Flash 500 by Nicole Pyles, Carrie K Sorensen (black authors fiction .txt) 📖

house was hidden behind a high stone wall. Though not visible from ground level, Megan knew that wall was topped with ground glass. She remembered Hector's cries of pain when he had discovered that extra touch of security.

 

The next two houses were neatly shuttered against the possibility of storms or vandals. With their neutral color, they looked much as they had four years ago. Of course, Megan knew that nothing was the same as it had been before ...

 

Megan slowed her Sunbird and weaved back and forth around the potholes that had taken over the last part of the road. She ignored the other houses in the row as she remembered that summer. It had been a perfect vacation, two weeks of complete relaxation until ...

 

Would there be anything left to find? If the computer was still there, would she be able to recover the video from the hard drive?

 

Megan stood on the brakes. The house was still a hundred yards ahead, but a black Charger was parked in the driveway. He had arrived first. Megan sat motionless for almost a minute, then slowly removed her hands from the steering wheel, picked up the nine-millimeter automatic from the seat beside her, and got out of the car to meet her destiny.

 

 

About George Beckingham

 

Born in the small town of The Pas, Manitoba, I've lived in southeast Africa, Japan, Vancouver, and southern Ontario. I've settled in Edmonton, the heart of Alberta's oil economy, and expect to stick around here for a while. I've been writing for as long as I can remember, although much of my early writing has been lost due to many moves, floppy disk destruction, and hard drive failures. Thanks to Google's online storage, my current work should be a little less ephemeral—until the Apple-Google war of 2038 leaves the US west coast a wasteland of charred optical fibre and reduces the world's electronic information into a single one or a single zero, depending on who wins. When I'm not writing, I enjoy spending time with my family: my wife and three boys, who I try to pull off their electronic entertainment once in a while to enjoy the great outdoors that provided my entertainment during my computer-free childhood.

 

I share my fiction writing on my speculative blog: The Why, the How, and the What If

http://whyhowwhatif.blogspot.com/

 

I also share my non-fiction writing on my risk management blog: Assess IRM

http://assess-irm.blogspot.com/

Week of 5/9/2012

Week of 5/9/2012

 

Photo courtesy of Hamed Saber

 

 

Words Required

 

Diary

 

Joke

 

Whisper

 

Lead

 

Printer

 

 

 

 

Conversation with an Ex is Bad for You by Nicole Pyles

 

I knew it was him the second he sat down beside me. I smelled his cologne. I took a peek from my paper and there he was. His newspaper was pulled close to his face since he had poor vision and hated wearing glasses. A lot of our lazy Sundays were spent with me reading the smaller print and teasing him about what it would be like when we got old. I pulled the paper closer to my face as tears welled in my eyes.

 

"Tara?" He noticed me.

 

I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes, put my paper down and plastered on a phony smile. This moment would definitely go in my diary. "Roger! Good to see you!"

 

He covered up his left hand. He got married three weeks ago and he didn't think I knew. Thanks to Facebook it took me less than a week to discover his brand new wife and both of them posing for the camera. That was supposed to be my life.

 

"How are you doing?" He asked with a whisper like I was dying.

 

"Good, good. I heard you got married." I decided not to make this a comfortable moment. He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck as if I was accusing him of stealing cookies.

 

"I did, I did. I can't believe it either." He chuckled like I told him a joke. Why can't the bus come? "How's work?"

 

Idle conversation with an ex can kill you. Did you know that? "It's fine. Journalism is always the same. Always trying to find the next lead."

 

There was an awkward pause as he tried to find something else to ask me. I looked down the road for my escape. With no bus in sight, I decided to ask him what I really wanted to know. "Where did you guys meet?"

 

His eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together to form a straight line. "Tara ..."

 

"No, I want to know." I was sincere too. I wanted to know where he could have met someone to marry when I couldn't stand the idea of moving on.

 

"Office Depot. I was shopping for a printer." He checked his watch. I wondered if he sat down just because he saw me here.

 

I laughed but it was more of a gasp and a cry. The sound of rumbling caught my attention and I noticed my bus headed my way. I stood. He did too. He reached to hug me but I stepped away. The bus paused in front of the stop and the doors breathed open. I took a step towards it and didn't look back when he called my name. I flashed the driver my pass and headed to a seat in the back next to a man doing a crossword puzzle. For the moment, I was glad for the sunny day so I could keep my sunglasses on.

 

 

About Nicole Pyles

 

Nicole Pyles is a writer living in the Pacific Northwest. She received her Bachelor's Degree in Communication in 2011 and works in marketing. When she's not daydreaming about the California sunshine she grew up on, she's writing about fantasy, horror, and science fiction (and sometimes all three at once). She's currently editing a fantasy novel she started when she was 15 (and finished at 25). Most of her editing work is done on her smartphone during her bus ride home. You can visit her blog World of My Imagination or find her on Google Plus.

