Showing posts with label M.V. Montgomery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label M.V. Montgomery. Show all posts
Zombie Pests
by M.V. Montgomery
In the near future, zombies have become so common that most exterminators will include them as part of their home maintenance package. We met one young entrepreneur who successfully combated a few of the living dead hiding underneath our porch. She painstakingly prepared herself by attaching long darts onto her wrists. Then approaching her target, she splayed her fingers and fired.
She was about to reload when a rogue zombie scurried out from underneath the porch. It resembled a middle-aged man who had once come to our door with religious pamphlets. Unsure what to do as the monster leaned forward, she kissed him. That was enough for him to recoil, shake his head, and stagger off, confused.
- - -
Since his first fiction piece appeared in Weirdyear in February, M.V. Montgomery has had work published in over twenty-five journals. His first collection of flash fiction titled Dream Koans will be released later this year by Fast Forward Press.
by M.V. Montgomery
In the near future, zombies have become so common that most exterminators will include them as part of their home maintenance package. We met one young entrepreneur who successfully combated a few of the living dead hiding underneath our porch. She painstakingly prepared herself by attaching long darts onto her wrists. Then approaching her target, she splayed her fingers and fired.
She was about to reload when a rogue zombie scurried out from underneath the porch. It resembled a middle-aged man who had once come to our door with religious pamphlets. Unsure what to do as the monster leaned forward, she kissed him. That was enough for him to recoil, shake his head, and stagger off, confused.
- - -
Since his first fiction piece appeared in Weirdyear in February, M.V. Montgomery has had work published in over twenty-five journals. His first collection of flash fiction titled Dream Koans will be released later this year by Fast Forward Press.
Freeze Headache
by M.V. Montgomery
I boarded the old streetcar on St. Charles, took a seat, and saw a sign: Frozen Drinks, 25 cents. An old woman handed me a plastic cup and said I could help myself. There were syrup bottles of flavors that seemed strangely out of date: clove, bergamot, horehound, absinthe. Since I was alone, I took my time sampling them all.
Then, sated, I knew what I must do. I disembarked in the Garden District and turned down Washington Avenue into the City of the Dead.
In short time, I was approached by a beautiful pale being with long flowing red curls. She was garbed in a nineteenth-century gown. I put up no resistance as she bit into my neck and began to drink her fill.
A few seconds later she was on the ground, writhing and clutching her head.
- - -
Since his first fiction piece appeared in Weirdyear in February, M.V. Montgomery has had work published in over twenty-five journals. His first collection of flash fiction titled Dream Koans will be released later this year by Fast Forward Press.
by M.V. Montgomery
I boarded the old streetcar on St. Charles, took a seat, and saw a sign: Frozen Drinks, 25 cents. An old woman handed me a plastic cup and said I could help myself. There were syrup bottles of flavors that seemed strangely out of date: clove, bergamot, horehound, absinthe. Since I was alone, I took my time sampling them all.
Then, sated, I knew what I must do. I disembarked in the Garden District and turned down Washington Avenue into the City of the Dead.
In short time, I was approached by a beautiful pale being with long flowing red curls. She was garbed in a nineteenth-century gown. I put up no resistance as she bit into my neck and began to drink her fill.
A few seconds later she was on the ground, writhing and clutching her head.
- - -
Since his first fiction piece appeared in Weirdyear in February, M.V. Montgomery has had work published in over twenty-five journals. His first collection of flash fiction titled Dream Koans will be released later this year by Fast Forward Press.
Five Waking Dreams
By M.V. Montgomery
actress friend
I had moved from the suburbs back uptown. Riding the bus, I noticed a pageant sponsored by city neighborhoods—the long windows framed each passing street scene like a work in an urban art gallery. The driver allowed a young woman to take her bike aboard after hearing her tearful story about being late for an audition. I was a pushover for the story, too, letting her stash the bike in my apartment. Much later, we appeared on a talk show to tell the story of our friendship—the bike she had been schlepping around when poor and out of work, and how the streets had seemed alive that day.
bitter blue
At a church art fair, one man came up to me and sadly asked for more “bitter blue.” I was startled; this sounded like a melancholic art project indeed for such a bright day! Curious, I gave him some paint for his picture and followed him out for a look. What I saw was a cheery picture of a park with a pond and some cartoonish ducks. So I suggested that he might try some sparkles for the sand.
dukkha
In England, arriving at a difficult-to-get-to estate that belonged to a family I once knew. A funeral service was in progress. A man staying there might have been a grown son. He showed my daughter and I around briefly, then vanished. There was a girl passing through who lacked a pair of sandals, so I asked my daughter to give up a pair, and she agreed. I could not have been grieving overmuch; on the drive from town, I had made a mental note of an Indian restaurant to try later with some friends. A friend soon arrived and gave me a card expressing his condolences (though it was he who looked depressed). I recycled the card by signing it over to someone else within the same dream, who in his turn tried to sign it over again.
quick copies
I was staying in a hotel full of guests. They were all blocked off in a suite downstairs. I had set out to make copies of a dramatic scene that I thought would make a good discussion tool for my next Screenwriting class. I asked an employee where to go to make copies and was directed to an office downstairs. Just as I was leaving, an acquaintance came in and whispered to me that my father was dead. I was crushed and began sobbing. But thinking that I could also call home from the office downstairs, I continued on with my errand.
