Spectrum: SmartyPants Spectrum Series, #1

By Jennifer Roush, S.C. Jensen, Gale Meadows and 25 more

You are an explorer in a galaxy of worlds... 

...with countless stories to delve into or even just try out.

Inside, you are the rescuer of the kitten who rescues you right back. You are the citizen making a life-or-death decision. You are the teenager experiencing her first bite. Drama. Mystery. Romance. Heartwarming fiction. Gut-twisting decisions. We gathered the best stories from multiple genres to create a kaleidoscopic collection of short fiction.

From award-winning authors to fresh new voices, worlds of discovery, adventure, and heartbreak are at your fingertips. 

Whether your tastes lie in blood red horror, green soothing family dramas, or night-black satire, there is a color--and a story--for you.

What's a good story?

If it's one that transports you into a different life, a different world, a different time, then we have 28 of the best.

Get comfortable and explore the range and breadth of SmartyPants authors painting stories with words. Fall in love, or be terrified and intrigued with the characters brought to life in these pages. Come celebrate how varied the spectrum of storytelling can be!

Whether you buy right away or you "Look Inside", we know you'll find a story that speaks to you, immerses you, and seduces you into the colorful hallucinations of a well-told story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SmartyPants Publishing, Inc
• Release date: Nov 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386077329

Jennifer Roush

Raised on Star Trek, Dune, and Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Jennifer prefers a good dose of biting social commentary in her speculative fiction, and with such influences as C. S. Friedman and Joan D. Vinge, uses gentle metaphor and a total lack of preachiness to do it. Her complex characters grow through their tense and challenging plots, through settings deliberately chosen to amplify the moral struggles we all face, but always with the assurance that you can kick back, put your feet up, and just enjoy an entertaining, funny, and haunting story if you want. Dedicated to the craft of writing well, Jennifer and her publishing company SmartyPants Publishing, Inc. work to grow authors of all genres who share in the love of a good story well told. To this end, SmartyPants maintains a learning site, critique group, and a host of upcoming projects including novels, anthologies, and a self-publishing and hybrid-publishing forum It is Jennifer’s work in life to not only tell her own stories, but to help other writers tell the stories that need to be told, and to get those stories into the hands of anyone who wants them. Good stories, well told, and distributed across the globe. Thank you for taking the time to get to know Jennifer! If you would like to contact Jennifer directly, she is available at: [e-mail] If you would like to contact SmartyPants Publishing, it is available at: www.smartypantspublishers.com

Book preview

About Spectrum

Inside these pages , you’ll note a color scheme by chapter if you’re reading this electronically, and by colored tab, if you have the print version.

Each color is given a purpose: Red lures in readers, Orange warns an audience, Yellow supplies warmth, green shows us budding hope, blue represents loss, and purple is the turning point, turning the spectrum back to alluring red.

Inside each color, you’ll find very different stories, a spectrum within a spectrum. You’ll also see stories of similar genres in different sections.

Our goal in providing this unique perspective is to show how varied and vibrant the colors of storytelling are, how versatile the shades we work with.

Stories are not just genres, or feelings, morals, or experiences. They are combinations of these things, and, like paints on a canvas, the unlimited combining of these things makes for an infinite supply of experience, emotion, understanding, and entertainment.

We hope you enjoy delving deep into our rich bounty of colorful stories.

About the Stories

When an author submits a story to a magazine or a publisher, they’ll often get a form rejection letter. Thank you for submitting your piece [insert title]. Unfortunately, this is not a fit for our publication at this time.

These boilerplate rejections have a purpose: often authors do not research the magazine or the publisher well, and will actually offer a piece that has nothing to do with what the publisher does.

And sometimes, it’s just to spare the feelings of the author. No one wants to be responsible for an author quitting writing. No one wants to be quoted as saying, your work is trash if the author suddenly becomes a household name.

And sometimes, it’s to protect the magazine or the publisher. We all cultivate small groups of reliable authors, so we know we will have quality content on a schedule, and dipping outside that well can be frightening.

But none of that helps the author.

The author needs critical feedback, and specific critical feedback, in order to learn and grow. By not discussing the problem with the piece, the author cannot learn anything from the experience.

So I wanted to give authors practical feedback, whether or not we accepted the story.

And what happened? We accepted about 70% of the stories we received.

90% of those required extensive editing. Issues like how many words a critical part of a story needed, Point-of-view issues, weak words, telling, not showing, all of these needed to be corrected.

But they were all correctable.

It turns out none of these stories were duds. They were all diamonds in the rough, and with a little elbow grease and some state-of-the-art cutters, we were able to make it sparkle and shine.

In these pages, you’ll read 30 stories that could not be any more different from one another, and yet they all have one thing in common: quality.

