Life’s A Game

Author’s note: This week’s story is inspired by a prompt from the great people at WriteAnything. Thanks for reading and as always, comments are welcome.


I’m driving to the toy store thinking. Thinking about Carol. Thinking I’m going to leave her because all we ever do is fight. She accuses me of not listening and she’s right, I don’t. I’m just so sick of the constant nagging and whining. If you believed half of what she says you’d hate me but I think I’m an OK guy. Nothing special, but I have friends and they at least think I’m OK. Anyway, I think I’m going to leave her after my little cousin’s birthday.

I’m looking at the shelves and wishing my Aunt hadn’t picked board games as a theme for the party because I really want to get my cousin a remote controlled car. I pick up Monopoly and put it back down. I mean it’s a classic, but does anyone really like that game. I grab Risk and put it back too. It’s a great game, but it takes forever to play. One game and you hardly ever pull it off the shelf again. Life. Now that’s a good game. Spin the wheel and see where you land. Some times you get lucky. Out of all the games here, this is probably the most real.

I toss the package into the back of the wagon and head off to the party. I probably should have brought some wrapping paper but fortunately for me, Carol’s thought of everything. I’m sure I’ll hear all about how right she was to save the gift bags after I was just going to throw them away and how she knew she better put one in the car because obviously, I would forget to ask for free gift wrapping. I guess she does have a point there. I go to put the Game of Life in the gift bag and notice a small piece of paper with her handwriting. It says “sorry”.

Now I don’t know, maybe it is me. Maybe she does still love me. Maybe we can make this work. I head inside and join the party. I smile at Carol as she takes the gift bag from me and she smiles back. I had forgotten how beautiful she is when she smiles. I watch as her face morphs from smile into the fixed corners and crumpled brow that I’ve come to loathe. She slams the bag hard into my chest.

“What?” I ask.

“You always screw things up. Claire is getting him Life,” she says and fixes me with a stare.

“Well, how the hell should I know?”

“I left you a note in the bag. You were supposed to get him Sorry.”

-Splat- (it’s not what you think)

Author’s note: My esteemed editor, Jodi Cleghorn asked me to write a story called “Splat” and dedicate it to her. So, Jodi, this one’s for you, though I bet you wish it weren’t.


So far it’s been one hell of a day. I mean who would have ever thought so much crap could happen to one person in only 24 hours. It all started this morning when my alarm clock didn’t go off. Apparently the power was cut off to my apartment after some drunk driver plowed through a stop sign and sent a family sedan into a utility pole. So now I’m late getting up but somehow manage to get out the door. No problem, if I drive fast enough I can still make my meeting. But no, luck shat on me again. I’m on the freeway making good time when traffic slows to a crawl because apparently, there’s a five car pile up. And according to the radio one of the cars is on fire with several people trapped inside. There goes any chance of my making the meeting.

So now I’m out of a job but maybe it’s all for the best. My supervisor’s a dick and I’m getting bored with calculating statistical probabilities anyway. I take the first exit I can and leave my crap-box Ford in the first parking lot I find. I may as well head downtown and grab a bite to eat, grab a paper and see what’s available in the help wanted ads. But before I can even get to my favorite Korean bar-b-que, the apartment building next to me catches on fire. I’m about to walk on past, thinking it’s got nothing to do with me, when all of a sudden I hear a woman screaming my name. So naturally I look up. It’s some woman I don’t recognize. I turn to walk away and hear her scream “Hepmabebe”

I’m tying to figure out what she’s screaming, thinking it must be some French word for help, when she tosses something out the window. So now here I am, hungry, no job, and now there’s a baby mystery bundle hurtling towards me at an alarming rate. Why does this always happen to me.

If he catches the baby turn to page 47 or, turn to page 81 if you want the rapidly descending object to be a bag of cash.
Please seek immediate psychological help if you want the story to live up to its name.


I stare down at Sandra’s makeup mirror balanced on the edge of the white porcelain sink. The last of my coke is chopped in two straight lines and I know I shouldn’t but I probably will.

Just now before I lied and said I had to piss, she told me to stop or we were done.

Said she’d brought so much into this relationship and I was killing it, killing us, killing her.

I said I had no more coke but she’s not stupid. She knows me and my secrets. I’m no mystery. She’s a goddess and I’m a demon-vampire sucking her life away and I can’t stop but I tell her I can. She knows I’m a liar even though I don’t want to be. I say I gotta piss and go into the bathroom. She doesn’t say goodbye.

I did my last two bumps today. I swear to God, I swear to Sandra but they’ve both gone and left me here alone. I can’t even see myself in her mirror anymore.

Deceptions and Aliens

Author’s Note: I’ve decided to go back to posting a few #fridayflash pieces based on prompts from the totally awesome This week’s prompt: “Pick a book of fiction you’d never read (e.g., if you read sci-fi, pick a romance). Open to a random page and read the last couple paragraphs of the page. DO NOT TURN THE PAGE. Now continue writing the story. Feel free to change the genre as you write.”

Ready? Strap in.


From the novel “Deceptions” by Judith Michael
Copyright 1982 by JM Productions Ltd.
Page 321

“Garth removed the ivory combs in her hair and the heavy waves fell over her shoulders, bronze in the dim light. He looked at her slender body and passed his hands along the clear, silken skin as if he had never seen it before. Her ripe fullness lifted toward him, her head high and proud as he gazed at her. I am a part of us, her eyes said, and my beauty is greater because you desire me.

Once again he gathered her into his arms, her softness curving against the muscles of his arms and stomach and legs, the warmth of her body merging into his. They held each other, treasuring their desire, for now they knew it would be fulfilled. At last he bent his-”
head away from hers. Thank God, she thought. Another second and his breath would have knocked me out. Inter-species breeding was still new and apparently there were still some kinks to be worked out. That’s OK, she thought chuckling to herself. I have some kinks of my own that need sorting first.

“Why are you laughing?” asked Garth. His smoldering eyes searched her voluptuous body for answers.

“It’s just I’ve never seen eyes actually smolder before,” said Katherine. “In my world it’s a horrible cliché.” She bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was to insult him, especially now. In his current state of full arousal he could accidentally kill her.

“I’m sorry,” he said climbing off her.

“Please don’t leave.” She grabbed one of his eight arms and pulled him back on top of her. “I find the smell quite pleasurable. It turns me on.”

She lifted her head to his and kissed his lips, tasting the warmth of smoked Gouda as her tongue explored the depths of his mouth.

“Oh Garth,” she whispered, her lips brushing his antennae. They lay entwined on the hotel bed, Garth’s full weight pressed upon her.

“Garth,” she breathed, pounding her fists against his back and the bed. “Garth,” she moaned, it was barely audible. “GARTH!”

“Oh dear Jebbus!” he exclaimed shifting his weight off her. “How clumsy of me to forget you don’t have an exoskeleton.” Katherine lay panting on the bed. “Did I hurt you? Should we stop?”

No you didn’t hurt me and no we shouldn’t stop,” she said tracing her long slender finger down his thorax toward his groin. “It’s been too long since I’ve had something between my legs that wasn’t plugged into the wall.”

Then in an surprising turn of events the reader didn’t see coming she devoured him and thought his leftovers tasted better the second day.

Author’s note Redux: See, this is why I have no business writing romance. And by the way books from the ‘free’ table at the annual library book sale aren’t always worth it.