Never Her Fault

AI generated image of a narcissistic woman 

The accident wasn’t her fault.

She didn’t mean to offend you

With that nasty verbal assault

As she tried to push her way through.

Her motives are always so pure,

She has told us over again;

If she hurts you, you can be sure 

Someone else was using her pen.

Maybe the problem is you, dear,

Seeing insults where there are none.

Too sensitive when she comes near—

You should lighten up and have fun!

So put your feelings out of sight;

Just lock them away in a vault.

Remember she is in the right,

And nothing is ever her fault.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter 263. Do you know anyone like this? I do!

The One Who Knocks

AI generated image 

Tony stared at his SUV, which was loaded down with his stuff. Where would he go? He supposed he would have to stay with his mom until he found a new place. “Just one more chance?” he asked.

Mitch shook his head. “No can do, Tony. There have been too many complaints.”

“I was just expressing my feelings!” Tony cried. “And I think Dawn likes me too. She’s just shy.”

“Tony, you kept banging on the pipes. Your neighbors couldn’t get any sleep. They have a baby.”

Tony sighed. Mitch did have a point there. “OK, but when I simply stood outside quietly holding a sign I wasn’t bothering anyone.”

“You were there all night,” Mitch reminded him. “The police asked me what was going on. I can’t have that, Tony. This is an upscale place.”

“I think Dawn was starting to fall for me though,” Tony insisted. “She kept playing that love song as I knocked on the floor in Morse code. It was only a matter of time before she knocked back.”

“Dawn was the one who called the police.” Mitch held out his hand.

Tony realized that he was at a dead end. Reluctantly, he handed over the key.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter 261 and inspired by the Tony Orlando and Dawn song “Knock Three Times.” Title inspired by a Breaking Bad episode.

Every Breath You Take (flash fiction)

AI flowers and candy

Some people thought he was too intense for his own good.

Glen had never been able to do anything halfway. It was all or nothing, whether work or play or romance. And the irony was that Valerie had said she loved that about him. She had loved his constant calls and texts, his relentless attention to detail, his devotion to her needs, his thoughtful gestures and gifts, and his steady presence to make her feel secure. Or at least she had said she loved all those things before she decided it was too much. 

“Maybe she’s not my soulmate after all,” Glen cried to his mother during their weekly chat. “She doesn’t seem to appreciate or even acknowledge anything I do now. I gave her a box of candy when I brought her breakfast, and she threw it on the floor.”

“Face facts, darling,” his mother replied crisply, as was her way. “You’re too good for her. You’ve spoiled her rotten with nothing to show for it. Time to move on.”

Glen glanced at his laptop and rechecked the app he used to track Valerie’s movements. He thought maybe she would be writing him a note of apology or thanks, but she was just staring off into space. “I guess you’re right, Mumsy. She was treated so badly by her ex that she freaks out at my pure and honest heart.”

“Have you considered that you’re a bit too intense? Try not coming on so strongly with the next one, dear.”

Even his own mother was criticizing him now! Glen slammed his phone down in frustration. But she was right about one thing: he needed to quit obsessing over Valerie and find someone new. He began with the apps and methodically deleted each one he had been using to track her. He deleted every email and text, and he emptied the trash can. There was only one more loose end.

Glen sighed as he clomped downstairs to his basement apartment with the syringe in his hand. He politely knocked before using his key in case she was getting dressed. So annoying to have to dispose of another dead body, but she had left him no choice. Maybe he would go to that speed dating thingie tonight after he cleaned everything up.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter 260 and inspired by the song “Every Breath You Take” by The Police (songwriting credit goes to Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner, from the 1983 album Synchronicity).

The Monkey Bridge (flash fiction)

Two monkeys on a rickety bridge via AI

He brings me here by helicopter and leaves me stranded with extravagant promises and a fully charged phone. I hear nothing from him after the first instructional text, and the phone dies on day five. I ration the food and drinking water, but soon I have no choice but to set off through the jungle on foot. Though I possess a map and a good sense of direction, I have no way to defend myself, especially against the monkeys.

These aren’t cute little zoo monkeys scampering on a trapeze; they are howling, shrieking demons. With fangs. They like to hang out on the bridge I need to cross to get to the next safe house. The other direction leads straight back to the gang we escaped from in the first place, to the north is mountains, and to the west is the sea, so I have to face the monkeys.

As if that isn’t bad enough, the old rope bridge has seen better days—much better days. 

I leave at dawn because the monkeys are usually less active then, but unfortunately two of the creatures are already stationed on the bridge. Although my legs are trembling, I try to approach with confidence, thinking they might respect that. I can’t help but glance down at the rushing river and jagged rocks visible through the irregularly placed slats, and when I look up again the monkeys have moved closer to me.

“Maybe they’re just curious,” I mutter to myself. At least this pair isn’t yelling—they’re eerily quiet and staring at me with gleaming eyes. I decide the staring is worse than their screaming.

I adjust my backpack, take out a granola bar, and break it in half. “Here’s my toll,” I tell the monkeys and toss a piece to each. I grab the rope and step onto the bridge. 

