Flash Fiction Friday

Hello all!

Today's post is in response to Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge. We had to use a random sentence generator and then build a story around the sentence we received.

I got: "The flaw requests a forum."

Here's my story:


Flawed Plan

            Their plan had been fool proof, but unfortunately did not hold up as well against ignorance.

            But if Deena hadn’t known she was being hunted by an angry specter, how would I? It’s not like that’s a normal assumption to make about someone.

            Why, hello. Has anyone ever told you that you look like someone whose whole blood line was wiped out by a pissed off ghost with a penchant for possessing folks?

            Don’t think so.

            I will cop to the whole “blood sisters” thing being my idea. Deena wasn’t on board. So, I chanted “Deenie is a weenie” until she had to say yes to save face. And with a small Swiss Army knife, I ruined my life.

            But, I was thirteen. No one should be held responsible for what they did when they were thirteen. In fact, I’d love it if that entire year disappeared from my life. Then no one would remember those highlights. Or my mild A-Teens obsession.

            Okay, looking at the situation objectively, I can see how I might have been the flaw in the grand plan of keeping Deena safe. Not that I really appreciated her guardian declaring that my new nickname.

            But at least it makes for easy code: The Flaw requests a forum.

            The Flaw better have a good reason. His response to my text is almost immediate. Poor guy needs a life.

I make my way to the third floor of the abandoned MacArthur building, our designated meeting spot. It takes him about twenty minutes to show up, plenty of time to set up the equipment.

            He looks a lot more worn out that he used to. “What do you want?”

            “And hello to you, Carl.”

            “Libby.” Sounds worn out too.

            “How’s Deena?”

            “She’s fine. Why am I here?”

            “I’m working as an EMT.”

            “Ned mentioned that in his report.”

            I roll my eyes. “Of course. Thanks for him, by the way. Charmer.”

            “This is why you called me? To discuss your new job.”

            “And to see your sparkling smile.” Ass. He’s gonna wish that’s why we’re here. “The specter will not be torn from this reality until every heart containing even a drop of Wickham blood ceases to pump. That’s it, right?”

            I, of course, already know the answer to this. Not really something I could forget.

The ghost has done a hell of a job so far. He’s gotten to all the Wickham’s but Deena. But then, none of the others had Carl and Ned. A couple of Iron Souls, – the small minority of humans who were impervious to possession – they might not be able to exterminate the ghost, but they could sure as hell hold back whatever body the spook decided to try on.

They’d been watching over her since the murder of her mother. And me for almost as long. Because of the whole blood sharing fiasco. Still pleading thirteen year old idiot on that.

            Of course, considering my current plan, probably shouldn’t act like I’ve grown out of that state. “I want to stop my heart.”

            “You want to die?”

            “Not if it can be helped. But what if stopping my heart is enough to get me off his radar? If it works for me, then it might work for Deena. Which means he goes away forever, right? Make the blood stop pumping, he goes poof.”

            Not so stoic now. “Absolutely not. What is wrong with you?”

            My laughter sounds wrong, but I can’t fix it. “It’s been nine years since I’ve actually seen my best friend. Can’t be in the same place because the concentration of our blood together sends a cosmic evite to a homicidal ghost. My mother tried to slit my throat once and couldn’t remember it after. Didn’t know why I jumped every time she went to cut a bagel. And now she and my dad both wonder when exactly I stopped loving them because I can’t tell them that the reason I won’t be anywhere near them is because I don’t want them to kill me while possessed.

            Exorcisms haven’t worked. My attempts at making a proton pack? Also failures, or believe me, I’d be crossing the shit out of those streams right now. So, unless you’ve got a better idea, I’m going with this one.”

            “And if in the middle he possesses the doctor? You’re not waking up again.”

            “That’s why I’m not going to a doctor.”

            I can almost hear it click in his head. “I’m not going to kill you.”

            “I’m not asking you to kill me. I’m asking you to save me. Or let Ned. He won’t do it without your say so. Hell, I’ll stop it myself. All you have to do is try and start it again. Within five minutes would be best. I’d like to avoid brain damage if possible.”

            “It appears to be too late on that front.”

            “Fair enough. But if you were in my position, or Deena’s, wouldn’t you do just about anything to get your life back?”

            He stares at me for a moment. “You have the equipment here already, don’t you?”

