Category Archives: Flash Fiction

A Pirate’s Life

A Pirate’s Life

Based on the Dungeons & Dragons character created by Leslie Holloway

Image credit: Ship at Sea


Dusk had fallen over the ocean about a day’s journey from the nearest port. Eevil steadied her equine legs behind the helm of her captain’s ship, Fool’s Gold, and kept her hands on the wheel.

“Captain, I don’t think this is a very good idea. This new crew…” Eevil’s voice trailed off. She would never openly defy her Captain’s orders. But that did not vanquish her love for him, and her desire to keep him safe.

“You have been given your orders,” Lord Cromwell said in a stern whisper. He was known to the crew as Captain Cut Throat and would not let his first mate tarnish the reputation that came along with the name. “I agree our last crew had become our family, may they rest in peace. This is our crew now, and we must make with what we have. This mark will set us all up for some time.” He patted her human shoulder and set off down to the deck to his assembled crew.

Night approached as Eevil came upon their mark. A royal cargo vessel transporting a king’s treasury. The ship was rumored to be minimally guarded with no passengers to make room for the vast amount of riches. It was a pirate’s ticket home, but Captain Cut Throat was no mangy, murderous pirate. He would take his share, a “tax”, and vanish. No killing, burning, raping, or any other acts of unnecessary violence. This was what drew Eevil to Cromwell and his crew as an escaped centaur slave, along with running from her capturers.

But when their loyal crew had been slaughtered during a hit gone sour, it was difficult to trust any new recruits. Finding pirates to fit Lord Cromwell’s terms were not easy, and she could feel a terrible change of the wind bringing her a message of horrible news.

“Lights out! No calls, no bells!” Captain Cut Throat called out as the lanterns of the cargo ship came into view.

She watched him and his selected mates set off in rowboats quick and quiet, like shadows on the waves. She could barely make out their figures as they climbed the side of the ship. Then a deafening silence washed over the sea. She heard Lord Cromwell start to call but his voice turned to a gurgle as a blade flashed over his throat. Her body went rigid and her hooves fought to keep her upright on the rocking deck.

It was a trap. It was a set up. Her mind whirred, trying to fit everything together. The loss of the old crew, the new recruits, the rumors of this too-good-to-be-true target. It had all been planned. They were out smarted by–

“BRUTES! MANGY, FILTHY PIRATES!” Eevil yelled and charged down the deck, jumping over the stairs to land on one particularly hideous pirate. Her scimitar shimmered in the moonlight as it slashed at anything that moved.

She felt a cool edge at her neck and a drip of warmth trickle down her skin, and she froze. “Easy girl. Ain’t none of us wanna lose a prized mare,” and she heard a moist clicking of a tongue over an incomplete set of teeth and a hand felt it’s way down her black coat on her hindquarters.

“Get away from me,” Eevil growled and kicked hard with her back hoof but caught only air.

The pirates laughed and jeered, and the echoes sounding across the waves from the other vessel reminded her of the grim events. The blade pressed harder against her smoky skin and she winced. “If you’s not gon’ play nice, than how’s ’bout a deal? We send you on your merry way,” some of the pirates attempted to gruff in protest, “and we takes da ship an every fing innit?” The pirates let out roars and cheers of conquest.

Eevil was defeated. For a moment, she thought of requesting death. After all she had nothing to live for. But if she lived, she could avenge her love, take back Fool’s Gold, and watch the lives of these thieves drip from the tip of her sword. The thought burned in her with determination. She walked slowly to a rowboat, head held high, her hooves clopping softly on the wooden deck. She folded her legs into the small boat while a pirate bound her hands. Several of the more muscular pirates struggled to lower her into the dark waters.

A cool breeze kissed the small cut on her neck. Everything was about to change.


