Mid-Week Blues-Buster Week 14
Welcome to the Mid-Week Blues-Buster Flash Fiction Challenge, Week 14.
This is a flash fiction challenge. The prompt is a song. You are not required to write about or even mention the song. It’s there only to get the ideas moving around in your brain pan. If you want to write about the song (or the video- it’s all good here) go for it but don’t feel like you have to.
The rules;
500 words, but it’s a slushy 500, meaning you can go up to 700 or as low as 300.
Post your entry right in the comments section of this post.
MAKE SURE TO PUT YOUR TWITTER HANDLE NEXT TO YOUR WORD COUNT AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR POST
The challenge starts whenever I post this on Tuesday and ends at 4:30PM Pacific Time on Friday. You read that right. Pacific Time.
**I made the command decision to extend the challenge into Friday. I don’t get online until after work anyway so why not give people a little more time to work?**
We’re going a little off the wall with this week’s prompt.
Meet… Mojo Nixon & Skid Roper!
The tune is called… “Elvis Is Everywhere!” Here’s the link; http://youtu.be/e_hkIN38qnY
This week’s Judge is a badass among badasses, the creator of Billy Purgatory… Jesse James Freeman.
So there you have it.
We’re live…. Challenge ends at 4:30 on Friday May 24th.
Are you still here?
Go write!!!
Posted on May 21, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.
The Tsuruoka Files 
“One For The Team”
The neutralizing scanner confirmed me bacteria-free and I headed to the disengaging station and dumped my weapons in their respective bins.
I’d been sold out, locked down, and jammed in this uniform for 46 hours. What I wanted was a hot shower and a trough of spaghetti with extra cheese. What I got was stares from oversized drones who watched me perform nine dress violations by stripping down to high-tech underwear as I strolled through the mess hall. Why weren’t they raising weapons and surrounding me?
I strutted over to the elecylinder but my hand lingered above the RISE button. I glanced down each leg of the elecylinder hall. Clear. I turned toward the mess hall. Protectors, Techtrars and Machinists consumed their meals, memories being wiped of their last assignments. Everything was normal. Still…
I scanned the crowd twice before I noticed them. Three…four…five… Elvis impersonators. One was protocol for decompression spans. But five? I spun on my heel and headed back in. Two mingled. Two made eye contact.
Not cool.
I slipped my arms back into the body glove and zipped it. The one singing kept an eye on me while belting out “Don’t Be Cruel”. The soothing memory stealer contained in the melody wouldn’t work until I’d taken the decompression serum waiting in my room. I smiled with the rest of the dazed saps and walked calmly toward the blue-haired Elvis look-a-likes. Anxiety levels peaked. I’d have to move fast.
I smiled sweetly while doing a little drone recon. Two up front, one to my right. I dove low and skidded into the drone’s feet, knocking him off balance. His blazar rifle fell into my hands and I started firing before I’d brought it fully around. The drones up front fell before the one above me. The rhinestoned atrocities snarled red lips and reached for their mind-control tasers. I dodged chatty Elvis’ rays and went for singing Elvis. He scampered off the platform on stubby legs. I blasted the control panel, locking him inside. He turned, sweating and panicked.
“Casalia. You don’t have to do this.” Fat lips stammered the words.
“Apparently I do. Someone’s trying to get me knocked off SolRealm and I’m not down with that, Elv.” I aimed the blazar at him and he waved down the four bell-bottomed goons at my back. “What gives?”
“Your DNA pass expired.” Shifty eyes peered at the others.
“You’re lying.” I raised the blazar to his forehead.
“No! Yes, okay…” Singing Elvis’ pants darkened and a puddle formed at his feet. “Oh jeeez. Yes, your DNA pass is in the clear but they need it.”
“They who?”
The cowering man raised a pudgy finger and I side-stepped as four men pulled masks off their heads.
“Dad! Abe? Dran…”
Kylon spoke first. “We’re sorry, Casalia.” He started toward me. My own brother.
“Dad!” Fear pulled at my heart but reason acted. I pulled the gun up and fired a hole in my father’s chest. My brothers never flinched. Abe ducked right and Dran left. Kylon rushed me, his fingers clutching at my neck. I reared and popped a move he’d taught me at age 12, snapping his ulna and radius simultaneously. He dropped to the floor in time for Abe and Dran to take their turn in this waltz. I spun and sank my foot into Dran’s middle. He bent and I shoved him into Abe, knocking them both off balance. I filled them full of blazar radiation before they shot sugary pleas my way.
“Cass,” Kylon knelt beside Dad’s body. “Kill me.”
“Ky….”
