B is for Blank - Friday Flash

Due to a first draft deadline that is looming on August 15th I don't have time to write a fresh piece of Friday Flash.  So here is a repost of a story I wrote back in 2009.

B is for Blank

It arrived just as I hit send on my column for the Phoenix Republic. The address wasn’t familiar. I just knew it belonged to a free service that anyone could sign up for. It was the first line of the e-mail that grabbed my attention 'I have to set the record straight...' clicking it open I scanned the contents. Someone calling himself Mr. Griffin wanted to meet and wanted me to tell his story, apparently his real story. I would have ignored it if I had anything else planned.  It all sounded to Deep Throat, but the evening was clear and the place he wanted to meet was just around the corner.

At the restaurant I looked around for anyone sitting by themselves waiting. “Do you have a reservation for a Mr. Griffin?”

“Yes, I’ll show you to your table.” She led me to an empty booth at the back with a heavy curtain for privacy. “Anything to drink?”

“Coffee, thanks.” I set my mini-recorder on the table as I sat down. The waitress was back before I’d even consider if I’d been had.

She disappeared behind the curtain leaving the carafe on the table. “Thank you for coming,” a voice from the opposite side of the booth said. There was no one there “I wasn’t sure if you would come. I’m Hawley Griffin, although you likely know me better by that nickname Wells hung on me The Invisible Man. I never even met him you know. All of those lies he wrote about me where based on stories of men who was prejudice.” As he finished his introduction the coffee carafe rocked then floated into the air as it poured us both a cup.

I stared blankly trying not to show my disbelief as I watched cooling ripples form on the coffee from nothingness. “That story was fiction^”

“Yes and no, some of the events where real others made up. That’s what I want to set straight.”

“Alright,” I said having no idea what I was getting myself into. I pressed the record button “It’s October 2nd 2010 and I’m sitting at a table with the Invisible Man or as he would rather be known Hawley Griffin.”

“H.G. Wells got the opening right; I was a scientist working to bend light rendering something invisible. Filled with the foolishness of youth I tested it on myself, ruining my life. Afterwards I was understandably angry and confused. I did some things I regret when I look back on them. Certainly I wasn’t trying to kill anyone I just wanted help.” There was a deep sadness in his voice as he talked about these events.

“Where did the story come from than?”

“It was Doctor Kemp he was jealous and wanted to claim my formula has his own. So he discredited me through Wells. Later he raised a mob against me in Burdock. I barely escaped catching the next ship to London and hid naked below decks for the journey” He gulped down his coffee and I could see it going down his throat before fading from view. It was enough to make me want to throw-up but I calmed that reflex.

“What happened in London?”

“I tried to get on with my life but it was impossible without cash, which I couldn’t get legally. So I turned to petty crime which in a cash society was easy. A streetwalker offered me assistance believing I was the Holy Ghost and gave herself whole to me. Through her I rented a small loft where she kept house and was the breadwinner when I wasn’t on my sick bed.”

“Was your sickness related to the serum?”

“Partially, London is a retched climate for a man who spends most of his time running through the streets naked.”

“Is that how you ended up in Phoenix?”

“When I was healthy enough I worked on a cure until my vision failed me completely. It had been gradually going since I injected the serum. So no cure, no sight, and nothing holding us to England we moved to better a better climate. America was a lot to get used to, but being a dad even more so. There isn’t a lot to do on an ocean liner as a blind and invisible man so Martha and I kept busy in the cabin.”

So how do you spend your days now?”

“I spend a lot of time with my grandkids and family, they have grown up with my condition and don’t think it is anything special. I also spend a lot time on the internet it is a wonderful thing for a man in my state. You can reinvent yourself as anyone I have a wonderful online relationship with a blind woman in Toledo. I’ve gotten myself a decent job that I do across the internet. I’m having my first taste of a normal life in 100 years.”

Seconds later the curtain opened slightly but no one came in “Are you still here?” I asked tentatively.

“Yes, I am.”

Beside the booth a young man appeared out of nowhere fading slowly into view and fully clothed. “Sorry Grandpa, mom’s calling and wants to know where I am, we’ve gotta go. She’ll be pissed if she finds out I helped you with this. You know she doesn’t want it to go public.”

