RS, Author, Novelist, ProsaistFeb 18, 2024

#WritersCoffeeClub Ch 6 Nbr 13 — Do you ever write very short pieces (fifty words, flash fiction etc)?

By my handle, R.S. is a self-identified novelist whose loquaciousness verges on logorrhea. Cutting 10% of everything I write is de minimus. I once cut 55% out of a novel, then published it.

To answer the question: Yes. Recently, what would be termed sudden fiction. It's actually also a tootfic because my instance server has a toot size of 5,000 characters. This works out to roughly to 800 words, if you include the 30 or so hashtags and titling. I occasionally bring in the story in around 500 words, but I typically hit the 800 word max and have to cut. It requires me to be concise and to use ellipsis, and to... make... every... word (and punctuation character)... count. Very good practice for me! I publish these under the hashtag Writever, and am compiling them into an anthology.

I rarely write fiction any smaller, however,

Occasionally,
A haiku blossoms like spring...
Good at the form. Not!

FYI from Wikipedia:

Flash fiction is a brief fictional narrative that still offers character and plot development. Identified varieties, many of them defined by word count, include the six-word story; the 280-character story (also known as "twitterature" or "tootfic"); the "dribble" (also known as the "minisaga", 50 words); the "drabble" (also known as "microfiction", 100 words);"sudden fiction" (750 words);"flash fiction" (1,000 words); and "microstory".

Haiku (俳句 is a type of short form poetry that originated in Japan. Traditional Japanese haiku consist of three phrases composed of 17 phonetic units (called on in Japanese, which are similar to syllables) in a 5, 7, 5 pattern; that include a kireji, or "cutting word"; and a kigo, or seasonal reference. Similar poems that do not adhere to these rules are generally classified as senryū.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]

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#fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#haiku #flashfiction #tootfic #microfiction #flashfiction #suddenfiction #tootfic

RigidealusOct 7, 2023

Five-thousand stars in a city-lost sky. Five-thousand white-hot candles winking, two-thousand five-hundred Toms peeping down.

Read the whole tiny story on my website, http://rigidealus.com.
#spooky #scarystories #lizard #flashfiction #suddenfiction
#stars #pixelart #1bit

Rigidealus's Homebase

A central hub for all my creative ideas and projects.

Rigidealus's Homebase
RS, Author, Novelist, ProsaistJun 7, 2023

#WritingWonders 6.7 — Where is one place in your world you try to avoid? Why?

[Is this a sequel? Hmmm...]

If War is a State, Can You Avoid the Place?

I don't know when I started shaking, when the world turned cold, started retreating from me down a white tunnel of perception. A whine ramped up in my ears to drown out the remembered angry shouts, the screams, and the sound of daemon fire. What snapped me back was arms encircling me, followed by gentle wings and downy feathers doing the same.

Bolt. She held me.

I never ran when others were in danger. I was a fighter, so I never went hysterical. I never flailed. I didn't hit. I shook. I held my head. Rocked.

Bolt said, "His bodyguards said ya'd had an episode in his suite. Your PTSD, a? From da gang war in Harbor City?"

I breathed in deeply, then out. The more people understood I was damaged goods, the less they'd stupidly rely me on solving their troubles. I was a teenager in the arms of a subordinate ten years my senior.

I nodded.

She hugged tighter.

Swallowing bile, I finally got out, "You got stuck between the crashed airship and the invaders that brought it down in flames."

Bolt said quietly, "I wasn't thinking, telling you my war stories. I'm so sorry."

I gulped. "I—It reminded me of Harbor City. People shooting on all sides, hiding behind postboxes and wagons. Trying to protect the boss who was too stupid to live, me having to shove her down." The lack of control. My voice grew louder. "Then I thought, 'Oh, I worked so hard to get that airship into the air.' Three dozen crew. An ensign who desperately wanted her discharge because she'd been so mistreated by her superiors. I'd gotten you and Citron onboard! Had you died...!" I shrieked, trembling again.

