Vincenti awoke with a start, still bound to the old woman's chair. The light creeping in from behind the shades and under the gap in the door implied late afternoon, but not quite evening. He saw the ceramic urn on a table next to him and surmised from the symbols on the side that it contained the dagger. His wallet was still in his great coat pocket.
"I am awake now. We can discuss payment. I have some money now but can give you more if you require."
He took a second to feel and savor the lack of pain in his chest. His relief as was palpable as the pain had been.
"Hello? Old woman?"
"I'm here I'm here." The old crone shuffled in from the other room. "You don't need to continue on. I should charge you more for letting you sleep here all day. Runners going this way and that. Maybe I should have let them find you hmmmmm?"
"I have no issue with the runners." Vincenti lied. "You could have let them in."
"Bah." She took the wad of currency Vincenti had brought it and tossed it onto his chest. Vincenti cringed ready for the pain but the would was already fully healed.
"Isn't that enough? I can get more."
"I don't need that money."
"If you release me I can get other money to you. I admit I was traveling a bit unprepared last night."
"Your accounts have been settled golem." She started loosening the restraints. Vincenti's arms ached and his shoulders creaked as he moved them.
"Are you sure you won't take money?" Vincenti asked. He began to dread what the crone took but a quick search of his pockets showed he still had all the lint and dust as when he had come in. "What, may I ask, did you take as payment?"
"You won't miss it, golem." It was an old joke, golems and souls.
"You can have my soul, if you can find it." he quipped.
"Bah, golem thinks he has a soul. Even if you had one it wouldn't be worth the flesh it occupied. I took your last breath golem."
That startled Vincenti. "Do I have many left?"
"Enough." She said. "You are finished here. I fixed your eyes, you will be able to make it home now and stop sullying my parlor or I really will call the runners on you."
Vincenti sat up, rubbing his wrists and waiting to regain feeling in his legs. "I thank you madame."
"Don't forget your jar. As I said you paid me to remove it not to store it." She walked to her front door and opened it, dark orange sunlight crept across the floor.
"Certainly". Vincenti expected to blink away tears with the light, but none came. He wrapped the jar in his overcoat that was still damp from the rain of the previous night and smelled vaguely of bayeed. "Again thank you."
He stepped out into the afternoon light and bathed in it. It had been quite a long time indeed since he'd seen daylight with his own eyes.
"Ming! The Wonsoon! He had to tell Ming that Arthur was on the Wonsoon." Putting the Trident on his left he headed out to tell Ming the news.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Write About A Silver Ring
We cut across town. It was early morning and the street traffic was light. Mostly food vendors setting up carts and cabbies jostling for a prime spot at the curb. They didn't even spare us a second glance. I wanted to hit one last stop before we explored the wharf and the tunnel. We headed toward the heart of the city. The buildings became taller and more respectable. Less trash but more dirty looks as we threaded through the streets. We were almost to our destination when Berto stopped suddenly.
"Look at the lights, Raz!" he exclaimed, turning down toward Lyson Road. Up ahead, I could make out the pulsating, searing lights of Cuttle.
"We don't have time, Berto," I pleaded. I tried to tug him back on track but it was no use. Most people found the visual speech of the Cuttle disconcerting. I had only a rudimentary understanding of what all the colors meant but only a fool would approach a Cuttle flashing the cold hard colors of blue and purple. In my experience, the Cuttle were like rats. They did their own thing and left you alone unless you cornered them. Then, they fought viciously. I avoided them at all cost. But Umberto had a strange fixation with their blinking lights. He claimed he could understand them. But then, he also claimed he could hear butterflies sing when they flew. He isn't the quickest off the starting blocks if you get my drift.
"They are so sad, Raz," Umberto muttered, as he hurried into the square in front of the Cuttle consul. For such a big guy, Umberto can move surprisingly fast. I had to hurry to keep up. He stopped at the edge of the Cuttle crowd that had gathered on the embassy steps. Deep midnight blue and dark violent violet colors splashed across his face from the Cuttle around him. I stayed on the edge of the crowd. I had no urge to get in the middle of that rats nest. The Cuttle surrounded Berto quickly, pulsating rapidly. Umberto stood still, his eyes wide, mesmerized by the lights. The rhythm and glare gave me a headache and I had to look away. When my sight cleared, the Cuttle had parted and Umberto was walking back to me, tears in his eyes.
"Raz, it's awful," Umberto sniffled, running his nose along his arm. "They have lost their kids Raz. Their kids! And no one cares or is doing nothing. Can we do something Raz? I bet you can think of a way to help, right?" Umberto looked down at me, expectantly.
Just between you and me, there was no way I was getting mixed up in Cuttle kid business. Their offspring were a mean, dog eat dog, hardscrabble lot. And I mean that literally. Cuttle kids were notorious for loving the taste of black dog. The last thing I wanted was to track down a couple of missing Cuttle squirts but I didn't have the time to win Umberto over to my way of seeing things so I did something I would end up regretting later... I lied. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. If only I knew the heart-ache it would cause us later.
"Sure Berto, we sure will help. I bet if we find those Cuttle kiddos, they'll be some big reward for us which would be great, right? But to do that, we need to hurry up and look into that tunnel I told you about. No more wasting time, ok?" I said. Umberto nodded eagerly and then wrapped me in a big bear hug.
"You're the best Raz! I just knew I could count on you!" Umberto dropped me back to the ground and ran back toward the Cuttle. "I'll tell 'em we're on the case now!" he yelled over his shoulder to me. I watched as he tried to talk to the Cuttle. I have no idea what he told them or what they understood. Their colors turned bright gold for a moment and then Umberto was back at my side, ready to go.
"So, whadda we gotta do, Raz?" he asked me.
"We need to pick up Momma's ring Berto," I said as we headed north, the lights of the Cuttle riot at our back. "Then we'll be ready to explore."
"Look at the lights, Raz!" he exclaimed, turning down toward Lyson Road. Up ahead, I could make out the pulsating, searing lights of Cuttle.
"We don't have time, Berto," I pleaded. I tried to tug him back on track but it was no use. Most people found the visual speech of the Cuttle disconcerting. I had only a rudimentary understanding of what all the colors meant but only a fool would approach a Cuttle flashing the cold hard colors of blue and purple. In my experience, the Cuttle were like rats. They did their own thing and left you alone unless you cornered them. Then, they fought viciously. I avoided them at all cost. But Umberto had a strange fixation with their blinking lights. He claimed he could understand them. But then, he also claimed he could hear butterflies sing when they flew. He isn't the quickest off the starting blocks if you get my drift.
"They are so sad, Raz," Umberto muttered, as he hurried into the square in front of the Cuttle consul. For such a big guy, Umberto can move surprisingly fast. I had to hurry to keep up. He stopped at the edge of the Cuttle crowd that had gathered on the embassy steps. Deep midnight blue and dark violent violet colors splashed across his face from the Cuttle around him. I stayed on the edge of the crowd. I had no urge to get in the middle of that rats nest. The Cuttle surrounded Berto quickly, pulsating rapidly. Umberto stood still, his eyes wide, mesmerized by the lights. The rhythm and glare gave me a headache and I had to look away. When my sight cleared, the Cuttle had parted and Umberto was walking back to me, tears in his eyes.
"Raz, it's awful," Umberto sniffled, running his nose along his arm. "They have lost their kids Raz. Their kids! And no one cares or is doing nothing. Can we do something Raz? I bet you can think of a way to help, right?" Umberto looked down at me, expectantly.
Just between you and me, there was no way I was getting mixed up in Cuttle kid business. Their offspring were a mean, dog eat dog, hardscrabble lot. And I mean that literally. Cuttle kids were notorious for loving the taste of black dog. The last thing I wanted was to track down a couple of missing Cuttle squirts but I didn't have the time to win Umberto over to my way of seeing things so I did something I would end up regretting later... I lied. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. If only I knew the heart-ache it would cause us later.
"Sure Berto, we sure will help. I bet if we find those Cuttle kiddos, they'll be some big reward for us which would be great, right? But to do that, we need to hurry up and look into that tunnel I told you about. No more wasting time, ok?" I said. Umberto nodded eagerly and then wrapped me in a big bear hug.
"You're the best Raz! I just knew I could count on you!" Umberto dropped me back to the ground and ran back toward the Cuttle. "I'll tell 'em we're on the case now!" he yelled over his shoulder to me. I watched as he tried to talk to the Cuttle. I have no idea what he told them or what they understood. Their colors turned bright gold for a moment and then Umberto was back at my side, ready to go.
"So, whadda we gotta do, Raz?" he asked me.
"We need to pick up Momma's ring Berto," I said as we headed north, the lights of the Cuttle riot at our back. "Then we'll be ready to explore."
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
What washed up on the shore
What washed up on the shore
Finnegan's head was pounding. Eyes closed, head down, fingers massaging his temples. This assignment has seemed like such a good step up the ladder of power, prestige and society. That had been 22 years, 3 wives, 4 children and countless grasping sycophantic co-workers ago.
To open his eyes risked another office lurching vertigo wave. He risked it anyway. The ceiling of his office was bathed in a pulsing light, sometimes red, but usually an angry blue or aquamarine. The light reflected off his office door, highlighting then silhouetting the writing on the frosted glass: "Alistair Finnegan, d.TM. Director Man/Cuttle Relations.
The Cuttle were rallying in the square down below his office. Another Cuttle child had disappeared. The Runners were mum versus his repeated inquiries. It wasn't just the Cuttle reporting missing children, but many others all throughout the city, the Lemurians particularly so. The Cuttle family that had just left was the third this week pleading with him for assistance. Another letter to the Runner's Citadel was on his desk to be signed. The letter was another pleading attempt for help from the runners to find the missing child or at least to create a task force to look into it. He was sure this one would meet the same fate as the other 7 he'd sent over the past six months, which would be utter silence. The normally unflappable runners seemed bent on keeping whatever they knew to themselves and seeing raid after raid in the papers they knew far more than they were letting on.
There was a knock on his door.
"Come in." Finnegan said. His assistant poked her head through.
"Mr. Finnegan, sir. We were wondering, that was your last appointment today. Could we get home? The Cuttles out front are getting more and more agitated. We were thinking we could slip out through the basement before the Runners are called to disperse the crowd?"
Finnegan's fingers continued to work his temples. While most Cuttle speeches were far too fast for humans to understand, the individuals speaking downstairs had slowed down to make sure anyone who could understand them could follow. The result was an almost constant aurora on the ceilings and walls and all the buildings around the square. Finnegan had found out far too late in life that speaking to Cuttles was a one way ticket to headaches and at one point a seizure.
"Fine. If your work is done you may all leave."
"Can I bring you an analgesic sir? Marsh? Forthent?"
"Two fingers of Forthent then be off with you."
"Right away sir." She ducked back out the door.
The bureaucrat opened his desk drawer for a pair of glasses he'd been prescribed and put them on. Almost instantly his headache lessened to tolerable levels.
He stood and walked over to his window. Four stories down below the square was filled, tentacle to tentacle of Cuttle. There were almost a thousand of the squat four legged things. Five cuttle stood on at the top of the stairs leading into his building. Their facial tentacles pulsing light rapidly and, unusually, they were pulse speaking in unison. The light from their bioluminescent cells changing shades rapidly and able to be seen for blocks in any direction. Except for the light, there was no noise. The cuttle spoke in their light tongue and a few others translated in facial tentacle sign language for the non-cuttle who were there too.
Every few seconds the five speaking would flash something to incite the crowd and the square would burst in shades of cold blue and livid purple. Those bursts would make Finnegan's temples flare.
He was only able to catch every third or fourth word. 30 years of working with Cuttle and he still only could understand a smattering of their language. Today, however, the sentiments were coming across bright and clear. The device that had washed up on the shore was being held in connection to the multiple disappearances of Cuttle children. His office was being blamed for dragging its feet with the Runners and the investigation.
Finnegan sighed. Thirty years of working with them and he still had no clue how they thought about children. Any given Cuttle mother gave birth to several hundred slimes in any given litter, most of which ate each other in the first few weeks, leaving only a few strong, quick or clever ones in each cycle. Why they were upset over the loss of 6 was beyond him. They were the fastest growing community in the city since their embassy had opened.
Movement at the edge of the square caught his eye. Runners in heavy gear were starting to amass at the two entrances he could see and he assumed the other three entrances to the square were being blocked off as well.
"Might be time to leave as well." Finnigan said to no one in particular. He turned to see that his assistant had already left the murky green glass of forthent on his desk and had disappeared. He downed the sweet drink in one gulp and felt its warmth spread to his fingers and the tip of his nose.
He ran over the path through the archive tunnels in his mind trying to decide with other building to come up in and which one would be furthest from the Runners and whatever inscrutable actions they were planning.
Finnegan grabbed his top coat, bowler and umbrella and made his way to the stairway. His office was already deserted, gas lamps turned low and sputtering.
"they could have at least waited for me to leave."
"How did it come to this?" he wondered as he walked down the echoy marble steps. His career has been so promising when he started.
Finnegan's head was pounding. Eyes closed, head down, fingers massaging his temples. This assignment has seemed like such a good step up the ladder of power, prestige and society. That had been 22 years, 3 wives, 4 children and countless grasping sycophantic co-workers ago.
To open his eyes risked another office lurching vertigo wave. He risked it anyway. The ceiling of his office was bathed in a pulsing light, sometimes red, but usually an angry blue or aquamarine. The light reflected off his office door, highlighting then silhouetting the writing on the frosted glass: "Alistair Finnegan, d.TM. Director Man/Cuttle Relations.
The Cuttle were rallying in the square down below his office. Another Cuttle child had disappeared. The Runners were mum versus his repeated inquiries. It wasn't just the Cuttle reporting missing children, but many others all throughout the city, the Lemurians particularly so. The Cuttle family that had just left was the third this week pleading with him for assistance. Another letter to the Runner's Citadel was on his desk to be signed. The letter was another pleading attempt for help from the runners to find the missing child or at least to create a task force to look into it. He was sure this one would meet the same fate as the other 7 he'd sent over the past six months, which would be utter silence. The normally unflappable runners seemed bent on keeping whatever they knew to themselves and seeing raid after raid in the papers they knew far more than they were letting on.
There was a knock on his door.
"Come in." Finnegan said. His assistant poked her head through.
"Mr. Finnegan, sir. We were wondering, that was your last appointment today. Could we get home? The Cuttles out front are getting more and more agitated. We were thinking we could slip out through the basement before the Runners are called to disperse the crowd?"
Finnegan's fingers continued to work his temples. While most Cuttle speeches were far too fast for humans to understand, the individuals speaking downstairs had slowed down to make sure anyone who could understand them could follow. The result was an almost constant aurora on the ceilings and walls and all the buildings around the square. Finnegan had found out far too late in life that speaking to Cuttles was a one way ticket to headaches and at one point a seizure.
"Fine. If your work is done you may all leave."
"Can I bring you an analgesic sir? Marsh? Forthent?"
"Two fingers of Forthent then be off with you."
"Right away sir." She ducked back out the door.
The bureaucrat opened his desk drawer for a pair of glasses he'd been prescribed and put them on. Almost instantly his headache lessened to tolerable levels.
He stood and walked over to his window. Four stories down below the square was filled, tentacle to tentacle of Cuttle. There were almost a thousand of the squat four legged things. Five cuttle stood on at the top of the stairs leading into his building. Their facial tentacles pulsing light rapidly and, unusually, they were pulse speaking in unison. The light from their bioluminescent cells changing shades rapidly and able to be seen for blocks in any direction. Except for the light, there was no noise. The cuttle spoke in their light tongue and a few others translated in facial tentacle sign language for the non-cuttle who were there too.
Every few seconds the five speaking would flash something to incite the crowd and the square would burst in shades of cold blue and livid purple. Those bursts would make Finnegan's temples flare.
He was only able to catch every third or fourth word. 30 years of working with Cuttle and he still only could understand a smattering of their language. Today, however, the sentiments were coming across bright and clear. The device that had washed up on the shore was being held in connection to the multiple disappearances of Cuttle children. His office was being blamed for dragging its feet with the Runners and the investigation.
Finnegan sighed. Thirty years of working with them and he still had no clue how they thought about children. Any given Cuttle mother gave birth to several hundred slimes in any given litter, most of which ate each other in the first few weeks, leaving only a few strong, quick or clever ones in each cycle. Why they were upset over the loss of 6 was beyond him. They were the fastest growing community in the city since their embassy had opened.
Movement at the edge of the square caught his eye. Runners in heavy gear were starting to amass at the two entrances he could see and he assumed the other three entrances to the square were being blocked off as well.
"Might be time to leave as well." Finnigan said to no one in particular. He turned to see that his assistant had already left the murky green glass of forthent on his desk and had disappeared. He downed the sweet drink in one gulp and felt its warmth spread to his fingers and the tip of his nose.
He ran over the path through the archive tunnels in his mind trying to decide with other building to come up in and which one would be furthest from the Runners and whatever inscrutable actions they were planning.
Finnegan grabbed his top coat, bowler and umbrella and made his way to the stairway. His office was already deserted, gas lamps turned low and sputtering.
"they could have at least waited for me to leave."
"How did it come to this?" he wondered as he walked down the echoy marble steps. His career has been so promising when he started.
