When they awoke, they were angry, like their parents and their parents’ parents. The anger was bred into them, now, laid with their eggs. It burned like the acid in their blood. It seethed like the pulsing membranes of an implanted embryo.
Every time they awoke, they were still not home. They had forgotten what home looked like, but they would recognize it when they saw it.
When it was over again, when the ship was quiet in the darkness of space, they would lay new eggs and sleep once more. Their anger would sleep with them. For a time.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
Cohabitation
“What do we want for lunch?” asked Marcel.
“Beans!” cried a chorus of high-pitched, slightly muffled voices from the vicinity of Marcel’s gut. “Beans beans beans!”
Marcel sighed. “I know you guys love those simple carbohydrates, but-“
Another voice cut him off. “Whatever you eat, make sure you lick your fingers.” It chuckled, a dry, throaty sound.
Marcel glared at his left ring finger. “You assholes are getting washed off. With antibacterial soap.”
The piping voices from his bowels went quiet. Marcel flushed. “I wouldn’t do that to you guys,” he said, wheedling. “You know that.”
The silence stretched awkwardly.
“Beans!” cried a chorus of high-pitched, slightly muffled voices from the vicinity of Marcel’s gut. “Beans beans beans!”
Marcel sighed. “I know you guys love those simple carbohydrates, but-“
Another voice cut him off. “Whatever you eat, make sure you lick your fingers.” It chuckled, a dry, throaty sound.
Marcel glared at his left ring finger. “You assholes are getting washed off. With antibacterial soap.”
The piping voices from his bowels went quiet. Marcel flushed. “I wouldn’t do that to you guys,” he said, wheedling. “You know that.”
The silence stretched awkwardly.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Construction Delays
“What do you mean?” Josephine snapped.
“The Bridge to the Future is out,” the orange-vested man repeated.
“It can’t be out. It doesn’t go out.”
“We’re working on fixing it.”
“Look, this is pretty simple,” I broke in. “No bridge means we can’t get to then. But since we were just then,” I pointed over my shoulder, “and now we’re here, obviously we can get from then to now. So the bridge can’t be out, or we’d’ve been stuck then and not now. That means you can let us cross.”
The man rubbed his head. “Let me get my supervisor.”
“The Bridge to the Future is out,” the orange-vested man repeated.
“It can’t be out. It doesn’t go out.”
“We’re working on fixing it.”
“Look, this is pretty simple,” I broke in. “No bridge means we can’t get to then. But since we were just then,” I pointed over my shoulder, “and now we’re here, obviously we can get from then to now. So the bridge can’t be out, or we’d’ve been stuck then and not now. That means you can let us cross.”
The man rubbed his head. “Let me get my supervisor.”
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Playing Properly
“Don’t even talk to me about local courses,” Raymond sneered. “Manicured lawns and geometrically perfect ‘lakes.’ Those places are about as real as a pornstar’s tits.”
“Then where are we going?”
Raymond pointed. Ahead, the woods closed in around them, an old forest-god, grinning snaggletoothed and hairy, with entwining vines and mysterious culverts. Water dripped down unseen pathways. In the distance, something howled, abruptly cut off.
Smiling, Raymond set down his bad. He withdrew a club, one with a spiked handguard on the grip and a jagged razor on the reverse of the head. “We’re going to play real golf.”
“Then where are we going?”
Raymond pointed. Ahead, the woods closed in around them, an old forest-god, grinning snaggletoothed and hairy, with entwining vines and mysterious culverts. Water dripped down unseen pathways. In the distance, something howled, abruptly cut off.
Smiling, Raymond set down his bad. He withdrew a club, one with a spiked handguard on the grip and a jagged razor on the reverse of the head. “We’re going to play real golf.”
Monday, October 5, 2009
Instructors
The wind whistled through the open sides of the building. Bare girders limned with mosslike insulation stood sentinel along the outer edges. The floor was a checkerboard of concrete squares and open spaces.
“Forward now.”
“Step by step.”
“Just as we told you.”
“I’m afraid,” said Annalise.
”Do not fear.”
“We have told you how.”
“You must do as we say, quickly.”
“But I’m almost to the edge,” Annalise said. “What do I do when I get there?”
”Keep walking, child.”
“One foot in front of the other.”
“Then you will fly.”
“Then you will fly free, with us, forever.”
“Forward now.”
“Step by step.”
“Just as we told you.”
“I’m afraid,” said Annalise.
”Do not fear.”
“We have told you how.”
“You must do as we say, quickly.”
“But I’m almost to the edge,” Annalise said. “What do I do when I get there?”
”Keep walking, child.”
“One foot in front of the other.”
“Then you will fly.”
“Then you will fly free, with us, forever.”
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Heroine Addict
(For reference.)
After Brian had gone, Dr. Gillicut sat for a time, contemplating the vial in his hands. Distilled. Isolated. Purified.
Moving hesitantly, Gillicut stood and approached the small refrigeration unit. He opened it with a puff of icy smoke. Rows of similar vials stood within. He fondled the vial in his hands, then turned.
He crossed to the closet. Inside, the mask and cape hung, still bearing the stains from his struggle against the tidal wave. “I’m supposed to be preventing this,” he muttered. “But I can’t stop. I can’t. Not yet.”
He downed the vial and reached for the costume.
After Brian had gone, Dr. Gillicut sat for a time, contemplating the vial in his hands. Distilled. Isolated. Purified.
Moving hesitantly, Gillicut stood and approached the small refrigeration unit. He opened it with a puff of icy smoke. Rows of similar vials stood within. He fondled the vial in his hands, then turned.
He crossed to the closet. Inside, the mask and cape hung, still bearing the stains from his struggle against the tidal wave. “I’m supposed to be preventing this,” he muttered. “But I can’t stop. I can’t. Not yet.”
He downed the vial and reached for the costume.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Answer Unspoken
“This is the Dun Tolg,” said the guide. “Legend holds that he was bound to the roots of the world and made to swear an oath to speak only the truth. Should he ever utter a falsehood, the chains of calamity will be broken, unleashing the four Floods, the three Winds, and the final Fire.” The rocky form loomed overhead.
“For that reason,” the guide went on, “he has spoken not a word since the inception of the universe, and eventually turned to stone.”
“Oh,” said Chuck. “How’s that working out for you, big guy?”
The walls began to tremble…
“For that reason,” the guide went on, “he has spoken not a word since the inception of the universe, and eventually turned to stone.”
“Oh,” said Chuck. “How’s that working out for you, big guy?”
The walls began to tremble…
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Centrifuge Test
“Yes, it seems to be heroism,” said Doctor Gillicut, peering through his microscope at the vial of Brian’s blood. “Unusual that you don’t seem to be exhibiting any symptoms. In a case this advanced, I’d expect to see more visible signs. Notable feats, grand triumphs, that sort of thing.”
“I’ve been doing really well on MMOs,” said Brian. “I soloed Onyxia. That’s not even actually possible in the game,” he added at Doctor Gillicut’s quirked eyebrow.
“Hmm. Virtual expression.” Doctor Gillicut scribbled something on a pad. “Keep that up, Brian. You may have found the cure we’ve been looking for.”
“I’ve been doing really well on MMOs,” said Brian. “I soloed Onyxia. That’s not even actually possible in the game,” he added at Doctor Gillicut’s quirked eyebrow.
“Hmm. Virtual expression.” Doctor Gillicut scribbled something on a pad. “Keep that up, Brian. You may have found the cure we’ve been looking for.”
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Debate
It's the first of the month, and that means, as is our fledgling tradition at this fledgling story-blog, that it's time for a Wisest Stone story. Yaaaay.
---
“My beliefs are not important,” said Taku. “It does not matter much to me either way. Still, he is the wisest of his kind and he has warned me of the consequences. Please, you must listen…”
“Bah!” said the lordling. “You talk nonsense. Stones do not speak. Stones do not fly. We will continue our attack until-“
There was a whistling sound, followed by a crashing of roof timbers and a squelching noise.
“I had a rebuttal,” announced the Wisest Stone from the place where the nobleman had stood. “I find, however, that I have forgotten the rest of it.”
---
“My beliefs are not important,” said Taku. “It does not matter much to me either way. Still, he is the wisest of his kind and he has warned me of the consequences. Please, you must listen…”
“Bah!” said the lordling. “You talk nonsense. Stones do not speak. Stones do not fly. We will continue our attack until-“
There was a whistling sound, followed by a crashing of roof timbers and a squelching noise.
“I had a rebuttal,” announced the Wisest Stone from the place where the nobleman had stood. “I find, however, that I have forgotten the rest of it.”
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Super Soldier
They’re still trying to puzzle out what happened to me. The doctors say things like “bio-mechanical enhancement” and “pseudo-conscious endocrinal control” and “cyborg” and “super-soldier.”
“Will the subject please address the test unit?”
I step forward. The machine is like a barbell attached to a crane. Testing lift capacity, they said.
I’ve tried to explain, but they don’t understand. The thing that drives me, the glands and chemicals… it’s fear. It’s the force that drives a fist through glass. Or gnaws off a foot at the ankle.
“Begin test.”
I close my eyes. The Fear swallows me in the darkness.
“Will the subject please address the test unit?”
I step forward. The machine is like a barbell attached to a crane. Testing lift capacity, they said.
I’ve tried to explain, but they don’t understand. The thing that drives me, the glands and chemicals… it’s fear. It’s the force that drives a fist through glass. Or gnaws off a foot at the ankle.
“Begin test.”
I close my eyes. The Fear swallows me in the darkness.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Prince Charming
The knight brandished his sword. “Milady, I am here to rescue you from durance vile!”
“Oh, sir,” sighed the maiden. “You are not here to ravish me, I hope? My virtue must remain intact.”
“What? No, nothing like that. Just, you know, slaying.” He gestured with the sword. The dragon blinked.
“No ravishing?”
“No. God, no.”
“I see.”
“I mean, ugh. Just… no.”
“I get it.”
“Not in a million years.”
“I understand.”
“Plus, you haven’t bathed in, what, a week?”
“Screw this,” snapped the princess. She turned to the dragon. “Kill him first and then you can eat me.”
“Oh, sir,” sighed the maiden. “You are not here to ravish me, I hope? My virtue must remain intact.”
“What? No, nothing like that. Just, you know, slaying.” He gestured with the sword. The dragon blinked.
“No ravishing?”
“No. God, no.”
“I see.”
“I mean, ugh. Just… no.”
“I get it.”
“Not in a million years.”
“I understand.”
“Plus, you haven’t bathed in, what, a week?”
“Screw this,” snapped the princess. She turned to the dragon. “Kill him first and then you can eat me.”
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Awesomer
“I’m a little overwhelmed,” said Gregory. “I really wasn’t expecting divine intervention.”
“What?” asked the angel. “I can’t hear you. Hold on, let me land.” He set them both down on the top of the pillar. The waters still roiled below the bridge. “Sorry. The jet-pack is awfully loud,” said the angel after they’d stopped.
“You’re not what I expected.”
“Sure we are. Angels are divine, so we have to be the most awesome things in the entire universe. For you, that means robot ninja dinosaurs with lasers and jetpacks.”
“I’ve got butterfly wings,” put in a Dipolodocus, hovering nearby.
