Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Flash story subscriptions --

free web counter
Yahoo Personals
Hi Readers & Friends:
I'm now taking subscribers to RD Larson's Flash Fiction service. A flash story will be sent to your USPO mail address, your email or your cell (255 characters) once a week for a $1.00 a month; a year for $10.00. You will get first read of new stories before I submit them anywhere. Not only that you'll have them to save or to print and read as you wish. You may not forward the stories; however, there will be a bonus story now and then. Some stories will be four parts to a longer story. Of course, cell or PDA will be shorter and different. Please check my website for details. I will give away one of my print books to the 25th subscriber free and postage paid and autographed. There will be other surprise free gifts. But only to subscribers. Enrol now at www.RDLarson.com (Paypal only)

new blog flash story



Absolutely Gutted
By
RD Larson
©2005 RD Larson
Tied high in the tree, the swing’s rope was so long that I had to lean back to see the knot. There was even a huge rock to use a jump. The swing would arch out over an old wet ditch. I knew about the ditch. I played with the frogs and salamanders there.
I jerked hard on the rope. Old ropes rot. Who had made this swing? I looked around for telltale signs like footprints or gum wrappers. Nothing. Pulling the swing behind me, I climbed onto the rock. The drop was going to be something. I could see across ditch from up here. . If I bailed out at the height, I could land on grassy round fairy circle
I pushed back as far as I could on the rock and raised my feet.
The swing went forward fast. Then the drop. I nearly fell at the jerk. Then out. Out. Near and nearer the grassy fairy circle. I turned my hands backwards and jumped for all I was worth.
Then I saw the spikes planted a foot apart, dozens of them. Ready to kill me. I knew I would be absolutely gutted

end

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Getting older is like baseball. During your rookie season, you don't know

where you're playing ball or even why. As you get traded and change

managers, you figure out the Commissioner is as stupid as he was last year.

The you cry when the President throws out the first pitch and your MVP years

begin. When you make to the Series, you know you're good. If the team stays

outta the news and outta the pen, if you don't have a salary cap and if the

umpires are fair, you gotta a chance to make it good. If you are in the

ballpark then I must be batting. Clean-up.

 Posted by Hello

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Cleveland W. Gibson

Cleve Gibson will be known as the modern writer of the decade. When you read his work you'll laugh and cry: sometimes at the same time. This is a wonderful story about containment. Go there: Read it. NOW. Trust me. He is a phenomenon.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

A Benign and Archaic Afterthought



http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue139/afterthought.html
How can a dark-winged angel overcome foul-smelling witches straight out of a horror story? The Infant knows. His way to victory is sure but never easy: R D Larson, A Benign and Archaic Afterthought .

Posted by Hello
RD Larson WRITER

http://laurahird.com/showcase/clevelandwgibson.html



Please read this uplifting story written by my friend Cleveland W. Gibson. It will make your heart fall and rise in a way no one else can.



RD Larson

Friday, March 18, 2005


Senior Citizen Center
by
RD Larson


"Please," she snapped.

"I'm in a wheelchair, for God's sake. What's the matter with you? Blind?" The old codger growled.

"Yes, I am. Blind as hell. Maniacal Degenerate. Can't see a damn thing any more." The woman glared at him. Or rather his direction.

"So what?" The man plucked at her robe. "C'mon let's go to the dinning room. They've got stew with cholesterol. Posted by Hello

Wednesday, March 16, 2005


okay so have you liked my stories? Say something, okay? Better yet subscribe at my website: www.RDLarson.com  Posted by Hello

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Malice Aforethought
By
RD Larson

Word count 1259
© 2005 RD Larson


My boss upgraded my flight from business to first class because I had done so well on my last presentation in New York. He wanted me to wow them again. I didn’t know if I could since I’d been high on a three martini lunch the time before. I got on the 3 o’clock flight expecting to sleep during the flight. It’s more harrowing to fly than it had been before 9/11 and I tried to suppress any troublesome feelings that I had. Actually, I’d been depressed for the last year or so.

