Dani's Shorts 5



  Dani's Shorts 5

  (A collection of short stories based on the elements from The Iron Writer Challenge)

  Volume 5

  by

  Dani J Caile

  Dani's Shorts 5

  by

  Dani J Caile

  ISBN:

  Dani's Shorts 5

  Copyright © 2015 by Dani J Caile

  Blogs & Websites

  https://danijcaile.blogspot.hu/

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Dani J Caile 2015

  Table of Contents

  Preface / Acknowledgement

  Challenge 106

  Challenge 107

  Challenge 108 (Spring Open Prelims)

  Challenge 109 (Spring Open Final)

  Challenge 110

  Challenge 111

  Challenge 112

  Dani J Caile Invitational

  Challenge 113 (Annual Final 2015)

  Challenge 114

  Challenge 115

  Challenge 116

  Challenge 117

  Challenge 118 (Summer Prelims)

  Grudge Match 15

  Challenge 119 (Summer Final)

  Challenge 120

  Challenge 121 (Alis Van Doorn Challenge)

  Challenge 122

  Challenge 123 (Steve Bergeron Challenge)

  Challenge 124 (E. Chris Garrison Challenge)

  Challenge 125 (Richard Russell Challenge)

  Challenge 126

  Challenge 127/AO8 (Christopher A Liccardi Challenge)

  Challenge 128 (Vance Rowe Challenge)

  DL Zwissler Amazon Special

  Challenge 129 (Autumn Open Prelims)

  Mamie Pound’s Halloween Special

  Challenge 130 (Autumn Open Final)

  Weekday Quickie 4

  Weekday Quickie 5

  Weekend Quickie 97

  Weekend Quickie 98

  Weekend Quickie 99 (Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 100

  Weekend Quickie 100 (missing 3 elements but still good!)

  Weekend Quickie 101 (Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 102

  Weekend Quickie 103 (Easter Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 104

  Weekend Quickie 105 (Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 106

  Weekend Quickie 107 (Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 108

  Weekend Quickie 109 (Sunday) (110 Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 110 (109)

  Weekend Quickie 111 (Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 112

  Weekend Quickie 113 (Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 114

  Weekend Quickie 115 (Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 116

  Weekend Quickie 116 (19 worder)

  Weekend Quickie 117 (Sunday)

  Weekend Quickie 118

  Weekend Quickie 119

  Weekend Quickie 120

  Weekend Quickie 118 (??)

  Weekend Quickie 119 (Sunday) (14 June 2015)

  Weekend Quickie 120

  Weekend Quickie 121

  Weekend Quickie 122

  Weekend Quickie 123

  Weekend Quickie 123 (second)

  Weekend Quickie 124

  Weekend Quickie 125

  Weekend Quickie 126

  Weekend Quickie 127

  Weekend Quickie 128

  Weekend Quickie 129

  Weekend Quickie 130

  Weekend Quickie 131

  Weekend Quickie 131 (second)

  Weekend Quickie 132

  Weekend Quickie 133

  Weekend Quickie 134

  Weekend Quickie 135

  Weekend Quickie 136

  Weekend Quickie 137

  Weekend Quickie 138

  List of elements for Challenges 106-130 (including Grudge Matches and Opens) and Weekend and Weekday Quickies 97-138

  Other work by Dani J Caile

  Preface / Acknowledgement

  It’s Volume 5 of TIW Flash fiction shorts…! I never thought I’d still be doing these fantastic little writing challenges after two and a half years, but here I am, churning them out. These last six months I decided to try and devote more time to other projects, so I fell behind in writing them up. By the time I was in the Autumn Open Final, I had a backlog of 19 challenges… it took me a week of constant writing to finish them, all with either one liners, wooden ends, flat ends, no ends… and they’re now all done, my takes. And I stress that, MY takes.

  In this fifth volume, as in Volume 2, I decided to separate the Weekly Challenges from the Weekend Quickies. Just wanted to keep you on your toes.

