Ganymeder

Death – A Love Story

Death might ride a pale horse but tonight he’d fallen off the wagon. He sat at the bar, cradling his skull in his hands, bent over a bottle of ale.

By his side sat Ophelia, gazing distractedly around the tavern. “Haven’t you had enough?” she asked him, picking a flower from her hair and placing it on the counter.

“I thought you didn’t like water,” Thanatos said.

“For me, no, I’ve obviously had enough,” she said, “but even I can see you’ve had enough ale. It’s not good for you.”

“Why?” said the Reaper. “It doesn’t stay with me.” His skeletal hand gestured to the puddle directly beneath his stool.

Ophelia wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“Oh, relax, it’s not like I peed or something,” he said. “I don’t have any organs.”

“I still don’t understand how you can get drunk when…”

Death shrugged and too another swig.

“When do we go home?” she asked.

“You can go home with me anytime, dear lady,” said a handsome swain, swaggering up behind her and laying a hand on her shoulder.

She jerked away from him. “Thanatos, I’m ready to leave now.”

The Reaper knew he’d (quite literally) never hear the end of it from Ophelia if he didn’t say something – especially on their anniversary. His skull was already splitting though, so he didn’t think he was up to a battle of words with the foppish prince.

“Come, sweet lady,” said Hamlet, practically cooing in her ear. “Remember our past? The times we shared?”

Ophelia gathered the flowers she’d piled on the bar and began popping them in her mouth like peanuts. “Dandelions are completely edible, you know,” she said, by way of explanation.

“Those aren’t dandelions,” said the prince.

She shrugged and chewed a bright red petal.

Thanatos listened with mild amusement.

“Remember how it was at court? You were the sweetest, loveliest lady in Denmark. I would have done anything for you.”

She glowered at him. “You killed my father!”

“Well,” Hamlet said, cheeks burning, “I was mad, you know.”

“So you say,” Ophelia said.

“I was! Honestly!” Hamlet leaned over the bar to look into her eyes. “Besides,” he added, “no real harm done; your father’s over there.” He pointed in the direction of an old man in some costly robes playing darts. He hit the bullseye and turned, cheering, to hug another player.

“Not impressed,” said Ophelia and popped a few more blossoms into her mouth.

“My father was murdered too, you know,” continued Hamlet.

“Blah blah blah,” said Ophelia. “I’ve heard it all before. In a few more centuries, you think you might come up with something new?”

The black robed figure next to her chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?” said Hamlet. “I may be mad, but at least I’m royalty! Not some glorified sailor…”

The skeletal figure towered over him. “Listen, Shorty,” the Reaper said. “I wasn’t going to get into this with you tonight, but I’ve had just about enough of you. I’m Thanatos- NOT Charon. Charon is the Ferryman, and he happens to be a good friend – so lay off already.”  The inebriated skeleton wobbled back to his barstool and plopped down. He narrowly missed landing on the floor.

“But the black robe?” said the Prince.

Thanatos mumbled something into his drink.

“What?”

Ophelia giggled, spitting out a few petals.

“What?” said Hamlet again.

“They use the same taylor!” She covered her mouth, snorting slightly.

The Reaper pushed back his hood. “Hey, black robes are always stylish; ‘kay? And you won’t find better threads than those made by the Fates – so watch it.” He took another swig of ale, followed closely by the sound of liquid hitting the floor.

Hamlet looked at the puddle with disapproval.

The tavern door opened and several black clad youths entered. Ebony hair and eyes contrasted their deathly pale skin and blood red lips.

“Oh, Hades,” said The Reaper. “Not again.”

Soon the bar was filled with squeals of delight from the newcomers. They surrounded Thanatos, fauning over him.

He looked to Ophelia, eye sockets mutely pleading for help, but she just smiled and signaled to the bartender. He pushed a bowl of small bright blossoms toward her.

“Aren’t Bleeding Hearts poisonous?” asked the Prince.

“So?” she said. “It’s not like I can die twice, now is it?”  She munched from the bowl while watching The Reaper fend off his groupies.

“No, no, I keep telling you, I just want privacy,” he said. Sunglasses materialized on the bar, and he slipped them over his eye sockets. “No autographs, please. Just leave me alone.” He managed not to wobble too much as he got up and took Ophelia’s hand. “Let’s just go home; ‘kay?”

They started to exit the bar, with Hamlet close behind. The black clad group stayed behind, following the trio with their eyes.

Hamlet finally sputtered,. “Why don’t they pursue us?”

