The lack of sleep weighed heavily on Mark Cohen. While elated to be a father, he’d not slept more than two hours in the last three days.
“Mark, call in and get some sleep. You look exhausted,” said his wife Suzy.
“I am, but we need the money.”
While driving down Main Street, his eyes became too heavy and he drifted off. The sounds of a thump and branches being crushed startled him awake.
“Oh crap.” Mark slammed on the brakes and swerved back on the road.
He pulled into the first parking space available to survey the damage.
In his grandfather’s will Henry David Thoreau VI received a large fortune and an old desk. One morning he noticed a letter, which wasn’t there the night before.
Every owner of this desk has been a great author. You will keep our tradition alive.
Henry VI laughed. At two thirty the next morning he jolted upright. An almost transparent man stood before him. ‘I warn you not to ignore my letter.”
Henry VI starred on in terror. Finding his voice he croaked out, “Ok.”
He ran to the desk and started his first of twelve novels.
Photo Copyright: Bjorn Rudberg
After hours of shadow games first by plane then by car, Jennifer and the agents arrived at the safe house.
She folded her arms across her chest, while she glared at special agent John Davis. “How long do we have to stay here? This place is a dump.”
“It’s not the Ritz Carlton but were more concerned with keeping you alive.”
Five months later Jennifer was on edge. Desperate to be alone, she climbed out the bedroom window one morning before sunrise. Within an hour she was lost. Her body was discovered a week later ravaged by animals and the elements.
Photo Copyright: Rochelle Wisaff-Fields
Lisa and Mark boarded their first transcontinental flight to Rome. With wide eyes she sunk into the leather chair. She spoke a mile a minute to Mark about everywhere she wanted to visit. The plane shook then nosedived hours into the flight. The oxygen masks dropped and Lisa gripped the armrests, closed her eyes, and prayed. Relief came a minute later, as the shaking slowed then stopped. The plane climbed and leveled out.
Mark caressed her hand. “It was turbulence. Everything’s fine.”
Lisa stared out the window. Her eyes became heavy and she slept until they landed.
This piece of flash fiction continues the piece called Mike’s assignment.
Photo Copyright: Marie Gail Stratford
As the restaurant closed, two men one shorter than the other wearing all black and holding pistols appeared behind the waitress. The shorter man shot her once in the head. The taller man pulled Ashley from the seat by her hair.
He placed the gun to her temple.” Where’s Mike”?
“At work, he’s not here.”
He pressed the gun into her temple. “Lie to me again and die.”
The shorter man pointed the gun at Mike’s head. “Where’s the drive”?
He placed a cell on the sink. “You have twenty-four hours to deliver it or she dies.”
Photo Copyright: Adam Ickes
John exited the hen house, when a loud snort sounded behind him. Fifty yards away stood a large ram of two hundred pounds. He backed up as the ram lowered his head and charged. John raced for the pickup and grabbed the Bushman predator rifle. With the ram now twenty yards away, John knew he would only get one shot. To steady his nerves he let out a controlled breath. The rifle muzzle raised an inch, as the bullet hit above the right shoulder. The ram advanced three feet and fell.
Today, hidden behind boxes is the majestic creature’s head.
Photo Copyright: Kelly Sands
As the day closed and the clouds blanketed the sky, Mike thought an approaching storm would mean fewer witnesses. Using the open window he entered Heather’s bedroom. The alarm clock read six-thirty leaving Mike forty-five minutes to locate the drive. He searched the office, bedrooms, and the kitchen before noticing a book sticking out from the others. Behind it was the drive; placing the book back in position he left the same way he entered. Two blocks away he ordered a coffee and e-mailed his employer. Mike shipped the drive once he verified the transfer of funds.
With the fall of the Greek empire, Julius Caesar commissioned Admiral Gilberto to remove the statue of Neptune from the fallen Admiral Hondros’s home. He wanted to torture the man by placing it across from the barred window of his prison cell. This way he’d remember his former life everyday. It was smooth sailing until they were twenty miles from the Roman port. The oil in the storage compartments caught fire killing everyone on board. There Neptune’s statue remained at the bottom of the ocean until treasure hunters discovered it last month. It now resides at the National Roman Museum.
Photo: Copyright: Madison Woods
To move a harp seal named Coco to the San Francisco Zoo by plane took two months to plan. The first hour of the flight Robert sprayed her with ice cold seawater, fed her fish, and monitored her vitals. He was in the bathroom, when the plane nosedived slamming him into the walls and finally snapping his neck on the vanity sink. Everyone onboard was killed, when it shattered on the face of the mountain. As evening approached a camper eating freshly caught trout, glanced up at Coco sprawled in-between two branches.
“Is that a seal staring though a pipe?”
Photo Copyright: Mary Shipman
Maria now an old woman stood in her childhood home one last time. Awoken one evening and raced out the door by her parents almost fifty years ago. Flower wallpaper, which adorned her bedroom walls, now dilapidated from years of neglect. She prayed the metal box remained under the floorboard. The letter from her parents on her sixteenth birthday was intact. The last line read, “Remember you will always be our special angel. Love, Mom and Dad”
The tears poured out. A sharp chest pain gripped Maria, but it was too late. She collapsed to the floor dead.