A knock came from the two massive solid oak doors that blocked everyone from entering Master Gaza’s private workshop. It reverberated through the stone chamber, a hollow kind of noise that one felt more than heard. Gaza sat up from his work bench and glared at the door, as if he could will the person on the other side to burst into flame. He could, of course, being a master wizard, but sometimes, burning other people for no other reason that they knocked at your door was seen as bad manners. He sighed, and waved his hand almost dismissively. The doors swung outwards on their own, creaking as they did so.
“Master Gaza?” came a timid voice.
Gaza sighed again. The voice belonged to Dimon, a skinny young man who always seemed on the verge of falling over from fright. Gaza had agreed to take him on as a student, as the University of White Magic would only agree to give him this workshop if he actually taught someone. Dimon was the first applicant at his door, and thus the first accepted. He was also the only one accepted, as Gaza was not about to teach a whole class.
“What is it, Dimon?” Gaza said, pulling up his glasses and squinting at his quavering apprentice.
“Well, M-master,” the younger man stuttered, “It’s time.. er.. for my… lesson. Master.”
Gaza blinked. Then, he looked at the fairy clock that lay on his desk. It was all crystals and rocks with, but a shadow cast by an invisible sun showed the time. A gift from Titania, from a younger, more passionate, time in his life. Sure enough, his apprentice was correct. Damnation. He was in the middle of some important research. He spared a regretful look at the book he was reading, and sighed again. Then, he picked up his short, thick pipe and rummaged around for his tobacco. After a few seconds of fruitless searching, he snapped his fingers and a small silver box flew across the room into his hand.
“Ah,” he said, stuffing his pipe and lighting it with a small burst of flame on his index finger. After a few long, slow drags, he reclined in his chair and studied young Dimon.
“You were working on an alchemy project, as I recall,” he said.
“Y-yes, Master,” the young man said. “Y-you said to f-find a cure for s-some common a-ailment.”
“And,” Gaza grumbled, “it is due today.”
“Yes, M-master,” Dimon said.
“Well, let’s go see what you have,” Gaza said, and stood, waving the boy towards the alchemy table.
The table was covered in tubes and glass bottles. Small magical flames burned under some, causing the liquid inside to bubble without burning the table it rested on. Boxes of herbs, roots and crystals lay scattered about, and in the small work bench next to it was a little leather covered book, quill and inkwell. The boy had been taking notes as we went along. Gaza nodded. He had taught the lad one thing, it seemed.
Dimon sat at the table and opened the book. Then, he pulled out several small vials and showed them to Gaza.
“T-these,” he said. “uh… these a-are the s-steps I took to r-reach the final product.”
Gaza stared at the vials. He would have to do something to stop the young man from stuttering if he was to continue to be his apprentice. Looking carefully, he saw some unusual looking combinations of herbs in there. He pulled the boy’s book of the table and examined it, then looked back at the vials.
“Those are some interesting mixtures you have there,” Gaza said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen some of these herbs used together before.”
“N-no, Master,” Dimon said. “I had to d-do a lot of re-research to figure out which ones to use.”
Gaza noted that the more the boy warmed up to his subject, the less he stuttered. It’s possible that Dimon’s fear of him was actually causing the issue.
“Go on,” Gaza said, not wanting to stop this progress.
“W-well, Master,” Dimon said, excitedly pointing to the book. “These notes indicate where I got my research, and these here indicate my initial tests. That’s these two vials here. This last vial is the one that succeeded in my tests. At least, on a dog.”
Gaza looked down again at the vials, specifically the last one. It was some kind of paste, a pale green in color, and had the smell of charcoal and sweet lemon leaf.
“A poultice?” he asked, and Dimon nodded.
“And where does one apply it?” he asked.
“To the scalp, Master,” Dimon said, pointing to his own cap covered head.
“The scalp?” Gaza said. “Exactly what ailment have you cured with a poultice that is placed on the scalp?”
“I think it’s best if you see it in action,” Dimon said. He stood up and started to reach for Gaza’s own long blue hat. “If I may, Master?”
Gaza glared at him, and the young man started to tremble slightly again. He sighed. He really did need to work on that.
“Very well,” he said.
Dimon took the cap of his master’s head and placed it on the table. Then, he grabbed the vial with the poultice in it, put a liberal amount in his hand, and started to rub it into the older man’s bald head. Gaza grimaced at the scrubbing, but after his apprentice was done admitted his head did feel better.
“I am not ill,” Gaza said. “Exactly what am I supposed to be feeling now.”
Dimon did not answer, but instead stared at Gaza’s head. The older man glowered. Apprentice’s should answer right away. What was he looking at anyway?
“Well?” he growled, but still Dimon did not answer.
Gaza had just decided to slap some since into Dimon when the boy’s eyes went wide, and then a smile crossed his face.
“Master, feel your head,” he said.
“What?” Gaza said, but put his hands up to feel his scalp. His own eyes flew wide open when he felt… hair. Actual hair. Not much, maybe a few inches growth, but his entire scalp, wherever the boy had rubbed that tonic, now had hair. Gaza quickly snapped his fingers, and a mirror flew across the room. Looking into it, he saw short, stiff white hair all over his head. He smiled. Then, he laughed.
“My boy,” he said, clasping Dimon on the shoulder. “I have seriously underestimated you. With work such as this, you will one day be a famous wizard.”
“Yes, Master,” Dimon said, his own smile getting bigger.
“Tell me, lad, “Gaza said, still looking into the mirror. “What made you think of baldness as an ailment in need of a cure?”
“Well,” Dimon said, then removed his cap to reveal a shiny scalp underneath.
Gaza laughed even harder.
The End
Showing posts with label Friday Flash. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friday Flash. Show all posts
Friday, May 20, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Friday Flash Fiction: The Princess and the Pie
Today's Friday Flash comes from a writing prompt from one of my favorite podcasts, Writing Excuses. Go check it out.
****
The Princess and the Pie
Isaldar ran at full speed down the castle hallway. He reached one set of doors that a pair of soldiers were guarding, and shoved his way past them, throwing an apology over his shoulder as he went. He couldn’t slow down, though. Time was not on his side.
He listened to the clack of his hard boots against the stone floor, and concentrated on his breathing. He just needed to get to the princess, before it was too late. He was still berating himself for letting the delivery happen in the first place, but how was he supposed to know? The princess did get outside food delivered often, especially as gifts, as this was presented.
He shook his head. No recriminations. Just get to the princess. He came to another double door, this one leading to the royal sleeping chambers. There were four guards here, and these looked ready for him, halberds down to block his path.
“Sorry, guys, no time,” he said as he skidded under their pole arms and through the door. “Believe me when I tell you that the princess wants to see me!”
Finally, he made it to her room, where there was but a single guard. Not wanting to put up with anyone trying to stop him, he whipped out a stone from his pocket and casually tossed it ahead of him as he ran. The small, flat stone whipped across the room and smacked the guard right between the eyes. The man briefly looked around in surprise and then fell to the floor, unconscious.
Without hardly a pause, Isaldar pushed open the doors. He saw the princess then, sitting at her table about to take a bite of a very fine looking pie.
“NO!” he shouted and threw himself across the room. He landed right into the table, shoving it over and knocking pie all over the place. As he went down with the table, he snatched the fork in the princess’ hand, that piece of pie also flying.
“What in the name of the nine hells?” the princess started, but Isaldar interrupted her.
“Did you eat any of that pie, princess?” he asked.
“What?” she said, anger crossing her fine featured face.
“Did. You. Eat. Any. Of. That. Pie.” Isaldar said very slowly as he stood and brushed himself off.
“No, of course not,” she replied, standing up herself to face him eye to eye. He forgot how tall she was. “You threw your self at my dining table, upending everything and splattering the walls and even myself with it!”
“Good,” Isaldar said, reaching over to pick up a piece of the pie. He smelled it as the princess nearly exploded. Before he could, he shoved the piece of pie in her face.
“Look at this,” he said.
“What, it looks like an ordinary… wait,” she said. “Is that?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Darkberries. This pie was designed to steal your powers, princess. And as you well know, without your powers, the world would crumble to dust at your feet.”
She just stood there, eyes wide open. The whole of creation, nearly undone because of a pie. She shook her head.
“How did it get here in the first place?” she asked.
“Poor security,” he said. “Between that and my easy run here, I’ll need to do something about that.”
“Good,” she said. “Go do that. And bring in a maid to clean up this mess you made.”
”Yes, your highness,” he replied, leaving to go. He smiled. The world was safe once again.
“I still want pie,” he heard the princess say behind him. He sighed. Sometimes, he feared she would never learn.
The End
****
The Princess and the Pie
Isaldar ran at full speed down the castle hallway. He reached one set of doors that a pair of soldiers were guarding, and shoved his way past them, throwing an apology over his shoulder as he went. He couldn’t slow down, though. Time was not on his side.
He listened to the clack of his hard boots against the stone floor, and concentrated on his breathing. He just needed to get to the princess, before it was too late. He was still berating himself for letting the delivery happen in the first place, but how was he supposed to know? The princess did get outside food delivered often, especially as gifts, as this was presented.
He shook his head. No recriminations. Just get to the princess. He came to another double door, this one leading to the royal sleeping chambers. There were four guards here, and these looked ready for him, halberds down to block his path.
“Sorry, guys, no time,” he said as he skidded under their pole arms and through the door. “Believe me when I tell you that the princess wants to see me!”
Finally, he made it to her room, where there was but a single guard. Not wanting to put up with anyone trying to stop him, he whipped out a stone from his pocket and casually tossed it ahead of him as he ran. The small, flat stone whipped across the room and smacked the guard right between the eyes. The man briefly looked around in surprise and then fell to the floor, unconscious.
Without hardly a pause, Isaldar pushed open the doors. He saw the princess then, sitting at her table about to take a bite of a very fine looking pie.
“NO!” he shouted and threw himself across the room. He landed right into the table, shoving it over and knocking pie all over the place. As he went down with the table, he snatched the fork in the princess’ hand, that piece of pie also flying.
“What in the name of the nine hells?” the princess started, but Isaldar interrupted her.
“Did you eat any of that pie, princess?” he asked.
“What?” she said, anger crossing her fine featured face.
“Did. You. Eat. Any. Of. That. Pie.” Isaldar said very slowly as he stood and brushed himself off.
“No, of course not,” she replied, standing up herself to face him eye to eye. He forgot how tall she was. “You threw your self at my dining table, upending everything and splattering the walls and even myself with it!”
“Good,” Isaldar said, reaching over to pick up a piece of the pie. He smelled it as the princess nearly exploded. Before he could, he shoved the piece of pie in her face.
“Look at this,” he said.
“What, it looks like an ordinary… wait,” she said. “Is that?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Darkberries. This pie was designed to steal your powers, princess. And as you well know, without your powers, the world would crumble to dust at your feet.”
She just stood there, eyes wide open. The whole of creation, nearly undone because of a pie. She shook her head.
“How did it get here in the first place?” she asked.
“Poor security,” he said. “Between that and my easy run here, I’ll need to do something about that.”
“Good,” she said. “Go do that. And bring in a maid to clean up this mess you made.”
”Yes, your highness,” he replied, leaving to go. He smiled. The world was safe once again.
“I still want pie,” he heard the princess say behind him. He sighed. Sometimes, he feared she would never learn.
The End
Friday, April 22, 2011
Flash Fiction Friday: Bunnies!
A special Easter edition of Flash Fiction Friday!
*****
“Atten’shun!” came the cry, and all one hundred of the rabbits in the field stood up straight and sharp, forming four lines and making sure that the also formed a perfect square. Another rabbit, a large grey with a black beret on his head that had a patch with a pastel yellow egg on it with a red omega symbol, walked up and down, eyeballing them.
“Floppy, get those ears up straight! God damnit, son, you think this is funny?” he shouted into the face of one bunny, causing the younger animal to jump slightly before straightening up and pointing his ears to the sky.
The rabbit with the beret growled and then walked to the front of the group.
