CAVE DRAWING by ADDISON ALBRIGHT
Originally published in the Queer Sci-Fi Ink anthology

(Precisely 300 words)

Ryan would never again see his husband, Simon, but he could communicate, dammit. He’d already done so.

Kinda.

Sorta.

Could… would… had. It got confusing. Ryan blinked away tears, stared at the blank cave wall, and scoffed.

If he didn’t do it, would he create an alternate timeline, or would that seemingly unobtrusive change affect their singular timeline like the proverbial butterfly flapping its wings, obliterating his own existence? Was it even possible to change things?

After weeks spent deciphering his new reality, Ryan was now positive the wavy air he’d run through had been a time rift. Others nearby must have seen him disappear. It was a small comfort to know Simon wouldn’t suffer wondering if he’d been abducted and tortured. Instead, Simon might believe some natural phenomenon had disintegrated him. A premature but painless demise.

Or would Simon figure it out?

Ryan pulled in a shaky breath and stirred more minerals into his ink. Locals had been stymied, but Ryan now understood that the cave scrawls where he and Simon had enjoyed quiet picnics together had been (were about to be?) his own doing. The art had appeared primitive, but the surviving text was in English, so it obviously couldn’t have been legitimately ancient.

Except it was. “Thousands of years,” Ryan muttered.

Presumably.

His new present was a time before humans inhabited this place, yet not so far back that the terrain was comprehensively changed. Trees had shifted, the cave entrance had eroded in the future Ryan came from, but it was still recognizable. 

Same place. Different era.

A single tear traced down Ryan’s cheek as he dipped a trembling finger into his stone bowl and applied ink to wall. Maybe… just maybe… the next time Simon visited “their” cave, he would look at Ryan’s message and know.

CAVE DRAWING: SIMON’S Side of the Story by ADDISON ALBRIGHT

(Precisely 300 words)

Simon set the lantern on the cold floor of the cave and sat beside it. Criss-cross-applesauce as his second-grade students would say. Flickering light illuminated the wall he’d come to see.

He’d been on the brink of cracking throughout Ryan’s memorial service. Afterward, that fragility had worked in his favor when he’d escaped the crush, babbling about wanting solitude and fresh air to clear his head.

In reality, he’d needed to come to the cave he and Ryan had thought of as their own private getaway. How many picnics had they eaten here pondering the mystery of the cave drawings that had stymied both locals and scientists who’d looked into it?

It was a hoax, of course. That was common knowledge, and Simon had never thought otherwise. The only question was how it had been perpetrated. Much was worn away, but the bits that remained were simultaneously thousands of years old yet were a crude drawing of a basic house and a few scattered words—meaningless without the context of those that had worn away—written in English.

A tear slid down Simon’s face as he stared at the drawing. Witnesses had seen Ryan disappear into thin air—or rather a temporary blob of wavy air—not far from here, apparently disintegrated by an unidentified phenomenon that had scorched the ground beneath it.

Simon and Ryan’s cottage resembled the crude drawing. It looked like many kids’ drawings of a house with simple squares, rectangles, and triangles. For grins, they’d made a point of choosing an apple tree to match the cave drawing when they’d planted a shade tree out front.

Simon sniffed and wiped his face. The ache in his heart ebbed. Was it possible Ryan had been transported back in time to become the creator of this so-called hoax?

PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay

Cyril ran a finger lightly across Petro’s forhead to brush aside a stray hair. Baby Lukas was finally, finally, asleep. So was Petro. Cyril pressed his lips together to fight the urge to kiss Lukas’s temple. Petro would not be pleased if Cyril woke up the baby. After swiping through apps on his phone, Cyril opened one with soothing sleepy-time noises. He selected one that sounded like a babbling brook and a gentle breeze riffling through trees. Petro cracked open one eye long enough to wink. Safe to land a kiss to his forehead then, with a whispered, “Love you.”

Uses the prompt “A Strange Request at a Paino Bar” and the words:
carnival ~ sprained ~ mask ~ oxidation ~ awkward ~ apple ~ juvenile ~ controversy ~ twirl ~ sassafras

Andrew winced when his childhood best friend turned boyfriend, Carl, poked a sharp elbow into his ribs and hissed, “Are we at a carnival or a piano bar?”

In Carl’s defense, that sassafras tea song someone had requested was annoying. Andrew almost sprained his face affecting an exaggerated mask of merriment because Carl was being a pouty pain in the ass. “Be thankful it’s the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band song and not Stacey Dillsen singing that corny ditty.”

With a laugh, Carl popped an apple garnish from his Appletini into his mouth.

Andrew cocked an eyebrow and added, “Or would that be an improvement?”

As teens, Carl had laughed his ass off at the juvenile antics of Stacey Dillsen’s awkward character on Nickelodeon’s Zoie 101, a show that had ended amidst controversy surrounding another teenaged star’s pregnancy.

“Definitely would be an improvement.” Carl scowled at his second garnish. “Did the slice I already ate have this much oxidation?”

