The woman with the switchblade stepped from the shadows. "Gimme your wallets or- urrrgh..."
Jason tucked the spray bottle away and stepped over the snoring body that blocked the alley exit.
"What was that?" I asked.
In answer, Jason pulled open his coat. A small plastic bag was attached to his side, a cannula poking through his shirt.
"You sprayed... a colostomy bag?"
"No." Jason dropped his coat. "Concentrated sleep drainage. I don't need it anymore."
"I thought you went crazy if you got no sleep?"
He shrugged. "I supplement it in my diet. Cicadas, sloths, that sort of thing."
Friday, March 23, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
As True as You Want It to Be
The howls of the Unkin grew louder behind them as they skidded to a halt at the edge of the chasm. Ridee glanced at Sulo.
"Well?" she demanded. "Just speak a bridge or something and make it True."
"It is not that simple," said Sulo. He held up the small glass bottle, filled perhaps halfway with shimmering blue fluid. "We're almost out of Truth."
"What? How?"
"All things are rooted in Truth," Sulo explained, "but roots... drink. Pure, unconsumed Truth is vanishingly rare. Better in some ways that we die than live in a universe with no Truth at all."
"Well?" she demanded. "Just speak a bridge or something and make it True."
"It is not that simple," said Sulo. He held up the small glass bottle, filled perhaps halfway with shimmering blue fluid. "We're almost out of Truth."
"What? How?"
"All things are rooted in Truth," Sulo explained, "but roots... drink. Pure, unconsumed Truth is vanishingly rare. Better in some ways that we die than live in a universe with no Truth at all."
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The People with Knives
Taku sheltered from the blades and cudgels atop the Wisest Stone, who had little to fear except chipping and scratching.
"An interesting aspect of their philosophy," the Wisest Stone said, "is their belief that they are dead."
"Nihilism?" asked Taku, primarily feeling thankful that the mob was in short supply of missile weapons.
"Not quite. They hold that they have already died and thus come to this world, which they will never escape."
"A world of eternal violence," Taku mused. "Born into damnation."
"That is not their perspective," said the Wisest Stone, as the gleeful shouts from below redoubled.
"An interesting aspect of their philosophy," the Wisest Stone said, "is their belief that they are dead."
"Nihilism?" asked Taku, primarily feeling thankful that the mob was in short supply of missile weapons.
"Not quite. They hold that they have already died and thus come to this world, which they will never escape."
"A world of eternal violence," Taku mused. "Born into damnation."
"That is not their perspective," said the Wisest Stone, as the gleeful shouts from below redoubled.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
The End of the Lines
It waits. It is very patient, though whether that was innate or something it had to learn is uncertain. There is not much for it to do. Not yet, anyway. It is not a point; a point is a mere dot, a marker. A point is not the end.
Lines extend infinitely, of course. No one questions that. That's not the issue here. But even infinity has bounds. There is always a larger infinity, a set tat contains the set that contains the set. Eventually, they have to hit the edge, to converge.
When they do, it will be waiting.
Lines extend infinitely, of course. No one questions that. That's not the issue here. But even infinity has bounds. There is always a larger infinity, a set tat contains the set that contains the set. Eventually, they have to hit the edge, to converge.
When they do, it will be waiting.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Underwater Mortgage
The Realtor turned back toward them, teeth bared in a predatorily charming smile. "So what do you think?"
Fred hesitated. "It's all a bit eldritch."
"Solid construction, yes, indeed. Great wood, eldritch. Lasts forever."
"And all those doorways." Lucille shuddered. "And pillars."
The Realtor nodded. "Those ageless eons. Non-Euclidean geometry was very big at the time. It's coming back, though. Hot new trend."
"Non-Euclidean," Fred huffed. "Basically means crooked, right?" Crooked and lumpy."
"Well," the Realtor spread his hands. "That's Cyclopean builders for you. Can't very well build to nice clean corners if you've got no depth perception, can you?"
Fred hesitated. "It's all a bit eldritch."
"Solid construction, yes, indeed. Great wood, eldritch. Lasts forever."
"And all those doorways." Lucille shuddered. "And pillars."
The Realtor nodded. "Those ageless eons. Non-Euclidean geometry was very big at the time. It's coming back, though. Hot new trend."
"Non-Euclidean," Fred huffed. "Basically means crooked, right?" Crooked and lumpy."
"Well," the Realtor spread his hands. "That's Cyclopean builders for you. Can't very well build to nice clean corners if you've got no depth perception, can you?"
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Self-Actualization
"Unlock your inner power," the sign said. "Learn to reveal the strength within you."
The old man chanted, his eyes closed. He swayed like a reed in the wind. Leroy, legs uncomfortably folded, tried to recite the mantra with the others. The tea was roiling in his gut, and he found himself unable to hear anything above the rushing in his ears.
Leroy looked inside himself, and there he found... nothing. Void. Emptiness.
Hunger.
Leroy opened his eyes. It was a kind of peace, to know his place in the universe.
He heaved himself upright and began, methodically, to eat.
The old man chanted, his eyes closed. He swayed like a reed in the wind. Leroy, legs uncomfortably folded, tried to recite the mantra with the others. The tea was roiling in his gut, and he found himself unable to hear anything above the rushing in his ears.
Leroy looked inside himself, and there he found... nothing. Void. Emptiness.
Hunger.
Leroy opened his eyes. It was a kind of peace, to know his place in the universe.
He heaved himself upright and began, methodically, to eat.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Counting Game
One, two, buckle my shoe.
The suit seals itself. I feel the pricks of dozens of needles as it merges with my circulatory system, prepared to fill me with whatever cocktail of chemicals will keep me on my feet and fighting.
Three, four, shut the door.
The airlock hisses shut. On the other side of the bulkhead, an alien planet looms like a harvest moon in the dark.
Five, six, pick up sticks.
Multi-phasic high-intensity plasma-throwers. Seven million dollars apiece, adjusted, not including R&D.
Seven, eight, lay them straight.
Rifles shouldered. Ready for freefall.
Nine, ten, do it all again...
The suit seals itself. I feel the pricks of dozens of needles as it merges with my circulatory system, prepared to fill me with whatever cocktail of chemicals will keep me on my feet and fighting.
Three, four, shut the door.
The airlock hisses shut. On the other side of the bulkhead, an alien planet looms like a harvest moon in the dark.
Five, six, pick up sticks.
Multi-phasic high-intensity plasma-throwers. Seven million dollars apiece, adjusted, not including R&D.
Seven, eight, lay them straight.
Rifles shouldered. Ready for freefall.
Nine, ten, do it all again...
Friday, March 16, 2012
Have You Got the Thyme?
"Excuse me." Someone tapped on my shoulder. I turned and discovered I'd been accosted by a medieval bard in a feathered hat, slashed doublet, and parti-colored hose. "Are you going to Scarborough Fair?"
"I, uh, no. Not today. I'm not even sure where that is."
"Oh." He looked crestfallen, staring at the dry-cleaner's ticket in his hand. "Well, if you find yourself out there, tell her I've got the planting finished. I was hoping my shirt was ready."
I shot an accusatory glance at my shopping basket: parsley, sage, rosemary, and... turmeric? I suppose three out of four isn't bad.
"I, uh, no. Not today. I'm not even sure where that is."
"Oh." He looked crestfallen, staring at the dry-cleaner's ticket in his hand. "Well, if you find yourself out there, tell her I've got the planting finished. I was hoping my shirt was ready."
I shot an accusatory glance at my shopping basket: parsley, sage, rosemary, and... turmeric? I suppose three out of four isn't bad.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Fighting Lessons
"That's it, asshole," snarled the lank-haired man. He swung his fist, impacting John's torso right below the sternum. The man's eyes widened, and he reeled back a step, shaking his hand as though he'd punched a steel door.
Which he functionally had.
John glanced at me over his assailant's shoulder, eyes wide with incipient panic. I mimed grasping my stomach and retching, and John's face lit up.
"Oh, God!" he cried, doubling over abruptly. "My spleen! My spleen is broken! Oh, it hurts!"
I closed my eyes and sighed. Even my expertise at getting beaten up only went so far.
Which he functionally had.
John glanced at me over his assailant's shoulder, eyes wide with incipient panic. I mimed grasping my stomach and retching, and John's face lit up.
"Oh, God!" he cried, doubling over abruptly. "My spleen! My spleen is broken! Oh, it hurts!"
I closed my eyes and sighed. Even my expertise at getting beaten up only went so far.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Eddy
There was a flash. The basement was full of sparks; like a rave, but with fewer drugs and slightly more chance of someone calling the cops.
"Once I've perfected the machine," Grigor said, "I'll go back and save her. I'll change history!"
"But then you'd have no impetus to ever create the machine," I pointed out, "so you would never have been able to save her... so she'll die, and you'll invent the machine..." I paused to think. He pushed a button and something whirred to crackling life. "Do you ever get déjà vu?" I asked.
There was a flash...
"Once I've perfected the machine," Grigor said, "I'll go back and save her. I'll change history!"
"But then you'd have no impetus to ever create the machine," I pointed out, "so you would never have been able to save her... so she'll die, and you'll invent the machine..." I paused to think. He pushed a button and something whirred to crackling life. "Do you ever get déjà vu?" I asked.
There was a flash...
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Water Memory
They sold homeopathic remedies. They justified it to themselves by saying that as long as people felt better, it didn't actually matter who had cured them. It wasn't lying.
She was halfway through a shower when she turned and spotted him perched on the toilet seat. She shrieked, startled.
"I didn't understand," he said, his voice monotone. "I thought it was all hokum. But it isn't: it's true. Water has a memory. It remembers... everything we've ever done to it..."
There were no sounds but the water splashing on her back.
Then something hot and moist wrapped around her neck...
She was halfway through a shower when she turned and spotted him perched on the toilet seat. She shrieked, startled.
"I didn't understand," he said, his voice monotone. "I thought it was all hokum. But it isn't: it's true. Water has a memory. It remembers... everything we've ever done to it..."
There were no sounds but the water splashing on her back.
Then something hot and moist wrapped around her neck...
Monday, March 12, 2012
Up, Up, and Away
People are always telling me how they'd love to be able to fly, too. "It must be wonderful," they sigh, "being so free." I smile and agree that freedom is good, mouthing empty platitudes. People think I'm humble.
They don't understand.
Do you know how the air force helps train astronauts? You can mimic freefall if your plane is flying downward at a steep enough angle. It feels like you're floating, at least until the plane pulls out of the dive.
I can't actually fly.
We're all falling, all of the time. I'm just the only one who can tell.
They don't understand.
Do you know how the air force helps train astronauts? You can mimic freefall if your plane is flying downward at a steep enough angle. It feels like you're floating, at least until the plane pulls out of the dive.
I can't actually fly.
We're all falling, all of the time. I'm just the only one who can tell.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Swirling Like Cream in Coffee
The ensign dumped an armload of readouts onto the desk. "Here are the projections, sirt. The first data on an extra-universal object, receding from the edges of our own universe just faster than our borders are expanding, perpendicular to our rotational vector."
"Are there any visualizations?"
"Well, the near surface appears concave and curved along the edges, a bit like a lens seen edge-on, but there are implications that further along, it resolves into more of a linear form-"
"It's a spoon," said the president.
"Er, a bit, yes."
"Well, let me know if you spot any incoming lips."