“You are the sorriest lot of Easter Bunnies I have ever been saddled with training,” he said. “But they don’t give me enough time to take maggots like you and turn you into real rabbits before I gotta send you out into the field. So, I guess you’ll have to do.”
He sighed and shook his head.
“All right, listen up! This weekend is the real deal, sweethearts. No more training. No more mistakes. You go out there, and you’re each on your own. You have to get in there, fill those baskets, hide those eggs and get out before anyone can catch you. Especially don’t let the adults see you. They’ll capture you and dissect you before you can say Peter Cottentail. You got me?”
A collective “Sir, yes, Sir!” came up from the assemblage.
“Kids are a slightly different story. We may not be as big as the jolly ol’ fat man from the North Pole, but we’re still mighty popular with the kids. One of them see’s you, you wink and smile and then get the hell out of Dodge. No one tries to be a hero, and get their name down in some kiddy book by befriending a kid. If I hear that any one of you learns the name of a single kid out there, or God forbid, you give your name to one of them, I will personally hunt you down and skin you myself. Do I make myself clear?”
The “Sir, yes, Sir!” rang out once more. The head bunny nodded approvingly.
“All right, then. Your assignments are on the billboard by the carrot patch. I EXPECT each and every one of you to make even better time Fluffy here did on the obstacle course last week. I EXPECT each and every one of you to do better than your best, and not embarrass me. I have a reputation for putting out the best Easter Bunnies in these United States, and I do not intend to have the reputation tarnished by you ladies. Are we on the same page?”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” came the chorus. Once again, he nodded his approval.
“Dismissed!”
The other rabbits quickly bounded off to the carrot patch to see their assignments. He sighed. He always hated letting the recruits go into the field. He never felt like he had time to properly train them. One more week, even. But, still. Despite what he said, the same thing he always said, this group might just be the best bunch of Easter Bunnies he had ever produced.
He nodded in satisfaction and headed to the juice bar for a much needed rest..
The End
*****
“Atten’shun!” came the cry, and all one hundred of the rabbits in the field stood up straight and sharp, forming four lines and making sure that the also formed a perfect square. Another rabbit, a large grey with a black beret on his head that had a patch with a pastel yellow egg on it with a red omega symbol, walked up and down, eyeballing them.
“Floppy, get those ears up straight! God damnit, son, you think this is funny?” he shouted into the face of one bunny, causing the younger animal to jump slightly before straightening up and pointing his ears to the sky.
The rabbit with the beret growled and then walked to the front of the group.
“You are the sorriest lot of Easter Bunnies I have ever been saddled with training,” he said. “But they don’t give me enough time to take maggots like you and turn you into real rabbits before I gotta send you out into the field. So, I guess you’ll have to do.”
He sighed and shook his head.
“All right, listen up! This weekend is the real deal, sweethearts. No more training. No more mistakes. You go out there, and you’re each on your own. You have to get in there, fill those baskets, hide those eggs and get out before anyone can catch you. Especially don’t let the adults see you. They’ll capture you and dissect you before you can say Peter Cottentail. You got me?”
A collective “Sir, yes, Sir!” came up from the assemblage.
“Kids are a slightly different story. We may not be as big as the jolly ol’ fat man from the North Pole, but we’re still mighty popular with the kids. One of them see’s you, you wink and smile and then get the hell out of Dodge. No one tries to be a hero, and get their name down in some kiddy book by befriending a kid. If I hear that any one of you learns the name of a single kid out there, or God forbid, you give your name to one of them, I will personally hunt you down and skin you myself. Do I make myself clear?”
The “Sir, yes, Sir!” rang out once more. The head bunny nodded approvingly.
“All right, then. Your assignments are on the billboard by the carrot patch. I EXPECT each and every one of you to make even better time Fluffy here did on the obstacle course last week. I EXPECT each and every one of you to do better than your best, and not embarrass me. I have a reputation for putting out the best Easter Bunnies in these United States, and I do not intend to have the reputation tarnished by you ladies. Are we on the same page?”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” came the chorus. Once again, he nodded his approval.
“Dismissed!”
The other rabbits quickly bounded off to the carrot patch to see their assignments. He sighed. He always hated letting the recruits go into the field. He never felt like he had time to properly train them. One more week, even. But, still. Despite what he said, the same thing he always said, this group might just be the best bunch of Easter Bunnies he had ever produced.
He nodded in satisfaction and headed to the juice bar for a much needed rest..
The End
Friday, April 15, 2011
Friday Flash Fiction: Camera Store
Today's Friday Flash Fiction is curtousy of a prompt by my twitter friend Nicole Wolverton (@nicolewolverton). If you're not following her, why the hell not?
****
Clara stopped licking her ice cream and looked up. She turned her head slightly to make sure she actually saw what she thought she had seen. There it was. A sign, with an old fashioned camera on a tripod, complete with man behind the large cloth cover and holding the flash powder over the contraption. Next to the picture were the words “One Thousand Words Cameras” in an old time styled font. Clara’s forehead creased and she turned around, taking a few steps down the cobblestone walkway to the storefront.
When did this place get here? She had walked down this little alleyway in Florence everyday since arriving here to work four months ago, and this store was never here. It wasn’t there yesterday. And yet, here it was, as if it had been here this whole time. The sign even showed wear and aging. What the hell?
She had to find out. So, she opened the door and walked in. The little bell chimed as the door opened, and again as it closed behind her.
The place was small, but crammed from floor to ceiling with cameras. Cameras of all shapes and sizes, makes and models, even some that weren’t made any more, and a few that Clara didn’t recognize. Must be state of the art models, though she figured she would have at least heard of them enough to recognize them. She was a professional photographer after all.
Still, now that she was in here, she was intrigued. This place had everything. Cameras, stands, film, books on cameras and photographers. It was like a camera buff’s wet dream.
She walked across the small store and stopped halfway to the back. There, on the counter, was a camera so unique and startlingly different she had to stop and take a look at it. It looked very much like a modern digital camera, with a screen and control buttons on the back, but the casing was wood. It had a tripod that was also wood, and the whole thing had a classic feel to it. It had a pretty advanced lens too, if she was any judge. And she was.
She reached out to touch it.
“Oh, I wouldn’t touch that one, if I were you,” a thickly accented voice said, and she turned around, surprised.
There was an old man there, wearing what looked like a suit from the 1800’s, and an apron, of all things. She could swear that he wasn’t there before. This was a little too much. She made her living with her eyes, how was it she wasn’t noticing these things?
“Why shouldn’t I touch it?” she asked. “How will I know if I want it if I can’t see it in use?”
“Oh, you don’t want that camera,” he said. “It’s cursed.”
“What?” she said, blinking. This had to be some bizarre nightmare.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Cursed. Everything that you take a picture of with that camera… BECOMES the picture.”
“Come again?” she said.
“It actually becomes the picture,” he repeated. “It disappears from the real world, only to exist in the picture you took.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said. Then, a thought occurred to her. “I want to buy it.”
“I don’t think you…” he started.
“Yeah, yeah,” she cut him off. “It’s cursed and you don’t think I really want to buy it. The thing is, I do. See, it’s the most unique camera I’ve ever seen. It’s beautiful work, and it’s a very high quality camera, from what I can tell.”
“Oh, it’s the best,” he said. “All to make it more appealing.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “And I want it. So, I’m going to write you a check, and you just tell me how much to put in there.”
“Madam,” he said. “This camera is not for sale.”
She was ignoring him now. His whole cursed shtick was getting old. She turned around and picked the camera up over his protests. She flipped the power switch, and watched as the screen came to life immediately. Nice. Even her best camera took a few seconds to warm up. She swung it around the store, looking at the view on the screen. It was sharp and clear, very detailed. Also very nice. She aimed it at the shopkeeper, who was now waiving his arms frantically.
She pushed the button, and the flash light up the small store, blinding her for a few seconds.
When she could see again, the shopkeeper was gone. She looked around for him, and then noticed something moving on the screen for the camera. She looked down at it, and saw the shopkeeper. He was in the picture she had just took, but he was moving, banging his hands against the screen and waving his arms frantically.
Had she taken a video instead of a picture? No, the setting was on picture. She looked back at the screen. He was screaming and pointing at her now. She practically dropped the camera.
Oh, My. God. He was telling her the truth. The damn camera really was cursed. She looked down at the screaming man in the camera. Then, a cold smile crossed her lips. She knew a few models that she wouldn’t mind getting rid of. Not to mention a few magazine editors. This was going to be fun.
She looked at the shopkeeper and grinned at him. Then, she flicked the power switch off.
The End
****
Clara stopped licking her ice cream and looked up. She turned her head slightly to make sure she actually saw what she thought she had seen. There it was. A sign, with an old fashioned camera on a tripod, complete with man behind the large cloth cover and holding the flash powder over the contraption. Next to the picture were the words “One Thousand Words Cameras” in an old time styled font. Clara’s forehead creased and she turned around, taking a few steps down the cobblestone walkway to the storefront.
When did this place get here? She had walked down this little alleyway in Florence everyday since arriving here to work four months ago, and this store was never here. It wasn’t there yesterday. And yet, here it was, as if it had been here this whole time. The sign even showed wear and aging. What the hell?
She had to find out. So, she opened the door and walked in. The little bell chimed as the door opened, and again as it closed behind her.
The place was small, but crammed from floor to ceiling with cameras. Cameras of all shapes and sizes, makes and models, even some that weren’t made any more, and a few that Clara didn’t recognize. Must be state of the art models, though she figured she would have at least heard of them enough to recognize them. She was a professional photographer after all.
Still, now that she was in here, she was intrigued. This place had everything. Cameras, stands, film, books on cameras and photographers. It was like a camera buff’s wet dream.
She walked across the small store and stopped halfway to the back. There, on the counter, was a camera so unique and startlingly different she had to stop and take a look at it. It looked very much like a modern digital camera, with a screen and control buttons on the back, but the casing was wood. It had a tripod that was also wood, and the whole thing had a classic feel to it. It had a pretty advanced lens too, if she was any judge. And she was.
She reached out to touch it.
“Oh, I wouldn’t touch that one, if I were you,” a thickly accented voice said, and she turned around, surprised.
There was an old man there, wearing what looked like a suit from the 1800’s, and an apron, of all things. She could swear that he wasn’t there before. This was a little too much. She made her living with her eyes, how was it she wasn’t noticing these things?
“Why shouldn’t I touch it?” she asked. “How will I know if I want it if I can’t see it in use?”
“Oh, you don’t want that camera,” he said. “It’s cursed.”
“What?” she said, blinking. This had to be some bizarre nightmare.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Cursed. Everything that you take a picture of with that camera… BECOMES the picture.”
“Come again?” she said.
“It actually becomes the picture,” he repeated. “It disappears from the real world, only to exist in the picture you took.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said. Then, a thought occurred to her. “I want to buy it.”
“I don’t think you…” he started.
“Yeah, yeah,” she cut him off. “It’s cursed and you don’t think I really want to buy it. The thing is, I do. See, it’s the most unique camera I’ve ever seen. It’s beautiful work, and it’s a very high quality camera, from what I can tell.”
“Oh, it’s the best,” he said. “All to make it more appealing.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “And I want it. So, I’m going to write you a check, and you just tell me how much to put in there.”
“Madam,” he said. “This camera is not for sale.”
She was ignoring him now. His whole cursed shtick was getting old. She turned around and picked the camera up over his protests. She flipped the power switch, and watched as the screen came to life immediately. Nice. Even her best camera took a few seconds to warm up. She swung it around the store, looking at the view on the screen. It was sharp and clear, very detailed. Also very nice. She aimed it at the shopkeeper, who was now waiving his arms frantically.
She pushed the button, and the flash light up the small store, blinding her for a few seconds.
When she could see again, the shopkeeper was gone. She looked around for him, and then noticed something moving on the screen for the camera. She looked down at it, and saw the shopkeeper. He was in the picture she had just took, but he was moving, banging his hands against the screen and waving his arms frantically.