            “No time like the present.”

            He shakes his head when I show him the set up in the back room. “I’m assuming the hospital didn’t authorize your borrowing of the crash cart.”

            “Yeah, I probably should start polishing off the old resume. Now, I’ve left instructions next to everything, so hopefully it should all go fine. There’s a letter on the windowsill for Deena if it doesn’t.”

            Carl nods shortly. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

            “Thank you.” I take his hand. We’re not usually those kinds of people, but the occasion demands. “Very seriously, thank you.” I hop up on the table and lay back, opening my shirt, as it would be awesome if my clothes didn’t catch fire. Heart stopping, fine. Burning to death, no thanks.

            I can’t help smiling as Carl lowers the paddles.

            Live or die, at least I’m not just waiting around anymore.

The Next Step

Hey folks! Today's post is courtesy of Chuck Wendig's "Flash Fiction Challenge" and was inspired by Chand Baori.

Hope you enjoy!

**************

Grandma always told me that you shouldn’t look at the staircase, just the next step. Look up and you see how far you have to climb. Down, how far you can fall.

So, just pay attention to the next step.

Makes life more manageable.

I could definitely use some manageable.

“You’re never going to make it.”

I don’t bother looking toward the voice. I know if I do, I’ll see Lucy. Which is the opposite of helpful. “You’re dead.”

She laughs. “That’s a cheap shot. You’re generally more original. Feeling a little bit defensive in the face of your failure?”

Just focus on the next step. “I wasn’t taking a shot. Simply reminding both of us that you’re not really here. You’re ash. We spread you over the bay.”

“I wanted to be buried.”

My eyes fly to hers. “You did not.”

That familiar smile beams back at me. “Of course not. Spending eternity in a box?” She shudders dramatically. “Creepy. But I made you look.”

And now I can’t look away. My throat burns at the sight. “Leave me alone. Please.”

“Like you left me?”

“No.” I tear my gaze away from hers. Back to the stairs. “I won’t do this anymore.”

I take a step up, focusing now on the one after that.

Lucy skips up past me. “You know, I still remember when mom and dad brought you home from the hospital. You were such a wrinkly little mess. All the crying and flailing. And I remember thinking that I was going to protect you. I was the big sister. I was going to make sure that nothing ever hurt you.”

I make it to the top of the staircase as she speaks. Her words are the same as they were when she was alive. No new information. Further proof that she’s not really here. I’m alone.

The only way to stop being alone is to get past these stairs.

I’m so tired of being alone.

I move to the next flight up.

Lucy keeps pace. “Silly that it never occurred to me to get the same promise of devotion on your end, I guess.”

I keep my eyes on the next step, but I can’t stop from responding. “I didn’t leave you. I went for help. There’s a difference.”

“Not really. I still died alone. No, I’m sorry, that’s a little too sanitized. I still burned to death alone while you were out chatting up firemen.”

“I couldn’t lift everything off of you. I wasn’t strong enough.” Don’t look at her.

Lucy laughs again. But it’s mean now. Not her real laugh. “Believe me, you don’t need to remind me of your weakness. I’m well aware.”

I don’t bother wiping the tears off my face. They’ll just be replaced by more. I can’t make out the next step through the blurriness. My foot doesn’t quite catch and I begin to fall back.

Lucy steadies me.

“See? I’m always there for you. Why is it so hard for you to do the same?”

I stare into her eyes. As I speak, I can taste the salt. “Because you’re not her.” I push away, gaining another step. “She’s gone.”

“You’re that sure?”

“She would be trying to help me get out of here. She was always trying to help me. Lucy would never want me in this hell.”

“I don’t know. Remember that time you decided to play Rockettes with my brand new Barbie doll and ripped her leg right off? I kind of wanted you in hell then.”

Lucy takes my hand, holding it gently as we both continue to climb. I want to yank it back. I don’t want to ever let go.

“She wouldn’t want me here.” Another staircase completed.

“Maybe, but a person can go through some pretty serious ideological shifts while they’re feeling their flesh seared from their bones.” The casual tone of her voice makes the words that much worse.

I stare at the steps. “She’d want me happy.”

