Flash Fic Challenge: Come Play With Me

 Come Play With Me

The hall stands cold and empty now.

The tables all lie bare.

Yet still across the darkness colours flare -

Ghosts of games long gone.

Bright baize faded down to grey.

Glass shards upon the floor.

Yet still, I tell you, there is more -

The cues and clues remain.

The knives that shaped these broken cues

Have crumbled to rust-red grime.

Mould creeps up walls like frosty rime

But the bones of the hall still stand.

For it is with blood and with bone

That all the ghosts now play.

Balls made from blood across the table spray,

Sent flying by cues carved from bone.

(We make our own,

We break our own,

We bind and bleed

And take our own)

The hall stands cold and darkened now.

The tables all lie bare...

Won't you play a game with me?

You, who entered on a dare?

Flash Fic Challenge: Dancing With Pride

 Dancing with Pride

 

The Company store, on the edge of the Company's shuttlefield, was restocked at the Company's convenience, which meant rarely to never. The only bright things in the windows were the regular posters for the management elections. Immaculately dressed people staring superciliously at the passing colonists as if to remind them that they too belonged to the Company.

Ky huffed every time xie passed the store on the way to work and muttered at the posters, "Not my circus, not my monkeys." Since xer home was on one side of the shuttlefield and xer workplace was on the other, that meant two glares and mutters a day. Still, it also meant that xie was usually one of the first people to see when the store had been restocked, which would have been more useful if the store ever stocked anything she both wanted and could afford.

Since the store was so rarely stocked, xie and the other colonists dumped on this planet to work for the Company had learned to barter and trade with each other for anything they actually needed.

But today wasn't for the Company. Today was for the people themselves. Everyone turned out for it, dancing in the street in their brightest clothes, the crystals braided into their hair flashing rainbows onto every surface, old songs and chants on their lips.

Not gay as in happy! Queer as in Fuck You!!

Flash Fic Challenge: Behind Closed Doors

 Behind Closed Doors

The saloon building might be called The Palace, and it might house a handful of old queens, but it was about as far from royalty as a cow's backside.

This early in the morning, the saloon itself was empty, the doors closed (but not locked) and Anna took the chance to sweep the dirt back out into the dusty street, wipe down the tables and collect the scattering of abandoned mugs and glasses. When she had a trayful she took them back through the serving door to the kitchen and handed them over to the scullion for washing.

The kitchen was loud and busy, a sharp contrast to the bar. A cluster of dancers were breakfasting on coffee and biscuits around a table and exchanging gossip about last night's customers. The stoves were blazing, more biscuits coming out of the ovens and bread for the noon meal going in. Beans set to soak yesterday were being rinsed off and set to simmer, and new crocks of beans set to soak for tomorrow. A meat cleaver thwacked steadily, cutting thin slices off a side of bacon, ready for frying.

Anna set down her tray, and wove her way through the chaos to the back door with practiced ease, sidestepping the old folding chair that the one-legged head cook directed the kitchen from and ducking out into the yard just as the delivery cart arrived.

The cart driver was copper-haired Josie, broad as a barn door, twice as sturdy, and holder of Anna's heart. They never had time on working mornings like these for more than a smile and a quick greeting, but Anna liked to watch Josie's muscles flex as she swung the various sacks, bags, and barrels of food down from the cart. She also liked to think Josie got her own good view when it was Anna's turn to haul the goods inside.

Josie set the last bag of onions at Anna's feet and hopped back up into the cart. “Tonight,” she promised, and flicked the reins.

“Tonight,” Anna echoed in reply and farewell, and stooped back to her work.

Flash Fic Challenge: A Pack of Lies

 A Pack of Lies

 

The pack of greyhounds and lurchers milled around Danny's van, all legs and bright eyes, with their eager heads at hip height. He patted backs and scratched ears, and checked them over, before setting up a basket of toys and bowls of water. Once down, he turned to survey the dog-racing-track surroundings.

Other dogs were visible through the crowd of owners, punters, and bookies. The track itself looked in good condition, neither too hard or too muddy, and the people looked as if they all had money to spend. It was going to be a good day.

