Miracle Man

Eggs and Coffee

Scott Roche's 300x300x300 Challenge

The challenge is to take a 300px x 300px picture and write a 300 word story about it. 3 winners get a pick of the litter from his Amazon store of his books. Most likely ebooks, so get your Kindle charged. This is my entry.

Beans in a Jar

When you look at the beans in the large glass jar and the beans look back; you know it's going to be one of those days. I try not to notice. It's best not to notice. It will only start an argument, “I don't know why I keep you,” I muttered to myself.

“Because we're brothers, Allen,” he answered.

“I don't believe you are. You just look like him. Daniel is dead! 12 years ago.”

“I couldn't leave you. I love you. You're my brother. Go ahead ask me anything.”

“We've done this a thousand times, Daniel. You know a lot about us but. . .you're a face in a jar of beans. Clearly not my brother. He hated beans. Maybe even jars, I don't know what you are but you need to leave and never bother me again. Or so help me I will drop you this time.”

“You did do that on purpose. I knew it!”

Daniel's likeness dissolves into the beans and disappears.

A knock at the door pulls Daniel into reality. He smiles because he has a feeling he knows who it is.

“Beth! You're early, good , I'm ready,” Allen grabs his phone and keys and motions to the door.

Beth, Allen's girlfriend, steps inside,” We have time, babe. Let's sit and talk until it's time for the movie. I was thinking of Mexican dinner tonight,” Beth walks into the kitchen.

“Great! Where at? Tacos Ensenada?”

“No, I was thinking of making dinner here,” Beth grabs the large jar of beans. Daniel's worried face appears to her from within the jar. She sees the specter and screams. Dropping the jar. Beans and glass scatter on impact with the floor.

The funeral in the back yard was nice.

Flash Fiction: Doctered Pep

When I take a break at work, I often stare at the big soda machine. It has a small silent radio that scrolls an everlasting sales pitch to me to drink its sodas. Sometimes I give in, sometimes I ignore the thing and buy chips.

Truck drivers come into the break room all the time; seeing someone I didn't recognize bang on the soda machine was no big deal.

“Eat your money, did it," I asked?

He was lost in the moment and didn't answer me at first. I was about to walk away and leave him to his business when he spoke," Money? What money?"

"You did put money in the machine, didn't you?"

He looked at me dumbfounded, "Why would I ever give this ungrateful piece of clockwork my money?"

He looked serious when he said it,"Because the sodas aren't free. You have to pay for them."

I fished in my pocket for 3 coins, dropped them in the slot, made my choice and watched the can drop. I took it, opened it and drank it, "See how easy that is."

I pulled out 3 more coins and offered them to the stranger. His reaction was almost angry, "You were cheated, sir. Intergalactic law states that any humanoid encountering a sodtoid may take one can for refreshment during cosmic travel. It’s their ministry."

I was scared but I thought maybe he was just joking. I pray he was joking, "But I'm not traveling the cosmos," I smiled a nervous smile.

He looked me up and down, "Well, thats okay then, fundraising and all." He turned around and continued slapping the machine, “I think I got it. It was just stuck."

He slapped the glass at 12 o'clock, 6 o'clock, twisted the return lever, spun around twice and kicked it square in the door drop. His foot got stuck and he hopped around on one foot until his foot came loose. He cocked his head back and looked at me and smiled, "That did it."

He then pressed the button of the soda of his choice. The can hopped down from its perch and fell down below. The stranger knelt down and claimed his refreshment and left. I was intrigued and I followed him out to his big blue rig. He started it up and turned on his runner lights. Well, they looked like runner lights. The truck and trailer began to glow from underneath. It then began to raise.  As it hovered above my head, the driver stuck his head out and nodded his head, shot a me a couple of times with a finger gun and then rocketed off into the sky.

Flash Fiction: Clowns on a Bus

I was inspired by a news story from Northampton, England. There is a clown or bunch of clowns showing up and watching people. Not hurting anyone but just looking menacing. And lately, I've been riding the bus. The two naturally go together in my head to make this short story.

Stepping on to the bus, I took the front seat. I like seeing where I'm going. We didn't go far when the bus stopped. I couldn't see all that the driver could and I was curious what was going on. We waited there for minute. Then it started to cross the front of the bus. What it was, was a parade of clowns. Tall ones. Fat ones. Clowns of all colors and sizes. It was amusing at first as I watched. I then became aware they were all looking back. Looking at me. Clown upon clown. Clown after clown, all looking at me and saying something. I'm sure of it but I couldn't make it out. I heard street noises. I heard the bus AC. I did not hear  one voice from a clown. One after another after another walked past, looking at me and mouthing something. I am sure of it. I quickly became frustrated and spoke out loud. "What are they saying?" 
A fellow passenger from behind me answered, "They say, hungry. I'm hungry." I was confused. That doesn't make sense. I turned to question them. I wish I hadn't. The back of the bus was filled with clowns, hungry, hungry clowns.