Tag: short story

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New Short Story Collection Availble

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My second collection of short fiction is available now on Kindle at Amazon. It will be available at other online retailers and in print soon.

These stories were the ones I wrote special for Free (sometimes Flash) Fiction Fridays here on my blog, so if you care to delve through the older posts, you can read all the stories for free right here. If you don’t want to do the digging, or you just want to support my writing, then you can buy the book by clicking the link above.

Thanks!

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Tummy Ache – Flash Fiction Friday

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Bethany clutched her stomach with her left hand while leaning heavily on the stair’s handrail with her right.  She took one more step up, breathing out in a rush through her mouth.

The pain wasn’t that bad, she insisted to herself. She was just over tired. If she could get upstairs and just lay down for a few minutes she would feel much better.

She took another step, this time sucking a quick breath in through her teeth. Looking up the long staircase in front of her, she took one long steadying breath and forced herself upright to start up the steps in as normal a stair-climbing posture as she could manage.

“Merow!” A black furry blur darted down the steps right at her and into a circle that twined itself around her legs forcing Bethany to grab the handrail again or risk falling to the landing below.

“Shadow,” Bethany said, pausing again to breathe and calm herself. “Not now sweetie. Come upstairs. I’ll snuggle with you there.” She took the last three steps slower, placing her feet more carefully as Shadow continued to dart around underfoot.

Shadow would need dinner soon. Add that to all the other things she needed to take care of: picking up the grand-kids from school, checking in with Ms. Brown next door to make sure she was taking her medicine like she was supposed to, running by the marker to get the last few things she needed to make dinner before Henry came home. Bethany just didn’t have time to feel unwell. A half hour nap, or at least a lie down was all she could manage. It would just have to be enough.

Chills went through her causing spasms of shivers as she made her way from the top of the stairs to the bedroom, Shadow trotting on ahead. Sitting down on the edge of the bed sent such a sharp stab of pain through her lower right abdomen that even Bethany could no longer pretend this was something that she could overcome with a nap.

She reached for the phone, dialed her doctor’s office, speaking with a nurse there who, after a few questions, said she would send an ambulance. Bethany thanked her, and as she imagined the effort to go back downstairs to open the door, she tried to hang up the phone. She missed the cradle, knocking the bedside lamp which tipped and fell to the floor, shattering in tiny pieces.

Shadow leaped onto the bed in alarm, then curled herself around Bethany’s head, partially on the pillow, purring and kneading her.

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Camping Under the Falling Star – Flash Fiction Friday

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As Allie waded through the shin high grasses and prickly weeds her flashlight scanning back and forth, her feet sore, she thought more and more that her quest was foolish. She should come back in the daytime when she could see better. She knew she had to be close to the meteorite impact spot. She’d been lying in her sleeping bag, watching the stars when she saw the tell-tale streak through the sky, but bigger and brighter than any she’d seen before. It disappeared, and just seconds later, she’d felt the ground vibrate. She knew what had happened, and she felt she knew which direction the vibration had come from. Now she couldn’t help but question how she thought she’d been so sure to head out in the dark of night.
To hell with it. She would go back to camp and come look again in the morning. She was in the middle of nowhere for Pete’s sake. It wasn’t like someone else was going to sneak in and snag it out from under her.
She turned and started wading back across the field. When she thought she should be getting close to the tree line that would mark the edge of the forest she was camped in she swung the beam of her flashlight up higher, looking further out. No trees. Apparently she had gone further afield then she realized at the time. She kept walking. 
Several minutes later she was still walking and still no trees in sight. Now she’s wondering about her perception of the walk out. Her feet were sore. She stopped, turning slowly, shining her light to the end of the beam. The field looked Identical in every direction. By the time she had turned all the way around she wasn’t even sure she was still pointed the same way she had started.
Her legs folded and she sat suddenly, tears overwhelming her. The tall grass brushed her face and stickers poked her ankles as they lodged in her socks, and made everything feel just that much more hopeless.
She knew when the sun came up she would be able to orient herself and get back to camp. There was no point in continuing to wander. Still, she let herself wallow and weep and feel hopeless. Maybe she could wear herself out emotionally and she could fall asleep here in the foxtails and weeds. The tears faded out, but her exhaustion manifested in staring off into the dim distance with a blank mind. There was no sleep.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, it felt both an eternity and momentary. In time however, she noticed a change. Treetops began to show against a slightly lighter sky. She stood up. The tree line was off slightly to her right; she hadn’t been so very off in the direction she’d been headed. Just far off enough. 
Bending to pick up her pack, she saw it. A black rock in a shallow depression a foot from her bag. She’d sat next to it all night long. She touched it tentatively. Quickly, pulling her hand away assuming it would be hot, but it wasn’t. She picked it up. A fine soot coated the surface, and she smiled as it came off on her fingers.
Cradling the meteorite in her had, not even bothering to put it in her bag she walked back to camp with plans to nap and celebrate. 
Writing prompt: Rock, change, lost