  I hope you enjoy these short snippets just as much as I enjoyed writing them, and thanks again to Brian and all the other Iron Writers for allowing me into their community…I wouldn’t.

  If you are 'up to the Challenge', then go to...

  https://theironwriter.com/

  Challenge 106

  Elements: Young Woman with a book, If I were God, a terra cotta soldier from China, the last line must be: “Who do you think you are?”

  He entered the study and slipped by the terra cotta soldier the Major had stolen from China. Allowing the dust to settle in the sun’s rays, he found her, sitting in the window alcove, reading a book. He stood there for a moment, breathing in the wondrous scene, her beauty, the way her flimsy dress hung over her thin, elegant body, the way the sunbeams penetrated through the fabric, bringing her tender curves into view, her nip…

  “Oh, it’s you Cuthbert. I thought it was Daddy.” She continued reading.

  “He’s, erm, he’s outside, playing croquet with Mrs. Millingweather.” He moved closer to her and sat in an armchair beside a tall bookshelf, waiting for her to wake from her pages. He was so close to her long, slim legs, the urge to stroke them was too..

  “You know, Cuthbert, if I were God, I’d make sure all of the Marigolds were made of gold,” she said, closing her book and tapping on the cover. Her smile shone like the morning sun and shot through his heart. “Why are you here, Cuthbert?”

  “I, erm, I…”

  “Yes, Cuthbert, it’s always you, isn’t it? When will you ever think of other people, Cuthbert? When will you think of all those savages suffering in Africa, dying of starvation, or maybe those barbarians in the Middle East, surviving on nothing but a few shingles and a stale half loaf of bread? When will you think of them, Cuthbert?”

  “Well, I, erm… sometimes?”

  She placed her book down on the window cushion and stared out into the front lawn.

  “Some days I feel I was placed here on this Earth to ‘be’ somebody, ‘do’ something for the greater good, Cuthbert. I read these classics, study literature and attend the best universities Daddy can afford, and yet, I sense that there is more, more I can offer the world.”

  He watched her blink her long eyelashes and creak her neck, stretching out for a tiny, ladylike yawn. As her elbows rose, so did her light pink dress, caressing her round, perfectly contoured, erect…

  “Oh Cuthbert. Are you still here? Has lunch been served yet? I am so famished! I could eat a whole squirrel!” she giggled, flashing her large, light blue eyes. She raised her knees and crossed her arms over her calves, lying her head on her arms. “What are going to do with you, eh, Cuthbert? You’re such a sweet man.” She relaxe
d and settled back on straight arms. He took his chance and went down on one knee.

  “Will… will you marry me?” he stuttered, with a little pleading in his eyes. She turned away and looked out of the window, then turned back with a grin.

  “Only if you buy me a diamond ring and a ruby necklace,” she said, inviting him closer. He sat under the arch of her legs on the window alcove and drew her near. He kissed her on the lips and smiled.

  “Who do you think you are?”

  Challenge 107

  Elements: The Tiger’s Nest Monastery, an imponderable question (such as, but not this one: Can God make a object too heavy for him to lift?), a débutante, the person who cleans public restrooms

  "So I'm stuck in the toilet at the Tiger's Nest Monastery with... with a sanitation worker?" sighed the woman, mopping her brow with her handkerchief.

  "Ooo, look at you! What a débutante you are!" said the man. "Who died and made you Queen,eh? Don't put your nose up at me, dearie."

  "Oh, the shame of it all! I only came in here to wash my hands," the woman said.

  "Yeah, and I only came in here to clean up the mess you made," the man said. "You 'washed your hands' quite badly in cubicle number two."

  "That wasn't me, it was there when I came in!" she said.

  "And was it me who broke the doorknob off the door and locked us in? No, it wasn't. It was you, Miss Prim and Proper," he said. He closed the lid on a toilet and sat down, taking a cheese sandwich from his cleaning trolley first.

  "What are you doing? This is the Ladies room!" she said.

  "I'm hungry. I'm not using the toilet, I'm eating," he replied.

  "How disgusting!" she said, standing as far away as possible.

