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It's been a fantastic month!

Journal Entry: Thu Jul 31, 2014, 9:50 AM

I haven't finished reading all the pieces written for Flash Fiction Month (in my inbox), but I would like to share more of my favorites with you. If you have some time to show  Flash-Fic-Month some love, I hope you will. They've given us as a community a wonderful gift, one that's greatly appreciated.

Anyway, here are some of the wonderful pieces written for Flash Fiction Month. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

Albert's EyesIn the library as I'm checking out The Silence of the Lambs, I feel the creepy feeling again of being followed and watched. "Oh Albert," I mumble, "just can't keep your eyes off me, can you?"
"Excuse me?" says the boy scanning the book's barcode.
"I said your eyes are like chocolate. What a yummy color."
"Oh." The boy blushes a red almost as deep as blood itself.
When he passes me the book, I slip a piece of paper in his hand. "Let's have dinner sometime, okay?" I say, winking.
That feeling again. I whirl around and see a flash of white ducking behind a shelf.
At Monterey's as I'm hungrily watching the butcher hack into some prize meat, the feeling of eyes on me creeps up my leg and crawls up my bottom. I shuffle my legs to shake off the sensation. As the butcher bags my meat, I look around to see whether the security guard has noticed Albert aggressively following me.
But the guard looks oblivious. I sigh.
When I get home, I work at the garden with a shovel. I'm waist-d
Andrew SarchusAndrew Sarchus stood in the old woman's blood, struggling to keep his dark side in check. Grandma was dead. A normal wolf would eat her before her body started to cool, or another wolf arrived to compete for the carcass. Andrew was different. He couldn't help but wonder how he would look in her frock.
Giving in to his compulsion, he donned the flowing floral dress and twirled in front of the mirror. He felt more like himself than he'd ever felt before. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and the feeling disappeared. Panicking, the wolf shoved Grandma's body into the closet and jumped into her bed.
A girl opened the front door and ventured into the cottage. “Grandma?” she called.
“I'm in bed,” said Andrew. “I'm afraid I'm a little under the weather.”
“Oh, there you are. Mother sent me to bring you some cake. My, what a deep voice you have. You must be ill.”
The wolf coughed nervously, covering his snout with a paw.
“And what gian
The Case of Adrian Casper FFM26Adrian Casper was a curious case. He lived locked in his room for years, and no one ever saw him come out. I was intrigued as soon as I heard of him. Why would anyone lock themselves in their room for years? I needed to know, but I hit a wall as soon as I started investigating. His neighbors knew almost nothing about him. The only ones who had any substantial information were an old couple by the name of Wallace.
“He’s an odd one,” Mr. Wallace said, watering his garden. “I only think I saw him once when they moved in.”
“They?” I asked, leaning against his whitewash fence.
“Yes, he and his wife. They moved in together three years after my wife and I. Newlyweds. The neighborhood brought casseroles and cakes, and the couple received them quietly. We invited them to neighborhood barbeques and the like, but they never came.” He paused, thoughtful. “Always had their groceries and mail delivered to the doorstep. We only glimpsed thei
I, ResurrectedYou make a point of turning your back on him as you dig. Albert moans lightly, but, except for increasing the ferocity of your digging, you don't respond. There's no going back now. You've returned your library books, the shopping's done, and all that's left is to bury Albert and you'll be back on top of things.
The trouble is, Albert really doesn't seem to want to stay buried. This is, after all, the sixth attempt so far, and he just keeps turning back up and knocking on the door. It's getting ridiculous, to be honest. The yard is riddled with makeshift graves, and the stake you tried to send through his heart is discarded by the last one. His heart, impossibly enough, is still attached.
Albert moans again and when you look up, you see the dog licking his mouth. "Mr Tickles," you admonish, "come away from him!" The dog whines up at you. "Oh, come here, you stupid mutt." You pat him twice and send him home to the lady next door. He's probably been responsible for several of Albert's gr