“Emporer Thelven has control of our DNA batches. He pinged yours and we tried to stop him. He melted our profiles and reprogrammed us. You have to kill me to undo this.”
I didn’t understand, but I knew my brother. Something had broken through Thelven’s reprogramming. And I trusted him. I brought the gun up once more and fired between Kylon’s eyes.
I swallowed hard and waited, barely breathing. My father twitched and sat up. Ky and Dran helped Abe to his feet while I dry-heaved in the corner. I rose, shot them a what-the-fuck look and ground out, “Anybody up for spaghetti?”
@Valeriebrbr 698 words
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The dull grey paint on the handrail was flaking, and Allie grimaced. With so much power available, was it too much to ask for a shaman to live somewhere that got a little upkeep from time to time? She wiped her hand on her jeans and opened the door at the bottom of the stairs. The room was dim, lit only by whatever wan light that could make its way through the dirty windows.
He sat behind a large faux-wooden desk that had been reclaimed out of a bank or insurance agency, the front lined with dents and a bit of rust around the edges. She looked into his eyes and grinned darkly. Here was power – as pathetic as this basement was, the man’s spark positively radiated from within. Allie was reminded of seeing some second-rate Elvis impersonator in a diner outside of Vegas. He had been decorated from neck to ankle in rhinestones, and the fluorescent lights made him sparkle brightly enough that she was briefly blinded. This was like that, only real. Maybe Elvis wasn’t dead after all – his spark was somewhere, in someone. She wondered if she’d get to find out. She certainly planned on trying hard enough.
He pushed his chair back and stood, slowly. Allie realized that she’d been staring too long and had given away her advantage. He would have been cautious, but not wary, if she had just come in and done what she had come here to do, but now his defenses were up. The kill just got harder.
“I see you are no accidental wanderer into my office, young lady. Please, sit, and let us talk.” She’d expected him to speak with a thick accent from Shanghai or Bangkok or somewhere like that, but he sounded more like her grandpa than anyone else. The shaman indicated the folding chair in front of his desk, and she settled into it, its legs wobbly and uneven, just as he clearly hoped she’d be. He followed suit, and his eyes grew vague, as he looked both at her and through her. The effect was much more disconcerting than his rickety chair, and she wondered for the first time if she had taken on a challenge that was too big for her. Only one way to find out.
“No, I’m not here by accident. I learned of you from a young woman you knew in Tuscaloosa. She was trying to stop me from killing her, but you and I both know how futile that was.” If Allie was trying to get a rise out of him, she clearly failed.
“My daughter was strong, but foolish. She believed that there was good in all people, even after her life with me.” His eyes cleared, and he was fully in the room with her again. Allie felt his power more deeply now, and she ached to learn its secrets. “I cannot mourn her, nor do I seek revenge. There is only what has happened, not what should have happened. The question is whether or not you are as big a fool as she was.”
“I’ve been called worse.” This was the moment – any longer, and he’d be too strong for her. He wouldn’t kill her for revenge, that was true, but she didn’t think that dying for any reason interested her. He was expecting her to move now, and she did. Given the opportunity, Allie would have relished taking her time with this kill, but the power she would gain was going to be incredible either way.
Her knife throw would have killed most men, but he blocked it easily, dismissively. Bullets, on the other hand, were not so trivial, and as her right hand readied the knife, her left drew her pistol and fired, the bullets reaching him before the knife hit the floor. One in each eye, as she’d hoped, and while she didn’t see his life passing from them, she felt it, a great concussion of strength bursting out of his corpse like a nova. Allie drew it to her, as with all the others, but it was too much for her conscious mind to take.
It was a year before she woke up.
@drmagoo
700 words
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Cadillac Satin
The engine idled in the heat. Long Tall Sally blared from the radio. Conspicuous anywhere but here she thought as she ran toward the convertible.
“Go, go, go” she yelled. She pulled at the white satin and tulle trapping her legs. She jumped into the backseat of the car as the door to the Graceland Wedding Chapel slammed open behind her.
“Stop her!” a male voice bellowed. Tourists ogled but no one moved an inch toward the Caddy.
“Hit the gas, Baby. I got ’em!” Tires squealed and the car flew into traffic on North Las Vegas Boulevard. She turned around and lifted her middle finger toward the chapel fading into the throng of people on the Strip. Six long months she’d wanted to do that. Thank God this job was finally over.
“So, you got ’em?” Gold rimmed sunglasses eyed her from the rearview mirror. She climbed over the seat, letting her skirts fly. Might as well entertain the masses. A few cat calls echoed across the Strip. She smiled and waved before scooting across the seat to sit next to her man.
