Author’s note:

I have a million valid excuses for this being so late, but you don’t want to hear them. I’ll just say I’m terribly sorry.

For those of you who haven’t read any of the Journey Of St. Laurent before: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1:  Down By The Bay. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

Chapter 30 – Not Much of a Plan

The gear had all been tossed into a bin underneath the back bench. We fished out the radio and flipped it on.

I didn’t think it was time for Alan’s show yet, and I had no idea what station he’d be on out here anyway so I just crawled the AM, FM, and shortwave bands on the little emergency radio my dad had given me.

After two trips through the AM, FM, and shortwave dials I found something promising. And by promising I mean "likely to point me in the right direction," not promising as in "destined to become one of my favorite shows."

Anyway, the host said something about the only way to stop the aliens is to follow Alan Jex’s lead right now. He then shamed the president for being such a weakling, made some rude remarks about the president’s mother, berated the police and military for following orders and imposing martial law in the bigger cities, then went to a commercial break.

London winked at me. "Well, that guy’s a lot of fun. Tell me what you find out, I’m going to shower."

After a spot for a gold buying company and one for a dehydrated food packet seller, the host tiraded back onto the air. It took a full twenty minutes before he got to the part I wanted to hear.

"Now is your chance to stand up with Alan Jex, that great American, against these sons of bitches aliens. He has issued a call to arms, and the first rally point is a tiny town called Linden, Tennessee. If you don’t do your best to get there, and soon, then you might as well just go to Virginia and piss on the graves of the founding fathers, because…"

Linden, Tennessee? I clicked off the radio. I’ve never even heard of Linden, Tennessee.

I sat back and stared out the window.

Trees and signs and the occasional cars whizzed by. The RV bounced, shook, and rattled its way down the road.

Was finding Jex and his sure-to-be-motley army the right thing to do? I couldn’t be sure. I did know that going into hiding was the wrong thing. The government had apparently made it clear they weren’t going to do anything to stop the aliens.

Jex’s group was sure to be outclassed in every way by the green men, but they were sure to be survivalists and militiamen who would fight down to the last man.

And I had possession of the thing that could equalize the playing field. It sat in a very messy cooler taken from a burning car.

A man made virus. One that spreads itself by taking control killing the host’s brain and seizing control of its body. The virus controlled body would then go to any length to bite other living beings. The virus controlled body didn’t feel pain and didn’t rest. It was a relentless virus propagation machine. And Major Glover had assured me it works just as well on the aliens as on humans.

The problem is: once you have a weapon of such magnitude, do you use it?

What if the virus got out in the open? It could destroy human life on this continent, just like it wiped out pretty much everybody back in Oasis. Would I be willing to risk that?

A nagging voice in my head said that doing nothing would be the greater risk.

And there was the cure. Or maybe you could call it a sort of vaccination. A bacteria anyway, engineered to envelop and digest the virus. I had been injected by the bacteria back in Oasis before being infected and it had saved my life.

The problem with this bacterial cure is that I had no idea where any of it was, or what had happened to it. All of it had been left with the military.

I wondered how long the bacteria would survive inside my body.

My mind jumped around between these and about a dozen other points.

I must have drifted off again, because the next thing I knew the sun was much higher, I was drooling with my head on the backrest of the bench, and London was mussing up my hair.

"Wake up sleepyhead."

"Where are we?" At least, that’s I thought I said. It may have come out more in mumbles.

London plopped down next to me. "What?"

I sat up straight, rubbed my eyes, and tried again. "Where are we?"

"Almost to lunch. There’s a campground just off the freeway up ahead. Dad thinks we can fill up the RV’s water tanks and stuff."

London was wearing a torn up loose fitting pair of jeans and a black Styx t-shirt that looked like it might have been purchased on their very first tour.

"What are you staring at?"

I shook my head and looked around. "Nothing. Don’t you get the stares after waking up?"

"Whatever, so what did the crazy guy on the radio say?"

"Oh, apparently Alan Jex is rounding up anybody he can get in some dinky town I’ve never heard of. Does your dad have a road atlas?"