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Making Space – Belated Flash Fiction Friday

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Carolyn descended the three cement steps into the dusty garage. A space of about four by seven feet had been cleared of boxes and debris and swept clean. In the center of this space was a stack of three empty pet carriers, a basket of dog toys, and a dog bed with a sleeping speckled dog sprawled in it. Behind her followed an older gentleman, her father. When he came beside her he reached past her shoulder to pull a dangling cord turning on a long fluorescent light that hung over a workbench that ran the length one wall of the garage. 
“So if we could just make a little more space out here, I could take in more fosters and you wouldn’t have anything disturbed in the house.” As she talked Carolyn adjusted her hold on the five day old kitten she carried. It mewed in complaint until she got it better situated against her body and returned the little baby bottle. 
“Where do you plan to put everything?” His skepticism about this whole project dripped from the question.
“That’s what I was hoping you could help me with,” Carolyn began. “This stuff has been in boxes since I was little. You don’t use any of it. Could we maybe. . .  get rid of. . . some of it?”
Her father looked at her, then at the wall of boxes. He said nothing.
“Look, Dad.” Carolyn set the baby bottle down on the workbench and shoved the kitten into her father’s hands causing a surprised sputter from him and an angry mewl from the kitten. She reached into the nearest box and pulled out a dusty metal tool that had two holes and a plate that could slide back and forth. “This thing for example. I’ve never seen you use it. Why let it sit out here taking up space? Is it so important to keep?”
Dad was still trying to figure out how to hold onto the squirming, now unhappy kitten as Carolyn waved the tool at him. He settled on cradling it in both hands against his belly. He looked up at his daughter. “That is an antique Colt bullet mold from 1862. No, we are not getting rid of it.” The kitten was attempting to climb up his front in search of its missing bottle, letting out frustrated little meows all the while. He assisted the tiny body by bringing it more up to his chest, but still trying to contain it in his hands.
Carolyn didn’t seem to notice his distress with the kitten. She regarded the bullet mold thoughtfully. “Well then, maybe we could just use it.”
Her dad snorted. “Making bullets seems to go against the spirit of your animal rescuing thing.”
Carolyn rolled her eyes. “No. I mean maybe. . . “, she turned to the workbench and popped off the nipple of the tiny baby bottle, turned it over and stuck it into one of the bullet mold holes. “There. Like that.” She held the mold/nipple combo out for her father to see.
He looked at it, then at her, again saying nothing, but with a hint of an eyebrow raise.
“When we wash them, they could go there for drying.” She smiled.
By this point the kitten had found one of Dad’s pinkie fingers and latched on. The dog stretched in his sleep, rolling out of the bed and waking himself.  He got up wagging to see people out here with him and approached Dad with a rope toy and a hopeful expression. 
“Ok,” Dad said. “Tomorrow you can help me go thought some of these boxes. There might be a few things we could get rid of.”
Author note – Following a writing prompt from the Writing Excuses Podcast, I asked my Facebook Friends to send me photos of random objects. I would use 3 of these photos to make a story. These were the first three photos sent:

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The Last Chicken – Flash Fiction Friday

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The rooster walked along the fence line, head bobbing with each slow step. The last hen had passed away that morning, and so had Catlin and Ron. Fern had stuck the rooster in the brain scanner yesterday just out of curiosity – he’d still been acting normally then – and he had the prions too. She guessed the chickens had gotten it from eating the local bugs. Well, not bugs really, since this wasn’t Earth.  Just tiny alien invertebrates. To the chickens they were only bugs though. 
They said the rescue ship was on the way. Maybe still a week out. The crops were all in good shape. Better than the livestock or the people anyway. As long as she washed things carefully, Fern would be fine for food. She hoped the others would still be around to make the trip back with her. A few were only showing early symptoms. They should make it until the ship arrived at least. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too far gone for treatment. 
Part of Fern wanted to gloat, but she just couldn’t muster the energy for that much vindictiveness. Not after watching most of her friends die, one after the other. She remembered how they had teased her, when they brought down that huge native ungulate. Enough to feed the whole colony. But not Fern. Soft, namby-pamby vegetarian Fern. She wished it was funny to think back on. 
The rooster is moving slower today than yesterday. Swaying slightly when he stands still. Fern knows the rescuers won’t take him along when they come. She pushes the button for the gate and the latch opens with a click. She swings it wide and walks out, not bothering to close it behind herself. Let him be free while he can.
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Five Stars – an Uplifting Surprise

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I’m new to the ebook selling game, but I understand that getting reviews can be tough. I’ve heard of many shady practices, buying reviews, sock puppet accounts, etc. that desperate authors have used to try to get around this problem. Maybe I will never be a bestseller, but my ethics are important to me, so I decided early on, that I wouldn’t worry too much about chasing reviews. For my own sanity and peace of mind mainly.