It creaks and sways alarmingly. The monkeys ignore the treat and bare their teeth at me. “It’s cool,” I say, trying not to freak out. Gripping the rope tightly with both hands now, I take another step. 

A scream tears through the trees…

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #259.

The Other Side (flash fiction)

Mysterious doorway image created by AI

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Of course I knew it would happen sooner or later, but I wanted something dramatic and spectacular, as would befit my superior status, not this slow, insignificant fade. I had always been vastly different from other humans and possessed an extraordinarily towering intellect, which generated heightened emotional responses to common situations. My giftedness had been a source of envy to many, and occasionally that resentment escalated to where I had been targeted, harassed, or shunned simply for being me. 

Nothing had changed at the end. People were too awed by my dominance to even bother visiting me, much less pay me the deference to which I was due. Obviously I had deserved a much greater degree of success than had been bestowed by the universe, but even the alleged higher beings failed to recognize my greatness! As far as the lower beings, I magnanimously forgave them for their lack of appreciation, for they were much too ignorant to even begin to comprehend my complex nature. Naturally, I would punch them in the face if I had the chance again.

Anyway. Enough dillydallying. It was time to go, and I wasn’t sure why I hesitated at this late date, as I would certainly not miss this wretched place nor any of these lesser creatures.

The door was closed, and as I put my hand on the doorknob, I felt afraid of what I might find on the other side.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter 252 (this time as an ending) and inspired by recent events.

Eating the Evidence (flash fiction)

Meta AI generated image of flowers and candy

Detective Nicki Finn gazed around the lobby, noting the security guards posted at each door and the ceiling cameras positioned every few feet. 

“I don’t understand why you can’t catch this guy,” the hotel manager fumed as the evidence tech bagged the candy.

Once again, the thief had left behind his usual calling card—a box of chocolates. And not just any chocolate either; this was the finest imported delicacy, direct from Belgium.

“Thank you, Angela,” Nicki said to the tech. “I’ll ride back to the station with you.”

“Our conference bookings are way off,” the manager complained. “No one wants to stay here with a thief on the loose.”

“We are making every effort,” Nicki said. “Thanks for getting the guest list to us so quickly. Please don’t speak to the media, especially about you know what.”

The manager rolled his eyes. “The chocolate, right. It’s our secret. Ours and every other hotel he’s hit.”

Angela drove the van to their usual spot. “Ready?” she asked Nicki, taking the box of candy out of the bag.

“Yes, but this is the last time,” Nicki vowed as she hovered over the selections. “Oh God, this one looks like a creme brûlée!”

“Mmm.” Angela bit into a chocolate. “Tiramisu! The question is: who knows about our addiction? We’ve kept it on the down low.”

Nicki grabbed a second piece. “Gotta be Brian K. We both dated him. He knows.”

Angela nodded, her mouth full of candy. “Brian. Next time we won’t eat the evidence.”

“Next time,” Nicki agreed, eying the half-empty box. “But for now… dibs on the macaroon!”

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #250.

Just One More Thing… (flash fiction)

Someone had been leaving fresh flowers every day on his wife’s grave and Roger was determined to find out who and why.

Soon, people would quit paying attention to Roger and how or if he was mourning Hope, but it had only been a couple weeks since the funeral, so he had to keep up appearances. Roger liked to sleep in and drive over to the cemetery after a leisurely brunch, but today he forced himself to get there at 9am when they opened. It was weird that cemeteries had visiting hours, Roger thought as he strode to the stone. No new flowers yet—good! 

Roger leaned against a tree and opened a dating app as he waited. He couldn’t actually date yet—people would freak out—but he could talk to new women. There were plenty of pretty ones who were happy to get to know a wealthy man who no longer had to work at age 37. One of the prettiest had been eager to chat, and Roger told her all about what a horrible witch Hope had been and how relieved he was to be single again. Ah, here was a new message from her, titled “Good Morgan,” a funny phrase she used. 

Holy crap, what was Frank doing here?! Roger quickly stuffed his phone back in his pocket and walked over to the gravesite where the older man was placing a fresh bouquet. “Lieutenant?”

“Mr. Clark,” Frank stood up and greeted him. “How are you doing?”

“Good!” Roger said, immediately regretting it. “I mean, you know… under the tragic circumstances.”

Frank nodded. “Of course. And it was a tragedy, wasn’t it. You know that Hope was a distant cousin of mine, from the wealthy side of the family, obviously.”

Crap. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I was at the funeral,” Frank said. “In the back. Moving elegy you gave for your young bride, Mr. Clark. Poor thing, being an orphan, and now this. You weren’t even married a year, were you?”

“Not quite a year.”

“And drowning in the bathtub.” Frank shook his head. “Who would have thought?”

“She fell asleep.” Roger felt sweaty even though the air was brisk. He noted that Frank seemed perfectly comfortable in his rumpled old beige raincoat. 

Frank sighed. “So unfortunate no one found her until the next day.”