“Yeah, Baby. I got ’em and then some.” She held up her left hand, showing off the sparkling atrocity on her fourth finger.
“WAHOOOO!” He hollered. She laughed and kissed his sideburns. She still found it strange her man had been named after the celebrity he now chose to impersonate.
“Didn’t I tell you this gig would pay off?” Elvis asked.
“Yeah, Baby. You did.” She put her head on Elvis’s shoulder and watched Vegas fly past.
****
“So let me get this straight. Elvis drove off with your bride-to-be in a pink cadillac convertible? And that bride-to-be stole your blue suede shoes?” John could tell the officer was barely containing his laughter.
“Yes, that’s correct. And she stole a Two-Hundred Fifty-Thousand dollar antique wedding band.”
“Did you give her the wedding band when you asked her to marry you?” the officer asked.
“Technically, yes,” John said. His stomach dropped.
“Well then, technically, she didn’t steal it. You gave her the wedding ring. She stole the shoes.” This time the Officer’s smirk came through.
“Fine. But she did steal the shoes.”
“How much are the shoes worth,” the officer asked.
“Two hundred dollars.” John felt a sour taste in his mouth when the officer closed his note pad.
“Sir, consider yourself lucky. There are scams all over Las Vegas; petty theft rings aimed at naive tourists and guys like you. Just be glad she didn’t clean out your bank account before leaving you at that alter.” John’s eyes widened.
“Don’t tell me you gave a Vegas stripper access to your bank accounts,” the officer shook his head as he opened his note pad again.
*****
She looked over her shoulder to where Elvis stood pumping gas in the desert sun.
“Hey, Baby how much should we get?”
“Take it all, Little Darlin’. Take it all.” He smiled as he adjusted his sunglasses then blew her a kiss. She turned back to the ATM and punched in the code. She had the coolest man on earth – she had Elvis.
____________
@BrewedBohemian
526 words
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I sipped my whiskey as Kaila sat down on the bar stool next to me crossing her mile long legs and hooking her bright pink CL heel on the stool so she could lean into the chaste kiss the pretty Vampire boy dropped on her cheek. Then she actually waved him away. The woman had cajones, and one of the rarest blood types in the city combined with some sort of pheromone that drove them crazy for her. Me, they didn’t notice so much, which was for the best in the end.
“Seriously, Kaila, why do you keep dragging me to these damn Vamp bars?”
Kaila rolled her eyes at me, “Because if I didn’t drag you SOMEWHERE you’d just sit in that damn warehouse of yours doing strange things to metal that result in brilliant art but so far do NOT result in getting you laid.”
“Well dragging me to Vamp bars won’t get me laid either. You know they do nothing for me. They’re all silk shirts, over styled hair and Italian shoes. Also…they insist on playing an unreal amount of Roxy Music. Too much slick and not enough…” I trailed off just as the hottest man I had ever seen in my life walked in the door.
Kaila, digging in her purse didn’t see him, “…not enough what? Jeezus wept Randy, Vampires are lovers out of myth what on earth is it that they are lacking?”
By this time Mr. Hottie had figured out this wasn’t really his scene and was about to turn around and leave but caught me starting at him. His eyes were dark in a face that was all angles and shadows. This was a man with edges and I wanted to see exactly how sharp they were.
“Randy?” Kaila stared at me.
I leaned over to her saying, “Elvis…your Vamps have got no fucking Elvis.”
I never took my eyes off him while I drank the last of my whiskey. He crooked up an eyebrow in curiosity. I swung off the bar stool and took a step towards the jukebox, glanced back at him and caught him staring at my ass. I winked at him and saw him start to grin as I turned to get the music changed to something that might also have a little Elvis. I punched in my choices, turned around and damn near planted my face in a very warm, very broad chest. He snaked his arms around my waist and pulled me out to the floor just as The Detroit Cobras started in on Hey Sailor.
That man could move. He kept me spinning in and out, moving me around him and any time I made the mistake of trying to lead he would clinch me in close so I couldn’t really move and planted a kiss on my neck.
He smelled so good. That clean, soapy, hot man smell…with something else under the soap/man smell, something a little wild and smoky.
After the D-Cobras came Lady Gaga’s Teeth which was a little ironic since he was clearly NOT a Vamp. But he wasn’t entirely human either. I didn’t know what he was but I didn’t really care either.
He was behind me, hands on my hips as we rocked to the music and he growled softly in my ear, “Wanna see my teeth?” I closed my eyes and grinned as I rolled my hips and ground my ass into him. His hands tightened on my hips as he groaned.
