Category Archives: Flash Fiction

body-oddies, Flash Fiction

Body Piercing

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They called it ‘Body Piercing.’  It was very rare, very risky…for both the acrobat and the victim.  Frisbee the Bouncer contemplated the origins of the maneuver he had just failed to properly execute.  Willy the Clown (the victim) was finally settling down a bit, allowing Frisbee some time to think: you see, audiences had gotten bored with traditional tumbling and acrobatics, even parkour had lost it’s charm…free-runners traversing buildings, flipping and spinning across rooftops and bridge rafters, bouncing about from car to car in midtown traffic…I mean, it’s not as if everybody could do it nowadays, but people got bored seeing it all the time.

New ideas evolved to shock and awe the masses, each more extreme, risky…deadly.  The ‘Tongue In Cheek’ was already banned in 17 states, the ‘Cockeyed Cock’ was responsible for 3 temporary deaths, 12 online divorces and 41 spontaneous abortions (in Tennessee alone)…then came ‘Body Piercing.’  It was like a grizzly car crash on the turnpike that you can’t help staring at.  Frisbee recalled that the most difficult part was the need to make an entrance (not what you’re thinking).  How does an acrobat bounce right through the center of an unsuspecting victim’s body (without using an existing entrance – or exit?).  Well, Frisbee was quite certain he had it all figured out…but…..well, look at the picture!

Willy the Clown went quickly from surprise to horror, screaming bloody murder for 30 minutes straight…now he was just pissed off at Frisbee, who kept mumbling, “That should have worked!…Why didn’t that work?” over and over and over.

Somebody call an ambulance…!?!

***I wrote this piece last week, sitting out in my new back yard, atop the loveliest snowdrift in the midnight sun, watching the flying reindeer dogfight overhead.  I’m so happy in my vacation house at the North Pole.  The image is a raw, red, rough sketch for my “Body-Oddies” book.  The publisher refuses to let us post any final artwork until the release date (tentatively May 1).  Meanwhile you can find our first 4 books for sale by following the links to my website or at our Etsy shop (search EEWbooks).  -Marsha  

body-oddies, Flash Fiction

Potty Mouth

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Something in the smell wafting from the bathroom told me that things were going badly.  The crap being shouted was definitely not appropriate for television.  Negotiations had broken down and a strike was well underway.  Worse, the strikers were in open revolt,  flinging their sacred deposits all over the walls and ceiling.  The trust between us was broken.  Innocents were soiled, and who knew if the scars would ever heal, but all that was secondary to the fact that…I  had to go.  I REALLY had to go — BAD!

Shamefully, and in typical corporate fashion, I snuck out to the back yard, found a tree and used it like the primitive monkey I was.  Disgusting.  Yes, I’d found a cheap scab replacement to the striking toilet — but I just couldn’t hold out any longer…ugh!  I felt dirty.

I say, give the strikers whatever they demand before this gets any worse and we have a REAL shit storm on our hands…our shoes… our trousers…..

***Another raw, rough-sketch teaser from our new book, “Body-Oddies”, which will be our 5th.  John is finishing the illustrations and arrangement/design while I finish the writing (for a May release).  After that, we’ll be off travelling around the country on tour, attending book fests, comic cons and sci-fi cons to peddle our wares like medieval hucksters, bringing literary joy to our impoverished country.  Find us on Etsy.com by searching EEWbooks when you get there.   -Marsha

body-oddies, Flash Fiction, fragment

I am Joe’s Big Left Toenail.

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I am Joe’s big left toe nail.  See me soar through the air like a demented boomerang.  I know not where I shall land but I’ll probably miss the trash bin because Joe’s ability to aim the stuff he spits out is for shit.

I guess Joe finally got tired of my glorious reign, as master of all I surveyed, at the tip of his big toe.  I must have threatened his manhood (or ruined the tips of too many socks).  He once tried to clip me with a fingernail trimmer but I valiantly resisted – and broke it!  So he got pissed off, sat down on the toilet, and ripped me right off  with his teeth.

I say, ‘Good riddance to Joe!’  I shall become king of all the gross stuff next to his overflowing trash can, as I can see that I am already the mightiest of all the toe nails there and shall rule for all eternity, since Joe is far too lazy to clean his friggin’ bathroom, which smells like the squeaky ass end of a dead rhinoceros on a hot, sunny day.