By now, Bolt felt my tears wetting her shoulder. Dignity, pride? I don't know which I morned, but both were gone, not that I had them to start with. I was a sharp tool, raised as a weapon, used as such, not really human. I deserved neither.

She patted and rubbed my back. "We done saved the city from a siege, ya know. Your doin'"

"Not me. You. And the ensign. Others. Not me. I—I couldn't have done it. I'd have broken."

Bolt chuckled, and I felt the buzz of it through my chest and back. "Nah. You'd have fought jus' fine. It's the thinkin'a'bout that's freaky."

"Maybe? I can fight a few people, take my bruises. But lots of people?" I shuddered, tried to pull back, but she didn't let me. "This war thing—Director Rainy Days is now talking offal that stinks of me having gotten that frigate in the air against the odds, but dozens of ships, together with me commanding captains who know what they're doing and I don't. I so want to avoid that. I don't want to go there, to that place. I can be responsible for myself, but for others? I don't know!"

Bolt knew where I was going. Rainy Days had made us her tools at the same, after our battle against her—and Bolt was the only one in centuries that had nearly killed the Director. She said, "If the Overlords of Equitorium really have your father hostage..."

Nausea came up and the whine in my ears increased. I really wasn't the one in control.

If my father hadn't been killed, then Rainy Days wasn't responsible for the crime I'd blamed her for. She'd given me hope of seeing him again, and had taken control of my life by doing so, and Bolt who'd bonded with me. Made Bolt my responsibility. I finished for her, "I will have to go there before Rainy Days plans come together. To save him, to prevent a war."

Now I hugged her back. We'd be in danger because we'd be the infiltrators. Me, Citron, the team, and Bolt, all in danger, her more so because she'd be be protecting me, who as Rainy Days' newly declared heir would be the highest value hostage planet-side.

I had no choice. I never did. I'd be going, one way or another, to the one place in the world I wanted to avoid.

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#fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #microfiction #suddenfiction

RS, Author, Novelist, ProsaistJun 4, 2023

#WritingWonders 6.4 — "When was the last time you traveled?"

Title: Sharp Tool a'Traveling

I looked down at the rucksack I'd thrown on the silver satin bedspread, then the few flimsy pieces of under-clothing I'd pulled from a drawer. Anyone could see how worn the travel bag was, especially where the sleeping pad had rubbed against the canvas. Bolt was into her chains, piercings, and hardware, and for what it was worth, lots of complimentary (read: punk) clothing, not to mention cosmetics.

Unlike me.

I wore clothing only to the extent it was functional. I was a minimalist. Minimalism made it easier to run away. It took me a moment to interpret the day angel's expression.

I said, "Yeah, below my station. I don't give a flapping—"

"That's your luggage? Where did you go?"

I shoved in some light green shorts and a form-fitting top, made of technical fabric that could handle the humidity of our destination: Her home town, where the masquerade would take place. [The Masquerade Invitation: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/110250683189485013] Of course, everyone knew my past and I'd been pardoned of my crimes. Still...

"Well," I started, "I decided I wanted to see more of the country. When I discussed it with a guy, he gave me a map through the costal forests to the southern route to Home City. [Wild Encounter: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/109842477740039509] I had quit my job in Harbor City, and wanted to take some time off."

Bolt lifted the rucksack, eying it suspiciously, then drew her face back after sniffing it. "You walked all that way?"

"Yeah, I did."

"That had to take, what, two months?"

"Four; should've taken six." I answered. Bolt spotted something, then held the bag and looked ready to scratch it off with a fingernail. "Don't," I added, and she jerked her hand back.

"That looks like blood."

"It is. Citron's."

She dropped the rucksack. "Strange souvenir. Begs a question. Why? Why the trip? Why such a long one?"

I drew a few worn magic books from my bookshelf, and my notebook, and shoved them in with a quill. I shrugged. "I wanted to disappear long enough that people would assume somebody had killed me: gave me cement shoes and thrown me in the bay."

