The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.

Travers concentrated on the sub’s controls making their final descent into a deep underwater cave. They would ride just above ‘hull crush’ depth.

“What do you think is down here skip?” she asked the captain.

Captain Onslow watched the circular green sonar screen. “Doesn’t matter. We light up all the cameras and get the hell out if we find anything.”

The small crew of three each manned their stations with trepidation. A small beep echoed in the cabin and all twitched except Onslow.

“What is it Ray-Ray?” Onslow asked the sonar man.

Ray didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the screen and large. He furiously began banging his nose into his control panel. Clucking?

“Hit the flashes and turn around Travers,” Onslow screamed but it was too late.

She was already perched on her monitor -trousers down trying to lay an egg.

To be continued…

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham


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May 22nd, 2015

Posted In: Mondays Finish the Story, Short Stories

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Clayton Rivershine spit over his shoulder grinding his boot heel into the iron rich red rock dirt.

The Whocka Tribal Elders looked on in disgust.

“Ya’ll can’t win no race against Lightning Rod. He is the fastest horse in the west,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Horse too slow. Never win against Whocka stallion,” the Chief waved his arm forward.

© Al Forbes

© Al Forbes

A human wall of face painted Whocka warriors behind the Chief parted allowing an old brown horse to emerge -slowly walking forward.

“Chief you are off your rocker. Hell, I’ll even give you a ten second head start if that old thing don’t die first,” Clayton jumped on Lightning Rod causing him to rear up and dig his hooves into the dust.

The Chief pulled a small pouch off his belt. Scooping out a handful of its contents he feed the substance to his old horse before sliding himself on the beast’s old back.

A gunshot cracked through the air and the race was on.

The Chief and his old horse trotted forward at a fast walk. Hardly a run. Clayton counted to ten before digging his spurs in Lightning Rod who let out a cry. Muscles pushed forward like great steam engines spinning up. Smoke appeared to pour from flared black nostrils as the great steed lurched forward.

Clayton would be on the Chief in a few seconds. An easy victory. Just like he thought.

Without warning the old brown horse stopped and lifted its tail.

Clayton only had a few moments before the exposed puckering brown opening on the old horses’ behind began whistling a high pitched tune that instantly made his ear drums wretch in pain and his vision blurry.

The smell was even worse. His eyes were forced closed and flooded with tears. The very air he was breathing felt like it was made from the fires of hell itself.

Lightning Rod fell over unconscious almost instantly trapping Clayton’s leg under his great girth. Clayton writhed and wiggled failing to free himself. He began to furiously wave his hat struggling to create a pocket of fresh air anywhere near his nose and mouth.

The Chief’s silhouette suddenly appeared holding the small pouch from earlier.  Clayton was now in the thick of stink fog that was suffocating him.

Tiny beans that you might use in a chili began to rain down over Clayton.

Leaning in close to Clayton’s ear the Chief spoke in his monotone way, “Horse too slow. Passes with the Wind always win every race.”

Check out Other Sunday Photo Fiction Entries or Post your Own!

April 26th, 2015

Posted In: Short Stories, Sunday Photo Fiction

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Othorn stared closely trying to catch a glimpse of the space between spaces. His nose was inches from a vast expanse of blinding white that now flooded his vision.

He swore the faintest call for help was carried through the air to his ears as tiny structures in the desolate landscape began to take form.

“Othorn!” a voice jolted him from his trance. “You going to finish making that latte or kiss it?”

Grasping the shaker of cocoa powder he dusted the white landscape lightly whispering to himself solemnly, “Sorry friends.”

(91 Words)

PHOTO PROMPT – © Douglas M. MacIlroy

PHOTO PROMPT – © Douglas M. MacIlroy


April 22nd, 2015

Posted In: 100 Word Stories, Friday Fictioneers, Short Stories

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That’s right guys and dolls.  The great Danny Machal has earned a seat at the table of the BubbleGum elite.  Second place in the second 2009 quarter of the BWC (bubblegum world championship).  When I recorded that first fluke bubble around the middle of May I posted here and put it in my YouTube channel.  People started to watch it and I discovered the notations feature for YouTube videos.  So, I put my url in there in a whoreish plea to generate website traffic.  It worked.  I figured with all the new media marketing hype floating around, I’d see where I could take it.

I got educated about bubblegum and what it took to blow monsters.  What were the pros using?  How are they able to do it? Can I learn to do it?  Two words will answer all those questions – Dubble Bubble (get some).

I knew about the BWC from my research but I never really thought about entering.  I kept recording bubbles and posting them online as they got bigger and bigger.  It was the BWC commissioner Bobby “boom boom” Bickerson that approached me and said I should give it a shot.  What did I have to lose? Worst case I get last place, but at least will be posted somewhere new, which is what I really wanted.

So the results came in and I got second place! How cool is that?  Alright let’s say it together, ready?

“I know the number two ranked bubblegum blower in the WORLD!”

Big thanks to Bobby and the BWC – this is so much fun.

Here is a link to the results.

Below is the video my entry came from.

July 9th, 2009

Posted In: Personal, zEverything

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Man, it has been way to serious around here lately.  I ate about half a roll of bubble tape and turned on the flipcam just to mess around.  I ended up blowing a MASSIVE bubble gum bubble.

May 12th, 2009

Posted In: Personal, zEverything

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