Suffering the Consequences

I hate my parents, and I think they are the worst.  I am stuck in this boarding school because I missed a few curfews and got caught vaping.  All the kids were doing it and I went along with them and now my parents think I need all new friends.  They said that this boarding school will help me to be better prepared for college life, but that is four years from now.  They keep droning on about this being a holistic approach to education that will grant me the space to develop new interests, make friends, grow my education, and give me the life skills that I will need to be successful.  They feel that a private education will give me unique learning opportunities, because of the smaller class sizes, and since this school is serious with discipline, meaning that I could be expelled in a heartbeat for any infraction if I am caught doing anything that goes against their codes of conduct, which is a rather long list.  Just look at these stupid uniforms that they make us wear and seriously there are no boys here, which takes away any interaction that I could have with the opposite sex.  They say this is done so we are less preoccupied with our appearance making us able to concentrate more on academics, but most of the girls that I know just want to have fun.  The don’t consider for on minute any of the negative consequences, like the disadvantage that I will be under having fewer opportunities to develop social skills with guys and the irrevocable loss of primary attachments and that this constitutes a significant trauma.  It is no wonder that all the girls in this school are being medicated.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #212.

Staying In

Humans are social creatures, but sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do.  Her friends wanted her to go out with them and party, but she turned them down saying that she would rather just stay at home, watching TV after soaking in a hot bath.  She had been out five nights in a row with her friends and although she had no intention of becoming a hermit, she felt that it was her prerogative to say no to invitations from her friends every so often.  By doing this, she would remove the element of expectation that her friends had that she would automatically join in with them every time they contacted her.  She was tired of the peer pressure that was compelling her to agree to something when she just wanted to relax.  She had succumbed to this social coercion long enough and she wasn’t having it anymore.  Instead of going out clubbing with her friends tonight, she wanted to do something that is more appealing to her, so after her bath and preparing a snack, she was going to lay on her bed and have her eyes glued to the TV watching The Power on Prime Video, which may not be for everyone, but she enjoyed the trailer.  In this world, suddenly, and without warning, teenage girls develop the power to electrocute people at will, and she would like to be able to do this to some people that she knows.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #211.

Do Nothing Mondays

There is a fictitious disorder labeled “Case of the Mondays” that is associated with the tiredness, irritability or distractedness that comes from returning to work after the weekend, but you should refrain from asking your colleagues if they are suffering from this as you could get your ass kicked for questioning their behavior.  Mondays can be difficult because they always follow two days of freedom and enjoyment and it is not always easy getting back into the swing of things.  If you were able to sleep a little bit latter on Saturday and Sunday and when your 6AM alarm starts ringing, all you want to do is hit the snooze button.  You shower and have your coffee, but the last thing you feel like doing is going back to work.  Life goes on, so you have to switch your brain back on and get back to the daily grind all while trying to shake off that groggy feeling.

Monday has been called the worst day of the week and that is probably why people write songs about it.  The Carpenters thought that ‘Rainy Days and Mondays’ will always bring you down.  The Mamas and The Papas sang ‘Monday, Monday’ about how every other day of the week being fine, but after spending a long weekend with your partner, they wonder if they might not be around anymore when Monday arrives.  Most people spend more time moaning on a Monday than they would on any other day of the week.  I think the best way to deal with this is to have a do-nothing Monday, where you open up your appointment book/ organizer and cross off everything and then go back to sleep.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #208, which is hosted by Paula this week.

Running Down My Dream

When I wake up early in the morning, I look out my window to greet the day.  I wonder if I should stay in bed, or go outside where I can float up stream.  It looks like a beautiful day where anything could be possible especially while my whole life seems like a dream, although it is convincingly real and maybe we are all living in a dream.  You gave my life meaning with the dream that we dreamed together, and when our dreams tied us to each other I knew everything was fine, but now it is just a dream of my own.  Maybe you were just merely a figment of my imagination and maybe nothing is real.  I will never know for sure that I am not still in a dream, one from which I may never wake up from.  I would like to dream my life away so I could melt into some secret space where my fantasies unfold.  I want to find a perceived permanence, something that is objective and enduring, like the building blocks of life that do not behave as discrete particles and I will keep searching while I am running down my dream.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #207, which is hosted by Paula this week.

