Flash Fiction Friday: Zombie Clown Bus

Zombie Clown Bus

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

It started as a typical day. Overcast, but not cold. I waited comfortably at my bus stop. When it arrived, I climb on as I always do. I spot an empty seat in front. Its seat back rested against the windows so I was facing the aisle, rather than forward. We pass other route’s bus stops. I look at one across the street. My gaze locked at the occupants standing under the little rectangular sign. It was a man and a woman and they were laughing. Their wardrobe was ordinary business attire. He wore a suit and she wore a professional looking skirt with matching jacket. A color scarf adorned her neck. What caught my attention was their painted clown faces. Creepy stalker clowns. I could almost hear their slow, deep, evil chuckles as we passed by. I was relieved they weren’t getting on this bus.

                Curious, I look to other passengers to observe their reactions; if they noticed the sidewalk weirdos. I jumped so forcefully my heart skipped a beat…more than one probably. Adrenaline surged and I felt the veins in my forehead pulsating. They were all clowns. And all of them in a daze of some sort. Looking down at books, cell phones, whatever happened to be in their laps.

                Gently, I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. What the hell kind of day is this?

                I blinked and shook my head, hoping the passengers would revert to their normal flesh-colored selves. They didn’t change. Then, habitually, I cleared my throat.

                Oh shit.

                The noise snapped the clowns out of their trance. Like wind-up toys on cue, they simultaneously jerked their heads in my direction. Painted faces stared at me, their bodies rocking rhythmically with the bobbing bus. An array of color displayed before me. Dark, dreary, eerie face paint. All the leftovers from a makeup artist’s color palette jumbled to make weird creepy color combinations. Grey was tinted with army green, sky blue mix with brown, black with violet.

                Not knowing what else to do, I smiled and nodded. I wished I hadn’t. They smiled back at me. Razor-tooth grins gleamed across their faces. Some licked their lips, slurping their tongue back into their mouths like a snake.

                Weirded out, I want off the bus. Will I run into other creep-o clowns on the street? I look at the driver. Seeing that he is a normal human being, I feel somewhat relieved and hopeful that there are still regular people wandering around. I will get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way to work. It isn’t that far.

                Keeping my eyes on the “passengers,” I slowly reached back and pull the bus’s stop signal cord. I hear the familiar ding! but it also seems to trigger something else. Feeling drops, I look down at my hands and see water. I gaze up as one plops on my ear. Water weeps from the ceiling. Summoned from the pull cord? I don’t care. Get me outta here.

                The clowns continue to staring at me. Water drips on them, too. It begins to wash off their makeup in trickling streaks. As it continues their skin becomes exposed from under the makeup. But it’s not normal flesh. It’s dark, wilted, and decaying. Their grins turn to frowns.

                The bus comes to a halt. I leap out of my seat and dash out the front exit onto the sidewalk, welcoming the fresh air. I turn around and watch the driver close the doors. Pressed to the windows are zombie-like hollow faces with deep eye sockets and rotten skin. They watched me through the glass with gaping mouths and curled fingers as the bus carries them away.





Copyrighted 2016 by Jennifer E. Miller

Flash Fiction Friday: Mummies

Flash Fiction Friday: Mummies

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

I started writing a story but it's becoming even longer than last week's piece. I figured I'd give my readers a break and share a recent quote from G.

"Mummies aren't scary. They're just naked people wrapped up in toilet paper."




Copyrighted 2016 by Jennifer E. Miller

Flash Non-Fiction Friday: Social Media Photos Are Destroying Creativity

How Photos on Social Media are Destroying Creativity

By,

Jennifer E. Miller 

Admittedly, I haven't kept up with fiction writing this last week. Instead, I have been working hard to keep up with my Shutterfly photo albums. My final Creative Writing class at SCC begins on Monday and I have a feeling I'll be busy with that. Anyhow, I've chosen to write about something I've taken notice to, and subsequently got me thinking, recently: photos on social media and how they are destroying creativity.

