'Standardized Psychological Post-Quarrantine Survey Sb-53' by Chris Albin

Welcome back to work!

Before you can assume your new duties, we would appreciate it if you could fill out this short survey. Make sure to read through each question carefully and answer truthfully!

1. What is your name and clearance level?


2. What do you remember most about working from home?

a. Anxiety.

b. Deep isolation.

c. Gazing into the bathroom mirror.

3. Did your supervisor inform you of why you were being quarantined?

4. Do you trust your supervisor?

5. Take a long look at yourself in the mirror or the computer monitor. Next do the same with your corporate ID. Which is the real you?  

a. The reflection.

b. The photo. 

c. The glass.

6. Do you currently identify as a human being?

7. What were your duties in the former Subbasement 53?

8. Which of the following adjectives best describes what used to be Subbasement 53? 

a. Shiny

b. Distant.

c. Endless.

d. Writhing.

9. Where are you?

10. It is the middle of the night. You are standing in front of your bathroom mirror. You don’t remember how you got here. You are trying to move but you can’t. Why?

11. Who truly left that room?

12. What did you see at the other end of the bathroom mirror in Subbasement 53? 

a. Mirrors. Nothing but mirrors.

b. Something shimmering in  the corner of my eye.

c. Faces reflected within faces.

d. A stranger reaching out a hand. No, not a stranger…

13. Come home.

14. You are still standing in front of your bathroom mirror, the empty mirror. Where are you? The frame is vast and hungry. Who truly left that room? It stretches out to swallow you. Come home.

Thank you for your cooperation!

'How We Could Have Met' by Melissa Flores Anderson

I look at him in quiet moments, the potential energy between us almost visible around us. I play out scenarios where we might have met 25 years before in a university town. It might have been at the first Starbucks I ever went to on Telegraph, where I got free drinks from my friend’s friend, the barista. Him in line in front of me, turning too swiftly, and spilling a drop of coffee on my Doc Martens.

Or that rave in a San Francisco warehouse where my heart was broken, but I danced like it was whole, like I hadn’t discovered the half-life of love is so fleeting. Bumping into him as I twirled, him in a Pearl Jam T-shirt and tattered sneakers.

Or maybe walking across campus with my friend to her science lab and catching a glimpse of the cute TA. “What’s his name?” And when she tells me it, it seems like fate that he has the same name as my first love.

But there is friction between the possibility and the reality that if I had met him then, he would have seen me as some 18-year-old kid. Too young. Too dumb. Too awkward to notice.

He notices me now. As an equal. As a friend. The decade between us inconsequential in middle age. Our attraction is luminescent, but on an invisible spectrum to everyone else but us.

'Good Kid Cereal' by Lucienne Cummings

30% sweeter than other children. Yes, we’re biased, we’re your parents.

Added goodness – we tried…

No artificial colours, except eyeliner and that lippy hidden in your school bag. One day you’ll wish you weren’t reliant on those – trust us.

INGREDIENTS:
Six months to grow Rice and you, but aeons of sleeplessness. You curl your doll fingers around ours. We sing Sleep Little Baby.

You’re sweeter than Glucose Syrup at two, but scream NO! frequently. We point at picture books until you snore, then snooze over that glass of wine between your bedtime and ours.

Sit still! Don’t swing your legs at the table! Abundant Cocoa Mass energy and outgrowing clothes every other minute. All the added calcium means you’re already blowing out six candles. Kiss Grandma! Say thank you! We worry that your life is mostly orders and sides of ignored organic vegetables.

You name your first dog Barley, then he eats your Dad’s !?!**?!ing shoes. Sorry, Daddy shouldn’t have said that word.

Mum throws Salt over her shoulder after she trips. Don’t leave that there! Sunscreen and sand in everything as puberty makes you slouch unappreciatively through family holidays. OW! F**k! What did we say? Put that b****y thing away! Do as we say, not as we swear.

Flavourings? Nice to meet you Harley. Is this your girlfriend/boyfriend or friend? Should we care? Honestly, we don’t know.

Added Vitamins/Minerals:
Iron in my soul when you shout I HATE YOU! Vitamin D floods in when you say Sorry, I love you, later. We are your taxi service. Vitamin E helps all of us with revision headaches.

We bawl, bear hug, Vitamin B6, B2, B1, B12 – all the b’s. You stand on the edge of the nest and call Bye! as you take flight. Serve with the future of your choice.

