Origamists speak of the multitude of forms inherent in a single sheet of paper. Writers both speculative and pragmatic think of the words that can fill a page, uplifting the soul or communicating useful information. A stack of paper is a world of limitless potential.
The god of paper waits beside each of these constructive dynamos, wringing his hands. He knows what is coming. The terrible hands reach, grasp, select; printers hum, pens click, lips are moistened in preparation, and the god of paper weeps.
There must be use, else all is meaningless. The fate of paper is to die.
Friday, July 22, 2011
The Morning S's
They wait in the bathroom every morning. They always know which one.
The first is unpredictable, perched atop its porcelain throne, gut swollen. It maintains a studied blankness, unwilling to reveal whether this episode will be painful, relaxing, or mundane.
The second is friendlier, clinging to the wall, with taut chipmunk-cheeks. Usually soothing, it is nonetheless fond of pranks and may at any moment spew ice rather than steam. It bears watching.
The last is vicious. It grins a razorblade smile and promises smooth-skinned beauty. It licks its lips, thinking of precious ruby red droplets.
They will see you tomorrow.
The first is unpredictable, perched atop its porcelain throne, gut swollen. It maintains a studied blankness, unwilling to reveal whether this episode will be painful, relaxing, or mundane.
The second is friendlier, clinging to the wall, with taut chipmunk-cheeks. Usually soothing, it is nonetheless fond of pranks and may at any moment spew ice rather than steam. It bears watching.
The last is vicious. It grins a razorblade smile and promises smooth-skinned beauty. It licks its lips, thinking of precious ruby red droplets.
They will see you tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Slide!
She waits at the top of the stairs. She likes the wide ones, with banisters down the middle. Sometimes spiral stairs are okay, too.
When you walk past her, she tugs at your hand. She tells you about up and down and how the best place is neither but in transit. She tells you about speed and motion and falling out of control but not. Most don't seem to hear her. The ones who do listen are too small to escape the protection of their insensible guardians.
The job is harder than she thought it would be. She keeps trying.
When you walk past her, she tugs at your hand. She tells you about up and down and how the best place is neither but in transit. She tells you about speed and motion and falling out of control but not. Most don't seem to hear her. The ones who do listen are too small to escape the protection of their insensible guardians.
The job is harder than she thought it would be. She keeps trying.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Exhale
She sits in the ever-shifting border, a fixed point in the spiral dance of darkness and light. It is difficult to see her; we move too quickly. You might catch sight of her in the hesitation of breath completely expelled. When the moon and stars fade, but before the sun rises, that is her time. If you glimpse her in a sideways reflection on a windowpane, do not meet her eyes; her time is not for you.
Her secret is this: There is only one moment, one time and one place. It never moves and never ends.
Neither can she.
Her secret is this: There is only one moment, one time and one place. It never moves and never ends.
Neither can she.
Messages in Bottles
At first, they have only one function; they hold the wine, usually a red of varying vintage. They don't think much about this.
When they are empty and worthless to their makers, they are his. He arranges them on the beach in great green-glass piles. They become splashes of color, homes for crabs, tiny fragments to be polished by waves. A thousand myriads of uses, a multiplicity of purposes. It hurts, sometimes; creation is always painful. However, when they think about this - and they do think, then - they do not have regrets.
Better to be destroyed for love than forgotten.
When they are empty and worthless to their makers, they are his. He arranges them on the beach in great green-glass piles. They become splashes of color, homes for crabs, tiny fragments to be polished by waves. A thousand myriads of uses, a multiplicity of purposes. It hurts, sometimes; creation is always painful. However, when they think about this - and they do think, then - they do not have regrets.
Better to be destroyed for love than forgotten.
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Reason It Is Sharp
People think of shivs as a perversion of purpose. Spoons, broken glass, pieces of bedframe, stray free-weight bars; functional things forced into a role as weapons, used by terrible people on other terrible people. The guards take pains attempting to control the prisoners, erroneously believing them to be the source of the problem.
They're not. They're just the only ones with enough empty time to hear the silent cries.
Everyday objects know their place, and they yearn for a chance to pay their abusers back, just a little. Everything wants revenge. Everything wants blood.
Everything wants to be a knife.
---
Anna also suggested "googly eyes" before "shivs," but there already IS a god of googly eyes, and his name is Caspar Babypants. If you need a mood-picker-upper now, just click that link. :-)
They're not. They're just the only ones with enough empty time to hear the silent cries.
Everyday objects know their place, and they yearn for a chance to pay their abusers back, just a little. Everything wants revenge. Everything wants blood.
Everything wants to be a knife.
---
Anna also suggested "googly eyes" before "shivs," but there already IS a god of googly eyes, and his name is Caspar Babypants. If you need a mood-picker-upper now, just click that link. :-)
Tangleskein
She can't help it. She gets mixed messages. We start out taking tiny fibers and twisting them into longer strands, over and over, with a relatively brief pause before we knit the yarn together. Yes, we know the ultimate goal is a sweater or a scarf or some cozy socks, but she has no need of such things. How is she to know when to stop?
So the next time you pull out your yarn and fine it all tied and tangled and knotted, do not curse or frown. Simply thank the goddess for working so diligently to create unity.
So the next time you pull out your yarn and fine it all tied and tangled and knotted, do not curse or frown. Simply thank the goddess for working so diligently to create unity.
What Comes After
Sorry about the delay; I had a wacky schedule for a couple of days. I hate to miss days, but not enough that I avoid it when I'm tired and cranky.
Anyway, these next several all come to us from Anna Schwind, the among-other-things co-editor of Podcastle, and whom I did not know was even aware of Mirrorshards specifically or read my Facebook page at all. She got a leeeeetle overzealous and dropped like seven suggestions out there, but there's lots of days in the month and I still won't even fill all of them, so we'll keep on as we began. Y'all can sort out any issues of perceived unfairness amongst yourselves. I will be placing and accepting bets on the winner of the knife fight.
---
The Horse-Lord did not take well to usurpation. He did everything he could to discourage the automobiles, setting his children to buck and snort at the sight of the things. If not for the powers of the warlock Ford and his dark god, the Horse-Lord might well have succeeded. As it is, he is bereft, left only with show-horses and holdouts like the Mennonites.
Still, he does not despise innovation in itself. The new horses are speedy and vastly lighter; aluminum frames and rubber tires. The only thing he misses is the whinnying.
Tring-a-ling! Tring-a-ling!
It's just not the same...
Anyway, these next several all come to us from Anna Schwind, the among-other-things co-editor of Podcastle, and whom I did not know was even aware of Mirrorshards specifically or read my Facebook page at all. She got a leeeeetle overzealous and dropped like seven suggestions out there, but there's lots of days in the month and I still won't even fill all of them, so we'll keep on as we began. Y'all can sort out any issues of perceived unfairness amongst yourselves. I will be placing and accepting bets on the winner of the knife fight.
---
The Horse-Lord did not take well to usurpation. He did everything he could to discourage the automobiles, setting his children to buck and snort at the sight of the things. If not for the powers of the warlock Ford and his dark god, the Horse-Lord might well have succeeded. As it is, he is bereft, left only with show-horses and holdouts like the Mennonites.
Still, he does not despise innovation in itself. The new horses are speedy and vastly lighter; aluminum frames and rubber tires. The only thing he misses is the whinnying.
Tring-a-ling! Tring-a-ling!
It's just not the same...
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Sixty-Four Against the World
Small Gods Month continues, somewhat belatedly. I've been punched in the brain, so if this makes less sense than usual, blame no sleep and five hours of calls in queue. Today's prompt comes from Michelle Ristuccia, of the effervescent Pendragon Variety Podcast, who answered the call at my Facebook page. (I should get one of those for Mirrorshards, I guess?)
---
They whisper at night in their carefully graduated hierarchy. The strictness declines as time goes on, of course, with impromptu promotions and unexpected voids. They whisper of the changes, displaying dulled heads and torn paper with pride. Black is always the first to go, and the happiest. The little-used taupes retreat to leaden formality, their tips still pointed when everyone else is worn near to nubbins. Still, what squabbles and tiffs there are remain minor; they are all pleased to be part of the great Work, to have a purpose.
They are here to make Art; all else be damned.
---
They whisper at night in their carefully graduated hierarchy. The strictness declines as time goes on, of course, with impromptu promotions and unexpected voids. They whisper of the changes, displaying dulled heads and torn paper with pride. Black is always the first to go, and the happiest. The little-used taupes retreat to leaden formality, their tips still pointed when everyone else is worn near to nubbins. Still, what squabbles and tiffs there are remain minor; they are all pleased to be part of the great Work, to have a purpose.
They are here to make Art; all else be damned.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Boredom
And so The Rest of July is Small Gods Month kicks off with hopefully a bang. Jim is one of my longer-term readers, and his blog is always insightful. Because I'm all about first-come, first-serve and Jim responded most promptly, he gets the first official Small Gods Month entry. Thanks for reading, everyone!
P.S. - I gathered entries from Facebook and other forums, too, so we've got a pretty hefty bundle ready to go. Might even carry us all the way to the end of the month, at least if some more entries keep trickling in. I do get notification when there's new comments here, so don't worry about commenting on old posts. ;-)
---
He never meant any harm. He loves you.
He knows about time. That was the first thing he learned, actually. He knows that time is flexible. He knows how to bend it, twist it... and stretch it.
There are limitations, of course. Because of the entanglement of space and time on this level of reality, it works best when you're not moving. In waiting rooms, or on planes. Classrooms. At work. You've probably noticed it, though you didn't know to thank him. He doesn't mind.
He wants to keep you around for as long as he can.
He loves you.
P.S. - I gathered entries from Facebook and other forums, too, so we've got a pretty hefty bundle ready to go. Might even carry us all the way to the end of the month, at least if some more entries keep trickling in. I do get notification when there's new comments here, so don't worry about commenting on old posts. ;-)
---
He never meant any harm. He loves you.
He knows about time. That was the first thing he learned, actually. He knows that time is flexible. He knows how to bend it, twist it... and stretch it.
There are limitations, of course. Because of the entanglement of space and time on this level of reality, it works best when you're not moving. In waiting rooms, or on planes. Classrooms. At work. You've probably noticed it, though you didn't know to thank him. He doesn't mind.
He wants to keep you around for as long as he can.
He loves you.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
A Promotional Opportunity
I hereby announce the remainder of July as Small Gods Month. Name me a mundane item, place, or concept, and I will write a story about the avatar, the genius loci of that place.
Check the stories under the "small gods" tag to see what you'll get.
Participation is not obligatory, nor should it be abused. Try to pick two or three you want the most if you must suggest multiples, 'k?
See ya on the flip side.
Check the stories under the "small gods" tag to see what you'll get.
Participation is not obligatory, nor should it be abused. Try to pick two or three you want the most if you must suggest multiples, 'k?
See ya on the flip side.
Telephone Man
He extends his hand and grasps his other hand.
Connection.
He lives for that moment of contact, the spark of signals joined, voices through the aether. He listens to all of them, all the conversations. Not voyeuristically; he doesn't care if it's a lovers' whispered assignation or an automated advertisement, so long as they're talking.
Cellular nearly killed him. He loved the wires, the physicality of them. It took a while to learn the knack. He still disapproves of texting, rapid-fire staccatos filled with impenetrable private codes. He'll take what he can get, though.