My news feed is littered with short recaps from friends about what they did over the weekend or afternoon or hour. That's what social media is about anyway, right? The ease of sharing our lives with others. Things or experiences bring us joy and, naturally, we want to spread the cheer. I have noticed that, accompanied with the seemingly mindless status updates, are gobs of photos. Photos of everything. "Took the kids to the park" has to have a photo of kids playing the equipment. "Oh man, what a workout!" is above a gym photo with a sweaty person flexing their muscles. Yes, the visual snapshot brings your words to life. But, most of the time, there aren't many details as to why or how the subject(s) in the photo do that. We have become lazy and allowed the photos to do the talking for us. Using photos to enhance our words minimizes creativity.

I'm just as guilty as the next person for posting photos on social media. It's fun and occasionally I like to sound off about something exciting, funny, or interesting that's happened in my life. However, I'm also a writer who understands that writing is an art, not just jotting down words. Finding the right words to convey a message can be challenging. Imagine a conversation where you're trying to explain (anything) to someone and your voice trails off because you just can't find the exact word to describe it. Writing is similar; words get lost. In addition, a writer can't as easily put tone of voice into the text, so details are important. They are the fundamentals of creativity. It allows the reader to build a scene, using their imagination, to bring the story (or message, idea, etc.) to life. But when a photo is introduced along with the text, it eliminates that creative step for both the writer and the reader.

Take my example "Oh, man, what a workout!" Imagine those words as a status update with a cell phone photo underneath of a sweaty person standing in front of machines or free weights. The subject is smiling with pride. The text is vague, so the subject/writer is compensating for lack of creativity with the photo. But, we get the gist. Someone exercised hard at the gym. The line "what a workout!" gives us the impression that the subject put in extra effort. That's fine and dandy, but how did they do that? Did they increase their weight load? Set a new personal record for a mile run? Took a week off from the gym and got their butt kicked? All of the above, perhaps? We just see the end result: I exercised hard, yet I'm still smiling. Basically, it's just another update that people will scroll past, noticed or unnoticed. Write some interesting details and a photo wouldn't even need to be included.

Another example of the loss of creativity, would be a cell phone snapshot of a tropical beach captioned "Hawaii is amazing!!!" First off, everyone needs to stop overusing the word amazing. It's become cliche and has no authenticity or meaning to it anymore. When everything, from your pet dog jumping through a ring of fire to the way those brandy-laced chocolate covered strawberries taste, gets labeled as "amazing," the word looses value. Explain how and why those things are amazing. "I'm having an amazing time in Hawaii because the sound of the breeze rustling through palm leaves is soothing." Now, doesn't that conjure up a feeling or state of mind in addition to an image? Yes, yes, Jennifer. But why use all that fluffy description when I can just include a photo so people can see what I'm talking about? Because the photo shuts down the creativity element. It's like forever reading children's picture books and not graduating to novels. Social media is conditioning our brains to rely on images to understand text. If you wish to tell a story with photographs, learn the art of photography; it's more than just tapping your phone's camera function. In the case of my example above, by including how and why the image made you feel amazing, connects you to the scene. Using your imagination, or creativity powerhouse, evokes creativity and imagination in others.

I suppose photos do substantiate what we say. Anyone can claim whatever they like. If we don't have photos to back up those claims, how would people know it really happened? Well, they don't. Your character should already be vouched for by displaying actions of honesty and integrity. Duh. That's stuff we learned in Kindergarten. I could easily say, "I won the lotto." Even though I'm an honest person, I'm sure nearly everyone I know would respond, "Oh yeah? Prove it." That's when I'd present a photo of me holding one of those oversize checks, like the Publisher's Clearing House winners. Now I've backed up my claim. Take the Hawaii example. If you simply said "Hawaii is amazing" most folks would agree with you. Hawaii is neat place compared to the continental USA, because its topography and culture are unique. But that's just a statement and doesn't personally connect anyone to the situation, so a photo generally accompanies vague statements or claims. Here is where I'm pointing out the lack of creativity: a snapshot with an open-ended statement doesn't allow me to rationalize your reasoning for why Hawaii is (cringe) amazing to you. When images are conveniently provided, it doesn't allow me to do any creative thinking. Now, someone who writes "I'm having an amazing time in Hawaii because the sound of the breeze rustling through palm leaves is soothing. I can't wait to show you my photos!" Oooooo! I'm visualizing myself digging my toes into the soft sand, the waves swooshing, and dancing palm trees nearby. I feel relaxed and I wonder if my friend's photos will live up to my conjured up images of Hawaii. The anticipation from the text allows my creativity to create visualizations. If I just saw a photo captioned "Hawaii is amazing!" I'd simply mentally shrug my shoulders and think, nice.