It’s not easy to divorce after five years. It makes you feel like you didn’t try hard enough or that you hadn’t committed your whole self to your mate. I still missed Eva but didn’t long to see her anymore.

I dropped into my seat, checked my email on my laptop and left myself a note. I took out my newspaper and opened it. As I was shaking it out, a woman came on the plane and bustled along with packages and a carryon. I didn’t really look at her because I was folding my paper into manageable quarters. I’m a bit fussy, I know, but I like things neat.

As the plane taxied and became airborne, I read the latest information Bush had to offer up on Social Security. By the time I made enough to retire, I would likely be dead, I thought. I was glad now that we hadn’t had any kids, although that was one of the problems between Eva and me. She didn’t want kids and I thought I did. Then.

I glanced to right with a sudden intake of breath. I had not seen an actual movie star up close. I lived in LA but my life was not glamorous. I looked at the girl beside me. I’m sure I gawked. I had never seen anyone that beautiful in real life.

She had exquisite skin, sort of a honey gold, and her hair was a dark rich brown. She was talking into her cell phone. I couldn’t believe that I had not noticed her when she sat down. She seemed very young to me but I would guess that her age lay between 20 and 25.

Regretfully, I turned back to my paper. I had been taught not to stare.

When the steward brought drinks around she ordered a tomato juice and I had a scotch and water. After she took a sip, she half turned to look at me.

“Hi. I’m Taylor Rivers.”

“Hi. I’m David Ellsworth. Off to New York for a sales meeting.” I’m sure I mumbled. I mean, she WAS beautiful. Perfect teeth. High, high heels. Some kind of short little dress. I’m pretty old but I’m not dead.

“I’m an actress. Maybe you saw my show. It’s called ‘Mother Raised a Slob’ and its on cable Wednesday nights at 10 pm.” She smiled at me, right into my eyes and face -- it was engaging. I felt like I was in the presence of something or someone destined for power. Her charisma swept me like a hot wind. I noticed an older woman was staring at her. The steward was practically drooling.

“Not so fast buddy,” I said inside my mind to him. To her, I smiled broadly and said, “I’m honored to meet such a fine actress.”

Of course, I sounded like an a nerdy idiot. I couldn’t tell her that I hadn’t seen her show, could I? I never watched much television. Just crime shows. Now and then.

Two young girls came up and asked Taylor for an autograph. She signed it and said, “Okay, see you in the funny papers, kids.”

I laughed. “My dad use to say that.”

Taylor looked at me. Her dark eyes grew darker as she seemed to appraise my inner self.

“Any serious illnesses in your family? You know, like disease.”

“Not really, although my dad did die of heart disease but he never was able to stop smoking.”

“So how about your siblings?”

“Don’t have any. Why do ask?”

“I just want to know.”

She opened a notebook and wrote hurriedly, half turned from me. I thought that she was a little odd even though very stunning.

“I have to work myself now.” I opened my notebook PC and called up Jefferson and McKinney’s prospectus. I began to read it all yet again. I would swarm them with my information about their company tomorrow.

“I knew you’d be on this flight. David. That’s your name right? David Ellsworth?”

“How did you know? Why?” I looked at her. What was I? A sudden suspect.? “Why would you know anything about me?”

“When you’ve got power and money, you can find out anything about anybody,” she said. Her lips now looked ugly, puckered and twisted.

“So? What did you look me up for?” I felt a betrayal, an exposure and wanted know why this girl -- woman would want to find out anything about me.

“I just wanted to know more about you. Don’t go freaking out.”

“Look, I want to know. Damn it, I should know. You let it out,” I told her harshly. I signaled for another scotch. “You can’t just have people investigated.”

“Yes, I can and I do. Don’t get drunk. My attorney is sitting behind you. I’ll say you assaulted me.”