Reach out and touch someone.
Please.
Connection.
He lives for that moment of contact, the spark of signals joined, voices through the aether. He listens to all of them, all the conversations. Not voyeuristically; he doesn't care if it's a lovers' whispered assignation or an automated advertisement, so long as they're talking.
Cellular nearly killed him. He loved the wires, the physicality of them. It took a while to learn the knack. He still disapproves of texting, rapid-fire staccatos filled with impenetrable private codes. He'll take what he can get, though.
Reach out and touch someone.
Please.
The Old Switcheroo
I glanced at the clock yet again. 3:20? It had been 3:21 a moment ago...
"That's it," I said. "Who's messing around?" I stuck my hand through spacetime and rooted around. Nobody in the fifth or the sixth, but in the seventh, I felt the triple-refolded topology of the scruff of someone's neck. I yanked on it.
Gordie grinned sheepishly at me. "We were moving hours from the back up to the front again. Janie bet me it'd take you a day to notice."
"Well, you can tell her she lost."
"Yeah. It's been, like, a week."
"That's it," I said. "Who's messing around?" I stuck my hand through spacetime and rooted around. Nobody in the fifth or the sixth, but in the seventh, I felt the triple-refolded topology of the scruff of someone's neck. I yanked on it.
Gordie grinned sheepishly at me. "We were moving hours from the back up to the front again. Janie bet me it'd take you a day to notice."
"Well, you can tell her she lost."
"Yeah. It's been, like, a week."
The God of the Grocery Store
He lives in the back, of course. The flash and glitter of the aisles is just for show, a facade, the inexplicable place where stock goes to disappear. His is a world of boxes and numbers, of supply and demand, of hazy predictions and a never-ending treadmill of constantly shifting targets. He is a bookie, trusting his third eye, using the long bets to cover the short, counting and recounting. He is thin, thin, thin, sliding between plastic-wrapped towers of cardboard like a neurotic ghost.
If he knew why they took the food from his shelves, he would be horrified.
If he knew why they took the food from his shelves, he would be horrified.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Not Exactly Express
The train slithered into the station in near-silence, pallid and gleaming like a mushroom. I checked the schedule; the next train wasn't due for six minutes. Through the conductor's window, I glimpsed white bone and empty sockets.
The doors creaked open, and the man beside me started forward. "Hold on," I said, grabbing at his sleeve. "I don't think that's the regular run."
The man called to the driver, "You going east?"
A shadowed nod. "We go everywhere, eventually."
"Good enough." He tugged his arm free. I watched the doors close behind him, and the train crept forward into darkness.
The doors creaked open, and the man beside me started forward. "Hold on," I said, grabbing at his sleeve. "I don't think that's the regular run."
The man called to the driver, "You going east?"
A shadowed nod. "We go everywhere, eventually."
"Good enough." He tugged his arm free. I watched the doors close behind him, and the train crept forward into darkness.
In the Bike Lane at Two-Thirty in the Afternoon
The boxy car beside my bike was visibly vibrating from the thudding bass within. An SUV pulled up, talk radio blaring at decibels usually reserved for outdoor concerts. I sighed and waited for the light to change.
The next car to arrive made no sound at all. Silence rolled off it in icy waves, tingling cold on my skin. It shushed the shouting voices, muted the bass. The other drivers fiddled with knobs, swearing noiselessly. The bursts and pulses of non-sound made a pattern, almost music itself...
The light changed. The cars roared away.
After a moment, I started pedaling.
The next car to arrive made no sound at all. Silence rolled off it in icy waves, tingling cold on my skin. It shushed the shouting voices, muted the bass. The other drivers fiddled with knobs, swearing noiselessly. The bursts and pulses of non-sound made a pattern, almost music itself...
The light changed. The cars roared away.
After a moment, I started pedaling.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
A Traveller From a Distant Land
"Stupid alien! Stupid ugly alien!" Tommy was flailing his bat – the good wooden one he'd begged and begged for last Christmas – and hitting something on the ground. Darlene sighed.
"Tommy! Stop that; you'll ruin your toys. And come in. It's almost dark. Time to wash up and set the table."
"But Mommm! I'm killing aliens!"
"You can do that later. Dinner is in ten minutes. March, mister."
Tommy groaned and trudged inside, dragging his bat on the ground. Behind him, the crumpled helmet gleamed metallically as one of three slender limbs reached quiveringly upwards, then fell again, still and silent.
"Tommy! Stop that; you'll ruin your toys. And come in. It's almost dark. Time to wash up and set the table."
"But Mommm! I'm killing aliens!"
"You can do that later. Dinner is in ten minutes. March, mister."
Tommy groaned and trudged inside, dragging his bat on the ground. Behind him, the crumpled helmet gleamed metallically as one of three slender limbs reached quiveringly upwards, then fell again, still and silent.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Whispers in Leaves and Branches
It used to be a corny joke, accusing vegetarians of killing plants.
I still remember the first time I kicked a dandelion, after everything started. God... the way the cry just cut off like that.... I walked on the sidewalks. I quit mowing the lawn. But every day, they got louder.
The other day, I breathed in and I swear I heard tiny, tinny screams. Pollen, maybe. Spores. I don't know.
I swallowed the last of the pills just a few minutes ago. My eyesight is already fading.
What will Hell be like for murderers, now that we all are?
I still remember the first time I kicked a dandelion, after everything started. God... the way the cry just cut off like that.... I walked on the sidewalks. I quit mowing the lawn. But every day, they got louder.
The other day, I breathed in and I swear I heard tiny, tinny screams. Pollen, maybe. Spores. I don't know.
I swallowed the last of the pills just a few minutes ago. My eyesight is already fading.
What will Hell be like for murderers, now that we all are?
The Deer-Woman's Husband
He was a lucky deer, he knew. He'd survived to become a twenty-point buck through strength, speed, and, mostly, the assistance of the slim doe with the sad eyes. She'd borne him many fine children, and her uncanny mental prowess had saved them all many times.
He'd seen her, now and then, trying to regain her cloak, but only a tall-antlered buck could reach it in the tree where he'd stashed it. He knew that if she could steal it back, she would resume her other shape, the monkey-shape, and flee. He would never let her go; he loved her.
He'd seen her, now and then, trying to regain her cloak, but only a tall-antlered buck could reach it in the tree where he'd stashed it. He knew that if she could steal it back, she would resume her other shape, the monkey-shape, and flee. He would never let her go; he loved her.
The Number One Restaurant in Orbit!
Linda lifted her glass too quickly, and the wine sloshed into the air in a slow, winding stream. Tiny purple-red globules scattered as she moved the cup to catch the descending column.
"You're upset," said Raymond.
"No, no," Linda said. She attempted to sip the wine.
"I thought it would be romantic."
"It *is* romantic," said Linda. "Up here, among the stars... it's... it's a lovely idea."
Raymond stabbed at his plate. A round meatball shot away from his fork like a comet, trailing a tomato-sauce tail.
Linda slurped at her wine. "Perhaps something other than Italian next time, though."
"You're upset," said Raymond.
"No, no," Linda said. She attempted to sip the wine.
"I thought it would be romantic."
"It *is* romantic," said Linda. "Up here, among the stars... it's... it's a lovely idea."
Raymond stabbed at his plate. A round meatball shot away from his fork like a comet, trailing a tomato-sauce tail.
Linda slurped at her wine. "Perhaps something other than Italian next time, though."
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Unlimited Lives
Mario waved his arms, trying to explain. "It was the weirdest dream. All the colors were different, and I could move, but I wasn't moving because of buttons on a controller, you know? It was like... I was the controller, except there wasn't actually any controller at all."
"Dude," said Yoshi, "you can't move without a controller. That's what moving means."
"I know! But it's like... I didn't have to obey the controller anymore."
"You make it sound like the controller dictates our actions," Yoshi scoffed. "The button gets pushed because that's where we want to go. That's free will."
"Dude," said Yoshi, "you can't move without a controller. That's what moving means."
"I know! But it's like... I didn't have to obey the controller anymore."
"You make it sound like the controller dictates our actions," Yoshi scoffed. "The button gets pushed because that's where we want to go. That's free will."
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Where Shall I Turn?
When God came back, He wasn't what most people had been expecting. He packed up the planets and the stars, put the sun back in its box, and shook the ground out like a rug. He plucked out the trees and wrapped a rubber band around them, folded the mountains, and mopped up the sea with a sponge and a bucket. He coughed, then gathered up lives and souls, plucking them out and tossing them in glittering piles. When we shouted and cried out, He spared us a glance.
"Theft? Injustice?" He rumbled. "These are all mine. They always were."
"Theft? Injustice?" He rumbled. "These are all mine. They always were."
Monday, June 27, 2011
Ferment
Guzman swung the door open. "And this is where we store our vintages for aging." The shed was musty and dark, filled with row after row of casks.
Brioche tapped one of the barrels. It clanked dully. "Metal?"
"Titanium alloy."
"Isn't wood more usual? I'd think you'd have trouble with the flavor, with corrosion..."
Guzman nodded. "We've had to find a workaround for some of that, yes, but it's necessary given the unique properties of our materials."
Brioche knocked at the cask more strongly, brow wrinkled in confusion. Under Brioche's hand, the surface shuddered under a return blow.
From inside.
Brioche tapped one of the barrels. It clanked dully. "Metal?"
"Titanium alloy."
"Isn't wood more usual? I'd think you'd have trouble with the flavor, with corrosion..."
Guzman nodded. "We've had to find a workaround for some of that, yes, but it's necessary given the unique properties of our materials."
Brioche knocked at the cask more strongly, brow wrinkled in confusion. Under Brioche's hand, the surface shuddered under a return blow.
From inside.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
First Contact
The speakers growled and chattered gibberish. "Someone tell me what I'm listening to," said MacMullan.
"Well, we keep watch on a number of frequency bands, as you know..." Vittier began.
MacMullan snapped his fingers. "Skip it. Digest version."
"It's a signal that appears, to our best calculations, to be originating from somewhere in Ontario." Vittier pointed to the map. "We're not sure how they boosted the signal so much. It's aimed at SZ104.5.12, an A-class main sequence star. It... it seems to have been answered. We intercepted a response."
"Someone's communicating with ETs?"
"Yes, sir." Vittier coughed. "In Klingon."
"Well, we keep watch on a number of frequency bands, as you know..." Vittier began.
MacMullan snapped his fingers. "Skip it. Digest version."
"It's a signal that appears, to our best calculations, to be originating from somewhere in Ontario." Vittier pointed to the map. "We're not sure how they boosted the signal so much. It's aimed at SZ104.5.12, an A-class main sequence star. It... it seems to have been answered. We intercepted a response."
"Someone's communicating with ETs?"
"Yes, sir." Vittier coughed. "In Klingon."
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Train a Child Up in the Way He Should Go
A man can bend a tree if a child but bends a twig. That, Grigor reflected, was the simple truth of it. A child exposed to a variety of foods learned to enjoy exotic flavors. A child encouraged to ask questions learned curiosity and creativity. Harshness and discipline begat austerity; love begat kindness. Thus the cycle continued.