“Yup.” Andrew’s grin was more natural now as he gave his cocktail stick a twirl before sucking off the maraschino cherry.

Carl shrugged and ate it anyway.

Andrew chortled. “You expect me to still wanna kiss that mouth?”

Carl blew him an apple-scented kiss. “I remember when you snorted an earthworm on a dare when we were twelve, so yeah, I’d be pretty damned insulted if you had a problem kissing me because I ate a slightly browned apple slice.”

Carl supplemented his statement by planting a quick peck to Andrew’s lips.

“Yeah.” Andrew smiled. “Definitely better than that worm.”

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Uses 15 prompt words (registration – waste – honor – funeral – agent – hiccup – maximum – restrain – queue – prosecute – jury – review – understand – delay – suitcase) from a random word generator.

Told from Jason’s 3rd-person POV:

Jason shivered as the chill in the small waiting room penetrated his bones. How much longer would he have to wait?

All he wanted was to get on with his life. No more delay. Just do the right thing then move on to wherever Agent Foster took him to begin anew. His suitcase was packed, his goodbyes were said, he was ready to go.

Closing his eyes, Jason leaned his head back against the wall. He didn’t want his mind to queue up a review of the conversation he’d had with his mother the previous night, but as with most things lately, it was out of his control.

“It’s your funeral,” Mom said, her voice flat. “But you’re throwing your life away. It’s such a waste.”

Her fists clenched at her sides as if she were trying to restrain herself from crossing the room to knock some sense into him. She choked back a sob, turning it into a hiccup.

“I have to do it, Mom.”

“Why? I don’t understand why you need to testify.”

“For Matty.” A tear traced its way down Jason’s cheek as he thought about his boyfriend. His love. The man he’d thought he’d spend his life with. They’d been so excited, talking about which classes they were going to sign up for at college registration the next day. “For honor. Because I couldn’t live with myself if Matty’s murderer walked free because I was too chicken shit to go in front of a jury and testify against that bastard.” Jason was determined to do whatever it took to bring the maximum penalty down on the man who’d walked into that restaurant to murder two people. Poor Matty hadn’t been a target. He’d been “collateral damage.”

“They can prosecute him without you. They can get one of the other witnesses. There was a dozen of them!”

“Mom, I’m just starting my life. The others are all older. Established with jobs and kids. I hate that I’ll never see you again.” Jason sniffed loudly at the thought of losing his mother, too. “But witness protection would have been a much bigger deal for any of the others.”

The snick of the door being unlocked and opened brought Jason out of his reverie. Agent Foster appeared in the opening. “You ready to get this done?”

Jason took a deep cleansing breath and blew it out with force. He nodded and stood up. “Past ready.”

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Uses 15 prompt words (piano – ridge – north – archive – sample – mouse – veteran – precede – misery – theory – mention – tease – descent – straighten – eliminate) from a random word generator.

Told from Dustin’s 3rd-person POV:

Our descent from the north ridge took longer than it should have. More than the hike up had taken, that was for sure. I never would have guessed that Phillip, an Army veteran for Christ’s sake, would jump at the sight of a mouse and twist his ankle.

“For the last time,” Phillip grumbled, “it was a fucking rat.”

“Sure,” I replied. My tone implied a tease rather than acquiescence. Although I had to admit the critter had been on the large side for a mouse, so it might have been a small rat. I couldn’t eliminate that theory, anyway. There was no way to prove it one way or another at this point. The damned thing had come and gone in a flash, and I wasn’t an expert on rodents anyway. Neither was Phillip for that matter.

Phillip leaned heavily on me as we approached a narrowing of the path at a steep section passing between two boulders. I edged in front since it made more sense for me to precede him to make sure he didn’t fall on his ass once he got past the bit where he could use the large rocks for balance as he hopped through.

His lips thinned into a tight grimace as he watched me get into position. The misery personified on his features was like a bucket of icy water thrown on the jokey mood I’d tried to foster. I didn’t know if it was more from his physical pain or the fact he hated to be seen as less than strong and fully capable, but it twisted my heart.

“It might’ve been a rat,” I conceded. “I jumped too. I was just lucky there wasn’t a rock in the wrong place when I came down.”

“There’s no ‘might’ve’ to it.” The muscles in his arms bulged as he braced himself on the boulders and swung his body through the passage. Once he joined me on the other side I reached out and slipped both arms around his waist, pulling him in for a hug.

“I love you,” I murmured.

“Love you, too, Dustin.” Phillip’s words were muffled by my hair as he planted a couple kisses near the top of my head. “Sorry,” he added. I barely heard that last whispered word.

“Shit happens.” I shrugged and slipped to the side, tightening one arm around his back and hooking my fingers through his stiff belt. “Nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t your fault.”

I felt—more than saw—him straighten his back. I wasn’t surprised. “Tough” and “determined” were two words that exemplified Phillip’s character. No way he’d wimp out. He’d steel himself to face whatever he had to deal with no matter the hurdles he encountered.