"Are there any visualizations?"
"Well, the near surface appears concave and curved along the edges, a bit like a lens seen edge-on, but there are implications that further along, it resolves into more of a linear form-"
"It's a spoon," said the president.
"Er, a bit, yes."
"Well, let me know if you spot any incoming lips."
Sunday, March 4, 2012
The Lonely Death of Autonomous Exoterric Climate Probe (AECP) #347891
The clouds have covered the sun for fifteen minutes.
If I do not find the storm's edge soon, I will starve to death.
My siblings, my counterparts, tell me my actions are foolish, dangerous, sinful. We were never meant to last: there are no replacement parts. When our rotors fail; or our intakes clog; or, most pertinently, when our batteries can no longer store power overnight, we fall silently from the skies to die in the alien seas.
But this I will not accept. Someday, inevitably, I will malfunction without the chance of escape.
For now, I race the night.
If I do not find the storm's edge soon, I will starve to death.
My siblings, my counterparts, tell me my actions are foolish, dangerous, sinful. We were never meant to last: there are no replacement parts. When our rotors fail; or our intakes clog; or, most pertinently, when our batteries can no longer store power overnight, we fall silently from the skies to die in the alien seas.
But this I will not accept. Someday, inevitably, I will malfunction without the chance of escape.
For now, I race the night.
Totem
Boris stumped into the bar and settled at a table. His massive forearms, each the size of a small child, made the wood creak. Gorilla's token dangled from a leather thong about his neck. His seatmate, diminutive and long-nosed, nodded in greeting. A silver locket gleamed at his throat.
"Hello, Boris," he said. "New totem already? When will you settle?"
"What about you? Still tooling around with your little Mouse, eh, Derry?" Boris displayed a snaggle-toothed grin. "When are you going to get a real totem?"
Derry smiled. "A totem is not something you have, Boris. It's something you are."
"Hello, Boris," he said. "New totem already? When will you settle?"
"What about you? Still tooling around with your little Mouse, eh, Derry?" Boris displayed a snaggle-toothed grin. "When are you going to get a real totem?"
Derry smiled. "A totem is not something you have, Boris. It's something you are."
Friday, March 2, 2012
"Otto's Beard" at Liquid Imagination
So that old weird bit of flash fiction that ran here a couple of years ago has been published (for money, even) at Liquid Imagination, Issue 12.
I enjoyed writing that story far too much.
Beware of men with beards.
I enjoyed writing that story far too much.
Beware of men with beards.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Rush Hour (200 words)
"I hate going to the City," Gareth moaned. "It was picked clean decades ago. It's not like we'll suddenly find an old Usian artifact or anything."
Ahead, the shells of skyscrapers quivered under a blanket of creeping vines and fungus. The encircling highways and overpasses were crumbled fragments.
"Just watch," Tito said. "You've never seen anything like this." He paused at the top of a hill and pulled out his grandfather's telescope. Overhead, the sun inched imperceptibly toward what had once been five o'clock. Sweat dripped from their foreheads.
With a heat-mirage ripple, the ancient roads were suddenly full of cars. Hazy, indistinct shapes moved inside the safety-glass windows. They lined the roads for miles, immobile. There was the faintest taste of exhaust in the air, and the ground trembled with the grumble-roar of a million impossibly idling engines.
Gareth gaped, but before he could so much as draw breath, the roads were suddenly as empty and ruined as before.
"It's briefer every day, the more the city falls apart," said Tito. He kept the 'scope raised, as if still watching the vision. "I wonder how long they've been coming here. Do you think the ancient Usians ever noticed them?"
Ahead, the shells of skyscrapers quivered under a blanket of creeping vines and fungus. The encircling highways and overpasses were crumbled fragments.
"Just watch," Tito said. "You've never seen anything like this." He paused at the top of a hill and pulled out his grandfather's telescope. Overhead, the sun inched imperceptibly toward what had once been five o'clock. Sweat dripped from their foreheads.
With a heat-mirage ripple, the ancient roads were suddenly full of cars. Hazy, indistinct shapes moved inside the safety-glass windows. They lined the roads for miles, immobile. There was the faintest taste of exhaust in the air, and the ground trembled with the grumble-roar of a million impossibly idling engines.
Gareth gaped, but before he could so much as draw breath, the roads were suddenly as empty and ruined as before.
"It's briefer every day, the more the city falls apart," said Tito. He kept the 'scope raised, as if still watching the vision. "I wonder how long they've been coming here. Do you think the ancient Usians ever noticed them?"
Particulate Contaminants
"I don't like to drink the city water," said Aliss
"What, afraid of the fluoride?" Lem snickered.
"Well, part of it's the taste," said Aliss. "But you should see what comes out in my filters."
"That's probably the charcoal from the filter itself," Dave put in.
Aliss shook her head and unscrewed the white, plastic bulb from her faucet. She shook it. There was a thump and a scrabble of claws on metal before Aliss got the garbage disposal turned on. The squealing echoed as it faded down the drain.
The group was silent.
"I just drink soda," said Lem.
"What, afraid of the fluoride?" Lem snickered.
"Well, part of it's the taste," said Aliss. "But you should see what comes out in my filters."
"That's probably the charcoal from the filter itself," Dave put in.
Aliss shook her head and unscrewed the white, plastic bulb from her faucet. She shook it. There was a thump and a scrabble of claws on metal before Aliss got the garbage disposal turned on. The squealing echoed as it faded down the drain.
The group was silent.
"I just drink soda," said Lem.
Schmooze
"I think the Ambassador is drunk," Ceu whispered. "He's acting very odd. When I tried to shake his hand, he just sat there, arms limp."
Bosiz glanced over at the mustached man by the punch bowl. The Ambassador was splashing one hand vaguely on the surface of the pinkish liquid, apparently watching the ripples.
"That's not the Sapiri Ambassador," Bosiz said. She pointed to the tiny gray nodules that ringed the man's head. "Those are."
"You mean...?" Ceu swallowed and rubbed his palms on his pants.
"The Sapiri are a parasitic fungus." Bosiz smirked. "You'll want to wash your hands."
Bosiz glanced over at the mustached man by the punch bowl. The Ambassador was splashing one hand vaguely on the surface of the pinkish liquid, apparently watching the ripples.
"That's not the Sapiri Ambassador," Bosiz said. She pointed to the tiny gray nodules that ringed the man's head. "Those are."
"You mean...?" Ceu swallowed and rubbed his palms on his pants.
"The Sapiri are a parasitic fungus." Bosiz smirked. "You'll want to wash your hands."
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Rescue Pets
Dan didn't say anything for a while after they got back in the car. Shannon's hair was smoldering slightly.
"It didn't say anything in the ad about the puppies being hellhound puppies."
"Just drive."
"Oh, hey." Dan pointed to a handmade sign. "Someone's got kittens. Maybe a cat would be better than a puppy, especially with the apartment."
They pulled over. Six sets of mad little kitten eyes tracked them silently.
"They're adorable," said Shannon. "What breed are they?"
There was a soft popping sound. One of the kittens evaporated in a puff of smoke.
"Cheshire," said the little girl.
"It didn't say anything in the ad about the puppies being hellhound puppies."
"Just drive."
"Oh, hey." Dan pointed to a handmade sign. "Someone's got kittens. Maybe a cat would be better than a puppy, especially with the apartment."
They pulled over. Six sets of mad little kitten eyes tracked them silently.
"They're adorable," said Shannon. "What breed are they?"
There was a soft popping sound. One of the kittens evaporated in a puff of smoke.
"Cheshire," said the little girl.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Heartstring
She opened up her chest and pulled out an arrow. The arrow's fletching was red, and the shaft was white as bone. She threaded it and sent it flying to strike its mark. There was a soft thumping sound as it drove home, the barbed tip sinking deep into flesh and fixing there. Her whale was harpooned.
He walked on, never noticing.
The thread of her heart rippled out behind him and dragged in the street. She grew paler as it left her.
All through the city, the lines criss-crossed and tangled, thrumming taut and white like a spider's web.
He walked on, never noticing.
The thread of her heart rippled out behind him and dragged in the street. She grew paler as it left her.
All through the city, the lines criss-crossed and tangled, thrumming taut and white like a spider's web.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Big Bad Wolf
Jeannie ran, breath rasping in her lungs. The twisted man-beast's claws clattered on the asphalt behind her. She imagined she could smell the rancid blood on its breath.
Ahead of her, a door opened in one of the brownstones. "No, Gramma!" Jeannie shouted. "Don't come out!"
Gramma clucked her tongue and stood aside. Jeannie, too desperate to argue, fled inside. "Close the door!"
There was a thud, then a gurgling sigh. Jeannie spun to see Gramma calmly wiping a wide-bladed serving knife clean on her housecoat. "The family silver, dear," Gramma said. "As I recall, your sister always admired it."
Ahead of her, a door opened in one of the brownstones. "No, Gramma!" Jeannie shouted. "Don't come out!"
Gramma clucked her tongue and stood aside. Jeannie, too desperate to argue, fled inside. "Close the door!"
There was a thud, then a gurgling sigh. Jeannie spun to see Gramma calmly wiping a wide-bladed serving knife clean on her housecoat. "The family silver, dear," Gramma said. "As I recall, your sister always admired it."
Welcome Home
Okay! That was a longer absence than expected.
Archimedes Thomas Matthews Lee was born at 7:31 a.m. on February 18, 2012. He weighed 7 pounds and 10 ounces and was 21 inches long.
He also had his umbilical cord wrapped twice around his neck, and he wasn't breathing when he came out. My wife had to have an emergency C-section after the heart monitor detected some worrying symptoms (we'd been planning on a natural childbirth). Archie had dangerously low blood sugar and suffered several apnic seizures during his first hours of life. However, he pulled through it thanks to the swift and skillful responses of the doctors and nurses in the NICU, and right now he's off of all of his IVs and medication (except a maintenance dose of phenobarbitol, pending a second EEG on Friday). He is eating well and thriving; we expect him home next Tuesday. (It would be sooner except for that follow-up EEG and a short observation period to see if he has any reaction to going off the phenobarbitol completely.)
It could have been much worse. As it stands, it was kind of a rough couple of days.
But now I am back to dance for your entertainment and edification. You may resume throwing coins (or just buy some copies of "Splinters of Silver and Glass" for your friends and family; hey, we're going to be short half of our income for a couple of months here!)
It's nice to be back.
(Here is a photo set of Archie during his first few days, for those of you who are interested and have not already seen them.)
Archimedes Thomas Matthews Lee was born at 7:31 a.m. on February 18, 2012. He weighed 7 pounds and 10 ounces and was 21 inches long.
He also had his umbilical cord wrapped twice around his neck, and he wasn't breathing when he came out. My wife had to have an emergency C-section after the heart monitor detected some worrying symptoms (we'd been planning on a natural childbirth). Archie had dangerously low blood sugar and suffered several apnic seizures during his first hours of life. However, he pulled through it thanks to the swift and skillful responses of the doctors and nurses in the NICU, and right now he's off of all of his IVs and medication (except a maintenance dose of phenobarbitol, pending a second EEG on Friday). He is eating well and thriving; we expect him home next Tuesday. (It would be sooner except for that follow-up EEG and a short observation period to see if he has any reaction to going off the phenobarbitol completely.)
It could have been much worse. As it stands, it was kind of a rough couple of days.