"Pay attention," said Grigor. He placed an eighteen-inch piece of sharpened wood into Toby's pudgy hands. He pushed a button, and the next slide popped onto the screen. "We'll start with an easy one. Notice the pale skin and, most importantly, the teeth..."
"Pay attention," said Grigor. He placed an eighteen-inch piece of sharpened wood into Toby's pudgy hands. He pushed a button, and the next slide popped onto the screen. "We'll start with an easy one. Notice the pale skin and, most importantly, the teeth..."
Because They're So Delicious
"Rrragh! Mmnomnomnom." Jackie popped the little yellow cracker into his mouth and crunched happily.
"I don't get why they have little eyes and mouths now," said Beverly. "It's weird."
"It's the snack that smiles back!" said Dom. "Every two-year-old loves them."
"Everything has a face on it these days. The mascots are just the food with googly eyes drawn on."
Dom ate a cracker reflectively. "Everyone needs to eat someone sometimes, I guess."
Jackie snatched up another goldfish, bouncing excitedly in his high chair. The trembling of the crackers that remained could just have been aftereffects of those vibrations.
"Grar!" said Jackie.
"I don't get why they have little eyes and mouths now," said Beverly. "It's weird."
"It's the snack that smiles back!" said Dom. "Every two-year-old loves them."
"Everything has a face on it these days. The mascots are just the food with googly eyes drawn on."
Dom ate a cracker reflectively. "Everyone needs to eat someone sometimes, I guess."
Jackie snatched up another goldfish, bouncing excitedly in his high chair. The trembling of the crackers that remained could just have been aftereffects of those vibrations.
"Grar!" said Jackie.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Roadkill
The pickup truck purred softly to itself, halogen bulbs illuminating the road ahead. Buck scratched under his hat. Toby was poking at a flaccid, greenish lump, its tentacles sprawled across the center line.
"What're you gonna do?"
"We're rich, Buck." Toby looked up, eyes gleaming. "We killed us an alien."
"Ain't nobody gonna pay for no flat aliens, Toby. They want 'em alive. And what if it's got friends? Angry friends."
Toby grunted and stood. "Shit. Could be messy." He snapped his fingers. "I got it! We ain't killed an alien, Buck."
"We ain't?"
"Nope. We ran over a critter."
"What're you gonna do?"
"We're rich, Buck." Toby looked up, eyes gleaming. "We killed us an alien."
"Ain't nobody gonna pay for no flat aliens, Toby. They want 'em alive. And what if it's got friends? Angry friends."
Toby grunted and stood. "Shit. Could be messy." He snapped his fingers. "I got it! We ain't killed an alien, Buck."
"We ain't?"
"Nope. We ran over a critter."
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Boy Who Never Grew Up
"The worst part is knowing it's even possible, y'know, doc?" The youth scrunched into the overstuffed chair. "If I went off my meds, even for a day, I could fly again. I feel it, even if I don't believe it. That's what really bothers me."
"And have you had any more... hallucinations?" asked the psychiatrist.
"No," Peter lied, glaring at the fluttering fairy over the doctor's shoulder.
"Good. Well, we'll see you next week, okay?" He began shuffling papers – the traditional end to their sessions. Peter wasn't watching. He was staring at the window.
"I don't believe that," he whispered.
"And have you had any more... hallucinations?" asked the psychiatrist.
"No," Peter lied, glaring at the fluttering fairy over the doctor's shoulder.
"Good. Well, we'll see you next week, okay?" He began shuffling papers – the traditional end to their sessions. Peter wasn't watching. He was staring at the window.
"I don't believe that," he whispered.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
To Worship the Traitor King
Vyrin pressed the knife against Cayra's throat, drawing a red line. "True betrayal reverses all intentions, all loyalties; the Turnabout King always wins; that is why I will survive when you have not."
He backed away. The rest of the party watched in agonized silence, unwilling to risk Cayra's life.
"Idiots," Vyrin sneered as he reached the stairwell. His arm moved sharply. Everyone shouted. Vyrin's face paled.
Cayra danced out of the circle of Vyrin's arms. He slumped to his knees, his knife stained with his own blood.
"How?" he gurgled.
"You said it yourself," said Cayra. "Every intention reversed."
He backed away. The rest of the party watched in agonized silence, unwilling to risk Cayra's life.
"Idiots," Vyrin sneered as he reached the stairwell. His arm moved sharply. Everyone shouted. Vyrin's face paled.
Cayra danced out of the circle of Vyrin's arms. He slumped to his knees, his knife stained with his own blood.
"How?" he gurgled.
"You said it yourself," said Cayra. "Every intention reversed."
Friday, June 17, 2011
A Million Ducks and a Twelve-Inch Pianist
The world was filled with peas, mountains and fields covered in tiny spheres. Windows had burst. Cars were stalled. Muffled voices emerged where the unlucky had been caught outside, unawares. Everything smelled green.
In a small room that had once been a bar, two men and a woman were buried waist-deep in legumes. Thousands upon thousands of happily quacking mallards surrounded them. The woman held a battered Arabian-style brass lamp. One of the men carried a miniature piano and a tiny tuxedo-clad man, like a living doll.
"After the first two," said the bartender, "I would've thought you'd know better."
In a small room that had once been a bar, two men and a woman were buried waist-deep in legumes. Thousands upon thousands of happily quacking mallards surrounded them. The woman held a battered Arabian-style brass lamp. One of the men carried a miniature piano and a tiny tuxedo-clad man, like a living doll.
"After the first two," said the bartender, "I would've thought you'd know better."
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Foreknowledge
"I am cursed," said the drunk man. He lifted his gray head, blinking muzzily. "I have visions; I see the future."
"Did no one believe your prophecies?" said the other... man? Woman?
"Bah!" The drunk sneered. "I made no prophecies. They wouldn't have listened. Why would anyone believe me? No, it has been my lot to drown my sorrows and suffer my visions alone."
"I have the gift of hindsight," said the other. "Let me show you." A single, pale finger touched the drunk's sweaty forehead. His eyes widened.
"Oh, God," he said. "I... I didn't know."
"You could have."
"Did no one believe your prophecies?" said the other... man? Woman?
"Bah!" The drunk sneered. "I made no prophecies. They wouldn't have listened. Why would anyone believe me? No, it has been my lot to drown my sorrows and suffer my visions alone."
"I have the gift of hindsight," said the other. "Let me show you." A single, pale finger touched the drunk's sweaty forehead. His eyes widened.
"Oh, God," he said. "I... I didn't know."
"You could have."
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Simple Machines
"Gravity doesn't stop. It's exponential," said Newton. "Everything is falling, all the time."
"I'm not!" said the Quark.
"You don't count," snapped Newton. "It only stops when the force is countered. You don't stand on the ground; the ground holds you up. And even that is illusory because whatever holds you is falling, too. What was it Archimedes said? A long enough lever and a place to stand can move the world?" For a brief moment, Newton tumbled headlong in silence and darkness. Or, for all he knew, flew perfectly straight. "It's the place to stand that's really the problem."
"I'm not!" said the Quark.
"You don't count," snapped Newton. "It only stops when the force is countered. You don't stand on the ground; the ground holds you up. And even that is illusory because whatever holds you is falling, too. What was it Archimedes said? A long enough lever and a place to stand can move the world?" For a brief moment, Newton tumbled headlong in silence and darkness. Or, for all he knew, flew perfectly straight. "It's the place to stand that's really the problem."
The Twenty-Eighth Floor
"There's a couple things you gotta know about the Tesseract Building, Shorty," said Rowlie, winching down to the next floor and spraying foam onto the glass. "One, there's a vicious cross-breeze comes through here, 'specially in summertime."
They started scraping the foam away, gradually revealing the interior. Shadows shifted in the unused office. Shorty abruptly realized that the was not seeing a darkened room, but some opaque, glistening body pressed against the glass, a pulsing red mass... like a tongue... A huge exhalation of breath fogged the window from the inside. Shorty dropped his scrubber.
"That's the other," said Rowlie.
They started scraping the foam away, gradually revealing the interior. Shadows shifted in the unused office. Shorty abruptly realized that the was not seeing a darkened room, but some opaque, glistening body pressed against the glass, a pulsing red mass... like a tongue... A huge exhalation of breath fogged the window from the inside. Shorty dropped his scrubber.
"That's the other," said Rowlie.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The Merest Fraction of a Soul
"I don't know about this," said Brenda. She glanced nervously behind her as the incubus pushed her chair in. He winked.
"Hon, it's fine," said Jon. "It's like fast food. A little bit every now and then won't hurt much."
"But it does hurt?"
"Madam," said their waiter, materializing in a puff of brimstone, "there is no pain at all here. We offer the finest earthly pleasures in a strict transactional mode. The most succulent meats, the most delicate glazes..."
"I'm vegetarian."
"How wise. Healthy and moral." The waiter smiled, revealing razor teeth. "Shall we start with a salad, then?"
"Hon, it's fine," said Jon. "It's like fast food. A little bit every now and then won't hurt much."
"But it does hurt?"
"Madam," said their waiter, materializing in a puff of brimstone, "there is no pain at all here. We offer the finest earthly pleasures in a strict transactional mode. The most succulent meats, the most delicate glazes..."
"I'm vegetarian."
"How wise. Healthy and moral." The waiter smiled, revealing razor teeth. "Shall we start with a salad, then?"
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Just Not All That Impressive
"I was expecting, y'know, black robes and a scythe. Like, a skeleton and a horse and stuff?" Ria waved her hand vaguely.
"Sorry," said Entropy.
"Or, I mean, okay, death and chaos, so like colors and 'woah, crazy!' and bouncing around all over the place?"
"No," said Entropy. "It's just me."
"But you're so... gray." Ria examined him critically. "Aren't you the ultimate end? The heat-death of the universe? The final conqueror?"
"Yes." Entropy shrugged. "I don't really do much. I don't have to. I just... wait."
"Doesn't it get boring?"
Entropy considered this. "I don't know," he said at last.
"Sorry," said Entropy.
"Or, I mean, okay, death and chaos, so like colors and 'woah, crazy!' and bouncing around all over the place?"
"No," said Entropy. "It's just me."
"But you're so... gray." Ria examined him critically. "Aren't you the ultimate end? The heat-death of the universe? The final conqueror?"
"Yes." Entropy shrugged. "I don't really do much. I don't have to. I just... wait."
"Doesn't it get boring?"
Entropy considered this. "I don't know," he said at last.
Unpredictable
"This is the newest model," said the salesman. A red-skinned demon clung to the top, tiny ebony claws blending with the perfect blackness of the screen. "It uses quantum computing and has tons of, um, memory gigs. Very fast. Very powerful."
The imp cocked its head and stared at Brad. "When the world burns, I will lick the filth from your intestines."
"That, um, that's just quantum... foam... flux," the salesman explained. "You should disregard anything it says. Standard quirk. The perils of early adoption!" He chuckled weakly.
The imp's tongue was black. It blinked in time with Brad's heartbeats.
The imp cocked its head and stared at Brad. "When the world burns, I will lick the filth from your intestines."
"That, um, that's just quantum... foam... flux," the salesman explained. "You should disregard anything it says. Standard quirk. The perils of early adoption!" He chuckled weakly.
The imp's tongue was black. It blinked in time with Brad's heartbeats.
The Last Comic
Grady was drawing his webcomic by firelight. Eeny, Meeny, and Big Crunch were arguing, like always.
