my ridiculous ‘Blue-ish Freaks’ books just now and I love him for it.  We could be brothers.

Oh no! Next in line was Lisa, an enormous middle aged woman in a teeny-tiny Sailor Moon costume with bits bulging from under her adorable skirt that I didn’t know women even had.  I think her blue hair was her real hair.  “Could you sign mine?” she croaked like Jabba the Hut…and I was grinning (as she pulled out exact change) too horrified to look away from…this beautiful, elegant creature who loves my book.  I could have married her on the spot.

Next in line is…oh, sweet Jesus…..

***John brought our new book out to sell at the Philadelphia Comic Con last weekend.  It was brilliant.  He met so many talented, decent, cool people and artists and vendors…What a great time – and you would not believe how many books he sold (my mother told me we should have brought more…).  Wish I had been there.  -Marsha

 

 

Labyrinth

Labyrinth-28      His dreams were frantic.  She was always just-out-of-reach and each time he caught a glimpse, she was further away than before as he chased her through the labyrinth of his anxiety.  He KNEW he was only dreaming…  he KNEW she lay right next to him, asleep…but he could neither escape any more than catch up to her.  And as his heart broke apart and crumbled to pieces for the one he had loved unconditionally, he realized that these pathetic dreams were better than his reality.  This was all he had left, so he relished in the chase each night…..for just one more night…and tried to remember all the good things they’d had for a few precious moments more…before she faded completely, leaving him alone in the labyrinth.

***Our poor friend Balthazar lost his cat recently…well, she’s not missing – we’re not out searching or anything – I mean, he had a falling out with his precious Miss Fuzzy Britches a few weeks ago and hasn’t been able to patch things up.  I wrote this little piece for them…though I don’t hold out much hope.  Meanwhile, Our new book is out.  Its beautiful and awful and available by following the link at the top/right to our site;  www.sallemander.com .  -Marsha

Peek-a Boo

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I had a good breath diving under…good for at least 3 minutes.          50 yards out from the dock, I went down deep, about 35 feet and counting. The fish were strange today. They weren’t acting right. Just my instinct but…they seemed to crowd me instead of scattering at my approach. Pensive.

Weeds were thick but I didn’t mind. I liked swimming through them, like parting curtains…..until I saw the eyes – big eyes – cunning eyes. They were staring back at me with unnerving intelligence and all the little fish were darting about frantically – and I nearly lost my breath.

Through the gloom, I began to make out the long, hulking form behind the eyes; Strange limbs, sharp fins, long feelers, fleshy lips with menacing barbs, monstrous teeth…..smiling at me?

Now I was afraid! In one swift motion my hand swept down to draw my knife from its ankle sheath – but lightning fast, the creature’s arm shot out from between the weeds and wrapped its long scaly fingers around my throat – my jaw – my entire skull.

I lost my air…and then, lost consciousness.

I woke up. I was breathing. I started to remember…..I was swimming through weeds – fish acting oddly – then the eyes…and a massive claw, engulfing my head. As it all went dark I thought I heard a sinister, gurgling: “Peek-a-boo!”

I was inside now. It was stifling and it smelled like cat food mixed with burning tires. I sat up in a lumpy soup of viscous bile and big bloody chunks of meat. My hands and face burned but my wet suit protected the rest of my skin. A sphincter opened behind me and sucked me along with my steaming meat-soup down a tube, whose bulbous nodules bathed us in a spray of acid. It stripped the fur and skin from the meat and dissolved my hair and a painful layer of exposed skin.

I dropped into a bony chamber in which long, razor sharp blades shredded the meat into hamburger (along with most of my wetsuit). I was quickly evacuated into another chamber which flooded with thousands of tiny, finger sized worms (with very sharp teeth), who consumed every speck of the remaining meat sludge before I alone, the inedible lump, was expelled once more, through slimy bowels, into a vat of solid waste.

This wondrous fleshy sack looked and smelled like the inside of a rotting, bloated elephant carcass. Minutes passed, possibly hours, while a steady stream of sticky, gloppy gunk filled the space, until there was no more room…this was the end. With goop filling my ears and covering my mouth, I took my last solid breath of air (a three minute breath?) before black sludge covered and consumed me. One minute…two minutes…nearly three minutes passed before I felt a great shuddering shift, followed by a resounding (satisfied) grunt….and I was suddenly shot, like a torpedo, out into clean lake water.

I surfaced near the shoreline, gasping for air. Although I emerged from the lake a raw, tattered and thoroughly disgruntled piece of fish poop…I was alive. It was, perhaps, not my greatest adventure but surely a ‘fantastic journey.’

 

***The only thing better than a giant fish swallowing a dude and crapping him back out is doing the same thing to a great old Asimov concept (like I did here).  Aaaaah, fish poop!…one of the great mysteries of life.  ‘Marsha Mellow’s Blue-ish Freaks’ is nearly ready…e-mail me for advanced copies. -Marsha

Faith, In Brand Name Products

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The worms had invested several generations into this project.  They were steadfast and intrepid.  It took months to meticulously scour every inch of the box to find flaws in the smooth laminate – the tiniest gaps in the seal, then year upon year of boring , rotting and tunneling through hard woods and glues.  They had never met Faith…had no idea what kind of person she was but from the quality of her box, they trusted that she had taste…was tasteful.  (Tasty?)

The worms celebrated their first breakthrough as a holiday.  It was a momentous achievement.  A pauper’s box was easy to tap but was quickly overrun by poachers, a rich person’s box – though a major endeavor – was a rich prize.  The worms took time to reflect and remember their forebears who began this campaign with such hope and ambition.  It was good to be a worm and sure to get better…

…But, when they finally breached Faith’s inner cavern, they were appalled at the stench.  It wasn’t the tasteful (rotten) odor of a well fed, well groomed lady, whose conquest would fill their bellies as much as their pride, it was the vile reek of toxins…death to worms.  They found Faith, in brand name products.

She was slathered in chemical cosmetics, pumped full of formaldehyde, lead and mercury and her flesh, saturated with food additives and preservatives.  She had fake hair, fake nails, fake boobs, lips and joints.  She looked as perfectly pickled now as the day she was buried…but for the worms, Faith was completely inedible.  Disconsolate and defeated, they turned away wondering what the modern world was coming to.

***Some would qualify Faith, with all her enhancements, as a “cyborg” (how exciting!).  However, the products which enhanced her beauty…shortened her life.  Oh, but never mind that!  I’m sure she’s been looking up at her corpse this past decade, quite proud of its everlasting glamour.  As to the worms, there isn’t much hope.  Perseverance and integrity don’t count for much any more… meanwhile today’s graveyards are tomorrow’s superfund sites.  -Marsha