Poem: Imogene (The House is Burning)

I don’t know if this should be considered a flash fiction story with rhymes or a poem.
I’ve never tried writing a rhyming story before, I guess it was to be expected that it’d
be dark and “murder ballad”-like. It is weird, I don’t think I like it that much myself.
There is no Imogene in New England, but I liked to imagine a fictional place around
those parts, kind of like a hats off to H.P. Lovecraft, even though this piece has nothing
to do with him, or his work.

 

It was just like any afternoon in Imogene, New England
a hot summer’s day at the Smith’s residence
Where daddy was a-singing and mother was a-crying
while I, Little Billy was sipping lemonade at the yard

There was a crash and a shout
Then daddy came out, he was cursing as he walked to the car
He let out a roar, you’ll see me no more
before I knew it
he was gone

I rushed into the house when my mother cried out,
your father is a-no good, and so are you,
Well, you better get
the hell away from me

My mother was all smashed,
with her face all bloody bruised,
and with anger she lashed out,
and the shattered mirror
made her hand run all ruby red

I ran to my room,
Locked the door with tears of fear,
O how I was yearning that the world
would just stop turning,
as I hid
I shut myself in oblivion

Many silent hours passed
the air was tense and cold,
as mother wrapped her hand
with a curtain.

later daddy came back
all drunk as a rat,
and he went to my mother,
said, I’m so sorry, my darling
my temper’s gonna be
the end of me.

My mother she replied with just,
O you are right,
as she pulled out a loaded gun,
she took a steady aim
and that was the end of my ol’ daddy.

My mother then laughed
more than she ever had
then I knew she was out to get me.

She whispered, Bill my dear
I need a hug, I need someone to love,
as she tried to force her way through my door.

She shouted and shouted,
until she ran to the kitchen,
may this a failure of life just have an end tonight,
Oh, she turned on the stove
and let the gas slowly fill the room.

Soon the neighbors heard a bang,
And I was scared and frozen,
as the smoke kept on risin’
and the hell was blazin’
as my consciousness kept fadin’–

The house kept burning,
we were dead and there was nothing,
it was called just another murder-suicide.

And as Imogene forgot,
I, Little Billy did not,
And I haunt this town to this day..

Flash Fiction: Ungeziefer

This a piece that I somehow regurgitated at my workplace during a break. Minimal edits, so I do apologize if it looks rushed. I hope you enjoy this short story. I’m going back to the mundane.

The massive propaganda speakerphones echoed through the harrowingly empty streets as a gray-faced public servant was trying to make his way home. Walking on the streets was always dangerous, even when completely authorized to do so. The not-so-secret police could arrest anyone at any given time just for good measure. If the records were clean, they’d dig until they would eventually find dirt. There was a database of dirt on everything just lying around, it knew everything about everyone.

The database didn’t sleep or eat. It required minimal maintenance and never needed winding. It collected information on all the so-called ideologically or otherwise unsavory vermin. But little did anyone know that the machine’s census was pure and unbiased. It couldn’t distinguish a human being from another and for years it hoarded all the information it could gather.

Undisturbed governments watched as the machine filled itself ceaselessly full of private memories over private memories. Categorizing forgiveness with malice, and sullied love with threats.

At first everyone thought the machine would keep them safe and others likened it to a god who heard all holy prayer. Though soon there was no escape from the police state where everyone was a tiny insect, clawing to life around the all-knowing, decadent despot. The tyranny of information kept the gray-faced man forever hiding.

But there was a glimmer of hope. The machine couldn’t record the ghoulish winds that wailed along the sidewalks. The winds that would forever fly free over London’s lonely bridges.

Flash Fiction: The Monkey that Loved Capitalism

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, obviously. This is my attempt at writing a flash fiction in a NaNoWriMo-type of group. This is a story about a monkey and his briefcases. The rest is my fingers writing what my buttocks want to tell you, which means I haven’t arsed to edit this too much. Read at your own peril(?).

The traffic lights turned green freeing the green car to accelerate and zoom across the city. Hal Grimmich was the CEO of Big Operations, he was sitting at the back seat glaring at the chauffeur with great distaste. Hal Grimmich never liked being late from meetings, he was the head of the largest company in the world which made him the most important man in the world.

