The Confabulator Cafe

Tag: flash fiction

  • Of Fathers, Ghosts, and Beans

    Lotus had no idea what she was looking at. That is, it was very clear that she was sitting in a giant’s castle, looking at a golden harp with her father’s face carved into one side. She could see where the gold leaf had flaked away on one of his cheeks. The pale wood underneath looked like a tear streak running down his face.

    Behind her, heavy footsteps sounded. Lotus had to make a choice. The harp was too heavy for her to carry. But her father had been a pragmatic man and he’d raised a pragmatic daughter. Lotus slipped away and climbed down the beanstalk to the world of flowers below the world of clouds.

    #

    Plant beans. And do not mourn me. They were the only two commands her father ever gave Lotus and they came only a few days before he died. She was never able to follow either command. Because, as it turns out, in the real world we don’t get to choose who and how we mourn. It just happens, and Lotus found that it happened to her quite a bit.

    (more…)

  • The Cutest Dragon

    This is Norman. Norman is a dragon.

    Norman wasn’t like other dragons. Norman wasn’t scary.

    His friends all had horns, or scales, or long, spikey tails. But not Norman. Norman had cute, fluffy feet. And a cute little nose. And big yellow eyes. His spikes were soft and fluffy. Bright spots dotted his belly and long whiskers tickled his face. His tail ended with a big fuzzy pom pom.

    Norman didn’t like being cute.

    He struggled to hide his cuteness, tearing out his fur and baring his sharp teeth. Being cute made it very hard to scare people.

    “You couldn’t kidnap even one princess looking like that,” his friends said.

    “I could if I wanted to,” Norman muttered under his breath.

    “Oh yeah?” his friends said. The other dragons chose the smallest princess they could find. She was a little girl in a froofy dress sitting beside the pond outside of the castle.

    (more…)

  • The Strength of Winter

    There was too much summer in Winter when she met the other queens. Blackberry wine burned her stomach as Summer and Autumn approached, pale in the blue light of her palace. Summer shivered in her cotton dress, her sandaled feet ankle deep in snow. Winter understood the bitter touch of ice. Her wife was dead. The winter would not end by her choice.

    “Come to wrest power away from me, sisters?” Winter welcomed the hollowness the summer berries carved inside of her.

    “The winter months have long passed and Spring is due her right to rule in turn,” Autumn said beneath the carved arches.

    Winter laughed, gesturing to her ice palace around them. Windows of interlocking snowflakes, her crown of icicles, tapestries spun from frozen threads. All of her nice things. The rooms that her wife, Nadine, spent time in. The statues of her, carved in ice. Her face was already fading from Winter’s mind.

    “You speak of turns like we’re children? You would take everything I’ve built this season and leave me with a puff of frost amongst the dew.”

    “We want to help,” Autumn said. “We were sorry to hear of her death.”

    A flash of a memory burned Winter’s mind before she managed to freeze it back out. Dark skin against the snow. The warmth of her kiss. Rage bubbled up hard and cold. “You were against us from the very beginning.”

    (more…)

  • Bound in Blood

    Fire rushed down Vivian’s throat and pooled in her stomach, soothing her nerves. After tonight, she would be someone’s wife. She’d never been anyone’s wife before. The tight, gnawing sensation returned to the pit of her stomach. Just a nip never hurt anyone, her granny always said. She’d only had one nip. Over and over again. She took another sip from the bottle.

    A scrape on the other side of the door had her hiding the bottle away and hurrying to the washroom to brush her teeth. She wanted to be minty fresh for their first kiss. For her first kiss.

    “Vivian, darling?” Her future mother-in-law called from the other side of the door before it squealed open, setting Vivian’s teeth on edge. “You’re still in your robe? Darling, you’re expected in the chapel in minutes! Come here.”

    (more…)

  • At the Edge of the World

    At the Edge of the World Dave thought it was a Tuesday when the stranger came. He’d tried to keep track, but it was hard. He was certain he’d missed days in his counting. There was no work week without civilization to insist on it. The world was gone and the only time that still existed was right now.

    From the window in the kitchen, he watched Jonathon out in the garden, trying to pollinate the cucumber blossoms without any honey bees left to do the job. Jonathon poked at each tiny flower with a dirt-covered finger, convincing them to give up their pollen. He looked up and gave Dave a goofy smile, smearing dirt across his forehead. Dave laughed, short and sharp. But it was gone quickly as the memories of the world pushed back in on him.

    Behind Jonathon, the laundry snapped in the warm, salt-flavored air, a soft contrast to the crusty ground and crashing waves beyond. Tuesday was always for laundry.

    In the distance, the silhouette of a man crossed the isthmus that connected their homestead to a larger piece of land. No one had crossed that land in years. Dave had finally stopped feeling that clench in his stomach every time he looked toward it and now his stomach dropped. He called out to Jonathon, who hadn’t noticed him yet, while he went to get the shotgun.

