Skill of a butterfly

The butterfly was magnificent with its splendid array of stunning colours. The wings fluttered slightly while landing on Yesco’s outstretched palm, the movement emphasizing the iridescent red, blue, purple, white and black. She sighed in relief. The first animal she’s been able to call to her. It had taken her several tries in the past few weeks, but she should be able to do this with every kind of insect now.
The next stages were fish, birds, and then mammals. Those last two were the most difficult to control apparently, and some were easier than others. Herbivores were supposed to be fairly placid and answer to the call quickly, but carnivores were tricky. Not to mention dangerous.
But first, the butterfly. Calling the animal is only the first stage of the process. Now that she had it on her hand, she tried to recall the text from the book.
“Right, let’s give this a try,” she muttered to the butterfly, which seemed impatient, wiggling its black legs, eager to be gone again. Yesco closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of the touch of the animal. She then split her focus, and searched for that other feeling. Sweat began to bead on her forehead and the sides of her face. She scrunched her face up. She wanted to fly. That was today’s goal. She wanted to— there! A flash of energy sped through her, coming from the spots were the animal touched her. She gasped, opened her eyes and stumbled back a step. The butterfly flew away.
Yesco did not. Whatever had happened, the skill to fly had not been part of it. Something had changed though. What was that smell? Sweet. Oh so sweet. It was coming from.. From the flowers at her feet? What—? Oh. She gingerly lifted her hands and felt the top of her head. Antennaes.
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This story was partly inspired by these key words a friend gave me: woman 37yo, magic, fiction. Since magic pretty much equals fiction, I asked her for a bit more and she gave me back “butterfly or book”. I decided to apply both. This is the first cautious step into a magic system I’ve been thinking about. While writing this short little story, I actually added more information about the magic, but I decided to cut that out. I didn’t think it’s a good idea to reveal details of an incomplete magic system just yet.

Keys

When she got home, she was stunned to discover that she’d lost her keys. Her eyes narrowed. It must’ve been him. He’d been trying to get in touch with her ever since they met at that cafe. He‘d been an elderly man, with a sophisticated look and a distinguished manner. They’d just, out of the blue, started chatting to each other, fraternizing over the wonders of Bonsoy.

From there they’d gone on to talk about many other things, amongst which their love for music and instruments. And then, she may have said too much.

She saw his eyes light up at the mention of everything she had at home. All old, in perfect state, and very well cared for. It was one of her pet peeves, gathering antique instruments. Despite only being in her late twenties, all of those together were worth a fortune.

It appeared that the ‘gentleman’ had the same kind of hobby, except he’d made a business out of it. Tracks it all down, buys, then sells. Of course he’d be interested in seeing her collection, but she did not want to sell anything at all so declined his own invitation to her house. He didn’t seem to want to let go so easily though, and got very persistent, almost to the point of being creepy. That’s when she ended the conversation and quickly scampered away from him.

He must’ve followed her somehow. Followed her and then stolen her keys. Honestly, who else would steal the keys from a piano?

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This was based on these keywords, given by a friend: 27, keys, plot twist. (She has a habit of losing her keys so I assume that’s where she got the keys-idea from).

The president

He checked himself out in the stand mirror. Tall, handsome, powerful. Adjusting his wig, he made sure it was attached well enough. He could only imagine the media activity if they’d discover it’s not his real hair. He did imagine it then, his eyes growing vacant, and thought: ‘That would be a good way to keep people talking about me. Other publicity stunts first.’ He put the wig stunt on his mental list of media attention seekers.

Looking at the mirror again, he put his ill-fitted jacket on, wiggled his shoulders a bit, and crooned out loud: ‘You gorgeous looking man you.’ He patted his own orange cheek and pouted his lips to himself, chuckling.

Outside of his room, his usual retinue was waiting. Again he chuckled. He was already wallowing in the glee of the worldwide attention his planned announcement would give. Upon his arrival at the annual presidential meeting at the American Space Force, he would urge them strongly to put all of their resources towards proving that the earth is flat.

He giggled again. The media is going to love that. His name will be on everyone’s lips, over and over again. The most talked about president ever.

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This very short piece is based on these words a friend gave me: Trump, space force, comedy. It took me several days of thinking about it and finally I came up with this. I’m not sure if it’s comedy though, I really have no idea how to write comedy. I also didn’t mention the name in the story because I’d like to stay politically neutral. I was and still am a bit hesitant about even using the name here in the disclaimer. But hey, no one is going to read this anyway so that makes me feel fairly alright with it. If you do happen to read this, let me know what you though in the comments and feel free to refer me to other and real comedy flash fiction pieces!

Emptiness

The old man stood in front of stairs of the St-mary cathedral, the destination to the clues he’s followed for almost a year. The postcard which had “I’ll see you there” written on the back had been in the coat, which was hanging in the unused and forgotten section of his wardrobe. He’d seen her wearing it on the photo so started looking for the garment. The photo had been one of the things hidden in the dust-collecting chest in the corner of the spare room. The key had been sitting in an envelope, thrown in one of the messy drawers, found when looking for a birthday candle so he could pretend to celebrate it. Alone. He’d been terribly lonely, but that should end now. Is she going to meet him here?

The sound of the organ coming from inside urged him to lift his head up and look towards the door. The choir began to sing. A memory, the memory, all memories, assaulted him.

