She gently swirls the glass, watching candlelight refract through crimson. She takes a sip.
Her hair is jet black, her skin is alabaster white. Cliché, yes, but it’s her choice, it’s a lifestyle.
At her feet a cringing wretch of a man, barely more than a boy, licks her boots. New boots, but she cut through the park on the way here to muddy their soles; he likes it like that.
She met a man in the park. She tries to remember his face but all she gets is shadow. She rubs her neck. The expensive wine seems thin, unsatisfying.
Halloween double bill: A curse catches up with Professor Hamilton in Beetles.
Monday, 31 October 2011
Beetles
Professor Hamilton pressed his back to the sandy wall. Scarab beetles scuttled up his bare legs. He grabbed them. Shovelled them into his mouth. Crunched down to a burst of viscous, rank ooze: shards of chitin in a musty soup. Swallowing grew harder and harder.
He woke sweating, heaving, his stomach convulsing. Every night since Egypt. No pharaoh’s treasure was worth this.
He swept the lank, wet hair from his forehead. His hands were trembling, they were thinner, he was sure. His fair skin looked unhealthy, translucent; something black bulged and crawled beneath it.
He grabbed for his monogrammed letter-opener.
Halloween double bill: She's a lifestyle Vampire.
(Beetles originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
He woke sweating, heaving, his stomach convulsing. Every night since Egypt. No pharaoh’s treasure was worth this.
He swept the lank, wet hair from his forehead. His hands were trembling, they were thinner, he was sure. His fair skin looked unhealthy, translucent; something black bulged and crawled beneath it.
He grabbed for his monogrammed letter-opener.
Halloween double bill: She's a lifestyle Vampire.
(Beetles originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
Wednesday, 26 October 2011
Eden
You can see all the world’s churches from here, every grand cathedral. All those phallic spires, thrusting impotently at heaven. Don’t they know it’s rude to point?
Besides, heaven is beyond, not above.
You can see the filthy humans, too. How they roam, pathetic grubs crawling through the fetid dirt of their lives. No use glossing over the truth, they have wasted what they were given. They have cut down, dug up, burnt and buried The Garden.
The Old Testament is prophecy, all that is to come. First things first: they will be driven from Eden, that they call Earth.
(Originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
Besides, heaven is beyond, not above.
You can see the filthy humans, too. How they roam, pathetic grubs crawling through the fetid dirt of their lives. No use glossing over the truth, they have wasted what they were given. They have cut down, dug up, burnt and buried The Garden.
The Old Testament is prophecy, all that is to come. First things first: they will be driven from Eden, that they call Earth.
(Originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Doom
I have infiltrated the Darkling megaship.
They are powerfully single-minded creatures; once an idea strikes, they follow it to its fullest. They have no fleet, just this one mighty warship. And quite aptly, they have named it Doom.
It carries their army, their entire race. They come to invade Earth, they call this Operation Doom.
I have seen what the megaship carries, deep in its hold: their ultimate weapon. To be used only if they cannot have Earth for themselves. Its blast will crack the ground, ignite the atmosphere and boil away the seas.
This bomb, also, is codenamed Doom.
They are powerfully single-minded creatures; once an idea strikes, they follow it to its fullest. They have no fleet, just this one mighty warship. And quite aptly, they have named it Doom.
It carries their army, their entire race. They come to invade Earth, they call this Operation Doom.
I have seen what the megaship carries, deep in its hold: their ultimate weapon. To be used only if they cannot have Earth for themselves. Its blast will crack the ground, ignite the atmosphere and boil away the seas.
This bomb, also, is codenamed Doom.
Thursday, 22 September 2011
Minions
“You... Bob.”
“Brian, sir.”
“Right, you’re on lever duty.”
“I thought I was on shark duty.”
“The sharks can look after themselves. Apparently. That’s why I need someone new on the lever. That someone is you, Bob.”
“Brian.”
“Exactly. Now. You, Bob.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Wait...? Your name really is Bob?”
“No, sir, just wanted to make you feel better. Sir.”
“Your job is not to make me feel better. Your job... what is your job?”
“Calibrating the elephant trebuchet, sir.”
“Right, right, carry on. So... you, Bob.”
“Emily, sir.”
“Right, Bob, clean that big, red button there. Very, very carefully.”
Having reached a hundred followers on Twitter, I asked for prompts. @gingerkytten suggested 'Minions and their many uses (for profit and fun)'. I had to edit out the minion who was waxing the war turtles.
“Brian, sir.”
“Right, you’re on lever duty.”
“I thought I was on shark duty.”