Bolt looked at the blood stain. "You assumed wrong?"

"People don't think you could accidentally go from a nobody to a championship prizefighter to running a crime syndicate in barely three years. You have to be competent. Worse, they don't think someone obviously so competent would suddenly disappear after running the organization for a few weeks. I had. All that. Accidentally.

"I don't think the boss thought I'd really let her die.

"I ghosted the organization—after fixing it so it wouldn't implode after the gang war. Running it was a complete, stupid-headed, diversion from my goal of learning magic. I was totally incompetent to run it. I wasn't bloody-minded enough. I knew factions didn't like the changes I made, and would soon try to kill me, unless I did something about it. What I did was choose to leave." [The Wanted Poster: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/110136451462609798]

"They went after you?"

"Dunno. Maybe? Probably? Maybe the boss' plans within plans followed after her death? Turns out that Director Rainy Days had been watching me all along. She had thought of my misadventures as training. Of course something happened. Why not? My luck. Who's fault? Them? Her Highness? I dunno. I got tangled up in one of their schemes, and, well, um... I resolved it in the Director's favor. Afterward, she had the temerity to criticize me for wimping out with the syndicate! For not following my vision of wanting to make the organization more legit!"

"Wait? She wanted you to kill— to let people die..." Bolt swallowed visibly. "To fix things?"

"That's Rainy Days for you. That's why you should never trust an absolute ruler."

"And she made you her heir?"

I pulled my ivory-handled jackknife from my messenger bag; popped it open with a click. The razor flashed and gleamed as if it were alive, preening for us. I was being used, by the Director, pretty much as I'd used this very blade, sticking it into someone's chest—oddly enough, to save them. I closed it with the palm of my hand, and dropped the sharp tool into my rucksack.

A sharp tool had to be used improperly to be made evil. Would I use it on this trip? Was I being used? Misused?

I already knew I was evil.

I said, "Yeah. Go figure. She's immortal. You wonder why I don't trust her?"

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RS, Author, Novelist (@[email protected])