***We have the cult classic, “Fight Club” to thank for the inspiration for this flash-fiction fragment.  It originated as a prompt in our Saturday ‘Free-Write’ workshop with the  Montclair NJ Write Group.  I pilfered the red rough “Finger Nails” sketch from our Body-Oddies book.  It doesn’t exactly fit…but kinda does, in a really cool way (according to John, the illustrator).  Body-Oddies will be our 5th book and will be out early this year (as soon as John finishes the friggin’ illustrations!!!).   -Marsha

 

 

body-oddies, Flash Fiction

Open Mike

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Mike stood on stage in the spotlight…terrified. But, something about it seemed to be working for him.  They probably found his trembling voice charming as he spoke sincerely about his life…his completely bizarre, absolutely strange, totally unlikely life…and the cynical way it came across.  The crowd laughed at the tragic death of his wife in a mundane laundry incident.  They howled at how the wind blew her ashes into everybody’s mouth at the funeral.   And the five-day-old lasagna in a broken fridge, leading to a vivid conversation with Lucifer, left them in stitches.  Every word he spoke, every glib anecdote, felt like a hole being ripped open in his soul, allowing his demons to spill out – only to be consumed and obliterated in the laughter of the audience…and when it was over, Mike stood open and bloody and spent and…..completely relieved.  It was better than therapy, better than liquor or sex or CHOCOLATE.  And he walked off stage to a standing ovation feeling light as a feather.

***We’ve posted this one before.  It’s one of our favorites (well, the writing is good, the bloody mess that John, the illustrator did still makes me queasy), and is an excellent final post with which to end the year 2019.  It was a great year for us at EEW Books.  We got to do a lot of travelling, saw a lot of old friends and did more book shows than expected.  We published our fourth book, “A Short Burst,” with our fifth book, “Body-Oddies,” close on it’s heels (to be published early in 2020).  As always, find our stuff and buy it at www.sallemander.com or go to Etsy.com and search EEWbooks.   -Marsha

body-oddies, Flash Fiction

Complicit in his Own Death

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Henry Higgenbottom had an amazing talent. Welllll, maybe not so amazing as, lets say, ‘quirky’.  You see, Henry could “headstand”.  Yeah,  not so amazing…but since nobody else could ever do it quite like him, it kinda became his ‘thing’.  And despite all practical advice. he ‘did’ the crap out of his ‘thing’.  He became a minor local celebrity (oddity), got his fifteen minutes of fame on the T.V. news and bartered that into a stint on the state carnival circuit which propelled him into a pretty good gig with a circus sideshow troupe as a ‘Tumbling Contortionist’.  All things considered, however, his convulsive hiccuping act usually stole the spotlight (and all the laughs) and made his ‘headstand’ gimmick look pretty dull.  But Henry never gave up on it.  It was his own unique gift to the world, a sacred piece of his very soul and he made sure it was part of every show he did…..until one day he accidentally mixed his hiccups with his ‘headstand’ and SO disrupted his specially balanced stance that he snapped his own ridiculous neck.

***Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE who has seen the image above seems to think it has some political meaning – perhaps implying the state of the nation or of the American voting public… Bollocks and drivel!  It is no such thing.  Read the post!  Its nothing more than a tragic fragment of an ambitious loser.  We don’t do politics in this blog!

Meanwhile, finish your holiday shopping with a trip to our Etsy shop (just go there and search EEWbooks)…OR you can follow the links to our website – which will bring you straight to our Etsy shop any way.    -Marsha  

body-oddies, Book Exerpt, Flash Fiction

Cockeyed

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Talking to a Cock

I guess I was a little drunk.  I was definitely over stimulated.  The boardwalk carnival at night was an intoxicating menagerie of sound and light, of beautiful bodies still in their skimpy beach-wear, smelling of sweat and suntan lotion, of sweet and salty junk food, deep-fried, slathered in cheese.  I wandered like a leaf on the breeze, my bare feet barely touching the wood.

