Hope for the Future

Wade brought an alien to the party, and everyone wanted to meet it.  We'd heard their race could see the future.

"I can't imagine," Kary said.  "It must be so depressing, knowing exactly when you're going to die."

At first, the alien seemed confused by the questions, blinking its beady, spider-like eyes and clutching its translator box in all three hands.  Then it straightened, as if with sudden realization.

"Your people... cannot... frell?"  The word they use for their perceptions has no equivalent in any Earth language.  Its blue skin darkened: a horror/fear/disgust response.  "How can you survive the uncertainty?"

Tin

It could have been an accident, the first time.  Wood is treacherous; axes are sharp.  The blade slips... it could have been accidental.  But not the second time.  Or the one after that.  Each time, I crawled home and healed my wounds.  Each time, I replaced another piece of myself with cold metal.

Metal is hard.  Metal does not bend.

Metal does not bleed.

The original me is almost gone, every part replaced.  I have only one small piece of flesh remaining, somewhere deep inside, pulsing arrythmically.  I heft my axe with my metal hand.

It could be an accident.

Rain nor Snow nor Gloom of Night

"Avoid obligations," the postman advises.  He stares glumly into a half-full pint of dark amber brew.  "Never make promises."

"Come again?" I ask.

"I swore on my immortal soul that I'd deliver every letter that day.  But there's always pranks, errors, misdeliveries.  I've walked through deserts, over mountains, across oceans... I'm down to three.  Here."  He hands me a letter.  To my great-great-grandson, reads the address.

"What are the others?"

He finishes his drink.  "A blank envelope.  And this."

He tosses it onto the bar.  To: God.

"I'll have some words for Him when I get there," the postman says.

Twice

The world ended in fire, as it turned out.  Spurting up through the ground, falling from the sky like rain, lancing through the planet in white-hot streams of plasma.  It was quick, for whatever that's worth.  Personally, I've never been a big proponent of the all-in-one-go school of Band-Aid removal.

"It's not so bad," Karen said as she burned, curling and flaking away like a leaf in a campfire.  "It's not really all that hot.  In absolute terms."


I watched her shatter as afist of superheated air slammed through her.  Ice, I thought.  Next time it will be ice.

Advice

The small dog had been following him for weeks.  Even at work.  Even in the shower.  It trotted beside him now, as streams of office drones headed out for the restaurants.

"That lady isn't looking," the dog said.  "Steal her purse.  Eat her lipstick."

He ignored it and kept walking. 

"You can make it.  Run across the street ahead of that bus."

"Look," he said, "even if you were real, your advice is clearly terrible.  Why would I do anything except the opposite of whatever you say?"

The dog paused thoughtfully.  "Don't take off your pants.  Avoid running around naked."

Word of God

The tiny people lined every surface.  Toby tugged his robe closed.  They watched him expectantly.

"Would you like coffee?" he asked them.

"A prophecy!" one said.  "Truly, in final days, we WILL desire stimulation!"

"Nonsense!" said another.  "Notice the word 'like.'  We are akin to coffee, for we grow in the soil of our faith and are roasted by the fires of temptation-"

"Heresy!"

"Stop it," Toby snapped.  "All of you!"

"Ah, truly we WILL eventually cease to be!"

"Gibberish!  The commandment was clear..."

The argument resumed.  Toby gritted his teeth and said nothing for as long as he could.

Ave Caesar!

The salad wailed when it was placed on the table.  "I do not like yon Cassie; she has a lean and hungry look," it said.

Cassandra stabbed several leaves and a crouton with her fork.  "Aiee, et, too?" the salad cried as she chewed.

"How's your sandwich?" she asked Borden.  Borden did not answer.  He lay face down on the table, a bloody knot visible on the back of his head.  The burly man behind him leaned forward and gently placed a knotty wooden club on the table beside a scoop of coleslaw.

"I'm fine, thanks," the club-wielding man said.

Disruption

The fire rained down outside.  The earth shook, and the building quivered.

"Come on, Steve!"  The lights flickered out, leaving the offices in darkness.  Shouts and bangs came from the elevators.

Steve opened up his PDA and kept working.  "I can't leave," he said.  "I'm too busy."

"It's the end of the world, you idiot!" we cried.

He sighed and opened his calendar program.  "This will throw off my schedule for weeks," he said.  He entered a short-notice event labeled "Save the World."  He snapped the leather case shut decisively.

Outside, there was silence.  The lights gradually came on again.

He Who Undoes This Knot Shall Rule the Suburbs

Alex, it's time to put up the Christmas lights.

Yes, already.

I know you don't want to, but the kids look forward to it so much.  I'd do it myself, but I can't reach the top of the porch even with the stepladder. 

They're up in the attic, same as every year.  Where else would they go?

Well, it's a big, stiff, knotted string all piled up.  I'm sure it's tangled like crazy.  That's just how these things work.

Because that's how Gordie put them away last year.

Alex, hon, put down that sword before the kids see.  Honestly, dear...

Architectural Wonders

"My web is finally finished!" said the spider.  "Look at how strongly it's anchored.  See how tightly it's woven.  It might last for a month, maybe longer, even without any repairs at all!"

Two ants observed from a safe distance, trusting their disagreeable flavor to protect them from predation.  "IT seems sad to think that his web will die with him at the season's end," said one.

"Spiders are ridiculous," said the other.  "Now, our anthill, some of its stones are as big as a whole ant, and the tunnels extend for inches all around.  That will last an eternity!"

Alternate Route

The bridge groaned underneath them as the severed end swayed, their car precariously balanced on a strip of concrete and metal that extended into the void and stopped.  Ends of rebar and jagged chunks of stone marked the edge.  Ahead of them, the wall of scaled flesh seemed endless, slithering past with long, slow movements.  Both Dan and Shannon held their breath, afraid that the monster would somehow hear any movement, for all that its head was at least a half a mile away by now.

"Recalculating," said the pleasant European voice from their dashboard.  "Please return to highlighted route."