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    Effete Fiction
    Effete Fiction
    Effete Fiction
    Ebook69 pages39 minutes

    Effete Fiction

    By D. E. Park

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Need a few tall tales to kill time while you're stuck at the airport or in a queue? Flash Fiction is the answer!

    Tiny tales suitable for a quick read on the bus, at the laundromat, or when the boss isn't looking. Pocket fiction for your phone, any time. Or just a quick shot of my favorite genres. All tales are between 40 and 500 words, wham bam, thank you ma'am. I can't recommend this approach for other aspects of your life, obviously.

    Here are even more (46 more!) tiny tales from D. E. Park in a variety of genres: Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, and Other—Speculative Fiction.

    For example:
    The lost fortune hunt is on!
    An afterlife that isn't at all as expected.
    Our favorite wicked witch is cheered by the changing seasons.
    A delicious Italian dish, but is she pretty poison?
    No one expects the Robot Inquisition.
    A new import to the Greek Isles with a siren problem.
    Beverly Hills Drunken Divas.
    The first European monarch launching.

    And much more silliness.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherD. E. Park
    Release dateSep 3, 2015
    ISBN9781311353849
    Effete Fiction
    Author

    D. E. Park

    Dave is a vigilant champion against the magniloquent periphrastic battalions of blowhard, on the front lines daily protecting the virtues of brevity and whimsy. He's also demented and won't ever amount to anything.

    Read more from D. E. Park

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      Book preview

      Effete Fiction - D. E. Park

      Adventure Calling, Will You Accept the Charges?

      What do you think it is?

      Looks like a sign for some sort of restaurant.

      No way, it was hidden in the back of the family bible. It must have some kind of significance.

      Look, Lenny. You know Papa was always a little… Well, Ma always said he took too many jabs when he was a fighter.

      He was a squealer too, like, mobsters were after him and stuff.

      Sorry Lenny. I’ve heard the story about the Johnny Friendly trial more times than you and I’m sure Papa made it all up. Part of his Tough Guy image; the down-on-his-luck fighter stands up to the corrupt dock union boss. Papa told a lot of tales but I don’t think most of them were honest.

      Got a map? Where is this ‘Waterfront’ place?

      Town called Whitehaven, in Britain.

      Doesn’t sound mysterious.

      Maybe he liked the food there or something.

      Papa never went to England.

      Lenny played with the globe for a while, spinning it randomly, deep in thought.

      Hey, did this Johnny Friendly guy ever do jail time?

      Maw said he escaped on a private yacht with a ton of embezzled Union money.

      He’s still out there?

      Yacht was lost at sea.

      Was it lost in the Seychelles?

      Dunno, why?

      Danny, I think Papa knew exactly where the yacht with the money sank.

      And you think it was in the Seychelles? Why?

      The latitude and longitude on the restaurant sign in the photo, it’s a clue. If you flip the lat and long, you end up here. This point in the Seychelles, east of Kenya, about 40 km WNW of Bird Island. It’s on an oceanic ridge, not deep water.

      Does Bird Island have an airport?

      You know this is a longshot. Get two tickets.

      And Party Every Day

      Some religions said it was inevitable I’d find myself here. They didn’t get much else right.

      All of the descriptions of here vary wildly, of course. I never would have recognized the afterlife from any description I’d ever heard. For a few minutes, I didn’t even recognize where I was.

      I found myself in ordinary surroundings, the interior of a vaguely industrial-styled building. I’ve feel like I’ve been here before. Everything looks familiar: the echoing halls, lockers, and stairs. I can’t… This is my high school!

      The obvious first hypothesis arrived in a flash. It’s a dream. Why else would I be inside a building I last saw more than thirty years ago? There’s the trophy case, and the photo of the ‘79 Division Champions team with goofy-looking seventeen year old me in the second row.

      Which didn’t explain the surfacing memories of the ambulance, two EMT’s, the gurney, the searing pain… Oh, please no no, not another stroke.

      I rocked my forehead against the cool glass of the trophy case. Annie, I’m so sorry. Dwelling on the opportunities lost forever, feeling sorry for myself, feeling lost and confused and frightened. Swimming circles in an emotional whirlpool, for subjective centuries.

      Dave?

      She stood at the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing the ubiquitous Levis, red sweater, carrying schoolbooks, her blonde hair crimped in a style from the 70s. Déjà vu, I knew this face, once upon a time.

      "You don’t remember

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