Agreement comes quickly. “Absolutely. But did it ever occur to you that we were happiest when it was just us playing together? We could do that here. Spruce this place up. They may be a pain in the ass to climb, but the stairs are actually pretty cool looking. We always wanted to live in a place with a weird aesthetic, remember? Isn’t that how we ended up in that fire trap? But no fire here. Just us, together. Plus our legs are going to look awesome.” She pauses, stopping my motion as well. Her voice is softer now. “It’s much harder to be happy out there. So much hurting. And we’d never see each other.”

“But you’re not her. This isn’t real. I’m not supposed to be stuck here. I’m supposed to be getting better.” The tears are flowing harder now. I don’t want to stop them. Maybe this time I’ll finally rid myself of them all. “I just want to feel better.”

Lucy smiles sadly. “Then you should go. I won’t try to stop you any more.”

She lets go of my hand and I run, racing up another flight. My brain screams at me not to, but I turn around anyway. Lucy stands where I left her, making no move to follow.

She nods. “I’ll be okay. Alone isn’t so bad.” She looks away for a second, her eyes shimmering when they return to mine. “I love you, nerd.”

The familiar good-bye has me taking a step in her direction. Nothing seems sure anymore. It’s not her. I know that. It can’t be.

Can it?

No, it’s time for me to finally get out of here. I stare at the step in front of me. Just take it. My feet don’t move. I need them to move.

I glance back at Lucy. She still stands there, watching me with a calm sadness.

Focus on the next step.

Just like Grandma always said.

But Grandma never did specify a direction.

Flash Fiction: A Night Off

Hello all! Today I'm doing another Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction Challenge. This time I used a random number generator to give me a subgenre, conflict, and element to include in the story. I got the following:

Subgenre: Superhero
Conflict: Get the Band Back Together!
Element to Include: Flying Monkeys

Hope you enjoy A Night Off!

***************

           “Did you get my evite?”

            Darcy didn’t look up from her computer. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming it was a joke.”

            Lounging in the doorway, Anna sighed heavily. All of the papers went flying off the desk.

            Darcy closed her eyes momentarily before finally looking toward her visitor.

            “Sorry.” Anna winced, grabbing at the loose pages.

            “Why are you here?”

            “Lunch break. And you hadn’t answered.”

            “So, not a joke?”

            “No.”

            Darcy turned back to her computer. “Fine, I’ll decline and you can go back to work.”

            “Darce, come on.” Anna dropped the papers on the desk and flopped into the chair across from her friend.

            “Absolutely not.”

            “What if I said it was a matter of life and death?”

            Darcy rolled her eyes. “I’d say you were full of it.”

            “Fate of the world being at stake?”

            “Same answer. More expletives.”

            Anna dropped her head. “We need a night off. More, we deserve it. We save people lives every day. I mean, we’re superheroes! Who deserves it more?”

            Darcy flicked her wrist and, across the room, the office door slammed shut. “What time is it?”

            Anna sighed again, but managed to keep it controlled. “12:23 in the afternoon.”

            “Well, if that’s the time, then what I am is a human resources representative. And what you are is a librarian who needs to keep her mouth shut.”

            “You’re right. I’m sorry. We just all really need this.”

            Darcy rubbed her eyes. It had been a difficult year and it was no secret that the League’s morale was on the less sunny side of the street. Losing one of your own did that.

            “You guys take the night. I’ll patrol,” Darcy offered.

            Anna shook her head. “Lara and Jen are only in if you’re in too.” She rushed on before Darcy could refuse. “It’s not going to take long. An hour, maybe two. Still time for prime patrolling.”

            Were they crazy? “First time we were on stage, we were all struck by lightning.”

            “Freak storm.”

            “Which turned us into the same. And the second – ”

            “You threw up, I know.”

            Darcy laughed without humor. “I think you’re underselling it a little.”

            “Fine.” Anna groaned. “You got all up in everyone’s head and made the whole audience throw up, too. Not great, I know. But you were still getting used to your powers. That doesn’t still happen. It’s why you work in HR, because you’re so good around people.”

            Even just thinking back to those early days made Darcy mildly nauseous. “On an individual level or small groups. But I avoid crowds and you know that. So, we’re done talking.”

            “You used to live to play.”

            The twinge she felt only made Darcy angrier. She flicked her wrist, opening the office door. And ignored her friend’s pleas as she mentally pushed Anna’s chair from the room, slamming the door behind her. “Done.”