Monday, December 5, 2011
You Found It In A Drawer
My plan was simple. We were going to find out where that dark passage led. Those men I had seen at the wharf were clearly trying to keep a low profile. That meant, if we could find out what they were up to, we had something to sell. Either our silence or our knowledge. I didn't care either way. Who ever paid more worked just fine for me. We had made a pretty penny a while back when we had stumbled upon a counterfeiting ring a few years ago. For the right price, our lips were sealed and our palms crossed. In fact, that was where we had first met Jules. She was the brains behind the operation and had figured out how to turn lead into gold. Unfortunately, the effects proved to be temporary but Jules and her cohorts were long gone by the time that had happened. Jules turned out to be a good resource over the years. She always had some invention that wanted testing. Most of the time, her ideas fell on the wrong side of the law which was just fine by me. I figured before I headed back to explore the tunnel, I'd line my pockets with a few of her handy devices and see what, if anything, she had heard..
By the time we reached her neighborhood, dawn was breaking. Jules worked under a printing shop. She claimed that the sound of the printing press as it pounded out copies of the daily rag gave her inspiration. All it gave me was a headache. We reached the stairs that led down to her rooms just as the sun breached the horizon.
"Um, Raz, do I gotta?" Umberto had balked at the top of the stairs. He had resumed is shuffling and hand wringing. I stifled a sigh. Umberto didn't like Jules. Jules didn't like Umberto. They were water and oil, cats and dogs, and any other over used cliche you could think of the described to forces that did not play well together.
"Yes Berto," I replied patiently, "we got to. You lost the money, now we have to find more. Jules is the way. Sorry big guy." I patted his arm and turned back to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Umberto followed much slower.
The door was unlocked but I knew better than to open it. Instead, I swung the metal message flap up and hollared out, "Hey Jules! It's me! Is it safe to enter?"
There was a loud crash followed by what sounded like a buzzing noise and the door was pulled open and out of my hand. Jules looked disheveled but grinned up at me. She was a tiny little thing. Maybe five foot one on a good day. But if you knew Jules, you knew height meant little. Her smock was blackened with soot and she held a strange device in her hands. It was covered with gears and grease and what looked like small opalescent orb floated in air above it. I didn't even try to wrap my mind around what it was. It was out of my league.
"Razzie," grunted and frowned up at me. "You have the worst timing," she said as she turned and walked into her lair. I grinned at the back of her retreating figure before following but was stopped by Umberto tugging on my shirt tails.
"Please Raz? Please?" he asked in a whisper.
"Oh, you brought It with you I see." Jules turned and looked at Umberto. Her head tilted to the right a bit and her eye lids lowered down to slits. Then she smiled. It wasn't friendly.
"Hey now, hey now, lets not do this Jules," I stepped between them, blocking her line of sight and felt Umberto growl behind me. "Berto, why don't you go guard the door for me while I talk to Jules, ok?"
Jules had lowered her gaze and was fiddling with her device. It began giving off sparks as the orb began rotating at an alarming rate. With a grunt, Umberto turned, slammed the door and stomped up the stairs. Now it was my turn to glare.
"Really, Jules? Really? Do you have to do that? You know Umberto is harmless? Why do you have to rile him up so?" I asked and I settled myself in the nearest chair.
Jules shrugged and tossed the orb device into her desk where it sputtered to a stop. "Just can't help myself," she sighed, and she untied her smock and soothed her wrinkled dress. She glanced at me now with lowered lids and that same head tilt I had learned to watch out for.
"What are you up to Razzie? You never visit me anymore unless something is going on. Spill it. What mess have you gotten tangled up in now." She settled herself in a chair next to me and began fussing with a tray set for tea. She passed me a delicate cup and saucer then sat back with her own while I explained the situation. When I was done, she had finished her drink and was on her feet rummaging through her desk drawer.
"Ah, here it is!" she exclaimed as she pulled forth a small metal box. She opened it carefully and then spun it in her palm so its contents faced me. "This is a little gizmo I designed for a, er, client. He never claimed it so it's been gathering dust for the last few months but I think it is just what you need." Gently, she lifted a flat metal disc from the box and placed it in her palm. The disk had a large raised stone set in the center and with her free hand, Jules gentle tapped the gem. A soft glow began to emanate from the set jewel. It grew in strength until Jules tapped the gem a second time. Now the glow was a steady green light that illuminated her face in a ghastly manner. But it was strong.
"One tap on. Two taps to set. Simply turn it over," she quickly flipped the disk in her hand and the light was extinguished "and it's extinguished." She smiled at the look on my face and tossed the disc into my lap. "Really, Razzie, you are so easily amused! It's merely trapped ether magnified and focused through the facets of a crystal. Amateurishness, I know, but sometime I like to try my hand at the easy things," she sighed breezily. She sat back down in her chair and leaned across to me, her playfulness dropped away and her gaze was serious.
"But Raz, this business by the wharf, are you sure you want to poke around in it? I haven't heard much but what I have isn't good. People have been disappearing which isn't new but something happened to turn up the heat. I heard the Runners are looking into it. You don't want to mess with them." She shuddered and leaned back in her chair.
That was not good news. The Runners were the known for their tenacity and their incorruptibility. If they were poking around this scheme I would have to tread lightly. But it also meant that whatever was going on was big if it had grabbed their attention. My chances for a payout were looking better and better.
I stood up and smiled at Jules. "No worries, my dear. I was born careful. I promise not to blunder into the path of a seeking Runner. And with this little gem," I added, flipping the disc in the air and catching it again, "I am set to learn a little more about what has the Runners in such a bother."
By the time we reached her neighborhood, dawn was breaking. Jules worked under a printing shop. She claimed that the sound of the printing press as it pounded out copies of the daily rag gave her inspiration. All it gave me was a headache. We reached the stairs that led down to her rooms just as the sun breached the horizon.
"Um, Raz, do I gotta?" Umberto had balked at the top of the stairs. He had resumed is shuffling and hand wringing. I stifled a sigh. Umberto didn't like Jules. Jules didn't like Umberto. They were water and oil, cats and dogs, and any other over used cliche you could think of the described to forces that did not play well together.
"Yes Berto," I replied patiently, "we got to. You lost the money, now we have to find more. Jules is the way. Sorry big guy." I patted his arm and turned back to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Umberto followed much slower.
The door was unlocked but I knew better than to open it. Instead, I swung the metal message flap up and hollared out, "Hey Jules! It's me! Is it safe to enter?"
There was a loud crash followed by what sounded like a buzzing noise and the door was pulled open and out of my hand. Jules looked disheveled but grinned up at me. She was a tiny little thing. Maybe five foot one on a good day. But if you knew Jules, you knew height meant little. Her smock was blackened with soot and she held a strange device in her hands. It was covered with gears and grease and what looked like small opalescent orb floated in air above it. I didn't even try to wrap my mind around what it was. It was out of my league.
"Razzie," grunted and frowned up at me. "You have the worst timing," she said as she turned and walked into her lair. I grinned at the back of her retreating figure before following but was stopped by Umberto tugging on my shirt tails.
"Please Raz? Please?" he asked in a whisper.
"Oh, you brought It with you I see." Jules turned and looked at Umberto. Her head tilted to the right a bit and her eye lids lowered down to slits. Then she smiled. It wasn't friendly.
"Hey now, hey now, lets not do this Jules," I stepped between them, blocking her line of sight and felt Umberto growl behind me. "Berto, why don't you go guard the door for me while I talk to Jules, ok?"
Jules had lowered her gaze and was fiddling with her device. It began giving off sparks as the orb began rotating at an alarming rate. With a grunt, Umberto turned, slammed the door and stomped up the stairs. Now it was my turn to glare.
"Really, Jules? Really? Do you have to do that? You know Umberto is harmless? Why do you have to rile him up so?" I asked and I settled myself in the nearest chair.
Jules shrugged and tossed the orb device into her desk where it sputtered to a stop. "Just can't help myself," she sighed, and she untied her smock and soothed her wrinkled dress. She glanced at me now with lowered lids and that same head tilt I had learned to watch out for.
"What are you up to Razzie? You never visit me anymore unless something is going on. Spill it. What mess have you gotten tangled up in now." She settled herself in a chair next to me and began fussing with a tray set for tea. She passed me a delicate cup and saucer then sat back with her own while I explained the situation. When I was done, she had finished her drink and was on her feet rummaging through her desk drawer.
"Ah, here it is!" she exclaimed as she pulled forth a small metal box. She opened it carefully and then spun it in her palm so its contents faced me. "This is a little gizmo I designed for a, er, client. He never claimed it so it's been gathering dust for the last few months but I think it is just what you need." Gently, she lifted a flat metal disc from the box and placed it in her palm. The disk had a large raised stone set in the center and with her free hand, Jules gentle tapped the gem. A soft glow began to emanate from the set jewel. It grew in strength until Jules tapped the gem a second time. Now the glow was a steady green light that illuminated her face in a ghastly manner. But it was strong.
"One tap on. Two taps to set. Simply turn it over," she quickly flipped the disk in her hand and the light was extinguished "and it's extinguished." She smiled at the look on my face and tossed the disc into my lap. "Really, Razzie, you are so easily amused! It's merely trapped ether magnified and focused through the facets of a crystal. Amateurishness, I know, but sometime I like to try my hand at the easy things," she sighed breezily. She sat back down in her chair and leaned across to me, her playfulness dropped away and her gaze was serious.
"But Raz, this business by the wharf, are you sure you want to poke around in it? I haven't heard much but what I have isn't good. People have been disappearing which isn't new but something happened to turn up the heat. I heard the Runners are looking into it. You don't want to mess with them." She shuddered and leaned back in her chair.
That was not good news. The Runners were the known for their tenacity and their incorruptibility. If they were poking around this scheme I would have to tread lightly. But it also meant that whatever was going on was big if it had grabbed their attention. My chances for a payout were looking better and better.
I stood up and smiled at Jules. "No worries, my dear. I was born careful. I promise not to blunder into the path of a seeking Runner. And with this little gem," I added, flipping the disc in the air and catching it again, "I am set to learn a little more about what has the Runners in such a bother."
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Write about Back alleys
While the pain in Vincenti's chest wasn't incapacitating, he knew he'd need to get the knife taken out sooner rather than later. He could already feel his body trying to accept the foreign object and make it part of him, trouble was the gems on the hilt would be poisonous the instant they touched his skin. He was going to have to make his way to a reputable thaumatist this time, as Ming, while good, was a little rusty on his lesser poison wards and runes.
Vincenti felt the knive burrow into his chest a little further and figured he had about forty five minutes to get somewhere. Ever since the Wraith Skirmishes, good quality thaumatists had been few and far between, couple the fact that it was early into the morning and a real thaumatist's power rose with the sun Vincenti began to worry that he was not long for this body. It was taking more and more of his concentration to keep his organs from touching the blade.
"Thaumatist first, cash second." He kept chanting, then added to the list "Get back to Ming to tell him Arthur was on the Wonsoon." With any luck the Wonsoon was still loading and not leaving on the tide. Perhaps there was still time to get someone on board to look after the dwarf. Suddenly his body was racked with pain. He dropped to his knees fighting for breath, tears streaming from his eyes. Not caring about the gems, Vincenti clutched at the knife's hilt and pulled for all he was worth. The knife wouldn't budge. He felt his concentration slip and his lung touched the blade inside, another electric jolt racked his body. Some part of his brain that was still able to have rational thought decided that the blade must have been thaumatically charged, not just the gems. Expensive, but not out of the realms of possibility. He could feel the gems burning his hands where he gripped the knife but was able to remove the blade by a finger span. Almost immediately the pain subsided and he was able to catch his breath.
Continuing down back alleys, he made his way to the closest Thaumaturge he could think of.
-----------------------------------------
Arthur came to with the sounds of shouting, footsteps and a gentle swaying. His wrists and ankles were bound still, too tightly to work loose. He struggled to sit up freeing his head from the burlap sack he was in, then let his eyes adjust to the dim gaslight being produced by wall sconces. Around him, wide golden-eyed Lemur-men were stacking crates and barrels, chittering to each other as they worked. Arthur noted the curved ribs set into the walls and surmised he was on a ship.
"Do any of you have a glass of water you could spare?"
The lemur-men didn't even glance in his direction. Arthur looked over to one, his fur with many more silvery streaks to it than the rest, and who's coveralls were covered in a dark grime. Arthur switched to Lemurian.
"Old man, do you have any water? Wine? Beer? Something to get the taste of copper out of my mouth?"
The old lemur man blinked slowly at him, then brought a small tin cup over. Arthur relished the water and swirled it around his mouth, feeling at least one loose molar.
"Much obliged. What's your name? What ship is this?" The others had finished loading the crates and were filing out, keeping their hopping lope low to avoid hitting the ceiling.
The Lemur-man took the cup from Arthur.
"I am Pardo, this ship is the Wonsoon."
"Wonsoon. Good, pleasure to meet you Pardo. I'm Arthur. I'd shake your hand but..." Aruthur held up his bound wrists and offered a depreciating smile.
"Where are we heading Pardo? South to the Isles? I could use some sun. North? I could stand to buy my lady friends some gems and jewels if you know what I mean. Who can I speak to about getting some better accommodations?" Again, he glanced at his bound wrists.
"The refinery." is all Pardo said, then loped out with the others.
"gods be damned, the refinery?" Arthur muttered. "Vincenti, I hope you've got all this!" At least he was alive.
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Vincenti was approaching panic as three of the alleys he'd gone down trying to find shortcuts had been dead ends. The first rays of the sun were prodding the horizon. Orange columns pierced the smog and overwhelmed Vincenti's night vision. Now with tears in his eyes, he staggered from one cobbled stoned alleyway to another. At one point he tumbled headlong into a pile of trash and refuse. Rats and other vermin scurried away thinking him a large predator. Through the tears he glimpsed a half opened Cigar box, coinage glinting.
Looking around and seeing no one, he grasped the box and opened it. Coins and bills glowed softly inside. Hopefully he could pass off the bill's aura as his. There was more than enough money inside to remove the knife, and maybe even enough to fix his eyes so they would work in the daylight too. The point would become moot, however, if he couldn't find a thaumatist in the next ten minutes.
Stumbling out of the alleyway, blinking away the tears and trying to focus, he realized he had reached the Opal district after all. If a thaumatist was to be had, it would be here. Almost instantly a door, four buildings down opened. A woman, dressed in old red and burnt orange silks, with white hair down to her ankles gestured for him to come over.
"Well? I've been expecting you all night. You certainly took your time in getting here. At least you waited until the sun came up. Get in the chair and lets look at this knife problem of yours." She took his box of money.
"Stolen, but not by you. That's something I suppose." She held up a coin so it occluded a glowing white glass ball hanging from the ceiling. THe ball bathed the entire room in an even white light. She clucked through her teeth. Not bad warding work. Not good, and not yours. The runes said you would come with money. The bones said it would be tainted, and the furies simply laughed at a golem coming to seek me out. But who believes the furies most of the time anyway, eh?"
Vincenti cringed. Hopefully she wouldn't report him. His bowler hat fell off as he grimaced and slid onto the chair and reclined back to almost horizontal. While, padded, the leather was cracked and stuffing was falling out. Metal clamps came from the arm rests and secured arms, legs and neck.
She looked at the knife in his chest as it sunk in another fraction of an inch.
"Please hurry." Was all Vicnenti could muster.
"That money pays for quality, not speed." she said. The knife slid in further, another rune triggered and Vincenti arced his back from the pain. The wrist clamps groaned.
"You break my chair I leave the knife in." She said. She tapped just above the knife on his chest. His muscles were so taut it sounded as if he were solid.
"Take...take all the money. P...puh...lease just help me." He mustered between spasms.
"Everyone thinks they can do magicks today. Tell me this golem. Why did the bones say I should help you? I don't normally work on your kind."
"I...duh... I don't know. Hurrrrrrrrrrrr." Vincenti's jaw clamped shut."
"Very well." She closed her eyes for a second, placed her long and jagged finger nail from her little finger under the hilt and in one deft motion yanked the knife out. Instantly Vincenti lost consciousness.
The old woman clucked to herself and held the knife carefully in her nails by tip and hilt. She laid it flat on her desk and rummaged around for a large clay plot.
"You paid for removal, but not for storage. You need to take this with you." She placed the knife in in the jar, spoke a word and the open face of the jar closed. Gently she placed the jar on a table next to the chair.
"You hear me golem? You take the knife with you." she kicked the chair but Vicenti didn't move.
"Bah, golems." She shuffled off to another room.
Vincenti felt the knive burrow into his chest a little further and figured he had about forty five minutes to get somewhere. Ever since the Wraith Skirmishes, good quality thaumatists had been few and far between, couple the fact that it was early into the morning and a real thaumatist's power rose with the sun Vincenti began to worry that he was not long for this body. It was taking more and more of his concentration to keep his organs from touching the blade.
"Thaumatist first, cash second." He kept chanting, then added to the list "Get back to Ming to tell him Arthur was on the Wonsoon." With any luck the Wonsoon was still loading and not leaving on the tide. Perhaps there was still time to get someone on board to look after the dwarf. Suddenly his body was racked with pain. He dropped to his knees fighting for breath, tears streaming from his eyes. Not caring about the gems, Vincenti clutched at the knife's hilt and pulled for all he was worth. The knife wouldn't budge. He felt his concentration slip and his lung touched the blade inside, another electric jolt racked his body. Some part of his brain that was still able to have rational thought decided that the blade must have been thaumatically charged, not just the gems. Expensive, but not out of the realms of possibility. He could feel the gems burning his hands where he gripped the knife but was able to remove the blade by a finger span. Almost immediately the pain subsided and he was able to catch his breath.
Continuing down back alleys, he made his way to the closest Thaumaturge he could think of.
