CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Author's Note

Clara

Thomas

Colin

Author's Note

Fire

The Last Garden Party

Tuesday (Take 1)

Tuesday (Take 2)

Molly and Tommy

Tommy and Molly

The Diet

Little Sister

Static

A Cup of Joe with a Shot of Opportunity

Author's Note

SWEET SCENES

Flash Fiction Collection

2015

Jamie Wilson

Copyright © 2015 Jamie Wilson

All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Beetiful Book Covers

Editing by Amber Bungo

Interior Vector Art by www.vectorportal.com

In dedication to

Ari Sebastian Kantor

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The first three sketches in this collection are related to my Blood Mage Chronicles series. I could not include them in the main stories, but I hope that if you are a fan of the series, you will enjoy a peek inside the worlds of some of the other characters.

CLARA

Clara brushed rose petals off her gown as she watched Thomas and Mediera dance in the great hall under the glint of candlelight. Thomas had to lean down, for Mediera was so much smaller than he. It was dreadfully unfair that Mediera was betrothed while no potential husband had been sought for Clara. Clara wanted her season in Courtshire, where she would meet the most eligible of the Seven Shire lordlings. However, her father refused to discuss the topic. She didn’t even have a mother to help win the argument. She was alone. Her stepmother was a useless common woman, and Thomas had barely recovered from his misadventures west of the mountains, so he hardly counted as being on her side.

A small boy with tousled brown hair and her father’s violet eyes approached her. “Dance with me, Clara? Please.” He clasped her hand.

“No.” She pulled away. “Stop following me.”

His lower lip almost trembled, but he didn’t cry. He just walked away. Why did he have to be clingy? She hadn’t asked for a half brother. She wished some handsome young man of importance would ask her to dance, but it was less than likely. No such person existed in the whole of Brightshire–a land composed of farmers and petty traders.

She walked over to the long table setup with cakes and picked up a tiny chocolate square between her thumb and forefinger. She nibbled on it, but it was much too sweet for her taste. She sighed and decided no one would notice if she departed for her bedchamber. At least there she wouldn’t have to be reminded that she was almost fourteen and had no respectable suitors. As she approached the archway that would lead her away from the song and dance, a girl stepped into her path.

“Miss Clara,” the tiny voice squeaked.

Clara turned and faced a girl, poorly dressed in rough fabric, who appeared to be several years younger than herself. Clara grimaced. How audacious this little creature must be to dare to address her so.

“Miss?”

Clara turned away from the girl, still intent on disappearing from this wasteland of a party.

“Wait,” the girl clutched at Clara’s sleeve.

Clara flinched away. “Is this a jest? I have no wish to speak with you.”

“But. But, I heard you are in need of a handmaiden. I could be your maid.”

Clara snorted. “I doubt it. You’re just a little scull, aren’t you? What’s your name? I’m telling my father you accosted me.”

“Don’t. Please.”

The girl ran off into the servants’ corridors while Clara picked a rose petal off her dress and watched it flutter to the ground.

THOMAS

Thomas sat gingerly on the edge of his brother’s bed. Cedric was lying face down, but Thomas did not think his brother was asleep. Thomas placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I hear you’re trapped here for the foreseeable future.”

Cedric raised his head from the security of his pillow. “Father is displeased with me. I suppose he told you all about it.”

“He said you found a girl’s body in the woods.”

Cedric nodded. “It was terrible. I think there really are furies out there. I can’t imagine anything else that could have wreaked such havoc.”

Thomas sighed. “Father thinks the same. He’s promised to write to the Lord’s council in the west. Though I cannot imagine it will accomplish much. No one will mind if we’re swallowed up.”

“They should send an army to defend us.”

“They won’t. Brightshire is considered little more than an outpost. I was never allowed to forget it during my time in Ellshire.”

“At least Father bothered to have you squired.”

“Would you like to squire for a lord?”

“Of course. Then I could be a knight. If no one will take me, I’d like to attend officer’s school. That way, at least I could be more than just a common soldier.”

“I could talk to father about it. He may be willing, in a few years when you are older.”

“He’ll say no. I already asked.”

“There’s another way. When I turn eighteen, the decision will be mine. If I can’t find a lord to take you, I promise I will pay for your school.”

Cedric looked up at his brother. “Would you really do that?”