Had she taken a video instead of a picture? No, the setting was on picture. She looked back at the screen. He was screaming and pointing at her now. She practically dropped the camera.
Oh, My. God. He was telling her the truth. The damn camera really was cursed. She looked down at the screaming man in the camera. Then, a cold smile crossed her lips. She knew a few models that she wouldn’t mind getting rid of. Not to mention a few magazine editors. This was going to be fun.
She looked at the shopkeeper and grinned at him. Then, she flicked the power switch off.
The End
Friday, April 8, 2011
Friday Flash Fiction: Fiasco on the Ice
Kevin slowly climbed down from the truck, his jaw slack, his eyes wide. What the hell was happening? Nothing was going as planned. And it was such a simple plan, too. How could everything have gone so wrong in such a short time?
All he wanted to do was get off the ice. This fucking ice. He had come to McMurdo Station six years ago, and regretted it ever since. It was a miserable experience out here, where the biggest attraction was the fucking Wells Fargo ATM machine. His only solace was his girlfriend, Sally, who wanted off the ice just as badly.
At first, their plan was pretty boring. Work hard to save enough money to take advantage of the buy out clause in their contracts. But here it was, six years later, and they were still here. That’s when they heard the news.
There was a man coming in to McMurdo, a government man from Washington, with some transfer orders, recalling people back to America. The rumors had it that the orders were for Kevin’s boss, Tony Dravin, that asshole, and his wife. The plan came to Kevin almost immediately. It was simplicity it self. Sally and Kevin would get some fake transfer orders, with their names on them. Then, Sally would user her ample feminine assets to seduce and distract the Washington man, so that Kevin could steal his briefcase with the orders in them, and then switch them out with the fake orders.
And presto, they would be transferred off the ice. Simplicity.
Somehow, things had all gone south. First, it turned out that the damn Government man was queer as a two-dollar bill, so he and Sally switched roles. Then, fucking Tony wouldn’t leave the guys side. So, Kevin came up with a back up plan. He set fire to the warehouse so Tony would have something to occupy his time with while he got Mr. Government Man alone. And away from his briefcase. Which worked, too, because they got the fake papers in the briefcase. Of course, it meant that Kevin had to actually go through with bedding the guy, but that was a small indignity when taken into context of the last six years, really.
But the fire was really out of control, and it burned town the warehouse and two others besides. One that held explosives for use in the ice. The resulting blast killed Tony. Kevin was rocked by that whole thing. Tony was dead, and he had fucked another man. Things were out of control, and he wanted out. But Sally wasn’t about to let him ditch her now, not when the plan was this close to being finished.
That’s when things got really out of hand. With Tony dead, an investigation was launched into the fire, which made Kevin nervous, as there could be evidence that he was guilty. Beyond that, the investigation put the release of the transfer orders on hold, which drove Sally bonkers. At gun point, she took Kevin and the government man out onto the ice in one of those big rigs used to run supplies around. She informed the man from Washington that he was going to release those documents so that she and Kevin could get out of this fucking place. When he refused, she threatened to shoot him. Kevin freaked and tried to get the gun from her, and in the struggle, the gun went off. She fell out of the truck, blood pouring out of her stomach, staining the otherwise pure white snow.
He had shot his girlfriend. The only thing out here that he actually loved. He spilled his guts to the government man. Everything, turning himself in. The man nodded grimly as the story was related, stating that Kevin would have to be arrested and put on trial. He patted Kevin on the shoulder, and Kevin almost laughed.
Trial. That would have to take place back in America. Looks like he was getting off the fucking ice after all.
The End
All he wanted to do was get off the ice. This fucking ice. He had come to McMurdo Station six years ago, and regretted it ever since. It was a miserable experience out here, where the biggest attraction was the fucking Wells Fargo ATM machine. His only solace was his girlfriend, Sally, who wanted off the ice just as badly.
At first, their plan was pretty boring. Work hard to save enough money to take advantage of the buy out clause in their contracts. But here it was, six years later, and they were still here. That’s when they heard the news.
There was a man coming in to McMurdo, a government man from Washington, with some transfer orders, recalling people back to America. The rumors had it that the orders were for Kevin’s boss, Tony Dravin, that asshole, and his wife. The plan came to Kevin almost immediately. It was simplicity it self. Sally and Kevin would get some fake transfer orders, with their names on them. Then, Sally would user her ample feminine assets to seduce and distract the Washington man, so that Kevin could steal his briefcase with the orders in them, and then switch them out with the fake orders.
And presto, they would be transferred off the ice. Simplicity.
Somehow, things had all gone south. First, it turned out that the damn Government man was queer as a two-dollar bill, so he and Sally switched roles. Then, fucking Tony wouldn’t leave the guys side. So, Kevin came up with a back up plan. He set fire to the warehouse so Tony would have something to occupy his time with while he got Mr. Government Man alone. And away from his briefcase. Which worked, too, because they got the fake papers in the briefcase. Of course, it meant that Kevin had to actually go through with bedding the guy, but that was a small indignity when taken into context of the last six years, really.
But the fire was really out of control, and it burned town the warehouse and two others besides. One that held explosives for use in the ice. The resulting blast killed Tony. Kevin was rocked by that whole thing. Tony was dead, and he had fucked another man. Things were out of control, and he wanted out. But Sally wasn’t about to let him ditch her now, not when the plan was this close to being finished.
That’s when things got really out of hand. With Tony dead, an investigation was launched into the fire, which made Kevin nervous, as there could be evidence that he was guilty. Beyond that, the investigation put the release of the transfer orders on hold, which drove Sally bonkers. At gun point, she took Kevin and the government man out onto the ice in one of those big rigs used to run supplies around. She informed the man from Washington that he was going to release those documents so that she and Kevin could get out of this fucking place. When he refused, she threatened to shoot him. Kevin freaked and tried to get the gun from her, and in the struggle, the gun went off. She fell out of the truck, blood pouring out of her stomach, staining the otherwise pure white snow.
He had shot his girlfriend. The only thing out here that he actually loved. He spilled his guts to the government man. Everything, turning himself in. The man nodded grimly as the story was related, stating that Kevin would have to be arrested and put on trial. He patted Kevin on the shoulder, and Kevin almost laughed.
Trial. That would have to take place back in America. Looks like he was getting off the fucking ice after all.
The End
Friday, April 1, 2011
Flash Fiction Friday: A Horse with No Name
Welcome back once again to Flash Fiction Friday!
This week's entry comes from the prompt for R. B. Wood's podcast, The Word Count. Go check it out, if you haven't yet. Richard is a good guy, a good author, and has a fantastic podcast featuring all kinds of other good authors.
Anyway, this prompt was "take a line from your favorite song and write a story around it."
It's not my all time favorite song, but I do like it, and this story almost wrote it self once I said the line out loud. Keep in mind that this is the first draft of this story, and it's going to get edited before I record it and submit it to the podcast.
In the mean time, please enjoy!
****
A Horse with No Name
“I rode through the desert on a horse with no name,” the stranger said in response to Ahmed’s question.
“Bah!” Ahmed said, his lip curled in a snarl. “No one rides through that desert, not and lives. There is a reason we call it the Land of Death.”
The stranger’s eyes, strangely blank and focused at the same time, turned their attention on Ahmed, burning into his skull, as if the man were looking at Ahmed’s very soul. Ahmed took an involuntary step backward.
“But I did,” he said. “And I found it there. The legends are true.”
“Legends?” Ahmed said, his eyebrows raised in confusion. Then, the man’s words sank in, and his eyebrows lowered, his eyes squinting in understanding. “You don’t mean…?”
“I do,” the stranger said, and then reached into his robes to pull out a long, straight bundle of blankets, as long as a man is tall, and thin, like a pole. Or a spear, Ahmed realized.
“That is it?” Ahmed said. “Are you sure?”
The stranger pulled back the blankets enough for Ahmed to see the spear point. Pure platinum, he could tell even just by looking at it, with a single ruby at the point where the blade met the shaft. And runes, ancient runes of a long dead language, were carved into the metal. He gasped, turned to make sure no one else was looking, then quickly wrapped it back up!
“It is…” he said in a whisper. “It’s he Spear of Time, the one prophesied to be used by the Great Defender in the final battle that will either save or destroy the world."
“Indeed,” the stranger said. “I found it… out there.”
His eyes went glassy. Well, more glassy than before, like instead of looking through Ahmed, he wasn’t even aware that Ahmed was there. The stranger was clearly looking at the past, his recent past.
“I… I can’t remember much,” he said. “The heat. I can’t even remember my own name.”
“The desert does that to people,” Ahmed said. “Go on and tell me what you do remember.”
“I…” The stranger paused. Then, he sat down suddenly, on the dusty ground by the building that held Ahmed’s shop. He leaned his head back against the wall, and for the first time, Ahmed say just how tired the other man looked. The bags under the man’s eyes were swollen and purple, and the hair on his chin was clearly at few days worth of growth. And where before he saw a smelly mess, he now saw a man who had torn clothing and a dirty countenance that came from hardship. Ahmed frowned. Sympathy was not an emotion he was used to, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
Suddenly, the stranger’s head snapped back up.
“A city,” he said. “I remember a city… made of… jewels?”
“Ala-mashad,” Ahmed said automatically, thinking of the old stories and prophecies about the so-called City of God, said to be hidden deep in the desert. He stopped before he said anything else. Ala-mashad? The Spear of Time? Legends. These things were not real. This stranger was just… what? A crazy man? A wily merchant, trying to pass off items as legendary artifacts? No. Ahmed didn’t believe that. There was more to this stranger than either of those options. He just wasn’t yet ready to believe that this man before him was the Great Guardian spoken of in the sacred texts.
“I remember… a man… another man… I…” The stranger continued. “I followed him… into the desert… he had committed a crime, I think… I can’t remember his name, either. I followed him, to that strange city where… something happened. Something rose up… a giant snake? and… ate us?”
Ahmed almost opened his mouth again. Dal-Hashad, the world snake, that was said to devour the light and the dark at the beginning of time, and would spit out the Great Guardian and the Dark Agent before at the end of time, when the Final Battle would happen. This man had to be pulling his leg.
“I don’t think…” the stranger said, still looking into that strange past he saw. “I don’t think I’m the same man as the one that went into the desert, the one that was chasing after a criminal. But at the same time, I am he. I have his… memories. Or some of them, at least. And the man I was chasing, he is different, too. After the snake spit us out, we landed on a pile of treasure.”
Ahmed noted that the man’s words were coming faster now. He was obviously remembering more.
“I remember looking at him, this other man, this dark man, and wanting to kill him, as if that were my purpose in life. I reached out to the treasure around me, and grabbed that spear. I struck at him with it, but he too had reached into the pile, and grabbed a shield. A black shield, that appeared to be made from darkness itself. He laughed, then touched the shield and vanished. I left the city, found this house, and rode… here.”
He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the building. He looked tired once more. A bone deep wariness, as if he had been walking for a hundred years. Which he could have, from the look of him, Ahmed thought.
“I also found…” the stranger said, fishing around inside his shirt. “This. It was around my neck when I awoke on that pile of treasure.”
He pulled out a small, round pendant and showed it to Ahmed. Ahmed gasped, and took a step backward again. He had to stop himself from taking more. It was impossible. But there it was, the symbol, the chain, everything. Proof that this man was telling the truth. For the pendant was made out of a green materal known as Jade, something that didn’t exist anywhere but in legends. But it had to be Jade? What else was that green color? Touching it, it was no stone that Ahmed had ever seen. Jade. Te Rock of God, they called it. This man before him really WAS the Great Guardian. He had to tell someone.
“I…” Ahmed started, looking from the pendant to the stranger. “I need to… tell someone. The priest, maybe. He’ll know what to do. You, you stay here, inside my shop. You’ll be safe.”
The stranger nodded, and stood up to go inside.
“Take my horse,” he said to Ahmed, who nodded. Without thinking, he got on the horse and rode, fast, toward the temple in the middle of town. The priest, he had to know what to do next. He looked down at the horse. The Horse with No Name, the stranger had called it. When that thought went through his head, Ahmed almost fell off.
