Flash Fiction: The Secrets of Aquamarine Bay

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The Secrets of Aquamarine Bay

By Sean C. Wright-Neeley

“Come closer, dear. I want to tell you something,” Azul said weakly. She lay on a bed of kelp with her long hair fanned around her. It was cerulean with equal parts gray.

Coral complied, sitting at her grandmother’s bedside with misty eyes. She had Azul’s indomitable spirit and her cyan hair, but hers was cut with sea foam highlights. Coral took her grandmother’s hand, and listened.

70 Years Ago

 “I’m telling you, father, they exist,” Azul insisted over lobster dinner one night.

“You may be right, my dear scallop,” he remarked, “but stating that outside our home will get you jailed.”

Her mother had only chewed nervously, and offered her more lobster and stuffed crab.

Azul would never dare tell her family what she had found on her after-school excursions, in the forbidden area. Vessel wreckage, coins, jewelry, and even skeletons.

It was a beautiful day the first time Azul did the unthinkable. She emerged from the surface, and looked around. The unexpected weight of the air was a shock, but she found it delicious to feel the sun on her face. Gulls cawed above her head. She smiled up at them, and slipped back below. It was like a drug. Azul found herself going to the surface at least twice a week; sometimes for seconds, sometimes for minutes. A secret she locked up in her three hearts that beat with defiance behind her ropes of starfish, pearls, and seashells.

One day, Azul said goodnight to her family around dusk, feigning illness. As soon as she was able, she slipped away, resolving to watch the sun set above the surface. Azul found a flat, sound rock, and slipped onto it. It was as beautiful as she had imagined. The sun looked like a vast, neon ball on the horizon. The sky turned lavender, and soon salted with intermittent twinkles. The peace was arresting, and Azul sang softly to herself, under her breath. She upturned her face to get the balmy breeze’s full effect. She didn’t notice what came next until it was too late.

A ship.

It was so close that Azul could hear the breeze, socking its sails. Transfixed, she watched as a shadowy figure turned in her direction, and put a pair of cylindrical devices up to its eyes. Something told her to hide her face behind the curtain of her blue, waist-length hair, but Azul still couldn’t move. She was as curious about the creature, as it was about her. She squinted into the failing sunlight. A human. It had male energy. Her loins stirred. The figure dropped the looking device, and continued to stare in her direction. His mannerisms suggested mutual shock and fascination – even from afar. He took something off his head, ran his hands through his hair, and must have called to someone else on the vessel to come look through the device because someone else appeared, and took them. Azul got her wits about her before the other male human could fully get the device to his eyes, and slipped off the rock. She swam away as fast as her caudal fin could carry her. Her green blood, pulsing in her ears…

“Humans do exist, child. I saw two when I was about your age with my own eyes. Don’t tell anyone about this, or they will put you away. But I encourage you to think for yourself. That’s all, dear. And promise you’ll bury me in my necklaces…”

Coral patted her grandmother’s gnarled hand, musing. Was this true, or was it elderly dementia? But Azul had sounded so lucid, and had never lied to her before. “I promise, grandma,” was all Coral could say.

*****

An old sailor lay on his deathbed on dry land. After he asked for water, he spoke to his son in a hoarse whisper. “I have to tell you something I never told anyone, son. I saw a mermaid once at Aquamarine Bay when I was in the navy…”

I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

Afro-Sean-Commission-Final copy

Flash Fiction: The Men Excelling and Terrific Award

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The Men Excelling and Terrific Award

By Sean C. Wright-Neeley

Carl was to receive the Men Excelling and Terrific Award at a ceremony in Las Vegas. The driver picked him up at four o’ clock sharp. Carl handed him his bags, and settled into the SUV with the other men. He was chosen, along with the two other men in the car from neighboring cities. They introduced themselves to each other, and the car got to rolling.

The driver masked his annoyance at his passengers on the way to the airport, as Carl removed his shoes and propped up his smelly feet on the console, and smacked his chewing gum. Another passenger wore a permanently sour expression, and spewed profanity-laced statements about the traffic and weather. The other man incessantly cracked up at his own jokes – all of them either corny or dirty.

The flight went smoothly. Carl and the other two men were greeted at the airport that evening by people he thought somewhat strange. They all wore dark, well-tailored clothing, and were pale to almost transparency. The people’s aura was intensely cultured to the point of self-containment. However, they seemed genuinely happy to see Carl and the other two men.

They shuttled them to a nice hotel, told them to rest, and to be ready for dinner in about two hours. When the time came, they ushered Carl and the other two into the banquet hall, and told them to help themselves to a lavish buffet. The man with the sour face actually lessened his scowl, as he helped himself to plate after plate of prime rib. Joke Factory was quiet for once, while he stuffed his face with macaroni and cheese, swimming in rich gouda. Carl ate heartily, too, but noticed that his hosts had left. “Why aren’t they eating with us?” he asked the other men, through a mouth, crammed full of pepperoni pizza. They looked around, shrugged, and kept eating. It was curious to Carl, but he was more enamored with his savory pizza and criminally-delicious brownies. He smacked and smacked, and didn’t say excuse me when he burped.

And so it went that way for the next few days. Their hosts – who were always absent during the day – told them to enjoy themselves – eating, resting, gambling, visiting ladies of the evening, going to spas – whatever they wanted to do in Sin City. They provided food that was so delicious that the men were really too full and lethargic to do anything else. It had only been a few days, but none of their pants fit anymore.

The night they were to receive the award, the three men were again ushered to the banquet hall. The hosts didn’t vacate the room this time. Large men closed and locked the doors, as soon as they entered. There was no lavish buffet, only a large tarp in the middle of the room.

Carl whirled around. “W-where are the awards? Dinner?” The guards did not answer, only gazed at him with something like…hunger. Their hosts, the quartet of pale, beautiful people smiled covertly. The were dressed to the nines. Men wore black, three-piece suits with top hats. The women’s black gowns billowed and reached the floor, and were edged in ruffles and lace. Carl instantly thought of saloons and stagecoaches. The other two award-winners said nothing, just exchanged quizzical glances.

One of the women in black stepped forward. “Congratulations. You three won the Men Excelling and Terrific Award. You have been pampered and fed excessively for a very special purpose. Please step onto the tarp.”

Sour Face glowered and nearly spit, “Hell-fucking-no. What is this?”

Joke Factory laughed awkwardly, and spoke with a catch in his voice, “1870 called. They want their clothes back.”

“To nourish us,” one of the men in a black suit said, stepping forward as well.

Joke Factory cackled, “You gotta be kidding.”

“No,” the other man in black stated, “Unlike you, I am not attempting to be humorous. Tell me, dear boy: what does the acronym for Men Excelling and Terrific spell?”

There was a five-second silence then it was Carl who whispered, “MEAT. All this food…You were fattening us up.”

“You can’t do this!” Sour Face exclaimed, “We have friends and family back at home, waiting for us. You don’t think we’ll be missed, you sick bastards?”

The second woman stepped forward, and coolly explained things to the three horrified men. “Those closest to you offered you up. They’re going to file a missing person’s report on you in a few days, but we will be long gone by then.

“All three of you are blights on humanity, and must be removed from the gene pool. You do nothing, but agitate others, and take up space. You,” she said, pointing to Carl, “are a foul and sloppy man.” Carl dropped his head. “You,” she said, pointing to Sour Face, “are a negative person who casts darkness on the sunniest days. And you,” she said to Joke Factory, “are as annoying as they come; a crude and relentless buffoon who never knows when to give it a rest. So,” she continued, scanning their faces, “we travel from town-to-town, feasting on nominees, while humans rid themselves of dreadful people. It’s a wonderful, win-win setup.  We’ve been doing it since 1873.”