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Once Bitten, Twice Die

**Content warning! Contains language and gore.**


Once Bitten, Twice Die -- A flash fiction by J.L. Holloway -- READ FREE


“What the fuck?” I felt the words echo through me, rather than hearing them aloud. I focused on my translucent fingers, then gazed down at the rest of my body. My legs were only a cloud of mist wafting above the ground.

I heard a soft moan come from behind me and turned to see me, or my body, shambling towards the nearest door. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Bright red blood spirted and oozed from my mutilated shoulder, coating my left arm, but I — it — didn’t seem to notice.

“A zombie, really?” my ghostly voice whispered.  “And I guess that would make me a ghost. Wonderful.” I huffed and a wisp of milky haze floated in the air.

Zombie-Me slammed into the door, making no attempt to raise my arms or reach for the knob. “Well, that’s great. I’ve already forgotten how to use a door.”

I glided across the room to my useless body. “Like this, genius,” I said reaching for the doorknob and my fist slid through the metal. “I guess I’m the genius, huh?” I asked my body as it started pounding its weight against the door.

“That’s not going to work, it’s solid wood. This isn’t like the movies,” but then again there weren’t movies about ghosts following their dead bodies around either.

After several minutes of monotonous thudding, the doorframe began to splinter, then break loose and creak open. Zombie-Me went for one more thud and the door swung wide under the weight. My body fell face first onto the floor.

“This is embarrassing,” I mumbled and flew through the wall to the other side. An unsettling sound filled the room. If I had any skin, it would be covered in goosebumps.

The dark figures that huddled in the shadows appeared human; humans lacking life, soul, or anything resembling humanity. They were eating something. Bits of flesh dangled from their jaws, dark blood streaked their faces, and entrails squished between their boney fingers.

Zombie-Me was pulling itself along the floor toward whatever the other zombies were eating. “No! Don’t you dare eat that!” I groaned as my pleads went unheard.

“YOOHOO! Anybody home?” a deep and scruffy voice sounded from down the hall.

I glided through the door and saw a man with a handgun leveled on the door.

I reflexively ducked back into the room just as the zombie hoard moaned and groaned their way to the door frame. I noticed Zombie-Me trailing behind the pack, now with blood and guts stuck to my face.

Zombies pried their way into the hall, each vying to be the first to claim a new meal. The gun fired and the zombies’ heads vanished in a spray of bone and brains.

“Holy shit,” I breathed. I turned back to see Zombie-Me shuffling closer, clearly oblivious to the signs of danger right in front of it. “Stop! You idiot, you’re going to get your head blown off!”

In my panic, I flew down the hall to the man, hoping to scare him off or possess him. But this was not a random, zombie killing, gun enthusiast. This was my —

I looked back, my old body next in line to bite the bullet. Desperate, I dived into Zombie-Me’s body, and it froze.

“Ben, wait!” I screamed. The words gurgled out of Zombie-Me’s mouth.

Ben lowered the gun, but only slightly. “Nat? Oh, my God.” Ben’s knuckles whitened around the pistol’s grip. “Those bastards got you.” He swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, Natalie.” Tears filled his eyes. “I tried. I swear I tried. I’m sorry.”

His hand trembling, Ben raised the gun. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He pulled the trigger and I watched my now motionless body fall to the floor in a bloody heap.

I watched Ben turn the gun as tears painted twisted trails down his dirt caked face.

The gun fired again and we were reunited.


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World’s Greatest Chef

World's Greatest Chef - A Flash Fiction by J.L. Holloway -- READ FREE!
Photo by Hisu lee on Unsplash


“It’s the hottest night of her cooking career, folks. And we are on the edge of our seats!” the enthusiastic host shouts and the crowd cheers.

“You’re absolutely right, Tony. She needs to tame the flames or she is going to get burned. Let’s take a look at her competition.”

“Alright, Karen, it looks like Michael is confident in the kitchen. He hasn’t wasted any time with his preparations.”

“And Katherine seems to be going for speed to beat the heat of her competitors. I can’t even tell what she’s doing!” Karen, the bubbly blonde host, laughs in disbelief.