"So you are going to try to meet up?" London bit her lip and I could tell she we making an effort to keep her voice down.

"Is everybody there going to be nuts like the guy you were listening to? And wasn’t Alan Jex the jerk that drove you off his radio show?"

"Yeah, he is-"

"So what are you going to do when you get there? Explain to me why it’s a good idea for you to go."

"Well, I told you about the cooler."

She folded her arms. "And are they going to know how to use it safely?"

"Probably no- I mean, I’m not really sure."

"So if you’re not even sure it’s going to help, why are you going?"

"I’m not really sure where else to go."

She filled her lungs, widened her eyes and shrugged. "Stay with us."

I looked up at the cabin, but I couldn’t see her dad. Just her stepmother in the passenger’s seat nursing a bottle of beer.

She looked back at me, belched, and waved.

I faced London again.

"I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m going to fit in with your Dad and your stepmom."

"And you are going to fit in with a pack of loner survivalist weirdos. Corbin, They’re a bunch of lunatics."

"Okay, so that’s true, but still-"

"But still, what? You’d rather just be one of the first to go if the aliens attack again? I don’t see a reason why they wouldn’t."

"I know things have gone off the deep end, but if they do keep going like this, it’s not going to be safe anywhere for long. And if I can do something to help, then-"

"Help? What are you going to help to do? Call down fire from a UFO like the last time you spoke with Alan?"

Ouch. That was below the belt. I gave myself a minute to respond.

"London, I don’t have a home to go home to anymore. I don’t have a job anymore. Pretty much everything I own has been stolen or destroyed. The only thing I really have right now is a way to hurt the aliens, and hurt them bad. That’s it. I don’t have anything else. What else-"

"You could have me." A tear welled up and trickled down London’s face.

I didn’t have a response. Oh, great. What is she getting at? I was pretty sure she was just trying to play my emotions for the win. Knowing didn’t matter. It still took the fight out of most of my arguments. Even the good ones. "Really?"

London scrunched up her lips, turned her head, and shrugged.

I reached over and put my hand on hers. I had to play it carefully. If I was right and she was faking, I didn’t want to give her any more ammo to use against me by being too mushy. If I was wrong, though, and she really was opening her self up like that, well, if I wasn’t gentle she’d probably just throw me from the moving RV.

"London, of course I’d rather be with you. That isn’t even a question. It isn’t a matter of what I’d prefer to do. It’s a matter of doing what I believe is my duty."

She pulled out her hand from under mine, spun, and slugged me in the arm. "Jackass. You really are that stubborn, aren’t you."

"Pretty much."

London looked up front and lowered her voice again. "Well, I can’t come with you. It’s too dangerous. Besides, Turleen’s already getting sloshed up there. Who knows where she even got the booze? Somebody has to trade off driving with my dad eventually."

"I wouldn’t ask you to come and-"

"And why not? You don’t think I can be useful? I’ve already saved your butt-"

"No, that has nothing to do with- It’ because you’re with your- oh, forget it. Let’s just skip to the end and say you deserve to win the discussion, but I’m just too thick headed to see reason."

She folded her arms again and bunched up her mouth. "Fine."

We just stared at each other for a bit, unsure of what to do next.

She broke first. "I’ll see if dad’s got a road atlas."

When we stopped to have our lunch of water and junk food snacks, I went over the map with Dan. He seemed relieved that he’d be dropping me off, rather than taking me for a longer time.

He’d drop me somewhere outside of Birmingham, which was as far out of his way as he was willing to go. I’d have to make my way North from there. If we pushed it, we’d be there by nightfall, and he’d stop to let everyone sleep before we parted ways.

And that’s exactly what we did. We found a rural gas station on the way that wouldn’t sell us any food, but they would sell us gas at reasonable ripoff prices. The further along we got, the more cars we started seeing. Sure enough, by the time the sun set, a sign read "Birmingham 20 Miles."

We pulled over at the next rest stop to make camp. Across the freeway, we could see a full parking lot of people who were headed away from the city.