Joke Factory had been right in his guess about the time period.

Suddenly, all four people in black grinned and hissed, showing needle-like fangs, and rushed at them, as the three award-winners tried to edge back towards the doors. They bumped into the guards who shoved them onto the tarp. The three men didn’t even get a chance to scream, as the quartet in black and the guards bit into the flesh of their necks.

Sean C. Wright is the author of 8 books. For more information about her writing skills and how she can assist you with yours–business or consumer–visit https://seanarchy.wordpress.com.

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I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

Afro-Sean-Commission-Final copy

Flash Fiction: Vengeance Pasta

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Vengeance Pasta

By Sean C. Wright-Neeley

Widow Fannie Ridges was a hair shy of six-feet tall. Her milk-chocolate face held few wrinkles after being on the planet for seventy-six years. Her salt and pepper hair was relaxed, and cut in a bob, just above her shoulders. Seventy-six Fannie was, but she stood as straight as any thirty-year-old, and played like one, too. She was active in church and the neighborhood senior center, still mowed her yard, and carried a trash bag on her long walks to pick up litter.

Another one of Fannie’s passions was lending surrogate parenthood to the five stair-step children, down the street, ranging in ages from two to ten. Fannie wiped their noses, read them stories, tied their loose shoelaces, and gave them snacks. She made two apple cobblers one day – one for her church potluck, and another for the children to take home.

Days later, Fannie Ridges sat on her porch with a glass of iced tea in hand and a lit citronella candle nearby to keep the mosquitoes at bay. The sun was inching downward, and was dusk was about to take the stage. The stair-step children ran by, trying to beat the streetlights home. “Hey!” Fanny called to them, waving and smiling, “stop by here a minute.”

The children scampered towards her happily. “Hi, Ms. Ridges!” Fannie made note of the girls’ uncombed hair and the boys’ ashy arms, as they climbed the steps to her porch. The two-year-old only wore a diaper. “How y’all like the apple cobbler?” The children looked at each other then looked down. Fannie frowned. “You didn’t like it? It’s okay if you didn’t. I’ll just make you something else next time.”

“No,” the six-year-old said while she tugged at a frayed plait by her ear, “we didn’t get any.”

Fannie set down her tea beside her chair, her jaw slack. “Come here, baby,” she commanded in a firm, yet gentle voice. Once the girl complied, she took both her hands. They were dirty, but Fannie didn’t care. The girl continued to look down. “Why didn’t you get any?”

“Our uncle ate it,” she nearly whispered.

Fannie’s jaw clenched in disgust and fury. “All right,” she said in a trembling voice, “thanks for telling me. Y’all better go on and get home before dark.” The children left her porch. That was a good thing because Fannie didn’t know how much longer she could have held in her anger. She might have scared those sweet babies. She felt like cursing and punching. What kind of sorry bastard steals food from kids? Grrr!

Fannie had seen their no-count uncle on occasion. Had seen him trudge to the mailbox in sweatpants and a dirty undershirt while on her walks. She sighed, shook her head, and leaned over to blow out the citronella candle. Fannie collected her tea glass and went inside.

The incident had slipped on the back shelf of Fannie’s mind for about a week. Then she saw that dirty-shirted slug, coming in from somewhere while she was on her walk. He parked his old, beat-up Toyota Corolla in the driveway and stepped out. Fannie glared, her anger anew, as she passed. He just squinted his red eyes at her and nodded. Too much whiskey.

Fannie only fed the children at her place, after the apple cobbler debacle. But still. She prayed about it. The Lord says, “Vengeance is mine.” But still.

“Lord forgive me,” she whispered, as she stood in the kitchen, preparing the special meal.

The next time the children visited, and were about to leave, Fannie told them to wait. “I made something special for your uncle: spaghetti,” she beamed, and pulled out a ceramic dish, covered with foil, out of the fridge. “Tell him not to worry about returning the dish.” The children thanked her, and left with the food.

*****

Drew accepted the dish from his nieces and nephews with vigor. He raced with it to the microwave right away and tore off the foil and popped it in. Drew’s mouth watered in anticipation as the acrid smell of tomato sauce and smoky meat filled the kitchen. After it was done cooking, he carried the hot plate to the table, where his greedy ass wolfed down the food in five minutes flat. He was scraping up bits of sauce when he noticed something strange at the bottom of the plate. It looked like…writing. He pulled a napkin from the dispenser, and wiped the plate enough to see. A message had been written in indelible ink on the ceramic piece in tight feminine script: ONLY A LOW-DOWN DIRTY DOG TAKES FOOD FROM KIDS, SO I FED YOU ACCORDINGLY. THE SPAGHETTI MEAT YOU JUST ATE WAS MIXED WITH YAPPY BOY DOG FOOD!

Drew’s eyes bucked. He stood up, and let loose a disgusted groan. His hacking gags could be heard all the way down the hall.

For more flash fiction by Sean C. Wright-Neeley, click here.

I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

Afro-Sean-Commission-Final copy

Flash Fiction: A Tamarind Tale

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A Tamarind Tale

By Sean C. Wright

1998

School wasn’t to start for another three days, but students had already moved into the dorms. And that’s how Will Krause and Sonia Martinez met. They were the only two using the dorm’s (A renovated Holiday Inn) swimming pool that blistering amber day in late August. The sky above was a soft-blue garden with baby’s breath clouds. William had been swimming in walking shorts because his trunks were still in a box in his dorm room…somewhere. Sonia had been sunning on one of the chairs in a red gingham one-piece. The white and scarlet checks were especially striking against her bronzed skin and onyx hair that tumbled passed her shoulders. Her smoldering appeal still beckoned even though her cleavage and midriff were covered.

“Hi,” William had said, rising out of the pool, dripping and smiling shyly. His German ancestry was obvious: six feet of ivory skin, splotched with carnation; yellow hair that dusted his shoulders. Puberty had barely tapped him. He was very thin at eighteen-and-a-half, like a stretched boy. The only weighty masculinity he possessed was a heavy brow over his cyan eyes.

Sonia had raised her sunglasses on top of her head and squinted at him. “Hi.” From then on, the conversation rolled like a well-tuned car. They introduced themselves, stated their majors, home towns. She was a Radio, Television, and Film major from Dallas; he was a Computer Science major from Houston. Will noticed Sonia had a dog tooth on the left side of her mouth when she smiled, which he found mad cute. That imperfection cooled her smoky Aztecan quality about ten degrees, made her attractiveness not so intimidating.

There had been mutual attraction that day at the pool, but as the semester got into full swing, the two stayed at friendship. Will answered Sonia’s computer questions, and she brought him back tamales and a huge bag of Mexican candy after Christmas break. The spicy and chewy tamarind candy was his favorite. She had also brought him chile rellenos sometimes whenever she returned home for the weekend. Will was appreciative yet envious. Sonia was so close to her culture, and Will had never even tried sauerkraut or worn lederhosen. The closest he’d come to imbibing his culture was drinking German beer.

Sonia had been walking Will to the door when it happened. Her roommate was at a Baptist retreat, so they had her dorm room to themselves that misty Saturday night. They kissed each other goodnight. But Will didn’t leave after that. They kissed again with fever, and began to undress each other. Sonia moaned in Spanglish; Will grunted softly. When it was over, they lay on Sonia’s narrow bed holding each other, and staring up at the ceiling.