This is it, this is your last chance to give the judges the best cake they have ever eaten, the chef tells herself.

The oven timer dings and all three chefs look up.

“That must be our champion’s cakes! They are always perfect in every way, Karen.” Tony leaned forward to get a better look as the chef took the pan out.

Oh no! No no no! They’re not done!

“It looks like you spoke too soon, Tony. Our chef’s cakes are still gooey in the center. She’s going to put them back in — wait — Katherine just stole the oven! Can you believe it?!”

“Oh my gosh, folks. I don’t know if I can handle this!” Tony cried and brought his hands to his face and peeked through his fingers.

“ONE MINUTE REMAINING,” a deep voice over the speaker announced to the chefs and the crowd gasped.

“Our champion is going to need a miracle if she wants to pull this off,” said Karen.

Okay, the middle isn’t done. What to do? What to do? the chef thought as she paced the kitchen. I got it!

“Don’t look now, Tony, but I think our chef has a plan. It looks as if she’s… scooping out the gooey cake batter!” Karen said, shocked.

Tony looked with a grin, “It’s like she’s cutting the crusts off and… keeping them?”


Fruit, fruit, I need fruit. And jam. Where’s the jam?

“Would you look at that, I think she is making a fruit filled cake!”

“Honestly, Karen, I don’t care what it is, I want to eat it!” Tony laughed.

The audience began counting down from ten, “NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN,”

Come on, come on! the chef stacked, stirred and poured as sweat beaded on her brow.


The buzzer sounded as the clock clicked to zero. The three chefs stood back to look at their finished products.

“Who will be our winner?” Karen turned to Tony. “Weeks of challenges have led us to this moment. The judges will now decide who will be the next World’s Greatest Chef!”

A woman in a sparkly red dress took plates of each dessert to the judges’ table. One judge was the guy that drove around and ate at different restaurants for a living. The lady was a singer. The last judge was just some old British guy that was really mean and didn’t like anything.

“The judges are sampling the desserts and writing in their answers. Who will be the World’s Greatest Chef?” Karen asked into the camera as Tony bit his nails.

The lady in the sparkly red dress took the judges answers to the hosts, Tony and Karen. “The votes are in people!” Tony screamed as he took the envelopes. “And the winner of this year’s title World’s Greatest Chef goes to–”

“Bonnie, it’s time to come in.”

“But Mom, they were going to say who won on The World’s Greatest Chef show,” Bonnie explained, sitting in the grass surrounded by mud pies.

“What if the world’s greatest chef washed up and helped me with dinner?”

“Really?” Bonnie jumped up and ran to the house.

“Whoa, miss chef, you need to clean up first.” Bonnie’s mother walked over to the water hose and let Bonnie spray the mud off of her toys, hands and feet.

“I’m going to be the greatest chef in the world!” Bonnie shouted and her mother picked her up and carried her inside.

“You most certainly are.”


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Forgotten - Flash Fiction Poem

Original Photo by Gab Pili on Unsplash



She wiped the sweat from her brow.

The unforgiving midday heat

made the days all seem the same now

while she hid from the people on the street.


The shadows of the alley

did nothing to conceal the grime.

She knew not to dally

for her presence was considered a crime.


The life of a Forgotten,

even one so young.

The streets were hard and rotten

for the Forgotten on the bottom rung.


Flashing lights of blue

announced a returning threat.

The child’s dread grew.

There was but one place to hide, with regret.


The plastic bags clung to her skin.

The pungent stench

stole her grin,

but she did not dare to flinch.


“Hey, kid,” called a voice.

“They’re gone, man.


A bedraggled man leaned against a garbage can.


“Once I’m grown,” she said.

The man cocked his head, “What’s that?”

“My mom.” She looked away. “She’s dead.”

He removed his too large hat.


“So sorry, child.

Such an unkind world.”

It was forced, but he smiled.

His coat flapped as he twirled.


“Hey, wait!”

