Flash Fiction
Free Reads
“Before It’s Too Late”
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“It is unbelievable that with all of the scientific evidence proving there is a God, people willingly ignore the truth.” Hearing her colleague’s snicker, Dr. Carol Liston turned to face him. “What’s so amusing, Robbie?”
“Before It’s Too Late”
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“As scientists, we’re required to be skeptics.” He grinned then shut down his computer for the long Christmas and New Year’s holiday.
“Truth is always worth acknowledging.” Carol smiled and sent the information to her home computer to study later. “This in-depth study by well-respected scientists proves God’s signature is embedded in all DNA.” Carol shut down her computer, stood, and stretched. “It confirms Yahweh, the Hebrew word for God, is part of every DNA strand.” His expression of interest spurred her on. “It’s like being stamped by the manufacture. God has put His signature on His entire creation.”
“If that’s true, and there is a real creator-of-everything-God, then I’m in big trouble.” His voice sobered, as he stood and shouldered his backpack. “I have too many parties lined up over the holidays to think about God now.”
“The Bible says to, Seek the Lord while He may be found. And call upon Him while He is near. That means once you die it’s too late. Heaven and Hell are in the balance.” She smiled and patted him on the back. “God loves you and so do I. We don’t want you to die without knowing Him personally.”
“I’m only thirty-two. I have plenty of time to get to know Him personally later.” He opened the office door and waited while Carol gathered her coat and purse. “Besides, you’ll put in a good word for me with the Big Guy, won’t you?”
“I have been praying for you, for a long time.”
“Please-e?”
“God wants a personal relationship with you.” She sighed. “You couldn’t use my passport to travel, even with my permission, right?” The sky was heavy with an impending snowstorm. She pulled up the hood of her coat.
“No…but…” His frown morphed into a grin. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, Jesus, that whosoever believes in Him will not perish but have everlasting life.” He bowed. “See, it wasn’t all about the cookies and juice boxes, as a kid, I listened in children’s church.”
“That’s wonderful.” She clapped, joyfully surprised at his unexpected revelation.
“My Christmas gift to you, I’ll check out the research.” He wiped a large snowflake off his new, Christmas-present-to-himself, BMW. “We’ll talk more on the subject when I get back. I promise.”
“Call me if you want to talk sooner.” She waved goodbye.
Carol arrived in her office the week after New Year’s and found Robbie’s desk cleared.
“What…” Her cellphone beeped with a message from the University President.
“A moment of silence will be observed at 11:30 this morning in reverence of Professor Robert Haas’ passing.”
“Oh, no!” She searched the internet for details about Robbie’s death.
“Nine die in fiery crash on the interstate caused by heavy snow and icy conditions.”
Robbie never made it home that evening.
Except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God. John 3:3
Courting Danger
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
Amber Hawkins murmured to the blue heeler, Bengy, the ranch’s well-trained cattle dog, which sat patiently watching her and listening, waiting for instructions.
Courting Danger
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“If only Buck had your attention span.” She shoved the Winchester rifle into the saddle scabbard with enough force that the bay sidestepped.
“I told him I needed to ride out today to hunt down that mountain lion that’s been terrorizing our livestock. If he truly loved me, he’d have come with me.” She checked her cinch to make sure it was tight. “The dang, fool cowboy laughed at me.” Disappointment threatened tears. She looked down at Bengy. “You weren’t around back then, but his pa owns the ranch nearest us, so Buck and I practically grew up together. I thought he understood how important becoming a teacher was to me, but he didn’t want me to go back East to university, to get my degree. He barely wrote the whole time I was away. Now, that I’m home he said he missed me and wants to court me. What do you think about that?” The dog perked as if trying to discern her question. “Oh, Buck’s strong and handsome, and the last five months he’s been professing his undying love to me, but does he respect me?” If so, where was he when she really needed him?
A sudden fear washed over her. With Uncle Fred confined to bedrest with a busted leg and Aunt Martha caring for him, she was left in charge. The cowhands were all off searching for strays to bring closer to the ranch to protect them from the predators killing off livestock in the area. Last communication from the foreman was two days ago. Due to a massive rockslide, they were cut off from the ranch or access to transport until the passage was open. It could take days to make it back, which left the rest of the herd was unprotected.
Her aunt and uncle were depending on her to protect the stock. She could still shoot straight, she hoped.
According to the neighbor’s sightings, the cougar they’d spotted weighed around 160-180 lbs. by the depth of the tracks, and was at least six feet long by the stride patterned.
She’d admit to growing soft while in the big city, going to the university to get her degree. Unable to come back to the ranch, even for a visit, because of the expense, she worked extra hard to graduate early, which suddenly seemed like a total waste of time if she couldn’t protect her home.
Her heart pounded like a racehorse heading to the finish line realizing the danger of going alone hunting for a killer that weighed more than her. If that beast got the best of her, no one would find her remains, unless the vultures circled long enough to be spotted.
She noticed Bengy still watching her with expectation of an adventure, while waiting for Amber to finish dawdling. “Sorry, boy you can’t come this time. It’s too dangerous.”