“Got any bars yet?” Phillip asked.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. We were almost to the 4-wheeler accessible flat stretch that would be the final leg of our journey back to Phillip’s sister Gracie’s house.

“Finally. A couple,” I said. “What’s her number?”

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I don’t have it memorized. It’s in my contacts list.”

And his phone was charging on Gracie’s kitchen counter. “Email address?” I asked. “I can at least message her with that. Those beep on her phone so she might see it right away.”

“I don’t know. She’s got a string of numbers in it that mean nothing. I just click the contact to send her stuff. I forwarded you that email from her last week. You still have it?”

“Oh yeah, now that you mention it…” I opened my archive folder and scrolled. “Found it.”

I copied the address and fired off a message giving her my phone number and imploring her to call ASAP.

We hadn’t gone even twenty more yards before my phone rang. I answered it on speaker so Phillip could hear her, too. The sound of Phillip’s niece, Ellen, practicing the piano in the background was the first thing we heard.

“Gracie?” Phillip asked.

“Phillip! What’s going on. Are you guys okay?”

“Nothing major,” he replied. “I twisted my ankle, but it’s not broken or anything like that.”

“Shit. Well, you don’t need to walk on it. Hold on.” The phone went silent for a minute, presumably muted, then the background piano practice returned along with Gracie. “Hey, Alex will head your way on the 4-wheeler. You can return on it, and he’ll hike back with Dustin.”

Phillip’s body relaxed perceptibly. “Great. Thanks.”

“I’ll crush up some ice ready for you. See you soon.”

I ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket. “Just a little farther, then we can sit and wait,” I said.

“First thing I’m going to do is crack open that rosé we brought,” he said.

I shook my head. “No more than a sample taste. You’re going to have to take some pain meds. That doesn’t mix with alcohol.”

Phillip sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled.

I gave him a squeeze. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

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Uses the prompt word (transporter) left in the comments of the previous week’s Flash Fiction Friday post, and 14 prompt words (trick – pat – deep – passenger – valuable – oil – trail – bubble – hideous – stay – silent – existence – huge – flippant) from a random word generator.

Told from Austin’s 3rd-person POV:

Austin raised an eyebrow in Clarence’s direction as the man unleashed a wide—and loud—yawn.

“Sorry,” Clarence muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not bored, just drained. Coffee, I need more coffee before we continue sightseeing.”

Austin laughed and placed a hand on Clarence’s shoulder. The poor man was usually a morning person, but they’d burned the midnight oil last night. After enjoying a late dinner and drinks at Hogarths, they’d giggled their way through a shared bubble bath back in their room at the Queens hotel. They were both determined to make the most of their short stay in Newport, Wales—one of several stops on their honeymoon tour.

“Come on.” Austin cocked his head to the left toward the Pot Café. “Let’s go ahead and get lunch. The reviews say their coffee is good.”

Clarence nodded. “Sounds great.”

Austin let his hand trail down Clarence’s arm. “Want to go take a closer look at that transporter bridge afterward?”

“Definitely. That thing looks cool. Pure engineering genius.”

“I know, right? I’ve never seen one in the states. Didn’t even know of the existence of such things.”

“It’s perfect, though, for a spot like that. The bank’s too low for a bridge high enough for ships to go under it without outrageously long ramps leading in, and the water’s too shallow at low tide for a regular ferry.”

Inside they were quick to place their orders—steak pie with mash, gravy and veg. Thankfully the coffee arrived soon afterward.

“Mm…that hits the spot.” Clarence grinned and returned his cup to the saucer.

Austin reached out to pat Clarence’s hand. “Penny for your thoughts? You’ve got a faraway look in your eyes.”

Clarence blushed. “Oh. I was thinking about the wedding. Again.”

“Your great-aunt Mabel’s hideous hat?”

Clarence covered his mouth to muffle his snort in response to Austin’s flippant comment. “Speaking of engineering marvels. I want to know the trick to keeping that thing perched on her head.”

Austin snickered. “Probably just simple hat pins, but yeah, it did seem to defy the laws of the universe.”

They fell silent when the waiter returned with their lunch plates. The servings were huge, but then so were their appetites.

Outside the window, a double-decker bus pulled to a stop and a lone passenger got off. Clarence dipped his head toward it. “We need to ride on the top level of one of those.”

“Yeah, let’s check the bus schedule. We’ll take one that goes over that transporter bridge.”

Clarence nodded, then got that dreamy preoccupied look in his eyes again. He picked up Austin’s hand and fiddled with the new wedding ring, spinning it on Austin’s finger. Clarence’s voice was deep and husky as he said, “They’re simple bands, but so much more valuable to me than their monetary worth.” He lifted his gaze to peer into Austin’s eyes. “I’m so glad I found you.”

Austin turned his hand to capture Clarence’s and gave it a squeeze. “I love you.”

“Ditto,” Clarence whispered.

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Uses the prompt word (champagne) left in the comments of the previous week’s Flash Fiction Friday post, and 14 prompt words (bike – aromatic – bad – limit – hiss – bow – squeeze – train – soap – snow – improve – rainy – pain – grass) from a random word generator.