“Vamps can’t follow if we don’t want them to,” said Ophelia. “He can’t stand them anyway.”

“They don’t really love me,” said Death. “If they did, they’d follow through. UN-dead doesn’t count.” He looked behind him. “Bunch of posers.”

Hamlet grinned slightly. “Still caught in the mortal coil?”

“Oh, I haven’t even started with you, pretty boy,” said Thanatos. “And to be perfectly honest, Ophelia made a way better lunatic than you. At least you knew 100% she was insane. Now that’s commitment.”

Ophelia hugged one bony arm and looked up at him adoringly.

“Well, I did kill a bunch of people…” said the Prince.

“Yeah, but under questionable circumstances. Let’s face it, you’d have to be crazy to love Death.”

**

The other day Don’t Fear The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult came on the radio and sparked the idea for this #fridayflash. I’d already been reading several Greek myth themed stories, including Houseboat on the Styx, as well as short fiction by other authors like Laura Eno.  Plus I’m a Shakespeare buff, and I just couldn’t help myself.

My stories tend to have a twist but not this time. I don’t think Ophelia would have stood for that anyway. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**(According to Open Office, this story contains exactly 1,000 words)

*Despite the technical (and other) problems that plagued my blog this past weekend, more #fridayflash is in the works for this week. In the meantime, please enjoy my #Mondayflash (written for the contest at MadUtopia).

Full Circle

I never dreamed of being a writer. Visions of bookdeals and author signings never entered my head. However, I’ve always loved books and voraciously consumed the dreams and adventures of others. My own dream was something quite different – to be a mother. Even as a little girl I wanted to care for a child of my own. After I married, my husband and I waited over a decade to have a child so that I could stay home. It was worth the wait.

After several happy years, I tried National Novel Writing Month on a whim. Thirty days of intense novelling struck me as the ideal opportunity to write down stories I’d created for my little boy over the years. That first November taught me something about myself I’d never known nor suspected; I love to write. I didn’t need to be perfect, plan ahead, or even have a plan at all. The only requirements were my butt in a chair and my fingers on the keyboard.

Then my husband talked me into joining Twitter. My tweets concerned inconsequentials – what was on tv, what time I went to bed, where I was sitting in my house. My husband wanted me to join so I humored him; I failed to appreciate the power of quickly and easily connecting to people of similar interests. Then #fridayflash crossed my radar, and Twitter suddenly became useful. #Fridayflash provided a deadline and a goal – writing quality fiction on a weekly basis. Other writers read my work, encouraged me, tweeted links to relevant articles, made recommendations, and gave advice. My writing evolved, and I became part of a community.

Which brought me full circle. My love for my son led to my love of writing. My love of writing led me to #fridayflash, and #fridayflash led me to realize that I could create fiction that pleased others as well as myself. I now hope to become a paid and published author. I discovered a community that I love, a goal that’s within reach, and a newfound sense of direction. Almost every week since I started #fridayflash I’ve written faithfully, and now my son has begun writing on his own. He posts stories on his fiction blog and enjoys the feedback and encouragement of this wonderful community.

Often over the years, my son’s expressed different dreams for his future – painter, missionary, movie maker. He has several career paths in mind, but only two things capture his interest consistently – art and writing. He tells people that he’s written books and stories, and when asked why he says, “I think it’s mostly because of my mom.” While I’m sure that his goals will change as he grows older,  if he chooses to be a writer he knows that career need not be a solitary one. It’s possible to find a sense of community and support. This shared experience with my son nurtures and encourages our creativity. Writing is something we can participate in together as we both learn about the craft, and it’s largely thanks to #fridayflash.

I’m not quite sure what I did to deserve this, but I’d like to thank Valerie at As The Moon Climbs for bestowing on me this award.

I’m supposed to pass this on to 15 deserving people and divulge 7 interesting facts about myself. That’s going to be hard since I’m not that interesting.

My 7 facts about myself

1. Served in the French Foreign Legion.

2. I’m a vegan.

3. Lived in Germany when the Berlin Wall was torn down.

4. Stood on the dropzone watching the 82nd Airborne land all around me.

5. Made a pilgrimage to Frankenstein castle.

6. I have an autographed picture of Doctor Demento in my family room.

7. Hiked the lower slopes of the Materhorn.

By the way, one of the above is untrue. I’ll leave it to you to decide.

And now, for my recommendations. I’d like to bestow the honorary Beautiful Blogger award to the following.