Though there was a very important detail that Mr. Grimmich hadn’t paid attention to. When he became the CEO of Big Operations, he started working to create an ultimate monopoly. The playing field was perfect, everyone was free to do anything they wished in the name of competition, a hard line laissez-faire attitude had been adopted by all. Soon Big Operations started running competing businesses out of business, or optionally buying them out.

English: Historic picture of operations in the...

Historic picture of operations in the Big Quarry (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In the racing green car Mr. Grimmich was looking at the dozen briefcases that he had with him. He had covered himself with them. These briefcases contained the most important papers to him, all his property always stayed with him and he never left his belongings behind.

In one of the briefcases there was all the papers of the original Big Operations, which used to be a charity organization with a mission to help autistic children. When the earlier owner of Big Operations had the chance to merge the charity with a local business he had decided to change the whole organization into a full-fledged business with an aim to aid children in general.

Soon after the earlier owner of Big Operations had a car accident while going home from work, he avoided a stray cat and went off-road. No one heard of him since, and all the legends say he still drives around the countryside –trying to desperately find his way home.

There were a few shady business types that tried to make a quick buck out of the charity money, while the others tried to make money out of the children by making them work on making cheap counterfeit art in sweatshops around Europe. Somehow Big Operations survived all this and then came Hal Grimmich.

Big Operations started heading straight to the top where the people were rich and fat, but clean and powerful. Hal Grimmich was no small time player, but he had been a somewhat invisible venture capitalist with a big purse until he took control of Big Operations. And once he had set his footing with his new company he cut the business world with a knife. Once the cake was split he played the consumers against the weakened companies before eating the whole cake, consumers and all.

The briefcases were in truth trophies for Hal Grimmich, to remind him that it was he who had monopolized the world under Big Operations. Hal Grimmich had changed the world into a wild-eyed utopia where he owned the poor, he owned the unemployed, he owned the middle class, and he own the rich. Government was shut down as Big Operations bought all the politicians and bureaucrats out of the picture as well, now the old government halls were used to promote synergy in a democratic manner. Everybody who did well in Big Operations received smiley stickers.

What Hal Grimmich didn’t know was that he was owned by Big Operations as much as anyone else. No one was free of Big Operations. As the mega corporation held the world together, if anything was to bring Big Operations down it was armageddon or Big Operations itself. Not even Hal Grimmich combined with the rest of the executive board had enough power to destroy Big Operations, even though they did hold all the power in the world.

The earth’s air had turned so heavy that minutes felt like hours. Breathing was a pain, not because of pollution but stress. There was no love for love was always bought by the highest bidder and sold by the most broken of souls. Hal Grimmich had never had anything close to love for free or for a price, but he did have a very puerile relationship with money –some kind of love, perhaps.

And money was owned by Big Operations, transaction as a concept was owned by them as well. Even all the metaphysical had died out, and god had gone bankrupt in the face of Big Operations. If the situation wouldn’t have been so under control by something non-human, maybe Hal Grimmich could have felt like a god.

But Hal Grimmich was late, sitting in the back seat of the green speeding car and he would never get his time back. There was no way to trade the world back to the people anymore either. The world was pure though, at last. At last.

Flash Fiction: Grandpa Caleb

15th century depiction of Cain and Abel, Specu...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Long ago, a young couple had run off from home. They had traveled towards the east. Always to the east, hitchhiking and jumping trains. The couple knew each other intimately and soon they had twins. They called the older one Caleb and the younger one Dave. The young mother was happy, for the birth had been relatively easy and she gave her thanks to the great creator of the universe.

Though the family was impoverished the kids grew up into fine young men. Dave had an affinity with animals, while Caleb was strong and quickly started working at an early age.

Caleb worked hard to be a good boy. He wanted to make his father proud, so he brought the little money he could into the house. Dave also wanted to impress father, so he had picked up a fresh dog poop off the side of the road to place it in his father’s tea.

Father had no respect for Caleb’s earnings. He didn’t like Caleb one bit and used to beat him to a bloody pulp every chance he got. And with time Caleb’s countenance hardened and he became a very angry young man.