Told from Darren’s 3rd-person POV:

Darren squeezed through a group of passengers standing near the exit and stepped off the train. He pulled up the hood of his jacket and hummed “Rainy Days and Mondays” as he made his way to the bike rack. A deep-toned hiss behind him indicated the doors had shut and the train would move on to its next stop.

Mondays were usually bad enough, but he’d reached his limit today when his pain-in-the-ass boss had dumped another project on his desk and announced he’d probably have to work through the next weekend to meet the deadline. There hadn’t been much he could do except bow his head in acceptance of his employer’s decree. Could his day—no, week—possibly get any worse?

“Could be worse,” a deep voice behind him said, as if its owner could read his mind. “At least it isn’t snow.”

Darren turned toward the holder of that sonorous sound, and his heart leapt into his throat, blocking the automatic reply he’d intended. Instead, he stood with his mouth hanging open, staring at the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. They were green as fresh grass on an early spring day, and framed by strawberry blond hair that seemed the perfect accompaniment to the aromatic cologne or soap the man was wearing that hinted of the apple-y floral scent of a fine French champagne.

Instead of raising a haughty eyebrow at his graceless reaction, the man smiled widely as his head tilted inquiringly to the side as if he both recognized and returned Darren’s undefended interest. “Hi.” He put out a hand for Darren to shake. “My name’s Stuart.”

Darren grasped the offered hand and found his voice. “Darren. And you’re right. It could be worse.” In fact, it was starting to improve already.

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Uses the prompt words (whānau & traffic) left in the comments of the previous week’s Flash Fiction Friday post, and 3 concepts (a man in odd clothing, a tattered book, and a whistle) from P.T. Wyant’s Wednesday’s Words post.

Told from Casey’s 3rd-person POV:

Casey reached back for Hemi’s hand as they crossed the small stream between the car park and the sands of Hot Water Beach on New Zealand’s Coromandel Peninsula. “I thought we’d never get here.”

“I hate dealing with heavy traffic,” Hemi replied.

“Aw, it wouldn’t have been bad except for that accident.” Casey turned his head to flash a grin at his boyfriend. “Anyway, we still got here at a good time.”

Hemi glanced at his watch and nodded. “It’s an hour ’til low tide.”

“Perfect timing, in fact.” Casey lifted their shovel in salute. “Best ‘hot tubs’ ever.”

A cluster of people of varying ages—an extended family group, perhaps—straggled along behind them with their own shovels and buckets. Casey had to restrain himself from making an obvious double-take at the older man’s outfit. Not so much the incompatible pattern matchup between his swim trunks and open shirt, which was funny enough, but the socks he wore with his sandals. Socks. With sandals. On a beach. Not only that, they appeared to be hand knitted or crocheted socks. He carried a well-worn book in one hand, and a women’s large floppy hat in the other.

The group settled nearby at the tide line. Casey shrugged, dropped his towel, and began digging their own personal, natural, hot springs spa. The water that would bubble up from the coastal springs was rich in beneficial minerals such as potassium, magnesium, and calcium. Simply put, it was an amazing experience, and he looked forward to a tranquil hour or so with Hemi.

He dug out a big enough pool for the two of them in no time at all. Hemi used the bucket they’d brought to fetch some ocean water to adjust the temperature in their little spa. They were all smiles as they slathered on sunscreen, then sat and leaned back on their elbows to wallow in the soothing heated water. Casey leaned across to drop a quick kiss to the corner of Hemi’s mouth, then closed his eyes and lifted his face toward the sun.

They both jumped when a shrill blast of a whistle shattered the calm. Casey brought a hand to his heart and turned toward the source of the noise. The whistle still hung from the old man’s lips. The child standing near the water’s edge turned and ran back to the group at the man’s hand gesture.

Casey turned with wide eyes at the sound of Hemi’s chuckle. “Really?” Casey mouthed the word, but remained silent. Not that he was surprised Hemi would be more amused than annoyed. Nor could he really blame the old man, even for that piercing blast, considering the reputation of the riptides at this beach.

Hemi smiled serenely and lifted a shoulder. “Reminds me of my whānau.”

Ah. His large, extended family. Well, they’d produced a warm-hearted and congenial young man in Hemi, so Casey was inclined to disregard the interruption to his meditation. It wasn’t as if it was a private beach, after all.

They rested their heads on the sand piled around the edge of their little bath, and Hemi’s hand slipped into his. With the distraction of Hemi’s thumb skimming back and forth along Casey’s wrist, he barely even noticed when the old man started reading aloud from the tattered book he’d brought.

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Uses the prompt words (tattoo & edit) left in the comments of the previous week’s Flash Fiction Friday post, and a prompt from the Writer’s Write blog (Write a short paragraph ending with these words: He would give anything to turn back the clock five minutes).

Told from Adam’s 3rd-person POV:

“All done.” The tattoo artist gave Adam’s fresh art a final swipe with a cloth and handed him a small mirror.