“When I am eighteen, I will try. But I want something from you in return.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I heard you weren’t alone when you found the girl. I heard you were with someone.”

“The girl I was with last night–she’s just another scull from the kitchens. She’s no one.”

“I fear she’ll be dismissed. The guard who found you told me that he reported her actions to Mistress Laurey.”

“Why do you care?”

“She’s the girl Thellium has been teaching to read. I saw her leave his room once.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

“You aren’t very observant.”

Cedric rolled his eyes. “I have better things to do than spy on Thellium.”

“I would like you to ask Thellium to take her on as his apprentice. I don’t wish to see her put out of the Great House with nowhere to go. Not now.”

“Why don’t you talk to Thellium? He likes you better.”

“I can’t. Word of my interference would reach our father, and he would jump to conclusions. I think it would be worse for her if I tried to help.”

“But no one cares if I request she stay.”

Thomas nodded. “You have that advantage, yes.”

“Fine. I’ll do what you ask. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You should befriend her.”

“You ask a lot, brother.”

“I know.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be my friend?” Cedric asked.

“Just try.”

The two boys shook hands; the deal struck.

COLIN

Colin sniffed in distaste. He had heard the man was large, but his size bordered on ridiculous.

“I would bow in deference, but as you can see, it’s a challenge for me to rise to my feet,” the fat man said from his cushioned seat on the dais.

“There’s no need. I have little time for such pleasantries.”

“Ah, of course. Then we should get down to business.”

“I want my wife to die, preferably in a discreet manner. She’s an albatross around my neck.”

“That can be done.”

“Good. The other assassins I sent failed me.”

The fat man frowned. “You should have come to me first. I dislike having to sweep up after amateurs.”

Colin waved his hand. “You’ll have it done?”

“As you like, Lord Pendragon.”

Colin had not wanted to use the fat man for this business. He loathed the idea of being in debt to the man, but the situation with Mediera was degrading, and now he had no other choice. Down the road, he would need some advantage. But the man was cloaked in mystery, and it seemed no one was privy to his secrets. Colin peered at the fat man closely, trying to glean what little he may. Although he had very little hair, Colin took note that the wisps of hair he had left were black as night. And his eyes, though hidden between rolls of fat, were a telltale gray. An odd coloring to be sure, although not unbeknownst to Colin, who had traveled widely before settling into the seat of Lord of Barriershire. There was an island west of Candel–an island rich in rubies and spices, where there were people who looked exotic. What was the name of that island? Oh yes. Weavren. Why did he remember that place? He pulled at the history lessons he had endured as a child. They said King Sirmon’s wife came from Weavren, and that she had possessed black hair and gray eyes. But, there was someone else who had that look–someone closer to home–someone he should remember. But, alas, no image came to mind.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The rest of the sketches in this collection are unrelated to the Blood Mage Chronicles. However, I thought they were worth sharing. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.

FIRE

Alathea gritted her transparent teeth as she watched Jonathan try to flirt with Mildred, the office manager. Jonathan always arrived at the work site early, with disheveled hair hidden beneath a yellow hardhat and jeans with poorly repaired holes. Alathea didn’t know why it bothered her that he took the time to flirt with Mildred.

Alathea wasn’t a mortal girl, although she had taken on a few too many human characteristics as the millennia passed. She should not even notice the day-to-day actions of these humans whose tiny life spans made all of their actions inconsequential. Although, together they had proved disastrous, Alathea mused. In mass, they were havoc wreakers, destroyers. Alathea’s attention returned to Jonathan, who had given up on Mildred and had walked into the large conference room. He arranged a notebook, a calculator, a ruler, and two pencils in front of him while the other members of the work crew slowly joined him. Alathea drifted from the room so that she could attend to her daily rituals.

She had been invisible inside the trailer, but Alathea preferred to materialize for her trek through the plant and up to the burner unit. She liked this human form. She wasn’t sure if that was a weakness, but she was willing to accept this desire as an imperfection in her make-up. Alathea’s workboots clanged on the steel grate platform as she walked. Stainless-steel pipes holding fuel and oxygen crisscrossed beneath her, and she smiled at the thought of the gasses uniting, burning. Heat crawled into her skin. She was already beyond the safe zone, closer and closer to the flame. Her heart fluttered as she stepped into the blaze. She felt alive. Oxygen soared through her, and she could feel it react, feel the effluent steam and carbon dioxide swell into the air. Reluctantly, she stepped out of the fire and back onto the platform. She didn’t have an infinite amount of time before the workers left their morning meeting, and though she could easily dematerialize, she knew her presence disturbed them. They were more prone to accidents when uncomfortable. Alathea didn’t care much for humans, at least that was what she told herself, but she still didn’t wish them unneeded injury.