She cried out.

“There’s no time to hesitate!”

He led her through a most confusing route.


After years of isolation,

she clung to the hope of kindness.

The man disappeared into an old gas station.

She followed with utter blindness.


She continued, ignoring the rust and dust.

Surely misbegotten,

but if there were any she could trust

she hoped it was another Forgotten.


At the back, she found a flight of stairs.

Soft voices and a dim light below,

she found a large room with beds and chairs.

She was welcomed by a trio.


“Come here, little one,

and have a seat,”

the old woman begun.

“We haven’t much, but you’re out of the heat.”


Cautiously, she sat upon a bed.

Out popped a small dog from beneath.

She patted its head.

It smiled, even showing teeth.


The dog was as soft as cotton.

“What is this place?”

The woman smiled. “A home for the Forgotten.”

And there was such kindness on her face.


Although troubled by sadness and memory,

this was the best day she had ever gotten.

She allowed herself a bit of reverie,

for she was home among the Forgotten.


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Void by J.L. Holloway - A Flash Fiction - READ FREE


The corridor swayed unnaturally under his steps. He knew the gravity generators were functioning properly, as was his own balance.  Yet the massive bulkheads and metallic floor rose and fell gently like an ancient rope bridge.

The power surged and the lights grew intensely bright before overheating. Darkness consumed the area until the emergency lights flickered on. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, urging him to turn around and run as fast as his legs would carry him, but he ignored that feeling.

His drawn firearm grew heavier as he neared the door to the command bridge. His muscles ached under its weight and his arm began to shake as his gun was being pulled down to the floor by an invisible force.

You won’t need that. The voice echoed into his own mind. It will serve no further purpose. Leave it. His muscles strained to maintain a grip on the firearm as its weight increased exponentially. Within seconds, he could no longer support it, and the gun melted into the metal flooring under his feet. The surface rippled out from the impact.

He was now inches away from the ships command deck, weaponless and weak. Do join me, Captain, the cool voice in his mind beckoned. He placed a quivering hand on the metal door and it undulated at his touch. He recoiled, not understanding what his own eyes were seeing. The waves continued to ripple from where he had placed his hand until they reached the edges of the door, then retracted into the wall.

His stomach lurched and bile spilled from his lips, splattering the tops of his boots. The command bridge was worse than he expected. The crew members’ bodies were slumped and deflated versions of their previous selves, a macabre mockery of the positions they held in life. Warning indicators flashed out of sync on their consoles.

She reclined in his chair, legs crossed in a way that was somehow familiar and yet unsettling. Her lips were stretched so thin they had split in several places, oozing dark blood droplets. Spikes and new bones jutted out from around eyes as dark as space itself, while the now useless skin of her nose and neck dangled loosely.

Such an unnecessary burden, guns. She turned away to look through the ship’s viewing panel. The curve of a planet appeared. A vast canvas of blue with hints of green and white.

Recognition seized his features and his body became rigid. Fear froze his thoughts. There was nothing he could do to prevent the terror that was about to unfold.

I’m pleased you are familiar with this world. Her focus remained on the approaching planet. This body is ignorant of its history.

Her body rose silently from the chair and hovered toward him. The woman’s boots squeaked at they drug across the metal floor. Thin sheets of blonde hair fell to the floor in a trail.

He wanted to run, to scream, to fight. Anything. Instead, he only watched motionless as she placed a graying hand on his chest. The endless void of her eyes consumed him. This will do nicely, the thought floated into his mind as the woman’s body collapsed in a pile.

A hologram screen flickered onto the viewing panel. A woman in an suit like that of the crew members shown on the screen. “Permission to land granted, Captain,” the voice said through the overhead speakers. “Welcome home.”

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Saving Time: Part 10 The Final Hour

Start from the Beginning!

Reread Part 9!