-----------------------------------------
Arthur came to with the sounds of shouting, footsteps and a gentle swaying. His wrists and ankles were bound still, too tightly to work loose. He struggled to sit up freeing his head from the burlap sack he was in, then let his eyes adjust to the dim gaslight being produced by wall sconces. Around him, wide golden-eyed Lemur-men were stacking crates and barrels, chittering to each other as they worked. Arthur noted the curved ribs set into the walls and surmised he was on a ship.
"Do any of you have a glass of water you could spare?"
The lemur-men didn't even glance in his direction. Arthur looked over to one, his fur with many more silvery streaks to it than the rest, and who's coveralls were covered in a dark grime. Arthur switched to Lemurian.
"Old man, do you have any water? Wine? Beer? Something to get the taste of copper out of my mouth?"
The old lemur man blinked slowly at him, then brought a small tin cup over. Arthur relished the water and swirled it around his mouth, feeling at least one loose molar.
"Much obliged. What's your name? What ship is this?" The others had finished loading the crates and were filing out, keeping their hopping lope low to avoid hitting the ceiling.
The Lemur-man took the cup from Arthur.
"I am Pardo, this ship is the Wonsoon."
"Wonsoon. Good, pleasure to meet you Pardo. I'm Arthur. I'd shake your hand but..." Aruthur held up his bound wrists and offered a depreciating smile.
"Where are we heading Pardo? South to the Isles? I could use some sun. North? I could stand to buy my lady friends some gems and jewels if you know what I mean. Who can I speak to about getting some better accommodations?" Again, he glanced at his bound wrists.
"The refinery." is all Pardo said, then loped out with the others.
"gods be damned, the refinery?" Arthur muttered. "Vincenti, I hope you've got all this!" At least he was alive.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Vincenti was approaching panic as three of the alleys he'd gone down trying to find shortcuts had been dead ends. The first rays of the sun were prodding the horizon. Orange columns pierced the smog and overwhelmed Vincenti's night vision. Now with tears in his eyes, he staggered from one cobbled stoned alleyway to another. At one point he tumbled headlong into a pile of trash and refuse. Rats and other vermin scurried away thinking him a large predator. Through the tears he glimpsed a half opened Cigar box, coinage glinting.
Looking around and seeing no one, he grasped the box and opened it. Coins and bills glowed softly inside. Hopefully he could pass off the bill's aura as his. There was more than enough money inside to remove the knife, and maybe even enough to fix his eyes so they would work in the daylight too. The point would become moot, however, if he couldn't find a thaumatist in the next ten minutes.
Stumbling out of the alleyway, blinking away the tears and trying to focus, he realized he had reached the Opal district after all. If a thaumatist was to be had, it would be here. Almost instantly a door, four buildings down opened. A woman, dressed in old red and burnt orange silks, with white hair down to her ankles gestured for him to come over.
"Well? I've been expecting you all night. You certainly took your time in getting here. At least you waited until the sun came up. Get in the chair and lets look at this knife problem of yours." She took his box of money.
"Stolen, but not by you. That's something I suppose." She held up a coin so it occluded a glowing white glass ball hanging from the ceiling. THe ball bathed the entire room in an even white light. She clucked through her teeth. Not bad warding work. Not good, and not yours. The runes said you would come with money. The bones said it would be tainted, and the furies simply laughed at a golem coming to seek me out. But who believes the furies most of the time anyway, eh?"
Vincenti cringed. Hopefully she wouldn't report him. His bowler hat fell off as he grimaced and slid onto the chair and reclined back to almost horizontal. While, padded, the leather was cracked and stuffing was falling out. Metal clamps came from the arm rests and secured arms, legs and neck.
She looked at the knife in his chest as it sunk in another fraction of an inch.
"Please hurry." Was all Vicnenti could muster.
"That money pays for quality, not speed." she said. The knife slid in further, another rune triggered and Vincenti arced his back from the pain. The wrist clamps groaned.
"You break my chair I leave the knife in." She said. She tapped just above the knife on his chest. His muscles were so taut it sounded as if he were solid.
"Take...take all the money. P...puh...lease just help me." He mustered between spasms.
"Everyone thinks they can do magicks today. Tell me this golem. Why did the bones say I should help you? I don't normally work on your kind."
"I...duh... I don't know. Hurrrrrrrrrrrr." Vincenti's jaw clamped shut."
"Very well." She closed her eyes for a second, placed her long and jagged finger nail from her little finger under the hilt and in one deft motion yanked the knife out. Instantly Vincenti lost consciousness.
The old woman clucked to herself and held the knife carefully in her nails by tip and hilt. She laid it flat on her desk and rummaged around for a large clay plot.
"You paid for removal, but not for storage. You need to take this with you." She placed the knife in in the jar, spoke a word and the open face of the jar closed. Gently she placed the jar on a table next to the chair.
"You hear me golem? You take the knife with you." she kicked the chair but Vicenti didn't move.
"Bah, golems." She shuffled off to another room.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
When We Left For.....
My journey home was swift. The pounding rain meant the streets were clear and the city was quiet. As my feet lead, my mind began to ponder options. We needed money. Fast. There were a few favors I could call in but was hesitant to do so. I had worked long and hard to get my head above water. To throw it all away and be back at zero? The thought brought an ache to my hart. I rounded the corner onto Rubin Street and ducked into the alley behind The Heated Stone. If not a favor, then we could hire out. I grimaced at the thought and mounted the stairs two at a time up to our rooms. I hated working for someone else. Being your own boss, that the only way to go in my mind. My rules, my way. I hadn't taken orders in over two years and the idea of having to cowtow to some fat bossman made me hit the door hard as I entered our apartment.
Umberto shot out of his chair when he heard me come in. He stood there, all six feet three inches of him, shifting from foot to foot, rubbing his hands together, his face drawn in anguish.
"Where you been Raz?" he asked, his big hands reaching toward me in supplication. I batted them away and pushed past him into the kitchen.
"Thinking Berto. Something you know nothing about." I banged about, setting the pot onto the stove and lighting the gas burner. Once the flame took, I turned to face my half-brother. Umberto was back to his rocking and hand wringing. I felt some of my anger seep away. It wasn't really his fault. It was an accident. Berto was famous for his "accidents". Blaming him didn't get us anywhere. It never did. We needed a plan and that was my specialty. Umberto must have seen something on my face because he stopped rocking and offered me a timid smile.
"You aren't still mad at me? Are you Raz? 'Cause I'm really really sorry. I just thought it was a box, you know? If I had know about the money I'd of never thrown it out. Promise Raz! I dinnit mean nothin' by it, you know?" he stammered.
Berto had our mother's eyes: large, soft and brown. My own were blue. They have been called shifty, squity, and calculating. Doe-like, they are not. Guess I take after my dad in that area, whoever he was. We both shared our mom's brown curly hair with a steak of white right above the left ear. That white streak was how we had found each other. And although Umberto caused me no end of trouble, he was family. All the family I had. With a sigh,, I crossed over to him and patted his forearm.
"It's ok Berto, it's ok. I know it was an accident and I'm not mad. Not anymore, at least. But you understand that we are in trouble now, right? Marco will want his usual payment next week and we don't have the funds to set us right with him now. And that's bad Umberto. Got it?
Berto nodded his head eagerly and smiled down at me. The kettle started to whistle so I headed back into the kitchen, talking over my shoulder.
"We have to make some cash, and fast. The way I see it, we can call in our favors and hope we can squeeze out enough to make it for this month or we need to take a risk." I poured hot water into my battered cup and dropped in a strainer of tea before I continued. "We could hire ourselves out but that would take too long and I don't want to go back to that. Not unless we have to. So that leave, what?" I mused.
I turned back to Umberto whose brow was creased in deep concentration. Just seeing him trying to puzzle this out made me smile. The tip of his tongue stuck between his lips and his shoulders were hunched up almost to his ears. I was tempted to leave him like that all night but we didn't have time.
"Jules," I stated.
Umberto's eyebrows shot up and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he quickly swallowed twice. Then again.
"Sorry my brother, but it's the only hope we've got," I said as I grabbed my mug and took a sip.
"But, Raz," Umberto whinned, "I don't like Jules. She makes me....." He shuddered and frowned.
"Uncomfortable?" I offered.
"Yeah, uncomforted," Umberto replied. "Do we gotta?"
Yes, Berto, we gotta," I said and dumped the rest of my drink in the sink. I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. Umberto followed me slowly, his feet dragging reluctantly. When we left for Jules' that night, I had no idea what lay before us. If I did, I would have found another way, no matter how distasteful, to make our payment. But hindsight, as they say, is clear. That night, as we stepped into the light of the moons, we were blind to the fate that lay before us.
Umberto shot out of his chair when he heard me come in. He stood there, all six feet three inches of him, shifting from foot to foot, rubbing his hands together, his face drawn in anguish.
"Where you been Raz?" he asked, his big hands reaching toward me in supplication. I batted them away and pushed past him into the kitchen.
"Thinking Berto. Something you know nothing about." I banged about, setting the pot onto the stove and lighting the gas burner. Once the flame took, I turned to face my half-brother. Umberto was back to his rocking and hand wringing. I felt some of my anger seep away. It wasn't really his fault. It was an accident. Berto was famous for his "accidents". Blaming him didn't get us anywhere. It never did. We needed a plan and that was my specialty. Umberto must have seen something on my face because he stopped rocking and offered me a timid smile.
"You aren't still mad at me? Are you Raz? 'Cause I'm really really sorry. I just thought it was a box, you know? If I had know about the money I'd of never thrown it out. Promise Raz! I dinnit mean nothin' by it, you know?" he stammered.
Berto had our mother's eyes: large, soft and brown. My own were blue. They have been called shifty, squity, and calculating. Doe-like, they are not. Guess I take after my dad in that area, whoever he was. We both shared our mom's brown curly hair with a steak of white right above the left ear. That white streak was how we had found each other. And although Umberto caused me no end of trouble, he was family. All the family I had. With a sigh,, I crossed over to him and patted his forearm.
"It's ok Berto, it's ok. I know it was an accident and I'm not mad. Not anymore, at least. But you understand that we are in trouble now, right? Marco will want his usual payment next week and we don't have the funds to set us right with him now. And that's bad Umberto. Got it?
Berto nodded his head eagerly and smiled down at me. The kettle started to whistle so I headed back into the kitchen, talking over my shoulder.
"We have to make some cash, and fast. The way I see it, we can call in our favors and hope we can squeeze out enough to make it for this month or we need to take a risk." I poured hot water into my battered cup and dropped in a strainer of tea before I continued. "We could hire ourselves out but that would take too long and I don't want to go back to that. Not unless we have to. So that leave, what?" I mused.
I turned back to Umberto whose brow was creased in deep concentration. Just seeing him trying to puzzle this out made me smile. The tip of his tongue stuck between his lips and his shoulders were hunched up almost to his ears. I was tempted to leave him like that all night but we didn't have time.
"Jules," I stated.
Umberto's eyebrows shot up and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he quickly swallowed twice. Then again.
"Sorry my brother, but it's the only hope we've got," I said as I grabbed my mug and took a sip.
"But, Raz," Umberto whinned, "I don't like Jules. She makes me....." He shuddered and frowned.
"Uncomfortable?" I offered.
"Yeah, uncomforted," Umberto replied. "Do we gotta?"
Yes, Berto, we gotta," I said and dumped the rest of my drink in the sink. I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. Umberto followed me slowly, his feet dragging reluctantly. When we left for Jules' that night, I had no idea what lay before us. If I did, I would have found another way, no matter how distasteful, to make our payment. But hindsight, as they say, is clear. That night, as we stepped into the light of the moons, we were blind to the fate that lay before us.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Stopping to look in a window.
Vincenti had been told to stay back and observe from a distance, if things got hot, call the Muzo brothers, but above all, stay low and out of sight. A lukewarm rain was drenching everything as it came in off the bay in clinging oily sheets.
Arthur was walking as fast as he could to keep up with the suited goons who were "escorting" him, his short little legs an almost comical flurry of movement.
Vincenti stopped to look in a window, making a play to look like he was merely window shopping. He had to be sure to stay far enough back not to be spotted. Granted, with the rain this hard, everyone's eyes were down, hands on hats trying to stay dry. But, on the other hand, no one was window shopping right now either. Half a block back, Vincenti half caught a look that turned his blood to ice. Someone was tailing him, tailing Arthur, and by the look of things he'd been made.
Vincenti fingered the gem in his pocket, debating whether or not to call for help now even though he wasn't sure yet where the goons were taking Arthur.
"Fortune favors the bold my friend." Vincenti said to no one in particular and made his way to the shadows across the street, letting Arthur out of his sight for a second and taking a calculated risk to verify if he was or was not being followed.
He bolted through horses and oxen across the street from one flickering pool of lamp light to another one caddy corner away and pretended to dart from awning to the next.
Had it been his imagination? Had the man in the bowler hat half a block back really made eye contact with him then look away?
Vincenti cursed as he had lost track of Arthur. The rain coming down was thick enough to obscure details more than a block away.
Which way had they gone? Where was the man in the bowler hat?
Traffic had let up only slightly, Vincenti was frantically searching for the two big figures escorting Arthur. The skies lit up white, then bluish green as lightning arced across the clouds. It was enough to spot the trio again, and with that he was off. They were definitely heading to the Trident, although he was pretty sure of that before now anyway.
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"I can tell this is going to be one of those trips, you being the strong silent types and all, but isn't there any way I could convince you to hail us a ride of some sort?"
The two thugs didn't even look at him as they continued marching Arthur down the sidewalks. He risked a sidelong glance to see if Vincenti was still following them. His heart quickened as he realized Vincenti was nowhere to be seen. They were walking quickly although Arthur wasn't sure if it was for the comfort of the goons to get out of the rain or merely because they were running late. All he knew was that his legs and knees were aching horribly. Arthur had been bred for many things, walking any sort of distance wasn't one of them.
"Are we going to the Trident? If so, I implore that if you or your bosses need me in any sort of speaking facility I need to be dry and..."
The goons had stopped in front of a set of stairs heading down below the level of the walkway. The first goon went down the stairs without a word.
"So we're not going to the Trident eh?"
Arthur was more body checked than escorted down the the stairs. He missed the first two steps, landing painfully on his right ankle on the 3rd and grasped for a handrail that was not there. A large hand grabbed the back of his coat, righting him then made sure he knew his only direction was down the stairs.
He limped down the stairs into murky water that was shin deep, just as the first goon was opening a door with a large anchor drawn on it. Inside, in candle lit gloom was a long oak bar, a smoke stained mirror taking up most of the wall behind it. Gas sconces sputtered a blue tinge to the scene.
The bar was empty save for the bartender, mop and bucket in hand trying to get water from the floor into a drain. There couldn't have been as much water in the stairwell heading down to this door as there was actually in the bar. The entire floor had 2-3 inches of water covering it and by the sweat on the forehead of the bartender, Arthur guessed he had been at this for hours.
The goons went through the bar to the back room without so much as even looking at the bartender, and to the bartender's credit aside from the quick glance up when the door had opened, he was now conspicuously focused on his mopping.
It was at that heartbeat skipping moment Arthur realized exactly how much trouble he was in.
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Vincenti crept towards the stairwell. The man in the bowler hat hadn't reappeared, but nonetheless Vincenti wasn't taking any chances. The rain had begun to let up, leaving a rainbow stain on everything even in weak, cloud-filtered moonslight.
There didn't seem to be enough activity coming from the bar to go in, unnoticed so he hesitated at the top of the stairs. Suddenly his vision went white as a deafening thump and a splitting pain invaded his consciousness.
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Vincenti awoke under a heap of greasy went trash. An export pipe sent a steady stream of offal onto him. Salty air coming off the bay implied proximity to the Bay and the wharfs.
Something scuttled out of his mouth and down his neck. His left ear was ringing and as he pushed hair out of his eyes he noticed his fingers came back covered in blood.
He had a clear view of the now cleared sky. Fullo shining full and bright lighting up the docks in a gray ghost light. Little Fulla and Fora were no longer next to Fullo, which means he must have been out for at least two hours. Cursing he went for the panic gem in his pocket. Gone. His wallet, papers, everything were gone. It was as he tried to stand up he felt the sharp pain from his ribs. Clearing off detritus and a myriad of scurrying things on and in his clothes, he saw the knife hilt glint in the darkness, just to the left of his sternum.
There was a commotion from up ahead. The goons were back, on a nearby dock with a third member of their silent trio, and they had a burlap sack wrapped in a thick black blanket. Something was struggling in the bag and Vincenti prayed it wasn't Arthur. The party was heading to a boat, Vincenti made note of the name: Wonsoon.
Movement caught his eye. Someone else was watching the trio. The mystery visitor skulked off into the darkness.
Vincenti decided to cut his losses and report back. This was not going to go well.
Arthur was walking as fast as he could to keep up with the suited goons who were "escorting" him, his short little legs an almost comical flurry of movement.
Vincenti stopped to look in a window, making a play to look like he was merely window shopping. He had to be sure to stay far enough back not to be spotted. Granted, with the rain this hard, everyone's eyes were down, hands on hats trying to stay dry. But, on the other hand, no one was window shopping right now either. Half a block back, Vincenti half caught a look that turned his blood to ice. Someone was tailing him, tailing Arthur, and by the look of things he'd been made.
Vincenti fingered the gem in his pocket, debating whether or not to call for help now even though he wasn't sure yet where the goons were taking Arthur.
"Fortune favors the bold my friend." Vincenti said to no one in particular and made his way to the shadows across the street, letting Arthur out of his sight for a second and taking a calculated risk to verify if he was or was not being followed.
He bolted through horses and oxen across the street from one flickering pool of lamp light to another one caddy corner away and pretended to dart from awning to the next.
