There Is

Listen!  Listen!  Listen quickly, there's no time!

There is a beach, I don't know where, and on the beach a crab is crawling up the sand.  The waves come in - whoooosh! - and wash the crab out to sea.  There is wisdom here, listen!  He crawls back.

Somewhere else, an ant carries sand.  She piles her grain with the others - so many others! - and there is wisdom in this.  Listen!  A boy, a small boy, he watches, and when the anthill is complete, he jumps - crash! - and kicks it away.  The ants carry it back.

Listen, listen to me!  Won't you listen?

The Giant's Marrow

It bled a little, but it had to be done.  He gave up on the cleaver early.  It was too clumsy.  The mechanical grinder was worse; it used him up so fast, besides making an awful mess.

In the end, he used a long knife to make thin slices of meat, starting from the feet and working up.  Then the bones went under the mill-wheel, one at a time, each making a handful of flour.  While his hands held out, of course.

He was no Englishman, of course.  It spoiled the taste a bit.  But he had his daily bread.

Dress Codef

“Simmons, I need you to… uh…” Muller trailed off, his brows furrowing, then slowly lifting upward.

“Yes, boss?” said Simmons.

“I… uh… you… what are you wearing?”

Simmons glanced down, then back up, smiling.  “Casual Friday, sir.”  He rustled when he moved.

“That’s a bear skin.”  Muller’s tone was flat.

“Yes, sir.”

“And… burlap pants?”  He couldn’t restrain a wince.

“Yes, sir.  The code of conduct doesn’t specify any of these as contraband,” Simmons said reproachfully.

“Look, the thing with Jenkins was bad enough.  This is-“  He froze.  “Did your belt just move?”

“Garter snake, sir.  Couldn’t find my belt.”

Dead Inside

“I look at the trees, green and growing, and I see a ruin of skeletal limbs, black bark against a stark white sky.  Winter, forever.  Or, worse, just a stump.  Nothing left at all.”  He wouldn’t meet her eyes.  “It’s the same… with everything.  Inside, there’s a death, clawing its way to the surface.  Inevitable.”  His hands wrung each other, pale fish writhing in a sunless well.

“Look deeper,” she said.  She held out the bit of spongy wood she’d taken from the trunk.  The soft white bulb of a mushroom clung to its surface.  “Just a little deeper inside.”

Frontiersman

Happy birthday to me!

Yes, I'm a year older today, but seemingly no wiser (nor any closer to actually being published.)  May the Wisest Stone bless us all with his insight and general truculence in the coming holiday season. 

If any of my fan(s) knows more about migrating Mirrorshards to its own website/server, let me know.  As far as I'm concerned, the computer is the Magic Box that does stuff when I push buttons.   I'd like to be able to mirror this on its own webspace; I'd feel more like I was accomplishing actual "publishing" that way.  ;-)


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The farmer found, to his dismay, that the stone which had halted his plow was rather larger than he'd thought.  His digging revealed what was almost a boulder, out of place in the soft loam of the countryside.  He nearly dropped his spade when the stone spoke.

“What are you doing?” asked the stone, in a polite but disinterested baritone.

“I'm a farmer,” the man answered.  “I tame the wilderness to bring order and plenty.”  He indicated his plow, horse, and tools.

The Wisest Stone thought a while.  “I do not feel particularly tamed,” he said.

Warfare

“It is to be war,” said the young man, his eyes as dark as his hair.  “There is no other way.”

The old man turned and opened a bamboo cabinet.  He removed a laquered tray, two cups, a black teapot.  He doused the utensils in hot water and began laying them out for the ceremony.

“What are you doing?” growled the young man.  “Did you not hear?  We are at war!”

“Yes,” said the old man.  He did not look up as he lit the fire.  “And you have already lost the first battle.”

See Manuel for Instructions

I make no apologies. 

Well, except for missing yesterday.  This is another travel weekend, so I'll get caught up when I can, 'k?

---

The ship groaned and rumbled again, great shudders passing through it.  Carrie dragged Traci forward.

“The bridge is through here,” she said, pressing the button in forlorn hope.  The door didn’t move.

“Hey,” said Traci.  She pointed to a small, red lever labeled “Manuel Override.”

“Ha!” cried Carrie.  She pulled the lever.

There was a blur of motion and a man stood before them.  He had golden brown skin, black hair, closely cropped, and a small red toolbox.  “Si, miss?” he said.  He glanced at the door as the ship trembled again.  “Ai.  This will be time-and-a-half.  And hazard pay.”

Uncoil

Another flash, and a fallen leaf exploded into terrible radiance, throwing June to the side.  She didn’t move.

“Don’t you see?” said Rae, taking another step forward.  His foot crackled when it touched the ground.  “You live in a house of springs, wound tight enough to squeal.  It takes so little, so very little, to push those springs out of alignment, and then…”  He gestured, and a pebble detonated, leaving an irradiated crater.

“It’s so hard, June,” he said.  “It’s like walking on eggshells.  I feel it, inside.  I just want to jump up and land with both feet, hard…”

Thanksgiving

“I’m thankful for flowers and ponies and all the pretty things in the world,” said Becky.  “What are you thankful for, Dad?”

Dad smiled.  “I’m just thankful for my family.  What time I have with them, anyway,” he added wryly.  “Dear?”

“I’m thankful to still have a job,” said Mom.  “What are you thankful for, Robby?”

“I’m thankful that school’s out!” said Bobby.  “What are you thankful for, Kra-Zar?”

Kra-Zar inclined his shining head with a whir of servos.  “Why are you human weaklings not bowing before me?  We will crush this puny planet!”

“Good enough,” said Dad.  “Let’s eat!”

Etiquette

The wooden surface stretched off into darkness on either side.  There was a metallic clank from one side, then another.  Silver rods, larger than tree trunks, settled into place.

Overhead, the shadows shifted and retreated, revealing a red-tinted face, larger than the side of a skyscraper.

“Are you shellfish or salad?” rumbled a deep voice, felt more than heard.  Crimson hands lifted the silver rods, revealing wicked prongs at the ends.

“Neither!” cried Dortmund frantically.

“Hmm.”  The oversized features wrinkled in thought.  The left hand retreated and came back with a daintier utensil, still taller than a man.  “Dessert, then?”