“Welcome to Flat Mountain, stranger!” I called. I can always spot the newcomers on account of their dazed expressions. “You'll feel better if you sit down for a spell. It's the thin air up here.”
The man glanced behind him. “But I haven't climbed anything. The road's level.”
“'Course it is, fella. That's why it's Flat Mountain.”
He glared at me. It takes 'em that way, sometimes. “You're nuts.”
“Mind your step,” I warned as he walked away.
He didn't.
I sighed. Another tourist fallen over the cliff. I keep telling the sheriff we ought to put up a sign.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Invisible
The red-furred creatures bumbled unseeing past Smythe and
Rennett. They weren't exactly mammals,
but the survey team called them monkeys anyway.
Smythe scratched under his bonnet and sighed.
"Hss!" Rennett warned. The monkeys, catching momentary sight of the
disturbance, paused and murmured uneasily.
"Don't adjust the suit, dammit.
You've been told often enough."
"Why did it have to be pink that they can't see?"
Smythe whined. "I feel like an
idiot."
"Try thinking instead about all the frequencies we
can't see, and what might take advantage of that to watch us."
Smythe was quiet for the rest of their shift.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Skill Factor
"Strength?" The contestants retrieved their statistics sheets for confirmation.
"Seven point two," Titanus smirked.
"Six point eight," said Ultimasen quietly.
"Drafting percentage?"
The list was long, and on almost every metric, Titanus was cleanly ahead.
"Why even bother with the game?" Virus asked, leaning in close so the rabid arena fans around them wouldn't overhear.
"Well, there's still the luck factor in the game itself," Runnel answered. He pointed to where the judge was holding up the Game Disc for inspection. "If that comes up red side, Titanus wins. But it might come up blue, and then Ultimasen wins instead."
"Seven point two," Titanus smirked.
"Six point eight," said Ultimasen quietly.
"Drafting percentage?"
The list was long, and on almost every metric, Titanus was cleanly ahead.
"Why even bother with the game?" Virus asked, leaning in close so the rabid arena fans around them wouldn't overhear.
"Well, there's still the luck factor in the game itself," Runnel answered. He pointed to where the judge was holding up the Game Disc for inspection. "If that comes up red side, Titanus wins. But it might come up blue, and then Ultimasen wins instead."
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Labels
The mountain shuddered under their feet.
"Well, that's it," said Huirn, staring at the
now-empty sky. "We're sunk."
"Not quite."
Tyces held up the Marking Pen.
"We still have this."
"You heard them; they've loosed the gods and broken the
Lawstones. They won't obey us
anymore."
"They won't obey instructions," said Tyces,
"but they still see the messages."
He unfolded a blanket from his backpack and scrawled something on
it. It rose gently up into the air.
"What did you do?"
Tyces tucked the Pen away.
"I commented it out. As far
as gravity is concerned, this blanket doesn't exist."
Sunday, July 22, 2012
h4 to Ashtray and Thence Freedom
"Orders have come down.
You're going in."
"What? That's a
suicide move!"
"Come on; you've got that pawn right where you want her."
"Yeah, but if I do, that rook will roll up and crush
me. Look, he knows it. He's smirking!"
"He's a stone tower."
"He can smirk if he wants to. Screw this.
I'm going straight. Dodge the
whole thing."
"You can't just ignore orders! Besides, if you go straight, you'll lose
support and that smarmy bishop will just pick you off."
"Well, what am I supposed to do?"
"What you can.
Not like we have much choice."
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Gifts of the Spirit
The fire came down from Heaven. My mother can see the future; she thinks the
planet's orbit will bring it into view in two million years. My cat gained the gift of scholarship. It's heartbreaking, watching her pore over
those tomes; she can't read. Myself, I
have a miraculous tissue. Feel it; it is
always damp, but never quite breaks.
Supposedly, someone out there has the gift of interpretation
to tell us what all these signs and portents mean.
Yesterday, I stepped on a snail whose antennae were crowned
by a tongue of flame. I hope it wasn't
the one.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Hovering Just Over the Shoulder
It's hard to get used to the stares. In stores, in restaurants, even in my own
neighborhood, if I don't keep the curtains drawn. No one sits next to me on the bus, as though
it were contagious.
...
It isn't. Stop
looking at me like that. At the very
least, it won't be hungry until it finishes what it's eating, okay?
...
It's one of those evolutionary quirks, I guess. If you've got limited resources, then the
slower you metabolize, the longer they last, right?
...
I dunno. I'm no
expert. It's not like I asked to get
bitten by a timesnake...
Thursday, July 19, 2012
The Woman Made of Flowers
The woman made of flowers winks one rosebud eye at me. Her eyelid is a glossy green leaf. I think it must be some sort of holly, to
have that waxy sheen to it. Either that
or she uses fakes, but she doesn't seem to be that kind of girl. The soft peonies in her cheeks shade to red
in the middle, making a becoming blush, and I watch the supple vines of her
legs sway as she tosses a final glance over her shoulder.