He had removed all of her photos and possessions to the chest, locked it, wanting to throw away the key but couldn’t make himself do it. He’d wanted to forget about her, tuck the memories of her away, remove the pain they caused.

They were standing in front of the cathedral, holding hands. Their love for each other after all those years had only grown stronger. Being old didn’t stop him from giving her postcards to invite her on trips. He knew she liked it. The choir began to sing. Her smile, the most gorgeous smile in the world, started to sag on one side. She let go of his hand and clutched her left arm. Pain contorted her face and she collapsed.

“You awright, auld yin?” Someone touched his arm, helping him up. He’d sunk onto his knees, tears flowing freely on the wrinkled parchment-like skin of his face. “I’m fine, laddie, thanks for helping me up aye.”

He turned around, leaving the young man alone with his questioning and unbelieving look. It was time to finally acknowledge that she was gone. It was time to accept the pain of the emptiness she’d left.

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This is based on these words, given to me by a friend: 72 yo lonely man, a memory, Edinburgh, mystery

Dino and the boy

The boy picked up the rocket, groaning with the effort, and placed it in its special holder just so. The rocket’s pointy nose came to about his hips high, and was as wide as both of his legs. It was a wonder he could even lift the thing at all! Luckily, the material he’d used was light in weight but stronger than steel. His father had given it to him, he was the CEO of a manufacturing company which produces.. Something.. The boy didn’t know precisely what.

“That should be it, Dino,” he said cheerfully, although his heart was beginning to fill with sadness at the impending farewell. He’d never been able to pronounce the dinosaur’s real name, so he’d always just called him Dino. Easiest way is always the best way!

The small creature looked up to the rocket, studying it. He almost looked like a T-rex, except that he barely stood higher than the boy’s ankles, and had a deep purple colour. The belly area was of a lighter shade, and the tip of the tail was a rich cobalt blue. It had longer arms instead of short, useless stubs, and a cress of bright red feathers on the top of its head, thinning out towards the middle of its back.

Don’t be sad, the alien dinosaur sent. Be happy for me, I’m finally going back to my family. I’ve been on this planet too long, but you have my eternal gratitude for helping me build my ship.

Tears started to fall down the boy’s face as he lifted the Dino to the hatch.

“You were the brains, I was the hands,” he whispered, as he watched the rocket from a safe distance. The bottom end suddenly spewed out hot white fire, and there it went.

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I was given these words by a friend: Dinosaur, rocket, reality

First dinosaur in space

This is it. This is the day they’d been waiting for. This is the whole reason they’d started their whole entrepreneuring, if that’s even a word. All those years building up the company, promoting al the videos on YouTube and Facebook. Taking the best Instagram photos and making sure they got tagged by everyone. It had taken many sacrifices, they’d lost their girlfriend, family didn’t talk to them anymore, their bank account was once again empty.

But here they were. Regretfully, they had to take off their skin to put the astronaut costume on. The suit probably had some special fancy NASA name, but they didn’t care. They just wanted to put it on quickly so they could put their skin back on.

They knew everyone else thought this was also only a costume, only an outer facade to pretend to be a dinosaur. People loved it, they thought it was funny the way the head bobbed, the way the short arms couldn’t reach anything, the way the tail hit everything.

Little did they know. Of course, for all of them, it really was only a costume.

Being whole again, they got escorted to their destiny, the other passengers walking behind. Ahead was a long and wide hallway, the white walls and floor reflecting all the bright lights. At the end, there it was; the rocket. The spacecraft which was going to to help them write history. They were going to be the first dinosaur in space.

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I was given these words by a friend: Dinosaur, rocket, reality

While writing this weird little story, another idea popped up in my head so I wrote another one based on those words which will be published in another post. It’s less weird and creepy than this one.

Harvest

She woke up, her throat a screaming spot of agony and stabbing pains. She instinctively tried to swallow the build-up spit in her mouth.

“Ooouuww,” she croaked, tears springing up in her eyes.

Clutching the zone of what felt like inner destruction, she could feel how swollen it was. Desperation welled up in her. She had an interview in the morning, being sick was very inconvenient. It had been four weeks since she lost her job, the one she’d started when she was freshly graduated. 21 years of loyalty, but new management apparently came with restructuring, as they liked to call it. It didn’t matter to them that she had an apartment loan to pay off. A flatmate moved in last week to ease the burden. She seemed like a nice person, sharing her kombucha freely.

A wave of red hot fiery pain whirled through her body, starting at her throat, speeding along her veins to all of her extremities. She went rigid with shock from the intensity, and passed out.

A moment later she awoke again, feeling wetness cover her chin. Panic started to take over, and she hurriedly turned on the lamp on her bedside table. The fingers which had touched her face were red, slick with blood. Tears began falling down her cheeks, and she began to sob as she stumbled to the bathroom.

Anguish and shock rushed through her as she looked in the mirror. Half her face was covered in blood, and more was seeping out through her mouth. Her throat was visibly swollen. She intended to call the emergency number, when a voice suddenly spoke up.

“Those tonsils seem to be ripe for harvest. I see that my fertiliser has worked.” A high pitched, insane cackle followed.

Her flatmate. Dita looked to the source of the sound. The tiny, pale and golden haired woman stood there, her grin revealing sharp pointed teeth. She held up a knife. Dita’s expensive chef’s knife.

“I will make all the pain go away.”

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This one was based on these words, given to me by a friend: 44 yo woman, tonsils, horror