Flash Friday #19

What Now?

Shang the Conqueror always took the messages alone. From all corners of his vast empire, messengers came with their news. Each time he heard their words, there were always two messengers there. Because Shang the Conqueror always killed one of them.

Tetuto had twice before delivered news to the mighty king. Twice he had watched as Shang took his blade and killed a man. Tetuto tried not to think about the faces of the men when they realized they were the ones to die that day.

Once more he stood before the haphazard throne of his master. This time, there was only one other messenger. Tetuto’s luck had run out.

Shang waved his hand. He was ready to hear from his empire. The deadly blade was there at his side. Tetuto could see his reflection in its well-oiled metal. The firelight coated him in red. At his side, the other messenger spoke his news.

Tetuto cursed himself for getting distracted. The other messenger smirked as he gave his news. They both knew that Shang was more likely to kill the messenger who gave him the news last.

When the other man had finished, Tetuto began. His voice wavered as he spoke his news. Shang stood up from his throne, heavy blade in his hand. Even as his death came forward, Tetuto delivered the news. He had wondered why the others who had died did the same. Now he knew why. There was a thin hope that if he gave the news the king wanted to hear, then his life would be spared.

Shang the Conqueror had reached the stairs, Tetuto’s life was not long. And then the mighty king missed the step and tripped, hitting his head hard on a table. Tetuto head his neck break as he fell.

The great king was dead.

Shang’s blood seeped out and stained the carpet. Shang had no children or relatives. His conquests would last no longer. Just like that, the most powerful man in the world was dead.

Tetuto’s voice faltered. It was over. He had lived. He looked over at the other messenger, who looked at him in stunned silence.

“What now?” Tetuto asked.

The other man shrugged. “We run, and hope everyone else is too busy to grab the throne to find the two messengers who managed to kill him.”

Tetuto looked over to the corpse. “Let’s put him on the throne. That should give us more time.”

The other man nodded. Together, they lifted the body of Shang the Conqueror and moved it to the throne. They sat him down and took a step back. At once he could see that it had been a mistake. Shang’s brow was caved in, blood covered his face. Their hands were coated in his blood.

The door opened and a pair of guards came in. They took one look at the pair of them. Swords came out.

The Quest #25

One up, a few down. I didn’t get any rejections in the last few weeks, but I decided to go through my list and assume I got a no from everyone more than four months old. I mean, if they wanted me, they wouldn’t need nine months to make up their mind. Maybe doing that will create problems for me down the road, if I query an agent at the same agency, but I can worry about that once I get to it. At least then some someone will be giving my work more than a moment’s consideration.

So that’s a little bit of a reset on my querying.

Newest round of editing is going well. I have so far kept to writing a thousand words a weekday. I will soon be passing three hundred pages on the adventure book I’m writing. I am also getting close to finishing my audio book recording. From there I will be looking to put it on audible and other sites.

The Quest Continues. Thank you for reading,

            Michael Frutig

Flash Friday #18

Here Comes the Bride

I made it to the church just in time. Traffic was bad, and worse, I was a little scatterbrained. I had never been able to get that part of my brain to work. Oh well.

I came in running, everyone looking at me, but I managed to slide into a seat in the back row of chairs.

The sky was dark and a chill was in the air. Who get’s married at night? There’s no time for a party afterword. We were all missing dinner and I didn’t see any tables set up for later.

If they didn’t want me to eat with them, so be it, he could get a burger on his way home.

The groom walked up, said hello to people, then stood beneath a flowery arch. As I looked around, I saw a lot of people I knew. Old friends and people resembling the groom close enough that they had to be family.

No one from the bride’s side.

In truth, I didn’t know her well. We had been introduced once at a party ages ago. I also wasn’t that close to the groom. I had been surprised to get an invite. But hey, if someone wants you to be there on their special day, it’s good manners to show up.

There was some light music playing through a speaker. Frank Sinatra. I never really got the hype behind him. He just plain boring.

The music changed to “Here come the bride.” I stood and turned.

People screamed.

That was the bride alright, looking gorgeous in her dress without a veil. Crimson blood ran from her mouth, down her neck, staining her dress. She walked evenly, her head held high. Sharpened canine teeth like fangs.

I looked to the groom.

He looked terrified.

I ran. I wasn’t the only one to do so.

Just the only one that got away.

A Wave

We ride a wave. A great and roaring wave racing, but which will never reach the shore. The shore is behind, not ahead. To look behind is to remember, but not to see. The vast sea growing behind the wave hides where it was and will never be again.

We are, and never again.

