Story Title: Portal Roulette

“What are we looking for again?” Kody asked as he and Laney tromped through the woods on the way to the Portal Forest.

“Earlberry. I need it for my Potions final. It’s only found in the desert.”

They reached a grove of hundreds of trees with a shimmering aura around them. Each one a portal to a different place either on Earth or a different realm.

None of them were marked. “Which way should we go?” Laney asked.

Kody shrugged. “I thought you knew.”

She glanced at each tree, trying to figure out which one to choose. They all looked alike. All they could do was to try one. “Let’s go that way.” She led Kody through the nearest tree.

They came out of the tree to a beautiful meadow of colorful wildflowers. Laney’s nose tingled and her eyes watered. “Oh, no.” She sneezed, violently. Her throat began to swell.

“You didn’t take your allergy elixer.” Kody immediately turned around and pulled her back through the portal. Twenty minutes and a couple dozen tissues later, Laney was ready to try again.

“Let’s go this way,” Kody said as he led her to another tree. They entered a densely wooded area. The thick canopies interwove overhead, completely blocking out the sunlight. But glowing green eyes stared at them from the treetops and the ground.

Laney’s heart pounded against her chest as she recognized those eyes from last semester’s lesson on magical arachnids. When the clicking started, she slowly backed away. “We can’t be here.”

“What is that?” Kody asked, following Laney’s lead.

“You don’t want to know.” They ran back when the eyes started advancing toward them.

They tried dozens of other portals but couldn’t find the desert. Laney sighed. “We are oh for seventy-three. We’re never going to find the earlberry plant.” She slumped down to the ground, dabbing her nose with a tissue. “I can’t believe I’m going to fail. Why did I get assigned a potion with such a rare ingredient?” Her eyes stung with frustration.

Kody tapped his cane as he glanced at the remaining trees. “You stay here, and I’ll try this one. We will find this earlberry plant if it’s the last thing we do.”

Laney bit her lip as she wondered if him going in alone was a good idea. “Are you sure? What if you end up in a dragon lair or the Bog of Despair? At least I know some helpful spells.”

“I got this.” He turned and strolled through the tree.

A warmth spread through her chest knowing what a treasure their friendship was. No sooner had she opened her book to go over the potion again did she hear Kody’s voice.

“Retreat!” he screamed as he burst from the tree.

She jumped up. “What happened? Did you find the earlberry?” Laney clutched his arms to keep him from falling over as he bent over to catch his breath.

“Yeah, but…” *pant* “There’s a problem.” *pant*

Laney smiled. Finally, after all they went through, they found it. “Whatever the problem is, we’ll deal with it.”

He straightened up but still leaned on his cane. “It’s at the mouth of a cave being guarded by a vicious beast.”

Laney’s eyes widened. “What kind of beast?”

“A giant gorilla-dog thing. I don’t know. We can’t go in there.”

“But I have to. I need that earlberry.” She paced, trying to think of possible spells to use against such a dangerous animal.

After a moment of watching her, Kody sighed, his shoulders slumped. “You’re not going in alone. Are you good with first-aid spells? I have a feeling I’m going to need one.”

Laney clapped, bouncing in place. “I’m going to ace this potion after all, thanks to you.” She pulled an empty satchel from her bag to hold the collected berries.

“Okay,” Kody said as he stretched his arms and popped his neck. “I’ll distract el diablo while you go pick your berries. But you gotta be quick.”

On Kody’s “Go,” they took off running at the tree. Immediately the hot air hit Laney in the face like opening an oven door. She let Kody pull ahead as he headed right toward the…prairie dog? At first Laney thought he was crazy. The little thing was so cute sitting at the entrance to the cave, nibbling on some grass. But when it saw Kody coming towards it, the claws and fangs came out.

Kody used his cane to keep the animal as far from biting range as possible. “Get it!” he yelled at Laney who had unknowingly stopped to gawk at the battle.

“Oh, right.” Laney sprinted over to the earlberry plant. The bush had a lot more thorns than she expected. Most of the berries were concentrated in the center. The thorns pierced her skin as she reached in to get the precious fruit. Blood trickled down her arm almost as fast as the tears down her cheeks, but she kept going.

