Flashes of Sanity #176: Returning Stan

Welcome to Above Heaven, Below Hell! Previously called Flashes of Sanity. I am changeing the name because it is not flash fiction. It is a whole story with chapters!

Four times a week, a chapter of 500 words or less will be published. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday.

Today’s entry: Returning Stan


The night fled when the orb appeared out of thin air. The orb shrunk back into nothingness just as fast as it came to be. Only the man crouched fist to the ground inside it remained.
Stan flexed his muscles in the moon light. The mark she left as he was about to leave were still showing in four distinct lines. Her bite still hang on his lip.
He arose. His magnificence dangled for all to see. Just as it did when he left the jaws dropping while walking through the corridors during high school.
Stan scanned the empty field.
This is what everyone warned me for? His right brow rose in a bow. Seems calm enough for me.
An engine growled through the silence. Another joined it. Voices cheered under the growls. Light beams from two cars joined the moon.
The disappointment gave in for a smile splitting Stan’s face in two. His teeth glimmered in response to the guests. The two cars growled past Stan just to halt and turn around.
“Look at that!” One voice laughed. “A corn fucker.”
The smile on Stan’s face shrunk into a smirk. Wonder how one fucks corn, he thought. I’ll let them explain.
The cars stopped by Stan’s feet. Eight men jumped out. They made sure he saw the rifles. IT didn’t scare Stan though. His magnificence was more lethal than their sticks.
“So, little man, what are you doing on our field?” A man with less teeth than knives said. “Don’t you know this is a dangerous place?”
Stan laughed.
“I know enough to take care of little rascals like you.”
The eight exchanged smiles. The one with a mouth that soon would lose its last tooth pushed his gun to Stan’s chest.
“We are sinners,” he said and leaned closer. “The worst kind. We are immortal.”
Stan grabbed the gun. He punched it through the jaw.
“I am Stan,” he said. “I am from the future. And I got news for you. You are not alive where I come from.”
He pulled the trigger. The brain scattered in the air. Stan pushed the man to the seven behind him. He fired at them too. Their bullets bounced off Stan’s chest. Stan’s fists punched their skulls into one. One of them fell onto Stan’s magnificence.
“Remember my name, kids,” Stan said as he entered one of their cars. “Stan Oliviallo. You will hear it again soon enough.”
He pushed the gas to the bottom and peppered the men with gravel before the car drove off into the darkness.

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Copyright © David B. Johansson 2022

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