Dr. Sheldon

He smoked hand rolled clove cigarettes, finger tips stained yellow. The taste was bitter, thick and heavy. Producing the type of stink that clings to clothes, skin, hair, teeth. That smell, the one he carried with him, made him want to vomit. The record breaking projectile vomit shit that only happens in movies. But the smell held purpose. Mainly, the attraction of hippy-esque college girls. Young, stupid and inquisitive. The perfect combination for fireside foursomes. Also, clove covered up the sweet skunk of marijuana.

He wasn’t a professor. He held exemplary talent with technology. Programs, mostly. Corporate bullshit. He worked from home. He dabbled in forgeries. His doctrine – fake. His awards – fake. He displayed them in glass frames, simple onyx inlays. The frames he carried in a briefcase, quick to toss them on the walls whenever a ‘student’ came to call. Four years ago, he happened open this cozy office, vacant. Lousy location, in the old gymnasium wing, but he never complained.

The name on the certificate was Dr. Sheldon Holmstead, graduate of Yale, degree in philosophy. Those college girls especially loved that he was Ivy League (in print) and possessed the audacity to choose a basically extinct theory of thought. No one contemplated anymore.

There were no great wondering thinkers walking the streets, and if there were people typically avoided them. Crackpots proclaiming the end of the world. Hookers, too doped up to realize that their problems didn’t matter. Musicians who haven’t bathed for a month belting out original melodies with no paying fans. Radicals disguised as ‘liberals’ – wanting equality, equality, equality, an underlying hint at socialism.

The ‘students’ loved his take on life. His subjective persuasion to enlighten the soul. He memorized Whitman and Longfellow to show off. He quoted Milton to humble the audience. He ended with Lenin to inspire revolution. He smoked pot to The Beatles and handed out acid. Who knows what the girls thought, hell, who truly cared. They loved his theories, but most of all they loved the sex and drugs. If a problem arose, say angered parents; Dr. Sheldon displayed the signed document of release which safely protected the university in question. The document clearly stated that pharmaceutical additives were required to participate in the study. This same document, presented to the girls prior to entering the course, was described to them as a petition to incorporate mind enhancing narcotics to public mainstream. Being college students, many wishing to practice law or run for office one day, were eager to agree with the good doctor to avoid a littered past. Four years sailed by smoothly. No discoveries, no problem. Dr. Sheldon acquired a lunch pass, parking space, and gym membership. The only thing the university wasn’t giving him was a salary. None of the higher ups knew that he existed. The philosophy program held low status, yet was required by alumni funded desire to stay operational. He avoided the philosophy professor at all costs, and informed his ‘students’ of a threatening past with Dr. Grettenhauser, life long rivalry and hatred.


Picture c/o:  http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/11/22/article-2511786-1993A32B00000578-792_964x674.jpg

Flash Fiction Aspiring Writers

Flash Fiction   *   Aspiring Writers   *   150 words   *   9 March 2016

Image by Louise @The Storyteller’s Abode


Keep twenty-one paces behind him, Xander’s warning hissed in her mind while Celeste tenderly crept up the stone steps. She should not have come to the old world, should not be this close to such secrets. Ambition — that is what drove her, the desire to have her name on a cold brass plaque or clever sculpture. Now, success seemed trifle. The secrets in the lost text were lost for a reason. The secrets could be the undoing of civilization, a complete upheaval in understanding.

At seventeen paces, Celeste paused, watching the target descend the opposing set of steps – right where she needed him to be to activate the archaic trap. Four paces further. She ascended the staircase, found the mossy-gouge, and pulled the lever. Click.Clack.Click. Even upwind, not a soul heard him scream. Celeste smiled, sent a confirmation text, and took a selfie on the stairs. Ambition shined on.

Picture c/o Louise:  https://pricelessjoy.files.wordpress.com/2016/03/photo-20160308033919528.jpg

FF: No Batteries Required

No Batteries Required

100 words

“Load ’em up, Charlie,” me says to meself, “Townies dint figure to listen. We knew it’d come to Us.”

Stacks, piled high helps brace them walls of the shanty. Charlie, he quicker, he swipped ‘em off ole Mar-dee. Frem ‘er windowsill, nonetheless. Townies kent see the future like We can.