  "Dearie, you're going to be here in the Taktsang Palphug Monastery's, more famously known as Paro Taktsang's, Ladies toilet until Monday, so you'd better take a seat." He gestured to the next cubicle, number two. "It's all cleaned up now."

  Begrudingly, she closed the lid and sat down.

  "How long? That's outrageous!" she said.

  "Could be longer. Chang isn't known for his punctuality. He might turn up on Wednesday," he smirked. "Luckily, I made a few sandwiches. Care for one?" He passed one under the wall between the cubicles.

  "No, thank you," she said.

  "Not M&S enough for ya, eh?" he laughed. "Well, I'd better ration them anyway." He put it back.

  They sat looking at the white wall ahead.

  "You could die in here," he said. "There's running water but you'll die of starvation first."

  The woman walked over to the door tried to open it again.

  "Help! Help!" she shouted.

  "There's no one out there, all the tourists have gone and the monks are back in their caves, meditating. Sit down, get some rest." He took a bite of his sandwich. "Have you ever thought about... death?"

  The woman grabbed the soap and jammed it into the hole where the doorknob used to be.

  "Do we just die, or is there something afterwards? Do we have souls or are we just lumps of flesh and blood that rot and fade away?" he philosophised.

  The soap squished into the hole and disintegrated.

  "And why do they call it ’afterlife’ when it’s clearly ’after death’?" he asked.

  She looked around for any way out, above the cubicles, under the sinks, around the toilets.

  "Well, I'd better be off," he said.

  "What? We're stuck in here! Until Monday, you said, or when this Ching gets in," the woman said.

  "Chang. Yes, you're stuck in here, but I'm using the "employees only" exit. Bye, dearie!"

  Challenge 108 (Spring Open Prelims)

  Elements: Artemis (Greek Goddess), a dilettante, a moon rock, jello wrestling

  How the Mighty

  Zeus, her father, was at his easel trying to capture the right shade of cloud passing by his window in the Heavenly Deities Nursing Home. His was a large room, comparative with his once-held status as ruler of all Greek Gods and raper of any woman he took a fancy to, including her mother, Leto. She tip-toed over and tapped him on the shoulder.

  "Oh, hell, Artemis! You startled me! You could’ve given me a heart attack. If I had a heart, that is." Zeus put his paint brush down and hugged his daughter. "What brings you here to my humble abode in this retched place?"

  "Can't a daughter visit her father when she wishes?" She sat on the edge of his bed, testing its softness, and then jumped up and down on it to test the springs.

  "I guess you can." Zeus went back to his painting. "Mmm, I'm still not quite happy with the depth of my stratocumulus..."

  "Painting again, father?" She patted the small package in her pocket making sure it was still there after jumping.

  "Oh, you know. Being kicked off Mount Olympus doesn't really make your immortality. When you've been a god, and a top god at that, where do you go? After a millennia of depression I've tried everything. Music, sculpture, painting, dancing, even tiddlywinks, but it seems I'm just an old dilettante, dabbling in a million things but getting nowhere, that initial interest dies..." Zeus put his brush down once more and turned to his daughter. "Hang on. I don't understand. Why aren't you shouting your head off at me, or pleading me to help you in some way? Where's the 'deus ex machina', Artemis?"

  She giggled and ran over to him, placing the small wrapped package into his hands.

  "Happy Birthday, father," she smiled, as his face beamed in happiness, brightening the room.

  "You remembered?" He sat there for a moment in surprise and joy, the light around him dimming only when his smiled had left. "I didn't. No one else did, either."

  "But I did. I got you this."

  Zeus struggled with the wrapping until it fell to the floor in pieces.

  "It's a rock."

  "Yes!"

  "Does it...does it symbolise anything? Am I a 'rock' in your life?"

  She shook her head.

  "It's a special rock, father. It comes from the Moon."

  "Oh, thank you." He threw it up a few times feeling its weight, then placed it on his easel. "I'll put it with the other three thousand or so I got from Selene and Hecate earlier."