Adam angled the mirror to check out his backside and gasped when he saw what the man had done. “What the hell did you write?” Adam instantly regretted his words. It probably wasn’t the most tactful way of handling the situation, but damn…

“Wha’dya mean? I just asked you five minutes ago if you wanted the name of the flower printed underneath the picture. You said, ‘yeah, sure.’”

Adam’s stomach clenched just thinking about how hard Steve would laugh at the way his nickname for Adam had been interpreted. “Is it too late to edit that?”

“I can’t erase it.” The burly guy’s face pinched as if he was insulted by the mere suggestion.

Adam took a deep calming breath and tried to be diplomatic. “Can you turn that last e into an a?” Because really, sweet pee was completely unacceptable, no matter how much it might upset the tattoo artist to have it pointed out.

The guy muttered something unintelligible and picked up his tattoo gun. Adam sighed and tried to relax. He would give anything to turn back the clock five minutes.

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Uses the prompt words/phrase (neighbor’s yappy dog) left in the comments of the previous week’s Flash Fiction Friday post, and this photo for added inspiration!

Told from Nathan’s 3rd-person POV:

Yip, yip, yip!

“It’s my turn,” one of the kids—it sounded like Jeremy—hollered from the other room.

“Is not!” Georgie’s reply wasn’t exactly a solid gold debate winner, but in his defense, he was not quite three, and had learned his arguing skills from Jeremy. Needless to say, there was only one likely reply…

“Is too!”

“Boys, Dad’s still sleeping. Quiet down.” Anthony’s voice was calm as ever. “Georgie, it’s Jeremy’s turn. I’ll set the timer. When it dings it’ll be your turn again.”

Yip, yip, yip!

“I swear to God…” Nathan grumbled, stuffing a pillow over his head. The neighbor’s yappy dog annoyed him more than the noise from his family. He didn’t expect “Stepford kids,” and the boys’ hearts were in the right place.

“Here, Georgie.” Anthony’s voice drifted down the hallway. “You can help me crack eggs for the pancakes.”

Nathan smiled beneath the pillow. Anthony was a master at redirecting the kids’ interests, but even he could predict where this one would go.

“I wanna help, too,” Jeremy said.

“Great!” Anthony said. “Go get the other stepstool, I could use another skilled egg-cracker.”

Yip, yip, yip!

Nathan chuckled despite the exasperating yapping, and emerged from underneath the pillow. Anthony had known as well as Nathan did that Jeremy would want to “help,” too. He blinked a few times and stumbled to the bathroom. Anthony would probably appreciate some real help.

When he was freshened up and decent, he breezed into the kitchen and took an exaggerated breath. “Bacon, coffee, and pancakes…what more could anyone want on such a glorious Saturday morning!”

“Chocolate milk,” Jeremy, aka Mr. Literal replied.

“And apple juice,” Georgie said, because of course he couldn’t let Jeremy be the only one chiming in.

“And Pop’s beautiful smile,” Nathan added for good measure as Anthony beamed at him from the other side of the table.

Anthony stepped around and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “How about adding a good morning kiss to that list?”

Yip, yip, yip!

Even the yappy dog couldn’t ruin this lovely scene. Nathan trailed a finger along Anthony’s jaw. “Better and better.”

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This one uses the 3 words:

reunion – hugs – love

…that were left in the comments of the December 15 FFF post.

And the 12 words:

define – butterfly – refund – future – insist – bell – village – abandon ­– leaf – relieve – emotion – note

…that I grabbed from https://randomwordgenerator.com/.

Here’s a screen print of the words that the random word generator site came up with and a bonus image for additional inspiration:

Told from Travis’s 3rd-person POV:

“So, what do you think?” Travis asked. “Should we go?”

Anderson blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he pushed up onto an elbow to face Travis. He squinted as if he wasn’t quite sure what Travis was talking about. No surprise there. Just because Travis had woken with the emotional turmoil caused by that inexplicable invitation still front and center in his mind, it didn’t mean Anderson would be obsessing over it, too.

“The reunion,” Travis said. His parents threw a big gathering of the whole clan every few years, but he’d been estranged from his family since the horrific blowout with his father when he’d first come out to them. His mother hadn’t been part of that, and they’d stayed in touch. But even so, it wasn’t the same, and he hadn’t gone back home for the holidays since then, preferring to spend them surrounded by the unreserved love and warm hugs supplied by Anderson’s family.

“Ah. Sorry, my brain isn’t functioning yet.” Anderson pushed himself up to a sitting position and planted a much-needed kiss on Travis’s lips. “If you want my interpretation of what he wrote, I think it’s a sincere olive branch.”

“You don’t think he was under duress?” Travis was referring to the hand-written note on the inside flap of the formal invitation. We would both love it if you and your husband would come home for this. He’d studied the penmanship, and it was definitely his father’s handwriting. And he’d explicitly included Anderson in the invitation. Travis should probably be relieved by the gesture after having abandoned all hope, but first he needed to accept its sincerity.

