ganymeder (joined over 13 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.


Where am I going? thought Harold Sunday as he sped through yet another red light. The intersection blurred behind him, he couldn't believe the sensation of time slowing the quicker he travelled. Marty McFly may have travelled through time in a DeLorean, but Harold blew him away with his long-distance journey in a Ford Focus. It may not have been as snazzy, but at least he could open the doors inside his garage - low ceiling be damned. At first, travelling faster than the speed of sound was disconcerting; his radio wouldn't even work, despite its being inside the car's...

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Modelling had never been her idea. The vacuous stares, the hours in front of the mirror. Was it her fault her proportions were perfect for summer dresses? It was a life she escaped the moment she fled her mother's house.

She didn't pick the color of her hair. It didn't come on a shelf, stinking up the bathroom with it's noxious fumes, attracting evil eyes from other women who thought they knew what she was like simply from the glow of her yellow hair and the swing of her hips?

The pitch of her voice wasn't her fault. How did...

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Sal knew his time was running out, a runaway train heading straight for him but he had nowhere else to go.

"So... will you?" he pleaded, kneeling before the woman of his dreams, heart- quite literally- in his hands. Ever since they had met at the runaway shelter, they had spent every waking moment together.

Lucy gazed, not at the engagement ring with the heart-shaped diamond, but rather at the train hurtling toward them both, it's lights illuminating her would-be fiancé like a spotlight.

"What, are you crazy?" she hissed, pulling at her boyfriend's arms, leaning back with all her...

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Maggie knew it was only a matter of time before she was caught. It was inevitable, as certain as the rising of the sun each morning over India's beautiful river.

She wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. She KNEW that. But when she saw it there, dark and rich and beautiful she knew she just had to have it, come what may. So now she sat in her seat, shivering, sweat beading on her forehead as the plane taxied for a landing. The bag shifted inside her blouse, it's contents conforming to the shape of her body as...

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The elephant dragged its feet. Since they were made of rubber, this made the task all the more difficult, as she pulled herself by her front legs across the linoleum floor. The intermittent squeals of her back feet dragging, followed by the silence as she readied herself for another pull, created the slow and steady rhythm of her despair. Why had the toymaker failed to provide her with decent appendages? What child wanted to cuddle up with a stuffed animal with hard-soled rubber feet? Why had fate seen fit to give her creator a pragmatic bent which resulted in her...

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There's somebody standing in the corner of my room.

Well, "standing" may be the wrong word. There's someone IN the corner of my room. The lights are off; only moonshine streaming through the window above my bed gives shape to the darkness there. It's bulky; that much I know. It's BIG, bigger than me. The size of its shadow dwarfs my small frame, or would anyway, if I dared move from beneath the covers of my linen sheets.

Feet tucked safely in, the monsters under my bed can't get me, but if I move the alien - for surely that's...

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Smitty sat on the bench and wondered what he was going to do about his oh-so-embarrassing problem.

Girls noticed right away. Many wouldn't say anything, of course; merely giggle and look down at the offending area. What could he say? What could he do to reduce his... well, to be delicate. his *dilemma*...

His male buddies were usually not so discrete. They'd make a face and comment, but when the problem failed to be resolved - not for hours, but months, and then YEARS,... well, he'd seen every doctor he could, but they all scratched their heads in puzzlement and...

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We are plagued, wretched, cursed...

doomed to be followed by the multitude, hounded by paparazzi, our flesh peddled to feed the teeming multitudes who wish to consume every morsel of our existence.

Our every action scrutinized, our every facial expression or turn of phrase. Is it any wonder we act so... so... is it any wonder? Put any normal person under this sort of microscope, they would doubtless appear as insane as ourselves.

Of course, there is the whole nasty business of inbreeding. Keeping the gene pool pure? Hardly. Rather limiting it to royalty has caused countless genetic problems; our...

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The Potentate surveyed his creamsicle tower coolly.

Lord Howard stood behind him, rigid, hands neatly behind his back, and cleared his throat. Loudly.

The monarch continued to regard the sweet monstrosity before him.

Finally, Lord Howard stepped forward and addressed his sovereign ruler. "Sire," he said, polite and yet as frigid as the ice-cream on the table. "The people in your kingdom have barely enough to eat, let alone food to play with." His eyes darted to the large dairy-based castle slowly melting onto the linen tablecloth. "If you aren't going to eat your dessert, you shouldn't have taken it."...

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What was she going to use them on next?

The silver blades shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, capturing her image on the blades before she turned away to grab another freshly scrubbed potato from the colander in the gleaming, porcelain sink. Chop chop chop, went the blade, smooth up-and-down motions repeated again and again, reducing the vegetable before her into ever smaller and smaller bits.

She loved these new knives, worth every penny. It made her want to chop other things, to test their abilities, to watch the thin blades slice through produce, flesh,...

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