Zentastic #AtoZchallenge #AdForRoomatesStory #LGBTQIA+ #HealthInsurance

This month-long story, “Ad for Roommates,” told in twenty-six parts, is an urban fantasy intended for readers over age fifteen. Liv, the main character, is an adult in her thirties. This is a prequel to a forthcoming book and my theme for the #AtoZchallenge. To meet another character from from this story world, visit the (adult) blog of co-host Jayden R Vincente.



“Never say never. I’ve seen Zentastic do amazing things. I wouldn’t sell it otherwise,” the sales clerk spouts.

I shake my head. “Then you’ve never been desperate for a paycheck. My mom would have sold pills filled with horse manure if it meant keeping a roof over our heads. And plenty of people were mean to her when she took jobs like yours. That’s why I’m trying to be polite as I decline your offer. I’m going to roll away now.”

“You can get a free raffle ticket just for giving your phone number. I don’t even have to verify it!”

This is why I have to work on meditation. “610-555-1212. I’m Miss Bath. Anita.”

“Anita Bath at the number for information?” The sales clerk laughs.

Wren Noel and I head off.

“You’ve dealt with that type before, eh? Someone is probably going to call from an autodialer to follow up,” Wren Noel points out.

“Maybe. And the computer will say that it needs a bath. Which will be hilarious in that computer voice.”

I look over at the empty space where the bookstore once was. “There are worse money making ideas. I read Rich Dad Poor Dad and wondered what kind of perfect health that guy and his family were blessed with to be calm when they hit rock bottom. No power to keep the life-sustaining machines running, no money for prescriptions and doctors. I wonder if there could be a book like that for people with chronic illness in America. Is it even possible to avoid going broke, to not need public assistance at some point? My mom wouldn’t have taken half the jobs she did if it weren’t for my bills.”

Wren Noel stops, turns, and kneels beside me. “Hey. Don’t do that.”

My eyebrow shoots up. “What?”

“Feel guilty about the cost of being. Or blame yourself that your mom had to do things to keep you going. There are places in this world where the larger community would have helped. Where “it takes a village” has become “it takes a country” and they are able to provide healthcare to all citizens because it isn’t about survival of the fittest. You live in America, not in those places. That isn’t your fault. One day, maybe all life will be valued equally, and the fight for survival won’t include a fight to prevent poverty. It isn’t here yet. So, instead of letting the guilt eat at you, go fight for that. Okay? It isn’t your fault.”

I feel my chin quivering. “Keeping saying stuff like that, people are gonna think you’re proposing to me or breaking up with me.”

“Here,” Wren Noel pulls a napkin out.

“I don’t know if I can let you be my roommate.” The tears slow as I regain my composure.

“Why’s that?”

“Kinda think I’d rather date you.” I laugh lightly. It isn’t really a joke, but I need a buffer in case rejection is coming. Wren Noel hugs me.

*** 498 words

(Language note: Anita sounds like "I need a", which is the joke. I need a bath.)

Thank you so much for reading this month-long story. If you'd like to be notified when the book comes out, please leave contact information with myself or Jayden.

Tenth Anniversary of the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge bloghop.

Yes, but if it weren’t for that camel... #AtoZchallenge #ShortStory #AdForRoomatesStory #LGBTQIA+ #UrbanFantasy

This month-long story, “Ad for Roommates,” told in twenty-six parts, is an urban fantasy intended for readers over age fifteen. Liv, the main character, is an adult in her thirties. This is a prequel to a forthcoming book and my theme for the #AtoZchallenge. To meet another character from from this story world, visit the (adult) blog of co-host Jayden R Vincente.



“Yeah, it hurt. Then there was a camel walking past. And, I mean, come on. There’s no desert in Pennsylvania. And it was snowing. But there’s a camel just wondering down the highway. Well, not so much wondering, since his reign was being held inside the truck. But still, he was strolling along the shoulder of the road calm as can be, like it was normal.”

“And meanwhile, you’re getting your heart broken.” Wren Noel’s story has a tear in my eye and a smile on my lips.