One day father asked Caleb why was his son such a sulking little weakling.
“If you don’t man up right this second, I will beat your sorry chin to the ground and I will make you get the largest stick you can find from the forest, so that I can break it in two on your head,” father told Caleb.
“You better be a man and keep your stupid little sulk inside and carry it, or else!”

One day Caleb and Dave took the rowboat to the river. Soon they had a quarrel and Caleb punched Dave right in the nose. Dave started crying as blood gushed out of his nostrils. Dave tried to spit and wash the blood off, while greedily splashing the water from the river to his face.

Caleb saw the river turn red and it made him sick –Dave made him sick. So Caleb decided to be devious. He tied the boat to his brother’s leg unnoticed. Then Caleb told Dave that he’ll see him in hell and took one oar and thrashed at the boat until it sunk.

Once Caleb had swum to the shore his father was waiting for the boys at the road. He asked Caleb where was Dave and why was he wet. Caleb said he didn’t know where Dave was, as Dave had pushed him off the rowboat before rowing off.

“What have you done?” said father to Caleb in a fit of rage, “I know your brother’s blood is on your hands! Curse you! Curse you, you vile child! Once I catch you I will cut off your hands and cut off your legs, so that you can’t do anything useful with your life!”

Now Caleb was running away from home just like his parents had done before he was born. He was to be a fugitive and a vagabond, no one could know why he was forced to such a life. He swore no one would ever know his dark secret. The greatest punishment for Caleb was his own existence, but in truth he was afraid of death and hid his face from the crowds to work silently in the shadows.

He traveled sixteen long arduous years, across the country until he was an even stronger and larger man. His strength was seven-fold, though his pain remained unbearable.

By now he had met a girl. She was pretty and he knew her well, inside and out. Soon she bore Caleb a son who was to be named John. And that day Caleb decided he wouldn’t travel anymore, but settle down to make a decent living for his family.

Little did Caleb know that his wife was the kid sister that his mother was expecting at the time of Dave’s death.

John was born very special and John passed his quirk through many generations, until nothing but Lament was born.

Lament was born lame, but he still decided to have two wives, which wasn’t customary or legal at the time. The two were called Hellen and Fatty Mama, both beautiful specimens of the human species. Talented to meet each of Lament’s expectations –none of which were too special.

Hellen gave Lament a child called Joe, who was to become the father of all hobos and the patron saint of social reclusion. Soon Hellen bore another child called Jimm, he became a rockstar and never contacted his family ever again.

Lament kept Fatty Mama busy as well, and soon the family grew even larger. Trouble and his sister Candy were born. They were never up to any good and Lament grew weary, so he gathered his wives together for dinner one solemn night.

“Hellen and Fatty Mama, hear me now for you are my women, my property” Lament spoke.
“I have heard many stories of my great great grandfather Caleb, who ran away from home for reasons of his own. Sometimes I think he killed a man to bring us this family of ours and as I see my remaining children grow up to be cheap harlots and swindlers, I sometimes think I am to suffer for his sins over seventy-seven times over.”

So Lament spoke long with his wives, taking the matter slow and heart to heart. And early next morning they all sailed away to life everlasting. Never to be loved or forgiven by anyone.

The End

Flash Fiction: I was an Old Man

I was an Old Man
by Miki Korhonen

This is the first time I try to turn a dream into a short story. I tried to catch the theme and the feeling of the dream into a story of under 1000 words. It’s a story about an old man and it begins with a dinner party and it ends with a popping sound.

P.S. If anyone reading this story know how to interpret dreams, I’d love to hear what you’d reckon this all means.

I had seen myself in the mirror for the first time in ages, my hair was turning gray and I was growing old. I never thought that time would slip me so fast. All those years gone by felt like a matter of minutes.

At least I was home and I was surrounded by the few friends I had managed to keep through the years. On the couch sat John and Lori, I sat with my wife on the arm chairs. We were separated by a glass table with a few glasses of cognac. I had finished mine. We were playing charades and having a good ol’ time. 

The apartment was moderately large and lavishly decorated. Golden beige drapes, tall windows and a small balcony. I had lived here with my wife for years. There was a dust storm outside and nothing could be seen through the windows, but inside we were comfortable.

