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but-the-library-of-alexandria · 7 years

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30 Day Flash Fiction Challenge - Day 1

That’s right, I actually did it! Well, day one anyway - blacklist #30DFFC if you don’t want to see these (but I highly recommend reading my stories, if you like funny, and who doesn’t like funny?). Don’t necessarily expect one every day, I might take a little longer than 30 days but I’ll try my best!

Day 1: an impulse buy leads to intergalactic warfare

“You’re not meant to go on shopping sprees at the black market!”

“Why not?”

“The black market is for specific needs that cannot be satisfied anywhere else - for that one obscure item you need desperately enough to risk life and limb going to the only place you can get your hands on it.”

“That’s what I’m looking for.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Barton!”

The sun had set, leaving the horizon tinged with greenish light and fading into the starry blackness of night. Holly was following - or more accurately, hounding - Barton through a maze of back alleys, between tall dark walls standing straight and stern like watchful soldiers. Steam discharge from homes’ and shops’ power units warmed and clouded the air. Barton walked with swift confidence, purpose - which was ironic because he had no purpose and warranted no confidence.

“I still can’t believe there’s a physical black market in this city!” Barton was saying brightly, as if he were saying nothing less innocuous than that the city had four Big Burger locations. “I always thought it only existed digitally, you know. But no, they’re actually going to be here - it’s like an Etsy craft fair for smugglers.”

“You’re not advertising this well, Bart,” Holly said. “I hate both Etsy crafts and criminal activity. Together they are ruining the mainstream galactic economy.”

“Oh, hush. I aim to stick it to the mainstream-galactic man. Fuck interplanetary capitalism.”

“Interplanetary capitalism will fuck you too if you get caught.”

“I think the police will be more interested in the dozen of thieves and smugglers if they come to the market.”

They came to a little street that was subtly marked with a chalk line on the floor. They both stopped and looked down at the line.

“Doesn’t this seem awfully convenient to you?” Holly said. “Like you said, I didn’t think the black market ever gathered in person. Who window-shops for black market stuff?”

“Maybe they’re selling off all the stuff they couldn’t sell online. The black market bric-a-brac, if you will. The end-of-season-rejects sale. The factory outlet. Hey, do you think all the tables and stuff will be, like, black? A literal black market?”

“I hate you.”

“Shall we?” Barton offered his hand, lifting one foot to step over the line.

Holly raised her eyes to the star-strewn heavens in a final silent prayer. “You get one cash-in-hand web design gig and this is what you do. One.”

“Come on.” He flapped the proffered hand at her encouragingly.

“I dread the day our tax returns are due back.”

“Come on!”

“Did I say ‘I hate you’ yet, or did I just think it really loud?”

He took her hand and pulled her over the line.

A little way down the street, a figure peeled away from the wall and stood in their way.

“Password?” They asked.

Barton recited the password with confidence. “Password1. Capital P.”

The figure was silent for a few moments. Holly held her breath. Then, the figure nodded once and melted back into the shadows.

A little further down, the street turned a corner and there lay the black market itself. Unfortunately, Barton had been right - the tables and hangings were all black. There were perhaps thirty traders, lining the streets like a regular market at a funeral. Like a regular market’s shadow. There were not many buyers around, and those that were present were cloaked, hooded, masked or veiled, also in black. Barton had green hair, red trousers and shoes with little lights in them that flashed when he walked.

“We’re going to die,” Holly stated calmly.

Barton strolled like an ordinary shopper with all the time in the world, casually observing the wares laid out on the tables while Holly tried to make herself as small as possible, hiding in the shadow he cast in front of the dim blue lanterns. The items for sale included various strange-looking weapons, small and vicious-looking tools that may have been for surgery or torture, old books bound in alien leathers and written in dead languages, dazzling silver, gold and jewels lifted from palaces and mansions, and an inordinate number of weird floating crystals that hovered in tough little glass cases, rotating slowly and giving off tendrils of curling energy.

“Ooh, what is that!” Barton said suddenly, descending on a table heaped with masses of golden artefacts, piles of goblets and bracelets studded with jewels. Barton ignored all of this and picked up a tiny, beaten-looking blackish-grey ball that could have come straight from a builders’ skip.

“That is the dehydrated testicle of a deep-sea dragon,” the seller told him.

Barton put it back down with a smile.

Holly sidled up to him, hands firmly in her pockets. “Are you done yet? Just buy the testicle and lets go.”

“Oh no, I am not falling for that one again. I’m looking for something non-organic, but similar… low key, compact, nothing too flashy… Ah, like this!”

He picked up an enormous sword as long as Holly was tall and almost as wide. Flashing lights ran up and down the middle of the shimmering golden blade, mysterious symbols pulsed in the hilt, and the crossguard changed colour several times a second as he held it.

“Excellent choice,” Holly said, taking the sword carefully and lowering the blade to a safe and stable angle. “Hand over the money and let’s go.”

“Wait a moment,” Barton said, turning to the seller. “Is this sword safe?”

“Are you trained in the art of sword handling?” Asked the seller.

“No.”

“Have you been vaccinated against Dragon’s Gold Syndrome?”

“No.”

“Are you related to the ancient royal family of Explinar 7?”

“No.”

“It’ll probably be fine.”

Barton turned to Holly with a delighted smile. She buried her face in her hands. He took that as a sign of approval and handed over his entire fortune in a brown envelope. As soon as he was done, Holly dragged him down an alley and away from the market.

“This is such a cool sword,” Barton was saying as she marched him towards home. “I told you this was a good idea. Just think of all the stupid stuff you wanted me to spend my money, but no, I knew better - ‘let’s go and have a browse, see what great deals I can find’.”

“By ‘stupid stuff’, you mean ‘bills and debt repayment’?”

“Yeah. Stupid stuff. That stuff is stupid, right sword?”

“COMPUTING,” the sword replied. Barton almost dropped it.

“Excuse me?”

“IDENTIFY YOURSELF.”

“Uhh…”

“IDENTITY NOT RECOGNISED.”

“Holly, what do I do? Shall I turn it off and on again? How do I turn it off and on again?”

“STRANGER, YOU HOLD IN YOUR UNWORTHY HANDS THE PROPERTY OF THE MOST ANCIENT LINE OF KINGS OF THE NOBLE PLANET EXPLINAR SEVEN. YOUR THEFT HAS BEEN REPORTED TO THE AUTHORITIES, AND REVENGE WILL BE WREAKED UPON YOUR PEOPLE.”

“Whoops,” said Barton. “I wonder if I still have the receipt?”

#flash fiction #short story #writing #fiction #funny #30DFFC #day one #30 day flash fiction challenge #Elise's posts #writing challenge

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