Archive for the ‘Fiction’ Category

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Bees

In Fiction on April 18, 2013 at 4:48 pm

wasp-nest

Bees

Lane braced his palms in the beach rocks and studied the hive.

“Maybe it floated from Africa?” he said. “Killer bees.”

“Don’t joke,” Warren complained with a pout. “Is anything in it?”

Lane thought he heard a faint buzzing, and even smelled a sweetness like honey, but there was no movement in the golden lattice.

“Nah…” he began, but suddenly he felt a sharp pain and he jumped. When he pulled his hand away, blood began to pour from a deep gash in his palm.

In the rocks, a thousand stony carapaces turned, and Warren sprinted down the beach. Read the rest of this entry »

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Les Moelleux

In Fiction on April 17, 2013 at 2:34 pm

new orleans french quarter building

Les Moelleux

Madelaine Meilleur: The broad that shot me, that killed me—then brought me back to life. I was turning it over in my mind as I walked, plugging in the numbers, but it just didn’t compute.

She had a place in the French Quarter, a cute little burlesque where the girls were razor thin and just as sharp. I don’t know where she found them—they were like creatures from another world—but every time I’d gone in, they’d worked me over like they were fixing to eat me for dinner. Madelaine had been convinced someone was about to rob the place. She wouldn’t say who or when or why, but she insisted I was the only one who could stop them. Read the rest of this entry »

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Shapes in the Shade

In Fiction on April 15, 2013 at 3:55 pm

mountains

Shapes in the Shade

 “Your color isn’t too good, kid. Maybe you’d better have a seat.”

Tanner was standing at the window, the setting sun full on his face; he tipped his revolver to spill the spent shells on the cabin floor.

“Or you could make yourself useful,” he said with a sideways glance, “and fetch me the speedloaders from the satchel there.”

I wasn’t in much of a mood to be sassed, but I wasn’t in much of a mood to talk back either, so I did as Tanner asked and brought him a handful. He eyed me as he took one and loaded it.

“Say something, kid.”

I turned and looked out the window, down the hill, to the woods where several dark shapes lay motionless in the shade. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Gods Are Sleeping

In Fiction on April 12, 2013 at 7:02 pm

Dark sky

The Gods Are Sleeping

“The gods are sleeping, dreaming the world—dreaming us—but their dreams have been darker of late: Loam turns to ash and the sun retreats.”

“We must act, lest these nightmares wake them.”

(photo credit: theseanster93)

Let’s get metaphysical. This is my response to the weekend’s Trifextra writing challenge, which was to write 33 words inspired by this Paulo Coehlo quote:

“It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.”

Obviously I took the prompt pretty broadly, but hopefully it still worked out. I thought making it a dialogue between two unnamed speakers would give a good bit of mystery to it, but I’d love to here what you think.

Happy weekend everyone!

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Salvage Artist

In Fiction on April 11, 2013 at 9:19 pm

A salvage art trike at Fairview Estates

Salvage Artist

The man leaned heavily on his staff but, weary as he seemed, his eyes shone. He shook his head.

“I thank you for the offer,” he said. “But I’ll make my bed out in your field, if it’s all the same.”

He turned, and as he looked up in wonder at the darkening sky, I saw that his back was roped with scars.

“Why aren’t you bitter?” I asked, but he tottered off into the tall grass without a word.

“I guess you might call me a salvage artist,” he called at last from afar. Read the rest of this entry »

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Basic Physiology

In Fiction on April 11, 2013 at 12:02 am

The Night Alight

Basic Physiology

When I came to, the rain was coming down so hard Charlie’s office felt like a submarine in a dive: Water streaked the windows, warping the streetlights—making me seasick.

“This isn’t possible,” Charlie said. He peeled off his gloves and tossed them in an aluminum bin.

“This is a piece of your lung,” he said, lifting a vial from the table and shaking it. “I’ve got brain, liver and heart on slides under the scope. All dead tissue.”

“Isn’t that what we expected?”

Charlie bowed his head and squeezed his temples.

“I don’t take this stuff for granted, Sean. The physiology is very straightforward. Your heart is pumping, but your blood…” he lifted another tube, full of crimson muck, “…is no good. It can’t possibly carry oxygen. Your systems should be shutting down. You should be a vegetable.” Read the rest of this entry »

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The Root

In Fiction on April 9, 2013 at 1:35 pm

victorian bedroom pietro barbino

The Root

“Come, Pietro,” Cosimo said. “I have fodder for your jests.”

Pietro cast aside his wineskin and eyed his master with as much contempt as he thought wise.

“Oh, don’t pout, Pietro,” Cosimo said softly. “It was all in fun. Isn’t that what I pay you for?”

“You humiliated me.”

“Are you to tell me that’s the first time a woman has laughed at your deformity? Seen that stub between your stunted legs?”

“Lady Eleanora didn’t laugh,” Pietro replied meekly. Cosimo bristled his black mustache.

“No, quite right,” he said. “But as it turned out she wasn’t very particular, was she? Read the rest of this entry »

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My Advice

In Fiction on April 5, 2013 at 11:45 am

Old Pocket Watch

My Advice

The universe erupts and expands.
Fourteen billion years pass.
You live and die.
And after eons more
the universe chills to a thermodynamic nothing.
My advice?
Get warm,
make some music
and eat.

Read the rest of this entry »

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Safekeeping

In Fiction on April 4, 2013 at 11:37 pm

gnarled tree by scott vanatter

Safekeeping

Despite this darkness and the uncountable years that have passed, the scene is still before me: the hill running up into nothing, the grass yellowed with mustard flowers, and the swollen tree standing deformed and defiant against the blanching sky.

Snapshots taken by my mind in panic as they pulled me into the car.

I am not me, I remember thinking. I can’t be.

And now I understand: The boy I had been was taken by that tree and hidden away in its gnarled trunk to keep him from evil.

…

Someday I’ll go back and I’ll find him again. Read the rest of this entry »

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Postmortem

In Fiction on April 3, 2013 at 1:33 pm

Various_scalpels

Postmortem

“You come here in the middle of the night and tell me you were dead yesterday, Sean. What am I supposed to think?”

“Think scientifically, Charlie,” I said, and I sat on the table. “You’re a doctor, after all.”

“I’m a coroner.”

“Even better.”

Charlie sat on his stool and eyed me carefully, his gaze drifting to the crimson-stained X on my chest.

“Three to the ticker?”

“Yep.”

I peeled back the tape and let my heart pump its congealed refuse onto Charlie’s floor. If he hadn’t believed me before, he sure did then. Read the rest of this entry »