#SwiftFicFriday W64 – Vote!

#SwiftFicFriday W64 – Vote!

Another prompt, another round of great stories to choose from. Check the stories out below and vote for your favorite!


The Blue Note: 299 words, @JPGarlandAuthor

He long believed there was an equilibrium in their relationship. A balance. Yin-Yang if you will.

There were times when he felt he was not pulling his share but she didn’t seem to notice. They enjoyed each other’s company. The sex was good. Sometimes very, very good. They worked in different fields and though she earned more, he never thought he was in competition with her.

So he was surprised when he got home from work one Friday and found she’d taken her clothes and left a note. It wasn’t, when he thought back on it, a bitter note. Nor was it angry. It was as matter-of-fact as one could imagine.

Short, too. It was sitting on the island that was just installed as part of the renovated kitchen. She’d been the impetus to the improvement, and he kept as far from the planning and construction as he could. He let her go out early on Saturday mornings to meet some contractor at Home Depot. Watched the Yankees while she sat at her laptop in a corner of the den sighing at tiles or wallpaper or lighting. Fridges and stoves.

It was, he admitted when it was done, quite a nice kitchen. And it was on that quite nice island that her note sat. It was on her powder blue stationary. He grabbed it for her at a Hallmark store during his lunch break a few years back when he remembered he had forgotten her birthday. That and the card. It was in her nice, Catholic girl script.

It took him months to actually use the kitchen. Delivery mostly. Paper plates. Plastic utensils. And lots of beer.

The note was on the Sub-Zero fridge. He sometimes re-read it. He wondered how he could have been so wrong about her.


299 words, @DavidALudwig

Jinx’s cat, Blackie, rubbed reassuringly against her ankles as she watched their executioner friends repair their sleigh. Their reindeer grazed around the wildflower field where they had made their hard landing. Bluebelle, the well-dressed druidess, ambled easily to Jinx’s left side.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Much better, thank you.” Jinx nodded politely.

“Glad to hear it!” Bluebelle sat at Jinx’s side with a heavy sigh. “And how was your training with Vedania?”

Jinx lowered herself to her knees next to Bluebelle, providing her lap for Blackie to climb on but keeping her dangerous right hand aside and away from her friends.

“Okay, I guess. I can sort of control it if I really concentrate. And the mittens help a lot.”

Bluebelle smiled warmly.

“That sounds very good for your first session.”

Jinx pouted while petting Blackie with her left hand, anxious that it might also develop some destructive power.

“Why did I get such a bad power? Why couldn’t I get healing powers, like you?”

Bluebelle laughed heartily with a hand on her belly.

“That could take years to answer! However, I believe you are healing Vedania. She’s been off balance for a while now. Teaching you seems to be helping her find equilibrium again.”

A sharp bang preceded an executioner’s exclamation.

“Pumpkin seeds!” Brewer spat. “Medic! I’m hurt bad!”

Bluebelle was immediately on her feet, but before dashing to the sleigh paused to consider Jinx.

“Come with me.”

Jinx followed her friend to where Brewer was cradling his hurt hand, and Emathyst was cradling Brewer. Bluebelle knelt and removed Jinx’s left mitten.

“Touch his hand with this one.” She instructed.

Jinx tentatively tried and was delighted to discover the life force her right hand had been stealing all afternoon flowing from her left to heal Brewer’s wound.


Tormonian Unbalanced, 291 words, @dontpanic2011

Margoth turned puce and drew its orifice downward. Humans shrieked and made an odd sound he’d learned they called laughter. Tormonians made no such noise. Allegedly it showed joy, though Margoth did not understand why.

“Only one-point-five more rotations and Gorphad will rescue Margoth.”

Its words were lost amidst another burst of noise from the surrounding humans. The vessel humans called a ship splashed through a hydrogen dioxide wave, spraying the occupants. Margoth passed a tentacle over its suit screen to ensure the holographic generator continued to function within parameters despite the repeated exposures to hydrogen dioxide. To its relief, it continued to function as expected.

Margoth glanced around at his fellow travelers. It appeared this venture served a pleasurable purpose for humans but created misery for Margoth. How humans found enjoyment from the odd-looking craft racing across vast bodies of hydrogen dioxide escaped it.

“Roth-Yar, is transmission receiving?” Margoth prayed to Pliknes Gorphad heeded its transmission.

“Transmission received, status update?”

Margoth resisted the urge to wave its tentacles in frustration. “Status update is there is much distress. Request permission to abort mission proximately.”

“Permission denied. Yagaroth has determined mission duration to be two rotations. Should mission duration alter, message will be transmitted.”

The vessel hit a hydrogen dioxide wave again, this time sending Margoth to the deck. “At least that remains similar.”

“Retransmit, last statement not received.” Gorphad seemed to derive enjoyment from Margoth’s situation.

Margoth heaved its body back to what humans called seats, though they were very dissimilar from Tormonian seats. “Disregard, this activity humans call Speed Boat Racing is not enjoyable and affects Tormonian equilibrium significantly.”

Gorphad chirped and severed transmission. Margoth pressed his orifice together and focused on preventing itself from disgorging its most recent meal.

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