If your story is not in the listing, please go to the Collector and add the details. Then DM me on Twitter or shoot me an email and I’ll update the list. If you missed this week, but had a really great time on your three day weekend, or brushed elbows with the pros at WorldCon, leave a comment and tell us all about it. ~jon

Three days passed since he left the caravan heading for Chowin Province, his ancestral home – ten days since his dismissal from Xueshi Shang. The staring eyes of his classmates still burned in his memory. Shame still gnawed at his gut. Some of those gathered watched his departure in tears as Master Quan unceremoniously escorted him out through the Dragon Gates.

Outside, the initial shock quickly built to anger, then rage – two street fights that night, and a scar on his arm that would likely never fade. In the dock anger became frustration, which in turn gave way to dismay. The next morning Master Quan signed for his release, and sent him on the road home under the watchful eye of a scurrilous camel driver.

He could not bear the thought of returning home in disgrace, expelled for cheating. The wrath of his father and the disappointment of his uncle would be too much to bear. So three days ago he stole what food he could carry and slipped away from the caravan in the middle of the night.

Now he wished he had stolen an extra blanket as well.

He gathered as much firewood as he thought would be needed for the the night. He kept the longest, sturdiest branch aside, as a weapon, just in case. He also held back a few palm-sized stones from the fire circle should he need those as well.

Min Lee knelt, lowered his face to within inches of the kindling, and began to blow. He closed his eyes, envisioning white hot embers taking hold, and blew some more. Before long he was rewarded with the smell of smoke and the sound of crackling flames. He opened his eyes, sat back, and began feeding small twigs to the newly conjured fire.

At the break of dawn he ate the last of his food, salty flat bread, and damn little of it. He had to find civilization soon, or he would perish. After thoroughly smothering his fire he gathered four irregular egg-shaped stones. He stacked them, one atop the other, until he had a small, unstable tower. Then he withdrew by several feet, sat down in the sun, and stared at his creation. Sweat formed on his brow as he concentrated. The stones began to tremble, and then fell over in a clatter. He rose and went to examine them. They lay strung out in a loose line. His eye followed the line they formed. He picked out a marker on the horizon, and began walking.

Perhaps three hours later he crested a hill and found salvation in the form of a small village. It lay in the valley below, nestled at the intersection of a dirt road and a meandering river. Fallow fields, dusted in the lightest of snow, spread out from the edge of town, upstream and down, on both sides of a bridge. It was an obvious backwater, though worthy a stone bridge. That meant steady commerce, perhaps a job to hold him over through the winter. Maybe the town could use a mage. He saw no sign of the Emperor’s colors flying in the breeze.

“Min Lee?”

Startled, he dropped the turnip he was about to steal and searched the market stalls for a familiar face. Movement caught his eye – she waved and flashed him a big smile. “Here! Min Lee!”

His heart raced at the sight of Lia Yong. She was as beautiful as ever, and looked very happy to see him. She stood in the door of an apothecary and waved for him to join her. She wore the purple sash of an Adept, having passed through the Dragon Gates with great ceremony last Midsummer Eve. As he made his way toward her he grew self-conscious of the lack of his own colors.

She ushered him in and had him sit by the dung fire, then plied him with food, hot cider, and questions about old Masters and classmates until he was warm and comfortable. He was surprised to discover that the apothecary was hers – the “sole proprietor,” she proudly informed him.

“And what of you?” she finally asked. “Do you have a position yet? I thought you were going back to your father’s court?” She glanced down at his midriff then, and got a perplexed look on her face. His colors were missing. “Where is your sash?”

He felt the blood drain from his fingers and rise to his face. “I feel so stupid,” he said. “I lost my horse, and nearly everything else, fording the Suschan. I was lucky not to drown.” He was both surprised and dismayed at how easy the lie passed his lips. But how could he tell her the truth? His father’s court was not the only place he would face shame.

Now her face changed to concern, and she fused over him mightily.

“You can stay here,” she told him. Then she blushed. “I have a room upstairs – if you’d like. We could work together. A town with two Adepts – can you imagine. People will come from miles around.”

His heart raced. He loved Lia, always had since their first class together in bee keeping. Now, like a gift from the gods, she was offering her house, her practice, her very self to him. He grinned broadly.

“I’d like that very much.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, though not for the first time.

“I would too. I never thought I’d see you again when I left – never thought your family would…” She let the thought fail. Then she added, “We’ll write to Master Mo Shuh and have them send you a new sash. We want everyone to know you are a true Adept.”

“Yes.” He smiled as his heart fell to his feet.

In the wee hours of the night he slipped from her bed, took her purple sash, gathered a few extra articles for warmth, and crept down the rickety ladder. Tears ran down his cheeks as he stumbled out into the snow.

(c) 2010 by J. M. Strother — all rights reserved

Related post: Serpent

Min Lee sat on the hard wooden bench, head bowed in shame. He did not look up as people approached, tried to ignore the whispers after they passed. Every sound in the Great Hall, even the most remote and inconsequential, sounded loud to his ears. He could hear his very pulse pounding behind his ears. Then he heard the sound he dreaded most—the click of the latch on the Master’s door.