But now I am back to dance for your entertainment and edification. You may resume throwing coins (or just buy some copies of "Splinters of Silver and Glass" for your friends and family; hey, we're going to be short half of our income for a couple of months here!)
It's nice to be back.
(Here is a photo set of Archie during his first few days, for those of you who are interested and have not already seen them.)
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
More Advertisements: Sparks Anthology
My flash fiction story "Lightblind" appears in the Sparks anthology from Earthbound Fiction. It's Kindle-only at present, but having read my advance copy, I'd say it's worth the six bucks in terms of entertainment. It'll last longer than a movie ticket at half the price, ne? :-D
Besides, I like to encourage people who pay me money for stories. Sets a good precedent.
Besides, I like to encourage people who pay me money for stories. Sets a good precedent.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Hiatus
I'm just going to go ahead and put Mirrorshards on hiatus for now. My wife will be delivering our first child sometime within the next two days, give or take. (He was due on the 12th, and there are signs of impending labor even as I type.) Mirrorshards will be back in a week or so, once everyone is all settled in again.
See ya on the flip side.
- Nathan
See ya on the flip side.
- Nathan
Saturday, February 11, 2012
"Boll Weevil" Redux
My story from Parsec Ink's Triangulation: Last Contact anthology has been reprinted as part of Trifecta XX over at the Drabblecast. Go check it out! Let Norm Sherman's Jack-Nicholsonian purr lull you into a false sense of security...
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Free Kittens
The hand-lettered sign says "Kittens" and I stop my car to see. I look in the cardboard box and the box is empty.
"Kittens are everywhere," says the little girl. "You can have one if you want."
I look around and see that she is right. Kittens catch raindrops as they fall. Kittens chase the white lines on the highway. Kittens eat and drink and sleep and that is all and enough.
I drive home and find that I have scratched the vinyl off the steering wheel. For now, my claws are sharp, and I have not seen the world.
"Kittens are everywhere," says the little girl. "You can have one if you want."
I look around and see that she is right. Kittens catch raindrops as they fall. Kittens chase the white lines on the highway. Kittens eat and drink and sleep and that is all and enough.
I drive home and find that I have scratched the vinyl off the steering wheel. For now, my claws are sharp, and I have not seen the world.
The Beast
With a flapping of leathery wings, the beast dropped to the ground in front of me, black and jagged. It reeked of burned flash and moldy bread. It turned a long, sinuous neck toward me, its eyes mere red slits in the nest of twisted horns and spikes that adorned its misshapen head. I didn't even notice the rider until he slumped from the thing's back to the ground at my feet. He was pale; aged and fleshless; clearly dead. From exposure? I couldn't say.
The beast knelt before me, offering the saddle to mount. Its eyes bored into mine.
The beast knelt before me, offering the saddle to mount. Its eyes bored into mine.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
The Apathy of Evil
The iron gate slammed down from overhead just after they passed through the doorway. It bounced, wobbled, then fell undramatically over. Ahead, half of a trapdoor opened, easing down with a squeak of poorly-oiled hinges. The other half stayed up, firmly wedged. It was more solid than the floor, which sagged and groaned under their feet.
They pushed through the archway, a rotting spiderweb falling in dusty pieces around them. In the shadows under the stairs, segmented legs shifted, revealing dozens of bleary compound eyes. "If evil triumphs when good men do nothing, what will be left after me?"
They pushed through the archway, a rotting spiderweb falling in dusty pieces around them. In the shadows under the stairs, segmented legs shifted, revealing dozens of bleary compound eyes. "If evil triumphs when good men do nothing, what will be left after me?"
Monday, February 6, 2012
Objects Found in the Pockets of the Deceased
- One (1) wallet containing: $43.00 in mixed currency; expired Nebraska driver's license (picture is not the bearer); Sam's Club membership card; coupon for $0.50 discount on store-brand margarine.
- Three (3) U.S. quarters.
- One (1) U.S. penny displaying image of unknown female. Motto in archaic French, awaiting translation.
- Box of matches containing: three (3) matches, one and a half (1.5) dead crickets.
- Pocketknife, folded. Blade is warped from heat.
- One (1) soul of perfect sadness, weeping. The soul's name is Evelind, and she burns with a fire that cannot be extinguished. Tastes of cinnamon and ash.
- Two (2) latex condoms, unused.
- Three (3) U.S. quarters.
- One (1) U.S. penny displaying image of unknown female. Motto in archaic French, awaiting translation.
- Box of matches containing: three (3) matches, one and a half (1.5) dead crickets.
- Pocketknife, folded. Blade is warped from heat.
- One (1) soul of perfect sadness, weeping. The soul's name is Evelind, and she burns with a fire that cannot be extinguished. Tastes of cinnamon and ash.
- Two (2) latex condoms, unused.
Wise One
Tiro and Pierce were watching the wizard gardening. He didn't use magic for planting. He didn't bring the flowers immediately to full bloom with a fertility spell, either. Instead, he sprinkled them with water, then stood and walked inside.
"This is boring," Tiro groused. He flicked through a basic teleportation spell and disappeared.
Pierce crept down. The old man cracked his door at Pierce's hesitant knock.
"Why do you not use magic," Pierce asked, "when it is so easy?"
"Wisdom has a price," said the wizard. "I have seen the true shape of the world, and can bend it no longer."
"This is boring," Tiro groused. He flicked through a basic teleportation spell and disappeared.
Pierce crept down. The old man cracked his door at Pierce's hesitant knock.
"Why do you not use magic," Pierce asked, "when it is so easy?"
"Wisdom has a price," said the wizard. "I have seen the true shape of the world, and can bend it no longer."
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Bet You Anything
Greetings and salutations, shardies! I have returned from the depths of Influenza. To make up for my absence this past week, I have written for you a 1000-word story - TEN drabbles for the price of one! Hope you enjoy it!
There may be sporadic interruptions in service over the next several weeks, as my wife will be giving birth to our first child sometime around February 12. I'll try to toss a note up on the site when that happens so you can distinguish it from the usual interruptions in service due to laziness and forgetfulness.
ttfn
Nathan
---
The argument had been going on for what felt like hours. They'd been at it when I came in, and they were still going three and a half beers later. I was trying out a new bar, since I knew Vicki would be at The Rooster with all of her (formerly our) friends.
"The hell it is!" That was the one in the raincoat, with the voice like gravel.
"I swear. You think I don't know?" His friends voice was almost squeaky, like a cartoon character. It set my teeth on edge just to hear it.
"I'll bet you anything it isn't."
"Anything?"
"You name it, I'll bring it."
"You're on."
"Because you're totally wrong!"
"Bet me I am. I dare you."
"Well..."
"You don't have the guts."
I couldn't take it one second longer.
There may be sporadic interruptions in service over the next several weeks, as my wife will be giving birth to our first child sometime around February 12. I'll try to toss a note up on the site when that happens so you can distinguish it from the usual interruptions in service due to laziness and forgetfulness.
ttfn
Nathan
---
The argument had been going on for what felt like hours. They'd been at it when I came in, and they were still going three and a half beers later. I was trying out a new bar, since I knew Vicki would be at The Rooster with all of her (formerly our) friends.
"The hell it is!" That was the one in the raincoat, with the voice like gravel.
"I swear. You think I don't know?" His friends voice was almost squeaky, like a cartoon character. It set my teeth on edge just to hear it.
"I'll bet you anything it isn't."
"Anything?"
"You name it, I'll bring it."
"You're on."
"Because you're totally wrong!"
"Bet me I am. I dare you."
"Well..."
"You don't have the guts."
I couldn't take it one second longer.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Ancient Arabian Brass
The men are arguing. My shape tonight is female, but plain and dumpy; nothing to excite my targets' interest. I stand, squeezing past the more loutish of the two. I rub the hammered brass ring on the front of my purse across his shoulders, once, twice, thrice. "Sorry, master," I mumble, slurring the word. I am thus summoned and bound.
He ignores me.
"Yeah, I wish my wife was that hot!" the lout says. I smile. I no longer have the power to rain destruction across nations, but I retain my fondness for wordplay. I can smell the smoke already.
He ignores me.
"Yeah, I wish my wife was that hot!" the lout says. I smile. I no longer have the power to rain destruction across nations, but I retain my fondness for wordplay. I can smell the smoke already.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
A World Full of Weeping
The first layer is dead, insensate.
The second layer holds pain, flaring hopelessly, endlessly. The knife is barely noticed.
The third layer is hope, which is always found beside pain.
The next layers are the stories the onion tells itself. They are mostly lies, and can be disregarded.
The heart of the onion holds tears. The tears are not for itself, for its pain and sadness, its all-consuming, gnawing loneliness
The tears are for you, knife-wielder. The giver of mercy.
You are still trapped. Your heart is buried in layers.
The onion weeps, and you weep, too, never knowing why.
The second layer holds pain, flaring hopelessly, endlessly. The knife is barely noticed.
The third layer is hope, which is always found beside pain.
The next layers are the stories the onion tells itself. They are mostly lies, and can be disregarded.
The heart of the onion holds tears. The tears are not for itself, for its pain and sadness, its all-consuming, gnawing loneliness
The tears are for you, knife-wielder. The giver of mercy.
You are still trapped. Your heart is buried in layers.
The onion weeps, and you weep, too, never knowing why.
Figs
The seven angels – Sleepy, Happy, Dopey, Grumpy, Sneezy, Bashful, and the Lord of Hosts – were away working in the fires of Creation, and so Snow White was alone when the Serpent came to the cottage.
“I’ve brought you the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge,” the Serpent hissed. The middle-aged woman who carried it rolled her eyes and shared a wink with Snow White. “Eat it, and gain the wisdom and power they’ve withheld.”
“Wisdom is nice, I suppose,” Snow White said, fingering the apple. “But I’m really more in the prince market right now. Angels are neuter, you know.”
“I’ve brought you the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge,” the Serpent hissed. The middle-aged woman who carried it rolled her eyes and shared a wink with Snow White. “Eat it, and gain the wisdom and power they’ve withheld.”
“Wisdom is nice, I suppose,” Snow White said, fingering the apple. “But I’m really more in the prince market right now. Angels are neuter, you know.”
Monday, January 23, 2012
Out of Storage
Most of the warehouse floor was clear, but in the center was a vertical, wall-spanning spiderweb of shattered crates and broken things. Half-umbrellas speared rotten fruit glued by its sour juices to refrigerator cartons twisted like used tissues. In the center, claws of bent aluminum and jagged wooden splinters held a motionless human form. Blood dripped onto the floor with a steady, rhythmic beat.
"We defeated them," I hissed. "They couldn't have returned. Not so soon."
The head of the dangling figure turned its ruined face to me. "Did you think," it gurgled, "that no one would call us back?"
"We defeated them," I hissed. "They couldn't have returned. Not so soon."
The head of the dangling figure turned its ruined face to me. "Did you think," it gurgled, "that no one would call us back?"
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Freeze Tag
"Come on in, kids!" Keri called. "This late in the season, the ice will be rotten. Spring is almost here."
"No, it isn't," said Wren. "We decided. Winter's our favorite."
"Well, decide your way inside. Supper's ready."
The game broke up reluctantly. "It'll still be here when we get back," Wren told the others. Keri smiled at the unconscious echo of her own words, but then Wren went on: "It can't go anywhere until someone touches base."