“Yes. So, not only had people stopped because of the snow and sleet, but now because there’s a camel. Really, outside of a zoo, how many people in this state have ever seen a camel up close? And my boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend at that point, is sitting there bawling his eyes out. But I looked at that camel. That desert creature in the snow. And I knew I was going to be okay.”

“Einstein healed you?”

“I guess so. That’s not to say that he missed his show at the Kimmel Center because of me. I don’t think fate values my heart over the plans of the Jewish Federation of Greater Philadelphia. But there he was, having a stroll in the snow. And there I was, being broken up with while stuck in traffic. Normally, I would have had a total meltdown. Instead, I just stayed calm for the next three hours, dropped the ex off at his house, grabbed my things, and then made it safely back home.”

“That doesn’t sound like the worst break up ever.”

Wren Noel shrugs. “Yes, but if it weren’t for that camel, it certainly would have been. Three hours in snow traffic with the person who just broke up with me?”

“Ah, yes, that would have been brutal. Fair enough.”

We head past the storefront where the bookstore used to be. Across from it, there’s a cart selling a new vitamin supplement. I see the dollar signs in the eye of the sales clerk.

“Oh no.”

“What?” Wren Noel asks.

“Hi! Have you heard of Zentastic?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Thanks though,” I say as I try to roll away. I should bring a monster with me everywhere I go to protect me from people like this.

“Hang on. We have a special today. Buy a bottle of Zentastic, get two more bottles for free. Plus, you get this stress ball, a sleep mask, a tote bag, and ten raffle tickets for a brand new—”

“I’m gonna stop you there.” My hand shoots up. “Look, I’m not interested. I have to get roommates because I’m so broke. I appreciate that you have a job to do. And I’m guessing this location was selected because it’s popular with the mall walkers. Or maybe it’s because of the Cave, someone figures that this will be easier to sell after people have a few beers in them.”

The sales clerk's mouth opens, but I’m faster.

“Nope. No, no. See, I was clear and polite. We both know it’s going to take more effort for me to turn and roll away than for a more able-bodied person to just turn and run. And I know you see this chair and think I have to always be in the market for hope. Which means you’re just a few breaths away from asking me about my condition. Then you will tell me how you’re selling something to help. But it won’t.”

*** 580 words

Tenth Anniversary of the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge bloghop.

X is an Ex for a reason #AtoZchallenge #ShortStory #AdForRoomatesStory #LGBTQIA+ #UrbanFantasy

This month-long story, “Ad for Roommates,” told in twenty-six parts, is an urban fantasy intended for readers over age fifteen. Liv, the main character, is an adult in her thirties. This is a prequel to a forthcoming book and my theme for the #AtoZchallenge. To meet another character from from this story world, visit the (adult) blog of co-host Jayden R Vincente.



After we’re around the corner, Wren Noel stops and laughs. “Sorry, didn’t mean to speak for you.”

“No no, perfectly fine. I don’t think he was my type.” I laugh too.

“I hate public breakups. What’s the worst ending you’ve ever had?”

“Oh, that’s a tough one. I’m going to say the guy I was dating my senior year in high school.”

Wren Noel laughs. “Quite the flashback there. Okay, what happened?”

“After school, we went to his house. He stopped to get the mail. I wasn’t prying or anything, but there was a big envelope. Which, you know, senior year of high school.”

“College acceptance letter?”

“See! That’s what I thought!” I pour a free sample of hand sanitizer on and give it a sniff. “Mind if we pop into Bath and Body Works? There’s a sale.”

Wren Noel points out that they usually have a sale on something, but follows me in none the less. I head toward the items I’m out of, and thus should stock up on while they’re discounted.

“So we’re heading into his house, and I’m all giddy, asking him where he got in and whatnot. But I also really had to pee. He waits until I’m in the bathroom. Then leans against the door and gives this big speech about not being sure how to tell me this, but the place he got in to is the American University of Beirut.”

“In Lebanon? Like, in the Middle East?” Wren Noel almost drops a bottle of lotion.

“Yeah. That’s the one. And while I’m still in the bathroom on the toilet, he proceeds to tell me that we should break up now because he doesn’t want me to, and I quote, get any silly ideas about following him to Asia.”