As if understanding he wasn’t needed, the dog yawned, walked over to the lilac bush and stretched out in the shade. He lifted soulful eyes toward her, as if he didn’t believe she’d actually go either.
“I mean it. I’m going, but you need to stay here and guard the ranch.” Amber mounted and headed toward trail of the last sightings of the lion’s tracks.
She’d slipped out of the house before dawn and left a note for her aunt on her bureau, so she wouldn’t worry about her disappearance—that and her few valuable possessions and her last will and testament. Okay, that might have been a bit melodramatic, as her English professor often accused her.
A tear slipped down her cheek and she scrubbed it away. Being raised on the ranch, she’d learned, courage wasn’t the lack of fear, but doing what had to be done anyway.
She pressed the gelding into a slow canter. They headed to high ground where the cliffs and bluffs made good cover for the predator.
Dirt slid down from the rock face to her left. The gelding balked, and refused to go forward up the trail.
The hair stood on Amber’s neck. She pulled her rifle from the scabbard.
A scream like the banshees from hell screech overhead followed by a streak of tan fur and fangs.
Bam! The animal dropped midair to land in front of Amber’s horse causing the animal to back and turn.
“Whoa, boy!” Once the gelding was under control, Amber glanced up to locate her rescuer.
“See, I told you I’d always be there for you.” A grinning Buck, sat at ease with a leg hung over his saddle horn and his rifle resting on his lap. “Now, don’t you think it’s proof I love you?”
“No!” Amber raised her rifle and pulled the trigger.
A second cougar dropped to the ground beside Buck, who now sat on the ground where his startled horse pitched him.
“That settles it, Darlin’. You have to marry me. I saved your life and you saved mine.” With a big grin, he rose, dusted off his jeans and tugged Amber off her horse, hugged her tight. She nodded her consent and they sealed the deal with a kiss that left them both breathless.
The bounty on the two cougars was more than enough to pay for their simple wedding one month later, with their family and community cheering them on as newlyweds, but also to celebrate the community’s new school teacher.
Love Never Gives Up
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
Doctor Libby Thurman turned her economy rental car off the highway onto the gravel drive of the old gas station. According to the huge flaking billboards dotting the roadside, Fred’s Food and Fuel was the last stop before the next eighty-mile stretch of Arizona desert.
Love Never Gives Up
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
The persistent growl coming from her midsection, and the warning-bing from the rental’s near empty gas gauge, reminded her of how long she’d been on the road, and that she could no longer ignore her need to appease both.
A Camp Hope covered in splotches of gray, brown, and green camouflage, with its hood up and Camp Hope painted in large letters from back to front, blocked one side of the pump island. A rusty pickup took up most of the other side. Angling her car, as close to the truck’s back bumper as she dared, she parked and slid out of the car’s air-conditioned interior.
The heat hit her like an avenging slap. Her gasp sucked in the hot dry air, parching her throat. What was she thinking accepting a job where summer temperatures reached triple digits in the shade?
Not what, but who was she thinking of when she made her decision? She did this for Scotty . . . and Jake.
As she released the gas nozzle, sweat soaked through her white cotton top and ran down her back pooling at the waistband of her khaki shorts. The metal handle burned her fingers when she tugged it to the opening in her tank. The slow ching-a-ching of the ancient pump counted off each gallon and filled the super-heated air with gas fumes.
How hot did it have to be to cause spontaneous combustion? As an intern, she’d treated enough burn victims in the ER to heighten her concern.
The bus radio’s mournful wail of an old blues song could barely be heard over the clanking of metal striking metal. Didn’t the guy leaning under the opened hood, realize that one spark could ignite the lingering gasoline fumes that surrounded them?
Before she could warn him, the banging stopped, and the gas pump shut off, indicating she had a full tank.
A rush of relief accompanied the replacement of the nozzle. Since the pump was too old to have a credit card slot, she grabbed her purse and headed toward the building.
As she reached for the door, it burst opened. A grease-stained hand shot around from behind her and stopped the door’s forward momentum a heartbeat before it connected with her startled face.
“Hey, Theo, you’re going to hurt someone exploding through doors that way.” A familiar masculine voice ruffled the fine hairs on Libby’s neck setting off sparks strong enough to endanger all of their lives if they reached those gas fumes.
“Sorry, Doc.” A boy, about twelve, in a wheelchair dropped his gaze and his baldhead flushed with embarrassment when he spotted Libby. “Dr. Jake, Ms. Alice told me to bring you these.” Without glancing up, he shoved a soda and two hot dogs in a paper tray into the air.
As soon as the man took the food, the boy spun around and reentered the store, letting the door bang closed after him.
Libby’s pulse quickened and her knees threatened to buckle. She turned to face her protector and took a step back. How long had it been since she’d last seen her ex-fiancé? One year, seven months, two weeks and four days. No, she hadn’t missed him…much.
Oncologist, Dr. Jake Lightfoot stood close enough for her to smell the sweat and oil that stained the T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. He seemed taller than she remembered. Interest lit his gaze, as it swept over her.