'The Boyhood of the Musician' by Ruth Follan

His father, a physics teacher, had named him Newton, which felt like a curse to a boy who knew he was destined to fail Combined Science next week. There was always tension between them. His older brother Kelvin did his best to field the questions that Dad threw at them across the dinner table. Kelvin had got an A and was able to answer some of them. Newton hadn’t a hope. His father had a short fuse, so if either of them made a mistake, he would turn the laser focus of his rage on them both, turning scarlet, as though his thermostat had broken. They called it his red shift. Sometimes he threw things. There was a dent in the wall where a teaspoon had reached its terminal velocity.

Their mother would try to divert his attention by using the vacuum nearby. It was an old model: a generator of so many decibels that speech was pointless. The upcoming exam had given momentum to Newton’s decision to lock himself in the bedroom and stay there. His father was now hammering on the door.

“Newton! Come out. Do some revision with me. You don’t understand the gravity of the situation. Do you want to fail? You have no impetus to work! Do you realise what a potential difference a few past papers could make? Why do you have such a resistance towards work?

 
Newton, safely behind the door, finally explained.

“Dad! I don’t like science and I don’t need it! I’m here listening to music, using my new amplifier, and enjoying simple harmonic motion as I mark the beats. I have plenty of potential energy if you just let me study what I like. I can’t bear this half life of science. I want to be a conductor! 

'The Deluge' by Lucienne Cummings

Pike rows until his boat becomes tangled. Heaving an oar in, he recognises the sodden obstacle as the remains of a tapestry. Moving again, he passes cushions, hats, paintings. The river is still rising, the rain pelting. The roof of Eldon Hall barely pokes above the water’s surface, and upon it he recognises a lonely silhouette.

‘Come aboard My Lord,’ shouts Pike rowing alongside.

‘No!’ says Lord Hawthorne. ‘I have nothing to fear.’

***

‘Your soul for a charmed life.’ Twenty years ago, sunlight had sparkled off Lucifer’s martini glass as it clunked against Edward Hawthorne’s tankard.

Hawthorne, an eighteen-year-old grocer’s apprentice, had signed the parchment on the pub table readily. ‘Deal,’ he’d smiled, gulping his watered-down ale. In a year he’d gathered enough money to buy the Hall, and a peerage. He’d used the wrong cutlery, fluffed the wine pronunciation, and worn a morning suit in the evening, but it’d all worked out eventually.

***

‘Please My Lord,’ says Pike.

Hawthorne backs away from his grounds-keeper, trips and falls. As he drowns, years of parties, jewels, silk pyjamas, and smooth-limbed mistresses explode in his head.

‘You promised!’ he gurgles, fighting back up to the surface. A hand grabs at his satin smoking jacket, but it’s too slippery, and he sinks again.

‘A charmed, but short life,’ is the last thing he thinks.

***

Pike examines his traitorous hand in horror. He cannot swim either.

‘Help!’ says another voice.

Pike looks up into the deep, dark eyes of Maggie, Hawthorne’s latest mistress. He helps her into the boat.

‘He used to call me his rock,’ says Pike, dazed. Maggie strokes his hair. Even in shock, he feels shabby and awkward next to Maggie’s finery.

Far below, in Hell, Lucifer draws up a contract with Pike’s name on it, and grins.

'Fish on Vacation' by Allison Renner

He packed up without a destination in mind, only knowing that he needed to get away for a spell. It was so dark down there, suffocating, honestly.

He swam to save money, flopping onto the shore most ungracefully, but too excited to care.

He was somewhere new and quickly found that he didn’t care for the gritty sand on his fins. Or his inability to glide over the beach. Or the way his gills collapsed without the water rushing through them.

I’ll just rest a minute, he told himself, feeling the sand rub the shimmer from his scales as he stared up at the bright blue sky. It was everything he’d expected.

'Marianne Examines the Physics of Prolonged Adolescence' by Luanne Castle

Marianne couldn’t get her adult son to leave his room. She stood before the oven with a tray of unbaked cookies, wondering if she might just eat them herself this time. Jake had converted an old couch into a gaming cockpit by taking it down to the skeleton and adding in bolsters and a backrest pillow. His life was governed by inertia. He had what he needed. A monthly check he deposited on his cell. McDonalds and snacks delivered. Marianne knew he was refueling when his bedroom door would bounce back against the wall and he would lope to the front door, his flipflops flapping like frightened fish at his heels. Then he’d grab the bag, slam the door in the face of the delivery driver and immediately shut his own door behind him. When Marianne poked her head inside, he didn’t notice. Engrossed in the prancing lights on the screen, Jake was trapped in the gravity of his jerry-rigged gaming chair. The friction between mother and son was only in Marianne’s head because Jake had forgotten he ever had a mother, thinking of her as the one who kept the world from intruding. If only Marianne could figure out the impetus to get Jake to move out. Cookies suddenly seemed ridiculous. She fingered the long match, imagining another use. 

