Flash Fiction: Rant! (100 words)

"Shit, ma. You always used to let me go clubbing."

"Yes, but we've talke…"

"I know. But you said it yourself, I need to engage with age-appropriate peers!"

"Yes, but online, like most of yo…"

"That's just sad. I wanna touch, love, dance 'til dawn."

"Now, you know that's impossib…"

"Ma, don't you see? I'd rather go out in a searing fireball than live like…this."

"Don't be silly. Anyway, you know dancing's off-limits. It's only muscle holding your head to your neck as it is. You know what'd happen if it actually jerked off!"

"Finally, she gets it…"

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Go, me! The above piece represents my first ever Best Bits challenge win in Sci-Fi Roundtable's Facebook Group. The topic for the above flash fiction piece was "Rant".

OK, granted. It was a tie with E.M. Swifthook; but, as they've won a gazillion, they let me choose the next topic: "Incoming!"

Think you've got it in you to write an amazing 100-word flash fiction piece with "Incoming!" as your cue? Head on over to this week's Best Bits and give it a shot.

The Retirement Package

Got a good feeling about this latest entry into the ongoing Reedsy Prompts competitions.

Yes, it's the vampire trope again. But this is written specifically for the prompt, so falls outside my usual fair. Please enjoy responsibly:

You can read all my Reedsy Prompts short stories here.

Mortal Danger

The recording eventually permeated Captain Trish Sanders' mind-fog. Like a persistent gnat, the reawakening program had mithered her subconscious for days.

As Trish's brain rebooted from stasis, the hum and gentle reverberation of the shuttle transporting her and her two crewmates to the exomoon Kepler-1708b-I coalesced into familiar white noise.

After travelling at one-quarter lightspeed for 22,400 years, adrenaline urged the Captain to check their status; her training urged caution.

Deliberately, she released the cryogenic chamber's restraint straps whilst listening to an AI-generated status report: they were on track, orbiting gas giant Kepler-1708b, trailing its exomoon; the relief!

After satisfactorily running the shuttle's manual checks, it was time to reanimate the crew.

They looked peaceful, lying there in adjacent chambers. If only!

Bethany, she trusted implicitly. But Patrick? He was the Admiral's nephew. And Bethany's ex. Moreover, a total liability.

No denying it, this mission was all about the Admiral's revenge.

He'd seconded Bethany because she'd unceremoniously dumped Patrick. Trish was there after publicly rejecting the Admiral's advances at a Final Frontier's Christmas party. The Admiral's embarrassment accounted for Patrick's presence. Terrific.

Whilst waiting for her crew to awaken, Trish landed the shuttle, launching the ecodome beneath which they'd conduct the mission's research: was Kepler-1708b-I a viable outpost for humankind?

Unspoken, she'd guessed, could humankind survive such a journey? She'd kept that suspicion to herself.

***

"Remind me," Patrick moaned on their first trip to the surface, "What godforsaken planet is this?"

"If you'd paid attention," Bethany admonished, "you'd know this is Kepler-1708 b-I, an exomoon."

"A moon? It's twice the size of Earth, stoopid," Patrick said, trying to be clever.

"Patrick," Trish said, struggling to remain objective, "Since launching, how long have we been cryogenically frozen?"

"100 years?" he shrugged.

The girls looked at each other, gobsmacked.

"Try 22,400, dickhead," Bethany scoffed.

"No wonder I'm starving," Patrick muttered, wandering off further into the ecodome.

"Trish?" Beth asked, "Why didn't we stop and jettison him over Gliese 876d?"

"Hell-lo. Your voices carry inside here," Patrick whinged from behind whatever craggy outcrop he'd gone to bother.

"Rules is rules, kid," Trish whispered. "Unless he puts us in mortal danger, he stays. Especially as he's the Admiral's nephew."

"Privileged posh boy's what he is," Beth added.

"That, too."

"Guys, look what I've found," Patrick panted, shuffling towards them holding something wriggly between his fingers.

"WTF? Like, procedure? Don't move!" Trish yelled, hurrying to fetch a container.

Seconds later, Beth asked Patrick, incredulous, "Are you going to eat that?"

'Fucking! Idiot!' Trish shuddered.