*******************

            They banged on her apartment door for a good fifteen minutes before losing patience. Finally, Jen walked through the wall and unlocked the door for the others. Darcy was surprised it took that long.

            She glanced up from her book. “You know that’s rude.”

            “It was either me, or Lara was going to rip the door off the hinges.” Jen shrugged daintily.

            “Apparently the subtlety of a locked door is a little too much for you, so to spell it out, I don’t want you here.”

            The other three women didn’t appear overly insulted, simply taking their favored spots around the room as they had done countless times before. Darcy made a point of not looking at the empty ottoman in the corner.

            A high pitched gibbering sounded from above and a small winged marmoset landed on the couch behind Darcy’s shoulder.

            Jen shuttered. “I still don’t understand why you kept that little horror. A guest sees a flying monkey and they’re going to ask questions.”

            “Yet another reason not to have guests.” Darcy drew the marmoset into her lap, lightly petting his wings. “Anyway, Lenny’s a sweetheart, aren’t you? It’s not your fault your creator was an evil mastermind who we had to imprison in the Arctic, is it?”

            “Well, this is enthralling.” Lara stood up to pace. She never sat for long. Darcy figured there was just too much power in her body for it to be comfortable at rest. “Now, get your fiddle, we’ve got a show.”

            “No.”

            Anna moaned. “Darcy, come on. One night! If there’s any vomiting, we’ll never ask you again. But, let’s have some fun first. We were gonna be the next big thing, remember?”

            “Yeah. Always such a high demand for girl groups singing traditional Celtic tunes. And do you really think our lives suffer from a lack of notoriety?” Darcy gestured to the day’s newspaper, adorned with a full page photo of their recent interruption of a bank robbery.

            “This isn’t about the League. This is about us. Who we really are.” Jen continued softly, “I know you were blood, but she was a sister to all of us, Darce.”

            Darcy focused on Lenny as Jen spoke. “We all miss her and it’s taking its toll. If we don’t find ways to recharge, we’re going to be worse than of no use to the world. We’re going to be a danger.”

            “And you really think that playing in some dive bar is going to stop that?” Darcy asked bitterly. “Stop me from lobotomizing the city that killed her, simply because I can?”

            Jen knelt in front of her, taking her hands. “We’re hoping it’s a start.”

            Darcy looked up at her friends, seeing their concern clearly for the first time. Her eyes darted against her will to the empty ottoman.

            She pulled her hands back and gave Lenny a little pat. He flew up to rest on the stationary fan blades. Ripping her gaze from the ottoman, she stood up. “I’ll get the damn fiddle.”

The Claw Machine

Good morning, all. Today's post is a response to Chuck Wendig's most recent flash fiction challenge to write a story half from the viewpoint of the protagonist and half from the antagonist's POV.

Hope you enjoy!

******

She’s holding my hand too tight.

It hurts. “Lemme go!”

“Stop it.” She squeezes tighter.

I don’t like her face. It’s frowny. And mean.

Mommy told me to be good, but the girl’s not good. And Mommy’s not here. I even looked around, just to make sure. She won’t see.

The frowny girl makes a funny noise when I kick her leg, but she still squeezes my hand. It hurts more.

She puts her face next to mine. It’s even meaner up close.

“Listen to me, you little monster. If you don’t cut the crap, I’m going to tie you to a lamp post and leave you out here.”

I don’t wanna stay out here. I like the inside. And the lady with the scary brown dog is coming down the street.

But the frowny girl is still mean. “My hand hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

I don’t know what that means. But she lets go of my hand, so it’s something good. Except now both her hands are on my shoulders.

She’s pushing.

“Daddy says no pushing.”

“News flash, kid. Daddy’s not here. Now, get inside the store.”

I want Daddy. And Mommy. Where are they?

“Inside.”

I take a step before she pushes again, but something stops my foot and I fall. The floor hurts my knee.

And my hand still hurts where the mean girl squeezed.

And I don’t know where Mommy and Daddy are.

The mean girl is talking. Her frowny face is even frownier. When she picks me up her voice is low and scary. “Stop crying. I didn’t push you. Your shoe’s untied.”

She drops me on an inside bench. Hard. “Sit here and tie your shoe. Do not leave this chair.” Her voice gets even lower. “And stop crying.”

Frowny girl walks away.