The Eye“Ta-da! Water,” I declared.
Vampie looked less than impressed.
“What? You said you saw a river outside,” I explained. “If we follow this, it should lead us out of these crazy ruins.”
He stroked his chin and peered into the crevice. The stream seamed to appear from a crack in the rocks above, trickled down the wall, then flowed down a dark passageway.
I folded my arms together and shifted most of my weight onto one foot. “This was your idea.”
“I know,” he finally responded. He looked up at the cracks where the water was coming in. Even if he turned into a bat, my vampire companion would never fit through it. “I’m just concerned this will only take us deeper into these caves.” He pointed to the cracks. “And that is where the river is coming in from.”
“Doesn’t all water lead to the ocean?”
“No. Just water that has an outlet to the ocean. Not all water does.” He smirked a
UnwantedThe Æsir attack, and before she can blink the sleep from her eyes one has seized her, thrown her over an armored shoulder, and is carrying her away. She writhes and calls out for her mother, all in vain.
They move quickly, even burdened by three struggling children, and before the sun has climbed to its peak she is dropped to her knees before a high throne. Her brothers thrash beside her, hissing and growling, trying to be strong. She shows her strength in a different way, and allows no fear to pass over her expression, though her heart shudders like a bird.
Odin is immense, as tall as Yggdrasil to her young eyes. He stands from his throne and approaches them, calling them the spawn of Loki and Angrboda, his single eye cold as steel. In a flash he seizes Jormungandr and casts him down into the depths of Midgard’s seas. She forces herself not to call after him, and not to shudder when the All-Father casts his terrible gaze upon her next.
Something wars briefly within his feat
A Sympathetic Harmony"Let go of her!" a voice demanded, and the girl, pinned against the wall by a burly, stupid looking man, spit blood on to the tunnel floor.
"Ah was just gettin' started," the stupid man said. She smiled at him through bloody teeth.
"Put her down, oaf," the other man demanded. "Anses will kill you if she can't play."
"He'd do more than that," the girl said. "He'd flay your skin one strip at a time and piss on the pulp, lie he did to the Ghost Regent Reksos."
The oaf grunted and let her go. She stumbled forward and caught herself on the opposite wall. She licked blood off her teeth, and she started singing.
"Can't help him now, can't save his face, can only breathe in for one more taste." The oaf stared at her intensely. "Can't help him now, no, he's a little too late, kept up the facade, but this was fucking fate." The oaf was frozen when she stopped. She lifted her arms and he mimicked her stiffly. "Can't help him now," she muttered, and twisted her hands. The oaf fell to the ground.
A Damp Squib    Professor Hattersley took his place at the podium, ignoring the less than kind murmurs that spread through the audience as he crossed the stage. Talk didn’t bother him. For one thing, he was used to it. For another, after this conference the talk would be different. He set the shoebox-sized casket of gold and lapis lazuli before him.
    “Esteemed colleagues,” he began. “I am aware that my research has drawn a certain amount of scorn in the past, and I appreciate that a degree of scepticism is only healthy.” The murmurs showed no sign of abating. If there was one good thing about being an academic pariah, it was that it did wonders for one’s public speaking skills. He spoke louder. “The idea that the deities of ancient Egypt were not merely the invention of a primitive society, but powerful visitors from another dimension, will no doubt have a dramatic effect on Egyptology, and indeed the study of all