“Wow.”

“Yup.”

“He said that?”

“While I was on his toilet. Couldn’t even break up face to face. Had to put the bathroom door between us.”

“That’s awful. Hilarious and awful. Better than in public hoping you won’t make a scene, I suppose.”

I take my handful of items to the register. Didn’t I just come in for a bottle of hand sanitizer? This store gets me every time. Eh well, I am saving almost as much as I’m spending. That’s something, right? And it isn’t like I don’t need to buy soap. That’s not something that’s going to go bad or that I’m going to stop using.

“How about you? What’s your worst?” I ask as we leave with my haul in neat blue and white bags.

“Do you recall when Einstein the camel was let out of his transport truck on Route 309 during the snowstorm in November?”

“Yeah. That was only a few months ago.”

“I was there. One minute I’m cursing the people who can’t drive in a little bit of snow. I mean, it had been two hours and traffic barely moved a mile. And my boyfriend at the time starts crying. I tell him it’ll be okay, that we have gas and there’s a granola bar in the glovebox. That’s when he tells me it’s over. Says I changed too much. That he could handle when I was fluid and just had some days where I was more feminine. But since I got on the trans path, I was no longer gay enough or male enough. I don’t know.”

“Wow. That’s horrible.” I want to hug Wren Noel. Another time the wheelchair feels like more hinder than help.

*** 580 words

Tenth Anniversary of the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge bloghop.

Your Sister isn’t a Whore #AtoZchallenge #ShortStory #AdForRoomatesStory #UrbanFantasy

This month-long story, “Ad for Roommates,” told in twenty-six parts, is an urban fantasy intended for readers over age fifteen. Liv, the main character, is an adult in her thirties. This is a prequel to a forthcoming book and my theme for the #AtoZchallenge. To meet another character from from this story world, visit the (adult) blog of co-host Jayden R Vincente.



“Never thought of it that way, but yes, you’re right. I wouldn’t want to steal an idea.” I munch on my fries. “Like I had a dream last night. But I don’t know that I can put it in an online dream journal or anything.”

“Oh? Why?”

“It was sort of an episode of The Walking Dead. With the zombies they don’t call zombies. Except the main characters were pinned down. Daryl, Michonne, Rick, Carl, and a few of the others. They were hold up in one of the abandoned houses. Walkers all over outside. And then there were space aliens.”

Pepsi nearly shoots out of Wren Noel’s nose. “Sorry, what?”

“Yeah. That’s how I know it was a dream, not a memory of an episode. Space aliens showing up. Abducting people and walkers alike. The aliens weren’t taking sides, they were just trying to figure out what happened.”

Wren Noel nods. “Like scientists dissecting mice to figure out what’s killing them? Did the aliens perhaps cause the breakout? I haven’t watched enough of the show to know for sure what the cause was. I remember an episode where someone said that everyone was already infected.”

“Really? I would have thought you’d be a fan of the show. Hey, do you wanna get out of here? Go grab a coffee down the street, bum around the South Mall for a bit?”

I know I shouldn’t be spending so much money today. But this is the most fun I’ve had in a really long time and I’m not ready for it to end. I love the creatures I’ve given refuge to in my home. Sometimes it’s nice to be with a human though.

Wren Noel nods. “Haven’t been there in ages. I figured they’d rip it down and make another Promenade by now.”

After paying, we take the short drive down the street, drive-thru the Starbucks, and then take our lattes to the mall.

A woman slams the entrance door open, nearly hitting Wren Noel. “Screw you, Todd!”

“Screw me? Me! No. Screw you!” A man inside, in front of Dino’s Pizzateria, shouts.

The woman rips off a necklace and chucks it into the vestibule. “There’s your damn necklace back. You can give it to that whore!”

Wren Noel and I exchange glances as we stay away from the argument.

“Your sister isn’t a whore. It was one time. Not even one time. Nothing barely happened!”

“Nothing barely happened? You think using a double negative is going to help? Ugh! I can’t believe I ever liked you. Goodbye.” The woman storms off to the parking lot.