Had it been his imagination? Had the man in the bowler hat half a block back really made eye contact with him then look away?
Vincenti cursed as he had lost track of Arthur. The rain coming down was thick enough to obscure details more than a block away.
Which way had they gone? Where was the man in the bowler hat?
Traffic had let up only slightly, Vincenti was frantically searching for the two big figures escorting Arthur. The skies lit up white, then bluish green as lightning arced across the clouds. It was enough to spot the trio again, and with that he was off. They were definitely heading to the Trident, although he was pretty sure of that before now anyway.
-------------------------------------------------
"I can tell this is going to be one of those trips, you being the strong silent types and all, but isn't there any way I could convince you to hail us a ride of some sort?"
The two thugs didn't even look at him as they continued marching Arthur down the sidewalks. He risked a sidelong glance to see if Vincenti was still following them. His heart quickened as he realized Vincenti was nowhere to be seen. They were walking quickly although Arthur wasn't sure if it was for the comfort of the goons to get out of the rain or merely because they were running late. All he knew was that his legs and knees were aching horribly. Arthur had been bred for many things, walking any sort of distance wasn't one of them.
"Are we going to the Trident? If so, I implore that if you or your bosses need me in any sort of speaking facility I need to be dry and..."
The goons had stopped in front of a set of stairs heading down below the level of the walkway. The first goon went down the stairs without a word.
"So we're not going to the Trident eh?"
Arthur was more body checked than escorted down the the stairs. He missed the first two steps, landing painfully on his right ankle on the 3rd and grasped for a handrail that was not there. A large hand grabbed the back of his coat, righting him then made sure he knew his only direction was down the stairs.
He limped down the stairs into murky water that was shin deep, just as the first goon was opening a door with a large anchor drawn on it. Inside, in candle lit gloom was a long oak bar, a smoke stained mirror taking up most of the wall behind it. Gas sconces sputtered a blue tinge to the scene.
The bar was empty save for the bartender, mop and bucket in hand trying to get water from the floor into a drain. There couldn't have been as much water in the stairwell heading down to this door as there was actually in the bar. The entire floor had 2-3 inches of water covering it and by the sweat on the forehead of the bartender, Arthur guessed he had been at this for hours.
The goons went through the bar to the back room without so much as even looking at the bartender, and to the bartender's credit aside from the quick glance up when the door had opened, he was now conspicuously focused on his mopping.
It was at that heartbeat skipping moment Arthur realized exactly how much trouble he was in.
--------------------------------------------------------
Vincenti crept towards the stairwell. The man in the bowler hat hadn't reappeared, but nonetheless Vincenti wasn't taking any chances. The rain had begun to let up, leaving a rainbow stain on everything even in weak, cloud-filtered moonslight.
There didn't seem to be enough activity coming from the bar to go in, unnoticed so he hesitated at the top of the stairs. Suddenly his vision went white as a deafening thump and a splitting pain invaded his consciousness.
---------------------------------------------------------
Vincenti awoke under a heap of greasy went trash. An export pipe sent a steady stream of offal onto him. Salty air coming off the bay implied proximity to the Bay and the wharfs.
Something scuttled out of his mouth and down his neck. His left ear was ringing and as he pushed hair out of his eyes he noticed his fingers came back covered in blood.
He had a clear view of the now cleared sky. Fullo shining full and bright lighting up the docks in a gray ghost light. Little Fulla and Fora were no longer next to Fullo, which means he must have been out for at least two hours. Cursing he went for the panic gem in his pocket. Gone. His wallet, papers, everything were gone. It was as he tried to stand up he felt the sharp pain from his ribs. Clearing off detritus and a myriad of scurrying things on and in his clothes, he saw the knife hilt glint in the darkness, just to the left of his sternum.
There was a commotion from up ahead. The goons were back, on a nearby dock with a third member of their silent trio, and they had a burlap sack wrapped in a thick black blanket. Something was struggling in the bag and Vincenti prayed it wasn't Arthur. The party was heading to a boat, Vincenti made note of the name: Wonsoon.
Movement caught his eye. Someone else was watching the trio. The mystery visitor skulked off into the darkness.
Vincenti decided to cut his losses and report back. This was not going to go well.
Monday, November 7, 2011
In search of impossible light
The last piece of the diamond carapace slid into place silently. The vacuum of space being step one of the seal. Step two was molecular sized robots working on the atomic scale, weaving the new piece to the main body so seamlessly that, when all was done the capsule would be gas tight.
"That's it. This one's all done. Stage two, do you copy?" Leander said.
"We copy L. Our board just lit up green all across. 43 minutes until the seam closes. Why don't you head on in and grab a bottle of coffee. The insertion clock just went on for T-90 minutes."
"Roger that control. Heading in."
Leander unbuckled his suit from the diamond rings that studded various parts of the capsule and marveled at the scene. The diamond capsule was as long 400 meters long, by 100 wide and 100 thick, although the thickness belied what was actually inside. The capsule was merely a shell 3 meters thick containing the vacuum of space.
The purpose of the capsule was going to be one of several "floats" to buoy MB1 within the Jovian atmosphere. 15 of these dirigibles had already been constructed, and Leander's was overseeing the 16th and final. All that remained was to start up the rockets, move this behemoth into position and attach it to the rest of the flotilla.
2 kilometers away Leander could see the rest of the waiting flotilla already lashed together with the diamond braid that linked the zeppelins. The habitat, once constructed, would hang underneath the flotilla circulating around the gas giant mining helium3 and constructing other versions of itself for research and other mining operations.
Leander was excited about the habitat. After the 8 months it took to get into orbit around Jupiter and another year and a half extracting the minerals that Io spewed into space from its volcanoes to build the flotilla the habitat would seem palatial. Phase one of the habitat had the 43 of them living in a space the size of a 20 story office building. Electricity would be generated by the myriad of wind turbines studding the outside of the habitat. There would even be a pressurized dome at the top and bottom of the habitat where one could marvel at Jupiter in all her glory.
From they could finally be a real hub not leaching off of their neighbors and make the entire Jovian system self sustaining. They would be trading electricity and heavy metals for water from Europa, volatiles from Callisto and send further surveying teams to Ganymede and Io.
Leander was in on the ground floor and he could see his stock options piling up during his seven year contract away from home.
"Control to L."
"Leander here, what's up?"
"Phase your helmet. You're in the path of reflection as the other team moves the flotilla."
"Copy that control, thanks for the heads up."
Leander typed a command into his wrist plate and most of his view winked out as gold filters came down over his visor. Stars disappeared and Jupiter itself became a dim blur. He watched as the concave flotilla began a slow arc and reflected the sun's weak rays in a direction towards the planet. His shuttle lit up brightly for a second then returned to its ghostly gray.
The beam reached the disk of the planet and began a slow drag across one of the cloud layers. Leander zoomed in on where the light hit the planet and tapped the code for autopilot back to the shuttle. He still had 10-11 minutes of down time before he reattached to the ship.
The roiling clouds fascinated him. He would zoom on a section in his room and watch the colors change like a thick oil painting mixing.
The reflection made him do a double take. Something had glinted in the cloud layer. The beam from the flotilla was moving across the surface of Jupiter at hundreds of kilometers per hour but something had lit up under the clouds.
"Control did you just see that?"
"We did."
"You think it was the test habitat that we lost?"
"Negative. Test habitat was lost near the north pole. That was 20 degrees south of the equator."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Any chance of getting the flotilla crew to spin the other direction and see if we could get it lit up again?"
"L, this is Cooper over at the flotilla, we're way ahead of you. Just waiting on clearance from ground control to delay insertion of your capsule."
"Ugh, that's 20 minutes from now!"
"Just c'mon back inside L, we'll clear a space up here for you."
No sooner had orbit control radioed him when the upper cloud layer flickered to life. Leander's jaw went slack. The dark side of Jupiter was full of lightning. Flashes were nothing new. Lighting bolts that, on earth, would stretch from New York to Chicago were old hat for the crew.
The light emanating from a small puff of white clouds in among a darker red area was simply turning on, then off, on, then off, in a time that that Leander could almost set his watch to.
Leander zoomed in his helmet cam and punched the code to record the feed.
"Control, please tell me you're getting this."
"That's it. This one's all done. Stage two, do you copy?" Leander said.
"We copy L. Our board just lit up green all across. 43 minutes until the seam closes. Why don't you head on in and grab a bottle of coffee. The insertion clock just went on for T-90 minutes."
"Roger that control. Heading in."
Leander unbuckled his suit from the diamond rings that studded various parts of the capsule and marveled at the scene. The diamond capsule was as long 400 meters long, by 100 wide and 100 thick, although the thickness belied what was actually inside. The capsule was merely a shell 3 meters thick containing the vacuum of space.
The purpose of the capsule was going to be one of several "floats" to buoy MB1 within the Jovian atmosphere. 15 of these dirigibles had already been constructed, and Leander's was overseeing the 16th and final. All that remained was to start up the rockets, move this behemoth into position and attach it to the rest of the flotilla.
2 kilometers away Leander could see the rest of the waiting flotilla already lashed together with the diamond braid that linked the zeppelins. The habitat, once constructed, would hang underneath the flotilla circulating around the gas giant mining helium3 and constructing other versions of itself for research and other mining operations.
Leander was excited about the habitat. After the 8 months it took to get into orbit around Jupiter and another year and a half extracting the minerals that Io spewed into space from its volcanoes to build the flotilla the habitat would seem palatial. Phase one of the habitat had the 43 of them living in a space the size of a 20 story office building. Electricity would be generated by the myriad of wind turbines studding the outside of the habitat. There would even be a pressurized dome at the top and bottom of the habitat where one could marvel at Jupiter in all her glory.
From they could finally be a real hub not leaching off of their neighbors and make the entire Jovian system self sustaining. They would be trading electricity and heavy metals for water from Europa, volatiles from Callisto and send further surveying teams to Ganymede and Io.
Leander was in on the ground floor and he could see his stock options piling up during his seven year contract away from home.
"Control to L."
"Leander here, what's up?"
"Phase your helmet. You're in the path of reflection as the other team moves the flotilla."
"Copy that control, thanks for the heads up."
Leander typed a command into his wrist plate and most of his view winked out as gold filters came down over his visor. Stars disappeared and Jupiter itself became a dim blur. He watched as the concave flotilla began a slow arc and reflected the sun's weak rays in a direction towards the planet. His shuttle lit up brightly for a second then returned to its ghostly gray.
The beam reached the disk of the planet and began a slow drag across one of the cloud layers. Leander zoomed in on where the light hit the planet and tapped the code for autopilot back to the shuttle. He still had 10-11 minutes of down time before he reattached to the ship.
The roiling clouds fascinated him. He would zoom on a section in his room and watch the colors change like a thick oil painting mixing.
The reflection made him do a double take. Something had glinted in the cloud layer. The beam from the flotilla was moving across the surface of Jupiter at hundreds of kilometers per hour but something had lit up under the clouds.
"Control did you just see that?"
"We did."
"You think it was the test habitat that we lost?"
"Negative. Test habitat was lost near the north pole. That was 20 degrees south of the equator."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Any chance of getting the flotilla crew to spin the other direction and see if we could get it lit up again?"
"L, this is Cooper over at the flotilla, we're way ahead of you. Just waiting on clearance from ground control to delay insertion of your capsule."
"Ugh, that's 20 minutes from now!"
"Just c'mon back inside L, we'll clear a space up here for you."
No sooner had orbit control radioed him when the upper cloud layer flickered to life. Leander's jaw went slack. The dark side of Jupiter was full of lightning. Flashes were nothing new. Lighting bolts that, on earth, would stretch from New York to Chicago were old hat for the crew.
The light emanating from a small puff of white clouds in among a darker red area was simply turning on, then off, on, then off, in a time that that Leander could almost set his watch to.
Leander zoomed in his helmet cam and punched the code to record the feed.
"Control, please tell me you're getting this."
Friday, October 21, 2011
You're packing a suitecase.
Don't like that one so I'm going with the next one: The smell of air in winter.
I never got tired of seeing It from the beach. Being a city dweller I would usually just get views of the beach and inland or on the back of It I would spend hours staring out to sea from Carparque.
My father used to say "You can only truly know a place if you've spent significant time away."
Not that I didn't love the city. Its where I grew up. Its where my family was its where my friends are. But I always agreed with him and would always try and find an excuse to leave the city, if only for that one view from the foot hills about a mile from shore.
That's where I was when the first snow flake of the season started to fall. The clouds were puffy but not all encompassing like they would be later in winter. I could still see Hope blotting out one quarter of the sky, its rust and mustard colored bands easily discernible. Chance, was low in the sky, almost behind the city but still visible. The city casting long shadows that almost reached to where I stood.
It had been cold for weeks and the sea had begun to freeze around the base of the city, but the carpet of redgrass had just now started turning light blue from the fall. The grass's dusky odor was a sure sign of the winter storms to come. The wind gusted off the sea, across the beach and the red grass and brought that cold bitter copper smell I grew up with. In the summer time the sea smelled sweet as the algae blooms turned the water yellow with flowers, but in the winter time they would die back and the sea would be a sullen gray, small waves breaking on shore.
And then there was the city. Even from here I could see lights and vehicles moving in and around it. It was hard to imagine something that big ever used to be alive.
My mother had been told by her mother that Earth had creatures similar to the city but much much smaller. She had called them crabs as well, but apparently on earth they only grew to be about as big as your hand. I always thought that would be something to see. A crab as small as your hand. The city was fully fifteen miles wide and stretched into the sea for four. Some scientists thought that this behemoth gave up the ghost as it pulled itself out of the water some 1,000 years before we even stepped off the first colony ships. While the crabs get big around here no one's seen one this big. Seems like the bigger the crabs get the more they like to stick to the depths. I wonder if our city crab had similar feelings I do. Head out of the depths to truly appreciate them.
Heading to Earth would be a heck of an adventure too, but I'd have to take Fora and the kids with me. There and back was a lone wolf's sport unless you had the money to ship your entire family. Even with cold storage we would age ten years and about fifty would pass here before we got back.
If I squinted I could make out my extremity. My family lived halfway up Leg12, further towards the sea than land, on the left side from where I was standing. I gave a wave in case my family was looking and then felt foolish, there's no way they could see me.
Some day maybe we could afford top Carapace or maybe even Subclaw, but that would take a lot of luck and planning. And then that's only if we wanted to move within the city and not to a farm here on shore. There were certainly pros and cons to both.
If we moved out of the city I would definitely miss walking down the boulevards of Body, or just getting lost for the day with Fora and the kids driving Capilicars.
But then there was right now, the view of the city, the crisp fresh, non-recycled air. And snow. Soon the entire continent would be covered in fresh snow and that was something to see.
Those kinds of decisions would have to wait, however. Fora was expecting our 3rd child and I was just accepted into the diplomatic corps. For now it was time to see what else was out there and to try and re-establish ties to one of the other colonies that had gone quiet a couple years ago.
I turned my back on the city and caught back up with the rest of the party that had just gone around the bend. It was going to be a while before I looked on home again.
I never got tired of seeing It from the beach. Being a city dweller I would usually just get views of the beach and inland or on the back of It I would spend hours staring out to sea from Carparque.
My father used to say "You can only truly know a place if you've spent significant time away."
Not that I didn't love the city. Its where I grew up. Its where my family was its where my friends are. But I always agreed with him and would always try and find an excuse to leave the city, if only for that one view from the foot hills about a mile from shore.
That's where I was when the first snow flake of the season started to fall. The clouds were puffy but not all encompassing like they would be later in winter. I could still see Hope blotting out one quarter of the sky, its rust and mustard colored bands easily discernible. Chance, was low in the sky, almost behind the city but still visible. The city casting long shadows that almost reached to where I stood.
It had been cold for weeks and the sea had begun to freeze around the base of the city, but the carpet of redgrass had just now started turning light blue from the fall. The grass's dusky odor was a sure sign of the winter storms to come. The wind gusted off the sea, across the beach and the red grass and brought that cold bitter copper smell I grew up with. In the summer time the sea smelled sweet as the algae blooms turned the water yellow with flowers, but in the winter time they would die back and the sea would be a sullen gray, small waves breaking on shore.
And then there was the city. Even from here I could see lights and vehicles moving in and around it. It was hard to imagine something that big ever used to be alive.
My mother had been told by her mother that Earth had creatures similar to the city but much much smaller. She had called them crabs as well, but apparently on earth they only grew to be about as big as your hand. I always thought that would be something to see. A crab as small as your hand. The city was fully fifteen miles wide and stretched into the sea for four. Some scientists thought that this behemoth gave up the ghost as it pulled itself out of the water some 1,000 years before we even stepped off the first colony ships. While the crabs get big around here no one's seen one this big. Seems like the bigger the crabs get the more they like to stick to the depths. I wonder if our city crab had similar feelings I do. Head out of the depths to truly appreciate them.
Heading to Earth would be a heck of an adventure too, but I'd have to take Fora and the kids with me. There and back was a lone wolf's sport unless you had the money to ship your entire family. Even with cold storage we would age ten years and about fifty would pass here before we got back.
If I squinted I could make out my extremity. My family lived halfway up Leg12, further towards the sea than land, on the left side from where I was standing. I gave a wave in case my family was looking and then felt foolish, there's no way they could see me.
Some day maybe we could afford top Carapace or maybe even Subclaw, but that would take a lot of luck and planning. And then that's only if we wanted to move within the city and not to a farm here on shore. There were certainly pros and cons to both.