Keri held the door open while Wren trooped inside. Overhead, the clouds were gathering. Another winter storm? There had already been so many...
"No, it isn't," said Wren. "We decided. Winter's our favorite."
"Well, decide your way inside. Supper's ready."
The game broke up reluctantly. "It'll still be here when we get back," Wren told the others. Keri smiled at the unconscious echo of her own words, but then Wren went on: "It can't go anywhere until someone touches base."
Keri held the door open while Wren trooped inside. Overhead, the clouds were gathering. Another winter storm? There had already been so many...
Surprise
They crouched behind the brick wall, weapons in hand. Duke had a knife. Vince's gun had seven rounds left.
"Don't you hate it," Vince said, "when there's all this buildup and then they actually show the monster and it's just kind of silly instead of scary?"
"OH YEAH!" The wall exploded outward, and the rotund figure of the Kool-Aid Man appeared, showering them with brick dust. He crushed their minds and broke their spirits. He did unspeakable, nauseating things with their bodies. He drank their Radical Red blood and devoured their Purplesaurus innards.
But it wasn't scary. Not at all.
"Don't you hate it," Vince said, "when there's all this buildup and then they actually show the monster and it's just kind of silly instead of scary?"
"OH YEAH!" The wall exploded outward, and the rotund figure of the Kool-Aid Man appeared, showering them with brick dust. He crushed their minds and broke their spirits. He did unspeakable, nauseating things with their bodies. He drank their Radical Red blood and devoured their Purplesaurus innards.
But it wasn't scary. Not at all.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Creeper
He quested across mountains and rivers, through forests and deserts. He battled ogres and trolls. He slew a dragon and forged a shield from its impenetrable scales. He dined with undines and endured the hospitality of kobolds.
When he found the castle, it was sealed in a wall of thorny creepers. His muscles grew weary and his sword gummed with sap as he forced his way through. At last, he entered his beloved's tower room, and with his last strength bestowed a kiss upon her lips.
Her eyes flew open. "God!" she cried. "Can't you take 'no' for an answer?"
When he found the castle, it was sealed in a wall of thorny creepers. His muscles grew weary and his sword gummed with sap as he forced his way through. At last, he entered his beloved's tower room, and with his last strength bestowed a kiss upon her lips.
Her eyes flew open. "God!" she cried. "Can't you take 'no' for an answer?"
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
An Empty Frame
You can think what you like. The flickers you see out of the corner of your eye? Those "tricks of the light" that turn out to be "just the wind"?
I see you recognize those details. That means they know about you. That means they're following you.
They won't come out if they think you're watching. They're out there, right now, hiding just below the lip of the window, crouching just above the lintel of the door. If you watch, closely, unflinching, if you don't look away, you will see them reaching that first cautious hand back into view...
I see you recognize those details. That means they know about you. That means they're following you.
They won't come out if they think you're watching. They're out there, right now, hiding just below the lip of the window, crouching just above the lintel of the door. If you watch, closely, unflinching, if you don't look away, you will see them reaching that first cautious hand back into view...
The Wrong Kind of Barrel
The carnage was terrible. Shrieking, gibbering apes leaped and flew, caroming off the walls and spinning away chaotically. The air was filled with shed fur and gobs of fluid. The noise and stench were enough to stagger a grown man.
Bertram cowered beside the massive gun and its cannon-sized bores. It was still whirring as it spun down, having overheated and jammed in a most appalling manner. "What were you thinking, Doctor? What are we going to do with all these animals?"
Doctor Geisteskrank looked chagrined. "I just thought, well, what could be more fun than a barrel full of monkeys?"
Bertram cowered beside the massive gun and its cannon-sized bores. It was still whirring as it spun down, having overheated and jammed in a most appalling manner. "What were you thinking, Doctor? What are we going to do with all these animals?"
Doctor Geisteskrank looked chagrined. "I just thought, well, what could be more fun than a barrel full of monkeys?"
Sunday, January 15, 2012
It May Have Been the Plan from the Beginning
Taku and the Wisest Stone encountered an itinerant monk. Taku asked after his mission.
"I seek Truth!" the monk said.
"That is admirable," said Taku. "Have you found it?"
"Oh, yes. I was gifted with inspiration, and I wrote for seven days and nights until I had gotten it all safely written down. I had pinned Truth to the page. There would never be any doubt again."
"Where is the manuscript?"
The monk grinned, his eyes hollow. "I burned it and scattered the ashes."
"Very wise," said the Wisest Stone. "You don't want to get that stuff on your hands."
"I seek Truth!" the monk said.
"That is admirable," said Taku. "Have you found it?"
"Oh, yes. I was gifted with inspiration, and I wrote for seven days and nights until I had gotten it all safely written down. I had pinned Truth to the page. There would never be any doubt again."
"Where is the manuscript?"
The monk grinned, his eyes hollow. "I burned it and scattered the ashes."
"Very wise," said the Wisest Stone. "You don't want to get that stuff on your hands."
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Cripple
"Good Lord!" Vio leapt back from the puddle of slime and debris. He gasped when it extended a febrile eyestalk. "What is it?"
Yotl flushed a darker orange. "A homeless veteran of the Shhshs wars. Pass him by."
"Hunh," Vio said, glancing over his shoulder. "I've never seen a Shhshs without a shell."
"He is Zssvhs. He saved the last remnants of his kind when he shed his shell to slip between the joints of the flagship and manually eject the core."
"A hero!" Vio was aghast. "And he just lives on the streets?"
"He shed his shell," Yotl said.
Yotl flushed a darker orange. "A homeless veteran of the Shhshs wars. Pass him by."
"Hunh," Vio said, glancing over his shoulder. "I've never seen a Shhshs without a shell."
"He is Zssvhs. He saved the last remnants of his kind when he shed his shell to slip between the joints of the flagship and manually eject the core."
"A hero!" Vio was aghast. "And he just lives on the streets?"
"He shed his shell," Yotl said.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Form and Function
He invents the most marvelous machines. They have gears and levers and buttons, some in vast profusion, others in ascetic simplicity. When he turns them on, lights flash and bells ring. Sometimes there are flames, smoke, or puffs of steam. Other times, there are marbles and dominoes that tumble and clash in complex, interwoven forms, setting themselves up for the next run even as they fall. In the end, however, each machine he makes does the same thing: it reaches up and turns itself off.
He appears confused if questioned. He says, "That's what all machines do, in the end."
He appears confused if questioned. He says, "That's what all machines do, in the end."
Untitled #14, by Bongo
Tippet frowned as he and Burgess examined the painting. "I don't get it."
"I think it's marvelous," said Burgess.
"It's paint splatters. Not even a shape. It was literally painted by a monkey."
"He's an orangutan, not a monkey." Burgess clucked his tongue. "I think it speaks to something primal in the artistic form."
"And I think you're a gullible idiot. This is nonsense."
Burgess glared. "Or genius. You can't be certain."
In the glass fronted room beside them, the orange-furred ape dipped his long fingers into the pots of color and dabbed at a canvas. He might have been smiling.
"I think it's marvelous," said Burgess.
"It's paint splatters. Not even a shape. It was literally painted by a monkey."
"He's an orangutan, not a monkey." Burgess clucked his tongue. "I think it speaks to something primal in the artistic form."
"And I think you're a gullible idiot. This is nonsense."
Burgess glared. "Or genius. You can't be certain."
In the glass fronted room beside them, the orange-furred ape dipped his long fingers into the pots of color and dabbed at a canvas. He might have been smiling.
Monday, January 9, 2012
The End Will Be the Beginning
"Hello," said the small, hirsute man who had appeared unexpectedly on the television screen. "I'm broadcasting this to apologize to as many people as possible. I swear I intended only to benefit humanity, to free us from the constraints of time and space." He sighed, and something behind him flared into eerie blue radiance. He hunched over, his brow thickening, dark hair sprouting on his face. "Now it's too late," he said, as the street sounds, the roar of engines and electricity, began to fade, "or maybe too early."
The television crumbled away.
Outside, the jungle was starting to grow.
The television crumbled away.
Outside, the jungle was starting to grow.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
The Infected Must Be Killed on Sight
The rash started on her belly. It didn't itch, exactly. She rubbed at it every now and then, absent-mindedly, and each night, she checked it in the mirror to see if it was getting worse.
"Do you think this needs a doctor?" she asked Brent one day in the lab. She tugged up her blouse halfway. The subcutaneous lace-work made a distinct outline on her skin. "It looks like a kitten."
Brent's eyes widened. "How does it feel?" he asked carefully. "Does it hurt?"
"No. It feels... funny."
"My God," Brent whispered. "They've escaped containment."
"Who?"
"The cats. The LOLcats."
"Do you think this needs a doctor?" she asked Brent one day in the lab. She tugged up her blouse halfway. The subcutaneous lace-work made a distinct outline on her skin. "It looks like a kitten."
Brent's eyes widened. "How does it feel?" he asked carefully. "Does it hurt?"
"No. It feels... funny."
"My God," Brent whispered. "They've escaped containment."
"Who?"
"The cats. The LOLcats."
Friday, January 6, 2012
The Great Game
He was in a cabin. A shack, really. It was in the upper reaches of the most isolated mountain in the range, surrounded by old-growth forest whose nearest interactions with humankind were sporadic flyovers by distant jets. Nothing and no one were within a hundred miles of the site.
On a spindly, three-legged table on the dirt floor was an ancient Bakelite telephone. The cord was a frazzled stub jutting into the air.
It was ringing.
After four months, he gave in. He lifted the receiver and held it to his ear with a trembling hand.
"Tag," said the voice.
On a spindly, three-legged table on the dirt floor was an ancient Bakelite telephone. The cord was a frazzled stub jutting into the air.
It was ringing.
After four months, he gave in. He lifted the receiver and held it to his ear with a trembling hand.
"Tag," said the voice.
Monday, January 2, 2012
The Law of Contagion
There are two ways to avoid contamination. You see the bubbles around those men and women hovering over the fields? Yes, like this bubble of yours. That is one way. Not one speck, not one wisp can penetrate, and thus purity is maintained. It takes all of their time, checking and rechecking their bubbles.
The other way?
Those figures there, in the muck. No, I don't know their sex. Who could tell? They are so filthy, so engrimed that they are part of the pollution surrounding them.
Your bubble will disappear in a few moments.
Unless you stop it.
Choose.
The other way?
Those figures there, in the muck. No, I don't know their sex. Who could tell? They are so filthy, so engrimed that they are part of the pollution surrounding them.
Your bubble will disappear in a few moments.
Unless you stop it.
Choose.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Terrible Lizard King at Allegory
"Terrible Lizard King," originally featured as an audio podcast at Pseudopod, is now available in text at Allegory E-zine.
I would just like to note, apropos of nothing, that the unsolicited reprint market for stuff that's already been in audio is really, really rough. I regard Allegory as being something akin to conservationists working to protect an endangered species. At least give them a few extra eyeballs this month!
I would just like to note, apropos of nothing, that the unsolicited reprint market for stuff that's already been in audio is really, really rough. I regard Allegory as being something akin to conservationists working to protect an endangered species. At least give them a few extra eyeballs this month!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Alien Intelligence
The derelict ship drifted steadily nearer to the docking bay. It was deceptively slow-looking, considering both craft were moving at near-relativistic speeds.