“Woman that ass is going to get you into trouble.”
“Is it the kind of trouble that might get me a ticket out this bar full of simpering Vamps before they start playing Avalon AGAIN?”
He spun me around, cupping my face in his hands as he bent down and licked his tongue softly across my lips then whispered in my ear, “How ‘bout I show you how much Elvis I really have, sugar?”
That’s when the penny dropped, Werewolf. Our noses were touching as I grinned, nipped his bottom lip and his eyes rolled to gold for a second.
“Ok Moon Doggie, let’s go.”
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TUPELO TWO STEP
A wicked west wind – hot, dry, and uncompromising as an armadillo’s shell – skittered through the empty lot, stirring up sand and trash, its toothsome howl piggybacking the shriek and rumble of the afternoon train.
From his screened-in porch across the street, Walter Dempsey watched the dust devil ballet over the rim of his chipped coffee cup and wondered what portent this outburst of weather brought with it.
Moments later, on the cracked yellow heels of the windstorm, the answer rode in on a rusted chassis covered with orange paint flakes
Trying not to grin like a hound dog in heat, he headed out front. By the time he got there, Maxine Chapman was parked on the Martins’ dandelion lawn, honking the horn, and hollering for Travis.
From inside the decrepit turquoise trailer, a girl’s voice squawked, “Oh gawd, mama!! Maxine just pulled up!”
Walter leaned over the Martins’ rickety pine fence. “You just missed Travis. He went into town about fifteen minutes ago.”
Maxine directed her fierce blue glare his way. “What the hell? He knew I was on the way here.”
“On account of the car trouble? I’d be happy to look under the hood and find what needs fixing.”
Mrs. Martin came out the front door, holding her powder blue terrycloth robe closed with one hand and toting a rifle with the other. “Girl, you got sixty seconds to get off my property or I’m calling the sheriff.”
“I’ll bet I can get to you before you can dial out,” Maxine said, getting out of the car.
Walter intercepted her, linking his arm through hers and steering her towards his trailer. “You let old lady Martin shoot you with the BB gun she bought at the church rummage sale last week, you’re going to need a tetanus shot.”
“You think I’m enjoying this? Hell no! I just need the clunker that two-timing Travis sold me to run right. Next time I’m late for work, they’re gonna cut me loose, and if I lose my waitressing job, I’ll have to drop out of beauty school.”
“Let me clue you in on a little something. Travis isn’t cheating on you. He’s been cheating with you. He and Martha Pippen been shacked up next door for six months.”
“What?! Why didn’t anybody tell me sooner?”
“Your schedule makes it mighty hard to ‘bump’ into you nowadays.”
“Don’t have much time to socialize between work and school. Last month, during dye class, some bimbo turned my hair green, so I ended up holed up in my apartment for three weeks.”
“With Travis?”
“Yeah, with Travis. And then, when I wasn’t thinking straight, when the hair color chemicals were screwing with my brain and Travis was screwing with my heart, that’s when he conned me into spending my savings on this piece of shit car.”
“Cars I can fix. Broken hearts -”
“Not broken. Vengeful.”
“Okay, for that, I might have a cure. Come on.”
She had to hustle to keep up with his long legs and nearly crashed into him when he stopped short in his driveway.
“Picked this up at the auction this morning,” he said, nodding to the vintage pink cadillac. “If you happened to drive it by the lumber yard on the way to work, that’d put Travis on notice.”
She ran a hand through her cropped platinum hair. “I’ve always admired your good looks, Walter. Pity I’m only just now discovering your devious mind. You know what? How about you take me to work?”
“TUPELO TWO STEP
A wicked west wind – hot, dry, and uncompromising as an armadillo’s shell – skittered through the empty lot, stirring up sand and trash, its toothsome howl piggybacking the shriek and rumble of the afternoon train.
From his screened-in porch across the street, Walter Dempsey watched the dust devil ballet over the rim of his chipped coffee cup and wondered what portent this outburst of weather brought with it.
Moments later, on the cracked yellow heels of the windstorm, the answer rode in on a rusted chassis covered with orange paint flakes
Trying not to grin like a hound dog in heat, he headed out front. By the time he got there, Maxine Chapman was parked on the Martins’ dandelion lawn, honking the horn, and hollering for Travis.
From inside the decrepit turquoise trailer, a girl’s voice squawked, “Oh gawd, mama!! Maxine just pulled up!”
Walter leaned over the Martins’ rickety pine fence. “You just missed Travis. He went into town about fifteen minutes ago.”
Maxine directed her fierce blue glare his way. “What the hell? He knew I was on the way here.”