“Too right, Justin, I’m so sorry.” He sighed “I so wish I could appear and disappear like they do, youth always taking what we give them and pushing it one better. Trevor I’m going to have to cut this short, perhaps you would be willing to join me for dinner another night. I’d be happy to fill in the details we glanced.”

I just stared at the boy in disbelieve it took a moment to realize I was being spoken to again. “Certainly, I’ll e-mail you?” the boy had disappeared again and I was all alone I think.

Aftermath - Friday Flash

Up just under the wire.  As always comments and feedback are always welcome.

Aftermath

Wham!  The half-orc’s fist slammed into the bar top. “Barkeeeeeep, more ale!” his voice slurred out the words in a drunken stupor. 

Getta sighed and hurried across her raised platform behind the bar.  It was time for this Halfling to cut that monster off.  “You’re done for the night.  How’s about my famous hang over cure? It’s on the house.  You’ll thank me for it in the morning.”

The half-orc leaned in closer and towered over her his face just inches away. “Ale, Halfling or you won’t be around in the morning,” he shouted into her face.

All through the bar people looked on.  Some looked seriously concerned.  Others pounded their mugs against the table waiting for something to happen.  Getta wiped the spittle from her face with her apron. “This is my place,” she said her voice as pleasant as can be.  “I’ll decide who’ll drink and you’re done.”

“Look...” was the last word she heard.  After that it was nothing but blinding pain and darkness.

***

Getta tried to blink away the pain but her head was throbbing. She lifted her hand up and ran it through her hair it was a tangled wet mess.  There wasn't any doubt in her mind that some of came from her own blood.  The smell in the air told her the rest of it was; Orcish Rot Gut. She sighed, that shit had a stink that would stick to you for weeks. "That half-orc bastard!" she spat the words out like a curse to the darkest of deities.

She tried to use her arm to prop herself up. It had gone numb from laying on it for so long. As she cringed the whole way up as the pins and needles shooting through her arm. She groaned and propped herself up against the stage.  How in the hell did I end up here? she wondered.  She tried to think back through everything that had happened.

The place was packed.  Zephry's Pass was due to open sometime in the next few days. Then things would go back to normal. Tonight however the place had held at least 4 different groups of adventures, and 2 people trying to hire them. Most of the regulars knew to steer clear right before the pass opened.

On the stage was an empty chair with three empty mugs and a small bowl half full of coins.  “No one was performing tonight,” she muttered.  Both to try and figure out if that was true and to convince her it was.  She set her hands on the stage and lifted herself up on to it.  The whole thing took some effort and left her out of breath.

She held her head in her lap as she caught her breath. That little bit of exertion had her head spinning.  Then after several long deep breaths she surveyed her bar.  It had seen better days that was for certain and maybe one or two that could have been described as worse.  A quarter of her heavy wood tables now lay in splinters along with a slightly higher number of chairs.   A lot of broken glass was scattered about the floor but somehow a number of tables had survived the fight with their glasses intact.  A few even had a little bit of alchol left in them. 

She reached over and scooped up the coins from the performers bowl and made them disappear into her pouch. The thought of what the repairs would cost had her head swimming and she just wanted to lie back down and pass out. It wasn’t an option so she reached over and pulled a chair to her and stood up.  It would be her third, fourth, fifth, and sixth leg all rolled in to one and would make standing so much easier.

Slowly and carefully she made her way between the tables, making her way towards the bar. One table she passed was covered in a deck of her cards although several of them had spilled over on to the floor.  What had she done with the cards?  She stared at them for a while trying to remember, before she recalled giving them out to an adventuring party that had order a rather large meal.

She carried on across the tavern at paused again at the table closest to the bar.  Something small and yellowish was sticking out of the table. At first she couldn't quite make it out.  So she reached over and pulled.  It took a bit of wiggling but in the end it popped out just fine.  When she realized what it was she couldn't help but smile.  This was something she would keep, and she dropped the fang into the same pouch that the coins had gone too.  The chair slid much easier than expected as she pushed away from the table.  Cleaning up the blood was going to take almost as much effort as the getting the furniture fixed.

