Issue 19 April 2015 Flash Fiction Online April 2015

K.C. Norton is a young graduate of the Vermont College of Fine Arts who has had two fantastic stories printed in Flash Fiction Online: “Rumplestiltskin in Love” and now, “The Kiss” (listen to the podcast here). Her story, “Canth,” was also featured in Lightspeed Magazine’s, “Women Destroy Science Fiction” anthology. We often laughed during our interview, sharing a deep love for geek culture and the absurd. Here’s our interview.

Stanley Lee: How would you describe yourself for readers who may not be familiar with you or your work?

K.C. Norton: I guess I’d say I’m someone who is doing stuff that other writers don’t do. That’s a bit vague, but it encompasses a lot. I love writing with female narrators or main characters. I know others do that as well, but hopefully, I can add my own contributions.

SL: How has graduate school helped you with your writing?

KC: I started by writing short stories in my graduate program. I loved it. Just to work on writing at the story level. It’s such a fantastic medium for sci-fi. Science fiction has become static, but there’s been a big push for a change in the last two years.

SL: Is it something that you would recommend to everyone who’s looking to start writing?

KC: It was really good for me, I can say that much. I think it’s different for everybody. If you’re the person who does well with deadlines and feedback, then grad school may be the place for you. It’s how I needed to be motivated, personally. Grad school, an MFA program, really helps you if you’re at a place where you’re writing and you want your work to be better, but you don’t know what that means. You don’t know what your weaknesses even are. It helped me in that respect. At first, I struggled with plotting. I would have this emotion, this idea, or this scene, but I wouldn’t have a story to go with it. Grad school helped me to work through those issues.

But whether grad school is for you or not, one thing that all writers need to do is read. In grad school, it can be difficult to keep up a healthy reading schedule with the writing demands that a program places on you.

SL: You also slush read as well, don’t you?

KC: Yes. I’ve read for my college magazine and Hunger Mountain as well. I come across a lot of stories that just don’t work, and most of them fall into one of two categories: either they have no plot or it’s an open-ended plot. Both are disappointing to read. Maybe it’s a beautifully written scene or an emotional moment, but without a plot to pull it all together and give it meaning, it’s not going to work.

SL: Who are your favorites to read?

KC: Neil Gaiman, of course. Of course! I began with Steampunk and Philip Reeve, who was my gateway into science fiction.

SL: So, you had beginnings in fantasy even before Steampunk?

KC: Yes. Spec-fic (speculative fiction), slipstream, sci-fi, that’s been the last three or four years. At first, science fiction just seemed to be about guys floating around in space, spaceships, and it just did not appeal to me for a long time. Then I began to read more widely and found that some writers had engaging ideas. Philip Reeve with his Hungry City Chronicles got me. There were really big ideas with Darwinian theories, but it wasn’t overly technical and didn’t get bogged down in the unnecessary details.

SL: What’s your earliest memory of falling in love with a book?

KC: The Hobbit. No question about it. I read the Hobbit at 6, and it was actually because my mom was reading the Lord of the Rings to me at the time, but she did it in this slow “reading time” voice, and being 6, I was too impatient and picked up the book and read it through myself. I don’t know how much I understood at six but I loved it and could not put it down.

SL: What’s your process like for writing?

KC: I usually start off with a specific image and write around that. Sometimes I get stuck and may have to put it away for months. Other times, I’ve written, edited, and submitted stories in a 24 hour period.

SL: Regarding your story in the latest issue of Flash Fiction Online – “The Kiss” – how did that story come about?

KC: It came out of a personal experience. I wrote it right before my boyfriend, and I broke up, and I was in this place where I was rationalizing poor decisions I had made. With relationships, everything seems so obvious in retrospect. I wanted to make that truth a little more tangible.

SL: OK, so completely tangential question – if you had to chase down a writer, artist, or otherwise public figure and consume their brain, who would you go after?

KC: So I get to absorb their thoughts and abilities? Wow, I’m going to need a minute.

SL: What? No! That’s cheating. I meant to ask just for taste and flavor reasons. It’d be patently unfair if you could be a better writer just by eating a better writer.

KC: I’d probably choose Cathrynne Valente. She writes these unusual lovely stories. Her brain would probably have a unique and tasty flavor.