The hawkers, luring people into sideshow attractions, were on fire tonight.  Business was booming at the Snake Boy house; patrons screamed in anguished pleasure.  The Winged Pigs, The Dragon Lady and Six Jesters Conjoined had long, eager lines waiting.  But the one which caught my eye was the only booth whose crier didn’t look like an ancient cigar-chomping sticky-pocketed circus clown with mirrored shoes.  SHE was a sultry middle-aged woman with curves and lumps and hair and eyes that melted my…bones.  It’s probably why I didn’t read the sign on the booth properly – or even care.  I just handed her my money and walked in.

There on the podium, in the center of a dark room with red satin curtains, stood a raging red COCK!

NO…I mean, it was a red rooster with bright flaming plumage.  The other people in the room sat on benches around the bird, enthralled.  I stood for a long moment, puzzled and awkward…until the cock looked over at me and said, “Take a seat there, Sparky, I’m just getting started,” in a voice that sounded remarkably like Noam Chomsky.

You know…I may have misheard the writing prompt today…What?  OH!!!  “Talking to a Cop”…Yeah, I don’t talk to cops.

***The image is “Cockeyed,” a Body-Oddy for our next book, “Body-Oddies.”  The story was recently published on page 58 of our latest book, “A Short Burst”…which you can find at our Etsy shop (search EEWbooks), or follow the links above to our site, which will bring you to our Etsy shop anyway.   -Marsha

Book Exerpt, Flash Fiction, Sci-Fi

First Contact

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(book excerpt)

The Masset met the Earth delegation on their own carrier deck, looking formal and engaged, as if this was their actual ‘first contact’ with Earthers.  They knew better.  Admiral Geller noticed how big and beefy this group of humans was, better than average (his clients would be pleased).  Their encounter suits were unarmed, clearly diplomatic, which was a good sign.

It was inevitable that the Earthers would detect the Masset at some point.  Still, Geller was disappointed.    He had hoped to exploit them for a few more decades.  He was getting very rich.  Hopefully only a change of tactics would be necessary.

With a gesture, Geller invited the Earthers inside, but they insisted on the formalities (it was a really big deal – for them).  Their ambassador introduced himself as Colonel Smith and welcomed them to the Terran Solar System,  tediously explaining that they called their world Earth but that we were all currently orbiting Jupiter.  He offered the esteemed greetings of a long, boring list of political, corporate, and religious luminaries, and with a load of bows and flourishes he droned on through the standard diplomatic script.  Geller responded as expected.  This Col. Smith was testing his patience, but he and his warriors knew the drill…nothing was to happen until everyone was inside.

That’s when he heard Smith say something very odd; “…and thank you Admiral Geller.  The people of Earth thank you personally for all the advanced technology you’ve been sending us…”  And every Masset warrior switched-on to full alert.  This was not what Geller had expected to hear today…but just then his earpiece came alive with the clutter of proximity alerts and his senior officers barking frantic orders. Meanwhile, an Earther ship was de-cloaking just above them.

According to the Rhee Republic, Earth was off -limits.  It was illegal to land there or to fly within the orbital proximity of Jupiter.  Humanity was considered an “emerging culture.” It was either on the brink of advancing to eventually join the Republic…or of catastrophic self-destruction.  Quarantined.

The Masset, however, had commerce to conduct and orders to fill.  They were a diverse culture, but elements of it controlled the Republic’s vast black-market trade cartel…and some people had a taste for Earthers.  The Veen used humans for slave labor, the Binnish used them as lab rats for biomedical research, and the Lumia just found them delicious.  Apparently, enough Earthers had been abducted over the centuries for a strong market demand to develop…and the Masset owned the franchise (for which all Masset benefited).

On the other hand, the Masset were in good standing with the Rhee Republic.  They had helped to repel the last three military invasions, had powerful advanced technology, and were influential in Republic politics… so they had no wish to upset the balance.

That’s why Admiral Geller (who was only a legal consultant at the time), came up with a clever solution around the quarantine law.  Since they couldn’t go to Earth to harvest humans, they would have to ‘lure’ them off-world.  It wasn’t strictly legal, but it would work (and it did for a good long while).