'The Animal at the Bottom of the Garden' by Donna M Day

Welcome to the Wildlife Identification Portal

Are you researching a live animal, identifying a photograph, or general interest only?

Live animal

Location of animal

My garden

Is the animal secured?

No

Does the animal appear to pose an immediate threat?

No

Does the animal appear to be hungry?

No

Is the animal sleeping?

Yes

Local time of day

11:15am

Daytime

Does the animal appear to be injured?

No

How many legs does the animal have?

4

Does the animal have wings?

Yes

Does the animal have a horn?

No

Is the animal hairy or scaly?

Scaly

Is the animal breathing smoke?

No

What colour is the animal?

Light blue

Congratulations! You have been chosen by an ice dragon as its new rider. Please register your dragon with the Riders’ Guild within 48 hours. If required, they will be able to recommend a qualified trainer.

--Thank you for using our service--

'Out of Place and Time' by Laura Cooney

Belle, tired from her journey, cocked her head somewhat stiffly to one side and listened, the whirring of gears and creaking of cogs was getting louder the further she walked into the building. 

The building itself was an old careworn castle with tapestries from floor to ceiling. Her taffeta lined gown of silver brocade swished gently on the steps as she climbed to the great hall. With an angular wrist and a quick, forceful, though graceful, tap she opened the strong wooden door of the castle's hall and entered. Inside it was not at all what she expected. Downstairs was a medieval castle and in here was a room of the times. A grandfather clock stood in one corner of the room imposing its presence with its pendulum clicking to and fro. The echoing clunking of miniature horses which galloped round the base of the matching mantle clocks was resonant in her ears. Perhaps this was the sound she had heard, the noise travelling in the air. 

She began to feel a faintness again, this would be the third time today. She hoped she was not unwell. Seeking a chair by the fireplace she gratefully sat down and closed her ey... 

“Ey, m'lord, that's the most magnificent thing I 'as ever see.” Baxter broke the silence in the room, now the gears were still. Lawrence smoothed her skirts and stroked her pale face before replying. 

"She is a masterpiece Baxter, now I just need to find a way to make her move for longer. Ten minutes is most little time for the Exposition to really see her glory,” he turned the screwdriver thrice on the small panel on her back.

"Let's see now, does this give us longer?" 

When Belle awoke she felt confused. It seemed hours had passed. The light above the mantle was lit and it had not been before. The sound of gears was as loud as before, but now slower and she felt relaxed. Perhaps she would get used to the sounds here. Wherever this was. She stood to explore further and was startled to see two men looking at her, one pocketing a small brass key.

"Hello dear Belle, my name is Dr Lawrence. So pleased to make your acquaintance. You must be tired after a long journey."

'Not Simple' by Allison Renner

She looks at me through half-closed eyes, the flame flickering over her face in a way that makes her look haunted, or haunting.

I lean forward, close enough to smell the almond sun lotion she’d put on for our earlier tanning session in the backyard. My movement extinguishes the flame, plunging us into momentary darkness. Then the flick of the lighter and her eyes are staring into mine, daring me to finish what I’d started.

—With thanks to 'One Does Not Simply Walk out of Prairie Village, Ohio' by Amorak Huey

Recipe for a New Me by Kay Medway

Add the newly established me, now an all-rounder.

Marvel at often, possibly with the smaller circles

at the theatre & with all the appeal of a wildflower,

the favour of a summer weather forecast, the

bronze of an artisan or an award

and search for a streak of

Silver heirlooms, like charm bracelets, & prepare all with

jewel-like nature, elements &

threads of home

& affinities.

Stripe with positivity

that leaves all in awe

soften your lists, spirals, find

your certainty, your surety by way of a

blazer, crisp as a buttoned suit blazer.