SL: So you’re going to make a habit out of this, I see. Last question, do you have any advice for aspiring writers?

KC: My advice would be to stop self-rejecting. There’s so much rejection out there waiting for you that there’s no reason to reject yourself by either not writing or writing it and then not submitting. A publication rejection is not a personal rejection. We’re not our work.

Read “Comet Man” here.

Stefan Milicevic: Congratulations on getting “Comet Man” republished with Flash Fiction Online! Tell us how you came to write it.

Marina Lostetter: Thank you!  I’m a member of the Codex writing community, and every year there’s a five-week-long contest in which the participants all produce a new flash-length story every weekend.  I’d had this image of a guy riding a comet bouncing around in my head for quite some time, and when we were given our week five prompts, everything clicked for me. I dashed off the first draft in no time at all.

SM: In theory, “Comet Man” would work if it was just a guy picking up a hitchhiker. However, the story becomes much grander and awe-inspiring with the setting you’ve chosen. Not to mention the humorous lines become funnier. How important is strong imagery in your writing?

ML: It depends on what kind of a story I’m trying to tell.  In this case, the setting frames the story in an unexpected way, I think.  We have a background of family conflict–which is something most of us have experienced in some way–, “,but because extreme body modification is possible, familiar quarrels play out in new ways.

SM: “Comet M,” to me at least, reads like a wonderful pulp yarn, before the Golden Age or the New Wave. A story where Venus and the Moon are uncharted and exciting territories. Do you think the pulps of yore have influenced the story?

ML: Insofar as I’ve been influenced by everything I’ve read, yes.  I think the pulps were great at engaging the reader by honing in on their desire for adventure and sense-o-wonder.  The feeling of awe I get when contemplating the universe, and its potentials are something I treasure and actively seek out, so if I can ignite similar feelings in others with my work, I’m pleased.

SM: The story is funny, yet poignant. How did you balance the mood?

ML: Humor is tough (or, at least, I find it a challenge)–funny means different things to different people, and that’s part of why I love it.  I think the important thing to remember when writing in any genre is to give your story a heart–a meaningful theme and relatable problem on which to hang everything else.  The key then, with humor, is not to let your funny-bone run away with the tale.  I have to resist the urge to cram every ridiculous idea into a story.  So the key to balance, for me, is restraint.

SM: You are also an artist and from what I have seen mostly draw humorous pop culture pieces. How does drawing inform your writing, if at all?

ML: It’s kind of the other way around–my writing has informed my artwork.  I do a range, from full-color digital paintings to balsa wood carvings, to line drawings. But, though I love art, I’ve always been more comfortable with words.  I used to think it was easier to hide the imperfections in my witting than the imperfections in my drawing.  This made me bolder with my prose, even though it was a false assessment (it might take longer to find the weak spots in written work, but that doesn’t make them any less obvious in the end).  Seeing the mistakes in my artwork has often led me to abandon a piece instead of finishing–which is not the best way to improve.  The pop-culture cartoons are a way for me to produce art while not letting deficiencies halt my progress continuously.  It’s ok that they’re imperfect, what matters is their capacity to convey the mood or message I’m after.  I’ve always felt that way about writing, so I’m glad I’m developing the same attitude towards my other art.

SM: Your publishing history is rich with professional credentials and award nominations. Would you give our readers some advice on how to become successful?

ML: I think success = skill + opportunity, and you can ‘level up’ your success by increasing your skill and broadening your chances for new opportunities.

Continuously learning new things about your craft and the business of your craft help to increase your skill level.  No one is born a professional; we all need to keep growing.  There’s always a new technique to discover or a weak spot to improve.

Never giving up and playing nice with others creates opportunities.  Any success I’ve had is in large part owed to the people around me.  Be supportive of others, and you’ll get support back.

SM: Recommend us a writer or novel that needs more exposure!

ML: Adam-Troy Castro wrote my favorite short story from last year, “The Thing About Shapes to Come,” and I think that story in particular deserves more exposure.

SM: Where can people find you on the internet?

ML: My official website can be found at www.lostetter.net, and I tweet as @MarinaLostetter.

Read “I Am Graalnak of the Vroon Empire…” here.

Elizabeth Shack: “I Am Graalnak…” started with a contest on the Codex writing forum. What can you tell us about writing to prompts?