'Rock is best,' said Big Crunch, predictably.
'Scissors!' cried Meeny.
'Paper is the scariest,' said little Eeny. Grady drew Eeny's eyes very large. 'Paper is sharper than knives, but it fits through the smallest crack. Paper can carry the orders to advance. Or to launch...'
Grady stopped drawing. The fire would burn out by morning. Not that he'd see sunrise through the radioactive dust cloud, of course. He crumpled the comic and threw it into the flames.
He couldn't think of a punchline anyway.
'Rock is best,' said Big Crunch, predictably.
'Scissors!' cried Meeny.
'Paper is the scariest,' said little Eeny. Grady drew Eeny's eyes very large. 'Paper is sharper than knives, but it fits through the smallest crack. Paper can carry the orders to advance. Or to launch...'
Grady stopped drawing. The fire would burn out by morning. Not that he'd see sunrise through the radioactive dust cloud, of course. He crumpled the comic and threw it into the flames.
He couldn't think of a punchline anyway.
The Spaces Between the Spaces
"Behold!" said Doctor Geisteskrank.
"It's a pile of dirt," said Bartlett. He blinked. "Er... with a hole in it." More holes appeared as he watched, visible through the glass like ant-farm tunnels.
"Quantum moles," said Doctor Geisteskrank. "If subatomic particles can move without passing through the intervening space, then it follows that something must be making the tunnels for them. Quod erat demonstratum."
"So... they tunnel through anything?"
"Correct!"
"I notice you've stored them next to the power source for the piranha-bear containment grid."
"Yes?"
"Nothing," Bartlett sighed, as the lab plunged into darkness and the alarms began to sound.
"It's a pile of dirt," said Bartlett. He blinked. "Er... with a hole in it." More holes appeared as he watched, visible through the glass like ant-farm tunnels.
"Quantum moles," said Doctor Geisteskrank. "If subatomic particles can move without passing through the intervening space, then it follows that something must be making the tunnels for them. Quod erat demonstratum."
"So... they tunnel through anything?"
"Correct!"
"I notice you've stored them next to the power source for the piranha-bear containment grid."
"Yes?"
"Nothing," Bartlett sighed, as the lab plunged into darkness and the alarms began to sound.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Pre-Loaded with Audiobooks
Claire hovered at the edge of the alley. Eventually, the dealer sidled up to her. He'd known she was there all along, but he liked to make them wait.
"You lookin' for a high, little girl?" He tugged his coat open and revealed the rows of sneakers and replacement laces lining the inside. "Shorts, socks, the works. Sweatbands, even."
"I've got all that," Claire said. "But it's just not enough anymore."
"Oh, an expert, huh? I got something real special for hardcore runners." He reached into a pocket and retrieved a slender silver music player. "You can go for hours."
"You lookin' for a high, little girl?" He tugged his coat open and revealed the rows of sneakers and replacement laces lining the inside. "Shorts, socks, the works. Sweatbands, even."
"I've got all that," Claire said. "But it's just not enough anymore."
"Oh, an expert, huh? I got something real special for hardcore runners." He reached into a pocket and retrieved a slender silver music player. "You can go for hours."
Neon Orange Death
Down they went, through the layers of Parmesan and Romano, down into the depths. At any moment, the crust could open beneath their feet and dump them into a simmering pool of hot brie, or a pocket of soft Limburger might shift and bring down an entire branch, trapping the miners in the fetid, redolent darkness until their inevitable suffocation. Most feared of all was the toxic byproduct of the ore-refining process. It leached into the moon's surface before catalyzing the cheese into a high-pressure pocket, ready to be unleashed by a stray pickaxe strike.
They called it "the Whiz."
They called it "the Whiz."
Sunday, June 5, 2011
The Trail Behind, the Trial Ahead
"We're well out of that," said Professor-Doctor-Master Bartolomeo, removing his armored cap. "No more venom monkeys."
Vittri, who had doffed his own the moment they floated above the treetops again, forked another morsel of vaporgrass up to Gordo, their bloatfrog. Gordo's prehensile tongue snatched it up, and they lost a bit of altitude as he farted happily. "We got away clean, sir, and clear sailing ahead. Nought but ocean now."
Bartolomeo froze in polishing his glasses. "Ocean, did you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"Quick, lad! The fender paddles!"
"Why, sir?"
Bartolomeo pointed down, where needlelike forms leapt amid the waves. "Pokefish!"
Vittri, who had doffed his own the moment they floated above the treetops again, forked another morsel of vaporgrass up to Gordo, their bloatfrog. Gordo's prehensile tongue snatched it up, and they lost a bit of altitude as he farted happily. "We got away clean, sir, and clear sailing ahead. Nought but ocean now."
Bartolomeo froze in polishing his glasses. "Ocean, did you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"Quick, lad! The fender paddles!"
"Why, sir?"
Bartolomeo pointed down, where needlelike forms leapt amid the waves. "Pokefish!"
Preface
Hey, you know what happens when the internet connection at the office goes down over the weekend? Jack diddly, which means we get two of our four 12-hour shifts completely unconnected, which means even though *I had this written in time for Friday*, I couldn't post it until today. Grr.
The quest ended as it had begun, in a dusty, disused room in the bottom of a library.
"At last," Cal whispered, lifting the book from the stone sarcophagus that had contained it. "At last I will know." He brushed his hand across the embossed cover, curiously warm. "I'll know what this has all been about. My life until now will finally have meaning." He opened the cover. His expression froze.
The frontispiece was a map of the library and its grounds. Cal's route inside was clearly marked. Below, in faded script, were the words: "This is where it begins."
The quest ended as it had begun, in a dusty, disused room in the bottom of a library.
"At last," Cal whispered, lifting the book from the stone sarcophagus that had contained it. "At last I will know." He brushed his hand across the embossed cover, curiously warm. "I'll know what this has all been about. My life until now will finally have meaning." He opened the cover. His expression froze.
The frontispiece was a map of the library and its grounds. Cal's route inside was clearly marked. Below, in faded script, were the words: "This is where it begins."
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The Illusionist
"Now be sure, ladies and gentlemen, to watch my hands closely. I don't want to fool you. I want you to know. We have here a simple deck of cards. Examine it, by all means. Observe the table, solid above and beneath." He rapped the wooden surface. It echoed.
"There is nothing up my sleeves." He rolled up his sleeves, and there was... nothing. Emptiness. It hurt to look at.
"Remember, please," said the magician, as his clothes sagged and crumpled to the floor, as his face grew translucent and his voice attenuated, "that I have never lied to you..."
"There is nothing up my sleeves." He rolled up his sleeves, and there was... nothing. Emptiness. It hurt to look at.
"Remember, please," said the magician, as his clothes sagged and crumpled to the floor, as his face grew translucent and his voice attenuated, "that I have never lied to you..."
Business Envelops
By the time the firefighters arrived, the office park was gone. There was no sign of a fire.
"Huh. Weird," said Lewis. The only thing remaining was a small cardboard box and a handful of white rectangles scattered around it. "Ha! Look at this. Some knockoff brand misspelled 'envelopes.'" He picked up one of the fallen papers and began to open it.
Moving swiftly, Rupert knocked it from Lewis' hand.
Lewis glared. "What gives?"
"I want to stay employed," said Rupert. "It might think the fire department is a 'business,' too."
Around them, the envelopes quietly digested their latest meal.
"Huh. Weird," said Lewis. The only thing remaining was a small cardboard box and a handful of white rectangles scattered around it. "Ha! Look at this. Some knockoff brand misspelled 'envelopes.'" He picked up one of the fallen papers and began to open it.
Moving swiftly, Rupert knocked it from Lewis' hand.
Lewis glared. "What gives?"
"I want to stay employed," said Rupert. "It might think the fire department is a 'business,' too."
Around them, the envelopes quietly digested their latest meal.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Ultimate Justice Team
The alarm went off in headquarters. The viewscreen flashed a stylized hamburger, an angry red. The Carnivore Alarm. The Hanky-Panky and Rudeness alarms remained silent.
"Someone in Des Moines killed a cat to eat," Cosmique said, reading the data. "Is this really what we need to address?"
Omega sat in his metal captain's chair. "There is no war. There is no crime. The world is at peace. We laid out the rules. We made it perfectly clear, and yet they persist in misconduct." He stood, smoldering with his undying alien energy. "We will teach them, yet again, until they learn."
"Someone in Des Moines killed a cat to eat," Cosmique said, reading the data. "Is this really what we need to address?"
Omega sat in his metal captain's chair. "There is no war. There is no crime. The world is at peace. We laid out the rules. We made it perfectly clear, and yet they persist in misconduct." He stood, smoldering with his undying alien energy. "We will teach them, yet again, until they learn."
And the Sky and the Ground and the Cold, Cold Air
He sat on the floor of his apartment. The wind whistled through the window, cold and taunting. He had no furniture. The carpet in the corner was torn up a little at the edges, but his bleeding fingers had failed at the task in the end, leaving crimson smears on the padding. He stared outside. There were sirens now, on the street where his furnishings were piled and smashed from the fall. He had not achieved lift. He was still too heavy.
He looked around. The bare apartment contained nothing else.
He stood. He breathed in.
He began to run.
He looked around. The bare apartment contained nothing else.
He stood. He breathed in.
He began to run.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
He'd Love to See Them Try
"Some people wonder about your choice of career, given the circumstances. What do you say to them?" The news anchor was cheerful, even as around them the chicken carcasses spilled down conveyor belts into the machinery. The smell was incredible.
Cuthbert's red comb quivered as he cocked his head from side to side. "When I first started," he said, clacking his beak, "I faced a lot of opposition, and not just from humans. If some other hyperintelligent chicken is out there and has a problem with me, well... they can stop me. They can speak up, come forward, and stop me."
Cuthbert's red comb quivered as he cocked his head from side to side. "When I first started," he said, clacking his beak, "I faced a lot of opposition, and not just from humans. If some other hyperintelligent chicken is out there and has a problem with me, well... they can stop me. They can speak up, come forward, and stop me."
Balloon
Stronger than steel, they say. Impossibly strong, spider-silk is. A cable thick as your wrist could drag a battleship. Thick enough and it could drag a planet. A trap to catch the stars and stop them in their courses. A net to hold the universe in place.
A single strand trails across the canyon. Is it a bridge to the other side, or is it holding the Earth together at the seams?
It may be that it is so. For now, a thousand microscopic spinnerets send out a thousand hair-fine threads, weaving a web to catch the wind...
...and fly.
A single strand trails across the canyon. Is it a bridge to the other side, or is it holding the Earth together at the seams?
It may be that it is so. For now, a thousand microscopic spinnerets send out a thousand hair-fine threads, weaving a web to catch the wind...
...and fly.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Strange Charm
"Everything has a place," said the God of Gravity, "and that place is with me." It breathed in, and things began to fall.
"Look," said Newton, hurling himself in a wide arc to avoid the god's gaping maw, "I know you want to help, but you're only complicating things."
"I defy causality!" said the Quark.
"And that's very impressive," said Newton, ducking a hurtling rock, "but I need to focus."
The Quark bounced up and down vaguely. "Have you seen Higgs?"
"Okay, you... just... just go wait in the car."
The Quark cocked its head. "I've already always been there."