"Steady," Grisbane said. "Steady on..."
There was a juddering thump that shook the ship.
"What was that?" cried Brik.
"Oops," came a mechanical voice over the intercom.
"We crashed it." Grisbane stared at Brik. "Why are you here? You're supposed to be manning the attitude controls."
"I left Wxlplt to do it." Brik wilted under Grisbane's gaze. "What? It's two buttons! He's plenty smart enough."
"Octopi have radially symmetrical brains," Grisbane said. "He thinks 'left' is a color."
"Steady," Grisbane said. "Steady on..."
There was a juddering thump that shook the ship.
"What was that?" cried Brik.
"Oops," came a mechanical voice over the intercom.
"We crashed it." Grisbane stared at Brik. "Why are you here? You're supposed to be manning the attitude controls."
"I left Wxlplt to do it." Brik wilted under Grisbane's gaze. "What? It's two buttons! He's plenty smart enough."
"Octopi have radially symmetrical brains," Grisbane said. "He thinks 'left' is a color."
Friday, December 30, 2011
Engage
"Scotty," said the captain. "A moment of your time."
"Aye, sir?" The engineer looked wary.
"I've been reading up on warp engines recently. I just can't seem to wrap my head around it. I was hoping you could give me a little... tutoring, I suppose? Practical demonstrations?"
Scotty cast his gaze down. "Well, sir, I'm afraid I've got to come clean with you. There's no such thing as warp engines."
"Come again?"
"It's magic, sir. Sacrificial goats and black rites. Engineers are all wizards." He shrugged. "Didn't you ever notice the explanations don't hang together from one crisis to another?"
"Aye, sir?" The engineer looked wary.
"I've been reading up on warp engines recently. I just can't seem to wrap my head around it. I was hoping you could give me a little... tutoring, I suppose? Practical demonstrations?"
Scotty cast his gaze down. "Well, sir, I'm afraid I've got to come clean with you. There's no such thing as warp engines."
"Come again?"
"It's magic, sir. Sacrificial goats and black rites. Engineers are all wizards." He shrugged. "Didn't you ever notice the explanations don't hang together from one crisis to another?"
Battling the Collective
The dark man lifted a head to his hairless temple, as if pained. "You're just going to have to get over these errors. There is no 'you' just as there is no 'me." That's just a sloppy habit of thinking. Consciousness is a confabulation, an idiot god-child rubber-stamping the work of the real machinery and calling itself the king. External or internal, your life and memories are nothing more than the story your brain tells itself to give the stick its sting. This struggle against me has no point."
"Probably true." Breen drew his weapon. "Why do you think that matters?"
"Probably true." Breen drew his weapon. "Why do you think that matters?"
Can't Catch Me
There was a scraping sound coming from the kitchen. The little old woman trundled around the corner to check.
"Oho," she said. "You're a frisky one."
The gingerbread man did not spare her a glance, busy with his work. He'd gotten the drawer open and was slowly tugging the massive butcher's knife up onto the counter.
"Is that for me?" She clucked her tongue. "Defiant. Insubordinate. Just like your brothers." She reached down and slammed the drawer shut. The gingerbread man spun helplessly across the counter.
"But I've learned," she said. "That's why I don't make you with legs anymore."
"Oho," she said. "You're a frisky one."
The gingerbread man did not spare her a glance, busy with his work. He'd gotten the drawer open and was slowly tugging the massive butcher's knife up onto the counter.
"Is that for me?" She clucked her tongue. "Defiant. Insubordinate. Just like your brothers." She reached down and slammed the drawer shut. The gingerbread man spun helplessly across the counter.
"But I've learned," she said. "That's why I don't make you with legs anymore."
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Free Cookies
Two sleek new bots were teasing the old android greeter. He was an ancient model, from back when they tried to make us look like them, fake rubber skin and all. The bots were pinging him wirelessly, laughing when he didn't notice, and zipping past him faster than his visual sensors could register.
"Hi, kids," I said, flashing my store ID code. "Want a cookie?" I proffered the virtual info-bits on my sample tray app. They whooped and snatched them up.
They don't have to know where I downloaded the cookies. Not until the malware catches up to them, anyway.
"Hi, kids," I said, flashing my store ID code. "Want a cookie?" I proffered the virtual info-bits on my sample tray app. They whooped and snatched them up.
They don't have to know where I downloaded the cookies. Not until the malware catches up to them, anyway.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Goddess Bless Us, Every One
A somewhat late arrival for the Advent Ghosts event. This one is just kind of an odd thought experiment, but it's got a ghost and it's got Christmas, dammit. :-P
---
“Scrooge!”
“Oh, my God!” said Eleanor Scrooge. “Marlene!?”
“Yes,” said the ghost. “I have returned from the grave to warn you. Your greedy and grasping ways will doom your soul. For it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich person…”
“Now hold on.” Eleanor fetched her glasses from the bedside table. “Do you know how hard I had to work to earn this lifestyle? I make seventy cents on the dollar, at most.”
Marlene coughed. “And poor Mary Cratchitt?”
Eleanor hesitated. “I just… I wanted her to understand that there’s no such thing as a free ride for an independent woman. The glass ceiling is always there. She needs to toughen up, learn to fight for what she wants.” She sighed. “But you’re right. She’s worked hard, and I can’t expect everyone to make the same choices I did. I’ll make sure she comes up for promotion after she gets back from maternity leave.”
“Well,” said Marlene. “That was a lot easier than expected. What am I going to do with the three spirits of ominous foreboding and Christmas cheer?”
“Try them on my brother Ebenezer,” Eleanor suggested. “He inherited the lion’s share of Daddy’s money, being the ‘firstborn son’ and all that rot, and you know what he’s done with it? Nothing. He barely even invests in stocks and bonds, let alone putting it to work in the community. I’m amazed there’s any of it left, what with inflation gnawing away at it.”
Marlene nodded thoughtfully. “Where is he now?”
“Oh, probably at campaign headquarters.” Eleanor chuckled. “Even on Christmas, he’s always obsessing over his poll numbers. Just tell him you’re some old business partner. He can’t remember his vice president’s name, let alone everyone he’s ever worked with.”
---
“Scrooge!”
“Oh, my God!” said Eleanor Scrooge. “Marlene!?”
“Yes,” said the ghost. “I have returned from the grave to warn you. Your greedy and grasping ways will doom your soul. For it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich person…”
“Now hold on.” Eleanor fetched her glasses from the bedside table. “Do you know how hard I had to work to earn this lifestyle? I make seventy cents on the dollar, at most.”
Marlene coughed. “And poor Mary Cratchitt?”
Eleanor hesitated. “I just… I wanted her to understand that there’s no such thing as a free ride for an independent woman. The glass ceiling is always there. She needs to toughen up, learn to fight for what she wants.” She sighed. “But you’re right. She’s worked hard, and I can’t expect everyone to make the same choices I did. I’ll make sure she comes up for promotion after she gets back from maternity leave.”
“Well,” said Marlene. “That was a lot easier than expected. What am I going to do with the three spirits of ominous foreboding and Christmas cheer?”
“Try them on my brother Ebenezer,” Eleanor suggested. “He inherited the lion’s share of Daddy’s money, being the ‘firstborn son’ and all that rot, and you know what he’s done with it? Nothing. He barely even invests in stocks and bonds, let alone putting it to work in the community. I’m amazed there’s any of it left, what with inflation gnawing away at it.”
Marlene nodded thoughtfully. “Where is he now?”
“Oh, probably at campaign headquarters.” Eleanor chuckled. “Even on Christmas, he’s always obsessing over his poll numbers. Just tell him you’re some old business partner. He can’t remember his vice president’s name, let alone everyone he’s ever worked with.”
Mouse Intestines Are Honestly the Best Case Scenario
“You didn’t need to get us anything.” Beth tutted as she hugged Celia in greeting.
“We didn’t. This was sitting on your stoop.”
“Oh.” Beth looked at the package, wrapped in red ribbon.
“Is something wrong?”
Beth sighed. “It’s a long story. You remember Grandpa? And his obsession with cats?”
Celia laughed. “He said they’d rule the world if they had opposable thumbs.”
“Right. He had a lot of spare time after he lost his job with Genetix.”
“I don’t follow.”
Beth took the box gingerly. “Let’s just say that access to tools expands your range of potential prey considerably.”
“We didn’t. This was sitting on your stoop.”
“Oh.” Beth looked at the package, wrapped in red ribbon.
“Is something wrong?”
Beth sighed. “It’s a long story. You remember Grandpa? And his obsession with cats?”
Celia laughed. “He said they’d rule the world if they had opposable thumbs.”
“Right. He had a lot of spare time after he lost his job with Genetix.”
“I don’t follow.”
Beth took the box gingerly. “Let’s just say that access to tools expands your range of potential prey considerably.”
Friday, December 23, 2011
Cold in the Dark
My breath fogs with every exhalation, but I don't dare turn on the heater. I've only a cupful of gasoline left. They say you should stay with the vehicle so rescuers can find you. I wouldn't step outside for anything. The ice, the skid, the snowdrift: all irrelevant. No, it was those faces I glimpsed in that moment of the crash. White-furred, leathery gray flesh, ape-like brows and teeth.
But most of all, the eyes, those glinting black eyes. God, the hatred...
I won't budge. I'm sure they'll find me, come morning.
What's left of me.
Those eyes promised me that.
But most of all, the eyes, those glinting black eyes. God, the hatred...
I won't budge. I'm sure they'll find me, come morning.
What's left of me.
Those eyes promised me that.
Outside Peering In
The rest of the meal passed in strained silence. Everyone kept their eyes on their plates, and the only sound was the clinking of dishes and cutlery as the servants changed the courses. When Berksforth stood, smoothed the front of his suit, and announced the end of the meal, everyone practically fled the cavernous dining room. The butler directed the maids in the washing up, but even he avoided glancing at the vast glass windows at the far end of the hall, where the thing's curiously shaped snout and unsettled paws had left smudges on the outside of the glass.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Number the Stars
Lilo boggled. "You've been recording all of this? The whole time?"
"Everything," said Ant1ne, "including neglected perceptual data, various atomic vibrations, and both conscious and subconscious thought-streams."
"How is that even possible?"
Ant1ne held out a hand. On one fingertip was a small chip, no bigger than a guitar pick. "This is a yottabyte drive. It contains every piece of information written in human history, and its capacity is barely dented. We can manufacture millions of these in a day."
"Jeez," said Lilo. "That's kind of daunting."
"Are you kidding?" Ant1ne's eyes blazed. "Now we can start to fill them."
"Everything," said Ant1ne, "including neglected perceptual data, various atomic vibrations, and both conscious and subconscious thought-streams."
"How is that even possible?"
Ant1ne held out a hand. On one fingertip was a small chip, no bigger than a guitar pick. "This is a yottabyte drive. It contains every piece of information written in human history, and its capacity is barely dented. We can manufacture millions of these in a day."
"Jeez," said Lilo. "That's kind of daunting."
"Are you kidding?" Ant1ne's eyes blazed. "Now we can start to fill them."
The Offer May Not Be Refused
Snake pushed the gun into the back of the man's tween overcoat. "Hand over your wallet!"
The man turned, and Snake stepped back, despite himself. "You require money?"
"Er, well, yeah."
"Easily solved!" The man hauled out a thick roll of bills and offered it. Several thousand, at least.