I knew John from long back. Long ago we had discovered something we shouldn’t have. I’d rather not get into it, but it was a hell on Earth, known as **** ********. The most vile human experiments happened there. A facility run by demons in human form. We told the story and managed to shut the place down. I was still young then.

John and I never spoke of those days. I know I am right when I speak for him saying that we were spared by grace. Jesus, fate had mercy on us poor sods!

No matter, it was just one of the many havens of evil in the world, but nothing turned out any better. A few interviews and people lost interest, they forgot the whole place existed.  I know I did right with John, but sometimes I feel that it didn’t matter squat. The world managed to ruin itself anyway. At least I was old and wouldn’t need to worry about anything for too long.

Anthony came from the kitchen with some appetizers –ten oily bruschettas with raw Italian pork. Lori ate them all leaving one for John, my wife and I to share. I didn’t like Lori, but she was good friends with my wife and John didn’t mind her. Lori never had any fashion sense and she had her odd mannerisms that always drove me up a wall. Today she was hungry.

We all had a good ol’ time. Truly. Time flew as we joked and talked about boring old people things, things that were exciting for us now. And soon it was time to go to bed. John and Lori decided to have one more drink on the couch. They knew where the guest rooms were.

My wife fell asleep straight away with a smile on her face. I decided to read a book. For a good while I flipped pages until I saw a picture of a monster in between the pages. I woke my wife up by nudging her and she had the face of the same monster from the book.

She attacked me trying to bite me with her small clear fangs. I tried to talk sense into her, but it was no use. I wasn’t as strong as I used to be and I felt my arms weakening. Her gaping mouth coming closer inch by inch. I decided to dodge her and I locked her in the bedroom.

I stumbled into the living room to tell John, but I was greeted by Lori’s monstrously gleaming eyes. Both John and Lori started to dash at me by awkwardly climbing over the glass table. Lori fell through, but John managed to get on one of the armchairs. I turned to warn Anthony.

Anthony was washing the dishes in the kitchen. He was normal and he saw I was shocked. With a worried face he came at me and I knew John and Lori were closing in. I told Anthony to shut the kitchen door and that the apartment was filled with monsters. He didn’t heed my warning and kept coming at me. I told him to get back in the kitchen before it’s too late as I ran back into the living room.

I saw John and Lori extend their elongated arms towards me. I jumped into the fire place and shut the small iron doors. I was safe for now, but Anthony had come into the living room and unaware of danger he was tackled down. John and Lori ate him up like the spaghetti in Lady and the Tramp.

I gasped for breath and looked on in fear. I started crying for I thought that I had left the horrors of hell behind me. It was just like back in **** ********. I had hoped that I’d die of natural causes, for God’s sake, I was too old for this.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them, I wasn’t in the fire place anymore. I was in a dark shower room. I recognized this ungodly place, the stench of anguish was horridly familiar. I was back in **** ********.

Questions filled my mind, had I ever escaped? Nothing had changed. I couldn’t breathe for I was too afraid. I wished I had never been born. The shadows started to move and I knew they were reaching out at me. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t scream.

I had died of an aneurysm inside the fire place. My brain had gone
POP!

The End

Flash Fiction: About a girl and a boy

About a girl and a boy
by Miki Korhonen

So I tried to write another story in one sitting. I tried to go for an anonymous look into the lives of two people. About loss and decadence, insanity and aftermath. I tried to go for a gothic feel, but I don’t know if I managed to give it that.

Please feel free to give me criticism in the comment section below.

 

That girl was stylish and beautiful, but that’s all that she had. In truth she was dying slowly –the natural way. Her body had been oxidizing for the past twenty something years. She saw her own life as a huge mess, even though she had it all –the looks, the friends, and talent to mosey through.

She had given up the whole loving game after she found out that her last boyfriend had been a cheat and a liar. He left somewhere abroad with the fastest boat that could be found. He left her stumped.

She always had to take a while to clear her head every morning. She had to cut the dragon’s head off every morning, the killer hang over and stench of old perfume. She was surprised how she could have let someone drag her through the mud leaving her like this. She thought it could happen to anyone. It all comes down to that small push that drives a person over the edge and then it’s just a long ass ride.