“What! Are you nuts? Where’s this come from? Look I’m a forty-year-old sales representative. I lead a quiet life. What’re you trying to do?”

“UMmm,” said Taylor WhatEVER-her-name was. She cast her eyes down to my lap. Then she looked up at me as the steward walked by again. He was looking up her dress. I could tell. From the tilt of his head. I’m seriously glad she’s not my kid. Glad Eva and I didn’t have any kids.

“Buzz off, honey. I just got away from one like you,” I snarled. I turned my head to stare out the window. More angry than I’d been in years, I grimaced as my stomach bucked in rebellion to the burn of the scotch and the tease of the so-called actor.

“Wait . . .”
“Look, girls like you are all over LA. I don’t care what you think you’re doing, princess. I’m just fine; you can’t do anything to me or with me.”

She laughed, low and sweet. “I already did.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes. I wished she’d fall out of the plane. What was it with her? I kept my eyes closed.

“Remember in 1980 at UCLA you were in a study? About genetics? About how bright babies are composites of more than just their parents? You left sperm samples.”

I looked at her, the light bulb coming on. I swore out loud.

“Yep. Guess what? It’s an old sperm; I wasn’t born until ‘84. Don’t get crazy. You got nothing to do with it. It’s mine. I just wanted to see you. Kind of malice aforethought. I wanted to find out about you. I believe you shouldn’t put something in your body if its not healthy.”
I think I must have looked like I’d seen a demon from hell.

Don‘t worry; you won‘t be in my life or the baby‘s.” She bounced out of her seat, and careened to the back of the plane.

Oh, God, what will I do? What can I do? Nothing, I decided in a split second. It has to be a joke or it’s a scam.







Wednesday, March 9, 2005


Zippy says "Hi. She's not written much today. Guess I'll have to give her a head noogie." Posted by Hello

Monday, March 7, 2005

516 words
Zippy Comes Home
By
RD Larson

© 2002 RD Larson


Two weeks later. We are jogging into a big store. Any store with more than five cars in the lot is a big store to me but this super store had maybe 200 cars. In front of the store was a beautiful longhaired woman in cut-offs and a halter-top. She desperately tried to hold onto three small black dogs as they ran in six directions. I walked into the store; hubby stayed behind.

Curses, the women are always flirting with him,I thought.At least he doesn't know when they are..

Skating through the book section, I checked out what had just come out. Lost in the stacks of books, time stood as they say still. Finally, after I took stock of on-sale clothes, I heard the hubby's secret call. Cough, cough. I turned and grinned.He laughed.

"Want a book?"

"Maybe. Maybe, maybe I'll get another tank top." I waved them in front of him by their tiny straps.

"Wow, oh sure. Great. I like the red one." He knows I love red so he always picks the red one for me. Smart man.

"Maybe I should get black. Or pink. How about pink?" Testing him, I said. He knows I hate pink.

Confused, he says, "Sure, pink is good."

"Okay, what is it?" We know one another pretty well and I knew he wanted to say something else to me.

"I want you to see this dog." He smiles his best little boy smile.

"No. I can't stand to be told AGAIN I'm not good enough to adopt a dog. Not by some girl in hot pants and a handkerchief bra," I say as slowly as ever I can.

"Oh, honey, come on, this is an unusual dog."

"What kind is he?" I really thought this would stump him.

"He's a Chew-wiener," he said, chuckling so hard that suddenly laughter jumped out.

I went to look at the dog. Half Chihuahua and half Dachshund make for an arresting combination. The dog and his two brothers had all played the cello -- they were major bowlegged. Black and tan faces and bodies too long by half with short pointed ears that tipped over at the tips. Plus a whippet's tale. They were very busy, all three of them.