So see how diverse the spectrum of excellent storytelling is, and jump in!

Red: Lures

Red never fails to grab your attention. Its attractive force snags our attention and draws us in...to kill or be killed. In these stories, red is the alluring draw of a red dress, lipstick, or the nail of the finger beckoning you forward...

Inside Red:

Aspen by Jennifer Roush (Erotic Fiction)

Drawn by Gale Meadows (Dystopian)

Mrs. Cadwell’s Curtains by Jamie Merrigan (Fantasy)

Once Upon a Blood Moon by Harvey Covey (Horror)

Aspen by Jennifer Roush. Genre: Erotic Fiction

Her name was Aspen and she was a foot shorter than me, all decked out Goth with a spiked dog-collar choker and black lipstick. Her two best friends were weirder than I could ever dream to be: one was a willowy auburn witch, the other bleached her pubic hair and go-go danced for a band.

She scared me at first—well, that was her plan, after all, and at just over four feet tall, she probably needed people to be scared of her. I couldn’t sit in the back of the bus because she claimed the whole row—the big seat for her enormous backpack it looked like she carried a body in, and the jump seat for her.

But I’ve always had a dirty mind and a smart mouth, and it wasn’t even halfway through the year that I had butted into enough of the conversations between her and the cutter-heartthrob she talked to every day that she started to notice me.

And like every chick who has had to use sex to survive, she could sniff out my attraction with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back.

And man, did I want to tie her hands behind her back.

But I never hit on her directly; I wasn’t popular and I wasn’t particularly interesting according to her brand of it. I was just the chick in chemistry with her go-go friend, the chick dating the guy who was friends with the girlfriend of her cutter-heartthrob, the chick in Writer’s club with the auburn witch friend. Our circles caressed one another but didn’t really cross, and while I could spend whole nights wondering what it felt like to be wrapped up in her hair, there wasn’t a single way she spent more than a passing period thinking about me.

One day, another girl boarded the bus, all decked out Goth with a dog-collar choker and black lipstick. She didn’t see Aspen in the back of the bus, but sat in the seat with the wheel well.

I want to put her in my mouth.

I turned around to find Aspen in the seat behind me, leaning on her arms so her chin about leveled with my nose and her hair batted the side of my face and poured over my shoulder. It smelled like Head and Shoulders. I couldn’t take my eyes off her lips.

You know what I mean?

Like you want to kiss her? Something fluttered in my abdomen, just under my pubic bone. I wanted to kiss her. I might have groaned. I rubbed some of her long black hair between my fingers—hopefully casually-looking, thoughtfully—and it was as sleek as it always looked.

No, not exactly. She’s cute; I want to bite her.

I wasn’t sure I’d heard it right. Bite her?

Yeah, you know when something’s cute and you just gotta— she bared her teeth. Grr!

Yes, yes I did. I shook my head and laughed. Why would you want to bite something that’s cute? Wouldn’t that hurt it?

She smiled wide, like she had with the grr. Have you ever been bitten?

What, by a person? Not on purpose.

Come here.

What? I’m already half under you.

No, come around this way. Face me. Her fingers drifted across my neck. Lean over here.

I leaned, the barely-padded wire frame of the bus seat digging into my chest. I leaned as far as she had been leaning, but higher.

Head and Shoulders filled my nose as her hair brushed my cheek. Her ear bumped my cheekbone and nudged down to my jaw.

The world went black as my eyes rolled up in my head. Every inch of my skin tried to reach her, even if it meant peeling right off my chest, belly, thighs. When her lips smudged against my neck, I shivered.

Then I felt her teeth close around my trapezius muscle and she bit, hard.

I moaned or choked, or maybe I laughed or cried. Whatever noise it was, it was followed so fast by whistles and clapping I can’t even delineate it in my memory.

There was pain, but more pleasure. The hairs on the back of my neck vibrated with her breath. My nipples pressed against the bus seat, and my jaw ached from the strain of clenching it to keep myself from making the noise again.

The deep muscles in my thighs shook and I felt the sound of her moan in her chest, responding to the flood of my arousal.

And I was fucking hooked.

I left the black smears of her lipstick on my neck the whole day. I even had my boyfriend squeeze the spot when I gave him head at lunch.

Her name was Aspen and she was a foot shorter than me, all decked out in Goth. And while she never spent more than a passing period thinking of me, I can still feel the heat of her mouth a quarter of a century later.

About the Author Jennifer Roush

THE TERM ROUSHROTICA was coined to describe the particularly lush and anatomically correct erotica Jennifer writes. Although she wishes her talents did not lie in a venue that embarrasses her children, she nonetheless enjoys writing in every genre, even if it means creating her own.