“The sharks can look after themselves. Apparently. That’s why I need someone new on the lever. That someone is you, Bob.”
“Brian.”
“Exactly. Now. You, Bob.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Wait...? Your name really is Bob?”
“No, sir, just wanted to make you feel better. Sir.”
“Your job is not to make me feel better. Your job... what is your job?”
“Calibrating the elephant trebuchet, sir.”
“Right, right, carry on. So... you, Bob.”
“Emily, sir.”
“Right, Bob, clean that big, red button there. Very, very carefully.”
Having reached a hundred followers on Twitter, I asked for prompts. @gingerkytten suggested 'Minions and their many uses (for profit and fun)'. I had to edit out the minion who was waxing the war turtles.
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
Feud
“YEW, triple word score. Surprised you left it open.”
“Well, I don’t feel good. What did I just drink?”
“Herbal tea. It’s good for you.”
“It tasted like arse. ZIG.”
“That’s how you know it’s good for you. ZIG isn’t a word.”
“It is, here, look. Awrr... Never give me that again.”
“I won’t. ZIG’s a stupid word.”
“Still a word. Nnn.”
“TAXINE. ‘X’ on triple letter.”
“Mmp. I don’t, uhh, think that’s a word.”
“It certainly is. Here: noun, a poisonous alkaloid extracted from the leaves and seeds of the European yew. Apparently you brew it as a tea.”
Having reached a hundred followers on Twitter, I asked for prompts. @europeangirl was getting annoyed at Wordfeud (Scrabble) for allowing words like 'ZIG' and 'ZAG'. She wanted REVENGE...
“Well, I don’t feel good. What did I just drink?”
“Herbal tea. It’s good for you.”
“It tasted like arse. ZIG.”
“That’s how you know it’s good for you. ZIG isn’t a word.”
“It is, here, look. Awrr... Never give me that again.”
“I won’t. ZIG’s a stupid word.”
“Still a word. Nnn.”
“TAXINE. ‘X’ on triple letter.”
“Mmp. I don’t, uhh, think that’s a word.”
“It certainly is. Here: noun, a poisonous alkaloid extracted from the leaves and seeds of the European yew. Apparently you brew it as a tea.”
Having reached a hundred followers on Twitter, I asked for prompts. @europeangirl was getting annoyed at Wordfeud (Scrabble) for allowing words like 'ZIG' and 'ZAG'. She wanted REVENGE...
Monday, 19 September 2011
Orbital
A tiger stalked the empty corridors of Genesis station. His name was Flame and he had been a tiger for almost a century.
The underside of the station was transparent and from here he liked to watch the tranquil planet below with his own eyes. They had named the planet Gaia, the people who had transplanted his brain from his wasting body into this marvel of technology, this immortal, cybernetic tiger-form.
Later, he would network with the station’s sensors and search the deep seas for Sula in her dolphin-form. He might send her another message; this time she might reply.
(Originally titled 'Orbiting Body' (which obviously doesn't fit the one-word title remit here. ;) ) A friend requested, for her birthday: "drabbles. If I could beg one thing of you, it would be: robots and tigers and deep under the sea and unrequited love and faraway planets with lonely astronauts." And this is what happened...)
The underside of the station was transparent and from here he liked to watch the tranquil planet below with his own eyes. They had named the planet Gaia, the people who had transplanted his brain from his wasting body into this marvel of technology, this immortal, cybernetic tiger-form.
Later, he would network with the station’s sensors and search the deep seas for Sula in her dolphin-form. He might send her another message; this time she might reply.
(Originally titled 'Orbiting Body' (which obviously doesn't fit the one-word title remit here. ;) ) A friend requested, for her birthday: "drabbles. If I could beg one thing of you, it would be: robots and tigers and deep under the sea and unrequited love and faraway planets with lonely astronauts." And this is what happened...)
Sunday, 11 September 2011
Hive
Carl knew cults, cults were the job. Tied to this honeycombed altar, however, he was wondering if the Agency had maybe neglected to adequately brief him on this one.
The robed men chanted as their ‘Queen’ smeared some kind of sweet, viscous goo on Carl’s face.
The Queen opened her mouth wide, wider. Something moved inside, something that buzzed. Bees swarmed between her teeth in a ragged, angry cloud.
Carl clamped his mouth and eyes shut. He felt their horrible, furry bodies crawling through the syrup on his face. Then he felt them pushing into his ears and his nose.
(Originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
The robed men chanted as their ‘Queen’ smeared some kind of sweet, viscous goo on Carl’s face.
The Queen opened her mouth wide, wider. Something moved inside, something that buzzed. Bees swarmed between her teeth in a ragged, angry cloud.