 

 

 

 

 Cow Whisperers by Randy Lindsay

 

"We need you to come in," said Ned.

 

The wind rustled the newspapers the two men held in front of them. Ned repositioned himself on the bench.

 

"It's me. Ned!"

 

"I know who you are," said Joe. "You can just head back to the agency and tell them where they can stick this assignment."

 

"Can't do that. This is a top priority mission."

 

"Then you do it." Joe turned to the next page. "By the way, your newspaper is upside-down."

 

Ned fumbled with the paper. When he'd finished it was still upside-down. "Don't worry about my newspaper. We need to discuss the situation with the cows."

 

"Cows?"

 

"Yes, cows. Those things that sit in the middle of our burgers and say moo."

 

"Are they planning a revolution?"

 

Ned's paper lowered enough to allow him to glance over at Joe. "How did you know? That's classified."

 

"I was being sarcastic," said Joe. "Stop with the jokes and get on with the briefing."

 

"You need to understand that a conspiracy on the part of America's dairy producing population is no laughing matter."

 

"I'm not laughing."

 

"Good."

 

"Can you put your paper back in front of your face?" asked Joe. "We're not supposed to be seen talking to each other."

 

"I'm glad you're finally taking this serious," whispered Ned. "A herd of Holsteins in Iowa have taken over a lead mine and are using it as their secret base."

 

"Okay, now I'm convinced this is a joke. Can we just skip to the punchline?"

 

"The punchline is that you've been chosen to infiltrate the suspected bovine terrorist organization and find out what they plan to do with all that lead."

 

"Maybe it's a new method of fortifying the milk they produce," said Joe.

 

"Lead is poisonous."

 

"I didn't say it was a good idea. Besides, I was making another joke."

 

"Well, next time you tell a joke make sure it's funny."

 

"Then what do you think they're up to?"

 

"Our scientists think they could have stumbled upon a formula for creating heavy-milk; a key component for bio-nuclear weapons."

 

Joe folded his newspaper and set it down on the bench.

 

"What are you doing?" asked Ned.

 

"I'm going to the nearest printer and order a couple dozen resumes. I need a new job."

 

"I wouldn't do that if I was you."

 

"Why? Is the agency going to do something to me if I quit?"

 

"No. It's just that a subversive group of swine escaped from the pork factories south of here and control all the printer operations in town. They're working with the cows and may be on to you."

 

 

About Randy Lindsay

 

Randy is a native of Arizona. In his spare time he likes to play games with his children, fish, and conduct family history research. His stories have been published in Gentle Strength Quarterly, The City of the Gods: Mythic Tales, and Penumbra. Two more have been purchased for publication this year; one for the second City of the Gods anthology and the other for the Once Upon An Apocalypse anthology by Chaosium.

 

http://randylindsay.blogspot.com/

 

 

 

 

You Never Know by Sydney Aaliayah

 

There he is again. Same time, same place. Doesn't this guy have someplace to be. Probably not. Look at him sitting there without a care in the world. Sitting there in his faded jeans and scruffy high tops. I wore those shoes when I was in 2nd grade. Grow up already.

 

Every day, he is just sits there, relaxing. Reading his paper, smoking his cigarette.

 

"I hate you," I whisper to myself.

 

Because, I come here every day, too. But, my demeanor is far from relaxed. I am pretty much in a constant state of panic because I am looking for a job. And have been since I graduated two month ago. Pounding the pavement everyday wearing this uncomfortable outfit void of personal style. But, this is what I am supposed to do.

 

I scour this paper daily for a job. At this point, I would do anything. But, there is nothing out there. Oh, wait. Here's something. Wanted: Printer Repair Man.

 

That's it. That's the perfect job for me. If I hadn't have gone to freakin business school for four freakin years. I am going to be living with my parents forever. I will be 30 years old. Still living in my childhood bedroom. Reading my diary where I portrait my future life as one with a husband, career, children, dream house and a perfect 4 carat asscher cut diamond solitaire ring.

 

You see, this is life's cruel little joke. Go to school, get an education, find a job, have it all. In that order. No one told me that most of the time, it doesn't happen like that.

 

And this one here. He probably didn't even go to college.

 

He's probably one of those laid back, go with the flow kind of guys who will never be successful at anything. And the worst part is he probably doesn't even care. I could never be like him. Or, could I?

 

I could. I could take his lead. I could sit on this bench all day. With no worries. No problems. I am going to do it. If he gets to do it, why can't I.

 

"Hello," he says into his cell phone.

 

He has a cellphone. How does slacker boy afford a cell phone?

 

"Yeah, I am in the park. She kicks me out of the room for a couple hours each day." He says.

 

Yep, even his girlfriend can't stand to be around his laziness.

 

"There is nothing