Sunday, November 20, 2016

Sleight of Hand - @MicrocosmsFic

I'm slowly getting back into a flash groove with Microcosms.


Sleight of Hand

“Show me.”

“I can’t.”

“Ma’am I need you to show me the place-“

“No, I can’t. Truly,” she pleaded.

Tears were welling in the woman’s eyes but Detective Brigham had press on. He pointed his pencil at the lone item on the stage of the empty theater: a large cabinet on casters. The trails in the pool of blood on the stage floor were evidence enough that the cabinet had been moved recently. “I know you’re shook up, but I need you to focus for me. Show me where the swords go.”

“If I tell you, if voids my contract with the union and I’ll never get work again.” She wiped her nose on a sequined sleeve that matched her skin tight leotard.

“And if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to assume you’re an accessory to this man’s death.”

“I’ve got a daughter at home.”

Brigham tucked his pencil behind his ear and approached the dresser where, until half an hour ago, a man’s dead body had been lying out of. A dull sword still impaled in his stomach.

“So you were having an affair with your employer?” The Detective checked his notepad again. “The Amazing Gerald?”

She nodded. He continued, “You know you weren’t the only one right?” She blinked indifferently. He’d seen that look on her face enough to know his instincts were still strong.

“You found out today didn’t you?”

A cold stare. Her tears were gone.

“That he was sleeping with all of his assistants? Not one. . . but all.”

She nodded.

“So you did it. You switched out one of the dummy swords with a real one.”

She nodded again. Brigham had seen many a death of lady’s man before. But never one that played out in front of a sold out theater.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Honorable Ink - @MicrocosmsFic

Took some time off from writing. Cleaning out the cobwebs with a new contribution to Microcosms.



Honorable Ink

Repeatedly Jesus extended all of his fingers then gripped back into a claw trying to get the tremor out of his hand. He’d been tattooing for three hours at this point and his hand ached, but he knew that his canvas was in even more pain. She’s asked for a large chestpiece. Something big enough to cover the large zipper of a scar running the length of her sternum. The chest was thin skin but she was tougher than he expected an 80 year old woman to be.

“You done with your break, Jesus?” She asked. Ernestine had been fidgeting the whole time. Not from the pain of the tattoo gun, but because she’d been on the phone the whole time arguing with an electrician she was convinced was overcharging her.

“You know we can break this into multiple sessions.”

“No time for that. C’mon get back at it.”

Jesus clicked the gun back on and dipped the needle back into the watery ink. He picked up the shading of the thorny band across the sacred heart.

“Watch your outlining,” she warned.

He sighed and kept at her tattoo. At first he thought this would be a good trade-off for Ernestine turning a blind eye to the tattoo parlor he ran out of his apartment kitchen.

“Wait, this looks off.” She tapped her fingernail on the reference photo she’d brought with her. After close inspection he did see the difference on the thorn he was greying in with that in the photo of the same tattoo on her heart donor’s chest.

“How can I commemorate this man if it’s not identical?”

“Anything you say, Ernestine.” He deepened the shading until it was as dark as the photo of the man she was hoping to honor for making the ultimate donation.