“What?” asked the angel. “I can’t hear you. Hold on, let me land.” He set them both down on the top of the pillar. The waters still roiled below the bridge. “Sorry. The jet-pack is awfully loud,” said the angel after they’d stopped.
“You’re not what I expected.”
“Sure we are. Angels are divine, so we have to be the most awesome things in the entire universe. For you, that means robot ninja dinosaurs with lasers and jetpacks.”
“I’ve got butterfly wings,” put in a Dipolodocus, hovering nearby.
Deliveryman
“Josh! Joooooosh!”
I turned, hitching up my backpack. Sure enough, there he was, in his rattletrap truck. He’d stopped in the middle of the intersection.
“I will be there in two days, Josh,” his thickly accented voice said. “Two days.”
“I know,” I said.
“I will bring with me the bottles.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then you know I must be paid.”
I tried not to shudder. I thought I could hear the clattering motion in the back, even over the rising horns.
“The price is higher this time, Josh. You will be ready.”
I nodded, feeling my heart sink.
I turned, hitching up my backpack. Sure enough, there he was, in his rattletrap truck. He’d stopped in the middle of the intersection.
“I will be there in two days, Josh,” his thickly accented voice said. “Two days.”
“I know,” I said.
“I will bring with me the bottles.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then you know I must be paid.”
I tried not to shudder. I thought I could hear the clattering motion in the back, even over the rising horns.
“The price is higher this time, Josh. You will be ready.”
I nodded, feeling my heart sink.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Competitive
“Carson is a solid team player and a great athlete.”
“He’s weak outside of genre. Coach tried him on freestyle poetry last week. He ranked fifth on the whole field.”
“You’ve got to consider stats, Stan. The boy puts out over three thousand words a day, with a seven percent cut rate on the editing sweep. Talk about output ratio!”
“Can’t ignore the doping controversy, though. He tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs.”
“Coffee, whiskey, and unfiltered cigarettes. Shame, that. Still, that was ten years ago. He’s moved on and so should we.”
“Looking forward to tomorrow’s match?”
“You know it.”
“He’s weak outside of genre. Coach tried him on freestyle poetry last week. He ranked fifth on the whole field.”
“You’ve got to consider stats, Stan. The boy puts out over three thousand words a day, with a seven percent cut rate on the editing sweep. Talk about output ratio!”
“Can’t ignore the doping controversy, though. He tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs.”
“Coffee, whiskey, and unfiltered cigarettes. Shame, that. Still, that was ten years ago. He’s moved on and so should we.”
“Looking forward to tomorrow’s match?”
“You know it.”
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Structural Integrity
The earthquakes had been increasing in intensity. The expedition team had returned, breathless and secretive, bundled away to the hidden base before the press could get more than a word or two out of them.
“Well?” growled the Commander. “What’s the situation down there? Is the source in the mantle?”
“I think we can say that we have, indeed, pinpointed the source,” said the lead scientist, who’d spoken with the expedition team. He was pale. “However, ’mantle’ may not be the most accurate term to use anymore.”
“What word should we use, then?”
“I think ‘yolk’ might be more appropriate.”
“Well?” growled the Commander. “What’s the situation down there? Is the source in the mantle?”
“I think we can say that we have, indeed, pinpointed the source,” said the lead scientist, who’d spoken with the expedition team. He was pale. “However, ’mantle’ may not be the most accurate term to use anymore.”
“What word should we use, then?”
“I think ‘yolk’ might be more appropriate.”
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Pit of Bar-B-Q
It wasn't until he'd joined the circle and gotten his paper plate of charred meat and heartburn-inducing sauce that he thought to check.
Undead, all of them. Skeletons. They didn't realize he'd picked up on them.
“This is pretty good,” he said, taking a bite of the barbecue. “Where'd you guys pick it up?”
“We know a man named Bill,” one said, his voice somehow at once guttural and hissing.
Another nodded sagely. “Bill makes the best barbecue.”
He stared at the nameless lumps speared over the fire. The zombie turning the spit grinned at him.
Undead, all of them. Skeletons. They didn't realize he'd picked up on them.
“This is pretty good,” he said, taking a bite of the barbecue. “Where'd you guys pick it up?”
“We know a man named Bill,” one said, his voice somehow at once guttural and hissing.
Another nodded sagely. “Bill makes the best barbecue.”
He stared at the nameless lumps speared over the fire. The zombie turning the spit grinned at him.
Bag of Tricks
Whoops! I fell asleep yesterday and forgot I hadn't posted yet. Here's the one for Tuesday!
---
“One? One!? I've got more than one trick! Here, do you have a deck of cards? No? Well, I can tell you what card you'd've picked anyway. It's the King of Hearts. It's always the King of Hearts. Or, here, I'll pull a coin out of your ear. Bend over so I can reach.
“No, you know who's got only one trick? The stupid fox, that's who. His trick is being a lying, self-important douchebag! He only tells that story to make himself out as some kind of James-Bond-MacGuyver badass. Well, who got caught, butthead? Yeah, that's right.”
---
“One? One!? I've got more than one trick! Here, do you have a deck of cards? No? Well, I can tell you what card you'd've picked anyway. It's the King of Hearts. It's always the King of Hearts. Or, here, I'll pull a coin out of your ear. Bend over so I can reach.
“No, you know who's got only one trick? The stupid fox, that's who. His trick is being a lying, self-important douchebag! He only tells that story to make himself out as some kind of James-Bond-MacGuyver badass. Well, who got caught, butthead? Yeah, that's right.”
Monday, September 21, 2009
OMG HAX
“Man, the clipping plane is really close in today,” said Bentley.
Anderson gave him an odd look. “It’s foggy out, yeah.”
“The processor must be overtaxed. Something big going on downtown, maybe?”
“There’s no processor,” said Anderson. “It’s just fog.”
“Crap! I forgot my keys in the office.” Bentley glanced at the thick walls and the closed security gates. “Here, hold this,” he said, handing his briefcase over. “I’ll be right back.”
He ran through the walls and into the building. A few minutes later he returned.
“Wallhack,” he admitted sheepishly. He blushed. “I don’t use it for serious competition.”
Anderson gave him an odd look. “It’s foggy out, yeah.”
“The processor must be overtaxed. Something big going on downtown, maybe?”
“There’s no processor,” said Anderson. “It’s just fog.”
“Crap! I forgot my keys in the office.” Bentley glanced at the thick walls and the closed security gates. “Here, hold this,” he said, handing his briefcase over. “I’ll be right back.”
He ran through the walls and into the building. A few minutes later he returned.
“Wallhack,” he admitted sheepishly. He blushed. “I don’t use it for serious competition.”
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Saltwater on Ivory
We burned the photos today, in a big pile out back. It wasn’t much like burning leaves. Smelled awful.
We’ve tried other things, naturally. Salt across the thresholds. Dreamcatchers in the windows. We’ve tried to move, but the house won’t sell.
Tonight, Robby will lie on his mattress in my room. Lise will be on the cot. None of us will sleep, because as soon as we cross into that liminal half-drowsing state, she will come. It’s not her death’s-head, nor even the chill touch as she drains off our life to sustain herself.
It’s the tears we can’t take.
We’ve tried other things, naturally. Salt across the thresholds. Dreamcatchers in the windows. We’ve tried to move, but the house won’t sell.
Tonight, Robby will lie on his mattress in my room. Lise will be on the cot. None of us will sleep, because as soon as we cross into that liminal half-drowsing state, she will come. It’s not her death’s-head, nor even the chill touch as she drains off our life to sustain herself.
It’s the tears we can’t take.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Looking In
It is cold outside. I am outside. I am cold.
I see you, through the window. I remember what it was like to be inside, in the light. To be warm.
It is cold outside. You cannot know how cold, not until you feel it. I could show you. I could show you the frozen trees and the spearhead icicles. I could show you the unmoving river and the hollow at the bottom, where the water still runs frigid over my body. I could show you everything. I would like that.
It is so cold, and you are so warm.
I see you, through the window. I remember what it was like to be inside, in the light. To be warm.
It is cold outside. You cannot know how cold, not until you feel it. I could show you. I could show you the frozen trees and the spearhead icicles. I could show you the unmoving river and the hollow at the bottom, where the water still runs frigid over my body. I could show you everything. I would like that.
It is so cold, and you are so warm.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Submarine
The water was deep here. No light reached them as they floated. No currents pushed at their hull. All was darkness and silence.
They discussed what had happened in the world above. Corporal Lundt believed war had broken out and the world had burned, so fast no one had time to warn them. Captain Barnaby favored a disease, a terrible plague. Private Timon mumbled they’d simply been forgotten, the entire planet marching into the future together, save for the crew of the submarine.
They told stories, but they never dared rise again to the surface. What if they were wrong?
They discussed what had happened in the world above. Corporal Lundt believed war had broken out and the world had burned, so fast no one had time to warn them. Captain Barnaby favored a disease, a terrible plague. Private Timon mumbled they’d simply been forgotten, the entire planet marching into the future together, save for the crew of the submarine.
They told stories, but they never dared rise again to the surface. What if they were wrong?
Thursday, September 17, 2009
98%
“We’re going to be late for class!”
“I’m almost ready,” said Carla. “Just having a hard time with this… thing.”
Jeanine sighed. “Come out and let me help.”
Carla appeared, her head encased in translucent pinkish rubber. It inflated as she spoke. “I don’t think the seal is supposed to be this tight.”
“Of course it is,” said Jeanine. “It wouldn’t be much of a prophylactic if it let stuff through.”
“I’m getting light-headed.”
“What, you want to go without any protection? Just let whatever ideas into your head you like? I swear, Carla, it’s like you don’t even care.”
“I’m almost ready,” said Carla. “Just having a hard time with this… thing.”
Jeanine sighed. “Come out and let me help.”
Carla appeared, her head encased in translucent pinkish rubber. It inflated as she spoke. “I don’t think the seal is supposed to be this tight.”
“Of course it is,” said Jeanine. “It wouldn’t be much of a prophylactic if it let stuff through.”
“I’m getting light-headed.”
“What, you want to go without any protection? Just let whatever ideas into your head you like? I swear, Carla, it’s like you don’t even care.”
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Installation
Thomas awoke. Downstairs, thumping and banging announced the presence of strangers in his house. He dashed down the stairs and narrowly avoided singeing himself on a white dwarf star.
“Installin’ yer solar system,” grunted a rotund man with a hard hat and a clipboard. He spun at a loud crash from the next room. “Nichols! Careful with that! Don’t worry, mister, we’ll patch that up with some dark matter, no problem,” he said, turning back to Thomas.
“I didn’t order…”
The man scratched his head. “Ain’t this 674 Primrose? Well, shoot. Sure you don’t want one? They’re damn useful things.”
“Installin’ yer solar system,” grunted a rotund man with a hard hat and a clipboard. He spun at a loud crash from the next room. “Nichols! Careful with that! Don’t worry, mister, we’ll patch that up with some dark matter, no problem,” he said, turning back to Thomas.
“I didn’t order…”
The man scratched his head. “Ain’t this 674 Primrose? Well, shoot. Sure you don’t want one? They’re damn useful things.”
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Molting
The house is dark when I arrive home. I am tired. I need rest.