Jennifer lives in Colorado with her husband, a cat, a turtle, and two ferocious beasts she calls spawn. You can find her hanging out on FB entirely too much, and if you’re lucky, she’ll flip you a free book.

No guarantee it’ll be Roushrotica, though.

Drawn by Gale Meadows Genre: Dystopian

S eptember 3, 3357, a day remembered by survivors.

The crowd stood in the town square at the front of the Capital while a representative recounted the annual speech about the day we destroyed the world. I’ve read stories of our barbaric ancestors. Wonder how they didn’t destroy themselves sooner?

I shifted my weight from side to side, waiting for the final words. A man sighed, his eyes glazed over. Ah, boredom. 

Thanks to Seed, technology survived and evolved. Give a hand of applause for our Lab workers, who keep our population healthy and strong.

Finally!

I nodded a thank you and clapped for my fellow Lab technicians who speckled the crowd with white coats.

The flow of people moved without touching. 

You on duty today, Kassa?

Yep, are you working today, Harry?

Harry flashed a smile. It’s my day off, but I am coming in to help you and Caroline with your project.

Hey, Kassa.

Hello, Caroline.

Men with Capital Office armbands stood outside the Lab doors, cold eyes bored into mine. My heart pounded while we walked to my lab.

Harry frowned and closed the door to my lab. Wonder what they’re doing here?

I wonder if someone... Caroline’s voice broke.

Perhaps the Capital needs to update information from the Lab, I suggested.

Harry and Caroline nodded, but worried creases remained on their brows.

Let’s get to work. Later we can go get coffee and cinnamon rolls from Ricky’s. I smiled.

Caroline nodded. Sounds good.

I tapped window panes and screens flickered to life; my presentation played. Worry lines relaxed, replaced by concentration and note taking while we discussed the project.

Chimes sounded. Wow, time flies. Ricky’s will close soon, we need to hurry.

It got chilly, Caroline shivered and closed her coat.

Harry laughed. Some hot coffee will warm you.

He winked at Caroline, and I laughed when her face turned bright pink. Harry had taken an interest in our mutual friend, though he hadn’t said anything.

A few people dotted the streets along the way. Ricky spotted me when we walked inside. Hello Kassa, the usual?

Yes please, three orders to my account.

Ricky nodded. Coming right up.

Thanks, Kassa, Caroline said.

Let’s grab that table against the wall, I gestured.

Capital workers passed our table. One man locked his gaze on me. A high-pitched tone drowned out nearby conversations and hairs stood on the back of my neck.

Enjoy, Ricky said.

My body jolted.

Sorry, Kassa; didn’t mean to scare you.

No problem, I spaced out, I laughed.

Harry and Caroline chatted; I threw in a few nods when appropriate, forcing the hot liquid and sticky sweetness down my constricted throat. 

Hello, I haven’t seen you lately. Margret said.

I stared stupidly for a moment. Margret passed me daily on the way to work without so much as a glance in my direction. My attempts to acknowledge her ended long ago.

It’s Margret, your cousin. Remember me? We should catch up soon.

Uh, yeah, ok. I thought I preferred indifference over her new overly-friendly persona. 

Everything ok? Caroline asked.

Yeah, I’m just tired. I put on my best smile, but Caroline wasn’t convinced. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Lights went out in windows; immaculate streets were void of people by the time my street came into view.

Almost curfew, a voice warned out of a dark doorway.

Thank you, officer.

I jogged to my building and skated inside. A ticket to end the day wasn’t appealing. Computer, dim lights, run a hot bath with cherry scented bubbles.

Affirmative, chirped the female automated voice.

Messages?

One message.

Play.

Message one.

It’s mom. I called to say hello. Call me when you can.

What did she want now? She never called to say hello.

Computer, delete message.

Message deleted.

Cherry scented steam hit my face, the hot water stung. Popping bubbles hissed and tickled my skin.

A long sigh escaped my lips. Margret’s sudden interest and the missed call were an odd coincidence.

Don’t overthink, Kassa. 

My bleary eyes opened too early, but sleep eluded me. The cold stare of the Capital worker popped into my mind. Another knot formed in my stomach.

Computer, alarm off.

Affirmative.

The thirty stone steps leading into the Capital building appeared ominous and daunting, blanketed in shadows cast by the structure. My pace quickened, though I’m not due for another three hours.

Kassa? Kassa Noble?

The dark-haired man wore a crimson armband signaling authority.

Yes.

Calum Beltran, he said.

His eyes glided over me but paused on my burning, red locks. Why, in a city of seven-thousand people, am I the only one with this particular coloration?

Is there a problem? My eyes lowered from his penetrating, blue-eyed stare. 

He lifted his left hand to look