Before either could speak, the door burst open again. Jake dropped the food and hauled her against him as a rancher sauntered through the opening.
“Hey, Doc you might want to save the romance for later and get in there before those kids start a campfire in the middle of the floor. They’re rais’n a ruckus about mak’n smores.” The rancher grinned then adjusted his sweat-stained cowboy hat and nodded to Libby. “Ma’am”.
“Thanks, Dewey; I’m headed that way now.” Jake released her with a soft, “Sorry”.
Disappointment crushed her visions of a romantic reunion.
“I’ll hold it open so we both make it inside this time.” Jake deposited the ruin food in the trash and reached for the door’s handle.
Flustered at how good it felt in his arms again, Libby managed a mumbled, “thanks”, as she passed by him. She hoped he’d assume the blush heating her face was attributed to the temperature and not the truth burning her conscience.
When her eyes adjusted to the darker interior, Jake had disappeared, so she gravitated toward the rousing chorus of Kumbiah echoing from the far corner. There, young campers, many bald and in wheelchairs, like Theo, were grouped around the few lunch tables. She counted six counselors marked by their tie-dyed T-shirts. One strummed a guitar as the others handed out drinks and picked up trash. Giggles and songs filled the space.
The scene reminded Libby of her ten-year-old nephew, Scotty’s favorite saying, “Love never gives up”. She couldn’t prevent leukemia from taking Scotty’s life three months ago, but his courage had inspired her to once again pursue cancer research…and love. Giving Scotty her full attention had kept her in Kansas until his death. Afterward, she could no longer ignore her heart’s longing to be with the only man she’d ever loved.
Libby had met Jake when she came to work at a Kansas City Children’s Hospital. It wasn’t long before they functioned as an amazing research team at work, which only became better after they had fallen in love. They were in sync. Ideas sprang from their close collaboration. Their colleagues teased that she and Jake could finish each other sentences. Within six months, they got engaged and planned their wedding and honeymoon. They rarely even disagreed, so she wasn’t prepared for him to be so unreasonable.
Jake received a dream job offer near his hometown, a small town in Arizona. He was so excited; he’d assumed she would be too. She wasn’t. It would mean she had to move to a town of less than five thousand, of which counted the hospital patients and staff. The move also meant leaving her family and friends, but it was the isolation that bothered her the most, or so she thought until Jake was gone.
The emptiness was worse than she could have imagined. No diversion could fill that longing in her heart. Then Scotty, her brother’s only child, was diagnosed with a particular aggressive form of leukemia. Somehow, Scotty sensed he wouldn’t live long, so he lived what was left of his life with joy and love. How could she do less after he was gone?
Regret burned her conscience as Jake strolled into view. Had her change of heart come too late?
Hidden partially by the snack aisle, she watched as Jake, now with clean hands, interacted with the children. He loved kids and had wanted a large family of at least four biological children and three or four adopted. Coming from a small family of only her older brother and herself, she tried to reason with him, but after seeing his heart, she’d agreed. If she had another chance at his love there wouldn’t be an argument about how many children or where they would live because, love would win.
He stopped to talk with an older woman whose face radiated kindness.
“Ms. Alice, you and the team leaders can start loading everyone on the bus. It’s running again, and the interior should be cooled down by now.” The group gave a cheer and gathered their belongings.
She’d rejected Jake’s love and his plans for the future when she refused to marry him and relocate to Arizona. The small glimpse she’d had today of him renewed that regret.
The rowdy bunch filed out of the store waving goodbye at the store clerk, who apparently knew most of them by name.
Small town familiarity would take some getting used to.
It might not be too late to back out of her contract. Tears blurred her vision as Libby returned to the front to pay for the gasoline then stepped outside.
“Why have you come, Libby?” Jake’s voice drew her around to face him. “Nothing has changed. This is where I belong.”
Same get-to-the-point Jake, she’d known and loved. One glance into the liquid onyx of his eyes and her well-rehearsed answers disappeared leaving only the truth.
“I’ve changed.” She blurted out. “J-Jake, I know now, love never gives up.”
“Are you saying you’ve come to stay?” His gaze sought hers. She saw the hope.
When she nodded, he pulled her into his arms, melting away her doubts and proving the desert temperatures were nothing compared to the heat flushing her skin from his kiss.
The bus honked and many hands waved wildly, as it drove away, leaving Jake behind to ride with Libby to the hospital, an hour’s drive. If they drove slowly, they might have time to catch up on the last year and a half. The promise of a future still had to be ironed out, but hope prevailed marking the beginning of the first day of the rest of their lives.
For Libby, the Arizona summer turned out to be the best season for second chances, a true love’s kiss, and a reminder, love never gives up.
Prisoner of War
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
This is a fictional account of an actual event, as told to me by my father, Warren C. Davis.
WWII Kosaka, Japan POW camp, Sept 11, 1945
Lord, help me do my duty, honor You, and get back home to my family.
Prisoner of War
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
For three and a half years, Army Staff Sergeant Warren Davis, Battery F, 60 Coast Artillery had often repeated that desperate prayer, ever since General Wainwright had surrendered the Philippine Forces, May 1942. Soon after, the Japanese invaded Corregidor and took prisoners of all stationed there, including the Army Staff Sergeant.