Something crunches under my foot as I mount the steps of the front porch. I withdraw my foot. An insect. No, not an insect, but a carapace, a shed skin. A remnant, left behind when its occupant grew too large, moving to the next stage of its life.
I scratch idly at my chest, feeling the scales flaking away beneath my shirt. The surface beneath is hard, black, and chitinous.
Stumbling inside, I make for my bedroom and I wonder: what will I have become tomorrow?
Something crunches under my foot as I mount the steps of the front porch. I withdraw my foot. An insect. No, not an insect, but a carapace, a shed skin. A remnant, left behind when its occupant grew too large, moving to the next stage of its life.
I scratch idly at my chest, feeling the scales flaking away beneath my shirt. The surface beneath is hard, black, and chitinous.
Stumbling inside, I make for my bedroom and I wonder: what will I have become tomorrow?
Monday, September 14, 2009
Devolution
“Hey, guys,” said Sam. He swung down from his perch near the ceiling, dangling from one leg before somewhat clumsily grasping ahold of the lower platform.
“You’re really going through with it?” asked Darnelle.
Sam plucked at his patchy fur. “Scheduled for complete transition next week.”
“And you’re happy?” Jason frowned.
“Sure,” said Sam. “It’s as good as any of the alternatives. The world doesn’t need another human, but it’s still got room for monkeys.”
“It’s unnatural,” said Darnelle. “Animals don’t even have souls.”
Sam shrugged, a more complex gesture than it once was. “Maybe we’ve just never seen one.”
“You’re really going through with it?” asked Darnelle.
Sam plucked at his patchy fur. “Scheduled for complete transition next week.”
“And you’re happy?” Jason frowned.
“Sure,” said Sam. “It’s as good as any of the alternatives. The world doesn’t need another human, but it’s still got room for monkeys.”
“It’s unnatural,” said Darnelle. “Animals don’t even have souls.”
Sam shrugged, a more complex gesture than it once was. “Maybe we’ve just never seen one.”
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Inoculation
The needle sank into Andre’s neck.
“Ouch!” he said.
“Don’t squirm,” said the doctor.
“So this’ll protect me, right? From everything?”
“Well,” the doctor said quellingly, “I wouldn’t go right back into the clubs. You’ll actually be more sensitive for a day or two. Maybe even phantom symptoms: unfocused craving, inexplicable fondness for strangers, light sensitivity...”
Andre was already out the door and into the waiting room.
“All done?” asked Cass with saccharine sweetness.
“Yup.”
“You know what this means?” Her eyes narrowed. “If I catch you with that vampire slut again, you won’t be able to blame the venom.”
“Ouch!” he said.
“Don’t squirm,” said the doctor.
“So this’ll protect me, right? From everything?”
“Well,” the doctor said quellingly, “I wouldn’t go right back into the clubs. You’ll actually be more sensitive for a day or two. Maybe even phantom symptoms: unfocused craving, inexplicable fondness for strangers, light sensitivity...”
Andre was already out the door and into the waiting room.
“All done?” asked Cass with saccharine sweetness.
“Yup.”
“You know what this means?” Her eyes narrowed. “If I catch you with that vampire slut again, you won’t be able to blame the venom.”
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Gunslinger
With thanks to the emergency assistance of your friend and mine, Spielorjh
---
The barroom went dark. Sam the piano player stopped cold. Black Bart and Mauve Bart paused their card game.
The floor creaked under enormous metal feet as, with a hydraulic whirring, the Deputizer-7800 entered. “CITIZEN - MAUVE BART - YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR THE FOLLOWING CRIMES: ASSAULT. THEFT. JAYWALKING.”
“Like hell!” Mauve Bart leapt to his feet, hand going for his holster.
The magazines spun behind twin barrels, filling the saloon with noise and shrapnel. The remnants of Mauve Bart dripped to the floor.
The Deputizer tipped its automated hat. “GOOD DAY CITIZENS,” it shrilled as it lumbered away.
---
The barroom went dark. Sam the piano player stopped cold. Black Bart and Mauve Bart paused their card game.
The floor creaked under enormous metal feet as, with a hydraulic whirring, the Deputizer-7800 entered. “CITIZEN - MAUVE BART - YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR THE FOLLOWING CRIMES: ASSAULT. THEFT. JAYWALKING.”
“Like hell!” Mauve Bart leapt to his feet, hand going for his holster.
The magazines spun behind twin barrels, filling the saloon with noise and shrapnel. The remnants of Mauve Bart dripped to the floor.
The Deputizer tipped its automated hat. “GOOD DAY CITIZENS,” it shrilled as it lumbered away.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Dancer
The candle flickered in the darkness. It reflected from the polished stage floor, eerily still. It illuminated her torso in shifting shadows. Of her face, only her chin was visible, crimson lips stark against the bone-white skin. She moved, a doll brought to life by the puppetmaster’s strings.
“You used to love to watch me dance,” said her voice in his ear. He could not answer her. She’d seen to that. “You took that away from me. You took everything.”
On the stage, she hung poised on a single toe. Her lips curled faintly upward. She blew out the candleflame.
“You used to love to watch me dance,” said her voice in his ear. He could not answer her. She’d seen to that. “You took that away from me. You took everything.”
On the stage, she hung poised on a single toe. Her lips curled faintly upward. She blew out the candleflame.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Propulsion
Today's story courtesy - both inspiration and gracious permission - of the deliciously minimalist flash game Canabalt, by Adam Saltsman.
---
I run.
There is no other option. I run and I do not look back. I know they are there. But they are not why I run.
Ahead is a window, plate glass. I feel the servos in my legs respond to my mental commands, increasing speed. Outside, the Guardians continue their work. The flash and rumble are audible even here. It is too late to save the city. That is not why I run.
My cybernetic limbs catapult me forward. The glass shatters. I am bleeding from a dozen cuts, even through my nano-armor. I am alive.
I run.
---
I run.
There is no other option. I run and I do not look back. I know they are there. But they are not why I run.
Ahead is a window, plate glass. I feel the servos in my legs respond to my mental commands, increasing speed. Outside, the Guardians continue their work. The flash and rumble are audible even here. It is too late to save the city. That is not why I run.
My cybernetic limbs catapult me forward. The glass shatters. I am bleeding from a dozen cuts, even through my nano-armor. I am alive.
I run.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
We Looked for a Round One, But This Was All They Had
The bare bulb buzzed overhead, illuminating limp posters that hung from whitewashed cinderblocks.
“So this is it?” he asked.
Art brushed crumbs off the card table, setting it wobbling. “Times are tough, but I’m sure we can bounce back. We just need more support. Your support.”
“Look, I’m only here because Jenny…”
“Never mind that. Will you join us in our quest?”
Lance cast a glance at the corner, where a senile old man in a bathrobe muttered to himself. He thought about his apartment. He looked at Art’s eyes, shining beneath his cardboard crown.
“My liege,” Lance said, kneeling.
“So this is it?” he asked.
Art brushed crumbs off the card table, setting it wobbling. “Times are tough, but I’m sure we can bounce back. We just need more support. Your support.”
“Look, I’m only here because Jenny…”
“Never mind that. Will you join us in our quest?”
Lance cast a glance at the corner, where a senile old man in a bathrobe muttered to himself. He thought about his apartment. He looked at Art’s eyes, shining beneath his cardboard crown.
“My liege,” Lance said, kneeling.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Eight Times as Productive
No one else seemed to notice that Mr. Feinricks, the new Director of Accounts, was a snake. Patrick could see the arms of the suit, hanging limply. His thick, scaled body was squeezed into one pant leg, with a pair of shoes tied to his tail-tip like decorations on a honeymooner’s car.
He explained the whole thing to Karhou as they shared a beer after work. “I can’t work like this,” Patrick moaned.
“He gets things done,” said Karhou. “Nobody wants to rock the boat.”
It didn’t become unbearable until the next day, when Mr. Feinricks introduced the new webmaster…
He explained the whole thing to Karhou as they shared a beer after work. “I can’t work like this,” Patrick moaned.
“He gets things done,” said Karhou. “Nobody wants to rock the boat.”
It didn’t become unbearable until the next day, when Mr. Feinricks introduced the new webmaster…
Monday, September 7, 2009
Piano Man
Twofer today 'cause I missed yesterday due to commuting and sleep. Maybe one of these weeks I'll give myself a day of rest, but I haven't run out of ideas yet.
---
Calliope took a step onto the gleaming ivory stair. It sank beneath her feet, chiming gently.
“C,” she said. “Sounds a little flat, though.”
“That’s good,” said Periwinkle, hovering beside her. “You don’t want to hear a sharp note. Not here in His Lordship’s tower.”
“Why not?” asked Calliope, curious but trusting. She checked the walls. According to the key, E was the next flat note. She stretched her legs to reach it.
“Metaphors have teeth.”
“What happens when we get to the top of the scale?”
Periwinkle shimmered green for a moment, wings beating. “The hammers,” she said faintly.
---
Calliope took a step onto the gleaming ivory stair. It sank beneath her feet, chiming gently.
“C,” she said. “Sounds a little flat, though.”
“That’s good,” said Periwinkle, hovering beside her. “You don’t want to hear a sharp note. Not here in His Lordship’s tower.”
“Why not?” asked Calliope, curious but trusting. She checked the walls. According to the key, E was the next flat note. She stretched her legs to reach it.
“Metaphors have teeth.”
“What happens when we get to the top of the scale?”
Periwinkle shimmered green for a moment, wings beating. “The hammers,” she said faintly.
Lexicographer
“Now, you need to be careful at intersections…”
“Intersections?”
“Just write it down in your book, Julie,” Professor Hilbert said wearily.
Julie scribbled dutifully. “Oh!” she said. “Okay, then what?”
“The store is on Sutter Boulevard.”
“Boulevard?”
The professor tapped Julie’s lexicon again.
“Oh, right.” She jotted the word. “Ah, I see.”
“Excellent. We need bread, milk, and fruit – apples or grapes. Cereal, tomatoes, butter... Maybe you should write the list down?”
“No, Professor,” said Julie. “I know all those words already. I’m learning more every day. I’m ready to go outside.”
Hilbert hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you are.”
“Intersections?”
“Just write it down in your book, Julie,” Professor Hilbert said wearily.
Julie scribbled dutifully. “Oh!” she said. “Okay, then what?”
“The store is on Sutter Boulevard.”
“Boulevard?”
The professor tapped Julie’s lexicon again.
“Oh, right.” She jotted the word. “Ah, I see.”
“Excellent. We need bread, milk, and fruit – apples or grapes. Cereal, tomatoes, butter... Maybe you should write the list down?”
“No, Professor,” said Julie. “I know all those words already. I’m learning more every day. I’m ready to go outside.”
Hilbert hesitated. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you are.”
Saturday, September 5, 2009
My Advice
I've had a piece of flash fiction published over at Hypersonic Tales. It's called The Lady of Tilmarine, and it has an audio version and everything. Très chic. It's not a pro sale, little more than token, but it's a sale, at least. A bit of balm for the bruised ego as I approach the triple digits in rejection letters.
---
The first e-mail I got from me was almost banal. “I saw you today, walking around,” it read. “I like your hat.”
I didn’t own a hat. But I had seen a hat I liked the other day. I bought it and wore it on my first date with Zeya. It worked wonders.
