REMOTE : remotus : removēre




Waking with an electric zap,  he stumbled from bed.
What freaking remote location did they send him to?
Spotting a television he fumbled through the nightstand for the remote.
“Where the hell am I? Where’s the remote”? He demanded kicking his roommates bed.
“Rehab, and it’s mine”.
Laughed the man.






Walking into the “ambush” their genetic memory, whatever it was that set them apart from humans, twitched electric.

To no avail, the cartoonish figures tried to break them. Shearing, grinding, squeezing. Standard soul crushing practices exhausted.

All means by which humans control and manipulate their environment couldn’t extinguish their ancient bond..

At times, the sparkle in one eye would dim.Succumbing to the evil of the human realm.
A glance to the others eye, healed all doubt.
The electric iris—the souls window—  healed instantly.

Their tools of intelligence transcended this place.

No match for the tools living on Earth.



Written for The M3 Blog and Flash-In-The-Pan.


Written for TheM3Blog and Flash-In-The-Pan


Sitting in silence. Eyes scanning words-his words- .


“State Of The Union Address”.

He knew he was important. The name was some sort of title. Beyond that, everything was askew.

Detrimental words. Filled with fear and doom. What had he gotten himself-all these people who called him “Mr. President“- in to?

Himself, a peaceful being. Those words could not have come from his mind –his soul-.

Mouth opened, failing to produce “speech”-consonants, vowels-.

An idea –an answer-occured.

Whoever he was yesterday, power-hungry,  full of anger, was gone.

Walking towards the fireplace he lit the former selves words aflame.

An hour of feverishly written words. Scrawling “State Of The Union Address” on the page. Signing  with initials “C.S.”, he rose from his desk.

Water filled eyes stared into  a mirror…reflecting back skin –bioluminescent skin -.

His job here was done.

Taking his egress, eyes closed.



George Washington's First State of the Union A...

George Washington’s First State of the Union Address (Photo credit: Wikipedia)




Attempting to quiet reality.
Adrenal overload.
Her heart bursting at the seams.
Thinking, I’ve never felt like this before, repeating it, feelings changing by the second. Tick tock.
Pulsating nervous thoughts.
Second by second brain flipping between past, present and future.
A few more minutes and life would change forever, for the better.
One deep inhale.
On the sighed exhale she allowed her self to regress to the childlike state of bliss.

Written for Flash in the pan and TheM3Blog

PROGRESS: Progredi ,Moving Clocks or Time Dilation (Flash In The Pan)


Native Americans flee from the allegorical rep...


the forward nature of time (painting : JohnGast 1872)




Twins. Moving through the different paths of chosen lives.

One, seeing the betterment of humanity.

The other, watching the destructive rise and fall of humanity.

Each  wore a watch on their left wrist. Each checking their wrists every three or five minutes.

A Italian coffee shop , one sat, drinking espresso, glancing between the beauty of a family’s laughter and times rhythmic tick- tock.

The other, glanced sideways. Two people, voices on the brink of boiling , and times escalating tick- tock .

Twins. One making peaceful progress in life.

The Other, overwhelmed by humanities progress towards self-destruction.




Come: Veinen


The calendar, all “ex’s”, no “oh’s”. 

A one man game of tic-tac-toe.

A fast flickered  feeling seized his body. Nothing named.

There was a word for what washed over him, but not in this language.

The surreal became reality with each audible tick of time.

Fear of being judged. Regret for waiting . Tears for a future never seen.

At least he  left words. At least a hidden will. At the very least, no soul would suffer the truth.

His heart  fastening with anticipation. Slowing with acceptance.

Fifty-five, Fifty-four, fifty-three, the time had come. Eyes closed, fade to black.


Written for TheM3Blog and FlashInThePan  associated to Finding The Path





REACH: extending the measured expanse never to intersect

REACH: (Extending The Measured Expanse, Never To Intersect )

Frail fingers. Instruments.

Power to  reach treasures lost down pipes. Producing pianist silencing melodies. Fingers extended leaving  silent tears.

Father said “reach for the stars, practice makes perfect baby girl.”

Another night. Anticipating, for when fingers reach stars.

Laying the star  beside Fathers ashes, a warm smile brushed her face.

Written for  TheM3Blog Flash In The Pan, Hot Flashes!

DOWN : (The sun sets sinister)

I stumbled upon this challenge via:


Here is Joes statement regarding this flash fiction challenge:

“I found a new flash fiction challenge for any and all who enjoy such a test of your writing ability. While flash can mean a lot of things, for this specific challenge it is limited to 100 words or less.  By selecting the words in the quarter’s list you can know your word limit. The exciting thing is that these stories are collected for publication each quarter. But, only the first 250 flashes entered will make the publication, so do not hesitate. The word limit for Down is 100 words, just like what I used above. Check out for the rules and to join the fun.”

Here’s my try.









Was he an observer? Magnetic fields pulling.

Faded memories of scuba diving in an ocean. Everything intersected. He was going down. No GPS needed.

A  flickered memory of being a cartographer. Get your bearings. A  master of directions. Did knowing his latitude matter in this dimensional place?

A lighted memory. The seething sun going down leaving the black night of a new moon.

His eyes opened. A foreign room of familiar faces. Beeping.The tube in his throat bringing sweet oxygen.

Her hand on his forehead, staring  into his soul.

“Welcome home. I knew you wouldn’t go down without a fight.”