I’m Jordan Brunelle, a fiction writer from Nashville, TN. And this is my blog.
The goal of Fiction Flashes is to produce one short story every week. The focus is upon stories containing elements of fantasy, science fiction, dark fiction, or satire.
The word count: 500-1,000 words.
A majority of these stories will be written by me — however, we’ll feature guest posts regularly. Stories written by friends and strangers and strangers who could someday become friends and even enemies (they write stories too!) So if you’re interested in submitting a story, whether you’re a friend or a stranger, please email me with the story attached: firstname.lastname@example.org.
Thanks for stopping by.
via About | Weekly Flash Fiction.
Sweet & Sour Meatloaf
by Jordan Brunelle (989 words)
I yelled at them to stop, but they wouldn’t. They didn’t.
And Mom wonders why I won’t eat. She wonders why I sit at the kitchen table, next to my older brother, and I just stare at the meatloaf on the plate in front of me—that assortment of unrecognizable meats and meat-like things, topped with a red-black sauce, mixed together in a chaotic mess of edible mush. She asks why I won’t, just please, for her, eat it. It’s my favorite, she reminds me. Be a good son.
They’re so much stronger than I am, my brother Billy and his friends, and they had little trouble lifting me off the ground and carrying me over their shoulders like a potato sack. Billy’s in 8th grade, three grades ahead of me, and so are Johnny Frankfort and Allen Hicks, his best friends.
“Please, please, please,” I squealed, when I realized where they were taking me. “Please, just put me down.” I knew, when they started towards the woods to the left of the old farmhouse my family lives in, that my life would be changing soon. The patch of woods is thick with brush, difficult to pass through, and it only leads to one place. The Pond.
But that was last week. Now, we’re in the kitchen. My father is sitting in his place at the head of the table. He eats the meatloaf my mother made, in huge, heaping forkfuls, without looking up, and my brother does the same. He’s always taking after my father, his mannerisms, the way he mumbles his words and draws out his vowels and refuses to smile for pictures. I suppose it’s because they spend so much time together, getting up at 4 am every morning to milk the cows.
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by Jordan Brunelle (940 words)
I remember when Wuff first appeared in my living room. I’d just finished breaking up with my girlfriend of six years and was far from desiring any confrontation with a stranger. Especially a stranger like Wuff.
I walked in to find him sitting on my couch in the nude. It was dark, but by the glow of the television I could see that he had the remote tucked tightly between his thighs, one leg crossed over the other. The next thing I noticed was the incredibly unnatural (or completely natural, depending on how you look at things) amount of black, wiry hair that blanketed his entire body.
“Wuff,” he said.
“What is your—”
“I said I’m Wuff.”
I walked closer, growing more agitated with my intruder, and said, “Okay, Wuff. What are you doing in my house? How’d you even get in here?”
Wuff rolled his eyes and shrugged sarcastically. “Oh, I don’t know, Jake. Maybe you invited me in.” He sighed heavily and pulled the remote out from his crotch before changing the channel.
“You’re getting hair on my couch,” I told him.
Wuff jumped to his feet.
“Don’t have me if you don’t like me for who I am, Jake. You’re the one who let me in, for God’s sake.”
And at that, I suddenly knew. I questioned how it had taken so long for me to realize who this black-haired, bearded, naked man was. He wasn’t a stranger at all. They warned me when I got him, that a mix of domestic dog and wolf can make for an unpredictable pet. A pet with sudden shifts in personality and character. A pet that lashes out at their owners sporadically and without warning. It’s like in the blink of an eye, they transform out of one thing and into something entirely different.
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