"Mm, Trish?" Beth suddenly ventured, "Don't want to worry you, but…"

The Captain pirouetted: the wriggly thing was suspended over Patrick's open mouth. Worse, behind Patrick loomed an unmistakably-related colossal wriggly thing.

"M-m-mortal danger?" Beth stammered. Trish nodded like her head was on springs; the girls fled towards the shuttle.

They didn't wait to see whether the colossal wriggly thing or exposure upon Trish retracting the ecodome got Patrick first.

/end

© Jason Darrell, 2022

Image: ESA/Hubble, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

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The Brief:

Thanks for dropping by to read another of my bashes at flash fiction.

The Interview

"So, Daniel," the vampire mused, "Vot iss it you think you can offer me?"

I waited 'til he'd finished chuckling; I had little choice, limb-bound as I was to a huge candle-lit altar.

"Power," I said, prolonging his chuckling fit, "and all I ask is that you make me immortal."

"But, Daniel, I haff all the power I need. The night belongzz to me!"

"Yes, but what about the daytime?" I countered, trying to hide my desperation.

"Vot good iss that ven I could neffer reffel in that power?"

He was toying with me.

He wanted something; I'd be dead already if not. 

I had to guess what, tested, like many probable others before me.

"Safety, during daylight hours," I said, leveraging the longing in his last response.

"But my kingdom iss impregnable. A 'Reinfield' on guard vud garner more ssusspicion than already existsss."

That was two clues; was he purposefully dropping hints?

"What if someone — me, for example — could vet your victims during the day: high flyers, influencers, the deserving?" I asked.

He smirked; I was getting warmer. "Go on…" he said, suddenly wistful.

"Your feasting would no longer be limited to society's dregs: the winos, druggies, the bereft and pitiful," I said. "I could deliver you a, well, richer diet."

"You'd betray your peerzz to me for immortality?" he asked, knowing I would. "You should be ashamed."

I shrugged, as much as my bonds would allow, and asked, "When do I start?"

My bonds snapped, seemingly of their own volition.

"You haff von veek'ss trial," he said, disappearing through an imperceptible doorway. All that remained to prove he'd been there was the echoing, "Shut the door after you."

I guess I was hired, then. Time to start a recruitment drive of my own!

/end

© Jason Darrell, 2022

Image: Waldkunst, Pixabay

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The Brief

Thanks for dropping by to read another of my bashes at flash fiction.

Effigious Torment

Jez and Carlotta were, technically, in the wilderness at Pine Bungalows, Jasper, Alberta. But with a golf course overlooking Beauvert Lake opposite, gentle hikes nearby and skiing at Marmot Basin, their three-month escape was hardly 'Bear Grylls.'

Today, though, it felt like they'd been here forever.

Six weeks into their stay, Jez had fished an eldritch, piebald sculpture from the depleted Athabasca River, near Horseshoe Lake. Ever since extracting it, someone had been murdered at that exact same time every week.

The first murder transpired almost six weeks ago, at Horseshoe Lake, some half hour's drive away.

The second was closer, inside the Wabasso Campground. 

By the third murder, closer still at Valley of the Five Lakes, he and Carlotta could no longer shirk their connection.

Murders four and five followed like clockwork, at the Jasper Water Treatment Works and Planetarium respectively.

Their map clearly showed the killings' nearing proximity. Someone (or something) seemed hellbent on reclaiming the statuette, heedless of consequences.

***

They sat clock-watching in silence. In two hours, it would be the six-week anniversary…and another murder.

"What you gonna do?" Carlotta asked

"Dunno. Whadda yer think?" asked Jez, torn; the icon had wholly enraptured him.

"Throw it in the lake."

Brutal, hearing it aloud.

"Go now, you'll be back in an hour," she added; he sighed, resigned.

***

Jez made good time, laid the statue in the reeds, even WhatsApped photos as 'proof'. But he couldn't resist, capitulated, and hid it inside the car boot.

It wouldn't hurt; another week, they'd be home.

But when he arrived back, the cabin was a bloodbath; Carlotta's sundered cadaver plastered the walls, furniture, floors, everything.

Grief-stricken, he rushed outside to the car. The boot stood open, spare tyre shredded and the statue gone. There was no seventh murder.

/end

© Jason Darrell, 2022

Image: Fil.Al, CC BY 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons: Wabasso

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The Brief:

Thanks for dropping by to read another of my bashes at flash fiction.