Geller labored for decades, secretly transmitting propaganda to maintain division between Earth’s nation states, while feeding them choice bits of advanced technology to get them off the ground and into space, to explore and colonize.  So, when they started leaving the quarantined area in really profitable numbers, the Masset were there to intercept and abduct them…and nobody was the wiser.

In retrospect, Geller might have miscalculated the adaptability of the Earthers.  He’d never thought them intelligent enough to apply and integrate the technology he sent, into all the different alien ships and technology abandoned on Earth over the centuries.  He certainly had NOT counted on them outmaneuvering him…in an ambush.  Perhaps the Masset had become complacent…

In the time it took for the Earther ship to de-cloak overhead, Admiral Geller had a few additional thoughts:  First, he had never actually given Colonel Smith his name…curious.  Second, the Masset were the only culture with cloaking technology.  Hmmm…and third…wait.  Were those jet-packs they were wearing?

“Thanks again, Geller…” said Colonel Smith, “and have a nice day!”  And on his order, the entire Earth delegation lifted off the deck in perfect formation toward their ship above….and as it pulled away, Geller saw the first of an impressive flight of earth missiles de-cloak before slamming into his ship’s broadside.  As to Geller’s third and final thought, he said, “The Earther MISSILES are cloaked too?  How clever!!!”

***We posted this image a few years ago, but the story is new and written especially for our new book, “A Short Burst.”  It’s one of the longer stories, almost two whole pages.  Burst is a clever compilation of illustrated flash science fiction.  Find it at our Etsy shop (search EEWbooks) or by following the links above to www.sallemander.com…which will take you to our Etsy shop.   -Marsha

body-oddies, Flash Fiction

Assmonkey

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I was in no particular hurry at 7:15 on a Saturday morning.  I was driving north on Interstate 295 at about 70 mph. and there was hardly anyone on the roads.

I used the center lane.  It kept me out of the way of the odd car entering or exiting the highway on the right, and there was no reason to be in the passing lane on the left.  But even at that hour, the occasional knot of fancy, expensive cars came up like a swarm and flew past on either side as if I was standing still.  No problem.  It was no bother to me.  There was plenty of room for everyone to do their thing.  They could all crash and die, for all I cared, and I would simply steer around the mess and be on my way, unfazed.  I just never seemed to be in a hurry any more, and I couldn’t imagine that kind of stress ruling over me…or the lack of self control.

I saw the black Mercedes approaching in my rear-view from two miles back.  A minute later it was right behind me, center lane, barely a car length away.  There was no one else on the highway.  There was an empty lane on either side of us as I just explained…and there he stayed.  This tailgating assmonkey with a bloated sense of entitlement, decided to try to bully me out of his lane rather than use his signal and steer around.  He pulled right up to my bumper, flashing his high-beams and honking.  I could see him  shaking his fist and hollering something which looked like, “Let the fudge outta my brain!”  Weird.

Oooooh, the seething madness that consumed his face and filled his luxury cockpit with vitriolic bile, the angry expletives bellowed, the spittle sprayed at the indignity I caused him to suffer by obstructing him, in HIS lane, at a measly five miles over the speed limit…and to watch it increase as I smiled and calmly took my foot off the gas petal, slowing down to 65…was priceless.

The sheer hugeness in the way his rage increased at that moment made me laugh out loud.  By the time I’d slowed to 58, he literally seemed to expand, turn beat-red and blow white steam out of his ears, and just as I reached the minimum, at 40, he popped.

I saw his windows suddenly pasted with gooey chunks of reddish bits,  teeth and slabs of fatty flesh (though, no brains).  His car veered off, crossing the left lane and slammed into the concrete barrier dividing the north and southbound lanes, exploding in spectacular fiery carnage.  Mangled pieces littered the grassy median and black smoke rose 400 feet into the sky…..which NOBODY actually saw.  None of it inconvenienced anyone.  No lanes were closed, no traffic jam formed, nobody was the least bit bothered…because there was nobody else on the friggin’ road!  And no reason for that assmonkey to have tailgated me.

With a carefree smile, I slowly brought my speed back up to 70 and turned the volume up to eleven as “Dead and Lovely” by Tom Waits played on the radio.