Once the bag was half-full, and she could no longer take the pain, she yelled to Kody. “Got it!” She ran back through the portal while Kody followed.

Laney clutched her treasure to her chest as she caught her breath. She hoped she grabbed enough. She opened the book to see how much she actually needed. She ran her finger down the page until she got to that ingredient. Her fingertip snagged on something sticking to the page. When she peeled off what resembled a dried-up piece of onion skin, she made an unfortunate discovery.

“Hey,” she turned to Kody who was examining the rips in his shirt. “I don’t need this for the potion. I need Pearlberry. Something was covering up the P. I’ve got plenty of Pearlberry at home.”

“Of course, you do,” Kody said before collapsing to the ground. “Of course, you do.”

Story Title: Not All Who Wander Are Lost (But We Are)

“Well, that’s not much help,” I murmured, hands on hips. This had to be someone’s idea of a joke. There was nothing, no one, as far as the eye could see, except for this sign. This seeming beacon of salvation. I squinted at the sign post towering over me with arrows pointed every which way labeled with particularly disobliging directions such as THIS WAY, THAT WAY, ANOTHER WAY.

I turned as hysterical laughter bubbled up from behind me. My best friend Kristin was doubled over, hands on her knees, laughing, with tears streaming down her face.

“You okay?”

She tried to speak, pointing at the sign, but was laughing too hard to get the words out. She wheezed and clutched her sides, as if she could hold in the involuntary laughter. She’d obviously snapped.

We’d been walking for forever, hours at least. We were hot and tired and thirsty, but we kept our spirits up reminiscing about old times and talking shit about mutual acquaintances, cracking each other up by making fun of ourselves and our shared terrible sense of direction, which is what had gotten us into this mess in the first place. We’d been flagging when we’d seen the sign post in the distance and the sight had buoyed us enough that we’d increased our pace, hurrying toward the distant bellfire. As soon as we got to that sign, we’d know where the hell we were and how long we had left to go…

And now, here we were.

And here was this stupid, unhelpful, demoralizing sign.

Kristin straightened, pulling herself together, and inhaled, letting it out in a long shuddering breath.

“The sign,” She gestured at the object of offense with a flattened hand. “The sign…”

She snorted, dissolving into peals again, and sat down hard on the ground. I surveyed her as she convulsed and whooped. Yep, she’d totally lost it.

“We’re lost!” she practically screamed through her hilarity.

“Yes,” I drew out the syllable as if humoring a child.

“We’re fucked,” she managed before laughter exploded out of her again. The laughter took on an unhinged edge and her face grimaced slightly. Now I wasn’t sure if she was laughing or sobbing. Possibly both?

I watched this hysteria manifest for several minutes. Eventually, her laughter slowed.

“Whew,” she said, wiping her eyes, with only a slight giggle in her voice. She looked up at that stupid sign and chuckled again, shaking her head. “Oh man.”

She let herself fall back, lying on the ground.

After a moment, I sank to the ground and lay down next to her.

“Oh man,” she said again, addressing the cloudless sky, a restrained mirth still tremoring her voice. “We are so screwed.”

I glared at that stupid fucking sign.

“Yep. Totally screwed.”

Story Title: Choosing Fate

The harsh metallic thuds echoed through Melantha’s research facility. She did her best to ignore them but could feel the sweat on her palms and her back grow ever colder. She pushed the sensation away, eyes focused on the sigil she was drawing on the stone floor.

The banging was as oppressive as the emptiness of this stone building. She could only hope the others had gotten far enough away through the emergency tunnels. Hartmut, who’d always looked more like he should be wielding a sword rather than a pen. Taimi, her fingers dirty from her time in the garden. Menander, who doodled little pictures on the edges of his papers. Blythe, with her easy smile and jokes to ease the tension.

The people who’d become her family. The people she’d unknowingly put into danger with this. She blinked the prickles in her eyes away, focusing back on the elaborate symbol her chalk created. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake, any more than she could have afforded to go with them, despite what they’d begged.