“Wow,” Sonia sighed, “I didn’t plan on this happening tonight.”

“Me neither,” Will said, his heart still drumming in his thin chest, “But I’m glad it did.”

Sonia turned to him, smiled that imperfect smile that never failed to melt him down to his very hair follicles, and kissed his forehead and mouth. They then fell asleep in each others’ arms. For some reason, Will dreamed of being a boy again at an Easter egg hunt. When he opened the plastic eggs, there was tamarind candy inside.

Sonia gave Will a square cake for his nineteenth birthday, decorated to look like a computer disk. He took her to the movies, and blew all the money his folks sent him in care packages on snacks for them. She gave him conditioner that smelled of a tropical vacation to soften his long, yellow locks. He gave her hair accessories and key chains with flowers because she told him Latinas loved floras.

After being with her about six weeks, Will entered his dorm room one evening to find his roommate and his roommate’s running buddy sneering. Chad, his roommate, had spoken first. “Do you smell that?” he croaked, sniffing the air in evil exaggeration, “Smells like refried beans.” His friend snickered, unhooked one of his hands from the beer bottle he had been holding, waved Chad’s comment away, and retorted, “Naw. Smells like Mex-crement.” They then broke up laughing. Will had said nothing, but had turned on his heel and left the room with a reverberating door slam. He went walking around campus to cool off. Fucking Chad. He had nerve! Chad, who stepped out of skid-marked underwear, and left them right where he had removed them; sometimes for days. Chad, who popped his pimples, and left the bathroom mirror dotted with constellations of little pus buttons. Will didn’t come back to the room that night until he had completely squashed the urge to strangle Chad in his sleep.

Chad had apologized the next morning, blaming most of the ugliness on alcohol. “It’s just that my parents would flip if I brought home a Meskin.” But it had put a behemoth bug in Will’s ear. Even though his family worked with people of color, they were never invited to their home. Everyone in Will’s family was optic-white, and had married other optic-white people. Hell, there was hardly even a brunette or brown-eye in his family tree; it was dominated by blonds and red-heads, and sometimes strawberry blonds. What wouldhis parents say?

The following Friday night lived in Will’s memory like other terrible memories that you’re responsible for.

Like forgetting a loved one’s milestone birthday.

Like creating a fatal car accident because you ran a red light.

Like losing or breaking a prized possession because you were careless.

Will was stiff and laconic. “What’s wrong?” Sonia had asked. Her roommate was gone again, and they were sitting on her bed, watching Full House.

“Nothing,” he mumbled without looking at her.

She turned off the TV. “Will, look at me. What’s wrong?”

He still couldn’t. He looked down at his lap, spoke in a low tone. “I can’t do this. Let’s just be friends again.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do. Just tell me.” Sonia’s cracking voice was like sandpaper grating his heart.

“I really don’t. I just want to be friends again.”

Will was about to get off the bed and leave. Then whump! A soft, yet forceful impact knocked him sideways on the bed. Sonia had stood, grabbed a pillow, and knocked him in the side of the head with it. He had looked up at her tear-streaked face, slack-jawed. “Get out!” she half-hissed, half-growled. It was like a storm goddess had quietly slipped into that tight little room. Her teeth were bared, her brown skin was flushed, and her dark eyes were flashing. Will remembered how beautiful she looked in her fury, and considered recanting. But when Will didn’t move fast enough, she hit him with the pillow again, cursing and and sobbing in English and Spanish. Will caught one word: el Diablo. He left Sonia’s room silently, keeping his head low the whole time he walked back to his room, feeling wholly like the devil Sonia said he was.

The next month sans Sonia was slow and terrible. Some of the candy she had given him was still on his desk. The mango-smelling conditioner was in the shower, its bottle still half-full. Her rose-scented body mist seemed to stay in Will’s nostrils no matter where he was. Even though the choice had been his, Will hated his roommate Chad with hatred that seeped into all five senses. The hatred tasted of vinegar. It felt like fire ants biting his skin. It smelled of steaming dog crap. It looked like a haze of red every time he looked at that pimply, dingleberry-butt boy. It sounded of a piercing shriek that Chad would probably funnel from his mouth when Will kicked him in the balls a million times in his mind’s eye. Chad, sensing the tension, offered to order them a pizza one night. “No thanks,” Will growled and scowled. He and Chad rarely spoke after that.

When the longing bubbled over the top, Will called her.

“Hola. I mean, hello,” she had answered with carbonation in her voice.

“Sonia? It’s Will. Could I come over and talk?”

“Oh, not now. I’m on the other line. I’ll call you back.”

“Uh. Ok.”

Click.

Will sat holding the phone to his ear for a full thirty seconds before cradling it. She never did call back. And he never called her again.

Will saw Sonia a week later. He was on his way to class and she was walking in the direction of their dorm. With someone. The guy was slightly taller than her, muscular in a bull doggish way. It was a cold day, and they were hugged up together as they walked. She looked like a winter princess doll in a purple knit cap with a pom-pom on top and a matching scarf looped around her neck. The guy took a gloved hand, moved hair away from Sonia’s ear, and whispered something into it. She smiled and swatted at him playfully, showing that tooth that never failed to hook Will’s heart by all four ventricles. Sonia looked forward, and caught Will’s eye. “Hi, Will!” she called. There was no malice in her voice, simple happiness. Will could only smile tightly and nod. “’Zup, man?” her guy greeted him too. He exuded confidence, but not arrogance. Will was beyond words at that, too, and again could only nod.

He went into the building’s bathroom, and studied his reflection. He was pale as paper with flashing crimson on his cheeks, even though the light had tinted him hazel under its weak fluorescent glare. Was it the cold, or the encounter? Will figured both. He splashed warm water on his face, and trudged to class, his heart sick and sad. It was that way until they graduated: Will sometimes saw Sonia alone or with someone – in the TV room, walking across campus, in the student union. She always spoke; sometimes she approached him and chatted about safe things: the weather, her class load that semester. Will dated other girls here and there, but they never came close to Sonia’s lamb-like sweetness, sprinkled with exotic embers.

Will was two years out of college when he saw her on TV. It was a saccharin-cheesy sitcom about a group of young people, struggling to make ends meet while working at a pizza place in LA. Sonia’s character played a traditional Latina spit-fire. The zippy lines and laugh track had all seemed like background noise when she stepped on-screen. She had cut her hair into a choppy bob above her shoulders and had gotten her tooth fixed. It was her, but not her without that lovable imperfection. But Will had watched the whole show – only once – barely remembering what it was about.

2008

Will married a loud, big-boned woman. Barbara. She ran their house with an efficient hand, right down to scheduling all doctor’s appointments and filing their taxes. Will simply had to sit in the marriage’s back seat and let her drive. The only thing he resented was how nearly elephantine and flabby Barbara had grown after their son was born.

Will was in the checkout line at the supermarket one day when he saw Sonia again. She was on the cover of a women’s magazine, looking glossy-radiant and trim. ACTRESS SONIA MARTINEZ SPILLS HER BEST BEAUTY SECRETS, the cover said. Will set down the diapers and cereal and milk on the checkout line’s conveyor belt and picked up the magazine with unsteady hands. He bought it, paying for it separately because he didn’t want Barbara to see a woman’s magazine on the receipt with the other items.