The man steps into the vestibule, picks up the necklace, and mutters, “Well, at least it won’t cost much to fix this clasp.”

He looks at me and smiles. “Hi there. I’m Todd.”

“Wow,” Wren Noel elongates the word as he wheels me past. “No. She’s taken. So am I. Bye now.”

*** 485 words

Tenth Anniversary of the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge bloghop.

Video and Creative Ventures #AtoZchallenge #ShortStory #AdForRoomatesStory #Baking #Game

This month-long story, “Ad for Roommates,” told in twenty-six parts, is an urban fantasy intended for readers over age fifteen. Liv, the main character, is an adult in her thirties. This is a prequel to a forthcoming book and my theme for the #AtoZchallenge. To meet another character from from this story world, visit the (adult) blog of co-host Jayden R Vincente.



Our cheesesteaks arrive just then. Little cut up bits of meat and onion, coated in cheese. Mine has mushrooms and sweet peppers. But Wren Noel ordered Phil’s original, which has pickles and hot peppers added, and it’s all smothered in tomato sauce. Normally that wouldn’t bother me. But, seeing Wren Noel lift the sub to those blackened lips, taking a bite that causes the sauce to run from mouth to chin, I’m done in for a moment.

The sauce looks like blood on Wren Noel's face. Splatterpunk isn’t something this person is just into, it’s a way of life. I wonder how dark it gets? It might be a bit unnerving. How far down the rabbit hole has Wren Noel tumbled?

On one hand, given the creatures in my home, this could work out well. Don’t think this potential roommate would run screaming. On the other hand, I might be the one to run screaming. Not that I scare very easily. Or can actually run for more than a minute or two, even on my best day.

“So what did you buy at the shop?” Wren asks between bites.

“It’s an interesting looking game I heard of once. Supposedly, it’s based on The Great British Baking Show. Have you seen that?”

“Yes. I adore Paul Hollywood. And I love to bake, so that’s a win-win. Plus, unlike most American food competition shows, there’s less drama. Players are nicer to each other. It feels uplifting to watch, and you get more of a connection to the contestants. Do you know what I mean?”

I nod and smile. “Yeah. I feel the same way. Anyhow, so the game is sort of based on that. It doesn’t say it, of course, because I guess the creator doesn’t have the rights.”

“Have you played it before?” Wren Noel asks before digging into some fries.

“No. I saw it on a YouTube video a girl I knew from Penn State posted. In the first round, the Signature Challenge, it’s called the Start with a Twist. The judge player picks a card. It’s a well-known savory bakery item. The baking players have to make it with a twist of their own.”

“Just given whatever is around the house?”

“I don’t know. I think the game takes place over a day or two. Like the judge draws the cards on a Thursday, and people come over with ingredients on a Friday. Except I think the judge has to buy the items for the second round.”

Wren Noel nods while cleaning the sauce off lips and chin.

“So that’d be the Technical Challenge, which the game calls Loki in the Kitchen. It’s a difficult item to bake to perfection, made more difficult by some random mischief. Each player is hindered by a different mischief. A missing ingredient, a broken preparation tool, five minutes less on the clock, whatever.”

“That sounds like Cutthroat Kitchen,” Wren Noel says.

“You know what, it does. Except for only one bit of mischief instead of nothing but mayhem.”

“I do adore Alton Brown. Hands down, my favorite celebrity.”

“Yes. He’s really something.” I take a swig of my drink.

“Is there a Show Stopper round?” Wren Noel asks.

“Yes. For the Show Stopper, which is called the Jaw Dropper, players have to bake a mind-blowing dessert. Everyone does the same type. The judge picks that in advance, too. Cake, pie, cookies, whatever. I think there are ideas in the game box. Anyway, bakers have to reuse the twist from round one. So if they decided their signature, or twist, was using the color red, they now have to incorporate that color into the dessert.”

“How fun!”

“Yeah. I think I could play without the game. But, since I saw it on clearance, I figured I’d pick it up. There might be a rule or something I missed in the video.”

“And it’s good to give money for someone’s creative ventures,” Wren Noel says. “You wouldn’t want to steal an idea without crediting the source in some way. Got to nurture people who put their souls out there for sale.”