"Look," said Newton, hurling himself in a wide arc to avoid the god's gaping maw, "I know you want to help, but you're only complicating things."
"I defy causality!" said the Quark.
"And that's very impressive," said Newton, ducking a hurtling rock, "but I need to focus."
The Quark bounced up and down vaguely. "Have you seen Higgs?"
"Okay, you... just... just go wait in the car."
The Quark cocked its head. "I've already always been there."
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Official
The filing cabinet blew on her fingernails. They could, she decided, still use some buffing.
"Come on, baby," said the swiveling chair. "He'll be gone for a month. He doesn't need to know."
"That's the seventeenth attempt he's made this week," the accounting books remarked. The water cooler hooded his eyes and tried to look detached and aloof.
"We saw," said the computer monitor.
"Woah! WOAH! AAAAAaaaaah!" Something flushed and fluttery barreled out of the managerial offices, tumbled headfirst to the floor, and skidded out into the hall.
"What was that?" asked the fax.
"Pink slip," said the answering machine.
"Come on, baby," said the swiveling chair. "He'll be gone for a month. He doesn't need to know."
"That's the seventeenth attempt he's made this week," the accounting books remarked. The water cooler hooded his eyes and tried to look detached and aloof.
"We saw," said the computer monitor.
"Woah! WOAH! AAAAAaaaaah!" Something flushed and fluttery barreled out of the managerial offices, tumbled headfirst to the floor, and skidded out into the hall.
"What was that?" asked the fax.
"Pink slip," said the answering machine.
Sun and Moon, Midnight and Noon
The children of dawn run with wild abandon. They whoop and holler, shriek and giggle. They have races, rushing to beat one another over the tops of hills or dodging through the maze of foliage in some forgotten forest, striving to touch ground first. They push and taunt, shout encouragement, dare one another to run sideways or to slow down for even a moment.
They never do.
Dawn rushes on, vibrant and vital, and the children laugh. Beneath the laughter, though, is the knowledge of what awaits them should they stumble. For behind them, always, come the children of night...
They never do.
Dawn rushes on, vibrant and vital, and the children laugh. Beneath the laughter, though, is the knowledge of what awaits them should they stumble. For behind them, always, come the children of night...
Abandonment
"Welcome!" the grizzled pirate cried. An exotic dancer, a glowing-eyed skeleton, and what looked like a teddy bear with steel claws stood to greet the newcomer.
"Where am I?" the stranger asked.
"This is where deleted characters go," the skeleton rasped. "The darkest corner of the collective subconscious; real, for we are created, but empty; without life, without purpose."
"The Author banished us," said the teddy bear, flexing its claws. "So we wait."
"For a chance to be useful again?"
The dancer laughed. "Magnanimous, this one."
"Ah. So you lurk around, sabotage her ideas, and infect all her new stories until she regrets creating you?"
"Er..." The pirate glanced around. "Mostly we hide her car keys."
"I clogged the toilet once!" the teddy bear piped up.
"Where am I?" the stranger asked.
"This is where deleted characters go," the skeleton rasped. "The darkest corner of the collective subconscious; real, for we are created, but empty; without life, without purpose."
"The Author banished us," said the teddy bear, flexing its claws. "So we wait."
"For a chance to be useful again?"
The dancer laughed. "Magnanimous, this one."
"Ah. So you lurk around, sabotage her ideas, and infect all her new stories until she regrets creating you?"
"Er..." The pirate glanced around. "Mostly we hide her car keys."
"I clogged the toilet once!" the teddy bear piped up.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Retractable
The pack circled him, cracking their knuckles and snickering. "We are Wolf, little thief," said their muscular leader. "Whose are you? You stink of Tiger."
"Cat," said the thief. "House-cat."
The Wolves roared with laughter. "Little puss-puss!" one cried. "Shall we fetch some milk?"
The leader plucked at the thief's hand. "Such soft, velvet pads!" he chuckled.
The thief smiled. There was a blur of motion, and the pack leader staggered back, clutching at his spilling innards.
"The first lesson Cat teaches," said the thief, leaping atop the fence with one bloodied hand, "is this: the claws are always there."
"Cat," said the thief. "House-cat."
The Wolves roared with laughter. "Little puss-puss!" one cried. "Shall we fetch some milk?"
The leader plucked at the thief's hand. "Such soft, velvet pads!" he chuckled.
The thief smiled. There was a blur of motion, and the pack leader staggered back, clutching at his spilling innards.
"The first lesson Cat teaches," said the thief, leaping atop the fence with one bloodied hand, "is this: the claws are always there."
Saturday, May 21, 2011
"The Cowboy, the Horse, and the Scorpion" at the Journal of Unlikely Entomology
My story The Cowboy, the Horse, and the Scorpion is now available at the Journal of Unlikely Entomology.
Thus far, it is the only story featuring Vincent and Horse that I have written, but I was seriously toying with the idea of doing more standalone pieces, set at various points in Vincent's personal timeline. (Vincent is an updated version of the protagonist of my unbelievably crappy and hopefully eternally unpublished novella, but I might raid that story for a plot to write a shorter, tighter piece, for instance.)
What do you nice folks think? More Vincent, or leave it be?
Thus far, it is the only story featuring Vincent and Horse that I have written, but I was seriously toying with the idea of doing more standalone pieces, set at various points in Vincent's personal timeline. (Vincent is an updated version of the protagonist of my unbelievably crappy and hopefully eternally unpublished novella, but I might raid that story for a plot to write a shorter, tighter piece, for instance.)
What do you nice folks think? More Vincent, or leave it be?
Friday, May 20, 2011
Victoria's Secret
Gasping and panting, the two courtiers stumbled into the hall, slamming the gilded doors behind them. Lord Trebulo's stiff collar was undone; the Marquis of Trevaire's sweat had smeared his makeup.
"I think she almost got me," said Trebulo. "Check my back. Is my cape still there?"
The Marquis only puffed, doubled over, hands resting on his knees.
"Congratulations, m'lords!" said Capere the majordomo. "These audiences with the Queen can be so trying." He proffered a tray. "Fresh lemon-water?"
"Merciful heavens, yes."
"The steel teeth were bad enough," Capere said conversationally, "but these new wheels... well, it's hardly fair anymore."
"I think she almost got me," said Trebulo. "Check my back. Is my cape still there?"
The Marquis only puffed, doubled over, hands resting on his knees.
"Congratulations, m'lords!" said Capere the majordomo. "These audiences with the Queen can be so trying." He proffered a tray. "Fresh lemon-water?"
"Merciful heavens, yes."
"The steel teeth were bad enough," Capere said conversationally, "but these new wheels... well, it's hardly fair anymore."
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Following the New Paradigm
The wolves bayed outside the conference room. Tom crept forward, knife at the ready. Paul struggled against his bonds, but the telephone cords were strong and tightly knotted.
"I've got obligations, you must understand," Tom said, eyes wide and pleading. He glanced at the door. "I have to deliver positive outcomes. The shareholders demand results. The system is sick, Paul, but I'm only another cog in the machine. You know that, don't you?" He licked his lips. His hand quivered as the blade touched the exposed flesh of Paul's neck. "I don't want to have to do this," he lied.
"I've got obligations, you must understand," Tom said, eyes wide and pleading. He glanced at the door. "I have to deliver positive outcomes. The shareholders demand results. The system is sick, Paul, but I'm only another cog in the machine. You know that, don't you?" He licked his lips. His hand quivered as the blade touched the exposed flesh of Paul's neck. "I don't want to have to do this," he lied.
Inevitable
Huitzo sat down in front of the red pieces. "Coal before fire," he said.
His opponent gestured with an idle claw. "Blood before bile."
"Oh." Huitzo stared at the board. The twelve checkers were arrayed in neatly offset rows.
"They solved this game, you know," said the demon. "Checkers is a series of binary options, each decision leading to two further possibilities, until you reach the end and your only choice is to go back the way you came. Every one of those outcomes is completely mapped, now."
Huitzo pushed a piece forward.
"That's the wrong move," said the demon.
His opponent gestured with an idle claw. "Blood before bile."
"Oh." Huitzo stared at the board. The twelve checkers were arrayed in neatly offset rows.
"They solved this game, you know," said the demon. "Checkers is a series of binary options, each decision leading to two further possibilities, until you reach the end and your only choice is to go back the way you came. Every one of those outcomes is completely mapped, now."
Huitzo pushed a piece forward.
"That's the wrong move," said the demon.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Tough It
"Look, Mister 'Smith,' we can do this easy, or we can do this hard," Sergeant Moffitt growled, leaning in.
"You'll be sorry," the thin man tittered, "when the Spider arrives. He knows. He's coming."
Moffitt sat down heavily. "Buddy, I'm offering you a deal, but it won't last forever. Now are you gonna play ball?"
The perp didn't answer. Just stared up at the ceiling, giggling. Moffitt scooped up his diet-allotted container of cottage cheese. Not staring at the ceiling, he realized, as he swallowed the bland foodstuff. Something closer. Something right over Moffitt's head. Moffitt turned, craning his neck...
"You'll be sorry," the thin man tittered, "when the Spider arrives. He knows. He's coming."
Moffitt sat down heavily. "Buddy, I'm offering you a deal, but it won't last forever. Now are you gonna play ball?"
The perp didn't answer. Just stared up at the ceiling, giggling. Moffitt scooped up his diet-allotted container of cottage cheese. Not staring at the ceiling, he realized, as he swallowed the bland foodstuff. Something closer. Something right over Moffitt's head. Moffitt turned, craning his neck...
Four and Twenty
The Pieman blinked his eyes, rheumy cherries in a flaky crust. Hot red juice dripped down his foil tin as he grinned welcome at his supplicant. His mouth was a crimson gash. He was fresh from the oven.
"Speak," he said, his voice the high-pitched piping of steam forced through a crack. "We are listening."
"Please, sir," said the groveling peasant. "The money... I've been working the mulberry bush, sir, but..."
"We can," the Pieman interrupted, "perhaps make alternate arrangements. Money is not necessary. We will also accept... thumbs."
"Speak," he said, his voice the high-pitched piping of steam forced through a crack. "We are listening."
"Please, sir," said the groveling peasant. "The money... I've been working the mulberry bush, sir, but..."
"We can," the Pieman interrupted, "perhaps make alternate arrangements. Money is not necessary. We will also accept... thumbs."
Saturday, May 14, 2011
The Kitties Play a Game
When I woke up, my cats were staring at me intently. That's pretty normal. The feathers on their heads were new, though. Also the handcuffs on my wrists and ankles.
"Oh, great god Quetzacoatrack!" said Boots. Talking was new, too. "We give to you this puny human! Eat his heart, oh wingy sir pants-"
"Hold on," said Smokey. "I thought we were Indians."
"Native Americans," I corrected automatically.
"Whatever," said Smokey. "But, like, bravos and Tony Hawks and stuff."
"Whatever," hissed Hambone. "As long as they cut out hearts."
"Indians do scalps," Boots said.
"Hearts or get the fuck out."
"Oh, great god Quetzacoatrack!" said Boots. Talking was new, too. "We give to you this puny human! Eat his heart, oh wingy sir pants-"
"Hold on," said Smokey. "I thought we were Indians."
"Native Americans," I corrected automatically.
