Posted in Audacious Notebook, Flash Fiction, Raw Fiction, Shorts, Word Tickets, Writing

Audacious Notebook 02.25.19

February 25, 2019

“If you are going to invite a centaur over for a tea party be sure to use your tibet style teacups. I hear they are highly recommended because of the sturdier handles. My friend Ray loves tea parties. And by tea parties I mean tequila in a teacup. She’s a hilarious mare and a blast to hang with. We prefer to have our tequila…err…tea parties out by the pond. It usually leads to one of us getting dunked. Ok. Ok. The one of us is me. You ever try to push a centaur somewhere they don’t wanna go? Not happening. You should join us next Tuesday! Be prepared for TMI though. After 3 or 4 tequila teacups, Ray will start to talk filthy about her favorite stallion, Starbirth. Evidently he was a derby contender and she loves to watch him run. Anyways. How’s the kids? Do they learn much at Troll Academy or is it your basic bridge riddle stuff? What? What do you mean that’s offensive? I know trolls do more than eat goats and spit riddles! Where are you going?”

  • ray
  • filthy
  • tibet style
  • teacup
  • centaur
  • star birth

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Copyright 2019 Klaudia Grady

Posted in Audacious Notebook, Flash Fiction, Raw Fiction, Shorts, Word Tickets, Writing

Audacious Notebook 02.22.19

February 22, 2019

Pilot walked away from the crash site. She knew she shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning. The lure of flying when the thirteenth moon was at its biggest beautiful self was just too great. The lunar reflection was nearly as bright as daytime. She reached the top of the ridge. No other lights twinkled on the horizon, just miles of empty prairie. A small rodent began to rub its face on her shoe and then sniffed around behind her where she had disturbed the grass. It caught the smell of the broken grass and it squeaked off in fear. Pilot looked around to find what had spooked the critter but she saw nothing. There was something in the distance to the east, so Pilot started walking. The hours crawled by. Several times she thought of stopping to wait for daylight and death but she kept marching while cursing her epic stupidity of forgetting her phone at home. The soft noises of the night disappeared and she stopped, turning slowly. A shambling creature stood behind her. It roared and leapt at her. Pilot was ready. She reached for one of the five points of power she always carried. On contact with her skin, the creature began to wither. She drank his life force until he collapsed like an empty capri sun. He tasted stringy and old, but vampires can’t be choosy when they are stranded. With renewed vigor, Pilot started running towards the distant structure. Only a few hours to dawn and death.

  • five points of power
  • thirteen moons
  • epic
  • pilot
  • rub & smell

Join the Grady Guild to get your story fix! These stories will be delivered to your inbox the same day they are written!

Copyright 2019 Klaudia Grady

Posted in Audacious Notebook, Flash Fiction, Raw Fiction, Shorts, Word Tickets, Writing

Get your story fix!

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These are short short stories written and uploaded without editing. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them. 💜💜

Posted in Flash Fiction, Shorts, Writing

TerribleMinds Flash Fiction Challenge: 5 Random Words

The ancient Djinn was pulled from his ancient prison. A beautiful woman smiled at him. “Where did you come from?” She smiled at him, exposing the gap in her front teeth. His prison, the cursed topaz, sparkled from a choker at her throat.

The Djinn rubbed his eyes and looked around. They sat in a tiny garden by a lake shore. It was a far cry from the wastelands he had last seen. “I am a Djinn, milady. I am here to grant you three wishes.”

The woman giggled. “Who put you up to this? It is just like my brothers to play such a trick on me.”

The Djinn bowed deep. His albino skin, the color of bleached whalebone, had been a curse to him in the wastelands. Here at this peaceful lakeside, the sun warmed his skin without the pain he was used to. But disbelief was something he had long ago resigned himself to. “I have had a thousand masters and mistresses over the long years of my life. Always they think that it is a trick. I will give the same demonstration for you that I have for all the others.”

The young woman laughed. “No. If you are to perform for me, let it be something new that has not been seen before.”

The Djinn sank down to the bench opposite of her. He had been intending to conjure up a small bit of fire in the palm of his hand. But this mistress required creativity from him as well. He scratched at the stubble of a beard that was on his face. A small toad hopped across the garden path. “I think I know just the thing.” He scooped up the frog and focused. He could feel the magic pulling from him like a vampire at his neck. It cost him one pint of blood to turn the small green frog into a small green hound. The hound looked around in confusion before cowering in his hands. The young woman’s eyes were wide in amazement.

“Can I see him? That is wondrous!” She smiled wide and fidgeted on the bench.

“Of course. He is yours now. It would cost me too much to turn him back.” The Djinn handed the small hound to her and sat back down gratefully. His eyes lost their focus for a minute so he closed them. He listened as the young woman cooed and coaxed the small hound. Unconsciously he began to sway a bit, a comforting habit from long ago. When he opened his eyes the hound was rolled over on his belly allowing the woman to pet him. The Djinn chuckled. “Seems you have a way with the creature.”