  "Well, to tell the truth, all the shops were closed and seeing as I was passing by the place..."

  "Ah, the truth comes out..."

  "But I remembered, father. At the last moment, yes, but I remembered!"

  "Thank you. So, it's my birthday! I think I'll open up Youtube and watch something sleazy...jello wrestling, yes! It reminds me of the good old days, you know, with all those goddesses and mortal women..."

  "Father! Please!"

  Challenge 109 (Spring Open Final)

  Elements: Astigmatism, A solid plutonium halberd, magma, a picture of a gondola in Venice

  Uncle Terence

  A cool breeze sweeping down the canal stirred Uncle Terence into action, awakening him with a snort. The gondolier continued on as before, propelling us skillfully through the water with each stroke.

  "I say, it's a little chilly this morning." He wrapped his infamous Alpaca scarf tighter around his neck, allowing no room for any mischievous nip.

  "Aren't we meant to be at Saint Mark's by eight?" I asked, knowing full well Uncle Terence had no intention of keeping the appointment. He hated anything to do with religion or the church, it reminded him of his own mortality and wicked, selfish life. Myself and the rest of our entourage blamed it on those Franciscan friars from his youth. Uncle Terence pretended to ignore my inquiry and gazed at the buildings we floated by with indifference. I went back to my Marlena de Blasi paperback.

  "Ah, Venice. Such an auspicious city, full of wonder, full of history. My family's connection with this glorious place dates back to ancient times. There were Viscounts, Barons and Baronesses in my ancestry, even a hero or two."

  "Heroes, uncle?"

  "Oh yes, heroes. One I know well, Gerhardt Le Lorraine the third, twenty-second 'nobiluomo' to the Emperor himself." Uncle Terence brushed the gondolier's insole
nt cough off his Radford jacket.

  "When was this, uncle?" Stories of his ancient noble ancestry were synonymous with the greatest of fragrant untruths.

  "Oh, long ago, when men were men and women..."

  "...were women, uncle?" I giggled at his clichéd manner.

  "Quite. Gerhardt Le Lorraine. He slayed the monstrous Beast of Grotta del Cavallone! With his halberd made from solid plutonium forged by the magma of Mount Vesuvius, he boldly stepped into the cave where no man had ever returned alive before!"

  "Uncle, how can you forge a solid plutonium halberd with magma?"

  "He didn't, of course. It was Hephaestus, God of fire."

  "Hephaestus was a Greek god, Uncle. Don't you mean Vulcan?"

  "What's in a name? Anyway, it was said that many times Gerhardt thrust that great weapon at the beast. You see, he had blurred vision and was known as "Squinting Jack" by closer acquaintances. An inside joke, perhaps, as some of his earlier responsibilities were akin to those of a valet."

  I couldn't keep up with all these connections and tangents. Sometimes Uncle Terence's mind would fly off on such an imaginative journey no one could grasp where he’d been or where he was going.

  "He had astigmatism. Runs in the family, as far back as anyone can perceive. We are all blind."

  "Well, 'among the blind, the squinter rules'," I replied.

  "Quite." We passed under a bridge, making our gondolier duck. Uncle Terence shivered slightly as the bridge’s shadow brushed across his being.

  "Wouldn't he die of radiation poisoning, uncle?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Plutonium, uncle. You said his halberd was made from solid plutonium."

  "Did I? You are quite attentive, my dear," he smiled and settled down once more, taking only but a moment to return to his dreams.

  Challenge 110

  Elements: A cactus couch, a new born baby, a judge’s gavel, a bull Mastodon

  "Wow, your great uncle had some stuff, didn't he?" John tripped over a pile of newspapers and fell onto a broken plastic gnome. "Ouch!"

  "Mind your step, this garage is full of shit," said Andy. "And it's not just any old shit, all these things in here are unique. Those newspapers? Those were Franklin Roosevelt's, stolen from his postbox when he wasn't looking by one of my fantastic ancestors. Roosevelt wasn't so fast in that wheelchair of his, apparently."