Friday, January 16th, 2009
Friday Flash How To: What is it?

What is “Flash Fiction”?
“Flash Fiction” is a term that is thought to have originated with a 1992 anthology of the same name by James Thomas, Denise Thomas, and Tom Hazuka. The definition given by the editors of that anthology were that the story had to be limited to two facing pages of a digest-sized magazine – so about 750 words.

There is, however, no universally accepted length for a flash fiction but most top out at 2,000 words. The common length stated seems to be 250-1,000 words.

Flash fiction is, however, supposed to be more of a complete story in the allotted length. It should have a beginning, a middle and an end.

Of course, this is not what I do :)

Read the rest of this entry »

Thursday, May 1st, 2008
Friday Flash – Giving Thanks (m/m Adult)

Friday Flash

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

——————————-

Giving Thanks
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Troy was sprawled face down across Derek’s side of the bed. The chocolate brown sheets were wrapped around his hips, just high enough to ruin Derek’s view of his gorgeous, tight ass. As Derek stood there, Troy mumbled something then turned onto his side. A long arm reached out and drug Derek’s pillow to his chest, only to wrap his arms around it with a muttered “Love you”.

A huge lump filled his throat. He loved Troy so much. Hell, he’d fallen for the black-haired, blue-eyed devil on their second date. Head-over-heels irrevocably in love. How had he let his family’s feelings take precedence over Troy’s for so long?

Deep-rooted anger flared in his chest again. How dare his father demean Troy? Even if he’d thought Troy was just his long-term roommate. Then to just write him off because he didn’t approve of his sexual orientation? What the hell part of “love” did his father not understand? Could his father have just walked away from his mother?

Being “out” to his family was something he’d have to get used to. A small sense of relief was replacing what had been an ever-present fear of discovery. But now he was afraid that he’d lost the rest his family. He had no control over their reactions and whether they could accept the fact he was gay or not. No control over whether his father’s reaction would be echoed by his siblings and mother.

At least he no longer had to pretend. No more hiding. No more trying to remember to not touch Troy with his family around. That was a little piece of freedom he would savor. And no more hurting Troy with his cowardice. Troy had always respected his wishes and hidden their relationship but Derek knew it had seemed like he’d chosen his family over his lover. That would no longer be an issue.

Whether he had a job anymore was another matter entirely. Derek pushed that thought away. Plenty of time to worry about that later.

He focused his attention back on the sexy man taking up most of their king-size bed. The man he wanted to touch, to taste, to savor.

Just imagining the smell of Troy’s skin, the taste of his cum, the sounds he made gave Derek a raging hard-on. With a quiet groan, he stripped off his work clothes and freed his aching cock from his suddenly far-too-restrictive boxer-briefs. By sheer force of will he didn’t touch himself. He didn’t want a self-administered hand job, he wanted Troy.

A quick shower got the lingering smells of onion and garlic off his skin. Soaping up his body only made him ache all the more.

Drying himself was worse; it felt like his skin was twice as sensitive as normal. The scrape of his razor across his late-night stubble sent chills down his spine and straight to his cock.

Finally ready, he eased into bed behind Troy and nudged him back over to his own side of the bed. With a moan and mumble he couldn’t understand, his lover released the pillow and rolled onto his back.

Ah, how convenient.

Friday, April 25th, 2008
Friday Flash – Life Lines (m/m Adult)

Friday Flash

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

——————————-

Life Lines
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

“Do you ever date anymore?” Kyle’s voice sounded much too carefully casual for Alex’s taste.

“I’ll date when I find someone I want to spend time with.” Alex pulled a couple of Corona’s from the fridge, wiping them dry and popping their caps off before taking a long pull from one of them. A deep breath braced him a little, then he turned to set the second bottle on the counter in front of Kyle. Only sheer force of will kept him from blurting out a lot more than he wanted the other man to know, even if there was a hope of Kyle being able to cope with the knowledge.

Bright blue eyes glanced up from below the shaggy ash-blonde bangs, the natural curl making it look like he never combed his hair. Kyle trailed his long fingers up and down the cold beer bottle, caressing the glass like it was a lover’s skin.

Alex stepped behind the counter, hoping to hide before Kyle noticed the hard-on that ridged the front of his jeans. He’d hidden his lust for Kyle for over a year now and he didn’t want to scare the younger man away at this point.