Saving Time - A Flash Fiction - READ FREE

The overwhelming stench of onions and maple syrup wafted through the air, assaulting my nose and waking me from a cold sleep. From the ringing in my ears, I wasn’t sure if I had been drugged or knocked unconscious. Either way, I was in Saving Time’s basement with that spineless Blue Tie and Jack Acetone.

My eyes were squinting tight in an effort to focus. Jack Acetone paced the dingy room. He was scrolling through a partially broken phone, my phone, with a furrowed brow.

Namer and Darlene’s ATM flanked either side of me. A ribbon of paper slowly printed out of the ATM’s receipt slot. Large block letters of blue ink: “Who did you call?”

“Don’t waste your time, sweetheart,” Acetone said. “She called Conscience Cleaners.” He let the phone drop to the floor and slowly crushed what was left of it underneath his shiny leather loafer. “Really?” he asked me with a chuckle. “What’s a bunch of janitors going to do? Mop me to death?” He broke out into an echoing and sinister laugh. The Darlene ATM rattled with amusement. “People are so unreliable. Unlike machines.” He had crossed the small room to place a hand on the ATM, patting it gently.

“Why are you turning these people into machines? They have families, kids!”

His smile darkened into a sneer. “Because, my dear, people, for the most part,” he said glancing at me bitterly, “don’t want to think. They want to do as they are told. I just help them get rid of that annoying ‘free thinking’ crap.”

The door opened slowly behind me letting in a beam of florescent light. “Hey, Dad? What’s the WiFi password? I tried typing ‘boobies’ upside down, like usual, but that didn’t work.”

“Not now,” Jack Acetone growled.

“Well, well, well. So we meet again,” Jack Jr. leaned casually on the door frame and shot me a wink.


“Fine,” Jack Jr. sighed. “Call me, babe!” and the door slammed.

Jack Acetone mumbled under his breath and shouted to no one in particular, “Melt down the last bin of gold parts and let’s get the hell out of here!”

“Gold?” I asked. “This is about money?”

“Of course it’s about money. Everything is always about money,” Jack snapped back at me through gritted teeth. “I already own this crummy town. Pretty soon I’ll be so rich, I’ll own this entire greasy state.”

“There’s a problem with the, uh, gold parts, Mr. Acetone, sir,” Blue Tie said quivering.

“What now?” Jack yelled.

“The, uh, parts were sorted,” Blue Ties eyes darted to me, “by design instead of by color.”

As Jack Acetone spun on Blue Tie, the door opened again. “Never mind, Dad. I figured it out,” Jack Jr said without looking up from his phone. “Oh and the janitor is here.”

A tall and heavily muscled man in a navy blue jumpsuit strode across the floor with casual steps.

“Who the hell are you?” Mr. Acetone growled.

The man sauntered passed Mr. Acetone and stood in front of me with an outstretched hand. In a thick Italian accent he asked, “Are you alright, signora?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but swept me up in his arm. He guided me toward the door pausing momentarily face to face with Mr. Acetone. “It would appear that you have made a mess of things,” he purred with his rich accent.

I retreated a few steps closer to the exit.

“Get outta my face, mop jockey,” Acetone’s face reddened with anger.

The man held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Don’t worry, Mr. Acetone. We’ll get this mess cleaned up.” He smiled at Mr. Acetone and winked in my direction.

A dozen men and women, all in matching navy blue jumpsuits, flooded into the room and seized Jack Acetone, his son, and Blue Tie. A few even took the opportunity to land a cheap shot or two to a solar plexus or kidney.

A middle-aged woman entered the now crowded basement room. She was clad in the same uniform, except hers had a strange insignia with an Italian flag on her chest and back. “The family is angry, Mr. Acetone. I doubt this slight will be forgiven.”

Mr. Acetone remained silent, despite the angry glare aimed at the woman.

“Thank you, miss,” she said to me. “I believe you have our number if you need anything.”

I nodded and backed slowly up the stairs. No one attempted to stop me, so I turned and fled Saving Time.