Once again, I got the floor as my bed. At least London gave me some rinsed out and dried clothes to use as a pillow this time.

Morning came too quickly, and like the day before, the old cowboy was up long before everybody else getting things ready.

I woke up, shaved with a borrowed razor, and brushed my teeth with my finger. Then I gathered up everything I was going to take with me, which included most of the money I had left, the cooler and a little bottle of water that London’s father gave me. I was going to be hitchhiking, and so I needed to be traveling light. I didn’t want to look like a scary vagrant. In that same vein, I couldn’t very well take the rifle with me. Who in their right mind would pick up a man that had a gun strapped to his back?

As soon as I had my things together, it was time to go. London was the only one to step outside and say goodbye.

We’d been through a lot in just a couple of days, and it felt like I was saying goodbye to a lifelong friend. I didn’t know what to say, so I just apologized for the hard things I dragged her into and said thanks for saving my life.

She looked for a moment like she would say something, but stopped. Instead, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me full on the mouth.

Without another words and before I knew it, she was back inside and the rusty old RV was rattling down the road.

You get used to having people around. After a couple days of constant companionship, I was back to being alone. I didn’t like the thought.

It didn’t really matter that I didn’t like it. I had been through it in my head a hundred times by now. I had a job to do.

And so I walked alone by the freeway with a heavy heart and meager supplies. I wondered how long it was going to take me to get there.

Anyway, I became distracted last week by some ideas for a couple of stories that have been bouncing around in my head. I had to write them down rather than work on Journey, so sorry about the lack of chapter. I should be good to go for Friday, though.

Ok, It looks like I’ve got enough stuff to fill the magazine. If you didn’t get in your submission, email me with a terrific sob story and I’ll think about adding your stuff, but no promises.

I’ll continue to post updates as to the progress and release date.

Author’s note:

Hey, new theme today. I built it from scratch following (mostly) this tutorial and using the blueprint css framework. What do you think?

Thanks as always to those who leave comments. You guys are the best.

Work is moving right along on Micro Flash Fiction. I’ve designed the cover and started laying out the interior. It’s a ton more work than I thought, but just wait till you see the finished product. I think I’ve probably got enough 140 character submissions (unless you want to submit a couple of your classics, Al Bruno III), but there may be room to squeeze in a couple more of the other types.

For those of you who haven’t read any of the Journey Of St. Laurent before: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1:  Down By The Bay. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

Chapter 29 – Meet the Parents

I woke up on the hard, crusty, narrow floor of the RV. Wow, I must have been hammered last night. I don’t even remember getting in the RV.

I opened my eyes and sat up.

It wasn’t really messy, but there was greasy dirt in most of the corners and everything hinted of mildew. London was asleep on a bench to my left, and Michael was laying with a woman I figured was his mom on the pop out bed to my right.

Leaning up against the wall to the bathroom was the grizzled old cowboy I had seen last night. He was still wearing the red and black checkered shirt. The lines in his face looked even deeper than they had before. His hair was gray with little flecks of red that appeared to be hanging on for dear life. He tightened his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and looked me over.

I yawned and tried to make it as friendly and quiet of a yawn as possible. After all, you never get a second chance at a first impression.

He nodded and pointed a thumb at the door. “Outside.”

I creaked to my feet and followed him out the skinny door and down the rusty step ladder.

We had definitely driven for a while, as the terrain was much different from what I remembered about the night before. Of course, all I could see around me was freeway and trees, so I couldn’t be too sure.

As to the RV, it looked far worse in the daytime than it had when it pulled up at night. It was rusty, dusty, and worn. Nothing looked like it was put together tightly. Patches of sheet metal had been stuck on the rougher spots. A car top carrier was lashed to the roof and a dirt bike was tied to the back.

I didn’t have much time to admire the beast, though.

London’s cowboy dad grabbed my shoulder, spun me around, and clutched my shirt with both hands. His breath smelled like old cigarettes.