Laura Pearlman: One thing I like about these flash contests is the combination of a prompt and a deadline. The prompt for this one was pretty wide open: write a story in a nonstandard format. I’d recently binge-watched Game of Thrones, and I noticed the way a lot of characters introduced themselves was similar to the way some Reddit Ask Me Anything threads are titled. That’s basically how the thought process started.

ES: You mentioned deadlines. What do you like about them? The motivation?

LP: Partly it’s the motivation because I tend to procrastinate. A deadline is also a stopping point—it’s often hard for me to know when a story is as good as it can be. A deadline forces me to stop revising it.

ES: What draws you to writing at flash length?

LP: I tend to write stories that are about one thing, and that’s the amount of space they take—flash length or flash-and-a-half. One reason to keep them short is that I sometimes choose to write in a voice that’s amusing for a flash story but could get annoying if it went on too long.

ES: Some authors start with short stories and move on to novels. Do you have any desire to write anything longer?

LP: For the time being I’m sticking with short stories. I like short stories, and it doesn’t take years to write one. I do have a couple of ideas for novels, but I don’t feel capable of writing them yet. I have worldbuilding ideas, but no plot or characters. I’m going to see if those ideas percolate over time.

ES: Do you often start with the idea, rather than the plot or character?

LP: Sometimes I start with the idea, and sometimes I start with a scene. Occasionally I’ll just come up with a sentence that seems like it would be a good opening line, although I almost never manage to grow a complete story out of one of those.

ES: Are you working on a story right now?

LP: I’m working on three stories. One is a fairy tale about a woman in a bad marriage who works in a bakery. The next is a superhero origin story. That’s the 3,000 word one. It’s sort of a distant descendant of another of the flash contest stories. The third is another comedy about evil aliens taking over the world.

ES: You seem to write a lot of comedies. What draws you to writing humorous stories?

LP:  I just find it easier to write humor than to write serious stories. Sometimes I’ll try to write a serious story, and some humor will start to sneak in, and I’ll give up and make the story funny.

ES: Have you always been funny?

LP: Humor is really subjective, so I’m sure there are people reading this who don’t think I’m funny now. But for as long as I can remember, I’ve used humor to make sense of the world and to make friends. We moved a lot when I was growing up, so I was always the new kid.

ES: Do you have any advice for people trying to write humor?

LP: I have a grand total of two published stories, so I’m not sure I’m the best person to be giving advice—but I won’t let that stop me. My first piece of advice would be just to accept the fact that your humor probably won’t work for everyone. On the other hand, there are more than 300 million people who speak English as their first language, and many more than that who are fluent in it. So even if your sense of humor is so weird that only one percent of people share it, that’s still several million people who’ll think that thing you wrote is pretty funny if they ever get to see it. Write for those people.

ES: Have you been writing for long?

LP: I’m a late bloomer. A lot of profiles about authors start with “…who wrote her first novel at the age of 3 and goes into withdrawal if she doesn’t have a pen in hand for ten minutes.” I hated writing in school. One thing I’ve always done, in my family we’ve written silly things to each other as birthday cards or letters. I’ve always enjoyed that, but I didn’t think of that as writing.

ES: So you went from hating writing to, presumably, liking it. How did that happen?

LP: A security blog I read has a (mostly) annual flash fiction contest. I entered (and won) in 2010 and really liked the fact that people liked what I’d written. So I started my blog, which is mostly humorous nonfiction. I had a list of overly-wordy LOLcat captions published on the McSweeney’s website in 2011, but other than that, I mostly stuck to the blog until 2013.

ES: And then you started writing fiction?

LP: I wrote a couple of fiction pieces on the blog, but I didn’t think they fit in with the rest of the content. So I decided I’d put a little more effort into writing (and editing!) stories and trying to get them published. It just seemed like a natural next step. An unfortunate side effect is that I’ve neglected my blog horribly, but I do plan to get back to it at some point.

ES: I plant radishes in my garden every spring. Do you have something against radishes?

LP: When I was a kid I hated radishes. They were always in salads, and they always tasted too spicy for me. Then a couple of years ago somebody brought a really good lentil salad to Thanksgiving dinner. The thing that made it great was a mystery ingredient—it was crunchy and tangy and, of course, it turned out to be radishes. I like them in moderation. I won’t eat a plate of them, but I put them in salads.