On the sidewalk outside, a man stood between the two entrances with a look of confusion. He held a package under his arm.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he said. “My boss asked me to deliver this part for a, uh,” he looked at the label on the package, “Separator? Do you work here?”

“Hell no,” I said. “I quit.”


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Saving Time: Part 9

Start from the Beginning!

Reread Part 8!

Saving Time - A Flash Fiction - READ FREE

Saving Time: Part 9

After an hour of several increasingly frustrating attempts, I finally managed to get the ATM to display something other than Facebook. A string of numbers filled the screen in a blue and yellow recreation of the Matrix.

The machine sighed a puff of tobacco scented smoke in resignation as I sighed in relief.

This is ridiculous. There’s no way that it is actually Darlene. This is some kind of weird prank.

Somewhere within the ATM, a small motor began to hum. Half a dozen empty candy wrappers slid out of the receipt return and littered the floor at my feet.

The endless numbers cascading passed the screen stopped. A text box appeared, “Access Denied. Contact Your Supervisor For Assistance.”

“Dammit, Darlene,” I breathed. “Fine.”

Back to Boss Lady’s sad excuse for an office.

As I drew near, I could hear voices. No, a voice. I slowed my pace so I could listen better. A man was yelling.

Oh crap. It’s Mr. Acetone.

“I don’t care how  smart you think she is,” he said, his voice carrying through the shadows. “Make. It. Happen,” he said each word slowly with an implied threat. Which he followed up with a direct threat, “Or it’s your ass.”

I took a step back, thinking I could return to the front and pretend I was never there. Then the door to Boss Lady’s office opened. The large ominous form of Jack Acetone filled the door. His eyes were on me.

“I always have to do things myself,” he mumbled, just barely loud enough for me to hear. “What are you waiting for?” He asked louder, with his focus on the shadows beyond me. “Grab her! Take her downstairs.”

Downstairs? Wait, who’s grabbing me? I turned around to see Namer and another haphazardly assembled machine shambling towards me. I barely had time to process what my eyes were telling me when the machine tripped over a dangling cord and crashed into Namer, knocking them both to the concrete floor. The impact echoed through the hallway. Parts and broken pieces of machinery clattered behind me as I turned to run.

I knew Mr. Acetone was close behind me and I might not reach the exit. But I might have time for a phone call.

I pulled out my cell phone and frantically scrolled through the call log. Desperately, I hoped I would recognize the number when I saw it. You should have saved the number. Stupid.

There! I pressed the call button.

My feet suddenly lifted from the floor mid step. My eyes blurred from the sudden stop of momentum. I realized that someone strong had grabbed the back collar of my shirt. It took another minute to realize the phone wasn’t in my hand anymore.

“That’s quite enough, young lady,” Jack Acetone said. “I should’ve known you’d be trouble. It’s always the cute ones. But I think we can fix that.”

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Saving Time: Part 8

Start from the beginning!

Read Saving Time Part 7!


Saving Time - A Flash Fiction - READ FREE

Saving Time: Part 8


“Oh good, you came back!” Blue Tie sighed dramatically as I walked into the building. “Come with me, Bobby.”

“I’m not even clocked in yet,” I said over the rim of my coffee cup, but he continued to nudge me through the building.

Blue Tie led me to Boss Lady’s office and gestured for me to enter. He slammed the door behind me and trotted away.

The office was more like a broom closet: small, cramped, and dusty. Boss Lady stood behind her small desk and gestured to a dirty upturned bucket, “Please, sit.” Her voice was calm and she seemed bored. Her frantic movements and unkempt appearance gave off the impression of a caged animal eager to escape. “How do you like it here so far, Barbara?”

“Its a little…,” I searched my vocabulary for a word other than weird or odd, so I settled for, “Different?”

“How so?”

“Well, em, a guy tried to rob the bank and Mr. Acetone just paid him. From his own pocket.” I looked up at Boss Lady, expecting her to be shocked, however she remained silent and thumped a dead fly off her desk. I continued, “Then there was that whole thing with Sharron and her kid–”

Boss Lady waved her hands in a violent blur, “She is none of your concern. Her service is no longer required here.”