He pitched another shovel full of dirt out of the hole. He’d survived two death marches, countless beatings and interrogations by the brutal heathens, who mindlessly served an emperor, as if he were a god.
Raised in a Christian home, Warren knew the real God of heaven and earth. Good thing, since this was to be his grave. He paused to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and rest a minute.
“Work!” The guard added a string of Japanese curse words, waved his rifle, with attached bayonet, at Warren then stepped back into the shade.
Things must not be going well with the empire by the escalating anger of the Japanese.
Ill treatment and malnutrition had taken its toll. Warren, and a dozen others, dug all day expecting a rain of bullets at any moment. By evening, instead of shooting them, they were ordered out of their holes. Just another way their captors tormented the hostages. According to their enemy’s threats, they would be shot tomorrow.
Warren managed to swallow a handful of boiled rice, his ration for the day. He no longer flinched at the bugs that littered it. His only consolation was the Japanese ate from the same pot.
Exhausted, he fell onto his bunk and escaped into a restless sleep.
“Come and git it!”
Warren’s breath caught at the scene before him. The large table was covered with his favorite foods. Turkey and all the fixin’s, hot bread dripping with butter, pumpkin, apple and blackberry pies. His mom’s cut-glass pitcher was full of milk so cold that dribbles of condensation ran down the side. His empty stomach growled. He licked his lips in anticipation.
His family gathered around the table, joined hands and in beautiful harmony, sang grace. Then each prayed for his protection and safe return home.
“Hey guys, I’m here!” Warren stepped forward, but no one noticed.
“Get up, Sarg! They’re gone!”
Warren awoke with a start and staggered outside. The compound was empty of all Japanese. Was this another sick way to torment them with the possibility of freedom then shoot them trying to escape?
The deafening roar of bombers, flying low overhead, drew all eyes to the sky.
“They’re our guys!” Pandemonium broke out. The POW’s shouted, cried and praised God. The prayers of many families had been answered September 12, 1945. They were finally going home.
My dad, a real-life, highly decorated hero, and WWII POW survivor, Warren Davis was born July 30, 1921. His love of God, country and family remained strong in him upon his death, Sept. 2, 2011.
May we never forget the cost of freedom.
Heroes of the Rocking J
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
Five weeks away from the bunkhouse at the Rocking J, hunting strays, eating beans and hard tack, and foreman, Ted Garrett was bone-weary and ready for a real bed and some good grub.
Heroes of the Rocking J
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“What’s that?” Ranch hand, Will Patterson rode up beside Ted and stopped. He handed him the binoculars, diverting Ted’s thoughts from his complaining and saddle sores to something ahead.
“Looks like trouble. I hope that’s not the two missing prize heifers we’ve been hunting.” Ted and Will kicked their horses into a canter.
They came upon the missing heifers, freshly slaughtered but not eaten. What would kill and not eat its prey? Didn’t make sense. Had to be something big and fast or at least one of them would have escaped.
“The boss ain’t going to be too happy when we report what we found.” Ted groaned at the ranch’s loss, as he and Will dismounted to investigate.
Out of nowhere a huge grizzly charged them, knocking Will to the ground.
Ted emptied his Colt into the bear. It turned and, with one swipe, broke his gun arm and shredded his side.
He staggered back, grabbing his boot knife with his left hand. Hopefully, Will was only playing dead.
“You mangy spawn of Satan, come and git me!” He had to draw the bear away from his friend.
Its angry roar raised the hair on Ted’s neck. The blood from his arm and side ran down in rivets enticing the grizzly to come in for the kill.
Weak, but determined, Ted edged backward toward the mountain’s edge. To jump meant sure death, but the thought of being eaten sealed his choice. He chanced a quick look to the drop off behind him. Another five steps and he’d end this. “God, save us!” Ted’s prayer was rusty from lack of use, but he knew God heard him, just sorry he hadn’t made contact sooner, like his ma had taught him.
The bear charged.
Ted raised the knife and planted his feet. He’d make one last effort to stop that mammoth killing machine, or at the very least take it over the edge with him.
Boom! The rifle’s report thundered over Ted and echoed through the canyon below.
The grizzly fell, mouth wide open, its snarl frozen in place.
Disbelief pounding in his chest, Ted sidestepped away from the crumbling cliff. He kept his eyes on the griz, just in case it staggered up madder than ever.
“Whew, that was close.” Will brushed blood away from his eyes. Propped against an ancient birch, he let his Winchester slip to the ground.
“Good shootin’.” Ted helped his friend to a flat boulder nearby. “How you doin’?” The bear had nearly scalped Will.
With Ted’s right arm useless, the best he could do was pull off his bandana, and hold it in place while Will tied it tightly around his own head, to stem the flow of blood.
“I’ll make it. Wouldn’t want to miss sharing this whopper-of-a-tale around the campfire.” Will’s chuckle was weak and raspy. “How you doing?”