I get this all the time from flower ladies.
After all, I'm made of bees.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Ghost Stories
Real ghost stories never
happen to your cousin's friend in Ohio. No one opens ghost stories
with “You won't believe this.” Ghosts do not lead great-grandchildren
to buried treasure or secret love letters or proof of innocence.
Ghosts are half-seen shapes
and inchoate feelings. Ghosts are glimpses in broken glass in
the night or whispers on the cusp of sleep. If a ghost was ever
something that could be interpreted on a human scale, it isn't anymore.
Real ghost stories are
not told. Everyone has one, but what you have seen, you can never
speak, any more than can I.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Doomsday
“Consider,” said the
Doctor. “Every human is in competition with every other human,
simply by virtue of living. Each set of genes exists in order
to propagate itself and none other. Romantic partners, siblings,
even children are in competition with you.” He paused, stroking
his beard. “Cloning frees us from the necessity of cooperation;
each gene-pattern is its own potential founder now. It follows
that every time someone else uses a resource, they are damaging you
and your genes' ability to reproduce most efficiently.”
He pulled the lever, and
the red numbers began the countdown. “This, therefore, is simply
self-defense.”
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Gerbil
Cody flopped onto his
bed, not bothering to remove his backpack.
“Rough day?” asked
Mister Fuzzbutt, pausing on his exercise wheel.
“We learned about pollution
and climate change and stuff.” Cody's voice was muffled by his
Superman comforter. “We're all going to die in a giant tidal
wave after the planet turns into a desert.”
“Poppycock,” said
Mister Fuzzbutt. He groomed his ears. “The temperature
in here is lovely, and I keep everything very clean.”
“That's just your gerbil
terrarium,” Cody said. “I'm talking about the whole world.”
Mister Fuzzbutt gnawed
on a toilet paper tube. “I know my
limits.”
Jury Duty
The court officer flipped
another page. “Are you familiar with the details of the Doctor
Maleficus case through the news media or other means, not excluding
so-called 'comic books'?”
“Well, not through the
news, no…”
The officer peered over
the top of his glasses. “You've dithered over every question,
Mr. Grove. Jury duty is a civic responsibility, not something
to be weaseled out of at every opportunity.”
“Right, yes. Of
course.” Thomas Grove, a.k.a. Thunderbolt, tugged at his collar.
“I'm sorry.” He tried not to wriggle too much; he knew he
shouldn't have worn his costume under his suit today.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
The Ballad of Klorahks
"There's a terrible ochre that lives in that cave," said Sir Gallant, the White Knight.
"A what?"
"He's beaten a merchant's train black and blue. The watchmen caught him red-handed. We'll have to draw him out. When he's more readier, we'll clash for sure. Not you; you're too green yet. But he'll show his true colors. His type bleeds easily, and that kind of cowardice doesn't come off in the wash." Sir Gallant handed his squire a small bottle. "That's when you'll need to use that."
"What is it, sir?"
"Bleach with color guard. It'll stop him from running."
"A what?"
"He's beaten a merchant's train black and blue. The watchmen caught him red-handed. We'll have to draw him out. When he's more readier, we'll clash for sure. Not you; you're too green yet. But he'll show his true colors. His type bleeds easily, and that kind of cowardice doesn't come off in the wash." Sir Gallant handed his squire a small bottle. "That's when you'll need to use that."
"What is it, sir?"
"Bleach with color guard. It'll stop him from running."
Monday, July 2, 2012
Tum Thax
"Hello!" said the man hanging above me. Metal prongs speared the shoulders of his suit and penetrated the spongy surface behind. "New fellow, eh? What're you?"
"Pardon?"
"What are you? I'm the grocery list. Been here years; he always buys the same things, you see. What'd he say when he pinned you?"
"Oh. Um. 'Doctor's appointment. Seven-thirty-eleven-fifteen."
"Ooh." The grocery list sucked a whistling breath. "You're a short-termer, for sure. Pity. You have a nice face."
"What happens to short-termers?" Beside me, a monstrous thumbtack pierced a skeletal ribcage.
"Best just try to remember that message," the grocery list advised.
"Pardon?"
"What are you? I'm the grocery list. Been here years; he always buys the same things, you see. What'd he say when he pinned you?"
"Oh. Um. 'Doctor's appointment. Seven-thirty-eleven-fifteen."
"Ooh." The grocery list sucked a whistling breath. "You're a short-termer, for sure. Pity. You have a nice face."
"What happens to short-termers?" Beside me, a monstrous thumbtack pierced a skeletal ribcage.
"Best just try to remember that message," the grocery list advised.
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