ES: Finally, I have a very important question. Would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?

LP: I’ve given that a lot of thought. I’m allergic to horses, so the horses would have a huge advantage there. So I have to say the giant duck. But my answer would be the same even if I weren’t allergic because duck-sized horses would be really cute. Fighting a hundred adorable tiny horses would be so close to fighting a hundred and one Dalmatian puppies that Disney would probably sue me for copyright infringement.

I DON’T CARE WHAT GENETIC SUB-GROUP YOU’RE FROM, by comet is a lousy way to travel. And no, I don’t mean this touristy shite where they put glass huts on iceballs so rich-kids can ‘rough it’ and still get all the interplanetary TV they want. I mean real, true-to-physics, grab hold with your gene-modified hooks and hope the torque doesn’t rip your spider-silk-enhanced tendons apart travel. With oxygen bladders full and organic pressure-layer holding fast, I caught my ride to the Jovian mines.

And forgetting.

It wasn’t about the ‘big bucks’ the mining recruiter had touted, or the chance to ‘see the system.’ For me, Jupiter was a way to start over–to pretend that distance was the reason Tiffer and I didn’t talk anymore. I wanted to be someplace where there were no family members–if they weren’t there, they couldn’t leave.

Once the rock and ice pummeling began, I hunkered down on the comet and prepared to hibernate for the next however-many months it was to the mines. Sleep came easier than I expected. Guess it’s not hard to pass out when there’s nothing to do for, you know, ever.

But no bliss is meant to last.

“Hey, dude, why the long face?”

At first, I thought it was a dream–my nosy unconsciousness interfering with my beauty sleep. Unfortunately, no.

“Yo-yo, what’s happening comet dude?”

“Excuse me?” I thought.

“Whoa, far out, you do have tele-modifiers. Awsomedicular, man.”

I opened my eyes and scanned the edge where ice-splatter met dark space. Nothing towards the front of my crap-taxi, but the tail… Ah, shite.

I’d picked up a solar-surfer.

“This is a private comet if you don’t mind,” I said.

“Free universe, man. I don’t see a deed.” He swooped back and forth on the comet’s tail, his single, plank-like foot maintaining a firm plow. Bio-sails, thinner than tissue paper, spread out behind him like a pair of soap-bubble wings.

They reminded me of my son’s water membranes.

I crossed my hooks and wiggled my rear-end against an icicle that’d been jabbing me. Maybe I can give the doofus a quick brush off. “Look, isn’t there some other comet you could tail? This one’s dinky, doesn’t even have a scientist’s name slapped on it.”

He shook his head, dreadlock-like fleshy growths bouncing in front of his pressure-sealed eyes. “Too many other guys and gals straining for a ride on the Big Tail. Need me some peace.”

“Need me some peace,” I insisted.

“Yeah, alright, I can take an F-you.” He twisted his hips, ready to sail off into space.

Maybe it was the way the rays caught his profile, or the brazen health of youth in his movements–but for an instant, there was something about him that reminded me of Tiffer, my son.

“Wait.” I stopped him with an imploring hook. “Maybe company’s not so bad.”

“Cool-dillio,” he said, easing back into the surf.

We settled into uncomfortable, rocks-in-my-back-and-ice-up-my-nose silence. I’d almost fallen back asleep, nearly forgotten about my old life for a few blessed minutes when he opened his big tele-modified mind again.

“So, where’s the fam, comet man?”

“My unit? My wife left me a few years ago, and my son…We’ve grown apart.”

The surfer picked up on my double meaning. “Rough. Genetic modification’s a bitch like that,” he agreed, giving me a sympathetic bob of the head. “I remember when I got my first space modifiers. My dad raised me on volcanic mods, so…yeah. Where’d your kid go?”

“Earth’s oceans,” I said reluctantly. This was why I wanted the mining job–the help wanted ad guaranteed no questions asked. “Wants to commune with nature–get back to unconscious evolution or whatever.” I was sure he blamed me for his mother’s absence, and that was the real reason he’d taken the dive.

“Yeah, know how that is. Came to surfin’ early, ditched my dad right out of school. Wish I hadn’t, though.”

“No?”