Ten thousand generations have looked at the same stars, but the light I see was only ever meant for me. You will see a star with the same name, in a similar part of the sky, but it won’t be the star I see. It won’t be the light that crossed a vast ocean to reach me, here. Now.

We are here, and with us are millions whose names you will never know. We are all of us here. It is you who are missing. You, who walk the same streets we did, and sit and marvel at the great majesties of the world as we did. You missed us, but we are here.

The wave out ran us, as it will outrun you. For now you ride the wave. But the wave is fast, and one day you will slide off and sink into the sea. As we did.

We are here, behind the waves of the vast and growing sea of time. We are here, now, forever. You missed us. Be it by an inch or a mile, but you missed us all the same. It doesn’t matter; any distance is the same.

No matter how hard you look for us, you won’t see us. Because you are there, then. We are here, now.

Just a thought I had. Thanks for reading,

Michael

Flash Friday #17

The Storm

It was a storm that in ages past would have given rise to a god. The windows rattled, and not just from thunder. Wind howled as it threw itself against the stately manor. Rain pounded the glass like a host of solicitors come to swindle money from the impressive walls. When the thunder came, it shivered the stone.

Inside, a fire withered on the andiron, shrinking back from the storm. Electrical light wavered before the power. Three men sat in the vast study. One by the fire, lost in thought. The second at a desk, papers spread before him. When the storm hurt the light, he would look up and scowl. The last man stood at the vast window which in daylight watched over the duck pond and hunting forest. His memories played over the water.

“So, what’s the damage,” asked the man by the fire. His eyes hadn’t left the flame since he sat down an hour ago. “Does it last?”

“I’m still reading,” said the man at the desk.

“Hmm.” The man beside the fire let the matter drop.

Thunder ripped over the grounds and assaulted the building. The man at the glass took a step back. “Christ. It’s coming down.”

The other two remained consumed with their tasks. The wavering light grew dimmer.

“It’s bad,” the man at the desk said.

The man at the glass pressed his head into the pane. “I know.”

“He meant the will,” the man at the fire said.

“I know.”

The man at the desk cleared his throat roughly. “The will is complicated. Your late grandfather had too much property, if you will forgive my frankness. Your sister…”

“I know.”

“You know?” The man by the fire turned in his seat and considered the man at the window. “How?”

“She told me, before ⸻ . Before.” The man at the window straightened and turned to face the room. If the other two men saw his tears in the weak light, they were tactful enough not to mention it. “What’s the damage?”

The man at the desk gathered his things and gathered the papers together. “It means that you are going to have company. Bloodthirsty company. It means that by the end of next year, only one of seven eligible heirs will inherit it all. The rest get nothing. It would have been better if your sister⸻.”

“I know. I regret it all.”

Thunder rolled against the stone of the mansion. The wind gnashed against the glass. The rain did not let up.

The Quest #24

None up, none back. I’ve got to go through and clean out anyone I queried six months ago or more. I think the ones I did with my old query letters are definitely rejections.

I will be doing a new revision on the book I am querying. I think I can do a chapter a day. I will be looking for character and seeing what I can cut to make smoother. I’ve spent a lot of time on the first chapter because that’s what agents see.

I’m fairly confident in my characters, but a little polish can go a long way.

I didn’t have a lot to write this week.

The quest continued. Thanks for reading,

Michael

Flash Friday #16

Bombardier

In the silence of space, the vast hulking shape of the spaceship slowed to a crawl, its engines pointed away. On the diplomatic deck, the governor of the rebellious planet began to make his speech. One about being pushed too far and that she tried all that she could in order to spare the people.

No doubt it would be a corker.

Deep in the bowels of the ship, however, Timnos crawled over wires and ducts, cursing as each move forward brought another stab at his hands. He was currently in the ceiling of the primary bomb bay hunting down a glitch in the deployment system.

Below him he could see the bombs through the grating. Long, sleek things painted black. A few lights blinked along the bodies of the bomb. Red. Ominous. Well, bombardiers didn’t get a chance to think about what they were doing. If they did, they went mad.

Beneath the bombs was the membrane, a thin goop that stretched over the bomb bay, keeping the vacuum of space out. When the bombs dropped, they would tear through and fall into the planet below, exterminating all life on it.

Timnos shook his head and buried himself back in the wires. Don’t think about it. His hand-held computer scanned the nearby computers but kept coming up blank.

No. Check. Crawl. No.

He was deep in the wires then. Finding the glitch meant he could go to the ship’s bar and drown his memory. Forget who he was until the ship was back in port.

“Where are you, you stupid bastard.” Still nothing.