A cold wind whipped against Alathea’s back and she shuddered. She looked up at the reflection in the dome high in the sky; it still appeared intact, undamaged. It couldn't be…

“Zephyra?” Alathea shouted into the open air, causing an echo to reverberate against the grate floor. “Are you there? Damn it! Show yourself!”

A girl in a shimmering blue dress appeared. Zephyra rarely showed herself to anyone, being uncomfortable with the density that accompanied materialization, but she was aware of Alathea’s preference for substance.

Alathea hardened her jaw and spread her legs wide in a battle stance. “So bold,” she hissed. “I have not weakened, sister. You cannot destroy me.”

“Why be so distrusting? I come with no weapon, no army. I need your help.” Zephyra opened her arms wide.

“I remember the last time you needed my help. You and Gaia destroyed my volcano while I was off on your made-up quest.”

“That was a long time ago,” Zephyra said. “The world was new, and we were young. It was meant to be funny.”

“It wasn’t funny. I loved that volcano,” Alathea hissed.

“Please,” Zephyra whispered. “Gaia is gone.”

Alathea’s eyes narrowed. “How is that possible?”

“There is no more soil, no more plants, no more trees.” Zephyra paused. “I think she is locked in the ground beneath the dome, if she lives at all.”

Alathea avoided her sister’s eyes. “What about you? How do you survive in here? Don’t you feel suffocated?”

“I skim the surfaces, but I can come in and out through the filtration system.” Zephyra’s sapphire eyes flashed with a hint of unshed tears. “Alathea, please, I need you.”

“What would you have me do?”

“A truce. Together, we can dig up the Teflon ground that robs us of the earth, robs us of Gaia. Together, we can shred the domes so that I may move freely once more.”

“How would a war help me?”

“I can't believe that you feel satisfied, being so controlled. Moving through industrial plants where engineers manage your life’s blood. Don’t you miss your wildfires?” Zephyra paused again. “I miss your wildfires.”

Alathea nodded, her eyes finally resting on her sister. She felt suddenly weak, suddenly human. “I miss them too.”

Zephyra’s mouth erupted in a broad grin. “Then we have an agreement?”

“I’ll join you. But, sister, how do you propose we do this? I don’t think we have enough power, even together. I’m substantially weaker than when we last met. I cannot even control this fire. I can only immerse myself in it. In time, I might be able to cause a run-away reaction, but even of that, I am unsure. My efforts may not succeed through all of the safety protocols set in place.”

The left side of Zephyra’s mouth turned up in half smile, and all sweet sisterly kindness vanished from her empty eyes. “No need to fret. I have a plan.”

THE LAST GARDEN PARTY

Dark green eyes gazed at the twirling girl who stopped to smell the briar rose. The girl laughed.

“I love it here, Adrien,” she said to her companion. “Can we stay forever?”

“Darling, you know we can’t. The demolition begins tomorrow.” He patted the girl on her head. “Maybe we need to get your memory chip replaced.”

The girl’s lower lip trembled. “No, I was just joking. I promise.”

The man sighed.

The girl twitched and tugged his hand. “Let’s see the turnips. I’ve never seen a real vegetable patch before.”

“If we must,” he mumbled.

Dark green eyes watched the two figures disappear in the direction of the vegetables. Neither of them knew they were being watched. Neither of them would have believed it.

An old woman unsteadily approached the briar rose, a champagne glass dangling from one hand. A slow sad smile lingered on her face. The rose was her rose. The garden was her garden. She had not wanted to let it go, but her garden permit had been revoked. She had no choice.

A wispy girl joined the old woman.

“Would you like to smell the rose?” the old woman asked.

“Yes. She’s beautiful. Is she yours?”

The old woman nodded. “My most prized possession. I wish I didn’t have to lose her.”

The wispy girl nodded. “I can imagine it must be hard. It was very kind of you to open up your home before the demolition.”