“All hooked up on ‘em talkers, en dem folks dint kin it…”

“Listen, man,” Charlie, he says to me, “I can’t keep coming here like this – entertaining your breakdown. Enabling this morbid nightmare. Those batteries I bring you are dead. There’s no computer revolution. No robots on the street.”

Picture c/o:  https://thebumblefiles.files.wordpress.com/2016/03/copyight-sean-fallon.jpg



Writing Prompt: Flex that Creativity

Future Self as Voyeur

Prompt:  In 100 words, capture what your future self would think of your current actions, or a reaction to this statement, “[Motivation is found] thinking that my future self is watching me through memories” (Evi, Pacifica Community Post).

Thank reason, I thought to myself while scrolling through my unorganized memory system, I finally released the intrusive urge for uniqueness of being. I knew the thought catalog would become fluid soon, now that reason is understood as natural and morality is released of dogmatic obligations. I smile and casually sip my coffee, as I remember how I relinquished authority from the supernatural. My younger-young self tragically shattered, she asked how a faery-creature could continue without wings…but the answer was simple – I had legs my own all along. What good are imagined wings when real feet carry one much further?

Picture c/o:  https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/b1/7a/13/b17a13affce61067ebf70ce224c1b89a.jpg Reminding us that Yes! it is okay to not believe. Thanks for a lovely image.


My MacBook, Archimedes, ate all my categories. And now it is self-selecting for this post. {gnashing of teeth} Trying to fix, hope it works.



The Towne: Mysterious Island

True, Rui resided at in the Towne a relatively short while, but he would like to believe that an uncharted island would not escape his attention. Despite Alice’s progress and continued advancement with genetic properties, surely she did not possess the power to create new territories en masse, to include monuments, an unknown homonid race, and ancient foliage. Yet these are the claims she made while leisurely enjoying a frozen yogurt.

“No, silly,” she said between licks, “They’ve always been there, of course. You just can’t see them for some reason – I think you refuse to acknowledge them actually. I think this is all a game you’ve offered me, and you think it is cute to pretend you don’t understand. Well, ha! I figured you out, so you can lay off.” She rolled over on her stomach, discarding the yogurt, as her clothes were gently removed by unseen hands. Rui caught his breath as he saw Alice tumble through the motions – a dainty foot extended while the sock was peeled off. She laughed and smiled, unaware that anything was odd of this undressing.

She did it all with her mind. Telekinetic movements beheld grace, yet Alice acted like nothing was amiss. She lay before Rui on the green grass, smiling and beckoning him to her. Rui’s mind recoiled, but his physicalities overpowered reason, and he melted into her embrace.

He dared on question first, to ease his inquisitive mind, “Is that where the others have gone? Is the island calling them?”

“But of course they are there,” Alice said between kisses, “wherever else would they go? If you had a map to paradise, don’t pretend you’d stay in the desert. This is why you must let me go. let me go even if you refuse to come!”

Writing Prompt: Huxlen’s Cry for Help

Becca feels complete at the ocean. The tides move her and speak to her inner creature. She attends the shores to feel at peace, and she always goes alone. She listens for revelation on the wind, drinking in the welcoming mist, and welcoming romantic notions in her mind. When the glass bottle taps her shin, she recoils in distaste. Becca despises the way people treat the ocean, partying on her shores and leaving trash to pollute her waters.

Becca picks up the bottle, intending to throw it on the sandbar, but notices a tightly coiled scroll shivering inside. She holds her breath and uncorks the bottle, delicately removing the scroll. Internally, Becca shakes; seized by anxious yearning. Thoughts of pirates, adventure, and passion fill her mind – how intriguing to discover a message in a bottle. The paper hisses out smoothly, and she tenderly unrolls it to reveal the words:

Help me…

Huxlen Banter SS Delusional Bliss

at Fuerte Ventura 28°20’46″N, 14°10’50″W

Ship coordinates to the Canary Islands. The mystery sends tingles all over her skin. Becca’s eyes turn frantic. Fear keeps her from following passionate whimsy. She turns from the ocean and runs off the beach, heading toward A1A and the promise of her car. The police will handle the cry for assistance, as much as Becca loves the ocean she cannot bring herself to board a ship.