After a moment of silence he felt compelled to look up. Master Mo Shuh stood there, just inside his office doorway. He looked older than usual, drawn and worn. His eyes were sad.

“Enter, please.” Mo Shuh turned away and stepped back into the room. (Read more…)

If your story is not in this listing, please visit the Collector, add your details, and the  let me know via Twitter or an email. I’ll be glad to update the list to include your work. ~jon

“Staring down the street won’t make him come any sooner,” Jerry, her older brother, taunted. “And it’s just a stupid letter.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then returned her attention to the street. Mia’s letter would come today. She just knew it.

She and Mia were pen pals since second grade. Mrs. Wenstrom organized the first letter writing event, coordinating with a primary school teacher in Grenoble, France. Luckily Mia knew English, at least well enough to get the point across, for Anna knew absolutely no French at the time. Now she actually could write a few phrases—in three years time she had gotten “merci beaucoup!” and “Tu es ma meilleure amie” down pat, as well as a few others.

Since that first note in second grade the two girls exchanged letters once a month, Anna posting on the 1st, Mia on the 15th. Sometimes their letters crossed in the mail, but that was okay. It just gave them more to catch up on in the next one. In three years of correspondence Mia had never missed a post—until now.

Joyce Frye, Anna’s best friend at school, told her that pen pals eventually quit writing. Of all the kids in Mrs. Wenstrom’s class Anna was the only one still regularly corresponding. Mia was probably losing interest, Joyce told her.

No. Not Mia. Anna had every faith in their friendship. When they were old enough Anna planned to go to Grenoble to meet her friend, and then have her come back here to Cincinnati. They had it all planned out.

Neighborhood dogs began to bark, one after the other. Anna leaned forward on the stoop to peer down the block. Her stomach gave a little flutter when she spotted the blue uniform working its way from house to house. She leapt up and dashed halfway down the block to intercept him.

“Morning, Anna.” The mailman dumped a handful of postage into the Johnson’s mail slot.

“Hi, Mister Schulz. Do you have a letter for me?”

The mailman shook his head, no. “I have a letter from France, but it’s not to you.” He continued on to the Phillips house.

“What do you mean, not for me?”

“It’s addressed to your mother.”

Anna pushed out her lower lip in a pout. “Is it from Mia?”

They continued on to her house. “Here, you go. Now don’t open other people’s mail. Give it to your mom.”

Anna grabbed the small collection of mail and dashed for the front door. She examined the envelope as she ran. It was oddly addressed to ‘The Mother of Anna Simmons.’ In the lower left hand corner were the words ‘Re: Mia Dubois.’ The return address was not Mia’s.

“Mo-om!” She let the screen door slam as she went in.

#

Jerry found her out under the mulberry tree, still weeping. He let his bike drop to the ground and then approached tentatively, standing off to the side, at a loss for words. Finally she looked up at him, rubbed her running nose on her forearm, and told him to go away.

Instead he sat down, drawing his legs beneath himself, leaned forward, and touched her arm. “I’m really sorry, Sis.” Mom had told him what happened, then sent him out to find her. “I know she was your best friend.”

This only succeeded in producing a full throated wail from his little sister. Flummoxed, he scooted closer, put an arm around her shoulder. To his dismay she leaned into him, wrapped her arms around him, and sobbed freely on his chest. He gave her awkward pats on the back until he saw rescue coming in the form of his mom.

“She’s here!” He felt stupid as soon as he said it.

Their mom paused briefly, then came and knelt on the grass before her daughter. She still had the letter from Mia’s teacher in her hand.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry.”

Anna looked up through tear swollen eyes. “I never even got to meet her.”

“But honey, you did. You have all those letters, and each one of them contains a little bit of Mia. Keep them. Cherish them. Mia will always be with you.”

Anna shifted, then threw her weight from Jerry to her mother. She lay there, cradled in her mother’s arms for a very long time.
~

In memory of Tia L. Brink.
I never even got to meet her.
~jon

“Dispatch to Caldwell.”

She touched the button on her lapel. “Go ahead.”

“Yvonne, Family Services is now en-route. ETA in ten.”

Now a single tear tracked down his brown cheek.

She groped at her waist, thumbed down the volume. “Rodger, Dispatch.”

Two mixing bowls sat on the counter, one for dry, the other for wet ingredients. A packet of chocolate chips lay beside them, tiny morsels spilling out – haphazard. All that was missing were the eggs. She had gone out for eggs. There was a tiny neighborhood store on the corner just down the street.

Detectives and blues came and went through the open door, avoiding his eyes, maintaining a somber silence. Halfway down the block the men from Engine House #3 washed down the sidewalk.

Yvonne went to the couch and sat beside him. “It’s okay to cry, honey.”