The surfer kneeled down, maintaining his slice but bringing his full focus to me. “Dad was sick and didn’t tell me. Thought the best thing he could do for me was give me space. He had died before I got back from my first full orbit. Sometimes we young dudes don’t really know what we need ‘til it’s gone. That why you’re out here? Giving him his space?”

My chest knotted.

I was. I thought Tiff needed to grieve in his own way, that his changing his mods meant he didn’t want me around…

“Do you think he needs me?”

“Sons always need their fathers.”

“I don’t want to be on this comet,” I admitted. After a pause, I gave his bio-sails a long, hard stare. “Those fairy wings work for two?”

“Sure do.”

“I don’t suppose you’re headed back to Earth anytime soon?”

He held out a long, slender hand. “Hop on, comet man.”

Originally published in Penumbra E-Mag, 2013. Reprinted here by permission of the author.

I WAS TEARING THE SKINS OFF SHALLOTS LAST NIGHT when Mother came in wearing Fifth Face.

Fifth Face looks like Julie Andrews, but the thing doesn’t fit Mother’s skull. You can see wires sticking out behind. Fifth Face speaks in Zenlike one-liners that I suspect are lifted from Kierkegaard, although we don’t have any Kierkegaard in the house so I can’t check.

“How close men, despite all their knowledge, live to madness, Jane,” Mother said.

I said nothing. It’s best not to speak to Mother. Fifth Face isn’t often dangerous, but why take a risk? You can’t win against Mother.

You never know what Face Mother will choose to wear. First Face cries alone in the darkened bedroom, and you can get on with your day. Mother rarely wears Second Face, but it scares the blood out of us because she’ll suddenly dive for the knife drawer, trying to harm herself. Fourth Face is awful, but in a verbal way; she’ll keep at you, trying to drive you crazy. Some typical Fourth Face lines:

“You’re different from other children. That’s why we keep you home.”

“The pills make you so much nicer. Always take your pills, darling.”

“Why can’t you be like your sister? So well-adjusted.”

Yes, Margie is well-adjusted. Adjusted to denial. She pretends not to know the difference between Mother’s Faces. But she knows better than to open the dark bedroom when Mother’s wearing First, or to say a single trembling word to the worst of them all — Third Face.

Today is a Third Face day. Third Face is a twisted mask of grief and pain. Eyes a solid black. I catch one glimpse, and I scream. Run for the basement. Mother is right behind, moaning in that horrible Third Face monotone.

“…jane jane jane, oh, oh oh, smashed glass in the sideboard why why why the cat is dead dead dead dead dead dead, can’t live like this can’t live like this can’t live like this.”

Mother is not human. I can hear her joints grind, hear the hiss of magnetic tape as she speaks, hear the clicks and blips of her synapses putting her thoughts together. This must end. A child should not have to live in fear.

I’ve done something about it. I called a Social Worker.

Yes, someone needs to intervene, before Mother puts on Second Face and hurts herself, or gets inside Third Face and hurts Margie or me. So I sneaked into Mother’s office, where I’m not allowed. I rifled through a file drawer. I found a phone number. The Social Worker is on her way.

Doorbell. Margie’s mouth opens.

I whisper to Margie what I’ve done.

And my stupid, naïve sister, what does she do?

“Moooootherrrrr! The Social Worker’s here!”

Idiot! This was our chance!

What happens next, I was not expecting. Mother comes down the stairs. She has a new Face on. I have not seen this Face before. I will call it Sixth Face.

I inspect Sixth Face with a sidelong glance. It is serene and composed. Reminds me of Grace Kelly. I can’t see any join lines to the skull. Sixth Face emits a soothing Muzak melody that I’m certain is intended to mask the clicks and hisses of Mother’s thoughts.

The Social Worker sits down. And it’s going all wrong. The conversation is all about me. What I’ve done. How I behave. My pills. Progress reports. The whole time, my silly cow of a sister stares at me, a tear running down her fat nose. And Mother, damn her, she’s got that Face on that never once betrays a hint of what it’s hiding.

The Social Worker and Mother have a hushed talk on the porch. The Social Worker leaves. No rescue for us.

It’s time for drastic action. First, these pills go right down the toilet.

I found a new Face inside Mother’s keepsake box, right on top of my kindergarten art. This Face is just my size. I try it on. It fits, with no joins or slips.

In the mirror, my new Face stares back. The eyes are red, the cheeks slashed with glass.