Mondays Finish the Story

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

Finish the story begins with:  “The barista shook his head. That hedge couldn’t have moved closer overnight. Could it?”


Organic Insult

by A.D. Shaffer


“The barista shook his head. That hedge couldn’t have moved closer over night. Could it?”…


He rubs his eyes and takes a shot of espresso. Surely a lingering dream bothers him, hedges do not move. The new drink special is a challenge to memorize, but he quickly learns the odd organic concoctions. Adding flair with cinnamon and bottle tosses the barista draws in his breath as the almond-soy-tofu mixture slips to the tiled floor.

The shrubs are now outside of Starbucks’ door.

Horrible vines encircle the door handle. The shrubs are coming inside. Panic registers inside the barista; he copes with routine, making another special. The organic ingredients insult the shrubs, vines twist around him. His hands shake, spilling soy and fueling the work of the vines. The shrubs outside the Starbucks are tired of new wave organics, and the smug humans who consume them. This isn’t the only shrubbery aimed to attack; the plant domination is in progress. Starbucks is the first to fall.

150 Words

The Towne: Project Alice

Day One:

Reason deserted me! I’ve given Alice Campbell the cure so that she may remain in reality with me. Who knows how I will beg forgiveness, but I feel the decision should be followed to completion. Without the cure, Alice will succumb to the fate of my virus, lost to this dimension. I am ignorant to how long the process will take in a human being, but I’ve awaited this leap in genetics all my life. See, it’s not so much a virus as it’s more a genetic enhancer. The acceptable term is virus because that’s more comforting than anything that suggests genetic alteration; I’ll never understand politics. The intention of genetic enhancement is to adjust and add DNA to make the subject better overall. Specifically for this strain, Elysian, the goal is to send human subjects into the sixth dimension. The virus enhances the pineal gland as well as the intelligence level of the subject, and at a seemingly random moment the subject would blink out. Disappear.

The mice all disappeared. The primates, too. Vanished into thin air. Once up to chimps, I sent them with video cameras, tape recorders, cell phones, but nothing returned. I suggested in backward ways to the board that humans alone would be able to devise a way to communicate and return through genetic enhancement. I admit, it was pure theory. Wild, brass decision yet the board was all whispers. Contracts were drawn up out of nowhere, and I found myself settling in as a researcher for the local lab in the Towne.

Day Two:

Alice learned French today. Not a word but the whole language. I left her to read in the morning, and when I came home for lunch she didn’t realize she was speaking in French. Luckily, I speak French and easily adverted discovery.

Day Three:

Subject experiencing similar levels of heightened human abilities. Movements are faster, comprehension is immediate both in mechanical and linguistic challenges.  The cure should have aborted these actions. Instead, it seems her abilities are farther along than the other subjects.

The Towne: Rui arrives on the scene…

The lab transferred him to the Towne to collect variant research samples. The residents were kept in the dark. Rui knew the very air was tainted. Good thing for him that he was the one to create the virus and therefore developed a cure simultaneously. The virus would not kill the residents, at least he did not figure for demise, but it would expand their minds and pave the way for dimensional travel.

He was not expecting infatuation to hit him so hard, but never before had a woman thrown herself at him – he was in uncharted waters. He told himself there was no room for love in science, that the pleasure lifestyle was beneath him; but her crystal blue eyes sent primal messages he could not ignore. Rui gave Alice the cure the first night they were intimate; fed it to her like candy. He carried the guilt of distorting the test group. He feared the repercussions with the lab, the loss of scientific data, and the non-conclusive final outcome.

But most of all he feared the side effects arising in Alice.

Oddly enough, she did not appear to be conscious to the slight changes and alterations her very being underwent. Rui noted the developments in his private journal, constantly reminding himself to separate her responses from those of society – Project Alice. He deeply sighed, already grieving the end of a passionate love affair. Nobody could accept that they were unknowingly being subjected to experimental testing, let alone still care for the man who erased normal reality. Yes, Rui knew he would lose Alice. He simply could not refuse the ride.