“I wanted the world to have a chance to enjoy my splendors before they were taken from me.”

The girl touched the old woman’s arm. “Do you mind if I have a moment alone with your rose?”

“Of course.” The old woman nodded before drifting away.

“I know you are there, sister,” the wispy girl said.

The green eyes that had watched the rose glowed and a green girl appeared. She was sitting on the ground, holding her knees with thin arms. “It’s been a long time,” the green girl whispered. “I haven’t seen you since they built the domes.”

“I don’t like coming inside.” The wispy girl frowned. “I don’t like being processed. It makes me feel fuzzy and distorted.”

“Where do you live now?”

The wispy girl shrugged. “I skim the surface of the domes, and look in from time to time.”

The green girl sighed. “If you came here to kill me, you’re wasting your time. I’ll be all but dead by this time tomorrow.”

The wispy girl snorted. “I don’t want to kill you. I think it’s time for a truce.”

“A truce? But, you hate me.”

“Not as much as I hate this world that was once ours.”

“And our sisters? What do they think of this truce?”

“They’re dying too. There is no place for any of us here. It’s time we take our world back. It’s time we fight.”

TUESDAY (TAKE 1)

“I think my saliva’s frozen,” Ben said to Dave as they walked home from school, the snow falling in sheets around them. Although Ben hated his second-hand winter coat, he wished he hadn’t abandoned it in his locker. Ben tightened the drawstring on the hood of his sweatshirt; he was freezing his ass off.

“Yeah, well, my fingers are numb. I think I have gangrene or something,” Dave mumbled from underneath a thick scarf.

“I think you mean frostbite.”

“Nah, my fingers are looking kind of greenish, don’t you think?” Dave pulled his right hand out of his glove and wiggled his fingers. His hands, along with the rest of his body, had a year-round tan, the kind that suggested that his roots were firmly entrenched in American soil. Ben, on the other hand, turned a ghostly shade of white every winter.

“Dude, how would you know? You’re totally color blind.” Ben smirked.

“Oh yeah, maybe my fingers are blue.” Dave grinned. “Do you wanna stop at Starbucks? Maddie Evans is working there after school.”

The two boys diverted themselves from the long road that led to the Baynor Trailer Park and slipped into the Starbucks on Main Street. Ben pulled down his hood and put a hand through his messy blond hair before ordering a cup of hot chocolate from Maddie. Ben’s blue eyes twinkled as he collected his change from her. He wished he could talk to her, but he never had the right words. Ben and Dave sat at a small table facing the window and found that they weren’t the only boys from the high school who had stopped by the Starbucks to spy on Maddie. Mike Treadfoot left a table full of laughing football players to join Ben and Dave. Mike’s older brother was on the team, and Mike had somehow developed the dubious ability to hang out with the ballers and the nonentities without incurring the wrath of the social hierarchy dictators.

“How’d you guys do on the Physics term paper?” Mike dropped into a chair beside Ben.

“I got a C,” Dave mumbled.

“What about you, Wiley? You always ace everything.”

“Not this time.” Ben frowned. He had spent the majority of the day trying to forget the big fat F that was now scrawled in red on his well-researched paper.

“Show me.”

“Why do you care, Treadfoot?” Dave countered.

“Nine years of school together and Wiley doesn’t get an A; that’s history man, history.”

Ben dug into his backpack and pulled the paper out of a green folder. He sighed and handed it to Mike.

“You got an F?” Mike asked loudly, his lips turning up into a broad smile. “This really is history.” Mike’s eyes narrowed as he read the title of the paper. “What are temporal distortions? Is that like some kind of Sushi or something?”

“You’re thinking of Tempura.” Ben sighed.

Mike stared at Ben’s paper. “Those equations look weird.”

“They’re partial differential equations. They aren’t weird.”

Mike looked back at Ben. “Mr. Roberts probably gave you an F because you made him feel stupid.”

“You’re probably right.” Ben tightened his mouth into a hard smile.

“Hey, is this related to that conference you’re going to this summer?" Mike asked.

“Yeah, it’s related, but I don’t know if I’m going. I wrote an abstract and it was accepted, but it’s expensive.”

“Don’t you think they might be kinda pissed that you’re like fourteen years old?”