Doug at SkulDOUGery.com

~Software blog by an extremely talented software engineer. He talks about everything from his personal progress to the Linux Fest and blogging from his Android phone.

Monsterbat at Monsterbat’s Lair

~Wonderful blog by a very talented little boy who writes short fiction and poetry. Often humorous, but I warn you he also has a penchant for telling scary stories. Always a wonderful, family-friendly read.

Alan Baxter at The Word

~Alan is a very talented horror writer with a very entertaining blog. The posts range from informational to ranting to hilarious social commentary.

Karen at Miscellaneous Yammering

~True to its title, the blog features Karen’s wonderful short fiction and poetry as well as… well, miscellaneous yammerings about Hulu, Poetry month, and other interesting tidbits.

Anne Tyler Lord at Don’t Fence Me In

~ Anne frequently posts helpful tips for writers as well as her own entertaining fiction.

George Angus at Tumblemoose.com

~ Posts about things of interest to any bibliophile, plus some pretty cool links.

Jim Wisneski at Writers n’ Writers

~Basically a blog that links to other blogs or articles of interest to writers. It’s a great way to sift through to find a few choice, helpful posts.

Tony Noland at Landless

~What can I say? I just love his writing. He’s the author of the Just Enough Power series as well as some great poetry, including “Ode to the Semicolon.”

PJ Kaiser at Inspired by Real Life

~PJ’s writing and short fiction blog. She frequently posts flash fiction as well as updates on the progress of her own writing.

Al Bruno III at The Wit and Wisdom of Al Bruno III

~He’s an incredibly prolific horror and comedic author. If you follow him on Twitter as well, you’ll get frequent updates on his 5 sec fic (which is always brilliant!).

Since Valerie‘s list of Beautiful Bloggers listed over half of my choices, I’m going to leave off with that amount. Also, my hands are really, really starting to cramp.

To all the Beautiful Blogger Awardees, please pick up your award, check out some of the other bloggers in this post, and don’t forget to list your own 7 interesting things as well as (if possible) 15 more Beautiful Bloggers. If I missed anyone, which I’m sure I did, I heartily apologize. There were many more people I wanted to recommend, but unfortunately I simply can’t list them all.

Please enjoy the blogs and awards and thank you for being so incredible.

Tonight I was fortunate enough to participate in a Poetry Read-In at the Massillon Public Library.  My poem, “notebooks”, won first place in the adult category. I am so thrilled, especially since this was my first time reading in public. I’d like to thank the Library, judges, and everyone involved.

For anyone interested in my entry, I am posting the poem once more. I hope you enjoy it.

notebooks

my shelf is filled with beautiful journals i’ve never written in
dust covered but lovely just the same
the papers were never marred
by pencil
ink splotches
stains from food or drink
they are pristine
except for the dust
nothing ever seemed good enough to put down on the pages
or i’d dedicate a notebook to a single subject
but nothing was ever good enough
to stain the perfect pages
so most of them stayed blank
and sat on my shelf
safe and dusty
i wonder what i would have written
if i had dared to ruin them

now that i’m older
and wise enough to know i’m not
i don’t care if the pages are pristine
i don’t care if they aren’t the way i envisioned them
all i care about
is the feel of the notebook cover
pliable and soft in my hands
watching the ink glide over the creamy surface of its pages
i choose all colors that i think are beautiful
that way
whatever mess i make
will be a lovely rainbow

they are my notebooks
my mess
i wonder what pleasure i missed
by denying myself so long
the pleasure of failing

The Elevator

“Come on, Mom! I’ve really got to pee,” Bobby moaned, jumping up and down in the all too familiar dance.

“Really, Bobby, can’t you hold it just a little longer?” Rachael asked her son. “You’re almost 8 years old.”

“I can’t help it,” the boy sulked. A mischievous glint entered his eyes. “Besides, it’s your fault anyway. I inherited your bladder.”

His mother sighed, stuffed her checkbook into her purse, and grabbed his hand. “You can go in grandma’s bathroom; there’s one in her room,” she said, dragging the little boy down the winding hallways. She hated hospitals anyway, and this one really gave her the creeps.

Navigating the winding, twisting corridors,  they soon lost their way. She only remembered turning twice after exiting the elevator to get the cafeteria, but she couldn’t find the way back. Soon, Bobby began whining again. “Moooooom-”

“I’m doing the best I can,” she said, irritation in her voice. “The elevator should be around here somewhere.”

“Can’t we just take the stairs? I’ve really got to go!”