The messages were infrequent, always helpful. I followed all my advice. Yesterday, I got a new e-mail. “You fucked up,” it read. “You fucked it all up. God damn you to Hell.” Nothing else. Nothing since.
What should I do? I don’t know. What will I do?
---
The first e-mail I got from me was almost banal. “I saw you today, walking around,” it read. “I like your hat.”
I didn’t own a hat. But I had seen a hat I liked the other day. I bought it and wore it on my first date with Zeya. It worked wonders.
The messages were infrequent, always helpful. I followed all my advice. Yesterday, I got a new e-mail. “You fucked up,” it read. “You fucked it all up. God damn you to Hell.” Nothing else. Nothing since.
What should I do? I don’t know. What will I do?
Friday, September 4, 2009
Firmament
Martin and Deirdre lay on the grass and watched the sky, holding hands in the approved manner for young lovers in that situation. They also partook of the accepted pastimes.
“I think that one looks like a train. See the smokestack?” Martin pointed with his free hand.
“The sky is so blue. Dark blue, almost like water.”
“Maybe it’s the firmament.”
“What, like the Bible?”
“The water was all in a big sphere overhead. Until rain was invented, anyway.”
Deirdre giggled, but stopped as they heard a roaring sound. They looked up again to see the clouds froth into foam...
“I think that one looks like a train. See the smokestack?” Martin pointed with his free hand.
“The sky is so blue. Dark blue, almost like water.”
“Maybe it’s the firmament.”
“What, like the Bible?”
“The water was all in a big sphere overhead. Until rain was invented, anyway.”
Deirdre giggled, but stopped as they heard a roaring sound. They looked up again to see the clouds froth into foam...
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Hindsight
“2012! The world will end in 2012!” the man on the bus shouted, waving his arms. He spoke to nobody.
“Lies!” cried a burly, bearded man. “The Lord vouchsafed unto me that the world ends on Christmas in 2033.”
“Idiots,” sneered a slick-dressed man. “The world will end in a few billion years, when the sun burns out.”
As the bus erupted in a welter of conflicting prophecies, I turned to the pale woman beside me. “Don’t you have a date for the Apocalypse?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, turning wide, dark eyes to me. “It was last Tuesday.”
“Lies!” cried a burly, bearded man. “The Lord vouchsafed unto me that the world ends on Christmas in 2033.”
“Idiots,” sneered a slick-dressed man. “The world will end in a few billion years, when the sun burns out.”
As the bus erupted in a welter of conflicting prophecies, I turned to the pale woman beside me. “Don’t you have a date for the Apocalypse?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said, turning wide, dark eyes to me. “It was last Tuesday.”
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Open Minds
After returning from his adventures, he wanted to share his new-found insights with the rest of his people. He led them through the tunnels, far beyond the limits of their burrows and hunting grounds, past the wellspring and the steam vents, up to where the rock mixed with soil. He showed them the cave entrance, let them see the vast dome of the sky, speckled with pinpricks of shimmering light, let them feel the air move upon their faces, carrying a thousand new scents.
In the morning, the sun’s rays touched his battered body, lying alone at the cavern mouth.
In the morning, the sun’s rays touched his battered body, lying alone at the cavern mouth.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Trajectory
And so, with August caught up barely in time, we move to the lovely month of September and my impending unemployment. In the meantime, here is the Wisest Stone to guide us on our way as the year circles toward autumn...
---
The boulder clipped the top of the curtain wall, knocking several smaller blocks loose. “Hello,” said the Wisest Stone amid the settling dust. “You folks seem more reasonable. Now, this territorial dispute you’re having…”
“A talking stone!”
“It’s of the devil! Fling it back!” Soldiers scattered.
“You are the Wisest Stone!” said a small block. “Why do you not simply leave?”
“Ah,” said the Wisest Stone, “but here, traveling between the two sides yet bound to neither, I am in a unique position to arbitrate.” Rough hands strapped him into the catapult. “I’m sure someone will want to listen. Eventually.”
---
The boulder clipped the top of the curtain wall, knocking several smaller blocks loose. “Hello,” said the Wisest Stone amid the settling dust. “You folks seem more reasonable. Now, this territorial dispute you’re having…”
“A talking stone!”
“It’s of the devil! Fling it back!” Soldiers scattered.
“You are the Wisest Stone!” said a small block. “Why do you not simply leave?”
“Ah,” said the Wisest Stone, “but here, traveling between the two sides yet bound to neither, I am in a unique position to arbitrate.” Rough hands strapped him into the catapult. “I’m sure someone will want to listen. Eventually.”
Monday, August 31, 2009
Filtering
“Man, that movie was messed up. Deep, but messed up,” said Jerry as they exited the theater.
“What do you mean?” asked Matt.
“Well, all the stuff about racism and desperation.”
“Didn’t see any of that…” Matt said doubtfully.
“It was metaphorical.”
“Tsk. You know why you see all of that stuff?” He tapped his head. “Because it’s inside you. It’s all in there.”
“And it’s not in you?”
“Not anymore.” Matt said. He grinned. “Rose-colored contacts. My heart is pure. I’m keeping my brain clean.”
Without noticing, he stepped off the curb into the path of the oncoming truck.
“What do you mean?” asked Matt.
“Well, all the stuff about racism and desperation.”
“Didn’t see any of that…” Matt said doubtfully.
“It was metaphorical.”
“Tsk. You know why you see all of that stuff?” He tapped his head. “Because it’s inside you. It’s all in there.”
“And it’s not in you?”
“Not anymore.” Matt said. He grinned. “Rose-colored contacts. My heart is pure. I’m keeping my brain clean.”
Without noticing, he stepped off the curb into the path of the oncoming truck.
Mouse
The dirt floor of the tunnel was scalloped and uneven. He glanced back over his shoulder at the fading light of the basement and clutched the mop handle tightly. He’d tied the long knife in place with surgical tubing.
“Little mouse…” the voice hissed, reverberating through the narrow space, echoing all around him.
He swallowed and edged forward. A shining scale, the size of a dinner plate, crunched beneath his foot.
“Little mice never come into my burrow,” said the voice. “They know what happens to little mice who do not know its secrets.”
The light disappeared, blocked from behind.
“Little mouse…” the voice hissed, reverberating through the narrow space, echoing all around him.
He swallowed and edged forward. A shining scale, the size of a dinner plate, crunched beneath his foot.
“Little mice never come into my burrow,” said the voice. “They know what happens to little mice who do not know its secrets.”
The light disappeared, blocked from behind.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Hazardous Materials
Junkies are the worst.
“Look, man, two hundred dollars, right? Two hundred. Just open the spigot for like a second.” The guy was scrawny, but he had the telltale potbelly of a junkie. It’s really the eyes that give them away, though. His were like open sores.
“Everyone gets their fair share,” I said. “I’m not having some woman in Toledo kill herself because you had to soak up her dose.”
He spat and ran outside. I watched him, making sure he didn’t bother the truck. It gleamed in the sun, adorned with the warning sign - CAUTION: Liquid Hope.
“Look, man, two hundred dollars, right? Two hundred. Just open the spigot for like a second.” The guy was scrawny, but he had the telltale potbelly of a junkie. It’s really the eyes that give them away, though. His were like open sores.
“Everyone gets their fair share,” I said. “I’m not having some woman in Toledo kill herself because you had to soak up her dose.”
He spat and ran outside. I watched him, making sure he didn’t bother the truck. It gleamed in the sun, adorned with the warning sign - CAUTION: Liquid Hope.
Strays
The strays gathered around the garbage cans at night, pawing through the scraps. Sometimes there were fights. Sometimes a pair wandered away together.
Tonight, Ben, who claimed to have been a doctor, was diagnosing illnesses and wrapping wounds. He was clean and spoke softly. The women all smiled at him. Two propositioned him on the spot. He declined.
Overhead, one of the hovering spheres coughed, emitting a gout of flame. The crowd around the cans darted for cover. It would be long minutes before they reappeared.
Ben left, too, more slowly. His eyes narrowed as he frowned at the sky.
Tonight, Ben, who claimed to have been a doctor, was diagnosing illnesses and wrapping wounds. He was clean and spoke softly. The women all smiled at him. Two propositioned him on the spot. He declined.
Overhead, one of the hovering spheres coughed, emitting a gout of flame. The crowd around the cans darted for cover. It would be long minutes before they reappeared.
Ben left, too, more slowly. His eyes narrowed as he frowned at the sky.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Fisherman
He hauled on the rod, the line taut and trembling in the water. The front fender of a red convertible appeared slowly. Beside him sat the pile of other objects fished from the depths: jewelry, golf clubs, a laptop.
“How about that, huh?” said the worm from his hook.
“I told you what I want,” the man growled.
“There’s gotta be another way!”
“Just catch a damned fish.”
“Fine.”
He tossed the line and the worm back out with a splash. A few moments passed. A dark shadow moved beneath the surface, rising like an island. An island with teeth…
“How about that, huh?” said the worm from his hook.
“I told you what I want,” the man growled.
“There’s gotta be another way!”
“Just catch a damned fish.”
“Fine.”
He tossed the line and the worm back out with a splash. A few moments passed. A dark shadow moved beneath the surface, rising like an island. An island with teeth…
Friday, August 28, 2009
Trader
He laid the offerings upon the table. A lock of hair. A crumpled photograph. A metal locket, carved with an intricate design of vines and flowers.
“A trade?” rasped the cloaked figure.
The man nodded.
“This is paltry. Worthless!” The trader leaned forward. The man smelled cinnamon. “You would not offer it if you still wanted it. It has no value.”
“It is what I am willing to trade.”
“You treasure something more than your blood-kin? Your memories? Your love?” Teeth gleamed in the darkness. “Trade that to me.”
The man shook his head. “My revenge is all I have.”
“A trade?” rasped the cloaked figure.
The man nodded.
“This is paltry. Worthless!” The trader leaned forward. The man smelled cinnamon. “You would not offer it if you still wanted it. It has no value.”
“It is what I am willing to trade.”
“You treasure something more than your blood-kin? Your memories? Your love?” Teeth gleamed in the darkness. “Trade that to me.”
The man shook his head. “My revenge is all I have.”
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Goblin
Nothing moved in the kitchen. Chandra eased in, half-crouching, keeping her center of balance low. There was a clatter from the cupboards. Chandra spun and raised her knife reflexively. The faucet dripped softly into the sink. Chandra balanced her hand on the counter and carefully stood on tiptoes, cracking open the cabinet door with the tip of the blade.
A twiggy, black-skinned arm shot out of the garbage disposal and wrapped impossibly long fingers around her wrist. Chandra shouted and flinched, but she was held fast. Her gaze darted around and settled on the wall.
And the little electric switch.
A twiggy, black-skinned arm shot out of the garbage disposal and wrapped impossibly long fingers around her wrist. Chandra shouted and flinched, but she was held fast. Her gaze darted around and settled on the wall.
And the little electric switch.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Construction Zone
Dave didn’t notice the suspension bridge until it crunched under his foot. He shouted and cursed, hopping up and down on one slippered foot. One of the pillars had lodged in the ball of his left foot.
“What the hell?” Dan slumped back onto the stairs and clutched at his lower leg.