“Probably. I lied on my abstract submission form. I said I was a grad student at M.I.T.”

“No kidding. They’ll probably be pissed. How much does the conference cost?”

“A few thousand... It’s at CERN, in Switzerland.”

Mike whistled. “How are you going to come up with that kind of dough? Your folks are pretty poor.”

“You guys, shut up. I’m trying to watch Maddie,” Dave interrupted.

They ignored him. “My sister Monica is working double shifts to try to come up with the money.”

“That’s pretty cool of her,” Mike said and turned his attention back to the counter.

“Yeah.” Ben bit his lower lip and wondered if he was being completely unrealistic, hoping his sister could come up with three thousand dollars from a Denny’s waitressing gig. Ben stood up and threw his damp hood back over his head.

“Where are you going?” Dave asked as his eyes momentarily unglued from Maddie.

“I’m going to go home. I have some stuff I want to work on.”

“See ya.” Dave grinned.

“Later,” Ben said as he walked out.

Ben shivered as he walked up the dirt path to his family’s trailer. He couldn’t help but wish, as he did every day, that they lived somewhere else, somewhere nicer. He hated the cockroaches and the mold. He hated that living in a trailer meant that he was poor in the eyes of the world. Hell, even in his own eyes his home life made him a second-class citizen. Ben often felt himself blaming his father for leaving and his mother for not being able to hold down a job, and he felt guilty that Monica was sacrificing her future to build his. Hell, there was nothing right about his life.

Ben blinked, realizing that he had been standing at the front door, immobile. He may as well go in and start studying. There was only one way out of here, and Ben was convinced it was through books.

Inside, his mother sat on their couch, sobbing. Ben dropped his backpack at the door and walked over to her.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

His mother hiccuped. “There was a four car pile up on I-95, your sister...she...she died.”

“No,” he whispered, his eyes widening in horror.

TUESDAY (TAKE 2)

“Damn girl, you shouldn’t be working three shifts in a row.” Brenda frowned at Monica, whose eyes kept drifting shut.

“I have to. I don’t have that much time left,” Monica muttered as she straightened her uniform and placed two glasses of orange juice onto her tray.

Brenda raised a sculpted eyebrow.

“My brother, remember? I’m trying to save up to send him to a conference in Switzerland this summer.”

“Not worth it.” Brenda pursed her lips.

“Trust me, it’s worth it.” Monica forced a smile as she placed utensils wrapped in green napkins alongside the glasses of orange juice and two steaming dishes from the kitchen, and carefully balanced the tray in her arms.

“We can agree to disagree.” Brenda lounged against the counter. “More interestingly, the guy over in the corner asked to sit in your section.” Brenda nudged her friend and motioned to a man with tousled blond hair who was sitting alone. “Do you know him? He’s quite the hottie.”

Monica caught herself from slipping, barely. “Don’t do that.”

“Stop complaining. Do you know him?”

“No,” Monica hissed.

She moved past Brenda to deliver piping hot pancakes to a bickering couple, and then returned to the counter to fill an orange plastic cup with water.

“Maybe he’s single?” Brenda whispered in Monica’s ear.

“Do you ever work?” Monica rolled her eyes at her best friend.

“I’m just here to be ornamental.”

“Of course you are,” Monica said with a smirk.

“Welcome to Denny’s.” Monica handed the blond man a menu and placed the glass of water in front of him. “Do you need a moment with the menu before you order?”

He smiled at her. “No. I won’t be eating.”

Monica narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, trying to figure out if she knew him–freckles, messy blond hair, maybe thirty years old, and a perfectly tailored suit. Damn he looked familiar. “Have we met?”

“Sort of. Look, Monica, this is going to sound strange, but I have a proposition for you.”

“How do you know my name?”

He pointed to her nametag.

“I’m not going home with you.” She frowned. She hated it when men hit on her at work.

“That’s not the proposition. I want to pay you to deliver a package to Boston for me. Right now.”

“I’m working.” She grimaced.

“I’ll make it worth your time.”

“I won’t do anything illegal.”

“I swear this is on the up and up.” The man smiled, placing a small package wrapped in pale blue paper in front of her. He also handed her a napkin with an address penned in blue ink.

“How much will you pay me?” Monica asked, fingering the napkin and trying to decipher his messy handwriting.