“No, now stop it. I think we passed this vending machine already.”

“What if I just-”

She gave Bobby a warning glance. He stopped. “Why such a hurry anyway?” she asked, suddenly overcome with guilt. They were lost, so they might as well talk.

“I drank a whole smoothie.”

“Why didn’t you just get a banana like you said you wanted?”

“I did, but the cafeteria was out. I’ll bet the gremlins ate them all.”

Rachael smiled at her son’s vivid imagination. “Really? Where did you hear about gremlins?”

Her son gave her the look. “Mom. I’m eight. I do read, you know.”

“So sorry. You were saying?”  Anything to get his mind off his bladder, really.

“Well, I read something about how they liked to sabotage airplanes to watch them crash, and I got to thinking that if they liked screwing up machinery they might mess with other things too. So I did a little research and found out they like bananas too.”

“Bananas? Really?” This was good. She should write these things down for when he was older. It was priceless.

“How did you find that out?”

“I asked the monster under my bed. Apparently, he doesn’t like gremlins either. He thinks their mean.”

They turned down another winding corridor with metal pipes protruding from the ceiling. Ominous metal grates ran through the floor, but the space beneath them was too dark to make anything out. The entire hallway was dimly lit anyway. It was really starting to freak her out, so she kept her son talking.

“So… there’s a monster under your bed?”

“Mom, stay focused. We’re talking about gremlins. Here’s the elevator anyway.” He pushed the button. There was a brief pause while they waited for the elevator. The doors opened, and they went inside. He pushed the button again. He always did – one of the privileges of childhood. As the doors closed, he suddenly remembered his bladder and began the dance again.

He stopped, wide eyed.

“Bobby?” Rachael asked, suddenly concerned. “Hon, what’s wrong?” He stared at the trap door in the ceiling.

“What if the gremlins sabotaged the elevator?”

“Wha…What are you talking about? That’s just a story.”

“No, really. What if the cafeteria ran out of bananas because there’s a troop of gremlins living here somewhere? They like the dark. They could cut the power, turn off the lights-”

Rachael thought about the floor grates. “Now, cut it out now. There’s no such thing as Gremlins. Let’s go visit grandma, you can use the bathroom in her room, and we’ll talk about this later; okay?”

The elevator lurched violently accompanied by the sound of grinding gears. “Oh great. Now you’re really going to have to hold it.” She could hear people in the next elevator shaft. When the malfunction occurred, the two elevators must have been passing right next to each other. Muffled conversation drifted through the thin walls.

Bobby said nothing, but his eyes were huge, round orbs.

The conversation next door turned to screams that faded as the other elevator plunged downwards with increasing velocity. There was a deafening crash of metal.

“It’s okay, Bobby,” she said. The lie came easily, more easily than she would have imagined, considering that she didn’t believe it herself. “There’s no such thing as Gremlins.”

Bobby only pointed up with a shaking finger.

Through the trap door, two red eyes shined. The creature’s thin, scrawny hand dropped a banana peel into the elevator with them; his laughter echoed off the shaft as he hopped away.

Suddenly, Bobby’s bladder wasn’t the problem anymore. They plummeted.

*This story was inspired by a hospital I went to recently that creeped the hell out of me.

**If you get a chance, check out the newest #fridayflash from my son, Monsterbat, called ‘Difficult People.’

Puck’s Surprise

Fairies were neither prudish nor temperate by nature, but when Puck’s pranks graduated from tipping old ladies to strategically placing whoopee cushions, he crossed a line. Something needed to be done.

“But what?” asked Oberon. Puck had served as his wingman for years, so he wished to handle the situation delicately. Several compromising photos were at stake.

Titania suggested an intervention, though Oberon thought the idea unproductive.

“I agree,” called a voice. “He’ll think it’s a joke, take it as a challenge, and be worse than ever.”

“Who speaks?” called Titania.

A delicate fairy woman appeared out of the crowd and knelt before the thrones. “Buttercup, my leige.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?” said Oberon.

She grinned.

*

Later that afternoon, Oberon searched the woods.

“Puck! Robin Goodfellow!” called Oberon. He’d thrown dignity to the wind when he told Titania that he’d fetch Puck for the party, but he didn’t dare disappoint her again. He’d never live it down.

A nearby bush moaned softly, and Oberon pushed aside some leaves. “Puck? What are you doing here? I’ve been calling for nearly ten minutes!”

The wayward fairy rubbed his temple and moaned again. “Sorry, my leige. If I had been conscious, I would never have dared keep you waiting. Do you have any aspirin?”