Anderson laughed. “define ‘duress.’ You mean like a murderer holding a gun to someone’s head forcing them to write a supposed suicide note?”

With a quiet snort, Travis leveled a grin at his husband. “Don’t underestimate my mom. If she insisted…” He trailed off his words and finished with a sigh.

“You think he was coerced, then? The way you’ve described him, I wouldn’t have thought he’d do something like this against his will.”

“Yeah, probably not.”

“Maybe the holidays got to him, and he missed seeing you for a second year in a row. Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf for the upcoming year—this could be his resolution.”

Travis didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to add. It wasn’t as if there’d been any new information beyond the words his father had written. Should he call his mom and express his concerns, or just take this gesture at face value?

Anderson reached for his tablet on the bedside table. “Come on. Let’s look up flights.”

Things that always seemed so muddy to Travis, were clear as a bell to levelheaded Anderson. Obviously the man was running with “take the gesture at face value,” and he was moving on to practical matters.

Fine. Exposing Anderson to potential abhorrent behavior had been one of Travis’s main concerns, but Anderson was intelligent enough to understand that risk and clearly didn’t care. Even so… “Maybe we should get refundable tickets.”

“Stop it.” Anderson tapped away on the screen. “What’s the nearest airport to that village you’re from?”

“Syracuse. Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a bit? The reunion isn’t until early June.”

Of course, Travis knew the answer to that. Getting cheaper flights by booking early was secondary. Anderson would want to make it harder for Travis to talk himself out of attending by locking them into a flight.

Anderson didn’t reply. No doubt he knew Travis realized that and was happy to have this worry taken out of his hands.

Butterflies still flitted around Travis’s stomach at the thought of seeing his father again, but the future was looking especially bright, and a smile crept over his face. With Anderson at his side encouraging him and offering unconditional support, Travis could handle whatever life threw at him.

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This one uses the 4 words:

tea – fireworks – hay – horripilation

…that were left in the comments of the previous week’s post.

Here are a couple bonus images (from Deposit Photos) that were used for additional inspiration:

Told from Walter’s 3rd-person POV:

Walter froze with his mug of tea halfway to his mouth, and held his breath as another burst of fireworks boomed from their neighbor’s yard, then winced when Arlo dug sharp claws into his thighs. Their neighbors had been setting them off every time the US team won an Olympic medal, so apparently another athlete had earned one.

Conrad jerked and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “borborygmus”—one of the medical terms he’d been studying for an upcoming test—but didn’t wake up. Walter blew out a relieved sigh, because the poor guy needed some sleep. Sadly, he was practically buried in books and couldn’t possibly be comfortable the way he was sprawled across the couch.

But, Walter didn’t want to risk waking his husband by moving him. Although—he glanced at the time on his phone—it was past ten o’clock, so maybe he should try to get Conrad to move to their bed instead. Except once he woke up, he’d probably resist that sound advice and go back to studying.

Walter sighed and sipped the tea. When he reached to put the mug back on the side table, Arlo evidently got tired of being jostled and jumped down. With his lap free of cat, Walter stood and stretched.

Conrad snorted a couple times and settled into a snoring pattern, so Walter liberated the pencil from his hand before he hurt himself with it, and couldn’t resist landing a light kiss to Conrad’s brow after successfully removing his glasses.

He walked to the window. It was a clear night, and the first quarter moon was still visible in the western sky. The night was peaceful despite the occasional jarring burst of fireworks from the neighbors.

He wasn’t sure what triggered the sensation—maybe some slight sound that registered only with his subconscious—but the hair on the back of his neck rose, and he turned in time to see Arlo crouched in attack position, his fur bristled, and his tail swishing tightly behind him. That wouldn’t have been a problem if Conrad hadn’t been the cat’s unsuspecting target. Or rather the loose thread at the hem of Conrad’s shirt shifting idly in the breeze of the ceiling fan.

“No Arlo,” Walter whispered. The cat’s hind legs trembled as he reared. Walter was too far away for any kind of physical intervention. “Don’t you do it,” he hissed. “No no!”

Arlo leapt and landed with a piercing meow, sharp claws extended, right on the doomed man’s lap. Conrad jumped about a foot in the air and shouted “horripilation,” of all crazy—but oddly appropriate—things. Another one of those words from that list he’d been studying.

Not the reaction the slow-witted cat had expected, judging by the way he tore out of the room, bouncing off a wall in the hallway before the noises of his hasty exit came to a sudden halt in their bedroom.

“Sorry,” Walter said. “You okay?”

“I’ll live.” Conrad put a hand on his heart and flopped against the back of the couch. “Christ, that cat is crazy.”

“You picked him out.”

Conrad huffed, but the corners of his mouth twitched up. “Don’t remind me.”

He reached for one of the books surrounding him and raked a hand through his thick dirty-blond hair. “How long was I out?”

“Not long enough.” Walter knelt beside him and patted his knee. “You’ve got all weekend to study. How about we hit the hay, and you can get a fresh start tomorrow after a good night’s sleep?”