“I’m going to give you one chance to tell me what the hell you’ve been doing with my kids. Michael’s been crying on his mom half the night, London mumbled something about shooting someone before she passed out, you were carrying a rifle and who knows what other weird crap. You somehow lost your Jeep after I talked to London- I just want to know what to think.”

He gave me a shove and I stumbled back a few steps.

I held my hands up, frowned, and took a deep breath. “That’s fine. You deserve some answers and-”

“Damn straight I do.”

“All right, here’s how it happened. One of those UFOs buzzed the freeway back outside of San Antonio and London got in a wreck. It ruined her car for driving and one of the other guys involved freaked out and was getting violent, so I gave her and Michael a ride. That’s how we ended up together.”

“Boy, that don’t even begin to explain everything.”

I stretched and scratched my head. The rest was pretty unbelievable, I knew. How could I possibly tell what happened in a way that wouldn’t make me sound insane? He was looking pretty upset, so I decided to give just the barest bones version I could.

“Basically, what happened is this.” I took another deep breath and pursed my lips. “My Jeep got hit by one of the UFOs.”

The cowboy raised one bushy eyebrow. “I still ain’t heard the part where London shot somebody.”

I shook my head and closed my eyes. No need to tell him that this is going to sound crazy. “Well, we knew the UFO was going to hit us, so London and Michael jumped out where it was safe, and I led it away a bit. I barely managed to get away from the blast in time. The UFO landed and an, well, an alien got out. He saw me and was going to shoot me, but London shot him instead.”

The cowboy rolled his eyes and turned back toward the RV. “Good luck on the road, boy.”

I just stared after him. Don’t know how I expected him to react.

He put one foot on the little step ladder and looked over his shoulder. “What are your intentions with my little girl now, anyway?”

I hadn’t really thought about it. Things had been too crazy. But now that he mentions it, she is really cute, great body, red hair which is always a bonus…

The door to the RV flew open and smacked the cowboy in the arm.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“London, this isn’t your business.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You get in here a minute.”

He dropped his shoulders just a little and climbed the steps.

A heartbeat later, London’s head popped out of the door. “Wait right there, this won’t take but a second.”

The door clanged shut.

I paced back and forth in the roadside dirt.

Within a minute or two, there was a whole lot of yelling inside. I couldn’t tell exactly what was being said, but without a doubt London was going to bat for me.

The screaming continued for a good long while, and I wasn’t too sure that things were going my way.

A second female voice joined in, but only for a moment.

I was just about to give up, find my cooler, and start hitchhiking when the rusty door creaked open.

The cowboy came out first. His fists were clenched and he gave me a look like weathered steel. Close behind him was London with her arms folded. Muddy tear trails marked her face.

He walked up to me and looked me in the eye.

I met his gaze and didn’t back away.

He glanced back at London and nodded.

I swear I could hear his leathery right hand unclench before he extended it to me. “I’m Dan.”

I took his hand. “Corbin.”

“Come on, then. Let’s get back on the road.”

I got the feeling that this was probably the closest he had ever come to apologizing to someone who wasn’t his daughter or his wife.

He entered the RV first and I took the opportunity to ask London the question of the hour.

“How did you convince him?”

“It wasn’t going so well.” She shrugged. “I may have lied to move things along.”

“So what did you tell him.”

She blushed and looked over my shoulder. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, really.”

She smiled and pointed at the door. “Just get in there.”

I got inside, and pulled up the little step ladder.

Dan got the pop out section pulled back in and made everything else ready to go.

With five minutes we were back on the road.

I sat on the bench next to London. “What happened to your, uh-”

“You mean Turleen?” She nodded. “Bathroom, doing her morning ritual.”

London rested a hand on mine.

I stared out the window.

Twenty minutes later, London’s step mom came out of the bathroom, apparently finally ready for the day. Her hair was big. I know of no other way to describe it. She had lathered bright blue makeup above her eyes. She wore a grayish tank top that might as well had the caption “born and raised in a trailer park.” The tank top barely contained the bulging work of an over-excited yet not-so-highly-skilled plastic surgeon.