Will smuggled the book into the house, half-way under the back of his shirt and halfway down his pants. He gave Barbara a quick peck on the cheek, headed straight to the bathroom, and locked the door behind him. Will undressed, picked up the magazine off the sink counter, and stared at Sonia’s sexy smirk. After a moment, he turned on the shower, and stepped into it with the book, his back to the hot spray. He didn’t want to get it wet. Will jumped when there was a thudding knock at the door. “Don’t be in there too long. Dinner is almost ready,” Barbara yelled through the bathroom door. “Shut up,” Will muttered, as he kept his eyes on the magazine’s slick cover while he rapidly stroked himself in the rising steam.

Sean C. Wright is the author of 8 books. For more information about her writing skills and how she can assist you with yours–business or consumer–visit https://seanarchy.wordpress.com.

I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

Afro-Sean-Commission-Final copy

Flash Fiction: Auschwitz Forever

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A concentration camp survivor visited my tenth-grade history class, as a guest speaker. It had quite an impact on me. Some of the facts in this story are indeed what this man told us bug-eyed teenagers. This short story you are about to read is my way of bringing justice to those who were affected by one of the most incorrigible crimes in human history. If you are squeamish, you may not want to go any further.

Auschwitz Forever

By Sean C. Wright-Neeley

It was always the same, but different. He woke up in the barracks, every morning. This time, he was a Jewish man. The Star of David on his prison uniform told him so. Today, they had him and the other prisoners, clearing a field in the snow. He tried as hard as he could to conceal his cold, but a Nazi guard heard him cough and sniffle. They had no use for the sick, or the weak. He was marched to the gas chamber with other emaciated prisoners when they got back to the camp.

The next morning, he was a Gypsy woman, upon waking. He had red hair, something Dr. Mengele found fascinating. What gene caused red hair? The “doctor” needed to study all her reproductive organs. He removed them all, plus all her minor organs, too, in the experiment: her appendix, tonsils, and gall bladder. He welcomed death this time.

The next day that he woke up in the barracks, he was the Jewish man again, but the flickers of his real past life bled through. His wife’s name was Ava. Or was it Eva? They lived in a tight, secretive place before this nightmare started. But why couldn’t he remember the gap in between? But he knew one thing for sure: he didn’t belong there. He had been someone important. Maybe he could get to his money, and bribe them out of this nightmare if Ava/Eva was still alive.

There was a Nazi guard there who didn’t seem too cruel. He cooked up enough courage to ask the young officer with light-brown hair and gentle, hazel eyes if he could speak to him. He asked about Ava/Eva. Is she here? Could you find out where she is, if she’s still alive? The guard stared at him a moment, then asked him to come with him. He felt hope; something he hadn’t felt in months.

They went to one of the buildings, getting curious glances from the other ragtag workers in the camp on the way. The guard opened the door for him with a smile. Something told him not to go in, but what could be worse than his present situation? He walked in, and the door immediately shut behind him. He whirled around, once inside. It wasn’t a barracks. It wasn’t a gas chamber. It was a boiler room. He squinted into the sweltering steam to see a creature, sitting at a desk. It had a goat’s head and scarlet skin.

“Hey there!” the creature said. “It has been a while. Come on in,” he said in a familiar tone in the man’s own tongue: German. The man reluctantly took a step closer.

“I-I came to ask about my wife. I have money…”

The creature laughed. “You ask this every once in a while. Your wife, Eva, is dead, and so are you. You’re never getting out of here. You gave me the idea for your hell. Bravo! It’s worse than anything I ever created. I just ran with it, making you wake up, every day, as people you victimized and murdered. Sometimes, you’re a Jewish man. Sometimes, a gypsy woman. I am thinking of making you a homosexual man tomorrow; a Jewish woman on another day. Sometimes, it’s the gas chamber; sometimes, you will be experimented on. Sometimes, the guards will shoot you, as you work, for the fun of it. Now go back out there, and get back to work,” Satan growled, pointing his cloven hoof towards the boiler room door. “You’re dismissed, Fuhrer!”

Sean C. Wright is the author of 8 books. For more information about her writing skills and how she can assist you with yours–business or consumer–visit https://seanarchy.wordpress.com.

I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

Afro-Sean-Commission-Final copy

Flash Fiction: Indigo & Violet

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Indigo & Violet

by Sean C. Wright-Neeley

Violet Jones stood scowling backstage in their dressing room. Her arms were folded tightly under her breasts. She refused to look at her husband, Indigo. “Baby, I know you’re mad,” he said, softly, “but can we talk about this after the show? They’re waiting for us, and the preceding act is nearly done.”

“I know,” she huffed, “but I’m even too upset to perform. What the hell’s the matter with you, loaning one of our best cumulus cloud chairs to your sister without discussing it with me first? It was a wedding present!”

“I’m sorry,” Indigo said, putting his hands on Violet’s shoulders from behind, “I truly am. Yes, I should have talked to you first, but Blue is family and she needed one. Hers turned cirrus; wispy. We have others. I figured we could spare one.”

There was a banging on their dressing room door, followed by a desperate cry, “You guys ready? Rain’s act ended ten seconds ago, and he’s stalling for us!”

“Coming!” Indigo yelled back.

Violet uncrossed her arms, and turned to face Indigo. “I love you, but we’re supposed to be a team. Don’t make decisions without me.”

“I rarely do that, but Blue didn’t have a comfortable place to sit in her home. And I think the real issue here is that you don’t like my sister.”

Violet twisted her mouth. She couldn’t deny that. Instead, she muttered: “Well, I can’t be mad at you for being a thoughtful brother.” She stepped forward, and planted a kiss on Indigo’s lips, ruffled his midnight-blue hair. He smiled.

“How do I look?” she asked, stepping back and twirling in a flurry of purple ruffles.

“Beautiful, as always,” Indigo answered.

“Then let’s go out there, and wow them,” she said softly. Violet then smiled, grabbed her husband’s hand, and they both tore out of the dressing room.

The others looked peeved, but relieved to see them, as they milled around backstage. Red frowned, and hissed, “You held up everyone!”

“Sorry,” Violet said, “it won’t happen again.”

Red turned away, and pulled back the sky curtain. She whistled, which was the cue that Rain’s performance was done, and theirs was ready to begin. “Places, everyone!” she stage-whispered when Rain started his exit.

Red linked arms with Orange.

Orange linked arms with Yellow.

Yellow linked arms with Green.

Green linked arms Blue.

Blue linked arms with his sister, Indigo.

Indigo linked arms with his wife, Violet.

The seven colors then did a graceful, unified slide onto the gray sky set. They had no speaking parts, but they were to remain tightly linked, and not move for some time – until they got the Sun’s cue that she was ready to take over the stage…

People on the ground stared up at their formation, in happy awe, as always, completely oblivious as to how much hard work it took to make a rainbow.

SpaghettiWords

Flash Fiction: Sorceress Yamiti

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Sorceress Yamiti

By Sean C. Wright-Neeley

Gnat Bridge, Texas; summer 1956

“Come on, Angeline, baby. Just a little bit more,” traveling salesman Eric King muttered, patting the dashboard of his sputtering and whining 1949 Buick. Please. Angeline. Just make it there, and daddy will take care of you.

Angeline struggled up the hill, and descended it, like it was more in control than its driver. It putted into the Zoomie gas station lot, like a quivering old lady. Eric killed the motor, and said a silent thank you to the boxy hunk of metal. He wiped his forehead with his red paisley handkerchief, put his fedora back on his head. Eric then rolled down his window, and waited.

A colored gas station attendant made his way to Angeline’s flank with a casual stroll.