With a heavy sigh, Kyle took a sip of his own beer, then sat it back on the counter and proceeded to pick at the edges of the label. “But you used to date, or at least have play dates. The other boys talked a lot about you.”

Lightning seemed to hit Alex in the chest. He missed having a boy but only wanted one anymore. One that was off limits forever. But what a boy he would be…

Kyle stopped picking at the paper label long enough to tug his shirt cuffs down to the top of his hands. That gesture had become a frequent one over the last few months, so much so that Kyle no longer seemed aware of doing it. The more uncomfortable he was, the more often he seemed to do it.

“I’ve just not been in the mood for play.” Alex chugged the last of his beer, hoping to cool the fire in his balls. The mere thought of Kyle’s tall body in nothing but leather cuffs and boots made his dick hard as a rock. The mental image of his friend writhing under him, reveling in the sensations Alex could lavish upon him, nearly made him come.

But it wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen.

Alex set his half-empty beer bottle down and took his time pulling the hair tie from his ponytail, then smoothing the escaping red strands back from his face and retying it. It bought him the time needed to get his lust back under control.

Kyle took a long swig of his drink, then a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Alex.”

He peeled the rest of the label completely off the beer bottle, then stuck it back on upside down. Smoothing it, he opened his mouth as if to say something, only to close it again.

Worry made Alex frown. Had he scared Kyle somehow? It had only been a year since Kyle’s boyfriend had gotten high on drugs and attacked him. Alex searched his memory but he’d been careful, painfully careful, to always keep their relationship that of non-threatening friendship so Kyle could heal.

After another false start, Kyle finally managed to squeak out some words. “Have I ruined your sex life, Alex?”

He couldn’t think for a moment, frozen in place by the blunt question. “What? How the hell could you ruin anything?”

Kyle played with his shirt cuffs again, tugging and straightening them. “You’re a Top but you never date, you never play, you don’t even go out to parties. I know you’re doing it for me, but I don’t want you to have a permanent case of blue balls for my sake.”

Alex gaped at him.

A sad smile curved Kyle’s lips. He lifted the beer to his lips again and his sleeves slipped back. The thick white scars on his wrist made Alex’s heart ache.

Thursday, April 10th, 2008
Friday Flash — Eyes of Jade

Friday Flash

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

——————————-

Eyes of Jade
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Gearóid’s eyes flew open as his body convulsed, sucking in a panicked breath. The blue sky directly above him seemed painfully bright in contrast to the dense border of tree branches at the edge of his vision. He panted, disoriented and strangely out of breath. Where was he? What was going on?

He sat up abruptly and nearly fell back again when dizziness made his head swim. Heart racing with the possibility of danger, Gearóid struggled to gain control of his body. Eyes closed again, he took a few more deep breaths of air that was strangely devoid of the copper scent of the blood spilled during the battle before his dizziness subsided. The only sounds he heard were chirping birds and a few deep-voiced frogs.

He cracked his eyes open again, slowly. Thankfully the world seemed much more stable than just a few moments ago. He looked around in amazement. The clearing, surrounded by thick, old trees, had a lush layer of fallen leaves and needles on the ground. Ferns grew in abundance, mixed with other plants he didn’t recognize. Despite the light breeze that intermittently brushed over his skin, the air felt heavy with the smells of damp earth and musty, decomposing vegetation.
His bare skin.

On his feet in a leap, he was only more puzzled. His body seemed somehow heavier, alien, almost as if it were not his body at all. The difference made him unsteady for a moment, a rare occurrence since he’d begun his warrior training.

A glance down proved he was indeed naked and, though the body he saw was similar to his in shape and size, it was not what it should be. Metallic copper glimmered where his pale Sidhe skin had once been. His nipples were a dark bronze color and what little body hair he’d had was now gone as if it never existed.

In disbelief, he ran a hand over his abdomen. He could feel his fingers sliding over his skin but his belly and chest were smoother than he remembered and the scars left from the many battles he’d survived were gone as if they’d never been. Even his hand was smooth, the calluses from years of weapons practice had disappeared.