*** Where I come from, Assmonkey is the name we use for tailgaters, people with no self control who drive their cars close enough to your rear bumper to smell your last meal.  This red-rough sketch and short story draft are new for our 5th book, “Body-Oddies,” which we’re finishing up for publication early next year.  They will surely be revised and finished beyond recognition, so you should try to enjoy them while you can.  As it is, only a fraction (barely 13 percent) of the material from any of our books is ever released on social media, so you really should try to get the books.  Find all our stuff at our Etsy shop (search EEWbooks), or follow the links to www.sallemander.com, which will take you to our Etsy shop.   -Marsha 

Flash Fiction, Sci-Fi

It’s Not About You

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It’s Not About You…

“It’s not about you…” she said in her best, most sincere tone, “Really.  You’re fine.  I’m really okay with it…it’s just that, I think…I’m in a different place in my life right now…”  She smiled, looking away, trying to remember some of her gentlest brush-offs.  A bead of sweat  began it’s descent down the back of her neck, even as frustration and indignation came up in her bile.

“Oh, to HELL with it!  I can’t do this!  Listen…you seemed like a nice, normal person and all but… JESUS effin’ CHRIST!!  Your dating profile NEVER said anything about THAT!!!  I mean, come ON!”  She pulled up her boot zipper, buttoned the top button of her blue jeans and grabbed her jacket off the floor as she made for the bedroom door. “You might have warned me at some point during dinner!”  She was really hollering now.  “Seriously?  I had to wait until we both undressed to find out about…..THAT?!?”  She slammed the door, making the whole room shudder, and with one final “AAAAUGHHH!!!!  FRIGGIN’ FREAK SHOW!!” she stomped away.

***This image, never posted before with this short story, was first published in the June 2008 issue of Analog Mag.  You can find it NOW in the pages of our NEW book, “A Short Burst,” by following the links to www.sallemander.com. or search EEWbooks at Etsy.com.   -Marsha

Book Exerpt, Flash Fiction, Sci-Fi

Orbital Fracture

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“Well, that was pretty weird…” Quinn’s dad said, as they strolled out of the hospital emergency room toward the car.  Quinn nodded in solemn agreement.  His brain rattled a little, still full of purple marbles and tapioca.  He winced as his now full blown concussion sent steam whistling from his ears and left a trail of silly string on the asphalt.

Just a few hours earlier, Quinn, the goalkeeper for his club soccer team, came out of his box low and fast, to intercept a couple of players desperately sparring for the ball.  He dove in, punching it away as one of the players aimed a kick…but instead of connecting with the ball, his foot caught Quinn in the face like a grizzly car crash (an all-too-common goalie accident).

Quinn’s jaw spun away with a funny “vip-vip-vip!” and hit a light post, exploding in a shower  of sparks.  His teeth peppered everyone within fifty yards…but his head flew straight up in the air at such velocity that we lost sight of it shortly before his “AAAAAAAAAAAH!” diminished into the night.  What a mess!

Willy the Astronaut was a clumsy buffoon who, for the second time this month, slipped and splashed into the molding tank at the polar ice mine on the surface of Mars…as it’s contents began to freeze.  His heavily insulated vac-suit protected him from harm, but he wasn’t discovered until the 60 ton cylinder of ice had already been rocket-lifted up to the orbital processing plant, where it would be transformed into liquid oxygen rocket fuel.

Willy’s coworkers labored fruitlessly for eight frustrating hours with a laser drill to free him, without luck…..until Willy noticed Quinn’s gnarly, high velocity head glance off the ice and careen away, still hollering, “Aaaaaaaaaah!”  Quinn’s head must have hit a sweet spot in the ice, just so, because it fractured the cylinder neatly, allowing Willy to escape unharmed and without a costly, shattered mess for the mining company.  Willy never mentioned Quinn’s head to his employers, he was a known buffoon and his credibility was already compromised.

As to Quinn; his dad managed to gather up all his bits and parts and take him to the hospital, where the clever use of duct tape and super glue had him back on his feet in a few short hours.  We figure his wild story about ice mining on Mars was probably just a symptom of his concussion.

“Well, that was pretty weird…..”

***This is a totally true story from our new book, “A Short Burst” which you can buy at our ETSY shop – just search EEWbooks or follow the etsy links on our website.  -Marsha