North American Security

It is a beautiful morning and this is the perfect spot to see anything that might be coming into the West coast.  Henry came out here today hoping to see some US fighter jets shooting down a high-altitude airborne object that is invading our airspace, after the barrage of incidents that have been occurring.  Henry was a Navy pilot during the Korean War and him and his buddies are on high alert for any incoming objects since nobody seems to have been able to identify what the heck is going on.  Why is the government calling them objects, and not saying that they are balloons?  This was very puzzling to Henry, and he wondered if they could be aliens.  Henry couldn’t comprehend why China would be testing us, or if these objects were coming from some other place where is that, and why is everyone being so tight lipped over this?  Henry is hoping today will bring him some excitement, so he can relive his glory days.  He volunteered to be on guard duty this morning doing his due diligence and taking reasonable steps to protect our country.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #206, which is hosted by Paula this week.

Glowing Orb

Harry just picked up this glowing orb from Walmart at a discounted price and he is testing it out to see if he can contact his deceased grandfather.  The orb has long been the stuff of fantasy stories, being a simple but yet a very powerful object, especially if it glows.  These crystal spheres can be used to predict the future when they are in the hands of practicing witches or wizards, and they can even conjure up demons or devils when they are utilized in certain occult ceremonies.  One fascination that has become popular lately is the contemplative wizard holding an orb that seems to be in awe of something inside of it, bringing a mystique and fear that an omen is emanate.  As the wizard ponders this magical orb, he is entranced by visions that he sees from within, and he reflects on their significance.  The orb is a rather tranquil object that carries a mystical spell that will take total control over the person who is holding it, so nothing will distract them from the glowing crystal ball as they become one with the cosmos.  The glowing orb becomes even more addictive than a smartphone, because it allows you to contact people from other time periods and you can ever reach entities from an alternate universe.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #205, which is hosted by Paula this week.

Secrets That We Keep

Debbie’s mom Cynthia leaned in closer to her and said that she had to tell her a secret about finally getting over her difficulty of being able to climax through intercourse alone.  Debbie told her mom, “This is really embarrassing, but I would like to know how you finally achieved an orgasm.  The elusive female orgasm is very common, but yet remains unspoken so often.”  Cynthia leaned in closer and whispered in her daughter’s ear, “Your father and I went to a sex therapist and this helped me to get over a mental block that was holding me back.  I was struggling with this frustration, feeling like something was wrong with me and I didn’t want to have sex anymore because I felt so much pressure thinking that I was disappointing him.  The therapist helped me to realize that an orgasm isn’t something you achieve, but it is just part of the journey.  A husband and wife must share and experience this together, so they can learn to celebrate their love as they familiarize their bodies by touching each other.”

Cynthia continued, “It seems that I was too worried about my sexual performance when it turned out that I was not being stimulated enough.  I was able to orgasm alone, but I was not getting there with a partner.  I had trouble letting myself go when I was in bed with your dad, even though I still enjoyed the sex, so the therapist recommended that we try experimenting with toys together.  Even though the clitoris is a highly erogenous zone, it’s not a magic button and your dad needed to learn that he just can’t poke it and expect me to moan in ecstasy.  Our therapist encouraged us to communicate with each other and she told your dad that he should look for clues from me to see if I was enjoying it and that would let him know that he was diddling the right part or not.  Eventually your dad was able to find the right location, and then he experimented with different pressure, speed, and angles, till I told him that was the spot when it felt particularly good.”

Debbie said, “Mom I am glad that your sex life has improved, but don’t you think that you shared too much information with me?  I love when we are able to talk about everything, but you should have skipped some of the details.  I know you very well, but I feel that any sexual communication that you share with me about my father is awkward and embarrassing.  In the future, could you please tone down the content and intensity of sexual communication that you want to share with me, when it relates to my dad.  Try not to give me any more details about your personal life than I can handle, as hearing about how dad pleases you in bed is just too much for me.”  Cynthia said, “In that case, just don’t tell your father what we were discussing.”  Debbie said, “No worries mom, I will be taking this to my grave.”

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #204, which is hosted by Paula this week.

Street Life

My uncle had given up on his life and all he wanted to do was drink.  He lost his wife and his children and his girlfriend and his only happiness came from a bottle.  He was once a very successful citizen and during the Great Depression, he bought a brand new car every year, when nobody else could afford to do that.  Uncle Bill worked as a devil’s apprentice setting the type for a newspaper putting in long hours and working hard at this tedious job.  A lot of people had lost their jobs, but reading a newspaper remained an important source of news and entertainment in America during the 1930s. Throughout the decade, more than thirty-nine million people read daily newspapers, even though radio had caused the number of different newspapers to decline.  By comparison, there were twenty-nine million radios in American homes at the beginning of the decade and thirty-five million by the end of the decade.  For the majority of Americans, reading was the most important source of information and entertainment that they had.  Life was good for Uncle Bill.

