H.L. Pauff

Short Fiction, Thoughts on Writing, Chaos

May
24

By

On the Bridge to Freedom

Category: Short Fiction Tags: Leave a Comment

Descend

“Tiran, come back! Tiran! It’s not safe.”

Inch by inch, Tiran crawled along the fallen tree. Hundreds of feet below him and littered with huge rocks, the river raged. One mistake and he wouldn’t be on the bridge to freedom. He would be on his way to heaven.

“Tiran, please!” Jurji begged. “Please come back. You’re going to get hurt.”

“I would rather get hurt than go back,” he turned his head and yelled. “It’s better over here. I haven’t even touched the other side yet, but I can tell it already smells better.”

“Tiran…they feed us and they clothe us. We sleep under a roof. It’s better than how other externals have it. They are killed on sight in other parts of this planet.”

“I didn’t come to this planet to work in their fields. The brochure said humans were peaceful and inviting. That was a lie.”

“We have no way to get back. They chopped up our ship. We won’t survive long outside of this camp. Tiran, please. Before they find out we’re missing.”

Tiran knew Jurji had made up his mind. The tree groaned under his weight, but Tiran kept crawling. It wouldn’t break. Not now. Not after everything he had been through. It wasn’t allowed to break.

“Tiran, please!”

Tiran touched down on the other side and kissed the ground. The long grass tickled the webs between his toes. On the other side of the river, the humans grabbed Jurji and started firing their weapons at him. Their bullets shattered trees and whizzed by his ears. One bullet even nicked him in the arm. It didn’t matter. He was free.

-

This is a story I wrote for #5MinuteFiction that was voted as the winner. The prompt was to use the phrase “on the bridge to freedom”.

photo by: Nicholas_T

May
11

By

I might not have to saw wood after all

Category: News 3 Comments

spinning wheel

 

Write without pay until someone offers pay. If nobody offers within three years, the candidate may look upon this as a sign that sawing wood is what he was intended for.

- Mark Twain


It’s been a little over two years since I became serious about my writing. Since then I’ve had a lot of ups and downs, learned tons, and maybe even progressed. Two years in, I can finally say that someone liked one of my stories enough to pay for it.

I finally sold my first short story!

It feels really good to look at a check that has my name on it. It validates all of the hard work I’ve put in trying to become a better writer. Had I gone three years without selling anything, I wouldn’t have taken up a career in lumber. Writing has become such an important part of my life. I’ll continue to do it whether or not someone pays me (but it sure is nice).

I’ll have more on that story as the publication date of the anthology it is appearing in draws near.

photo by: BarelyFitz

May
2

By

The Rite Business

Category: Short Fiction Tags: 8 Comments

“I don’t know. I’m not too sure about this,” Steve said, looking over the numbers in the spreadsheet.

“What are you not sure about? I think it’s pretty obvious what you have to do,” the man said.

Steve grabbed a pencil and broke out a few calculations by hand to confirm what he was seeing. The man chuckled.

“I assure you the numbers are correct, Mr. Helms,” the man said.

“Yeah, but is it dangerous?”

“No, Mr. Helms, not at all. I’ve helped hundreds of people just like you from all sorts of different sectors – huge telecom companies, retailers, energy companies, government. You name it. My method works and it will help you.”

Steve scratched his head. “This isn’t really my thing though.”

“You’re in a competitive industry. You need every edge you can get. If you don’t open this door, your competition will.”

“How long will it take?”

“Only three days, but you’ll need to be present for all three days. We need your fresh blood for each step of the rite.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped.

“With all due respect, Mr. Helms, you were number forty on last year’s list of rising CEOs. This year, you’re not even on the list.”

Steve glanced at his hand calculated numbers again. “Where do I sign?”

Apr
18

By

Doctor Madness

Category: Short Fiction Tags: 12 Comments

 

hornet-nest

Copyright-Janet Webb

“They’re lethal and impossible to kill. Read it back, intern.”

Jerry cleared his throat and read from his tablet. “Mister Mayor, Mister Madness is back with new monsters.”

“Doctor Madness. Fix it, intern.”

“Sorry, Doctor Madness,” Jerry said and continued to read, “Send one trillion dollars and I won’t unleash them. They’re lethal – “

“It’s good. Take the picture and send it.”

Doctor Madness opened the metal shutter over the lab window. Behind the glass were hundreds of empty hornet’s nests.

“Are they sleeping?” Jerry asked.

Doctor Madness backed away from the window. The air duct above them rattled.

“Run!”

Apr
18

By

A Stranger

Category: Short Fiction Tags: 11 Comments

“Spencer?”

Mikey took a deep breath and dunked his head into the icy water, but it was too dark to see anything.

“I can’t swim and Spencer fell in!” he screamed.