If we have the technology available for creating images and sharing them with the touch of a button, why not use it? Before the invention of cameras, people had no choice but use words to explain and describe things. Perhaps they could purchase a postcard of an artist's rendition of whatever the subject may be. So, unless you were Michelangelo, you used words. Postal letters, at one time, were the most advanced form of communication which, of course, required the art of writing to adequately engage the recipient's imagination to connect themselves to your message. It forced the writer to use details and specifics to sound interesting.

There is one last point I'd like to throw out there about social media photos: selfies are stupid! Okay, the random one here or there isn't a big deal, but haven't we all been subjected to self-obsessed person who insists on visually documenting themselves in every situation? Here I am, on a hike with my face in the photo because I most certainly will enhance the already beautiful surroundings. Yes, it will. It enhances your photo with the impression that you value yourself above all else. Then the next day, from the same person we may see: I got a haircut and it's fabulous, don't you think? Sure, but it's just an excuse to take a photo of yourself. A simple statement of "I'm diggin' my new trendy 'do" will do. Then again, it's just a haircut. Why is it necessary to make sure the internet knows about it? If the photograph eliminates creativity, and a selfie displays selfishness, then you are just cheating yourself out of finding your own inner creativity because you are too focused on obtaining attention.

While the above scenarios argue in favor of the decline of creativity when using snapshots, I don't think photos or social media are going away. They will play a large role in our virtual lives for years to come. I continue to stand by my belief that social media photos are limiting creativity because not enough time is devoted to connecting our hearts and minds to the scenario in question. Too often photos and selfies attached with quick notes and incorrect punctuation and grammar are how information is relayed. There is no desire to use effort and write out experiences or details if a camera does the talking. We should encourage everyone to treat social media as a journal to document detailed experiences, rather than just showing off with a parade of photos. Stories are important. Someday future generations will look at a photo of grandma in Hawaii and ask, "I wonder what she was feeling?"





Copyrighted 2016 by Jennifer E. Miller

Flash Fiction Friday: This Old Car

This Old Car

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

                Some say cars nowadays are mostly made for fun, convenience, and show. With engineering advancements, they are considered safer than ever. I suppose all that’s true, but I miss the lost generation of cars. The ones without gadgets, screens, and plug-ins. The ones with personality.

                Grandpa drove a ’71 Mercury Marquis clear into in the mid-90s. He owned it for so long, the registration tabs stuck out a good quarter inch from the license plate; years stacked one on top of the other. It was dark brown, a color that matched perfectly with his polyester slacks. The car was massive. In fact, it was dubbed “The Boat.” That thick metal monster could sink to the bottom of the Marianas Trench in record time. It had a cavernous trunk, big enough for two coffins to fit side by side with room to carry the headstones if necessary. Hey, did I just set a scene for a murder mystery? It was a stand out character for sure.

The inside held just as much room as its massive exterior hinted. There were bench seats in the front and the back; dark brown fabric, of course, and plaid accents. Six people could sit side by side and nobody’s hips touched. No elbow jabs or heads flopping over on shoulders during naps. And the seats were comfortable, too. I distinctly remember they had spring to them, like a trampoline. As a kid I loved climbing into The Boat, and forcefully plopping myself down to create a few bounces before settling into my spot to buckle up.

The seat belts were probably considered contemporary when The Boat made its debut. No shoulder belts though, only lap ones. It was neat how the lap belt retracted all the way into the seat, hidden from view until the buckle was pulled out. I had to be careful when unbuckling myself. If I let go, it’d zip back into place; possibly whacking a finger, usually to my arthritic Grandmother seated nearby. No wonder my grandparents despised modern conveniences.

