This was the very first appearance for Ethel and Cheryl. February 1, 2013 in the writing group Trifecta. The challenge was to write exactly 33 words using the third definition of the word ‘dialog’.

“Dialog? What the hell kind of prompt is that?”

“For cryin’ out loud, Ethyl, it’s simple. Write 33 words of a conversation.”

“But I want a picture, a definition.”

“You’re not getting one.”

And from this prompt became the adventures of Ethel & Cheryl... told mostly through dialog.

Cover image for post Like a Top, by tedstrutz

tedstrutz in Flash Fiction

54 reads

Like a Top

You are watching from your window, peering thru the slats of your blinds, you don’t like to appear nosy. She is in the neighbor’s yard, just spinning around. Looking up at the sun and spinning, arms raised upwards. She looks joyous.

“Who’s that little girl, have you seen her before?” you ask yourself, just curious, you don’t think they have kids.

She looks so thin, frail almost, her clothes are filthy, hair unkempt. From the doorway, the neighbors rush out and start shaking her. The man drags her to the house, the woman looks around.

You reach for the phone.

Cover image for post The Magician's Assistant, by tedstrutz

tedstrutz in Fiction

50 reads

The Magician’s Assistant

Spencer listened for Sir David to descend the spiral staircase. He could follow his progress by which tread was creaking. This was helpful information, in case Spencer was doing something that Sir David would not approve. Like looking at his 'Book of Words'.

David Wighton is the only magician to have been granted knighthood in the history of the British Empire, and he did not let one forget. He received this honor from the Queen for his service during the Boer War. He had developed Hypotyposis, and her military advisors were convinced it could be used to good advantage against the enemy. David Wighton was made a Colonel and put in charge of a brigade of magicians and sent to Swaziland. It had come to naught, but he did amuse the Queen with his wonders, and was awarded for that.

Spencer had been in Sir David’s employ for three years. Working with the great man, he was the envy of every member of the BMAU. But, Spencer had become tired of cleaning capes and hats of guano, polishing canes and shuffling cards. He had learned the ins and outs of many illusions, but never the big ones. He longed to make a name for himself. In short, he was tired of being the assistant.

One of the great man’s many achievements was his use of magic words. He did not rely on the likes of ‘Abracadabra’, ‘Presto’, ‘Hocus Pocus’, and certainly not ‘Bippity, Boppity, Boo’. Many thought he made them up, but not Spencer. One day in the library, while re-shelving Sir David’s books, he discovered an heretofore unseen button in the wainscoting. After a push and a click, a panel slid back, and there inside was a notebook and a fragile looking volume that appeared quite old. Spencer knew he had found the Holy Grail of magic. With shaking hands he removed them and began to read. The notebook contained a history of the Boer War experiment to make the enemy vanish, and curiously the last entry was three weeks ago. Spencer knew the old man was crushed when he had not been asked to help during the ‘War to End All Wars’, and it appeared he was still working on a solution. Upon opening the old book, he felt he was descending through time as words leapt from the page and assaulted his mind. Some words he had heard Sir David use, so he knew he was on the right track.

Many months passed, and the lad practiced his craft, often returning to the book for guidance. It was on this day, with the sun streaming into the library, causing dust motes to dance in the air, that Spencer returned to the book. The panel slid back, but the books were not inside. A sound behind froze Spencer.

“Looking for something?”, Sir David intoned.

“I didn’t hear you come down, Sir”, Spencer was flummoxed.

The magician had descended the stairs by Hypotyposis. “Obviously not, boy, or you would not have been sneaking about. I knew you were up to something. What have you been looking for in my books?”

“A magic word, sir. Something I can use to be great like you.”

The great magician pondered, “I see. Well, I will give you a word I have just discovered that would have won the Boer War.” He whispered in Spencer’s ear. “You only have to repeat it three times. Now please go fetch me some tea.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Some weeks passed. Spencer had not been home and his mother was alarmed. His friends in the BMAU had not seen him, and that was not like Spencer. He loved a pint or two, and the chance to brag about Sir David’s latest success. In fact, he had been hinting at his own act soon to come. She suspected foul play.

Sir David’s assistant answered the door, admitting the police. They were ushered to the conservatory, and stood humbly before the great one.

“We have come to ask if you know the whereabouts of a Mr. Spencer Milburn, Sir David. He has turned up missing. Since March 27th, we believe.”

“Yes, most distressing. I had to hire a new assistant. Do you know how much work it is to train a new assistant? I was in the library, and sent Spencer to make tea. I sat there and waited, but he never came back.”