A man wearing a shiny white suit appeared at the edge of the ice and ran towards him. His long blonde hair danced in the wind and his arms flailed as he tried to keep his balance.

“Help!” Mikey shouted.

“Move, Mikey,” the man said and dove into the water.

Mikey watched the ripples in the water settle and tried to wipe the cold tears off his face. Moments later, the man broke the surface of the water and heaved Spencer onto the ice. His face had lost all of its color and he wasn’t breathing.

The man dropped to one knee next Spencer and placed a hand on the little boy’s chest. The air grew warm and water burst from Spencer’s mouth in a fit of coughing. His teeth chattered and his body shivered, but he was alive. The man patted Spencer on the head and turned to Mikey.

“I have to leave so listen carefully, Mikey. An ambulance is on the way. Spence is alright, but you need to watch over him. He’s important to you and will be to a lot of people. Don’t let him walk on thin ice, don’t let him talk to strangers, don’t let him cross the street without looking, and don’t, I repeat, don’t let him near any drugs. Drugs are bad. Do you understand?”

Mikey nodded.

“What did I just say?”

“Don’t let Spence near any drugs,” Mikey said.

“Why?”

“Because drugs are bad.”

The man smiled and rubbed Mikey’s head. The little boy’s wet blonde hair dried under his touch. “Be good, Mikey.”

The man stood and ran back across the ice as an ambulance wailed in the distance.

“Who are you?” Mikey yelled. “Spence would want to meet his hero.”

“What did I tell you about strangers?” the man yelled back.

Apr
6

By

Let’s Call It a Night

Category: Short Fiction Tags: , 4 Comments

crystal ball

Credit – Writeonwendy.com

 

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Lighten up. You’re so uptight. Please, Jake? For me?” Mindy said.

“No. I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight. Some other night. Maybe,” Jake responded.

“You’re the worst. I am going to have to teach you to have fun. Let’s go.”

Mindy wrapped her tiny hands around Jake’s wrist and pulled. He could have escaped at any time, but that would only make her madder. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he needed her to teach him how to have fun.

“Ok, but only for a little bit,” he said. “Where did you even find it?”

“I got it at a yard sale.”

Mindy dragged Jake through the living room and into the kitchen. Lit candles adorned almost every available surface, from the shelves to the microwave to the coffee maker. In the center of his kitchen table, there was a glowing crystal ball.

“You set all of this up? How long did it take you to light all of these candles? How did you know I would agree to even do it?”

She pointed at the crystal ball. “Duh!”

They sat down at the table and Mindy grabbed Jake’s hands and placed them on the ball. It was warm to the touch. “Is it plugged in? How is it – “

“Shh,” she said in a soothing voice. “No more talking. Close your eyes.  Think of a question you want answered. Let it swirl in your mind.”

Jake closed his eyes. “I’ve got so much work to do,” he thought. “I can’t waste this time.”

“Stop contorting your face,” she said. “You’re worrying about something. Probably work, you freak. Think of something else.”

“Sorry.”

“No talking!”

Jake thought again. “Will she teach me how to have fun?” He let the words swirl and dance in his mind.

“Are you good?” she asked. “Open your eyes and look,” she said.

Jake opened his eyes and peered down into the swirling haze inside the crystal ball. An image burst through the mist. Mindy stood with a dagger dripping red with blood over a fallen body. She stabbed and stabbed. The body twisted and turned in agony and for a brief moment, Jake recognized his face.

“Well, what do you see?” she asked.

“I…I think we should call it a night.”

 

 

Mar
27

By

I’m Home

Category: Short Fiction Tags: 23 Comments

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve done Friday Fictioneers, but it looks like I picked a good week to come back. Really cool photo prompt from Rochelle!

You're Home Early

Copyright – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Reba slid her key into the lock and tiptoed inside. She could hear her parents talking in the kitchen, enjoying a romantic dinner by candlelight from the looks of it. Reba crept towards them, trying to keep herself from laughing. They had no idea.

She rounded the corner and jumped through the doorway.

“SURPRISE,” she roared and laughed. “I didn’t – “

Her parents, dressed in red hooded robes, looked up from the mutilated animal on the table. Her mother quickly hid a jewel encrusted dagger behind her back.

“Oh,” her father said. “You’re home early.”

Mar
18

By

Messed Up

Category: Short Fiction Tags: 16 Comments

Theresa stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened. She wanted to be sure of what she was hearing. Through the wall, she could hear her father-in-law’s muffled voice.

“…are not to be trusted. What they teach you is only one side of the story. It’s whitewashing. Don’t believe any of it. Your teachers have an agenda. Do you understand that, Jimmy?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, good. Now, let’s talk about politicians for a second. How do I frame this…are you familiar with the Devil, Jimmy?”

Theresa heard enough and stormed into the kitchen.