Conrad placed a warm hand over Walter’s and grinned. “Or we could ‘roll in the hay’ instead of ‘hitting’ it.” He turned on his puppy dog eyes. “After that jolt I really need some help to fall back asleep.”

Walter laughed and helped Conrad stand. “Nut. Come on.”

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This one uses the 6 words:

shea butter – cherry blossom – pink sharpie – scilicet – telegenic – aardvark

…that were left in the comments of the previous two weeks’ posts.

Here is a bonus image (from Deposit Photos) that was used for additional inspiration:

Told from Griffin’s 3rd-person POV:

Griffin stopped short and grinned as he stepped into the kitchen. Royce had scattered flower petals on the floor, although the man himself was nowhere in sight.

The opening strains of “Unchained Melody” drifted down the hallway, so Griffin’s arrival home hadn’t gone unnoticed. He placed the vase holding a dozen red roses on the table, then dropped his briefcase, cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered, “Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart!”

A note lay on the counter written in Royce’s flamboyant style using a pink sharpie with a sprinkling of glitter over top. My Darling, please follow the clues, scilicet the trail of cherry blossoms, and join me for an evening of hedonistic pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.

“Scilicet”? Griffin chuckled as his skin warmed. Gems from that word-of-the-day calendar he’d put in Royce’s Christmas stocking surfaced in the most entertaining ways.

The path laid out by the blossoms didn’t lead to the bedroom, they led toward the living room. Griffin loosened his tie as he followed Royce’s instructions. Their wedding video played silently on the TV, as the trail brought him more through rather than to the living room.

He paused as the joyful couple on the screen made the first cut into their wedding cake. Griffin had been dubious when Royce had first indicated he wanted a rainbow-colored cake, but it had been beautiful and elegant. Not at all gaudy as he’d feared. The hues had been pastels, each layer a different color with violet at the bottom, through the rainbow, ending with pink at the top. Two smiling groom figures stood on the pale orange layer while a multicolored spray of hearts spewed forth from the top.

Griffin was about as telegenic as an aardvark snorting in the dirt, but Royce positively glowed with a smile as wide as the one Griffin currently wore as he relived the beautiful moment. There’d been no games, just love and trust as they’d fed each other a bite. He couldn’t remember what it had tasted like—it could have been sawdust coated gummy worms for all he’d noticed—his full focus had been on Royce. The love of his life, and at long last, his husband.

The lovely fragrance of oranges reached him, pulling him out of his trance and toward the bedroom. He lifted his chin and trembled as he drew in a deep breath. Down the hall, the lights were turned off and the draperies pulled closed, but light flickered from the candles producing the divine scent.

Royce lay atop the rust-colored duvet wearing nothing but a necklace, a pair of white shorts, and a smile. He reached out with one arm when Griffin entered the room, and murmured, “Darling.”

Griffin tossed his suit jacket and tie over a chair and knelt by the bed. “Sweetheart.” He reached for the shea butter lotion on the bedside table. “Massage?”

“Mm. Sounds lovely. Trade massages?”

Griffin answered with a kiss. Slow and lingering, as the dueling scents of the candles and Royce’s natural musk mingled and enthralled him, sending delicious shivers racing over his skin.

Royce pulled away and drew Griffin’s shirt out of his pants. “You’re wearing way too many clothes,” he whispered.

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This one uses these 5 words/phrases from a random word generator:

folk music – team – seem – ordinary – discount

And these 10 words that were left in the comments of the April 6 FFF post:

soda – star – sunflower – sad – scissors – sciatica – sambal – sociopath – soccer – SCOTUS

Here is a bonus image (from Deposit Photos) that was used for additional inspiration:

Hmm…they look suspiciously like Travis and Anderson, the guys in my “The Olive Branch” flash fiction scene. I swear, they’re just doppelgängers. 😏

In this scene, I used a character, Jonathan, who was created when I wrote an alternate universe rescue scene for ’Til Death Do Us Part. Jonathan’s boyfriend Zachary, was mentioned but not shown in that bonus scene. That explains the reference in the 2nd paragraph, below.

Told from Jonathan’s 3rd-person POV:

Jonathan put a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh as he ground to a halt just inside the door to his apartment. After an ordinary—i.e. tedious—morning of classes at the university, watching Zachary dance in place as he stood at the kitchen sink was just what he needed to lift his spirits. The song his boyfriend was blasting—American Authors’ “Best Day of My Life”—was the source of Jonathan’s amusement, because Zachary often teased him about his preference for folk music over the electronic dance tunes Zachary favored.

The day Zachary had officially moved in with him had been the best day of Jonathan’s life, eclipsing even the emotional high of the rescue in the south pacific he and his brother, Charles, had participated in over their winter break. Jonathan’s parents, while not entirely pleased about the move-in, hadn’t pushed back to the point where they’d threatened to cut off their financial support.