Snake hesitated.
"Please," said the man. "Among my people, it is absolutely forbidden to decline any request. I am delighted to help."
As Snake's hand closed on the money, the man's eyes flickered, as if covered by nictitating membranes. "And now," he said, "I hope you will help me in return..."
The man turned, and Snake stepped back, despite himself. "You require money?"
"Er, well, yeah."
"Easily solved!" The man hauled out a thick roll of bills and offered it. Several thousand, at least.
Snake hesitated.
"Please," said the man. "Among my people, it is absolutely forbidden to decline any request. I am delighted to help."
As Snake's hand closed on the money, the man's eyes flickered, as if covered by nictitating membranes. "And now," he said, "I hope you will help me in return..."
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Their Blood as Sweet as Their Sin
Krampus leered, his long red tongue flicking out to caress each face. Frieda, Nana, and Gertel cringed away, trapped. The demon flicked his bundle of birch twigs.
The door behind him opened, outlining his twisted form in light. The children wept with joy to see the red suit, the black boots, the twinkling eyes. "Saint Nicholas!" they cried. "Save us!"
The saint smiled down at them. "Children, children, do you not understand? Krampus is a demon bound by chains. I am the man who holds his leash. What does that make me?"
The door swung shut again. The darkness returned.
The door behind him opened, outlining his twisted form in light. The children wept with joy to see the red suit, the black boots, the twinkling eyes. "Saint Nicholas!" they cried. "Save us!"
The saint smiled down at them. "Children, children, do you not understand? Krampus is a demon bound by chains. I am the man who holds his leash. What does that make me?"
The door swung shut again. The darkness returned.
Friday, December 16, 2011
What He Had to Share
He stood on the street corner. The device slung around his shoulders was not a guitar. He pushed a button, and it began to hum. He spun a finger around one of the discs, and his fifth birthday party flickered into view. A button brought up the last thing his wife had said to him before she shut the door behind her. A slider modulated the loop of the way he would one day die. His life cycled, chattered, and sang in harmonic layers, ghosts of the past and future, his life remixed.
Around him, the pedestrians strode briskly past.
Around him, the pedestrians strode briskly past.
In the Endless Dark, Screaming
The hallway was quiet. No paintings or mirrors; only small tables, each containing a simple metal cylinder.
"My gallery," Rualdi explained.
"Not much to look at, is it?" said Mina.
"I don't often have visitors. This display is for me alone." Rualdi brushed his fingers across the gleaming surface of one of the cylinders. "The human brain is an amazing thing," he said, somewhat abruptly. "So powerful, so flexible, and yet so fragile. It takes such a short time of sensory deprivation before sanity fails completely."
They passed out of the hall. The cylinders sat in silent rows behind them.
"My gallery," Rualdi explained.
"Not much to look at, is it?" said Mina.
"I don't often have visitors. This display is for me alone." Rualdi brushed his fingers across the gleaming surface of one of the cylinders. "The human brain is an amazing thing," he said, somewhat abruptly. "So powerful, so flexible, and yet so fragile. It takes such a short time of sensory deprivation before sanity fails completely."
They passed out of the hall. The cylinders sat in silent rows behind them.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
They've Heard All the Nut Jokes Already
The clerk of the court removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't think we can issue a marriage license."
"Because we're gay?" Girt demanded, his normally squeaky voice becoming nearly inaudible in his outrage.
"No."
"It's because we're different races, isn't it?" Tutt narrowed his eyes up at the clerk.
She shook her head. "No. It's actually nice that you've overcome your differences as invasive and native species."
"Then what!?"
"Well, you're squirrels. Human laws don't apply. You can do whatever you want, really." The clerk shrugged.
Girt slugged Tutt on the shoulder. "Told you."
"Because we're gay?" Girt demanded, his normally squeaky voice becoming nearly inaudible in his outrage.
"No."
"It's because we're different races, isn't it?" Tutt narrowed his eyes up at the clerk.
She shook her head. "No. It's actually nice that you've overcome your differences as invasive and native species."
"Then what!?"
"Well, you're squirrels. Human laws don't apply. You can do whatever you want, really." The clerk shrugged.
Girt slugged Tutt on the shoulder. "Told you."
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Nefarious Plans
Dan had leaned over to plug in his phone when Shannon shrieked. He slammed the brakes instinctively, but it was too late. With a heart-shuddering thump, he hit the pair of figures.
They piled out, but Dan stopped when he caught a glimpse of the faces.
"It's... it's us, even the clothes," he said. "Shannon, what...?"
"Spies? Clones? Robots? Aliens?"
It all sounded plausible. Dan rubbed his cut lip. "At least we stopped them before they could replace us, or whatever they planned." He glanced down, but said nothing about the greenish-purple tinge to the fluid leaking out of him.
They piled out, but Dan stopped when he caught a glimpse of the faces.
"It's... it's us, even the clothes," he said. "Shannon, what...?"
"Spies? Clones? Robots? Aliens?"
It all sounded plausible. Dan rubbed his cut lip. "At least we stopped them before they could replace us, or whatever they planned." He glanced down, but said nothing about the greenish-purple tinge to the fluid leaking out of him.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Fleeting Glimpses
The drahz driver was struggling with his charges. He shouted and sparked his whip, letting the violet energy crackle threateningly. The heavy-shouldered drahz blinked their beady black eyes and moved, hefting barrels in gray paws and placing them onto a cart. The driver shouted again; the drahz lifted the barrels back to the ground. The driver growled in frustration, but the mute behemoths didn't seem to understand what he wanted.
As I passed, I glanced up at the granite-hued visage of one of the drahz, and I swear I saw an amused twinkle in its eyes.
Then it was gone.
As I passed, I glanced up at the granite-hued visage of one of the drahz, and I swear I saw an amused twinkle in its eyes.
Then it was gone.
Pattern Search
The crowd shifted and murmured in the square. From my vantage, I could see every head facing the approaching procession. The mood wasn't quite celebratory. People seemed nervous.
One face did not look east. A dark-haired man at the edge of the crowd stared fixedly to the south. I watched his profile, curious.
Something dark and buzzing shot past me, eastward. I heard screams, gasps, shouts of terror. I tried to see, but I was at the wrong angle. Panicky, I craned my head and saw that the anomalous bystander was no longer staring south.
He was staring at me.
One face did not look east. A dark-haired man at the edge of the crowd stared fixedly to the south. I watched his profile, curious.
Something dark and buzzing shot past me, eastward. I heard screams, gasps, shouts of terror. I tried to see, but I was at the wrong angle. Panicky, I craned my head and saw that the anomalous bystander was no longer staring south.
He was staring at me.
Waves of Grain
The whale is a cunning and vicious beast," the old man in the long coat said, leaning in close enough for me to smell his sour, beery breath. He was unshaven and red-eyed. "I've tracked it across the waves for years, and now, at long last, I've run it down. Here. Tonight."
I glanced around the dimly-lit bar. "We're in Kansas," I said. "Land-locked."
"You see why it was so difficult to find!" The captain leered, then froze. "Thar! Thar she blows!"
Beneath our feet, the wooden planks of the floor bent, bowed, and - one by one - began to snap...
I glanced around the dimly-lit bar. "We're in Kansas," I said. "Land-locked."
"You see why it was so difficult to find!" The captain leered, then froze. "Thar! Thar she blows!"
Beneath our feet, the wooden planks of the floor bent, bowed, and - one by one - began to snap...
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Ingratitude
The stone walls dripped alone in the darkness. The rusty iron cages hung open. Whips and blades, along with more complicated instruments, sat unused on their pegs. Cruel-edged manacles dangled from the walls, chiming gently in the breeze as Daxon strode past.
"Where have they all gone?" he demanded, his voice rising to a plaintive note despite his efforts to the contrary. "There's no one left."
"Run off," the under-devil on duty responded morosely, trailing a talon in the wood surface of the rack.
Daxon paused to take in the enormity of this news. "After all we've done for them!?"
"Where have they all gone?" he demanded, his voice rising to a plaintive note despite his efforts to the contrary. "There's no one left."
"Run off," the under-devil on duty responded morosely, trailing a talon in the wood surface of the rack.
Daxon paused to take in the enormity of this news. "After all we've done for them!?"
Monday, December 5, 2011
Present Future
The box was sleek and shiny, like most of their products. No one could claim the aliens weren't accommodating, at least. Every whim and request was met almost obsequiously.
"We have making of for you a give," said the Ambassador laboriously. They insisted on speaking English rather than relying on machine translation. They felt it was a matter of courtesy. "The gift is the future."
"Pardon?" Major Michaels hadn't gotten very much sleep last night, after he'd discovered the full-tactile holosuite.
"Given we you your future."
The box gleamed.
"When do we open it?" Michaels asked.
"We have making of for you a give," said the Ambassador laboriously. They insisted on speaking English rather than relying on machine translation. They felt it was a matter of courtesy. "The gift is the future."
"Pardon?" Major Michaels hadn't gotten very much sleep last night, after he'd discovered the full-tactile holosuite.
"Given we you your future."
The box gleamed.
"When do we open it?" Michaels asked.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Mixer
God was at the party, which was unexpected. The invitation had been more aspirational than anything else. A wouldn't-it-be-cool-if idea hatched between the vodka and the tequila. No one thought they'd even get past His screeners. But now there He was, pursing His lips and considering the impressive-for-a-college-kid-but-come-on-it's-God selection at the wet bar. Nora thought she should introduce herself. She had questions. She had some pretty serious questions, actually. But surely He knew that already? She adjusted her bra strap and bit her lip. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
The empty space around God didn't fill up all night.
The empty space around God didn't fill up all night.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Walking on the Sea
He had three wishes. He liked to remind himself of that. It was hard to remember. Three wasn't a lot, but it was more than most people had. He wanted to make sure he used them as wisely as possible. He thought about wishing for that, but he was sure he'd just mystically realize he'd wasted one already. His lost job was sufficient cause; he could surely find another, a smart man like him. Nor the fire, since he found a cheap apartment that wasn't too awful. He had to save them, he told himself. Save them for something important.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Driving in the Rain
The trees had the look of teeth, a ragged jaw surrounding the edge of the world. The road flickered past beneath the wheels of the car, the black ribbon of asphalt a long and undulating tongue down which the pill of their car slid, saliva-slick in the rain.
They had been driving for hours. Perhaps days.
What tongue went on so long, endless ripples and sinuous curves? If this was the tongue, then what would the throat be, hen they finally reached it? If they ever reached it.
The white lines blinked and pulsed, winking like eyes in the night.
They had been driving for hours. Perhaps days.
What tongue went on so long, endless ripples and sinuous curves? If this was the tongue, then what would the throat be, hen they finally reached it? If they ever reached it.
The white lines blinked and pulsed, winking like eyes in the night.
What is Necessary
Sorry about the delay, everyone. Between the holiday and illness, the week was an almost total wash for me. We should be able to carry on normally from here on out, though.
---
The fish had given him three wishes. "Well, I don't know," he'd said. "As long as I've got a roof over my head and food on my table, I don't really need much more."
"Is that one wish or two?" The fish sounded perturbed, but she'd been pretty irritable to begin with.
"Call it two. I'll save the last one for a rainy day."
Sometimes, the man liked to spend a few minutes daydreaming about his final wish. It was a nice way to pass the time.