Further and further he crawled. He wasn’t sure where he was anymore. Somewhere up above him there was a speech that would be recorded for posterity. His role would be forgotten. As well it should be.

His computer pinged. “Gotcha.” The problem turned out to be a small nick in a wire between two targeting computers. Timnos replaced it with the deft hands of an experienced bombardier. 

Once he had, he pressed a little button on his computer. The screen when green.

A moment later he heard a horrible clunk. He looked down. The bombs were falling.

They ripped through the membrane, falling to the defenseless planet below, bringing the vacuum of space into the bomb bay. Timnos choked in the crawl space. A moment later he died, the first death in the extinction he had caused.

His body was never recovered.

Nominative Determinism

Modern Job Names

At what point did we stop taking our last names from our professions? We have so many Smiths, but they’re not smithing. We have Thatchers, but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who lived under a thatched roof. So many Wrights have never made a single wagon.

This is a systemic societal failure. As someone who is a lover of nominative determinism, I thought that today I would do a world building exercise and come up with some.

Gig worker: Gigly, Uberly, Lifter, Shlepper

Influencer: Shillton, Shiller, Shillertons.

Drone Operator: Buzz.

Streamer: Streamer, Liknsubscrib

AI Tester: Tester, Stooge,

Tech Bro: Douche,

Crypto Pump and Dump Scammer: Todamoon, Hodol, Vaper

Cyber Security: Whitehat, Norton.

Software engineer: Python, Clacker, Carpal.

Hardware Engineer: Smasher, Kicker, Boardbreaker.

Remote Worker: Zoomby.

Solar Pannel Technician: Sunny.

Website Moderator: Mod, Modder, Wideyes.

Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading,

Michael

Flash Friday #15

The Last Berserker

This was the end, that much was clear. He was wounded seven times, warm blood flowing easily, soaking into the leather and cooling against the metal mail. His breath came slowly, haltingly. It was a pain, but not the final pain.

The walls of the narrow pass echoed with the well-ordered steps of the army. Even here, when marching through a pass littered with bodies, the levy Melrosh had trained was beyond anything that he had ever seen. But then, he’d always been the man to train up villagers.

Bracing himself against the stone, the berserker lifted himself up onto his feet. It was time. Inside him, the neka root was wearing off and the fur receded until it was not his skin but his warming clothing. The fur was always the last to go. It left with a pleasant shiver. He was going to miss it, but not the root which gave it to him. The memory of the bitterness made him shiver.

He walked slowly, his vision a blur. There was a large standing stone which he had picked out at the start of the battle, incase he would need it. A wise warrior knows his last battle, and the berserker had felt he would die here since he first saw the close pass.

His bloody hand marred the moss on the standing stone. If only he knew runes, he could make this his monument. The skalds would sing of his stone. Beyond the field of his vision a familiar voice called out, and the rhythmic marching stopped. Melrosh. The Wise, the Friend, the Butcher.

The berserker let out a groan as he rested against his monument. It was a good stone to die against. Battling against magic and charlatans was never glorious, it was almost always a terrible sight. Especially without magic of their own.

“Men, watch as the great Bear-Wearer Nall dies.” How many nights, how many nights had he drank beside that voice, each trying to outdo the other in the praise they heaped on the other. Too many to count, even had Nall known his numbers. And now there was only hatred. “The Breaker, the Beater, the Man-Eater, the Oathbreaker. This is the fate of all who break their oaths.”

The berserker laughed, silencing his foe. He could feel the army tremble as he laughed. “Yes, yes,” Nall bellowed. “Come and watch me die. Know that your works shall never eclipse mine. Feel the fear within you as you watch me die and know that you are a coward. Know that I have not betrayed my blood brothers like your master.”

“My blood brothers betrayed me,” the voice he had once battled beside called out. “They promised to name me king, to raise my right above all overs. They chose instead a child, born a bastard.”

“You know well as I that child is no bastard. He is the son of the God of Lightning, the king promised to restore these lands which we have so ruined. And he is escaping as you watch me perish, safe in the hands of the Golden Spear.” The last berserker laughed as the army ran by. Laughed and laughed until he could laugh no more. Nallsstone stood and stands still.    

The Quest #23

Already got back a rejection for the kids book. So that was a surprise. Imagine a world where all agents were prompt. I’m up one in the main quest.

I’ve made some posts here and there. Short form, long form. Thanks to the metrics I know that no one clicked on them. I’ve got to build up a habit of it. Oh well. Social media for writing feels like screaming into the void until I hear an echo.

The Quest continues! Thanks for reading.

Michael.