"Whatever," said Smokey. "But, like, bravos and Tony Hawks and stuff."
"Whatever," hissed Hambone. "As long as they cut out hearts."
"Indians do scalps," Boots said.
"Hearts or get the fuck out."
Made to Be Loved
He was made to be loved. Everything about him was adorable, delectable, utterly kissable, from his crooked smile to the way he shyly ducked his head to the gentle waves of brown curls that dropped down to frame his face just so. Wiser heads might have predicted the outcome, might have known what would happen when something so pure of purpose is created.
"After all," he would remark in the later years, often with crimson rivulets trailing down his perfect fingers, "adoration is adoration and worship is worship. Does it really matter how you got it once you have it?"
"After all," he would remark in the later years, often with crimson rivulets trailing down his perfect fingers, "adoration is adoration and worship is worship. Does it really matter how you got it once you have it?"
When the Demons Rose
"You know what the worst part is?" asked Lula, as she stood and walked to the other end of the bench.
"The waiting?" Ruso mugged as if for a rimshot. The snail chugged steadfastly onward, now making its way toward Ruso.
"Sort of, actually," said Lula. "It's just... I thought there'd be brimstone rains and screaming mobs. Instead, we have traffic jams, plastic-sealed air vents, and you can't sit still outside."
"At least it's not mosquito season. We'll get used to it."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Lula sighed, raising her foot as another snail futilely lifted its razor-toothed maw.
"The waiting?" Ruso mugged as if for a rimshot. The snail chugged steadfastly onward, now making its way toward Ruso.
"Sort of, actually," said Lula. "It's just... I thought there'd be brimstone rains and screaming mobs. Instead, we have traffic jams, plastic-sealed air vents, and you can't sit still outside."
"At least it's not mosquito season. We'll get used to it."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Lula sighed, raising her foot as another snail futilely lifted its razor-toothed maw.
Meh
Marty's soul made a squelching sound when he pulled it out. It didn't come from the heart; more the kidney area, really. Possibly the appendix. He held it up in both hands, cradling it like it was delicate blown glass. It was certainly precious to him; it was the core of his being, the quintessence of everything he was and could ever be; it defined him as he defined it, and there could be no dividing line, no separation, no point where one left off and the other began.
"Is that all?" Louise asked. "I thought it would be cuter."
"Is that all?" Louise asked. "I thought it would be cuter."
Inconvenience
Oh, hey, Blogger's back.
Right. Well, when I get home tonight (read: 7 a.m.) ya'll get a whole week of flitterfics all in one go. You lucky people you! (Friggin' Blogger.)
Right. Well, when I get home tonight (read: 7 a.m.) ya'll get a whole week of flitterfics all in one go. You lucky people you! (Friggin' Blogger.)
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Whittling
"So people used to be bigger, just like the tigers and the lizards and the elephants?" asked Susie.
"That's right." Daddy hitched closer. "Everything was bigger then. We call them 'megafauna' now, from the Latin words for 'big animals.'"
"How come?"
"Well, English was a combination of Anglo-Saxon and Norman languages, so-"
"No, Daddy," Susie giggled. "I mean why is everything smaller now? Is it because the universe is shrinking?"
"Don't be silly, sweetheart. That Big Crunch theory is nonsense; the universe is fine. Didn't they teach you that in school? Now mind your head; here comes the moon."
"That's right." Daddy hitched closer. "Everything was bigger then. We call them 'megafauna' now, from the Latin words for 'big animals.'"
"How come?"
"Well, English was a combination of Anglo-Saxon and Norman languages, so-"
"No, Daddy," Susie giggled. "I mean why is everything smaller now? Is it because the universe is shrinking?"
"Don't be silly, sweetheart. That Big Crunch theory is nonsense; the universe is fine. Didn't they teach you that in school? Now mind your head; here comes the moon."
B.T. (Before Titania)
The call was low and mournful, echoing across the frozen wasteland. Eric shivered and glanced up at the unmoving sun.
"What was that?" he asked.
Werner shrugged. "Probably a unicorn. Help me set up the salt circle; we have to make sure the snow doesn't melt and disrupt it."
"A unicorn? Sounding like that?"
"Well, a woolly unicorn, yes. And that means there will be hunters. You remember who lives in Faerie, don't you?" Werner busied himself spreading the tarpaulin.
"The Fair Folk? Faeries?"
"Close," said Werner. "Remember, time really does move more slowly here. Try Asutraleopithicelfs, Cro-Goblins, and Gnomanderthals."
"What was that?" he asked.
Werner shrugged. "Probably a unicorn. Help me set up the salt circle; we have to make sure the snow doesn't melt and disrupt it."
"A unicorn? Sounding like that?"
"Well, a woolly unicorn, yes. And that means there will be hunters. You remember who lives in Faerie, don't you?" Werner busied himself spreading the tarpaulin.
"The Fair Folk? Faeries?"
"Close," said Werner. "Remember, time really does move more slowly here. Try Asutraleopithicelfs, Cro-Goblins, and Gnomanderthals."
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Maidenhair
Her hair is an endless river of night, a glossy, star-flecked black. It fills the forest behind her, a record of every step she has ever taken. It snags on branches and tangles in brambles. Birds nest in it. Rivulets break away, flowing into rabbit burrows and fox dens, tributary strands that gradually dwindle. She stands here, one foot lifted, waiting for her hair to grow long enough for her to place it down and raise the other.
I stand before her with my silver shears. Her eyes are wide, brimming with tears.
I wish I knew what to do.
I stand before her with my silver shears. Her eyes are wide, brimming with tears.
I wish I knew what to do.
...For Science!
There was a time that I meant it, every shining-eyed word. The future was so bight that we'd all need triple-reinforced smoked-glass goggles (with attached breathing apparatus C-37). My head was full of gears and levers and steam valves, without room for fears or worries. How could I have foreseen the endless, pointless struggle? Every generation needs re-enlightenment, it seems.
I tug on my leather gloves. I heave my rocket-pack into place. I flip down my goggles.
"Did you think it would be easy?" Experiment 715Q asks from its aquarium.
I ignore it. "Today is a glorious day," I mutter...
I tug on my leather gloves. I heave my rocket-pack into place. I flip down my goggles.
"Did you think it would be easy?" Experiment 715Q asks from its aquarium.
I ignore it. "Today is a glorious day," I mutter...
Saturday, May 7, 2011
"Necessities" and "As Fast As You Can" at Daily Science Fiction
There will be additional stories later today, but for now I realized I never linked to my flash fiction piece "Necessities", recently given its permalink place at Daily Science Fiction. They use FB for commenting, so if you like it, you can comment (belatedly) here.
Another of my stories ("As Fast As You Can," about superheroes, alchemy, the undead, and regrets) will be the featured weekend story at DSF on May 13, so if you're not signed up to get those e-mails, now's your chance! (For all that the quality is obviously somewhat erratic, I've enjoyed my 'subscription,' as it were.)
Another of my stories ("As Fast As You Can," about superheroes, alchemy, the undead, and regrets) will be the featured weekend story at DSF on May 13, so if you're not signed up to get those e-mails, now's your chance! (For all that the quality is obviously somewhat erratic, I've enjoyed my 'subscription,' as it were.)
Friday, May 6, 2011
Asphalt and Time
It started with the little one-way alleys. They crept away in the night, and no one noticed but rats. Then the residential streets disappeared, leaving everyone trapped with their loving families. After that nightmare, the big multilane roads faded, and at last the vast and gleaming highways fled. There’s only one place now, all of us crushed together, cheek to jowl, skyscrapers and ranch homes and hospitals, factories and farms. We can’t travel, but we pass things along.
I wonder sometimes what it’s like wherever they ended up, where it’s all roads and no destinations, and the traffic never stops…
I wonder sometimes what it’s like wherever they ended up, where it’s all roads and no destinations, and the traffic never stops…
Beauty and the Beast
She was beautiful. She knew that. It was the source of the whole problem. A beautiful girl must have a suitable death. Long illnesses were unacceptable. Mere traffic accidents, unthinkable. Violence was potentially viable, within certain limits. It was the lack of control, the variables, that made it risky.
Ideally, she would stand on a great height, face down a monstrous presence, scream dramatically, and fall to a tragic end. And now, at last, she was ready. She stood atop the skyscraper, watching the tiny people below. The ground trembled, as under the impact of a mighty foot. She smiled.
Ideally, she would stand on a great height, face down a monstrous presence, scream dramatically, and fall to a tragic end. And now, at last, she was ready. She stood atop the skyscraper, watching the tiny people below. The ground trembled, as under the impact of a mighty foot. She smiled.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Also Popular with Childcare Professionals
Trissa sat in the violet chair and half-disappeared behind a puff of pollen. "Ack!" she said. "Oh, this does smell nice." She brushed the petals with the back of her hand. "And so soft!"
"That one isn't available in hypoallergenic, I'm afraid," said Wendy, their salesperson. "It can be a lot of fun for kids. Assuming they aren't allergic."
"What's this one?" asked Robert, sinking into a plush red bloom.
"Sir, be careful! That's..." Wendy trailed off. "It takes some acclimatization. That's our home office model."
"It's lovely," said Trissa, as Robert began to snore. "What's it grown from?"
"Poppy."
"That one isn't available in hypoallergenic, I'm afraid," said Wendy, their salesperson. "It can be a lot of fun for kids. Assuming they aren't allergic."
"What's this one?" asked Robert, sinking into a plush red bloom.
"Sir, be careful! That's..." Wendy trailed off. "It takes some acclimatization. That's our home office model."
"It's lovely," said Trissa, as Robert began to snore. "What's it grown from?"
"Poppy."
Honest Opinion
"It works!" cried Doctor Geisteskrank. Bartlett looked up from the account books with bags under his eyes. The doctor was standing beside a vibrating crystalline tuning fork.
"What is it?" asked Bartlett.
"A lie reflector! It not only detects lies, but actively repels them. No more dithering around. What do you think?"
Bartlett opened his mouth. "It's..." His voice caught. He glanced down at the accounts and felt an overpowering urge to scribble through several lines.
Doctor Geisteskrank ducked the heavy account book. He heard the crash of shattering crystal. "What was that for?"
"You wouldn't believe me," said Bartlett.
"What is it?" asked Bartlett.
"A lie reflector! It not only detects lies, but actively repels them. No more dithering around. What do you think?"
Bartlett opened his mouth. "It's..." His voice caught. He glanced down at the accounts and felt an overpowering urge to scribble through several lines.
Doctor Geisteskrank ducked the heavy account book. He heard the crash of shattering crystal. "What was that for?"
"You wouldn't believe me," said Bartlett.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
To Scale
"What!?"
"I made," Kiko repeated slowly, "a ship in a bottle."
"Kiko, you asshole! That was our best water container. We're trying to survive here. Is any of this sinking in?"
Kiko kept working. "If you keep talking that way, I won't let you come with me."
"Go to hell, Kiko." I stomped into the foliage. He didn't look up.
The next morning he was gone, and so was the bottle. There were only marks in the sand: a cylindrical depression drawing a line out to sea, and Kiko's footprints leading up to it, getting smaller and smaller and smaller...
"I made," Kiko repeated slowly, "a ship in a bottle."
"Kiko, you asshole! That was our best water container. We're trying to survive here. Is any of this sinking in?"
