Quest for Knowledge - Fiction

Quest for Knowledge By Emmett Hall
Sir Percival Thomas Boyle leaned back in his armless chair behind the high gloss cherrywood desk.  The writing surface was of tempered glass protecting the craftsmanship of a world map inlaid into its top.  He absentmindedly folded and unfolded the letter in his hand several times while taking in the scene beyond his second-floor library window.  It was open to the fresh morning air.  The garden, just past the tan brick pavers that comprised the driveway, was of Dahlia’s and Roses, with Sunflowers sprinkled in for lemony bursts of color.  The garden was trimmed in practical Blueberry bushes.  Past the garden lay the hedge maze his parents planted and carved out before he was born.  Nearly forty years later, it no longer held any mystery for him. Beyond the maze, cropped green grass on rolling hills framed by stands of Aspens and Poplars stretched for miles. The blades of grass sparkled in flashes from the arrival of the sun’s rays.  Whistling floated u…

Display - Flash Fiction

Intersections - Nonliteral by Jiri Horacek

Display Taxis honked and jockeyed as always.The wind blew up between the skyscrapers at a brisk pace and stole Bjorn’s breath away as he turned to face it.A traffic light was out somewhere, the incessant whistle of the policeman blew directing traffic.
Bjorn Andersen started up steps to the museum entrance and finished his climb at the polished brass framed glass doors fifteen-foot high.They pushed inward effortlessly.
He stood in the front of the gift shop with all its miniature reproductions of displays beyond the reception desk leading to the building’s interior.A man looked up from a computer screen.
He waved Bjorn over.
“Dr. Andersen, how good to see you.You are here to inspect the laser work?”
Bjorn nodded.“Yes, I am happy to see you too, Dr. Dull.I hear the wall is done.”Alan Dull, Bjorn learned was to pronounce his name as Doll. Bjorn liked the unpretentious curator of the museum of all things known.The museum rose twenty stories,…

An Evening on the Beach - Flash Non-Fiction

Japanese Restaurant by Andrew Haimerl

An Evening on the Beach
It had a ring around it.The ring was much like the ring around the bathtub after washing three boys before bedtime.A brown/black scum that takes a hard brush to eradicate.Even then the ring persisted.
This ring was six blocks wide and encompassed the U.S. Naval Shipyard in Yokosuka.It was replete with liquor bars, package stores, tattoo parlors, souvenir stores filled with stolen intellectual property and an occasional restaurant of repute.
My evening started with my shipmates and a visit to a nice restaurant.From there a round of some souvenir stores to get a pool cue and bootleg music on 45s and LP.After that, one of the lightweights would peel off from the group and head back to the ship taking all our merchandise for us.
That’s when we hit the package store for a couple liters of Coke and 151 rum.I picked up a couple six packs of Colt 45 malt and a pint of rum of the kerosene variety.With our evening in our arms, we headed …

AGELESS - Flash Fiction

I jammed my surfboard in the light tan sand and kicked up a kerf to hold it.It was the half-century mark for me and the last day in the surf.After decades of weathering and soaking in the ocean brine, I had to admit it was wearing on me.
A promise is a promise.Karen asked me if I would stop surfing and fix the aging the elements had wrought on me.I stayed it off as long as I could.I did all the right things that forestalled wrinkles and rough skin.I didn't smoke -anything.I didn't drink alcohol.I ate with moderation; not quite a vegan, still mostly vegetables.Yet, my jowls were sagging, the skin on my arms and most the rest of me looked like a dried-out mud puddle.
I sat and leaned on my board.I already had a buyer.Tomorrow I would deliver it with a case of board wax that I would never use.I see no point going back in the water this late in the day.I'll just relax and listen to the lap of the surf, the cries of kid’s body surfing and the toddlers being held by their…

Information Technical Specialist - A Poem

Information Technical Specialist
The day never ends, The day never begins, For black boxes stand sentinel In rows and racks, not meaningless.
The I.T. Specialist gazes studiously At hard drives, green activity lights Dancing randomly, as the boxes Whisper to one another in sweet conspiracy.
Yellow, Yellow, Red! I.T. Specialist pops the grid. Lever flicked, little box slid from its bay. New box slid in to rebuild as it may.
All the boxes don't care as they play As Jimmy, Joe or Sue sends their queue From far flung climes, a hundred eighty countries Searching on how to tie a tie.
The I.T. Specialist ensures they get their answer As he guards against equipment failure. As those that would do mischief, The I.T. Specialist guard’s user’s mental fitness.
The doctor queries, what causes this The black boxes answer, it's this or this Pulled from boxes by the millions. The I.T. Specialist ensures this continues.
The power fails, it gets too hot, The I.T. specialist is on the spot, With UPS lit, portable AC b…

The Wanderer - Poem

The Wanderer
The wanderer wonders am I a dispirited figure? Why am I here, sitting alone in the mist of the elements? Far far away from those things that really matter.
Looking up at the light pollution free sky The wonders of Stars and solar bodies lights my mind, But for wandering here, I alone feel the spirit, or
It could be I share the experience with other wanderers In distant places. If not, why am I here?
From my perch, my heightened senses hear a Coyote. He sings his song in a wailing cacaphoneny, The hair on my neck stands up, but I am not afraid.
Bare breasted I walk a Grand Canyon trail Eight five degrees in the shade, when over the cliffs crest Two inches of snow falls on me in a five-minute blast.
I have seen, felt and heard so much, But for what good is it
If here, alone, I turn to dust?

by EJ Hall - All rights reserved.

IN THE NORTH - Flash Fiction

Snow Duchess, by photographer Isi Akahome

After crawling through the low ice tunnel built of ice bricks, Officer Yutu stood in the domed igloo.He shucked his heavy jacket and hung it on a free-standing birch coat rack near the entrance.He stood quietly for a time to let his eyes adjust to the light of the low flickering flame of the fire pit.
“Amaruq, are you up?”
A resonant voice returned his query.The response was a deep base voice with no indication of where it came from.“Yes, Yutu, I am awake.What do you seek?
Officer Yutu scanned the room to see a fury of furs as Amaruq rolled out from beneath.He saw the flash of naked thigh and buttocks of Aput as she rolled over beneath the coverings as Amaruq rose and stretched.Amaruq strode several steps to an indention in the igloo and lifted a plate and relieved himself in a hole.When he returned he squinted at Yutu, then sat on a wooden bench before the fire and pulled a cotton comforter with a Star Wars Bounty Hunter print on …