#WritingWonders 4.23 — **The Masquerade Invitation** Bolt held her wings flared out, making the metallic bits in the feather vanes sparkle in the sun coming through the skylight. She was either excited or very pleased with herself, or both. She practically vibrated as she handed me the sculpted silver foil-surface card, made to look like angel feathers. I looked. I blinked. I held it out at arms length, as if that would somehow bring into focus words that didn't quite make sense. *To me*. "You were *invited* to a masquerade ball back where you grew up?" "Yes. I want you to be my plus-1." I snorted and started laughing. Her wings flagged a bit and I reached for her shoulder. I grinned. "You're planning on causing trouble, aren't you?" I waggled a finger at her and she perked up. We'd both been pardoned for our criminal past. *Trouble* for us had multiple meetings. She held open the card with both hands and warped over a primary feather to point at names. "The city directorate and commerce are putting it on. Those *featherbrains* that blackballed me when I tried to get into long distance hauling will be there." "You're planning of rubbing your status change in their face. You're going as Captain Stormchaser, I suppose?" "The hero who helped Director Rainy Days establish the nation? I'm wearing Stormchaser's actual antique armor daily... So... Why not wear her uniform? I'm having one tailored for me." "Who would I go as?" "You'll go!? You'll be my plus-1?" Her eyes sparkled now. "You saved my flank and got yours burnt up as a result. The least I could do is the small stuff from time to time. It's at an aerie, though." Her hometown was a day angel-predominate city with buildings you needed to fly up to, or within. She grinned devilishly. "I was thinking you could go as Rainy Days." I rubbed my chin. "She's a giant—with wings. I don't have any." "Make them part of the costume. You can jump magically between platforms, something only she, you, and very few people can do." "She'd fly." "Yeah. Suppose." "Her's is a pearl white complexion. You may have noticed mine is somewhat *greenish*." "I've seen you wear washout skin dye plenty of times. Before you say it, I know you can paint on skin patterns. You did that for years, and I know you were good at it." Most people got theirs near puberty; I'd only got mine a few weeks ago. Rainy Days' patterns continually shifted visibly over minutes and I wasn't sure she actually had control over what presented. Nobody did, except me. If I thought about doing it, I could change my spots. I said, "I have a better idea." Bolt looked crestfallen. "I get it. Rainy Days and Captain Stormchaser together would be awesome. But... I could go as my mother!" "The singer Midnight?" Her eyes moved as she considered that. I may not have inherited my mother's good looks, or coal black skin color, but I could sing and often practiced in the shower, as Bolt had learned. I sang a show tune: *Don't Cry for Me, Equatorim*. Her song helped me visualize the stately woman I'd seen on so many album covers, but of whom I had no personal pictures with me as a child. She died before I was five. Bolt stepped back, watching as wavy black patterns slowly advanced across my arms and everywhere else. I was thinking *sound waves*, them vibrating, leaving wave traces behind, filling up every patch of skin. "Wow. Amazing," Bolt said. "Nobody will recognize you—if you dye your hair black. Red won't do. I can carry you between levels." "I'll reserve the jumping until I need to startle somebody." Bolt started chuckling. I joined in. It wasn't maniacal laughing but, by the smile on Bolt's face, what we shared was close enough. I'd have to wear contacts over my emeraline eyes but, with my hair up, I could wear a velvet black fedora to cover my horns (Midnight's spiraled). I'd need a flowing knee-length Diva M's black dress with lots of black lace and maybe a sequins collar. The black on black with black *so* appealed to my goth soul! Me singing would perfect the costume. Of course, my voice couldn't compare to my mother's. Nobody's ever would. For this, it would be good enough. However, she had also been a *spy* for the Directorate. The reason she'd died so young. Bolt wanting to cause mischief at the masquerade resonated with me pretending to be my mother. Not being recognized as myself presented lots of devious possibilities, especially once Bolt pointed out the people who had hurt her. I was a devil-girl, never forget that. "This might actually be fun!" [Author retains copyright] #fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #BoostingIsSharing #CommentingIsCool

Eldritch Café
RS, Author, Novelist, ProsaistJun 1, 2023

#Links to #Story Samples Written by R.S.

I've written very short fiction stories in my universe for #Mastodon under various hashtags. They're first citizen samples of my 1st person writing, in my casual—made to be read aloud—writing style, and include my still evolving characters. None tally much more than 750 words, with a hard character limit set by my instance. I think they're an easy read. Some are based on my earlier works, some on works not yet written. Most of what was written for Mastodon was written quickly, edited immediately, then posted. It could be better, but I've resisted more than revising typos or inappropriate words. Everything is experimental; nothing should be considered canon.

Stories:

Excerpts with proposed titles:

Interviews:

Other:

[Author retains copyright to all posted words]

All my answers to #writingWonders can be found by clicking: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/tagged/WritingWonders

#BoostingIsSharing #CommentingIsCool

#fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #1stPerson #writersOfMastodon #story #RSstory #storySamples #excerpt
#microfiction < 500 words
#suddenFiction ~750 words

RS, Author, Novelist, Prosaist (@[email protected])

Content warning: #WordWeavers 9.1 —Introduce your antagonist with as much sympathy as possible. CW: Mild fantasy battlefield depiction.

Eldritch Café
RS, Author, Novelist, ProsaistFeb 15, 2023

Well, oh my. It's a shock sometimes when you think you can write a story and you get a stilted mess. Just a bit rattled.

Trying to do a @Michaelvaliant prompt (https://writing.exchange/@Michaelvaliant). Sudden fiction (<750 words) is too short for me. Definitely rewriting it to twice length that and posting a link to my webpage instead...