“About the same as you.” Ted found his abandoned Colt, with Will’s help, he reloaded and shot three times in the air, waited and then sent three more into the tree tops. The signal would bring help. Good thing, for Ted’s knees gave out. He sunk to the ground.
The sound of riders charging up the canyon trail dimmed, as darkness swallowed him whole.
Two days later.
“You’re genuine heroes.” The boss shook Ted’s left hand. “Here’s the reward issued by the ranchers for taking down that grizzly. Upon examination we found he had a broken jaw and the reason he kept killing but leaving the carcass, since he couldn’t eat. That was one big, mean killing machine. Glad you two survived the event.” He handed Will and Ted each a check for two thousand dollars each. That’s more money than they made in a year.
“Just doing our jobs.” Ted mumbled, embarrassed by all the fuss, but the reward was an unexpected bonus and a welcome answer to prayer. In spite of everyone’s offer to help him spend it, he would put it in the bank. One day he’d have enough to buy a small spread of his own. But for now, he was glad to still be alive and foreman of the Rocking J, as he recovered from his injuries.
His once sporadic prayers took on more importance, as he realized how close he’d come to meeting his Maker. He did meet his future bride at the little country church he had started attending in town. His new life had certainly been the answer to that mountaintop prayer, in more ways than one.
The Prophesy Chamber
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“It was unbelievable!” Disoriented and weak-kneed, retired neurosurgeon, Dr. Thomas Cavinaul waited for the tech to remove the restraints, similar to a fighter pilot’s harness before he gladly accepted help to exit the egg-shaped chamber and collapsed into a waiting office chair.
The Prophesy Chamber
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“Drink this. It will help hydrate you.” The lead AI programmer, with the Prophesy Chamber Project, Dr. Jennifer Austin handed him a glass with green liquid, the color of pond scum, but his overwhelming thirst overrode its unappetizing appearance. He chugged it down, noting the sweet and salty taste. She accepted the empty glass. “The experience is different for everyone, but the weakness and thirst are common side-effects.”
“How accurate are the prophesies?” By what Tom had just experienced, he suspected a high percentage.
“Thirty percent during early beta testing. Once we integrated the Hebrew and Greek versions of the Old and New Testaments of the Bible into the AI, accuracy increased to a surprising eighty-eight percent.” Jennifer paused. “It can be…”
“Life altering.” Tom couldn’t help interjecting. Once he regained his strength, he was ushered to a windowless room. He relaxed in a recliner, with a table and reading lamp nearby.
Doctor Austin entered the room. “Due to privacy concerns and as the contract promises, all data was permanently scrubbed making it unretrievable the moment you stepped out of the chamber. I recommend to every client to write down your experience while it’s fresh in your mind.” Her tone sobered as she handed him a spiral and ink pen. “Most subjects find peace, once they realize they can choose their best future.” She hesitated, as if studying him. “However, we have counselors on call if you need help making your decision or have questions. Just push the call button on the table beside you.” Without waiting for an answer, she left and shut the door behind her.
Pen in hand, he began writing about his two potential destinies. He didn’t want to forget anything, both good and bad.
A colorful pamphlet, with The Prophesy Chamber logo, had first intrigued him with the promise of actually seeing into the future…his future.
The $100,000 cost to investigate the what-ifs that had plagued him after he’d turned fifty-nine seemed well worth the cost, if it was true.
He’d achieved everything he’d set out to do with his career. Bored and restless, he’d sold his partners his portion of the business practice, six months ago, after he’d had a bad scare facing a possible life-ending cancer diagnosis. Fortunately, it turned out to be nothing, after removing the tumor and further follow-up tests.
After facing certain death and given a second chance at living, everything in his life, future, and marriage seemed pointless. He had desperately needed something to believe in again and found the Prophesy Chamber project.
Looking back, his desperation had opened the door for all manner of bad choices. Going online and jeopardizing his marriage by joining a dating app was only one of the really stupid mistakes that could have cost him everything. It was supposed to be a safe place for casual entertainment but found it was filled with professional scammers that had one motive…take a lonely person’s money and anything else of value. For what? Having a stranger tell you what you wanted to hear and to lure you into dark websites that would tarnish the soul?
Thankfully, because his wife and friends kept praying for him, he barely escaped from the addiction of those voices associated with that dating site. He hadn’t appreciated his closest friend’s warning of its danger or any offer of help until this opportunity came to his attention.
Closing his eyes, he tried to remember everything about the personally-designed AI program with his input of data with the promise of creating his one-of-a-kind experience.
Once the memories stirred within him, he wrote furiously not wanting to forget anything.
He had been given somewhat vague instructions the night before on what to expect. When he arrived for his appointment, he was quizzed to make sure he’d read the disclaimers and possible side effects, before he signed the contract and was approved to proceed. He was led to a room filled with a wall of computers and monitors. There were several white-coat techs, but the scientist he had spoken with about the system met him and led him to a large egg-shaped pod. Once inside the chamber, he was hooked up to the pod with a harness of sensors and realized the pod was a fully functioning 360 degree viewing chamber. Once the door closed, silence cocooned him.