Carl clamped his mouth and eyes shut. He felt their horrible, furry bodies crawling through the syrup on his face. Then he felt them pushing into his ears and his nose.
(Originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
Sunday, 28 August 2011
Witness
Putting the pieces together. Trying to capture the crime. Recapture.
Spilt vodka, broken bottles, Smirnoff, shot, shot, have another shot, glass shatters. Fat fingers select a suitable sliver, a sharp shard to stroke her soft, shuddering skin.
The machine stutters with staccato bursts of frenzied freeze-frames, too fast, faster.
Green olives, red pimento pips, cocktail sticks, stuck, pricked. A rash of red on flinching flesh. Blood beading, bleeding.
The doc adjusts the dials, drips adrenalin into the brain bowl.
The murder victim’s mind is a jagged jigsaw.
The screen slows, shows scenes...
Flickers... Flashes... Finally... A face.
Fucker. Found you.
(Originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
Spilt vodka, broken bottles, Smirnoff, shot, shot, have another shot, glass shatters. Fat fingers select a suitable sliver, a sharp shard to stroke her soft, shuddering skin.
The machine stutters with staccato bursts of frenzied freeze-frames, too fast, faster.
Green olives, red pimento pips, cocktail sticks, stuck, pricked. A rash of red on flinching flesh. Blood beading, bleeding.
The doc adjusts the dials, drips adrenalin into the brain bowl.
The murder victim’s mind is a jagged jigsaw.
The screen slows, shows scenes...
Flickers... Flashes... Finally... A face.
Fucker. Found you.
(Originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)
Wednesday, 6 July 2011
Cosmic
The Story
Today's 101, Cosmic, a murder mystery that spans the whole of space and time, in only 101 words, is guesting over at my other flash fiction blog, Xeroverse: Missing Pieces.
Missing Pieces is a year old and to celebrate I've got some awesome guest fiction going up every day this week. Please pop on over, say hi, and enjoy the stories.
Thanks,
Xero. =)
Today's 101, Cosmic, a murder mystery that spans the whole of space and time, in only 101 words, is guesting over at my other flash fiction blog, Xeroverse: Missing Pieces.
Missing Pieces is a year old and to celebrate I've got some awesome guest fiction going up every day this week. Please pop on over, say hi, and enjoy the stories.
Thanks,
Xero. =)
Wednesday, 29 June 2011
Hope
Dark, tenebrous things burst forth from the cracked ground.
She drew her twin pistols, Regret and Recompense, and began firing.
She had unleashed these dread things that would devour the Earth, this was her fault. And this was not a war she could win, she was under no illusions, but she could show humanity that a stand could be made. She could give mankind a fighting chance.
Her guns ran dry and she threw them aside.
She drew her knife.
“I name you, Hope,” she said, kissing the blade.
And thus did Pandora die. And thus was her legend born.
She drew her twin pistols, Regret and Recompense, and began firing.
She had unleashed these dread things that would devour the Earth, this was her fault. And this was not a war she could win, she was under no illusions, but she could show humanity that a stand could be made. She could give mankind a fighting chance.
Her guns ran dry and she threw them aside.
She drew her knife.
“I name you, Hope,” she said, kissing the blade.
And thus did Pandora die. And thus was her legend born.
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
Thief
Clouds drift over the moon.
Ellen feels the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed to the back of her head.
Her heart stops and the chill spreads. Ice runs through her veins.
Her eyes widen, moisten. Fear climbs from her tight chest to her throat; it forces a choked sob from her dry mouth.
A breath like silk on her neck elicits tiny tremors. She can smell vodka and sour sweat.
“You are nothing, to the universe.” Male, low, soft.
The trigger clicks.
The moon re-emerges.
And she is alone, her heart beating wildly, warm piss soaking her jeans.
(Originally written for Lily Child's Friday Prediction)
Ellen feels the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed to the back of her head.
Her heart stops and the chill spreads. Ice runs through her veins.
Her eyes widen, moisten. Fear climbs from her tight chest to her throat; it forces a choked sob from her dry mouth.
A breath like silk on her neck elicits tiny tremors. She can smell vodka and sour sweat.
“You are nothing, to the universe.” Male, low, soft.
The trigger clicks.
The moon re-emerges.
And she is alone, her heart beating wildly, warm piss soaking her jeans.
(Originally written for Lily Child's Friday Prediction)
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Tower
I am here, against intergalactic law, because important, anonymous people grew tired of waiting. So the galaxies turn.
The Darkling’s tower is impenetrable to our technology, and thus, invaluable. Scientists observing the structure from the legal sanctity of space have learnt nothing. And so impatience has brought me to this planet, to my death.