It took a couple of minutes but she finally reached the bar.  The small space that left by her platform was now filled with a half-orc. He was tied-up, unconscious and covered in dried blood.  Judging from the rich brown colour Getta guessed that it was his.   Someone had left her a present she decided with a smile. She was looking forward to her talk the watch when she noticed a second present.  Beyond the Half-orc was a sack.  Hurrying over to it she pulled it open and was greeted by the glitter of silver and gold coins.  A small note was tied to the inside of the bag that read “It was too early to go home so we kept your place open.  Hope this covers the damage and you are out of bread.“

News - Friday Flash

Sorry it is a little early but I'll be out at the lake on Friday and won't be able to post this through my iPhone. A few things are going on in my life at the moment and I used this story to work through it.  Sometimes it helps to just write things out.

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An ignored alarm cries out in the corner as two bodies sleep soundly on the bed.  Their bodies barely touch each other, because of the heat, but there is contact.  She’s first to wake up which is normally the way it works for them.  "Turn off the alarm," she mutters.

He rolls over and grabs the iPhone from its base.  He's done this same thing a hundred times since he got the phone, a few months ago, but he still has to look at it to see what he's doing.  His forefinger slides the length of the icon and the fake dog stops bark.  From the hallway they can both hear the soft mew of one of the cats.  It brings a smile to his face. He'd picked that alarm sound to play with the cats mind and it seemed to work every morning.  One day they'd get him for it but until then he'd have his fun.

He thought about trying to go back to sleep. It was too late, at this point he was awake and there was no any going back.  A soft snore rose up from behind him, she could sleep through anything he thought and smiled.  His finger tapped the email icon and his email started to download into his phone.  How had he lived before his iPhone?  By the time he reached the bathroom it had chimed and his mail was already on the phone.  A quick tap of his thumb and emails disappeared into the trash. Freecycle announcements for garbage no one wanted or for things that had already been taken were the first to go.

He was about to send another one to oblivion when he spotted the sender's name. It was his aunt.  His eyes scanned the words three times before he could even look up.  'Your mom has cancer, and will be going for six weeks of chemo and radiation treatments.' That line echoed over and over in his mind.  Beyond that there were no details. No mention of where the cancer was. Nothing about a prognosis.

The news did come as to big of a surprise. Doctors had said it was a possibility after her operation.  "We are confident that we've gotten it all. However, there is a chance it might have moved already."  Up until that he had hoped that was more than just a platitude that they told everyone.  Now as he read the email he knew had been false hope.  Maybe the doctors did that so that they would have to answer so many questions. This way they could pass on the problem to another department, someone who dealt with people that might be terminal. 

He gave his head a shake at the thought of anything being terminal. It wasn't the way to think about things right now.  Nothing was terminal anymore.  Cancer could be beaten. it wasn't as scary as it might have been in the days of his Grandmother.  Not that any of them had had cancer or anything. As he walked out of the bathroom and down the stairs he searched his mind for the names of any family member who had had cancer.  None came to mind. Wasn't this type of thing supposed to run in families?  Isn't that why doctors ask for all that patient history? Was this something he'd have to start telling them about when he saw a doctor?  So many fucking questions generated by that one sentence.

Why the fuck had it been a freaking email in the first place?  The opening few words had been an apology for not calling, apparently 630 in the morning was too early to tell someone a family member had cancer or something.  What would be the right time to do that?  Sarcasm battled with anger for which emotion would take control.  Secretly fear had already won out, but he wouldn't realize that for a few days.

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Under a Black Bag - Friday Flash

After reading please take a moment to comment.  It is always nice to get feedbeck on your work as a writer. Also I would encourage you to visit Friday Flash.org to find other great stories.

Under a black bag
By Cliff Stornel

"Bag ho, Portside rising!" came the call from the nest. His cry soon led a choir of deckhands and within seconds everyone knew. Thomas Gray's heart sank at the second call: "She flies under a black bag!"

It had been three days since they had lifted off from New London and only five since he left the academy. His first assignment was a routine patrol. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His hands tightened around the ship’s wheel and his foot kicked the metal door to the wheelhouse shut. Two lengths of iron fell across the door and sealed him in.