As to her age, she appeared to be somewhere close to halfway between London and her father. In other words, not old enough to be her mom, but too old to be her sister.

“Hi, I’m Corbin.” I extended my hand.

She looked me up and down. “Well if London didn’t bring herself home a regular catch.”

She scowled, smirked, then went up and plopped herself in the passenger’s seat next to Dan, who reached over and fiddled with her knee.

I wasn’t exactly sure what to think about all that.

London leaned over. “Don’t worry, she’s not always that well behaved.”

It occurred to me that I still didn’t know where I was supposed to be headed.

“Hey, London, what happened to that radio?”

It mentions a few directories where you can submit submit links to fiction you’ve posted on the web.

Anyway, if you’re looking for a little more exposure to your work, check these out.

1. WebFictionGuide – First sign up for an account, then sign in, then go to the submissions page.
2. Muse’s Success – First sign up for an account, then visit the contribute page.
3. Web Fiction Directory – Register here, then login, then submit madly away by going to the category page for your submission and clicking “Add your listing here”. This one has categories for flash fiction, short stories, novelettes, and novels.

Also, I’m still in need of at least a couple more 140 word stories for Micro Flash Fiction. And I suppose a couple more 1140 worders wouldn’t be too bad. And I still have room for some 140 character ones, too.

Author’s notes:

Ok, I’ve start laying out some things for Micro Flash Fiction. I could use some more 140 word entries though (actually any entries would be great.), if you’re inclined. Thanks to everybody that’s submitted something so far.

As usual, I’ve appreciated everybody’s comments from the last chapter and from the flash fiction piece I posted. You folks keep me going.

For those of you who haven’t read any of the Journey Of St. Laurent before: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1:  Down By The Bay. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

Also, I’m getting the itch to whip up a new theme for the blog. I guess you’ll find out soon enough how that goes.

Chapter 28 – Time to Die

The green skinned bastard from space opened its thin lips and spoke in a language I didn’t understand.

I clenched my jaw and gave the alien the most loathing stare I could muster. I scowled with such hateful focus that I half expected heat rays to shoot out of my eyes and fry the smug look right off its face.

The extraterrestrial murderer wrapped up whatever it was yammering about. I didn’t understand a single word of it, but from the look on its face and the tone of its voice, I was pretty sure the speech went something like, “I am going to kill you, you pathetic weakling. And then my friends and I are going to kill every member of your puny, cretinous race. And there’s nothing you and your stupid, fragile kind can do to stop us.”

Every piece of me just wanted to tear the alien apart.

It made that strained laugh sound again and then I can’t be sure, but I could have sworn it said, “Good bye.”

I pushed back onto my hands and knees, all the while glaring at the alien.

It raised it’s mitten gun thing a bit higher.

I braced for the impact and hoped it would kill me quick. _The longer I have to deal with my failure the better._

The alien narrowed its huge eyes and twisted violently to the right a quarter turn.

The jerky motion was chased by a crack of thunder.

_No, not thunder._

The alien let out a high-pitched wail and grabbed at its right shoulder. Its eyes widened.

I turned to see what the alien was looking at.

A light flashed. Quickly on its heels was another thundering rifle report. I couldn’t see much, but I could tell the shooter was lying down and had red hair.

The alien’s wailing cut short. It stumbled back a couple of steps, then turned and staggered for the UFO.

_I’m not letting you go._

I brought a knee up under my chest. The craft wasn’t far, but I could catch the alien if I got a move on.

I hadn’t even stood up completely when the side of the alien’s neck exploded in a spray of purplish red blood and alien parts. Before the alien could fall to the ground, a second hole ripped open in the side of its green head.

The alien collapsed like a sack of potatoes. A very messy sack of potatoes.

I shuffled over to the alien corpse.

It was definitely dead, but blood was still flowing from the head and neck wounds in little spurts. It didn’t look like the shot to the chest or the shoulder had penetrated the black jumpsuit.