The lobby below was crowded. When I entered the office, several others trailed in behind me. All of them appeared to be in high spirits after rounds of conference parties. I found the copier and began fumbling with it, my eyes once again welling with tears. I asked a woman about whether to load the paper in face up or face down, and she said, Of course, face up! Face up! as if trying to cheer me up.
witchy woman
On a bus tour of a foreign land. I was just able to cram into the front before the doors closed, but once the vehicle started moving, everyone settled back and the seating was not particularly uncomfortable. Later, I disembarked and walked through a city square. Here there were vast porticos and walkways. Small people in theatrical costumes kept coming up to me, a little too friendly—not keeping their distance. I didn’t know if they were trying to rob me or just make contact. I started to gently push back, then extricated myself from the scene and walked along another street. Here I noticed everyone was in pairs, adorned in matching costumes, blissful to the point of appearing lobotomized.
They told me they were “mates” and that a woman there would help me find one, too. I said I wasn’t interested, but they insistently steered me toward a gypsy-guru woman’s shop. Regarding all the mindless Munchkins surrounding me, I told the matchmaker that she probably couldn’t help me. She hushed me and said let her do the matching. She ran a kind of scanner over me and a perfect diagonal row of lights appeared. Then she turned to a figure standing nearby—a nasty witch whose job it had been to keep the Munchkins in line. She had streaked black hair and lumpy clothes. She took my arm and led me out into the street, where she shed a few layers of her costume and transformed from severe to smiling. I had to admit: the matchmaker had made an interesting choice.
- - -
M V Montgomery will have two books of poetry published in 2010: Strange Conveyances (Plain View Press) and Joshu Holds a Press Conference (Conversation Paperpress). He is currently at work on a book of flash fiction.
By M.V. Montgomery
actress friend
I had moved from the suburbs back uptown. Riding the bus, I noticed a pageant sponsored by city neighborhoods—the long windows framed each passing street scene like a work in an urban art gallery. The driver allowed a young woman to take her bike aboard after hearing her tearful story about being late for an audition. I was a pushover for the story, too, letting her stash the bike in my apartment. Much later, we appeared on a talk show to tell the story of our friendship—the bike she had been schlepping around when poor and out of work, and how the streets had seemed alive that day.
bitter blue
At a church art fair, one man came up to me and sadly asked for more “bitter blue.” I was startled; this sounded like a melancholic art project indeed for such a bright day! Curious, I gave him some paint for his picture and followed him out for a look. What I saw was a cheery picture of a park with a pond and some cartoonish ducks. So I suggested that he might try some sparkles for the sand.
dukkha
In England, arriving at a difficult-to-get-to estate that belonged to a family I once knew. A funeral service was in progress. A man staying there might have been a grown son. He showed my daughter and I around briefly, then vanished. There was a girl passing through who lacked a pair of sandals, so I asked my daughter to give up a pair, and she agreed. I could not have been grieving overmuch; on the drive from town, I had made a mental note of an Indian restaurant to try later with some friends. A friend soon arrived and gave me a card expressing his condolences (though it was he who looked depressed). I recycled the card by signing it over to someone else within the same dream, who in his turn tried to sign it over again.
quick copies
I was staying in a hotel full of guests. They were all blocked off in a suite downstairs. I had set out to make copies of a dramatic scene that I thought would make a good discussion tool for my next Screenwriting class. I asked an employee where to go to make copies and was directed to an office downstairs. Just as I was leaving, an acquaintance came in and whispered to me that my father was dead. I was crushed and began sobbing. But thinking that I could also call home from the office downstairs, I continued on with my errand.
The lobby below was crowded. When I entered the office, several others trailed in behind me. All of them appeared to be in high spirits after rounds of conference parties. I found the copier and began fumbling with it, my eyes once again welling with tears. I asked a woman about whether to load the paper in face up or face down, and she said, Of course, face up! Face up! as if trying to cheer me up.
witchy woman
On a bus tour of a foreign land. I was just able to cram into the front before the doors closed, but once the vehicle started moving, everyone settled back and the seating was not particularly uncomfortable. Later, I disembarked and walked through a city square. Here there were vast porticos and walkways. Small people in theatrical costumes kept coming up to me, a little too friendly—not keeping their distance. I didn’t know if they were trying to rob me or just make contact. I started to gently push back, then extricated myself from the scene and walked along another street. Here I noticed everyone was in pairs, adorned in matching costumes, blissful to the point of appearing lobotomized.
They told me they were “mates” and that a woman there would help me find one, too. I said I wasn’t interested, but they insistently steered me toward a gypsy-guru woman’s shop. Regarding all the mindless Munchkins surrounding me, I told the matchmaker that she probably couldn’t help me. She hushed me and said let her do the matching. She ran a kind of scanner over me and a perfect diagonal row of lights appeared. Then she turned to a figure standing nearby—a nasty witch whose job it had been to keep the Munchkins in line. She had streaked black hair and lumpy clothes. She took my arm and led me out into the street, where she shed a few layers of her costume and transformed from severe to smiling. I had to admit: the matchmaker had made an interesting choice.
- - -
M V Montgomery will have two books of poetry published in 2010: Strange Conveyances (Plain View Press) and Joshu Holds a Press Conference (Conversation Paperpress). He is currently at work on a book of flash fiction.