“She’s fired?” I couldn’t believe a company would be so heartless regarding their employees, especially a mother.

“She refused relocation. But never mind that. We would like for you to assist in the installation of a new ATM machine in the bank lobby.”

“The M stands for machine,” I said.


“Never mind,” I sighed. “Computers and I don’t really get along. Plus, I have so much paperwork to sort and Darlene just sits there–”

“Darlene is doing her job,” Boss Lady interrupted me again.

The door to her office flew open and I looked up to see Mr. Acetone’s features soften as he smiled down at me. “The tech is here. Let’s get started.”

I followed Mr. Acetone to the lobby where a man was struggling to straighten a bulky machine with a large screen and dozens of buttons. The machine seemed to have once been white but now was a faint yellow with black grime embedded in all its crevices.

“I got her running,” he said to Mr. Acetone, and there was something oddly familiar about the man.

I immediately imagined what the man would look like with a ski mask obscuring his face and it hit me: He was the robber from last week! I squinted my eyes at the man, judging him, hoping he would notice I recognized him. I stepped up to the machine, “So where did you steal this from?”

The robber/tech man made a mock gasp and caressed the hideous machine. “I will have you know this is a genuine Enelrad brand ATM.”

Mr. Acetone made a loud throat clearing grunt and the robber/tech stepped back not saying another word. “Thank you for all your hard work,” and shooed him away. “Now, Bobby, I need you to figure out how to work this thing before a customer comes in.”

“Does Darlene need to learn this too?”

“Don’t you worry about her,” Mr. Acetone looked me in the eyes with an icy stare and kicked the machine. The screen blipped on and turned a soft blue. In the middle of he screen was a white, lower case “f” symbol.

I looked back at Darlene’s desk. It was surprisingly clean. The clutter of food containers and candy wrappers were all gone. Even her chair was missing. I could still smell the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. I turned back to the ATM and saw a thin puff of white smoke rising from out of the credit card slot.

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Keeper of the Guardians

Keeper of the Guardians - A Flash Fiction by Askien - Read for FREE!

Keeper of the Guardians

Written by Guest Writer:



Long ago, deep within a lush forest teeming with life, there was a darkness. A murder. A man had slain a wolf and captured her cubs for his own selfish and greedy means. But where there is death, there is life. The wolf and her cubs were a sacrifice to save one. Hidden beneath the twisting bramble of a nearby bush lay a silent pup frozen with fear. Curled tightly against the damp chill of the forest floor, the abandoned cub waited for his chance at survival.

The following evening in the last light of sundown, another lone wolf made his way through the forest like a looming shadow. He embraced his solitude and refused to depend on any pack. He out-weighed and out-witted any wolf who had the ill fortune of crossing his path, until now.

A weak whimper sounded from below the wolf’s enormous paws. The cub shivered against the chill night air. Catching the foul scent of man, the wolf knew this pup would be left to die. The wolf cradled the trembling cub in his maw and returned to the safety of his warm den.

As the seasons passed, the cub grew into a strong and fierce wolf. The two became an inseparable pair, a pack of their own. Together they roamed the wilds without fear of man or beast. But with life, comes death.

Legends say the two wolves perished together, leaving behind their physical forms to fade into the forest. Their spirits entered the realm of the supernatural as great beasts with obsidian fur and eyes of burning stars. Their afterlife of guardianship offers guidance and protection to those who are abandoned.

In the span of two centuries, the guardians had not felt abandonment quite like this. A deepening loneliness drove their spirits across the universe to find one so empty and heartbroken; they vowed to never leave her side. This young girl who once felt so alone is now the keeper of the guardians.

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Saving Time: Part 7 TGIF

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Saving Time - A Flash Fiction - READ FREE

It’s finally Friday!