Game on, Mother.

HARLAN LEANS OVER TO PLANT A KISS ON MY CHEEK. His fingers wriggle beneath mine so that our palms rest together, our fingers interlocking. It would be so easy to kiss him. Too easy. I lean back in my seat and pretend to be focused on the movie, letting the bright light of the fictional SonicMan world drown out the dark reality of the theater, and Harlan, and Harlan’s mouth.

The first kiss is special – that’s what my friends tell me. My first kiss tasted liked burned butter and browned lettuce and the vast airless blackness between stars.

The problem with being slightly psychic is that you’re never sure, until afterward, that you have been. It’s just a feeling. And then seventeen months later you find out that he’s stealing from you, and that he’s empty and sour and nothing in the world will ever fill him up. And you think, But I already knew that. Even though it’s stupid to break up with someone because of something you felt in a kiss, you feel like a moron for knowing and not having done anything.

After planting a soft, dry kiss on my cheek, Harlan sits back. I clutch his hand so that he won’t take it away from me, and he shoots me a small smile that I see only out of the corner of my eye.

I can feel my palm getting sweaty against Harlan’s. I haven’t kissed him yet because I don’t want to know. I don’t want to feel the thing that will come between us, not now, not when things are still so simple.

I lean over to rest my cheek on his shoulder, and after a moment I feel a slight pressure on the top of my head from where he’s leaning back. I close my eyes and listen to the rhythm of his breathing.

We haven’t kissed yet, even though we’ve been dating for months, but already I’m tired just thinking about how I will pull myself back together when this is done. When we’re over.

I open my eyes, and the movie is suddenly too bright and too loud. I sit up and shift away from Harlan, who tightens his grip on my hand for a moment before letting it go.

For the rest of the movie, I sit on my hands and try to pretend I’m actually SonicMan, beating the tar out of some alien baddies. Unfortunately, I can’t remember what the aliens have done to deserve it.

When it’s finally over, and the credits are rolling, Harlan asks, “What did you think?”

He’s always asking what I think, which is great, except tonight I don’t really want to answer. Can’t really answer. “It was loud,” I tell him, reaching for my scarf.

He grabs my hand again. “Stay,” he says. My heart flutters until he adds, “there’s supposed to be an Easter egg at the end.”

I fall back into my chair and cross my arms.

“We don’t have to,” he whispers.

When I look across at him, he looks hopeful. He’ll follow me if I go. “I want to stay,” I say.

The second boy I ever kissed, I mean kissed, like I meant it – that kiss was saltwater. I became a whole, huge sea knocking at the walls of him. We broke up three weeks later because, as he said, I wanted too much.

In the end, there’s a 45-second film clip that can most generously be described as a trailer for SonicMan 4. “Lame,” whispers Harlan.

I pretend to gag.

As we wander through the lobby to the exit, through lights that seem too harsh and white after all that cozy blackness, we walk close enough together that our hands brush although we’re not technically touching. I want to grab him, but I’m paralyzed.

Out in the street, we wander between the bright puddles formed by streetlamps. I can smell burgers at some local dinner, and fresh sticky buns. “Hungry?” I ask.

“Are you?”

I shake my head. I grope for his hand until I find it, and he squeezes it tight. “What did you think of the movie?” I ask belatedly.

“It was loud,” he says, then laughs. “And dumb. But also fun.”

“Remind you of anyone?” I ask.

He pouts. Seeing him like that, I can’t help but stop in my tracks and pull him back to me. We sway together, and I hear his sudden intake of breath.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

He pauses. “I want you to.”

Very slowly I lift myself up on my toes so that I can reach him. He doesn’t move, just closes his eyes and waits, giving me every chance to change my mind, knowing that I am afraid of this even if he will never know why.

But I don’t change my mind. And when our lips finally meet, his mouth is warm and sweet beneath mine, and all I know is that I like the feeling. I kiss him a little deeper, searching for something that I do not find.

It is just a kiss, with no hint of endings in it.

When I finally rock back on my heels, Harlan grins at me. “Wow,” he says. “That was… surprising.”

He looks happy – the way you should look when you kiss someone you like, after months of anticipation. But I have to slide my tongue between my teeth and bite down to keep from crying.

I didn’t learn anything. I don’t know what will go wrong this time.