*** 680 words
(Author's note: The game does not exist. I made it up for this story because the letter V was freaking hard to write.)

Tenth Anniversary of the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge bloghop.

Uncle #AtoZchallenge #ShortStory #AdForRoomatesStory #LGBTQIA+ #UrbanFantasy

This month-long story, “Ad for Roommates,” told in twenty-six parts, is an urban fantasy intended for readers over age fifteen. Liv, the main character, is an adult in her thirties. This is a prequel to a forthcoming book and my theme for the #AtoZchallenge. To meet another character from from this story world, visit the (adult) blog of co-host Jayden R Vincente.



I’m glad that Wren Noel has a van. Saves time, as I was going to wait for the bus. Of course, this is exactly the sort of van that every parent has warned their child to never climb into. The base color is dark orange, but there are huge murals painted everywhere.

“Please don’t let my redone shaggin’ wagon put you off. It was left to me by my uncle, and I haven’t the heart to get rid of it.”

I climb inside. My wheelchair fits easily in the back, since the seats have been taken out. I imagine there was once a mattress in here. What else would one put in the back of a van that has floor to ceiling shag carpet? Braided, velvet ropes, hanging from the ceiling, sway as we head down the road. Used for what I don’t care to guess.

The reality crashes on me that if Wren Noel does turn out to be a criminal, I’ll be the one who gets blamed. Someone will say I deserved what I got for traveling with a stranger. They’ll say I should have known better.

I wish they’d say things like she shouldn’t have lived in a world where so many predators are all around us. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel bad when one of the creatures I live with takes a life. Because this society, if they accepted the creatures exist, would say that their prey should have known better. If the people they take were willing to believe they existed, they could take precautions. But if you’re going to close your eyes to the realities all around you, then you get what you deserve. That’s what they’ll say about me if Wren Noel attacks me. Is it bitter of me to turn that around on them?

“Were you two close? You and your uncle.”

“Oh, he was a trip. Looked after me whenever I stayed with my mum. My dad’s a Brit, you see. So I went to boarding school over there. All proper education and whatnot. But my mum, no idea how she and my dad ever paired up. She was a spirit of the Earth. Not a Christian, not any religion really, but she loved Christmas. That’s how I got my name. Wren Noel.”

“Ah. My first name, Liv, is Norwegian. People don’t think it, they generally think it’s short for Olivia or something.”

“Yeah, I get that. People ask me what my real name is. And some of my newer friends ask if it’s my true name or my dead name.”

“Dead name?” I look over the goth exterior of my driver.

“In the trans community, it’s the name you stop using as you transition. But I like my name.”

“Oh! Epic fail on my part. So sorry. I do have other trans friends. I just thought you meant something else.”

“No worries. I’m trans male to female, but I’m also gender fluid. So, some days I’m Frankenstein's monster, and some days I’m the monster bride.”

“You’re not a monster.” The words come out almost like a reflex. Not because I feel a need to offer comfort, kindness, assurance, or security. But because I know creatures who people call monsters. They really don’t deserve the title.

Wren Noel pulls into the parking lot of the Brass Rail on Lehigh Street. After getting me back into my chair, we head inside and procure a table. Once we’ve ordered, the conversation picks back up.

“Have you heard of Splatterpunk?” Wren Noel asks.

“No. Can’t say I have.”

“It’s based on a sort of horror fiction, especially from the 80’s. Not thrillers or leaving the audience to fill in the blanks. It’s dark gore, very violent, with gruesome scenes full of monsters and mayhem. Villians often take center stage and have little to no redeeming qualities. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein Monster could be sympathized with for being misunderstood and neglected by his maker. But, in Splatterpunk, the Frankenstein monster usually has neck bolts and no real vocabulary. He’s the wicked one that people fear enough to use for Halloween.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

“Yes. That’s just my favorite version, of course. Edward Lee’s The Bighead, that’s the sort of vile and disgusting graphic novel that Splatterpunk puts on a pedestal.”

*** 717 words

Tenth Anniversary of the April Blogging from A to Z Challenge bloghop.