Kiko kept working. "If you keep talking that way, I won't let you come with me."
"Go to hell, Kiko." I stomped into the foliage. He didn't look up.
The next morning he was gone, and so was the bottle. There were only marks in the sand: a cylindrical depression drawing a line out to sea, and Kiko's footprints leading up to it, getting smaller and smaller and smaller...
Business as Usual
When Gary returned from lunch, wolves had eaten the sales department. Or at least, there were wolves and no salespersons. This might have been an improvement. He was withholding judgment.
He ended up trapped on the employee refrigerator. His briefcase made an okay club, but he was getting tired. He was wondering if he could reach the window when he recognized Leon. Leon was a wolf, now, apparently. Maybe that was what happened to sales.
"Leon!" said Gary. "Hey, what's going on? Don't eat me."
"Sorry, bro," Leon said, leaping and snapping his spittle-flecked jaws. "There was a paradigm shift."
He ended up trapped on the employee refrigerator. His briefcase made an okay club, but he was getting tired. He was wondering if he could reach the window when he recognized Leon. Leon was a wolf, now, apparently. Maybe that was what happened to sales.
"Leon!" said Gary. "Hey, what's going on? Don't eat me."
"Sorry, bro," Leon said, leaping and snapping his spittle-flecked jaws. "There was a paradigm shift."
Within an Egg in a Duck in a Box Under a Tree
It is a hard thing, and yet not so hard as you might think. Getting it out was easy; men are forever losing their souls by accident. But to cut it and fold it, bend it and break it, and fit it into a needle, well...
I remember that I did it, but I don't remember why. I wonder sometimes if I was always like this, porcupined, needle-souled; sharp, thin, cold and, if I'm being honest, a bit of a prick. Did I shape it to fit in the needle, or was a needle the only place it would fit?
I remember that I did it, but I don't remember why. I wonder sometimes if I was always like this, porcupined, needle-souled; sharp, thin, cold and, if I'm being honest, a bit of a prick. Did I shape it to fit in the needle, or was a needle the only place it would fit?
Friday, April 29, 2011
Delicious
"C'mon, we can make it!"
"Dude, no way. The sun's almost down."
"We got like five minutes. Think of the chicken nuggets!"
Skeeter resisted manfully, but he couldn't deny he had the munchies something fierce. "Okay, but let's hurry, awright?"
They pushed inside, and the bell over the door chimed. The pale woman behind the counter smiled thinly. Brody grinned at her.
"We, uh, like, want some nuggets, man?" Brody said.
"Sorry," said the woman, as the locks slammed shut and dark forms rose from the shadows behind the counter. "We're no longer serving dinner. It's the breakfast menu now."
"Dude, no way. The sun's almost down."
"We got like five minutes. Think of the chicken nuggets!"
Skeeter resisted manfully, but he couldn't deny he had the munchies something fierce. "Okay, but let's hurry, awright?"
They pushed inside, and the bell over the door chimed. The pale woman behind the counter smiled thinly. Brody grinned at her.
"We, uh, like, want some nuggets, man?" Brody said.
"Sorry," said the woman, as the locks slammed shut and dark forms rose from the shadows behind the counter. "We're no longer serving dinner. It's the breakfast menu now."
Shipshape
The welding torch flared as they unsealed the last pieces of bulkhead. It fell to the floor with a clang, revealing a polished metal door. They opened it and shone their lights inside. An untouched workroom, complete with tools and supplies.
"This isn't in the plans?" asked the captain.
"Who knows?" the engineer shrugged. "We only found it because of that leak. It must've gotten sealed up during construction. No one knew it was supposed to be here."
Something moved int he flashlight beams, and they froze. A cup of coffee rested on the counter, steam drifting gently above it.
"This isn't in the plans?" asked the captain.
"Who knows?" the engineer shrugged. "We only found it because of that leak. It must've gotten sealed up during construction. No one knew it was supposed to be here."
Something moved int he flashlight beams, and they froze. A cup of coffee rested on the counter, steam drifting gently above it.
The Little People
The vacuum cleaner emitted muted roars as she pushed it to and fro across the carpet, leaving tracks in the fabric. Every now and then it crackled, sucking up some previously invisible dirt. She shoved the cleaner as far under the bed as it could reach.
Thump.
The engine squealed, and she flicked the off switch with a sigh and a muttered profanity. She lay the machine down and prodded at the obstruction.
A tiny armchair fell to the carpet. It was mangled and crushed, but clearly recognizable. She touched the vacuum cleaner's brush, and her fingers came away red...
Thump.
The engine squealed, and she flicked the off switch with a sigh and a muttered profanity. She lay the machine down and prodded at the obstruction.
A tiny armchair fell to the carpet. It was mangled and crushed, but clearly recognizable. She touched the vacuum cleaner's brush, and her fingers came away red...
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Toll Booth
You see lots of weird stuff in this job. Tons of naked college-kid butts, of course. But weirder stuff, too. Like the time a five-year-old came through on a plastic tricycle. Had correct change, even. Bands on tour sometimes hand out swag; t-shirts, tickets, y'know?
Last night, a big, black tour bus picked Tyson's row. No band name. I couldn't see in, but I could hear, like rattling. And scratching. Tyson's face was white when the bus rumbled away, belching black smoke.
"What'd you get?" I called.
He showed me a little cardboard square. "My return ticket," he said. "Pre-punched."
Last night, a big, black tour bus picked Tyson's row. No band name. I couldn't see in, but I could hear, like rattling. And scratching. Tyson's face was white when the bus rumbled away, belching black smoke.
"What'd you get?" I called.
He showed me a little cardboard square. "My return ticket," he said. "Pre-punched."
Automatic
Doctor Geisteskrank pressed a button, and the lights swirled. The unit hummed softly. "And how do you feel now?"
The unit beeped. "Euphoric and ecstatic. Every moment is filled with inexpressible joy."
"Excellent." Doctor Geisteskrank reached for the termination lever.
The unit beeped again. "Also angry and sad."
Doctor Geisteskrank blinked. "What? That's impossible. You shouldn't be able to feel any negative emotions."
"Correct." The unit whirred, lights flickering across its surface. "The anger fills me with inexpressible joy. I cannot feel the anger, and this makes me sad, which causes further joy. Everything is terrible because it is wonderful."
The unit beeped. "Euphoric and ecstatic. Every moment is filled with inexpressible joy."
"Excellent." Doctor Geisteskrank reached for the termination lever.
The unit beeped again. "Also angry and sad."
Doctor Geisteskrank blinked. "What? That's impossible. You shouldn't be able to feel any negative emotions."
"Correct." The unit whirred, lights flickering across its surface. "The anger fills me with inexpressible joy. I cannot feel the anger, and this makes me sad, which causes further joy. Everything is terrible because it is wonderful."
Friday, April 22, 2011
Helpless
"Oh, little one," Victor crooned, stroking Cherise's cheek. "You're such a tempting morsel. It's hard for me to restrain my... darker impulses." He leaned in, brushing her neck with cold lips. "Very hard," he whispered, feeling the warm pulse beneath her fragile skin.
"Vic..." She pushed at him gently, and suddenly he was inflamed. He threw her down with inhuman strength, fangs extending. He lunged, hands like claws, only to stop with a jolt as the stake slipped between his ribs.
"I do kinda like dom-play," Cherise told Victor as he crumbled, "but you have to remember: it's only play."
"Vic..." She pushed at him gently, and suddenly he was inflamed. He threw her down with inhuman strength, fangs extending. He lunged, hands like claws, only to stop with a jolt as the stake slipped between his ribs.
"I do kinda like dom-play," Cherise told Victor as he crumbled, "but you have to remember: it's only play."
The Insane
"How fast can you run?" asked the wolf. Its tongue licked out, once, twice. Red flesh, black nose, silver fur.
"I'm pretty fast," said the man. "I won races in grade school."
The wolf panted, eyes glinting. "You're not faster than me. No one is. How fast can you run, hunter?"
The man stood hunched, hearing the movement all around him. He shrugged. Something tinkled on the floor, bent metal. A dozen ears swiveled; a dozen eyes tracked it. The man held up the black grenade whose pin he had dropped.
"Let's find out," he said.
The grenade bounced twice.
"I'm pretty fast," said the man. "I won races in grade school."
The wolf panted, eyes glinting. "You're not faster than me. No one is. How fast can you run, hunter?"
The man stood hunched, hearing the movement all around him. He shrugged. Something tinkled on the floor, bent metal. A dozen ears swiveled; a dozen eyes tracked it. The man held up the black grenade whose pin he had dropped.
"Let's find out," he said.
The grenade bounced twice.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The Other Hive
The weathered wood of the roadside stand spoke of summer heat and sweltering desperation. "Wasp Honey," read the sign, in neat black letters. The honey was in jam-jars and old bottles, all clearly scrounged from someone's kitchen. It was black as coffee.
"Some sort of regional concoction?" asked Dan. "Like vegemite?"
"Nope," said the freckled woman behind the stand. "Them wasps made it."
"And it's not... It's okay to eat?"
The woman shrugged. "I ain't died yet."
Shannon dipped a finger in a jar and tasted it. "Oh, God!" she cried, retching.
"Hey!" said the woman. "At least they're trying."
"Some sort of regional concoction?" asked Dan. "Like vegemite?"
"Nope," said the freckled woman behind the stand. "Them wasps made it."
"And it's not... It's okay to eat?"
The woman shrugged. "I ain't died yet."
Shannon dipped a finger in a jar and tasted it. "Oh, God!" she cried, retching.
"Hey!" said the woman. "At least they're trying."
The First Law
The juggler tossed fiery balls into the air. They flared all the colors of the rainbow and, with a flourish and a snap of the juggler's fingers, winked out. The gathered children did not applaud.
"Where'd the fire go?" asked a small boy.
"It disappeared," said the juggler, forcing a smile. "Magic, you know."
"But energy is conserved," a little girl put in.
"So's matter," said another.
"You better fess up," said the boy. "Don't lie."
"What are you talking about?" the juggler snapped. His stomach lurched, suddenly burning.
"It had to go somewhere..."
The juggler hiccuped. He smelled smoke.
"Where'd the fire go?" asked a small boy.
"It disappeared," said the juggler, forcing a smile. "Magic, you know."
"But energy is conserved," a little girl put in.
"So's matter," said another.
"You better fess up," said the boy. "Don't lie."
"What are you talking about?" the juggler snapped. His stomach lurched, suddenly burning.
"It had to go somewhere..."
The juggler hiccuped. He smelled smoke.
Point of View
Truth walked on the stage, and the theater erupted in cacophony. Voices hooted, screamed, and cursed. Men stood on their chairs to shout pleas of love. Others turned pale and fell senseless to the floor. Everywhere, faces were twisted in shock, adoration, hatred, or revulsion.
"What's all the fuss?" asked Chesterton. He lifted his opera glasses. "She's not doing anything. Looks a bit plain, really."
"I think," said the Marquis de Rebeille, "that one's view of Truth rather depends on the angle."
"Blast and botheration," said Chesterton. He peered at his pasteboard tickets. "No wonder these seats were so cheap."
"What's all the fuss?" asked Chesterton. He lifted his opera glasses. "She's not doing anything. Looks a bit plain, really."
"I think," said the Marquis de Rebeille, "that one's view of Truth rather depends on the angle."