One year for Easter, Uncle Bill saw these baby chicks and he thought that would make a nice gift to get his 4-year-old daughter Emily to play with.  Emily loved her new pet, but soon after she got very sick and the doctors said that she had encephalitis, which is a condition where her brain became inflamed.  Encephalitis can also result from certain viruses carried by mosquitoes, ticks and other insects and the doctor thought that the baby chicken spread the virus to the little girl, but now that science has advanced, they say that cannot happen.  I think that it may have been the result of an immune system disorder that caused my cousin to die.  Anyway, my uncle turned to the bottle after that, and he got involved with another woman.  He kept his lover in an apartment on the same floor where he lived with his wife, which was an awkward situation, but convenient for him.  His wife had two more babies and his lover had one, so he had two different families, but he was never really happy after he lost Emily.

Eventually he lost his job due to making mistakes from all of his drinking and then his wife found out about the other woman, and she threw him out.  He sold his car and his Rolex watch also and eventually he couldn’t afford to pay for the apartment for his lover anymore, so she decided to leave him also.  Uncle Bill was down and out, living on the streets of the Bowery in New York City with the rest of the bums.  It is funny how one incident can completely change your life around, but nobody was laughing as it is not easy being out in the cold.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #203.

She Was Gone

I woke up and felt her side of the bed, but she must have left during the night.  The covers were still warm where she had been laying, and my heart was filled with dread thinking that she may never be sleeping here again.  My bedroom was dark just the way we both liked it and the charcoal bed sheets were all disheveled and with her no longer around here, I didn’t know who was going to make the bed, as we always did that together.  Originally, I felt that making the bed was a waste of time, because I was just going to mess it up again at night, but she always said that this was the least thing you could do to start your day on the right foot.  She told me that if you get up on the right side of the bed that this sets the tone for you to begin your day being in a positive mood, as every morning is beautiful, and we should always thank God for giving us the day.  How could I start the day on a positive note with her no longer in my life?  Has our relationship ended, or will I be able to patch it up?

Maybe I didn’t tell her enough how much I loved her?  People drift apart when their lives fall into routines and sometimes there is no coming back.  I know it was real because I still love her deeply and truly and I don’t think that a single day will pass by when I am not thinking about her.  If she can be happy without me, I will accept that, and I won’t want her to come back.  Will I ever learn to love again?  Maybe if I adopt a kitten this will teach me how to love, or perhaps I should start out with a goldfish?  The universe has a way of providing what we need, but it is going to take time and patience, but I guess I could start off by trying to make the bed all by myself.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #202.

Dreaming About Tomorrow

This is the day that never comes because it is in our future and when it does arrive, it is today.  It is only a day away and Liz felt like she was on top of the world and that there was nothing that she couldn’t handle, but she wanted to turn off her mind, relax and float downstream.  She thought about last night when he was laying in her arms, and she hoped that he would return to her when tomorrow comes.  Tomorrow will always be open to possibilities or impossibilities, it will be a day where hopes can be realized or dashed, a day where she would she have dreams or nightmares, maybe she will be filled with joyful anticipation or dread the day that is to come, and only time will tell.  While she is waiting for tomorrow, she is also frightened of what the morning might bring.  As Liz laid in the hammock, she realized that tomorrow is a long way away and that there was no need to worry.  If tomorrow wasn’t such a long time from now, then she would not be lonesome and she needed this alone time to reflect on her relationship.  By spending time with herself she could gain a better understanding of who she is and what she desires in life, and that way she would be more likely to make better choices about who she wants to be around.

Liz decided that she would own tomorrow and start thinking about things differently.  She was going to become an unstoppable force and tomorrow would be the day her turn would come.  Tomorrow would bring her the thrill of love and she was not going to think about what she left behind, the way she came, or the way she would go.  She was going to set the world on fire and sweep out the ashes in the morning.  She was done feeling sad, being unhappy with herself because she was alone and things were going to get better, if only she could make it through the night.  Let the devil take tomorrow when yesterday is dead and gone.  There ain’t no stopping tomorrow and she will let out that light that is inside of her and let it shine on everyone.  Liz knows that she won’t live forever, but today is just tomorrow’s yesterday.

Written for Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #201.