The Horse was part of the prophecy too. The horse with no name would bring the Guradian out of the Land of the Dead, and it would also carry the Guardian’s herald, who would bring news of the guardian. It was said in the prophecy that the horse would carry the herald to a great leader, where he would share his news. It was also said that the horse would carry the herald in the final battle, where he would die, sacrificing himself to protect the Guardian.
It occurred to Ahmed that he was that herald. He was right now heading to a great leader, the high priest of the temple, to bring news of the guardian. And e was doing it, riding on a horse with no name. It was almost enough to make Ahmed cry.
A bloody horse with no name.
The End
This week's entry comes from the prompt for R. B. Wood's podcast, The Word Count. Go check it out, if you haven't yet. Richard is a good guy, a good author, and has a fantastic podcast featuring all kinds of other good authors.
Anyway, this prompt was "take a line from your favorite song and write a story around it."
It's not my all time favorite song, but I do like it, and this story almost wrote it self once I said the line out loud. Keep in mind that this is the first draft of this story, and it's going to get edited before I record it and submit it to the podcast.
In the mean time, please enjoy!
****
A Horse with No Name
“I rode through the desert on a horse with no name,” the stranger said in response to Ahmed’s question.
“Bah!” Ahmed said, his lip curled in a snarl. “No one rides through that desert, not and lives. There is a reason we call it the Land of Death.”
The stranger’s eyes, strangely blank and focused at the same time, turned their attention on Ahmed, burning into his skull, as if the man were looking at Ahmed’s very soul. Ahmed took an involuntary step backward.
“But I did,” he said. “And I found it there. The legends are true.”
“Legends?” Ahmed said, his eyebrows raised in confusion. Then, the man’s words sank in, and his eyebrows lowered, his eyes squinting in understanding. “You don’t mean…?”
“I do,” the stranger said, and then reached into his robes to pull out a long, straight bundle of blankets, as long as a man is tall, and thin, like a pole. Or a spear, Ahmed realized.
“That is it?” Ahmed said. “Are you sure?”
The stranger pulled back the blankets enough for Ahmed to see the spear point. Pure platinum, he could tell even just by looking at it, with a single ruby at the point where the blade met the shaft. And runes, ancient runes of a long dead language, were carved into the metal. He gasped, turned to make sure no one else was looking, then quickly wrapped it back up!
“It is…” he said in a whisper. “It’s he Spear of Time, the one prophesied to be used by the Great Defender in the final battle that will either save or destroy the world."
“Indeed,” the stranger said. “I found it… out there.”
His eyes went glassy. Well, more glassy than before, like instead of looking through Ahmed, he wasn’t even aware that Ahmed was there. The stranger was clearly looking at the past, his recent past.
“I… I can’t remember much,” he said. “The heat. I can’t even remember my own name.”
“The desert does that to people,” Ahmed said. “Go on and tell me what you do remember.”
“I…” The stranger paused. Then, he sat down suddenly, on the dusty ground by the building that held Ahmed’s shop. He leaned his head back against the wall, and for the first time, Ahmed say just how tired the other man looked. The bags under the man’s eyes were swollen and purple, and the hair on his chin was clearly at few days worth of growth. And where before he saw a smelly mess, he now saw a man who had torn clothing and a dirty countenance that came from hardship. Ahmed frowned. Sympathy was not an emotion he was used to, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
Suddenly, the stranger’s head snapped back up.
“A city,” he said. “I remember a city… made of… jewels?”
“Ala-mashad,” Ahmed said automatically, thinking of the old stories and prophecies about the so-called City of God, said to be hidden deep in the desert. He stopped before he said anything else. Ala-mashad? The Spear of Time? Legends. These things were not real. This stranger was just… what? A crazy man? A wily merchant, trying to pass off items as legendary artifacts? No. Ahmed didn’t believe that. There was more to this stranger than either of those options. He just wasn’t yet ready to believe that this man before him was the Great Guardian spoken of in the sacred texts.
“I remember… a man… another man… I…” The stranger continued. “I followed him… into the desert… he had committed a crime, I think… I can’t remember his name, either. I followed him, to that strange city where… something happened. Something rose up… a giant snake? and… ate us?”
Ahmed almost opened his mouth again. Dal-Hashad, the world snake, that was said to devour the light and the dark at the beginning of time, and would spit out the Great Guardian and the Dark Agent before at the end of time, when the Final Battle would happen. This man had to be pulling his leg.
“I don’t think…” the stranger said, still looking into that strange past he saw. “I don’t think I’m the same man as the one that went into the desert, the one that was chasing after a criminal. But at the same time, I am he. I have his… memories. Or some of them, at least. And the man I was chasing, he is different, too. After the snake spit us out, we landed on a pile of treasure.”
Ahmed noted that the man’s words were coming faster now. He was obviously remembering more.
“I remember looking at him, this other man, this dark man, and wanting to kill him, as if that were my purpose in life. I reached out to the treasure around me, and grabbed that spear. I struck at him with it, but he too had reached into the pile, and grabbed a shield. A black shield, that appeared to be made from darkness itself. He laughed, then touched the shield and vanished. I left the city, found this house, and rode… here.”
He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the building. He looked tired once more. A bone deep wariness, as if he had been walking for a hundred years. Which he could have, from the look of him, Ahmed thought.
“I also found…” the stranger said, fishing around inside his shirt. “This. It was around my neck when I awoke on that pile of treasure.”
He pulled out a small, round pendant and showed it to Ahmed. Ahmed gasped, and took a step backward again. He had to stop himself from taking more. It was impossible. But there it was, the symbol, the chain, everything. Proof that this man was telling the truth. For the pendant was made out of a green materal known as Jade, something that didn’t exist anywhere but in legends. But it had to be Jade? What else was that green color? Touching it, it was no stone that Ahmed had ever seen. Jade. Te Rock of God, they called it. This man before him really WAS the Great Guardian. He had to tell someone.
“I…” Ahmed started, looking from the pendant to the stranger. “I need to… tell someone. The priest, maybe. He’ll know what to do. You, you stay here, inside my shop. You’ll be safe.”
The stranger nodded, and stood up to go inside.
“Take my horse,” he said to Ahmed, who nodded. Without thinking, he got on the horse and rode, fast, toward the temple in the middle of town. The priest, he had to know what to do next. He looked down at the horse. The Horse with No Name, the stranger had called it. When that thought went through his head, Ahmed almost fell off.
The Horse was part of the prophecy too. The horse with no name would bring the Guradian out of the Land of the Dead, and it would also carry the Guardian’s herald, who would bring news of the guardian. It was said in the prophecy that the horse would carry the herald to a great leader, where he would share his news. It was also said that the horse would carry the herald in the final battle, where he would die, sacrificing himself to protect the Guardian.
It occurred to Ahmed that he was that herald. He was right now heading to a great leader, the high priest of the temple, to bring news of the guardian. And e was doing it, riding on a horse with no name. It was almost enough to make Ahmed cry.
A bloody horse with no name.
The End
Friday, March 25, 2011
Flash Fiction Friday: The Hunt, part 2
I don’t normally do a sequel for my flash fiction stories, but Tuesday’s piece really cried out for more. I mean, what would a magical duel between two non-humans look like using a billiard’s game as the battlefield? I had to know. So, I wrote this. Enjoy!
The Hunt, part 2
Jin stared across the table at the hound finished setting up the table. Everything was set. He could feel the magical energy passing from him into his pool stick. He nodded towards the wall, and she pulled a random stick from it, not even bothering to check it. She also infused her with magical energy. She had to pause for a second before doing that, though. It had been a long while since she had a magical duel, dealing with most of her targets through more… direct means lately. The hound, however, was not her target, and she didn’t need him dead. In fact, dead was bad. She needed information. And the billiards game before her was how she was going to get it.
“Straight billiards?” Jin asked, and the hound shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal to him.
It was to her. Straight would be an easier game for the magical duel to take place in. He waved towards the table and moved aside to let her shoot first. She took position, bent over the table and struck the cue ball. She could feel the energy leave her stick and enter the ball. When it caromed off the racked balls, she saw the energy leave the cue ball and fly to the hound. He smiled. It was a light tap, as most breaks were. Now it was his turn.
He shot a few times in a row, hitting multiple balls each time, and each time, it felt like Jin were being punched in the guts. Or in the head, once. But she could take it. She ordered a beer. Alcohol usually helped in these kinds of matches. He frowned at her, but she shook her head. They never discussed rules. Of course, that was difficult with a room full of humans watching. And they were watching. Even this early, there were humans gathering around to watch them play, drawn, though they didn’t know it, by the energy being used.
A few more round went by, and it was hard to say who was winning. Sure, she was winning the game, but the duel was pretty close. If she were honest with herself, she would admit, in fact, that she was losing. He was clearly better at these kinds of things than she was. She needed an advantage. That was when she noticed the crowd.
A few of the men were cheering her on, clearly admiring her slender form. Even some of the women were cheering her on. She had forgotten the affect elves had on humans. It was a very long time since she actively dealt with a non-magical species. She grinned wolfishly. This would be her advantage.
Before he next turn, she unzipped her hoodie and took it off. She quickly moved her hair around and magically put it in place to hide her eyes, but now she was in only jeans and a tank top. The men really took notice of her now. She shrugged her shoulders and moved back to the game. She shot a few normal shots, getting a few scores but not enough to really put him down. Then, she drew on the humans around her.
Elves, like lots of fairy races, feed off human imagination, and lust was an easy way to spark said imagination. She drew on the fantasies that the men around here were having. She used that lust to power her, and when she made her next shot, the balls not only were struck by her cue ball, but they also bounced around the table, hitting other balls as they went. She saw the hound stagger. Sweat sprang up on his fore head. She inhaled, drawing in more energy. She shot and struck more balls, causing more energy to fly to the hound. He actually grunted.
She smiled. The energy was filling her to the brim. She not only felt alive, she felt… randy. The energy from the men was turning her on. A side affect of lust induced imagination, but she wasn’t complaining. She struck again and again, each time causing more and more energy to fly to the hound and strike home. It was euphoric.
She was about to make another shot when the hound put his hand on her arm.
“Enough,” he said. “I give.”
There was an audible groan from the crowd, but she smiled. She released the energy she had stored in her, and it felt like she shrunk two inches. Still, it was easier to focus on where she was when she wasn’t on a high like that.
“Take me to see your boss,” she said.
The hound nodded, thoroughly beaten. She smiled again. Not all the lust had left her yet, and returning to the hunt was a sure way to sate it.
The Hunt, part 2
Jin stared across the table at the hound finished setting up the table. Everything was set. He could feel the magical energy passing from him into his pool stick. He nodded towards the wall, and she pulled a random stick from it, not even bothering to check it. She also infused her with magical energy. She had to pause for a second before doing that, though. It had been a long while since she had a magical duel, dealing with most of her targets through more… direct means lately. The hound, however, was not her target, and she didn’t need him dead. In fact, dead was bad. She needed information. And the billiards game before her was how she was going to get it.
“Straight billiards?” Jin asked, and the hound shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal to him.
It was to her. Straight would be an easier game for the magical duel to take place in. He waved towards the table and moved aside to let her shoot first. She took position, bent over the table and struck the cue ball. She could feel the energy leave her stick and enter the ball. When it caromed off the racked balls, she saw the energy leave the cue ball and fly to the hound. He smiled. It was a light tap, as most breaks were. Now it was his turn.
He shot a few times in a row, hitting multiple balls each time, and each time, it felt like Jin were being punched in the guts. Or in the head, once. But she could take it. She ordered a beer. Alcohol usually helped in these kinds of matches. He frowned at her, but she shook her head. They never discussed rules. Of course, that was difficult with a room full of humans watching. And they were watching. Even this early, there were humans gathering around to watch them play, drawn, though they didn’t know it, by the energy being used.