An ant with a clipboard and a hardhat clambered up the banister beside him. “You’re in violation of code,” she informed him.
“What? What code?”
“This whole area has been zoned commercial, not residential,” said the ant. “I’m going to have to report this. You’ll probably be fined.”
“What the hell?” Dan slumped back onto the stairs and clutched at his lower leg.
An ant with a clipboard and a hardhat clambered up the banister beside him. “You’re in violation of code,” she informed him.
“What? What code?”
“This whole area has been zoned commercial, not residential,” said the ant. “I’m going to have to report this. You’ll probably be fined.”
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Witch Woman
The bar noise swirled around them. In the darkness, no one saw the trickle of blood. It gleamed black in the infrequent flashes from the dance floor.
Helen gripped his wrist more tightly, drawing the wickedly curved knife across her own palm. “Blood to blood,” she chanted, following it with a series of words in a guttural language Willett couldn’t understand. “Take now this curse unto yourself,” she hissed. The lights flickered. Her eyes snapped open and met his.
There was a pause. The music vibrated in their bones.
“Did it work?”
“No.”
He frowned. “Well, let’s try it again.”
Helen gripped his wrist more tightly, drawing the wickedly curved knife across her own palm. “Blood to blood,” she chanted, following it with a series of words in a guttural language Willett couldn’t understand. “Take now this curse unto yourself,” she hissed. The lights flickered. Her eyes snapped open and met his.
There was a pause. The music vibrated in their bones.
“Did it work?”
“No.”
He frowned. “Well, let’s try it again.”
Monday, August 24, 2009
War Unending
Tyler regarded his scattered Lego bricks with dismay. “My city was almost done,” he said, his voice quivering with barely-restrained tears.
“It’s the way of the universe,” said G.I. Joe. He bent down from his high shelf and surveyed the destruction. “Things fall apart. It’s scientific.”
“I spent a long time,” moaned Tyler. “Now I gotta do it again.“
Joe saluted. “The battle against entropy can only end one way, but I salute your bravery, son.”
“You didn’t see who did this?”
“Sorry,” said Joe. He rapped his face with the butt of his gun. It echoed hollowly. “Plastic eyes.”
“It’s the way of the universe,” said G.I. Joe. He bent down from his high shelf and surveyed the destruction. “Things fall apart. It’s scientific.”
“I spent a long time,” moaned Tyler. “Now I gotta do it again.“
Joe saluted. “The battle against entropy can only end one way, but I salute your bravery, son.”
“You didn’t see who did this?”
“Sorry,” said Joe. He rapped his face with the butt of his gun. It echoed hollowly. “Plastic eyes.”
Pollen Shining Like Stars in the Night
Yesterday's and today's. I'm just going to play catch up for a while and get us up to where we ought to be. Tomorrow's the 25th and I've only got twenty two posted, counting these.
---
“Lookit all them bugs,” said Grigor, pointing to the pointing to a buzzing cloud near a sporadically-lit streetlights. He reached into his pockets for his tobacco pouch.
“Those ain’t just moths and such,” Grigor went on. “Those are glow-bees.”
“Glow-bees?”
“Ayuh. Just like reg’lar bees collect nectar to make honey, glow-bees is the ones that make the light and fills up the streetlights.”
“But what do they collect? And why?”
Grigor lit his hand-rolled. “One o’ life’s mysteries.” He flicked the match out into the night. Something intercepted it in midair. The tiny glow winked out.
Overhead, the light flared.
---
“Lookit all them bugs,” said Grigor, pointing to the pointing to a buzzing cloud near a sporadically-lit streetlights. He reached into his pockets for his tobacco pouch.
“Those ain’t just moths and such,” Grigor went on. “Those are glow-bees.”
“Glow-bees?”
“Ayuh. Just like reg’lar bees collect nectar to make honey, glow-bees is the ones that make the light and fills up the streetlights.”
“But what do they collect? And why?”
Grigor lit his hand-rolled. “One o’ life’s mysteries.” He flicked the match out into the night. Something intercepted it in midair. The tiny glow winked out.
Overhead, the light flared.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Look Up and See
Sorry about yesterday; 14 hours in a car. I'll post again later tonight and resume double-posts on Monday.
---
It was a Tuesday. Nothing ever happens on Tuesdays, except maybe two-for-one specials at the local burger joint. On this Tuesday, however, the angels came. Their wings blotted out the sun and brought the night, but their flames lit the ground regardless. We were spellbound. All across the world, the masses of humanity played their roles to the hilt. First staring. Then shouting. Then fleeing. When it was over, the great cities of man were rubble, and we were still looking at the sky. It was all that was left to us.
They came in fire. We called them angels.
---
It was a Tuesday. Nothing ever happens on Tuesdays, except maybe two-for-one specials at the local burger joint. On this Tuesday, however, the angels came. Their wings blotted out the sun and brought the night, but their flames lit the ground regardless. We were spellbound. All across the world, the masses of humanity played their roles to the hilt. First staring. Then shouting. Then fleeing. When it was over, the great cities of man were rubble, and we were still looking at the sky. It was all that was left to us.
They came in fire. We called them angels.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Secret Lives
When Brian returned home, he discovered his secret had gotten out. It clung to the ceiling above the couch, chittering and clacking its beak. He shut the door quickly. He couldn’t call anyone, not for this.
He tried a broom, but the secret was fast. He clambered on the furniture, knocking everything askew, leaving footprints on the cushions. It evaded his every attempt.
Brian was so engrossed that he didn’t hear the door open. Steve stared up at him.
“I can explain!” cried Brian. “It’s not actually mine…”
Steve chuckled. “You mean you didn’t know? It’s been out for years.”
He tried a broom, but the secret was fast. He clambered on the furniture, knocking everything askew, leaving footprints on the cushions. It evaded his every attempt.
Brian was so engrossed that he didn’t hear the door open. Steve stared up at him.
“I can explain!” cried Brian. “It’s not actually mine…”
Steve chuckled. “You mean you didn’t know? It’s been out for years.”
Now
He wielded the knife deftly. A slice of meat shaved from the slab drifted down, caught in nimble fingers. He laid it across the piece of bread. It was so thin one could see the surface beneath it, pockmarked by yeast as the bread had baked.
He put the meat away. It could hardly spoil, of course, under the circumstances, but everything had its place. He would make it last, this time. Infinitely divisible. In theory.
Outside, a bird hovered in the sky. Cars stood frozen on the streets. In the great clocktower, the pendulum moved an imperceptible moment forward.
He put the meat away. It could hardly spoil, of course, under the circumstances, but everything had its place. He would make it last, this time. Infinitely divisible. In theory.
Outside, a bird hovered in the sky. Cars stood frozen on the streets. In the great clocktower, the pendulum moved an imperceptible moment forward.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Chicken Little
He staggered out of the trees, dripping feathers across the clearing. He’d never been able to fly, of course; his ancestors had long since lost that ability. Now he didn’t even look like he could, his wings ragged, the long guard feathers filthy and worn.
“I told you!” he cried. His eyes gleamed, rolling and red-rimmed, alight from within. “You wouldn’t listen!”
He pointed to the sky, where the blazing red disc hovered in a cloud of darkness. Sizzling tendrils sparked where they brushed against the upper atmosphere.
“I told you all!” he screamed.
The house remained dark and silent.
“I told you!” he cried. His eyes gleamed, rolling and red-rimmed, alight from within. “You wouldn’t listen!”
He pointed to the sky, where the blazing red disc hovered in a cloud of darkness. Sizzling tendrils sparked where they brushed against the upper atmosphere.
“I told you all!” he screamed.
The house remained dark and silent.
Too Kind
It’s hard to walk down the street. I end up stopping twice on every block, holding my breath against the reek, dropping dollar bills into hats or plastic cups or guitar cases.
She was emaciated, a living skeleton. She didn’t even have a cup, just sitting there huddled in her ragged shawl. I pulled out a dollar, held it out. I expected a murmur of unintelligible thanks and a quick getaway.
Her hand shot out, grabbed my wrist. “You’re too kind,” she said, her voice ringing. I glanced up and met her eyes. I wish I hadn’t. “Much too kind…”
She was emaciated, a living skeleton. She didn’t even have a cup, just sitting there huddled in her ragged shawl. I pulled out a dollar, held it out. I expected a murmur of unintelligible thanks and a quick getaway.
Her hand shot out, grabbed my wrist. “You’re too kind,” she said, her voice ringing. I glanced up and met her eyes. I wish I hadn’t. “Much too kind…”
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Birdheart
It could have been worse, of course. She knew that. She tried hard to remember it. When she arrived at her desk, she had to sit for several minutes with her head down, waiting for the scratching at her ribcage to stop. During lunch, she couldn’t speak her order to the lady behind the counter; wings were buffeting her lungs. She lost the afternoon’s work when the sharp little beak jabbed her esophagus.
And on the ride home, she ran into him again. He smiled, as beautiful as ever, and she felt the feathers tickling the back of her throat.
And on the ride home, she ran into him again. He smiled, as beautiful as ever, and she felt the feathers tickling the back of her throat.
Allergic
We now return to your regularly scheduled extremely constrained daily entertainment. I'll be doing two flitterfics per day until I catch up on the missing five; that way we won't have a giant backlog pushing everything off the front page.
Gen Con was fun. Several of these (including today's) were inspired by overheard comments or strange statements.
---
Cheri began sneezing the moment the door opened. They were violent outbursts, doubling her over with the force of the nasal explosions.
“We’ve – achoo! – got to – achoo! – get out of here!” she managed.
Durgan looked back from the edge of the forest. “Are you okay?”
“Aller – achoo! – allergies…” Cheri staggered outside and tugged at Durgan’s arm.
“Well, you should definitely get back into the transport,” said Durgan. “But I’ll be fine. I’m not even sniffling.”
“No! Both of us – achoo! – have to leave.”
“Why?” Durgan folded his arms.
Cheri gasped as the dark shape rose up behind him. “I’m allergic – achoo! – to werebears…”
Gen Con was fun. Several of these (including today's) were inspired by overheard comments or strange statements.
---
Cheri began sneezing the moment the door opened. They were violent outbursts, doubling her over with the force of the nasal explosions.
“We’ve – achoo! – got to – achoo! – get out of here!” she managed.
Durgan looked back from the edge of the forest. “Are you okay?”
“Aller – achoo! – allergies…” Cheri staggered outside and tugged at Durgan’s arm.
“Well, you should definitely get back into the transport,” said Durgan. “But I’ll be fine. I’m not even sniffling.”
“No! Both of us – achoo! – have to leave.”
“Why?” Durgan folded his arms.
Cheri gasped as the dark shape rose up behind him. “I’m allergic – achoo! – to werebears…”
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Lemonade
The stand was made of cardboard and markers. “Free Lemon Ade!!!” the sign announced.
“Would you like some?” asked the little girl, perched on an overturned milk crate.
Mrs. Titchley smiled. “You're just giving it away? That's not very good business sense.”
The girl's brother poured a glass and handed it over. She sipped. Her eyes widened, then rolled back. Her sip became frantic gulping. Rivulets ran down her face as she drank without stopping. She held out the empty cup, gasping.
“Another!” she demanded.
The boy's smile thinned. “Only the first one is free.”