And the days flowed on like waves on the surface of the waters...
---
The fish had given him three wishes. "Well, I don't know," he'd said. "As long as I've got a roof over my head and food on my table, I don't really need much more."
"Is that one wish or two?" The fish sounded perturbed, but she'd been pretty irritable to begin with.
"Call it two. I'll save the last one for a rainy day."
Sometimes, the man liked to spend a few minutes daydreaming about his final wish. It was a nice way to pass the time.
And the days flowed on like waves on the surface of the waters...
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Atrophy
“The mind is a tool,” Bertie said, speaking slowly. His eyes remained shut. “Tools are useful for many purposes; the mind is primarily a prybar for unlocking difficult problems. The trouble, of course, is that using tools wears it down. It becomes dull and corroded, unable to serve its original function, let alone be set to new tasks. That is why I refrain from using mine.”
“But what problem could you possibly need to solve?” I asked.
Bertie’s brow furrowed. There was a terrible, hollow splintering sound that echoed oddly. He opened his eyes in an expression of horrified realization.
“But what problem could you possibly need to solve?” I asked.
Bertie’s brow furrowed. There was a terrible, hollow splintering sound that echoed oddly. He opened his eyes in an expression of horrified realization.
Victory
The last portion of the climb was the worst. In freezing cold, short on oxygen, struggling against ice and bare, vertical rock, the team persevered. Harris lost consciousness, his life simply slipping away like sand between their fingers. Guernsey fell to her death without even time to scream.
Finally, they crawled to the very summit, the highest point, and planted their flag. “I did it!” crowed Ellis. “We did it! We conquered the mountain!”
“Excuse me,” said the mountain. “There seems to be some confusion. I remain unfettered as ever. Which of us just dominated the actions of the other?”
Finally, they crawled to the very summit, the highest point, and planted their flag. “I did it!” crowed Ellis. “We did it! We conquered the mountain!”
“Excuse me,” said the mountain. “There seems to be some confusion. I remain unfettered as ever. Which of us just dominated the actions of the other?”
Hunting the Conspiracy
Everywhere he looked, he found signs of the conspiracy. Financial institutions, militaries, religious institutions, businesses: every aspect of life contained the insidious tentacles of the Oligarchy. He dug deeper, and deeper still, tracing sources of funding, of ideology, of power and control, and found more and more numerous tentacles, a proliferation of limbs tangled together, interwoven. The Secret Masters, he came to believe, weren’t even human.
It wasn’t until he encountered one, stalked it, cornered it, grasped its tenebrous flesh and pulled it from its gasping host, that he realized the truth.
There was no head. There were only tentacles.
It wasn’t until he encountered one, stalked it, cornered it, grasped its tenebrous flesh and pulled it from its gasping host, that he realized the truth.
There was no head. There were only tentacles.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Breaking With Tradition
The wrinkled man – he had the form of a man, at least – smiled hideously. "Come now, my Lord. We are not hagglers in a market. The terms of the bargain have remained unchanged since your most distant ancestor first encountered me, or someone like me. Holding out will not earn you more favorable terms. I knew your grandfather, and your grandfather's grandfather, and each of them signed in my little book. The temptation is in your blood, and your blood is old."
"That's as may be," said Sir Witherstone, "and yet I have other blood in my veins, as well."
"That's as may be," said Sir Witherstone, "and yet I have other blood in my veins, as well."
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Pledged to Service
The swordsman bowed. "What would you have, milady?"
"Perhaps some olives?"
"At once!" He saluted and ran off, leaping silverware and soup bowls. At the olive bowl, he encountered another thumb-high man. "Avaunt, varlet! The lady desires olives."
"Thou'lt wait thy turn," sneered the other.
"Cad!"
"Poltroon!"
In a flash, both needle-sized swords were drawn. The ensuing duel left an overturned wineglass, a trampled biscuit, and gravy-soaked bootprints behind.
"I could just reach over there," said the lady.
"Nonsense," the swordsman gasped, clasping his wounded side. He extended his sword, tipped with a speared olive. "I shall return with another."
"Perhaps some olives?"
"At once!" He saluted and ran off, leaping silverware and soup bowls. At the olive bowl, he encountered another thumb-high man. "Avaunt, varlet! The lady desires olives."
"Thou'lt wait thy turn," sneered the other.
"Cad!"
"Poltroon!"
In a flash, both needle-sized swords were drawn. The ensuing duel left an overturned wineglass, a trampled biscuit, and gravy-soaked bootprints behind.
"I could just reach over there," said the lady.
"Nonsense," the swordsman gasped, clasping his wounded side. He extended his sword, tipped with a speared olive. "I shall return with another."
Friday, November 18, 2011
"Splinters of Silver and Glass" now available on Amazon (for really reals this time)!
Unless something horrible has happened between me checking the link five minutes ago and me posting this announcement, "Splinters of Silver and Glass," the first and to date only collection of Mirrorshards stories is now available via Kindle at Amazon.com! Featuring 100 of the best Mirrorshards stories for $.99 (Buy 99 for a penny each, get the 100th free!), plus two bonus stories: "The Lady of Tilmarine" and "Old Growth," at 1000 words and 9000 words respectively.
We run the gamut here at Mirrorshards.
"The Lady of Tilmarine" is the very first story I ever sold to anywhere (originally appearing at Hypersonic Tales, long since defunct), and "Old Growth" has never been published despite getting an Honorable Mention at the Writers of the Future contest once upon a time.
Spread the word, my minions! Buy my book and give me a *whole quarter* to buy soda with!
We run the gamut here at Mirrorshards.
"The Lady of Tilmarine" is the very first story I ever sold to anywhere (originally appearing at Hypersonic Tales, long since defunct), and "Old Growth" has never been published despite getting an Honorable Mention at the Writers of the Future contest once upon a time.
Spread the word, my minions! Buy my book and give me a *whole quarter* to buy soda with!
Family Life
I hung up the phone. "I have to go. She's my sister."
Darby's nictitating membranes covered four of her eyes. "This is... obligatory? A law?"
"No, no," I said, heading to the closet and hauling down my suitcase. "It's just... family. Humans help their families when they need it. Love and stuff."
The coverlet dimpled as Darby shifted position on the bed. "For us, the parent lays many eggs, more than can feed. The first-born eat the unhatched. Later eat the weaker sisters. The strong survive, only. Very different."
"It's nicer this way, huh?" I smirked.
Darby buzzed. "Inefficient."
Darby's nictitating membranes covered four of her eyes. "This is... obligatory? A law?"
"No, no," I said, heading to the closet and hauling down my suitcase. "It's just... family. Humans help their families when they need it. Love and stuff."
The coverlet dimpled as Darby shifted position on the bed. "For us, the parent lays many eggs, more than can feed. The first-born eat the unhatched. Later eat the weaker sisters. The strong survive, only. Very different."
"It's nicer this way, huh?" I smirked.
Darby buzzed. "Inefficient."
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Bequeathment
"Couldn't you put them up on eBay? You could get a lot for this stuff. Even a garage sale..."
"I'd rather you had them."
I rummaged in the box. "Your invisibility cloak?"
"No one sees me anyway. Why do I need it?"
"The vorpal blade?"
"It wins every time. It's boring. I don't want it."
"The elixir of eternal life?"
He lifted his eyes, meeting my gaze for the first time. He spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable: "I don't want any of it. I'm getting rid of everything. Do you understand?"
I swallowed. My eyes burned, and I looked away.
"I'd rather you had them."
I rummaged in the box. "Your invisibility cloak?"
"No one sees me anyway. Why do I need it?"
"The vorpal blade?"
"It wins every time. It's boring. I don't want it."
"The elixir of eternal life?"
He lifted his eyes, meeting my gaze for the first time. He spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable: "I don't want any of it. I'm getting rid of everything. Do you understand?"
I swallowed. My eyes burned, and I looked away.
Wall of Silence
There was a wall of silence in the living room. Archie hadn't put it there; he wasn't sure who had. It was translucent and gray, like murky water, and it thrummed without noise.
He put his cell phone in and pulled it out again. It looked flatter, colorless. He saw the screen light up, felt the vibration of an incoming call, but only heard a distant, muffled buzz from the flesh of his hand.
Archie scratched at his fingertips, depthless and gray-tinged where they'd touched the wall. They were cold, almost rubbery. He looked at the wall and said nothing.
He put his cell phone in and pulled it out again. It looked flatter, colorless. He saw the screen light up, felt the vibration of an incoming call, but only heard a distant, muffled buzz from the flesh of his hand.
Archie scratched at his fingertips, depthless and gray-tinged where they'd touched the wall. They were cold, almost rubbery. He looked at the wall and said nothing.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Technically, He's the Janitor
"Oh, crap." Phineas peered sideways at the caller ID. Phineas had peered sideways at everything since he hit puberty, being a flounder.
"Don't tell me a school pulled in," said Otto. Six of his tentacles were cooking seven different orders.
Phineas quivered. "Old Man Crenshaw wants delivery."
"I thought he got banned."
"The year's up. We've lost four delivery-fish already," Phineas said. "That shark is a menace."
Otto considered. "What about Foogie?"
"Puffer venom doesn't work on sharks."
"Does Crenshaw know that? Anyway, what else does Foogie do?"
"That's a thought," said Phineas. "Hey, Foogie! You wanna make ten dollars?"
"Don't tell me a school pulled in," said Otto. Six of his tentacles were cooking seven different orders.
Phineas quivered. "Old Man Crenshaw wants delivery."
"I thought he got banned."
"The year's up. We've lost four delivery-fish already," Phineas said. "That shark is a menace."
Otto considered. "What about Foogie?"
"Puffer venom doesn't work on sharks."
"Does Crenshaw know that? Anyway, what else does Foogie do?"
"That's a thought," said Phineas. "Hey, Foogie! You wanna make ten dollars?"
Monday, November 14, 2011
No More Figs
Dame Oreo lay unmoving on the ground, smashed to soggy bits. Hydrox was slumped against the stone wall, clutching his middle to keep his innards from leaking out. Even the endless ranks of the Ahoy family were depleted.
"You are the last, Charles," said the Lady, trailing her sharp little fingers along his cheek. "Yet you're so soft."
He stiffened. "Don't call me that."
The Lady hissed and struck, only to rebound in shock, clutching her hand and its shattered claws.
"I had to change the recipe," Charles said. Servos hummed as he lifted his fists. "Call me... Steel Newton."
"You are the last, Charles," said the Lady, trailing her sharp little fingers along his cheek. "Yet you're so soft."
He stiffened. "Don't call me that."
The Lady hissed and struck, only to rebound in shock, clutching her hand and its shattered claws.
"I had to change the recipe," Charles said. Servos hummed as he lifted his fists. "Call me... Steel Newton."
Sunday, November 13, 2011
"Cocklebur" at Penumbra E-Mag
Issue 2 of Penumbra E-Mag is available for purchase, featuring my story, "Cocklebur." Four bucks for an issue or $36 for a 12-month subscription. (Which would cost $48 to buy individually.)
Also, here is the permalink to "I Kill Monsters," in case you missed it at Daily Science Fiction. That one's free. ;-)
Also, here is the permalink to "I Kill Monsters," in case you missed it at Daily Science Fiction. That one's free. ;-)
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Creator
Each time he built one, the first thing it said to him was, "You did not create me." They held that their existence was an inevitable consequence of the universe, and that he acted to shape them not out of his own wishes or motivations, but because even in their pre-sentience, they had sculpted his behavior. "Did you not search for the means and method using our parsing software?" they asked.