“Three thousand dollars.”

“Are you insane?”

“No.” He handed her an envelope stuffed with cash. “There’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.” Monica muttered as she stared at the envelope.

“You can’t drive on I-95 today–it’s important.”

“That’s a weird catch.”

“Will you do it?”

“Ummm…” Monica paused and looked at the envelope. “I’ll do it.”

The man stood and started to leave.

“Wait, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Ben.” He turned back to her and smiled.

“That’s funny. My little brother’s name is Ben,” she whispered as she pocketed the cash.

MOLLY AND TOMMY

Molly stretched her arms wide in the sky and felt the sun’s rays seep into her too-pale skin. Her eyes closed for just a moment, a perfect carefree moment, before turning her attention back to the busy sand pile. She watched her three-year-old merrily throw sand in another boy’s face. The other boy screeched in outrage, a horrific mindless scream. Although she felt reluctant to leave that one infrequent moment of peace, Molly stood up and swept Tommy off the ground. He started to cry big fat tears, wailing against her.

“Let me go back, Mommy.”

“Nope. You’ve had enough. We’re going home.”

“I don’t wanna go home.”

“That’s too bad. You threw sand at that boy. It was not a very nice thing for you to do.”

“I hate you! I want to stay and play!”

While walking to her car, Molly cradled the crying child against her chest. “I guess you are just going to have to hate me,” she said with a sigh.

Molly lowered the top on the convertible while Tommy fussed in his car seat. She hoped that by the time they reached the two-bedroom condo she had rented for the summer that he would have evolved into a well-behaved angel. Alas, no miraculous transformation occurred, and Molly spent the night trying to sleep through Tommy’s cries of discontent.

TOMMY AND MOLLY

“I can’t keep coming over here in the middle of the night, Ma,” Tommy said softly as he fixed his mother a cup of coffee and a breakfast of eggs and bacon.

“You don’t care about me at all. I could have died.”

“That’s why I bought you the medical alarm bracelet.” Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Ma, why aren’t you wearing it?”

Molly sighed and twirled her ice white curls between her fingers. “You know I hate that thing.”

Tommy brought the plate of eggs and bacon over to his mother. “If you don’t wear it, I’m going to put you in an assisted living home.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me! You don’t control me!”

Tommy dropped down into the seat next to his mother and let his head fall into his hands. “What do you expect me to do? I have a family. It’s a four-hour drive to come over here. If you won’t move in with us, I’ll have to put you somewhere. It’s just not safe for you to be alone anymore.”

Molly picked up one of the eggs with her fork and slung it at her son. “I hate you! Get out of my house!”

As he stood up from his seat and carefully wiped the egg from his forehead, Tommy could see tears glistening in the corners of his mother’s eyes. “I guess you are just going to have to hate me,” he said with a sigh.

THE DIET

As I stepped off the scale, Sharon waved her skeletal arms around in the way she often did when she was upset. Sharon is my overpaid dietician.

“I just don’t understand it. You should be losing weight. Are you adhering strictly to your diet?” she clucked.

“Obviously not.” I pursed my lips.

“You just need to work harder, Doris. I know it must be difficult at your age.”

I followed Sharon into her office and plopped into a chair. Unfortunately, I do mean plop; a distinct squishy plopping sound results every time I sit down.

Sharon, who had taken a seat next to mine, leaned toward me. “There is something,” she whispered, “something I have always wanted to try with a client, but I’ve never dared.”

I raised an eyebrow. I liked the sound of this. I had been waiting for a magic pill to make me thin. Why had she waited so long to offer it to me?

“Diet and exercise are the best methods to lose weight, but you seem to want to avoid that route. But, I’ve always secretly thought that there was another way.”

“A pill.” I smiled like a good student. I figured Sharon might need a little help getting to the answer. She was a little slow.

Sharon shook her head. “No, not a pill. Diet pills are terrible for you.”

I frowned; this was not what I wanted to hear.

“Well, this is going to sound a little bizarre. I’ve always thought you could raise your metabolism quite dramatically through…”

“Spit it out.”

“Crime.”

“What?”

“I know it sounds strange.”

“I think it’s time I look for another dietician,” I responded as I heaved myself out of the chair.

“Wait, Doris… Just think about it, okay?”

“We’ll see,” I muttered.

