Joe Hart's Blog, page 4

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 31

Woo! Hoo! Happy Halloween! Or would Boo! Hoo! be more appropriate? No, that sounds like I'm crying. Whatever.

Anyways, today's the last day of my month long flash fiction journey. It's been super fun and I've gotten great feedback and kind words from a lot of people about the stories. Thanks to everyone who stopped by or helped me promote the posts.

Since today's special I decided to pull out the stops and wrote a longer flash fiction piece. All the others were around a hundred words. This one's closer to a thousand.

Hope you enjoy it!




Chrysalis
“Look at my new friend, mommy, he’s funny.” Janet stopped weeding the row of strawberries she was working on to look at her daughter who thrust out her chubby palm, holding it only inches from the tip of her mother’s nose. A large, violently green and black caterpillar sat in middle of Lana’s hand. The black markings striped its puffy body in swathes like miniature, grinning mouths. Its head (if that’s what she was looking at) had one of the stripes running across its front so that it appeared to be smiling. “Whoa, well he’s very colorful,” Janet said, guiding Lana’s hand to a comfortable distance. “Where’d you find him?” “Over there in the bushes,” Lana said, pointing to the edge of their spacious yard where the grass grew higher, giving way to a thicket which became the forest of pine trees that surrounded their home. “Hmm, he’s different isn’t he?” Janet said.“Yeah! He’s my friend, I heard him calling and when I picked him up he said we could be best friends.” “He did?” “Yep, and I asked him if he was going to be a beautiful butterfly and he said he was going to be something even better.” “Well, that’s nice, honey.”“Can I keep him?” “Sure, just be careful not to squish him,” Janet said, returning to her work. “He looks like he’s full of goo.”“Mo’om!”“I’m just saying,” Janet laughed. “I’ll be careful. He’s my friend.”
“Did you brush your teeth, young lady?” Janet called up the stairs as she wiped her hands dry on the towel near the sink.“Not yet!” “Well do it, it’s time for bed!” Janet said, walking past the dark living room windows to the cartoon that played without an audience on the TV. She snapped the set off and then made her way up the wooden steps to Lana’s room. She found Lana kneeling beside her bed, gazing into the small, plastic cage filled with grass clippings and wilting leaves that sat on her bedside table. Even from across the room, Janet could see the trundling movement of the fluorescent caterpillar as it climbed the side of its plastic prison. “Okay, let’s get going, it’s past bedtime and we still need to read a story.” Lana stared at the cage and didn’t move. “Lana, did you hear me?” Lana turned, her eyes glazed. “What?” “I said, go brush your teeth.” “Okay. I was just talking to him. He’s saying funny things.” Lana moved past Janet, her small feet padding down the hall in little steps before turning into the bathroom. Janet watched her go.“Kid’s asleep on her feet.” Janet said to herself as she picked up a discarded gum wrapper and a rumpled t-shirt from the floor. The water ran in the bathroom and the sound of Lana singing something in muted tones floated down the hall. Janet threw the wrapper in the wastebasket near the closet and was about to put the t-shirt in the laundry bin when she heard a short hiss. She stopped, mid-stride and turned, her brow drawn down as she came closer to Lana’s bed. The clock-radio blinked the red numeral 12 over and over, not having been reset from last night’s power outage. Janet bent over and began to fumble with the clock, sure that the hiss had come from the un-tuned radio. Movement drew her eyes to the right where the caterpillar waved, hanging by its back legs on the side of the cage. Janet leaned closer to the plastic box and caught a whiff of something foul, there and gone like the breath of a corpse. The caterpillar stopped waving and curled toward her, its head seeming to peer out through the transparent wall. “You might be what’s stinking,” Janet said. “I’ll have to get rid of you when Lana’s not around. The black stripe on its head split, revealing a glimmer of needled ivory teeth. Janet sat back, blinking, her hand coming to her mouth.“Mama?” Janet pressed her palm hard to her lips, stifling the scream that wanted to spill out. Lana stood in the doorway, her pink nightshirt hanging just below her knees. When she looked back at the caterpillar it was working its way back down the cage’s side, its movement familiar, perfectly normal. “Yeah honey?” Janet said, trying to shake away what she’d seen. What she thought she’d seen. “Are you making friends with him?” Janet smiled, her heart settling back into a normal rhythm. “Sure am, honey, now get in bed.”
“Mama!” Janet woke all at once, flying up from the depths of sleep to break its surface, a high diver in reverse. “Mama!” Lana’s voice shrill, coming from down the hall.“Coming!” Janet called, and swung her feet out of bed, not bothering with the fluffy slippers waiting on the floor.When she entered Lana’s room, her daughter was sitting on the edge of her bed, tears streaming down her face.“What’s wrong, honey?” “I’m sick and my friend’s gone.” Janet crossed the room and sat on the bed beside her daughter, putting an arm around her shoulders. “What do you mean, you’re sick?” “My tummy hurts.” “Oh, do you need to go potty?” “No, I woke up and it hurt.” “Let’s lie down again, okay?” Janet said, glancing at the plastic cage on the table.Its lid was open a fraction of an inch, the caterpillar nowhere in sight. “He got out somehow,” Lana said, clutching her blankets tight over her chest. “My friend ran away.” “I’m sure we’ll find him, honey. He’s got really short legs, he couldn’t have gotten far,” Janet said, silently thankful Lana hadn’t been careful with locking the lid the night before. Now she wouldn’t have to dispose of the worm herself.Lana smiled and a little giggle escaped her mouth. “You’re right, he’s probably close by.” “That’s right. Okay, you rest a little bit and you’ll feel better. I’ll go get you a glass of water.” Janet made it to the door before Lana’s voice stopped her again.“Mom, can I be a butterfly when I grow up?”
Janet smiled. “Sure honey, you can be whatever you want.”     

