FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - THE VIEW - MY 100 WORDS - BY LINDA PALUND

The View

            It was a beautiful day. The wind blew softly in the direction of the Spaceship, less than a mile away.  Perhaps the fumes would be blown away from us.

            We had heard the news on Fred’s shortwave radio.  Spacecraft had landed everywhere, emitting a gas that drove people mad, committing suicide in staggering numbers.

            To get a better view, Fred climbed up the Sterling Building, the highest point in town. The Fire Company followed with a ladder.

            After the Fire Crew leapt to their deaths, I felt an irresistible urge to climb up there, too.  
            “Oh, look, there goes Fred!”

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - ROADSIDE ATTRACTION - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDA PALUND - AKA Laura Dunlap

ROADSIDE ATTRACTION

          “Jeez, look what they tossed from that bus!”

            “Is she dead?”

            “I don’t think so.”

            “Don’t touch her, man!”

            “I’m just going to feel for that pulse in her throat.

            “Don’t turn her over! What if her neck’s broken?”

            “Look at that, her shirt’s torn open!

            “I don’t care, man.  Leave her alone!” 

            “She’s down for the count. I’ll just feel for any broken bones.  Hmmm, that’s nice...”

            That’s when Two Gun Girlie opened her eyes.  Her leg shot up and her steel-toed cowgirl boot caught him under the chin. 

            She’d lost her guns, but not her pride.

This Dabble in FLASH FICTION is from FRIDAY FICTIONEERS courtesy of:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/05/22/24-may-2013/

and you can comment on mine below:

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - CRY FOR HELP - MY 100 WORDS - by LINDA PALUND

CRY FOR HELP

            He had one huge hand around my throat, the other tore open my blouse. Intent on pulling my shorts down, he was oblivious to my clawing and scratching.

            Finally, he made the mistake of trying to kiss me.  I bit his disgusting lip and twisted away.

            Up on my feet, I ran screaming toward the phone box I remembered passing, hearing him close behind me, spitting the blood from his mouth.

            My fault for running so late? Running alone?

            The goddamn phone box was broken.  Then I picked up the rock.

            It’s not my fault his skull cracked so easily.

This Dabble in FLASH FICTION is from FRIDAY FICTIONEERS courtesy of:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/05/22/24-may-2013/
and you can comment on mine below:

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - IN MEMORY OF A TREE - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDA PALUND

In Memory of a Tree

            Paco told us there would be a tree.  I couldn’t wait to see it.  I sneaked over the ridge, the vision of the tree in my head; tall trunk, sturdy branches, green leaves blotting out the scorching sun.

            This tree was ugly; gnarled, and twisted, broken bits all over. I turned away in disgust.

            “You’re disappointed.”  I turned to see a creature as unlike the tree as a butterfly from a caterpillar.

             “It’s ugly! And Paco said it was the last one!”

            “Paco was wrong.  There are no more trees.  This is what he remembers.  It's his tree, not yours.”

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - THE DIRTY BOMB - MY 100 WORDS, BY LINDA PALUND

THE DIRTY BOMB

            In daylight, the neighbourhood looks perfectly normal, like nothing had happened.

            When the bombs hit, the power went out.  People panicked.  Our neighbourhood went all to hell. Literally.

            We’re the only ones left.

            We’re not from around here. We’re aliens, but our neighbours never knew, even though the kids gave Marie a hard time at school, calling her a “Vampire” because of her pale skin. Called her weird.

            We liked them anyway and meant them no harm. 

            They did this on their own. 

            They invented a “Dirty Bomb”, killed each other off and left their structures intact. 

            Talk about weird!

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - A DAY IN THE LIFE - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDA PALUND

New Version 1.

Day and Night

            People don’t understand what happens in these fields at night, behind these fences.  

            Fences cannot stop the big cats.  They slither under like snakes.

            In terror, we run like the wind, pursued by the speed of death.  

            Leaping from the darkness onto our backs, their teeth sink into our necks; their claws pierce our shoulders. 

            We carry them until our great hearts give out and we fall, pumping the last of our blood into the grass.

            We lost Gypsy last night.  The people found her by the fence. 

            They left the hose running, but it won't wash away her memory.

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These are my first ideas, but I was not up to myself on Friday and should have waited, but they are part of a horse diary also:

A Day in the Life

            I slept under the oak tree, shivering thorough the chill desert night.

            I woke with the dawn and nibbled at the few green shoots sprouting around the watering trough, waiting for the kid to bring breakfast. When I heard the rumble of his truck, I headed for the gate.

            He liked to rub my ears before dropping the chunks of alfalfa that would hold me until dinner.

            He filled the trough, but forgot to turn off the hose.

            After he left, I dragged the hose around, feeding the dry grass.             

            Humans are so stupid. Haven’t they heard about drip irrigation?

After reading about Doug and Mystic, I added these notes from the horse's diary:

Version 2:

            I wake with the dawn and rise up on all fours. Horses prefer to sleep lying down, but we can only do that when we feel safe. 

            This field is small and dry, but it’s safe. 

            I don’t get many visitors. Just a kid, who brings me alfalfa, and the nice man called Doug.

            I summon Doug with my hoof against the wire of my fence. He brings me apples and he’s good company in the evening. 

            He knows how dry the grass is so he leaves the hose running.  Now I’ll have fresh green shoots to nibble before breakfast.

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - THE SIGNAL - My 100 Words by LINDA PALUND

THE SIGNAL

            What a mess.  The focus so poorly set, how could we discern the signal from this picture?  What were we supposed to make of it?

            Was it the plant?  Or were we supposed to decode the drops of rain that clung to the window like spider’s eggs?

            What was the significance of the purple foil? Or the three blossoms, the two unopened pods?

            With focus this poor, it was like trying to hear the roar of the ocean from the top of a skyscraper. 

            They’ve translated the signal. Lilies.

            Lilies mean peace. We understand now. 

            We won’t attack this planet.

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - THE MOVING STAIRCASE - 100 Words by Linda Palund

The Moving Staircase

            “I’m so happy you’re here,” Jonathan’s stepmother said, leading him into the foyer. “Look, here’s the spiral staircase.”

            Five-year-old Jonathan craned his neck and gasped. The swirl of railings stretched to the heavens.

            “We don’t have to climb them, do we?”

            “Of course not.  Since we lost the remote control, the stairs just shift wherever they please.”

            She sighed regretfully. “Your father should never have programmed them with Artificial Intelligence.  He was the last to climb them and he never returned.  He's lost without that remote.”

            This surprised Jonathan. He could see the remote poking out of her apron pocket.

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - MY JUNK MAN - 100 Words by Linda Palund

My Junk Man

                 At first, I was worried he’d become a hoarder.  The mountain of junk in the garage kept growing.

            Then I decided he was being wonderfully creative, building all kinds of contraptions out of the stuff he had collected. 

            I marvelled at how inventive he was.  He was so happy when he showed me that amazing car, although it didn’t actually run the way he claimed.

            When I discovered our neighbours’ belongings together with mine hidden among his inventions, I knew I had to do something.

            The day they took him away was the worst day of my life.

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - THE GLORY DAYS by Linda Palund - My 100 words

The Glory Days

            Vines cover the rotting boards and the roof has caved in, but the old barn still stands, a crumbling memorial to the time when we were girls.             

            Girls! With the solidarity of youth, we scrambled up the ladder, watching the surprised faces of the eager boys as we drew it up behind us.

            Those girls are gone now, swallowed up by the very earth we once flew across, our young hearts pounding. 

            The barn won’t stand much longer and soon I too will melt into the landscape.  Then no one will be left to remember the glory of our youth.