Fire Fly

 

Photo by Sam Weng https://www.flickr.com/photos/cutesam/

Fire Fly 

It was a perfect summer evening in late June; the oppressive heat of the day had dissipated and a light breeze was blowing. The cicadas were droning on in the treetops while heat lightning illumined the distant sky and the fire flies were out.

There were more fire flies than either of the two children had seen before. Tommy and Jane both ran back into the house and found some old jars and poked some holes in their lids. Now they were ready. As they banged out the screen door their Mom yelled out, “Stay out of the woods, it’s not safe after dark.”

“O.K. Mom”, came the reply back in unison.

They had thought that because there was so many that they would have their jars full in no time. They began to catch one here and one there but not the huge amount they had expected. It seemed like every time they saw them, the fire flies were just out of reach. The bugs would blink off, and when they blinked back on they were three or four feet away.

Tommy said, “Is there something weird about these fire flies?”

Jane examined the few she had in her jar and said, “What do you mean weird?”

“I don’t mean the ones we’ve caught; it’s the rest of them. Most of them keep blinking off and on all at the same time and they seem to keep moving just out of reach.”

“You’re being silly”, she said. She thought he might be right but would never admit it to her little brother, besides it would just make catching them that much more fun.

They jumped and squealed and tried to catch them when Tommy noticed that they were getting close to the woods. “We better get back up to the house”, he said.

“Don’t be such a baby”, she said just as she caught one right at the very edge of the woods. They both looked around; all of the fire flies were in the woods as if they knew it was off limits to the children. Jane looked at Tommy, and he knew that look. By the time he said, “Don’t even think about going in there”, it was too late.

She called back, “Don’t worry I’ll stay on the path.” She was soon out of sight and the fire flies were everywhere around her. She began reaching out to grab great handfuls when suddenly all of the fire flies engulfed her and they began to blink their eerie glow in unison. This went on for less than thirty seconds but seemed forever to Jane. She would have screamed but was too afraid of getting a mouthful of bugs. As the fire flies left, Jane understood. She unscrewed her jar lid and let the few remaining ones go. She made her way to the back yard where Tommy was waiting for her nearly in tears.

He said through stifled sobs,” I kept calling and calling and you didn’t answer and then I saw this big glow going on and off, and I got scared.”

Jane wiped away the tear that had run down his nose and told him everything would be alright, and she reached down and let all of his fire flies loose.

Tommy asked, “What’d you do that for?”

Jane looked him in the eye and Tommy saw or thought he saw her eyes glow greenish-yellow only for an instant. She said,” They have the right to be free too.”

Rinse, Lather, Repeat

 

 

 

… At the best of times it’s a thin barrier between tranquility and chaos. Today the chaos was at bay. Professor Stallings had chosen not to watch the news this fine spring morning. He had instead made a carafe of coffee and taken it out to the garden. The coffee and the book he was reading had put him in a good mood, even the cat had come out and found a small patch of sunshine to curl up in. It was warm without a cloud in the sky and barest breath of a breeze. He felt perfectly content, hygge, that’s what the Norwegians called it. More was the pity, because it wouldn’t last. He had to get back to rewriting his notes on cold fusion. He could reproduce his results and was in line for a Nobel prize. This one thing of all the discoveries he’d made could change mankind, but he hated rewriting notes. He’d rather stay in the garden and enjoy the day, but that too would not last. Soon it would become hot and humid. If he could just capture this moment and be able to savor it.

Maybe he could, he had an invention tucked away in his garage that he’d never told any one about. He felt it was too dangerous, so it just kept it to himself. He’d only used it that one time as a test and it worked perfectly. He was thinking of the time machine. He could have another hour of this uninterrupted bliss, all he had to do was use the time machine. He’d made up his mind and went to the garage and threw back the canvas cover. Setting the dial for one hour into the past. What harm could come of that?

At the best of times it’s a thin barrier between tranquility and chaos. Today the chaos was at bay. Professor Stallings had chosen not to watch the news this fine spring morning. He had instead made a carafe of coffee and taken it out to the garden. The coffee and the book he was reading had put him in a good mood, even the cat had come out and found a small patch of sunshine to curl up in. It was warm without a cloud in the sky and barest breath of a breeze. He felt perfectly content, hygge, that’s what the Norwegians called it. More was the pity, because it wouldn’t last. He had to get back to rewriting his notes on cold fusion. He could reproduce his results and was in line for a Nobel prize. This one thing of all the discoveries he’d made could change mankind, but he hated rewriting notes. He’d rather stay in the garden and enjoy the day, but that too would not last. Soon it would become hot and humid. If he could just capture this moment and be able to savor it.