I don’t know how to tie my shoe. Daddy showed me, but none of the loops are working now. I make sure the frowny girl isn’t looking and I stick them inside my sneaker. She’ll never know.

There’s music in the back. It’s my favorite. It comes out of a magic box filled with toys. There’s a big claw inside. But, don’t worry, it’s okay, because Mommy says that it doesn’t hurt the toys.

He’s still there. My favorite.

His name’s Clyde.

Sometimes Mommy and Daddy let me try to get him. But I can’t. They said we could come back and try again.

But they’re not here.

I don’t think the frowny girl’s gonna let me try.

Clyde wants to come home with me, too. I know it. It’s mean to keep him in this box. Even if it is magic. He’s getting all squished. He’s too big. Like me.

That’s why Mommy and Daddy say I can’t sleep in their bed anymore. I’m a big boy. Too big for their bed. Just like Clyde is too big for the magic box.

But my room’s big enough for both of us.

And I can save him from being squished.

***

Where the hell is the peanut butter?

Luke wants a “PB sammich.” Which I’m sure would be just freaking adorable if Mrs. Duncan had peanut butter. And if her kid wasn’t a mini nightmare.

I swear if he kicks me one more time, I’m kicking back. See how he likes it.

There it is! Thank God.

The lady at the register smiles at me. “You okay, honey?”

“I hate babysitting. My mom said this is karma, ‘cause apparently I wasn’t the most easy going kid. But, you know, I think that karma stuff only works if I have a kid who’s crazy. Not if I’m watching someone else’s. This is just a news update waiting to happen. Crazed Sitter Slays Tot, story at eleven.”

That was too much. Stop talking.

Okay, she’s not even looking at me now. I get it. Crossed the line with the whole slaying sitter thing. But the look of horror is a little dramatic. It’s not like I actually killed him.

Her mouth opens and she points behind me.

Okay, so it’s not me bothering her. Good. Pretty sure I won’t get paid if someone calls the cops on me.

And she’s still pointing. Fine, I’ll bite.

I turn around.

No. Freaking. Way.

The kid’s in the claw machine.

Oh, this is so not good.

I run to the back of the store. “What the hell are you doing?”

Naturally, the kid’s smiling now. All temper tantrums and tears from the moment his mother left, but now life’s hysterical. Of course.

He yells something. His voice is muffled through the glass, but it sounds like “Clyde.” I’m guessing that’s the stuffed dragon he’s clinging to.

The guy who had been restocking the shelves is standing next to me now. “I don’t think he should be in there.”

“Yeah. No shit.”

I can make out his muffled voice this time. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

The register woman joins us in time to laugh at this. Not horrified anymore. Lucky her. “I suppose his parents aren’t going to love the addition to his vocabulary.”

“I’m thinking they’re gonna notice the claw machine first.” I bang on the glass. “Luke, climb out of there. Now. I’m not kidding.”

He’s still smiling. “Tried. Can’t.”

Fantastic.

The woman says, “I called the fire department. They’ll get him out.”

Luke stops smiling. That’s right, kid. You’ll be out soon and then you’re mine. Be very afraid.

Yeah, he definitely looks nervous.

Wait, not nervous. Something else. I recognize that face.

No.

I bang on the glass again. “Absolutely not, Luke. Do you hear me? You hold it in.”

“What’s the matter, honey?”

I don’t bother looking at the woman. I just have to stop the kid. “Luke, listen to me. Do not – ”

But he does. I can tell. And now he’s smiling again.

I close my eyes. “He peed.”

This is so not worth ten bucks an hour. 

******

Fairy Tale Friday

The following story is a response to Chuck Wendig's flash fiction challenge. Hope you enjoy Hansel and Gretel's visit to 1930's Oklahoma!

********************

Their daddy wasn’t an evil man. No, his affliction was much worse.

He was weak.

All their lives they’d been surrounded by weakness. At least that’s what Ham said and if there was one person Gertie could count on, it was her brother.

Their mama’s body was weak and it gave out. Ham said that their daddy’s weakness was of the spirit. Gertie wasn’t sure what that meant, but apparently it had something to do with taking them up into the Wichita Mountains and leaving them there.

Gertie looked up at Ham as their daddy disappeared around the mountain’s bend under the guise of finding brush for a fire. “He did it again.”

Ham dropped a hand to her shoulder. “We knew he would.”