If we moved out of the city I would definitely miss walking down the boulevards of Body, or just getting lost for the day with Fora and the kids driving Capilicars.
But then there was right now, the view of the city, the crisp fresh, non-recycled air. And snow. Soon the entire continent would be covered in fresh snow and that was something to see.
Those kinds of decisions would have to wait, however. Fora was expecting our 3rd child and I was just accepted into the diplomatic corps. For now it was time to see what else was out there and to try and re-establish ties to one of the other colonies that had gone quiet a couple years ago.
I turned my back on the city and caught back up with the rest of the party that had just gone around the bend. It was going to be a while before I looked on home again.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Write About Being Deserted
The playground was a jumble of screaming kids, flying tether balls, and the rhythmic slap of jump ropes. Pigtails flew and screams of delight echoed off the play-shed. It was am recess for the third grade. A whole 15 minutes to run and scream and tackle and play. Looking over the blacktop, my eye skipped over the bursts of activity. With so many bodies whirling in motions, my eye didn't stop until it came upon a still figure in the corner of the shed. She stood with her back to the wall, slowly tossing a ball from one hand to the other. In the midst of that laughing and whirling and screaming, she stood out in stark relief. Wide brown eyes watched the groups that sped past her. I saw her lean toward one laughing pile of girls that paused beside her. She took a hesitant step toward them before they fled to the monkey bars, leaving her deserted, left to watch their flight like a flock of startled birds. She began tossing her ball again. Slowly,. Carefully. Her eyes began scanning the playground again and from the recess of my brain I found myself remembering the intimidation of a group. How hard it was to approach, and ask, and try. Determined, I walked across the court to her and smiled. She met my eyes and slowly smiled back.
"Want to play hand ball?" I asked.
":Sure," she beamed at me and ran to the ball bin for the rubber red ball. She was back in a flash. We had barely started playing when our deserted corner began to fill. Teachers rarely played with the kids during recess. It was our 15 minute solace as well. Only for us, it was a time without questions and bickering and fidgeting. When a teacher did wander into the fray, the results were immediate. Soon we were swamped with kids who wanted in. I let her lead the effort to form teams and rules. Slowly, I slid to the back of the group, morphing from player to ref, to cheer leader. I was as surprised as the kids when the whistle blew announcing free time was over. The kids scurried to return the balls and and jump ropes. I turned to collect my group of students when I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist.
"Thanks Mrs. Miller," she said, her brown hair hiding her face but I could feel her smile. "That was the best recess ever!" I hugged her back and watched her run, happily to her line. She was engulfed with a crowd of giggling, wiggling bodies. No longer an eye sore, she melded right in with just as many giggles and wiggles as the rest. A very good recess indeed.
"Want to play hand ball?" I asked.
":Sure," she beamed at me and ran to the ball bin for the rubber red ball. She was back in a flash. We had barely started playing when our deserted corner began to fill. Teachers rarely played with the kids during recess. It was our 15 minute solace as well. Only for us, it was a time without questions and bickering and fidgeting. When a teacher did wander into the fray, the results were immediate. Soon we were swamped with kids who wanted in. I let her lead the effort to form teams and rules. Slowly, I slid to the back of the group, morphing from player to ref, to cheer leader. I was as surprised as the kids when the whistle blew announcing free time was over. The kids scurried to return the balls and and jump ropes. I turned to collect my group of students when I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist.
"Thanks Mrs. Miller," she said, her brown hair hiding her face but I could feel her smile. "That was the best recess ever!" I hugged her back and watched her run, happily to her line. She was engulfed with a crowd of giggling, wiggling bodies. No longer an eye sore, she melded right in with just as many giggles and wiggles as the rest. A very good recess indeed.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Write About Small Madnesses
It was the socks that did me in. The week had been long and grueling. My boss was on a rampage, and I had put in far too many hours trying to appease her. Dinner had been takeout for the last three nights in a row and the dirty glasses and silverware still littered the kitchen, a silent reminder of yet another chore left neglected. But for whatever reason, it was the socks that finally broke me.
I opened the door and dragged myself into the house around seven that night. The dog started barking wildly and the cats immediately demanded that their bowls be filled. I tried to wave them off but they quickly turned on each other as cats and dogs often do. With a sigh, I pushed myself off the sofa and headed toward the laundry room to feed the animals. The first pair of dirty socks were right there, next to me on the cushion. Brown and crusty, they stank of shoes and foot. I balled them in my fist to take with me, the animals dancing at my feet. The second pair lay right on the thresh hold of the kitchen, as if welcoming me to the disaster that lay inside. One was turned inside out and the other sported a large hole at the toe. Amid the barks and mournful meows, I bent down and added this second pair to my hoard. Down the stairs to the the laundry room, I encountered the third pair of the night. Just as disgusting, lying neglected on the concert floor. Too tired to bend over, I kicked them before me into the laundry room where they landed next to the mounds of unwashed clothing.
I poured cat food, scooped dog kibble and took a deep breath in the silence that followed. The aroma of unwashed socked slinked up my nose but I enjoyed the silence nonetheless. Revived, I headed back upstairs into the kitchen to tackled dinner. One look at the mess and I knew it was too much. I resigned myself to McDonalds again and turned to the bedroom. With a groan, I kicked off my shoes and feel face first onto my bed. And onto another pair of dirty socks. I snapped. The dog, the cats, the crazy work, a house left to ruin and now, more socks mocking my failure. I suppose I went a little mad. But who can blame me? A haze of red rose before my eyes just as my ears picked up the sound of my husband coming through the front door. I stormed out of the bed room and pushed my way through the twining cats and barking dog to face him, the offending socks thrust before his face. He looked at them with surprise.
"If I find one more pair of your disgusting socks lying around this house, I will leave!" I bit out the words, loading them with all the venom and anger and frustration of the week.
We stood face to face for a moment, the socks between us, and then he gathered me in his arms, pressed his cheek to mine, and murmured into my ear, "So, you want McDonalds or Arby's for dinner tonight?"
I opened the door and dragged myself into the house around seven that night. The dog started barking wildly and the cats immediately demanded that their bowls be filled. I tried to wave them off but they quickly turned on each other as cats and dogs often do. With a sigh, I pushed myself off the sofa and headed toward the laundry room to feed the animals. The first pair of dirty socks were right there, next to me on the cushion. Brown and crusty, they stank of shoes and foot. I balled them in my fist to take with me, the animals dancing at my feet. The second pair lay right on the thresh hold of the kitchen, as if welcoming me to the disaster that lay inside. One was turned inside out and the other sported a large hole at the toe. Amid the barks and mournful meows, I bent down and added this second pair to my hoard. Down the stairs to the the laundry room, I encountered the third pair of the night. Just as disgusting, lying neglected on the concert floor. Too tired to bend over, I kicked them before me into the laundry room where they landed next to the mounds of unwashed clothing.
I poured cat food, scooped dog kibble and took a deep breath in the silence that followed. The aroma of unwashed socked slinked up my nose but I enjoyed the silence nonetheless. Revived, I headed back upstairs into the kitchen to tackled dinner. One look at the mess and I knew it was too much. I resigned myself to McDonalds again and turned to the bedroom. With a groan, I kicked off my shoes and feel face first onto my bed. And onto another pair of dirty socks. I snapped. The dog, the cats, the crazy work, a house left to ruin and now, more socks mocking my failure. I suppose I went a little mad. But who can blame me? A haze of red rose before my eyes just as my ears picked up the sound of my husband coming through the front door. I stormed out of the bed room and pushed my way through the twining cats and barking dog to face him, the offending socks thrust before his face. He looked at them with surprise.
"If I find one more pair of your disgusting socks lying around this house, I will leave!" I bit out the words, loading them with all the venom and anger and frustration of the week.
We stood face to face for a moment, the socks between us, and then he gathered me in his arms, pressed his cheek to mine, and murmured into my ear, "So, you want McDonalds or Arby's for dinner tonight?"
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
You can have faith in _____
"You can have faith in me Ms. Newton. I am not the black wolf of the family my father was." Hendrick said.
Claire still stared at him dubiously.
"Black wolf?" She asked. "You mean black sheep or lone wolf?" His English was quite better than her Dutch but his mixed metaphores were beginning to get tiresome. She wasn't sure if his mistakes were intentional, trying to be cloyingly cute, or simply turns of phrase lost in translation.
"Either? Prost!" he asked with an easy grin. He raised his drink in a mock toast.
They had been sitting in the hotel's bar for almost 45 minutes. Claire kept testing him to see how much he may or may not have know about his father's murder.
She peered down at her meager notes.
"So you haven't seen your father in several years, but you spoke regularly. He seemed like a nice enough man when I met him. Why would someone want to murder him?"
"Someones." Hendrick corrected.
"Murderers plural? And your thinking on that is because?"
"Three car bombs go off across town from each other within seconds. That implies a group. I'm also positiving that you will see the explosives were at least a military grade derivative of C4 which you cannot manufacture in a sublet under a chain bulb."
"Sublet?"
"Sublet, under house." He pantomimed walking down stairs and turning on a light by pulling a chain."
"Basement." Claire sighed, dropped her pen on the table and took another sip of her cranberry juice. There had been no mention of types of explosives in any of the reports she had read, the going theory was some sort of IED. She continued:
"Why do you think it was military grade and not just some nut job with an axe to grind?"
"My father's careers were both varied and multiple. While he made some charming friends like you he made far more enemies."
"So which was he? A black sheep or a lone wolf?" Maybe a different tact would open up a lead.
"Difference? Maybe both. My grand ma ma was disappointed with some of his life choices."
"Really? Such as?" Claire was hoping something would drop into her lap.
Hendrick became distant.
"She never forgave him for marrying gypsy for starters. Was beneath his station."
"Ah, and was this wife number 1, 2 or 3?" she asked ticking through the profile notes.
"My mother... Number one. Grand ma ma says he only did it to get a rise out of the cousins, or my Grand Ma ma's sister." He looked very seriously into his drink.
"So why did you seek me out?"
He looked up at her eyes focusing directly on her:
"Justice. I will not get it from Inspector Hasbrouck"
"And why is that?"
"They were lovers and she is still too close to him to oversee this case properly."
"Why is she even on this case then?"
"She pulled some heartstrings to get it assigned to her."
Claire still stared at him dubiously.
"Black wolf?" She asked. "You mean black sheep or lone wolf?" His English was quite better than her Dutch but his mixed metaphores were beginning to get tiresome. She wasn't sure if his mistakes were intentional, trying to be cloyingly cute, or simply turns of phrase lost in translation.
"Either? Prost!" he asked with an easy grin. He raised his drink in a mock toast.
They had been sitting in the hotel's bar for almost 45 minutes. Claire kept testing him to see how much he may or may not have know about his father's murder.
She peered down at her meager notes.
"So you haven't seen your father in several years, but you spoke regularly. He seemed like a nice enough man when I met him. Why would someone want to murder him?"
"Someones." Hendrick corrected.
"Murderers plural? And your thinking on that is because?"
"Three car bombs go off across town from each other within seconds. That implies a group. I'm also positiving that you will see the explosives were at least a military grade derivative of C4 which you cannot manufacture in a sublet under a chain bulb."
"Sublet?"
"Sublet, under house." He pantomimed walking down stairs and turning on a light by pulling a chain."
"Basement." Claire sighed, dropped her pen on the table and took another sip of her cranberry juice. There had been no mention of types of explosives in any of the reports she had read, the going theory was some sort of IED. She continued:
"Why do you think it was military grade and not just some nut job with an axe to grind?"
"My father's careers were both varied and multiple. While he made some charming friends like you he made far more enemies."
"So which was he? A black sheep or a lone wolf?" Maybe a different tact would open up a lead.
"Difference? Maybe both. My grand ma ma was disappointed with some of his life choices."
"Really? Such as?" Claire was hoping something would drop into her lap.
Hendrick became distant.
"She never forgave him for marrying gypsy for starters. Was beneath his station."
"Ah, and was this wife number 1, 2 or 3?" she asked ticking through the profile notes.
"My mother... Number one. Grand ma ma says he only did it to get a rise out of the cousins, or my Grand Ma ma's sister." He looked very seriously into his drink.
"So why did you seek me out?"
He looked up at her eyes focusing directly on her:
"Justice. I will not get it from Inspector Hasbrouck"
"And why is that?"
"They were lovers and she is still too close to him to oversee this case properly."
"Why is she even on this case then?"
"She pulled some heartstrings to get it assigned to her."
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Write About Unsubstantiated Rumors
They said there were ghosts. Depending on who you spoke to the details varied but the at the heart the story was the same. The house on the corner of Pine and Oregon was haunted. Like most rumors, the details were fuzzy. A friend of a friend had once spent the night and emerged with a head of white hair unable to speak. Someone's cousin swore that lights flickered at midnight on a full moon from the upstairs window even though there was no one living in the house. Great uncles spun yarns before gullible eyes of phantom mists and unnatural accidents. Although the stories were plenty, they were all second hand. No one could say they had personally experienced anything out of the ordinary until the summer of my fourteenth birthday when Phyllis disappeared. No one believes me but I swear to you on a stack of Bibles that the house took her. I swear its true. Because I saw it.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Write About Denial
It was gone.
I felt the panic rising up, withing through my gut, and my stomach began to churn. Desperately, I tore everything off the table, breathing hard. No file. With my hands pressed flat on the table top, I took three deep breaths to calm myself and then began slowly, methodically, picking up every piece of paper off the floor one at a time. The file was definitely gone. I sank down into the nearest chair and thought. My head was still fuzzy from my cold and my throat was sore from coughing but I barely noticed. Right now, my whole being was focused on trying to remember where the file had gone. I got up and paced to the front door. I walked through my actions like an actor at a dress rehearsal. Came in, dropped my keys and purse on the side table. A quick rummage turned up no file folder. Next I went into the kitchen to put on the pot for tea. I retraced my steps. The pot was still steaming and my neglected cup of peppermint tea sat cooling on the counter. I touched everything on the counter but it was no use. No folder. Then what? I could have sworn I headed to the table and dropped the folder there but a recheck still came up empty. The phone! I turned and headed into the small room off the front entry that I used for my home office. Leslie had called me and I had picked up here, by my desk. With mounting hope I rummaged through various papers and files but the blue folder was nowhere. I paused, stumped, racking my brain for what came next. Leslie had come by to check on me, we had chatted over tea, then she left and I headed back to the kitchen to clean up. What else? There had to be something else. Something I was missing. After Leslie left, had I seen the file? I froze right in the door frame between the office and foyer. Had I seen the file after Leslie left? I leaned against the door jam for support as the answer rose in my head. I hadn't.
Leslie.
No, no, it couldn't be. I paced anxiously up and down the hallway trying to think of a scenario where the folder disappeared without Leslie being involved. But the more I paced, the more pieces fell together. Leslie had been so helpful and concerned. She always appeared right when I needed her. I never thought it through before but her involvement was kind of odd. After all, we were only distant cousins but yet she had stuck her neck out for me numerous times this last week. Hell, I would never have gotten my hands on that file without her. She was the one with the contacts at the police station. She was the one who arranged for the money drop. She was the one who had showed up to check on my head cold and then walked out of here and the file was gone.
":Damn it," I whispered as I cut my pacing short and headed to the phone. I didn't want to make this call but I could no long deny the truth. Leslie had played me.
Bruce answered on the second ring.
"Yo."
"It's me. We have a situation."
"Go."
"It's Leslie. She has the folder. She has all of it."
There was silence on the line. I could hear Bruce breathing and the faint sound of cheering in the background. Was he at a bar?
"You sure?" he asked at last.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"OK, what's the play?"
"I'm going to call her. Maybe I'm wrong but I double it. Can you be at her place in 10? If you see her try to run, grab her and call me. We can meet at the warehouse and decided how to cover this up. It needs to happen quickly but it needs to be quiet Bruce, got it?" Bruce was very effective but he also tended to be very loud and didn't care about innocent bystanders. The last thing I needed was the cops interested in me again when I was this close to free. Damn Leslie.
"Got it. Make the call in 10." Bruce hung up. I slammed the phone down with more force than necessary but I was sweating. From the cold or anger or nerves, I just didn't know. Leslie. Oh Leslie, why? To kill time, I headed back to the kitchen and poured anther cup of tea. I sipped it slowly while watching the clock, watching the pieces fall into place, seeing for the first time what she had done. When ten minutes were up, I picked up my phone, took a deep breath, and dialed.
The phone rang and rang. Right when I thought she was already gone, she picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey Les, it's me," I croaked into the phone, adding a hacking cough for good measure.
"Oh man, you sound awful! Are you drinking that tea I brought you?
"Yeah, thanks Les. You have been so great. I don't know what I'd do without you." My words came out sweet but my thoughts were much darker. "Listen, I have one last favor to ask. Could you run over to Longs and get me some NyQuil? I need my head clear when I meet with Jason to give him the info. He should be here in about an hour or so. And maybe I could introduce you? You never know, after all this clears up, he may have some work for you too."
I could hear the pause now that I was listening for it. She was good though. Her voice stayed steady.
"Sure hon. No problem. I'll pop out to the store and head right over. I should be there in, like, five, ok?"
I clicked off the line but didn't put the phone down. Some part of me still hoped I was wrong. Some small part still believed the phone would not ring. But it did.
"Yo. I got her. She was runnin. Meet you at the warehouse?"
"Yeah Bruce. See you there."
Oh Leslie. Why?