_Weird._

For I heartbeat, I was a little hesitant to move the corpse around. I half expected it to spontaneously heal, jump up, and grab me by the throat. On top of that I didn’t know if it had buddies inside the ship.

A few seconds later no new aliens poured from the UFO door, nor did the ship take off. _It must have been alone. That’s weird, too._

With the alien dead at my feet, I considered desecrating it’s body. Maybe kick it around a little. Or maybe a lot.

The spurting had stopped and the blood was quickly drying on the hot sand glass.

I nudged it with my foot. _Sure enough, the first two shots didn’t penetrate._

A female voice boomed behind me. “That’s right, Bitch!”

My heart skipped a beat. In the sheer weirdness of the moment, I had forgotten the shooter.

London’s breathing was labored, like she’d been running. “Didn’t see that coming, did ya?”

“I can honestly say I don’t think that thing or I expected you to swoop in to my rescue.”

“So what do we do now? Kick it around a little?” She looked down at the dead extraterrestrial.

“You know, that was my first thought too?”

London was pretty had a pretty light complexion anyway, but the gory sight made her go even more pale. She turned away and looked back toward the freeway. “Shouldn’t we at least take some of its stuff?”

“Do you know how to use it?”

She shook a little and did not turn back to the body.”No. Can they track it?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“Then let’s just get back to the freeway before more of them show up.”

Despite the mess, she was taking the whole episode really well. After all, when she shot that thug called D she checked out mentally a while. This time she was visibly shaken, especially after seeing the kill, but she was putting up a brave face and pushing on.

I was amazed at how well she was stepping up to do what needed to be done. Plus, I was kind of grateful she had pulled my fat from the fire again.

We walked about half way back before all the emotion and adrenaline caught up to her. She doubled over and vomited.

I slipped the gun from where it was slung on her shoulder and laid my free hand on her back.

She heaved quite a bit but not much other than stomach juices came up.

“Its alright, London. You’re doing fine. That was just the adrenaline and excitement talking.”

I noticed her hands shaking as she straightened back up.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm. “So gross.”

“You know that’s the second time you’ve shot someone before they could shoot me.”

“Yeah, but it was a lot easier this time.”

“And remind me again where you learned to shoot like that?”

“I don’t think I ever told you the first time.”

“Still-”

She shrugged. “Before the divorce, my Dad owned a ranch. I was raised shooting varmints.”

I gave her a smirk. “And did you always do it while lying with your face in the dirt?”

She was still shaking, but she seemed to be getting control. “It’s called shooting prone. And it’s actually the easiest way to shoot accurately. I didn’t want to chance hitting you, but maybe you would have liked to try out your bullet catching skills.”

“Well, I suppose thanks are in order then. For not shooting me.”

“You know. Anytime.”

We found Michael staring at the horizon and sitting on the edge of the blacktop.

He did not look well. His eyes had dark circles under them and tear stains marred his cheeks.

I couldn’t say that I blamed him. This was a lot for a kid to take in. Plus, we weren’t exactly prepared with food and drink. We were dehydrated, dirty, sunburned, and flat out exhausted.

Still, we were supposed to meet with their father a ways down the road, and we didn’t want to stick around to see if the aliens came back.

London gave Michael the most encouraging speech she could dredge up and we took to the road.

We walked next to the oncoming traffic side so that we wouldn’t be missed by London’s father if he came looking.

I don’t know how long or far we walked. At some point I picked up Michael and let him ride piggy-back. The sun finally gave up and set. The air cooled significantly. It felt good to be out of the heat.

A few cars and trucks passed by, but all of them sped up and flew by when they saw us.

London and I talked and joked as best we could, hoping to keep our own spirits up and to keep Michael from giving up entirely.

Up ahead, we heard the bouncing of a heavy vehicle.

London elbowed me, which was all she could manage, as she was carrying what was left of our stuff. “You know, yesterday already seems like another lifetime.”

The bouncing noise came closer became bouncing and squeaking and headlights. Well, headlight actually. And that one headlight was pretty dim.

As soon as it saw us, it screeched and skidded to a stop. It was dark and I could not see the whole vehicle. Still, from what I could see, it had to be the most hideous RV on the planet.