“Again?” he asks, but softly, as if he’s afraid I’ll say no.

Which I don’t. But this kiss, like the first, only tastes like my own affections for him, and my own fears.

And I still don’t know how my heart will break this time around.

Or even if it will.

PEOPLE OF EARTH: I AM GRAALNAK OF THE VROON EMPIRE, CONQUEROR OF WORLDS, DESTROYER OF ALL WHO OPPOSE ME, AND YOUR SUPREME AND BENEVOLENT OVERLORD. FOR THE NEXT SIXTY OF YOUR EARTH-MINUTES YOU MAY ASK ME ANY QUESTION WITHOUT FEAR OF RETRIBUTION.

– Posted by graalnak 1 year ago

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[ Display options: top-rated comments only, chronological order]

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tadthederailer, 1 year ago: Seriously? No way this is Graalnak. He doesn’t even answer questions in his own press conferences.

verbosiraptor, 1 year ago: The rules are clear: prove you’re Graalnak or we’ll delete this thread.

graalnak, 1 year ago: YOUR RULES DO NOT APPLY TO ME.

verbosiraptor, 1 year ago: It’s right there on the sidebar. No exceptions.

[237 more replies]

fleep, 1 year ago: Greetings! I am Fleep, Gralnaak’s communications secretary. I present to you this photograph of Graalnak holding a sign with the message “YOUR RULES DO NOT APPLY TO ME, REDDIT” written in the blood of the human intern who suggested this compromise.

[39 more replies]

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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: Would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?

graalnak, 1 year ago: I WOULD FORCE THE TINY HORSES AND THE GIANT DUCK TO FIGHT EACH OTHER. I WOULD SLAUGHTER THE SURVIVORS, EAT THEIR LIVERS AND HAVE THE REST GROUND UP AND USED AS RADISH FERTILIZER.

[358 more replies]

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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: What is it with you guys and radishes?

graalnak, 1 year ago: RADISHES ARE DELICIOUS.

ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: Why have you allowed these Earth-radishes to distract you from your primary mission on this planet?

graalnak, 1 year ago: KLEEPTOR IS THAT YOU?

ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: No I am an ordinary human as my profile clearly indicates.

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dishslinger, 1 year ago:Last week four Vroons came into the restaurant where I work. They had a five-course dinner: radish rosettes, radishpacho, radish salad, sauteed liver and radish leaves, radish sorbet for dessert. The bill came to $197.28. They left $200. That’s a $2.72 tip. It should have been at least $40. Can you please tell your people to start tipping appropriately?

graalnak, 1 year ago: TIPPING IS OPTIONAL. YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR THE $2.72.

ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: Graalnak is correct no one gives me extra money just for doing my job.

tadthederailer, 1 year ago: Wait, is that $197.28 including tax? A standard tip used to be 15% on the pre-tax amount. Now you want 20% on everything?

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ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: When are you going to begin construction on the plasma weapon factories?

graalnak, 1 year ago: STOP NAGGING ME, KLEEPTOR. I WILL GET TO IT. PROBABLY AFTER RADISH GROWING SEASON.

ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: I am not nagging. It is a legitimate question.

ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: Also I am not Kleeptor.

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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: I’d love to join your internship program! How can I qualify?

dishslinger, 1 year ago: Are your interns paid?

burner2600, 1 year ago: Do interns get the schematics for those plasma weapon factories?

graalnak, 1 year ago: YOU WILL NEED A STRONG WORK ETHIC AND A HIGH TOLERANCE FOR PHYSICAL PAIN. YOU WILL RECEIVE VALUABLE WORK EXPERIENCE, AND ALL THE PARTIALLY-DIGESTED RADISH STEMS YOU CAN EAT.

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burner2600, 1 year ago: Is there any substance fatal to Vroons and harmless to humans?

graalnak, 1 year ago: YES. WATER.

burner2600, 1 year ago: Really?
graalnak, 1 year ago: NO YOU IDIOT RADISHES ARE 92 PERCENT WATER.

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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: How many Vroons does it take to change a lightbulb?

graalnak, 1 year ago: NONE. OUR TECHNOLOGY HAS ADVANCED FAR BEYOND THE NEED FOR LIGHT BULBS.

dishslinger, 1 year ago: None, they’ll just make some human do it for substandard wages.

burner2600, 1 year ago: One to set the lightbulb-changing quotas and a thousand to punish every human who comes up short.

ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: None, I will just sit on this pile of radishes in the dark.

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ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: What do you expect the Vroon warships to do when they reach the Praxadoolean defense fleet? Throw radishes at them?

graalnak, 1 year ago: SHUT UP, KLEEPTOR.
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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: Is it true that Vroon ships visited the Earth 150 years ago?

burner2600, 1 year ago: Oh, not this again.

tadthederailer, 1 year ago: Not what again?
burner2600, 1 year ago: Just a stupid urban legend.

deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: There are newspaper clippings from all over the world. A typical article describes “a large and bellicose individual with skin resembling the peel of a lime and an astonishing number of teeth” visiting farmers and insulting them. The details vary, but they’re all pretty similar.

ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: That sounds like one of us.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: I mean them. One of them.

graalnak, 1 year ago: YOU ARE NOT FOOLING ANYONE, KLEEPTOR.

burner2600, 1 year ago: The way the story goes, the visitor would order the farmer to bring him his best radish. Then he’d take a bite, spit it out, and leave.

ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: No Vroon would spit out a radish.
deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: The reports all say he complained they weren’t radish-y enough. Something about tasting like sawdust compared to Dalgoxean hyper-radishes.

graalnak, 1 year ago: HYPER-RADISHES? I DEMAND YOU TELL ME THE LOCATION OF THESE HYPER-RADISHES IMMEDIATELY.

deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: They were from Dalgox-5, or Daglox-5, or something. I think it’s a planet.

graalnak, 1 year ago: TALGOX-5?

deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: Maybe.

graalnak, 1 year ago: I HAVE IMPORTANT BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO. THIS QUESTION PERIOD IS OVER.

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deliciouskoolaid, 11 months ago: Wow. I can’t believe that worked.

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Related thread, posted 14 minutes ago by deliciouskoolaid:

I’m deliciouskoolaid (aka burner2600). One year ago today I started a rumor and saved the world. Ask me anything.

American novelist, Chuck Palahniuk, once said, “People don’t want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messes cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.“

That’s true of life, isn’t it?  I mean, we all dream of a time when we won’t have any more troubles, no more work to do, no more bills to pay, a point at which we’re done.

But what next?

We’ve all heard of the Christian idea of heaven in which we sit around on clouds playing harps, right?

How does that sound to you?

To me, it sounds deadly boring.  I, as a non-traditional Christian, hope heaven has a heck of a big library and a computer so I can keep learning and working.  Give me a couple of millennia in a heavenly library (which would, obviously, include every detail of every scrap of knowledge ever known by human or alien), and I’d have just gotten through the history section.  Not to mention that I expect to be assigned to watch over my grandchildren–if I ever get any!

So, no, I don’t think, at our core, that we do want our lives resolved.  

But, by gum, an author had better resolve a story.

Why the contradiction?

Because our very humanness craves that too.  We crave a sense of completeness, of our ability to finish what we start.

That’s one of my many issues.  I tend to get grumpy when someone interrupts me in the middle of a project.  But one reason I want to finish that project is so I can go on to the next project.  Resolved yet unfinished.

We love resolved stories at Flash Fiction Online.  We’ve rejected hundreds of well-written stories in our eight years that just didn’t resolve.

Our four stories this month do.  The question is, do they resolve in a way that satisfies you?  Only one way to find out.  Read!  Go.  Do it now. 

Our first story is our quirkiest this month.  I’m not going to type the entire title here.  You can see it for yourself.  I’m just going to call it “I Am Graalnak” by Laura Pearlman.

Next up we give you “The Kiss” by K.C. Norton, a sweet story just right for a generation of kids (listen to me sounding like an old lady) frightened of commitment.

Third, a terrifying story of a mother with, well, issues. “Face Time” by Matthew Amati.   Remember Mommie, Dearest?  Yeah.  That woman had nothing on this Mommy.  

And again this month we bring you a resurrected story.  In the Biz, we call them ‘Reprints.’  Stories that have been printed before in another venue that we liked well enough to want to give them and their authors a second chance at finding a new readership.  So, from author Marina Lostetter we offer “Comet Man,” originally published in 2013 at Penumbra eMag.

Enjoy!