#writingLife #writing #suddenfiction #flashfiction #Promptodon

Michael Valiant ✅ ⚔️🚀📚 (@[email protected])

2.19K Posts, 424 Following, 681 Followers · Home of daily #FlashFiction #Promptodon - Check the Pinned Post for todays Prompt! #MicroFiction & unrequested opinions. #ASD warrior, pedantic rogue & itinerate wizard (I mean WRITER!) - occasionally witty, often misunderstood (It's probably me, not you!) I comma here daily! 🇨🇦 #VideoGames | #Geek | #Gamer of #RPG & #BoardGames | #Vegan #Chef | #Reader | #Writer; mostly of #Fantasy, #Scifi & #CrimeFiction - especially the spots on a Venn where they intersect | #ActuallyAutistic

Writing Exchange
Show threadRS, Author, Novelist, ProsaistFeb 10, 2023

@JoeChip Thank you. Well, you are in luck! Hot off the press is, as it were, is another #excerpt: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/109842477740039509

#flashfiction #suddenfiction class #fiction

RS, Author, Novelist (@[email protected])

@[email protected] **Wild Encounter** by RS * #Flashfiction of the class #suddenfiction < 750 words. This is a #1st draft written in one hour, so have mercy. This was me living again. Sandals slapping heels on a forest path, the humidity steaming up from the ground as eveningshine approached, a map in hand guiding my way, and a backpack with a tarp weighing on my shoulders. I liked darkness and gloom; my room as a child had been a grey wonder of silence that made reading my books all day a joy. My world had become green in these last few days, and fragrantly pine-scented. Rabbits skittered through the underbrush. Dirt ground into my sweaty skin reassured me. Not having to care felt like paradise. I saw the doe and fawn first, and they didn't look happy. The mother stared into the distance, then whirled her head to glance at me. I saw her body tense, before she nosed her fawn, seemingly to say, "The wolves, the wolves!" They bounded off. At a tangent. I'd caught them between... Needles rustled and I saw light peek through branches. That direction. Thaumlight! It had a sparkle to it only someone like me could detect. It wasn't electroluminescent or bioluminescent, or firelight. I mustn't be far enough from the city after all. I removed my sandals. The leaf litter caressed my feet and proved I'd built up sufficient calluses as I crept forward into the warm dusky world. It wasn't my world, and usually not that of people either. The Wild claimed the wild areas between the cities and the farms as their own, and they didn't like incursions in their unblemished fair demesne. People who passed through respectfully never saw the capital-F Fawn, the Wood-horned. Those that trespassed— Well, people did disappear. When I'd run away, certainly some people assumed I'd be one of those, but the broadsheets said I'd been kidnapped. As I padded along, with hushed crinkles and mashing sounds, the shadows and the ghostly forms resolved from glimpses to a tall thin structure with a pointy bark-shingled roof. I saw a cold chimney almost as I scented last night's hearth. My heart beat faster as it all felt wrong. I glanced at the map. I'd paid well for it from a traveler with a rep. I saw no settlement, no indication of a border with the Wild near here. Closer, the forest veil slid to reveal: Plastered and cracked walls. Wood frame real-glass windows heavily varnished, but dark with age and constant repair. Despite the growing gloom, the three windows glowed with thaumlight. Homey. Hospitable? Someone like me might live there, but in this danger? Between where I'd stood before and the house, a form moved. A branch cracked. A young man—*no*, a teenager maybe slightly younger than I. In the shadows melting into the trees behind him, a glint. It was too far, but I knew those were caramel eyes, looking my way. At first I thought a tree moved, but I saw wood move as she tilted her head. On a deer's, that would be a rack of possibly six points. On her? Maybe I didn't understand anything about the Wild. Less about one of my kind living amongst them, though intuition said it wasn't bad. I bowed my head in her gaze and didn't look further. I didn't want to be invited in. I had left the cities of the northeast to disappear, but not in a wild sense. Circumstance had led me to be crowned to lead the syndicate after I'd been responsible for its director's death (not that anyone understood she'd become too stupid to live). The conservative faction would eventually kill me. Those I helped flourish with my advice would die protecting me. I'd done my utmost to calm the conflicts that caused the war, before ghosting the organization. I wanted to leave no traces of my passage that pursuers might discover. I needed to "disappear" for months on my way to Home City. I didn't need the guilt of more innocent deaths to add to my personal tally. I dropped my sandals with a measured slap to show I wasn't hiding, and quickly marched away from the welcome light. I liked the gloom, and the humid heat, and was happy to sleep where no one would suffer because I existed. #shortfiction #fiction #sff #fantasy #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompt #promptodon #BoostingIsSharing Could be an #excerpt from my WIP.