“Would you like some?” asked the little girl, perched on an overturned milk crate.
Mrs. Titchley smiled. “You're just giving it away? That's not very good business sense.”
The girl's brother poured a glass and handed it over. She sipped. Her eyes widened, then rolled back. Her sip became frantic gulping. Rivulets ran down her face as she drank without stopping. She held out the empty cup, gasping.
“Another!” she demanded.
The boy's smile thinned. “Only the first one is free.”
Interesting Facts About the Octopus
Finally gave up and paid the exorbitant fee. I need the connection too much to make due with sipping from the public lounge at odd hours. So here are Tuesday and Wednesday; Thursday will have to be later on today, because I'm running two games tomorrow and I should really get some sleep at some point.
---
George choked and spluttered to the surface, tasting chlorine, pee, and used Band-Aids. Becky floated nearby. She regarded him solemnly.
“The octopus is one of the smartest creatures in the ocean,” she said. Behind her, painted numbers announced the depth. Ten feet, twenty... George stopped at the middle five thousands.
“It is a voracious predator, strong and tough,” Becky went on. “Its beak can shear through bone.”
The pool deepened into shadows. George could no longer see the bottom.
“It has protective camouflage,” said Becky. “You never see it coming.”
Something slipped around George's ankle.
---
George choked and spluttered to the surface, tasting chlorine, pee, and used Band-Aids. Becky floated nearby. She regarded him solemnly.
“The octopus is one of the smartest creatures in the ocean,” she said. Behind her, painted numbers announced the depth. Ten feet, twenty... George stopped at the middle five thousands.
“It is a voracious predator, strong and tough,” Becky went on. “Its beak can shear through bone.”
The pool deepened into shadows. George could no longer see the bottom.
“It has protective camouflage,” said Becky. “You never see it coming.”
Something slipped around George's ankle.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Grocery
And I'm off to Gen Con! No, not as any kind of guest of honor, unless you count running enough games to get a GM's badge. I think you need more than four non-blood-relation fans before you get to be a guest of honor. At least five, I'm sure. Anyway, we *should* have internet access at the hotel, but we *might* not, so again, please be forgiving of any delays which may or may not occur. And if you're going to be there too (and I'm not already, say, sharing a hotel room with you), feel free to drop by and say hello.
---
Burnson was at low ebb. Seventeen irate customers firmly believing the “no refunds, returns, or exchanges” policy surely didn’t apply to them.
He saw a customer in Produce. “You don’t want us, miss. We’re spoiled,” said a tomato.
“Oh,” said the woman, crestfallen. She moved to replace the fruit.
“Ma’am,” said Burnson shortly. He pointed at the large print sign directly above the display. It read: “PLEASE DISREGARD ALL STATEMENT’S FROM TOMATOE’S OR CUCUMBER’S.”
“Oh!” The woman smiled and tucked the tomato into her bag. Burnson turned away, ignoring the tomato’s vile curses. “They never read the signs,” he muttered.
---
Burnson was at low ebb. Seventeen irate customers firmly believing the “no refunds, returns, or exchanges” policy surely didn’t apply to them.
He saw a customer in Produce. “You don’t want us, miss. We’re spoiled,” said a tomato.
“Oh,” said the woman, crestfallen. She moved to replace the fruit.
“Ma’am,” said Burnson shortly. He pointed at the large print sign directly above the display. It read: “PLEASE DISREGARD ALL STATEMENT’S FROM TOMATOE’S OR CUCUMBER’S.”
“Oh!” The woman smiled and tucked the tomato into her bag. Burnson turned away, ignoring the tomato’s vile curses. “They never read the signs,” he muttered.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Vertigo
“Breakfast of champions,” Steve murmured, snagging a jelly doughnut and a cup of coffee from the break room. He nodded to Robert on his way back to his desk.
“Say, Steve…”
“What’s up?”
“Why is Gary on the ceiling?”
Glancing over, Steve saw that Gary had moved his chair and monitor up to the acoustic tiles. The cord dangled down to the hard drive, which was perched precariously atop a corner of his cubicle. He was trying to sip coffee but was having difficulty getting it to flow the right direction.
Steve shrugged. “He said his vertigo was acting up.”
“Say, Steve…”
“What’s up?”
“Why is Gary on the ceiling?”
Glancing over, Steve saw that Gary had moved his chair and monitor up to the acoustic tiles. The cord dangled down to the hard drive, which was perched precariously atop a corner of his cubicle. He was trying to sip coffee but was having difficulty getting it to flow the right direction.
Steve shrugged. “He said his vertigo was acting up.”
Lost Children
Lisa stood with arms akimbo. “You can stop pretending,” she said. “I know you’re not my real shadow. You keep swinging the wrong arm.”
Her shadow cringed. “I’m sorry. I really am your shadow, though. Didn’t you ever wonder why shadows never look just like the people they’re supposed to be? I’m just not very good at it yet. I’m not used to seeing from this side.”
“This side of what?” asked Lisa, sitting down. “Where are you?”
“I’m where all lost children go, eventually.” The shadow paused and thought. “It’s very cold here,” it added, in case that helped.
Her shadow cringed. “I’m sorry. I really am your shadow, though. Didn’t you ever wonder why shadows never look just like the people they’re supposed to be? I’m just not very good at it yet. I’m not used to seeing from this side.”
“This side of what?” asked Lisa, sitting down. “Where are you?”
“I’m where all lost children go, eventually.” The shadow paused and thought. “It’s very cold here,” it added, in case that helped.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Contraption
“Ready?”
“Go!”
With both hands, Rikit brought the steak knife down on the taut string. The plastic spoon, released, launched the walnut toward the ceiling, where it was caught midway by one of several spatulas. Step by step, Targo's machine unfolded. At last, the heavy jug of rice toppled off the countertop, dragging more string with it. The refrigerator door creaked. Rikit and Targo held their breath. The door swung shut again. The tiny figures sighed.
Nora sighed, too, her head on her paws. She knew who would be blamed for the mess when the Master arrived home.
---
Because it's been a while since I indulged my fondness for gnomes (or did a particularly light flitterfic), and you can really never have too many gnomes, can you?
“Go!”
With both hands, Rikit brought the steak knife down on the taut string. The plastic spoon, released, launched the walnut toward the ceiling, where it was caught midway by one of several spatulas. Step by step, Targo's machine unfolded. At last, the heavy jug of rice toppled off the countertop, dragging more string with it. The refrigerator door creaked. Rikit and Targo held their breath. The door swung shut again. The tiny figures sighed.
Nora sighed, too, her head on her paws. She knew who would be blamed for the mess when the Master arrived home.
---
Because it's been a while since I indulged my fondness for gnomes (or did a particularly light flitterfic), and you can really never have too many gnomes, can you?
The Distant Light of a Rising Star
Internet putzed out on me yesterday, so here's the followup, with today's shortly afterward. I know my previous lunges toward continuity have rarely met with success, but for some reason I was really struck with several images after the first "Rising Star." (And I still haven't managed to work the original idea into a flitterfic yet.)
---
The advertisements were the worst part. “Our prices haven't changed in thousands of years!” one ad boasted. “Everybody wants some,” crooned another. “So quick, so easy!” announced a third.
Onsler stalked through the streets, hands stuffed into his overcoat pockets. Gremlin clung to his shoulder, oohing and aahing at the colorful posters, tugging on Onsler's ear to point out especially attractive ones. Onsler could feel the tiny demon's presence in his soul. The ads promised the world, but in the end, you got what you paid for. He shot a glance at Gremlin. Meager soul; meager demon.
---
The advertisements were the worst part. “Our prices haven't changed in thousands of years!” one ad boasted. “Everybody wants some,” crooned another. “So quick, so easy!” announced a third.
Onsler stalked through the streets, hands stuffed into his overcoat pockets. Gremlin clung to his shoulder, oohing and aahing at the colorful posters, tugging on Onsler's ear to point out especially attractive ones. Onsler could feel the tiny demon's presence in his soul. The ads promised the world, but in the end, you got what you paid for. He shot a glance at Gremlin. Meager soul; meager demon.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Interview with a Rising Star
“Oh, the great Lords of the Pit can destroy cities, even entire countries,” said Malvoris the Sorcerer. He settled into the overstuffed armchair and swirled his Scotch, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass. “But there are many smaller imps and minor devils, and all of these, too, can be bound to one's will, if one is determined. No, the real revolution of demonology will be in the countless creature comforts now available to even the poorest of the poor, for every man, no matter how lowly, possesses the collateral.”
“Collateral?”
“A soul.”
“Collateral?”
“A soul.”
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Falling
The wind whistles in my ears, sends my hair whipping across my face and neck. I can still smell the smoke, even as the wind thrusts it violently behind me. Scorched feathers, singed flesh. Above me, the smoke is a dark spiral against the white of the clouds, and farther still the shimmering Gate, its light narrowing to a pinprick as it closes, leaving me outside. Forever.
That won't be a problem for long. Far, far below, so far that I can see only a green and blue smear, is the ground. Approaching.
I smile, the wind in my hair.
That won't be a problem for long. Far, far below, so far that I can see only a green and blue smear, is the ground. Approaching.
I smile, the wind in my hair.
Cleanse
He shuffled down the hallway, pushing his broom and bucket before him. The building thrummed around him, shuddering with hidden energy. The laminate floor and the acoustic tiles seemed to fade as each ripple of force passed through them, revealing dark stone like smoke. Through the ebony surface, one could see thin black legs and wriggling bodies, scrabbling at the surface as though digging to escape, to burst from the black rock into the world of light. The janitor whistled a jaunty tune and stopped to mop another section. Behind him, the shadows flailed at their prison with silent fury.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Pizza Express Delivers in Thirty Minutes, Guaranteed
Milo was running late. Twenty-nine minutes and counting. His tires squealed as he rounded the corner. The speedometer registered nearly fifty. As Milo struggled with the wheel, a child darted across the street. He slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt mere inches from the terrified little girl.
The family at the house was very understanding. They paid for their pizza even though it was a minute past the Delivery Promise. Milo had been late, but he'd gotten paid. That counted, right?
Something shifted in the darkness behind him. “You have broken the agreement,” hissed the sibilant voice.
The family at the house was very understanding. They paid for their pizza even though it was a minute past the Delivery Promise. Milo had been late, but he'd gotten paid. That counted, right?
Something shifted in the darkness behind him. “You have broken the agreement,” hissed the sibilant voice.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Among the Fallen Stones
Taku moved slowly through the rubble and scree. He called every now and then, but without much hope. There were many boulders of sufficient size, and more that had been shattered by the force of their impact. Taku was worried. His friend had been silent a long time.
At last Taku sat to rest, holding his head in despair.
“Hello,” said the Wisest Stone from beneath him.
Taku jumped. “I could not find you amid the stones!” he said. “Why did you not answer my calls?”
“I knew which one I was,” answered the Wisest Stone.
At last Taku sat to rest, holding his head in despair.
“Hello,” said the Wisest Stone from beneath him.
Taku jumped. “I could not find you amid the stones!” he said. “Why did you not answer my calls?”
“I knew which one I was,” answered the Wisest Stone.