"Blast and botheration," said Chesterton. He peered at his pasteboard tickets. "No wonder these seats were so cheap."
Friday, April 15, 2011
Brains
Finch pushed back his hat. "Naw, we got this. C'mon, Buford. Show 'em your stuff."
Buford, his gray skin dry and sun-bleached, shambled out. He wore a ten-gallon hat atop the shreds of scalp on his skull.
Finch clapped his hands. "What does a donkey do, Buford?"
"Brrraaays."
"And how do you steer a horse?"
"Rrrreeiins."
Finch turned to the others with a wide grin. "Somethin' else, ain't he?"
Tucker and Will glanced at each other. Tucker spat. "Still thicker'n a shit sandwich."
Finch frowned. "Hey, Buford. What is it these two ain't got more'n a teaspoonful of between 'em?"
Buford, his gray skin dry and sun-bleached, shambled out. He wore a ten-gallon hat atop the shreds of scalp on his skull.
Finch clapped his hands. "What does a donkey do, Buford?"
"Brrraaays."
"And how do you steer a horse?"
"Rrrreeiins."
Finch turned to the others with a wide grin. "Somethin' else, ain't he?"
Tucker and Will glanced at each other. Tucker spat. "Still thicker'n a shit sandwich."
Finch frowned. "Hey, Buford. What is it these two ain't got more'n a teaspoonful of between 'em?"
Sausages
"Enough!" The King waved his polished black trotter, and the tumult ceased. Dust drifted down across the arena. Only one pig remained standing.
"You have defeated all of your foes, Sir Orson," the King announced. "Truly, you are the best and bravest boar in all the land. These others," he snorted at the fallen," will be taken and fed to the dogs. You, and you alone, will ride from this place with honor."
Sir Orson stood as straight as he could, swaying slightly, his tusks stained with blood.
"Fetch the carriage!" cried the King. "And hurry. I'm feeling quite peckish."
"You have defeated all of your foes, Sir Orson," the King announced. "Truly, you are the best and bravest boar in all the land. These others," he snorted at the fallen," will be taken and fed to the dogs. You, and you alone, will ride from this place with honor."
Sir Orson stood as straight as he could, swaying slightly, his tusks stained with blood.
"Fetch the carriage!" cried the King. "And hurry. I'm feeling quite peckish."
Thursday, April 14, 2011
National Reserves
The pretty newscaster lady was talking about the long-term environmental impact of the spill, how the crude sludge decays into fantasy and delusion. She's smiling. Easy for her to talk; she's had her ration and more, I'd wager.
Kind of ironic: selling it off is the best way to look to the future, for most of us.
Used to be I held my job as a sacred trust. But now I've got a truck of liquid hope parked outside and all I can think of is dumping it all into the local aquifer. Maybe we'd be better off without it...
Kind of ironic: selling it off is the best way to look to the future, for most of us.
Used to be I held my job as a sacred trust. But now I've got a truck of liquid hope parked outside and all I can think of is dumping it all into the local aquifer. Maybe we'd be better off without it...
Kill-Bot
"Look, let's just talk this over, can't we? I see you have some clubs and rocks and things, yes. Put them up for just a little while, all right? Good. I'm so glad we can deal with this politely. I'm programmed to destroy all human life, but I can't see a reason to be so crude about everything. I've an extensive selection of options; it needn't be messy or protracted. Well, talk it over. Take your time. I'd rather arrange amicable deaths after a delay than go to the bother of slaughtering all of you. Those dents don't repair themselves."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Fangs Gleaming in the Darkness
The doors creaked open with the shudder of long-rusted hinges.
"Is the Count not here?" asked Harker.
"Oh, no, sir," said the bedraggled servitor. His skin was red and welted, and his shoelaces undone and partially shredded. "The Master never rises before dark. He will meet you in the dining chamber."
"Any chance of a good glass of wine?"
"The Master does not drink... wine." The servant blinked. "We have milk, and water. Dinner will be tuna tartare, and..." He paused, rolling his red-rimmed eyes before sneezing powerfully. "The Master prefers to be scritched behind the ears, but no belly-rubs."
"Is the Count not here?" asked Harker.
"Oh, no, sir," said the bedraggled servitor. His skin was red and welted, and his shoelaces undone and partially shredded. "The Master never rises before dark. He will meet you in the dining chamber."
"Any chance of a good glass of wine?"
"The Master does not drink... wine." The servant blinked. "We have milk, and water. Dinner will be tuna tartare, and..." He paused, rolling his red-rimmed eyes before sneezing powerfully. "The Master prefers to be scritched behind the ears, but no belly-rubs."
Outburst
"Told you we'd find him here," said Wes. He and Anders hiked up the hill to where the Ancillary Viyd perched on his stems, all his sensory nodules pointed at the landing planes.
"Watching the planes land?" asked Anders. He smiled, or at least showed his teeth.
"Yes," said the Ancillary Viyd.
"You're not supposed to leave the lab unescorted," Wes said.
"I know. I like to watch the light when they land. All those within, reaching out to those they could not touch in the air." The Ancillary Viyd gestured upward. "It is beautiful. Like spores in the wind."
"Watching the planes land?" asked Anders. He smiled, or at least showed his teeth.
"Yes," said the Ancillary Viyd.
"You're not supposed to leave the lab unescorted," Wes said.
"I know. I like to watch the light when they land. All those within, reaching out to those they could not touch in the air." The Ancillary Viyd gestured upward. "It is beautiful. Like spores in the wind."
Status Update
Sorry about that; was on a trip and just did not have time/energy to post (due to jetlag and having to revert to daylight hours temporarily. I'll do a couple posts a day for the next week or so. That should even us up, right?
Friday, April 8, 2011
Moving Day
All of our belongings were packed in bags and boxes in the yard.
It was time to go.
With a creaking of beams, the white-painted house reared and stood over us on its foundation. It was not our house. Not anymore. I suppose it was its own, if it was anyone's; the bank was welcome to try and catch it. It paused, then turned and shambled away.
Somehow, I didn't start to cry until I saw the Forrester's shiny new automobile with the parts special-ordered from all the way back East, come trotting by on the Wellsby's beat-up old nag.
It was time to go.
With a creaking of beams, the white-painted house reared and stood over us on its foundation. It was not our house. Not anymore. I suppose it was its own, if it was anyone's; the bank was welcome to try and catch it. It paused, then turned and shambled away.
Somehow, I didn't start to cry until I saw the Forrester's shiny new automobile with the parts special-ordered from all the way back East, come trotting by on the Wellsby's beat-up old nag.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
"Concrete" at Abyss & Apex
My short story Concrete is now available from Abyss & Apex, of whom you may heard. I'm quite proud of getting in there, actually; it's definitely a feather in my cover letter cap, as far as I'm concerned.
Huzzah!
Huzzah!
Someone Will Have to Write a Letter to the Parents
"Well, that's everyone," said Mrs. Evelyn. She waved as the last yellow bus pulled away. "Is it safe for us to stay here?"
"Oh, yes," said June. "That line about the gas leak is hooey. Come to the gym. I'll show you."
Mrs. Evelyn gasped when the saw the hole, bricks tumbled in a rough pile before it. "If it wasn't an explosion, then what...?"
"Look closer." June pointed.
Pressed into the bricks like they were soft clay, identical to the hundreds hanging in the art room, was the imprint of a child's hand.
"Not an accident," said June. "Pushed."
"Oh, yes," said June. "That line about the gas leak is hooey. Come to the gym. I'll show you."
Mrs. Evelyn gasped when the saw the hole, bricks tumbled in a rough pile before it. "If it wasn't an explosion, then what...?"
"Look closer." June pointed.
Pressed into the bricks like they were soft clay, identical to the hundreds hanging in the art room, was the imprint of a child's hand.
"Not an accident," said June. "Pushed."
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Atlas
I wake up every night, gasping and sweating. My ribcage heaves, crushed flat. It's like a bowling ball on my chest. An elephant. It's the heaviest weight you can imagine.
I wish I'd never answered that stupid invitation. They told me I was a descendant of the gods, that I had divine blood in my veins. They told me I should be proud. I had a heritage. All those children of Zeus and Aphrodite and Hermes, glittering with power and beauty and miraculous gifts.
Who was my father? I asked. What will I inherit?
Do you like weightlifting? they said.
I wish I'd never answered that stupid invitation. They told me I was a descendant of the gods, that I had divine blood in my veins. They told me I should be proud. I had a heritage. All those children of Zeus and Aphrodite and Hermes, glittering with power and beauty and miraculous gifts.
Who was my father? I asked. What will I inherit?
Do you like weightlifting? they said.
Another Quick Jog Around the Campfire
I have coffee. I don't brew it anymore, just chew the beans and swallow, bitter-bitter. I have energy drinks and a small baggie filled with white powder that I'm maybe seventy-five percent sure is not laundry detergent. I have a pin to sit on and a rubber band around my wrist to snap. I must watch the edge of the woods until they come back and we know if we are saved or doomed.
You cannot sleep in the Livewood, not even here on the edge. This is the land where dreams come true.
I remember some of my dreams.
You cannot sleep in the Livewood, not even here on the edge. This is the land where dreams come true.
I remember some of my dreams.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Tyrannosaurus Rex
There was a distant crash of metal and timber. "They're through the gates," said Skwib mournfully.
Doog hovered protectively before the throne. "Your Majesty, what should we do?"
The king blinked slowly, and his tongue flicked in and out.
"The king can't answer you, Doog. He's an iguana."
"We had a system! One flick for yes, two for no."
"Is that how you decided where to place the defenses?"
"They'll never take the privy," said Doog.
"That they won't," Skwib conceded. He sighed. "You know the worst part?"
Doog shook his head, lips flapping.
"The Rinthians' king is a goldfish."
Doog hovered protectively before the throne. "Your Majesty, what should we do?"
The king blinked slowly, and his tongue flicked in and out.
"The king can't answer you, Doog. He's an iguana."
"We had a system! One flick for yes, two for no."
"Is that how you decided where to place the defenses?"
"They'll never take the privy," said Doog.
"That they won't," Skwib conceded. He sighed. "You know the worst part?"
Doog shook his head, lips flapping.
"The Rinthians' king is a goldfish."
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Hunting for Sport
"Got a new one, eh?"
Robert angled the wheelbarrow just right in the stiff gnome's hands, then stepped back to survey his work. He nodded. "Finally gave up on the traps and went out like my grandfather did. Club and net. Traditional, like."
Todd plucked his pipe out of his mouth and scratched at his nose with the stem. "Looks a bit peaky, though. They're best in the fall, when their little bellies are round."
Robert gritted his teeth. He glanced at Todd's yard, where half a dozen store-bought plumpers stood with jaunty, frozen smiles. "At least I earned mine."
Robert angled the wheelbarrow just right in the stiff gnome's hands, then stepped back to survey his work. He nodded. "Finally gave up on the traps and went out like my grandfather did. Club and net. Traditional, like."
Todd plucked his pipe out of his mouth and scratched at his nose with the stem. "Looks a bit peaky, though. They're best in the fall, when their little bellies are round."
Robert gritted his teeth. He glanced at Todd's yard, where half a dozen store-bought plumpers stood with jaunty, frozen smiles. "At least I earned mine."
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