Michael screamed “Daddy!” and wriggled down.

The door popped open and a grizzled old cowboy with a thick mustache, a big hat, and a checkered shirt jumped out.

Michael ran over and the cowboy scooped him up.

“Another lifetime.” I let out a sigh. “And I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.”

If you don’t know what this is about, see this post.

I do not have enough stuff to fill a magazine yet, so I’m going to leave the submissions open for another week. If I still don’t get enough bites, then I’ll come up with a different project to meet my goals.

Anyway, if you are at all interested in helping me out, check out the above link.

Author’s note:

Here’s just a little diversion. This could be the opening scene to a novel I’d like to write someday. You don’t get to meet the main protagonist, or even the antagonist, but it should leave you wanting to read more. I hope.

If you missed it, I posted a Journey of St. Laurent chapter earlier this week. Check it out.

Also, you those of you who like to write, I’m playing with a POD magazine platform, and so I’m putting together a silly little literary magazine. I’m paying for stories, too. (Albeit not a lot.)

Oh, and is it #FlashFriday or is it #FridayFlash?

Dwayne only had about an hour left in the year. He wasn’t going to reach his goal. His New Year’s resolution was a bust. Granted, it had been a pretty lofty goal – to change the nation for the better. The charitable foundation had collapsed within months, and his run for office was a dismal failure. The silver lining was that before sunrise he would get his chance to make a difference.

He pulled on the black gloves and wondered if he’d be able to go through with it.

He shook his head. Of course he’d be able to go through with it. It’s not like he even had a choice anymore. The decision was made weeks ago.

Could he even back out? He shook his head again. No, of course not. It’s too late.

Besides, the rest of the jury would never let him get away with that kind of cowardice.

He threw the rope, duct tape, and heavy duty zip strips in the little pack on top of the note he was to leave behind. The revolver he shoved in the front of his pants.

He fiddled with the remote and ordered the longest pay per view movie on the list. It wasn’t much, but it was some sort of an alibi.

If having affairs were the senator’s only crimes, Dwayne wouldn’t be staying up so late tonight. Infidelity couldn’t be excused, but it didn’t need to be punished like this. And Senator Jeremy Lither wasn’t just a philandering cheat, he was a traitor to his country, plain and simple.

Even with that knowledge, Dwayne’s hand trembled on the door knob. He had never murdered anyone before.

But is it even murder if you kill a traitor? It’s merely dispensing justice were the system has failed. Anyone with half a brain can see he’s guilty of treason.

Still, it was a tough thing to do.

The other jurors had all acted like it was some great honor to be the first to carry out a sentence.

Dwayne knew the truth; it is always hardest to go first.

The others would be relying on this one to go smoothly. It would give them confidence to keep up the fight.

Dwayne hated the thought of letting them and his country down when the stakes were so high.

On his way to the truck, he reviewed the plan.

The senator’s wife was a party lightweight. She would leave shortly after midnight, head up to their room, and take her sleeping pill. The senator would leave the hotel probably an hour after that. He’d go to the seedy motel where he had prepaid for a room in cash that morning.

In the motel room he’d meet with his latest hard bodied intern.

Dwayne would wait outside until the senator was done. It wouldn’t be too long. The three other times he had followed the senator during one of these encounters, the whole thing had lasted less than forty five minutes.

Once the senator came out of the room, Dwayne would do what he needed to do.

Even though the truck was cold, Dwayne noticed that he was sweating up a storm. He was a lot more nervous than he had expected to be.

The whole ride he had to tell himself "I am not a murderer. I’m a patriot. I’m a soldier, not a hit man. A patriot soldier that’s not afraid to do what’s necessary for his country."

The senator’s crimes were legion. He had authored four laws which whittled away at the freedom of speech. He had worked very hard trying to phase out private ownership of firearms. He had abused military and police connections in efforts to squelch his political adversaries. The list went on and on. Both American soldiers and American citizens were now dead due directly to Senator Lither’s actions. He had abused his power again and again, each time with the apparent goal of weakening the nation. He was a power hungry traitor steeped in corruption. One that the legal system would never touch.

