Here is a list of all the authors flashing this week, along with a brief snippet from their latest free work. Click the link after the snippet to be taken to the complete story on the author’s home page
Cruising for my Valentine by Carol Pedroso
I looked at my reflection and tried to remind myself to breathe. A glance at the clock told me it was only five minutes later than when I’d last looked and I still had twenty minutes before I had to go and pick up Terry. I still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to go to his mother’s so I could pick him up to go on our date. He thought it was romantic, even though we’d been dating two years and living together for six months. I’d filled his other in on my plans
“There is a very old saying in human culture,” Lakshou said. “One step forward and two steps back.”
Aparoe tilted their head. “I haven’t heard that one.” They finished pulling out the supplements from their bag and putting them on the small table in my quarters. “It is apt, though. Mentally and physically.”
I’d been avoiding leaving my room for more than my shifts, and nothing tasted right. It was all too sweet, too spicy, too… textured. I scurried away from people. Priella had gone back to more of her old self, not too chatty, so that was okay. Work
The Sheriff #50 (12.2) by Julie Lynn Hayes
Roy was prepared to carry through with his threat, if necessary, in order to protect Dustin and Denver—his lover and his friend. But luckily it didn’t come to that. When push came to shove, the thin man proved himself to be all bark and no bite as he hastily threw his gun onto the floor with a clatter and raised his hands high, in the universal symbol of surrender.
“Now you,” Roy said to his accomplice as he drew closer to the pair.
The heavier man whimpered, “I don’t have a gun. I swear it. I’m only supposed to carry the merchandise. That’s all. Ask Rusty if you don’t believe me.”
“Shuddup, Lenny, you dope,” Rusty snarled.
It felt like a search light burned into his vision in the pitch darkness, and he burrowed into the bedding and pillows covering his bed in the tiny apartment he occupied over the grocery-cafe-gas station which he owned. Once he adjusted to the brightness, he knew full well it leaked from the diner kitchen where Miss Dorthy created the homemade biscuits she came to town six days a week to make for him.
It was a good thing she did too, because no one would pay to eat what he cooked, but they would drive across the county for an order of Miss Dorthy’s biscuits and sausage gravy.