'Struggling Millennial' by Elisa Dominique Rivera

1. How many coffees would you sacrifice to get that dream job as an unpaid intern to increase your clout as an influencer? Please only put whole numbers only___
2. How many square feet is too small for a $5000 per month 1-bedroom apartment? Please only put whole numbers only___
3. How many gallons of tears must you cry every day to be able to survive on minimum wage? Please put whole numbers only ___
4. On a scale of one to I-would-rather-be-tortured-with-an endless-loop-of-the-Baby-Shark-song-for-the-rest-of-my-life, how much would you sacrifice your dignity for a ten-second video “advocating” for a scam? Please only put the numbers 1 to 10 in this space ____
5. How much would you ask in exchange for private information on your boss who is probably cheating on his wife? Please only put whole dollar numbers between $1 to $5000 in this space ____
6. How many times must you self-medicate — insomnia, anxiety, constant headache and joint pains before you have to finally see the doctor only to be diagnosed with cancer? Please put whole numbers only ___
7. On a scale of one to I-would-rather-die-homeless-in-a-ditch, how many pleas for you to move back with them even though you’re nearly forty years old, would you consider acceptable? Please only put the numbers 1 to 10 in this space ____

'Ingredients for breakfast on a campsite in the South of France' by Jane Claire Jackson

Fresh air - no wind

1 bright yellow/orange tablecloth with a leafy olives design 

Orange juice 

Sunshine filtering through the trees

The shade of a stripy awning 

1 crusty baguette

Bird song

A selection of jams (fig, strawberry, cherry...)

Sunglasses

Honey (both runny and solid)

1 dog (on a lead) stretched out under the table

Yoghurts

Children cycling past in the alley

Slices of watermelon 

Oleander flowers in various shades of pink and white 

Croissant/pain au chocolat/pain au raisin

Yesterday's towels and bikinis/swimming costumes drying on a line 

The smell of fresh coffee or an apple and cinnamon infusion 

The murmur of neighbouring families preparing for the day 

All the time in the world 

'A Recipe For A Good Night’s Sleep' by Elisa Dominique Rivera

Two cups (500 mL) of distilled water collected from the deepest depths of the Mariana Trench, or if not available, filtered tears from your days having to deal with people at work

One ResMed AirSense Sleep Machine which can connect to your wifi to send data to your somnologist during the night, so the somnologist can creepily watch you sleep from afar

One mask to put over your nose and mouth connected to the sleep machine to will you into sleep with the hospital-air-exhalation-sound or as your partner would call it “the Darth Vader” effect

One 25mg quetiapine taken no later than six-thirty in the evening. This is an important ingredient which you must beg your doctor to prescribe for you. Without this the recipe falls in a heap at two in the morning. 

(Optional: One standard glass of Pinot Noir from the South Island of New Zealand, in particular the ones from the Nelson region)

One pillow to rest the indignity of your situation

One third sense of humour at the contraptions getting entangled with your limbs as you try to sleep 

A sprinkle of frustration at your brain for refusing to rest

One mighty howl before the drugs take over and you fall into a heap with the sleep mask askew, whistling like a kettle in your dreams. 

This recipe may be served with Functional Procrastination Stew, Side of Disassociation, and the quick and easy Anxiety-Ridden Cupcakes. 

'Careful with My Love' by Melissa Flores Anderson

My son throws the baby bear slipper down the hallway and walks barefoot toward me. He glides like he’s cresting on a wave, surfing across the living room floor where it’s been freshly waxed.

“Stop before you get hurt!” I shout across the room.

His slim body tenses at my sharp words and fear creeps across his face, his eyes filling with the start of tears.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just don’t want you to fall.”

I hug him to me. “Be careful with my love.”

Inspired by Melissa Llanes Brownlee's 'Da Slippah'.

Decide on Surfboard Design and Size by Emily Madonald

1. Dunger, mini mal, fish, gun, long or short.

One day, you tell me, you’ll have a quiver of surf boards for all conditions, all size

and speed of wave. You’re pleased with the word ‘quiver’ and you’ve imagined the

rack, built into the wide-decked house in the dunes from where you’ll watch sets

forming and listen to the weather reports.

Pin, or swallow tail. Squash, round or square. Your decision, you say is the spice, the

nuanced, enhancing touch.

2. Buy a block foam surfboard blank.

Take it home and ponder the shape. Practice some moves while I’m trying to read.

Jump to squat from lying down, sail your arms and dip your head like you’re being

tubed.

3. Make a stringer for strength and flex. Glue it between the two halves of blank.

Work on building your upper body strength. Don’t think I don’t notice you planking

over me.