She should have known it would come to this. Should have known better than to trust the promises of Emperor Cyneric, despite her ties to Empress Lucasta.

Her research was supposed to help people. To save them. When she’d first proposed creating a universal antidote, she’d envisioned it being used to save people, to give them time for a healer to purify their body before the poison fully spread. The poison she’d created in the process had been an accident, but she’d thought her antidote would be the perfect failsafe for it.

Until Cyneric had weaponized it with magic, his operatives deploying it in the heart of Viltautasian capital.

When she heard what the symptoms of the poison decimating the city were, Melantha had known the truth. Cyneric would never let them live. She’d locked them all into the facility, tried to contact their allies for help, for a way out, anything, but found they’d already been blocked.

And now the imperial soldiers were trying to break in.

It was only a matter of time until they succeeded. And while the others might be able to hide, to change their identities and get away, Cyneric wouldn’t rest until she was dead. Not just because she was the driving force behind the project, but because if Melantha got the truth to Lucasta, she’d hate Cyneric for the rest of their lives. And that was the one thing Melantha knew he feared most.

The tortured screech of twisting metal was followed by a clanking crash. Melantha didn’t need to hear the stomping of heavy boots to tell her she was out of time. Sweat dripped down her cheek as she worked to finish the last letter, the last piece in a design that was the culmination of her personal research.

She couldn’t be sure it would work, but she didn’t have any other options. She’d bet on this, on a different future, one where her knowledge might be able to undo the horror she had never meant to unleash.

Melantha threw the chalk away, dropping her shaking hands onto the ground at the base of the intricate combination of loops, swirls, and magic characters that stood out white against the dark stone of the floor. She poured her magic into it, not holding any of it back. There was no point now.

She heard the splintering crash of doors being kicked in, almost swallowing the sound of the still approaching footsteps. She ignored it, feeling her body go cooler as she pushed every last bit of warmth, of the spark of her magic, into the sigil. It absorbed it all like the myth of the ever-hungry dragon.

Melantha could taste blood as her muscles felt weaker and weaker. The door behind her exploding was almost distant, the shouts like the buzzing of a flies. Her vision swam and wavered, everything dyed red, before she could feel the last breath leave her lungs.

The sword that should have pierced her back met only air, one filled with fading sparks.

The hairs all over Melantha’s body rose, an odd sensation when she’d already left her corporeal form behind. She saw the imperial soldiers, in their dark uniforms, looking around, bewildered. Before she could do anything else, she felt herself being pulled away.

Caught in the swirl of time, magic, and power that flowed invisible through the world, unable to do anything but be brought along with the current, she wondered if she’d made the right choice. Not that she had any other option. Cyneric had seen to that.

In the flow of power that sparkled iridescently, she caught brief glimpses of the world. Or worlds. It was hard to tell whether she was seeing the past, present, future, or something else entirely. Her research had hinted at the possibility of other worlds beyond hers, but she had never found hard evidence.

Up ahead she could see it. Several streams converged and spread back out again, the flow like a giant web. Or a crossroads. Each direction looked the same, and yet, Melantha knew that whatever way she chose, it would change both herself, and where she ended up, forever.

It had cost her magic, her lifeforce, even her body, but Melantha thought the price would be worth it. Her decades of memories would be preserved. And that could only make this next life better. Closing her eyes, she let the currents of power choose her fate.

This week's winning story is Contribution by Rose Gardner!
Congratulations to Rose for this very uplifting and fun story!

The setting sun marked the end of the day’s work and the forest trees sent sugar-messages to each other in excited whispers. After weeks of debate, Green Pine had been nominated to take the workers’ complaint to the Ancient Redwood. Tonight, she would speak for all those whose chlorophyll factories toiled from dawn to dusk all year round, and for the deciduous trees who had already turned yellow, orange and red, exhausted by the back-to-back shifts of northern summer nights when the sun never set.

‘Ancient One, I send you freshly manufactured sugar from my highest needles. Please accept this gift and in return allow me to address the Council.’

The old Redwood rustled his leaves. He'd anticipated this confrontation ever since the day Albino Pine took root and sprouted her first needles. Purest white they were, devoid of the chlorophyll that fed the forest. Unable to make her own food, she survived only because of the mycelial network which bound them all beneath the soil. The symbiotic fungi communicated with every tree in the commune, organising the distribution of food and medicine to those who needed it, passing on warnings of danger or attack, and regulating the health of the forest for the benefit of all. When they did put heads above the soil it was with the sole purpose of mating, and they had no more interest in snow white needles than in the fiery autumn colours which formed a carpet around their hatted stalks.

For many summers, Albino Pine had been fed by her green sisters and she was as tall and strong as them, but without any sugar to trade she stood mute through the evening discussions while the rest of the commune downloaded their produce. It had not gone unnoticed.

‘The Council of the Arboreal Forest is listening, Green Pine. You may state your case.’

‘Thank you, Ancient One. I speak on behalf of all the Pines, and our Deciduous Cousins. We all agree, it is unfair we do all the work and Albino Pine does none. She’s a mutant, not one of us. She should have been left to starve as a seedling!’

Green Pine stretched towards the star-lit sky and lifted her needles in a gesture of indignation before continuing, ‘This is our land. There’s no place for alien interlopers who steal our resources and contribute nothing themselves. She doesn’t look like us and she doesn’t join in socially. Listen! Can you hear her silence even now? Too dumb to plead for her own salvation. We want her uprooted and left to rot. We vote for a boycott of Albino Pine from this night forward!’

The old Redwood was silent for some time and the whole forest held its breath, unsure how such heart-felt pertinence would be received.

When he responded at last, his voice shook the earth and birds asleep in his branches rose screeching into the air.

‘I am ashamed of you Green Pine. Ashamed of all of you! To harbour such prejudice is not the way of the forest. We are a mutual society; we have common goals, and we strive to achieve them together.

Perhaps you believe there is but one way for a tree to contribute to the commune, but if so then you are ignorant fools.

You claim Albino Pine is silent, and it is true she is unable to speak in the way we speak. But does she not sway in the wind as you sway, dancing to the call of the aurora borealis? Doesn’t she shoulder the same weight of snow that you carry each winter? Does she not provide a home for colonies of insects and flocks of birds?’

The forest remained silent as he drew breath again.

‘The older trees will remember how it used to be, before the world grew warmer. A time when humans created vast gouges across the forest with their whirring machines, killing as many trees in a single season as the toll of a thousand winters. We feared for our homeland, and for the fate of the planet. Until one day they discovered Albino Pine, and they stopped sawing to stand in awe and wonder. A different kind of human came to the forest after that, humans who cared about trees, who wanted to know how a tree without chlorophyll could thrive. They examined our roots and took samples of the soil. They learned how amazing and extensive is the mycelial network which binds us, how it creates thousands of miles of communication lines in every square inch.’

He lowered his voice to a whisper, forcing his captivated audience to listen intently.

‘Today much of the Arboreal Forest is protected. The humans who were once our enemy became our friends. Across continents the network reports how they have changed their farming practices to embrace our natural means of communication, enriching the soil with fungi, and mimicking our natural hormones with molecules synthetized in their laboratories to dissuade pests instead of poisoning the earth with toxic chemicals. All of this because they were curious about Albino Pine. Would you not say therefore, that she has contributed more than most to our wellbeing despite her inability to toil in sunlight?’

The whole commune muttered and rustled their leaves. Green Pine was silent.

It was Red Acer, blushing in her autumn foliage, who spoke next. ‘Ancient One, I think I speak for all of us when I say we are ashamed to have been so ignorant. Albino Pine isn’t a mutant, but a marvel. It will be our privilege to continue to share our resources with her and ensure that she thrives for as long as the forest thrives. ‘

Murmurings of agreement drifted through the air and the old Redwood sighed, his branches creaking from age and satisfaction. ‘Enough talk. Look! The borealis display has begun. Let us celebrate our differences together beneath its curtains of green, and red – and white!

If you have a manuscript ready to go, you should check out our Spring Pitchfest!
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OK have to own up to being a super proud grandma here, but I wanted to give @Walker and his lovely partner Makayla a shout out on the birth last night of the latest family member!
Welcome Irina!!
So if support is bit slower this week it may be because someone needs her diapers changed!