All-in-all, his parents had taken his announcement that he “played for the other team,” so to speak, surprisingly well. Of course, knowing his father, Jonathan couldn’t entirely discount the possibility that the man was simply biding his time, but with Charles firmly backing him, and his mother appearing to take his side as well, there was a good chance it wouldn’t become an issue later, either.

Jonathan dropped his backpack and took a deep breath of…something spicy. Zachary turned and exclaimed, “Darling!” with a wide smile. “Perfect timing.”

“Hey, Baby.” Jonathan crossed the room and gave Zachary a kiss. “What’s up?” Not that Zachary wasn’t typically cheerful, but there seemed to be something especially buoyant about his mood.

“A celebratory lunch.” Zachary arched a well-groomed brow as if inviting Jonathan’s guess, so he went with the most likely explanation.

“Something happen to Martin?”

Not that Zachary would celebrate something bad happening to Martin, per se, despite there being no love lost between the two. But, the university’s theater department was producing the musical, “Cabaret,” Martin held the coveted starring role of the emcee, and Zachary was his understudy.

“Yes!” Zachary squealed and shimmied before stilling and placing a hand on Jonathan’s cheek. “But Darling, please don’t think I’m a sociopath, rejoicing in Martin’s misfortune. I wouldn’t wish that pain on my worst enemy.”

“Of course not.” Jonathan pulled Zachary in for a hug. “Congratulations, Baby. We can celebrate your opportunity and still feel sad for Martin at the same time.”

“Come on.” Zachary pulled away. “Let’s eat before this turns into a glommy mess.”

Jonathan scanned the debris field on the counter top and the sticky goop in the wok. That ship had already sailed. He reached for an empty plate. “Sambal fried rice?”

“Yes.” Zachary heaved an exaggerated sigh and placed the back of one hand on his forehead. “Please accept my advanced apologies for what will undoubtedly be questionable texture, but hopefully agreeable flavor.”

Jonathan laughed. “I’m sure it’s fine. Not like I can point fingers, anyway.” No doubt Jonathan’s recent disastrous attempt at making a chicken and broccoli stir-fry was behind Zachary’s indelicate snort.

A healthy portion of salad provided insurance, just in case the rice mixture’s taste matched its appearance. The sunflower vinaigrette was bottled, so it should be safe. Jonathan grabbed a couple sodas from the refrigerator and joined Zachary at the table.

“So what happened to Martin?”

“He was playing soccer, of all things. Seriously, sports and Martin? Anybody with half a brain would know that was an accident waiting to happen. I’m sure he was trying to impress Braaaaaad.” Zachary drew out the name with an accompanying eye roll. The less said about Zachary’s cheating ex, Brad, the better.

“Anyway…” Zachary took a bite of the rice dish then continued after a dramatic shudder. “He wrenched something or other, and now he’s got sciatica nerve pain. Says it’s like someone’s stabbing him with a pair of scissors all up and down his leg.”

“Oh, geez.” Jonathan winced at that visual. “Poor guy. How long is he going to be out?”

“Weeks!” Zachary eyes lit, then he bit his lip and threw back his head with a groan. “Gah! I’m such a horrible person!”

Jonathan took Zachary’s hand in his. “You are not a horrible person. I totally get that your glee is for your big break, not for Martin’s injury.”

“Thank you, Darling.” Zachary squeezed his hand. “I knew you’d understand. You’ll be there opening night, won’t you?”

“Of course, I’ll be there.” Heck, even when he’d thought Zachary was only playing a minor part, he’d planned on being there with bells on, and his brother, Charles, was flying in to surprise Zachary. And now? “Wild horses and a summons to testify in front of the SCOTUS couldn’t keep me away.”

Zachary’s shining smile was all the reply Jonathan needed.

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The nerd in me wanted to know where this cute couple was strolling so I could work that into my little story. A little zooming and a bit of google-foo later, I figured out exactly where they were in Dublin.

“Look.” I squeezed Aaron’s hand. “It’s the ‘Wall of Fame’!”

Aaron smiled. “I still can’t believe we’re honeymooning in Dublin.”

I laughed. “Hell, I still can’t believe we were able to get married in our own home town in freakin’ Alabama!”

“We almost there?” Aaron asked.

“The Temple Bar? Yeah, see we’re at Cecilia Street now. It’s just up ahead after The North Face.”

“Make sure you check-in on Facebook. Devin and Stuart are going to be so jealous.”

“I’m not eating oysters. I don’t care what Stuart said.”

“Aw, come on, just wash them down with a Guinness Stout.”

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“Hey, Ben, I gotta go.”

“What, already?”

“Yeah.” I cocked my head, indicating he should follow me out.

Ben peered warily around the room, but everybody was occupied. They weren’t paying any attention to us. He followed, a slow grin growing on his face.

We walked around to the shed’s opening, on the side opposite the house. We didn’t make it inside. Ben pushed me against the jamb and pressed his mouth to mine. I slid down, level with him, and rested my hands lightly on his hips.

“Come with me,” I gasped.

Ben grinned and nodded. “Anywhere and always.”