It was time for a great change in Washington. Time for the government to respect the people again. That was why Dwayne had to follow through. There had to be justice. Senator Jeremy Lither had to be held accountable for his actions.

Reviewing the Senator’s traitorous acts gave Dwayne the strength he needed.

At last he reached the seedy motel where fourteen hours earlier the Senator had rented a room.

Normally, night hides the dirt and the debris and generally helps a motel look a little better. Not this place. Night just made it ooze even more. Very little of the big neon sign actually worked. Most of if was off or flickering at odd intervals. Many of the walkway lights were out. The dim shadows made the dirt and dust on the walls look like grease and tar.

Sure enough, the intern arrived first. It wasn’t quite one o’clock yet. The senator arrived about half an hour later.

Everything was going perfectly according to schedule.

It must be sign.

As soon as the senator’s door closed, Dwayne grabbed the little bag with the supplies and set everything up.

Once that was done, he crouched in the shadows behind the overflowing garbage can that sat underneath the window to the senator’s room.

Dwayne could hear every dirty thing that was going on inside. Fortunately, the senator was not exactly a great lover, and he’d be done and cleaning up in no time.

At length, the door squeaked open and the senator stepped into the night.

It’s finally time. No weakness.

As soon as the door clanged closed, Dwayne jumped up and pulled out the revolver.

"Senator, you are guilty of treason."

The senator spun around. "Who do you think-" His eyes went wide.

"Just make this easy on yourself and come with me."

Yes, last year Dwayne had failed at his New Year’s resolution. This year, however, he would start the revolution.

If you’ve been around for a while, you probably know that I love the idea of self-publishing. Well, I recently came across a magazine POD printer. I’m itching to try it out, but I’d like to do a fun, worthwhile project . Micro Flash Fiction magazine is what I came up with. I’d like your help.

Micro Flash Fiction

Micro Flash Fiction is a one time experimental magazine containing very short stories. It will be visually appealing, amusing to read and be perfect for short bathroom stays or display on a coffee table.

What I want

I want one-time non-exclusive print publication rights to some very short fiction that you’ve written. You keep the copyright. I’m looking for 3 categories of stories: 140 Character (a tweet length), 140 word, and 1,140 word fiction.

What I don’t want

• Anything you don’t actually have all the rights to. No funky fan flash fiction, por favor.
• “R” rated stories.
• Non-fiction.
• Things that would be illegal for me to print.

What I’ll Pay

$1 per 140 character story – I’m looking for 16 of these. Don’t think it’s possible to write one that short? Check out this post or search twitter for #5secfic for examples.

$1.50 per 140 Word story – I’m looking for 6 of these

$3 for a 1,140 word story  – I’m looking for 2 of these.

Along with your story, I’ll print your name and website url.

If you’d prefer exposure over cash, I’d consider putting in a full-page ad for something you’ve written or your website or something. You’d have to provide whatever images and such you’d like to use. And I probably won’t trade a whole page for a single 140 word story.

I know it’s not much, but I’m just doing an experiment, and it’s coming out of my pocket. And then you can tell all your friends that you’ve been paid to write. Sorry, I’m not going to be able to afford to send out an author’s copy for this. I’ll be happy to send any interested contributor a copy of the pdf I’ll use for printing, though.

How to submit

I’ll be accepting submissions through email. Put your name, pen name (if applicable), your website url (if you’ve got one) and your paypal email at the top of the email. Then go ahead and attach your entries.

You can put your stories in the body of the email or attached as a .txt document.

Feel free to submit as many stories as you like in your email, as long as you’re reasonable. (I don’t want to read through your notebook of 150 flash fictions.)

Send your submissions to editor@storyhack.com

Deadline

Submissions will be open until at least Feb 2, 2010 (extended to at least Feb 9, 2010 until I cut them off). Submissions are now closed. Thanks to everybody who submitted. Watch the blog for details.