A few more round went by, and it was hard to say who was winning. Sure, she was winning the game, but the duel was pretty close. If she were honest with herself, she would admit, in fact, that she was losing. He was clearly better at these kinds of things than she was. She needed an advantage. That was when she noticed the crowd.
A few of the men were cheering her on, clearly admiring her slender form. Even some of the women were cheering her on. She had forgotten the affect elves had on humans. It was a very long time since she actively dealt with a non-magical species. She grinned wolfishly. This would be her advantage.
Before he next turn, she unzipped her hoodie and took it off. She quickly moved her hair around and magically put it in place to hide her eyes, but now she was in only jeans and a tank top. The men really took notice of her now. She shrugged her shoulders and moved back to the game. She shot a few normal shots, getting a few scores but not enough to really put him down. Then, she drew on the humans around her.
Elves, like lots of fairy races, feed off human imagination, and lust was an easy way to spark said imagination. She drew on the fantasies that the men around here were having. She used that lust to power her, and when she made her next shot, the balls not only were struck by her cue ball, but they also bounced around the table, hitting other balls as they went. She saw the hound stagger. Sweat sprang up on his fore head. She inhaled, drawing in more energy. She shot and struck more balls, causing more energy to fly to the hound. He actually grunted.
She smiled. The energy was filling her to the brim. She not only felt alive, she felt… randy. The energy from the men was turning her on. A side affect of lust induced imagination, but she wasn’t complaining. She struck again and again, each time causing more and more energy to fly to the hound and strike home. It was euphoric.
She was about to make another shot when the hound put his hand on her arm.
“Enough,” he said. “I give.”
There was an audible groan from the crowd, but she smiled. She released the energy she had stored in her, and it felt like she shrunk two inches. Still, it was easier to focus on where she was when she wasn’t on a high like that.
“Take me to see your boss,” she said.
The hound nodded, thoroughly beaten. She smiled again. Not all the lust had left her yet, and returning to the hunt was a sure way to sate it.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Friday Flash Fiction: Never Alone
I must remember that though I walk by myself, I am not alone. Never alone. Not since that day, so many years ago, do I walk alone. No, I see them, before me, beside me, behind me. All those that taught me, all those that gave me something, all those that took care of me. Every last man, woman and child. Every last one of them, taken by my hand. Taken for just this moment.
Because I need them with me now. I need their power. I need their will. I need their presence. For now I face the mouth of hell. A massive gate carved of red bloodstone, guarding the hard granite castle behind it. In there is where I face my destiny, where the fate of the world will be decided. In there, I must face the man that would destroy us all. In there, I must face my brother.
I heard an echo of his laugh. He knows I am here. I hesitate.
I feel a touch on my shoulder and turn to look. It’s the ghost of my wife. Her eyes, which are usually sad and angry, smile at me. She has forgiven me, they say, for what I did to her. For what I did to all of them. They know the stakes now. They are with me. They all look at me now, and smile and nod.
Grimly, I nod back, and step up to the gates.
Because I need them with me now. I need their power. I need their will. I need their presence. For now I face the mouth of hell. A massive gate carved of red bloodstone, guarding the hard granite castle behind it. In there is where I face my destiny, where the fate of the world will be decided. In there, I must face the man that would destroy us all. In there, I must face my brother.
I heard an echo of his laugh. He knows I am here. I hesitate.
I feel a touch on my shoulder and turn to look. It’s the ghost of my wife. Her eyes, which are usually sad and angry, smile at me. She has forgiven me, they say, for what I did to her. For what I did to all of them. They know the stakes now. They are with me. They all look at me now, and smile and nod.
Grimly, I nod back, and step up to the gates.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Friday Flash Fiction: What happens now?
“Ambassador Grosh. I thought I’d find you here.”
“Ah, my dear Captain Solomon. It is most gratifying to see that you have survived recent events.”
“Yeah, somehow I doubt that you or your people thought I was in any real danger out there.”
“You are most intelligent, Captain. It was not certain, but it is true that the probability of your survival was high.”
“What I don’t understand is how you survived? I saw the hole that was blown into the station. There’s no way anyone would have survived a blast like that, even your people.”
“Yes. I sometimes forget that your people are not aware that this form we show you is not our true form.”
“Not your true…?”
“Indeed, captain. We are a very old species, as you have no doubt guessed. We have taken on this form in order to appear more… pleasing to you.”
“That you can better manipulate us?”
“Manipulate? No, my dear captain, manipulation was never our intention.”
“But you admit that you’re behind all of this?”
“I have never denied such a thing. I believe that if you think back to our conversations, you will see that I have admitted to tampering with events long before you ever came to this station.”
“I knew it.”
“Please, captain, put your weapon away. It is not necessary. I will gladly put myself into your custody and subject myself to your peoples justice. The test is done. I am to be my people’s sacrificial lamb, now, and I do my duty with pride and honor.”
“Test?”
“Indeed. This was all a test of you and your people. And you have passed.”
“My people? You mean all of humanity? Surly, you don’t think my staff and I are representative of all humanity?”
“But we do. Within each of you is the seed of what humanity is truly capable of.”
“So you set all this up just to test us?”
“I did not set up all of this, no. Events were already in motion, things would have proceeded along a pace similar to what actually happened without my interference. All I did was nudge events in a direction that were better suited for the test.”
“Such as making sure that humanity would build a station in this system, forcing us to become involved.”
“Indeed.”
“So… what happens now?”
“Now? Now my people move on.”
“Move on? What does that mean?”
“It means simply that it is time for us to leave this galaxy to live out our finally centuries as a people.”
“What, you’re packing your bags to move to some universal Florida to retire?”
“Ah, Earth humor. I will miss it. It is, of course, more complicated than that, but the metaphor is apt. And now is the time when you will ask the question that most burns in your mind.”
“Why? What was this all about?”
“Quite simple, my dear captain. My species has watched over and protected this galaxy since before humanity first walked upright. We have made sure that worlds were given the chance they needed to breed new life, that space faring sentients did not cause too much harm to the galactic environment. We have even culled herds, if you will, to prevent overpopulation. Oh, not with sentient, space faring peoples, of course. Those we subtly guided to fallow worlds where sentience was unlikely. I mean on worlds where sentience was endangered by overpopulation. But, as I have said, we have done this for a very long, long time. And now we are tired. We wish, as you put it, to retire. But we cannot simply abandon our duties.”
“You wanted a successor.”
“Indeed.”
“Humanity?”
“I know it seems an odd choice. You are so very young, even by the standard of other space faring races. But you already move toward the role on your own, and your belifes so match ours that very little was needed on our part to push you in the right direction. We just needed a test, one that would prove to us that you were ready, or at least near to ready.”
“And we passed, I take it?”
“Indeed you did.”
“So, what? You hand over a galactic guardian handbook, ‘How to feed and care for a Galaxy’, or something?”
“Not quite, but very close, yes. We have left our technology and secrets intact on our home world.”
“But no one knows where that is. Except you, of course. Are you saying you’re just going to give all that to us? How do you know we won’t use it to become galactic dictators?”
“Because of the final test you must pass.”
“You’re not going to tell us where the planet is.”
“Oh, I am. It’s location is on this disk. No, the test will be for you to pass our security procedures and then learn to read the files that we have left behind. By our calculations, it will take you nearly a thousand years to do so, and even then you will only discover things slowly. Our files will guide you, but not control you, nor will you get the knowledge faster than you can handle. It is how the information was passed to us. It is how you will pass the information on when it is time for your species retirement.”
“I… see.”
“Captain, you have lowered your gun. Are you letting me go?”
“No. No, you are still guilty of crimes, and I’m guessing that your actions even your people would consider crimes. I still plan to bring you to justice. And more importantly, I need you to tell this to others.”
“Of course.”
“I have one last question, Ambassador.”
“Of course.”
“What happens if my people decline the job offer?”
“That is a very unlikely possibility, Captain. Very unlikely.”
The End
“Ah, my dear Captain Solomon. It is most gratifying to see that you have survived recent events.”
“Yeah, somehow I doubt that you or your people thought I was in any real danger out there.”
“You are most intelligent, Captain. It was not certain, but it is true that the probability of your survival was high.”
“What I don’t understand is how you survived? I saw the hole that was blown into the station. There’s no way anyone would have survived a blast like that, even your people.”
“Yes. I sometimes forget that your people are not aware that this form we show you is not our true form.”
“Not your true…?”
“Indeed, captain. We are a very old species, as you have no doubt guessed. We have taken on this form in order to appear more… pleasing to you.”
“That you can better manipulate us?”
“Manipulate? No, my dear captain, manipulation was never our intention.”
“But you admit that you’re behind all of this?”
“I have never denied such a thing. I believe that if you think back to our conversations, you will see that I have admitted to tampering with events long before you ever came to this station.”
“I knew it.”
“Please, captain, put your weapon away. It is not necessary. I will gladly put myself into your custody and subject myself to your peoples justice. The test is done. I am to be my people’s sacrificial lamb, now, and I do my duty with pride and honor.”
“Test?”
“Indeed. This was all a test of you and your people. And you have passed.”
“My people? You mean all of humanity? Surly, you don’t think my staff and I are representative of all humanity?”
“But we do. Within each of you is the seed of what humanity is truly capable of.”
“So you set all this up just to test us?”
“I did not set up all of this, no. Events were already in motion, things would have proceeded along a pace similar to what actually happened without my interference. All I did was nudge events in a direction that were better suited for the test.”
“Such as making sure that humanity would build a station in this system, forcing us to become involved.”
“Indeed.”
“So… what happens now?”
“Now? Now my people move on.”
“Move on? What does that mean?”
“It means simply that it is time for us to leave this galaxy to live out our finally centuries as a people.”
“What, you’re packing your bags to move to some universal Florida to retire?”
“Ah, Earth humor. I will miss it. It is, of course, more complicated than that, but the metaphor is apt. And now is the time when you will ask the question that most burns in your mind.”
“Why? What was this all about?”
“Quite simple, my dear captain. My species has watched over and protected this galaxy since before humanity first walked upright. We have made sure that worlds were given the chance they needed to breed new life, that space faring sentients did not cause too much harm to the galactic environment. We have even culled herds, if you will, to prevent overpopulation. Oh, not with sentient, space faring peoples, of course. Those we subtly guided to fallow worlds where sentience was unlikely. I mean on worlds where sentience was endangered by overpopulation. But, as I have said, we have done this for a very long, long time. And now we are tired. We wish, as you put it, to retire. But we cannot simply abandon our duties.”
“You wanted a successor.”
“Indeed.”
“Humanity?”
“I know it seems an odd choice. You are so very young, even by the standard of other space faring races. But you already move toward the role on your own, and your belifes so match ours that very little was needed on our part to push you in the right direction. We just needed a test, one that would prove to us that you were ready, or at least near to ready.”
“And we passed, I take it?”
“Indeed you did.”
“So, what? You hand over a galactic guardian handbook, ‘How to feed and care for a Galaxy’, or something?”
“Not quite, but very close, yes. We have left our technology and secrets intact on our home world.”
“But no one knows where that is. Except you, of course. Are you saying you’re just going to give all that to us? How do you know we won’t use it to become galactic dictators?”
“Because of the final test you must pass.”
“You’re not going to tell us where the planet is.”
“Oh, I am. It’s location is on this disk. No, the test will be for you to pass our security procedures and then learn to read the files that we have left behind. By our calculations, it will take you nearly a thousand years to do so, and even then you will only discover things slowly. Our files will guide you, but not control you, nor will you get the knowledge faster than you can handle. It is how the information was passed to us. It is how you will pass the information on when it is time for your species retirement.”
“I… see.”
“Captain, you have lowered your gun. Are you letting me go?”
“No. No, you are still guilty of crimes, and I’m guessing that your actions even your people would consider crimes. I still plan to bring you to justice. And more importantly, I need you to tell this to others.”
“Of course.”
“I have one last question, Ambassador.”
“Of course.”
“What happens if my people decline the job offer?”
“That is a very unlikely possibility, Captain. Very unlikely.”
