My drabble, The Last Postcard, took an honorable mention in the Fairfield Scribes Prize Contest. You can find the winners at: https://www.fairfieldscribes.com/issue-34.html
The story of a postcard that never arrived.
New Publication
Tag: Drabble
A Dog Who Purrs?
Kohnan is a dog, though at times we think he’s a cat. Like when he luxuriates in the sun and, swear to God, purrs. Snout out, a rub on the rug, all two feet of him stretch, roll, vigorous arch, turn over and repeat. Pure pleasure.
I rub his tummy and his neck. He deigns to hold court on the comfy rug because he’s royalty. Devotion is his due, right? His liquid brown eyes melt me.
But when I leave the room, he foreswears sunshine for my sunless office and settles at my feet. I guess he is a dog.
From: Vogon Ministry of Culture
To: Monica Flash Fiction
RE: Poetry posts
Honorable Ms. Fiction,
It has come to our attention that you publish poetry on your Escherous blog. How absolutely! Your poems are most spiraling and uniform. Consider this an invitation, no, a summons. Reality, under threat of death appear at the Grafitete Amphitheater of Doomicile for a command (no pun intended) performative.
A Vogon ship will be at your door on the day of cerebration promptly at midnight. Bring poetry to fill many hours. Bring copies of your latest book. Do you have a latest book? Publish one.
Apologies to Douglas Adams.
Autumn Chill
The dawn light has changed to a grey gold cousin of the blue brilliance that brightened my summer. Max's golden lab fur blends into the tawny tall grass. He looks at me. “What do you want? The works? Right.” He pees again, strolls to the center of the meadow lawn, and squats to do his business. His business is to please. It is the thing he does best, most naturally. Despite arthritis, his portly, chunky body seems to yield. Face aging white, he's older than I am. Seventy-seven. At seventy-two, cranky and arthritic, I won't age gratefully or graciously.
Follow-up Questions for a MAGA Senator Concerning a Looser Dress Code in the Capitol
– Sir, you have said that your peeps respect the “building,” the Senate, and the dress code should reflect that. Care to comment on the deer horns guy? January 6? He broke in. He was convicted of felony obstruction after sitting on the Senate dais encouraging rioters.
– Let’s just say, tourists can wear what they want. It’s a free country.
– But does it show respect, sir?
– Well, within our community, far right Republicans, free to dress and act is a cultural imperative that I am not in a position to judge.
Now, excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable.
Doomsday Clock
Sun and rain ravage her wind tossed hair, jet black strands smooth as onyx glass. Silken threads like kitten's fur, new as morning dew on grass. A child, yet grown, eyes intent, round with wonder, bright with fire. Her night brings monsters, malcontents wreaking havoc in dreamland's mire. Ruled by demons dangerous dark, audacious lies we can do without. Perdition's putrid stench arises ignoring famine, flood and drought. An omen for tomorrow? Resist the slippery slope. Stand together against oblivion, build barricades of hope. The future waits. We can save one another. Honor the Earth for she is our mother.
Love Changes Everything
Jack came in from feeding the geese. “That golden goose, she’s laying plain old eggs.”
His mother looked up from stirring the magic bean stew. “Are you sure?”
Jack produced an egg from his basket.
“Let’s see what’s inside.” She cracked the egg against the iron stove into a bowl. The yolk was pure gold surrounded by opals. “What about the others? Did she lay more?”
Jack nodded and pulled three more eggs from the basket. “Maybe she got with the gander.”
His mother cracked them each in turn and found rubies, emeralds and pearls. “She’s one mixed up goose.”
The Collective
She came straight from weeding her small plot of land in the community garden.
The fiery redhead marched to the podium and gaveled the meeting to order. “The first item, the only important one, is the proposal to buy a mill to grind the wheat.”
A large man barked. “No one else grows wheat.”
The crowd quacked their approval.
Her feathers ruffled, the redhead said, “You eat the bread I bake. Let’s turn the garden into a wheat field and mill our own flour.”
A catlike woman spoke. “Hannah, dear, we thought you liked baking. We don’t.”
All That Shimmers Is Not Gold
Category:Nathaniel_Hawthorne
He had the touch. Austin got in on crypto early. In college, he mined instead of studying. Hey, why not; the internet was free. He didn’t graduate.
No matter, he struck it rich and moved to a penthouse in Manhattan where he lived like a king. Austin had it made until he didn’t. A whiz kid, yes; a mensch, not so much.
He only knew crypto, which meant nothing to the women he met in bars. It got old with his drinking buddies; the world moved on to other things. Drowning in data, he’d no hope of getting a date.
Bring a Smile Wherever You Go
A prince and a commoner competed to cadge a smile from a princess. The prize: marriage and half the kingdom. The prince claimed the right to go first. Noob mistake.
“Look at him. Sad excuse for a man.”
Cruel, not funny, the prince was struck dumb by his own vanity.
The commoner called his posse. All kinds, all sizes of butterflies cavorted around the princess, a cloud of color. Her aroused senses softened her lips.
The commoner entreated the winged creatures. “Best beauties, brush against her ears, her nose, titillate her love of wonder.” They did just that. She smiled.
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 