It wasn’t the first time their daddy tried to lose them. Just a month earlier, they’d gone through the same thing.

Their daddy and stepmama didn’t realize that empty bellies kept the children awake. So, they heard their stepmama say there wasn’t enough food for her with them around and they would have to go. Gertie didn’t understand this. No one had enough food anymore. What made their stepmama so special that she should?

Sure, their daddy hemmed and hawed, but they knew he’d say yes. And he did. He forgot something, though. No one was a better tracker than Ham. Gertie’s brother left little clues along the trail and they’d easily made it down the mountain the next day.

Their stepmama yelled at them for getting lost and worrying her. For their misbehaving, she sent them to bed without supper.

Now, they were alone in the mountains again.

Ham took Gertie’s hand. “Come on. We can sleep under that ledge. Head back down in the morning.”

He’d left all the necessary signs to ensure them of the path back to the dried out farm. Their stepmama might be trying to kill them, but it was the only home they had.

Gertie curled up next to Ham, keeping a tight hold on his hand. With this assurance, she fell quickly asleep under the darkening sky.

She woke the next morning to a harrowing wail. Looking up, she screamed.

A black blizzard.

Ham was already moving, gathering her in close. He tied bandanas around their mouths before covering them fully with the blanket. The blowing dust raged, trying to rip their meager shelter away, but Ham held strong.

The storm lasted for what felt like forever and then it was gone. They quickly realized that with it went all of Ham’s clues. When they reached the bottom of the mountain, nothing looked the same.

So, they walked. And walked.

Finally, across the plains, they saw something. A grand riot of colors raised up from the ground. As they slowly drew closer, they realized it was a circus tent. Between them and the canvas was a wooden trailer with a small horse. Faded paint proclaimed, “The Amazing Cornelia Will Reveal Your Future.”

On the ledge of the trailer, Gertie saw two small pies. Without hesitation, the starving children set to eating them. When they were about halfway through, they heard a noise.

Standing to the side of the trailer was a surprisingly plump old woman, the whole of her eyes milky white. “Is someone eating my pies?”

Ham spoke quickly. “We’re awful sorry, ma’am. My sister and I have been walking a long while and we were hungry.”

“Children?” The old woman opened the door to the trailer. “You'd best get inside. It isn’t safe around here. Circus children keep disappearing. Sleep here tonight and I’ll help you get away in the morning.”

Ham took Gertie’s hand and thanked the woman. Inside the trailer were many boxes covered in blankets. Ham and Gertie climbed atop one and fell quickly asleep.

Gertie knew something wasn’t right the second she woke up. She reached for Ham’s hand and hit bars. Sitting up, she found herself inside a covered cage. Scattered around her were bones. Bunches and bunches of bones.

The blanket was pulled back suddenly. The old woman’s hand reached in and grabbed the girl’s arm. Gertie screamed and heard Ham yelling for her.

The old woman frowned. “Why you’re thinner than a rose petal, honey. But I’ll make due. Won’t be like the rest of them. Moving from place to place. Slowly starving to death.”

She dropped the blanket back down. Ham’s muffled yells were silenced with a thump. Gertie found the sharpest bone she could. Like her brother, she had a skill. She was blessed with a talent for locks. How else would she and Ham have ever gotten into their stepmama’s food cabinet?

Quietly, her small hands worked. With a soft pop, the lock gave. Very delicately, she lifted up the corner of the blanket. She crawled over to a small window. The old lady was outside, building a fire.

Gertie quickly found Ham. His temple was bloodied, but his lungs rose and fell. Still, he was in no condition to help.

Gertie’s legs shook as she made her way to the trailer door. She wanted to vomit, but ignored the weakness. She wouldn’t let Ham down.

She pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through and climbed up into the small seat where the horse’s reins rested. As soon as the leather touched her hands, Gertie slapped the animal into action.

The old woman’s head snapped up at the sound of hooves. Gertie watched as she staggered away from the noise. The old lady’s foot caught and she went pitching straight into the fire she’d been preparing for the children. Her bellows filled the air, but Gertie didn’t look back, riding hard to the colorful tent in the distance.

What with all the bones, it didn’t take much convincing for the circus folk to believe Gertie’s tale. They welcomed the children in and left the old woman’s body to the coyotes.

********************

Hope you all have a Friday the 13th filled with whatever luck you're looking for!