The End
Friday, March 4, 2011
Flash Fiction Friday: The Games
Bryn rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck in preparation. The boy across the room, for boy he was despite his massive frame, at not more than sixteen summers, scowled at him and raised his blade. It was wicked, curved and serrated, but the boy held it in an unsure grip that said to Bryn he had little, if any, experience with it. And more importantly, he had seen a glint of fear in the boy’s eyes. Bryn smiled. This fight was already won.
He tossed the ball in his left hand up once and caught it, never taking his eyes off the boy. Try as he might, Bryn’s opponent could not take stop from flicking his eyes towards the movement. That was all Bryn needed. He threw the ball across the room, and the boy raised his arm up to deflect it automatically. Bryn scowled as he crossed the room in three long strides. This boy was not only young, but stupid as well. That was a rookie mistake, the kind that got men killed in the games. That ball was made of stiffened pigs batter, like the kind used in children’s game. It wouldn’t hurt someone in armor, like the two of them were. It almost disgusted him how easy a kill this kid would be. Almost.
He had his own sword, a stout broad sword held in both hands now that they were both free, swung down, but the boy surprised Bryn, being quicker than his muscular arms would suggest. His curved blade was up instantly, blocking Bryn’s blow. The two stood there for a moment, pushing their blades against each other, and Bryn could see himself in the shine of the other blade, his scarred bald head and broken nose above a sneer that would cause the most hardened veteran of war to question attacking him.
Then the boy surprised Bryn again. He stepped back a pace, dropping his blade as he did so, causing Bryn to step forward off balance. Before the boy’s blade could complete a swing, however, Bryn continued to fall forward, rolling on the floor several steps away from the other man. He stopped considering him a boy. He may be inexperienced, but this man knew how to fight. Bryn smiled again. This might be a challenge.
He stood in time to block a charge from the other man, swinging his left arm around and punching him in his unprotected left side. The other man steped back a step, but kept his guard up. Not well enough, though. Bryn slammed his massive blade into the curved one, again and again, pushing the other man back until, at last, he slumped against the wall, and Bryn got a good slash against the man’s sword arm. He dropped his blade, and a look of surprise and fear crossed his face before steeling in determination to see his fate through.
Bryn smiled again. This time, it was in satisfaction. He dropped his own blade and grabbed up the other man in a rough bear hug that caused the younger man to exhale in surprise.
“Well don, son!” Bryn said. “Well done. We’ll have you trained up for the games within the month, you’ll see.”
“Thank you father,” The young man said, and he smiled at Bryn. It was almost as terrifying as Bryn’s was, including a few missing teeth from brawls he had been in. Almost. Once combat training was done, Bryn thought, he would have to teach the boy about intimidation.
He tossed the ball in his left hand up once and caught it, never taking his eyes off the boy. Try as he might, Bryn’s opponent could not take stop from flicking his eyes towards the movement. That was all Bryn needed. He threw the ball across the room, and the boy raised his arm up to deflect it automatically. Bryn scowled as he crossed the room in three long strides. This boy was not only young, but stupid as well. That was a rookie mistake, the kind that got men killed in the games. That ball was made of stiffened pigs batter, like the kind used in children’s game. It wouldn’t hurt someone in armor, like the two of them were. It almost disgusted him how easy a kill this kid would be. Almost.
He had his own sword, a stout broad sword held in both hands now that they were both free, swung down, but the boy surprised Bryn, being quicker than his muscular arms would suggest. His curved blade was up instantly, blocking Bryn’s blow. The two stood there for a moment, pushing their blades against each other, and Bryn could see himself in the shine of the other blade, his scarred bald head and broken nose above a sneer that would cause the most hardened veteran of war to question attacking him.
Then the boy surprised Bryn again. He stepped back a pace, dropping his blade as he did so, causing Bryn to step forward off balance. Before the boy’s blade could complete a swing, however, Bryn continued to fall forward, rolling on the floor several steps away from the other man. He stopped considering him a boy. He may be inexperienced, but this man knew how to fight. Bryn smiled again. This might be a challenge.
He stood in time to block a charge from the other man, swinging his left arm around and punching him in his unprotected left side. The other man steped back a step, but kept his guard up. Not well enough, though. Bryn slammed his massive blade into the curved one, again and again, pushing the other man back until, at last, he slumped against the wall, and Bryn got a good slash against the man’s sword arm. He dropped his blade, and a look of surprise and fear crossed his face before steeling in determination to see his fate through.
Bryn smiled again. This time, it was in satisfaction. He dropped his own blade and grabbed up the other man in a rough bear hug that caused the younger man to exhale in surprise.
“Well don, son!” Bryn said. “Well done. We’ll have you trained up for the games within the month, you’ll see.”
“Thank you father,” The young man said, and he smiled at Bryn. It was almost as terrifying as Bryn’s was, including a few missing teeth from brawls he had been in. Almost. Once combat training was done, Bryn thought, he would have to teach the boy about intimidation.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Friday Flash Fiction: An American Werewolf on the Moon
So, the inspiration came from a writing prompt from one of my favorite writing podcasts, Writing Excueses. The prompt was: "Start with a hard SF story, and turn it into a werewolf love story in three paragraphs." I think I managed to do that here. You'll have to let me know if it's any good, though.
An American Werewolf on the Moon
Mara listened to the sound of her breath, in and out, as it echoed in the sealed helmet of her space suit. On the moon, it was the only sound she could hear, and while the site before of was beautiful, the lack of sound was eerie. She breathed again just to hear the noise. Then she smiled. Despite the eerie starkness of her surroundings, she was thrilled to be here. A physicist, being a NASA astronaut on the moon was a life long dream of hers. And the reason they were here had her excited too. Oh, sure, it would have been fine to be here for the reason given to the public, and they were partially checking the site for a permanent moon base anyway.
But the real reason was no staring her in the face. An honest to God extra terrestrial spacecraft. A recent satellite sent to take pictures of Jupiter took some pictures of the moon as it went by, and what NASA saw was mind blowing. A crashed ship of some sort. Mara immediately put her name down to get in on the mission. She needed to see what these aliens were like. Did they have faster than light travel? What was their biology look like? Did they survive the crash? Where they planning on contacting us?
All of that, however, was shoved out of her head when her crewmate came into view, bounding down the lunar landscape. Mark Robbins was the most ruggedly handsome man she had ever seen. And over the fourteen days it took them to travel to the moon, the two had become close. Very close. And in that time, she had learned something about Mark that no one else knew, not even NASA. Mark was a werewolf. And he had just yesterday declared his love for her.
She still couldn’t believe it. Werewolves, aliens, the moon. It was all hard to take in. But when Mark told her four days ago, and then showed her with a partial transformation, she knew it would be okay. She loved him too, more than she had loved any man ever. He wanted to come to the moon to touch that strange night mistress that controlled his most brutal transformations. She could understand that. He even thought that he might learn something here that could help him control it all.
And the aliens, he thought, were the key.
She smiled at him as he waved her in. He had found the airlock to the ship, and it still appeared sealed. Their initial fly by had shown that the hull appeared intact as well. The hope was that there was breathable air inside. She had a new reason for hoping now, because it meant that, if anything inside was dangerous, Mark could wolf out and protect them. She hoped it didn’t have to come to that. She shook the thought from her head, and leaped forward. She still wasn’t quite used to walking on the moon, yet.
It took a good half-hour of fiddling with the controls before they both gave up and just blew the outer hatch of the airlock. Inside was another door, but this one was open. They quickly got inside and sealed the door with a new bit of technology from home. A thick, plastic sheet was stretched over the door and then sealed into place with a new poly-resin that would keep it there until a special spray was applied to it, dissolving it and allowing them escape.
They looked around. She looked at her scanner, which showed breathable air inside, if a little high on the oxygen. She nodded to Mark, and they took off their helmets.
“Well,” he said. “This is it.”
He took her hand and lead her into the alien labyrinth.
An American Werewolf on the Moon
Mara listened to the sound of her breath, in and out, as it echoed in the sealed helmet of her space suit. On the moon, it was the only sound she could hear, and while the site before of was beautiful, the lack of sound was eerie. She breathed again just to hear the noise. Then she smiled. Despite the eerie starkness of her surroundings, she was thrilled to be here. A physicist, being a NASA astronaut on the moon was a life long dream of hers. And the reason they were here had her excited too. Oh, sure, it would have been fine to be here for the reason given to the public, and they were partially checking the site for a permanent moon base anyway.
But the real reason was no staring her in the face. An honest to God extra terrestrial spacecraft. A recent satellite sent to take pictures of Jupiter took some pictures of the moon as it went by, and what NASA saw was mind blowing. A crashed ship of some sort. Mara immediately put her name down to get in on the mission. She needed to see what these aliens were like. Did they have faster than light travel? What was their biology look like? Did they survive the crash? Where they planning on contacting us?
All of that, however, was shoved out of her head when her crewmate came into view, bounding down the lunar landscape. Mark Robbins was the most ruggedly handsome man she had ever seen. And over the fourteen days it took them to travel to the moon, the two had become close. Very close. And in that time, she had learned something about Mark that no one else knew, not even NASA. Mark was a werewolf. And he had just yesterday declared his love for her.
She still couldn’t believe it. Werewolves, aliens, the moon. It was all hard to take in. But when Mark told her four days ago, and then showed her with a partial transformation, she knew it would be okay. She loved him too, more than she had loved any man ever. He wanted to come to the moon to touch that strange night mistress that controlled his most brutal transformations. She could understand that. He even thought that he might learn something here that could help him control it all.
And the aliens, he thought, were the key.
She smiled at him as he waved her in. He had found the airlock to the ship, and it still appeared sealed. Their initial fly by had shown that the hull appeared intact as well. The hope was that there was breathable air inside. She had a new reason for hoping now, because it meant that, if anything inside was dangerous, Mark could wolf out and protect them. She hoped it didn’t have to come to that. She shook the thought from her head, and leaped forward. She still wasn’t quite used to walking on the moon, yet.
It took a good half-hour of fiddling with the controls before they both gave up and just blew the outer hatch of the airlock. Inside was another door, but this one was open. They quickly got inside and sealed the door with a new bit of technology from home. A thick, plastic sheet was stretched over the door and then sealed into place with a new poly-resin that would keep it there until a special spray was applied to it, dissolving it and allowing them escape.
They looked around. She looked at her scanner, which showed breathable air inside, if a little high on the oxygen. She nodded to Mark, and they took off their helmets.
“Well,” he said. “This is it.”
He took her hand and lead her into the alien labyrinth.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Flash Fiction Friday, special edition
That's right, I said Special Edition.
I was working this morning when I realized that I did not have a blog post for today. I needed a flash fiction story, and I had... nothing. I was drawing a big blank. So, I turned to that wonderful font of inspiration, Twitter. I asked for prompts from my twitter friends, and thanks to @UnderPope, I got a hilarious one. So, the below story can be blamed on him.
Enjoy!
****
I haven’t gone into my kitchen in a month. Hell, I left my apartment a week ago. I’m only here now because you said you would help me burn them out. There in there. I know they’re in there. They got my cat Fluffy just over a week ago. That’s what caused me to leave. I saw her, on the floor by the kitchen door, four little puncture wounds in her neck. Drained of blood. Both of them. They both killed her.
Okay, okay, I’m breathing. I’ll start from the beginning. It all began innocuous enough. I had just got home from grocery shopping. At first, they seemed perfectly normal, like everything else I bought. In fact, they looked juicy and appetizing, I couldn’t wait to have them. So, I brought them with me to the attic, where I was going to perform my nightly ritual. Don’t look at me like that. I know you disagree with my faith, but don’t judge me. I don’t judge you.
Anyway, as I was casting my spell, I… cut myself, ON ACCIDENT, with my knife, and the blood spilled on them. Well, on one, to be honest. But, apparently, the blood was enough to combine with the energy in the air, and something happened. The little thing turned red. Bright red, too. I interrupted my ceremony to bring it down stairs and wash it. The color didn’t come off, and I thought it was odd, but I was curious to see what the ritual had done to it, so I kept it around, and went back upstairs to complete the ritual.
