Flash Fiction #36 – Little Heaven


This month’s song fic is Little Heaven by Toad the Wet Sprocket. Two summers ago, the wonderful Kayleigh Jones and I went to Detroit to see one of our bucket list concerts – Counting Crows. (Laugh if you want, I will always love them – unapologetically.) And Toad opened for them, so that was especially awesome. Happily, both bands still sounded fantastic.

But I digress. Here are the lyrics to Little Heaven. And here’s the video.  And here’s what’s likely to be a very, very short story.

Emily slammed the cupboard door, listening to the satisfying rattle of glassware inside.

Catching movement from the corner of her eye, she turned and her heart momentarily leapt into her throat at the sight of the dark hooded figure looming in the doorway.

“The fire had come,” he intoned. “Not for the end of days. Not for the faithless ones.
Not for vision understood. Burns because it has to burn.”

“Seriously, Cody?! Just do your fucking chores like mom asked. I’m sick of picking up your slack.”

“I am a dark mage. Come to burn all.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Just vacuum the living room.”

He raised his extended arms in her direction. “I am a dark mage. Come to–“

“Fine. You’re a dark mage. A home schooled dark mage. Just fucking vacuum, already.

See? Short!

Be sure to check out the other bloggers’ stories by clicking their names.  KayleighKris, and Jess.

Flash Fiction: Angels of the Silences



This week’s flash fiction is inspired by one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands – Angels of the Silences by Counting Crows. Though, I must admit, I prefer the live version to the studio album version.

But, here are the lyrics and a link to the song.

Well I guess you left me with some feathers in my hand
Did it make it any easier to leave me where I stand?
I guess there might not be too many who would stand beside you now
Where’d you come from? Where am I going?
Why’d you leave me ’till I’m only good for…

Waiting for you
All my sins…
I said that I would pay for them if I could come back to you
All my innocence is wasted on the dead and dreaming

Every night these silhouettes appear above my head
Little angels of the silences that climb into my bed and whisper
Every time I fall asleep Every time I dream
“Did you come? Would you lie?
Why’d you leave us ’till we’re only good for…

Waiting for you”
All my sins…
I said that I would pay for them if I could come back to you
All my innocence is wasted on the dead and dreaming

I dream of Michelangelo when I’m lying in my bed
Little angels hang above my head and read me like an open book
Suck my blood, break my nerve offer me their arms
Well, I will not be an enemy of anything
I’ll only stand here

Waiting for you
All my sins…
I said that I would pay for them if I could come back to you
All my innocence is wasted on the dead and dreaming



And here’s the story:

“Zoe…?” I hated interrupting her. She always seemed so far away, these days. Even now, she didn’t answer. Just kept staring out into the distance. I wasn’t sure if it was because she hadn’t heard me or she was just choosing not to respond. It was hard to tell any more.

“We should get going.” I tried again. “It’s getting late.”

She finally turned her head to look at me. A slow, smooth turn like one of those creepy dolls that you see in low budget horror movies. It was appropriate, considering our location.

We were back at the old graveyard on the edge of town. Again. It was the same as the last time we’d been there—rundown and overgrown with miles of ancient grapevines strangling partially uprooted trees. The same, weathered headstones sat at the same angles, covered in the same weirdly crumbling moss. The busted down wrought iron fence was still broken in the same places, keeping out nothing but the occasional McDonald’s wrapper.

Everything was gray and bleak and miserable—like usual and I was sick to fucking death of the whole angst thing. But I’d promised mom I wouldn’t let her come out here alone. I wasn’t sure what mom was afraid Zoe would do.

“It’s starting to get dark,” I reminded her.

“Just a few more minutes? I think tonight will be the night he comes.”

I stifled a sigh. How did you break it to someone that not only weren’t ghosts real, but our dad hadn’t been interested in spending any time with us while he was alive, he sure as hell wouldn’t be coming back for visitation now that he was dead. Besides, if she really thought he was going to show up, why wasn’t she in the newer part of the cemetery across the dirt road? That was where he was buried.

Zoe turned away from me again, and I followed her line of vision toward the edge of the fence line. A mist, in typical, cliché form, rolled in from the lake, creeping past the bobbing heads of Queen Anne’s Lace that danced in the breeze.

“I’m going to pick some flowers for mom,” she announced, standing and handing me the fistful of feathers she’d picked up earlier from the ground.

“We’ve got that kind at home in the backyard. Let’s just pick them there.”

But she was already running toward the far side of the graveyard. The fog swirled around her feet, swelling violently into people sized shapes all around her.

Ice sluiced through my veins, and I ran after her. “Zoe!”

She whirled around and lifted her hand to wave. Dodging toppled and smashed headstones that stuck out of the ground like broken teeth, I raced toward her. As I got closer, the mist that had risen dropped to the ground as though it was made of molten steel instead of drifting droplets of water. And just as quickly, it vanished, as if it had been sucked from the yard.

The night was weirdly quiet, and Zoe was nowhere in sight.

“Zoe? Zoe, where are you? Zoe!” I ran to the fence and realized I was still clutching the feathers she’d shoved into my hand.


I’m excited to see what the others came up with for this song. Click their names and find out.