“Hey there, mister. Fill ‘er up today?” He was tall, the color of maple syrup, and kept his wooly curls sheared close. He looked well-built in his gray jumpsuit that had a patch with the name Earnest, embroidered on the breast. He wore a pleasant expression, but wasn’t overly solicitous. Eric disliked Earnest immediately.

“No,” Eric answered flatly, “Got plenty of gas, but have car trouble. Think it’s the fuel pump.”

“All righty then. Let’s have a look. Please pop the hood.” Eric complied, frowning. Why hasn’t this boy called me “sir”?

“Hmph,” Earnest grunted after he came from behind the hood, “You’re right. Well, there’s good news and bad news here: the good news is that we have a shop in back. The bad news is that we don’t have a fuel pump in stock. It might take a day or so to get here. Will cost you twenty-five dollars with parts and labor. No worries though. This is a friendly town,” Earnest punctuated his last word with a quick grin. “You on vacation, or something?” Earnest asked, pulling out a cigarette pack and lighter from his jumpsuit pocket. He then held out the pack to Eric. Eric plucked one out with a mildly slacked jaw, and swallowed before he answered, “Naw. I’m a traveling salesman for Pimco.”

“No fooling?” Earnest said, lighting Eric’s cigarette, “The one that sells everything from shampoo to dog biscuits? We like to keep things like that in our gas station for folks, passing through. I’d like to look at your catalogs when you come back to pick up your car, so we can get a few things for the store. I’m Earnest, by the way.”

“Eric. Eric King. Shouldn’t you ask your boss first?” Eric asked, trying to sound casual, as he drew on his cigarette.

Earnest laughed, and blew out a puff of smoke. “I amthe boss.”

Eric bristled at that, shuffled his feet then pulled his red hankie out of his pocket to dab at his forehead. “Well, uh. You say it’s gonna be about a day until my car is ready? Any motels in this town?”

“You bet,” Earnest said, using his sans cigarette hand to point west, “Further into town – less than a mile, called The Bluebonnet Inn. They can recommend some good eating places there, too. I’ll have my cousin drive you— “

“All right. Thanks. B-but I think I’ll walk,” Eric mumbled, and stamped out his cigarette.

“In his heat?” Earnest’s eyebrows rose.

“Yeah. I could use the exercise. I’ll get my suitcase out of my car, and be on my way. You can find me at that motel,” Eric said, quickly, fishing his keys out of his pocket, and retrieving his suitcase out of his trunk. He handed the car keys to Earnest, spun on his heel, and was gone.

*****

Eric arrived at The Bluebonnet Inn, a thirsty, sweaty mess. He took off his fedora, and fanned himself with it, as soon as he entered. Set down his suitcase. The desk clerk was an old woman who looked like a white prune with rouge on its cheeks. “Hi there. Room for one?”

“Yeah,” Eric panted. Just then a colored maid breezed through the lobby with a stack of folded towels in her outstretched arms. “Hey, gal. How about some water.” She turned and looked at him with a pinched smile and steely gaze. “The name is Minnie, and there’s a water cooler, over there,” she said with a jerk of her head to the lobby’s corner. She was mobile again before Eric could say anything else. He slowly made his way to the water cooler, gulped down two cups, crushed the cup, and chucked it in the small waste bin.

“How many nights you staying, sir?” said the desk clerk, after he returned to the desk.

“One for sure,” Eric said, pulling out his wallet. He sure hoped the fuel pump for his car would be in tomorrow, so he could get the hell out of there. What a weird town! He wanted to say something to the desk clerk about Minnie’s behavior, but thought better of it. It was almost as if the old woman was, well, afraid of Minnie.

“All right. Giving you room number seven. Lucky number seven. Call up here if you need anything. There’s a café across the street that serves the best chicken fried steak in town.”

“All right. Thank you.”

*****

Eric showered, and lay across the bed in his undershirt and boxers, Jesus-style, in his lucky-number-seven room. After he was good and rested, he picked up the phone, and dialed his wife.

“Hello, Dee. It’s Eric. No, I won’t be home for dinner. Car trouble. I’m in a little town, east of Dallas, called Gnat Bridge. Staying at The Bluebonnet Inn Motel. The car should be fixed by tomorrow.

“What? Yeah. Everyone’s friendly enough, but it’s a strange place. Strange how? I don’t know. The colored. They don’t know their places. Not sure what’s going on. Anyway, here’s the motel number, should you need to reach me…”

Gnat Bridge, Texas; 1 year ago

Minnie stood on The Harris’s porch with her weeping eleven-year-old daughter, Seneca. The girl was cut and bruised. Minnie rang the doorbell. Ms. Harris answered the door, took in the scene, and frowned.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Ms. Harris. Sorry to say this, but I’m afraid your son has done something to my Seneca. Go on, child. Tell her.”

“I was riding my bike on the road, and your son and his friend rode by in a truck. They ran me off the road. I rolled and flipped into a ditch,” she sniffled.

“She’s mostly okay, but the front wheel of her bike is bent up,” Minnie said, putting her arm around her cowering daughter.

Ms. Harris narrowed her eyes. “You sure it was my Nicholas? I mean how could you get a good look at them if you were both moving?”

“I could see into the truck because the windows were rolled down. Your son was driving. The O’Duke boy was in the passenger seat. They were both laughing. I swear it.”

Ms. Harris sneered. “Couldn’t have been him. Nicholas has been home with meall day.”

“Ms. Harris, would you at least ask him — “

“No,” the woman said coolly.

“May I talk to your husband?” Minnie asked.

“No.”

“We have a matter of a broken bike here — “

“I said no! Now get off my porch before I call the police!”

The girl sobbed anew. Minnie pulled her close, and cooed, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Then Minnie looked up at a flushed Ms. Harris, and stiffened her spine. “I curse you through Sorceress Yamiti. She’ll pain you until you do right by us,” she hissed.

“What are you talking about?”

“The spirit of an African queen and sorceress who exacts justice. You’ll know when she comes. And you know where to find us, should you decide to pay for the damage your boy did to Seneca’s bike.”

“Come on, baby,” Minnie said to Seneca. The woman and girl left the porch with Ms. Harris standing in the doorway, mouth agape.

Soon after that visit, Nicholas had explosive diarrhea in his pants, playing football with his cousins and friends, during a picnic. The seventeen-year-old boy was in tears, as Ms. Harris washed out his shitty drawers because it happened in front of a girl he had a crush on. “It must have been something you ate, son,” Ms. Harris said, shaking her head. She chalked it up to coincidence until everyone else in the Harris family started having loose bowels on and off. The doctor found nothing wrong.

Then all the Harris’s hair began to fall out. They threw away shampoo bottles, and bought new ones in vain. The hair loss continued. Again, the doctor found nothing wrong.

And still Ms. Harris had the Minnie-Seneca-porch-incident tucked way in the back of her mind. It didn’t crawl to the front until they found their tabby cat, dead, in the backyard. There was a necklace of feathers and teeth near the cat’s body, and a big Y scrawled in blood on their shed. It was only then that Ms. Harris made a secret trip to the colored side of town to visit Minnie one Saturday. Minnie opened her door, and cackled when she saw Ms. Harris’s cheap wig. “Nice hair.” Normally, Ms. Harris would have been incensed, but she didn’t reply. She held out an envelope with a crisp twenty-dollar bill inside. “This should cover Seneca’s bike repairs,” she said quietly. Minnie took the envelope, and opened it. She nodded after she checked it, and said with unwavering confidence, “Tell your son, and other white folks in this town to stop bothering innocent colored people, lest they want a visit from Sorceress Yamiti.” Minnie didn’t wait for a reply. She let the screen door slam in Ms. Harris’s face. Ms. Harris went home, and just like magic, all the troubles in her household ceased.