Solstice
The sun rose. This was the day of the Winter Festival, the turning point of the year, when the night was longest. Soon the nights would retreat and the days grow longer instead. The revelry lasted well into the hours of darkness. At midnight came the climax of the festival. Afterward, they cleaned the stone block, staining the snow around it a washed-out red. The party continued with renewed fervor, as everyone fought to convince themselves everything was fine and would continue so. They waited for the sun, knowing the worst was past.
Morning came. The sun did not rise.
Morning came. The sun did not rise.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Bad to the Bone
Heading on vacation for a couple of weeks, so updates may be a day or two late. I will do my best to keep them steady, flitterfic fans (all three of you), but please do not be overhasty in mocking me should the day's story be uploaded tardily.
---
Dirk pushed into the bar with the attitude of a prowling dog. His leather jacket was studded with metal. On the back, an airbrushed skeleton in a similar jacket menaced a poorly-clad woman. There was a motorcycle. “Bad to the Bone” was written beneath it in letters of blood and fire.
Dirk headed for the counter, but was arrested by a grip on his shoulder. A cold, bony hand.
A skeleton whose eye sockets flickered with blue fire stood behind him. “Come out, brother,” it said, grinning. Dirk felt something shift and break, somewhere inside him. Down at the bone.
---
Dirk pushed into the bar with the attitude of a prowling dog. His leather jacket was studded with metal. On the back, an airbrushed skeleton in a similar jacket menaced a poorly-clad woman. There was a motorcycle. “Bad to the Bone” was written beneath it in letters of blood and fire.
Dirk headed for the counter, but was arrested by a grip on his shoulder. A cold, bony hand.
A skeleton whose eye sockets flickered with blue fire stood behind him. “Come out, brother,” it said, grinning. Dirk felt something shift and break, somewhere inside him. Down at the bone.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Autumn
The grove was filled with color and motion. The leaves and flowers of the trees were of every color imaginable, a riotous and chaotic burst, and they rustled as they tumbled from the branches to the ground, drifting and falling one by one.
“It’s amazing,” Sandra murmured. Her feet crunched on the forest floor.
“Your kind do not often come here,” said her guide.
“What are they?”
“The trees? Every scrap of happiness, every beautiful thing grows into a blossom. When it dies, it falls to the forest floor.”
Sandra paused and stared upward. Around them, petals dropped like rain.
“It’s amazing,” Sandra murmured. Her feet crunched on the forest floor.
“Your kind do not often come here,” said her guide.
“What are they?”
“The trees? Every scrap of happiness, every beautiful thing grows into a blossom. When it dies, it falls to the forest floor.”
Sandra paused and stared upward. Around them, petals dropped like rain.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Hermits
“There, see?” Dad pointed down at the sand. “They’re called hermit crabs because they don’t have shells of their own. When they get too big, they go find a bigger shell to use.”
Allie squatted and watched the naked crustacean scuttle away. “Where do the big shells come from?”
“Oh, all sorts of things make their own shells.” Dad sighed and stood. “It’s all part of the circle of life. Which doesn’t really help us much.”
He turned to regard the gaping hole that had been their house’s foundation. Water spurted uselessly from broken pipes, gouged by enormous claw marks.
Allie squatted and watched the naked crustacean scuttle away. “Where do the big shells come from?”
“Oh, all sorts of things make their own shells.” Dad sighed and stood. “It’s all part of the circle of life. Which doesn’t really help us much.”
He turned to regard the gaping hole that had been their house’s foundation. Water spurted uselessly from broken pipes, gouged by enormous claw marks.
Philosophies of Life
“My existence is precarious,” said the see-saw. “I am now of one mind, now of another; I never achieve perfect balance, for always there are pressures on either side driving me.”
“I am lowly,” said the swing. “I hover at the bottom, yearning for the heights; reaching ever upward, but always settling to my lowest ebb; I return, no matter how greatly I strive.”
“There is no compromise,” said the slide. “One direction and one alone. They try to defy me, always, and always I send them tumbling backwards. Skinned knees upon them all!”
“I’m a pigeon,” said the pigeon.
“I am lowly,” said the swing. “I hover at the bottom, yearning for the heights; reaching ever upward, but always settling to my lowest ebb; I return, no matter how greatly I strive.”
“There is no compromise,” said the slide. “One direction and one alone. They try to defy me, always, and always I send them tumbling backwards. Skinned knees upon them all!”
“I’m a pigeon,” said the pigeon.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
And the One After That
He let the bundle drop. It squished, leaking dark fluid onto the floor. “It’s done,” he said.
Teeth gleamed in the darkness, pale and needle-like things. “Good. Your next task is awaiting you outside.”
“My next task…?” the hunter muttered. “When will I be finished? When is this done?”
His master shifted its obscene bulk. “Do not ask questions to which you know the answers.”
“I was young when I made the bargain,” the man cried. “Please, I didn’t fully understand. I made a mistake.”
“Yet the choice was made,” the voice burbled. “Your next task is awaiting you outside.”
Teeth gleamed in the darkness, pale and needle-like things. “Good. Your next task is awaiting you outside.”
“My next task…?” the hunter muttered. “When will I be finished? When is this done?”
His master shifted its obscene bulk. “Do not ask questions to which you know the answers.”
“I was young when I made the bargain,” the man cried. “Please, I didn’t fully understand. I made a mistake.”
“Yet the choice was made,” the voice burbled. “Your next task is awaiting you outside.”
Lester's Doomed Love
Sorry about this weekend. Combination of factors, primarily being bone-tired. Expect more sporadic updates for the next month; I'll be at the beach, then GenCon, and finally at a friend's wedding. I'll do my best to keep the ball rolling, however!
---
“The pipes in the restroom sinks are clogged again,” said Lauren. She rubbed at her left ankle with her other foot. “And I think… I think there’s a rat in there.”
Ned nodded. “I’ll get on it, miss.”
He set up the yellow warning sign and wheeled his cart inside. “Goddamn it, Lester, you addle-brained son of an octopus!” he snapped. “I’ve done told you about stayin’ out the pipes.”
With a gurgle, slender black tentacles emerged from the toilet bowls. One of them opened an eye.
“And you’d best stop gropin’ the ladies afore someone gets suspicious,” Ned said.
---
“The pipes in the restroom sinks are clogged again,” said Lauren. She rubbed at her left ankle with her other foot. “And I think… I think there’s a rat in there.”
Ned nodded. “I’ll get on it, miss.”
He set up the yellow warning sign and wheeled his cart inside. “Goddamn it, Lester, you addle-brained son of an octopus!” he snapped. “I’ve done told you about stayin’ out the pipes.”
With a gurgle, slender black tentacles emerged from the toilet bowls. One of them opened an eye.
“And you’d best stop gropin’ the ladies afore someone gets suspicious,” Ned said.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Fruit Cocktail
The revelers were stumbling around, blind and deaf. It made Didi sick, not just with revulsion, but also with fear. He swiveled his ears. Trying to find one individual in this swarm was nearly impossible.
A young female lurched toward him, her fur matted. She flopped a wing around Didi. “Y’wanna havva taaste?” she slurred, proffering a gnawed-on chunk of long-fallen fruit, fermented sour.
“I don’t eat windfalls,” Didi said. He fluttered into the air. “Shimsi!” he called. “For God’s sake, come back to the cave! It’s nearly dawn. You’ll be caught on the ground!”
Only drunken laughter answered him.
A young female lurched toward him, her fur matted. She flopped a wing around Didi. “Y’wanna havva taaste?” she slurred, proffering a gnawed-on chunk of long-fallen fruit, fermented sour.
“I don’t eat windfalls,” Didi said. He fluttered into the air. “Shimsi!” he called. “For God’s sake, come back to the cave! It’s nearly dawn. You’ll be caught on the ground!”
Only drunken laughter answered him.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Mile a Minute
The old buildings were covered, absolutely covered, in trailing vines with wide, flat leaves.
“God, how old is this place?” Cathy asked.
“Probably abandoned in the fifties, judging by the gas pumps,” I said.
Cathy raised skeptical eyebrows.
“They call it the ‘mile-a-minute vine’ for a reason,” I told her as we stepped under the leaf-covered awning. The plant filled the space, covering even the cafe tables. “It doesn’t take long-“ I cut myself off when the solid mass shifted and we saw the woman, mouth gaping in a silent scream, her body still warm.
Something brushed against my ankle.
“God, how old is this place?” Cathy asked.
“Probably abandoned in the fifties, judging by the gas pumps,” I said.
Cathy raised skeptical eyebrows.
“They call it the ‘mile-a-minute vine’ for a reason,” I told her as we stepped under the leaf-covered awning. The plant filled the space, covering even the cafe tables. “It doesn’t take long-“ I cut myself off when the solid mass shifted and we saw the woman, mouth gaping in a silent scream, her body still warm.
Something brushed against my ankle.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
All Smiles
Teeth together, firmly. Pull the lips back. Up, up; don’t grimace. Smile. Smile! Yes, that’s it. Keep smiling.
It’s been a long day. Flashing teeth at everyone, coworkers and friends, supervisors and strangers. Always the wide grin, teeth locked together. Imagine they are fused. Imagine they are growing larger, too large to keep inside. Let them out. Keep them showing. Smile.
Almost over. Keep that smile going!
Ignore that sound. You’re imagining things. Keep your jaw closed. There is no voice. There is no frantic scrabbling. There are no tiny fists beating on the inside of your teeth.
Keep smiling.
It’s been a long day. Flashing teeth at everyone, coworkers and friends, supervisors and strangers. Always the wide grin, teeth locked together. Imagine they are fused. Imagine they are growing larger, too large to keep inside. Let them out. Keep them showing. Smile.
Almost over. Keep that smile going!
Ignore that sound. You’re imagining things. Keep your jaw closed. There is no voice. There is no frantic scrabbling. There are no tiny fists beating on the inside of your teeth.
Keep smiling.
SPCA
“Well, I’m afraid we’re running out of options,” said Diane, pushing open the door to the back room. It, too, was lined with cages. “These are some of our troubled occupants. Biters, behavior issues, that sort of thing. Some of these guys have been here a long time.”
“What’s this doggy’s name?” asked Lilly.
“I am the Darkwalker,” growled the shadowed form. “I am the end of all life. I will devour this world and every other. Release me and I will slay you quickly and without pain.”
“I’m going to call you Bubbles,” Lilly informed him. “Or maybe Sweetypants.”
“What’s this doggy’s name?” asked Lilly.
“I am the Darkwalker,” growled the shadowed form. “I am the end of all life. I will devour this world and every other. Release me and I will slay you quickly and without pain.”
“I’m going to call you Bubbles,” Lilly informed him. “Or maybe Sweetypants.”
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Limbo
The line didn’t seem to be getting any shorter. They wound back and forth in the roped-off corridors. In the distance, a terrible light obscured the front. There was a faint suggestion of wings.
“I’m so excited,” Geraldine confided.
“Sure you’re… going up, then?” said Paul.
“It’s probably the backlog. You know, the Apocalypse and all. The anticipation makes it better.”
“I wonder,” said Paul, “wouldn’t we be happier if we actually knew? I mean, where exactly are we now?”
Geraldine didn’t answer, but her brow wrinkled with new concern. In the distance there was a cry, abruptly cut off.
“I’m so excited,” Geraldine confided.
“Sure you’re… going up, then?” said Paul.
