Janet Flash: The Power

by Michael Seese

Today I'm taking my son to Buffalo for a Cub Scout overnight on the USS Little Rock, a Cleveland-class light cruiser that saw action in World War II. It is a cool experience, though not the best night for sleep, as 20 snoring dads in a metal room can raise quite a ruckus. And they wake us up at 6:30.

So before I went, I had to make sure to write my latest Janet flash story.

Our mission this week. Use

paw
joy
son
smith
trick

in a 100-word story. 

I played with the words, and "Smith & Wesson" came to my mind. That led to "The Power."

The Smith & Wesson, heavy in my still-trembling hands, smelled like her death. Helpless to circumvent the inevitable, I watched the last vestiges of life trickle out the hole I'd put in her heart. Is this how God feels? I wondered. Amazed at, and terrified of, the power. I understood why He can't look us in the eye.

"Maybe her fawns are around," Dad said, drunk on bloodlust and joy. I thought of Bambi and felt even more crap awful.

"Congratulations, son. Today you found out what it is to be a man."

In my mind, I only discovered mortality.

Your thoughts? Especially from the hunters out there.

PS: If you've not already done so, file your taxes!
 

Janet Flash: Gifts

by Michael Seese

So, yesterday afternoon my sons and I made a three-hour trek to Buffalo. We slept overnight on the USS Little Rock, a World War Two-era light cruiser. Well before the trip I had come up with the basic idea for my latest Janet Reid story, but for some reason couldn't brain write as I drove. (Well, not really some reason; if you've ever spent time with my youngest you'd understand.)

So after the Scouts were in bed at 10:30 I sat down to work on "Gifts," which needed to make use of 

crime
bake
train
bar
ruffian


The second peal faded into the cold night as Sonya switched off the light over the bar, locked the door, and went upstairs.

She looked at the hand-me-down gifts on her kitchen table and sighed. A mismatched train set. An Easy Bake Oven in need of a new 40-watt bulb. A Ruffians squeak toy scarred by its previous owner's teeth marks.

“It ain't no crime,” she said.

She thought about him, then rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

The clock struck three as she tied the last ribbon. Outside, snow began to fall.

Christmas was still real. 

We shall know tomorrow if this tickled her fancy.