Oberon produced two small pink tablets. “I’m always prepared.”

Puck sat up, scatched his hairy belly, and fished around on the ground for his beercap. Fitting it to his scalp, he popped the pills and sipped from one of the cap’s straws. “What do you need, sire? Having trouble with the Queen again?” He rose unsteadily. “You know, I could get Cobbweb and Mustardseed for you. They make a mean-”

“Really, Robin, you’ve been around mortals too much! That’s depraved, even for you, and-”

“Chocolate cake.”

“What?”

“Oh…oh! You thought I meant-”

“No, of course I didn’t-”

“Of course not. Not after last time, right?” Puck nudged the King and winked with one blackened eye.

After an uncomforable silence, the King asked, “What happened to you?”

Rubbing his forehead, Puck said, “I really don’t remember, sire. There was this party-”

“Of course,” said Oberon.

“And all I… ah, I remember. Fraternities have no sense of humor no matter what they say.”

“What did you do?” asked Oberon. “Make an ass out of yourself again?”

Puck grinned. “No, but I think I made one out of them!”

Oberon sighed. “Not the donkey head again. What is it with you and donkeys? That’s the oldest joke in the book.”

“Actually, pardon my leige, but you’re thinking of the chicken that crossed the road.”

After another pause, Oberon continued. “Anyway, you need to come to your Birthday Party.”

Puck perked up. “Party?”

“Oh, I know- you don’t get enough parties; do you? But yes, and Titania won’t let me cut the cake until you blow out the candles and-”

“Cake?” The color returned to his face. “Did Cobbweb and Mustardseed make it?”

“I don’t know. It’s a cake- chocolate with-”

Puck took off towards the court. Thunder boomed. Puck returned, bowing low. “After you, sire.”

“That’s better,” said Oberon. “Now, let’s get some cake.”

*

The crowd formed a wide circle around the large multilayered cake. Titania sat on her throne, resting her chin in her hand.

“Can I come out yet?” a muffled voice called.

“No, not yet. You know your cue!” snapped Titania.

“Yes, your Highness,” said the cake.

Just then Oberon entered the hall, followed closely by Puck. Everyone quieted and knelt before the King. The Queen straightened up and offered her hand to Oberon, who kissed it before sitting beside her. With a small nodd from the royal couple, the fairy court rose again.

Puck ran to the cake.

Everyone sang a tune roughly kin to ‘Happy Birthday’, and on the final line a scantily dressed fairy woman popped out of the cake. “Surprise!” she said. Puck pulled her out and kissed her passionately.

“This is going to be the best birthday ever,” he said.

She guided a straw to his lips, so he could swig some more beer.

*

The next morning, Puck awoke in the arms of the lovely Buttercup. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, licked some frosting from her hair, and patted her affectionately on the butt. He grabbed his boxers from a nearby twig and started to dress. “Thanks for a good time, but I gotta split.”

Buttercup rolled over and regarded him through heavy lidded eyes. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Puck tried vainly to put on a boot before realizing it wasn’t his. “Oops. Sorry.”

Buttercup sat up. “No, but you’re going to be.”

“Hey, relax, babe. It was an honest mistake.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Buttercup..

“Well, okay, whatever. Have you seen my shoe?”

“Look at your finger.”

Puck looked at his finger. “What? Like my shoe’s going to be there.”

“No,” breathed Buttercup. “Look.”

Puck looked. A small silver band glinted in the morning sun. “What the…”

“We’re married.”

That brought him up short. “Married? How much did I drink last night?”

Buttercup smirked. “Quite a bit, but that’s not the best part.”

Worried, Puck asked, “What’s the best part?”

“The binding spell I put on your ring. You’re bound to me for life. I know your tendency to stray, but from now on, wanderer -” She smiled again. “Your ass is mine.”

Puck mulled this over. He liked bad girls; maybe this could be fun.

“What do you think about open marriages?” he asked.

A wicked grin crossed her face. “I said you’d be obedient,” she cooed. “Get rid of your whoopee cushions this instant!”

“Yes, Mistress.”

THE END.

*I posted this story (according to Google Docs – 983 words) and tweeted the link within 7 minutes of Midnight.  So it’s still #fridayflash, even if it’s very late on Friday!

I’d like to thank @lastsyllable for steering me to his writing prompts blog. The inspiration for this story was sparked there.

Last but not least, I really hope you enjoy the story. I love feedback, and as always I welcome constructive criticism. Thank you.