That had been everyone’s mood today. No one did much of anything except the occasional shuffling of random objects from one spot to the next to appear busy. They were riding out the clock, keeping an eye on the time while doing as little as they could without getting reprimanded.

I, on the other hand, sorted my papers at a fold-up table in a dark and dusty corner behind Darlene’s desk. Blue Tie had found the table shoved in a long forgotten supply closet. I had to sweep off the cob webs before he would touch the damned thing. A wobbly table was better than sitting in the floor.

The door bell chimed and I didn’t bother turning around, thinking Darlene would do her job, for once.

“Excuse me, I need change for this,” called a woman’s voice. I looked back to see a frazzled mother of three: an infant strapped in a harness to her front, a toddler perched on her hip, and another child clinging to her leg. She smelled strongly of baby powder and dirty diapers, and a red sucker was glued to her pants with sugary spit.

She waved a crisp one hundred dollar bill in front of her. Darlene never acknowledged the woman and vise versa. I crossed over to her and took the bill.

“Darlene, I need change for this–”

Darlene hit a button on her keyboard and a money drawer popped out from under the counter, ramming into my knee caps. I pulled out five twenty-dollar bills and held them out to the woman.

“What good does this do me?” she spat. The woman looked at the twenties like they had been fished from a toilet bowl. “I need money for the quarter machines. Are you stupid? You’re job is not that hard.” Two of the three children began to cry while the third suddenly started running in circles.

After counting out her one hundred dollars worth of quarters, she slammed her hand onto the counter. “How dare you try to steal my babies’ money! I saw you put that money in your pocket!”

Before I could defend myself, a coworker –the petite girl with the foul mouth– marched in to join the drama-fueled screaming match. Darlene pulled her phone out from between a sweaty fat roll and began filming the entire show.

I just want to go home. I walked away to return to my monotonous work.

The door chimed again, barely audible over the commotion, and Mr. Acetone walked in. His face immediately stretched into a ferocious smile and his eyes grew wide. The man looked as if he had just won the lottery. He scanned both women up and down several times as he approached the counter beside them.

“Excuse me ladies, how are we today?” He didn’t seem to notice he was being ignored by everyone present. He walked around to the mother, almost colliding with her child still twirling in circles. “That is a lovely perfume you’re wearing, ma’am.”

“Thanks,” she said without looking at him. “I’m a little busy at the moment,” then continued with her shouting, that had dissolved into nonsensical blather.

I glanced at the time on Darlene’s computer. Our shift ended in five minutes. I wasn’t planning on staying to see if this drama-fest ever resolved, so I pretended to sort papers when the door chimed again.

“Give me all the money!” a muffled voice bellowed.

A man in a ski mask had a gun held in his outstretched hand, pointing it snakingly at the mob of dysfunctional adults. The twirling child peeled his sucker off his mother’s pants and gave it to the robber.

The door chimed, again. A male police officer, who appeared to be thirteen months pregnant, walked in. He held a large doughnut box in one hand and a pizza box in the other. He didn’t seem to be in a rush. “What’s all this about?” he asked the group, powdered sugar cascading from his neatly trimmed mustache.

Never taking his attention from the women, Mr. Acetone took a hundred dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the robber. “So, about those drinks, ladies? I’m buying.”

Offering a smirk to the police officer, the robber pocketed the money and shoved his gun down his pants.

“Sorry to interrupt.” The police officer belched. “I’m here for the weekly pick-up. Everything ready to go?”

“It’s probably in the back,” Mr. Acetone said. “Look for the fella with the tie.”

The officer offered the group, robber included, his left over pizza and doughnuts before departing.

I declined as politely as I could and looked at the time. On the dot. “Mr. Acetone, can I go?” But I didn’t wait for an answer.

Keep Reading!

More From Holloway’s Hideaway!

Tipsy Scribbles 

The Book – A Flash Fiction

Mystery Writing Prompts

Sword of Unquenchable Thirst

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