There were similar incidents between white and colored in Gnat Bridge when the colored were mistreated, and Sorceress Yamiti made a prompt appearance. Little by little, colored people etched out equality in the small Texas town. They weren’t made to walk in through back doors; and even allowed to own businesses. White men stopped harassing their black maids, nannies, and cooks. Best of all, black children were afforded the luxury of playing outside without ugly incident.

When new white families moved to Gnat Bridge, and attempted to enforce white supremacy, the colored folks had a meeting. Everyone was given an action item. The maids added laxatives to the family’s food, and put hair remover in their conditioner on occasion. If the family was especially stubborn to coming around, she would smuggle a dead rat or two into the home to place in their shoes. The gardener poisoned the family pet under the cover of darkness, and wrote a big Y in pig’s blood on the property. If they had no pets, he withered every last flower in their yard by pouring vegetable oil on them in the wee hours. Minnie collected colored children’s baby teeth and chicken feathers to make necklaces to drop on the property to tie it all together. Easy peasy.

Sean C. Wright is the author of 8 books. For more information about her writing skills and how she can assist you with yours–business or consumer–visit https://seanarchy.wordpress.com.

IMG_4170

I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

Afro-Sean-Commission-Final copy

Flash Fiction: The Men Excelling and Terrific Award

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The Men Excelling and Terrific Award

By Sean C. Wright-Neeley

Carl was to receive the Men Excelling and Terrific Award at a ceremony in Las Vegas. The driver picked him up at four o’ clock sharp. Carl handed him his bags, and settled into the SUV with the other men. He was chosen, along with the two other men in the car from neighboring cities. They introduced themselves to each other, and the car got to rolling.

The driver masked his annoyance at his passengers on the way to the airport, as Carl removed his shoes and propped up his smelly feet on the console, and smacked his chewing gum. Another passenger wore a permanently sour expression, and spewed profanity-laced statements about the traffic and weather. The other man incessantly cracked up at his own jokes – all of them either corny or dirty.

The flight went smoothly. Carl and the other two men were greeted at the airport that evening by people he thought somewhat strange. They all wore dark, well-tailored clothing, and were pale to almost transparency. The people’s aura was intensely cultured to the point of self-containment. However, they seemed genuinely happy to see Carl and the other two men.

They shuttled them to a nice hotel, told them to rest, and to be ready for dinner in about two hours. When the time came, they ushered Carl and the other two into the banquet hall, and told them to help themselves to a lavish buffet. The man with the sour face actually lessened his scowl, as he helped himself to plate after plate of prime rib. Joke Factory was quiet for once, while he stuffed his face with macaroni and cheese, swimming in rich gouda. Carl ate heartily, too, but noticed that his hosts had left. “Why aren’t they eating with us?” he asked the other men, through a mouth, crammed full of pepperoni pizza. They looked around, shrugged, and kept eating. It was curious to Carl, but he was more enamored with his savory pizza and criminally-delicious brownies. He smacked and smacked, and didn’t say excuse me when he burped.

And so it went that way for the next few days. Their hosts – who were always absent during the day – told them to enjoy themselves – eating, resting, gambling, visiting ladies of the evening, going to spas – whatever they wanted to do in Sin City. They provided food that was so delicious that the men were really too full and lethargic to do anything else. It had only been a few days, but none of their pants fit anymore.

The night they were to receive the award, the three men were again ushered to the banquet hall. The hosts didn’t vacate the room this time. Large men closed and locked the doors, as soon as they entered. There was no lavish buffet, only a large tarp in the middle of the room.

Carl whirled around. “W-where are the awards? Dinner?” The guards did not answer, only gazed at him with something like…hunger. Their hosts, the quartet of pale, beautiful people smiled covertly. The were dressed to the nines. Men wore black, three-piece suits with top hats. The women’s black gowns billowed and reached the floor, and were edged in ruffles and lace. Carl instantly thought of saloons and stagecoaches. The other two award-winners said nothing, just exchanged quizzical glances.

One of the women in black stepped forward. “Congratulations. You three won the Men Excelling and Terrific Award. You have been pampered and fed excessively for a very special purpose. Please step onto the tarp.”

Sour Face glowered and nearly spit, “Hell-fucking-no. What is this?”

Joke Factory laughed awkwardly, and spoke with a catch in his voice, “1870 called. They want their clothes back.”

“To nourish us,” one of the men in a black suit said, stepping forward as well.

Joke Factory cackled, “You gotta be kidding.”

“No,” the other man in black stated, “Unlike you, I am not attempting to be humorous. Tell me, dear boy: what does the acronym for Men Excelling and Terrific spell?”

There was a five-second silence then it was Carl who whispered, “MEAT. All this food…You were fattening us up.”

“You can’t do this!” Sour Face exclaimed, “We have friends and family back at home, waiting for us. You don’t think we’ll be missed, you sick bastards?”

The second woman stepped forward, and coolly explained things to the three horrified men. “Those closest to you offered you up. They’re going to file a missing person’s report on you in a few days, but we will be long gone by then.

“All three of you are blights on humanity, and must be removed from the gene pool. You do nothing, but agitate others, and take up space. You,” she said, pointing to Carl, “are a foul and sloppy man.” Carl dropped his head. “You,” she said, pointing to Sour Face, “are a negative person who casts darkness on the sunniest days. And you,” she said to Joke Factory, “are as annoying as they come; a crude and relentless buffoon who never knows when to give it a rest. So,” she continued, scanning their faces, “we travel from town-to-town, feasting on nominees, while humans rid themselves of dreadful people. It’s a wonderful, win-win setup.  We’ve been doing it since 1873.”

Joke Factory had been right in his guess about the time period.

Suddenly, all four people in black grinned and hissed, showing needle-like fangs, and rushed at them, as the three award-winners tried to edge back towards the doors. They bumped into the guards who shoved them onto the tarp. The three men didn’t even get a chance to scream, as the quartet in black and the guards bit into the flesh of their necks.

Sean C. Wright is the author of 8 books. For more information about her writing skills and how she can assist you with yours–business or consumer–visit https://seanarchy.wordpress.com.

IMG_4170

 

I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

Afro-Sean-Commission-Final copy

Flash Fiction: New Testament Healing

New Testament Healing

By Sean C. Wright Neeley

Nathan complained to Danny about his bad shoulder on their ritual Monday night meeting for drinks. “It dislocated when I was a teenager. They operated on it. It was fine for years – until now – some twenty-five years later. Getting older sucks!” he decreed before downing the rest of his beer. He rubbed the offending shoulder & grimaced.

The waitress came to their table to see if they wanted anything else. “Yeah,” Danny said, “Give us another couple beers another platter of cheese sticks.”

“You got it,” the waitress said, bouncing away. As soon as she left, Danny reached into his pocket. His hand came up with a band of business cards. He peeled one off, and handed it to Nathan.

“Say, man. Try this place. It’s not conventional medicine, but it works. I went there for a weight-lifting injury that took its sweet time healing. They fixed me right up. Fine ever since.”

Nathan took the card, and looked it over in the low lights. His beer goggles made the small print hard to read, but he managed. And it was strange. All it said was NEW TESTAMENT HEALING in black block print. There was a phone number, but no address. He looked up at Danny skeptically. “What kind of place is this? Acupuncture? Massages? And how do you know they take my health insurance?”