Still, my one nice review on Smashwords from a stranger made me very happy. (Eye of the Beholder is no longer available there, so I won’t link). And just the other day, I logged into Goodreads to mark ‘Revisionary’ by Jim Hines as finished. (A great series – start at the beginning though with ‘Libromancer‘ – you won’t regret it) To my happy surprise, someone had given my ‘Eye of the Beholder’ short story collection five stars.

I know this isn’t world shaking news, but for a little insecure writer who second guesses all her stories, and all her decisions about when to send those stories out into the world, even tiny encouragements mean a lot. Someone out there, not related to me read my work, and found enjoyment in it. It’s huge to me.

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A Safe Haven

Kara Hartz2 Comments

There were trees of every size and color, filled with sprouts of new growth and tiny flowers not yet opened. Still none of them seemed right. Some might be adequate; they were near fresh water, others close to food, but those already held nests full of eggs or hatchlings in their boughs. I needed the perfect spot to nest with my new bride, Sparkle. I’d agonized over the decision too long. What if I was too late? 
Watching her bathe in a puddle this morning, I saw how heavy she’d grown with the eggs she carries. We needed a nest soon – very soon, a safe home where our family could thrive. Sparkle put her trust in me and I wouldn’t let her down.
I circled again in desperation, but knew that nothing had changed. There was no choice.  I would have to seek out the Wisdom Willow. I trembled at the idea, my feathers quivering, but knew that keeping Sparkle and the babies sheltered from wind, and concealed from predators was more important than my qualms. 
Will the tree speak to me? I’ve heard she doesn’t care for birds. She lived in a remote, quite corner of the woods. It was rumored that she befriended the squirrels and the thought of a huge squirrel charging almost made me turn back, but I tried to remember what was needed of me. 
What else did they say? I’d need to approach from the ground. She didn’t tolerate anyone in her branches. Speak clearly in a low voice and avoid chirping or singing. The tree was said to be temperamental. I could do everything right and still be sent away.  I was almost there. It was too late to worry now. Just get it over with.
I fought back my fear of the forest floor, forcing myself to land a short distance from the majestic tree. I hopped cautiously, cringing at each rustle of the leaves, trying to watch every direction at once. I was so exposed. It was dim beneath the trees, and I couldn’t see well.  Every breeze and stir made me want to flap away as fast as I could, but soon I was before the mighty willow. Her soaring trunk was very intimidating from my low position. Her branches stretched out, and seemed to hold the rest of the forest away. No other trees dared to let their branches intertwine with hers. I felt foolish for approaching. She would shun me for wasting her time. Maybe I should turn back…
“Windsong, why do you seek me?”  The voice was not loud, but filled the forest with authority.  I shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew my name, but I was. 
I spread my wings, bowing to the Wisdom Willow hoping she couldn’t tell I was shaking.
“Great One, I seek your guidance.” The words came out in a high squeak and I cringed at the sound. “Where shall I nest my family that they may thrive?” That wasn’t what I had meant to say, but my well-prepared speech would not come to my beak.
“You are late in the season to be seeking a nest only now,” she said.
The others were right. I was foolish to come. To her I was only another stupid bird. “Yes,” I managed to chirp, taking a hop backward, ready to fly if I should need. A cold breeze blew through her delicate branches making them float all around me. Was that a sign of anger?
“It has been ages since a bird sought my counsel, and this corner of the woods has been longing for songs,” said the Willow in a creaking, ancient voice. “Little One, you shall build your home in my branches. I’ve missed the joy of children these many years.”  
I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and almost toppled over in surprise. Had I heard correctly? The willow saw my confusion and a wispy limb scooped me up. 
“Do not fear me. I know what some say about me, and it doesn’t matter. You trust your own mind and heart over silly gossip, or you would not be here now. You shall be my eyes and ears throughout the woods. I am old. A young, courageous bird would be a welcome helper.”
The tension inside of me faded so quickly, I thought my feathers might fall out. Fluffing myself with pride I said, “Thank you… I am honored.” 
Warm rays of sunlight filtered through her leaves, catching juicy insects and glittering motes of dust in their beams. How had I never noticed the beauty of this region of the forest before?
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Cover of Darkness Jan 2012 Available

Kara Hartz1 Comment

My short story, “In the Eye of the Beholder” is in the current edition of “Cover of Darkness“ from Samsdot publishing. It’s the story of a scientist studying alien creatures on their home planet, and discovering that they are not what they first appear.

I’m so looking forward to reading the other stories in the anthology.

I started to write this story for a writing exercise for an online critique group I belonged to at the time, but I couldn’t get it to fit into the 400 word limit the exercise required. Instead of fighting the word count, I decided to skip the assignment that week and write the story the way I wanted it to be. This should be a reminder to me that they best way to increase my odds of getting my work published is to actually finish something and start submitting. Finishing is a weak area for me.

So anyway, go out there (or click over there) and get a copy. Then come tell me what you think of it! I don’t see the ebook up yet, but will post about that when it shows up.