Eldritch Café
Show threadRS, Author, Novelist, ProsaistFeb 10, 2023

@Michaelvaliant Wild Encounter by RS

This was me living again. Sandals slapping heels on a forest path, the humidity steaming up from the ground as eveningshine approached, a map in hand guiding my way, and a backpack with a tarp weighing on my shoulders. I liked darkness and gloom; my room as a child had been a grey wonder of silence that made reading my books all day a joy. My world had become green in these last few days, and fragrantly pine-scented. Rabbits skittered through the underbrush. Dirt ground into my sweaty skin reassured me. Not having to care felt like paradise.

I saw the doe and fawn first, and they didn't look happy. The mother stared into the distance, then whirled her head to glance at me. I saw her body tense, before she nosed her fawn, seemingly to say, "The wolves, the wolves!"

They bounded off. At a tangent. I'd caught them between...

Needles rustled and I saw light peek through branches.

That direction.

Thaumlight! It had a sparkle to it only someone like me could detect. It wasn't electroluminescent or bioluminescent, or firelight. I mustn't be far enough from the city after all.

I removed my sandals. The leaf litter caressed my feet and proved I'd built up sufficient calluses as I crept forward into the warm dusky world. It wasn't my world, and usually not that of people either. The Wild claimed the wild areas between the cities and the farms as their own, and they didn't like incursions in their unblemished fair demesne. People who passed through respectfully never saw the capital-F Fawn, the Wood-horned. Those that trespassed—

Well, people did disappear. When I'd run away, certainly some people assumed I'd be one of those, but the broadsheets said I'd been kidnapped.

As I padded along, with hushed crinkles and mashing sounds, the shadows and the ghostly forms resolved from glimpses to a tall thin structure with a pointy bark-shingled roof. I saw a cold chimney almost as I scented last night's hearth. My heart beat faster as it all felt wrong. I glanced at the map. I'd paid well for it from a traveler with a rep. I saw no settlement, no indication of a border with the Wild near here.

Closer, the forest veil slid to reveal: Plastered and cracked walls. Wood frame real-glass windows heavily varnished, but dark with age and constant repair. Despite the growing gloom, the three windows glowed with thaumlight.

Homey.

Hospitable?

Someone like me might live there, but in this danger?

Between where I'd stood before and the house, a form moved. A branch cracked. A young man—no, a teenager maybe slightly younger than I.

In the shadows melting into the trees behind him, a glint. It was too far, but I knew those were caramel eyes, looking my way. At first I thought a tree moved, but I saw wood move as she tilted her head. On a deer's, that would be a rack of possibly six points. On her?

Maybe I didn't understand anything about the Wild. Less about one of my kind living amongst them, though intuition said it wasn't bad.

I bowed my head in her gaze and didn't look further. I didn't want to be invited in. I had left the cities of the northeast to disappear, but not in a wild sense. Circumstance had led me to be crowned to lead the syndicate after I'd been responsible for its director's death (not that anyone understood she'd become too stupid to live). The conservative faction would eventually kill me. Those I helped flourish with my advice would die protecting me. I'd done my utmost to calm the conflicts that caused the war, before ghosting the organization.