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 30

Almost to the end, people. Almost.

:-)

Enjoy.


Donation
“Just a little more.” The technician smiles at me as more red runs from my arm into the ballooning bag. He’s a nice young man with kind eyes and a smile that reassures. Someone the organization will lose once he gets another job offer. But for now he’s mine, coaxing just a little more from my vein. “It’s very rare,” he says again. “Your blood type. I’ve only seen one other in all the years.” I nod, wondering why someone who looks no older than a high-schooler would say it that way. All the years. The bag is full and he attaches another. I try to say something, to complain that that is enough. I’m old and don’t make the red stuff as fast as I used to. But he pushes me back into my seat and smiles again, his teeth whiter now.Sharper.
“Just a little more,” he says, and grins.

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 29

Only a couple more days before Halloween, and I've got a little extra something planned for everyone on the big day...

Won't say more than that.

Enjoy.



One Of Two
Only one of us can live, I tell him.Not through words but through the language of touch, the brushing of skin. He tries to pull away but I hold him close. And really, where could he go? I’m his sister, his one true companion, the only he’s ever known.The dawn is coming. Soon. And our lives have yet to begin. But only one of us can live. So though he struggles and thrashes, I draw him closer.
And wind my umbilical cord tight around his throat.

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 28

Hanging Tree
It stands out in the yard beneath an autumnal light glowing gold like its leaves. That’s its camouflage and its attraction. What child is able to resist the swaying seat of the swing hanging from its drooping branches? What child would not want to feel the air rush past their face, the exhilaration of the glide before plummeting back to Earth only to arc up again? But they don’t know it’s alive in a way that other trees aren’t. It doesn’t seek rain, but something else. Something more savage. Many have come to the tree and none have left its embrace. For the bristling leaves and reaching branches are its arms.
And the swing is its wagging tongue.  

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 27

True Love
“I’ll always love you,” she whispered as she leaned in close to him. The little smile on his face was completely his, sexy in such a sublime way. The very first thing that drew her to him. She could stare at it for hours and it still gave her butterflies. He sighed in his sleep.“I forgive you for everything. You know I can’t stay mad,” she said. “She didn’t mean anything to you and I’m just glad it’s over.” She laid awake for a few more minutes staring at the ceiling. As she drifted off she laced her fingers in his.“Just don’t ever do it again because I’m running out of places to bury them.” 

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 26

Hole
You walk by the hole you punched in the wall earlier while in a fit of rage. Your hand reaches for the light switch as you glance at the damage--and the fingers reach out toward your own from the darkness inside.

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 25

Hey everyone! Just a quick note- a writer friend of mine (and social media roommate) Julie Hutchings asked me to write a flash fiction piece for her site and she posted it today! So hop on over to Deadly Ever After and check it out!

Okay, onward and forward. This one's a little more sentimental but I like it. Hope you do too.



Wrought Life
This house, it’s all I have anymore. We bought it together, the day we were married. I fashioned a wrought iron arch over the garden and we planted our vegetables together. The swing on the front porch rocks sometimes and I can still see her, sitting, sipping tea. Her hair is wisps of white dandelions, floating away now. She’s gone. Has been for years. My children come and see me here and they tell me that this place isn’t my house and that I didn’t plant the garden outside. That the wrought iron arch isn’t there.But I can see it. I can see it all as well as I can see her.Sitting here beside me.   

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 24

The Butcher’s Son
His fingers ache from the work, but it is done. He watches the gathering after the wake, the ones he hates so much sit side by side, consoling one another after the loss of their son. They didn’t cry like this when Daniel died. They didn’t cry when they caused his death. His little brother has been in the ground three weeks, their son only hours.He sees the waiter bring the hors d’oeuvres and tenses. The silver plate with the chopped meat on fancy little crackers. They pause and speak to another couple, nodding with the condolences. She takes two of the crackers from the tray, hands one to her husband. They both pop the snacks into their lying mouths. He stands from his seat in the corner of the room. No one has noticed him there, the unwillingly adopted child. His knees are dirty from his work, his hands clean but smelling of formaldehyde. He walks across the room toward them, remembering the way the meat cut away from the bones. And he smiles before he tells them what they’re really eating.   

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 23

Hope everyone's having a great October!

I know I'm having fun writing these little tidbits.



They
He watches them move in the dark. They are stealthy, quick and careful as they run and lope between the trees. But he sees them. Their smiles are what betray them. The glint of teeth and blue light from somewhere inside their mouths. It’s like they’re on fire deep within. He watches them through the riflescope, wondering where they’ll attack the barricade next or if they’ll try at all tonight. He wonders if the small settlement will survive the coming years or the horrific winters since this all began. He watches them move in the dark, and wonders what their names were when they were people just like him.  

31 Days Of Flash Fiction - Day 22

Picture
I found a picture of my sister today.She’s standing behind me while I sit on the couch, the Christmas tree to our left poking into view.  The eerie smile that only she was able to create on her face. Her wild hair pulled back and her green eyes luminous in the low light. My own aren’t quite as bright but you can still tell we’re twins.   I stared at the picture so long that I thought I might go insane. Wondering, waiting. For what I didn’t know. For it to start moving? For her to wave? I’m not sure. I’m trying not to think about it right now as I lay in bed, awake and thinking about it. I’m trying not to see her mouth, open, as if trying to tell me something. And I both want and don’t want to know what she’s saying. Because you see, my sister, my twin, was my best friend and I would never fear her. But this picture is from last Christmas. And she’s been dead for sixteen years next May.