The Hands Man - Day #27 FFM 2014Easy.
Hand washing.  
He moved around the room, fluid.
He was.
The woman in the mirror looked petite, pastel-clad, white-haired, and polka-dotted with sun spots. Her face was powdered, just barely too much. It hid the red mark.
The woman in the doorway looked tired and worn, almost as if she could fall at any moment, skinny…
In 1989, Rae-Anne gave birth to triplets. Melanie. Sammie. Lance.
Melanie grew old quickly.
Sammie grew up faster.
And Lance was. He was.
Lance was blacker than the others. His hair was black. His eyes were black. He was tan, like leather. Melanie was beautiful. Sammie was ugly. Lance was. He was.
Lance started washing his hands at three months. Hands rippling around, gripping each other, scrubbing each other. Endlessly. There didn’t need to be soap. He washed.
Rae-Anne had met Al when Al was fifteen and she was thirty, and she conceived the twins four days later. Four days later, Al disappeared. She
FugitivesThere was a sound like a gunshot, and the Camino slid out of control, fishtailing on the gravel.  It landed in the ditch, its nose plowed against a boulder.  The night was dark but for the blue and red light-show over the rise.  Cara Lin was screaming, a bloody mark slashing her smooth forehead like a leering mouth.
"Out baby, out!" Bobby yelled at her.  "We gotta run, can you run?"
"'Course I can run!" she screamed, and they charged for the woods.
They ran until Bobby felt his lungs bursting; they fell into a bellied-out place off the trail and slept.
They woke to rain at dawn.  Bobby hauled Cara Lin out of the leaf-rot.  A white-rumped deer and speckled fawn fled into the trees.  Bobby fingered his pocket knife as their flags vanished.  His belly growled.  Cara Lin wiped sleep from her eyes and touched the crusted blood on her head.
"Got to find us some, grub, baby."
She stuck her hands in the hip pockets of her cutoffs.  He kissed he
FFM 2014, July 27 - EyesRodney had first noticed them while celebrating with the local whore, Brianne, down at Frog End, using up  his ill-gotten gains in the best way he knew. They had just suddenly appeared on the bedside table: a pair of azure blue eyes, staring accusingly at him. Rodney recognized them: the problem was, the last time he’d seen them, they had been attached to a handsome young man on a journey that had, unfortunately for him, taken him past Rodney’s hiding place.
After that day, they started following him everywhere, always looking – from on top of branches, rocks, fence posts. When he shat in the woods, when he ate, when he slept, and when he stalked his next victim.
He tried trapping them, like he did hares, but they wouldn’t bite. He tried his hand at a sling, but somehow the rocks always missed. He considered asking someone to help, maybe to corral them somehow, but how would he explain it? Everyone in the village would know the eyes, and everyone who helped
These are the Voyages We Don't Talk About“Is there anything you can do, Bones?” Even in the tinted reflection of his communicator antenna, Kirk could plainly see his vivid green eyebrows. The ship’s commanding officers strolled from the alien castle towards their shuttle, about an hour’s walk away. McCoy should have been more elated that the captain had managed to negotiate their release, but they all seem preoccupied by the cost of their freedom. The sooner they got Briffia behind them, the better.
“Not til we get back to the ship,” the doctor answered. His southern drawl was stronger; an obvious tell that he was suppressing a laugh.
The captain glared. “I don’t want you saying one word of this to the crew, you hear me? Not. one. word.”
“Captain,” Spock piped up. “I think they will all notice the change in color. It is quite vivid.”
“But they don’t need to know how they got that color!”
McCoy tried to lighten the mood.

  • Mood: Happy
  • Drinking: Black Tiger coffee


Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
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Favourite style of art: impressionism/expressionism
Favourite cartoon character: Daffy Duck
Personal Quote: Better a smart ass than a dumb ass.



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PrettyOrangeMonster Featured By Owner 7 hours ago  New member Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the watch 
AngeInk Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you Kaleen! :hug:
telempathicangel Featured By Owner 2 days ago
Ahhhhhhhh! *fangirlish squealing* I just saw you featured on the Flash Fic page! That is so awesome! Hug Huggle! :happybounce: 
NamelessShe Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
:heart: :hug:
RainbowMonkeh Featured By Owner 3 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
You are amazing. :) :heart: 
NamelessShe Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
:heart: Thank you! :hug:
AngeInk Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist General Artist
:slipperyhug: by CookiemagiK  
NamelessShe Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
AngeInk Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks, my friend :)
NamelessShe Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome!
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