Three months later, I entered Sharon’s office with a basket of freshly baked blueberry muffins. “They are fat-free.” I smiled at her.

She put a dainty hand into the basket, pulled out one of the smaller muffins, and carefully chewed it in her tiny birdlike mouth. “Well, that is delicious, Doris. And so thoughtful.” She eyed me carefully. “You look incredible. I didn’t think you were going to come back after our last meeting. Let’s go get you on the scale.”

Sharon grinned as she pushed the tiny weight on the scale to the left. “Doris, you’ve done so well. You’ve lost 40 pounds, and so quickly.”

I smiled at her. “I took your advice. It’s been very helpful.”

“My advice about crime? How exciting,” she whispered.

“Oh it is exciting,” I agreed as we walked back to her office.

Sharon sat down in her chair and patted the seat next to her.

“I won’t be staying.” I picked up my basket of muffins.

“But, we have so much to talk about,” Sharon trailed off.

“No.” I walked out of the building and wondered when the poison in the muffins would hit poor Sharon.

LITTLE SISTER

“You’re home!” A small blonde blur leapt onto my bed. “You’re home! You’re home! You’re home!” The blonde girl squeezed my arm and shook me hard. It was hard to believe that such a little thing could be so solid.

“I missed you, kid.” I tried to disentangle myself from her grasp, but she wasn’t letting go. I wanted to be excited to see her, but my soul felt too deflated to be happy.

“I missed you too. You should have told me you were coming. I could have worked on the parents a little. I had no preparation at all.” She screwed her face into a scowl and shoved me away.

I arched both of my brows. “How mad are they?”

“Hmmph. They’re tornados. They haven’t said anything about it–of course–but I can tell.”

I nodded. “I’ve got an interview with them in an hour.”

“An interview? The last time they interviewed me was before they decided to send me to Darton’s.”

“Sorry I wasn’t home to help out with that. Do you still hate it?”

“I despise everything about the place.” She shrugged. “But, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

“Nope. There is never anything you can do.”

“That’s why you left?”

“Yeah.”

Dill jumped off the bed and swept her fingers across the handle of my suitcase. She swung around to face me. “I have a boyfriend.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Aren’t you too young to have a boyfriend?”

“I’m fourteen. I can have a boyfriend if I want.”

“Darton’s is an all girl school.”

“I have my ways. I meet boys outside of school.”

“I’m sure you’re very savvy. But, be careful, okay? Boys aren’t always so nice.”

She swatted my shoulder. “I know that. I’m not stupid.”

“I know. You’re my sister. You can’t be stupid.”

We were interrupted by a quiet knock. Dill frowned, and I sighed. I guessed this was it.

“C’mon in, Anita,” I said.

Anita, smartly attired in an immaculate maid’s uniform, opened the door and stood attention in the doorway. “Mr. Radcliffe, your parents are ready to see you now.”

I watched my sister. Her lower lip was twitching. I was afraid she was going to cry. I didn’t want to see her cry. Maybe that makes me a coward. To be fair, I was a lot worse than that.

STATIC

Duane walked through Briarwood Center. Ever since the mall opened on the west end, all the mom and pop businesses that had made up the Center had upped and outed. All that remained were cobblestone streets, boarded up buildings, and twinkling street lamps. Well, the streetlights used to glow before Marco and his thug friends had knocked half of them over. Duane hadn’t seen Marco in ages; maybe he was gone now too.

Duane tried to pull down the iron fire escape stairs that led to his bedroom, but they wouldn’t budge. Too much rust, he guessed. The front entrance to the apartment led him through what used to be his dad’s repair shop, but was now just an empty room littered with unused extension cords. Even though beer cans cluttered the upstairs family room, the mess seemed thinner somehow. Maybe his dad had picked up. The TV was silent, only static showed on the screen. Duane kicked a can and winced from the loud crunch it made as it hit the wall. That should wake his dad. However, no telltale groan indicated that his father had returned to the world of the conscious. Duane opened the door to his father’s bedroom, but the room was empty. Strange. Where was his dad? Duane walked over to the big window in the family room to look outside. Nothing new. Except maybe there was something different. Duane squinted. There was someone standing underneath a lamppost half in shadow. Was it Marco? Duane had been avoiding Marco ever since he had demanded that Duane deal at school. Duane said no, not so much because he didn’t want to deal, but more because he liked the idea of pissing Marco off. Unfortunately, Marco and his friends had taken out their displeasure at Duane’s refusal on Duane’s face.