When I got back down stairs, I saw that it had moved from where I placed it. It was standing next to another one, now also bright red, and they were both standing over the bananas. I kid you not, all six bananas were flat as could be, with tiny puncture wounds on them, but they had not been peeled open. Then, one of them smiled at me.
That was the last time I went into the kitchen. I could hear them in there, making their way through the fruit and eventually to the food in the fridge. I made the mistake of looking in there once, and saw them feeding, fangs sunk into the side of a frozen stake. There were four of them, now. They had grown bigger, too.
I thought I could keep them in there, find a way to reverse whatever magic I had accidently put on them, but when they killed Fluffy, I knew I had to take drastic measures. And that’s when I called you.
Don’t look at me like that. I’m telling you the truth. My kitchen has been taken over… taken over by…
Vampire Pears!
I was working this morning when I realized that I did not have a blog post for today. I needed a flash fiction story, and I had... nothing. I was drawing a big blank. So, I turned to that wonderful font of inspiration, Twitter. I asked for prompts from my twitter friends, and thanks to @UnderPope, I got a hilarious one. So, the below story can be blamed on him.
Enjoy!
****
I haven’t gone into my kitchen in a month. Hell, I left my apartment a week ago. I’m only here now because you said you would help me burn them out. There in there. I know they’re in there. They got my cat Fluffy just over a week ago. That’s what caused me to leave. I saw her, on the floor by the kitchen door, four little puncture wounds in her neck. Drained of blood. Both of them. They both killed her.
Okay, okay, I’m breathing. I’ll start from the beginning. It all began innocuous enough. I had just got home from grocery shopping. At first, they seemed perfectly normal, like everything else I bought. In fact, they looked juicy and appetizing, I couldn’t wait to have them. So, I brought them with me to the attic, where I was going to perform my nightly ritual. Don’t look at me like that. I know you disagree with my faith, but don’t judge me. I don’t judge you.
Anyway, as I was casting my spell, I… cut myself, ON ACCIDENT, with my knife, and the blood spilled on them. Well, on one, to be honest. But, apparently, the blood was enough to combine with the energy in the air, and something happened. The little thing turned red. Bright red, too. I interrupted my ceremony to bring it down stairs and wash it. The color didn’t come off, and I thought it was odd, but I was curious to see what the ritual had done to it, so I kept it around, and went back upstairs to complete the ritual.
When I got back down stairs, I saw that it had moved from where I placed it. It was standing next to another one, now also bright red, and they were both standing over the bananas. I kid you not, all six bananas were flat as could be, with tiny puncture wounds on them, but they had not been peeled open. Then, one of them smiled at me.
That was the last time I went into the kitchen. I could hear them in there, making their way through the fruit and eventually to the food in the fridge. I made the mistake of looking in there once, and saw them feeding, fangs sunk into the side of a frozen stake. There were four of them, now. They had grown bigger, too.
I thought I could keep them in there, find a way to reverse whatever magic I had accidently put on them, but when they killed Fluffy, I knew I had to take drastic measures. And that’s when I called you.
Don’t look at me like that. I’m telling you the truth. My kitchen has been taken over… taken over by…
Vampire Pears!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Friday Flash Fiction: The Heart of the World
An Epic Fantasy in less than 900 words!
The Heart of the World
Lorell looked at the giant crystal before here, shocked to see that it was actually pulsing, almost like it was breathing. The massive building sized purple stone was called the Heart of the World, but even after five years of trying to find it, she never expect it to actually resemble a real heart, down to the beating.
Five years. Had it really been that long? She remembered the day when Rumidon arrived at her village across the mountains. He had come following prophecy, trying to determine where the Keeper of the Heart would spawn. Never did Rumidon, that kindly old sage, ever expect to find the actual Keeper. Never did Lorell expect it would be her. But, apparently, a dark force did, for following the old wizard were goblins. They attacked and burned her village, killing everyone, all while she was showing Rumidon where crystal grove was, and her talent for manipulating the crystals.
He showed surprise at her talent, though she at the time didn’t know why. She never told anyone at the village of her gift, the ability to manipulate crystals with but a though, change their shape, make them grow, even cause them to explode, but she didn’t think it unusual. Surely if she could do it, then so could others. He told her that no one could do it. Or at least, no one except the Keeper, who was destined to repair the Heart of the World, and thus save it.
When she saw the death and destruction, Rumidon took her away in a haze of tears. They arrived at the city of Dath’on, where she met and befriended the dwarf warrior Burnell. When the goblins attacked them in their inn, Burnell joined them, and Rumidon decided that they would need to find the heart of the world. For if goblins were on the loose, it meant that the World Killer were also free, and once again trying to destroy the Heart. It would be up to Lorell to repair whatever damage they had managed to do already.
She smiled. How long ago that all seemed. She didn’t believe in any of it, but she wanted revenge on the goblins for the death of her people. A year later, following Rumidon from library to library trying to find the location of the Heart, she got it. But at a great cost. Burnell was dead, but the goblin king was left burning, a crystal spear through his heart. But during that time, they made new friends. Prince Comar, of Atha’na, who declared his love for Lorell, and she for him. A year later, chasing more rumors, they were married. A queen now, ruling by her husband’s side, the quest for the Heart become secondary. She defended her kingdom from the World Killer, who sent the massive black dragon Magrathorn to destroy them.
Finally, though, the World Killer left behind a clue. The Heart was left in a great cave, one that held the secrets of the Age of Myth, when the Gods still walked the earth, and men fought demons, and the elves still lived. Rumidon knew where such a cave was, from his previous research. It took nearly a year of hard trekking and battle to get to, but her husband and the wise old wizard at her side, she made it. She was here at last. And looking at the massive crystal before her, she knew what she had to do.
She took a deep breath and walked into one of the massive veins and deep into the heart itself. It was light inside, but all purple, and it took her eyes a few moments to adjust. Here, she could see the damage that was being done, and instantly felt how such damage was causing distruction to the world. Earthquakes from that crack, wars due to this fissure. It was all hear, and only she could read the lines of power. No, not only she.
She turned and saw another woman there. She lowered her hood, and Lorell smiled. She was Lorell’s twin, in fact as well as features. Her long lost twin, thught dead when she fell into the river when the two of them were six. She had suspected a few years ago, when she saw the World Killer and sensed her with her power. It made sense. Who else had the power to affect the Heart of the World besides another with her ability with crystals. And who else could that be, except her twin.
“Hello, Lorell,” her sister said, a twisted smile on her face.
“Hello, Lanell,” Lorell said. “Shall we end this?”
“Lets,” Lanell said.
Lorell charged her sister, ready for a deadly embrace that would likely kill them both. But she was prepared. Their deaths would be the only way to save the world, to preserve the Heart. She was joyous for it. For though they had been separated in life, they would be forever joined in death. In the most appropriate place for it.
The Heart of the World.
The End
The Heart of the World
Lorell looked at the giant crystal before here, shocked to see that it was actually pulsing, almost like it was breathing. The massive building sized purple stone was called the Heart of the World, but even after five years of trying to find it, she never expect it to actually resemble a real heart, down to the beating.
Five years. Had it really been that long? She remembered the day when Rumidon arrived at her village across the mountains. He had come following prophecy, trying to determine where the Keeper of the Heart would spawn. Never did Rumidon, that kindly old sage, ever expect to find the actual Keeper. Never did Lorell expect it would be her. But, apparently, a dark force did, for following the old wizard were goblins. They attacked and burned her village, killing everyone, all while she was showing Rumidon where crystal grove was, and her talent for manipulating the crystals.
He showed surprise at her talent, though she at the time didn’t know why. She never told anyone at the village of her gift, the ability to manipulate crystals with but a though, change their shape, make them grow, even cause them to explode, but she didn’t think it unusual. Surely if she could do it, then so could others. He told her that no one could do it. Or at least, no one except the Keeper, who was destined to repair the Heart of the World, and thus save it.
When she saw the death and destruction, Rumidon took her away in a haze of tears. They arrived at the city of Dath’on, where she met and befriended the dwarf warrior Burnell. When the goblins attacked them in their inn, Burnell joined them, and Rumidon decided that they would need to find the heart of the world. For if goblins were on the loose, it meant that the World Killer were also free, and once again trying to destroy the Heart. It would be up to Lorell to repair whatever damage they had managed to do already.
She smiled. How long ago that all seemed. She didn’t believe in any of it, but she wanted revenge on the goblins for the death of her people. A year later, following Rumidon from library to library trying to find the location of the Heart, she got it. But at a great cost. Burnell was dead, but the goblin king was left burning, a crystal spear through his heart. But during that time, they made new friends. Prince Comar, of Atha’na, who declared his love for Lorell, and she for him. A year later, chasing more rumors, they were married. A queen now, ruling by her husband’s side, the quest for the Heart become secondary. She defended her kingdom from the World Killer, who sent the massive black dragon Magrathorn to destroy them.
Finally, though, the World Killer left behind a clue. The Heart was left in a great cave, one that held the secrets of the Age of Myth, when the Gods still walked the earth, and men fought demons, and the elves still lived. Rumidon knew where such a cave was, from his previous research. It took nearly a year of hard trekking and battle to get to, but her husband and the wise old wizard at her side, she made it. She was here at last. And looking at the massive crystal before her, she knew what she had to do.
She took a deep breath and walked into one of the massive veins and deep into the heart itself. It was light inside, but all purple, and it took her eyes a few moments to adjust. Here, she could see the damage that was being done, and instantly felt how such damage was causing distruction to the world. Earthquakes from that crack, wars due to this fissure. It was all hear, and only she could read the lines of power. No, not only she.
She turned and saw another woman there. She lowered her hood, and Lorell smiled. She was Lorell’s twin, in fact as well as features. Her long lost twin, thught dead when she fell into the river when the two of them were six. She had suspected a few years ago, when she saw the World Killer and sensed her with her power. It made sense. Who else had the power to affect the Heart of the World besides another with her ability with crystals. And who else could that be, except her twin.
“Hello, Lorell,” her sister said, a twisted smile on her face.
“Hello, Lanell,” Lorell said. “Shall we end this?”
“Lets,” Lanell said.
Lorell charged her sister, ready for a deadly embrace that would likely kill them both. But she was prepared. Their deaths would be the only way to save the world, to preserve the Heart. She was joyous for it. For though they had been separated in life, they would be forever joined in death. In the most appropriate place for it.
The Heart of the World.
The End
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Dungeon Crawlers Season Finale!
Welcome back to Friday Flash Fiction! This time, I was inspired in part by a version of D&D I have called X-Crawl, which posits that adventures are televised, like a game show or professional wrestling. I took it a step further, and did it as a reality show, where contestants are thrown together with unknown partners and given a quest to give for a large cash reward. I had fun writing it, I hope you enjoy it.
The Dungeon Crawlers Season Finale!
Dave brushed his had across his face as he smiled into the camera. The effect was more blood and dirt across his face than it cleaned off.
“Right, so,” he said with enthusiasm. “We had reached the top of the Dragon’s Maw Mountain. I knew that this was it. The end of our quest was at hand. Nothing could possibly stop us.”
****
Rick pulled the hood of his head, revealing singed tips of hair that still had smoke curling off of it. He glared at the camera.
“Yeah,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Dave’s kind of an idiot.”
****
“We so got this!” Dave said as the reached the bridge. “All we gotta do now is drop the wand into the lava!”
“It can’t be this easy,” Rick was saying, pulling a wickedly curved dagger from somewhere in his leather hoodie. “There’s got to be a trap or a guardian or something.”
“Rick’s right,” Jane said, drawing her sword and readying her shield. “Something’s not right about this.”
“Really?” Dave said. “You think fighting out way up here though the fire imps that love the lava flows was easy? Does that seem easy to you?”
Jane and Rick looked at each other and then back to Dave, and simultaneously said, “Yes.”
“Actually,” Frank said from behind the group, “I’m with Dave on this one.”