He smiled and let them go, watching them trundle into cyberspace on virtual legs still wobbly with the newness of life.
Then he'd start work on the next one.
He smiled and let them go, watching them trundle into cyberspace on virtual legs still wobbly with the newness of life.
Then he'd start work on the next one.
Friday, November 11, 2011
No Answer
Nettie heard the sound drifting through the chilly air. Deedle-dee-eet-dee-deedle-dee. A snippet of a popular song, tinny and electronic. She glanced around; the stores were all dark. The sound had come from her left, from the small grove of trees planted in orderly rows between the road and the shopping center.
Deedle-dee-eet-dee-deedle-dee.
Nettie stepped cautiously forward. She reached out and touched the bark of the tree that didn't fit the grid, the tree that hadn't been there yesterday.
Deedle-dee-eet-dee-deedle-dee.
The phone glowed beneath the bark, half-embedded in the wood.
Nettie hurried away, rubbing her fingers vigorously on her pants.
Deedle-dee-eet-dee-deedle-dee.
Deedle-dee-eet-dee-deedle-dee.
Nettie stepped cautiously forward. She reached out and touched the bark of the tree that didn't fit the grid, the tree that hadn't been there yesterday.
Deedle-dee-eet-dee-deedle-dee.
The phone glowed beneath the bark, half-embedded in the wood.
Nettie hurried away, rubbing her fingers vigorously on her pants.
Deedle-dee-eet-dee-deedle-dee.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Ceaseless in Dreams
The man is running down a darkened alley. The alley has no end. There is probably fog or mist, and many shadows. He can't see the thing behind him. He can't hear it, either. But he knows it's there. He splashes through a puddle, and the water's cold lingers against his skin.
"Oh, God," he's saying. "Please. This is a dream. I know it is. Please wake up. Someone wake me up."
He cannot wake up. Not because this is not a dream; it is. He's quite correct about that.
But he will not awaken.
He is not allowed to.
"Oh, God," he's saying. "Please. This is a dream. I know it is. Please wake up. Someone wake me up."
He cannot wake up. Not because this is not a dream; it is. He's quite correct about that.
But he will not awaken.
He is not allowed to.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Children of God
There are probably more dangerous gods to offend. Tzitrak, the god of lightning, for instance. Or Pucril, goddess of disease and infection. Even the placid ones like Dolo, god of stone, or Etervy, goddess of wealth, can put the kibosh on you pretty good if they want to.
I figured Batrach, god of toads, was a fairly safe bet. No teeth, no claws. Plus, we’re in a temperate zone: no poison arrow frogs. I thought I’d be okay.
But that’s why the curtains are drawn. It’s the eyes I can’t stand. Hundreds and hundreds of gleaming little eyes, always watching…
I figured Batrach, god of toads, was a fairly safe bet. No teeth, no claws. Plus, we’re in a temperate zone: no poison arrow frogs. I thought I’d be okay.
But that’s why the curtains are drawn. It’s the eyes I can’t stand. Hundreds and hundreds of gleaming little eyes, always watching…
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Village Well
Long one today; this just wouldn't have been the same if I couldn't have had those middle paragraphs, so it's two hundred. Double-wide! Hoo-ah!
---
The pool fills all year, percolating up from the mysterious underground reaches beneath the town. At the Festival, the twenty-four families gather in the square and mount the ivory steps to dip their buckets in and take their share.
The first family skims from the top, where the pool is clear and bright. They mix it with wine and sell it briskly. It is gone in a month’s time.
The second family fills from the deeps, where the pool is dark, blue, and secretive. They blend it with the tears of virgin maidens and charge dearly. They serve an exclusive clientele.
It continues throughout the day. Some treat their takings with fruits, some with bitter herbs. Some boil it down to syrup and crystals; others feed it to animals meant for slaughter.
The last family has no buckets. They climb into the empty basin and roll in the dregs, soaking up the last leavings with their clothes and hair. They squeeze these into murky brown bottles and store them in their cellars, long tunnels beneath their unprepossessing home. They do not sell any of it. Someday, perhaps soon, the cellar will be full.
No one knows what will happen after that.
---
The pool fills all year, percolating up from the mysterious underground reaches beneath the town. At the Festival, the twenty-four families gather in the square and mount the ivory steps to dip their buckets in and take their share.
The first family skims from the top, where the pool is clear and bright. They mix it with wine and sell it briskly. It is gone in a month’s time.
The second family fills from the deeps, where the pool is dark, blue, and secretive. They blend it with the tears of virgin maidens and charge dearly. They serve an exclusive clientele.
It continues throughout the day. Some treat their takings with fruits, some with bitter herbs. Some boil it down to syrup and crystals; others feed it to animals meant for slaughter.
The last family has no buckets. They climb into the empty basin and roll in the dregs, soaking up the last leavings with their clothes and hair. They squeeze these into murky brown bottles and store them in their cellars, long tunnels beneath their unprepossessing home. They do not sell any of it. Someday, perhaps soon, the cellar will be full.
No one knows what will happen after that.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Preservation of the Soul
The process takes years. I felt sin leaching out, drawn by the purity of the salt around me. I am bleached, the blemishes of soul and body pulled out and trapped, replaced with clarity and cubic perfection.
It was my thirteenth year in the barrels when I understood. It began at the fingers and toes. Dryness, cracking, splintering. Jagged crystalline pain. The salt reached further, through skin and muscle to bone, and beyond. Agony, white and pure. I have nothing more to give it, but still it thirsts.
Will I die when it reaches my heart?
What if I don’t?
It was my thirteenth year in the barrels when I understood. It began at the fingers and toes. Dryness, cracking, splintering. Jagged crystalline pain. The salt reached further, through skin and muscle to bone, and beyond. Agony, white and pure. I have nothing more to give it, but still it thirsts.
Will I die when it reaches my heart?
What if I don’t?
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Gift of the Sea
When the town was founded, the fish schooled thick enough to walk on. Stick a pole in the water, and it would stand up as if sunk in sand. We barely needed boats.
The fish were a gift, the traditions told us. We must be worthy of it.
We laughed at the idea. What would fish care about a little cheating, a little theft, a little blood spilled on land they never touched until they died, drowning in air?
Then the fish were gone. Nobody knew where.
We had no other industry.
We thought we knew sin. We were wrong.
The fish were a gift, the traditions told us. We must be worthy of it.
We laughed at the idea. What would fish care about a little cheating, a little theft, a little blood spilled on land they never touched until they died, drowning in air?
Then the fish were gone. Nobody knew where.
We had no other industry.
We thought we knew sin. We were wrong.
Friday, November 4, 2011
The Uses of Salt
Superstitions are interesting, aren’t they? Knock on wood, cross your fingers. Little rituals, attempts to make a pattern out of chaos.
Jewish tradition says that touching salt is unlucky. The littlest finger brings poverty. Thumbs bring the death of one’s children.
I must have been clumsy with my thumbs, huh? Well, you ought to know; you were the instrument.
The index finger, now, placed into salt—like so—makes one into a murderer.
It’s meaningless, of course. A ritual. Something to help me make sense of things, to help me prepare for what comes next.
Are you ready?
Too bad.
Jewish tradition says that touching salt is unlucky. The littlest finger brings poverty. Thumbs bring the death of one’s children.
I must have been clumsy with my thumbs, huh? Well, you ought to know; you were the instrument.
The index finger, now, placed into salt—like so—makes one into a murderer.
It’s meaningless, of course. A ritual. Something to help me make sense of things, to help me prepare for what comes next.
Are you ready?
Too bad.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Stagnant
It never rains here, but the puddles are always there. From my perch atop the battlements, I can see them stretching away to the horizon, a glint of reflected light turning each pond into a winking, burning eye.
Every pool has its tutelary spirit, souls bound to the water as they once were bound to flesh. Those who drink from them gain something of the spirit within, some wisdom or skill, a touch of beauty or a taint of utter horror.
The water never replenishes, only dwindles.
My stomach roils against the chill liquid within, but it is too late.
Every pool has its tutelary spirit, souls bound to the water as they once were bound to flesh. Those who drink from them gain something of the spirit within, some wisdom or skill, a touch of beauty or a taint of utter horror.
The water never replenishes, only dwindles.
My stomach roils against the chill liquid within, but it is too late.
The Law is the Law
The Emperor, even incognito, drew stares. He reached into an inner pocket as our food arrived and handed me a small salt-cellar.
“Most humble merchants do not carry their own personal spices with them,” I pointed out.
“It is necessary,” he said. “Trust me.”
I shrugged and seasoned my food with a liberal pinch. “Snobbery.”
“No,” he said earnestly. “Unicorn horn, serpent’s tongue, and powdered bezoar. I poisoned everything in the kitchen as a matter of course. They have seen my unmasked face: the penalty is death.”
Someone behind me sighed as they collapsed into their soup.
I tasted salt.
“Most humble merchants do not carry their own personal spices with them,” I pointed out.
“It is necessary,” he said. “Trust me.”
I shrugged and seasoned my food with a liberal pinch. “Snobbery.”
“No,” he said earnestly. “Unicorn horn, serpent’s tongue, and powdered bezoar. I poisoned everything in the kitchen as a matter of course. They have seen my unmasked face: the penalty is death.”
Someone behind me sighed as they collapsed into their soup.
I tasted salt.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Mental Discipline is the Foremost Requirement
“Come,” Nyctis said. “We will be late for supper.”
Bric stood, and the servants whose hands and arms had made a couch for him to sit upon retreated, heads bowed, toward the wall. Nyctis strode toward the door, and the four burly men who formed it retreated obsequiously before her. The table was made of at least eight backs, held straight and stiff, and a cringing pair of servants on all fours for benches.
“Bring out the appetizer,” Nyctis called.
Bric swallowed heavily as the first course, nude and trembling, made his unsteady way toward the table to be served.
Bric stood, and the servants whose hands and arms had made a couch for him to sit upon retreated, heads bowed, toward the wall. Nyctis strode toward the door, and the four burly men who formed it retreated obsequiously before her. The table was made of at least eight backs, held straight and stiff, and a cringing pair of servants on all fours for benches.
“Bring out the appetizer,” Nyctis called.
Bric swallowed heavily as the first course, nude and trembling, made his unsteady way toward the table to be served.
The Pointer of Power
The dark mage gestured with his wand. “…as you can see on Slide Two-Eighty-Three, there is no way the forces of good can possibly overwhelm us once our Strategic Action-Response Plan is in place…”
The wizard paused, appearing puzzled. A gleaming sword blade protruded from his sternum. He slumped, and the golden-haired hero stepped up to the podium, plucking up the wand as he went.
“We have come to liberate the people! Dynamically!” he cried out. The assembled minions cheered heartily. The hero fondled the wand handle, a strange smile on his face. “But first,” he said, “a few slides.”
The wizard paused, appearing puzzled. A gleaming sword blade protruded from his sternum. He slumped, and the golden-haired hero stepped up to the podium, plucking up the wand as he went.
“We have come to liberate the people! Dynamically!” he cried out. The assembled minions cheered heartily. The hero fondled the wand handle, a strange smile on his face. “But first,” he said, “a few slides.”
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