Flash Fic Challenge: Digging Deeper

 Digging Deeper

I was the first to arrive at the dig, but the other two students weren't far behind. A boy and another girl.

I grinned and waved. "Hi, I'm Eva, nice to meet you."

They introduced themselves in turn as Tom and Jane, and we all went to see what the archeologists in charge wanted us to do. Jane and I ended up on sifting and sorting, while Tom took pictures of the finds with the old film camera that the head archeologist insisted on (no batteries required!).

Tom offered me the camera, but I just shook my head. "You're better. Cameras hate me."

It was hot, of course, during the day, but cold at night. This was the desert, after all. The dig is here because things hang around for longer out here. The work was worth it though, and we did find things for Tom to photograph - bits of pottery mostly.

It wasn't until the last day when the camera caught up with me. Tom and Jane grabbed me between them, grinning for the camera to "use up the last bit of film". I grinned too - I'd had a good run at this dig at least, and there would be another one soon.

Things hang around longer in the desert, me included, and at least this time I'd be gone before the photos had been developed and they realised I didn't show up at all in them.

Flash Fic Challenge: Surfing the Net

 Surfing the Net

There was what looked like a small surfboard wedged into the bars of the kids' merry-go-round. A man's body lay beside it, face down.

Where had he come from? Nobody knows. Where was he going? Nobody knows.

Only an investigator, slowly circling like a crocodile, considering the scene from all angles.

The man spluttered in a breath, and rolled over with a groan, revealing a pale but otherwise ordinary face.

The investigator froze. The man was supposed to be dead!

The man saw the surfboard, swore softly, and turned to scowl at the investigator. "Family prank," he snapped. "I'm not dead, I just look it when I'm asleep, and they think it's funny to set up fake mystery scenes."

The investigator considered that. It sounded true enough, and without evidence, there was no way to prove it wasn't. "And the surfboard?"

The man gave a small, bitter, sharp-toothed smile. "I'm in I.T. It's a pun on surfing the 'net."

"We would like a statement from you all the same. For our records, of course."

"Of course," the man echoed flatly, and heaved himself to his feet. "Come on then, let's get it over with."

 

X Marks the Spot

X Marks the Spot

 

Love, they say, is a treasure

just waiting to be found.

X marks the spot - try here.

And when you try to tell them

your brain works differently?

Why, that's insulting (to them).

Never mind how you actually feel.

I have treasures in hand,

if I want them - in books,

and music, and film.

I gather my friends around me

who take me as I am.

And an ex marks the spot I stopped trying

to make myself something I'm not.

Flash Fic Challenge: Never Underestimate Little Old Dolls

 Never Underestimate Little Old Dolls

Orinda lived in a little ice house,

On its little ice shelf, in a doll's brass bed.

She was a smart little doll

With a thought in her head

And she guarded the place with a will.

So when burglars crept through the frozen door,

Or pirates climbed through the window,

The little old doll raised her little old head

And she smiled at them from her little brass bed

Until every one of them fled!

And still, they say, in a little ice house,

On a little ice shelf, in a doll's brass bed,

Lives a little old doll, whose smile,

Is red.

Flash Fic Challenge: Waterlogged Notes

 

Notes on the Jane Smith case:

Yes, the client was tied to the railway track

No, we cannot remove the relevant tie from the track and submit it as evidence. Photos will have to do.

Yes, the train did technically go over her.

No, she was not harmed in the process (irritation to the point of foul language does not count)

Yes, she escaped on her own.

No, the train was not derailed by her methods.

Yes, the client is a naiad (whoever thought that someone who can turn into water could be tied up without recourse is a fool)

No, we probably shouldn't mention that to the court (unless directly asked and unable to evade)

Flash Fic Challenge: Dog, Dog, Goose

 Dog, Dog, Goose

I'm the top of a pile of books

Sitting on a stall.

Looking for a buyer.

Sitting very tall.

I'm fond of my first owner,

Who read me, through and through,

But now will pass me on,

If they can find-- Hey! Shoo!

A goose has grabbed my cover.

I'm trailing in the dust.

I'll make you let me go!

I'll do whatever I must!

I snap and clap my pages

Until the beak lets go.

And then I get a short reprieve.

It's quiet down-- Oh No!

A dog has caught me by the spine.

It's running through the Fair.

I really want my reader back.

Oh where, oh where, oh where?

A tether reels in the running dog.

I'm back in human hands.

I shudder all my pages

And wonder where I'll land.

Flash Fic Challenge: Lost and Found

Lost and Found

 

The school sat in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. Faded posters still clung to a few of the walls. A handful of never-claimed items still lay in the old lost property box. Some said that on moonlit nights, you could still hear children's voices echoing inside.

Sam had never been one of them, and on this cold wet night, having missed the last bus out of the village, the abandoned school seemed his best bet for shelter.

He found an unlocked window that could be prised open, and climbed inside. It was dry, and cold and bare. Sam closed the window behind him, settled on the ground, and leaned back against the wall.

A draft ruffled a loose piece of paper, leaving it to flap tiredly from the last staple holding it to the wall. The wind whined a little about the corners of the building, and hitched, just a little, like a muffled sob.

Just the wind. Sam sighed, shifted on the hard concrete, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, there was a little child standing beside him, crying in the soft, hopeless, exhausted way of someone who has been crying for a long time and sees no way out of their situation.

Sam groaned, stiff and cold and tired, and mumbled, still half asleep, "What do you want?"

"I want my Okky," the child sniffed. "One of the big boys stole him and I never got him back."

"And you want me to help look?"

The child stared at Sam, mouth open, tears dying on their cheek. "You.... want to help me? You're not ... leaving?"

"Not right now, anyway." He heaved himself to his feet, and held out a hand. "Where did you last see .... Okky, was it?

The child took it, icy fingers clinging to his warm ones, and he shivered. "This way." They led him to the staff office and pointed through the doorway to a box. "I'm not allowed in. Only grown ups are."

"Well," Sam said. "I guess that's me." He let go of that cold, cold hand, and walked though the doorway and over to the lost property box. There, on the top, grey with dust, was a small stuffed octopus. He held it up for the child to see, and the small face lit up.

"Well then." He carried it out of the staff office and offered it to the child.

Small hands clasped the toy, hugging it tightly, and then the child - faded into nothing.

Not even the wind remained.