I felt the panic rising up, withing through my gut, and my stomach began to churn. Desperately, I tore everything off the table, breathing hard. No file. With my hands pressed flat on the table top, I took three deep breaths to calm myself and then began slowly, methodically, picking up every piece of paper off the floor one at a time. The file was definitely gone. I sank down into the nearest chair and thought. My head was still fuzzy from my cold and my throat was sore from coughing but I barely noticed. Right now, my whole being was focused on trying to remember where the file had gone. I got up and paced to the front door. I walked through my actions like an actor at a dress rehearsal. Came in, dropped my keys and purse on the side table. A quick rummage turned up no file folder. Next I went into the kitchen to put on the pot for tea. I retraced my steps. The pot was still steaming and my neglected cup of peppermint tea sat cooling on the counter. I touched everything on the counter but it was no use. No folder. Then what? I could have sworn I headed to the table and dropped the folder there but a recheck still came up empty. The phone! I turned and headed into the small room off the front entry that I used for my home office. Leslie had called me and I had picked up here, by my desk. With mounting hope I rummaged through various papers and files but the blue folder was nowhere. I paused, stumped, racking my brain for what came next. Leslie had come by to check on me, we had chatted over tea, then she left and I headed back to the kitchen to clean up. What else? There had to be something else. Something I was missing. After Leslie left, had I seen the file? I froze right in the door frame between the office and foyer. Had I seen the file after Leslie left? I leaned against the door jam for support as the answer rose in my head. I hadn't.
Leslie.
No, no, it couldn't be. I paced anxiously up and down the hallway trying to think of a scenario where the folder disappeared without Leslie being involved. But the more I paced, the more pieces fell together. Leslie had been so helpful and concerned. She always appeared right when I needed her. I never thought it through before but her involvement was kind of odd. After all, we were only distant cousins but yet she had stuck her neck out for me numerous times this last week. Hell, I would never have gotten my hands on that file without her. She was the one with the contacts at the police station. She was the one who arranged for the money drop. She was the one who had showed up to check on my head cold and then walked out of here and the file was gone.
":Damn it," I whispered as I cut my pacing short and headed to the phone. I didn't want to make this call but I could no long deny the truth. Leslie had played me.
Bruce answered on the second ring.
"Yo."
"It's me. We have a situation."
"Go."
"It's Leslie. She has the folder. She has all of it."
There was silence on the line. I could hear Bruce breathing and the faint sound of cheering in the background. Was he at a bar?
"You sure?" he asked at last.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"OK, what's the play?"
"I'm going to call her. Maybe I'm wrong but I double it. Can you be at her place in 10? If you see her try to run, grab her and call me. We can meet at the warehouse and decided how to cover this up. It needs to happen quickly but it needs to be quiet Bruce, got it?" Bruce was very effective but he also tended to be very loud and didn't care about innocent bystanders. The last thing I needed was the cops interested in me again when I was this close to free. Damn Leslie.
"Got it. Make the call in 10." Bruce hung up. I slammed the phone down with more force than necessary but I was sweating. From the cold or anger or nerves, I just didn't know. Leslie. Oh Leslie, why? To kill time, I headed back to the kitchen and poured anther cup of tea. I sipped it slowly while watching the clock, watching the pieces fall into place, seeing for the first time what she had done. When ten minutes were up, I picked up my phone, took a deep breath, and dialed.
The phone rang and rang. Right when I thought she was already gone, she picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey Les, it's me," I croaked into the phone, adding a hacking cough for good measure.
"Oh man, you sound awful! Are you drinking that tea I brought you?
"Yeah, thanks Les. You have been so great. I don't know what I'd do without you." My words came out sweet but my thoughts were much darker. "Listen, I have one last favor to ask. Could you run over to Longs and get me some NyQuil? I need my head clear when I meet with Jason to give him the info. He should be here in about an hour or so. And maybe I could introduce you? You never know, after all this clears up, he may have some work for you too."
I could hear the pause now that I was listening for it. She was good though. Her voice stayed steady.
"Sure hon. No problem. I'll pop out to the store and head right over. I should be there in, like, five, ok?"
I clicked off the line but didn't put the phone down. Some part of me still hoped I was wrong. Some small part still believed the phone would not ring. But it did.
"Yo. I got her. She was runnin. Meet you at the warehouse?"
"Yeah Bruce. See you there."
Oh Leslie. Why?
Sunday, September 25, 2011
What I Said Was Not What I Was Thinking
"No! That's totally fine. I don't mind at all. Really! I can totally take them for a little bit for you."
Only I did. Mind that is. This was the third time Cindy had called with an "emergency" and begged to drop her kids off at my house. Of course, she swore it would only be for an hour but I knew better. Yesterday her hour and turned into four. When she came to pick up her kids, she admitted that she and her husband had decided to go to dinner since they were kid free. Part of me seethed inside as I hung up the phone. Why couldn't I just say no, I don't want your awful kids in my house. I sighed and paced the kitchen floor and in my mind I ran through all the things I should have said. I kicked myself for being such a marshmallow. Who knows how long she'd be gone this time? I decided to arm myself with a made-up appointment for later this afternoon and braced for the sound of her knocking on my door.
"OhmyGod! You are such a life-saver! Thank you so much! I cannot tell you how you have saved me!" Cindy gushed as she herded her two boys into my house. They immediately ran off in different directions and the sounds of destruction began ringing forth. She dropped a large diaper bag at her feet and primped her ponytail.
"So, I have, like, a hundred errands to run but I swear, it should only take me an hour," she smiled at me and then glanced at her watch. "Tyler had a bit of a tummy ache last night but I'm sure he's find now," she continued, "but I packed extra diapers just in case." She reached out and grabbed me by my upper arm. "You are the best hon! Thanks a ton!"
"Sure Cindy, no problem," I muttered into her insincere smile. "But you need to pick them up by three. I have a dentist appointment that I have to make."
Her face fell and she tapped her lips with a red fingernail. "Oh, huh, that isn't going to work for me" she dragged the work out looking at me with concern, "I may not be back by then."
She paused at let the silence hang between us. My first thought was to rush in and smooth things over, tell her to take her time, that I could work something out. But I bit my tongue and smiled at her. The silence lengthened. Finally, I broke. "Well, I'm really sorry. I wish I could take them longer but..." I shrugged my shoulders and held my breath.
"Where is your dentist?" Cindy asked me.
"Over in Tigard," I answered, amazed at how easily the lie fell from my lips.
Cindy's face lit up. "Ohmygod! That is so perfect! I have to run by a store over there! Why don't I just meet you there with the kiddos and grab them from you then! You don't mind taking them with you? Do you?" Cindy beamed at me.
"Say NO," my brain raged but I found myself floundering. Time seemed to slow and I heard myself parroting back her very words, assuring her I didn't mind at all. There was a whirl of blond hair and black yoga pants and she was gone. As I closed the door behind her, wondering how I got myself into this mess, I heard the sound of crying coming from upstairs followed by screams. I rested my head against the cool glass of the door before I slowly made my ways up the steps to face the rest of my Thursday afternoon.
Only I did. Mind that is. This was the third time Cindy had called with an "emergency" and begged to drop her kids off at my house. Of course, she swore it would only be for an hour but I knew better. Yesterday her hour and turned into four. When she came to pick up her kids, she admitted that she and her husband had decided to go to dinner since they were kid free. Part of me seethed inside as I hung up the phone. Why couldn't I just say no, I don't want your awful kids in my house. I sighed and paced the kitchen floor and in my mind I ran through all the things I should have said. I kicked myself for being such a marshmallow. Who knows how long she'd be gone this time? I decided to arm myself with a made-up appointment for later this afternoon and braced for the sound of her knocking on my door.
"OhmyGod! You are such a life-saver! Thank you so much! I cannot tell you how you have saved me!" Cindy gushed as she herded her two boys into my house. They immediately ran off in different directions and the sounds of destruction began ringing forth. She dropped a large diaper bag at her feet and primped her ponytail.
"So, I have, like, a hundred errands to run but I swear, it should only take me an hour," she smiled at me and then glanced at her watch. "Tyler had a bit of a tummy ache last night but I'm sure he's find now," she continued, "but I packed extra diapers just in case." She reached out and grabbed me by my upper arm. "You are the best hon! Thanks a ton!"
"Sure Cindy, no problem," I muttered into her insincere smile. "But you need to pick them up by three. I have a dentist appointment that I have to make."
Her face fell and she tapped her lips with a red fingernail. "Oh, huh, that isn't going to work for me" she dragged the work out looking at me with concern, "I may not be back by then."
She paused at let the silence hang between us. My first thought was to rush in and smooth things over, tell her to take her time, that I could work something out. But I bit my tongue and smiled at her. The silence lengthened. Finally, I broke. "Well, I'm really sorry. I wish I could take them longer but..." I shrugged my shoulders and held my breath.
"Where is your dentist?" Cindy asked me.
"Over in Tigard," I answered, amazed at how easily the lie fell from my lips.
Cindy's face lit up. "Ohmygod! That is so perfect! I have to run by a store over there! Why don't I just meet you there with the kiddos and grab them from you then! You don't mind taking them with you? Do you?" Cindy beamed at me.
"Say NO," my brain raged but I found myself floundering. Time seemed to slow and I heard myself parroting back her very words, assuring her I didn't mind at all. There was a whirl of blond hair and black yoga pants and she was gone. As I closed the door behind her, wondering how I got myself into this mess, I heard the sound of crying coming from upstairs followed by screams. I rested my head against the cool glass of the door before I slowly made my ways up the steps to face the rest of my Thursday afternoon.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Write about smoke
So one issue I have with these assignments is that I frequently know what I would like to write about but that the prompt doesn't match my pre-concieved thoughts so then should I shoehorn what I want to write about to the prompt or am I missing the point of the exercise which is to stretch your writing muscles. If you always just walk around the block, you'll never see what's over in the next town or over the next ridge.
So I'm not sure what I want to do. Keep writing what I want to write? Keep shoe horning what I want to write to match the prompt, or try and branch out and grow with the prompt and see where it takes me.
I'm skipping my specific next one 'cause I didn't like it and going to the one after. I'm so far behind its not like if I skip one anyone will notice ;-).
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Write about smoke.
Sally yanked Mr. Buns from his seat, presumably so he could more easily access the black board. Mudsy, Tizzy and Ms. Whiskers all sat that their desks watching Mr. Buns be marched up, chalk in hand.
"Mr. Buns, I will not have you disturbing the rest of the class with your outbursts. I asked you a question. What is smoke?"
"If you don't know I certainly don't..." Mr. Buns replied. He aped a grin for the other three students.
"I know I know" Mudsy yelled from the center of the room where the student's shared table was, still covered in detritus from their make shift lunch.
"Its not your turn Mudsy and remember to raise your hand." Sally said. She gave the class as stern a look as she could muster, eye brows furrowed down, lips pursed.
"I think its time for tea." Mr. Buns said as he sat in front of the chalk board. He couldn't even seem to comply enough with Sally's wishes to hold onto the chalk, it kept dropping to the floor.
"It won't be time for tea until recess. So once more Mr. Buns, what is smoke? And I would like an answer before I get cross with you."
Mr. Buns looked up at her with his large black shiny eyes, seemingly on the verge of tears. (Sally was on to this trick as he tried it often to get out of trouble). Mr. Buns said: "Once more Ms. Sally, if you don't know I certainly don't, so why do you ask this stuff?"
"You must know." Sally's resolve was beginning to waiver. If these guys didn't know then hope was waning rapidly. This group of students were the best and the brightest. Huphalumps was too busy getting ready for nap time. Ralph hadn't even bothered getting dressed this morning. She was going to have to talk to his parents about that.
"But we know what it smells like. It smells like the camp fire daddy made last year." Sally said to the class.
"But it also smells kind of like leaves. Remember that time Daddy put all those leaves in the trash bin and threw in the match?" Ms. Whiskers said.
"Or it smells like Aunt Veruca's clothes and hair" Tizzy blurted out.
Sally crossed her arms and thought about that.
"Can I go back to my seat now?" Mr. Buns asked?
"I suppose". She escorted Mr. Buns back to his seat around the tea table, went back to the chalkboard and picked up the piece of chalk from where Mr. Buns had so carelessly left it.
Mudsy's arm was straining against gravity.
"OH, OH OH Ms. Sally I know."
"Very well, Mudsy. What do you think smoke is?"
"Ms. Sally," Mudsy paused, because he was very proper. "Smoke is a gas and comprises a collection of airborne solid and liquid particulates and gasses that are emitted when a material undergoes combustion or pyrolysis, together with the quantity of air that is entrained or otherwise mixed into the mass."
Mudsy looked at the others around the table, a smug grin creeping from between his tusks and under his trunk. The others around him just stared blankly at him.
Mr. Buns was first to break the silence, "What was that? I don't even know what the *#$%)@ half those words even mean."
"Language Mr. Buns!" Sally scolded, but then added "But, I agree with Mr. Buns." Sally said. Mudsy's cocksure grin started to fade. Was he wrong? It had seemed so obvious at the time.
"Would you care to expand on your answer?" she asked.
Mudsy slumped down and stared at the floor crestfallen. He had been sure it was the right answer.
"But he sounds oh so smart." Tizzy said. Ms. Whiskers nodded eagerly in agreement.
"Well, uh." Mudsy continued. "It is commonly an unwanted by-product of fires including stoves, candles, oil lamps and fireplaces, but may also be used for pest control, communication, defensive and offensive capabilities in the military, cocking or smoking..."
"That is enough, Mudsy. All right so now we know what it is. Would anyone like to tell the class what airborne, particulates or pyrolysis means?"
The class looked up at Ms. Sally, blank eyes all around. She sighed. This was going to be a long day...
So I'm not sure what I want to do. Keep writing what I want to write? Keep shoe horning what I want to write to match the prompt, or try and branch out and grow with the prompt and see where it takes me.
I'm skipping my specific next one 'cause I didn't like it and going to the one after. I'm so far behind its not like if I skip one anyone will notice ;-).
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Write about smoke.
Sally yanked Mr. Buns from his seat, presumably so he could more easily access the black board. Mudsy, Tizzy and Ms. Whiskers all sat that their desks watching Mr. Buns be marched up, chalk in hand.
"Mr. Buns, I will not have you disturbing the rest of the class with your outbursts. I asked you a question. What is smoke?"
"If you don't know I certainly don't..." Mr. Buns replied. He aped a grin for the other three students.
"I know I know" Mudsy yelled from the center of the room where the student's shared table was, still covered in detritus from their make shift lunch.
"Its not your turn Mudsy and remember to raise your hand." Sally said. She gave the class as stern a look as she could muster, eye brows furrowed down, lips pursed.
"I think its time for tea." Mr. Buns said as he sat in front of the chalk board. He couldn't even seem to comply enough with Sally's wishes to hold onto the chalk, it kept dropping to the floor.
"It won't be time for tea until recess. So once more Mr. Buns, what is smoke? And I would like an answer before I get cross with you."
Mr. Buns looked up at her with his large black shiny eyes, seemingly on the verge of tears. (Sally was on to this trick as he tried it often to get out of trouble). Mr. Buns said: "Once more Ms. Sally, if you don't know I certainly don't, so why do you ask this stuff?"
"You must know." Sally's resolve was beginning to waiver. If these guys didn't know then hope was waning rapidly. This group of students were the best and the brightest. Huphalumps was too busy getting ready for nap time. Ralph hadn't even bothered getting dressed this morning. She was going to have to talk to his parents about that.
"But we know what it smells like. It smells like the camp fire daddy made last year." Sally said to the class.
"But it also smells kind of like leaves. Remember that time Daddy put all those leaves in the trash bin and threw in the match?" Ms. Whiskers said.
"Or it smells like Aunt Veruca's clothes and hair" Tizzy blurted out.
Sally crossed her arms and thought about that.
"Can I go back to my seat now?" Mr. Buns asked?
"I suppose". She escorted Mr. Buns back to his seat around the tea table, went back to the chalkboard and picked up the piece of chalk from where Mr. Buns had so carelessly left it.
Mudsy's arm was straining against gravity.
"OH, OH OH Ms. Sally I know."
"Very well, Mudsy. What do you think smoke is?"
"Ms. Sally," Mudsy paused, because he was very proper. "Smoke is a gas and comprises a collection of airborne solid and liquid particulates and gasses that are emitted when a material undergoes combustion or pyrolysis, together with the quantity of air that is entrained or otherwise mixed into the mass."
Mudsy looked at the others around the table, a smug grin creeping from between his tusks and under his trunk. The others around him just stared blankly at him.
Mr. Buns was first to break the silence, "What was that? I don't even know what the *#$%)@ half those words even mean."
"Language Mr. Buns!" Sally scolded, but then added "But, I agree with Mr. Buns." Sally said. Mudsy's cocksure grin started to fade. Was he wrong? It had seemed so obvious at the time.
"Would you care to expand on your answer?" she asked.
Mudsy slumped down and stared at the floor crestfallen. He had been sure it was the right answer.
"But he sounds oh so smart." Tizzy said. Ms. Whiskers nodded eagerly in agreement.
"Well, uh." Mudsy continued. "It is commonly an unwanted by-product of fires including stoves, candles, oil lamps and fireplaces, but may also be used for pest control, communication, defensive and offensive capabilities in the military, cocking or smoking..."
"That is enough, Mudsy. All right so now we know what it is. Would anyone like to tell the class what airborne, particulates or pyrolysis means?"
The class looked up at Ms. Sally, blank eyes all around. She sighed. This was going to be a long day...