It was an ideal car for road trips for several reasons. There was more than adequate legroom. Airplane manufactures should model their cabins after The Boat’s roomy interior. When I squeeze into an airline seat, I wonder why the Boeing didn’t pick up a thing or two from Mercury. In the panels next to rear seats, small circular lights glowed warmly on the dark rides home. The boat rocked down the highway in a comforting, soothing way.

Yes, The Boat had character alright. Grandpa added his own flair to the mix. The steering wheel had a wide diameter with a narrow rim. The horn wasn’t located in the middle, but around the inside edges of the rim. If the driver gripped too hard, the horn sounded off. I noticed this happened frequently when us grandkids bickered relentlessly. Grandpa’s idea of tolerance was “just git the kids home and let the women deal with ‘em.” As our bickering intensified so did his annoyance level. This led him to grasp the steering wheel tightly, thus firing the horn. The act may or may not have been intentional, but it got our attention and we usually piped down.

Something I greatly enjoyed, maybe more than anything else, was the treasure I found resting under the front passenger seat. It was just Grandpa and me in The Boat one day, and I was poking around to divert boredom on a mere 12 minute car ride. I opened the glove compartment, but there was nothing of interest except greasy tools and a pile of papers. Next, I stuck my hand between the seams of the seats, searching for coins. When I didn’t find any, I got the bright idea to reach underneath my seat. My fingers collided with a smooth cardboard box. I wrapped my little digits around it and drug it out. It was similar in shape and size of my pencil box at school. The lid opened upwards the same way, too. The one I found in The Boat, however, was an old yellow cigar box. I thought I may have found a secret Grandpa kept from Grandma. She’d be outraged if he smoked those suckers in the car. By now Grandpa had caught on to my eagerness. He just grinned and said, “Go on, open it.” Delighted, I threw open the lid. I got a whiff of tobacco, but there were no cigars. Instead I stared at several plastic squares which almost resembled building blocks. Eight tracks, I was told, for music. I found these antique cartridges profoundly interesting. None of my friends mentioned listening to any such things. This was a unique find. I read names like Bing Crosby, Perry Como, and Frank Sinatra; unfamiliar artists to me, at the time. I looked through the rest of the small selection and asked if there was one of Elvis. He was pretty much the only vintage singer I knew of and would surely liven up our car ride. “I don’t listen to that crazy stuff,” Grandpa replied. He grabbed one from the cigar box and inserted it into the eight track player. The bugle-y sounds of the Golden Age echoed from the speakers. He relaxed and sighed contently. “Still some of the nicest songs, aren’t they?” he stated; I knew it wasn’t a question.

Yeah, that car had personality alright. Even after the fenders rusted, the tail lights quit working, and the brakes became questionable. Cars today are cramped. Radios have been replaced by iPods. And where the heck are the bouncy seats? I was fortunate to drive The Boat once or twice before it moved on to a collector. I tried listening to an eight track, but the player had long since stopped functioning. The music would’ve been nice, but I was glad to have another 12 minute car ride with The Boat. What a character it was.




Copyrighted 2016 by Jennifer E. Miller

Flash Fiction Friday: At The Old Ball Game

Welcome, once again, to Flash Fiction Friday. Line by line, I have reverse translated the song Take Me Out To The Ball Game. For parents, it's not always peanuts and cracker jacks when taking children along. Enjoy.

Take Me Out To The Ball Game...

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

Take me out to the ball game: “Take me! Take me! I never get to go anywhere.”

Take me out to the crowd: “I can’t believe we had to park so far away!...And there’s lines to get in; it’s going to take for-ev-er.”

Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks: “Finally I can sit down. I'm sooo hungry I’m going to starve! And don't buy peanuts, I'm allergic; I want cotton candy.”

I don't care if I ever get back...without my kid who is driving me crazy.

Cause it’s root root root for the home team; if they don’t win it’s a shame: “Which team to we want to win?...The ones in the white jerseys? That’s a boring color, I’m going to cheer for the team with the colorful jerseys.”

For it’s 1! 2! 3! strikes you’re out: “Good, it's over. I was getting bored…Bottom of the first inning? What does that mean?...I have to sit here through inning nine?! How long is that going to take?...Three hours?!...Why did you bring me?”

At the old ball game!




Copyrighted 2016 by Jennifer E. Miller