I'm sure you heard the saying 'so ugly it's cute?" Of the three, Zippy was NOT cute, just ugly and innocent. One of his brothers bit him on the nose during a struggle for a rib so he has got that prizefighter look. Zippy has a missing lower tooth and one sticks out at an odd angle giving him a gentle, perplexed smile. The woman's grandpa raised the pups with a bottle when a car had killed their mother, a streetwalker. Now, the grandpa couldn't keep them as he was going to a smaller place to live. He sort of missed his brothers at first but he said to me in dog talk that it's better to have the one full plate than a third of another.

Like I said he's a honey. But he's more -- he's an adventure dog.  Posted by Hello


Check out: and donate thru Paypal -- we who love our dogs need to help all dogs.

Also check out Panthergirl
Reflection
By
RD Larson


© 2005 RD Larson
360 WORDS

The late summer sun flowed inside a living room in a California house. An older, attractive woman sat on an expensive sofa. A tall spare man with silver hair stands across from her. They both had glasses of dark red wine.


"I'm a goddamn television joke. He's made me a goddamn joke," Marla stammered, "I'm furious. I should sue him. I can't believe I deserve this. What can I do?"


"Oh, honey, he's a kid. He's not thinking about you. You need to accept that he's just writing a television show. It's not about US. It's a comedy. He's in the thick of his career."


"You make it sound like he's dead. He has only gotten a job. Finally. But writing about an IRRESPONSIBLE OAF -- why did he do that? It's a reflection on me. I want to die. I want to be dead. People think I raised him to throw food on the floor. And his girl friend! Lazy cow. She makes him live like a pig. I can smell sweat clothes when I go over there. Who wants to watch reality TV about dirty people?" Marla got purple in the face.

Bob said, "Look, he's making good money and he likes it . . ."

"You are a dumb old fool. Men don't understand anything!" Marla furiously slapped the arm of the brocade sofa on pronouncement of each word. With a slip of the wrist, she dropped her wine glass into her lap. The red stain covered the crotch of her white knit pants . She jumped to her feet and staggered. "Holy crap, now look what you made me do? I thought I was finished with my period ten years ago."

Bob couldn't keep from laughing as Marla stomped off toward the bedroom. Boy, was she pissed off! He hoped he could calm her down before Max came over with Tara the slob girlfriend. They were going to a dinner house and he didn't want another scene over the highly rated show.

"They shouldn't have called it "My Mother Raised a Slob." He shook his head, still chuckling to himself.

Sunday, March 6, 2005



. Posted by Hello
WRITER with flash BLOG
Want to have an update when I blog? send an email to Reply419@aol.com to get on the list.

Zippy is a honey. Posted by Hello

Saturday, March 5, 2005

(from Christmas this year)

Mole Arses
By
RD Larson

“Moleskin?” I arched my usually level brow at the security guard.

“Yes, Madam, PM said moleskin.”

“Feathers would suit me better,” I mumbled, straightening my dress.

“Ah, yes, love, you are a rare old bird,” said my spouse from his comfy chair.

“Travers, tell the PM to stuff his Moleskin opinion into his yellow bill; he’s the duck in the soup of this damn Hunter’s Ball.” I dearly wanted to say balls, but it had got me cocked-up before. I thought I just might resign before Boxing Day.

http://www.ehow.com/how_11775_celebrate-boxing-day.html
AsiaLinks.com

Wednesday, March 2, 2005


Too Classy
By
RD Larson
©2005 RD Larson

If you've been reading my stories or my articles you know I like dogs. I have been looking for the right dog since Max died. Finally, we found another dog. My vet called to tell us that one of his clients was moving and did I want her dog?

The woman I talked to on the phone thought we were perfect to adopt her dog.

We got in the car and drove to her ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. She let us in and the dog out. I laughed. Of course, my being a dog person, the dog didn’t go far. She whirled around and came right back to me.

“She loves to run away,” said the woman in a matching pantsuit.

Fluffy and scruffy, the dog looked like a cross between a Terrier and a Poodle. She ran around like a demon and barked like one too. She even barked at the woman who seemed to be looking down at me.