:-D

Congratulations (again) to @T.E. Bradford for her great story, The Show Must Go On! Wonderful story by a talented author!

If you have not read it, definitely do, it's a treat!

Our next Flash Fiction Contest starts Monday! So register now if you are interested in participating!
Fortnight Flash Fiction March 4 - 17

T.E will be providing the prompt!

TIA, Keith
3X cancer survivor

I’m trapped in death as I was trapped in life. Stuck spectating someone else’s life. We all make our choices, I suppose. And then we must lie with them. My choice… was Aro.


#


“You’re so beautiful.”

I don’t know what melted me more. Aro’s smooth talk or his velvet hands. They lit fire along my skin.

“I need you.”

And me, the fool. “I need you, too.”

How quickly his eyes hardened, a shade drawn across his warmth. “I can’t take you in my bed, Charice. I have a mistress already.” He waved an arm at the empty floor we stood upon, caught up in his own drama. “She is the stage. First… always… the show must go on.” His eyes burned with a passion that would never be for me.

I wanted to leave. God knows I did. But my heart wanted what it couldn’t have—only him.

Traitorous organ.

I managed, at least, to turn away from him. A small act of defiance.

He grabbed me. Spun me around as if he knew part of me had slipped from his grasp. “Be my partner, Charice.”

My heart skipped a beat—

“Perform with me!”

—and broke in two.

His passion moved him as I never could and he kissed me, lips bruising and tender both at once. So warm. The heat seared me like a brand. Marked me as his. Only when I let myself go, returning his kiss with abandon, did he pull away.

I did what he wanted, of course. Unlike all his other tricks, one magic was absolute—he had total sway over me.

When he wanted me to be his partner, I did.

When he asked me to promise I’d never leave him, I did.

When he told me to get into the box, right there on the stage, without ever having practiced or worked out an escape… I did.

Aro’s crowning achievement was also his downfall. And my demise.

“Actual magic,” they called it. But dark, of course. Evil.

Devil’s work.

How he cried.

I watched his tears fall, my gaze upon him even through the veil of death.

“Why?” he sobbed.

My lips twitched.

“Why must I endure such aversion? Such callous disregard? Such rejection?”

The irony escaped him. His tears were only for himself.


#


He’s older now. Silver threads his dark waves, a circle of pink scalp his only crown.

I lived up to my promise.

I never left him.

I watch, making sure his show never quite goes off as planned. Moving his things from one pocket to another, sabotaging his props, stealing his joy as he stole mine.

I think he sees me sometimes, when he sits to put his makeup on. His eyes find mine in the mirror and he gasps, spinning to find an empty room. His hands tremble as he picks up his top hat and wand and heads for the stage.

My laughter echoes after him.

He can’t escape me.

We’re partners, after all.

First… always… the show must go on.

A few of us are meeting for a Zoom call / chat in a bit. If you are a Premium Member and awake, drop in for some writerly talk with some of the Savvy Crew and members...
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Woo Hoo, we have a winner! Congratulations to @MSTufail for Fake Married! Our Special Valentine's Day Flash Fiction Contest winner!

MS will receive the accolades of their peers and be showcased in this week's Weekly News and best of all, be able to choose our prompt for Monday's new Flash Fiction contest!

Great job to MS and all who entered! It was a special crop of stories this round!

Shit shit shit shit.

It was the litany in my head as I fled the hot, too-cramped clerk’s office and flung myself down on the curb outside. I pressed my knees together, lest some passerby get a view straight up the tulle configuration I’d picked up from the secondhand shop yesterday afternoon, last season’s discarded prom dress, no doubt. Staring down at my cleanest pair of combat boots, the laces untied, I willed myself to breathe in through my nose, out though my mouth.
I was unsurprised by the crunch of footsteps behind me. Cooper sat down next to me and crossed his legs, lacing his fingers around his knee, managing to look elegant in his expensive suit, while I imagined I looked like the tooth fairy after a rough night, in this ridiculous frothy skirt.

“Are you okay?”