Battle? The memories flooded back in a rush. The horror of seeing Ailin fall. The vain attempt to save his best friend. Then the pain of the Milesian lance piercing through his back and emerging from his chest. He remembered dropping slowly to the ground, the sounds of battle and clashing weapons dimming as his spirit faded from the world.

Maybe this was merely a dream, a momentary awareness in the Cauldron of Rebirth? Even a foreshadowing of a possible future? He’d never heard of such a thing but he was a warrior, not a priest.

Gearóid turned, examining every part of the clearing he found himself in. No danger was apparent but it nothing was at all familiar to him. The trees, the bushes, even the small animal he glimpsed were nothing he’d seen before. It certainly wasn’t the battleground he’d died on.

The chilly breeze kicked up again and a dark shadow appeared at the edge of his vision. He jerked away and spun unsteadily, only to find he’d been startled by his own hair. Now a shiny onyx black instead of its previous pale blonde, it was still so long as to brush his ass when unbound – as it now was. His one vanity, as Ailin was always quick to point out.

His hands flew to his face and traced the features there. The scar down one cheek from his brash challenge to one of his trainers was gone. Like his body, the skin of his face seemed a bit smoother but his features were familiar at least. His ears were still gracefully pointed but the left one was now pierced through the lobe with what felt to be a metal ring. Something dangled from it but he couldn’t tell what, only that it felt long and tapered.

The sudden sound of wings beating directly overhead gave him scant warning before a large raven landed gracefully on a thick tree stump before him. The ebon bird stared steadily at him for a moment, head cocked slightly to one side. Just as he began to worry about the intelligence he saw behind the bird’s black eyes, it shimmered and grew until another form emerged.

Friday, April 4th, 2008
Friday Flash – Patterns

Friday Flash

(Archives are on the website, if you want to read the offerings of past weeks)

——————————-

Patterns
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

The lightning struck and flowed over her skin in intricate patterns of blue and white, leaving behind the smell of singed flesh and the marks of its passing. Pain struck, a fierce, sudden agony that stole her breath. The fire of torment crawled back up her body and she found the breath to scream only when the inferno consumed her.

Sandra’s eyes snapped open as she jerked bolt upright. Heart thundering in her chest, she glanced around the darkened room. Her own bedroom. Her own bed.

What the hell was going on? She’d not had this many nightmares since she was a teenager and now it kept being the same damned dream. Why was that? It wasn’t from any movie or book she remembered. She didn’t feel stressed or upset. If anything, her life was terrific – a challenging new job with a new home in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. She’d worked for years to get to this point, dammit.

Sandra fingers ached and she forced herself to release her death grip on the satiny cotton sheets. Hands shaking slightly, she rubbed her face and gritty eyes. Now she was awake—too damned awake for the middle of the night.

It seemed to take a monumental effort to climb out of bed and grab her robe off the back of the bedroom door. Snuggled in the warm, soft fabric, she wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly despite the unseasonable warmth of the rainy night. “Feels more like Florida than Oregon.”

She laughed. Now she was talking to herself. Maybe there was more of her eccentric grandmother in her than she’d admit to.

Sandra flinched when a sudden flash of lightning lit the room like full daylight. The rain picked up, sounding like a monsoon outside the little a-frame house, pounding on the roof and windows unceasingly. Kaboom! The thunder rattled the entire house.

At least it seemed several miles away, if the old wives’ tale her grandmother had taught her was correct. One mile per second of delay, wasn’t it? That lighting had to be at least five miles away.

Another bright flash and her eyes ached from the sudden light, afterimages glowing before her. Focusing on counting the seconds, she counted only four seconds this time.

Sandra reached a hand up to rub away the lingering effects of the bright lightning and caught sight of her hand.

What the hell was on her hand?

Swirls and lines, interspersed with symbols of some sort, covered the palm of her right hand in a shimmering, opalescent blue. They slowly faded away as her eyes re-adjusted to the light spilling dimly from the open door of her bedroom.

It had to be her imagination. She looked closely and couldn’t see anything on her skin. “Man, I’m so tired I’m hallucinating.” She forced out a quiet chuckle but her stomach clenched in fear anyway.

Staring at her hand, Sandra waited for another bolt of lightning to strike. She was just too tried, nothing was there.

The sky lit up and she stared at her arm. Holy shit. Not just her hand but her entire arm was covered in the glowing, intricate patterns.