    (more…)

  • Like the Sun

    “His smile is like the sun.”

    Everything froze at those words and I looked about the crowded ballroom, trying to find him. The man who smiled the sun.

    He wasn’t here. It was foolish to think that he was, that he could be here and I wouldn’t have known. Still, I looked about the ballroom full of bright gowns and tailored jackets one last time.

    “It’s nothing at all like the sun,” I muttered as my gaze fell on the man across the room who was smiling our way. Smiling at me. And it was blasphemous to even suggest it.

    (more…)

  • Help My Elf

    Please, Please, Please Help My Elf

    This project is fully-funded.

    Amount requested: $100

    Amount raised: $1,225.18

    Backers: 1

    Hello and welcome to my Crowdfunder. My name is Bethany and I am asking for between a hundred and two hundred dollars to help my elf.

    Every year in December my elf, Mr. Sparkles, comes to my house all the way from the North Pole. Mom says that he comes to tell on me to Santa if I’m naughty, but Mr. Sparkles is a naughty elf, himself. He poops chocolate kisses on our mantle piece every year and one time I found him hanging from our ceiling fan all wrapped up in Christmas ribbon! Ha! I’ve tried to tell him that he needs to be nicer, but Mom yells at me if I talk to Mr. Sparkles too much. She says that I don’t have time to play silly games.

    This year, Mr. Sparkles didn’t show up at my house. Mom told me that he probably got into trouble at the North Pole and can’t get here this year. She also told me that I shouldn’t worry about it. And she told me that worrying about elves is silly. And she told me that he’s probably just lost in a box somewhere upstairs, but I don’t think that one is possible. He got stuck in a jar one year, but I’ve never seen Mr. Sparkles in a box, ever. And she told me that if I wanted my damn elf so bad I should just go find him. So I’m going to.

    I read a book once on polar explorers and I know that it requires a lot of funding, which Mom says means money. I already have the sled. My dog Scotty will come with me. I have a backpack and a good coat and I can make my own sandwiches to pack as long as they’re peanut butter or cheese. I just need the funding for my journey.

    Risks: It will be very cold and I might miss my toys and friends.

    Deadline: December 21 so I have time to get to the North Pole and back before Christmas so I can open my presents on Christmas morning.

    One comment:

    Nikolas

    Dearest Bethany. Mister Sparkles misses you. Head north. Watch for the reindeer. They’re on their way for you. Merry Christmas.

  • Spelunking

    On days where a field trip is required I always find a new dress in my closet.

    Treasure will be found if you only get off your couch and dig for it beneath the cushions. 5 17 18 24 93

    It was an oddly specific fortune cookie. But when one of the kids in my classroom gets an oddly specific fortune with their chow mein, it can only mean that it’s field trip day. The dress covered in springs and couch pillows makes sense now.

    “Come on, kids! Everyone aboard the bus!”

    No one ever asked about the bus. Not the school board. Not the administration. Not the other bus drivers.

    “Not another field trip.”
    “I thought we were going to learn long division this week.”
    “Not again, Mrs. Frizzle,” the children whined.

    “Hup to, hup to. Learning requires sacrifices from time to time,” I said, clapping my hands together.

    The kids dutifully filed out to the bus and took their seats. The bus winked a headlight on me as I boarded behind them. I dropped into the driver’s seat and starting cranking things like I had any idea what I was doing.

    The bus knew the way, though. The bus always knew the way. (more…)

  • Apple Heart

    When I was born, I did not have a heart, so the Doctor fashioned one for me out of an apple. In return, every day for the rest of my life, I was to bring him an apple.

    Until I was old enough to walk, mama delivered the apple to the Doctor, carrying me swaddled to her back so I received the credit. After I could walk, the burden fell on me. Every day, I would go into town, take a left at the dead tree, climb over the crumbling wall, and place an apple in his hand.

    When it rained, I waded through mud. Every day, the mud grew thicker until the water began to pool on top of it. The standing water went from kissing my toes to tugging at my ankles, deeper and deeper each day. The rain would not let up. When it reached my waist and the only way out of the house was through a window, I begged mama to let me miss this one day, what could it hurt? My backside was on fire as I sat in the rowboat and paddled through the town, the roads hidden beneath the standing water.

    I hated the Doctor. (more…)

  • The Museum of Claire

    The Museum of Claire is 32 dollars to get in but it’s well worth the price of admission if you’re interested in our time traveler. The numbers vary, but there are currently seven Claires in residence, ranging in age from 24 to 53-years-old.

    I would recommend making the trip soon.

    #

    Claire has three rules if she stays with us and they’ve never broken them.

    1. She must never have any contact with any of the other Claires in residence. Claire is carefully scheduled and managed to keep her away from her other selves.

    2. She must not interfere with herself in any other way. The museum is a place of rest and recuperation. Neutral ground.

    3. Claire must stay sober while in residence here. (more…)