“I shall call him Casket.” She stopped petting the pup and he let out a ribbit-bark. The woman laughed. “Casket is a very insistent little pup.” She caught sight of the Djinn’s swaying. “Why are you moving like that?”

The Djinn was caught off guard, unaware that he had been rocking himself. He stilled his movements. “I’m sorry milady, but all magic comes with a price. Even such a small magic takes a lot out of me.”

A look of horror crossed her face. “You mean it hurts to do this magic? How awful. Will you be alright?”

The Djinn smiled. “Yes. I’m used to it after all these years. Might I ask your name, milady?”

The woman smiled. “My name is Miranda. This is our summer house. Do you have a name?”

The Djinn sighed. “I did once, long ago, but I have forgotten it. Most masters just call me Djinn.”

“How did you get here?”

“I have been trapped in the gem at your throat for a hundred years. I don’t know how it chooses my next master or mistress, I am at the stone’s mercy.”

Miranda reached up and toyed with the topaz choker. “I found this in the attic just this morning.”

The Djinn looked at the flowers around him. Foxglove, oleander, and monkshood flourished around him. He was startled at the number of poisonous plants that flourished around him. “Milady Miranda, you have a strange taste in gardens. I don’t see a single plant that isn’t poisonous.”

Miranda smiled, a gleam in her eye. “I find that the danger they pose only adds to their beauty.”

The Djinn felt the hairs begin to stand up on the back of his neck. Something was wrong here. “I’m a bit parched, would you excuse me while I grab a bit of water from the lake?”

Miranda giggled the way a small child would. It sounded wrong coming from a grown woman. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Like my pretty little garden, the lake is not what it seems.”

Dread crept up Djinn’s spine and sunk its claws into his heart. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not water in the lake, it’s acid. Certainly makes for an unpleasant surprise to anyone who dares to trespass here.” She smiled again and the Djinn could swear that her teeth looked sharper than they had before. “And now with your help, I’ll be able to make the whole world into my playground just as I have this place.” She squeezed her hand tight until Casket’s blood leaked out between her fingers.

Djinn’s hand began to shake. He began to see past the pretty facade to the rot beneath. He would not let this happen again. His last master had laid waste to an entire continent in his madness. He would not allow this woman to use his magic for even worse evil. Djinn bowed low. “As you wish mistress.” He took her arm and walked towards the cottage. The path wound through the garden and curved close to the lake. When they reached the point closest to the lake, he acted. Djinn grabbed the topaz from her throat and ran to the lake. He threw himself and the stone into the lake. He heard Miranda scream from the shore and he smiled as his body and prison were disintegrated at the same time. Free at last.

Posted in Flash Fiction, Shorts, Writing

A Type of Madness

You may be able to take a break from writing, but you won’t be able to take a break from being a writer…
– Stephen Leigh

John stopped and got a fresh cup of coffee on his way home; with any luck he wouldn’t sleep at all tonight. He pulled his green Prius into his designated parking space. A faint sound echoed through the deserted lot, “Click Clack Click Clack.” He shivered, partly from the cold and a bit of something else. He walked through the gleaming lobby. He stepped into the gold and mirrored elevator. He pressed the button for floor nine and the elevator jolted to life. Beneath the faint hum as the elevator ascended; John heard the sounds: “Click Clack.” He shivered as a drop of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. The elevator dinged and the doors opened on his floor.

John stepped off the elevator and took a shuddering breath. The elevator doors closed behind him and John stood alone in the hallway. His keys were clenched in his fist as he walked stiffly to his door. The hallway gleamed in shades of sand and beige. His door was a deep brown with brushed nickel doorknob and dead bolts. His was the only door with three dead bolts. He unlocked them all and then triple checked to make sure they were relocked behind him.

His apartment gleamed in the dim light. Stainless steel, marble, and all the finest upgrades money could buy. He had spared no expense in creating this haven for himself. He had been very happy here, before. Then his grandfather had passed away and the family legacy had arrived on his doorstep.

A plain brown box wrapped in butcher-block paper and twine. A card from his grandfather’s lawyer had offered condolences. Inside were an antique typewriter and a ream of paper. A well-worn card bore his grandfather’s handwriting.

John had placed the typewriter on a side table and framed the card. It had been a conversation piece at the many parties John had enjoyed throwing.

But it had been a long time since John had allowed a guest into his home. He stared at the small table in the dark. Then the silence was punctured by a sound, “Click Clack Click Clack.”

John sagged against the doorway in weariness. He turned the lights on and walked to the small table, dragging a dining room chair with him. He whispered to the empty room, “You win Pop-Pop.”

He sat down at the old typewriter, the card framed on the wall behind it. A half hysterical laugh escaped John’s lips as he began to type. The note read:

Write or you’ll go mad.”