The Locus

“I feel like it’s all my fault, sometimes,” said Ernie.  “I know that’s silly.  Irrational.  But I feel culpable.  Like I’m the one to blame for all my troubles.”

The dark man, his drinking companion of chance this night, sighed.  “Do you want to know a secret?”

“Mnuh?”  Ernie raised his eyebrows behind his pint.

“You are.  You’re the one to blame.  Not just for your pathetic failure of a life, either.  All the misery of the world, all the sadness and death and pain and loss: your fault.  Just by existing.”  The man had a gun.  “We call your kind a ‘locus.’  I am here to save humanity.”

“Oh, God,” said Ernie.  He wondered if his lack of reaction was because he was too drunk to feel surprise, but deep down, he knew he was only recognizing the truth.  He hung his head.  “Just make it quick.”

The dark man smiled.  “Typical.”  He leaned in close.  “There’s another secret.  For it to work, for the scapegoat’s sacrifice to temporarily dispel the locus, the goat has to agree.  Congratulations, Ernie.  It really is all your fault.”

Ernie had enough time to blink before the dark man saved the world. 

Briefly.

Never Mix

“She’s way out of your league, dude,” said Harrison. 

And he was right.  Trent was tall, blond, athletic; Elizabeth anything but.  But when he’d heard Elizabeth ask a single question that stopped Professor Stromboldt cold, he knew she was the one.

It was not easy.  She assumed at first that he was mocking her, then that he thought she’d be an easy lay.  But he persisted, driven by the sincerity of his admiration.

At last, success!  That night was glorious for them both, a true meeting of equals.

Then, in the morning, the League Enforcers smashed down the dorm-room door.

A Bus as Long as the World

It's not so bad here.  If you are strong or clever, you can claim takeout bags almost nightly.  The seats are narrow, true, but that just makes them easier to defend, once wedged against the blackened windows. 

Yes, I have also heard the rumors.  That somewhere overhead is the Upper Deck, where the wealthy cavort amongst entire square feet of space and sometimes even catch a glimpse of sunlight.  But beware: to travel risks falling into the Axles, and the desperate, fareless creatures who cling there, lusting for bus tokens which they must never obtain, for the good of all.

The Tribunal, After the Bombs Fell

The only sound in the courtroom was the muffled clanging of the archangel’s bronze wings.  One by one, the missiles gave their testimony. 

The Lord nodded, white beard wagging.  “You were only following orders.  You cannot be held accountable.”

The next defendants were the generals, mirrored sunglasses shattering as they tried to reflect the glory of the assembled jury.

“How do you plead?” said the Lord. 

“We are greedy and cowardly, just as you made us.”

“Yes,” said the Lord, “that is true.”  And he nodded his head and waggled his beard, and the silence in the courtroom stretched on.

At the Borders

The line is Ouroboros in shabby coats.

Ahead, the guard beckons the frontmost applicant forward.  His coat is an incongruously cheery blue.  He stares at the applicant, a stolid woman in late middle age. 

“Have you ever loved a man to exhaustion out of hatred?” the guard asks.

The woman stammers. 

The guard gestures with his rifle.  “Denied.  Next!”

A young man, fresh-faced and stubbly.

“What is the day and hour that you will die?”

The youth is bold.  “Not today.”

The guard sneers.  “Denied.”

The line snakes on, out the door and beyond.  The sun has not yet risen.

"The Shallows" at Flash Fiction Online

My flash fiction The Shallows is presently available in September's issue of Flash Fiction online.  One alien ship and a thousand words.

This one was inspired back when they thought they'd clocked neutrinos exceeding the speed of light and sparked all kinds of crazy speculation even though all the actual scientists suggested it was probably experimental error.  It actually was experimental error, of course, but what if it wasn't?  ;-)

Anything is theoretically possible.

Drop by, read the other stories, leave a comment or some change in a cup if you feel so inclined.

Motorcycle

The streetlights cast shadows as I ride.  A man on a motorcycle appears, attenuates, is gone.  Another.  Another.  They race on, splinters of night, flaked from me like chips of flint.  They are faster than I; I cannot win. 

The sky twinkles, and grows dimmer. 

They are stealing the stars, I realize, one by one, riding on tenebrous wheels into the dark between the stars.  They will make a universe of shadows, and there they will rule. 

There is so little light to begin with. 

But I don’t stop.  I keep riding. 

I can only hope to get home first.