ganymeder (joined almost 14 years ago)
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Author Catherine Russell shares her life with her high school sweetheart, their son, and two ferocious puppies in the Wilds of Ohio while writing short stories, editing her novel, and learning more about the craft every day. Her work has been published in Flash Me magazine, Metro Fiction, Beyond Centauri, and the ‘Best of Friday Flash – Volume One‘ and the ‘Best of Friday Flash – Volume Two‘ anthologies.


The dress blue uniforms were itchy. They were tired and hot and couldn't wait for the ceremony to be over. The captain looked across the water at the setting sun. At least that part would be over, and they'd get some respite from the day's heat. But yet...

He looked down, into the cool depths of the ocean waters surrounding the metal monstrosity he had called home for almost three years now.

"And do you, Mark Wallace, take this mermaid, Jasmine Petals, to be your lawfully wedding wife? In sickness and in health... forever and ever, by Neptune's Trident?"


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Edgar watched the raven as the raven watching the moon. Silhouetted against the clouds, she was a beautiful sight: a black winged goddess caught within Diane's silvery glow. Little did he realize that the raven was taking orders, orders that Edgar himself would soon come to regret. The onyx bird turned predatory eyes upon the human that spied upon her, and he quickly closed the window, latching it from the inside.

Not that it would do him any good at all.

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The convention awaits, but yet she can't bring herself to walk up the escalator. She should, she knows that. She should race up the moving stairs to reach her goal all the sooner, but it seems undignified somehow. Sure, her Leia buns are mere headphones, and her white satin bathrobe a poor approximation of the space princess's Senatorial garb, but her persona is the most important part of the costume. For tonight, she is Leia. She adjusts the black-rimmed monstrosity that sits upon her nose, clutches her tickets, and steels herself for the trial before her. If only she carried...

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Beatirix shuddered as a cold wind whipped across the stage, and she clasped her hat tightly to her head. Stage fright had her firmly in its clutches, but an outdoor performance only increased her anxiety. What was she thinking? Singing in the shower was one thing; this was totally different. She imagined the sea of faces before her and felt her heart beating even faster. Her breath caught in her throat at the thought of him in the audience. What would he think? Would he think her a fool, an artist, or a lunatic?

As the audience murmurs rose at...

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Lola, she was a dancer... something about flowers in her hair or was it her underwear? He couldn't actually remember the lyrics to the song or who sang it, but the melody pounded in his brain like a ballpeen hammer. What the hell was he going to do? Lola was a crappy name anyway. What the hell did it stand for? Lolita? Margola? Or some sort of anagram, or whatever the hell it was when you smushed the first letters of a bunch of words together for the sake of brevity. All he knew was that Lola, whatever it stood...

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Alfred Cappachino looked out at the swirling mass of humanity, a stupid grin plastered to his face to hide his abject terror. Which one of the lovely women in the throng was his blind date? He adjusted his spectacles for the umpth time, then reconsidered and pulled them off, wiping the lenses on his shirt before returning the accessory to the bridge of his nose. What did she look like? All he knew was that she'd be wearing a 'geeky' t-shirt, whatever that meant. Geek was chic now though, right? Hence, his glasses with the clear frames, his strategically-parted hair,...

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I don't know what to say. The image was... IS astouding, but other than that, nothing. What do I see? A lonely figure on a windswept beach, but not one of sand, no, one of bright colors and soft, sculpted rocks. The ocean is so close, yet because the sky matches the color of the water, the sea seems to go on forever, endlessly rolling through the heavens, the white waves becoming clouds creasing the sky as they travel through the heavens. It's daytime, yet not as bright as you would expect. The clouds mask the sunlight, dimming it, not...

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Puck looked at the watch and pondered on the nature of time.

It was almost as fickle as he was.

What marriage - or a good binding spell brought on by too many intoxicants and a serious lack of judgement - had bound together, time would tear asunder. At least it would if Puck had anything to do with it. Robin Goodfellow was not a fairy that would remain tied by one woman for long, no matter how fun that bondage might be.

Buttercup lay frozen on the bed, a beautific smile lightened features that would otherwise have appeared harsh...

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They crouched to peer beneath the stairs, their eyes reflecting the light like stars in the darkness. Not that anyone noticed. Not that anyone cared...

No one had while they lived, why should they care now? Now that they were as insubstantial as the breeze that leaked through the wooden boards that made up the house. No one knew where the breeze came from, only that it chilled them at odd times of the day and night. When it was especially windy outside, the skeletal trees would scrap against the house with gnarled limbs that stretched out like fingers. It...

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The bird landed, not with a bang but with a whimper.

Who would have thought that the poor little thing had so much to lose? She flew around the room, narrowly missing walls, windows, and draperies - but not the hands and heads of her human masters, must to their consternation.


The whimper from the frustrated housewife echoed through the room, and she sighed as she put Pearlie-bird's favorite toy back in her cage. Then with one long glare at her feathered nemesis, she went to get a wet towel to save her favorite sweater.

Pearlie-bird, appeased, returned to...

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