Tweet of the Day: A Cure for Writer’s Block
Dispatch 1 – Dispatch 2 - Dispatch 3 -Dispatch 4 - Dispatch 5 - Dispatch 6 – Dispatch 7 – Dispatch 8 – Dispatch 9 – Dispatch 10 -Dispatch 11 – Dispatch 12 - Dispatch 13 - Dispatch 14 – Dispatch 15 – Dispatch 16 – Dispatch 17 – Dispatch 18 – Dispatch 19 – Dispatch 20 – Dispatch 21 – Dispatch 22 - Dispatch 23 – End of Season 1
This is my entry into the March Writer’s Challenge.
Filed under Flash Fiction.
As the title indicates it is an intro into a new serial that I’ll be posting every Wednesday.
Present Day, Ann Arbor, Michigan, July 1st 10:07 A.M.
I walked around the checkpoint manned by three soldiers. Ricardo did the same on the other side. The soldiers chatted among themselves.
“So Marty, are you ready for the Fourth?” asked the one manning the heavy machine gun.
“Yeah. Got the new grill and I have just wait for pay day to buy the burgers and meat,” said another reading a book.
I pulled the pistols from their holsters. The wood felt comfortable in my hands. A feeling that clashed with what I was about to do. I pulled the triggers. A flash of white smoke appeared, with little recoil and no report.
“But-” the words from the third soldier were cut short by the sight of gaping wounds in his comrades heads. He fumbled with his rifle, all color drained from his face, “What the f-” Ricardo left hand grabbed the soldier’s chin and pulled back. His right sliced the target’s neck open with a curved blade. The body slid away, revealing a psychotic smile on Ricardo’s rakish face.
“Samara, how are we doing?”
She appeared beside me, “Few minds around to notice.”
“I’m sure the silencing charm on your guns helped,” said Ricardo.
“Stop wasting time,” I said.
“Sure thing boss.” Ricardo uncorked a vial. Three wisps of smoke slithered out of it and into the corpses mouths. The bodies jerked and rose. The wounds resealed, although the spirits could not erase the blood and gore from the scene. Three pairs of dull eyes focused on Ricardo. “Allow anyone not wearing an uniform to pass. Anyone in uniform is fair game.” The three corpses nodded.
“How long?” I asked.
“Until dawn. Should be plenty of time,” said Ricardo.
I noticed the unit insignia. These guys were not regular army, “Damn.”
“What? You worried about these weekend soldiers?” said Ricardo. He tossed me the book on the floor.
I opened it on the bookmarked page. On the top left corner a note read, “Obey the Lord.” An arrow pointed at a highlighted passage.
“Okay, Samara, send the signal and reestablish the field around us.” We walked away, cloaked in Samara’s illusion.