He turned toward her, leaned into her, wrapped his arms around her. He sniffed back the tears, still refusing to cry.
~
(c)2010 by J. M. Strother – all rights reserved.

Related Stories:

Walk Up
Yvonne finally settled for the spot she passed up the first time around the block. Damn, two bags of groceries and no decent place to park. Street parking in her neighborhood filled up fast once folks started getting home from work. Now well after eight, she felt lucky to find this crappy spot. She cursed her boss for the overtime. Tonight of all nights. Read More…

Partners
Detective Marlin Henderson considered the scene with care. He also considered his newly promoted partner, Sergeant Bob Steele. The Traffic Division was not noted for turning out the best prospects for detective work. Parking tickets rarely required investigation and were almost never grisly. Read More…

The BOFF is out!

Well, after several anxious moments this morning, I finally have the Best of Friday Flash – Volume One out the door. Yes, it’s true. The BOFF is now available on Smashwords, for $2.99. It looks pretty good, and successfully converted to all supported formats. I’m not too sure on the formatting on some of them, and don’t have an ebook reader to check others, but I thought it turned out pretty well. More on the trials and tribulations in a later post, this is a time to party.

Please help yourself to some of the hors d’oeuvres, have a little of the Champagne (over 21 only – we card). It’s been a long time coming and I am definitely in a parting mood.

To help celebrate, I am going to periodically give away some books (yea, books at a book launch — go figure) during the day. Just leave a comment on this post, then three times today, at random times (including tonight so that we include folks on the other side of the world) I pick a random number. We’ll have three winners. Each winner will receive a copy of the BOFF and a copy of one of our participating author’s novels. A chance for two books for the price of… a comment. How sweet is that?

The prize pool includes Strange New Feet, by Shannon Esposito (who leads off the BOFF with Her Migration), RealmShift, by Alan Baxter, and Prophecy Moon by Laura Eno. Of course you’ll get The BOFF too. Check out the full Table of Contents, or just click on the picture up top to go directly to SmashWords to sample or buy now.

So come on in. Grab a brew, have some chips. We have book!
~jon

Book Launch Party – Day Two

Wow, you guys really know how to party. We’ve been rocking all night and still the music plays on. Just want to let you know you are not too late. There will be a final drawing for a door prize this afternoon (Wednesday) sometime around 4 US Central time, so keep those comments coming. My thanks to all of you who have dropped by with well wishes and party treats, and to everyone who has helped spread the word on the Web.
~jon

If you wrote a #fridayflash and your story is not listed here, please go to the Collector and add the details. Then shoot me an email or DM me via Twitter to let me know, and I’ll update the list.

He heard the key turn. Nothing happened.

“Great.”

Fifty miles from nowhere. What possessed them to do a desert day trip in this kind of summer heat?

“Does it matter if the car’s not in Park?” she asked.

“What!”

He heard the gear shift move, the key turn. The engine roared to life.

By the time he got in she had the AC at full blast.

“Let’s go.”

She shifted into Drive. The car lurched, but refused to budge.

“Now what?” Exasperated, he climbed out to investigate.

All four tires were mired in two inches of melted asphalt.

~
© 2010 by J. M. Strother – all rights reserved.

If you wrote a story and it’s not in the list please go to the Collector and add your details. I’ll gladly add you to the list. I will warn you, it’s helpful if you ping me on Twitter so I actually remember to check the Collector. Life is full of distractions, after all.

“I think I’ll get out and stand under that tree,” I said, pointing to a lone tree out in scrub grass.

“That’d be fine, ma’am” he said, “long as you avoid the snakes.”

“Snakes?”

“Rattlers. They’re probably looking for shade too.”

I looked down at my bare calves and ankles, and pulled my feet back in the car – started to close the door.

“Don’t do that. We need the cross breeze.”

I glanced down at the asphalt, now wary of the shade the Lexus was casting.

“My man will be here soon,” Mr. Black assured me.

He was right. Another fifteen, twenty minutes maybe, passed before a large SUV pulled over just ahead of us. Mr. Justice got out and met the big man in blue work clothes about halfway between the two vehicles. The guy in blue glanced my way and seemed to suppress a laugh.

Within minutes the mechanic had the Lexus running again. I sank back in the seat, eyes closed, and soaked in the blessed air-conditioning.

“You handled yourself real well, back there, Miss Henley,” Mr. Black said as we flew down State Highway 18. “A lot of prospects just freak out when we break down out here.”

I glanced over and saw the smile playing across his lips.

“You mean that was a test?”

“You might say so. Not everyone can adjust to summer in West Texas. I think you’ll do fine.”

“There was nothing wrong with the car?”

“No, ma’am.” No longer able to suppress it, a huge grin spread across his face. “It’s a high stress job. I wanted to see how you handled a high stress situation.”

Still, it didn’t answer the question – who in their right mind buys a black car with a black interior when they live in West Texas? Once we were back in some semblance of civilization I turned down the job.
~
(c) 2010, by J. M. Strother – All rights reserved.