I was in fact lying on the floor playing tug of war with the wild pup. The very doge she had said had been to obedience school any number of times and failed out. The dog that she said was aloof and afraid of strangers was trying to separate me from my leather purse. Finally, just because I weighed 90 pounds more than he did, he gave up. Sitting on my chest, he told me in dog talk that he thought I sure was cute. Then this dog said I was so smart. Licking me on my chin, Pudgie gave me doggie kisses.

The woman muttered, "Hrumpffft, on the floor, no less!"

My hair had come loose and was sticking out from rough play with the dog. I still thought I looked benevolent and full of fun. The hubby was even more spectacular. Quiet and charming as he is, I could tell she thought he was far too classy for me. Well the dog liked me. I thought nasty thoughts as I sneaked a dog cookie to the dog. I earned a dog kiss from Pudgie the Wild Terrier and Poodle crossbreed.

I was ready to take her now. However, trust me; I was going to change that stupid name to something smart like Ruby.

Still goofing with the dog, the woman began asking question of my husband. Up until then, she believed HE was perfect for the dog-daddy even if she had reservations about ME as dog-Mommy.

Where do you live? What kind of yard do you have? What kind of opportunities can you give my little Pudgie? Are you willing to spend the millions you do not have on this adorable dog? Those kinds of Patriot Act questions.

The sweet pup was ours until she found out we lived in the woods. I heard rather a lot about coyotes and bears before (UNBEARABLY) she said to us, nastily, "Well, you don't have a yard and I can't let Pudgie go to a home without a fenced yard."

I thought about smacking her a good one.

“Max live with us for fourteen years and he did NOT go out without a lead. I promise I will guard her with my life,” I told her, crossing my heart just to be sure.
“I’m sorry this isn’t going to work. You, you (pointing at ME) can’t have Pudgie.”
I think I might have said something rude. We got in the car without the dog.

I felt like a gutter ball at the bowling alley.

Okay, we went home and had an adult beverage on the deck. I was miserable, mad and sad.

"I don't want a dog."
Too Classy
Max Posted by Hello

Too Classy
By
RD Larson

©2005 RD Larson

If you've been reading my stories or my articles you know I like dogs. I have been looking for the right dog since Max died. Finally, we found another dog. My vet called to tell us that one of his clients was moving and did I want her dog?

The woman I talked to on the phone thought we were perfect to adopt her dog.

We got in the car and drove to her ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. She let us in and the dog out. I laughed. Of course, my being a dog person, the dog didn’t go far. She whirled around and came right back to me.

“She loves to run away,” said the woman in a matching pantsuit.

Fluffy and scruffy, the dog looked like a cross between a Terrier and a Poodle. She ran around like a demon and barked like one too. She even barked at the woman who seemed to be looking down at me.

I was in fact lying on the floor playing tug of war with the wild pup. The very dog she went to obedience school any number of times and failed out. The dog that she said was aloof and afraid of strangers was trying to separate me from my leather purse. Finally, just because I weighed 90 pounds more than he did, he gave up. Sitting on my chest, he told me in dog talk that he thought I sure was cute. Then this dog said I was so smart. Licking me on my chin, Pudgie gave me doggie kisses.

The woman muttered, "Hrumpffft, on the floor, no less!"

My hair had come loose and was sticking out from rough play with the dog. I still thought I looked benevolent and full of fun. The hubby was even more spectacular. Quiet and charming as he is, I could tell she thought he was far too classy for me.
Well the dog liked me. I had nasty thoughts as I sneaked a dog cookie to the dog. I earned a dog kiss from Pudgie the Wild Terrier and Poodle crossbreed.

I was ready to take her home now. Trust me; I was going to change that stupid name to something smart like Ruby.

Still goofing with the dog, the woman began asking questions of my husband. Up until then, she believed HE was perfect for the dog-daddy even if she had reservations about ME as dog-Mommy.