“On account of the car trouble? I’d be happy to look under the hood and find what needs fixing.”
Mrs. Martin came out the front door, holding her powder blue terrycloth robe closed with one hand and toting a rifle with the other. “Girl, you got sixty seconds to get off my property or I’m calling the sheriff.”
“I’ll bet I can get to you before you can dial out,” Maxine said, getting out of the car.
Walter intercepted her, linking his arm through hers and steering her towards his trailer. “You let old lady Martin shoot you with the BB gun she bought at the church rummage sale last week, you’re going to need a tetanus shot.”
“You think I’m enjoying this? Hell no! I just need the clunker that two-timing Travis sold me to run right. Next time I’m late for work, they’re gonna cut me loose, and if I lose my waitressing job, I’ll have to drop out of beauty school.”
“Let me clue you in on a little something. Travis isn’t cheating on you. He’s been cheating with you. He and Martha Pippen been shacked up next door for six months.”
“What?! Why didn’t anybody tell me sooner?”
“Your schedule makes it mighty hard to ‘bump’ into you nowadays.”
“Don’t have much time to socialize between work and school. Last month, during dye class, some bimbo turned my hair green, so I ended up holed up in my apartment for three weeks.”
“With Travis?”
“Yeah, with Travis. And then, when I wasn’t thinking straight, when the hair color chemicals were screwing with my brain and Travis was screwing with my heart, that’s when he conned me into spending my savings on this piece of shit car.”
“Cars I can fix. Broken hearts -”
“Not broken. Vengeful.”
“Okay, for that, I might have a cure. Come on.”
She had to hustle to keep up with his long legs and nearly crashed into him when he stopped short in his driveway.
“Picked this up at the auction this morning,” he said, nodding to the vintage pink cadillac. “If you happened to drive it by the lumber yard on the way to work, that’d put Travis on notice.”
She ran a hand through her cropped platinum hair. “I’ve always admired your good looks, Walter. Pity I’m only just now discovering your devious mind. You know what? How about you take me to work?”
“That’d certainly hurt Travis more than -”
“Forget about him. I have. If we leave right now, we have time to cruise for a while, just the two of us.”
His heart hiccupped. “Maxine -”
She kissed his cheek, opened the door, and slid into the white tuck-and-roll seat. “Baby, you ain’t gonna be lonesome tonight or any other night.”
Yeah, Elvis is everywhere, but nowhere more tangible than in the heart of a man hoping to cheat the Heartbreak Hotel out of its dues.
= = = = =
676 words / @bullishink
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Billows of red-brown dust chase the station wagon as it turns off Highway 1, its tires digging into another bumpy, dirt and gravel road. Lodgings, Restaurant – ahead 1mile
“Geez Aaron, couldn’t you find at least one motel on a main road? These filthy, out of the way places are starting to give me the creeps.”
“Your problem, Pete, is that you don’t have any sense of adventure. We’re connecting with the heartland. Anywhere, USA. These are the ‘out of the way’ places the country and western songs honour, where Colonel Parker found Elvis.”
“I thought Colonel Parker found Elvis at Sun Records?”
“I was trying to make a point. Never mind. Hey look. There’s a motel up ahead. We’re looking for the Wetherton Inn and Diner. What does that sign say?”
“Ah, too bad, it’s the wrong place. This one says ‘Heartbreak Hotel.’”
“Very funny. I’m starving. Eggs and toast aren’t enough to hold a larger man through to lunch.”
“Eggs and toast? I seem to recall sausage links, bacon, marmal-“
“Yeah, yeah. Well, I’m still looking forward to a couple of nice bologna sandwiches for lunch, no matter what you say.”
“Or what your doctor says.”
“Grab the bag from under the backseat? It’ll be safer if we lock it in the trunk.”
“I’d feel better if we hid the money somewhere less obvious. Plus,it’s pretty easy to break this Buick’s locks and I don’t think a dirty blanket is much of a decoy.”
“Five hours down the road tomorrow and we’ll hit Mexico. Then we can hide the money anywhere you want. Come on, Pete. Goddamn it, my throat is dry. Can’t wait for a beer.”
The next day, the morning sun glints brightly off the green motel door. Pete pulls it carefully, closing it behind him, then stops to light a cigarette. He’s left a note inside for Aaron:
“Sorry. Never could stand country music so decided to take the cash and turn onto a paved road. I’m sure you’ll find another ride to Nowhere…oh, sorry…Anywhere, USA. In the meantime, don’t eat too many bologna sandwiches, buddy. Remember how badly things turned out for Elvis.”
358 words
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