Everyone turned to look at him in surprise, and he adjusted his green priest’s collar uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
“Really?” Dave said.
“Yes,” Frank said. “Hear me out. We’ve gone through everything this quest has required of us. And that last fight with the fire imps and their fire knight champion was pretty tough, you have to admit. After that, what more could this quest throw at us? I mean, the only thing that would possibly live at the mouth of a volcano is a dragon.”
Dave, Rick and Jane a looked at each other.
“He has a point,” Jane said reluctantly.
That was when they heard the roar. Turning around, they could see a great, red, scaly lizard creature with massive leather wings rising up behind the bridge. It put two paws down, with claws a long as Jane’s sword, causing the ground to shake slightly as it did so. Lava dripped from its scales, and its yellow eyes started at the party with as much heat as the volcano itself was giving off.
“You had to say it,” Rick said. “You just had to say it, didn’t you.”
“It’s not my fault,” Frank said!
“Blame later, killing now,” Jane said, and charged the massive beast, shield raised, and everyone else raised either weapons or arms, ready to help their companion.
****
Rick growled and glared at the camera. He reached behind him and put the hood back over his head.
“I hate dragons,” he said. “This is the last time I sign up for a quest with a bunch of adventurers I don’t know.”
****
Jane slowly sat in the chair, trying to straighten out her blond hair, looking uncomfortably into the camera. She attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace.
“I hate this part,” she mumbled.
“I just want to say that Frank’s injury is my fault,” she said. “It wasn’t on purpose, but I thought I could free him if I could just cut off that dragon’s hand. I… forgot we were on a bridge.”
****
“Help!” Frank called as he struggled to free himself from the dragon’s claws.
“I got you, Frank,” Jane called, ducking the dragon’s other claw as she ran towards her companion. She jumped into the dragon’s arm and sliced down hard with her magic blade, and cut completely through the wrist. The claw, still clutching at Frank, fell fast.
“Frank!” she cried out, then struggled to hold on as the dragon also cried out, in pain, thrashing the injured arm around.
Working fast, Dave ran to the edge of the bridge casting a spell as he went. He completed his spell just as the figure hit the lava. Then, Frank, complete with the dragon’s calw, reappeared, though he was burned and covered in lava.
“Take care of him,” Rick shouted as he ran towards the monster. “Jane, keep that thing distracted for a few minutes longer. I just need one shot.”
Jane, still clutching the dragon’s arm as if flung around, shouted back. “I’ll do the best I can.”
****
“I tell you,” Dave said. “That was a one in a million shot. What a fantastic way to end the fight!”
****
“I knew the little bastard was keeping a magic item hidden from the rest of us,” Jane said.
****
Rick reached into his hoodie and pulled out a new dagger, that was glowing a sickly green color. Without taking time to aim, he threw it at the dragon. The blade flew straight, and struck the creature right in the eye. It cried out and fell backwards into the volcano shaft below the bridge. Jane jumped off, but her armor held her back from reaching the bridge. Suddenly, she was floating up in the air and gently placed onto the bridge.
“We did it!” Dave shouted, ending the spell that saved Jane.
“Yeah we did,” Jane said. Then, she pulled out the item that started off this whole quest, a long wand made of crystal. She held it over the edge of the bridge and tossed it after the dragon. “And that takes care of that.”
****
“And that means we’ve beat this season’s quest,” Dave said. “And we get our million gold piece reward. Man, I can’t wait to see all this on TV, and see what the rest of the team has to say about me.”
****
Frank coughed from bed, burn marks all over his body, his leg and arm in a cast.
“Yeah, Dave,” he said in a weak voice. “he’s kind of an idiot.”
The End
The Dungeon Crawlers Season Finale!
Dave brushed his had across his face as he smiled into the camera. The effect was more blood and dirt across his face than it cleaned off.
“Right, so,” he said with enthusiasm. “We had reached the top of the Dragon’s Maw Mountain. I knew that this was it. The end of our quest was at hand. Nothing could possibly stop us.”
****
Rick pulled the hood of his head, revealing singed tips of hair that still had smoke curling off of it. He glared at the camera.
“Yeah,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Dave’s kind of an idiot.”
****
“We so got this!” Dave said as the reached the bridge. “All we gotta do now is drop the wand into the lava!”
“It can’t be this easy,” Rick was saying, pulling a wickedly curved dagger from somewhere in his leather hoodie. “There’s got to be a trap or a guardian or something.”
“Rick’s right,” Jane said, drawing her sword and readying her shield. “Something’s not right about this.”
“Really?” Dave said. “You think fighting out way up here though the fire imps that love the lava flows was easy? Does that seem easy to you?”
Jane and Rick looked at each other and then back to Dave, and simultaneously said, “Yes.”
“Actually,” Frank said from behind the group, “I’m with Dave on this one.”
Everyone turned to look at him in surprise, and he adjusted his green priest’s collar uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
“Really?” Dave said.
“Yes,” Frank said. “Hear me out. We’ve gone through everything this quest has required of us. And that last fight with the fire imps and their fire knight champion was pretty tough, you have to admit. After that, what more could this quest throw at us? I mean, the only thing that would possibly live at the mouth of a volcano is a dragon.”
Dave, Rick and Jane a looked at each other.
“He has a point,” Jane said reluctantly.
That was when they heard the roar. Turning around, they could see a great, red, scaly lizard creature with massive leather wings rising up behind the bridge. It put two paws down, with claws a long as Jane’s sword, causing the ground to shake slightly as it did so. Lava dripped from its scales, and its yellow eyes started at the party with as much heat as the volcano itself was giving off.
“You had to say it,” Rick said. “You just had to say it, didn’t you.”
“It’s not my fault,” Frank said!
“Blame later, killing now,” Jane said, and charged the massive beast, shield raised, and everyone else raised either weapons or arms, ready to help their companion.
****
Rick growled and glared at the camera. He reached behind him and put the hood back over his head.
“I hate dragons,” he said. “This is the last time I sign up for a quest with a bunch of adventurers I don’t know.”
****
Jane slowly sat in the chair, trying to straighten out her blond hair, looking uncomfortably into the camera. She attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace.
“I hate this part,” she mumbled.
“I just want to say that Frank’s injury is my fault,” she said. “It wasn’t on purpose, but I thought I could free him if I could just cut off that dragon’s hand. I… forgot we were on a bridge.”
****
“Help!” Frank called as he struggled to free himself from the dragon’s claws.
“I got you, Frank,” Jane called, ducking the dragon’s other claw as she ran towards her companion. She jumped into the dragon’s arm and sliced down hard with her magic blade, and cut completely through the wrist. The claw, still clutching at Frank, fell fast.
“Frank!” she cried out, then struggled to hold on as the dragon also cried out, in pain, thrashing the injured arm around.
Working fast, Dave ran to the edge of the bridge casting a spell as he went. He completed his spell just as the figure hit the lava. Then, Frank, complete with the dragon’s calw, reappeared, though he was burned and covered in lava.
“Take care of him,” Rick shouted as he ran towards the monster. “Jane, keep that thing distracted for a few minutes longer. I just need one shot.”
Jane, still clutching the dragon’s arm as if flung around, shouted back. “I’ll do the best I can.”
****
“I tell you,” Dave said. “That was a one in a million shot. What a fantastic way to end the fight!”
****
“I knew the little bastard was keeping a magic item hidden from the rest of us,” Jane said.
****
Rick reached into his hoodie and pulled out a new dagger, that was glowing a sickly green color. Without taking time to aim, he threw it at the dragon. The blade flew straight, and struck the creature right in the eye. It cried out and fell backwards into the volcano shaft below the bridge. Jane jumped off, but her armor held her back from reaching the bridge. Suddenly, she was floating up in the air and gently placed onto the bridge.
“We did it!” Dave shouted, ending the spell that saved Jane.
“Yeah we did,” Jane said. Then, she pulled out the item that started off this whole quest, a long wand made of crystal. She held it over the edge of the bridge and tossed it after the dragon. “And that takes care of that.”
****
“And that means we’ve beat this season’s quest,” Dave said. “And we get our million gold piece reward. Man, I can’t wait to see all this on TV, and see what the rest of the team has to say about me.”
****
Frank coughed from bed, burn marks all over his body, his leg and arm in a cast.
“Yeah, Dave,” he said in a weak voice. “he’s kind of an idiot.”
The End
Friday, January 28, 2011
Friday Flash Fiction
Welcome to Friday Flash Fiction!
I think I'm going to try and make this a regular, weekly column here at I Must Be Remembering The Future. The idea being that I will write a short little story no more than 1,000 words, during the week and post it here for your enjoyment on Friday. Plus, it makes for great alliteration. We'll see how this works out.
For my first entry, I'm going to post the story that won me this week's 5 Minute Fiction, a weekly writing contest hosted by the lovely Leah Petersen. Check it out at her blog here:
http://www.leahpetersen.com/
And now, onto the story!
----
Lad
David looked at the lad across the street. He’s seen him before, looking very much like some street waif from a Dickens novel. He was always eye catching, the large coat, pie hat and the fingerless gloves, standing on the bridge, looking over the Themes. David sighed. The lad always looked so sad, big eyes red as if they had been crying. This time, he was determined to find out who the boy was. He got off the bus and walked across the bridge to where he saw the lad, but when he got there, the boy was gone.
“Excuse me,” he said to a young girl that was playing stones with her friends. “Excuse me, lass, did you happen to see a boy here? With a coat and a hat?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, excited. “The one with the gloves what ain’t got no fingers on ‘em?”
David nodded. The other children stopped playing and looked up, excitement shining in their eyes as well.
“Do you know him?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” she said, suddenly turning serious. “Well, not really. We just see him every day, and he does the same thing.”
“And what’s that?” David asked.
“Well, he jumps,” the girl said, as if it were obvious.
“Jumps? Where?”
“Why, into the river, o’ course.”
“What?” David said shocked, running to the edge of the railing at the bridge. He didn’t see anything down there but water.
“Oh yes,” she said as if she were talking about the weather. “He does it every day. Funny, ain’t many adults that see ‘em. Just us kids, normally.”
“What are you saying?” David asked, the truth beginning to dawn on him.
“Well, he’s a ghost, innit he?”
I think I'm going to try and make this a regular, weekly column here at I Must Be Remembering The Future. The idea being that I will write a short little story no more than 1,000 words, during the week and post it here for your enjoyment on Friday. Plus, it makes for great alliteration. We'll see how this works out.
For my first entry, I'm going to post the story that won me this week's 5 Minute Fiction, a weekly writing contest hosted by the lovely Leah Petersen. Check it out at her blog here:
http://www.leahpetersen.com/
And now, onto the story!
----
Lad
David looked at the lad across the street. He’s seen him before, looking very much like some street waif from a Dickens novel. He was always eye catching, the large coat, pie hat and the fingerless gloves, standing on the bridge, looking over the Themes. David sighed. The lad always looked so sad, big eyes red as if they had been crying. This time, he was determined to find out who the boy was. He got off the bus and walked across the bridge to where he saw the lad, but when he got there, the boy was gone.
“Excuse me,” he said to a young girl that was playing stones with her friends. “Excuse me, lass, did you happen to see a boy here? With a coat and a hat?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, excited. “The one with the gloves what ain’t got no fingers on ‘em?”
David nodded. The other children stopped playing and looked up, excitement shining in their eyes as well.
“Do you know him?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” she said, suddenly turning serious. “Well, not really. We just see him every day, and he does the same thing.”
“And what’s that?” David asked.
“Well, he jumps,” the girl said, as if it were obvious.
“Jumps? Where?”
“Why, into the river, o’ course.”
“What?” David said shocked, running to the edge of the railing at the bridge. He didn’t see anything down there but water.
“Oh yes,” she said as if she were talking about the weather. “He does it every day. Funny, ain’t many adults that see ‘em. Just us kids, normally.”
“What are you saying?” David asked, the truth beginning to dawn on him.
“Well, he’s a ghost, innit he?”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)