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The Landscape of Longing
Lisa's hair was long, blond and straight. She was the undisputed queen of fifth grade and I watched her every day at recess. I would sit on the cement curb under the holly tree with a book propped in my lap but my eyes never sought the page. They were far too busy following the swirl of blond hair around the playground. Her hair fell straight from a center part along her back to just below her shoulder blades. It was two tones. A honey blond on top with darker streaks underneath. She never wore it up. It was always loose and flowing and whipped behind her as she ran with her friends.
My own hair was sorely lacking. It hung in two heavy braids down the side of my cheeks. Thick, coarse, and brown, it tended to frizz and tangle at a moments notice. Every year I dressed as an Indian girl for Halloween and my braids melded in nicely. But my hair kept its costume on year round. The two heavy braids reappearing year after year in school photos and Christmas cards. My hair never whipped behind me in a silken wave when I ran. It never fell and framed my face in a gentle stream.
But Lisa's hair, while enviable, was not my hearts desire. What I really wanted were her eyes. They were blue. So blue they were clear; the color of aquamarine. I remember hearing a song on the radio once. It was a country music station my mom listened to and the song caught my ear. "'I"m gonna make my brown eyes bluuuuuuue," crooned the singer. Of course she was singing about a broken heart and cowboy whose eye wandered but for me, at all our eleven years old, I took the song for truth and it settled in my heart. Every time I looked in the mirror at my own brown eyes, I heard that refrain circling min my head. If only I could make my eyes blue. Clear blue. The desire followed me through middle and high school. Lisa from fifth grade was my standard. My unattainable goal. Hundreds of dollars were spent on magazines and hair treatments to try and copy those smooth silken locks. Countless hours were spent sighing in front of mirrors. Eventually, I settled into my skin. Accepted my wild hair and plain eyes. But the sight of a girl with straight blond hair and blue blue eyes still causes a small pain somewhere inside.
My own hair was sorely lacking. It hung in two heavy braids down the side of my cheeks. Thick, coarse, and brown, it tended to frizz and tangle at a moments notice. Every year I dressed as an Indian girl for Halloween and my braids melded in nicely. But my hair kept its costume on year round. The two heavy braids reappearing year after year in school photos and Christmas cards. My hair never whipped behind me in a silken wave when I ran. It never fell and framed my face in a gentle stream.
But Lisa's hair, while enviable, was not my hearts desire. What I really wanted were her eyes. They were blue. So blue they were clear; the color of aquamarine. I remember hearing a song on the radio once. It was a country music station my mom listened to and the song caught my ear. "'I"m gonna make my brown eyes bluuuuuuue," crooned the singer. Of course she was singing about a broken heart and cowboy whose eye wandered but for me, at all our eleven years old, I took the song for truth and it settled in my heart. Every time I looked in the mirror at my own brown eyes, I heard that refrain circling min my head. If only I could make my eyes blue. Clear blue. The desire followed me through middle and high school. Lisa from fifth grade was my standard. My unattainable goal. Hundreds of dollars were spent on magazines and hair treatments to try and copy those smooth silken locks. Countless hours were spent sighing in front of mirrors. Eventually, I settled into my skin. Accepted my wild hair and plain eyes. But the sight of a girl with straight blond hair and blue blue eyes still causes a small pain somewhere inside.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Write About Going Underground
I had heard rumors of the tunnels. They supposedly criss-crossed under the city and were used to smuggle illegal gin or tussled up kids to the slaver ships. If course, that was all they were, rumors, so I never paid them much attention. I was busy just trying to get by. Trade was down and my usual haunts were quickly drying up. I probably never would have even steeped foot underground if it weren't for Umberto.
Umberto is my half brother. He's loyal as a dog and about as smart. Jules says I should have ditched him long ago but some last soft part of my heart won't let me. So Umberto follows me around, always underfoot, always sorry, and always a pain. I know he was trying to help when he managed to lose out savings. I told myself that while I counted slowly to twenty but it didn't do much good. I had carefully stashed every last farthing we owned into the side of this old cardboard box. I slit it so gently, you couldn't even tell the money was in there. It was a perfect hiding place. So perfect, that Umberto tossed the box in an attempt to clean the place up. So it was gone. All of it. All that was left was my anger and Umberto who was crying and apologizing all in the same breath.
I stormed out of our room, down the stairs, and into the alley that lead behind the building. I was somewhere between desperate and furious and wasn't exactly aware of where I was going. My head was in turmoil and my feet where on their own. They lead me down to the wharf. It was late, and the air was cool and salty. I remember grabbing the railing and staring at my white knuckles while my mind raced looking for an answer. I don't know how long I stood there but it must have been a while because I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye. Just a flutter of something darker than black down below me. I was aware of the shuffle of feet and a muttered curse. It took me a minute to realize that what I was seeing was an abduction. Three men had a kid bundled up in a black blanket. One at the feet, the other the head. The third held open a section of what looked like a stone wall. The blanket was limp and unresistant but it was clearly a small body. Why I stood there, motionless, I don't know. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe some survival instinct still functioned under my rage. But for whatever reason, I watched in silence as the three men walked up the gangplank to the moored ship before them and disappeared below deck.
Remember now, I was desperate. Hard times call for hard choice so don't judge me just yet. I hopped the railing and found myself in front of the immovable stone wall. Only I knew it moved. Carefully, my hand felt the rocks and mortar looking for the catch. It didn't take long to find and soon the stone moved for me as well. With the moon to my back, I peered down into the darkness. The tunnel was crude but roomy. The sides were dirt with some wooden support beams. I could only see a few feet ahead and then the air turned black. A deep, heavy black not of mystery. This black smothered. There was no way I was going one step further without a good torch and some back up. Carefully, I swung the stone wall closed and padded back to my rooms for my half-brother. Perhaps, just perhaps, our troubles could be solved tonight.
Umberto is my half brother. He's loyal as a dog and about as smart. Jules says I should have ditched him long ago but some last soft part of my heart won't let me. So Umberto follows me around, always underfoot, always sorry, and always a pain. I know he was trying to help when he managed to lose out savings. I told myself that while I counted slowly to twenty but it didn't do much good. I had carefully stashed every last farthing we owned into the side of this old cardboard box. I slit it so gently, you couldn't even tell the money was in there. It was a perfect hiding place. So perfect, that Umberto tossed the box in an attempt to clean the place up. So it was gone. All of it. All that was left was my anger and Umberto who was crying and apologizing all in the same breath.
I stormed out of our room, down the stairs, and into the alley that lead behind the building. I was somewhere between desperate and furious and wasn't exactly aware of where I was going. My head was in turmoil and my feet where on their own. They lead me down to the wharf. It was late, and the air was cool and salty. I remember grabbing the railing and staring at my white knuckles while my mind raced looking for an answer. I don't know how long I stood there but it must have been a while because I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye. Just a flutter of something darker than black down below me. I was aware of the shuffle of feet and a muttered curse. It took me a minute to realize that what I was seeing was an abduction. Three men had a kid bundled up in a black blanket. One at the feet, the other the head. The third held open a section of what looked like a stone wall. The blanket was limp and unresistant but it was clearly a small body. Why I stood there, motionless, I don't know. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe some survival instinct still functioned under my rage. But for whatever reason, I watched in silence as the three men walked up the gangplank to the moored ship before them and disappeared below deck.
Remember now, I was desperate. Hard times call for hard choice so don't judge me just yet. I hopped the railing and found myself in front of the immovable stone wall. Only I knew it moved. Carefully, my hand felt the rocks and mortar looking for the catch. It didn't take long to find and soon the stone moved for me as well. With the moon to my back, I peered down into the darkness. The tunnel was crude but roomy. The sides were dirt with some wooden support beams. I could only see a few feet ahead and then the air turned black. A deep, heavy black not of mystery. This black smothered. There was no way I was going one step further without a good torch and some back up. Carefully, I swung the stone wall closed and padded back to my rooms for my half-brother. Perhaps, just perhaps, our troubles could be solved tonight.
Friday, September 9, 2011
"If I want I can remember everything"
For some reason, I did the Sept 9th prompt on Sept 6th. So, to keep with this strange logic, I guess I'll try the Sept 6th prompt for today? Clearly, I need to find my rhythm again!
If I want, I can remember everything-
Conversations late into the night,
Kisses stolen behind shrubbery with green leaves glinting moonlight.
The languor of your hand on my thigh.
But memory is dirty; it won't let me stop.
Though I want, I can remember everything-
Evasive glances and stony silence,
A distance that grows despite my pleads and tears,
The heartbreak of being left behind.
So what will it be?
Curse or blessing?
Gift or bane?
If I want, I can remember everything.
But can I also forget you if I try?
If I want, I can remember everything-
Conversations late into the night,
Kisses stolen behind shrubbery with green leaves glinting moonlight.
The languor of your hand on my thigh.
But memory is dirty; it won't let me stop.
Though I want, I can remember everything-
Evasive glances and stony silence,
A distance that grows despite my pleads and tears,
The heartbreak of being left behind.
So what will it be?
Curse or blessing?
Gift or bane?
If I want, I can remember everything.
But can I also forget you if I try?
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
In my dream I was the first to arrive
"In my dream I was the first to arrive. I never am usually."
"What do you mean by that?" Dr. Arnett asked. She sat in her chair, blonde hair in a bun, horned rim glasses focused on me. In her lap lay the yellow legal pad that she
almost never took notes on.
"I mean that usually everything is already going on by the time I get there. This time I was the first." Even when I said it I could hear the value judgements being made in her head. Not professional but who was it who said: "Great claims require greater proof?" Yeah, this was one of those times.
"So when did these 'dreams' as you call them start?" She asked, bringing the clicker point of her pen up to her lips. I wasn't looking at her but I could tell her brows were furrowed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, but who was going to belive me. I thought a psychologist had been the best choice.
"About six months ago."
"Right, about the time you were laid off?"
"Yeah." I could see where she was going. "But, I don't know I don't think that had anything to do with it."
"But you said that its not every night and sometimes you dream them during the day? And it never happens when there's anyone else around."
"Not yet but..."
"What else do you have going on in your life? I mean losing your job can be very stressful. Your file said you're not married, no kids. You had a relatively active social life. Why do you think this has manifested itself with you?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out and I wasn't sure if I should see a shrink or a priest. Uh, no offense to the shrink comment." I sat in the chair becoming more and
more self conscious.
"None taken." She smiled.
"So, why don't you walk me through the first time it happened."
"If you think it'll help."
"You never know."
I proceeded to tell her about the first time "it" happened. Even now I can't figure out if it was a dream or it really happened. I had gotten my pink slip that afternoon at 4:45 on a Friday. 17 years of working there and bam, no "Sorry to see you go." No nothing just a pink slip on my desk after the all employee meeting. Biggs and Phil offered to take me out drinking so we hit our usual watering hole. We commiserate 'cause Biggs lost his job too. Phil bought us round after round and before too long we were pretty sloshed.
We were there till maybe 11 or so. The place started getting full of college kids and too noisy to talk any more so we decided to head home. Dr. Arnett stopped me there.
"So do you have this dream after drinking?"
"No ma'am. Just this first time."
"All right, please continue."
I thought for a moment. Since it had been a nice night out I decided to walk it back home because Biggs and Phil were too drunk to drive and I wasn't in that good a shape
either. The fresh air would do me good and I had all the time in the world right? About 20 minutes later I figured my head should be clearing but its not. It feels like someone has stuffed cotton in my ears, nose and mouth and that same someone is rubbing sandpaper and static electricity all over me.
"Does it always feel this way?"
"No, usually its worse unless I've been drinking."
"Interesting." That's all she said. I know the sound of 'Interesting'. It sounded more like "Right, I'm going to dial 9 and 1 and if you keep getting crazier I'm going to dial the last 1."
So I stopped for a minute to catch my breath. I'm 1/2 drunk and think maybe I'm having a heart attack or a stroke. I look up and see fire flies above me. Only they aren't fire flies. They're stars. First one star starts moving in an arc overhead and then another. Then 10 are moving, all in the same direction. I think, maybe its some sort of air-force jet or something but there's no noise. Then its 50 stars, then 100, then 1000. All moving and they're moving so fast that I start getting dizzy.
Now I know I'm having a stroke or something, so I sit down and put my head between my legs as best I can and try to take deep breaths. I say the alphabet and then say it out loud to see if sounds right. I get stuck between v and w although those two have always sounded funny to me. That's when I smell it. Its always the same smell. I don't know it smells like fog mixed with a flower shop mixed with the thump of a subwoofer when one of those low riding cars pulls up next to you. I know that's not a smell but you know, I'm already at the shrink so sue me that's what it smells like.
There's a breeze that starts up. At first its just enough to make the grass move but as more and more of the stars are moving over head the stronger the breeze gets. I stand up because at the middle of this circle of stars is a bright white light. And its just getting brighter and brighter. So now I'm thinking, "great I get fired and now I'm going to be hit by a comet. This day just sucks." But I figure there are worse ways to go right? I mean how many people's tombstones say "Death by comet" on them?
"That's pretty morbid. You think about this sort of thing often?"
"You asked me to tell you the story, and remember, I had just gotten laid off and was still 1/2 drunk."
"Point taken, keep going."
I continue. At first the wind is just enough to muss your hair, then it gets stronger and stronger and stronger. About ten seconds later it was so strong that I felt like I had to grab onto a nearby stop sign to keep from flying away. I looked around to see if other people were having the same problems but I didn't see anyone else around.
The stop sign started wobbling and before I could figure out what's going on we're both flying up to the sky towards those stars that were zipping around in a circle.
Dr. Arnett stopped me again. "So how did that make you feel, being out of control?"
"I was panicked, how do you think I should have felt?"
"Did you realize you were dreaming at this point?"
"It felt very very real. And except for how preposterous it was I'm still not convinced it was a dream." This last sentence caused Dr. Arnett's eyebrows to knit together.
"You think this was a real experience?"
"It was something. Look, Doctor. I know how this sounds. But I've also been dreaming my whole life. This was... Different."
She scribbled something down on her pad, which she tilted up towards her when she saw me peering over to read what she had written.
"Keep going." She said. "I feel like we're getting close to something here."
I flew up and watched the street fade into lines on a map then the lines disappeared and I could see lakes and hills and in seconds I could see the night half of the planet lit up like a Christmas tree, then the whole planet itself and the blinding light of the sun. I put my arms in front of my face and screamed bloody murder. There was no sense in how fast I was moving but the wind was still whipping around me and the stop sign I had let go of, was whipping around me in circle. I was convinced it was going to hit me so I tried to grab onto it. I must have blacked out because the next thing I know I open my eyes and I don't see the sun or the moon, I see this big white ball coming towards me. It looks like a snow ball coming at my face but it just kept getting bigger and bigger. It went from snowball to bowling ball to beach ball. I could start making out details on it and I realized that I was falling towards the surface of some crazy planet that was all covered in snow. I saw oceans on this planet as I augered in but they seemed to be frozen over. I didn't recognize any of the continents or anything but I saw details on the ground that were rushing towards me much faster than I could handle.
I was screaming bloody murder by then my voice was hoarse. I was sure that whatever part of my buzz I had starting this trip it was gone and in full sobriety I realized I was going to die, not from being hit by a comet but by falling onto a giant frozen mountain slope. As I got closer I saw that what I thought were clouds were actually smoke billowing up from a billion fires. I careened in trying to remember how I left my apartment and if there was anything truly embarrassing that my sister was going to find when someone finally reported me missing.
About 500 feet above the ground I started slowing down. Not like a nice gradual stop you make at a stop sign but rib cracking bone rattling stop like at the end of a badly running roller coaster. The wind was knocked out of my lungs and I flopped into a big circle carved in the snow about a foot wider than I was tall.
I took a few breaths of frigid air trying to figure out if this really was how heaven was supposed to look and I saw these things looking back at me from the other side of the circle. They were tiny, maybe about as big as my big toe and about as stout. They looked like little mice crossed with ants. Plump little things with whiskers, beady eyes and big ears and shells, too many limbs and antennae.
Blinking slowly and trying to figure out how many bones I just broke I saw this little knot of them, they were dressed in rags or something and one of them has what looks like a book being carried in one arm. The rest seemed to be armed with sewing needles and matches. The one with the book was waving its antennae all around and squeaking. The others got down on their bellies and just didn't seem to move.
I stopped for a second to see Dr. Arnett furiously scribbling things down on her pad.
"What do you think Doc? Should I admit myself?"
"I wouldn't do that just yet." she smiled. "But would you mind if I get my tape recorder to record the rest of our session?"
"Sure why not." She got up and went over to her desk and grabbed a little palm sized tape recorder.
"Excellent, Jim please keep going. What happens next? And let me just say that i'm impressed by your ability to keep your wits about you. Are you sure you didn't realize it was a dream?"
"Well hang on, let me tell you..."
I was still on my belly on the snow trying to figure out what the heck this little mouse-ant thing was trying to tell me when I heard it. There was a chittering from behind me. I craned my head and rolled over in the snow to see this smoke ball behind me. It was maybe basket ball sized and just looked like billowing smoke with four red eyes and two inch fangs.
Once again I'm sure I screamed like a little girl and began backing up only to find I couldn't move past the edge of the circle in the snow. It was like there was a piece of glass there that was strong enough for me to lean against and push myself up. Thankfully the snow wasn't too deep but it did make traction difficult and I slid as much as jumped towards the far end of the circle as that smoke thing came at me. it wrapped around the circle a little so it couldn't get at me. Big thanks for small miracles right?