Danny casually waved away Nathan’s questions. “They take ALL insurance. I promise you. You’ll feel like a new man.” Nathan studied him. Danny was buzzed, but wasn’t drunk. And his friend since junior high wasn’t one to play practical jokes. He shoved the card in his pocket, and shrugged. By that time, the waitress returned with their drinks and appetizer. The card in Nathan’s pocket was quickly forgotten. When he got home and emptied his pockets, it was just another item that ended up on his dresser with his wallet, a pack of gum, keys, and cell phone.

It wasn’t until Nathan’s shoulder throbbed like an unrelenting toothache, and it wouldn’t respond to sports rub and ice packs that he picked up the card off his dresser. He shoved it back in his pocket, and dialed the number on it during his lunch hour.

“Hello,” said a voice on the other end that sounded melodious and kind.

“Hi there. I got your card from a friend. I need the doctor to look at my shoulder. Do you take Wealth of Health Insurance?

“Yes, son.” Son?

“Wonderful. When can I come in?”

“Tell us what time works best.”

“Uh. My lunch hour. About 11:30. Tomorrow?”

“That sounds fine.”

“Where is your office? It doesn’t say on the card.”

“1234 Genesis Street, suite #1.”

“Okay. That’s perfect. It’s within walking distance of my job. See you tomorrow. I’m Nathan Turner.”

“We look forward to it, Nathan.”

Nathan hung up the phone, feeling a recipe of emotions: half a cup of hesitancy; what a strange place! One-third of a tablespoon of relief; someone would look at his shoulder tomorrow. A tablespoon of Zen; the receptionist’s voice sounded so soothing; like…an angel singing.

“Oh, well,” Nathan muttered to himself in the empty lunch room, “it’s twenty-four hours away. I can still cancel.” He then slowly ate his tuna fish sandwich with his good arm.

*****

Nathan went back and forth the next day about the peculiar doctor appointment. He finally decided to keep the appointment, but leave if something spooked him. At 11:15 am, Nathan left his office and walked to his appointment; three blocks away. It was spring. The sky was aquamarine and cloudless. The wind was balmy. The air was a blithe seventy-five degrees. Nathan hoped the walk in the warm and sparkling spring soup would soothe his stomach that churned with butterflies and the turkey sandwich he ate before leaving.

He reached the building, held his breath, and went inside. Nathan found his gaze pulled to suite #1 almost immediately. Nathan opened the door like a sleepwalker, and entered. 

The room was awash in warm, yellow light. Love soaked into Nathan’s every pore. In later years, Nathan couldn’t even remember how he got to the exam table to lie down. He stared up at the ceiling through the yellow haze with half-closed eyes, and waited. Nathan felt a presence in the room, but didn’t move. A warm hand gently cupped his bad shoulder. He felt the pain extract from his muscles like a baby suckles milk from a nipple. The hand left Nathan’s shoulder, he sat up slowly, and flapped his arm to test it. It was good as new. Nathan turned to see this amazing doctor, and his mouth fell to his chest. The vision was translucent; more like a spirit. He could only make out certain details: A dark-haired man. A beard. Brown robes. He couldn’t really tell, but got the feeling that the eyes were piercing, yet super kind. 

“Th-thank you,” Nathan stammered, “That was amazing. What do I owe you?”

There was a pause; a pause that didn’t give an awkward poke to the air though. “You owe me nothing, my child. I did it because I love you, Nathan. I love you very much. The only thing I ask is that you bring me more patients, and live a righteous life,” the healer said while he extended a band of cards towards Nathan; much like the ones he saw Danny carrying that night at the restaurant.

“I will. I promise,” Nathan replied. He meant every word. He could not lie to this entity. There was also something familiar about him. It was as if Nathan had known him his whole life – even before he was born. It was haunting, but not scary haunting, and beautiful.

“One more thing,” the healer said, “I have a gift for you for coming to see me.” He nearly floated over to small stand in the room. The healer uncovered what appeared to be a bowl of water. He waved his hands over the bowl in deft sweeping movements. Nathan watched in buck-eyed amazement as the clear liquid turned to scarlet. Then the healer picked up the bowl, and poured its contents into a bottle; a wine bottle. He then floated over to Nathan, and offered the bottle. Nathan slowly took it with the hand that wasn’t holding the business cards, transfixed. 

“Drink this in remembrance of me whenever you feel lost. Now go in peace, my child. I have carpentry work to do before my next appointment.”

Sean C. Wright is the author of 8 books. For more information about her writing skills and how she can assist you with yours–business or consumer–visit https://seanarchy.wordpress.com.

I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

Afro-Sean-Commission-Final copy

Flash Fiction: Sorceress Yamiti

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Sorceress Yamiti

By Sean C. Wright-Neeley

Gnat Bridge, Texas; summer 1956

“Come on, Angeline, baby. Just a little bit more,” traveling salesman Eric King muttered, patting the dashboard of his sputtering and whining 1949 Buick. Please. Angeline. Just make it there, and daddy will take care of you.

Angeline struggled up the hill, and descended it, like it was more in control than its driver. It putted into the Zoomie gas station lot, like a quivering old lady. Eric killed the motor, and said a silent thank you to the boxy hunk of metal. He wiped his forehead with his red paisley handkerchief, put his fedora back on his head. Eric then rolled down his window, and waited.

A colored gas station attendant made his way to Angeline’s flank with a casual stroll.

“Hey there, mister. Fill ‘er up today?” He was tall, the color of maple syrup, and kept his wooly curls sheared close. He looked well-built in his gray jumpsuit that had a patch with the name Earnest, embroidered on the breast. He wore a pleasant expression, but wasn’t overly solicitous. Eric disliked Earnest immediately.

“No,” Eric answered flatly, “Got plenty of gas, but have car trouble. Think it’s the fuel pump.”

“All righty then. Let’s have a look. Please pop the hood.” Eric complied, frowning. Why hasn’t this boy called me “sir”?

“Hmph,” Earnest grunted after he came from behind the hood, “You’re right. Well, there’s good news and bad news here: the good news is that we have a shop in back. The bad news is that we don’t have a fuel pump in stock. It might take a day or so to get here. Will cost you twenty-five dollars with parts and labor. No worries though. This is a friendly town,” Earnest punctuated his last word with a quick grin. “You on vacation, or something?” Earnest asked, pulling out a cigarette pack and lighter from his jumpsuit pocket. He then held out the pack to Eric. Eric plucked one out with a mildly slacked jaw, and swallowed before he answered, “Naw. I’m a traveling salesman for Pimco.”

“No fooling?” Earnest said, lighting Eric’s cigarette, “The one that sells everything from shampoo to dog biscuits? We like to keep things like that in our gas station for folks, passing through. I’d like to look at your catalogs when you come back to pick up your car, so we can get a few things for the store. I’m Earnest, by the way.”

“Eric. Eric King. Shouldn’t you ask your boss first?” Eric asked, trying to sound casual, as he drew on his cigarette.

Earnest laughed, and blew out a puff of smoke. “I amthe boss.”

Eric bristled at that, shuffled his feet then pulled his red hankie out of his pocket to dab at his forehead. “Well, uh. You say it’s gonna be about a day until my car is ready? Any motels in this town?”

