Flash Fiction: “Tall Order”

As usual, what I’ve written is only subjectively related to today’s flash fiction prompt; still, I think it will be very clear to most of you. I’ve got more planned for Day and her Friend, so check in again next week.

Also, a reminder: Flash Fiction is supposed to be unedited and unrefined by nature. However, because I’ve got OCD when it comes to editing, I just couldn’t leave the more obvious errors alone, but I’ll happily use the “flying by the seat of my pants” excuse for any mistakes you might find. 😀

In the beginning, The Creator packed rich, wet clay in his mighty hands and a multitude of worlds were formed. His lonely tears filled the seas; his hopeful breath, the wind. His smiles made laughing chimpanzees and chittering bluebirds, and beneath his toes, green, green grass and the deepest canyons.

Out of his heart and every last drop of blood came man, pouring into life and soul and viscera. She was the physical manifestation of The Creator’s joy, his person, his hope, and longing for companionship—a being perfectly suited to be friend to The Creator.

“What shall we do?” asked the woman whose name was Day, for though she was content to sit side by side with The Creator and watch the tumbling sea, she thought there might be something more out there beyond the horizon, some barren place to fill with goodness.

The Creator, knowing Day very well, smiled indulgently. “You wish to bring forth life, to be a creator as I am.”

Day, not at all afraid of The Creator’s wrath in return for her presumption (for she had never known it), simply nodded. “Everything you’ve made is good. I’d like to be like you.”

The Creator laughed heartily, so much so that the sea’s roaring stilled so the waters could hear. “Beloved, you please me—oh, very greatly! Here, give me your hand and close your eyes.” Day obediently held out her hand, and though she was curious as to what The Creator intended to give, she had no desire to peek or cheat because he, her friend, had only ever given beautiful gifts.

Once he was sure Day’s eyes were closed, The Creator reached into his own mouth and drew out a great light, one so bright that Day shut her eyes even tighter against the glare, and her nose scrunched against the discomfort the light caused her. After a moment, the light became dim and a solid object in his hand, like coarse raw sugar pressed into a little cube. When he put it upon the palm of Day’s hand, it weighed little more than a grain of sand.

“Creator? What have you given me?”

“Open your eyes and see,” he said, and Day listened to him. She looked upon the little object with wide eyes and was afraid to close her fingers around it. What if it crumbled in her hands? Not for anything did he want to displease her friend who had given something so lovely and important (even though she still wasn’t entirely sure what it was).

“It’s a part of me, a bit of my spirit. It’s sweet like honey, and when you eat it, we’ll be able to create together.” And because Day trusted The Creator with her whole heart, she placed it on her tongue without a second thought. It was indeed sweet like honey, a little gritty but quickly dissolving into a sweet juice that made her stomach feel contentedly full. They grinned a silly grin at each other, and Day threw her arms around his neck in gratitude. “It’s wonderful, friend. Thank you.”

The Creator squeezed her until the breath whooshed out of her lungs and they both laughed. He let her go and stood abruptly, holding out his hand to help her off the ground.

“Come on, then. let’s go try out this light of yours.”

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Flash Fiction: “Creature Catalogue”

The room wasn’t pink like you’d expect a five-year-old girl’s to be. Renter’s-white walls, posters taped up. Can’t have nail-holes, you know.

“I’m so tired of this bullshit! When’s the last time you came home sober?”

There were toys on the floor—a vast array, really— and the carpet was old and a little dingy, though generally clean. The blinds covering the windows let in light and preserved privacy. There weren’t any curtains.

“When’s the last time you gave me a reason—a reason to?”

The child’s bed was her favorite part of the room, dressed in Ninja Turtle sheets a white California Raisins bead spread. Rainbow Brite was buried somewhere beneath the covers, along with what was likely to be the crumbs of a cookie smuggled before breakfast earlier the same day.

“I’m not the only one you’ve made promises to, Ben. For God’s sake, you come home smelling like a whorehouse and what? I’m suppose to just—”

Today, there were three little monsters hiding under that bed. Well—a cat, a girl, and Pee-Wee with his pull-string voice-box.

“You keep your mouth shut. You got no idea what you’re talking about. You want Jess to hear?”

Jess did hear. The cat’s ears lay flat against its head and Pee-Wee’s were covered by tiny hands.

“Oh, the way she hears you stumbling in drunk at all hours of the night? What am I supposed to say to her when she asks why you’re not home? There’s nothing I can say!”

“I don’t like it when they’re mean to each other,” she told the cat.