Where do you live? What kind of yard do you have? What kind of opportunities can you give my little Pudgie? Are you willing to spend the millions you do not have on this adorable dog? Those kinds of Patriot Act questions.

The sweet pup was ours until she found out we lived in the woods. I heard rather a lot about coyotes and bears before (UNBEARABLY) she said to us, rudely, "Well, you don't have a yard and I can't let Pudgie go to a home without a fenced yard."

I wanted to smack her a good one. (It's okay to WANT: you just can't DO IT.)

“Max live with us for fourteen years and he did NOT go out without a lead. I promise I will guard her with my life,” I told her, crossing my heart just to be sure.

“I’m sorry this isn’t going to work. You, you (pointing at ME) can’t have Pudgie.”

I think I might have said something rude.
We got in the car without the dog. I felt like a gutter ball at the bowling alley.

Okay, we went home and had an adult beverage on the deck. I was miserable, mad and sad.

"I don't want a dog."

http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue137/incident1.html Posted by Hello

© 2005 RD Larson
Working Poor
By
RD Larson
Prologue

Henry knelt by the broken picket fence. The smell of the honeysuckle was too sweet; the sound of bees moving from one yellow flower to another made him scared. He'd been stung lots of times. He picked at his ankle, scratching off an old scab.

His hair was combed wet against his head. His mother liked him to look nice, she said, dipping her rattail comb under the faucet before combing his soft brown curls. In this heat the curls would spring loose again any minute, but for now Henry looked proper. He chewed on his hangnail and waited.

Pretty soon, a little boy came out of the house next door. He was taller than Henry, but Henry thought he was younger, maybe first or second grade. The boy had torn overalls on. His hair had been buzzed off not long ago because his skull was white and sick-looking. As Henry watch the neighbor boy take out a plastic car and sit down in the dust of the driveway, he nodded to himself.

He's not too little to play, he thought. See, he even knows how to make play cars sound fast. Henry stood up and watched. The boy suddenly looked up. His eyes were a funny blue, almost a white blue. Henry couldn't look away. That new boy was sure strange. He stared at Henry.

Henry said, "Hi." finally but the boy didn't say anything. He picked up his car, stood up and walked into the house with his head down. Henry sighed. Then he went into his own house.

His mother was cleaning house. She was washing the walls with soap and Clorox. It stunk really bad. Henry wrinkled his nose.

"Smells awful, huh? I got to get this clean so those roaches don't find anything to eat, " Mom said. She hated bugs. There were a lot of bugs in this old house. It won't help, Henry thought. "What've you been doing out in the yard, Henry?"

"Trying to talk to the new boy. He ran in the house
when I said 'Hi' to him." His mother moved her bulk back from the wall. She took a long final swipe of the painted wall by the kitchen table. It was stained but clean. Suddenly, she peered at it, scrubbing a sticky spot.

She stepped backwards and dried her hands on the towel hanging from her shoulder. She had great soft rolls of fat around her body, like full water balloons. When he leaned against her, her fat sunk in just enough to comfort him. When she had sat down on a chair and lit a cigarette, she looked at Henry. Her lap widened and her arms opened.

With such relief and pleasure Henry rushed into them. His mother's arms closed around him and she rocked her body in the chair just a little. Not enough to make him feel like a baby. Just enough to make him feel safe. They sat there, her smoking her Charleston and him lying there against her bust and belly.

Tuesday, March 1, 2005



The Sky, The Earth
By
RD Larson
Terror from terrorists, a ball of fire bursts out,
Dying, falling souls pitch into the Hereafter,
Helpless, others watch, fit with numb and dazed
Shrouds of sorrow,
The crushing burning death from above kills.
When one of us, of ours, dies by vent of hate,
All of us seem to die in a concert of emotions,
A symphony of pain.
Yet still, as the stars on a night sky,
Fly over a field of blood and purity,
Stripes of glory, stars of hope,
the human hearts prevail,