“You bet,” Earnest said, using his sans cigarette hand to point west, “Further into town – less than a mile, called The Bluebonnet Inn. They can recommend some good eating places there, too. I’ll have my cousin drive you— “

“All right. Thanks. B-but I think I’ll walk,” Eric mumbled, and stamped out his cigarette.

“In his heat?” Earnest’s eyebrows rose.

“Yeah. I could use the exercise. I’ll get my suitcase out of my car, and be on my way. You can find me at that motel,” Eric said, quickly, fishing his keys out of his pocket, and retrieving his suitcase out of his trunk. He handed the car keys to Earnest, spun on his heel, and was gone.

*****

Eric arrived at The Bluebonnet Inn, a thirsty, sweaty mess. He took off his fedora, and fanned himself with it, as soon as he entered. Set down his suitcase. The desk clerk was an old woman who looked like a white prune with rouge on its cheeks. “Hi there. Room for one?”

“Yeah,” Eric panted. Just then a colored maid breezed through the lobby with a stack of folded towels in her outstretched arms. “Hey, gal. How about some water.” She turned and looked at him with a pinched smile and steely gaze. “The name is Minnie, and there’s a water cooler, over there,” she said with a jerk of her head to the lobby’s corner. She was mobile again before Eric could say anything else. He slowly made his way to the water cooler, gulped down two cups, crushed the cup, and chucked it in the small waste bin.

“How many nights you staying, sir?” said the desk clerk, after he returned to the desk.

“One for sure,” Eric said, pulling out his wallet. He sure hoped the fuel pump for his car would be in tomorrow, so he could get the hell out of there. What a weird town! He wanted to say something to the desk clerk about Minnie’s behavior, but thought better of it. It was almost as if the old woman was, well, afraid of Minnie.

“All right. Giving you room number seven. Lucky number seven. Call up here if you need anything. There’s a café across the street that serves the best chicken fried steak in town.”

“All right. Thank you.”

*****

Eric showered, and lay across the bed in his undershirt and boxers, Jesus-style, in his lucky-number-seven room. After he was good and rested, he picked up the phone, and dialed his wife.

“Hello, Dee. It’s Eric. No, I won’t be home for dinner. Car trouble. I’m in a little town, east of Dallas, called Gnat Bridge. Staying at The Bluebonnet Inn Motel. The car should be fixed by tomorrow.

“What? Yeah. Everyone’s friendly enough, but it’s a strange place. Strange how? I don’t know. The colored. They don’t know their places. Not sure what’s going on. Anyway, here’s the motel number, should you need to reach me…”

Gnat Bridge, Texas; 1 year ago

Minnie stood on The Harris’s porch with her weeping eleven-year-old daughter, Seneca. The girl was cut and bruised. Minnie rang the doorbell. Ms. Harris answered the door, took in the scene, and frowned.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Ms. Harris. Sorry to say this, but I’m afraid your son has done something to my Seneca. Go on, child. Tell her.”

“I was riding my bike on the road, and your son and his friend rode by in a truck. They ran me off the road. I rolled and flipped into a ditch,” she sniffled.

“She’s mostly okay, but the front wheel of her bike is bent up,” Minnie said, putting her arm around her cowering daughter.

Ms. Harris narrowed her eyes. “You sure it was my Nicholas? I mean how could you get a good look at them if you were both moving?”

“I could see into the truck because the windows were rolled down. Your son was driving. The O’Duke boy was in the passenger seat. They were both laughing. I swear it.”

Ms. Harris sneered. “Couldn’t have been him. Nicholas has been home with meall day.”

“Ms. Harris, would you at least ask him — “

“No,” the woman said coolly.

“May I talk to your husband?” Minnie asked.

“No.”

“We have a matter of a broken bike here — “

“I said no! Now get off my porch before I call the police!”

The girl sobbed anew. Minnie pulled her close, and cooed, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Then Minnie looked up at a flushed Ms. Harris, and stiffened her spine. “I curse you through Sorceress Yamiti. She’ll pain you until you do right by us,” she hissed.

“What are you talking about?”

“The spirit of an African queen and sorceress who exacts justice. You’ll know when she comes. And you know where to find us, should you decide to pay for the damage your boy did to Seneca’s bike.”

“Come on, baby,” Minnie said to Seneca. The woman and girl left the porch with Ms. Harris standing in the doorway, mouth agape.

Soon after that visit, Nicholas had explosive diarrhea in his pants, playing football with his cousins and friends, during a picnic. The seventeen-year-old boy was in tears, as Ms. Harris washed out his shitty drawers because it happened in front of a girl he had a crush on. “It must have been something you ate, son,” Ms. Harris said, shaking her head. She chalked it up to coincidence until everyone else in the Harris family started having loose bowels on and off. The doctor found nothing wrong.

Then all the Harris’s hair began to fall out. They threw away shampoo bottles, and bought new ones in vain. The hair loss continued. Again, the doctor found nothing wrong.

And still Ms. Harris had the Minnie-Seneca-porch-incident tucked way in the back of her mind. It didn’t crawl to the front until they found their tabby cat, dead, in the backyard. There was a necklace of feathers and teeth near the cat’s body, and a big Y scrawled in blood on their shed. It was only then that Ms. Harris made a secret trip to the colored side of town to visit Minnie one Saturday. Minnie opened her door, and cackled when she saw Ms. Harris’s cheap wig. “Nice hair.” Normally, Ms. Harris would have been incensed, but she didn’t reply. She held out an envelope with a crisp twenty-dollar bill inside. “This should cover Seneca’s bike repairs,” she said quietly. Minnie took the envelope, and opened it. She nodded after she checked it, and said with unwavering confidence, “Tell your son, and other white folks in this town to stop bothering innocent colored people, lest they want a visit from Sorceress Yamiti.” Minnie didn’t wait for a reply. She let the screen door slam in Ms. Harris’s face. Ms. Harris went home, and just like magic, all the troubles in her household ceased.

There were similar incidents between white and colored in Gnat Bridge when the colored were mistreated, and Sorceress Yamiti made a prompt appearance. Little by little, colored people etched out equality in the small Texas town. They weren’t made to walk in through back doors; and even allowed to own businesses. White men stopped harassing their black maids, nannies, and cooks. Best of all, black children were afforded the luxury of playing outside without ugly incident.

When new white families moved to Gnat Bridge, and attempted to enforce white supremacy, the colored folks had a meeting. Everyone was given an action item. The maids added laxatives to the family’s food, and put hair remover in their conditioner on occasion. If the family was especially stubborn to coming around, she would smuggle a dead rat or two into the home to place in their shoes. The gardener poisoned the family pet under the cover of darkness, and wrote a big Y in pig’s blood on the property. If they had no pets, he withered every last flower in their yard by pouring vegetable oil on them in the wee hours. Minnie collected colored children’s baby teeth and chicken feathers to make necklaces to drop on the property to tie it all together. Easy peasy.

Sean C. Wright is the author of 8 books. For more information about her writing skills and how she can assist you with yours–business or consumer–visit https://seanarchy.wordpress.com.

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I’m pleased to announce the release of my 8th book, Skoll’s Diary.

Africans and African Americans left Earth in 1900, and went to another planet in The Milky Way to escape mistreatment…

It’s now the year 3005 on that terraformed planet. We get a peek into the life of a bright and sensitive teenaged boy, Skoll, through his journal. He loves his world, but is curious about life on Earth. Then suddenly, an epic event casts him in the middle of a difficult decision.  The fate of the planet’s community is in his hands.

Get the book here. I’d appreciate your leaving a review if you read it. Thanks in advance!

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