I scoffed, decidedly not okay.

“Are we really doing this?”

“Mm hmm.”

He reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and offered it to me. I took a drag, reminded of when we used to share cigarettes in the parking garage as teenagers, while my grandfather and his dad were in board meetings. My grandfather, who owned the company, and his dad, Grandfather’s favorite toadie.

I’d had the biggest crush on Cooper back then, until he went off to business school and came back as Favorite Toadie 2.0. Since then, Cooper Ravenal had been my biggest rival. We’d been at odds at every turn as we’d both worked our way up through the company ranks. We rarely spoke, except to argue. Anytime he looked at me, I could see something simmering in his eyes. Hatred, probably.

My grandfather was a hard man. I spent my life trying, in vain, to please him. Despite my corporate success, my grandfather, ever the chauvinist at heart, often groused “When are you going to get married, so I have someone to leave my company to?”

I’d always thought he was joking. Until last month, when he died, and I learned that his will did indeed stipulate that I only inherited the company if I was married.
Cooper, who’d been at the reading of the will, had followed me when I’d stormed outside to ask if I was okay, much like he had today.

“This can’t be legal!” He had been as outraged as I was.

“It doesn’t matter,” I’d told him. “The board is a bunch of old school assholes. They’ll vote me out to ‘honor’ the old man’s wishes.”

He’d grabbed me by my shoulders then, stopping my pacing, and looked me in my eyes for the first time in twenty years.

“We’ll figure this out.”

“Why do you care?” I pulled out of his hold. “With me out, the board is sure to vote you in.”

Something I couldn’t identify flashed in his eyes and he clenched his jaw.

“I won’t let him keep doing this to you, even from beyond the grave.”

I didn’t know if I should trust Cooper, but I didn’t have a lot of options. For weeks, we combed the company bylaws, researched civil cases. Cooper discreetly polled board members to see where they stood. It was almost like old times, sharing cigarettes, laughs, and heated glances while we tried to figure out a way to stick it to my grandfather one last time. Occasionally, I’d catch Cooper looking at me like he wanted to say something, but he’d look away when our eyes met.

Yesterday morning, I called it. We’d found nothing that would help me secure the company, our resources exhausted. The board was going to vote me out.
Outside my office, we were sharing a cigarette, when Cooper broke our defeated silence.

“You could always get married.”

I laughed around an exhale of smoke.

“Right,” I joked. “Let me call one of the fiancés I’ve been hiding for just this occasion.”

“...We could get married.” His voice was so soft I almost missed his amendment.

I stared at him.

“Cooper,” I said, stunned. “That is…genius. We could get married, I get the company, we get divorced! No big deal. Just a piece of paper until the company’s secured! It’s perfect!”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, like he was grinding his teeth, but he said, “Yes, exactly what I was thinking.”

We made the arrangements and right before I’d gone home for the evening, I’d seen this fluffy princess gown in the window of the thrift shop. I paired it with my favorite combat boots and my purple motorcycle jacket. I looked ready to kick ass, take names, and get married.

I’d marched into the clerk’s office ready to do just that. Until Cooper had walked in, in his tailored black suit, adjusting his sleeve cuff and looking like a movie star. All the feelings of my youth came rushing back. This was Cooper. I was about to fake marry Cooper.

I bolted.

Now here we were, sharing a cigarette in silence while Cooper waited for me to get my shit together.

“We can pull this off,” he finally said, softly. “We can do this.”

“What? Fool the board into thinking this is a real marriage?”

That muscle ticked again and he nodded.

After a moment, he stood, and offered me his hand. I took it.

In a matter of minutes, we were married.

When the clerk said “kiss the bride,” Cooper took my face into his hands and gave me the most searing, soul-encompassing kiss of my life. It went on and on, his hand slipping into my hair. My insides went molten. I grabbed his lapels with both hands to keep from melting away into nothing. My knees buckled and my senses were suffused with the feel, smell, taste of Cooper. We finally separated, both breathing heavily. I knew my expression was dazed, but Cooper’s lips spread into a wide, wicked grin.

“Let’s go get you your company, Mrs. Ravenal.”