Joystick in hand, he’d chosen the first of his two what-ifs options. Thankfully, the restraining harness kept him from physically interacting with the life-like events. The smooth, molded chamber monitored his vitals and adjusted the visual and senses accordingly.
The emptiness of his mid-life crisis had lured him with immoral thoughts of adultery with women half his age and the dating app supplied the what-ifs of that appeal. The first scenario allowed him to explore those temptations. Exciting, at first, but the slippery slope of sin quickly morphed into unfulfilling sex, and illegal drugs to silence the guilt and hopelessness. His children and family abandoned him after his rejection of all that was good or right, except to ask for money, which he went through like water in the dessert. The people he’d met on the dating app were soon wanting money for one well-scripted crisis after another.
The pod experience felt real and vividly showed in 3D detail a nondenial potential what would happen in that life of horrible mistakes. He would never forget it. When those heathenistic scenarios ended, he felt emptier than before.
He’d watched that life’s outcome to its end with his death at sixty-one, leaving no one left to mourn his passing. He wrote in bold letters, in phase one, he’d lost it all for the lies of the flesh and empty temptations.
Nauseated and ashamed, knowing he had been capable of following that pathetic path. His heart grieved over the horror of that what-if depravity.
The lights dimmed and there was a hum and click as the program reset to his current lifeline to run the second phase and his alternate prophesy.
The emptiness was soon replaced with direction and hope, as he saw how to fix his and his wife, Sarah’s, current disconnects…a revelation well-worth the exorbitant cost of the project.
He’d watched in awe as simple changes and renewed faith in God, ignited their late-in-life passion into a flame that quickly turned into something wonderful. It was followed by a joy-filled fifty-year wedding anniversary, celebrated with their four children and their families and friends, both old and those he had yet to meet. He had but a few moments to bask in the peace and joy that event produced in him.
Then the program sped forward. Births and deaths flashed by showing too many events, happy and sad, to remember. The system slowed and paused.
No words could ever describe how real every minute inside the chamber felt like.
The pause surrounded his senses with everything so real he tried to move toward his crying daughter to comfort her but was kept in place by the restraints of the harness. In the moment he could hear birds singing and feel the breeze on his skin. He heard the muffled sorrow of the mourners, as the last words of a preacher’s eulogy expounded about a wonderful woman. The smell of the damp earth drew his attention to an open grave waiting for its occupant, as the casket hovered above. His eyes were drawn to a tombstone waiting with his name nearby. His name and birth already etched on it, but the date of his death missing.
The heaviness of despair was only lessened by knowing someday he and Sarah would be reunited in heaven, as he realized suddenly that he stood beside his precious wife’s grave.
The pen slipped from his fingers. He sobbed for how close he’d come to choosing a wrong future.
Closing the spiral, he hugged it to his chest.
“Please, God, I need your help to see this last prophesy fulfilled.”
The heaviness that had plagued him for months lifted and joy filled his soul. He was now eager to start on this new adventure, fulfilling his part in his and Sarah’s happily-ever-after.
Deuteronomy 30:19 I call to heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessings and cursing; therefore, choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live. 20 That thou mayest love the Lord thy God, and that thou mayest obey His voice, and that thou mayest cleave unto Him: for He is thy life, and the length of thy days.
Going Viral
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“It wasn’t my fault.” Former Navy SEAL, now security consultant, Dirk Conner bounced his crying 18-month-old son in his arms as his wife, Mandy stepped through the front door. Baby puke and diarrhea dripped down Dirk’s lucky Go Navy tee-shirt and matching sweat pants.
Going Viral
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
Mandy stared open-mouth at him then calmly set her mammoth purse, and the two grocery sacks she held, down in the entry. He couldn’t tell by her expression what she was thinking until her face went all squinty and her shoulders began to shake.
“Aw, Babe. It’s not funny.”
“Family blog!” The words were barely coherent between spasms of laughter. She slipped her cell phone out of her jean’s pocket and recorded the scene starting with the kitchen and swept the camera across the open-concept living room before focusing on him.
“Come on. I only took my eyes off of Max for a couple of minutes . . .” His only consolation was as hard as she was laughing no one would be able to watch the video without getting motion sickness. “Tommy could confirm . . . except he left.” But not fast enough. Dirk glanced down at the wet spot next to where their two-year-old yellow lab, Rufus had barfed on Tommy’s open-toed shoes. “For an Army Ranger, my brother sure has a weak stomach.” Sweat beaded Dirk’s forehead and bile burned the back of his throat.
He followed Mandy’s gaze and groaned, as if seeing the epicenter for the first time. The carnage trailed from the once-pristine-kitchen-now-smeared-with-toxic-waste and proceeded, like a giant abstract painting, into the ultra-modern living room. The empty bowl of spicy chili-cheese dip littered the floor beside half-eaten cupcake papers that once held chocolate fudge cake. There was some orange-yellow mystery goop, which could have been humus or maybe the orange Jello with shredded carrots his brother had brought.