Maybe he could, he had an invention tucked away in his garage that he’d never told any one about. He felt it was too dangerous, so it just kept it to himself. He’d only used it that one time as a test and it worked perfectly. He was thinking of the time machine. He could have another hour of this uninterrupted bliss, all he had to do was use the time machine. He’d made up his mind and went to the garage and threw back the canvas cover. Setting the dial for one hour into the past. What harm could come of that?

At the best of times it’s a thin barrier between tranquility and chaos. Today the chaos was at bay…

Gun Moll

 

Gun Moll was another for a flash fiction contest, it had to be less than 400 words and contain the following words; crown, stiletto, horse and barrel. I did this one in a sort of noir 40’s detective pulp novel with a little humor thrown in for good measure.

 

 

Gun Moll

She spelled trouble from the crown of her fedora down to her stiletto heels. She walked in the bar like she owned the place and anybody who questioned her thought twice after staring down the barrel of her .45. She saw the bartender going for something under the bar so she let off a round over his head and waggled the gun at him. The sound of the gun in that small and area was deafening.

His ears were still ringing when she said, “Just put your hands up on the bar where I can see them.”

The bartender had instinctively covered his head to protect it from the rain of falling mirror shards, but once the last tinkle of glass had hit the floor he complied.

“I’m here to see Vinny”, she said to nobody in particular. She looked at the bartender and waggled the gun again. He only responded with a blank look.

“Vincent Macaroni”, she said to the room in general.

The bartender flinched when she said that and automatically corrected her, “It’s Marconi, he don’t like to be called Macaroni.”

“Where is he?” she asked, this time directly to the bartender, pointing her gun at him just below the bar.

The bartender gulped then said, “B . . . back room, he’s in the back room.”

She kicked open the door, no small feat in stilettos and found Vinny with his gun drawn. She said nothing, just squeezed the trigger an instant before he realized what was happening. As he lay there watching his life blood stain the carpet, she bent down and said, “That was for the horse’s head in Tony’s bed.”

She turned on her heels and left.

The police investigation turned up no witnesses and it was written off as a turf war killing, probably never to be solved.

Unit 117

 

 

Unit 117

Jane watched her ex-husband Bob come around the corner and park his SUV. Not curious by nature, it had taken him a week to show up. Pulling a key out of his pocket, he glanced at the note. Only the words “Self store unit 117, 112 Main St.” were on it. It had been hand delivered through his mail slot with the key inside.

Homeland security had been alerted to a potential terrorist cell in the city, with a tip about unit 117. They had staked it out for a week with no activity. Their waiting was about to end. Bob was oblivious to it all.

Jane had orchestrated the entire thing with the help of a few friends. She had come away with nearly nothing after the divorce. Maybe what she was subjecting him to was unwarranted, but so was what he‘d done in the divorce. Being a high priced lawyer his word carried more weight than hers. The man lied about her straight faced to the judge and she just looked pathetic trying to clear her name. Bob might be a good lawyer, but a good man with good sense, not even close.

Behind the roll up door of unit 117 were several thousand pounds of fertilizer, numerous containers of diesel fuel, a throwaway cell phone with numerous calls to the Middle-East on it, and a fake driver’s license.

The home made bomb paraphernalia was brought in to the self store in an SUV exactly like Bob’s, right down to the doctored license plate. The driver, a friend of Jane’s, had a passing resemblance to Bob when he wore the dark glasses and baseball cap. He’d used the fake driver’s license to rent the unit and paid cash. Every trip to the unit he’d waved to the attendant and the closed circuit cameras that recorded the comings and goings. It had taken four days to purchase the fertilizer and diesel fuel in small enough quantities as not to alert the authorities.

Jane had used the last of her savings to rent the truck, storage unit and purchase all of the necessary items. If this didn’t go as she planned, she would be in a deeper hole than she started out. Her ultimate plan was to discredit him so she could re-petition the judge that had issued the divorce and perhaps have Bob do some jail time.

Jane could say,” See judge he’s a scoundrel just like I tried to tell you.”

It was then Bob unlocked the door and rolled it up. He just stood there dumbfounded for a moment, then he reached in and picked up the cell phone and the driver’s license to examine. Jane couldn’t have hoped for more, now only his finger prints were on the phone and license. Homeland security was down on him in an instant. He was read his rights, cuffed and put into the back of a non-descript sedan, the entire time he was proclaiming his innocence.