“Ok, ok, ok. That’s enough. Jimmy, go upstairs,” she said.

“But grandpa is – “

“Go upstairs to your room, please. I have to talk to your grandpa for a bit.”

Jimmy started to shuffle his feet, but turned to look at his grandfather for approval. His grandfather nodded and the boy left.

“I knew it was you,” Theresa started. “At school, they had a parent come in to talk about his job as a banker. Jimmy accused him of being a greedy thief and widening income inequality in this country.”

Grandpa laughed. “He remembered!”

“That’s not funny. He’s too young. I know he’s your grandson, but you can’t be telling him all of these things and trying to infect him with your beliefs.”

“He’s got to learn. The sooner the better.”

“He’ll learn how messed up the world is on his own. Just let him be a kid and enjoy the stories.”

“I told Jack all of the same stuff and he turned out fine. You married him after all.”

“Well, I don’t think Jack will appreciate what you’re doing to his son. Just cool it, alright?”

Grandpa crossed his arms. “Fine.”

Theresa shook her head and left the kitchen. Jimmy was sitting on the stairs.

“Mom, why do you think the world is messed up?”

Mar
12

By

It’s Time

Category: Short Fiction Tags: 12 Comments

“It’s time,” the voice boomed.

Tyler shielded his eyes from the blinding white light and watched the hooded figure take slow, deliberate strides towards him.

“Who…who…who are you?” Tyler asked, dragging his butt on the cold floor to get away from the presence.

“I am the end. You have led a sad, pathetic life, squandering opportunities and disappointing those that loved you.”

“Loved? What do you mean loved? What is this past tense stuff? Where am I?” Tyler looked around and saw only darkness. Beads of sweat trickled down his face and neck from the scorching hot air.

“You are at the end.”

“The end? But I thought…How did I…”

The figure stopped before Tyler’s feet. “You should have chewed your food more thoroughly. Now you will pay.”

Tyler started sobbing. “I should have done a lot of things differently. Please, oh God, please.  It’s so hot. I hate the heat. Please don’t take me down there. I was a good person. Please.”

Tears mixed with sweat as Tyler kneeled before the cloaked figure and bowed his head in sorrow.

“This is too easy,” the figure said with a snorting laughter and removed the hood from its head.

“…Uncle Jimmy?” Tyler asked with wide-eyed disbelief. “What the hell, man?” Tyler leapt to his feet and shoved his long dead uncle.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. Ah, you cried! This is priceless.”

“That. Is. Not. Funny. I thought I was going to roast for eternity,” Tyler said and gave him another shove.

“They’re fixing the air conditioning. You’re fine.”

“What are you even doing here? How are you the first person I see up here?”

“I fill in as the Gate Man on holidays sometimes.”

“You really shouldn’t be allowed to have that job.”

“You’re probably right. You should have seen what I did when your sister arrived. She still won’t talk to me.”

Mar
4

By

Juggle

Category: Short Fiction Tags: 15 Comments

“…and then we are meeting with the new client tomorrow for lunch at twelve. You can make it, right? If you can’t, you really need to let me know.”

Mike adjusted the cell phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, I can make it. I’ll definitely be there.” With his left hand, he typed an email to his boss with an overview of last month’s financials. With his right hand, he stirred the pot of noodles. “What time?”

“Twelve. Mike, if you can’t – “

“Dave, I will be there. I promise.”

“Good. This project won’t take off unless you’re fully on board.”

“I’m fully committed. Believe me. I’m looking forward to the day I can quit my job and work full time with you.”

“I don’t know how you juggle everything, man. Sometimes it’s like – “

“Oh, Dave, hey I gotta go. The house phone is ringing.”

Mike raced into the living room and grabbed the house phone just as the answering machine message was ending.

“Hello, Mike speaking.”

“Hey,” his wife said. “Max’s teachers have asked to meet with us at six instead of seven. You can still make it, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Good. What’s Mandy doing? Is she happy that you’re working at home today?”

“Yeah, I think so. We’ll see how she feels after she tries my cooking. Speaking of which, I can hear the smoke alarm. Gotta go!”

Mike raced back into the kitchen, hearing his cell phone ring and feeling it vibrate in his pocket. Water poured over the sides of the pot and smoke rose from the burner. As he turned off the heat and swatted at the smoke, he could see thirty new emails had come in on his laptop.

“Dad? Are you ok?” Mandy appeared in the doorway, clutching a doll.

“Everything is peachy, my dear. Lunch is just about ready.”

“Dad…after lunch can we play?”

Mike closed his laptop and silenced his phone. “Of course we can play.”

—-
328 words for Trifecta using the third definition of the word ‘juggle’.

3: to handle or deal with usually several things (as obligations) at one time so as to satisfy often competing requirements 

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