When the races began, Danny was ready. He placed a few bets with the bookies, like any other owner or trainer, he prepared the dogs that were in each race and led them to their starting gate, he tossed loose items back into the basket of toys.

When the favourite - a steel-grey greyhound appropriately named Old Leg Irons - lost, Danny's dog came third and he picked up placement winnings on top of his usual earnings.

Of course, he never knew exactly how much he had earned until he got home and could empty the stolen wallets now hidden in the basket of dog toys.

Fat wallets, commonly tucked into hip pockets, at exactly the right height for one of his smart dogs to pickpocket, and drop their new 'toy' into the basket.

Danny grinned at his pack, all long legs, lolling tongues, and innocent eyes. “Good dogs,” he murmured, stacking the notes neatly. “Every one of you.”

Flash Fic Challenge: Moonrise

 Moonrise

“Half an hour to moonrise,” Danny yelled over the music blasting from the speakers. “Time to park up!”

 

Tom craned his neck and checked all the mirrors. There was nothing but dusty road and dustier outback for miles around, so he simply pulled over and parked the truck on the side of the road. Slim Dusty's Dieseline Dreams cut off with the engine, leaving only silence.

 

Danny and Tom both hopped out. Danny shucked off his shirt and tossed it back into the truck cabin along with his shoes. Tom was quick to follow suit, and then, in only loose shorts, they locked the truck up and moved a few paces clear, faces turned to the eastern sky.

 

The moon rose, and everything changed.

 

When the dust settled again, two wolves stood where the men had been, having squirmed out of the shorts in the change.

 

Danny play-bowed.

 

Tom pounced, and the two werewolves went rolling, running, and playing into the night, tongues lolling out in silent laughter.

Flash Fic Challenge: Still Here

 Still Here

Samuel handed his spare gragger to a small child that didn't have one yet and squashed himself onto the horsehair sofa next to Ben. “Ready to raise some noise?”

Ben laughed and flung an arm over Samuel's shoulders. “Always. You know me so well.”

Samuel grinned back. “It wouldn't be the same without you.”

In the quieter parts of the reading, you could hear the faint rattle of hansom cabs passing outside, and the clatter of hooves from the horses that pulled them. In the louder parts, by tradition, you couldn't hear anything but the swinging of the gragger noisemakers, the booing and stamping, and banging of hands against tables.

It could have been a thousand years ago, or a thousand years hence, Samuel thought, looking round the men's side. Greybeard elders and sturdy fathers, young men and boys, all as loud and enthusiastic, coming together as ever for Purim, drowing out the name of a small, petty, vindictive man who wanted them all dead because they wouldn't bow to him.

In a world where they had always been hated and perhaps always would be, defiance sounded like laughter, like joy, like celebration. We are still here, we are still here, we will not go away.

Hate us, hunt us, blame us, despise us, we still make time to BE us.

Samuel stamped his feet and swung his gragger and leaned into Ben's warm shoulder, looking forward to the hamantaschen later, because as the old saying went:

They tried to kill us. We survived. Let's eat.

Flash Fic Challenge: Getting a Clue

 Getting a Clue

“Tell me a story!” Katie begged, folding her hands under her chin.

Angela laughed. “So there was this man,” she began, as she set up the board for another game of Cluedo, “and he finds out he has a son, who was adopted out at birth. So he decides that he wants to get to him...”

Katie nodded.

“But then,” Angela continued, “he finds that the boy who he thought was his son was switched at birth in the hospital, and his real son is actually not the boy that he thought was his son.”

Katie nodded, and picked up her cards.

“So he's trying to find out where his actual son is, and who he is, and while he's doing that, he has to deal with several other people also trying to find his real son.”

Katie nodded as they began to play.

“So he keeps searching and then he thinks he's finally found the right boy at last, but so has everyone else that was looking for him and they all descend on the same small village at once to meet the boy.”

Katie nodded. “And then?”

Angela cackled and slapped her cards down beside the board. “It was Dr Shaggy Dog, in the Line Outside the Theatre, with the Bottle of Poison.” She looked at Katie. “Oh, with the boy? He told them all to buzz off so he could play with his friends.”