4. Remove excess foam from the blank and cut out the rough shape.

Eat protein and slow-release carbs. Practice holding your breath while counting real,

real slow. Sometimes while holding in smoke from a toke. Sometimes while waiting

for your turn to speak.

5. Shape the blank with sandpaper and other tools.

Go barefoot. Don’t wash your hair. Let it grow curly and long. Let it bleach in the salt

and sun. Flick.

See, it doesn’t smell, you say when you stick your hair in my face.

6. Add your artwork design.

Ying and Yang, stripes, cheques and hibiscus flowers. Palm trees, tikis and suns.

It’s not really personalised, I say. You’re just signalling the tribe you belong to.

7. Fiberglass lamination. Hot-coat, sand, hot-coat, gloss. Sand. Gloss. Polish.

Head to the beach at the merest hint of a wave. Never look back.

'Should Have Taken Ordinary Level' by Geraldine McCarthy

State Examinations Commission

Leaving Certificate Mock, 2025

Paper 1

Testing the Waters: Higher Level

Monday 12th May Afternoon: 2:00-4:20

Please read the instructions carefully for each section. Answer all questions.

Section A: Life Skills

1. Make a timetable for each day of the week. Factor in: scrolling through your phone, socialising with your friends, school and study.

2. You are taking your first professional driving lesson. The instructor screams at you to brake at the pedestrian crossing. Write the rest of the story as it evolves.

3. Your parents ask you to cook dinner for the family. Make a list of the things you shouldn’t do.

4. You’re tipsy coming home from a party. Your mother suspects, but can’t prove anything. Write the conversation which ensues.

Section B: Emotional Intelligence

1. The naggin of vodka you’d hidden in your bedroom is missing. Do you (a) pretend nothing has happened (b) try to ascertain if your mother is in a funny mood (c) buy a replacement naggin, but hide it somewhere else?

2. You volunteer to cook dinner for everyone. Assess your chances of getting back into your mother’s good books.

3. The driving instructor thinks you should take a break from lessons for the time being. Do you think this is because (a) you’re doing so well (b) he has too many other clients (c)  you tend to break the speed limit on narrow country roads?

4. Your mother provides you with photographic evidence of the naggin of vodka in your wardrobe. Do you (a) feign surprise (b) say your brother must have put it there (c) own up?

Section C: Reflective Piece

You’re barred from socialising for six weeks. Write an essay on how you’ve grown as a person, and what you’ll do differently next time.

'Impressions' by Katie Willow

A sprinkling of moss caught in my cuffs takes me back to the slabs sitting silently while mice scamper over the rocks three feet from me and I push into the memory of gravel pressing deeper into the skin of my knees while I wait fruitlessly I want to go back want to put out my hand and hold fine paper to your stone like the child I’ve always been and let the wax roll over your name again and again the facsimile growing stronger until you are there in the absence and I can carry you away with me.

'Classic Negroni with a Twist' by Melissa Flores Anderson

1 ounce of gin
1 ounce sweet vermouth
1 ounce Campari
Twist of trying to impress the good-looking guy from the office by ordering his favorite drink
instead of your usual sweet, fruity drink.

1.) Take a sip and try not to make a face

2.) Set the glass next to your crush who is drinking a bourbon-based drink

3.) Take another sip and feel the liquor burn your throat

4.) Let your fingers linger on the arm of your crush

5.) Clink your glasses together in a toast to what’s to come

NFFD 2024 Prompt #23: Fluid Dynamics

 

Prompt #23: Fluid Dynamics
WATER prompt E

Welcome to The Write-In!  This year, we're celebrating the 2024 National Flash Fiction Day Anthology theme of The Classical Elements - Air, Earth, Water and Fire. Throughout National Flash Fiction Day, we'll be posting one time-related prompt on the hour every hour from 00:00 until midnight (BST), for a total of 25 prompts in all.  You have until midnight on Sunday (BST) to submit your responses for possible publication here at the Write-In.  We'll start posting responses on Sunday, 16 June 2024....

*

We're nearing the end; only one more prompt to go after this.

 

Choose at least three words or phrases from this list of scientific vocabulary and use them in a flash.  You do not need to use them in a scientific context or strive for any sort of scientific accuracy.

*

If you’re submitting this to us, make sure to note that this is a response to Prompt 23: Fluid Dynamics.

You can submit responses until 23:59 BST on Sunday, 16 June 2024 for a chance to be published here at The Write-In.

You can claim the badge for this prompt by visiting the badgifier here (hosted by the NFFD website).

---

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay