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Friday Flash: "Girlfriend Electric"

Hi, lovelies! 
It's that time again...Friday Flash, where I post a piece of flash fiction for you to enjoy. After a few months on the blog, I'll pull them all into one place on the "Free Reads" page, so if you're reading this months from now and want more, check over there where they'll all eventually be compiled. 
Enjoy & thanks for reading!

She tells me she has green eyes, pink hair, and likes to wear black military boots with spikes around the ankles.

Like spurs? I ask.

Her reply is a non-ironic wtf?,so I change the subject.

Don’t people think you’re weird? Do they move to the opposite side of the street when you walk by?

Sometimes, she answers, but I don’t care. Screw them.

I think I’m in love. We chat for hours, raiding and talking, dying and laughing, until the first rays of sunlight spill over the horizon and I know the day ahead will be full of heavy eyelids, an aching stomach, and panicked moments of seeing non-existent spiders in the corners of my vision.

But it doesn’t matter. I can make it through the day. Tonight, I’ll see her again—or at least, a version of her.

By 9pm, all I want to do is crawl into bed. That’s a lie. All I want to do is divided between sleep and Rav3n Thorn3claw and her beautiful pale skin and black hair and delicate, pointed ears. Last night, I asked why she didn’t model Rav3n after her own self. When you have pink hair, why would you give your avatar such an average appearance?

She merely typed inlol and aggroed the next mob. I wasn’t ready. She was flirting with me. I could tell.

I log on and she’s waiting. She doesn’t say much, but we take down the area boss together and she lets me pick up all the loot. Even gives me the rare Sword of Darkslayer when it drops reserved for her.

I’ve loved that sword ever since I saw the prototype drawings on GameBlog. I love Rav3n Thorn3claw even more.

Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could meet someday? I ask, hoping I don’t sound like a creepy stalker.

It would, she answers. Ten minutes pass. Send me a pic!

I panic. I’m not ugly, but I’m not the hottest guy around. I know this. Girls at school have told me.

Only if you send me one too.

I email my pic and go to bed still waiting for hers. I dream of oval-shaped green eyes and black eyeliner, pink pixie-cut hair, Invader Zim tank-tops from Hot Topic, spiked jewelry, pouted dark lips…

In the morning, my dream girl invades my inbox. I print out the picture. Seven times. By the end of the day, the first copy is torn from too many refolds. I spend my day dreaming of Rav3n Thorn3claw.

I have to see her.

Three months later, she is in town with her parents. We’re going to meet for coffee.

I have visions of proposing, but that’s crazy. My pixie-girl won’t be up for that, not yet. Someday. I hope she’s not disappointed by seeing me in person. I sent my best angle. I’ve gained weight since then.

I’m at the table, holding black roses. Rav3n will love them. They’ll match her boots. As the minutes pass, breathing gets harder and harder, until I’m afraid I’ll stop breathing altogether, when the door of the café opens and in walks a cute, petit girl with long, brown hair. Brown eyes. A sundress with red flowers, flip-flops on her feet, and a thin scarf around her next.

Time stops when she looks at me.

She smiles, and I know the truth.

I squeeze the black roses tight in my fist, stems bulging against my fingers like the heart in my chest, and pull away from her gaze.

She steps toward me.

I yearn to press delete.

Friday Flash: "Possible Zombie Apocalypse"

Hey, beautiful people! 

Today I'm starting a themed bi-weekly feature called "Friday Flash" -- it'll feature flash fiction stories that I've written either in the past or that are brand new, depending on how I'm inspired. Many of the stories were originally written on the story-sharing site storypraxis which has since vanished...which means the stories are no longer available online. But it's time to share them again! Friday Flash will last approximately however long I feel like (lol) but I hope you enjoy the stories!

What I plan to do is have these stories on the blog for 2-3 months and then move them over to Free Reads so that you can easily find them all in one place.
Today's story was published first on storypraxis and then in Daily Flash 2012: 366 Days of Flash Fiction (from Pill Hill Press, which is no longer around) so it's definitely one of my favorites. All we go!
For her birthday, Jennie asked for three things: a shotgun, a bottle of caffeine pills, and a membership to Sam’s Club. Her boyfriend Paul, feeling a rather permeating guilt for having spent three recent months on a medical internship to the Ivory Coast, didn’t think it was his place to ask questions, and happily (albeit with some confusion) purchased the requested items. Jennie was thrilled.

Three days later, Paul walked in the front door of the house and tripped over a forty-can case of tomato soup. An unassuming tub of raisins sat nearby, as if it mocked his clumsiness. To his credit, who would walk in their front door just like any other day, and expect to find the path blocked by canned food?
In the living room, Jennie sat in the middle of the floor, unloading and reloading her shotgun.
Paul realized that he was very nervous around Jennie these days, and he’d have to be the first to say something.

"What do you need all this stuff for, anyway?” His eyes landed on another pile in the far corner of the room: rope, a shovel, and a large backpack.

She looked up at him, blinked twice, and resumed reloading the shotgun. "Preparing for a possible zombie apocalypse.”

She said it with such a straight face that Paul didn’t realize she hadn’t been joking until after he laughed. 

"Wait,” he said, "You’re not serious?”

She frowned. "Of course I am. Why else would I ask for a shotgun for my birthday, among other things?” 
Jennie held a bullet aloft, her gaze glued to its shine. "I read about it in a book last month. It’s a real thing, Paul, and you’re an idiot if you think otherwise. All that voodoo stuff in Haiti and West Africa? That’s where the zombies will come from.” She shifted her gaze to stare at him. "And it’s going to happen soon.”

Paul shifted his weight and wondered if he should call her mother or just let it go. "Jennie, baby, I think you’re just being paranoid. Zombies aren’t real. I spent three months in West Africa over the summer, and I didn’t see a thing.”

Jennie reloaded the shotgun with a deft fluidity and held it up to look through the sight – held it up, and leveled the barrel at Paul.

She gave him a sad, pitying smile, and sighed. "I know.”