“Yes, I wish I had woken up to check on her. I will never forgive myself.” Roger began edging away. “Nice seeing you, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, one more thing, Mr. Clark.”

Roger turned around. “What?”

“Good Morgan.”

~*~

Little bit of Columbo fan fiction I wrote for Fandango’s Story Starter #238. 

Retirement Plan (flash fiction)

She ran her hand beneath the park bench and sure enough, just as he said, she felt the envelope secured there by tape. 

Unlike normal employees in regular companies, Jill didn’t have the standard retirement benefit package. There was no 401K here, no Social Security benefits, no Medicare eligibility. But she was determined to make the best of it. After all, being flexible, adaptable, loyal, and resilient were some of the reasons why she had lasted so long at this job. Along with her perfect aim.

After ensuring that none of the picnickers or frisbee players were paying attention to her, Jill opened the envelope. She scanned the available options, pleased to note that the sumptuous banquet was on offer. That meant she had been highly valued. Not everyone got the chance to indulge in a lovely dinner, followed by a shot of strychnine. Most of them just got shot. 

A friendly golden retriever bounded up as Jill marked her choice of retirement plans. She patted his soft warm head, and he licked her hand. “Sorry!” a man yelled from across the grass. “C’mere, Brinkley!” The dog ran off.

Jill gazed at the bucolic scene of happy people enjoying the sunny day and for a moment was tempted to tear up the document. She could try to escape her employer; she did have formidable skills. But she knew the price she would pay if caught, and were her abilities really as good as they used to be? 

Jill resealed the envelope and hesitated.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #237.

Just for One Night (flash fiction)

It was just for one night.

She didn’t enjoy socializing, but this had to be done. You wouldn’t advance in the ranks if you bailed on the big guy’s New Year’s Eve party. Besides, it wasn’t simply a festive gathering—Peri had a job to do. As she shimmied into her silver dress, she realized she had lost a little weight. It had been a stressful year. 

Doing the rounds with a glass of bubbly in her hand, Peri made sure to say hello to all the right people so they would take note of her presence. She smiled and sipped and schmoozed and glittered, paying special attention to the big guy and his crew. 

He winked at her. “You’ve worked hard this year, Peri. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Cheers.”

“Thank you!” Peri clinked his glass and took another sip of her champagne. “I strive to do my best on every assignment, and—”

 

“We also notice when work fails to meet our standards,” he interrupted. 

She blushed, knowing exactly to which assignment he referred. “That particular case wasn’t my fault, sir. I received bad intel from…”

“Mmm,” the big guy shrugged. “Things happen. But you have a chance to redeem yourself tonight. Max is on the patio.”

Peri knew the brief conversation had ended and it was time to get to work. She slipped outside, took a breath of cold night air, and sidled up to Max, who was faced away staring into the darkness. “Hey,” she said. “How’s tricks?”

“Peri.” Max spoke before looking at her. “Bold of you to show up here.”

“Bold?” she scoffed. “If it wasn’t for you, that job in Chicago would have been a piece of cake.”

He turned fully and grinned at her. “Still blaming me for that fiasco? Everyone knows the truth, babe. You weren’t up to the task.”

What a jerk! She couldn’t believe she’d ever found him attractive, much less slept with him. Three times. Peri set her empty glass on the wall and slid the stiletto out of her sequined evening bag. “My new assignment will go much more smoothly.”

Max glanced at the knife. “You think?” 

“I know.” She wobbled in her high heels.

“You’re feeling a bit woozy right now, aren’t you?” 

Max almost sounded like he cared about her well-being, but Peri knew better than to fall for that again. Why did she suddenly feel so itchy? The knife dropped from her fingers and clattered onto the stones. She needed to sit down.

He chuckled. “You never could hold your liquor. Especially when it’s spiked with cyanide.”

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #227.

Susan (flash fiction)

He found a photograph of a woman he didn’t know tucked inside a book he didn’t remember buying.

“Who is this?” he asked the nurse when she returned with his juice and medicine.

The nurse put the cups on his tray and added a small bottle of clear liquid to his IV. “That’s Susan, your wife, and she will be visiting you again this afternoon.”

My wife? He didn’t have a wife. He had never been married and didn’t know anyone named Susan. But his mind began to fog so he wasn’t completely sure.

“Please take your vitamins, Charlie,” she said. “They’ll help you recover faster. I’m sure you would like to go home as soon as possible.”

Home? He had no memory of a home, just motel rooms in various cities that all blurred together. As he picked up the cup of pills and tossed them in his mouth, the image of a shattered door and men in masks floated at the edge of his consciousness. He thought he shouldn’t mention this to the nurse and instead drank the juice to wash down the pills.

She smiled. “Good job! Enjoy your poetry book. Susan says it’s one of your favorites.”

He leafed through the pages, reading a few lines here and there. Nothing seemed familiar. Every so often, he spied a faint pencil mark under a word. Film. Vienna. Danger. If he rearranged the marked words they might form a sentence, but he was too drowsy to do that right now. 

Later, he decided. Later, he would try to make sense of this. As he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that his name was not Charlie.

~*~

Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #224.