A voice echoed from a speaking-trumpet, "Wheelhouse, bring us across their bow and then put us along side with starboard guns on target. Guns, shoot as we across. I intend to board and capture her.”

"Guns, Acknowledged, Sir" came a nervous reply.

Thomas didn’t reply. His eyes were locked on the bag as it climbed up out of the clouds. He was a little surprised it wasn’t black as he thought it was more than just slang for pirates. It was a slow climb for a bag that size, so she had to be heavily laden. Men, no not men, pirates (he corrected himself), scrambled across their bag’s rigging like monkeys. A pair of them had just affixed a patch to the bag then dove off. Their ropes trailed behind them, snapped taunt and swung them to the deck just as it broke through the clouds.  The pirates were rigged for combat, gun ports hung open and cannons still smoked.

"Wheelhouse, are you there damn it?" the voice snapped his attention back.

"Wheelhouse, ack, acknowledged, Sir."

"Pull yourself together boy. You’re a navy man now."

Thomas pulled hard on the ship wheel and swung them around as he listened to the captain. Fans on each side of the ship propelled it forward, under the power of the steam turbine deep in the hold. Across the blue gap he could see the pirate’s fans spin up to speed and knew what they had planned. His hand cracked the comm-tube to engine room "I need full steam; they’re trying to Cross our T.” A surge of pride washed over him; he knew the lingo.

"Aye aye" the Chief replied.

Thomas slammed the brass throttle down. The ship surged ahead. The other ship fired a single shot that fell short. Then another and another, until the last round crashed into the stern. Both hands fought to control the wheel and keep the angle. “Brace yourselves, they’ve ranged us,” he called as pulled the wheel hard to the left. The ship swung across the others bow. He'd done it; he cut them off.

Death and destruction spat from the cannons. Their blasts felt like waves of thunder had washed over the ship. A gap in the volley’s smoke framed a man as he fell from what was left of their bow. The chase cannon mounted in their forecastle was now exposed to the sky and teetered on what remained of the deck. Its shot rolled across the deck and poured out through the gap like droplets of water. If it had been crewed, it wasn’t now.

Thomas brought the ship around and pulled back on the throttle as he brought them alongside. Cannons roared from both ships. Wood and decking splintered off in all directions as shrapnel. Those who remained on the deck tossed grapples to lash the ships together. An explosion rocked the bow and screams echoed through the comm-tube. When they died down, a shout came over the roar of flames: “They hit the front powder stores! We’ve got fires everywhere and the command room’s gone.”

“Gone!” his lips moved but no sound came out. He watched in horror as a rail mounted cannonade spat grape across the deck. Its tiny flechettes flashed through the air and ripped through the flesh of his fellows. Pirates leapt across the gap with pistols and blades in hand. “We’re being boarded!” he screamed into the tube.

Few reserves bubbled up from bellow deck to fend them off. He hoped that meant they were busy with the fire rather than dead. They were horribly outnumbered and there was nothing he could do about it. The fans had stopped and both ships hung dead in the air. Smoke from the fires that blazed and the powder in the air wafted away on the wind.

The braided cords attached the bag to the ship and were slow to catch fire. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t. He switched the comm-tube to the deck trumpet. “We surrender!” His voice was amplified enough to carry it over the sounds of the fire and combat. “We’ll lose both ships if we don’t work together.” Thomas’s cry was carried across the deck by the trumpet. As if perhaps to punctuate his urgency, flames shot up a guide rope. A split second later it snapped and the bow of the ship lurched starboard. Only those closest to the rails survived.

Across the deck, pirates helped whoever was closest over the rail, while others took axes to the ropes that attached the ships. Thomas tossed back the iron bars and swung open the door. Someone threw him a rope and he used it to steady himself as he crossed the lopsided deck. Flames that raged on the bow had started to spread.

In front of him men with boarding pikes pushed the ships apart and at the rail he was forced to jump. Thomas’s fingers wrapped tightly around the rope, but still he slid. Friction tore through the gloves and ate at his flesh. His cry was lost in the explosion as he swung under the other ship. There he dangled, under a black bag, and watched helplessly as the remains of his ship fell to the earth.