“You should have warned me Max could escape out of the playpen.” In spite of the mess, pride warmed his chest at Max’s ninja stealth. “Did you know he could reach the table? Or maybe Rufus did it.” The lab sulked under the dining table refusing to make eye contact.
What was left of the food-goo that covered little Max and Rufus, was also spread across the marble tile, white carpet and leather couch; pretty much all the furnishings his wife had tried to talk him out of buying. Only after his son and the dog had wandered in front of the TV had he realized his mistake in thinking quiet meant his son was sleeping. Dirk could feel Mandy’s unspoken I-told-you-so burning his ears.
“Touchdown! Navy!” The TV announcer could barely be heard over the screaming football fans. “Army and Navy are tied.”
Max whined then threw up on his daddy’s bare feet. Dirk’s stomach rolled.
“Oh, Buddy!” Panic thumped in his chest as he handed off his son to his wife.
“Come here sweet baby.” Still recording, Mandy held her phone in one hand and drew the now smiling toddler into a hug with the other.
Dirk’s stomach heaved its contents.
“This is so going viral.”
Saboteur
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“It wasn’t my fault.” Fifteen-year-old Simon Rafferty handed over the wrench and held up his hands.
Saboteur
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
“Right, kid. And you had nothing to do with the smashed control panel or that stream of contaminated medical waste pouring out the exhaust port.” Lieutenant Endice Chapney pointed the business end of a U343 Blaster at Simon’s chest.
Sweat stung Simon’s eyes. His bio-suit blared out an emergency low-oxygen alert.
Chapney pocketed the wrench, shoved Simon through the secondary airlock and closed the hatch.
A high-pitched confirmation beep meant it was now safe to remove their helmets.
The changing air pressure popped his ears, increasing his splitting headache. After four hours of weightlessness, the restored gravity pulled at his muscles, leaving a deep ache in every joint.
Leaning against the bulkhead, he sucked in great gulps of air. The thumping inside his skull was as relentless as the fifteen-hundred-pound Hussein Mountain Gorilla in the cargo hole. Rescued from poachers, they were returning the beast to its home planet, Raarda. Its relentless blows against its cage rang with a force that echoed day and night throughout the ship.
“If that incinerator had fired, your ashes would be feeding Grumon’s botany experiments.” The lieutenant removed her bio suit and motioned for him to do the same. She transferred the blaster to a concealed holster in her one-piece uniform and slipped the wrench into an evidence bag.
“I found that wrench inside and used it to send an SOS, but wasn’t sure if the ship’s sensor would pick it up.” He’d hoped to capture the saboteur and earn a spot with Alpha, the top security team’s recruit training program. Now . . . His only proof that Augdon Miller was the real saboteur was a glimpse of his face in the monitor when he trapped him inside the ash-can.
“Captain Rafferty wants a word with you.” She slapped magnetic cuffs on his wrists and shoved him toward the turbo lift.
The captain’s security cam scanned them then opened the door automatically.
“Leave the prisoner, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, Captain.” She retreated, and the door closed.
“Cadet Rafferty.” The tone of his voice brooked no reply.
“Dad-er, Captain, Augdon Miller is your saboteur.” Simon’s voice quivered. “He locked me inside . . .”
“I warned you to stop snooping.” Captain Rafferty crossed his arms then shrugged. “I had the incinerator taken off line. You weren’t in any real danger until your oxygen ran low.” He stepped forward and removed the restraints then returned to his desk. “Miller’s in custody. He confessed being hired by the Aouter Consortium to delay our arrival until they removed evidence of their illegal mining on Raarda.” His eyes narrowed, as he studied Simon. “How did it feel to be trapped and falsely accused?”
“Awful!” Simon risked a grin. “Lesson learned.”
“Good.” His father held out a disc. “Here’s your new assignment.”
“Alpha team?” Simon read it twice, heart pounding.
His father smiled. “With training, you might even live long enough to become a good security officer.”
Mission accomplished.
For Love and Money
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
Sussex, England 1819
Rebecca Shipley escaped out the servant’s entrance, guilt and regret weighed more heavily than the carpet bag clutched at her side.
For Love and Money
Flash Fiction by Jan Davis Warren
The quiet before dawn was broken only by her hurried steps down the lane.
“Jimmy?” Her voice raised in panic.
“Yur late.” His harsh tone held fear not disrespect, or she would have chastised him. The young stableman leapt down to take her bag and heave it into the back of the wagon, as she climbed aboard. He settled in beside her and set the team in motion, neither wasting time on chitchat until they were well away from the manor.
“Thank you for waiting.” She loosened her beaded handbag from her wrist, settled it on her lap and traced the contents with her thumb for comfort.
They rode in silence, but she recognized his fidgeting. She’d spent the last few months teaching him to read.
“What’s on your mind, Jimmy?”
“Why runaway?” His concern surprised her. “You have everything a body could want.” He glanced over at her. “Did your da beat you?”