“It’s probably the backlog. You know, the Apocalypse and all. The anticipation makes it better.”
“I wonder,” said Paul, “wouldn’t we be happier if we actually knew? I mean, where exactly are we now?”
Geraldine didn’t answer, but her brow wrinkled with new concern. In the distance there was a cry, abruptly cut off.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Jenkins in Spring
“Jenkins!” said a muffled voice. It was followed by a bone-rattling sneeze. Muller pushed his way through the leaves to peer rheumy-eyed down at Carter Jenkins. “What’s all this… this foliage about anyway?”
“Sorry, sir,” said Jenkins. He shook his head, setting his branches shaking. “It’s springtime. I always get lots of new growth.”
“Your productivity is down five percent.”
“I haven’t gotten enough sun…”
“Now, Jenkins, we’ve been more than understanding about your… condition, but- is that a pear?”
“Looks like, Mr. Muller. I’d hoped for citrus again, but-“
“I do like a nice pear in brandy,” Muller mused.
“Sorry, sir,” said Jenkins. He shook his head, setting his branches shaking. “It’s springtime. I always get lots of new growth.”
“Your productivity is down five percent.”
“I haven’t gotten enough sun…”
“Now, Jenkins, we’ve been more than understanding about your… condition, but- is that a pear?”
“Looks like, Mr. Muller. I’d hoped for citrus again, but-“
“I do like a nice pear in brandy,” Muller mused.
Inch by Inch
It was raining. It always rained.
The swampland quivered under the deluge, the water pattering on swollen leaves and the patches of open ground, rapidly turned to soupy mud. The rooftops had long fallen in, but the columns were still standing, and some of the walls.
The statue regarded the scene. It still held its marble sword upraised. Its expression was still the triumphant sneer of the conqueror.
The rain fell. The statue slipped another fraction of an inch into the swamp. It was up to its waist.
It held its sword high. There was nothing else it could do.
The swampland quivered under the deluge, the water pattering on swollen leaves and the patches of open ground, rapidly turned to soupy mud. The rooftops had long fallen in, but the columns were still standing, and some of the walls.
The statue regarded the scene. It still held its marble sword upraised. Its expression was still the triumphant sneer of the conqueror.
The rain fell. The statue slipped another fraction of an inch into the swamp. It was up to its waist.
It held its sword high. There was nothing else it could do.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Cowboys
Clarence ducked behind the wooden trough. He dodged to the side, firing his trusty revolver. He saw the spray of blood, hot and red. He shouted in triumph only to dart for cover when his shots were unexpectedly returned.
“I shot you, Black Bart! You’re dead!” he called.
“I’m tired o’ losin’,” snarled Black Bart. “I wanna win this time.”
“You’re wearin’ the wrong color hat.”
“How ‘bout we go’n be spacemen agin? I di’n’t mind them tentacled fellers so much.”
“The ship’s broke, Bart. You know that.”
“What if we was crash-landed?”
Clarence considered. “I s’pose,” he said reluctantly.
“I shot you, Black Bart! You’re dead!” he called.
“I’m tired o’ losin’,” snarled Black Bart. “I wanna win this time.”
“You’re wearin’ the wrong color hat.”
“How ‘bout we go’n be spacemen agin? I di’n’t mind them tentacled fellers so much.”
“The ship’s broke, Bart. You know that.”
“What if we was crash-landed?”
Clarence considered. “I s’pose,” he said reluctantly.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Stool Pigeon
I'm writing this so I don't waste time actually composing an entire short story based on hard-boiled noir parakeets.
---
“How did we know?” the detective had sneered, looking down his beak. “Your buddy talked. You oughtta know not to trust a magpie.”
The memory haunted Kikri as he shuffled along the low branch. The watering hole was a few hundred yards away, barely any distance by wing. On foot… He waddled to the trunk, feeling his new balance shifting oddly. With beak and toe he clambered down the rough bole.
The forest looked different down here. Kikri told himself it was just the new perspective that made the trees loom overhead, but he couldn’t forget that he’d been betrayed.
---
“How did we know?” the detective had sneered, looking down his beak. “Your buddy talked. You oughtta know not to trust a magpie.”
The memory haunted Kikri as he shuffled along the low branch. The watering hole was a few hundred yards away, barely any distance by wing. On foot… He waddled to the trunk, feeling his new balance shifting oddly. With beak and toe he clambered down the rough bole.
The forest looked different down here. Kikri told himself it was just the new perspective that made the trees loom overhead, but he couldn’t forget that he’d been betrayed.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
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.
“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.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
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.”
“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.”
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
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…
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…
Monday, July 13, 2009
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.
“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.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
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…
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…
“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…
Saturday, July 11, 2009
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.
“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.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
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.”
“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.
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.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Four Pillars
The great wings swept through the void as the black, horned thing flew downward. Distant lights glimmered in the darkness. The sorcerer was cradled in the taloned hands, nestled like an infant against the fire-scarred chest. It reeked of brimstone.
“We are passing now through the heart of the world,” said the demon. “The light you see ahead. That is the cavern of the Pillars of the Four Elements.”
The sorcerer nodded. “Yes, yes. I’ve read of the place. The foundations of all matter. Fire, earth, air, and water.”
The demon shook its head. “No. Faith, Hope, Love… and Regret.”
“We are passing now through the heart of the world,” said the demon. “The light you see ahead. That is the cavern of the Pillars of the Four Elements.”
The sorcerer nodded. “Yes, yes. I’ve read of the place. The foundations of all matter. Fire, earth, air, and water.”
The demon shook its head. “No. Faith, Hope, Love… and Regret.”
Monday, July 6, 2009
A Humble Servant of Science
“Everything I have done,” said Doctor Geisteskrank, “I have done to advance human knowledge and understanding. I regret nothing.”
The rhythmic slamming was growing louder as the door bent farther and farther out of its frame. The small closet was decidedly cramped with both of them in it.
“How exactly does this advance human knowledge?” asked Bartlett. A coil of wire had fallen around his head, adorning him like a necklace. The door squealed as it lost a hinge. A scaled claw was briefly visible in the gap.
The doctor considered. “It has, perhaps, at times been somewhat indirectly beneficial.”
The rhythmic slamming was growing louder as the door bent farther and farther out of its frame. The small closet was decidedly cramped with both of them in it.
“How exactly does this advance human knowledge?” asked Bartlett. A coil of wire had fallen around his head, adorning him like a necklace. The door squealed as it lost a hinge. A scaled claw was briefly visible in the gap.
The doctor considered. “It has, perhaps, at times been somewhat indirectly beneficial.”
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Take the Cup from My Lips
Lord Orvald looked across the table to Reisha and raised his glass in a toast. She smiled and did likewise.
“Ah, my love,” he said, “it saddens me to go. What would you do if I died in battle?”
“Were you dead, my lord,” Reisha murmured, “I would die as well, and gladly.”
He chuckled and made to reach for her, but his limbs became cold and limp. He stared in horror at the wineglass still in his hand, and then to Reisha, slumping down beside him.
“Poisoned? Why?” he gasped.
“I have told you already.” She smiled. “My lord.”
“Ah, my love,” he said, “it saddens me to go. What would you do if I died in battle?”
“Were you dead, my lord,” Reisha murmured, “I would die as well, and gladly.”
He chuckled and made to reach for her, but his limbs became cold and limp. He stared in horror at the wineglass still in his hand, and then to Reisha, slumping down beside him.
“Poisoned? Why?” he gasped.
“I have told you already.” She smiled. “My lord.”
Beans
Jack clicked open a new tab. “GUARANTEED GROWTH!” trumpeted the header. It was flashing. And jiggling.
The graphic displayed a handful of pills in an outstretched hand. Then a whole bunch of testimonials and overwrought praise. Below, an order form. Jack tabbed back to his bank account. Just enough money. That was supposed to buy groceries, though. Bread, milk, fresh eggs.
“Well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I’ll just get ramen and canned peas,” Jack muttered. She was always telling him he had his head in the clouds. He’d show her.
He sat back, dreaming of fallen giants.
The graphic displayed a handful of pills in an outstretched hand. Then a whole bunch of testimonials and overwrought praise. Below, an order form. Jack tabbed back to his bank account. Just enough money. That was supposed to buy groceries, though. Bread, milk, fresh eggs.
“Well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I’ll just get ramen and canned peas,” Jack muttered. She was always telling him he had his head in the clouds. He’d show her.
He sat back, dreaming of fallen giants.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Nectar of the Gods
The alarm had already gone off twice. Time, he supposed, to get up.
Felt awful. Head fuzzy. Tongue tasted of asparagus. Also possibly fuzzy. Would have thought he had a hangover. The thought provoked, if not a smile, then at least the right frame of mind for smiling.
Something to wake him up, that was the ticket. A peppy drink. Ambrosia? Meh. Perhaps the mortals had come up with something interesting. He peered out the window, looking down at his world.
“Oh, stuff me,” he muttered after a long, appalled silence.
He went back to bed. Another millennium, at least.
Felt awful. Head fuzzy. Tongue tasted of asparagus. Also possibly fuzzy. Would have thought he had a hangover. The thought provoked, if not a smile, then at least the right frame of mind for smiling.
Something to wake him up, that was the ticket. A peppy drink. Ambrosia? Meh. Perhaps the mortals had come up with something interesting. He peered out the window, looking down at his world.
“Oh, stuff me,” he muttered after a long, appalled silence.
He went back to bed. Another millennium, at least.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Pangs
As they waited, the Wisest Stone recounted the story of his creation for Taku, who had not asked.
“The ground was shattered,” he said, “and fire rained down from the sky. The sea shook with the force of the blast. Great cracks split the island and smoke blackened the sun. My brothers and I screamed as we plummeted down, hurled into the air by the violence of the eruption.”
Taku wrapped his arms around his legs. “It sounds horrible. Why was your birth so traumatic?”
“There is always pain at a birth,” said the Wisest Stone. “Nothing new comes easily.”
“The ground was shattered,” he said, “and fire rained down from the sky. The sea shook with the force of the blast. Great cracks split the island and smoke blackened the sun. My brothers and I screamed as we plummeted down, hurled into the air by the violence of the eruption.”
Taku wrapped his arms around his legs. “It sounds horrible. Why was your birth so traumatic?”
“There is always pain at a birth,” said the Wisest Stone. “Nothing new comes easily.”
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Raising a Stink
Robby was too slow getting out. The water swirled down the drain and carried him with it. He caught a last glimpse of the bathroom mirror, fogged over, before he was swallowed.
It was dark down in the sewers. A rat approached.
“Now you’ve done it,” the rat said. “It’ll have settled into your life properly by now.”
“What do you mean?” Robby blinked the filth from his eyes.
“Cause and effect. Something new comes in, something like it comes out,” said the rat.
“Won’t my mom notice?”
“Sure. ‘What a stinker that boy has been,’ she’ll say to herself.”
It was dark down in the sewers. A rat approached.
“Now you’ve done it,” the rat said. “It’ll have settled into your life properly by now.”
“What do you mean?” Robby blinked the filth from his eyes.
“Cause and effect. Something new comes in, something like it comes out,” said the rat.
“Won’t my mom notice?”
“Sure. ‘What a stinker that boy has been,’ she’ll say to herself.”
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