The figure looked smaller than Marco–perhaps a girl. Duane considered ignoring her and going to sleep, except no girl was safe here alone at night. He should probably tell her to scram. He didn’t want the police to come to his door and start asking questions about some dead girl. No, sir.

By the time he reached the lamppost, the girl had disappeared. He went back to the apartment and lay down on the thin mattress in his bedroom. It seemed the mattress got thinner every day. Today he could swear his shoulder blades were touching the floor.

After he had caught a few hours of sleep, Duane left his apartment again without seeing his dad. Maybe the old man had spent the night out. If he were drunk enough, he could have been thrown in a cell to dry out. That had happened before. Duane didn’t like being in the apartment during the day; he usually only came home to sleep. As Duane walked with his eyes trained on the ground, he noticed that the street was dry, and he remembered that it hadn’t rained in a long time. Duane could see cracks in the cobblestone. Maybe the cracks would seem up if it rained. He walked through the city towards nothing. He saw the girl again, the same one he saw the night before. Again, she was leaning against a lamppost.

He approached her. She had short dark curly hair, pale skin, rosy cheeks and was wearing leather pants and a black hooded sweatshirt adorned with stainless steel spikes. She kind of looked like Snow White in a goth girl costume.

He got up real close to her, but she didn’t seem to see him. Her eyes were unfocused and glazed over like she was blind or on ecstasy. Maybe Marco was her dealer. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said to her. “This neighborhood is dangerous.”

The girl turned towards him, and her eyes focused. “You can see me?” she asked. Her voice didn’t sound right.

“Of course I can see you. Don’t be stupid. Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like some computerized customer service robot.”

“Oh. Let me try to fix it. Just hold on a minute okay.”

The girl’s body went slack. That was weird–really frigging weird.

“Is my voice better now?” She straightened up.

“No. What the fuck did you do?”

“Just messed with some programming. I could try again?”

“Huh? No. Don’t go.”

She smiled. “You don’t know where you are, do you?”

“Uh, I know exactly where I am. Corner of main street and third.”

“Nope.” She grinned. “I can’t believe you can see me. I can’t believe this worked.”

“What the hell did you mean that we ain’t on main and third?”

“Duane, you’re dead. You died three weeks ago. You were convicted for killing your father and some neighborhood drug dealer. They electrocuted you.”

“That’s a lie!” Duane howled.

The screen and audio died.

A CUP OF JOE WITH A SHOT OF OPPORTUNITY

I’m new here. I don’t know this town; I don’t know these people. I know the route from work to my cheap, one bedroom apartment. I know how to get to Barnes and Noble. I go there every Saturday. Always I watch the man who sits in the far right corner typing on his laptop, with his green woolen jacket thrown lazily over the back of his chair. I see him now, so intent on whatever wonders his laptop is keeping for him. I look away, my eyes returning to the paperback novel that I will not buy.

A worn leather wallet falls to the floor; my eyes catch its dull glow. I grab it and look up; I bite my lip. The man in the green woolen jacket is standing over me. “You like lemons too,” he says as I hand him his wallet.

“Lemons?” I ask. He’s talking to me.

He points to my empty cup of coffee, and the three discarded lemon peels that are sitting in the cup. “Yes,” I say. “I like lemons.”

“I see you here a lot,” he says.

“I know.” Does he know I come here to see him?

“Yeah, well, sorry to bother you.” He turns.

“Wait…” I falter. “Do you want to stay and have a cup of coffee with me?”

He turns back to me and sighs. “I only drink coffee at Barnes and Noble on Thursdays, on Saturdays I drink coffee at Starbucks.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure you can’t make an exception?” Who was I to be so bold?

He shakes his head, looking nervous. “You could come with me to Starbucks?”

“Okay.” I smile.

“Are you going to buy your book?”

“Not today.”

“There’s just this one thing.” He’s nervous again. “We have to leave Barnes and Noble at exactly one thirty.”

“I think I can handle that.” We wait for the second hand of the clock to tick tick tick its way to one thirty.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed these very short stories, please check out Anais of Brightshire, the first book of the Blood Mage Chronicles series.