It has been called their Tower of Babel, though nobody knows if they even have a God. They have a devil. I have seen it. I have seen the pit beneath the tower, and the indescribable thing within.
Are they imprisoning it? Or setting it free?
(Originally written for Lily Child's Friday Prediction)
The Darkling’s tower is impenetrable to our technology, and thus, invaluable. Scientists observing the structure from the legal sanctity of space have learnt nothing. And so impatience has brought me to this planet, to my death.
It has been called their Tower of Babel, though nobody knows if they even have a God. They have a devil. I have seen it. I have seen the pit beneath the tower, and the indescribable thing within.
Are they imprisoning it? Or setting it free?
(Originally written for Lily Child's Friday Prediction)
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Extinction
He admired his engineered body. He was success, perfection; he was to be the template for the new breed.
Humanity had lost its way, stepped outside of evolution. The weak were allowed to thrive; the meek had already inherited the Earth. That would no longer be tolerated.
He flexed his weaponry, watching sharpness shift beneath his inky, black skin. Spikes of bone clawed at him from the inside, thirsty for freedom, for the fight, for a bite of human flesh.
He was just the first.
War was coming. To the victor go the spoils.
To the victor go the planet.
(Originally written for Lily Child's Friday Prediction)
Humanity had lost its way, stepped outside of evolution. The weak were allowed to thrive; the meek had already inherited the Earth. That would no longer be tolerated.
He flexed his weaponry, watching sharpness shift beneath his inky, black skin. Spikes of bone clawed at him from the inside, thirsty for freedom, for the fight, for a bite of human flesh.
He was just the first.
War was coming. To the victor go the spoils.
To the victor go the planet.
(Originally written for Lily Child's Friday Prediction)
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Cattle
“Ah ha! Found it!”
Doc Carmine brandished the template with blue-stained fingers.
He returned to his workbench and pressed his head to the girl’s bare chest, listening. Lingering a little too long.
Still alive, good. They always overdid the spike... it just wasn’t good business to spoil the merchandise.
He hauled her onto her front and held the template against the pale skin of her hip, spreading his fingers to keep it in place, grabbing more flesh than was perhaps necessary.
The spray paint would only stain for a week or two. By then she’d be someone else’s property anyway.
(Originally written for Lily Child's Friday Prediction)
Doc Carmine brandished the template with blue-stained fingers.
He returned to his workbench and pressed his head to the girl’s bare chest, listening. Lingering a little too long.
Still alive, good. They always overdid the spike... it just wasn’t good business to spoil the merchandise.
He hauled her onto her front and held the template against the pale skin of her hip, spreading his fingers to keep it in place, grabbing more flesh than was perhaps necessary.
The spray paint would only stain for a week or two. By then she’d be someone else’s property anyway.
(Originally written for Lily Child's Friday Prediction)
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
Shatter
My mind is in pieces.
They tell me that with every jump I left a part of myself behind.
They tell me it’s gone forever, but I’ve had time to think, in this padded room. If I concentrate, I can feel the different pieces, in all the different worlds.
There are threads stretching out from me to them; from me to me.
I’ve been pulling at the threads. I feel the walls between worlds resisting; they are not easy to breach, but I feel them cracking, I feel reality ready to splinter.
It’s my mind, and I want it back.
They tell me that with every jump I left a part of myself behind.
They tell me it’s gone forever, but I’ve had time to think, in this padded room. If I concentrate, I can feel the different pieces, in all the different worlds.
There are threads stretching out from me to them; from me to me.
I’ve been pulling at the threads. I feel the walls between worlds resisting; they are not easy to breach, but I feel them cracking, I feel reality ready to splinter.
It’s my mind, and I want it back.
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
Inheritance
Rose remembered how grandmother’s magic shimmered and shivered around them. It smelt acrid and sweet, like burning cupcakes; felt like hot soap bubbles bursting on their skin. Grandmother’s fragile voice would rise and fall deliriously, from crow’s shriek to baby’s burbling chortle. Round again, and again.
So many years ago, lives ago.
Now Rose is grandmother.
The magic swells inside her, wailing and whispering its way from her startled mouth. It pulls at her, wild and strong... and she’s sitting with her mother and her grandmother, and other women, older and deeper... everything echoed in time. Round again, and again.
So many years ago, lives ago.
Now Rose is grandmother.
The magic swells inside her, wailing and whispering its way from her startled mouth. It pulls at her, wild and strong... and she’s sitting with her mother and her grandmother, and other women, older and deeper... everything echoed in time. Round again, and again.
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