Flight Risk

“It’s only for a few weeks,” said the officer, a blue and yellow budgerigar in an official cap. Kikri hadn’t asked his name.

“Just do it,” he muttered.

The officer hesitated, then nodded to the black-feathered nurse, who pecked at the keys awkwardly, not using her toes. “Restriction or full grounding?” she asked.

“Full.”

The machine whirred to life. “It won’t hurt,” the budgie assured him, bobbing. “They almost always grow back.”

Kikri extended his wings and allowed them to be guided into the dark recesses of the clipper. Like having your nails trimmed, he told himself. He looked away.

Chained

What had been done to him was shocking. His wings were stripped and broken. Chains of fire held every limb in a cruel grip. The scent of burning flesh was strong.

“We must free him!” said the sorcerer.

“Stop!. I must remain bound. I was judged and sentenced for my deeds. If I am freed, that would be a travesty of justice.”

“And if you were judged unfairly?” asked the demon.

The angel looked upon him. “Then that, too, would ultimately destroy the idea of perfect justice. I must remain bound. It is the only way justice will be served.”

Journey's End

He stood on the beach. The damp sand was firm beneath his feet, but every wave that washed across his ankles scooped a little more of the earth away, leaving him slowly sinking in a soupy quagmire.

A frown creased his lips and furrowed his brow as he turned and regarded the path that lay behind him. Footsteps across the sand. Beyond that, they stretched across the entirety of the continent. This was the edge. He could travel no further.

After a time, he turned and strode forward again. The icy water washed against his thighs, his waist, his chest…

The Deer and the River

When Deer came to the river, he paused. The river was deep and wide, cold enough that chunks of ice still floated within.

“River,” said Deer. “Lower your waters, that I might pass.”

“Alas, I cannot,” said the river. “I carry the snowmelt down from the mountains and out to the sea.”

“Can you not refuse the water?” asked Deer.

“I am a river. I have not the freedom animals have, to travel wherever they wish, to stop or move on a whim.”

Deer glanced backwards and listened for the hounds. “We all have that which drives us,” he said.

The End

For seventy years, the house had been silent. Wrapped in a soundless cocoon, even the creaks of ancient wood were muted. Birds did not sing in the trees, but stared with beady black eyes. Footsteps were muffled. Passersby moved on tiptoe without knowing why.

In the attic room, an old man wrote with a pen into an open book. Similar tomes littered the ground and the shelves. With a flourish, he finished the final line. He was nearly at the end of his self-imposed exile. He looked up at the narrow window and smiled.

He opened his mouth to speak…

The Beachhead

For a time, it was the talk of the neighborhood. Jennifer used to take the other children on little tours, wearing a hat and jacket from her dress-up box.

“It’s the world’s largest anthill!” she’d proclaim proudly, gesturing with a flourish to the chest-high mound of sand that filled a corner of the empty lot, covered in wriggling motion. The house would probably never be built, now, though they’d broken earth for the foundation. Money troubles, supposedly.

It was a seven-day marvel, and then forgotten, becoming just another background detail. They never suspected just how far the tunnels were running…

Fill It Up

Harold slotted the nozzle into the gas tank and glanced to the other side of the pump, where a blond woman was filling up her little two door.

“Wish this place was a little more convenient,” he said. “It’s the only place between home and work to fill up, though.”

She glanced up and smiled. “It’s out of my way. He insists on it, though. He likes the taste.” She patted her car’s trunk.

Harold chuckled, until she turned to hang up the nozzle and he saw the tongue dart out of her gas tank, lapping up the spilled droplets.

A Haunting in the Living Room

“So that’s the haunting?”

“Yup,” said Charlie.

The blue triangle hovered in midair, making a soft humming sound. Florence scratched her nose and cocked her head to one side. “What’s it the ghost of?”

“Dunno. Not a person, definitely.”

“Jackie’s house has a ghost. It manifests as an insect swarm.”

“Sounds gross.” Charlie continued playing his video game.

Flo shrugged. “Keeps the floors clean. You gonna get it exorcised?”

“Nah. It’s got a nice kind of white noise tone. Maybe if it starts dumping squirrel carcasses again.”

“Was it doing that?”

“Either that or a stray cat. Not sure which.”

If Thy Hand Offends

“So how’s the reduction going, Brian?”

The nutrient gel rippled as he replied. “Oh, pretty well. I got rid of my liver last week.”

“Hands and feet and eyes, I can see. Lots of sins you can see or touch or walk to. The digestive tract, okay, gluttony, sure. Your liver?”

“Metabolizes alcohol.”

“Ah.”

“The pancreas, too; sugar is a temptation. Sight, smell, taste, touch; I’ve got them all covered.”

“Isn’t it your brain, though, that really understands things to be sinful and wants to do them?”

There was a pause. “I really wish you hadn’t said that,” said Brian.