The next thing I knew I heard a little squeak and felt a little crunch under my right foot. The mouse-ant thing with the book had been erasing the line in the snow behind me and I had accidentally stepped on it. As soon as the thing had breached the line I felt my ears pop and heard a sound like when you open a jar of pickles. I reached down and picked the poor squished little sucker up, mainly to see if it had left anything stuck in my shoe. At this point the other little mouse-ant things are skittering off in all directions. Before I had a chance to do anything the smoke thing passes through the far edge of the circle, I guess because the circle was incomplete now. It opened its smokey little mouth and comes at me all fangs and smog.
"What did you do?"
"I did what any red blooded American would do in this situation, once I got done screaming again..."
For a smoke monster it didn't seem to have terribly good traction on snow. Not that I had had a lot of experience with smoke monsters up to that point.
Dr. Arnett stopped me: "I'm glad you still have a sense of humor about this. That's a very good sign."
"Well don't say that yet."
So what did I do? As I had said, once I got done screaming and backing up I spent the next fifteen seconds trying to keep any extremity out of its mouth. That turned out to not be an easy task. I ran around the circle trying not to step on any more mouse-ants when the thing caught my foot. I felt at least 4 of its fangs go through my shin to the bone.
As I said that I hiked up my pant leg to show her the still red scars. It had been about six months ago so the skin was still pink and smooth. The smoke thing was remarkably heavy and I fell into the snow on my back. The thing let go of my leg and made a jump towards my chest. I rolled out of the way and as luck would have it my arm brushed the stop sign. With adrenaline pumping through my body I picked up the stop sign one handed and managed to fend off the smoke thing as it came down. I found out very quickly that either metal or paint, I'm still not sure which, and smoke monsters don't mix. It hit the flat red part of the stop sign and let out the most unholy cry I'd ever heard. It was like cats in heat playing with an angle grinder. It backed off but only for a second and rushed me again. I still wasn't to my feet yet and it caught my elbow here. I rolled up my sleeve to show her 3 two inch scars that were also pink and smooth.
"Not these here." I said, pointing to a cluster of five little dots that had just recently scabbed over. "Those were from a different time and some sort of frog thing. Its amazing how many of these things have teeth. Sharp sharp teeth."
Since Dr. Arnett kept scribbling and not saying anything I kept going.
It didn't get a solid grip this time either so I was able to rip it off my arm and actually heave the sucker a good 20 feet. Again it was the size of a basketball but it seemed to weigh more like a big bag of dog food. It looked at me and I didn't need to be told that it was sizing me up. I jumped up to my feet and grabbed the stop sign, trying to back up all the while and put some distance between me and it.
Apparently it still liked a taste of sweat and bar smoke and rushed me. I think it was more luck than anything that when it got within about five feet of me I brought the stop sign down edge-wise on it and sliced the thing clean in half. It let out another of those cat-grinder cries and then basically just exploded in what seemed to be ash, gray moss and pebbles. It twitched a couple of times and then stopped. I stood there still holding the stop sign realizing how hard I'm breathing. It seems like I can't catch my breath and my eyes are watering from the cold. I dropped the sign as it started feeling incredibly heavy and there was a pounding in my head. I could feel my vision beginning to flicker around the edges a little like a tunnel slowly closing in. I sat down in the snow not caring any more how cold it was and just wishing as I breathed that I could feel like I was getting a full breath of air.
A couple of seconds later I get the feeling of someone stuffing my head with cotton again and I can feel the sandpaper electricity on my skin and I pass out only to wake up on a street corner about five miles from my house next to a broken stop sign post. A police man was tapping me with his foot talking to me and writing me up for destruction of public property and public drunkenness. I had a splitting headache and the sun was beating down on me. I took the ticket and impressed on the policeman that I was ok despite the fact that I had blood on my pant leg and scratches on my arms. He attributed it to injuries sustained when I dismantled the stop sign.
I limped home and took a long shower then made a call to the doctor. Let me tell you how painful rabies shots are. The doctor said it looked like either a raccoon or a possum had gotten the best of me.
"But you don't believe the doctor do you? Look, I know how this sounds but you know the difference between a dream and something really happening to you. Besides, I thought you might take it this way so I brought this."
I handed over the miniature book the ant-mouse had. It was no bigger than a postage stamp but was about 1/2 and inch thick with paper thinner than an onion skin and crammed with tiny pictures and tinier writing. Dr. Arnett's eyebrows arched as she used her finely manicured fingernails to leaf through it.
"So you say this happens to you a lot? We'll call them fugue states for now as I agree I don't think dream is an appropriate word."
"Well not a whole lot. Maybe a couple times a week?"
"And this last one?" She handed the book back to me.
"This last one was different. I've only been to the same place a couple of times but never back to the mouse-ants. Except this last time. Usually it seems like I'm there after the action had started, but this time, this time I was first."
"What do you mean by that?" Dr. Arnett asked. She sat in her chair, blonde hair in a bun, horned rim glasses focused on me. In her lap lay the yellow legal pad that she
almost never took notes on.
"I mean that usually everything is already going on by the time I get there. This time I was the first." Even when I said it I could hear the value judgements being made in her head. Not professional but who was it who said: "Great claims require greater proof?" Yeah, this was one of those times.
"So when did these 'dreams' as you call them start?" She asked, bringing the clicker point of her pen up to her lips. I wasn't looking at her but I could tell her brows were furrowed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, but who was going to belive me. I thought a psychologist had been the best choice.
"About six months ago."
"Right, about the time you were laid off?"
"Yeah." I could see where she was going. "But, I don't know I don't think that had anything to do with it."
"But you said that its not every night and sometimes you dream them during the day? And it never happens when there's anyone else around."
"Not yet but..."
"What else do you have going on in your life? I mean losing your job can be very stressful. Your file said you're not married, no kids. You had a relatively active social life. Why do you think this has manifested itself with you?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out and I wasn't sure if I should see a shrink or a priest. Uh, no offense to the shrink comment." I sat in the chair becoming more and
more self conscious.
"None taken." She smiled.
"So, why don't you walk me through the first time it happened."
"If you think it'll help."
"You never know."
I proceeded to tell her about the first time "it" happened. Even now I can't figure out if it was a dream or it really happened. I had gotten my pink slip that afternoon at 4:45 on a Friday. 17 years of working there and bam, no "Sorry to see you go." No nothing just a pink slip on my desk after the all employee meeting. Biggs and Phil offered to take me out drinking so we hit our usual watering hole. We commiserate 'cause Biggs lost his job too. Phil bought us round after round and before too long we were pretty sloshed.
We were there till maybe 11 or so. The place started getting full of college kids and too noisy to talk any more so we decided to head home. Dr. Arnett stopped me there.
"So do you have this dream after drinking?"
"No ma'am. Just this first time."
"All right, please continue."
I thought for a moment. Since it had been a nice night out I decided to walk it back home because Biggs and Phil were too drunk to drive and I wasn't in that good a shape
either. The fresh air would do me good and I had all the time in the world right? About 20 minutes later I figured my head should be clearing but its not. It feels like someone has stuffed cotton in my ears, nose and mouth and that same someone is rubbing sandpaper and static electricity all over me.
"Does it always feel this way?"
"No, usually its worse unless I've been drinking."
"Interesting." That's all she said. I know the sound of 'Interesting'. It sounded more like "Right, I'm going to dial 9 and 1 and if you keep getting crazier I'm going to dial the last 1."
So I stopped for a minute to catch my breath. I'm 1/2 drunk and think maybe I'm having a heart attack or a stroke. I look up and see fire flies above me. Only they aren't fire flies. They're stars. First one star starts moving in an arc overhead and then another. Then 10 are moving, all in the same direction. I think, maybe its some sort of air-force jet or something but there's no noise. Then its 50 stars, then 100, then 1000. All moving and they're moving so fast that I start getting dizzy.
Now I know I'm having a stroke or something, so I sit down and put my head between my legs as best I can and try to take deep breaths. I say the alphabet and then say it out loud to see if sounds right. I get stuck between v and w although those two have always sounded funny to me. That's when I smell it. Its always the same smell. I don't know it smells like fog mixed with a flower shop mixed with the thump of a subwoofer when one of those low riding cars pulls up next to you. I know that's not a smell but you know, I'm already at the shrink so sue me that's what it smells like.
There's a breeze that starts up. At first its just enough to make the grass move but as more and more of the stars are moving over head the stronger the breeze gets. I stand up because at the middle of this circle of stars is a bright white light. And its just getting brighter and brighter. So now I'm thinking, "great I get fired and now I'm going to be hit by a comet. This day just sucks." But I figure there are worse ways to go right? I mean how many people's tombstones say "Death by comet" on them?
"That's pretty morbid. You think about this sort of thing often?"
"You asked me to tell you the story, and remember, I had just gotten laid off and was still 1/2 drunk."
"Point taken, keep going."
I continue. At first the wind is just enough to muss your hair, then it gets stronger and stronger and stronger. About ten seconds later it was so strong that I felt like I had to grab onto a nearby stop sign to keep from flying away. I looked around to see if other people were having the same problems but I didn't see anyone else around.
The stop sign started wobbling and before I could figure out what's going on we're both flying up to the sky towards those stars that were zipping around in a circle.
Dr. Arnett stopped me again. "So how did that make you feel, being out of control?"
"I was panicked, how do you think I should have felt?"
"Did you realize you were dreaming at this point?"
"It felt very very real. And except for how preposterous it was I'm still not convinced it was a dream." This last sentence caused Dr. Arnett's eyebrows to knit together.
"You think this was a real experience?"
"It was something. Look, Doctor. I know how this sounds. But I've also been dreaming my whole life. This was... Different."
She scribbled something down on her pad, which she tilted up towards her when she saw me peering over to read what she had written.
"Keep going." She said. "I feel like we're getting close to something here."
I flew up and watched the street fade into lines on a map then the lines disappeared and I could see lakes and hills and in seconds I could see the night half of the planet lit up like a Christmas tree, then the whole planet itself and the blinding light of the sun. I put my arms in front of my face and screamed bloody murder. There was no sense in how fast I was moving but the wind was still whipping around me and the stop sign I had let go of, was whipping around me in circle. I was convinced it was going to hit me so I tried to grab onto it. I must have blacked out because the next thing I know I open my eyes and I don't see the sun or the moon, I see this big white ball coming towards me. It looks like a snow ball coming at my face but it just kept getting bigger and bigger. It went from snowball to bowling ball to beach ball. I could start making out details on it and I realized that I was falling towards the surface of some crazy planet that was all covered in snow. I saw oceans on this planet as I augered in but they seemed to be frozen over. I didn't recognize any of the continents or anything but I saw details on the ground that were rushing towards me much faster than I could handle.
I was screaming bloody murder by then my voice was hoarse. I was sure that whatever part of my buzz I had starting this trip it was gone and in full sobriety I realized I was going to die, not from being hit by a comet but by falling onto a giant frozen mountain slope. As I got closer I saw that what I thought were clouds were actually smoke billowing up from a billion fires. I careened in trying to remember how I left my apartment and if there was anything truly embarrassing that my sister was going to find when someone finally reported me missing.
About 500 feet above the ground I started slowing down. Not like a nice gradual stop you make at a stop sign but rib cracking bone rattling stop like at the end of a badly running roller coaster. The wind was knocked out of my lungs and I flopped into a big circle carved in the snow about a foot wider than I was tall.
I took a few breaths of frigid air trying to figure out if this really was how heaven was supposed to look and I saw these things looking back at me from the other side of the circle. They were tiny, maybe about as big as my big toe and about as stout. They looked like little mice crossed with ants. Plump little things with whiskers, beady eyes and big ears and shells, too many limbs and antennae.
Blinking slowly and trying to figure out how many bones I just broke I saw this little knot of them, they were dressed in rags or something and one of them has what looks like a book being carried in one arm. The rest seemed to be armed with sewing needles and matches. The one with the book was waving its antennae all around and squeaking. The others got down on their bellies and just didn't seem to move.
I stopped for a second to see Dr. Arnett furiously scribbling things down on her pad.
"What do you think Doc? Should I admit myself?"
"I wouldn't do that just yet." she smiled. "But would you mind if I get my tape recorder to record the rest of our session?"
"Sure why not." She got up and went over to her desk and grabbed a little palm sized tape recorder.
"Excellent, Jim please keep going. What happens next? And let me just say that i'm impressed by your ability to keep your wits about you. Are you sure you didn't realize it was a dream?"
"Well hang on, let me tell you..."
I was still on my belly on the snow trying to figure out what the heck this little mouse-ant thing was trying to tell me when I heard it. There was a chittering from behind me. I craned my head and rolled over in the snow to see this smoke ball behind me. It was maybe basket ball sized and just looked like billowing smoke with four red eyes and two inch fangs.
Once again I'm sure I screamed like a little girl and began backing up only to find I couldn't move past the edge of the circle in the snow. It was like there was a piece of glass there that was strong enough for me to lean against and push myself up. Thankfully the snow wasn't too deep but it did make traction difficult and I slid as much as jumped towards the far end of the circle as that smoke thing came at me. it wrapped around the circle a little so it couldn't get at me. Big thanks for small miracles right?
The next thing I knew I heard a little squeak and felt a little crunch under my right foot. The mouse-ant thing with the book had been erasing the line in the snow behind me and I had accidentally stepped on it. As soon as the thing had breached the line I felt my ears pop and heard a sound like when you open a jar of pickles. I reached down and picked the poor squished little sucker up, mainly to see if it had left anything stuck in my shoe. At this point the other little mouse-ant things are skittering off in all directions. Before I had a chance to do anything the smoke thing passes through the far edge of the circle, I guess because the circle was incomplete now. It opened its smokey little mouth and comes at me all fangs and smog.
"What did you do?"
"I did what any red blooded American would do in this situation, once I got done screaming again..."
For a smoke monster it didn't seem to have terribly good traction on snow. Not that I had had a lot of experience with smoke monsters up to that point.
Dr. Arnett stopped me: "I'm glad you still have a sense of humor about this. That's a very good sign."
"Well don't say that yet."
So what did I do? As I had said, once I got done screaming and backing up I spent the next fifteen seconds trying to keep any extremity out of its mouth. That turned out to not be an easy task. I ran around the circle trying not to step on any more mouse-ants when the thing caught my foot. I felt at least 4 of its fangs go through my shin to the bone.
As I said that I hiked up my pant leg to show her the still red scars. It had been about six months ago so the skin was still pink and smooth. The smoke thing was remarkably heavy and I fell into the snow on my back. The thing let go of my leg and made a jump towards my chest. I rolled out of the way and as luck would have it my arm brushed the stop sign. With adrenaline pumping through my body I picked up the stop sign one handed and managed to fend off the smoke thing as it came down. I found out very quickly that either metal or paint, I'm still not sure which, and smoke monsters don't mix. It hit the flat red part of the stop sign and let out the most unholy cry I'd ever heard. It was like cats in heat playing with an angle grinder. It backed off but only for a second and rushed me again. I still wasn't to my feet yet and it caught my elbow here. I rolled up my sleeve to show her 3 two inch scars that were also pink and smooth.
"Not these here." I said, pointing to a cluster of five little dots that had just recently scabbed over. "Those were from a different time and some sort of frog thing. Its amazing how many of these things have teeth. Sharp sharp teeth."
Since Dr. Arnett kept scribbling and not saying anything I kept going.
It didn't get a solid grip this time either so I was able to rip it off my arm and actually heave the sucker a good 20 feet. Again it was the size of a basketball but it seemed to weigh more like a big bag of dog food. It looked at me and I didn't need to be told that it was sizing me up. I jumped up to my feet and grabbed the stop sign, trying to back up all the while and put some distance between me and it.
Apparently it still liked a taste of sweat and bar smoke and rushed me. I think it was more luck than anything that when it got within about five feet of me I brought the stop sign down edge-wise on it and sliced the thing clean in half. It let out another of those cat-grinder cries and then basically just exploded in what seemed to be ash, gray moss and pebbles. It twitched a couple of times and then stopped. I stood there still holding the stop sign realizing how hard I'm breathing. It seems like I can't catch my breath and my eyes are watering from the cold. I dropped the sign as it started feeling incredibly heavy and there was a pounding in my head. I could feel my vision beginning to flicker around the edges a little like a tunnel slowly closing in. I sat down in the snow not caring any more how cold it was and just wishing as I breathed that I could feel like I was getting a full breath of air.
A couple of seconds later I get the feeling of someone stuffing my head with cotton again and I can feel the sandpaper electricity on my skin and I pass out only to wake up on a street corner about five miles from my house next to a broken stop sign post. A police man was tapping me with his foot talking to me and writing me up for destruction of public property and public drunkenness. I had a splitting headache and the sun was beating down on me. I took the ticket and impressed on the policeman that I was ok despite the fact that I had blood on my pant leg and scratches on my arms. He attributed it to injuries sustained when I dismantled the stop sign.
I limped home and took a long shower then made a call to the doctor. Let me tell you how painful rabies shots are. The doctor said it looked like either a raccoon or a possum had gotten the best of me.
"But you don't believe the doctor do you? Look, I know how this sounds but you know the difference between a dream and something really happening to you. Besides, I thought you might take it this way so I brought this."
I handed over the miniature book the ant-mouse had. It was no bigger than a postage stamp but was about 1/2 and inch thick with paper thinner than an onion skin and crammed with tiny pictures and tinier writing. Dr. Arnett's eyebrows arched as she used her finely manicured fingernails to leaf through it.
"So you say this happens to you a lot? We'll call them fugue states for now as I agree I don't think dream is an appropriate word."
"Well not a whole lot. Maybe a couple times a week?"
"And this last one?" She handed the book back to me.
"This last one was different. I've only been to the same place a couple of times but never back to the mouse-ants. Except this last time. Usually it seems like I'm there after the action had started, but this time, this time I was first."
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