Snippet Flash Fiction (3 reads for 1 click)

We had two takers on my Snippets challenge on Tuesday. One was in the comments of the post, I’ll copy that below.  Gwen over at Apprentice, Never Master joined in. I reblogged it yesterday, but I’m linking here in case you missed it.

“Oh,” Zain murmured. He took a deep breath. “This should be good.”

I love her flash fiction, and this one did not disappoint!

Here is the next entry in the challenge:

The Polyesters Howl at Midnight, by Norma Stamp

Back in the 60’s a mad scientist struggled to create the perfect fabric. It couldn’t wrinkle, it could be washed easily and could be dyed any color imaginable, the brighter the better!

Fortunately for him he was successful. He created polyester. These little buggers clung together like no bodies business and were immortal. Unfortunately, when the clothing was no longer wearable because the hideous style had finally run its course, the polyesters were resigned to a big pile in the back of the warehouse.

Over time, they simmered in the steamy darkness. They began to evolve. They actually developed some rudimentary instincts. Number one was wanting back out in the world again.

They began to develop a strategy. Every night at midnight, they would start shuffling and climbing higher and higher towards the window. The noise created sounded like the wind howling across the parking lot.

No one would go into the warehouse after dark; they were convinced it was haunted.

No one noticed the pile of polyesters growing higher and higher.

No one noticed when one night during the dark of the moon, when the pile trickled up and out of the window.

They did notice at some point that the pile was gone. But didn’t’ think much about it. Figuring someone probably just finally disposed of it.

The little polyesters moved like a shallow wave towards the garment district. Upon finding a way into one of the up and coming fashionista designer’s basement they started mating with the cottons and the silks…beware, they are returning and you will never ever be rid of them. Polyester lives forever!

And then of course, I promised that I’d write 500 words or so of my own if someone else jumped into the snippet pool with me.  So here’s mine

I learn with every wild leap that I won’t break

“I saw this in the Matrix,” I told the Mockingbird. “If I don’t believe in gravity, I won’t fall. I won’t die. If I understand how the dream works, then I can master it.”

“What if this isn’t a dream?” The Mockingbird replied, ruffling her feathers. “What if this is reality, and gravity doesn’t require your faith?”

“Then why are you a talking bird?” I jabbed back, poking toward her with an accusing finger.  “Mockingbirds can’t talk in the real world.”

“Or we never bothered to speak with anyone,” she sniffed.

“I can fly,” I said. “I know I can fly.”

I took a step, and then another, and then I dove off the edge of the skyscraper.

I sank a little in the air current until the thermal lifted me. The Mockingbird fluttered past, veering to our right towards Midtown.  I swam through the air, half paddling, half running, trying to master the currents of wind. Steering was harder for me, without wings. My feet were a decent facsimile of a tail, but I couldn’t shift or change altitude or speed like the Mockingbird could.

“What have you learned?” she asked as I caught up with her, traffic lights flickering past beneath us.

“That I can fly.”

“Anything else?”

“That I need to practice,” I laughed as I tried to change direction, paying attention to my tiny mentor. I should have been looking in front of me, though, because office building windows hurt. A lot.

I clung like Spiderman to the 20th story ledge and tried to still the ringing in my ears. My head ached. My collarbone was iffy.

“What else have you learned?” she snickered from behind me.

“To watch where I’m going!” I laughed in self-derision.

“And you have learned that you will not break,” she said, landing on my shoulder for a moment.  “Leap again, we’re going to be late.”


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