She was never alone. She had her friends and strings of cute handsome boys to carry her over the storms. She took life as a long holiday at a cheap resort full of liquor and adventure. Looking in from the outside no one knew where she got the money. Was she a whore? Or had she mastered the art of wrenching anyone’s wallet open, no matter the occasion?

No one could read her insane depression and she considered that a victory. She had managed to keep her true feelings of loss and grief hidden. It all had happened so long ago.

There was a ghost hanging around her. A young man who stood among her friends each night, unseen by society. He rarely spoke and her friends barely acknowledged him. He was good friends with each of them despite all. He had gotten used to her friends being callous.

When she would get drunk and dance alone he kept her company until someone else came to dance with her. He would always smile to make her happy and he would drink with her when she was alone. And on lonely nights when it was raining he escorted her to her home door. She wouldn’t invite him in, but it didn’t matter at all. Just being there for her made him happy.

He had spotted her crying on the night that her boyfriend had left her. She had gone out drinking alone, she was out to fuck herself up. He had seen her and his lips had engorged, his eyes dilated black as the sky that night. He said no word to her that night, but got up and sat down next to her. She didn’t mind and from then on he had sat in her company many a times.

She had visited his house a few times, she lived nearby though it seemed a distant land as his house didn’t compare to her’s at all. The roof was moldy, it had rot in the rain. He was ashamed when she came to see him when it was one of those rainy nights.

“Why do you punish me?” he asked every night, “Why do you chastise me for my dreams of you?”

He never received any reply from her, he sometimes felt his love was a crime. To never be truly gazed or touched by her. To see her come and go with other men, but never him. He had to come in grips with the truth, loving her was just like serving time.

She was a dying whore born of a virgin with no soul. She had no family except him to count on, so he took his punishment. To not touch, to not love, but to just keep a brotherly protective eye on her.

One night, he had entered her house without her permission. She was there and she was looking at him. There was Frank Sinatra playing in the background. Time had stopped. They both were scared, she hadn’t gazed him in a long time. There was no hate or jealousy.

She came forward and caressed his head. Then she put her hand on his heart and kissed it. He felt shivers down his spine and he tried to touch her, but it was too late. She closed to freezer door and left his remains inside there. He had to go back to the shed outside where the rest of him was buried and left to rot. Maybe she would visit him again soon, so that he could lock eyes with her again.

The End

Flash Fiction: Grounding Coin

Lincoln memorial cent, with the S mintmark of ...

Lincoln memorial cent, with the S mintmark of the San Francisco mint. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was laid down.
I was ground.
And as ground I worked,
as a ground should.
I worked as footing for the dogs that walked all over me,
the same way I walked all over her –Mother Earth.

Today we were flipping  coins with Marcus. We were trying to decide who’d go and try to get the girls sitting at the corner table to join us.

”Heads or Tails, man!?” Marcus would holler right into my ear over the table. ”Heads or Tails!?”

I knocked the table twice with my fingers and chose Tails. It didn’t make a difference to me. Both of the girls were my type. I didn’t have a type since all women were my type. It was the same for Marcus.

Marcus flipped the coin, letting it land on the table. The situation always got interesting when the coin wouldn’t land on either side. Instead it would just stand there, towering in its improbability. It was a big fuck you from fate.

I never really understood stalemates. Never was I disheartened by one either. Though I never really realized that one would be so scary – yet soothing and unexciting. It made me think that life and death were the different sides of the same coin.

Look, we flipped this coin into the air and it landed in a stalemate. Let’s say one of the girls at the corner table was lesbian (or religious) and the coin would’ve decided that I should approach her. It would’ve been the death of me as I have issues. I get ashamed very easily.

Now if the coin would have landed so that Marcus should do the talking it wouldn’t matter. He never cared about anything and that’s why he was my friend, or I wanted to keep him as my friend. I hated him.

Marcus didn’t make a sound as he looked at the coin standing on the table. He looked at me and just smiled. He was going to do it, he was handing me a victory by taking the lead. Marcus granted me life from limbo, so to speak.