I wanted to leave no traces of my passage that pursuers might discover. I needed to "disappear" for months on my way to Home City. I didn't need the guilt of more innocent deaths to add to my personal tally.

I dropped my sandals with a measured slap to show I wasn't hiding, and quickly marched away from the welcome light. I liked the gloom, and the humid heat, and was happy to sleep where no one would suffer because I existed.

[Author retains copyright]

#shortfiction #fiction #sff #fantasy #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompt #promptodon #BoostingIsSharing

Could be an #excerpt from my WIP.

Show threadRS, Author, Novelist, ProsaistFeb 8, 2023

Where Most Comfortable by RS

I pushed open the door to the walkup, then had to push harder. I guess the difficulty substituted for lack of a lock. As the door creaked open, I jerked my head back at the scent of urine. The hard-to-open door proved useless again today. I thumped up the steps two at a time, up four flights, lit by my blue-green sprite and wan nightshine through broken dirty windows. Nobody greeted me; perhaps nobody would except in fullshine as, though I looked like a student, I was also one of those shady characters, despite being reasonably girlish and almost pretty. Perhaps I radiated it.Perhaps the thaumlume sprite floating before me was too perfect, bright, and discomforting.

A rare talent. Which was why I was a student.

I'd just finished a job, too. The idiot would pay back his loan; all I'd had to perform were minor miracles and pyrotechnics that frightened the angel from flying away. Hadn't had to hurt anyone. It was my deal with the boss. I'd be his most efficient enforcer so long as I didn't have to hurt anyone, and I hadn't. The night angel could have fought, and I'd have defended myself and felt bad about the mess afterwards.

Well, a little bad. Maybe.

I'd been flush with gold from the job, which is why I was happy to be home. Tea and scones with plenty of butter in my tummy, I pushed open my door. No lock, but you guessed that, right? I felt a field-tingle passing through, which verified nobody had been so stupid as to enter while I was gone, but I threw the slide bolt behind me. It guaranteed people having to barge in loudly if they wanted to confront me, giving me time to defend myself.

I'd torn off all the wallpaper, leaving stained lath and plaster which to me seemed like a new-art wash of dun and grey that was both pleasing and calming. I'd spent days sanding, filling, and varnishing the partially rotted and distressed floorboards—could it be pine? It was mud color, so the knots were barely a clue. I had a table, similarly refurbished by me, and a periwinkle china wash basin I'd glued back together. No sense on spending anything except on books, food, and rent as far as I was concerned. Beyond that, and the oval window, was my stack of hay. I inhaled. It smelled fresh, since I'd brought it yesterday, and it reminded me of not-city. It combined with the scent of the trash fire at the end of the block. I heard kids laughing and talking.

Kids? They were older than me, but they hadn't been other people's sharp tool so my years counted double! At least.

I still liked the burnt smell. City incense, right? I grinned, dropping my book bag. I dug out my new tome. Leatherbacked. Gilt lettering. Rare and delightfully musty. Merchant Ducket's Codicils and Interlocutory Physics, 3rd Extended Edition. The 19th had been redacted heavily by the Directorate. It cost plenty, but nothing made me happier than warping reality, and I really did love the math. It never hurt when something in your head helped you do the arithmetic! I fluffed the hay up, snuggled into it despite the initial itchiness against my skin. I started reading, figuring I could finish my homework later.

I'd earned this. Lit by my sprite and the nightshine that over the next hours passed across the open book, I read and learned new stuff.

Eventually, I had to stretch.

That revealed a familiar blue envelope. Right. The window had been open and I usually closed it. Bolt, the boss' day angel runner had dropped it in. An urgent job, doubtless. Lots of gold.

Foo on that. I swiped it away. Let the boss try to make me work extra. Wouldn't end well.

I went to sleep, hugging the book like a plush rabbit.

[Author retains copyright]

#writing #author #sff #fantasy #story #shortfiction #minifiction #flashfiction #suddenfiction < 750 words #writingLife #boostingIsSharing.