“Worse.” She clenched her fists. “I overheard him make a deal to marry me off to some old coot with a title.” She imitated the high-pitched drone of her old tutor. “Lord Robert Hollingsworth, the fifth viscount of Albany.” She spit over the side of the wagon. Spitting, throwing a blade, and mending nets were only some of the unladylike skills she’d perfected while growing up on a fishing boat. When Rebecca was six her mother died, so her father raised her onboard. Those were the happiest ten years of her life, living and working with her grandfather, father and her older brother, James.
Then, her grandfather snagged an old Spanish galleon in their nets, containing a cargo worth millions, their lives changed drastically.
Three years ago, highwaymen murdered her grandfather for the few coins in his wallet. They were caught and hung, but she missed her grandfather’s common-sense way of dealing with their new found wealth.
Unlike her father, who had become obsessed with fitting in with the gentry. At sixteen, she was sent away to a boarding school to learn to be a lady, and her brother was trained in business, which he hated only slightly less than being pushed to marry a spoiled princess to gain a foothold with the Ton.
While she was still confined to the boarding school, two years ago, James escaped to the Carolinas where he married for love and now runs his own fishing boat. His last letter was tucked in her bag. At eighteen, she had finally been allowed to return home to run the house for her father. A week ago, she had intercepted the letter addressed to her from her brother before her father saw it and hid it from her, as he had the others.
“Is yur brother expectin’ ya?”
“Not exactly . . .”
They rounded a bend and watched in horror, as two highwaymen slammed a heavy branch into a rider, knocking him off his horse. One grabbed the horses’ reins and the other pounced upon their victim.
“Stop!” Rebecca tugged a knife from her beaded bag.
“Lookie here, Arnie, more pigeons to pluck.” The thief with a dirty eye patch stood over the groaning rider.
“Our lucky day.” His accomplice, Arnie secured the victim’s bay to a low limb before stalking toward the wagon.
“Leave now or suffer the consequences.” Rebecca stood and raised her knife. “Keep the team still, Jimmy.” Her voice remained calm but firm.
“I likes a gal with spunk. I think I’ll take you, too.” Arnie’s eyes narrowed with intent and his grin widened.
Rebecca threw the knife and hit Arnie’s left thigh.
“Aauugh!” He fell to the ground. “Fen, kill the wench.”
Rebecca pulled out the last two knives from her bag.
“I never miss.” She watched as Fen, the eye patch bandit, picked up the branch used on the rider and started toward her. Her next blade hit his shoulder.
“Aauugh!” He dropped the limb.
“Leave my knives and go, or my next target will be your black heart.”
Shouting threats and curses, the highwaymen limped off into the forest.
“Hurry, Jimmy. You help the rider, and I’ll get his horse.” She retrieved her blades, hurried to the back of the wagon, secured the bay and climbed inside to await and help the injured rider.
On their way again, she tried to assess their passenger’s injuries.
“Ow!” He pushed her hands away from his ribs.
“I barely touched you.” She sat back. The early morning sun highlighted his strong face and honey-colored hair. Well-muscled, he had the appearance of someone used to the outdoors.
“I’m Rebecca and you are?”
“Robert.” He gasped, as he raised himself to a sitting position and leaned against the side of the wagon. “I’ll live. I just had the air knocked out of me.” He raised his face and smiled at Rebecca, taking her breath. “You saved my life.”
Speechless, she managed a slight nod.
“Where are you headed?” Robert rubbed his side.
“To the port.” Jimmy glanced over the seat. “M’lady’s going to the Americas to visit her brother.”
“Sorry, but the only ship destined for the Americas sailed first thing this morning.”
Without being told, Jimmy turned the wagon around and headed home.
“I’m doomed.” Rebecca covered her face and wept.
“I doubt that. You’re extraordinary.” Robert slipped a fine linen handkerchief into her hand. “You bravely stood off murderous highwaymen, but missing that ship reduces you to tears? Why?”
Usually closed lips, she regaled her tale. When she got to the part of her intended being an ancient viscount, her companion laughed so hard tears ran down his cheeks and held his ribs from the pain.
“You find my plight amusing?” She sought her blades.
“No, no. You don’t understand.” He sobered, swiped one hand across his eyes, and raised the other in surrender. “I was sent an urgent summons to meet my grandfather at a manor in Sussex.” He put his hand to his heart. “I am Lord Robert Hollingsworth.” He cleared his voice and adjusted his position against the wagon side. “Since my father’s death, I’m next in line to become the fifth viscount of Albany, after my grandfather dies. Hopefully, no time soon.” He crossed himself and kissed a rosary he extracted from his pocket.
“So, ‘tis you that I’m to be betroth and not your . . .”
“Apparently.” He bowed from his seated position. “Ow.” He rubbed his ribs.
They talked the whole way back to the manor.
His family had fallen on hard times that decimated their fleet of twelve ships leaving only the one left, which sailed to the Americas without him as captain. A union of the two families could satisfy both of their needs.
The next three month’s courtship resulted in the young couple’s marriage, bringing their families together, for love and money.
The happy couple had a lovely manor home, but spent most of their time aboard one of the ships in their now vast fleet. Robert captained it and Rebecca tended to their growing family on board. Their two boys and two girls all learned to sail, mend nets, throw knives, and spit. They were taught that real treasure is family.